Fugitive Man Read online

  The actual perpetrator admitted to having had sex with our victim but claimed the sex was consensual, so we knew we had the right guy. However, after a contentious trial, the subject was acquitted.

  I learned quite a lesson. We certainly had enough evidence to indict our innocent suspect, and had our victim been accidently killed before picking the true perpetrator out of a lineup, we might have done so. The sketch of the assailant looked more like our suspect than the actual perpetrator. A jury might have convicted him. But he was innocent. It’s something I’ve kept in mind ever since.

  I had the pleasure of working with some great people on the police force. One of them, Chuck Person, was particularly sharp and had a great, dry sense of humor. One evening, as I was coming on the midnight shift and Chuck was getting off, we spent a few minutes on patrol together, discussing the goings-on in the community. After checking the front of a shopping center, we drove down the alley behind the center, checking the back doors on the left. As we did so, a man came out of the bushes ahead of us on the right. He was hopping, with his hands and ankles bound, and was gagged. As we drove along the alley after observing the guy in front of us, Chuck raised an eyebrow and, sounding a bit like Dirty Harry, quietly stated, “We should probably check him out.” We did. The guy was a restaurant manager who had been robbed at gunpoint while making the night deposit. In that obviously serious and perhaps dangerous situation, Chuck made me laugh.

  CHAPTER TWO

  N.C.I.S.

  THE NAVAL CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIVE SERVICE

  During six years as a Cryptology Technician in the Navy, with most of my time working for NSA, I never crossed paths with the Naval Investigative Service. However, as a police officer, I had a couple of encounters with them and was impressed by the agents I met and the scope of investigations NIS agents addressed. In 1981, I resigned from the police department to become a special agent with NIS. The name was subsequently changed to the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, or NCIS, as seen on the CBS hit dramas. Being an NCIS agent was much like being an FBI agent for the Navy and Marine Corps. The investigations and paperwork inherent to them were similar to the FBI. It turned out to be a great organization to be part of if you eventually wanted to be an FBI Agent, but that was certainly not my intention when joining up.

  Assigned to a two-agent Resident Unit at the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard in Kittery, Maine, I was teamed with John Hajosy, a senior, seasoned NIS agent and one of the sharpest investigators with whom I ever worked. He was patient and took his time to show me how things were done. He also had a killer sense of humor, routinely answered Mensa trivia questions, and was fond of bird watching. He impressed me as a modern day Renaissance man. The good fortune of being assigned to Portsmouth with John Hajosy proved to be one of the best learning experiences of my career.

  My work at NIS included, among other things, investigating violent crime, foreign counterintelligence, fraud against the government, and drug offences. Using cooperating witnesses and undercover officers, we were involved in many illegal drug investigations, as we at NIS Portsmouth viewed anyone selling drugs in the Portsmouth, New Hampshire/Kittery, Maine, area as a potential threat to the many military personnel present in the area.

  Around the time I joined NCIS in 1981, the Navy introduced random urinalysis as a deterrent to illegal drug use. Through source information, we learned three young Marines had found a way to circumvent the urinalysis program.

  They imported, sold, and used LSD.

  At that time, the Navy’s urinalysis protocol was not sensitive to LSD. As a result, the Portsmouth Naval Shipyard had the potential for Marines armed with .45 caliber pistols to be guarding nuclear submarines while tripping on LSD. We determined that the LSD was being imported from Detroit by three junior Marines for a dollar a tablet and was thereafter sold for $4.00 a tablet to civilians, while military personnel received a “military discount” and could purchase the tablets for $3.00 apiece. The investigation was intense, employing three young Marines in undercover capacities making several purchases of LSD from each of the three sellers. I admired those three Marines as brave young men doing the right thing in the best interest of the Marine Corps.

  Late one night, I met one of the Marines working with us at a Rest Area on I-95, a few miles north of the Maine/New Hampshire border, to recover LSD he purchased that evening. The young Marine arrived on his motorcycle, and I quickly realized he was high as a kite. He behaved in a manic-depressive manner, one minute laughing and the next crying. I had developed a good working relationship with the young Marine. Like most Marines he really had his act together, and I was quite sure he had not intentionally taken anything. I found myself in a quandary. Taking him to a military hospital might jeopardize the investigation, but I didn’t feel comfortable not seeking medical advice. I therefore took him to a civilian hospital where I spoke with a doctor about the situation, received some reassurance, and obtained a urine sample from the Marine. I then spent several hours with him until he came down from his LSD-induced high. The next morning, I spoke with the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology (AFIP) in Washington and discovered they could examine the urine to determine if the Marine had in fact consumed LSD. A week later, AFIP confirmed the presence of LSD in the Marine’s urine.

  At the completion of the investigation, 18 Marines faced general courts-martial, 15 for using LSD and three for using and selling it. All were convicted. The fifteen users were demoted, received bad conduct discharges, fines, and minor jail sentences. The three dealers were sentenced to seven years hard labor, demoted to E1, made to forfeit all pay and benefits, and given Dishonorable Discharges. One of the three also was also convicted of aggravated assault for having crushed LSD into the food of his fellow Marine, our informant. While going to jail and being dishonorably discharged was a heavy hit for that young man, it seemed to him that the most severe punishment was losing his classic ’67 Ford Mustang. Since he used the vehicle in the furtherance of his drug business, we used Maine state law to seize it. John Hajosy and I turned the pristine vehicle over to the Maine State Police at high noon, at the front gate of the shipyard, so all the Marines present for the changing of the guard could see the Mustang being driven away by a Maine state police officer.

  While no Marine desires to be an “informer” on his fellow Marines, the outlandish nature of the three Marines selling LSD to 15 armed Marines and the 15 armed Marines using LSD was an affront to all the Marines on base, and many of the young Marines let us know they appreciated our efforts. As one example, soon after the courts-martial conclusions, I was walking up the front steps of the Marine barracks to visit their CO. A group of about 12 off-duty Marines were relaxing on the balcony area of the second deck. When they saw me, the 12 stood at attention and applauded. They clearly agreed with our cleaning up their barracks. I have a tremendous respect for the Marines. As an enlisted man in the Navy, and while an NCIS agent, I observed the Marines to be a most impressive group of brave young men and women, displaying great discipline. And most of the young Marines I knew had their act together and rarely got in any serious trouble.

  NCIS occasionally provided protection for foreign diplomats and other dignitaries at the request of the Department of Defense, State Department, Secret Service, and other agencies. After being an NCIS agent for a year or two, I was sent to Dignitary Protection School in Virginia. It sounded like fun and turned out to be an eye-opening experience and one that gave me a newfound appreciation for the U.S. Secret Service.

  As part of my training, I became qualified to use an Uzi submachine gun. As one of the Uzi men for a motorcade, I was responsible for exiting my vehicle and “clearing” the area on my side of the road. After determining there were no threats present, my nod alerted the team leader that my side was clear.

  We practiced different ingress and egress scenarios with an instructor role-playing as the dignitary. On one occasion we pulled up to a home in the country with t
he goal of safely delivering our dignitary to the inside of the residence. I exited the vehicle on the passenger’s side, across the street from the country home, and carefully surveyed the brush and mostly-wooded area on my side of the vehicle. After noting nothing of a threatening nature, I gave my nod to indicate my side was clear.

  Boy, was I wrong! The scenario was halted, and the instructor approached me and verified that I thought the area on my side of the road was clear. I so verified. To my utter amazement, from the low shrubs not more than ten yards away, appeared a Marine sniper in full ghillie suit. (A ghillie suit, also known as a yowie suit, or camo tent, is camouflage clothing designed to resemble heavy foliage.) He blended with the terrain so well that I had no hint of him until he moved. Had it been a real protection detail, the dignitary and the rest of us would have been toast. The sniper’s ability to blend into the ground amazed me.

  During that training, I visited the FBI Academy in Quantico for the first time. I was taken there to become qualified with the Uzi. After becoming Uzi qualified, I learned that, should an ambush of a motorcade occur, the Uzi man’s job was to get out and draw fire as the motorcade sped away. My first thought was that they could keep their Uzi. Call me crazy, but being left behind to draw fire did not appeal to me in the slightest.

  However, I know from experience that people react in a stressful situation the way they’re trained. That’s one of the reasons the agents of the Secret Service are so good in their protection role. To go towards a shooter or to jump in front of a weapon to shield someone is not a rational thing to do, but it’s what Secret Service men and women are constantly trained for. Therefore, when one of their protectees is threatened, that training takes over, and the Secret Service perform their job with bravery of the highest nature.

  The Portsmouth Naval Shipyard repairs submarines. The submarine service attracts some of the brightest people in the Navy. Sometimes, though, even they do something horrific. Late one evening, I responded to a reported stabbing in one of the women’s quarters on base. A young Navy woman had been stabbed and slashed. She was critically wounded. She lost a lot of blood. I spoke with her as she was being moved by medics from her quarters and, again, briefly in the ambulance, and I was able to get a statement from her identifying who stabbed her. The young man, whose advances had been spurned by the victim, had come to her quarters to give her “a going away present,” since he and his submarine were leaving early the next morning. He told her to close her eyes, and when she did, he stabbed her in the abdomen and proceeded to slash her in several locations. She almost bled out, but ultimately she survived and recovered.

  My partner, John Hajosy, was on an infrequent trip out of town, so I grabbed one of the shipyard police detectives and quickly went to the assailant’s submarine, looking to make an apprehension. Since the submarine was leaving in the early morning, its nuclear plant was up and running. Because of this, there were Radiation Control or “RADCON” officers on the dock to verify that everyone boarding the ship had a Thermo-Luminescent-Dosimeter, or TLD, to measure radiation exposure. The RADCON officer attempted to stop me at the dock, “Where’s your TLD?” Cavalierly, I stuck my NIS badge in the guy’s face and said, “Here’s my TLD,” and strolled onto the sub.

  That was a mistake. I broke several rules and regulations by busting on through security to get that sailor. Thank God the slasher was onboard. The Captain of the sub was very grateful that I removed the assailant quickly off his ship, and I ultimately got away with a “good job” and “don’t do that again.” The sailor, court martialed in New Haven, CT, received eight years hard labor and a bad conduct discharge.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE FBI

  Graduation from FBI New Agents Training, 1984.

  NCIS promised a great career, and it wasn’t easy to leave. Especially considering I had two sons and my wife was pregnant with our third. If I had been injured during FBI new agent training or had flunked out, I might have been out of work. It was simply a matter of me wanting to be part of what’s been touted as the greatest law enforcement agency in the world. Three decades later, I can tell you it was a good move.

  I resigned from NIS and joined the FBI in January 1984. I entered the FBI Academy in Quantico, VA, and found myself in a class of very accomplished people. Quite frankly, I sometimes wondered what I was doing there, surrounded by such talent, including lawyers, accountants and scientists. However, making it through that storied law enforcement academy was a great confidence builder.

  After graduating from the Academy, my wife and I, along with our three sons (our third, Johnny, was born after I had been in Quantico for two weeks), moved to Houston, Texas.

  We spent eight years in Houston. My primary focus there was violent crime, with a focus on violent fugitives. At that time, the FBI considered a violent fugitive someone who was wanted for Unlawful Flight to Avoid Prosecution (UFAP) or Unlawful Flight to Avoid Confinement (UFAC) for violent crimes, including murder, attempted murder, kidnaping, rape, robbery, arson, aggravated assault, and burglary of a habitation. Houston is the third or fourth largest city in the United States. It is huge, and it’s a place where many people migrate for work and some migrate to hide. I was a young, aggressive FBI agent, and I discovered I had a knack for finding people. It was a rewarding experience, taking bad people off the street. I had the time of my life.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ARTHUR REED COLLUM

  UFAP - MURDER, ARMED ROBBERY

  Prior to shooting a man to death and fleeing Florida, Arthur Reid Collum had assisted the FBI with several criminal investigations. I was told by an agent in the Tampa Division that after Collum was indicted in Tampa for armed robbery and murder, and the FBI obtained a UFAP-Murder warrant for him, local Tampa police officials doubted the FBI would try very hard to catch him as they had heard of Colum’s prior relationship with the Bureau.

  One type of FBI wanted poster, called an “Identification Order (IO),” is only issued for the most sought after fugitives in the nation. When I was in the Bureau, there were usually less than 80 active IOs outstanding in the country at any given time. They’re sent to virtually every police and sheriff’s department in the US, Canada, and several other nations. They’re what you sometimes see on the wall at your local post office. At the request of the Tampa Division, FBIHQ issued an IO on Collum.

  Collum was one of my cases. Through my investigation, which included information obtained from informants I developed, I found a payphone used by Collum in a hardware store in the affluent West University area of Houston. After spending time observing the hardware store, I visited the store and determined through observation and interview that Collum was not employed there. However, a store employee was fairly certain he recognized Collum’s photo as that of a house painter who purchased supplies in the store. The employee also provided me a description of the Collum’s van.

  Following exhaustive searching through nearby neighborhoods, we located the parked suspect van, and kept it under surveillance for a couple hours. Eventually, a man resembling Collum and an attractive young woman came out of an apartment, both wearing painter’s coveralls. They entered the van and departed. Agent Phil Stukes and I followed the van into an exclusive West University neighborhood, west of downtown Houston. When the van pulled into the driveway of a beautiful home, we followed into the driveway, exited our vehicle with our weapons drawn, and arrested Arthur Reid Collum without incident. (“Without incident” is how arrests are supposed to go. When there’s an “incident,” there’s going to be a ton of paperwork and the possibility of headquarters drilling into the case to see what you did wrong. “Without incident” were two of my favorite words.)

  Prior to the arrest, I advised the Tampa case agent that we were getting close to Collum. He advised me that Collum was very “slick” and not likely to say anything about the crime for which he was being arrested. When we took him to the office, Collum was receptive t
o conversation, and we spoke about his painting business in Houston and a number of other topics. He was a pleasant guy, and establishing rapport was easy. He was quite proud of the interior paintwork he was doing in high-end Houston homes and told us so. We bought him a soda and listened with interest as he discussed with pleasure a couple of his most recent jobs, one of which had appeared in a Houston area home décor magazine.

  After a half hour or so of conversation, I produced an Advice of Rights form and asked him if he would like to talk about “the mess in Tampa.” He replied, “Bob, I’d like to talk to you about it, but I better talk to my attorney first.”

  That was the end of the interview. Once Collum invoked his right to an attorney, we could no longer ask him questions about the crime. I continued to fill out paperwork, and he continued to speak about other, non-crime-related matters. After several minutes, Collum looked over at the IO on my desk with his photo on it and said, “You mind if I look at that?” I said, “No, not at all,” and handed it to him. He reviewed the IO and announced, “You know, it says here I shot the guy four times. It doesn’t mention he tried to stab me first.”

  That unsolicited “spontaneous utterance” was a confession. I couldn’t ask any follow-up questions and didn’t say anything to him about what he had just said, but I knew the prosecutor in the case would be pleased by Collum’s comment (and I was likely going to visit Tampa for the first time.)