Noisy Neighbor

The only other prisoner here in Federal Death row who seems willing to talk to me beyond just being polite is my current next door neighbor. He is a tall sixty-something unshaven and scraggly grey-haired man who only talks to me when he thinks he can get something from me; a magazine, extra food, or some sort of favor.

I suppose he thinks that because most of the prisoners here shune me he should be able to win favors from me by being nice. I only suppose this because he is rarely nice to anyone else and talks trash about homosexuals, child molesters, and nigers, openly and frequently. But, I treat him kindly and politely all the same. I figure it's not his fault that he is so transparently self obsessed. To top it all off, he fancies himself a brilliant amateur scientist with ideas for trapping unlimited energy from the earth's core that can solve the entire world's energy crisis, if only President Obama didn't personally have it out for him. (According to my neighbor, the reason he is on death row is because of secret presidential orders to keep his revolutionary energy ideas from being taken seriously.)

This might seem comical, but I don't laugh and try to ask interesting questions when he talks about such things, though it is extremely difficult to get a word in at all, much less a question, when he's on such subjects – when he's on ANY subject, really. I try not to just humor him the way most of the guards and other prisoners do, and maybe that's why he talks to me – it's another theory at least.

The other day he yelled out my name to get my attention, „Hey, Duncan! Joseph Duncan!” I answered by yelling from my bunk without getting up, „Yeah?!”

He asked, „Do you want to use the phone?”

I honestly did not understand why he would ask me such a question out of the blue like that. So, I replied with a question that seemed natural to me, „Why would I want to use the phone?”

When I asked that I heard someone further down the tier (or „range”, ad they like to call it here) laugh out loud. My neighbor reacted by lashing out at me.

„Fuck you, you piece of shit coward!”

He made sure to yell it loud enough so the person down the tier (or „range”) could hear. I didn't know if he was yelling at me or the other prisoner. So I asked as bemusedly as I could, „Are you talking to me?”

Well, he said he was talking to me and then over the course of the next few minutes he accused me of showing my asshole to other inmates through the cell door window, talking about fag sex with other inmates through the air vents, being the most self-centered person he ever met, and a liar to boot.

I didn't bother telling him what I thought about him, and neither did I bother attempting to defend myself by refuting his accusations. Instead I just asked why he was attacking me just because I'd asked him why he asked me if I wanted to use the phone. I also asked him why he thought I was self-centered, which he couldn't answer but I assume it is because I refused to buy things on comissary for him when he tried to get me to in the past, not to mention other „favors” I refused to do for him (he seemed to forget about all the things I did for him without ever asking so much as a thank you in return, like loaning him books and magazines, and giving him coffee, sweetener, and extra food when he asked for it, and that I've never asked him for so much as a conversation in all the time I've been here).

From his responses to my questions, and other evidence, I was able to discern that the reason he asked me if I wanted to use the phone was because he was trying to involve me in an overt attempt to keep another prisoner from getting the phone. It was this other prisoner who laughed when I didn't go along with the plan, which my neighbor thought was a conspiracy between me and the other prisoner (who, according to my neighbor, I was having a homosexual relationship with through the vents and windows), all to make him look bad.

So, after assuring my neighbor that I'd never spoken to any other prisoners at all through the vent, and that I didn't even know the inmate who laughed at him (nor did I know anything about any other inmate's homosexual proclivities) and that I'd only asked why he asked me about the phone because I genuinely was perplexed by the sudden unexplained question, my neighbor „accepted” MY apology (which I took to be the closest thing to an actual apology from him) and was then quiet for the rest of the day (for him to be quiet at all is a gift in itself, and I suspect he actually believes he's doing me a favor when he is quiet – and to tell you the truth, so do I).

I had also asked him when he thought I had ever been dishonest, and hence, a liar. His answer surprized me. He told me that he didn't believe that I killed all those children, and I lied to protect someone else.

Why would he think that? Actually, I didn't bother to ask because I doubt if he would tell me the real reason. Ever since I first met him, or, more specifically, since he first started talking to me, I have strongly suspected that he was after any information that he could report to the Federal authorities. I even sent several affidavits to my attorneys in the past detailing every conversation I had with him at first, because I was concerned he would happily lie under oath and say I said things I would never have said.

This is not paranoia on my part. In the past, several inmates have reported conversations I had with them that never even happened. One inmate at IMSI (in Idaho) got so mad because I ignored all his attempts to get me to talk to him (from several cells away) that he started banging on his walls and door (it actually wasn't until he started banging that I even realized he was trying to get my attention). And, even though I just continued to ignore him, and never even said, hi, I found out later that he reported all kinds of conversations I supposedly had with him where I told him things like, that I hated myself and wanted to die, and that I hate children and talked about all the „sick” things I liked doing to them. I know about this only because the Riverside (California) investigators asked me about it during an interview they held with me in the Indio jail. They admitted it didn't sound like something I'd say, and I told them I was shocked that such statements would even make it into their files.

So when my neighbor here started talking to me for no reason, and asking questions about my case (that I carefully never answered), I made sure to at least document my side of the story. And when he told me that he didn't think I killed those children, and that I lied to protect someone, I knew exactly where he got that idea, from the FBI. I happen to know that this is a theory of theirs that they've been investigating for some time, mostly (and I'm assuming here) because I don't fit their profiles for a person who rapes and kills children. (I'm assuming this to be the reason for their suspicion that I lied to protect someone, but the fact that I don't fit their profiles for a child killer is formally established in their own official reports – which state in plain language that I deviate from their profiles in extremely unusual degrees and regards).

My neighbor hasn't spoken to me since, and I can only hope he won't, for a while at least. I call him „my neighbor” because for some reason he keeps ending up in the cell next to me or across the hall from me, even after the „random” cell moves that take place every three months.

I'll continue to be polite, and speak to him when he speaks to me. But, I'll never trust him. Not because I'm worried he'll find out the truth, but because I'm worried he'll help the authorities of this world cover it up.

(Originally written by Joseph E. Duncan III on June 20, 2013)

P.S. I doubt that my „neighbor” above will ever see or learn about this entry. But, just in case he ever does, then I hope he will understand that I am really saying nothing about him at all, only about me (i. e. my own doubtlessly deluded perceptions). I also hope that the readers of this blog already understand this.