-Caveat Lector- An excerpt from: Loud and Clear Lake Headly and William Hoffman©1990 Henry Holt and Company 115 W. 18th St. New York, NY 10011 ISBN 0-8050-1138-2 272 pps — out-of-print/one edition --[5]-- 5. Three Stolen Vehicles "I know you're working for Dunlap and Robison," Devereux said, "so I think it's fair to tell you I believe this case is largely resolved. I think Robison did it, and maybe Dunlap, and it's my opinion the police did a thorough job under the circumstances." I had picked up Devereux at the entrance to the modern stucco building where the Scottsdale Daily Progress was written and printed, and now I wheeled onto 1-10 for the drive to Florence. "When I came to Phoenix to work with the IRE team," Devereux continued, "Bob Greene told both the police and us that he didn't intend for us to stick our noses into the homicide itself-the cops were qualified, we weren't. We were there to demonstrate that killing a reporter didn't stop his work." Bob Greene wasn't sitting in the car with me, so I aimed my favorite question at Devereux: "How could you continue his work if you didn't know what it was?" "Greene went to the Arizona Republic and found out what Bolles did before being transferred to the legislature." "What was that?" "Migrant farm workers, my field. Land fraud. The dog track business. Items that were his staples, what he worked on in the past." "And that's what the team concentrated on?" "Yeah. We went through the motions, I guess you could say." Not Devereux, I would learn, and even now I admired his use of the word we. "I haven't learned many good things about the IRE team," I said. Devereux winced. "I suppose some of the editors and reporters used the time in Phoenix as a vacation. If we served a purpose, it was as a show of force." "What did you do?" "My specialty. The migrant farm labor situation. Barry Goldwater's brother, Bob, is one of the big exploiters of Mexican workers. Anyway, there's plenty to accomplish in the area, and I'm doing what I can. Those people are not only underpaid and overworked, they're forced to live like animals." "You getting anywhere?" "It's uphill. The ones running the show don't want change. Some of them profit from the status quo. I just wish the public could see for itself." "You came here from New Mexico?" "Yeah. I stayed in Phoenix when the IRE team left. I divide my time between the Progress and the farm labor union in Glendale." "What do you do for the union?" Conversation helped pass the time, and I was measuring him for a very serious proposal. "Some organizing. I help with legal affairs. I've arranged an attorney for the union. Victor Aranow. Maybe you know him." "I do, and I like him." Although my history with Native Americans didn't date back as far as George Vlassis's, it was considerable, and I tried to keep updated. I switched the subject. "Are you working on the Bolles case for the Daily Progress?" "We haven't done a lot. Most people in Phoenix consider it over. "What if the supreme court overturns the convictions?" "Are you kidding? In this state? In this political climate? The supreme court's not going to overturn them." "Well, that's my goal. That's why the committee hired me, and why we're going to Florence." The Scottsdale Daily Progress article about this first Robison interview—the paper also ran a second story-began as follows: James Robison looks like an arch criminal in a cartoon strip. He is short and heavy set, with muscular arms, a bull neck and a deep sear over one eye. He gives an initial impression of being a sullen man.... When Robison spoke and became relaxed, it was apparent that first impressions are deceiving. Instead of the crude, oafish character we had expected, we found a well-read, self-educated and articulate man with an excellent vocabulary and a sense of humor. Devereux's interview with Robison started a drumbeat of press coverage that couldn't possibly hurt the defendants, I figured. And it might help them. True, Marshall's Progress stood alone in Arizona, but as Laurie Dunlap, one of Max's daughters, told me rather poetically, after reading seemingly endless negative stories about her father: "In the land of darkness, you lit a candle." During the interview Robison rehashed for Devereux pretty much the same things he told me. He used a lot of the time not to defend himself, but Dunlap. He asked, rhetorically, why it took eight days for that damaging $5,800 to be delivered to Adamson. "I think," he said, "Roberts had to wait for the money to come from San Diego. With plenty of money at the time he could easily have got it from his bank. He didn't have to wait eight days." Robison pointed out that, despite the most massive investigation in Arizona history, none of Adamson's allegations about his involvement had ever been corroborated. He called Adamson's Fifth Amendment cop outs "outrageous" and said the con man had lied when he stated Robison did demolition work in the navy. "The FBI said it couldn't find my navy records to verify or refute Adamson's claim. I never did demolition work. All I used was a typewriter." After the interview, the Progress called Assistant Attorney General William Schafer to ask if the Bolles murder case remained open. Schafer replied affirmatively. Without offering a time frame, Schafer said he expected additional indictments. It was the same thing he'd been saying since the case began. "Robison's an interesting guy," Devereux said when we were back in the car headed to Phoenix. "Nothing like I'd been led to believe. Still, and I know you won't like this, I think he did it. The police couldn't be that far wrong." "Don, let's do this. When we get to Phoenix, we'll have something to eat, then go to my 'office' at Westward Ho. I've found some police reports plus other information I'd like you to take a look at. I think it might change your mind." It was time for the proposal I'd been considering. "Here's what I'll do, Don," I said, "and I mean every word: If you look at the material, and still feel the way you do, I'll forget this case, pack up, and leave Phoenix." "I'll be damned," Devereux said, putting aside another sheaf of papers. He had been sitting on the bed for hours, surrounded by paper, and this, if I maintained an accurate count, was his fourth "I'll be damned." It had to be the information I'd recently uncovered about Neal Roberts. Enlightening as the discovery had been, I suspected the Phoenix police hadn't provided everything, so I had called a police officer friend of mine in Los Angeles and asked him to run a computer check of Neal Roberts. Roberts, along with Bradley Funk, deserved the closest scrutiny, and in that spirit I had asked my friend for a favor. "Three vehicles," Devereux said, shaking his head in disbelief. "My God." On the day of the bombing, Roberts had reported three vehicles that he owned stolen from his office parking lot. "What do you think the odds are," I asked, "against two cars and a pickup truck being stolen from one guy in one day? In a classy neighborhood? On the day he's a hot suspect in a major bombing?" I was wound up. "I don't think something like this has happened in the history of the world. Three vehicles? On-" "-the day Bolles was hit," Devereux completed. He began to pace the room. "What do you think this is all about?" he asked. "Let's start with the Cadillac. Adamson told Robison—remember, Adamson called him a few days after the bombinghe took that car and headed for Havasu, where Roberts had made reservations for him at the Rodeway Inn. The trip was rushed, because one big thing went wrong: Bolles didn't die right away. He lived, and he was talking, and surely he named Adamson. So Adamson and his wife, Mary, were making a quick getaway, but the Cadillac overheated. They caught a ride back to Phoenix, and I believe Adamson screamed bloody murder at Roberts about the car. Roberts feared Adamson, with good reason, and to placate him he chartered a plane to Havasu." I took a breath. "That accounts for the first vehicle. Of course, Robison's story is corroborated by where the Cadillac was found: I-10 in the direction of Havasu." "What about the pickup?" "Vehicle number two. The cops recovered it at Sky Harbor Airport. Check the color of that pickup: green and white. Witnesses at the bombing scene recall seeing a green and white pickup, never located by the police. Obviously, whoever took that pickup caught a plane and got out of town." "And the Chrysler?" "Vehicle number three. Never found. Maybe it ended up in San Diego. Or was abandoned in the desert. I can't put a fix on that car, but I can on the pickup and the Cadillac. They were getaway vehicles. Probably not in the original plan, but Bolles's living changed the entire scenario, to the point Roberts got left with his absurd multiple robbery story. I suspect all three people involved in the bombing returned to Roberts's office. We know from later statements to Sellers that Roberts believed he was under almost immediate surveillance. He would want to get those three people out of town. He-" "What do you mean, three people? I've always thought there were two. Adamson, to plant the bomb; Robison, or whoever, to detonate it." "Don," I said, "I'll give you a theory. Remember, it's just a theory, but I'll want immunity even if it's dead wrong." We both laughed at my parody, though it wasn't funny, not under the circumstances: Roberts walking away a free man. "Go ahead," Devereux said. "I think a daylight bombing in a crowded metropolitan area, with a number of potential witnesses around, is too risky for just two." "I don't see that. You need number one: someone to plant the bomb; and number two, someone to trigger it." "I labeled this a theory. But all my experience, everything I've learned, makes me believe a third person was involved.". "For what purpose?" "A lookout, what burglars call a point man. The one team member who is absolutely clean. Adamson has to plant the bomb, and the second person carries the detonator. But this third individual has nothing. He can just sit there, maybe in that green and white pickup. If the police show up unexpectedly, or witnesses interfere, the point man distracts them so the others can escape. This man has to resort to any tactic necessary to take attention away from the other two. If a patrol car happened by, he might have to ram it." "If he had a vehicle." "He had to have one. Adamson was well known to the police and couldn't risk being seen as he strolled over to the Clarendon Hotel carrying a bomb under his arm, or when he attached the dynamite to the car's underside. The third individual—there to intervene if anyone ambled by—also served as wheelman to get the others away from the scene. Imagine what these killers faced shortly after the bombing. They were desperate when Bolles survived the blast. Surely he pointed out that Adamson lured him to the Clarendon. It's not difficult to picture these three hard cases telling Neal Roberts, 'Get us the hell out of here, asshole,' and Roberts replying, 'Take my cars.' Don," I concluded, "if there weren't three people, there should have been." Devereux said nothing, apparently lost in thought. I fished out the police reports quoting Hank Landry as saying he drove with Adamson to the Arizona Republic building, and Adamson asked a guard where Bolles parked his car (Landry's motive for cooperation: after passing a police-administered polygraph examination, he received immunity for thirty felonies, including his witnessing, but not reporting, the "loud and clear" remark). Landry said he and Adamson also went to a Datsun dealership where Adamson crawled underneath a car identical to the one Bolles drove and studied where to plant the bomb. In addition, they drove to the state legislature to look for the reporter's vehicle. Devereux had become almost eerily quiet. Pensive. "Well, Don," I said, "you now know everything I know. Should I pack my clothes?" "Lake, I'm not convinced Max and Jim are totally innocent, but I am convinced something is terribly wrong here. Let's you and me take a very close look at this." And what a look we did take. Though I couldn't have known it at the time, the investigative team that became such an irritant to authorities in Arizona was almost complete. It consisted of Devereux, his wife, Naomi, myself, and a young, attractive woman about to come into my life. Research ranks as one of the most boring facets of any investigation—especially when you have an important new witness, as I did, to interview-yet meticulous information-gathering is critical. Although I could let my fingers do the walking, research never counted as a favorite of mine. I'd much rather be face-to-face with John Harvey Adamson, trying to squeeze the truth out of him about the Bolles murder, than wading through a back-issue search of magazine and newspaper stories about Bradley Funk and the Emprise connection. It was early December 1978 when I sat in the Phoenix Public Library, having already made a paper mountain that towered above the discovery foothill. I was tired, the hour was late, my eyes hurt and burned. The Bolles case consumed me, kept me plugging, but this night I was exhausted. My head bent forward and my eyes drooped shut; I dreamed of the fiery explosion and a dying reporter screaming and ... "Excuse me. Are you okay?" I felt a hand on my shoulder gently shaking me awake. Looking up, I saw concerned brown eyes pouring compassion from a lovely face. "You look very tired," she said. "Maybe you need a cup of coffee." "I'll say, but I hate to drink alone. Will you join me?" "Would you rather have something stronger?" "No alcohol. That coffee sounds great." "There's a place across the street." Her name was Terri Lee Yoder, age twenty-five (far too young for me, I mused sadly), and after a brief marriage, she was currently putting herself through Phoenix City College—majoring in photography—by working five nights a week as a bartender. Luckily for me, she had come to the library on this night off to research film speed and developing techniques. I learned Terri was not only pretty—almost statuesque, lovely features—but razor sharp mentally. A native Phoenician, familiar with the town and its people, she was well-read and informed. Good looking, intelligent, a nice person. I considered it a real coup when I left the restaurant with her phone number and the okay to call. Over coffee I told Terri a bit about the Bolles investigation. She said she always had been intrigued by private investigators, the work they did, the way they lived. She called it a fascination, and offered to help if I needed anything done. Why not? I didn't have much hope she could provide assistance (which proved a remarkably bad judgment), but I said she could try. Devereux had mentioned stories Bolles wrote about Bradley Funk and Emprise, and I'd been planning to find them. Would Terri be interested in doing that? She would. I had that witness to see, and told her I'd call in a few days. pps. 59-66 --[cont]-- Aloha, He'Ping, Om, Shalom, Salaam. Em Hotep, Peace Be, Omnia Bona Bonis, All My Relations. Adieu, Adios, Aloha. Amen. Roads End Kris DECLARATION & DISCLAIMER ========== CTRL is a discussion and informational exchange list. Proselyzting propagandic screeds are not allowed. Substance—not soapboxing! These are sordid matters and 'conspiracy theory', with its many half-truths, misdirections and outright frauds is used politically by different groups with major and minor effects spread throughout the spectrum of time and thought. That being said, CTRL gives no endorsement to the validity of posts, and always suggests to readers; be wary of what you read. CTRL gives no credeence to Holocaust denial and nazi's need not apply. Let us please be civil and as always, Caveat Lector. ======================================================================== Archives Available at: http://home.ease.lsoft.com/archives/CTRL.html http:[EMAIL PROTECTED]/ ======================================================================== To subscribe to Conspiracy Theory Research List[CTRL] send email: SUBSCRIBE CTRL [to:] [EMAIL PROTECTED] To UNsubscribe to Conspiracy Theory Research List[CTRL] send email: SIGNOFF CTRL [to:] [EMAIL PROTECTED] Om
