Silent Witness (20 page)
We heard the call go out over Kate's portable hand-held police radio from their surveillance location outside the Lucky Gent.
“Holy shit,” said Sam, reaching quickly for his cell. “This is where I need Burnham.” I scrolled through my directory until I found Marcy Everest's home phone number. I dialed, and on the second ring, she answered. I explained what had just happened, and directed her to the state prison.
“Make sure that Bradshaw's cell is secured and that nobody gets in without authorization. Oh, and by the way, stay on the lookout for the feds. They might show up.”
“You want us to let them in?”
“Sure, but only after we've taken that cell apart. If they show, call me right away.”
“Okay. What's going to be the best way to reach you?”
“I'm on a stakeout in Salt Lake City. Call me on my cell if you need help.” I disconnected.
“Anybody else you need to notify?” asked Kate.
“Not really. This one will go right up the chain of command until it reaches our new executive director, Benjamin Cates. I wouldn't be surprised if he hasn't already been notified. He's about to experience his first major crisis as a state corrections boss. And the press will be looking under every rock to see who they can slap the blame on.”
“Do you need to go to the prison?”
“I don't think so. Prisoner transportation is not an SIB responsibility. The security staff at the prison knows how to handle this. The sheriffs department will respond, and Marcy will be there to assist. She'll call me if there's a problem.”
“What do you think happened?” asked Kate.
“It's hard to know, but it must have started with some kind of medical emergency. Whatever it was, the prison medical staff must have concluded that it was life threatening. We don't transport inmates to the university hospital for a headache or a bloody nose, I can tell you that.”
“But how would the Bradshaws have found out about it? They must have been waiting at the hospital.”
“Jesus, you're making me nervous. It does smell like a setup, doesn't it?”
“I think so. I hope for your sake that they didn't have inside help.”
“Don't even go there. If this were to turn into another corrections scandal, I might just as well shoot myself right now.”
For the next hour-and-a-half, we monitored the radio traffic from our location outside the Lucky Gent. With the passage of time, it became clear that the Bradshaw gang had disappeared into the cold autumn night, either by slipping through the cordon of police vehicles searching the area or by finding a convenient rock to hide under.
A few minutes past midnight, my cell phone chirped. “Hi, Marcy, what's up?”
“You were right. We ended up with visitors. Besides the crime scene unit from the sheriff's office, two dicks from Salt Lake City PD showed up with a couple of FBI agents in tow.”
“Did they behave themselves?”
“They weren't a problem. They asked a few procedural questions but mostly stood around watching.”
“Anything turn up in the cell search?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah. The lab boys found traces of a white powder they can't seem to identify. They don't think that it's any of the conventional stuffânot PCP, meth, H, or coke.”
“Well, what do they think it is?”
“They didn't know but think it might be something exotic.”
“Exotic. What the hell does that mean?”
“I'm not sure, maybe something unusual. They hustled the sample off to the state crime lab for analysis. They said they'd let us know as soon as they have something.”
“Great. Who provided medical treatment for Bradshaw at the prison?”
“The duty RN was a woman named Benally. She responded to max at the request of the shift commander.”
“How did she describe his medical condition?” I asked.
“When we interviewed her, she said Bradshaw was exhibiting classic heart attack symptoms. She said the only real choice they had was whether to send him to the hospital by ambulance or call in a life flight chopper.”
“Who made that decision?”
“Benally did, with the approval of the shift commander.”
“They followed department policy to the letter,” I said.
“Have you spoken to other inmates in Bradshaw's housing unit?”
“We interviewed several inmates housed near him and came up empty. Bradshaw kept his own counsel. Inmates didn't talk to him much, and he didn't talk to them.”
“I'd like to know how he got his hands on that drug, whatever it was. Have you pulled his visitor's log? Who's been in to see him recently?”
“I already pulled itâgot it right here in front of me. Let's see, his last family visitor was his wife and that was four days ago. Now his lawyer, a guy named Gordon Dixon, came in to see him earlier today.”
“Gordon Dixon, huh, now that's interesting.”
“How so?” said Marcy.
“Fellow polygamist, married to Walter's younger sister. I can't prove it, but I wouldn't put it past Dixon to bring something into the prison that he shouldn't.”
Marcy frowned. “That makes sense. Given the lawyer-client privilege, it would certainly be easier for an attorney to smuggle in contraband than just about anybody else.”
“If the drug turns out to be something exotic, the chance of Bradshaw getting it from another inmate is pretty remote. That would mean it was brought into the prison from outside. Gordon Dixon seems like a good bet.”
I thanked Marcy for the update and disconnected.
“Cut to the chase, Sam. How did this thing go down?”
“I'm afraid you and I are probably thinking the same thing that the entire episode smells like a setup. What if Dixon managed to smuggle the drug into prison and passed it to his client? Knowing the drug would apparently cause heart problems Bradshaw takes it at a predetermined time and ends up with a ticket to the hospital. It's common knowledge that serious medical emergencies end up at the University of Utah Medical Center. The Bradshaw clan is waiting when the ambulance arrives and hijacks the patient, simple as that.”
“What about inside help from someone employed at the prison?”
“Anything's possible, I suppose, but at the moment, we don't have a shred of evidence linking an employee to any of this. But rest assured, we'll do what we always do and thoroughly check it out. We'll sit down with everybody working the day Dixon came to visit his client, and I'm going to tell Marcy to take a careful look at nurse Benally.”
“All good steps, I think, but there's still one thing that doesn't quite track,” said Kate. “For this to make sense, you'd have to believe that Bradshaw intentionally took a drug knowing that it would induce a heart attack that might kill him. Who would do that? And how did the family plan to provide medical treatment?”
“I don't know, sympathetic physician, maybe?”
“Possible, I guess, but I think it's a stretch.”
“Hell, I don't know, Kate. Maybe in the end it will turn out to be as simple as desperate men doing desperate things. Maybe they figured this was the only reasonable shot they had of snatching him. They sure weren't going to break him out of prison, and they probably figured the odds of grabbing him going to or from court weren't so hot either.”
The conversation waned until we saw Sammy Roybal emerge from the Lucky Gent. He hopped into his car and drove past us, motioning us to follow. He pulled into a convenience store several blocks from the bar. He got out and so did we. We followed him into the store where Kate and I doctored up two cups of used motor oil masquerading as coffee, while Sammy filled his own mug with what looked like about a half-gallon of the stuff. He also picked up several Twinkies and Hostess cupcakes which we bought. The guy clearly wasn't getting his dietary information from Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig.
Kate cringed when he hopped into the back seat of her new Beamer with Twinkie-covered fingers and a less than sure grip on the coffee mug. There go the leather seats I thought.
I said, “Tell me you got something good for us tonight, Sammy.”
He grinned. Between bites of a cream-filled cupcake, about half of which disappeared into his lap, he mumbled, “Sammy never disappoints a friend.”
“Yeah, ever try using a napkin?” snapped Kate. I gave her a look. So much for establishing rapport with our snitch.
Between a mouthful of cupcake and coffee running down his chin, he managed, “Lt. Kate having her period?”
Kate started to say something but thought better of it.
I didn't relish the idea of refereeing a fight between Kate and Sammy, especially over the leather upholstery in her car. “What have you got for us, Sammy,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back on track.
“Sammy's got his new best friend, Tony, eating out of his hand. He's very interested in a line of jewelry Sammy just happens to have.”
“Nothing stolen, I presume,” said Kate.
Sammy ignored her. “Sammy and Tony are getting along great until he gets this phone call. After that, he acts funny, like something's bothering him.”
“What time was the call?” I asked.
“Uh, one hour ago, maybe a little longer,” he said.
“Were you able to overhear any of the conversation?”
“No. The music in the bar was too loud, and he don't stand still. The longer he talks, the more upset he gets.”
“That's not going to help us much,” said Kate.
“Sammy grinned at her. “Would it be helpful if Sammy could give you the phone number that called my new friend, Tony?”
“Yeah, it would,” I said. “What is it?”
The grin got bigger. “How much money you got for Sammy tonight?”
“Stop fucking with us and just give me the number,” I said.
He gave us his best hurt look and said, “Maybe Lt. Kate isn't the only one having her period.”
I gave him a cold stare that I knew he understood.
“Okay, okay.” He held open his left hand. Kate hit the interior light and we both stared at the number scrolled on his palm.
Kate squinted as she tried to read it. “That's Rodney's cell phone number. How did you manage to get it?”
“My new friend, Tony; he's interested in buying some of Sammy's jewelry. Sammy borrowed his cell phone to call the individual holding the jewelry.”
“Who'd you call?” I asked.
“I called my cousin, Juan. When Tony wasn't looking, Sammy checked his received calls and that number was the last one. You also wanted his service provider. It's Verizon.”
“Good work, Sammy,” I said. “What else did you find out?”
He reached into his leather bomber jacket pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper which he handed to me. “This massage guy you asked Sammy about. Sammy asked Tony where I should go for a hunky massage. He writes this guy Steve's name and number down on the slip of paper and tells Sammy to call him for an appointment.”
“Did Tony say anything else to you about Steve?” asked Kate.
“No, but Sammy can find out a lot more. Would you like Sammy to call Hunky Boy Steve for a massage?”
Sammy's look of lusty anticipation turned to a scowl when I politely declined his offer. “Not right now, Sammy, but I'll let you know if we need you to do that for us.”
We paid Sammy more than the information was worth and then sent him on his way. Barnes' call from Plow had probably been a warning that we considered him a suspect in Ginsberg's murder.
The noose was tightening on Plow, Ambrose, and now Anthony Barnes. If we could feel it, surely, they could, too.
Robin Joiner knew that if she ever was going to have a chance to escape, this was it. She was alone in the cabin with Joan Dixon. The bad news was that the cabin sat in a thick stand of pine trees rendering it invisible from the paved road. The good news was that the highway wasn't more than two hundred yards away. If she could make it to the paved road, it wouldn't be difficult to attract the attention of a passing motorist.
Although they had placed plastic handcuffs on her wrists and taken her shoes, the cuffs had been placed in front, not behind her back. That gave her a decided edge if she could only find a way out of the cabin.
Albert had ordered her not to leave the leather couch unless given permission by Sister Joan. Dixon, though not overly friendly, wasn't acting hostile either. If she could convince Sister Joan to treat her as a member of the family, someone who could be trusted, instead of a prisoner, an opportunity to escape might present itself.
Dixon was seated in a leather recliner directly across from her. She was reading a book and appeared to be the picture of calm stoicism in the face of what had to be a high-stress situation.
“What are you reading, Sister Joan?”
“A biography of Joseph Smith,” she replied, without so much as a glance in Joiner's direction.
“I don't see how you can do it,” said Joiner.
“Do what, Sister?” said Dixon, looking up from the page.
“Be so relaxed with so much going on. I'm really worried about Joey. I love him so much, and I know he's in danger. You must be worried about Gordon.”
“Brother Joseph and Brother Gordon will be just fine. You, Sister Robin, need to have more faith in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,” she nodded, self-righteously.
This is working well thought Joiner.
Robin briefly considered trying to overpower Dixon. She was seated less than ten feet away, but she'd seen Albert pass her a small handgun before leaving. They had stood in the kitchen engaged in whispered conversation periodically glancing at her as she sat on the couch. The gun was nowhere in site, but Joiner was convinced that Dixon had it within easy reach.
Shortly after ten, an opportunity presented itself. Dixon's cell phone rang. When she answered, Joiner could immediately tell that Joan couldn't understand what the caller was saying. “I can't hear you. You're breaking up,” she said. There was a pause, and then Dixon said, “You're still breaking up. Hold on a minute while I change locations.” She got out of her chair and walked out the front door to the covered front porch.
Robin bolted to the back bedroom pausing only to close the bathroom door. Perhaps it would buy her a few more precious seconds. Her hands were shaking. She fumbled momentarily with the lock on the window until it gave. Using all her strength, she managed to lift it just high enough to squeeze her slender frame through the opening. She went out head first and landed on a soft bed of pine needles.
The cabin was nestled against a sheer rock cliff that went straight up, affording no way out. If she was going to make good her escape, she would have to sneak around to the front corner of the cabin and then make a dash for freedom only feet from where Dixon was talking on her cell. She wasn't worried about Dixon's ability to outrun her even with the plastic handcuffs on. It was the handgun that scared her. Would Sister Joan use the gun in an attempt to prevent an escape? She wasn't sure.
As Joiner crept quietly through the darkness, she stepped on a sharp pine cone that penetrated her foot. She stopped momentarily choking back the pain and then continued until she reached the front of the house. The tall evergreens were silhouetted by the lights inside the cabin. Otherwise, it was pitch black.
Sister Joan paced back and forth on the porch. Abruptly, the call ended and Dixon stood motionless, not five feet from where Joiner now stood with her back braced against the cedar plank siding. Joiner was afraid to breathe for fear the sound might break the silence of the perfectly still night and give her away. After what seemed like an eternity, Dixon turned and walked back to the front door.
Joiner heard the rusty screen door creak as Dixon opened it, and that's when she ran. She didn't look back, but heard Dixon shout her name as she sprinted for the highway. The darkness swallowed her almost instantly. The narrow dirt road dropped away from the cabin into a shallow depression, across a dry creek bed, and then gradually climbed until it came out next to the highway. Joiner ignored the pain she felt in her feet as she ran across assorted pine needles, pine cones, and rocks. Near the bottom of the depression, she felt her ankle roll and sprawled headlong on to the dirt road. Pain shot through her right ankle and her hands suffered a serious bout of road rash. Immediately, she pushed back to her feet and continued to run. Within seconds she crested the hill and emerged next to the highway.
Robin heard the unmistakable sound of a truck engine starting behind her. Dixon would come looking for her. She also had to consider the possibility that the Bradshaws could be returning to the cabin at any time. Her best bet was to flag down any vehicle headed back into Salt Lake City. She ran down the highway about a hundred yards and hid in a stand of evergreens next to the road. From this vantage point, she observed Dixon driving slowly back and forth before returning to the cabin. Joiner left the trees and resumed her trek down Little Cottonwood Canyon.
Joan Dixon dreaded the phone call she was about to make. She had lost Robin Joiner by failing to remain diligent. Her nephews would be furious with her, particularly Albert. Joey would be more sympathetic, but that was his natureâa gentle boy by any measure. Albert, who was well known for his temper, would be quick to judge her as incompetent for failing at this important task.
Dixon's husband, Gordon, had always had a difficult relationship with Albert. Albert seemed threatened by Gordon's education as well as the trust and influence the prophet placed in him. Albert resented that relationship and seized every opportunity to try to denigrate Gordon in the eyes of his father.
Dixon dialed the number and Albert answered. “Albert, I've lost Robin Joiner. She climbed out a bedroom window while I was on the phone.”
There was a long, uncomfortable pause. “What do you want me to do?” Dixon finally asked.
“How long has she been gone?”
“About ten minutes.”
“Get out of there immediately. Did Mandy make it back?”
“She just got here.”
“We'll meet at the secondary location as quickly as you can make it.” He disconnected.
Biting back the anger, Albert turned to Joey. “Your loyal girlfriend just got away from Sister Joan. She's on the run. I told you to tie her up, but you wouldn't listen. This jeopardizes everything. There's no telling what she might do now.”
The stolen pickup abruptly turned around and headed to the alternate meeting location near Park City. Albert called the Allred brothers and informed them of the change.
***
It took about fifteen minutes before Joiner successfully flagged down a couple in a Subaru Forrester returning to Salt Lake City from a party at the home of friends. When they emerged from the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon, Joiner used their phone and dialed a number she had committed to memory. It was Sam Kincaid's cell number.