“Look what that nigga sent me, man,” Marcus Toney said, pointing to the Sony VCR box shorn of its Marshall Field’s gift wrapping.
“Come on, man,” said Butler. “Just open it. I’m here for you. Just get it over with already.”
While reading the Tribune Metro section the following September, I saw a tiny item about this murder case. Its brevity was noteworthy because it breezed through bizarre details involving a female impersonator, an explosives-savvy Eminem-wannabe counterfeiter, a high-level Ameritech manager, a hanger-on named Jessie Jackson, an accountant with the TV show COPS, and a mastermind with a criminal past steeped in sexual cunning.
Two Decembers ago he and I began a correspondence. In a series of startlingly eloquent letters that filled 50 pages with personal philosophy supported by quotes from Wilde, Keats, Rimbaud, Eliot, and Whitman, Sienky attempted to explain himself without broaching his case. During one florid burst, he laid bare his modus operandi: “I simply tap into the emotions of an individual…and seize control.”
I responded with a request for basic information. What makes Sienky tick? What experiences have been pivotal in his life? He chastised me like a disappointed but loving father. “You asked some of the most boring questions possible. This one expected so much more of you, ‘Clarice.’” (Smiley face drawn here.)
And he closed with a chunk of “The Hollow Men” by Eliot and then more Wilde: “Society often forgives the criminal; it never forgives the dreamer.”
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The letter, typed on the transparently fake stationery of an “Evire” corporation, told DT to drop the money in a locker at Merrillville’s Southlake Mall on November 31, 1991. No cops, no problems. Sienky left messages for DT reminding him of his appointment with Evire. And, ever the perfectionist, he called DT posing as a police officer investigating an extortion scheme, asking him if he had any information about such matters. DT said no.
