-Caveat Lector- An excerpt from: Loud and Clear Lake Headly and William Hoffman�1990 Henry Holt and Company 115 W. 18th St. New York, NY 10011 ISBN 0-8050-1138-2 272 pps � out-of-print/one edition --[6]-- 6. "My People Don't Give Immunity" LAREDO, TEXAS. DECEMBER 8 I sat in the county jail making small talk with a Texas Ranger until guards brought James McVay to the visiting room. The trip to this Texas town of eighty thousand (considered "expenses," not paid for by the committee) constituted a shot in the dark. I'd obtained McVay's name from the first meeting with Jonathan Marshall, who'd done some reading of police reports himself. McVay had been a trusty at the Maricopa County jail during the six-plus months between Adamson's arrest and confession. His assignment�pushing the feeding cart�guaranteed daily contact with Adamson, who only infrequently left his isolation cell for exercise and court appearances. Adamson, uptight and paranoid during those six months (to save his skin he needed to hone a convincing story without telling the truth), early on struck up the only friendship he made at the Maricopa facility: McVay. McVay became the one person Adamson allowed to bring his meals; he refused to eat if another trusty served the food. To humor the murderer, jailers acquiesced, hoping for a confession and naming of accomplices. It seemed instructive that the accuser of Dunlap and Robison feared being poisoned or otherwise killed by every individual, except James McVay, with whom direct contact might be required. McVay, in the mode of all snitches, capitalized on Adamson's trust to relay the information he received to the police. Adamson told McVay he had been offered a reduced sentence, intended to grab it, but found himself in a quandary because, to receive immunity, he needed to name his accomplices. "I don't see a problem, John," McVay responded. "Take the immunity and give them your accomplices." "You don't understand," Adamson replied. "I can't do that. My people don't give immunity." What "people don't give immunity?" Dunlap, Robison, and Marley? Or the Mafia? I didn't trust the police to include everything McVay told them in the report, and thus the trip to Laredo. Helpful to Dunlap and Robison as I believed the "My people don't give immunity" crack to be, there might be more. Tracking McVay down had finally required another favor from my Los Angeles police officer friend with access to the computer. After release from the Maricopa County jail, McVay journeyed to Ohio and got busted for burglary. He escaped from custody and was picked up as a fugitive in Laredo, where he awaited extradition. "James," I said to McVay as we sat alone in the visitor's room, "I've come here from Phoenix to talk to you about John Adamson." "You working for Dunlap and Robison, the two guys convicted for offing that reporter?" "Yes. And the deeper I dig, the less sure I am of their guilt." "Well, I'll tell you anything I know. I should be able to help. I have a large personal interest in this." McVay seemed nervous; his eyes darted about to detect listeners. "What personal interest?" "Jon Sellers tried to kill me, you know." No, I didn't know. "It was here in Laredo." " Why would Sellers want to kill you?" "What else? The information Adamson gave me about the Bolles murder. There had to be big powerful names involved in that." "What happened with Sellers?" "He tried to shoot me a couple weeks ago. I was coming out of a liquor store and saw him standing by a parked car." "Did you talk to him?" "Fuck, no. I was a fugitive. I'm not talking to no cop who knows me. I made a left turn, started to walk away, like I hadn't seen him, and he yelled, 'McVay! Freeze!' "You sure it was Sellers?" "I saw Sellers's mug almost every day for six months, all the times he came to visit Adamson. Fuck yes, it was Sellers. When he yelled 'Freeze!' I started running, and I heard a gunshot. I glanced over my shoulder and saw him stretching across the hood of the car holding his pistol in both hands. I really started haulin' tall out of there. I heard another shot, ducked into an alley, up a fire escape, and onto the roof of a building. I got away from him, but Jesus, he really wanted my ass." "What did you do then?" "I went to my hotel room, picked up the few things I own, and moved." "Why didn't you leave town?" "Not enough money. I called my mother in Ohio to wire bread so I could get away from that crazy son of a bitch. I was busted picking it up at Western Union." "Who busted you?" "The Rangers." "How do you think they found you?" "Sellers, I guess. Maybe he had a flag on me at Western Union. How did you find me?" "A records check through Los Angeles." I finally brought the conversation with the frightened convict around to his relationship with Adamson during the months in the Maricopa County jail. To the "My people don't give immunity" line, McVay added that Adamson said he intended to "frame Dunlap" as part of a scenario "his people" found acceptable. "He said 'frame Dunlap'?" "Yes." "Did he mention Jim Robison?" "No. I didn't hear anything about Robison." I found it interesting that Roberts's theory, printed in the Arizona Republic, hadn't mentioned Robison's name. "Will you take a polygraph regarding what you told me?" I asked. "Absolutely." But McVay didn't, though I never stopped pushing for it, and he remained willing, even eager. The reason: he was always in custody, and the needed permission couldn't be obtained from authorities. Still, I hadn't seen the last of James McVay. Confronted with McVay's accusation that Sellers tried to kill him, the detective replied, "If I'd shot at James McVay, I'd have hit James McVay." pps. 67-70 --[cont]-- Aloha, He'Ping, Om, Shalom, Salaam. Em Hotep, Peace Be, Omnia Bona Bonis, All My Relations. Adieu, Adios, Aloha. Amen. 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