The Last Victim_ A True-Life Journey Into the Mind of the Serial Killer - Jason Moss [75]
“Don’t worry,” Ken tried to reassure me. “They’re staring because you’re so young. For entertainment in the mornings they all sit there and talk about the visitors. Just ignore them.”
During breakfast he told me what to expect going into Death Row for the first time. He said I should leave all of my jewelry in the motel room because it wasn’t allowed, and that I should try not to wear anything with metal on it, including jeans with zippers, because the metal would make the machine go off.
“This has been so stressful on the family,” he said, abruptly changing the subject. “Having a relative on Death Row isn’t easy. It takes a toll on all of us.”
“Yeah, I can imagine it’s tough on you at times.”
“You don’t know the half of it, Jason. I mean, John isn’t exactly easy to get along with. He’s always asking me to do stuff and he gets kinda moody at times.”
I felt sorry for the guy. He seemed to have devoted his whole life to taking care of Gacy, a man who had no respect for him and showed little appreciation for his efforts.
We finished our breakfast under the careful scrutiny of the old men and then headed for the prison. Finally, I’d have some answers to my questions, though not the ones I was prepared to ask.
34
Long Walk
From a distance, the prison looked like a medieval castle. Built in 1878, Menard Correctional Center is the largest maximum security facility in the state of Illinois. It houses mostly long-term prisoners serving sentences of twenty years or more. But it also counts among its residents those inmates who’re considered especially violent and uncooperative.
As we approached the gates, I spied one very large red brick building that I later learned housed the general population. The building looked quite old. Massive fences surrounded the entire facility, fanning outward in layers. About twenty fortified guard towers added to the feeling of impregnability.
“There it is,” Ken said as he pointed to a building in the distance. “That’s where they keep the most dangerous ones.”
I strained my neck to catch a glimpse of Death Row over the barbed-wire fence. All I could see was the edge of a quite ordinary-looking building, as old and worn as all the rest. The building that houses Death Row sits high on a hill overlooking the Mississippi River as it winds its way through Illinois on its way to the Gulf of Mexico. Although the state doesn’t actually execute people at this facility, it does keep them in storage here until they’re called elsewhere.
“Well, time for you to go,” Ken said in his usual cheerful voice. Bless his heart, though. He could tell how nervous I was.
“So you’ll be coming to get me when?” I asked. I wanted to make sure I had all the details clear in my head.
He took me through the plan for the fourth time. Everything would be taken care of. All I had to do now was walk through the gate.
I approached the entrance slowly, shifting my gaze from left to right as if I were afraid someone was about to pounce. A guard buzzed me through and then proceeded to X-ray me. He removed all my personal possessions and gave me a bunch of forms to sign. In essence, the paperwork absolved the prison of responsibility for anything that might happen.
“Two forms of identification, please,” the guard said, eyeballing me as if I’d just committed murder myself.
I handed him my driver’s license and Social Security card. “Why do you guys need all this information?” I asked, genuinely curious. “Do you get a lot of visitors here?”
The man just sat silently behind the counter, writing down all the information that appeared on my IDs. Not one for small talk, I concluded.
“Have you been to the prison before?” he finally asked in a bored voice.
“No, this is my first time,” I said brightly. I added, “I’m doing a project for school.” I wanted him to know that I wasn’t related to any of the inmates.
He looked