Killing The Blood Cleaner (20 page)

TWENTY-SIX

It was about ten in the morning when the two young, white officers arrived with inmate Kirk for his monthly visit to the law library. As it was a Saturday, the officers escorting Kirk were two of the more junior and inexperienced staff at the prison. One officer, Jesse Orland, was from a well respected Lester family, known for staffing the prison. He eyed Kirk nervously as they entered the law library. The other officer, John Saxon, a newly trained recruit from Macon, seemed more relaxed, viewing Kirk as just another inmate.

Inside the law library was a lone law library clerk, Jimmy Richards, seated at a desk with a typewriter and numerous law books. The only other inmate in the law library was inmate Thompkins who sat at a table with a stack of papers and several law books.

The officers escorted Kirk into the law library handcuffed and with a belly chain. In his hands was a sheaf of legal papers. “I need these cuffs off so I can do legal work,” Kirk demanded loudly. The two officers looked at each other, not sure what to do.

“Usually they take his cuffs off. He really can’t do law work with them on,” clerk Richards commented calmly. Officer Saxon nodded and proceeded to uncuff Kirk. Officer Orland stood nearby, his hand on his nightstick.

Kirk walked over and sat in a chair in front of the inmate law clerk’s desk. “I need to be able to talk to him so you can’t hear. That’s my right,” Kirk snarled. The officers looked at each other and then took seats at the other end of the room near inmate Thompkins.

Satisfied the officers were out of earshot, Kirk handed the clerk some papers and leaned over the desk. “Have you finished the Transfer Order and the fax?” Kirk softly asked the clerk. The clerk pushed two typewritten documents across the desk for Kirk to examine. The first document was an official looking, “Order Of Transfer For Hearing” which ordered the Warden to produce inmates, Henry Kirk, Jimmy Richards and Nurse Tacy Crandall for a hearing at the Courthouse in Brunswick, Georgia. The signature of Judge Valentino had been carefully forged. The second document was a fax cover sheet of the Central Office in Atlanta of the Georgia Department of Corrections. It was complete with the Seal of the State of Georgia and instructions to the Warden of Georgia Maximum Security Prison to transport the inmates and Nurse Crandall to the hearing as required by the Order of Judge Valentino attached. “These are perfect. Now what about the tools for today’s ruckus?” Kirk asked.

The Clerk pulled up the side of a stack of papers to reveal a screwdriver with its end sharpened to a point and a box of matches. “You get these faxed from the Librarian’s office and I will start giving them some problems. I want to be sure when this fax hits the Warden’s office everyone will be busy and not be noticing it arriving,” Kirk said.

The clerk took the fax cover sheet and Order and folded them inside a law book. He stood with the law book in his hand and asked the officers, “I need to get into the Librarian’s office to retrieve some materials for Kirk. Mr. Thomas keeps some of the most requested materials in his office so they won’t get stolen,” the clerk said calmly, pointing to the door to the Librarian’s office which was just around the corner from the library stacks.

Officer Saxon reached in his pocket and retrieved the key to the Librarian’s office. “Come with me,” he ordered as he led the clerk to the door of the office. The officer unlocked the door and watched as the clerk entered. At that moment, Kirk could be heard talking loudly to officer Orland. Officer Saxon stepped back into the law library to see Kirk standing and arguing with officer Orland.

Clerk Richards quickly dialed the Warden’s fax number and inserted the two documents into the fax machine in the Librarian’s office as he listened carefully to the arguments nearby. He picked up several law books from the Librarian’s desk just as the fax machine printed out the confirmation that the fax had been received in the Warden’s office upstairs. He picked up the confirmation and folded it into one of the books.

At that moment, officer Saxon returned and looked carefully around the office. “That damned Kirk is always causing problems. You get out of here and I will lock up,” he said loudly, as he took a quick look at the books retrieved by the clerk from the office.

After locking the office, officer Saxon followed clerk Richards back to the library. Clerk Richards returned to his seat in front of Kirk and pushed the law books toward him. “Kirk, there’s no need to get excited. What you need is right here,” the clerk said calmly. Inmate Thompkins looked up from his work and around the room nervously. The officers returned to their seats across the room, satisfied that Kirk’s agitation had ended.

Kirk leaned across the desk and asked softly, “Did the fax go through?” Clerk Richards smiled and showed Kirk the printed fax confirmation which he retrieved from the law book. The clerk then pushed toward Kirk the stack of papers under which the screwdriver and matches were hidden.

“In a minute I will take everyone’s minds off the fax in the Warden’s office. Jimmy, you know I will have to rough you up a little, so they don’t think we are friends,” Kirk said softly, fingering the screwdriver.

“Whatever it takes to get out of here. I got two life sentences. Maybe I shouldn’t have shot both my wife and my mother in law,” the clerk replied with an emphasis on “mother in law.” He then stood up and walked toward a cart loaded with law books. “I will be back in the stacks re-shelving these law books,” he announced.

The officers nodded, then stepped outside for an against-the-rules-smoke, both keeping an eye on Kirk through the glass doors. Kirk watched and smiled, looking at the metal curtain over the doors and the unprotected activation switch at the side of the door. Once he closed the metal curtain he would have the few minutes he needed to create a first rate disruption. He also looked forward to a few moments alone with inmate Thompkins.

TWENTY-SEVEN

It was 6:30 a.m. when Jack pulled onto Highway 189 headed for Lester. In the backseat was a plastic cooler loaded with beer and sodas. The South Georgia sun was already beginning to heat the thick air as he accelerated down the blacktop through the forest of tall thin pines. It took only a few minutes to reach the center of Lester. He smiled as he drove by the Hi Max Beauty Salon and the Chain Gang Car Wash. He glanced at the stately Courthouse which shone in the morning sun and turned left as he had been directed.

It did not take much of the mile down that road to be in the countryside with few houses and great expanses of pine trees with an occasional smattering of scrub palmetto. Jack slowed his car as he read the slightly rusted metal sign which announced that this particular gravel road was the “Altamaha Marsh Road” he was looking for. He turned left and proceeded slowly, looking for the third house on the left. Each of the houses on the street was set back on a lot of over two acres, land not being at a particular premium in Lester, Georgia. He passed the first house which was a prefabricated cottage with white aluminum siding which gleamed imperviously to the Georgia sun and salt air. A green concrete birdbath gave a touch of contrasting color to the white aluminum.

The second house was a new looking mobile home which sported a red canvas awning and a large vegetable garden to the right side. Down the road about a sixteenth of a mile he saw his destination. It was a simple, one-story, white frame house set back from the road by a long green yard. The house was accented by neatly trimmed shrubbery, and was flanked by two large magnolia trees on each end of the house. Jack could see Tacy loading her green truck which was parked in the driveway beside the house. Tethered to the truck was a shiny, electric green, fiberglass fishing boat, securely attached to its trailer. Jack slowly pulled into the driveway which was solidly constructed of oyster shell tabby.

Tacy watched as he exited his car and removed the cooler. “You are actually early, and you remembered the drinks and the cooler,” she said happily as he approached. Placing the cooler on the ground, he gave her a hug and the obligatory light kiss on her lips.

“I like your boat. It looks pretty fast for the river,” he said, peering at the colorful craft with its oversized outboard motor.

“You need to be able to outrun the gators and the redneck crazies sometimes,” she said as he continued to examine the boat and its contents.

“You certainly have all sorts of equipment. These two poles made out of metal pipe look like they could land a dinosaur. And this chain and metal hook is not something we use much in Atlanta. At least, I can relate to the other two fishing poles,” Jack said.

“The big poles are for sharks, if we get to the tidal part of the river. They will snap a regular deep sea pole in a second if they are in a bad mood. The chain and the hook are in case you want to play a little tug of war with the alligators. They are not in season, but it is fun to tease them out of their hidy holes,” she said.

“I suppose the 30/30 rifle is in case they attack,” Jack said as he glanced at the brown hunting rifle propped up against one of the seats.

“In season, we would shoot them with it once they grab the hook. Now, we would just use it to scare them into turning the hook loose. They all know about rifles. Also, it just makes sense to have it on board if you are way back in the swamps,” she said.

“I’m sure there are nasty two legged gators out there also,” Jack said.

“Oh, it’s pretty peaceful. Mostly the folks I grew up with out there. But sometimes, there are suspicious people from Atlanta, who have had too much to drink,” she said.

“I see. I will be on the lookout for those types. Are they in season?” Jack asked.

“They are always in season,” she said, giving him a pinch on the back of his tight jeans. He reached to grab her back, but stopped when he saw the front door of the house open.

“You children better not be bringing back any alligators,” was the high-pitched Southern warning which emanated from a small woman clad in a pink terrycloth bathrobe and orange flip-flops. Out of the pocket of her well worn robe she produced a pack of cigarettes and proceeded to light up and puff away enthusiastically. “Tacy won’t let me smoke in the house, so I thought I would come out here and supervise you young people,” she continued, as she took a long drag on her cigarette.

“Jack, this is my mom, Clarice Crandall. I was hoping she would be asleep when we left,” Tacy said, with a gesture toward the robe clad figure.

“I’m pleased to meet you, ma’am. I will be sure and bring Tacy back safely,” Jack said politely, walking forward to shake her hand.

“They all say that. Tacy, at least this one has some manners,” the matron snorted as she snuffed out her cigarette and retreated to the house, the door slamming behind her.

“Now you have met my family. Do you still want to continue?” Tacy said.

“Of course, she was delightful in a Lester, Georgia sort of way,” Jack said.

“People in town will be saying we are engaged,” Tacy continued as she put Jack’s cooler into the boat. “Let’s get down to the boat ramp before it gets too hot,” she said to Jack as he opened the passenger door to the truck.

It took less than five minutes for them to arrive at the public boat ramp on the river. There was one group of boaters ahead of them who were cautiously backing their boat down the concrete ramp. The group consisted of three large men all wearing various types of camouflage attire from hats to waders. The boat sank several inches into the water with its load of men and several coolers of beer on ice.

As Jack and Tacy exited the truck, Jack recognized the largest of the men as Captain Jamison, who was wearing a mismatched pair of camouflage pants and T-shirt, topped off by a worn baseball cap. He looked up and recognized them. “Boys, at least if we get into trouble, we know our crack medical team is out here on the water to save us,” Captain Jamison commented as he released a large plug of chewed tobacco into the black water.

“And I am surprised the inmates haven’t all escaped with this much security floating down the river,” Tacy replied sassily.

“Well, Tacy, sometimes public safety just has to wait until we catch a mess of fish. Besides, those newbie officers need to learn how to run a chain gang without any grownups around,” Captain Jamison replied with a broad smile. The man in the stern cranked the motor and they were off with a wave. Jack noticed that each of them was wearing a pistol and he saw the length of their own rifle beside the beer.

“Are all fishing parties down here so heavily armed?” Jack asked as they slowly motored out of sight.

“Oh, those boys are all right. I knew them all from town or High School. They all think of themselves as Daniel Boone. It helps them deal with having to ride herd on every thug from Atlanta,” Tacy said.

“Tacy, you are just going to have to stop dissing my hometown. All thugs are not from Atlanta, just most of them. I have been at the prison long enough to know that there are several proud gangs from Augusta, Savannah and even Mexico,” Jack said.

“Yes, and there is even one sad French-Canadian guy. He got picked up on the way to Florida with a load of drugs. He really hates the food and he keeps showing up for sick call in the summer claiming he is having heatstroke,” she said as she unhitched the boat from the trailer let it slide backward on its pulley into the brackish water.

Once the boat was safely afloat Tacy unhitched the pulley while Jack held the boat steady. Tacy got back in the truck and expertly pulled the trailer out of the water and parked in a sandy area to the side of the ramp. After locking the truck, she hopped delicately into the boat as Jack pushed away with a paddle and she started the engine.

They slowly moved toward the center of the river and Tacy turned the boat and pointed it downstream. “What kind of fish do you want?” she asked as she increased the throttle slightly, causing the boat to cut smartly through the black ripples.

“Are we close enough to the ocean to get some sea trout?” Jack asked. “They are my favorite fish unless you are way out in the ocean and have a chance for some pompano.”

“For sea trout we need to head further down the river, closer to the ocean, and near some oyster shoals. That is where they like to hang out. It won’t take us too long,” she said.

“I wonder what they eat that is around oysters? I know they can’t be there for the oysters,” Jack said.

“Probably the shrimp and other small fish feed on something on the outside of the shells,” Tacy replied. She turned the throttle up slightly, creating a nice wind in Jack’s face. Jack sat back in the padded chair and took in the rich smell of the river and the swamps. Jack watched two hawks circle slowly overhead, riding the now heated thermals over the river.

The banks on both sides of the river were crowded with old oaks whose gnarly roots and branches stretched out above the river for several feet. Jack pointed out to Tacy two huge hogs and three piglets who were rooting about in the underbrush. The biggest hog was tossing up dirt with its tusks like an earthmoving machine and the piglets were snorting around in the aftermath. The sun was now fully in the sky and the insect population was beginning to stir. Jack occasionally shooed away a mosquito, but mostly they were deterred by the wind of the boat’s motion and Jack’s generous application of bug repellent.

After about half an hour of cruising, Jack noticed that the woods on the banks of the river had thinned out to pines and scrub palmettos. The riverbanks were now a tan sandy color and the water in the river was now noticeably green instead of the previous black. Tacy pointed to a six foot alligator sunning himself on the sandy bank. She slowed the boat to a near stop and reached into the boat’s cooler to produce a plastic zip bag.

“I’m going to toss him a little gator treat,” she said as she put on a plastic glove, unzipped the bag and hurled the contents in the gator’s direction. The putrid odor of the contents was so vile, even when being thrown at a distance, it made Jack sit up straight in his seat.

“What god-awful mess is in that treat?” Jack said as he watched the alligator slide off the bank headed for the floating meat.

“Just some nice sun ripened chicken heads and intestines. The nastier they are the better the gators like them,” she said as she removed the plastic glove and increased the throttle. Jack watched the alligator retrieve his prize and return to the warmth of the shore.

They cruised for another fifteen minutes when Tacy pointed to an outcropping of oyster shells on the right bank of the river. She cut the speed of the motor and let the boat glide toward a sandbar near the oyster bank. “Maybe we can get some trout here,” she said as she cut the engine and moved to the stern of the boat to retrieve the anchor. “We will anchor here and cast into the edge of the oyster bed,” she said as she expertly dropped the anchor into the green water.

Jack looked around the boat for the two lightweight rods and checked the boat’s bait well for bait. “I will get these rods rigged with live shrimp and we will see how we do,” he said as he pulled a plastic bait bucket out of the well which was brimming with shrimp. He noticed that both rods were properly rigged with a float and sinker as he baited the two hooks and handed a rod to Tacy. He turned and propped his rod next to the cooler. When he turned back around, he blinked slightly as Tacy had now stripped down to her red bikini and presented herself to Jack and the world in general as a strikingly athletic and erotic woman with the slight exception of her somewhat nasty tennis shoes.

“All right, Ms. Swimsuit Beauty, I am going to strip down to my bathing suit and boat shoes. Hopefully, my radiant whiteness won’t scare away the fish,” Jack said as he removed his pants and shirt. Watching him, Tacy laughed with glee at his conservative bathing suit and general pallor. Despite her laugh she did notice that he was generally well built and in good shape for a practicing physician.

“I do like the blue shorts with the little whales. At least, it is not a tank suit. That’s what we see with a lot of the Atlanta guys. I also think a good bit of suntan oil is in order,” she said laughing.

Jack watched as she took the rod and expertly cast her bait ten yards off the edge of the oyster bed. It only took a few seconds before the float was underwater. Jack noticed that she did not jerk the line immediately, but waited a few seconds for the fish to swallow the bait, then jerked the line with a powerful pull, setting the hook. The trout exploded out of the water as she began to reel.

“They are out there!” she said excitedly as she brought the fish closer to the boat. Jack leaned over the side with a net and landed the wriggling creature.

“That’s at least a five pounder,” he said as he grasped the fish and held it up to Tacy.

“Get me baited up again!” she said, looking at the fish. Jack carefully removed the hook and placed the flapping fish in the boat’s cooler. He then handed Tacy his already baited rod.

“Use this one while I reload,” he said as they swapped rods. Tacy took the rod and once again cast the bait directly at the edge of the oyster bed near her previous cast. Jack watched while he baited his hook. However, it only took a few seconds for Tacy’s float to again be pulled under the water.

“Damn, we are in the right spot!” Jack said as Tacy again set the hook and began reeling. Once again, he moved to the side of the boat with the net.

“This one is at least seven pounds!” Tacy said as Jack landed the fish with the net. “Let’s get the lines out there again!”

Jack again handed her his baited line and then turned to the task of removing the hook from the flapping fish and securing it in the cooler. Once this task was accomplished he baited his hook and cast it toward the oyster bank. His cast landed a little closer to the sandbar that he would’ve liked, but still a proper distance from the oyster bank. He looked over at Tacy’s float which was now floating quietly. “Now I’m going to catch up. It’s hard to catch fish with your hook in the boat,” he said as he took time to admire Tacy’s now glistening body. His gaze was quickly averted by a strong tug on his pole. His float was now underwater but his line was running rapidly toward a clump of dead tree branches jutting out from the sandbar. He jerked the line helplessly. “Hell, that rascal has gone for a tangle in that bunch of tree branches,” Jack said as he moved his pole back and forth feeling the tension on the line, but unable to reel the fish in.