A Second Grave

By Michael Fay

Craig Beaumont's family is killed in a drive by shooting. He uses his skills and experiences to take a fearsome revenge on the California Penal system whom he blames. As his plot unfolds, the FBI gets involved and looks to a local militia for culprits. With the help of a local reporter, the killer of thousands of prisoners is brought to justice, or are they?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781387113293

Book preview

A Second Grave

A SECOND GRAVE

Michael Fay

When you begin a journey of revenge , start by digging two graves: one for your enemy, and one for yourself.

Chinese Proverb

Chapter 1

Ray Ellsworth pulled up to the gate of the Cavalito State Prison with his delivery truck. Ray delivered food to the Cav for three years. Twice a week he delivered dry goods to the prison cafeteria. The prison used large amounts of instant food like oatmeal, Cream of Wheat and other products not requireing sharp implements to prepare and serve. Food at the prison was high on calories and low on the need for sharp utensils in preparation. The inmates did not receive fine dining options subsisting on what the kitchen offered. Some inmates got more than their share, others less, but everyone went out of the cafeteria with a full stomach.

The deliveries to the prison usually took longer than any two other deliveries on his route because of the security routines. If any problem occurred inside the prison while Ray made his delivery, he could be held up all day while they figured it out. No one could enter or leave the prison when they had a problem, including delivery vehicles. Ray spent seventeen hours at the Cav one day when a prisoner came up short during the morning count. But, they paid well. A state contract for sales of his company's goods provided a lucrative profit. It was worth the hassle, but still a pain.

This morning, Ray managed to be first in line to enter the prison loading area. Early in, early out. That made him happy as the Cav still creeped him out after all these years of deliveries. He never had a problem with a prisoner, but he still felt uneasy until he could see the gates in his rearview mirrors. Afterwards he breathed easier and let go of his tension.

Today he sat at the entryway for ten minutes waiting for John Hinkle to come and check his paperwork. Sometimes it took Hinkle a few moments to come out to the gate, but the guard was unusually slow. Irritated, Ray blew his horn. The air horn ricocheted off the walls returning to Ray's truck. Ten minutes later, he still couldn't spot Hinkle or any other guard. Rather than blowing the horn a second time, he climbed down out of the cab and walked to the guard house.

The prison seemed quiet today. Ray did not hear the usual background noises associated with over four thousand pent up human beings. Glancing up, he noticed he couldn't see any guards visible on the walls or in the parts of the courtyard visible through the chain-link fence. In fact, Ray didn't spot anyone, anywhere. Sure hope this doesn't mean there's a problem today, he thought, I got too much to do to waste time here.

Opening the door, he stepped in. Three guards sat in chairs surrounding the central table. None of them moved. The guard closest to the door had a pink froth around his lips spreading down his uniform shirt. A slight, sweet odor, hung in the air. Ray didn't stick around. He backed quickly out of the room and raced to his truck. He opened the driver's side door and grabbed his cell phone.

Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?

I'm at the Cav waiting to make a delivery, and the guards are all dead. Ray spoke directly, to the point and completely shaken.

You say the guards are dead? What is your address?

I'm at the Cav! The Cavalito State Prison. You need to sendsomeone out here right away!

Stay on the line.

Within thirty minutes, over one hundred state and local police officers converged on the Cav. EMTs and rescue squads from miles around made their way to the prison with sirens screaming and lights flashing. The Governor was notified, and National Guard units assembled. Officials from the Bureau of Corrections scrambled, and the FBI sent agents to the scene.

The first officers inside the prison found no one alive. The guards died at their posts. All of the gates remained locked. All of the cells remained closed. The sharpshooters in the towers died at their posts, as did the guards in the entry ways. Sergeant Peter Bosceli called the impromptu command post outside the walls.

Bosceli here, so far we've found seventeen guards. All dead. Do you want us to keep going into the prison proper?

Captain Kevin Wine thought for a moment. Bosceli, how many men are with you?

Three.

Okay, keep going, but if you run into anything unusual pull back immediately.

Roger. Bosceli put the radio back in its holster and nodded at his three companions. They moved to the first locked door entering the prison proper. One of his men opened the lock, and they all stepped through. They moved further into the silent prison past checkpoints and offices. Dead bodies occupied every room, all with a pink froth around their mouths. Bosceli was appalled at the carnage he was witnessed. Also, he grew concerned because the prison seemed dead quiet. The prisoners should be creating a huge uproar wanting out of their cells to go to breakfast and start the day. Either these were the most polite prisoners in the world, or something was deeply wrong here.

Bosceli continued to contact Wine as they made their way through layer after layer of security into the D cellblock. The guards they passed were all dead. Bosceli threw the switch to open the final door. Before entering he checked his weapon, took a deep breath, and stepped through.

His footsteps echoed through the cell block. He heard the sounds of his companions behind him as he approached the first cell on the left. The door remained closed and locked. Bosceli stepped quickly around the wall and looked into the cell.

Four inmates lay on the floor or their beds. Dead. From the art and graffiti on the walls, they belonged to the Eighteenth Street Gang. The tattoos confirmed Bosceli's initial opinion of gang memberships. Swallowing hard, he moved on. The next cell contained more bodies, and the next cell still more. He made his way from one end of the cell block to the other without finding a single living person. Shaken, he gathered his companions and retraced their steps. He found SWAT members assembled and ready for any eventuality waiting at the entrance.

Bosceli and Wind held a hasty conference. Wine left and called the Governor. Within an hour, the Governor landed in the parking lot in a National Guard helicopter. They set up a perimeter around the prison which kept staff, visitors, and deliveries out of the area. News crews set up and broadcasting blather before they had a single fact. They would be a long time waiting, but it wouldn't keep them from clogging the airways with sound bites.

As the Governor entered the command post, Wine, Bosceli and General Barry Colgate of the National Guard joined him. The four men and their aides crowded into the room.

Sergeant Bosceli are you telling me no one, not guards or prisoners, staff or anyone else is alive inside?

We only got to cellblock D, but we didn't find a single living person.

No one?

No sir.

Okay. First thing, remove the guards. The Governor said. Elected on a law and order platform, Jefferson Goldman was 54, vital, and active with a shock of gray hair among the thinning brown hair of his youth. At five foot ten inches tall, he did not command a room when he walked in, but his force of personality soon gave him the keys to any situation. Financial issues, not civil issues marked his third term as Governor. With the economy getting worse every day, he struggled to find ways to keep the government afloat, the kids in school and the police on the streets. He did not need a crisis in the prison system on top of everything else.

Barry, detaill some of your guys to remove the bodies. Barry Colgate nodded. In his US Army fatigue uniform, the General cut an imposing figure. Colgate believed he should set an example for his men. The General ran every day and lifted weights three times a week. His physical fitness was legendary in today's Army. Colgate stepped away and began issuing orders.

Governor Goldman turned to his aide, Let's call the Attorney General and the Press Secretary down here. We need to do a lot of explaining to do to a lot of people. We need to make sure our answers are crisp and precise and not left open to interpretation.

What do you want my men to do? asked Wine.

Take over for the dead guards for the time being. We need the guard house manned and the control centers guarded. I think we can leave the towers unmanned at this point. But be sure no one gets in or out without my approval.

Wine nodded as he and Bosceli moved out to assign guards.

What happened here? Bosceli asked Wine.

Got me, but it isn't good. Wine looked at Bosceli. Guess I'm stating the obvious?

It was the weirdest feeling walking those hallways, began Bosceli. I kept expecting someone to walk around a corner and ask me what we were doing. But no one showed up. We came on corpse after corpse. I saw a lot of dead people in Iraq, but none of them freaked me out like this. They either sat or lay like they would come back to life if I called to them.

Easy Bosceli, began Wine. Don't let yourself dwell too deeply into the grimness you witnessed. We don't know what happened yet.

Yeah, but we do know all those people are dead.

All those criminals are dead, and a lot of good men guarding them are dead too. Wine spoke in a brittle voice. I'm not going to worry about killers and rapists, druggies and pedophiles.

They are still people, and they don't deserve to be killed like this, while they are in prison serving their time. Bosceli shook his head. That ain't right no matter how you cut it.

By the end of the day, the Governor held his news conference. A rabid press corps hung on his every word.

"I am sorry to report the entire population of the Cavalito State Penitentiary has been found dead of unknown means. One Hundred and sixteen guards and four thousand two hundred and sixty-one inmates died today. Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of these individuals.

The Attorney General started an investigation into the cause of death. We don't have any idea as to the means or the agent of the deaths. There are no current leads as to who perpetrated this atrocity. We are actively looking for leads and urge anyone with any information to call the special number listed on the wall behind me. You can remain anonymous. I will take a limited number of questions now."

Governor! shouted fifty voices at once.

Go ahead Betty, Goldman nodded at a brassy blonde in the front row.

What is the cause of death and how will you go about prosecuting the people responsible?

As I said, don't know the cause of death yet. The bodies are being taken to the state morgue for processing as we speak. Once we determine a cause, we will let you know. As to prosecution, it is too early to tell. No one stepped forward to take the credit, and the State Police and other agencies are only now beginning their investigations. Steven?

You gave us the numbers of dead involved, do you have a break out of their crimesr?

We can find the information for you, Steven. The Governor looked around the room. I'll take one more question. Brian?

Brian Stallings stood up. Governor, are you aware of any other such innncident? Has any other captive group been murdered in this manner?

Not that we are aware of, began Goldman, but we are looking into it. For now, we don't know who did this or how it happened.

The room exploded into shouted questions as the Governor stepped from the dais. Ignoring them, he leaned over to one of his aides and spoke into his ear. With a nod, the aide walked back to the Press Pool and walked over to Brian Stallings speaking quietly in his ear. Stallings nodded and followed the aide behind the dais. The noise level dropped significantly as they left the press area. Goldman sat in a wing chair sipping water.

Brian, began Goldman as he stood, how are you?

Good Governor, said Stallings shaking hands. Thank you for asking me to chat with you.

Your question triggered a thought in my mind. Are you aware of any other events such as this?

Stallings and Goldman made a well-matched pair. Each man scrambled up their particular corporate ladder with speed and precision. Each became well respected in their field and headed for future success. Physically, they looked different. Goldman, medium height at five ten. Stallings played football and the build of a linebacker. He maintained his six foot three inch, two hundred pound frame with daily workouts. His blonde hair receded slightly. Stallings's most important and telling feature were his piercing blue eyes. Often called The eyes of the network, he earned a local reputation as a heartthrob. Goldman, on the other hand, was more of a compelling intellectual figure. While handsome, the Governor would never make a Best Looking list.

Actually, no, began Stallings. However, it's a natural question. Mass deaths like this rarely occur in a vacuum.

Interesting, said Goldman. Would you use your sources and contacts to unccover anything like this in the past? Right now we don't know what caused the deaths. The ME is working on the autopsies, and we should know soon. Your question makes me wonder if this is part of a pattern.

Wouldn't a similar event be widely known?

Possibly, replied Goldman, but if it occurred in a remote area or a highly controlled country we might not be aware of it. That's why I'm asking you. For me to make those kinds of wide-ranging inquiries would raise questions and speculation I can't afford to deal with right now.

I'll check my sources. Stallings thought for a second. "You should check with the Feds and the CDC."

Good thought, said Goldman. Thanks for stopping in. I hope you'll call me back to me as quickly as possible.

Count on it Governor. Stallings stood up and shook hands as he left.

Chapter 2

Doris Cavanaugh sighed heavily and brushed the errant hair out of her eyes with her forearm. The bodily fluids of the man on her table coated her hand. Doris worked on Juan Hernandez Gonzales for over an hour and still looked for the smoking gun of his death.

Cavanaugh initially spotted the numerous tattoos on the man's body. He was covered from his bald head to his ankles with gang signs, numbers, Spanish phrases, and pictures. She counted over forty distinct tattoos on the body. She found no apparent connection between the tattoos and his death, and she doubted tattoos would account for the thousands of other deaths. However, she took skin samples from the area surrounding the most recent tattoos and sent them off to the drug analysis lab.

Gonzales' organs appeared mushy, the lungs were clear, the circulatory system unblocked. The second most apparent problem in his body was fatty build up in the liver, possibly as a result of the fatty substances in his prison diets. As she sewed up the Y incision, Cavanaugh still did not know how Gonzales died. Only laboratory analysis might confirm her initial thought of poison. She set the abnormal organs aside for further examination. She felt the organs would yield the answers she sought.

Okay, began Cavanaugh, let's send him to the cooler. He's done for now. She nodded to her assistant who covered the body and transferred it to a gurney. Mr. Gonzales now began a one-way trip both inflexible and terminal. He would reside as a guest of the state in a potter's field for eternity. Or at least until his constituent elements merged with the earth. Cavanaugh often wondered if this was the fate imagined by her patients when they were little, or if their parents imagined such a fate when the wine flowed, and the passions rose. While she doubted it, it remained a central conundrum of her profession and her own introspection.

Dr. Cavanaugh, someone's here to see you. Her assistant stood at the open door.

Who is it? she asked.

Someone named Thomas Craig from the Governor's office.

Doris sighed again. Tell him to take a seat in my office; I'll be in as soon as I clean up.

Ten minutes later she sat behind her desk. What can I do for you, Mr. Craig?

The Governor is anxious to find out what caused this catastrophe. He asked me to come down and talk with you for an update on what you've found. Craig sat calmly in the chair, but Cavanaugh realized he was sweating into his shirt collar. Strange, she thought, what is he worried about?

Well, she began, we can't find anything indicating trauma. I've examined four individuals so far, and my team's examined another twenty. We haven't found any significant traumas, only minor wounds typical of incarcerated prisoners. Leads me to think it is some chemical cause. Usually, that means poison. We won't be sure until the drug analysis lab gets back to us. However, one thing is apparent; the condition of the organs. They've turned to mushy pulp.

What kind of poison would act so quickly and thoroughly with such an effect on the organs?

Any number of agents could kill in this manner. Some show up in an autopsy; others don't. So we need to rely on the toxicologists to point us in the right direction.

How is such a poison being administered? asked Craig. We've seen a lot of deaths in a short period.

Poisons are either topical, applied to the skin, inhaled, injected or ingested, began Cavanaugh. I think we can eliminate the injection or application delivery systems. It would be impossible to hide the fact you are injecting so many people. Someone would notice. Same with the topical application. Smearing something onto the skin in sufficient quantity to cause death would attract attention. So, I figure it's either something airborne or ingested in some manner.

One last question, began Craig, how would someone receive the poison in sufficient quantities to make this happen?

With the Internet available now? scoffed Cavanaugh, anyone with a credit card and a mailing address can buy what they need to be delivered to the front door. The other alternative is for someone to create the poison on their own. Depending on how they got it into the systems it might not take much volume to achieve the desired effect.

How would they go about creating the poison? What should we look for?

Depends, Cavanaugh thought for a moment. On one extreme you could seee a basement lab where a person with the correct knowledge might work. On the other end is a factory setting, either one that's closed down or an active one . Without knowing the poison, I can't point you in a direction. Cavanaugh stood. If that's all, I need to perform about four thousand more autopsies. Cavanaugh and Craig shook hands and left her office in separate directions.

Cavanaugh was in the middle of the next autopsy when her assistant opened the door. Another guy from the Governor's office, boss. Says he needs to talk with you.

Tell Mr. Craig I am tied up at the moment, Cavanaugh said with a peeved note to her voice.

Uh, boss, it's not Craig. This guy says his name is Alex Jones.

Cavanaugh sighed in irritation. Tell him I'll be a while. Put him in my office. She turned back to the task at hand.

Forty-five minutes later she stepped into her office. I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but I didn't expecting another visitor from the Governor's office.

Strange, Dr. Cavanaugh, began Jones. As far as the Governor and I are aware I am the only person assigned to visit you. I checked with Governor Goldman while I wsited and he doesn't know this Craig individual.

Really?! said Cavanaugh, stunned. So who is this Craig guy?

Unknown at the moment. Jones continued, what did he want?

Cavanaugh thought for a moment. He asked questions about what killed the inmates and prisoners, what type of poison, delivery methods and so on.

And what did you tell him? asked Jones.

There's not much to tell. Cavanaugh thought back over the previous conversation. We don't know the agent; we don't understand the delivery systems. All we can tell is it's not as a result of physical trauma. I couldn't tell him much.

Jones and Cavanaugh talked for about an hour rehashing Cavanaugh's conversation with Craig and what results she discovered so far. On the second subject, she couldn't able to add much.

Jones finally stood up. Dr. Cavanaugh, please do not discuss the case with anyone else. He handed her a business card. If anyone else asks questions or inquires about your results please give me a call. I am sure I don't need to tell you to avoid the press and to manage your personnel until we can bring this under control/

Of course, said Cavanaugh.

Cavanaugh traversed the hall again to the Morgue thinking about the two conversations. Someone had an unusual interest in the case. She understood the general interest of the public, and the specific interest of the relatives of the victims. But Craig transcended that level of interest. To walk into the Morgue pretending to be from the Governor's office took guts. This case is weird to begin with, but Cavanaugh never participated in a case where phantom political hacks showed up at her office. As she gloved up her mind raced around the possibilities. Finally, she set it all aside and began to concentrate on the body of Mr. Tyler Andrus. She sighed as she began to count the tattoos and categorize them for the record.

Chapter 3

Craig Beaumont drove Interstate 80 at a sedate, fifty-five miles an hour. He removed the coat and tie and replaced it with a more comfortable jeans and polo shirt outfit he placed in the car. The trip to the morgue went as he expected. It was too soon for the Coroner to identify the poison. He knew it going in. He felt heartened to learn they had no idea who perpetrated the attack or how it was delivered. Craig considered waiting until later to talk with the Coroner, but his anxiety and nervousness led him to approach her sooner than his original plan.

He removed his false mustache and wiped his upper lip with a solvent to remove the glue. His lip stung slightly from the astringent effect. He also removed the wig and ran a comb through his auburn hair. He donned the rudimentary disguise to derail any immediate identification. The disguise went into a bag for later disposal.

The plan worked. He got rid of four thousand vermin. The deaths of the guards bothered him, but he had no sympathy for the inmates who were now taking up space at the morgue. The guards were collateral damage, a term he learned in the Air Force to describe unintended deaths as a result of destroying a target. He became comfortable with the concept flying attacks in Iraq and thought little more of the guards. The plan worked!

Thinking about the deaths of nearly four thousand inmates made him feel giddy. He proved the concept worked and he coould roll it out to the rest of the prisons. Revenge is, in fact, a sweet dish. His exit ramp approached, and he smoothly moved to the right. After a series of turns, he entered a vacant lot where his car sat waiting. Gathering the elements of his disguise, Craig wiped down the interior of the car he'd stolen. He poured the one gallon can of gasoline around the interior of the car, with special emphasis on the bag with the disguise, and set the time delay igniter in a puddle on the floor. Satisfied he'd prepared the car, he raised the windows, locked the doors. Then he entered his own car. Craig pulled away from the vacant lot and re-entered the Interstate. He was miles away when the igniter went off, and the car went up in flames.

Craig drove a little more aggressively in his car. He relaxed as he paced with the traffic. Where to go next? California maintained over thirty prisons, each painfully overcrowded. Craig could choose his targets as he proceeded with the rest of the plan. He would visit all of them, but which one would be next?

He pulled into the parking lot of the McMillan IT Services offices. Parking in his reserved space, he carefully locked the car doors and walked through the front doors.

Hi Craig! said Janelle Dewalt

Good morning Janelle, he replied, how are you this morning?

Fine, thanks. Here are your calls, and Mary wants to see you when you come in. Janelle handed him some pink message slips.

Thanks. Any idea what Mary wants?

I think the USI order came in. She seemed pretty happy. Janelle acted as the office information hub in her role as the receptionist and administrative assistant to Mary Reading.

Mary Reading was a bit of a legend in a business where innovation is considered routine. She left the Army after a tour in Iraq. She earned Bachelors at the University of Minnesota using her GI Bill benefits, As part of her Marketing class, she developed a business plan for an 8(A) company servicing the federal government.

An 8(A) company is a category of business allowed to compete for government contracts with a built-in advantage. Congress decided women, minorities, and other disadvantaged categories could compete for business specifically set aside for them, or with an advantage on general contracts. Business for McMillan lagged at first. Only when the second Gulf War started did the business take off. McMillan had a small contract at the time with the US Army. When the war broke out, the Army scrambled to find contracting vehicles to provide basics such as food, fuel, and medicine to the troops in the field. In situations such as this, the contracting officers would use existing contracts, modified to their new needs, rather than go through the process of creating new contracts.

Creating a new contract vehicle could take years. First, the money needed to be available, usually in a budget. The contracting office would need to issue a notification, called an RFI, that the agency wanted a new contract. Next came a review of the needs with vendors, and then would come a written request for bids on the contract. The contract award is made, and any protests evaluated. Finally, the contract could be used for the purposes intended. At any point during the process, the contract can be held up or canceled. As a result, generating a new contract can take years. It worked better and easier for an existing contract to be modified than a new one created when the need is immediate.

The first small contract with the Army blossomed into a multi-year, multi-million dollar contract. The company grew almost overnight from a few IT workers to hundreds of diverse employees. With the economic base provided by the Army contract, Mary