The Flying Bandit Page 22

  The lieutenant sent two officers outside with Snider. They promptly removed Bond from the car, took him inside, and locked him in the cells.

  “You’re not going to leave me here?” Bond said to Snider.

  “We are definitely going to leave you here,” George replied. “Enjoy your stay.” He turned and walked out.

  Bond thought Snider was bluffing, but after a week in the Quebec cells he’d had enough. He knew they held over forty B & E charges against him in Quebec and they could hold him in dead time for months while he waited for trial. At the end of the week, Bond used one of his few phone calls to contact Snider in Kanata.

  He pleaded with George to get him released and bring him back to Ontario. Snider said he would try, on one condition: he wanted better cooperation from Bond, more reliability, more information. Bond promised that would happen. He said he’d give George the name he was waiting for.

  “Tonight?” George demanded.

  “Tonight,” Bond agreed.

  When Snider returned to the Hull police station he had a very difficult time getting the Quebec police to release Bond to him. It took over an hour of negotiation before Snider finally convinced them to let him go.

  While Snider and Bond were driving over the bridge on the way back to Ottawa, Bond gave him what he had been wanting for so many months.

  “I think the Birks Bandit is a guy named Robert,” Bond said.

  To contain his excitement, George had to squeeze the steering wheel.

  “Robert who?” he said stolidly.

  There was a silent pause.

  “Whiteman,” Bond said. “I heard that the Birks Bandit is an American guy named Robert Whiteman. He lives in Pembroke.”

  On the inside, George was ecstatic. On the outside, with difficulty, he remained calm.

  “We’ll see about that,” he said. “We’ll see.”

  As they drove, Snider’s mind connected the facts: Tommy Craig, stolen jewellery, the Chrysler 5th Avenue seen around the Playmate, the car registered to Janice Whiteman in Pembroke, her husband Robert Whiteman. It was a perfect fit.

  The next day Snider called OPP Detective Shawn Smith in Pembroke and asked him for his help in getting some information on a local resident named Robert Whiteman.

  Smith told Snider he would be happy to help.

  Although George didn’t know Shawn Smith well he’d heard that he was a good investigator who had a solid reputation around Pembroke. He was friendly and helpful with anyone who needed a hand, had lots of patience working with young people, and was known for giving first offenders a break. Smith had a free and easy style and a good sense of humour. He used to joke, “You better not mess with me because I belong to the biggest street gang in the world.”

  But he had a tough side. His patience could run out very quickly if he found someone was abusing his tolerance. He had little sympathy with hardened criminals and he could get physical if he had to. Ruggedly built, “Smitty” was a feisty hockey player and an avid fastball pitcher who never missed a season playing either sport.

  As soon as Smith hung up the phone he called a friend of his with the Pembroke Police, a sergeant named Issie Radke. He asked Issie to see if they had anything in their files on a Robert Whiteman.

  Radke began searching through their card file. While he was working his way through the Ws, Constable Jim Toop passed by and asked, “Who you looking for?”

  “Some guy named Robert Whiteman. You had any dealings with someone who drives a Chrysler 5th Avenue?” Radke asked.

  Toop pondered.

  “Yeah, maybe,” he said. Toop thought the name rang a bell. He checked his notebook and found his notes on the domestic complaint at 450 Dominion Street. “Yeah, I had a Whiteman ... Robert Whiteman.”

  “That’s the guy,” Radke responded.

  “He doesn’t drive a 5th Avenue, his wife does. He doesn’t have a licence.”

  “He better have one, because, from what I understand, he’s been driving all over Ottawa with that Chrysler.” They checked with the Ministry of Transport again for his driver’s licence and his name still wasn’t in the system.

  “Maybe there’s a glitch in the system,” Toop said.

  “Maybe,” Radke replied, “maybe not. Where did you say he lived?”

  Toop checked his notebook again.

  “At 450 Dominion Street. Out by the Boundary Road.”

  “Good. Thanks for your help.”

  When Radke phoned Shawn Smith and gave him the information, Smith drove over to Dominion Street in an unmarked car to have a look around. He enjoyed the intrigue of investigating; he’d been doing it for the last seven years.

  Being a policeman hadn’t always been this much fun. He’d started with the OPP in 1970 and served in northern Ontario for the first ten years. Those were disappointing years because, although he had always wanted to be a detective, issuing traffic tickets and responding to domestic disputes was not his idea of policing. He got the chance he’d been waiting for in 1980 when he was transferred to Pembroke as the only detective in the detachment.

  Like many detectives, Smith’s personal life was troubled. His heavy workload and long hours had played havoc with his marriage. He and his wife had been separated for three years, and since then, he’d been living on his own. Even though he was away from his wife, he tried to keep in regular contact with his two children. Every Tuesday night without fail, he would take his daughter, Andrea, to the movies. Whenever his son, Shawn, needed to be taken to a game or a practice, he was there.

  But right now the focus of his energies was on a man he’d never met: Robert Whiteman of Dominion Street.

  On April 1, Robert flew to Regina and booked a room in the Sheraton Hotel. The next day at 12:20 p.m., he walked into the CIBC on Scarth Street, went behind the counter, pulled out his gun and emptied $10,930 from three tellers’ drawers into his bag. As he left, he hollered, “Don’t follow me.”

  Robert returned to his hotel, changed outfits and briefcases and went down to the hotel bar for a quick drink. At 1:00 p.m. he went to the Sheraton’s parking garage, changed into his disguise and walked across Broad Street to the Royal Bank. He robbed it of $8,736. This time, as he left, he shouted, “Don’t follow me or you’ll take a bullet.”

  After leaving this bank, Robert returned to the underground parking lot, discarded his disguise and took off his outer clothes, leaving himself dressed in a suit. When he walked out of the garage, he saw that the street was filled with police cruisers.

  Strolling past one of the uniform policeman he asked, “What’s all the commotion, officer?”

  “Bank robbery,” the policeman said, “two of them.”

  Robert’s whole body was shaking with excitement. Doing two banks in less than an hour was a special thrill. It ranked right up there with his million-dollar heist in Vancouver. The rush it gave lasted for hours. He was still savouring the feeling that night when he got back to Ottawa and went to a prearranged meeting with Tommy Craig at the Chimo Inn. But not long into their discussions, his mood changed.

  “I’ve got to tell Janice what I’m doing,” he said to Tommy.

  Tommy didn’t know what to say.

  “I don’t know how she’s going to react, but I’ve got to tell her.”

  “Do what you got to do,” Tommy said. Although it sounded as if he was agreeing with him, Tommy really wasn’t so sure this was a good thing for him to do. He had no idea how Janice would react. Maybe she’d end the marriage. Maybe she’d turn him in. That could pull the whole thing down on a lot of people.

  Tommy had always thought Janice was a strange woman, kind of emotionless and cold blooded. He had never thought she was the brightest woman in the world but he often wondered how she couldn’t figure out that something was going on with Robert. It was like she had lost touch with reality. How could she be so naive? Tommy could only conclude she was so in love with Robert and their family life together that she simply closed her eyes and ears to what Robert was doi
ng. Tommy figured she just didn’t want to know that anything was wrong. The more he thought about it, Tommy concluded it would be a very bad idea for Robert to tell her what he was doing.

  In the end, Robert’s dilemma was purely academic. When he got home to Pembroke, Janice greeted him with the news that she was pregnant again. Once she told him that, he couldn’t tell her anything about the criminal side of his life. It would have destroyed her.

  He had mixed feelings about them having another baby. In his heart, Robert had only planned on having one child in their family but he was not about to tell his wife that, either. He tried to appear excited and happy, but he knew this was just complicating an already complex situation. He certainly wasn’t going to respond to Janice’s joyous news by telling her he was a bank robber. At that point he decided his best move was to take her out to dinner and celebrate.

  For the rest of the month Robert stayed home except for two expensive trips to Ottawa. On one jaunt, he chartered a helicopter and flew there. While the pilot waited at the airport, Robert took a cab to the Playmate where he picked up what he needed, had a few drinks and took the helicopter back home. The bill for the flight was $200. When his buddies at the club found out they were truly impressed. It added a new dimension to his already legendary status, which was precisely what he had intended.

  Later in the month Robert chartered an airplane to take him to Ottawa. The plane was ten minutes in the air when Robert asked the pilot to turn back. He gave no reason except to tell the pilot he had changed his mind. That aborted trip cost him $399.96. His turning back in mid-flight has never been explained.

  While Robert was engaged in these strange pursuits in Pembroke, Mel Robertson was getting to know him better in Ottawa. He had checked out Robert Whiteman and found that his business documents – such things as bank accounts, income tax, and credit cards – went back only three years. Prior to that no such man existed in Ontario. He requisitioned Whiteman’s credit card records and began checking the location of his purchases and accommodations against the dates and locations of the Birks robberies. Finding an amazing similarity, he then began to check them against some of the more recent bank robberies across the country. He found even more incriminating connections.

  In Pembroke, Shawn Smith kept up his surveillance on Whiteman’s movements and had a local informant, who lived on Dominion Street, keep an eye on Whiteman’s car. Smith wanted to know every time it left the driveway. CAFE undercover officer Jim McGillis was sent to Pembroke with a surveillance van to surreptitiously take some photos of Whiteman. McGillis stayed for two days and came back with some good 35mm colour shots of Whiteman standing in his driveway with his wife, talking to the neighbours. Their Chrysler 5th Avenue was parked in the background.

  Shawn Smith began following Whiteman’s car around and asking questions wherever Whiteman stopped. Most of his activities were very innocent. He liked to take his little girl for rides in the car. Often they ended up at Wally’s where he drank Crown Royal and she munched on bread dipped in gravy. Smith soon discovered that anyone in Pembroke who knew Robert thought he was a travelling businessman. And they all thought he was an excellent person.

  Now Smith wanted to meet him face to face. On Wednesday morning, June 12, wearing plainclothes and riding in an unmarked car with OPP Constable Tim Sheppard, he pulled Whiteman over in his car on Henry Street in downtown Pembroke. Robert had little Laura buckled in beside him. Shawn identified himself as a police officer and advised Whiteman that he’d stopped him for having tinted windows on his car, which, at that time, was illegal in Ontario. He asked to see Whiteman’s licence.

  Robert Whiteman and friends in his run-about on the Ottawa River, 1987

  OPP surveillance photo of Robert and Janice with a neighbour on Dominion Street. Their Chrysler Fifth Avenue is in the driveway.

  Robert said he didn’t have an Ontario driver’s licence. “I’m from Alberta and all I have is an Alberta licence. I left it at home.”

  “That’s OK,” Smith said. “There’s no problem. I’ll drop by your house later to have a look at it.” Then Smith left.

  As Smith’s cruiser pulled away Robert could feel anxiety tugging at his stomach. The officer seemed nice enough, but Robert wondered what was going on. Why would a plainclothes policeman stop a Chrysler 5th Avenue for such a trivial traffic violation?

  That afternoon, Smith went back to Dominion Street to see Whiteman. He was going to use an old police ruse to get his fingerprints. He would hand Whiteman a photograph and ask if he could identify the subject in the picture.

  When Smith got to Robert’s house he wasn’t invited in. The two men stood out on the porch and talked.

  “I’m not so concerned about your driver’s licence. What I really want to know is if you have any information about this guy down the street.” He handed Robert the photograph.

  Robert took the photo by the edge, careful not to leave a full fingerprint on the picture.

  “I don’t know anything about this guy,” he said, handing back the photo.

  Smith let it drop out of his hands, hoping that Robert would pick it up. But he didn’t; he let the police officer bend over and pick it up. Right then Smith suspected he was dealing with a crafty and experienced criminal. Smith said goodnight and they parted. He didn’t want to say anything that might alert Whiteman that he was under suspicion.

  Robert went back inside wondering what Smith was up to.

  “What did he want?” Janice asked.

  “He wanted to know about some kid down the street.”

  “That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know. But there’s no damn way I’m helping the cops with anything.” Robert poured himself a drink and went back to watching his video.

  The day after Smith’s visit to the house, Robert phoned Mick Daglish overseas. While Robert was in England they’d had several conversations during which Mick told him that he was ready to change jobs and get out of the country.

  On the phone Robert said, “What would you think about being partners and opening a bar in the Turks and Caicos Islands?”

  “I can’t believe you said that,” Mick replied. “I’ve just been studying some maps and brochures about the islands. I’ve been thinking of maybe buying a charter boat down there and hiring it out for tours. I wouldn’t mind going down there with you and looking around. If we find something good, you can count me in fifty-fifty.”

  Both were excited about a joint venture in the Caribbean. They set June 16 as a date to go on a scouting mission in the islands. Everybody, including Janice and Mick’s wife, was ecstatic about the idea. Robert was on cloud nine. The idea of running a little business down there was very appealing. He figured a few more bank jobs and he should have enough money to make the financing work out. He couldn’t wait to tell his buddy Danny Belland about his plans.

  Robert had developed quite a friendship with Danny and had continued to go to Wally’s regularly. On one of Robert’s visits there, he’d offered Danny a free trip to Las Vegas.

  “I got to go there on business,” Robert said, “and I can bring you along without any cost to you.”

  “Ah, thanks anyway,” Danny replied, “but I got too much to do right here. And I got nobody who can take care of the place when I’m gone.”

  “Hey, no problem. If you don’t want to do that, we could go to Newfoundland later in the summer and do some fishing.”

  Danny laughed at that. “No, I can’t do that either. I can’t get away for months. Not until the fall, at least.”

  “Well, maybe we can go somewhere then.”

  “Geez, I never saw a guy who could travel so much,” Danny said. He looked at a new gold bracelet Robert was wearing. “That’s nice. Where’d you get that?”

  “Ah, I picked it up in Vancouver. Hey, if you ever want to buy some gold jewellery cheap, let me know. I can get you a good deal on stuff like this.”

  Danny thought Robert was a great guy, one in a million.r />
  Wally’s was a strange place for Robert to frequent because it was a regular hangout for policemen. Located just outside the city limits, it was a popular spot for OPP officers to drop in for a coffee. Wally’s was particularly popular for breakfast on the weekends. On Sunday morning it wasn’t unusual to find four or five uniformed men in Wally’s having something to eat before or after their change of shift. The police presence at the restaurant never threw Robert at all. He’d sit down beside them and talk to them just like he did with everybody else. None of the police in Pembroke had any idea that Shawn Smith was investigating Robert for George Snider. None of them knew of the existence of CAFE.

  In Ottawa, CAFE kept trying to check out Robert’s background, but in every direction they pursued him, he only went back three years; then he completely disappeared. Although they were sure that he was connected to a number of bank and jewellery store robberies, they had to proceed with extreme caution. They could not afford to let Whiteman know they were on his trail. Even if they had enough evidence to get a warrant to search his place they couldn’t afford to do it.

  Lyle MacCharles warned them, “Don’t spook this guy whatever you do.” He knew if they ever spooked a bright, connected guy like Whiteman, he would disappear so fast they would never find him. Then they’d be left with nothing: no stolen goods and no arrest.

  On the strength of information received from informants, RCMP Customs and Excise executed a search warrant on the Playmate Club on May 7 and a considerable quantity of contraband was seized. CAFE members were in attendance, and when the RCMP was finished, they executed their own warrant in a search for weapons. A number of unregistered handguns and several rounds of ammunition were found.

  Robert heard about the raid on the Playmate from Tommy and they both began to realize that some kind of special attention was being paid to the club.

  “Somebody wants me bad,” Tommy told Robert. “There’s undercover cops in here all the time. They think I can’t smell them but I can. They’re all over the place.”