Larry Sells - Beast of New Castle: The Heart-Pounding Battle To Stop A Savage Killer

BEAST

OF NEW CASTLE

THE HEART-POUNDING BATTLE

TO STOP A SAVAGE KILLER

LARRY SELLS

MARGIE PORTER

BEAST OF NEW CASTLE published by:

WILDBLUE PRESS

P.O. Box 102440

Denver, Colorado 80250

Publisher Disclaimer: Any opinions, statements of fact or fiction, descriptions, dialogue, and citations found in this book were provided by the author, and are solely those of the author. The publisher makes no claim as to their veracity or accuracy, and assumes no liability for the content.

Copyright 2020 by Larry Sells and Margie Porter

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ISBN 978-1-948239-66-0 Trade Paperback

ISBN 978-1-948239-65-3 eBook

Cover design 2019 WildBlue Press. All rights reserved.

Interior Formatting/Book Cover Design by Elijah Toten

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Chapter 1A Murder in New Castle

The murder weapon was a sawed-off shotgun, seven pounds of thunder that could churn a mans skull into applesauce. On February 12, 1991, Shawn McCormick, a hard-looking woman with no criminal record, purchased the 12 gauge shotgun at a Kmart in New Castle, Indiana. Tall and a bit heavy, Shawns average appearance was easily forgotten by store personnel.

The shotgun would be etched into the towns history.

Shawn told Kmart clerk LaWanna DuVall that she was going rabbit hunting; but it turned out that the cottontails of the wild were safe. Instead of prowling the woods for game, Shawn placed the shotgun in the hands of her big, bad boyfriend, Jerry K. Thompson.

Thompson had served time for two counts of auto theft. Now a free man, he was determined to do as he pleased and McCormick was a woman who would do anything he asked.

That February, five months after he walked out of prison, Thompson was on probation, and guidelines stated that Thompson could neither carry nor purchase a firearm. But that was just somebody elses lame ruleit didnt mean he couldnt have a gun. He told Shawn exactly what type of gun and which ammunition to buy. Jerry Thompson was in a mood to do some shooting.

With its three-inch shells, the gun was an impressive weapon. Thompson could shoot a gun this powerful and not blink twice. Yes, the murder weapon was perfect for a man like Jerry Thompson.

The thirty-one-year-old didnt look like he needed a gun to protect himself. Towering six feet five and topping 300 pounds, Thompson was a beast of a man. When angered his face bore a countenance of cruelty. His blue eyes appeared black and soulless when he was enraged.

His skin, neck to toes, was a tattooed declaration of his belief in white supremacy and his hatred for all men of color. A large Aryan cross tattoo plastered his neck. In prison, it was a dare. Although the Aryan Brotherhood accounts for less than 1 percent of the American prison population, they stand accused of up to 20 percent of prison murders.

Thompson did not wear his ink lightly. It was reported that, while in prison, Thompson had an encounter with his dark-skinned cellmates. He wanted to watch the Country Music Awards. They wanted to watch MTV. Thompson came out swinging at the twelve convicts who refused to see things his way. He put four of them in the hospital. The rest he clobbered hard enough to ensure that he got to watch his program.

An enraged lion, the Beast was prepared to pounce on anyone who crossed him. Another prisoner had the job of enforcer. Prison is a locked down community and like any group of people, convicts have their pecking order. The enforcer beat down anyone who refused tribute to the prison boss. His ego was displayed across his back, a dinner-plate-sized gang tattoo. Thompson demanded the enforcers job and was refused. So, Thompson threw the man down and scalped the tattoo from his flesh. He became the new enforcer, exacting tribute from others and claiming his share of the take. Later he sewed the mans tattooed skin onto the back of his motorcycle jacket.

Thompson began mud wrestling with the law at age twelve. He made friends with marijuana at age thirteen. He was also fond of beer, Dark Eyes vodka, cocaine, heroin, PCP, acid, and crack. It was rumored that in his youth he killed an elderly woman.

Since the day he was paroled from prison, September 9, 1990, Thompson had failed to find work. His girlfriend, Shawn, worked third shift at a Shell station and he supplemented their income with the proceeds of stolen cars and drug deals.

He would be discharged from parole on July 24, 1991, five months after the Crandall murder. The state parole agent who autographed the papers could never have guessed that he was signing permission for a bloodthirsty killer to prowl the streets. Thompsons seven prior felonies should have given him a clue. The man had served time for two thefts, burglary, battery, rape, child molestation, and escape.

Thompson would later claim that he didnt know Shawn had bought him a gun. He said he refused it because it was a violation of his probation to have the weapon, and that he gave it to his friend and partner in crime, Douglas Percy.

Percys garage was a carnival of tools that included acetylene torches and grinders. He purchased the dye Thompson would use for camouflage when he sawed off the barrel and stock of the shotgun. The pair designed a sling for the weapon so they could more easily conceal it beneath their coats.

Two days after Shawn made her Kmart purchase, her main man had the perfect, easily concealed weapon. Happy Valentines Day.

A few hours before the murder Thompson and Percy drove to an area called Spiceland Pike near New Castle. They pulled off the highway, parked Thompsons orange-yellow pickup truck and hiked up a hill into a wooded area where they test-fired the gun.

After shooting the weapon several times and finding it satisfactory, Thompson drove through a park where he slid off the road and got stuck. Once they freed the wheels the two drove on and stopped at a liquor store for beer and cigarettes.

Just a couple of guys hanging out.

The liquor store was on a main road and had a canopy over it like a drive-through diner. Thompson stayed in the truck, handing Percy twenty dollars for their purchases. When Percy returned Thompson let him keep the change and gave him an additional twenty, telling him that it was his part of the take.

For what? Percy wondered.

For what were gonna do.

Wesley W. Crandall Jr., age forty, was a small-time drug dealer and self-employed apartment manager. His apartment house at 1218 South 18th Street in New Castle, Indiana, was definitely a fixer-upper, but he called it home. His friends dubbed him Junior and they knew where to find him.

The front door to Crandalls home led into a hallway with apartments on the left and right. Crandall slept in the apartment on the right. The one across the hall, on the north side, stood unoccupied. Crandall stored marijuana in the refrigerator of the empty apartment. The stairs led up to another apartment, also empty.

Crandalls friends stated that recently he had become a cautious man. His home had been broken into and money stolen a couple of weeks prior. Crandall suspected one of his friends, a man named Charlie Alcorn, of the theft. Crandall was known to keep vast amounts of marijuana in his home. He also kept guns and pit bulls; he had a reputation for being schizoid.

In early January 1991, a mutual friend, Davey Loveless, introduced Thompsons brother David to Crandall. Both Jerry and David Thompson soon began buying marijuana from Crandall. To Wesley Crandall, Jerry Thompson was just another welcome customer, a man he would readily invite into his home.