House of Secrets (32 page)

Then they went to Eddie Jr.‘s house. “My old man had me against Eddie Bug so bad. I walked up with the nine millimeter stuffed in my pants, knocking on his door, my hand behind my back. And if he would have come to the door I would have just blown him away. I’m glad he wasn’t there. My dad had me against my own blood.” Christmas came in Little Manatee Park, Pixie Good continuing to renew the camp permit. Packed away in the camper were family snapshots of holidays past, Christmas trees, and gifts being handed out to the youngest kids. When a child turned 13 in the Sexton family, he was taken off Santa’s list. Now, nobody had a stocking. Money remained short, though Pixie was collecting food stamps and Sherri welfare. There was no special Christmas meal or picnic. On Christmas, the Florida sky pelted the Challenger, virtually alone in the campground, with a half inch of rain. Soon more winter campers and seniors would arrive. Rangers wouldn’t be granting extensions so readily. They had already been at Campsite Number 18 six weeks. Eddie Sexton said, “We’ve been in one place too long.” They were sitting outside by the Challenger one day, watching new campers roll into the park, Sexton, Willie, and Pixie. An unfamiliar motor home glided by on the camp road. It was a shiny, long Winnebago pulling a Bronco II, a lone man at the wheel. Willie asked, “Did you see that camper?”

“Yeah,” Eddie Lee Sexton said, his eyes following it around the bend.

It was the New Year, 1994. Soon, they would have new names. Wise.

Willie Wise. Pixie Wise. Ed Wise, the Indian author, thought it was time for a new plan, as well. He drove into Little Manatee State Recreation Area on New Year’s Eve, but had to wait in the campground’s holding area, then a small campsite, until rangers found a better campsite for his 33-foot Winnebago. Raymond Hesser had the Cadillac of motor homes, a bachelor’s degree in natural science, a specially equipped Bronco II, and a post office box in Sarasota where he got his mail. He had a three-wheeled electric scooter to get around on, profits from a motor home parts business, and friends all over the United States. What he didn’t have was a good set of legs or hands.

Hesser suffered from Friedreich’s ataxia, a disease that caused loss of balance and coordination. But he had no trouble driving, or handling the big Winnebago. And as long as he could make friends in campgrounds, he was going to see these United States. He followed the weather, attending camping conventions and staying in parks throughout the north and south, venturing into Mexico as well. It was no easy procedure leveling out the motor home from a scooter, or unhitching the Bronco II, something most campers did in minutes. That could take him a couple of hours, but it hadn’t deterred him. Hesser had been on the road for six years, living a fuller life than many of the perfectly fit. He was sitting on his scooter at the back of Campsite Number 27

when he first saw the bearded man and his wife, walking hand in hand.

The man looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. The next day, the couple passed again, this time a young girl riding along next to them on a bike. The following day, there was a third pass. “I’m Ed Wise,” the man said. “And this is my wife.” The wife didn’t say a word, but Ed Wise struck up a pleasant chat, a chat with a few questions. Hesser answered, no, he didn’t have a wife. That’s right.

He traveled alone. Ed Wise wanted to know why he was on the scooter.

“It’s called Friedreich’s ataxia,” Hessler said, adding an explanation of the symptoms. “That’s good you can get around that way,”

Ed Wise said. Wise told him he had MS. He said he was an Indian, some obscure tribe. He also said he was blind in one eye. The next day Ed showed up again. The hydraulic pump in his motor home was out, Hesser complained to his morning visitor. The pump helped level the motor home. He was going to fix it himselfœ He had to crawl underneath the Winnebago to get it out. How do you do that, Wise asked, with your disease and all. “It’s not that my legs are weak,” Hesser explained.

“I’ve just lost balance and coordination in them.” Wise wondered about his arms. Same, he said. “That’s good for you that you can get around and do that stuff,” Wise said. “You travel a lot?”

“Well, my motor home is my home,” Hesser said. “You on disability?”

Hesser nodded. “Me, toowise said. “But I’m having a problem getting my checks. “

Hesser told him that his were wired directly to his account. The next day, Hesser was underneath the Winnebago when Wise stopped by again, wondering if the repair was going okay. “Everything’s fine,” Hesser said. Hesser had just taken apart the motor and cleaned it when the young man who introduced himself as Willie Wise showed up at his campsite. “You know my father,” he said. “He told me you were working on your motor.” Hesser said he still had to test it. Willie had an idea. They had a battery charger down at their campsite. They could test it with that. That would save a lot of time and energy, Hesser thought. They went to Campsite Number 18. It was just around the bend, on the opposite side of the camp road. As they tested the motor, Hesser met the boy named Skip and chattered more with the old man.

They talked about towing vehicles behind motor homes. Wise said he put some 48,000 miles on his car. He was an author, and he had to drive back frequently to see his publisher in Ohio. Ed Wise asked him about his motor home registration, saying he’d been having trouble registering his Challenger in Florida. The state wanted several hundred dollars. As far as Hesser knew, it was about $50. “That doesn’t seem right,” Hesser said. Willie followed him back to the campsite, offering to put the motor back in his motor home. It took him only a couple of minutes, the young man very handy with tools. But the motor also had a broken solenoid. Hesser had broken the part taking it out. “Well, let’s go get it,” Willie said. It’s Sunday, Hesser reminded him. Auto parts stores were closed. Willie said he and his father were going to Ohio, but would be back on Wednesday.

“I’ll go with you when I get back,” he said. Willie left, but returned later that day. His father wanted him to take a look at his motor home title, he said. He was still curious about the registration fee.

Hesser showed him his registration. “I need to see the title,” Willie said. Hesser told him the title was in a safety deposit box in Sarasota. He lied. Ed Wise seemed to be awfully curious about the 1988

Winnebago. How much he paid for it, its estimated value now. His better judgement told him to keep the title to himself. On Wednesday, Willie was back, and the boy named Skip. They drove toward Ruskin, but found the solenoid at a K-Mart along the way. Willie saw a repaired heater core on the floor of the Bronco. When they returned to the campsite, he designed a new mount for the part. He put in the heater core in the Bronco, too. It saved Hesser days of work. The kid was a whiz with tools, Hesser thought. He spoke with a slight speech impediment. Willie told him it came from a head injury he got as a kid. They talked about camping, the states Hesser visited. During one conversation he mentioned to Willie that he was sick of traveling alone. He was looking for a female companion to join him on the road.

That week, Hesser was getting ready to drive into town to buy a new bolt for one of his crutches. He also planned to stop at a couple of nearby banks. Willie showed up at his campsite, wanting to go. At first, Hesser tried to dissuade him. He didn’t want a relative stranger to see him doing his banking. “I thought I was your friend,”

Willie said. Hesser felt sorry for him. He not only took Willie, but brother Skip. When it began pouring rain outside the hardware store, he was glad they came along. He would have been soaked trying to get the scooter out of the car. On the road, Skip made a couple of comments about the can of pepper spray he kept in his console. But in all his years on the road, Hesser had never had any trouble. People were helpful everywhere he went. He made the deposits at drive-in windows. Cash sealed in envelopes with deposit slips. That evening, Willie showed up at his motor home again. He said he had somebody outside he wanted Raymond Hesser to meet. “Now don’t be shy,” he told Hesser. The young woman was wearing pants and a knit top. Willie introduced her as his sister. “This is Pixie,” he said, his eyes twinkling. There was no doubt about it, Raymond Hesser would later decide. Willie Wise was playing matchmaker, trying to set them up.

Steve Ready was losing hope they’d ever find them. In December, another call had come into FBI agent Randy Howell from May Sexton. She and her husband were surrendering, she said. They’d even set a date, December 21, at 11 p. m.

at the FBI office in Canton. Ready waited at the office. He was in another room when Howell walked in at 11:20. May had just called, he said. She claimed they’d run into bad weather. “She’s full of shit,”

Ready said. The weather bureau showed it clear up and down I-75.

Steve Ready also took a call from Tuck Carson. The Sextons had stolen his car, he said. They’d promised to make payments, but just found out payments were three months overdue. Yes, they’d been at their home in Indiana in early 1993, he said. By all appearances, the Carsons had stonewalled Clark County cops, he thought. Now they wanted his help.

They spit on you, Ready thought, until they need a cop. Ready wrote down the details on the Nissan, then told Carson to file a stolen car report, and hung up. On January 13, Ready was slugging through more reports at his cubicle in the Renkert Building when his beeper went off. He called headquarters. Sheriff Bruce Umpleby had made the page.

“These Sextons called again,” the sheriff said. Orville and Sarah Sexton. “Could you please talk to them for me, Steve.” Shit, Ready thought. What now? The Orville Sexton who answered the phone was as friendly as a long-lost brother. “Steve, how ya doin’?” he drawled.

“How’s Sarah feeling these days, Orville?” Ready asked. “You know, Steve, I forgot to tell you the day you was here. Eddie did make two phone calls.”

“He did?”

“Yeah, they were long distance. I got my phone bill right here.” As he sped over to the house, Ready couldn’t remember if he’d even bothered to hang up the phone. The bill soon in his hands, he looked at the two phone numbers. One he recognized as Dave Sexton’s. The other, in the same area code, didn’t look familiar. The detective phoned the number in to Randy Howell at the FBI.

Howell didn’t get back to him until the next afternoon. He said the bureau’s Tampa office had traced the number. A state park called Little Manatee, he said. Howell told Ready agents had already visited the park. “The motor home is there, Steve,” Howell said. “They doing it?” Ready asked. “No, they’re going to wait until tomorrow.” Ready pulled the phone back, looking at it a moment. “Randy,” he said. “If these people leave, it’s my ass.” Eddie Lee Sexton told the entire family his plan as the sun burned through the treetops early in the morning of January 14. They were all sitting in the cramped Challenger.

Today was the day, he said. Today, they were going to “pull it down.”

The patriarch had been discussing Hesser for days with Eddie, Willie, Pixie, and Skipper. “I’m going to become a good friend with Ray,” he said at first. Then he dispatched Willie, Skipper, and Pixie to find out everything they could about the handicapped camper, telling Pixie to “be friendly” with the man and learn everything she could about his family and his bank account. The brothers reported Hesser making the deposits, saying they’d seen $5,000 in cash. There was a safe in the back of the Winnebago, Skipper said. Eddie Lee Sexton wanted his motor home, his money, and his very identity. He’d take some of Hesser’s IDs and apply for a lost driver’s license. Then they would be on their way. The old man laid it out. Skipper would hide the Challenger while Willie and Pixie would go somewhere with Ray. When Ray returned, Willie would take him down. Skipper would tie him up with tape. They’d drive off with the Winnebago and transfer their belongings from the Challenger. Ray would be ordered at gunpoint to write checks to Willie, Pixie, Skipper, and Sherri. Tap all his money.

If he cooperated, they’d keep him alive on the road with them. If he didn’t, Willie and Skipper would kill him. Willie would be rewarded for his work, the patriarch said. After it went down, the Bronco II was his. “What happened when the checks and money ran out,” someone would later ask Skipper. “You know, we never thought of that,” he said.

Sexton showed his sons how to tie Hesser up with tape, around the wrists, then a strip across the mouth. They practiced on each other and Christopher, but the father decided the tape didn’t hold as well as he liked. “We need handcuffs,” Sexton said. He sent Willie to buy them.

When he returned with a set, he berated his son for the price he’d paid. “They were the only ones there,” Willie said. Now, on the 14th day of January, they were all gathered together. Sexton told the family to get their clothes and personal affects together. Pack up the campsite. They were going to move the camper. Today, they were going to kidnap Ray Hesser, get his money. But they weren’t taking him along. The patriarch said he was going to shoot him. “We’re going to pull it down,” he said. “Today, I’m going to take Ray out.” By that morning, park ranger Yale Hubbard couldn’t believe the operation the FBI was mounting. They’d moved in a camper and a truck into campsites kitty-cornered from the Sextons’, agents seeing the great outdoors undercover. They had an airplane doing periodic flyovers. They’d parked a surveillance van up the road. Two of the Sexton boys approached it, trying the door handles, but it was locked. The FBI men had sworn Hubbard to secrecy, then asked him to find ways to move campers away from the Challenger. They needed a buffer zone for a SWAT

team. They didn’t want innocent campers in the line of fire. They were hoping they could arrest the Sextons away from the campground. If only the couple would take a drive and leave the teenagers behind.

What the FBI didn’t tell Hubbard was they’d interviewed Tuck Carson.