Chapter 7 Chapter 4 Between Two Worlds

It was an interstate highway robbery involving a truckload of Scotch whiskey worth $100,000.It was the spring of 1971, and I had been assigned to work in Detroit for six months.A warehouse foreman tipped us off where they were about to sell off. The FBI and Detroit police were working together on the case, but the two agencies worked out their plans separately, with only high-level consultations taking place.Whatever decision they made, it was not communicated to street operatives anyway.As a result, when the time came for the arrest, no one knew what the other party was doing. The operation took place at night on the outskirts of the city, close to the railway tracks.I was driving an Bureau bus with my squad leader, Bob Fitzpatrick, sitting next to him.The whistleblower was Fitzpatrick's informant, and Bob McGonigal was the special agent in charge of the case.

On the radio: "Get 'em! Get 'em!" We slammed on the brakes and surrounded the freight trailer.The driver opened the door, rushed out, and ran.I opened the door, jumped out of the car, drew my pistol, and ran after another agent who jumped out of the other car. It was dark at night, and we were all dressed in plain clothes, no suits or ties.Suddenly, I saw a uniformed policeman pointing a gun at me, and I will never forget the way he rolled his eyes for the rest of my life.He yelled, "Stop! I'm the police! Put the gun down!" We were within 8 feet of each other and I realized this guy was about to shoot me.I stood still, facing the fact that one wrong step and I was history.

Just as I was about to drop the gun and raise my hands, Bob Fitzpatrick yelled frantically, "He's from the Bureau! He's an FBI agent!" The policeman lowered his gun, and out of instinct, I ran after the driver again, with a manic excitement in my heart, trying to make up the distance I missed just now.Another agent caught up to him at the same time as me.We knocked him to the ground and handcuffed him, which was unnecessarily rough because I was so nervous.Those few seconds of being petrified at the thought that I was about to be shot were the scariest experience of my life.There have been many times since then when I tried to put myself in the shoes of a rape-murder victim, when I forced myself to imagine what they must have been thinking and going through as they were being attacked. Reflecting on the horror I experienced, this experience helped me to truly understand the case from the perspective of the victim.

Many of our young lads work hard to arrest the bad guys, however many old agents who are no longer working hard seem to have this attitude that there is no point in breaking the status quo, whether you risk it or not, you get paid the same salary, The salesman has to be proactive.With our superiors encouraging us to spend most of our time outside the office, browsing store windows, sitting in parks and reading The Wall Street Journal were some of the Secret Service's favorite pastimes. Being pushy by nature, I felt obligated to submit a report recommending that my superiors adopt a performance-based salary system and reward those agents with the most outstanding performance in handling cases.I turned the report over to our Assistant Special Agent in Charge, Tom Nally.

Tom called me into his office, closed the door, picked up the report from the desk, and gave me a good-natured smile. "John, what's your hurry? You're going to be promoted to GS-11," he said, tearing the report in half. "You'll be promoted to GS-12," he said, tearing the report in half again. "You'll be promoted to GS-13." He tore again, laughing out loud. "Don't break the status quo, Douglas." This was his last advice, and he threw the scraps of paper into the trash can. Fifteen years later, Edgar Hoover was long dead and had lost at least some of his influence, and the FBI had indeed implemented a performance-based pay system.But when they finally implemented the system, it was clear that I had nothing to do with it and they did it themselves.

One night in May, actually I remember the Friday night after May 17th - as for why this date is mentioned, you will see in a moment - I was with Bob McGonigal and Jack Kunst was hanging out at a bar we frequented.The bar was across the street from the workstation and it was called Jim's Garage.A rock band was playing and we were all drinking a lot when suddenly a charming young woman walked in with her girlfriend.She reminds me of a young Sophia Loren.She was dressed stylishly: a blue crop top and high-heeled boots that almost covered her thighs. I yelled, "Hey, the lady in blue! Come here!" To my surprise, she and her girlfriend did come.Her name is Pam Modica.We chatted and laughed happily immediately, and we got along very well.It turned out that it was her 21st birthday, and she and her girlfriend came out to celebrate reaching the legal drinking age.She seemed to like my sense of humor, and, as I learned in hindsight, her first impression of me was that I was good-looking, but a bit silly with the short, government-mandated hair.After leaving Jim's Garage we spent the rest of the night drinking at a few bars.

In the weeks that followed, we got to know each other better.She lived in downtown Detroit and attended Pershing High School, an almost entirely black school that attended basketball star Elvin Hayes.She was a student at Eastern Michigan University in Ypsilanti when we met. Our relationship developed quickly, but Pam took its toll socially.It was 1971, the Vietnam War was still raging, and distrust of the FBI was rife on college campuses.Many of her friends were reluctant to associate with us because they thought I was a spy sent by the authorities to report their words and actions to the higher authorities.The whole notion that these young people thought they were important and that they were being watched by the authorities seemed ludicrous.But then again, the FBI was doing these things back then.

I still remember what happened in a sociology class with Pam.I sat in the back of the classroom and listened to a class taught by a radical young assistant professor who was very "fashionable".I had been watching her intently, and she had looked back at me from time to time, and it was evident that my presence had really disturbed her.Anyone from the bureau is not a friend, and her student's boyfriend is no exception.Looking back on this, I realize that sometimes you can be unsettling just being human, and my clerk and I took advantage of that.During a brutal murder case in Alaska, my black colleague Judd Ray made a racially biased defendant appear distraught on the witness stand as Ray sat next to the defendant's girlfriend , very friendly to her.

During Pam's first few years at Eastern Michigan University, a serial killer was on the run, though we hadn't used the term yet.His first crime was in July 1967 when a girl named Mary Fraser disappeared.Her mutilated body was not found until a month later.She was stabbed to death with a knife, her hands and feet had been cut off.A year later, the body of Joan Schell, a student at the University of Michigan in neighboring Ann Arbor, was also found.She was brutally raped and had almost 50 cuts on her body.A body was later found in Ypsilanti. These killings, known as the "Michigan Murders," intensified, and girls at both colleges lived in fear.Every body found bears the marks of brutal torture.By the time a University of Michigan student named John Norman Collins was apprehended in 1969—who happened to be his uncle, Police Corporal David Leake—there had been six female college students and one 13-year-old. A year-old girl was brutally murdered.

Three months before I entered the bureau, Collins had been convicted and sentenced to life in prison.But I often wonder if this devil would have been brought to justice before he caused so many tragedies if the Bureau of Investigation had mastered the crime-solving knowledge we have now.Even after his arrest, his ghost still haunts the campus, just as Ted Bundy's ghost began to haunt other college campuses two or three years later.Those heinous crimes have become part of Pam's recent life, and they have become part of my memory.I was thinking that when I started researching and tracking serial killers, John Norman Collins and his beautiful, innocent victims were more than nine times out of ten with me, at least on a subconscious level.

I was five years older than Pam, but since she was still in college and I was already in law enforcement, there often seemed to be a generation gap between us.In public, she is often reticent and submissive around me and my friends, but I fear we sometimes take advantage of her. Once, Bob McGonigal and I had lunch with Pam in a hotel restaurant overlooking downtown.We were in black suits and winged flaps, and Pam was in snappy varsity.After the meal, we took the elevator back to the lobby on the first floor, and the elevator seemed to stop at every level.Every time it stops, the elevator becomes more crowded. When the elevator was halfway down, Bob turned to Pam and said, "We had a great meal today. I'll be sure to call you next time we're downtown." Pam was looking at the ground, trying not to react, when I stepped in: "Next time I'll bring the whipped cream, and you bring the cherries." The other passengers in the elevator looked at each other, writhing uncomfortably, Tom finally couldn't help it, and burst out laughing.They all looked at the three of us like we were psychos. Pam is scheduled to study in Coventry, UK as an exchange student in the fall semester. When she flew to England in late August, I was pretty sure she was the girl I was going to marry.It never occurred to me to ask Pam if she felt the same way about me.I just took it for granted that she must have thought so. When she was not in the United States, we kept writing.I run a lot from her home, which lives at 622 Alameda Street near the Michigan State Fairgrounds.Pam's father died when Pam was a child.Her mother, Rosalie, was very hospitable, and I took advantage of that by going to her house for dinner several times a week while I profiled her and Pam's younger siblings to try to get a sense of Pam's habits. During this time, I became acquainted with another woman, whom Pam would later refer to as "the golf baby" (even though they never met).Also, we met in a bar.Looking back on this period, I must have spent too much time in bars.She was in her early twenties, quite attractive, and had just graduated from college.When we first met, she insisted that I go to her house for dinner. It turned out that her family lived in Dearborn, where Ford's world headquarters is located.Her father was the president of a large automobile company.They lived in a large stone house with a private swimming pool, original artwork and stylish furniture.Her father is nearly half a century old and has the image of a successful entrepreneur.Her mother was gentle and amiable.We sat at the dinner table, flanked by my new girlfriend's siblings.I started profiling the family, trying to estimate their net worth.At the same time, they were trying to judge me. Everything was going too well.They seemed to take a liking to me as an FBI agent, which was quite different from the people I was familiar with in Pam's circle, which pleased me.But of course these people have a vested interest mentality.I was getting more and more nervous, and I realized that the source of the tension was that they wanted me to get married almost right away. Her father asked about my family, my background, my military service.I told him that I had managed Air Force base sports fields.Then he told me that he and a colleague owned a golf course in the Detroit suburbs.He went on talking about fairways and hitting areas, and I kept raising my estimate of his fortune. "John, do you play golf?" he asked me. "I don't, Uncle," I replied without stopping, "but I do like to learn." That's how it was.We laughed out loud.I stayed at her house that night, sleeping on a couch in a small room.In the middle of the night, that girl came to visit me. Somehow she was able to "sleepwalk" downstairs to visit me.Maybe it's the thought of living in this high-end house that scares me, maybe it's the instinct of worrying about being calculated by others since I joined the investigation bureau. Others behaved in the same way.I took leave of her home the next morning, after enjoying the hospitality of her whole family and a good dinner.I knew that my chances for a good life had been missed. A few days before Christmas 1971, Pam returned home from England.I have decided to propose to her and bought a diamond engagement ring.In those days, the Bureau had quite a few affiliate stores, and you could go there and buy just about anything you wanted.The company I went to buy the diamond ring was very grateful that we had solved a jewelry theft, so the goods sold to the agents were very cheap. The largest diamond ring I could afford was 1.25 carats due to the great price.But I made up my mind that if she saw the diamond ring at the bottom of a champagne glass for the first time, not only would she think I was super smart, but the ring would look like it was three carats in size.I took her to an Italian restaurant not far from her home.I was going to put the ring in her wine glass as soon as she got up to go to the bathroom. But she never went to the bathroom.So the next night, I took her to the restaurant again, with exactly the same result.I had performed countless surveillance missions at that time, and I often sat in the car for hours at a time, and I had to hold back when I wanted to go to the toilet. This is a real professional obstacle, so I really have to admire Pa m.However, this should perhaps be seen as a sort of message from God that I am not ready to rush into marriage. The next night was Christmas Eve, and we all went to her mother's house for the holiday, and the whole family got together.This is an opportunity never to be missed.We drank her favorite Italian sparkling wine.At last she left the room and went to the kitchen for a while.She came back and sat on my lap, and we toasted each other, and if I hadn't stopped her just in time, she would have swallowed the diamond ring. The 3-carat scene was over.She didn't see it at all until I pointed it out.I don't know if there is any hidden information in it. Importantly, though, I had set up my "interrogation scene" so that it would have the desired effect.We sat next to her mother and younger siblings, all of whom liked me, in such an elaborate scene that Pam didn't have much choice.She offered to marry me.We are scheduled to get married in June of the following year. Most single agents were assigned to New York or Chicago in their second year of assignment on the grounds that they were less difficult than married agents.I didn't have a particular city preference, and ended up being sent to Milwaukee, which sounded like a nice city, even though I'd never been there and had no precise idea of ​​its location.I will be transferring and settling down there in January, and Pam will join me there after we get married. I found a place in the Juneau Village apartment complex on Juneau Avenue, not far from the Milwaukee field station in the Federal Building on North Jackson Street.It turned out to be a misstep, because no matter what happened, they always said, "Go to Douglas. He's just three blocks down the road." Even before I arrived in Milwaukee, the women at the station knew about me: Specifically, I was one of only two single agents on the station.In the first few weeks of my arrival, they all rushed to take my dictation, although I didn't have much to dictate.Everyone wants to be close to me.Within a few weeks, when word got around that I was engaged, I was like five-day deodorant on day six. I later found out that the atmosphere at the Milwaukee field station was a Detroit counterpart, only better than worse.The first agent in charge I met there was Ed Hayes, whom everyone called "Fast Eddie."He was always flushed in the face (he died of high blood pressure shortly after his retirement), and was always walking around snapping his fingers, yelling, "Get out of the office! Get out of the office!" I said to him, "Where do you want me to go? I'm new here, I don't have a car, and I don't have a case." He said to me, "I don't care where you go. Just get out of the office." I had to leave the office.During that time, I was either in the library or wandering along Wisconsin Avenue near the field station, and I could often come across several agents browsing shop windows because they had nowhere else to go.During this time, I purchased a second car, a Ford Torino, through a car dealer connected to the Bureau. My next supervisor, Special Agent Herb Hoxey, was transferred from the Little Rock, Arkansas Field Station.Recruiting new recruits is always a major task for the lead agent.Hoxey has attached great importance to this since he took office.Each field station has a monthly quota for recruiting special agents and non-secretary personnel. Hoxey called me into his office and said I was in charge of recruiting.This kind of task usually falls to one person, who has to travel all over the state. "Why should I be held accountable?" I asked him. "Because we had to replace the previous guy, he was lucky he didn't get fired." The guy was always visiting the local high school to interview female students for secretarial jobs.Hoover was still alive at the time, and female agents were not allowed in the Bureau.He would ask them questions, as if he had prepared a set of questions in advance.One of the questions was: "Are you a virgin?" If the answer was no, he asked her out on a date.The student's parents started complaining, and the agent in charge had to block him. I started recruiting people all over the state.Before long, I was recruiting almost four times the quota.I became the best recruiter in the country.So here's the problem: I was doing so well they wouldn't replace me.I told Hoxie that I really didn't want to do recruiting anymore, that I didn't come to the Bureau to do personnel work.Instead, he threatened to put me in the Human Rights Unit, which investigates police departments and officers accused of mistreating suspects and prisoners, or discriminating against minorities.It's not the most popular job.I thought to myself, what a wicked way to reward my good work. I had to make a deal.Arrogant and arrogant, I agreed to continue to create good recruiting results, but only if Hoxey agreed to designate me as his first successor.Plus, I had access to an agency bus and was allowed to apply for a scholarship to graduate school from the Law Enforcement Assistance Administration.I knew in my heart that a master's degree was necessary if I didn't want to spend my life in the field. I've been treated with more or less suspicion in the field station.Anyone seeking such a higher education must be a radical liberal.But at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee, the school where I started spending evenings and weekends studying for a master's degree in educational psychology, I was viewed quite the opposite.Most professors suspected that their classes had been filled with FBI agents, and I had never been patient enough to talk about the difficult and sensitive topics of psychology class. (For example: "John, please introduce yourself to the classmate next to you and tell him the real situation of John Douglas.") Once in class, everyone sat in a circle.The circle was very big in those days.I gradually realized that no one was talking to me.I tried to join their conversation, but no one wanted to say anything to me.Finally I had to say, "What the hell, guys?" Turns out I had a metal-handled comb protruding from my jacket pocket, and they all thought it was an antenna, worried that I was recording a class conversation and beaming it back to "headquarters" .The self-important paranoia of these people has never ceased to amaze me. In early May 1972, Edgar Hoover passed away peacefully in his sleep at his residence in Washington.Early in the morning, the headquarters sent the bad news to every field workstation by telex.In Milwaukee, the special agent in charge called us together to deliver the news.Even though Hoover was in his late twenties and had run the Bureau for a long time, no one really thought he would die.Now that the king is gone, we are all anxious to know where the next generation of kings will come from.Patrick Gray, a loyal ally of President Nixon and former deputy attorney general, was named acting director.He initially gained popularity for innovations such as allowing the hiring of female agents.When his allegiance to the government collided with the needs of the Bureau, his popularity began to decline. A few weeks after Hoover died, I was recruiting in Green Bay when I got a call from Pam.She told me that the priest wanted to make an appointment with us before the wedding.I believe the priest thought he could convert me to Catholicism so that I could gain good opinion from church leaders.However, Pam is a devout Catholic, and the education he has received since he was a child is to respect the priest and obey the priest's instructions.I know if I don't give in, she'll mess with me forever. We came to St. Rita Church together, but she went in first to meet the priest alone.It reminded me of being taken to the police station when I was a college student in Montana, where they separated us and interrogated us separately.I'm sure they're deliberating a strategy for talking to me.When they finally called me in, the first thing I said was, "What have you two prepared against me, a Protestant boy?" The priest was a young and kind man, about thirty years of age.He asked me a few general questions, such as: "What is love?" I tried to profile him, trying to find a specific best answer.The interview is a lot like an SAT: You can't be sure if you're adequately prepared. We talked about birth control, educating kids, stuff like that.I started asking him how, as a priest, he felt about taking a vow of abstinence and not having a family of his own.The priest seemed like a nice guy, but Pam kept telling me that St. Rita was a very disciplined, traditional church.He's uncomfortable with me, maybe just because I'm not Catholic.I'm not sure about this.I think he wanted to liven up the atmosphere before asking me: "Where did you two meet?" Whenever stress arises in my life, I always crack a joke and do my best to lighten up the tension.I think this opportunity is coming, and I can't stop it.I pull the chair closer to him. "Father," I said, "you know I'm an FBI agent. I don't know if Pam told you about her background." I sat closer to him as I spoke, locking in the eye contact I had learned to use during interrogations.I just don't want him looking at Pam because I don't know how she's going to react. "We met at a place called Jim's Garage, which was a bar with a topless showgirl cabaret. Pam was a dancer there, and she was a good dancer. But what really caught my attention was when she was dancing The tassels that hang from each breast, and she can make the tassels spin in opposite directions. Take my word for it, it's a sight to behold." Pam paled and wondered if she should explain.The priest listened intently. "Anyway, she made the tassels spin in the opposite direction, faster and faster, and suddenly one of the tassels fell off and flew towards the auditorium. Everyone went to grab it. I jumped up, grabbed it, and returned it. I gave it to her, so we have what we are today." The priest opened his mouth wide.I made this guy take my word for it, like that fictitious book report in ninth grade, and I couldn't stop laughing. "You mean none of this is real?" he asked.Now Pam laughed too.We all shook our heads.I don't know if the priest was relieved or disappointed. Bob McGonigal was my best man.The morning of the wedding was dreary and rainy, and I was eager to have the wedding sooner rather than later.I asked Bob to call Pam at her mother's house and ask if she had seen me or heard from me.Of course she said no, and then Bob made some nonsense that I wasn't home last night, and he was worried that I'd get cold feet and try to back down.Looking back on it, I can't believe how my sense of humor could have gone so far against reason.Eventually Bob burst out laughing, and our trick was revealed.I'm a little disappointed that I didn't get to know Pam's reaction to this though.She later told me that she was so busy with the wedding arrangements and worried about whether her permed hair would be curled in this humid weather.So the disappearance of the bridegroom is a trivial matter. After we exchanged our vows in church that afternoon, the priest announced that we were married.I was surprised that he actually said something kind to me. "I met Douglas that day for the first time, and he made me think long and deeply about what I know about my religion." Only God knows what I've said, let him ponder it so deeply, but God's role is mysterious.I later told the story of Tassel to a priest in Seattle who Pam asked to pray for me.I also made him believe it. We spent a brief honeymoon in the Poconos, staying in hotel rooms with heart-shaped bathtubs, mirrored ceilings and upscale fittings, before driving back to Long Island.My parents threw a banquet for us because almost no one in my family was able to attend the wedding. After the marriage, Pam moved to Milwaukee.She has graduated and started coaching.All new teachers had to fill in for the poorest inner-city schools.Among them, the junior high school is particularly bad.It is not uncommon for teachers there to be beaten and kicked, and young female teachers have even experienced several attempted rapes.I finally left the recruiting team and spent most of my time in the crime response unit, which dealt with bank robberies.As dangerous as my job was, I was more worried about Pam's situation.At least I still have a pistol for self-defense.On one occasion, four students coerced her into an empty classroom and groped her.She ran away yelling and yelling, and I was furious about it.I really want to take some agents to school and give them a hard time. My best buddy at the time was a special agent named Joe Del Campo, and he was working with me on bank robberies.We frequent the bakery on Oakland Avenue near the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee campus.It was opened by a couple, David and Sarah Goldberg.It didn't take long for Joe and I to get to know them.In fact, they treated us like their sons. Sometimes we'd come to the store early in the morning with pistols and help them put the bagels and Bally rolls in the oven.After breakfast, we set out to hunt down the fugitives, follow up some leads in other cases, and then go back for lunch.Joe and I both worked out at the Jewish Community Sports Center, and around Christmas and Hanukkah we bought a center membership for the Goldbergs.Then other agents started coming to the bakery, which we called "Goldberg's Diner," and we had a social gathering there that included the lead agent and the assistant lead agent. Joe Del Campo is a very smart guy, he can speak several languages, and his marksmanship is also first-rate.It can be said that his prowess played a key role in one of the strangest and most chaotic critical situations I have ever experienced. One winter day, Joe and I were in the field station interrogating a fugitive captured that morning when we got a call that the Milwaukee police were in a standoff with a hostage-taker.Joe had just finished his night shift and hadn't gotten a break yet, but we left our murderer and rushed to the crime scene. It was an old house with Tudor architecture.When we got there, we learned that the hijacker was Jacob Cohen, a fugitive who had been accused of killing a Chicago police officer.An FBI Special Weapons Strike Team that had just finished training surrounded the center of the apartment where he was hiding, and Agent Richard Carr was shot by him as he tried to approach him.The lunatic then rushed out of the squad's encirclement line and was shot twice in the buttocks.He grabbed a young boy who was shoveling snow and fled into a house.He had three hostages under his control, two children and an adult.He later released the adult and a child.The little boy he controlled, we estimate to be between 10 and 12 years old. Everyone was annoyed at this point.It was very cold.Cohen was mad again, not even the fact that his ass was covered in buckshot could calm him down.The Bureau of Investigation and the Milwaukee Police were unhappy with each other that the situation had gotten so bad and out of control.The Special Weapons Strike Team was also annoyed that it was their first major case and that they had missed him and let him run off the perimeter.Normally, when the FBI got to this point, they were determined to kill the hijacker because he had shot one of their own agents.And the Chicago police have already said that they want to take down the hijacker. If anyone is asked to kill the hijacker, then this power belongs to them. When Agent-in-charge Herb Hoxey arrived on the scene, it seemed to me that several mistakes were made to add to the mistakes already made by others.First, he used a bullhorn to give the impression that he was calling the shots.It feels better to communicate privately by phone, and it gives you the flexibility to negotiate privately.Second, I don't think he should have offered to take himself hostage in exchange for the boy. In this way, Hoxey sat in the driver's seat of a Bureau of Investigation bus.Police surrounded the car as it reversed into the driveway.Meanwhile, Del Campo asked me to help him up to the roof.It was a Tudor house, remember, with a steeply sloping roof and a slippery layer of ice, and Jo hadn't slept a wink all night.The only weapon he carried with him was a . 357 pistol with a 2.5-inch barrel. Cohen walked out of the house, wrapping his arms around the little boy's head and pressing him tightly against his body.Detective Beasley of the Milwaukee Police Department stepped up from a circle of officers and said, "Here's everything you want, Jack. Let the little boy go!" Del Campo was walking along the steep roof. Climb up.The police had seen him there and knew what his intentions were. Hijackers and hostages are approaching the car.The ground is full of ice and snow.Suddenly the little boy slipped and fell on the ice, causing Cohen to let go.Del Campo was already on the roof.He judged that the bullet might be high due to the short barrel, so he aimed a shot at the hijacker's neck. It was an impressive shot, and the bullet hit the hijacker directly in the middle of the neck.Cohen fell to the ground, but no one could tell whether he or the boy had been hit. Just three seconds later, bullets flew around the car.Detective Beasley was shot in the ankle during the firefight.The little boy crawled in front of the car, which was heading towards him, as Hoxey lost control of the car when he was hit by flying glass.Fortunately, the little boy was not seriously injured. True to Bureau cliché, the evening news on local television showed Chief Agent Herbert Hoxey being wheeled out of the emergency room on a gurney.With blood dripping from his ears, he told reporters as he was being pushed by paramedics: "Suddenly I heard gunshots and bullets flying around. I guess I've been shot, but I don't think anything will happen. Big problem..." And the FBI, God, Mother, apple pie, and so on. But things are not over yet.The two sides were close to fighting each other, and the police almost beat Del Campo because he robbed them of their opportunity to do meritorious service.The Special Weapons Assault Squad was also very upset because he made them look like wimps.They went to Chief Secret Service Assistant Ed Best to vent their dissatisfaction, and Best came forward to defend Del Campo, praising Joe for defusing the unfavorable situation they had created. Cohen, who had 30 to 40 bullet holes in his body, was alive when the ambulance took him to the hospital.他在被送到医院时终于一命呜呼了，这对有关各方来说是件幸事。 特工卡尔奇迹般地保住了性命。科恩的子弹打穿了卡尔的战壕外套，钻入了肩膀，从气管旁擦过，最后落在肺部。卡尔一直保存着那件带有弹孔的战壕外套，从那天起一穿上它就显得十分自豪。 我和德尔·坎波有一阵子是极佳的破案搭档，只是我们动辄大笑不止，不能自已。有一次，我们到一家同性恋酒吧试图发展几个眼线，以便查出一个同性恋谋杀案在逃犯的下落。酒吧里光线昏暗，过了好一会儿，我们的眼睛才适应过来。我们突然意识到，我们正处于众目睽睽之下，于是开始就他们想交友的是我们俩中的哪一位争论不休。随即我们看见吧台上方的一告示牌上写道：“找到一条硬汉子真快活。”这下子我们简直给弄懵了，像两个傻瓜一样捧腹大笑起来。 我们无需多少笑料就能大笑。我们有一回在私人疗养院跟一位坐在轮椅里的老人交谈时就曾大笑不止，又一回在拜会一位衣冠楚楚的四十多岁商人时也曾大笑起来，因为他的假发滑落到前额部位。这并不要紧。只要出现任何滑稽可笑的场面，我和乔是不会错过的。这种态度听起来有些麻木不仁，但也许它是一种必须具备的而且很管用的素质。当你整天都忙于调查谋杀现场和弃尸地点，尤其当案件涉及儿童时，当你同数以百计乃至千计的受害者及其家人谈过话时，当你看见有的人能够对其他人犯下绝对不可思议的暴行时，你最好还是学会对愚蠢的事情付之一笑。不然你准会发疯。 有别于许多执法工作者的是，我从来就不是一个开枪迷。不过在空军服役的时候，我就是个神枪手。我想，要是能在特种武器攻击小队干上一阵子大概会挺有意思的。每个外勤站都设有这样一个小队。小队中五名成员都是非专职的，需要时才将他们召集过来。我人选了该小队，被指派担任狙击手，其位置最靠后，任务是从远处射击。小队其他成员都具有很过硬的背景，比如干过绿色贝雷帽或者参加过丛林战特种部队，而我只教过飞行员的妻子小孩如何游泳。小队长名叫戴维·科尔，后来升任匡蒂科联邦调查局全国学院副院长，就是他要我来主持调查支援科的工作的。 我们曾办过一个案子，案情比起雅各布·科恩的疯狂行径来多少要平淡一些。当时有个家伙抢了银行，随后警察展开了一场高速追击，最终把他逼进了一处仓库。此时我们奉命前往。仓库里的他先是脱光了衣服，接着又重新穿上。他看上去真是疯疯癫癫的。后来，他要求把他太太带到现场，警方照此去做了。 在后来的年月里，当我们深入研究了这种罪犯个性时，就能理解这种事是做不得的，你不应同意这类要求，因为他们要见的人往往就是他们认为首先引发问题的人。所以你这样做，其实是置此人于巨大危险之中，同时还帮助他们完成了先凶杀后自杀的举动。 幸运的是，此案中的警察并没有把她送进仓库，而是让她通过电话跟他交谈。果然，他一挂上电话，就抠动猎枪扳机把脑瓜打开了花。 我们各就各位等候了好几个小时，转眼间案子就这样完结了。可是，你不能马上化解压力，它反倒常常会触发反常的幽默感。“真见鬼，他干吗要这样做呢？”有个家伙议论说，“道格拉斯可是个神枪手。他本来能够替他一枪解决问题的。” 我在密尔沃基呆了五年多。终于我和帕姆从朱诺大街的公寓搬到了棕鹿路上的一处市区新型住宅，远离外勤站，靠近市区北郊。我多半时间忙于侦破抢劫银行案，因破案有功连连受奖。我发现，每当找到一种“识别标志”将若干案子联系起来时，我的破案机率就会非常大，我们后来的系列谋杀分析便是以此项要素作为基础的。 这一时期，我捅下的惟一大漏子是在杰里·霍根取代赫布·霍克西出任主管特工以后。主管这一职位并不享有多少特权，可是能够使用一辆调查局公车是为数不多的特权之一。霍根对他那辆翡翠绿色福特车十分得意。有一天我外出查案时需要用车，而所有车子都已派出。霍根当时外出参加会议，因此我问主管特工助理阿瑟·富尔顿能不能用一下主管的车子。他答应得很勉强。 谁知事后杰里把我叫进了他的办公室，冲着我大叫大嚷，责隆我用了他的车，弄脏了车子。而且最糟糕的是，送回车子时还爆了一只胎。我可是根本没有察觉到爆胎。由于杰里与我一直相处得挺好，因此当他一个劲儿声嘶力竭地吼叫时，我忍不住要笑出声来。很显然这是一次失误。 在那天晚些时候，我的分队长雷·伯恩对我说：“约翰，你晓得杰里·霍根其实很喜欢你，只是他不得不教训你一次。他指派你去印第安居留地工作。” 当时正是“伤膝溪事件”余波未平、印第安人权利意识高涨之际。就像在底特律贫民区那样，我们在居留地成了众矢之的。印第安人受到了政府的不公平待遇。当我首次抵达绿湾的梅诺米尼居留地时，不敢相信竞有人不得不生活在这样贫困、肮脏和道德败坏的环境之中。他们的原有文化遭到了严重破坏，他们常常对我的到来几乎视而不见。你在许多居留地发现，酗酒，虐待子女、配偶，袭击，谋杀等的发案率居高不下，这在很大程度上应归咎于生存状况恶劣以及政府的长期敌意和漠视态度。由于印第安人极不信任政府，联邦调查局特工要想取得证人的任何形式合作或协助几乎是不可能的。 当地的印第安人事务局代表帮不上什么忙。甚至连受害者的家人也不愿被扯进破案工作，深怕会被人扣上通敌的帽子。有的时候，当你获悉发生了谋杀案并赶到现场时，尸体已在那里停放了好几天，上面爬满了蛆虫。 在居留地工作的一个多月时间里，我起码调查了六起谋杀案。我深为那些印第安人难过，情绪一直不振，把每天离开那里回家过夜视为一种享受。我从未见过哪个群体的人处境如此艰辛。虽说不大安全，在梅诺米尼我头一回集中全力调查谋杀案犯罪现场，事后证明这段艰苦经历对我帮助极大。 毋庸置疑，我在密尔沃基工作期间最美妙的事件莫过于1975年11月喜得第一个孩子，埃里卡。帕姆开始产前阵痛时，我们正准备与几位友人，萨姆·拉斯金和埃丝特·拉斯金，上当地一家乡村俱乐部共进感恩节晚餐。埃里卡于次日问世。 我当时要加班加点侦破抢劫银行案和完成研究生学业，因此新添婴儿意味着睡眠更少。自不待言，养育婴儿的责任主要由帕姆承担着。我身为人父，感到家庭责任更重了，但我喜欢看着埃里卡一点点长大。我那时还没有接手绑架儿童案和谋杀儿童案，我想这对大家来说是幸运的。假如我办理的是这类案子，假如我真的停下来思考外面发生的案情，我不知道能否愉快地适应为人父这一角色。待到我们的次女劳伦于1980年出生时，我已深深涉足这一领域。 我想，为人父也促使我尽力去创造成功的人生。我很清楚我当时从事的工作并非是自己向往中的终身职业。杰里·霍根劝我先干满10年外勤工作，再考虑申请其他工作。这样一来，我的经历足够升至主管特工助理，乃至最后晋升为主管特工，尔后或许最终能进入总部工作。但是，因为有了一个孩子，且还会有更多的孩子到来，外勤特工从一个工作站调任另一个工作站的工作便显得缺乏吸引力了。 随着时光推移，我已开始另眼看待这份工作了。狙击手的训练和特种武器攻击小队的执勤丧失了以往的魅力。我在心理学方面既拥有背景(此时已拿到了硕士学位)，又怀有兴趣。对我来说，这份工作的挑战性在于，它可以控制局面，不让事态发展到非开枪不可。主管特工推荐我去匡蒂科的联邦调查局学院参加了为期两周的人质谈判课程的学习，当时学院开办不过几个年头。 在那里承蒙诸如霍华德·特顿和帕特·马拉尼等具有传奇色彩的特工的指导，我头一回接触到当时被称为行为科学的知识。它改变了我的职业生涯。