Vail tried to reach forward, but her arm was stuck. She maneuvered her torso, twisted and pushed with her legs against something and got her right arm free. Extending her hand as far as it would go, she grabbed hold of Friedberg’s shirt and yanked hard. His torso jolted forward and his head fell against her hand. She twisted her body in the opposite direction and freed her other arm, but her neck and shoulders began burning. You can do this Karen. Pull-
She tightened her left fist against Friedberg’s other collar and yanked. Once, twice, and again-and his torso tilted forward against her forearms. Sweat rolled down her scalp, then into her eyes. She blinked it away and tugged again, and his body moved. It was now as far forward as she could get him, lined up with the opening. All she had to do now was lift him up. Piece of cake. If I was Roxxann.
She twisted right as far as she could and yelled for Haywood to give her the hook. Almost instantly, she felt the cold metal strike her palm. She pulled the loose wire and struggled to wrap it around Friedberg’s torso, beneath his arm pits, then snapped the carabiner closed around itself.
“Turn it on! Slowly-” Vail assumed Haywood heard her, but she couldn’t be sure until she heard the winch start up and felt the wire pull taut. “Hold it… Just a sec-”
She maneuvered herself up out of the pit, then yanked and turned Friedberg’s shoulders as best she could so they would clear the adjacent rail and asphalt wall. “Go!”
The winch whined and the thick cable jerked to life. Jesus Christ-
As Friedberg’s body lifted out of the pit, his leg scraped against the stranded cable. It ripped off a section of his pants, but his hips were free and seconds later they cleared street level.
Vail yelled for Haywood to cut the engine. “And call an ambulance!”
She unhooked the carabiner, then gently lowered Friedberg’s torso and head to the pavement. She grabbed his legs and pulled them out of the pit, one by one, then felt for a pulse.
Fast and thready, skin cool and clammy. Shock. But he’s alive.
Just then, the cable ground to a halt. But Vail was too busy to care. There was blood-slathered over her hand and jeans.
Had she cut herself? No. She scanned Friedberg’s body-and found his right pant leg soaked. She yanked off her narrow leather belt and tightened it around his upper thigh. She then lifted both legs.
“Hold them up,” she yelled to Haywood.
“Got the cable stopped,” he said, closing his cell phone. “Didn’t think I could.” He took Friedberg’s legs from Vail, then said, “Ain’t you gonna thank me?”
Vail moved between Friedberg’s legs and laid on top of him-to passersby, it would be misconstrued as an explicit sexual act. But so be it. She needed to keep him warm until the ambulance arrived.
Vail laid there, body drenched in sweat, her heart pounding in her ears.
Cursing the Bay Killer.
66
February 1, 1963
Alcatraz
MacNally sat in solitary confinement-D-Block, the Hole, Seg, the Treatment Unit…whatever they chose to call it-and wept. He had much time to consider his actions, his choices, his life. During the past two weeks, after being returned to the cellhouse, he had come to realize that it was highly unlikely that he would ever see Henry again.
It was a painful thought, as painful as the intense headaches he had been having on a near-daily basis. He wondered if Henry had gotten the letter that he had given Ralph Finelli to mail.
He hoped he never saw Finelli again, because if he did, he wasn’t sure he would be able to contain the welling anger he felt toward him. Not only had he violated his confidence in reading his letter, but he had apparently told prison officials about his plans to escape.
There would be a trial, he was told, when he was medically cleared to participate. He had met with a defense attorney, who told him that the evidence against him was inconclusive at best. It appeared that his accomplice, Reece Shoemacher, had murdered Officer Taylor, and that comported with the statement that MacNally had given while in the hospital.
Nevertheless, charges were brought, including conspiracy, assault, and escape. These were likely to result in added years to his sentence. How much remained to be determined.
In the meantime, prison officials had sentenced him to five years in solitary. He was unsure what that really meant, because he had heard a rumor from another inmate in the hospital that Alcatraz was due to close soon. That meant he would be transferred to a penitentiary somewhere else in the country. If true, he would welcome the opportunity to get as far away from this place as possible.
As he sat on the cold metal floor in D-Block’s steel-encased Strip Cell-the mattress was removed in the morning and returned in the evening-he was alone with these thoughts, which were as dark as the cell. He was only supposed to be here for forty-eight hours, but as the days mounted, MacNally asked the lieutenant for permission to move into one of the regular cells in the Hole. He had yet to receive an answer, nor was he surprised. At best, he was involved in the murder of one of their men, and at worst he had committed the act himself. He did not expect to be treated well, let alone fairly.
The clanking of the solid metal D-Block entrance gate grabbed his attention. Even locked away behind a steel door, he could hear that someone had entered the area. A moment later, rusted metal hinges creaked and a slice of light cut into his room. He swung a hand up to his face to block the blinding glare. After spending days in the dark, normal light stung as painfully as if he’d looked directly into the sun.
A man blocked the entrance and MacNally lowered his arm. No, two men. William Anderson, captain of the guards, and an officer MacNally knew from his time in Industries: Carson Eldridge, who was holding what looked like a letter.
Anderson reached for the envelope, but Eldridge moved it out of his reach. “All I’m saying is, let me give it to him.”
“Stay out of this,” Anderson said. “That’s an order.”
Eldridge’s shoulders slumped and he handed the document to Anderson, who snatched it away.
Anderson flicked his wrist and tossed it into the cell, several feet from where MacNally was seated. “Happy reading, asshole.” He started to close the steel door, but Eldridge caught it before it shut.
“Lock it up,” Anderson said, then walked off, his shoes squeaking against the slick, polished concrete floor.
Eldridge kept the door open an inch, then looked over his shoulder in the direction of his retreating boss. Through the slit, he said, “I’m sorry, MacNally. I didn’t think it was right for you to find out this way.”
“Find out what?” MacNally pushed himself off the cold floor and walked toward the envelope. As he bent down, he looked at Eldridge for an answer, but the officer was not offering any further information. “Can you turn the light on?”
“You know I can’t do that.”
“But I can’t see anything,” MacNally said as he tore open the flap. “At least tell me what’s inside.”