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May 14, 2012 By Kris Hundley and John Martin Tampa Bay Times CLEVELAND He had at least $1 million in cash, believed to be from donors whothought they were giving to the U.S. Navy Veterans Association. Buthe lived like a pauper, stocking up on beef jerky and bumming mealsat homeless shelters. He had a suitcase full of stolen birth certificates and creditreports, enough identities for a lifetime on the lam. But he usedthe same names repeatedly, leaving a trail of bread crumbs forinvestigators to follow. The fugitive's fatal flaw was his penchant for picking unusualnames. Any con man can disappear under a run-of-the-mill name likeBobby Thompson, the name he used for a decade in Tampa. Only agenius can hide in plain sight using names like Dale Booqua orElmer Dosier. At the end of April, the man who ran Navy Veterans, who calledhimself "Commander" and had his picture taken twice withPresident George W. Bush, learned he wasn't so smart after all.After two years on the run, he was caught by U.S. marshals tippedto his whereabouts in Portland, Ore., when he recycled an alias hehad used a year ago in Providence, R.I. The name: Anderson Yazzie. There are three Anderson Yazzies in the United States, all Navajos,all in the Southwest. None had ever been to either Providence orPortland. Deputy U.S. Marshal Bill Boldin, one of three investigatorstracking Thompson, said searching the country for a "JoeSmith" would have been virtually impossible. "But if you start doing database searches or asking yourcontacts in different jurisdictions to check hotels, businesses,bus lines for an Anderson Yazzie, that name jumps out," Boldinsaid in an interview with the Tampa Bay Times Wednesday. "It'sincredibly time-consuming, but it's an easy name to track." The search When Navy Veterans was exposed as a nationwide scam by the Times inMarch 2010, one of the first officials to react was RichardCordray, Ohio's attorney general at the time. Though it was basedin Tampa, the fake charity had solicited nearly $2 million fromOhio residents. Cordray's office got a grand jury indictment of Thompson and hisaccomplice, Blanca Contreras, in October 2010 on charges ofcorruption, money laundering and fraud. Last year Contreras wassentenced to five years in prison. Thompson couldn't be found tostand trial. After Cordray lost re-election in January 2011, he called PeteElliott, the U.S. marshal for the northern district of Ohio, andasked him for help dealing with a tipster who would not stoppestering him. The man claimed Thompson was really a turkey farmerin West Virginia. The tip proved bogus, but Elliott's men, who had known nothingabout the Navy Veterans case, were hooked. "He's the kind of guy we want to go after," said Elliott,whose team has captured 26,000 fugitives since it was formed in2003. "I gave them the ability to go anywhere to follow thecase. Every week we were one step closer." By January, Boldin, Deputy Marshal Tony Gardner and Special DeputyMarshal Mike Caruso, a detective on assignment from the EuclidPolice Department, were working the Thompson case full time. The three men holed up in a windowless storage space used byElliott's fugitive task force on the 12th floor of the federalbuilding in Cleveland. Long ago someone slapped an official-lookingplacard on the door labeling it "The War Room." Inside,it looked more like a man-cave, with a dusty fake tree decoratedwith white Christmas lights and posters boasting that U.S. marshalsalways get their man. On one wall, the newly formed task force had plastered photos ofthe man they knew as Bobby Thompson. Outside another sign read: "What have YOU done toidentify/capture 'Bobby Thompson' today?!" Starting with one alias, the team quickly learned of others. By running facial recognition software on its driver's licensedatabase, Indiana officials had discovered the target's photo onthree identification cards issued in the early 2000s. In additionto Thompson, the fugitive had stolen the names of a man in Gallup,N.M., and a dead police officer who once worked on a Navajoreservation. "He didn't use those names for years," Boldin said."But he was preparing for the day he was going to go on therun." When they weren't making calls and combing through databases likethose of utility connections, video rentals, bus passes and hotelreservations, the task force hit the road. They started by interviewing Thompson's former lawyer, hisimprisoned accomplice and one of Navy Veterans' fundraisers toflesh out the man they knew only from photos. They learned Thompson drank as much as a bottle of vodka a day. Helived a spartan lifestyle in a run-down apartment with roaches. Henever drove. He carried $100 bills but shopped at Walmart and atefrozen turkey dinners. Thompson dressed like a slob, in baggy T-shirts and cargo pants,looking like he'd just rolled out of bed. He would clean up onlywhen he went to a political event. Then, he would put on a blueblazer and the glad-handing persona of a former Navy intelligenceofficer turned charity honcho. Early in the hunt, Thompson's onetime attorney, Helen MacMurray ofColumbus, told investigators she thought her client may have fledthe country, maybe heading to Asia. But a check with the StateDepartment's passport department was a dead end. "Leaving the country involves additional scrutiny withpassports," Boldin said. "He was smart enough to know notto subject himself to that. Trying to leave the country would bevery difficult, and trying to leave with millions of dollars wouldbe even harder." The aliases Just a few weeks after they took up the case, the investigatorsbegan to interview the real people behind the identities thefugitive had filched. After Caruso and Gardner spent a few hours with the real BobbyThompson, a 65-year-old full-blooded Choctaw who lives inWashington state, they became convinced the Seattle man was notinvolved in the scheme. Their effort to uncover how his life mighthave overlapped with the fugitive's yielded one tantalizing clue:The real Thompson had worked for the Bureau of Indian Affairs inthe Albuquerque area. Several other aliases stemmed from the sameplace. So the task force booked a trip south, trekking from Albuquerque toGallup to Ganado, Ariz., across the Navajo reservation and backagain. The investigators spent five days driving across the desertand launched a media blitz that included electronic billboards withThompson's mug shot. They visited casinos, apartment complexes,homeless shelters, a VA hospital and a Navajo school trying to seeif anyone recognized the fugitive. Sitting down across kitchen tables from people whose identities hadbeen stolen, they showed photos of Bobby Thompson and asked: Do youknow this man? Do you know any of the other people whose identitieshe stole? Is there a chance you worked together, belonged to thesame clubs, had been treated at the same hospital? None of them had even donated to Navy Veterans. "We were looking for a common thread," Boldin said."We never found one. Did he open up the Gallup phone book andrandomly pick some names? We still don't know." Nor was the public response much help, according to Boldin's boss. "We got some stuff, but nobody called and said, 'I know wherethis guy is,'?" Elliott said. The scent in Boston Calls to local officials in Boston, where Thompson had been seenat an ATM in July 2010, yielded a promising lead. He had rented aUPS box there under one of his aliases. It had been abandoned, butmail kept coming for several people, including three Navajos in NewMexico. Included in the mail was information about an apartment thefugitive had rented in Providence, R.I. The investigators were pumped as they headed to the Northeast inFebruary. "We thought it was possible he was stillthere," Boldin said. No such luck. The fugitive had been in Providence just three monthsbefore he left suddenly in March 2011, immediately after a repeatairing of an episode of America's Most Wanted that featuredThompson's story. But the task force didn't go home empty-handed. The man who rented Thompson the apartment above a dry cleaner's ona busy street had stashed a bag of his belongings in the basement:camouflage shorts, a Leatherman pocketknife, empty backpacks and astash of beef jerky. "Survivalist gear," Boldin said. And people in the neighborhood who recognized Thompson's photodescribed a man who walked the streets for hours, haunting nearbybars and homeless shelters where he would eat. The landlord said when he entered Thompson's abandoned apartment,one room had shredded paper covering the floor and a paper shredderin the middle of the room. A new $3,500 box spring and mattress hadbeen shoved into a corner. The living room was arranged like a make-shift chapel, with apodium, religious artifacts on the wall and rows of folding chairs.Wires hanging from the ceiling suggested webcams might have oncebeen installed in the room. Investigators also found evidence that Thompson was trying to get anew charity/scam off the ground in Providence: the Plymouth RockSociety of Christian Pilgrims. A source who recognized thefugitive's photo told the task force that Thompson asked him to bean actor in a documentary he was filming for PBS comparing thePuritans' pilgrimage to America to a modern-day American'spilgrimage to Africa. His chance at stardom vanished with Thompson. The catch In Providence, the investigators also landed a crucial clue. Whilethere, Bobby Thompson had used the name Anderson Yazzie. The taskforce added it to the list of aliases they were watching and waitedfor a hit. It came in late April, when the Yazzie name resurfaced in Portland.Within days, the guys from Cleveland were on a plane. Before they got to Portland, local police had used informationabout Thompson's habits to come up with a list of neighborhoodswhere he might be living. They looked for low-rent areas neardowntown that were on a bus line and within walking distance ofbars, a grocery and a liquor store. Local detectives came back withword that a few trusted sources who had been shown Thompson's photosaid they may have seen him in a working-class neighborhood innortheast Portland. "We felt pretty good about our chances," Boldin said ofthe stake-out. "But we didn't want him to get wind of us, orwe were afraid he'd go packing." Less than eight hours after leaving the hotel on their first day inPortland, the men from the U.S. marshals had their man. While hiscolleagues and about a half-dozen police waited outside, Boldinstrolled into Biddy's, an Irish pub on Northeast Glisan Street,about 6:30 p.m. The only people inside were the bartender, a woman drinking coffeeand tequila shots and Thompson, who sat at the bar nursing a talldraft beer and staring out the window. He ignored the bald guy in apolo shirt and blue jeans who sat down next to him and ordered abowl of chili. Boldin immediately texted the others: "It's him. He's sittingright next to me." The team did not move in right away, because they wanted to followThompson home in hopes of discovering his real identity. After an hour at Biddy's, Thompson wandered slowly five blocks to aFred Meyer discount store, leaning heavily on a cane. Whileinvestigators shadowed his moves, the fugitive rode a motorizedcart through the aisles, picking up groceries and a money order forhis rent. "He was oblivious to us," said Boldin, who said mostfugitives have a tendency to keep looking over their shoulders forthe law. "He wasn't at all paranoid. He thought he was thesmartest guy in the room and had nothing to worry about." After leaving the store and driving the cart to the edge of theparking lot, Thompson climbed onto a bus, only to get off a fewblocks later and walk into the Hour- Glass pub, known for its cheapfried chicken. Law enforcement waited outside, not worried he wasgoing to elude them. "We were pretty sure he wasn't going to outrun us,"Boldin said. "At this point, we're just trying not tolaugh." An hour later, Thompson emerged and turned onto a nearby street.When he stopped in front of a Victorian home and began fumbling inhis pockets, agents moved in. Thompson did not resist. When askedhis name he said, "I invoke my constitutional right to remainsilent." The aftermath The day after the arrest, as the investigators were going throughthe evidence found in Thompson's pockets and backpack, they found abusiness card for Rose City Self Storage, along with an accesscode. In the closet-size unit, they found two small suitcases. The first one, soft-sided, held batches of birth certificates,credit reports and other identifying information for about 20people. A second, hard-shell case was packed with stacks of cash, bundledwith pony-tail ties and wrapped in an old newspaper. Gardner'sreaction: "Holy crap." When the stacks of $100s, $50s and $20s were finally counted, thetotal was $981,650. Three days after arresting Thompson, Gardner and Caruso were wedgedin next to him on a commercial flight back to Ohio. The two werepassing the time trying to figure out a crossword puzzle in theback of the in-flight magazine when Caruso came across a clue thatseemed particularly timely. Nudging his colleague, he turned toThompson. "Hey Bobby," Caruso asked his prisoner. "What'sanother name for 'swindlers'?" Kris Hundley can be reached at (727) 892-2996 orkhundleytampabay.com. I am an expert from tinplatesheet.com, while we provides the quality product, such as China Printed Tinplate , Tin Free Steel Manufacturer, Galvanised Steel Sheet,and more.
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