204 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Hands Through Stone , livre ebook

Linden Publishing - James Ardaiz

Découvre YouScribe en t'inscrivant gratuitement

Je m'inscris

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

204 pages

English

Vous pourrez modifier la taille du texte de cet ouvrage

Obtenez un accès à la bibliothèque pour le consulter en ligne
En savoir plus

A propos
Informations
Extrait

Description

This fascinating and gripping portrayal is the only book-length account ever written about the illicit career of Clarence Ray Allen, one of the most sinister criminal masterminds and mass murderers in American history. Even hardened detectives were shaken by the scene at Fran's Market in rural Fresno County that night in 1980: four young people lay on the market's concrete floor, bloodily murdered by a killer without mercy or remorse. Then a grim investigation became even grimmer when the evidence led to the prime suspect--a convicted murderer already behind the stone walls of Folsom. A true crime story that reads like an intricately woven mystery, the book depicts the chilling scenes of murder, a dogged investigation, and the true story behind the Fran's Market murders and their psychopathic mastermind. Written by former prosecutor James Ardaiz, who was one of the first investigators on the scene at Fran's Market, ""Hands Through Stone"" provides an insider's view of the tortuous, multiyear investigation that brought a killer to justice.

Informations

Publié par	Linden Publishing
Date de parution	28 novembre 2012
Nombre de lectures	1
EAN13	9781610351409
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0500€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

H ANDS T HROUGH S TONE

How Clarence Ray Allen Masterminded Murder from Behind Folsom’s Prison Walls

James A. Ardaiz

Fresno, California
Hands Through Stone
Copyright © 2012 by James A. Ardaiz. All rights reserved.

Published by Craven Street Books
An imprint of Linden Publishing
2006 South Mary Street, Fresno, California 93721
(559) 233-6633 / (800) 345-4447
CravenStreetBooks.com

Craven Street Books and Colophon are trademarks of
Linden Publishing, Inc.
Cover image © Benjamin Howell

ISBN 978-1-61035-140-9

135798642

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Ardaiz, James A.

Hands through stone : how Clarence Ray Allen masterminded murder from behind Folsom’s prison walls / James A. Ardaiz.

p. cm.

Includes index.

ISBN 978-1-61035-129-4 (cloth : alk. paper)

1. Allen, Clarence Ray, 1930-2006. 2. Murder--California--Fresno--Case studies. 3. Murderers--California--Fresno--Case studies. 4. Prisoners--California--Folsom--Case studies. I. Title.

HV6534.F74A74 2012

364.152’3092--dc23

2012035019
Dedication

T his book is dedicated to the men and women who wear law enforcement badges. They place themselves between us and those that would hurt us. They do this every day and they keep doing it until they finish the job they have been given. The officers depicted in this book are real people, but they represent all of those men and women: Willie "Bill" Martin, Art Christenson, Tom Lean, Ernie Duran, Harry Massucco, Ken Badiali. Each of them saw their job through to the end, and that end came long after they had retired. They stood their watch. I am proud to count them among my friends. And to my friend and investigator, Bill Martin, when the final moments closed in this case we all drank a toast to you. You were there in spirit and you will always be there in our hearts.
I would also like to acknowledge the courage of a young man who has borne the scars of a crime victim from youth to middle age. Joe Rios survived this crime by the grace of God and his own quick thinking. He stood his ground as a witness, as did others who gave their lives because they were witnesses. He was a hero and he stood up in court for his friends. And so did Jack Abbott, whose courage helped us track down a killer.
I would also like to dedicate this book to citizens who walk into court every day, raise their right hands, and swear to tell the truth. Seldom have witnesses who performed this duty paid with their lives. Bryon Schletewitz did, and he deserves to be remembered for doing his duty as a citizen.
Finally, I would like to dedicate this book to the district attorneys and attorneys general who bring these cases to trial and sometimes, as in this case, spend their entire careers to help give justice to those who have been victimized, like Ray and Fran Schletewitz. Ray and Fran didn’t see justice in their lifetimes for the crimes against their family, but I think they knew that others would make sure that justice was delivered. I would like to think that they knew I kept my word. I tried to see it through to the end. That is what this book is about.
Acknowledgments

I would like to thank the many men and women in law enforcement who assisted me in ensuring the accuracy of this book. I would also like to thank my editor, Barbara Gordon, for helping me make this a better book and my agent, Andrée Abecassis of the Ann Elmo Literary Agency, for encouraging me when I needed encouragement.
To my friends who read this book and not only offered their insight, but also stayed my friends when I asked them to read it again and again, I thank you. Justice Betty Ann Richli, Nic and Nancy Boghosian, Tom Lean, Art Christenson, thank you.
And most of all, thank you, Pam, my wife, for putting up with me writing things down at all hours of the night. Thank you for constantly encouraging me to keep at it. When I first ran for office you pulled our kids along in a little red wagon, going door to door to tell voters about me. No matter how long I live I will always think of you pulling that wagon and I will know that, as with almost everything in our lives, you did it for love of me. There is no greater gift.
Contents

Prologue

PART I: MEMORIES PAST

Chapter 1: Murder at Fran’s Market

Chapter 2: "We have a triple …"

Chapter 3: A Cop’s Worst Nightmare

PART II: A MOTHER’S VENGEANCE

Chapter 4: A Gun Definitely Gets Your Attention

Chapter 5: Never Piss Off a Mother

Chapter 6: Even Criminals Have Standards

Chapter 7: You Don’t Break a Horse in One Ride

Chapter 8: Follow the Money

Chapter 9: "The toughest part of a cop’s job …"

Chapter 10: What Happened to Mary Sue?

Chapter 11: A Robbery at Kmart

Chapter 12: Kmart Robbery Aftermath

Chapter 13: Fear Has Its Own Smell

Chapter 14: Like the Scales of a Snake

Chapter 15: The Weakest Link

Chapter 16: "We rob and steal and those who squeal …"

Chapter 17: "If I was guaranteed protection …"

Chapter 18: "He is capable of anything"

Chapter 19: A Gravestone for Mary Sue

Chapter 20: A Lethal Vote

Chapter 21: A Picture Is Worth a Thousand Words

Chapter 22: "Ready for the People"

Chapter 23: "We the jury …"

PART III: A WHISPERING VOICE

Chapter 24: "A gnawing coldness …"

Chapter 25: "Body otherwise unremarkable …"

Chapter 26: "The second son …"

Chapter 27: Murder Doesn’t Always Make Sense

Chapter 28: No Promises

Chapter 29: Puppet Master

Chapter 30: We Had to Get the Shooter

Chapter 31: The Folsom Connection

Chapter 32: Blood Turns to Ice

Chapter 33: "One of my dogs will do it …"

Chapter 34: The End of the Slow Dance

PART IV: RETRIBUTION

Chapter 35: The Tentacles of the Past

Chapter 36: The Time of Retribution

Epilogue

Principal Characters

Timeline

Index
Author’s Note

T his is a true story. The characters are real. The names are real. The events are real. It is not a figment of my or any other’s imagination. It is written from the viewpoint of a person who has been a prosecutor, a trial judge, and an appellate judge over the span of thirty-three years. This case and its participants traveled through almost all of those years. I have written about the effect of that journey on me and many others. It is written from the perspective of one who was there and saw it all.
Prologue

July, 1974
Fresno County, California

T he great San Joaquin Valley of California spreads itself out into foothills that rise against its edge. In the heat of summer, the foothills glow golden by day, and by night they shine silver on spring grass dried by the sun. The yellowed blades sway in the summer breeze, their swishing music lost by day to the sounds of birds, rustling leaves, and man’s traffic. It is by night that the symphony of the grass plays out to those who listen as the air moves gently. But on some nights the air lies still. On those nights, there is only silence. On those nights, the only sound is made by the hunters of the darkness.
On that summer night, the air of the great valley barely moved the high grass, which had been dried by the searing daytime heat to the brittleness of straw. A rabbit sat quietly in its burrowed-out hole, waiting to move for forage. The slightest movement would bring the rustle of the grass, breaking the silence, and with it a signal to the predators the rabbit knew were waiting.
The sound of tires on gravel brought the rabbit and nighttime predators to a frozen silence. Even feral minds knew enough to hide themselves from foreign sounds sounds that might mean death even to those who were accustomed to being the hunter. It was the law of survival. Sometimes the hunter could become the hunted. Eyes meant for the night watched and waited.
The silver moonlight danced off the car as it rolled to a stop at the side of the Piedra Bridge, twenty miles outside of the city of Fresno. The two men’s faces were alternately cast blue by the moonlight and black by the shadows as they got out of the vehicle and moved to the truck bed. They pulled at the limp heaviness of the bundled form rendered shapeless by the blankets which wrapped it. Stepping stones wired tightly around the form added to their burden. Grunting at the weight, the men carried the bundle to the edge of the bridge, balancing it on the retaining wall as they looked down at the canal. The water below ran deep and black, sliding along cement banks slick with moss, shimmering as its ripples caught the thin light.
"Push her over, goddamnit. Let’s get this over with. We got to get back to the old man."
The other man didn’t respond. He slid his end, the feet, over the cement wall of the bridge and let gravity do the rest. They both watched as the body slipped through the air. There was no scream. There was no sound left to be made except the splash of rushing water as it parted and accepted her into its cold embrace.
The men watched for a moment, waiting to see if she might surface. The swirls left by her last journey closed over her. The water resumed its course into the night, now with one more thing to pull along in its current and dissolve into the flotsam carried by its rushing mass.

The sound of tires on gravel receded into the darkness. The night hunters waited silently for the rustle of