Prophet's Prey by Sam Brower Page B

“life estate” of his own.
    Up to that point, I had never even met Willie, but his name was always popping up because the apostates of Short Creek seemed to be scared of him, and also of his smaller half-brother, Dee. The two men are muscle for the church and are not shy about yearning to be God’s avengers. They live for the day they are called upon to protect the prophet and priesthood.
    Willie is a large man, about six foot five and weighing probably around three hundred pounds, with brown hair that he sweeps back Elvis-style.
    A man named Richard Jessop Ream, who would become one of my clients in another case, later provided me with a deeper look into Willie’s disturbed psyche. In an affidavit, Ream described the time that he and some friends were chatting with some local girls at the post office in Short Creek, unconcerned by the fact that the girls were considered off-limits by the church leadership. Big Willie drove up and glowered. “Leave the priesthood girls alone,” he snapped.
    When Ream replied that he would talk with whomever he chose, Willie closed the conversation with the threat: “If I have to use guns to straighten you little bastards out, I am going to do just that, and Uncle Warren is going to back me up.”
    Ream took that seriously. He had visited Jessop’s home on West Field Avenue in Hildale and knew the man owned the hardware to make good on his threat. Ream described the place as a mini-fortress, with all the windows blacked out because Willie was convinced that law enforcement had him under surveillance and that government intrusion was imminent. The basement reeked of gun oil and shelves sagged along two walls beneath the weight of cases of ammunition, reloading equipment, and gun supplies. The other two walls and some tables were laden with assault weapons, pistols, rifles, and shotguns, including a huge Barrett .50-caliber sniper rifle, which can kill up to a mile away, and nearly every kind of small arms weapon imaginable.
    Ream’s affidavit stated, “I asked Mr. Jessop if it concerned him that he was in possession of illegal assault rifles.” At the time, those were banned. Willie laughed and replied that “what the law didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.” He was ready to use deadly force if the prophet commanded it.
    As if not to be outdone, Willie’s brother Dee Jessop has openly stated that he would willingly cut the throats of his wives if the prophet gave the order. I have no doubt that both are serious. Together, they have a tendency to more than double the trouble, becoming exponentially meaner. They are formidable and unpredictable.
    I have heard Willie brag to his admirers within my earshot about almost having had to “take [me] down.” The fact is that Willie rarely comes closer than twenty feet of me and, aside from our recent encounter in the parking lot of my doctor’s office, we have never had anything resembling a real conversation, but not for my lack of trying. He is invariably parked, lurking somewhere nearby, when trouble arises within the FLDS or if I have some business in the Crick. When I attempt to communicate with him, I get no response. He drives a high-dollar Mercedes-Benz SUV that is decked out with the latest police radios and scanners and even a satellite dish on the roof. I have tried walking up and tapping on the window of his vehicle and motioning for him to step outside and talk. He responds by locking all the doors and staring straight ahead.
    One of the more interesting aspects of my entire investigation has been watching Big Willie evolve from being just a convenient thug for Warren Jeffs to becoming an affluent businessman and the slick spokesman for the entire FLDS religion. He is always welcome on national television shows, where he is acknowledged as the face of the cult. He is among the best I have seen at being able to lie like a thief and get away with it.
    His rise to