Wednesday Afternoon, September 3rd, 2014
I requested a subpoena for the cell records for Stanley Chappell Jr. and a search warrant for his place. I got the warrant; getting the cell records would take a little longer.
Like Dana had done with her men watching Heath Chappell’s operation just a few months before, I had Stan Junior’s house in the Chappell enclave being watched from a tree line across distant fields. I also had Will Craycraft’s vehicle being watched by undercover officers at the elementary school where he taught.
I was frustrated sitting in my office waiting for someone to make a move but I didn’t want to be anywhere near the Chappell place right now. They all knew me well. Being made at this late stage that might finally tie up one, if not both of my murder cases, would be a disaster.
Finally, my eyes on the ground reported that three men arrived at Stan Junior’s home separately all around 1:00 in the afternoon. None matched the descriptions we had of Mick Cullen, Roger or their other buddy. Must be the enforcers.
My men were too far away to get all of the plate numbers but they made an effort and we were running what we’d gotten when they called in again. This time the report was that all three climbed into one car and left. They got that plate number.
After notifying the units at the school and at Craycraft’s place that a possible assault hit was imminent, I climbed into my county SUV and headed toward Will’s home. If it was going to go down, I was guessing it wouldn’t happen in a school yard. I hunkered down to wait several blocks away from the residence and, I hoped, out of everyone’s line of travel.
About 2:20, a call from my guys watching Stan Jr. came across my cell.
“Sheriff Crane.”
“New activity Sheriff. A metallic tan SUV pulled up. Two occupants entered the house. The driver fits a description we have. Got the plate this time; dispatch is running it.”
“Let me know as soon as you have a hit.”
My deputy interrupted me, “Sorry Sheriff. Another vehicle just pulled up to the scene; a blue sedan. Wait one.”
I waited and listened as his teammate called in another license plate. Dispatch reported the first one as a lease to a holding company out of Columbus.
“Okay Sheriff. Did you get that on the tan SUV?”
“Got it, a lease to a corporation.”
“Right. They’re running the sedan now.”
“I’ve got a feeling the assault will go down when school lets out and the mark goes home. Keep your eyes peeled there but be prepared to roll on my command when that hit’s the fan. We’ll do it all at once and hopefully have the element of surprise.”
I was torn about where to go. I didn’t want to be made in the Chappell enclave but I felt like what was going to go down there once the warrant was executed, especially if we could catch the three pool players inside, was more important to my case than the three enforcers. I knew one or more of the enforcers were likely responsible for the injuries that led to JD’s death, but to pin it on any of them without proof, I needed to get the guy that ordered the job. Taking down his entire operation and getting the guys who shot at Moon would just be icing on the cake.
My decision was nearly made for me. School was out and the report came across that Will Craycraft left shortly after the last kids were out of the building. My unmarked unit was following him and all indications were that he was headed straight home. I hunkered down to wait.
A deputy pretending to run a speed trap called in a visual of the enforcer’s vehicle heading our way. When it turned up in Craycraft’s neighborhood and parked down the block, the radio report of that set me in motion.
Treadway is here and he’s the scene commander. He’s one of my best deputies. I don’t need to be here. I fired up my SUV and rolled out of the neighborhood as quickly as I could. A couple of minutes later, Treadway reported the scene secure and three men in custody. He and another deputy would transport them to the county jail. He’d directed two others to Priscilla’s residence to take her into custody.
Adrenaline rushing, I pumped my fist in the air. A minute later, I was on the county road out of town. I floored it and ran lights and sirens the 13 miles to The Boar’s Head covering the distance in ten minutes or so that felt like an hour. Slowing there and shutting down the siren, I rallied the troops.
My deputies in the field were rolling toward the house on a circuitous route down a cow path. Before they left their watch position, they reported no movement to leave it by any of the occupants. My men staged at the Morelville turnoff were gearing up too. Shane Harding was staged in the lot at Barb’s bar. He fell in behind me as I passed. Seven of us in four vehicles would converge on Stan Junior’s home in minutes.
I rolled to a stop at the base of the driveway, blocking the cars that were parked in it from backing out unless they used the lawn as a getaway. Shane blocked a vehicle parked right next to the curb in front of the house.
We all dismounted and three of us hastily converged on the front door while the other four split into teams of two and headed down the sides of the house, toward the back.
Yelling, “Police! Search warrant!” I tried the main door. Conveniently, it wasn’t locked. Even after all the legal turmoil they’d been through, the Chappell’s were still a trusting bunch.
I swung it wide open and we piled through it into an open foyer off of a sunken living room decorated with the pizza boxes and beer bottles typical of a lot of single young men’s dwelling places. The first thought through my swirling mind at that first glimpse was nailing Stan Junior for underage drinking too.
Two of the four men we knew were in the house, Roger Rowe and the third pool player the running his license plate had revealed to be Tim Bettis, were lounging on the sofa in the living room, watching television. One made a halfhearted attempt to rise but I waved him down with my service weapon and ordered them both cuffed.
They protested wildly at that as I headed, gun leading, through a partially closed door, just past the entry, to the right. Two of the four deputies that rounded the house to the back came through the home to meet up with me as I entered the room.
Mick Cullen was seated behind a desk loaded down with electronics. He’d drawn a gun and had it leveled at me.
“Don’t be stupid! Drop it” Shane and the two deputies pushed into the room. Mick dropped the weapon but I still had a bead on his head until two of them got to him. In the commotion, Stan Jr. who’d been standing to one side of the desk, wet himself out of fear as he raised his hands toward the ceiling. Chappell’s just aren’t cut out to be criminals...