Ann Rule End of the Dream

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laying chess. He would simply have to anticipate any eventuality.
Most of all, he had to be sure that he was anonymous, that no one in a
bank would ever know what he really looked like. Since his initial bank
heist had worked so well, Scott had the audacity to return to the very
same bank two months later. On August 20, 1992, late on a Friday
afternoon, he walked into the Madison Park branch of the Sea first Bank
alone. One of the tellers who had handed money to him in June recognized
him almost at once as the same man who had robbed her before. But no one
else made the connection. Once again, the bank witnesses all estimated
his age differently, one thought he was forty-five, another guessed he
was in his fifties. Every one agreed he had graying blond hair and a
blond-gray mustache. Some thought it was his real hair, others suspected
it was a wig. He wore a dark green baseball cap and a gray sports
jacket. The "aging" robber had ordered everyone to lie on the floor, and
warned them not to follow him. He had apparently been doing his homework
because this time he ordered the teller, "Don't put any dye packs in."
(Any bank robber who survives for long knows that tellers keep stacks of
money with a hidden pack of bright orangey-red dye stuck between a
packet of bills in the drawer where they have their cash. The dye packs
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activate when they are carried beyond a certain point in the bank, and
they explode covering the robber and his loot with dye that will not
wash off for more than a week. ) The bank surveillance camera didn't
activate in time, and none of the tellers managed to slip in any marked
bills or any dye packs.
So far, so good but he didn't get as much money as he had the first
time, only $8,124.50. The FBI was charting the gray-haired bank robber's
movements, and they didn't have to wait as long for him to hit again. On
September 3only two weeks latera man burst into the U. S.
Bank in West Seattle at 12:30 P. M. He moved with a certain fluid grace
toward the teller counter, pointing his black handgun at the bank
employees and customers. "This is a robbery. Keep calm. Everybody keep
quiet.
Don't move. I want all the tellers to put the money on the counters.
" This time, the dozen witnesses described a younger manin his thirties.
He had worn jeans, a light colored T-shirt, and a pale blue sport
jacket. And, incongruously, high-top red sneakers. Some had seen only
the blond wig, while one observant teller saw the curly dark brown hair
beneath it and even the razor burn on his neck from a recent shave. But
everyone remembered the surgical gloves he wore, and the baseball cap
that said "DARE" on it. That was an ironic touch, those hats were handed
out by police to promote their "Dare to keep off drugs" program for
kids.
Nobody could really see the robber's face, some recalled only thick
makeup, while others thought he wore a translucent mask over makeup.
He wore opaque sunglasses that obscured his eyes. Once the money was on
the counter, he moved quickly, sweeping stacks of bills into a black
vinyl bag. He seemed to know his stuff.
When he saw that a teller had given him only one stack of bills, he
ordered her to produce the money from a second drawer. She did.
Still, one of the tellers had surreptitiously activated the bank's
camera and silent alarm and another had pushed a stack of marked bills
toward the lone robber. He was in and out of the bank rapidly. As he
walked toward the double doors, he called back, "Every one lie down on
the floor. Nobody look out the windows, or I'll come back and shoot.
" Believing him, no one moved. A teller managed to peek under her arm
and saw the bank robber turn left outside the doors. But then he was
gone. And he had taken $9,613 of the bank's money with him, some of it
in "bait" bills. It was, of course, Scott. He had now made a mistake, a
small one, yes, but he carried away the marked packet of bills. The
fourth bank robbery by a slender, remarkably fit man happened only eight
days later. On September 11, he was back in the northeastern part of the
city at the University Savings Bank in the Laurelhurst neighborhood.
Again, it was at the end of the week Friday and around noon, 12:10 to be
exact. His MO and his outfit were virtually the same as the last time.
This time, his image was caught on the bank's cameras in excellent
detail, the funky gray blond wig and mustache didn't match the lithe,
muscular body and he definitely moved like an athletic younger man.
His voice was described as harsh and deep, but that could have been
influenced by what he was saying. "It's a robbery. Get the money out.
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Put the money on the counter! " When one teller hesitated, he turned to
him and said, "You too. I don't want any dye packs. I want your backup
money, too." The man with the black gun asked again for "backup money."
"That's all I have, " the Customer Service Teller said, as he emptied
his second drawer, deftly slipping bills into the stack of money. The
man in the strange, translucent mask said, "Look at it this way. If I
was going to cash a five-thousand-dollar check, where would you get the
cash? " He leapt effortlessly onto the counter so that he could watch
the tellers closely. The male bank officer had no choice but to take out
a reserve box of cash and put it on a back counter.
The robber grabbed the box and vaulted back over the counter. He was [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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