The Flying Bandit Read online

  The first two times Joanne felt that everything went smoothly and quickly for him, so there was no reason for her to be fearful. But this time, when Whiteman went to leave by the back door, he found the door was locked. It was then, Joanne told the police, “I was never so afraid in all my life.”

  Joanne thought the thief might feel trapped, and in his panic, start to shoot at people in the bank. Her fears were soon allayed when Whiteman calmly turned the lock on the door, opened it and walked out to Hunter Street. From there he quickly disappeared using his customary route in the adjacent alley behind the bank.

  The experience of the locked door evidently didn’t faze Robert at all. After the robbery he went back to the Holiday Inn, showered, changed into some comfortable slacks and then went sight-seeing. He drove to the world-famous hydraulic lift-lock that boaters use as they navigate the Trent Canal. Like any other tourist, he stood and watched the towering mechanism function while he chatted with a number of folks that had travelled miles to see it.

  When he tired of that, Robert drove through the tunnel under the locks and crossed the canal to Liftlock Golfland. Although it was barely spring, the driving range was open and Robert spent the next hour or so hitting golf balls. While he swung away, a police cruiser went by. He kept an eye on it but it didn’t even slow down as it passed. That confirmed Robert’s belief that no one would be looking for a bank robber driving a Chrysler 5th Avenue who had stayed around town after the robbery to hit golf balls at the driving range.

  One of the unfortunate consequences of this Peterborough robbery was that an innocent man was charged and arrested for the holdup. Two days after the robbery, the police arrested Robert Sobel, a local man from nearby Warsaw, who was known to the Peterborough police because he was on a peace bond for threatening his girlfriend. Although Sobel had no criminal record it was assumed he had a working knowledge of banks and police procedure because he had once worked as a security guard. The police based much of their probable cause to arrest him on a composite drawing sketched from a description provided by one of the bank tellers. Two of the investigating officers felt the drawing closely resembled Sobel. One of the tellers went through a book of mug shots and, seeing Sobel’s picture, said, “That’s him ... I think.”

  With this evidence, the police were able to get a warrant from a Justice of the Peace to search Sobel’s house. Thirty-two-year-old Sobel was flabbergasted when the police arrived and began scouring his house. In their search, they found seven handguns in the house, and several twenty-dollar bills on the kitchen counter that made him look all the more suspicious. Against his strong protestations of innocence, the police read Sobel his rights and took him to the city cells. There, he once again professed his innocence and offered to take a lie detector test to prove it. When the Crown Attorney heard of Sobel’s offer he asked that taking such a test be made a condition of his bail. The results of his lie detector test were inconclusive.

  Even when he was released, Robert Sobel had a very bad time of it. Some of his friends and most of his neighbours shunned him because they thought he was a dangerous armed robber who had brazenly held up their friendly neighbourhood bank. Sobel’s predicament was a nightmare; it took him months to prove to people that he was not guilty of such a horrible crime.

  Meanwhile Robert went about his business in Pembroke, still unaware that most of his closest associates were under the searching scrutiny of a special police task force.

  CHAPTER 14

  Rolling Over

  Now that Heyerhoff and Snider were convinced that Tommy Craig was, in some way, directly connected with the Birks Bandit, they were also confident that someone close to Tommy would know enough to lead them to the Bandit himself. The person they had in mind was Peter Bond.

  But Bond could be a problem. Ever since Snider had released him from his burglary arrest in Munster Hamlet, Bond had been playing games with him. While George waited patiently for Bond to give up the “big name” he’d promised, Pete had not delivered. Every time they got together, Bond stalled. He said he needed more time to get his facts right and put it all together. He kept assuring Snider that the wait would be worth his while.

  Although he was getting tired of Bond’s run-around, Snider knew there was great potential here. He didn’t want to play too rough and ruin a good thing, so he kept his cool and went along with him.

  “I want to hear from you real soon,” George would tell him.

  “Don’t worry,” Pete would say, “I’ll get back to you.”

  But he never did and that started to eat away at Snider. He felt he was being abused. But still he waited.

  Others in CAFE were not so patient. Because Bond was still active criminally, it wasn’t long before his name began to show up on progress reports at CAFE meetings. When the reports showed that Bond’s illicit activity was second only to Tommy Craig’s, some of the CAFE members were determined to take him down as soon as possible. As a consequence, Mel Robertson, who was in charge of CAFE surveillance, ordered that Bond be followed on a daily basis.

  But Bond, who was always sensitive to the potential for police surveillance, continued to be difficult to track, even with relay surveillance. Several times CAFE had a five-car relay team on his Bronco and, more often than not, they lost him.

  On one occasion in rural Quebec, Bond led Heyerhoff down a dead-end road, swerved his Bronco around and went flying past Ralph in the opposite direction. In disgust, all Heyerhoff could do was radio the other four police cars: “Bond has U-bolted and is now Stevie to me.” “Stevie” was police parlance for Stevie Wonder. In other words, Heyerhoff had lost sight of him.

  On another relay surveillance, Snider was following Bond. He lost him momentarily when Bond, who was ahead, circled onto a ramp of the Queensway. Moments later, when George started circling up the same ramp, there was Pete, standing beside his car smugly waving at Snider. Not only did he wave at Snider, he jumped back in his Bronco and began chasing him. George was then put in the embarrassing position of trying to lose the car he was supposedly trying to tail. As he did so, the CAFE cops in the other four cars had to listen to George curse and swear over the radio as he tried to lose Bond in the traffic.

  Even with their lack of success, CAFE kept up their futile pursuit of Bond for ten days. But things didn’t get any better. Sometimes Bond got away from his apartment in the morning without CAFE seeing him leave. Unaware he was gone, they spent half the day waiting for him to come out. On the days they did see him leave he led them a merry chase all over western Quebec and eastern Ontario. He took them to places they had never seen before, to back roads along beautiful lakes and rivers they never knew existed.

  Snider was getting angry. He knew CAFE was wasting their time chasing Bond and he knew Bond had valuable information which Snider wanted immediately. One morning at a meeting with his CAFE counterparts, George let his feelings be known.

  “I am getting pissed off with this asshole,” George said. “Pete Bond is just fucking us all around and I’m tired of chasing him.”

  “You think he can dodge us forever?” Heyerhoff asked.

  “It looks entirely possible,” Snider replied. “Every time we go after him, things end up going sideways.”

  Mel Robertson was annoyed. “You want me to call off the surveillance on Bond?” he asked.

  “That’s right, I do,” George responded, “I’m sick of it.”

  “Oh, really!” Robertson replied sharply.

  “If we call it off, then what the hell are we going to do?” Heyerhoff asked.

  “I’ll tell you what I’m NOT going to do,” George snarled. “I am not going to follow that big motherfucker one more day. I’m going over to his place and arrest him for that outstanding B & E that he’s got on the books.”

  Now Robertson was getting hot too.

  “That’s a menial property crime, George. You’re not going to hold him with something as trivial as that.”

  “Mel,” Snider snapped back, “I kno
w it’s a piece of shit, and YOU know that, but HE doesn’t know that. I’m not waiting any longer. He already owes me for that Munster Hamlet job and it’s time he paid up.”

  Robertson didn’t agree with George’s idea. CAFE’s plan had been to let Bond lead them to his source. Mel wasn’t convinced he wanted to give up on Bond’s surveillance so soon. He turned away from Snider and began to discuss the Bond situation with the other CAFE members at the table. Most of them agreed with what Robertson had been doing.

  While they were debating the issue George got up and went over to a desk in the corner. He phoned Bond. The others in the room couldn’t hear him speaking.

  “Hello, Pete,” George said into the phone.

  “Who’s this?” Bond replied.

  “It’s George Snider.”

  “Who?” Pete demanded.

  “George Snider, from the OPP. Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am.”

  “What do you want?” Bond asked.

  “I want you to meet me for breakfast.”

  “What! What are you talking ... “

  “At Harveys, right across the street from your place.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m sick and tired of chasing you all over the fucking country and I want us all to start our morning together so we know what we’re doing for the rest of the day.”

  Bond didn’t say anything. He was trying to figure out what was going on.

  “I’ll see you at Harveys in ten minutes,” George said, “Be there!” Then he hung up.

  When Snider rejoined the CAFE group Robertson asked him, “What was that all about?”

  George said, “I invited Bond to breakfast at Harveys, so we could set our itinerary for the day, and save all this fucking around.”

  Now Robertson was really angry, but always the gentleman, he kept himself under control. He knew his surveillance order had just been countermanded by a detective with a lower rank, but since Snider had already set up the meeting with Bond, there was little he could do about it. Maintaining his composure, Robertson directed Sergeant Bill Van Kralingen, one of the Ottawa Police representatives on CAFE, to go with Snider.

  This was one of the few times there was any friction on the CAFE team, and it is a credit to Robertson that he handled it the way he did.

  At Harveys, Snider and Van Kralingen enjoyed their breakfast. Bond didn’t show, but Snider hadn’t expected he would. When the two detectives were finished eating, they took a leisurely stroll over to Bond’s apartment on the corner of Donald Street and St. Laurent Boulevard.

  Snider led Van Kralingen directly to the apartment where he knew Bond was living with an ex-stripper named Debbie Rainville. After knocking on the door and getting no response, Snider went down to find the building superintendent. George identified himself as a police officer and brought him back to Bond’s apartment. They knocked repeatedly on the door, but got no answer.

  “I know you’re in there Bond,” George bellowed, “now open the Goddamn door.”

  There was no response. Van Kralingen, a greying, slender, distinguished-looking man in his late forties, let George do all the talking.

  “You’ve got a key for this place,” George said to the superintendent. “Open it up.”

  The super was reluctant to comply.

  “I can’t do that. I’m not supposed to.”

  At that point Debbie Rainville’s voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

  “What do you want?” she said.

  “You know what I want,” George replied. “I want Pete Bond and I want ...”

  “He’s not here.”

  “Open up so I can see for myself,” George demanded.

  “”No,” she answered, “you can’t come in, Snider. You got no right to come in here.”

  “I know there’s a warrant for his arrest,” George yelled back in all his fury. “You don’t open this fucking door, I’m going to kick it down.”

  “Jesus, man,” the super said, “don’t do that. Don’t wreck the door.”

  “Give me a minute,” Debbie yelled. She ran to the phone and called the OPP Kanata Detachment and spoke to Corporal Gerry Gibson, the man in charge of the OPP Kanata detectives. After identifying herself, she told him, “I’ve got one of your cops outside my door and he’s threatening to beat it down.”

  “Who’s the cop?” Gibson asked.

  “George Snider. He’s screaming and beating on the door.”

  “Well,” Gerry said in his philosophical way, “why don’t you let him in?”

  “I don’t want to. I don’t have to. He says he’s going to kick the door down.”

  “Well, if you don’t want to open it you better stand back and get out of the way, because if George says he’s coming in, he’s coming in.”

  “What?” Debbie screamed. “Is that all you have to say?”

  “No,” Gibson said. “When that door comes off its hinges, you better watch out for flying splinters” Then he added, “I guess that’s about it.”

  Debbie opened the door.

  While George searched out on the balcony for Bond, Van Kralingen found him hiding among Debbie’s dresses in her closet.

  As soon as Snider sat down with him to talk, Bond tried to bargain his way out of his arrest by offering weapons.

  “How many guns is it going to take to get you off my back?”

  “Look,” Snider replied, “you are not catching on. I want a name. I want a body. Nothing else will do. You don’t come up with a name right now, you’re going to jail. Don’t try to buy me off with any fucking guns. You can give me a nuclear submarine and you’re still going to jail.”

  There was a pause while they stared at each other. George spoke slowly to make the point he was serious.

  “And you are not getting back out on the street until I get that name.”

  After a long pause, Bond said, “I think I can get you the Birks Bandit.”

  A rush came over Snider. He knew he had just hit the jackpot. Although he wanted to jump up and down for joy, he didn’t want to reveal his elation at the significance of what Bond was telling him. Looking as disinterested as he could pretend, Snider said, “So what’s his name?”

  “I don’t have that yet. I think he’s an American.”

  “Yeah. Go on.”

  “That’s all I have right now.”

  “Peter, I’ve been waiting for information from you for months now. I think you’re just trying to fuck me around.”

  “No, I’m not. I don’t know the guy. I hardly see him any more. Give me some time and I’ll get you his name. I’ll find out for sure.”

  George knew that management would be furious if he let Bond go again, but now he definitely figured it was worth the risk. If Bond could give him the Birks Bandit, George was willing to leave him out on the street and give him more time.

  After that encounter in his apartment Pete Bond performed more acceptably. He didn’t come up with the Bandit’s name but he gave them some information on several small contraband shipments. It was always just enough to hold George off but not enough to satisfy him. The situation was precarious for both Snider and Bond. Neither wanted to call the other one’s bluff. Bond would end up in jail; Snider would lose his shot at the Birks Bandit.

  As time wore on, Bond’s performance began to deteriorate again. He became unreliable – missing appointments, skipping meetings, ignoring telephone messages. George was starting to lose his patience. He phoned Lyle MacCharles who knew about Bond’s potential as an informant on the Birks Bandit. As they talked the situation over it was clear that MacCharles was fed up with Bond too. Both MacCharles and Snider knew that Bond was wanted on a series of B & Es in Hull, but the Quebec police didn’t have sufficient evidence for a warrant to bring him out of Ontario.

  “I’m tired of this shit, George,” the Inspector said.

  “So am I. What are we going to do?”

  “Hmmm,” MacCharles pondered. “It’s too bad the Quebec police
couldn’t get their hands on him.”

  George didn’t respond. He knew enough not to ask any questions.

  MacCharles continued, “Maybe if he spent a week with our friends over there he could make an educated choice of who he wants to deal with.”

  MacCharles could hear George Snider thinking on the other end of the phone.

  “Goodbye, George,” he said.

  Snider immediately made arrangements by phone to meet Bond in Ottawa on Eastern Parkway. When George pulled up beside him in his unmarked cruiser, Bond cautiously checked the back seat to make sure the detective was alone then slipped into the front seat beside him. After a brief conversation with Snider, Bond saw the headlights of a second car pull up behind them. Suspecting it was more police, he opened the car door. Before he could get very far, Ralph Heyerhoff and Jack Richard, another CAFE member, grabbed him and hustled him into the back seat of their cruiser. Snider followed them to the car and climbed in beside Bond. Richard sat up front with Heyerhoff behind the wheel. With the doors still closing as the car pulled away, Ralph raced the cruiser across the bridge and through the streets of Hull. Within minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of the Quebec Provincial Police.

  “What’s going on?” Bond demanded.

  “If you don’t want to deal with us,” George said, “then you can deal with these guys.”

  Bond thought they were kidding, but he became concerned when Snider got out of the car and went into the station.

  Once inside, George asked to see the lieutenant of detectives.

  “Are you guys looking for a thief named Peter Bond?” George asked.

  “Yeah,” the lieutenant said, “we sure are. We don’t have enough for a warrant, but if we catch him over here he sure as hell is not leaving.”

  “Good,” George replied, “because there’s a blue Bonneville in the parking lot outside and Pete Bond’s sitting in it.”

  “Oh, yeah?” The lieutenant began to smile.

  “Yeah. Why don’t you check it out?”