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EXECUTION
Chapter 1

In 1981 Carlyne Kelly and Deborah Miller were 18 year old best friends. They had decided to party out in Daytona Beach. In 1981 Roy Harich was a pretty cool dude who just happened to own a really cool van. Neither of the girls knew Harich. Roy chatted-up the two girls and he told them that he had a good stash of really good weed and asked the girls to party with him. So they all piled into the van and headed for a secluded woody area west of Daytona.  Within minutes after their arrival, Harich started brandishing a gun and demanded sex. The girls panicked and tried to run. Harich shot them both in the head, each fell, unconscious. Harich then slashed their throats and fled. Carlyne was dead. Miller was unconscious. When she regained consciousness she was grievously wounded but alive and lost in the woods. She clamped her hands over her slashed throat to staunch the gush of blood. She staggered out of the area by following tire tracks and ruts to a small local road. She was found, near death, on the side of that road. One of her rescuers later said that her neck was so violently slashed that she could only keep her head up and slow the bleeding by clutching her throat with both hands. Doctors said it was a miracle that she survived the head wound, and another miracle that she survived the slashing of her throat.

The police had no leads, precious little evidence, a police artist sketch of the assailant, a very good description of the van. That was it. That was enough. The police asked the public’s help in locating the van. An anonymous tipster called the police and told them where the where a van matching the description provided by Ms. Miller was parked, and who owned it. The police visited that spot, saw the van and interviewed the owner, Roy Harich. Subsequently Harich confessed. He was identified by Miller and the police investigation ultimately led to the prosecution of Harich. He was convicted and sentenced to death later in 1981. 

I first saw Harich on April 24^th of 1991 on my way to his execution. It was a first for both of us. I arrived at Florida State Prison in Starke at about 5:30 am and joined a group of about 20 other persons in the Administrative Offices of the prison, outside the fenced perimeter. At about 6:30 am the group was escorted to the main sally port. That sally port is controlled and guarded by a guard tower that permits entrance and exit through the twin row of razor wire that encircles the entire secure portion of the institution. The fences are about thirty apart and perfectly parallel. They are electrified and topped with sparkling garlands of coiled razor wire. That morning, the run between the fences was being patrolled by dogs, vicious dogs that snarled and growled as we were led in to the institution.  We were escorted to the main cafeteria. I cannot explain the gut anxiety that gripped me every time I went into a prison, and there were many of those times.

Prison corridors are usually wide, have shiny polished floors and shiny yellow walls. There is no decoration, no warmth, no softness. It’s threatening and drab. There is always the low rumble of sound of the several thousand inmates existing there. That rumble always fills the mind like an audible stench. This morning was no different, except that the sound level was somewhat muted.

In the prison cafeteria we were offered coffee and pastry. Few accepted the pastry. I was having a conversation with one of the officials when the lights suddenly dimmed, nearly leaving us in total darkness. At that instant, all the background noise simply stopped, the prison was silent--dead silent.

The official explained that there were switching away from commercial electrical power and were instead relying on their own generators so that the institution could not be sabotaged by offsite power interruption.     

THE ELECTRIC CHAIR
Chapter 2

At 6:30 AM April 24, 1991 Roy Harich and I were preparing for our first execution. At 6:30 AM Harich was in a small holding cell immediately adjacent to the death chamber of Florida State Prison. A patch of his skull about five inches in diameter had been shaved and the same area was shaved on the lower portion of his right leg. He had had a light meal, had spoken with his spiritual advisor and his lawyer. The routine for moving the doomed prisoner to the death chamber and seating him in Old Sparky is as carefully choreographed as any ballet. The moves are practiced and repeated until there is no error. The goal is to move the prisoner from the holding cell and into the death chamber and onto Old Sparky in the most humane fashion possible while avoiding any resistance.

Old Sparky is the electric chair. It was built years ago by convict labor. It has 3 legs, the back is perfectly straight. It is sturdy oak. The two legs are in front. There are heavy leather straps at each ankle, each wrist, each thigh, each arm and around the chest. There is a vertical support at the rear of the chair which is designed to support and firmly secure the inmates head to the chair with a leather strap. 

The death chamber itself is divided into three distinct sections. The room which holds Old Sparky is perhaps 10’ by 25’. The door from the area of the holding cell into the death chamber is located at the end of the back wall on the left side as you look into the chamber from the witness room. Immediately adjacent to the entry, on the right, is the control room which contains the electrical controls. This room is small and there is only an entry way into the room, no door. The control room has a two-way mirrored window for the executioner. Old Sparky sits facing the observation room. About six feet in front of the chair is the wall that separates the witness room from the death chamber. There is a large glazed window that extends nearly from one wall to the other on the long axis. The window begins at about waist level and extends nearly to ceiling.

This room has 3 rows of institutional chairs straight back chairs for the official witnesses. The room can hold about 25 or so people. The knees of the witnesses in the front row are nearly in contact with the wall, the eyes of the front row witnesses are only a few feet from the condemned.  Shortly before 7:00 AM the official witness group was herded from the cafeteria into a small caravan of white vans and transported around the perimeter of the institution to the south east corner of the southeastern most building in the complex. Then we were herded into the witness room through a rear door that opened onto the fire escape.

There was no small talk, the only sound was shuffling feet and terse directions from the prison officials. We were seated and moments later the door at the rear of the chamber opened, two large prison officials dressed in suits stepped into the room. Each of the men had a device called an iron claw. It is a device that is used to control recalcitrant prisoners. It looks like one half of a hand cuff. It has two arms that are pivoted from a center axle. The arms connected to a T-shaped handle that has a worm gear. The operator’s hand clutches the T and when the T is twisted the claw end opens or closes. It closes with great force and is capable of breaking bones if improperly used. Properly used, it is put on the wrist of the subject, the operator twists and the subject is instantly in great pain. If the subject does not resist there is no pain. The suited officials had an iron claw on the left and right wrists of Harich.

At the instant that Harich cleared the door, two other officials entered the chamber behind Harich, one on each side of Harich, they grasped his upper arms, then fast-walked him to the chair. Two other officials followed, and all six men propelled him into the chair. He did not resist. Within a matter of seconds the officials had strapped his torso and his extremities to the chair. It was obvious that every move had been practiced to perfection. The men were quick but humane. The official in charge made a telephone call to the Governor’s office to determine if any stay had been put in place at the last moment. There was no stay.

At this point the official in charge read the death warrant that had been signed by Governor Chiles. Another official asked Harich if he had any words. Harich said: "I'm disappointed with the almost total lack of fairness in the American criminal justice system. This is truly a sad time in our country's history, when political concerns take on more importance than the fundamental rights of the individual." Harich spoke not of the family of the girl that he had killed, he spoke not of the girl he had attempted to kill. He spoke not of remorse. He asked not for forgiveness. He spoke of himself as a victim.

Next one of the officials dipped a natural sponge in salt water, placed it on the shaved spot. Immediately another office place a leather hood with a large electrode imbedded in the top over Harich’s head. The hood was immediately very firmly strapped to the head support piece at the back of the chair. A second sponge was dipped in salt water, then it was place against the shaved spot on Harich’s left ankle and strapped in place with a leather cuff. Another official attached large wires to the ankle cuff and the hood. The men stepped back. The tips of Harich’s fingers were draped over the ends of the armrests. His fingers were clutching the wood. His little fingers were curled up with the tips resting on the edges of the arm rests. He flexed his hands. Then the current hit him. His hands strained and clutched and his little fingers lifted from the wood and twitched. The current held him for about twenty, or so, seconds, then it was cycled down. His little fingers were motionless. The current was cycled through him two more times. At the end of the third cycle thin tendrils of smoke could be seen at his leg. Harich was dead at the instant that he was hit with the first cycle.

An official wearing a large heavy rubber glove removed the large wires from the ankle and the hood. An individual dressed in a white lab coat wearing a stethoscope quickly listened to Harich’s chest and checked for a pulse on his neck. He nodded to the official in charge. That official made an announcement that the Governor’s Execution Warrant had been executed. The curtains on the observation window were closed. We, the official witnesses, filed out.  

-END-

PHIL THE STICK
Chapter 1

What did Phil Kovolick and 55 gallons of soap have in common?  By any measure Phil “The Stick” Kovolick was a fascinating character. Phil was three hundred and ten pounds of pure evil.  He made his mark on the world.  Phil was a mobster, an old school mobster who might well have been the model for the character, Luca Brasi, in The Godfather.  

Phil was a loyal follower and trusted associate of Meyer Lansky, who was known as the Dean of Organized Crime.  Kovolick’s evilness was matched only by his size.  He earned the nickname Phil the Stick from his skill with a large cudgel studded with nails that he purportedly used with great skill and great frequency in the service of his boss, Lansky, for whom he served as bodyguard, chauffer, companion, bagman, and enforcer.  

Even in the lives of big league criminals there comes a time when retirement or semi-retirement beckons.  In the 1960s Organized Crime Intelligence specialists knew that Meyer Lansky had become totally smitten by the city of Hollywood, Florida.  He had made many friends and acquired many malleable associates in the corrupt governance of Broward County in the ‘30s, ‘40s and early 1950s.  Hallandale had become a prosperous community because of many illegal gambling casinos. The area was “open”. No single crime family claimed it as their own. In those decades Hallandale, Hollywood, Deerfield Beach, and several locations in unincorporated Broward sported thriving illegal gaming establishments.  Bookmaking parlors were everywhere; all of this possible only with the forbearance of a series of corrupt Sheriffs.  Hallandale was called the “Wall Street of the South” because of all the banks that sprung up to handle the cash.  

Broward gained national stature when it was the target of Senate Hearings in Miami conducted by Senator Estes Kefauver.  In 1950 the Sheriff of Broward County, Walter Clark, brought the hearings to a standstill with peals of laughter from the audience when he insisted that he had no idea that there was any illegal gambling in Broward.  

By the late 1950s Meyer Lansky, gangster extraordinaire, had become a man of wealth and great respect in the criminal community and in segments of polite society. He purchased a comfortable home in a modest upper middleclass neighborhood, and he was considered a quiet and friendly neighbor as he tried to slip into anonymity.  Phil Kovolick followed Lansky’s lead; he sought to become rough-hewn gangster gentry. Phil bought a comfortable home and lived a quiet life as he too tried to slip into retirement and anonymity.  Law enforcement made many attempts to make a case, any case against Lansky and/or Kovolick.  They failed.

And then in 1970 Phil vanished.  He was just gone, from one day to the next: no messages, no rumors, no clues, no law enforcement intelligence, Phil was just gone.  Hardly anyone except Phil’s family, and maybe Lansky, cared. The speculation on both sides of the law was that an old score had been settled. Some even speculated that Lansky had silenced Kovolick.  It wasn’t that way at all because Phil was with the fishes.

In late 1970 and early ’71 I was deeply involved in assisting an Assistant State Attorney in preparing a robbery/homicide case for trial.  The case had considerable local interest, but it was routine--a grocery store robbery gone bad. The robber had shot and killed the grocer.  He had fled, and was free for a few days, but had been captured, and arrested, but had not confessed.  

We had witnesses, we had the gun in the custody of the defendant, we had ballistics, but the defendant denied guilt. We had other bad guys that he had confided in.  Not a great case, but an okay case.  The Assistant State Attorney wanted more.  He tasked me to develop additional evidence and testimony.  I reached out to detective friends and colleagues in several South Broward communities and asked them to “shake” their inventories of informants for anybody who had info on my case.  I made contact with some of my own sources in the south end of the county. It was a total strike-out – nothing.  I sought out every acquaintance of the defendant I could identify, every member of his family.  Again, nothing, nothing.  

My Assistant State Attorney was really giving me a hard time; he was and still is a genuine anal aperture.  In fact, he subsequently ended up in Federal Prison, but that’s another story.  I was attending a conference at the old Pier 66 in Ft. Lauderdale, when my pager kicked off with a telephone number followed up by 911.

I recognized the number as that of a South Broward detective friend, and immediately called him.  He wouldn’t talk on his department phone, he asked me to stay at the pay phone for a few minutes and he would call back. There were no cell phones in the early ‘70s.  When he did, he explained that he had reached out to some of his snitches and leaned on a few of them. Not a single one of them would admit any knowledge about the grocery store robbery, but one said that he knew all about Phil Kovolick.  

That was stunning news to my detective friend, because he knew Kovolick and Kovolick had lived in his city.  My friend told me that the snitch had claimed that Kovolick had been murdered by a local businessman, John Elwin Dexter, who had been operating a Fagan-like ring of young burglars and thugs.  Dexter had the local reputation as a small time thief and he was well known to the local PD. My detective friend told me that his informant had participated in the murder of Kovolick. I immediately left the conference and headed for the PD.  My detective friend had an excellent rapport with the informant so he did the interview while I sat in.  The informant told us that one of Baxter’s burglars had burglarized Kovolick’s home, stealing the usual swag.  The young burglar had no idea whose home he had chosen.  

Kovolick took the crime as a personal affront.  He did not report it to the police and set about solving the crime in his own way.  It is no surprise that Phil was well acquainted with every fence and pawn shop within 100 miles.  More importantly, they knew Phil, and they knew about Phil.  Whoever knew Phil feared him. Phil put the “arm” on the pawn shops and fences. He described the goodies that had been stolen and “suggested” that when any of it turned up in their pawn shops that he be notified.  It wasn’t too long before some of it did turn up, and Phil quickly tracked it back to a local tow truck operator and welding shop owner, John Elwin Dexter.

Law enforcement had long suspected that Dexter was running a burglary ring, but couldn’t get the evidence to prove it.  Phil the Stick could, and did. Phil, the “detective”, became “Prosecutor” and convicted Dexter in the “Court of Kovolick”.  Not a happy occasion for Dexter.  Kovolick “sentenced” Dexter to pay a 5 figure fine and then “Judge” Kovolick sentenced Dexter to lifetime “probation”. One of the conditions of Dexter’s probation was restitution, in spades.  With Kovolick as Probation Officer, Dexter was in deep trouble. As a condition of that Kovolick probation, Kovolick deemed himself to be Dexter’s business partner both in his legit businesses and in his burglary enterprises.  The penalty for violation of probation would be, well, severe.  

Dexter was at first immensely relieved that his penalty had not immediately been--severe. Soon he bridled and chafed at Kovolick’s horning in on his business and profits.  He offered Kovolick a big buyout, but Kovolick refused. He was enjoying having Dexter in his control. The entire affair had become a profitable amusement to Kovolick. Dexter decided to appeal his conviction and sentence.

The informant told us that he had been present one evening when Kovolick came to Dexter’s shop to collect his probation payments (Kovolick dipped his beak every week). Dexter had taken his humiliation for a few months. Then he had a silencer made for a .22 automatic. One evening as Kovolick turned his back preparing to leave Dexter’s shop, Dexter took the gun from his desk and emptied the 9 shot automatic into Kovolick’s head and back.  Like Luca Brasi, Phil the Stick had received his final reward.  Kovolick had gone from being a 310 pound live problem to being a 310 pound dead problem.  Either of those problems, if mishandled, could kill Baxter.  

The welding shop was located in a quiet industrial district a hundred or so yards from a rock pit.  Baxter broke out the tools of his trade and used a cutting torch to cut holes in a 55 gallon metal barrel. He and the informant and another of Dexter’s hoods put about 100 pounds of scrap metal in the bottom of the barrel, then stuffed the porcine Mr. Kovolick into the barrel, welded a top on it, put the whole mess on a hand cart and wheeled it to the nearby rock pit.  Phil made one last big splash and was gone, but not forever.  

A major organized crime enforcer had been whacked by a two-bit local hood.  Dexter was a happy camper, he had survived his “appeal”, but his troubles had just begun.  

PHIL THE STICK
Chapter 2

The story of Phil the Stick Kovolick’s murder as told by the informant was fascinating.  It was full of irony.  Dexter, a relatively small-time hood had killed one of the meanest and best connected organized crime figures in America.  It wasn’t a contract killing, it wasn’t revenge, and it was a near perfect hit: Little dude whacks really big dude!  And he had gotten away with it, so far. 

Only because of the informant and a low profile robbery and killing in a grocery store did we even know that Kovolick had been murdered. The snitch told us how, and he told us the full Monty: the who, the why, the where and the when.  He told us that there was one other witness/participant in the hit. He told us where the body and the weapon was.  My Detective friend, Steve, and I decided to release the informant and set about working the homicide.  You might think that putting it all together would be a piece of cake.  It wasn’t, it was hardtack.

Our piece-of-cake murder case was underway and the problems had begun.  We knew the who, what, where, when, and why, now all we had to do was prove all the elements of the crime of murder in the first degree.

Steve was a Detective in one city and the crime scene was in another city, as was the rock pit where the body was sunk.  In the ‘70s multi-jurisdictional investigation was a huge problem.  The problems of jealousy and lack of mutual trust were nearly insurmountable.  For some of the more senior detectives the memories of the chicanery of some of south Broward’s cops during the roaring 40s and 50s was still fresh in their minds.  There was often doubt about the integrity and competence of law enforcement in neighboring cities. 

I decided to return to Ft. Lauderdale to confer with my Assistant State Attorney, I’ll call him Warren (that’s not his name).  Warren was deeply in love with any media attention he could claim.  The only thing he loved more than seeing his picture in the paper, and reading his own words quoted, was winning cases.  He did a lot of that. He was a thorough anus, but a very skilled prosecutor.  His appetite for the win was sometimes uncomfortable for his coworkers.  I had expected that he would be ecstatic over the new, sure to be very, very, high profile case.  It was sure to get attention nationwide.  He wasn’t--he was pissed.  He wanted nothing interrupting the progress of his robbery/murder grocery store case.  He wanted the case, but he wanted it only after he had convicted the grocery store murderer.  “Focus, focus, focus.”  He wanted to put the investigation on hold.  We had a long and bitter argument.  He was the boss, he won.  I wanted to act immediately on the information.  The informant could switch sides, he could get killed, the story could leak, and there were a million things that could go wrong if we waited.  Warren’s point was that Kovolick was not getting any deader.  And then he charged me with keeping the informant a happy and live camper.  I could not find any ethical or legal reason not to wait, so I shut up.

It took about two weeks to convict the grocery store murderer of first degree murder.  Sentencing was set for about a month after the conclusion of the trial.  I turned my attention to the Dexter/Kovolick case.  Now I had Warren looking over my shoulder every step of the way.  The informant was still alive and cooperative.  I was acquainted with the Chief of Police in the city where Kovolick was killed and canned.  The Chief and I had met in a couple of criminal justice courses that we had taken.  We got along well and I believed him to be honest and competent.  I told Detective Steve that we were beginning to work the case and confirmed that we would have to share the story with other cops.  He grumbled about having to work with the cops from the other city.  I made a trip to the city and had a long conference with the Chief, filling him in on all of the information we had to date. I leveled with him about some of the discomfort felt by Steve and some of his colleagues.  He was not surprised; he had heard it all before. The Chief pledged total cooperation, and asked that our office be the lead in the case and then he assigned two of his Detectives to work the case with us.

We visited the scene, surreptitiously; Dexter had no idea that he was the target.  We brought the informant to the scene in an undercover car so that he could point out the exact spot where the canned Phil had taken the plunge.

We knew we were going to have to send at least one team of divers into the rock pit.  The rock pit was little more than a stone’s throw from Dexter’s shop.  We believed that if we didn’t have some sort of cover story, Dexter would panic and flee.  The detectives began asking questions in the area about stolen cars being driven into the rock pit.  They suggested that they were being dumped in the pit, but not at the specific site where we had been told that Dexter and crew had dumped Kovolick.  They walked around the area asking questions about stolen cars.  They actually got some pretty good tips for the auto theft detectives.  Dexter was asked about stolen cars and he expressed deep concern about how bad crime was getting.  He said that he longed for the good old days when everyone was honest.  Ah, yeah!  The cover story continued that Detective Steve’s department was doing a major stolen car investigation, and so the dive team from his city would do the dive search.  

We did the dive on a Sunday in hopes that Dexter’s shop would be closed and that the area would be lightly populated.  It worked.  Steve’s divers got there early on Sunday morning and there were no civilians around.  The dive team was on the bottom for just a few moments when they found the barrel.  The pit was an old marl quarry, the visibility was virtually nil, and the water was highly alkaline.  The police wrecker pulled the barrel from the pit, the divers found the gun, they took a few pictures, and we got out of there.  As far as we could tell, no civilian saw anything. It was a very good thing that no civilians were nearby because the stench was cosmic.  

The barrel of Kovolick, (there were jokes about canned tuna) was taken to the local hospital for examination by the Medical Examiner.  Phil had been in the water for about 9 months, his body had been bent and stuffed into the barrel, and was in about 30 feet of highly alkaline anaerobic warm water.  Even before his demise, Phil was no beauty; he hadn’t improved with ageing. 

PHIL THE STICK
Chapter 3

The finding and raising of the barrel containing a stinking mess that was once Phil Kovolick, was pure gold. It was the beginning of the end of the criminal career of John Dexter. And we believed it was likely the end of the criminal career of Kovolick.  We drained the water in the barrel as best we could without spilling any of the mess inside. We kept the barrel on the tow truck and headed for Hollywood Hospital where the Medical Examiner had his office. We made arrangement for the crime scene guys to meet us there. They were instructed to bring a cutting torch.  We roped off a small portion of the hospital parking lot and cut off the top of the barrel. Using the tow truck, we lifted the barrel to a position that enabled us to slide the mess inside onto to a plastic sheeted hospital gurney. The grey stinking lump roughly matched the shape and size of the interior of the barrel. The mass was identifiable as a human body only because it was mostly encased in men’s clothing; a shirt, pants with belt, shoes and socks. The body was bent and crumpled. Our Associate Medical Examiner, Dr. John Mickley, was considered one of the finest in the country. Dr. Mickley began his rough exam of the body. He advised that the fats in the body had been converted to a substance called adipocere. It is a firm, grey colored, thick, dense, waxy substance. It sometimes occurs in situations where there is little or no oxygen. The process replaces putrefaction and leaves a rough cast of the corpse made from a solid waxy substance with an odor that defies description. Okay now we knew that we have a human body, we could prove it with testimony from Dr. Mickley. Then we cut the clothing from the body and found a ring and a watch. We found a wallet in the right rear pocket of the pants. In the wallet we found papers that identified Phillip Kovolick. There was no chance of finger prints and DNA was not even on the distant horizon in the early 70s. We had jewelry that we might be able to show to the Kovolick family for I.D. The body was so distorted that there was no visible evidence of gun shot wounds.  Plus we had the scrap iron left in the barrel.

We took the body inside and began a forensic autopsy. Dr. Mickley found 8 bullet wounds in the torso and head. All entrance wounds were in the back. He found 5 lead projectiles. The projectiles were degraded to the point that there no markings left on them suitable for ballistics (gun mark) identification. They appeared to be .22 calibre. The gun that had been found adjacent to the barrel was a .22 calibre automatic and it appeared to be in good, to excellent working order. We put the gun in a bucket of water from the rock pit and later transported it to the crime lab for examination. Dr. Mickley preserved sufficient dentition evidence so that we would be able to further identify the body by forensic dentistry if it should be necessary. By the end of the autopsy we had added the identification of the human body, we had the testimony of the Medical Examiner that the human had died as the result of multiple gunshot wounds. The Medical Examiner was prepared to testify that the body had been in the barrel, under water, for at least 6 months and probably not more than 18 months. Evidence on the body had identified it as being Phillip Kovolick. The 5 projectiles would subsequently be identified as being .22 caliber.

At this juncture we felt that we had probable cause to seek an arrest warrant for Dexter and a search warrant for his place of business. Contrary to TV and the movies, getting an arrest or search warrant is a time consuming exercise. The best course of conduct is to palaver with an Assistant State Attorney, preferably the one who will be prosecuting the case. First you talk with him or her, discuss the facts, discuss the elements of the crime and the evidence that you have to prove each element of the crime. Then you rough draft it, then the Assistant State Attorney reviews it, and if you’re lucky and you’re good, the warrant and the necessary affidavit(s) can go to final draft. When you’ve got the final draft of the warrant(s) in your hot hand, by now you have burned up several hours. Next it’s time to find a Judge.

In most jurisdictions there will be a “duty” judge, a judge who is responsible for taking care of non scheduled or emergency events such as warrants. Let’s say that your paper work is not ready until 9:00pm, and it is important that the warrant get issued and signed by a judge immediately, and then you will be heading to the duty judge’s home for a meeting in his or her kitchen. It happens often, it’s routine. In this case we wanted an arrest warrant and a search warrant for the shop.

In our affidavit for an arrest warrant, we listed most of the evidence and sworn testimony that we had up to that point. We swore that we believed that we had probable cause to arrest Dexter. In our affidavit for the search warrant we specifically swore that we believed that we would find evidence linking Dexter to the death of Kovolick and we described that evidence. We said that we were looking for scrap iron to match to the scrap in the barrel. We were looking for blood stains, we were looking for spent projectiles, and we were looking for cartridge casings. We were looking for anything of evidentiary value. The Judge granted our request and signed an arrest warrant and a search warrant. Next on our agenda was to immediately find Dexter and arrest him. We set about it.

PHIL THE STICK
Chapter 4

From the time we ‘rescued’ Phil from his can in the rock pit we had Dexter under surveillance. It was about nine pm when we had the warrants in hand. We knew that Dexter was at home, and we knew that his wife was working. In the early ‘70s S.W.A.T. teams were few and far between. Every cop had to take care of his own business. Our raid party consisted of me, 2 detectives, one from each involved city, and 3 patrol officers from the city where Dexter lived. We arrived at Dexter’s residence. It was a single story apartment building, with 4 apartments. Dexter’s apartment was in the middle of the building. There were apartments on either side. Two Patrol officers were stationed at the rear of the building. We very quietly went to each apartment and advised them of what was happening. We evacuated all the residents except Dexter. Dexter had been bragging that if he were ever to be arrested, that he would resist. He swore that he would never be taken alive. We had information that he had large wild cat as a pet. It was reported that the cat was vicious. Dexter had bragged that it was trained to attack so we expected problems. I was armed with a .45, the two detectives were armed with shotguns, and the patrol officers were armed with issued revolvers. We began our arrest attempt with a series of long, hard knocks on his door. We shouted that we were the police and that he was to be placed under arrest. No response of any sort, even though the apartment was not dark and we heard a TV on inside. For several minutes we continued to knock and announce our intentions. No response, no sign of motion or life from inside. We tried a ruse. I had a bull horn and through it I announced that we were going to have to make a forced entry. I wanted Dexter to believe that he was facing a huge police presence and that a violent arrest was imminent. We had already emptied the building, but I made a loud order to evacuate the entire building and the homes in the immediate area. Only a few moments passed when the drapes at the front floor-to-ceiling window were thrown open to reveal Dexter standing there only in his tidy-whiteys. He was pretending to be yawning, and he hollered out, “What’s going on?” We ordered Dexter to immediately open the door. He complied without any resistance. There was no jungle cat. Dexter was Miranderized and he declined to speak so we took him to jail dressed only in his tidy-whiteys. We posted a guard on his shop; we intended to search it the following morning.

The three of us and a crime scene unit went into Dexter’s shop the following morning. We broke the padlock on the front door. The search was uneventful but fruitful. We found a spent projectile inside a wall. We found 3 empty cartridge casings, we found a small amount of dried blood and we found scrap iron cut in the same fashion as the iron in the barrel. The .22 calibre automatic that we had recovered from the pit was operable. The spent projectile was deformed to the extent that it could not be positively matched, but the examiner said that it was a “probable” match.  We matched the empty casings with the gun. The hammer marks and the extractor marks were a positive match. We determined that the blood spots were human blood that matched Kovolick’s blood type which we had recovered from previous medical records. There was no DNA testing at the time. Tool mark examination and scrap iron from Dexter’s shop matched the scrap found in the barrel. Our case was becoming golden.

We tracked down the second young thug that had helped with disposing of Kovolick. He confessed without being promised anything. Dexter refused to give a statement. And so we went to trial.

It went so smoothly that it was nearly boring. There were no surprises. There were no Perry Mason moments. The witnesses arrived on time and testified as expected. The warrant easily survived attack, and the evidence was admitted without fanfare. Dexter declined to testify. Dexter had been charged with Murder in the First Degree. Dexter was convicted as charged. On June 2nd of 1972 he was sentenced to life in prison. On August 19^th, 2003 he was released from prison under parole. That parole is still in effect, and he is living in Broward County. Imagine being in prison for 31 years.

Kovolick and 55 gallons of soap shared characteristics. When we took Phil from the barrel, he was the consistency of bar laundry soap, and he looked like a huge loaf of smelly soap.

-END-

-END-

JUNE BUG

A cool drizzle in the late afternoon of April 3, 1980 didn’t dampen any of the enthusiasm of Willie McDonald and about a dozen of his friends when they decided to shoot craps in the gritty neighborhood park of a small north Broward city.  I don’t know if today’s police still consider a public craps game to be a threat to public safety, but in 1980 we did.  Gambling was illegal.  Fights, stabbings, and shootings were to be expected when the emotions of the illegal gambling boiled over.  Knives and guns were as common as socks.  Armed robberies were routine, most never reported to the police.  The raucous activity often prompted civilian complaints.

On this day, 19 year old Willie James McDonald, proud of his nick name, “June Bug,” and his friends were just hanging around in the park.  Someone broke out the dice and the game began.  It quickly got loud and a complaint was made to the police department.  Complaints about the illegal activity had been mounting.  Police managers decided they would attempt to make an arrest of as many players as possible, as a deterrent to further activity. In 1980 the offense was a misdemeanor.

The police plan was to watch the game from a distance and out of sight of the players, who routinely posted lookouts.  Usually as the game progressed the lookouts got sloppy and became engaged in the festivities.  The plan was to have three patrol units quickly converge from different directions and several officers would rush the party and arrest as many gamblers as they could.  For reasons that will forever be unknown to me, a raid on a game was akin to jumping a flock of quail, with the players explosively jumping and running full speed away in all directions.  The offense was a simple misdemeanor; but resisting arrest could lead to felony charges.  Often the gamblers would abandon the pot of money.  For some old line cracker cops, busting crap games was great sport and became an alternate source of income.  By 1980 the usual unwritten protocol for the gamblers was to just ignore the “pot” and leave it on scene.

The lookouts got lazy, distracted, and the patrol units swooped in.  The spectators and gamers exploded, a panicked herd of about 20 bolting away, tripping over one another with several cops in chase, like lions jumping a herd of antelope.  June Bug slipped on the damp grass and had almost gotten back to his feet when he was grabbed by an officer.  June Bug, boiling with testosterone, adrenaline, fear, and his hatred of cops, resisted.  He tried to pull away; he flailed about, and nearly broke away from the officer. Then he fell backward onto the grass and again began to flail about in an attempt to push the officer away.  The officer, boiling with testosterone, adrenaline, anger at being resisted, and committed to making the arrest, pulled his service revolver.  What happened next will always be the subject of dispute, but there is no dispute that Willie James “June Bug” Williams was dead as a result of a single gunshot wound to his head.  The officer was white and June Bug was black.

In April 1980 south Florida racial tensions were high.  The Dade County officers who had been charged with beating to death black motorcyclist Arthur McDuffie in December of 1979 were on trial in Tampa.  Tension, anger, and hatred were palpable in the Black communities of south Florida.  The community distrust or outright hatred for all cops, especially white cops, poisoned both camps.  Within a half hour of the shooting, the news had spread through the Black communities of north Broward.  Many angry residents took to the streets.  Cars occupied by white people driving near the Black neighborhoods of this small city were being attacked. There were injuries.

I was at home, just sitting down to dinner, when the call came.  A Detective Lieutenant, friend and colleague, called and asked that I come immediately to the Police Department.  He explained the broad circumstances of McDonald’s death and advised me to use caution while approaching the PD because there was an angry crowd milling about outside.  He advised that he was very reluctant to seek the help of the other local police agencies for fear of exacerbating the situation with an even greater presence of uniformed police.  He wanted to avoid a full blown riot.

On my arrival about 15 minutes later, there was a crowd of about 60 Black people milling about the front lawn and steps of the PD.  The crowd was animated; some were crying, all were angry, all were agitated.  They were all talking loudly.  There was no evidence of the presence of any particular leadership, nor was there any evidence that anyone was attempting to foment violence.

I entered through the PD back door and found a chaotic atmosphere.  There were a half a dozen or so white civilians, some bruised.  These people had been rescued from cars that had been attacked.  There were a few persons who seemed to be leaders of the Black community.  These persons were angry, very angry.  They were demanding that the Police Department immediately identify the officer that shot McDonald.  They were demanding his immediate arrest.  These individuals were ready to explode. The Detective Lieutenant introduced me to one of the leaders and advised him that our office would be conducting the investigation into the death of McDonald. 

At that point the leaders focused on me and began repeating the demands they had made of the city Detectives and uniformed personnel.  They were convinced that the investigation would be conducted in secret.  They were convinced that there would be a police cover-up of the affair.  They were beyond anger, they were nearly hysterical.  I was very nearly as worried as they were angry.

There is nothing in the State Attorney Investigator text book to prepare for this contingency.  In fact there is no State Attorney Investigator text book. There was no single leader of the group, but it appeared two or three of them had influence on the others.  I took these individuals aside and assured them that our office would conduct the investigation and that it would be thorough and fair.  That did not mollify them at all.  In their presence, I asked the Lieutenant if the involved officer had been suspended.  He told me the officer had been suspended, but with pay.  I asked if the weapon used had been seized. It had, and I asked to see it. It was brought out, having been placed in a plastic bag and sealed with evidence tape.  Seeing this, the “leaders” seemed pleased and they calmed a little.  But they demanded that the officer not be on salary while suspended.  That question was not to be resolved.

I decided it was essential to secure the trust and cooperation of the community.  I advised the “leaders” that they and a handful of responsible community citizens of their choosing would be permitted to sit in on all interviews of witnesses; however, the civilian observers would not be permitted to utter even one word or communicate by gesture or sound with the interviewee.  There were to be no expressions of belief or disbelief, no expression of any emotion.  I advised them that if those conditions were not complied with, the observers would be immediately removed from the interview.  I was amazed when they agreed.  We were entering virgin territory; I had never heard of this protocol being used in any criminal investigation.  It simply seemed like a good idea at the time. The Lieutenant asked the leaders to calm and disperse the crowd and he asked me to address the crowd.

The leaders spoke to the crowd and explained what was about to happen and then introduced me.  The crowd calmed only a little.  I repeated the message of the leaders and asked for volunteers from the crowd to be observers.  I was amazed that only the leaders and one or two of the crowd volunteered.  The crowd continued to calm.  I phoned three of our staff investigators and had them report to the PD to begin taking interviews.  While I was waiting for them to arrive I began by taking statements of some of the most vocal members of the crowd who claimed to have seen the episode.  Each was placed under oath and interviewed with an observer present.  Many witnesses gave testimony that was contradictory to the statements of others.  It quickly became evident to me and the community observers that the shooting was not as initially described by those who had sought to inflame the crowd and the community.  We found that some of the most vocal persons who had claimed to see the affair now denied being there at all.  The community observers were stunned.  Our staff investigators arrived and many persons were interviewed with community observers present. 

As the evening wore on and statements were being taken the crowd calmed and dispersed.  The involved officer, the shooter, declined to be interviewed at the instruction of his de facto union, the Fraternal Order of Police.  In the following days the community was helpful in locating and interviewing other persons who claimed to have witnessed the events.

The statements, evidence and testimony strongly suggested that McDonald, engaged in the crap game, had gotten into a tussle with the arresting officer when he was trying to flee.  He was desperately trying to escape.  In the scuffle, he fell to the ground, landing on his back.  The officer was either kneeling beside or was astride McDonald.  The officer had pulled his gun.  I believe that the officer’s first intent was to “show” his gun in order to intimidate McDonald and to calm him.  McDonald refused to calm and intensified his struggle.  I believe the officer intentionally fired a single round, intending it to hit the ground near McDonald’s ear, thinking that the sound of the shot would force McDonald into compliance.  Finally, I believe McDonald’s flailing put his head in the direct trajectory of the fatal bullet.  I don’t think the officer intended to kill or wound McDonald.  Nonetheless, Willie “June Bug” McDonald, black male, 19, died at the hand of that white Police Officer. In the coming weeks the Broward Grand Jury took testimony from many witnesses and ultimately issued an indictment against the officer. The Grand Jury decided to indict the officer for Murder in the Second Degree. I strongly agreed with the Grand Jury, I believed then and I believe now that the officer was guilty of Murder in the 2nd Degree.

The Chief Assistant of our State Attorney's Office personally prosecuted the case.  In August of 1980 the officer came to trial in Fort Lauderdale. That trial ended in a mistrial when a local newspaper published the names of the jurors.  A second trial was held in November of 1980, the jury found the officer not guilty. The officer was devastated by the death and he abandoned police work.

The May 17^th 1980 acquittal of the Dade County officers who killed Mr. McDonald precipitated horrific race riots and loss of life in Miami. There was no riot in North Broward on the acquittal of the officer who had killed Mr. McDonald.

The casualties of a misdemeanor crap game and testosterone poisoning: one dead, two families devastated.

-END-

DIAL M FOR MURDER

Jack Miner, a recently retired Air Force Colonel was not a happy man.  In fact, he was a really pissed-off veteran.  Colonel Miner was used to having some measure of clout; he was used to having his subordinates snap to attention and salute.  Civilian life was proving to be problematic. His decades-long marriage had stalled, crashed and burned.  His ex-wife, as a part of the divorce, had acquired a substantial interest in his pension.  His wife had also taken custody of the well, and he was absolutely convinced that he had gotten the shaft.  His love for his ex had morphed into deadly hate.

Miner and his situation were not known to me when in 1980 my secretary advised me that a Detective Lieutenant from San Luis Obispo, CA, was on the phone.  Our jurisdiction was a major national and international tourist destination, so it was routine for our office to receive calls for assistance from out of state law enforcement agencies.  It usually was part of my duties to field these requests.  The Det. Lt. told a bizarre story.  He related that an individual in San Luis Obispo had taken a classified ad in Soldier of Fortune magazine. 

Soldier of Fortune catered to readers who had a fascination with the gear, tactics, and stories of the activities of individuals who professed to be soldiers of fortune.  It was full of pictures of scruffy dudes posing with automatic weapons, their chests covered with bandoliers of MG ammo or grenades.  The stories usually revolved around purported death-defying feats of derring-do by the aforesaid soldiers of fortune.  Suffice it to say that the readership was made up of “interesting” characters.  The classified section of the magazine offered various courses in how to kill with a single strike, silent stalking, how to make incendiary devices, reviews of various weapons, and a slew of other commercial offerings.  Also included was a section wherein nascent soldiers of fortune would advertise their own personal services.  A typical classified ad might read: “Stealth combat skilled, fit, ready to dispose of any of your problems, anytime, anywhere for sufficient remuneration, experienced, discrete,” then a post office box at a mail drop would be listed.  

The Det. Lt. told me that the ad in question had been placed by an individual who was his informant; that the informant’s name was Larry, and that he trusted Larry.  He further told me that Larry’s ad had been answered by an individual in our jurisdiction, that Larry had made contact with that individual, that the individual had offered Larry a large sum if Larry would kill his ex-wife.  Larry had identified his “client” as being Jack Miner, who lived in our jurisdiction.  Then the Lt. muddied the water by telling me that the target ex-wife was living in Texas.  At the Lieutenant’s request I spoke briefly with Larry and got a little more data.  Then I asked the Lieutenant to give me a chance to check some details.  I quickly learned that a Jack Miner did live in a small city in our jurisdiction.  There was no record of any divorce action locally. 

Practical jokes are not uncommon in law enforcement, and I briefly thought that the situation might be a practical joke.  I double-checked the call-back number from the Detective Lieutenant and it was, indeed, from San Luis Obispo Police Department.  Thinking the case might be part of some sort of Federal investigation, I called a friend in the FBI.  He checked his indices and assured me it was not their affair.  I urged my friend to take the case because of the multistate component of the fact pattern; he demurred.  

So Deer Friends, here is the problem. We have an informant over 3,000 miles away, who had been contacted by a suspect in our jurisdiction, who wants to hire a killing in yet another state.  To further muddy the water, we have no way of knowing if the suspect has hired or attempted to hire anyone else to kill his wife.  We believe there is a direct possibility that she might be in real danger.  I advised my boss of the situation and he instructed me to. “Handle it.”

I briefed two very capable staff investigators and assigned the matter to them.  I instructed them that it would be necessary for them to immediately travel to California to take a sworn statement from Larry.  I trusted them to give me an insightful assessment of the informant and of the peril facing the putative victim.  They were on a plane within two hours.

Not many hours later they reported that they had telephone records and a letter from the suspect that the informant had given them.  They had taken a sworn statement from Larry, and they reported that they believed they had established a rapport with Larry. They believed Larry and they ascertained from Larry the name and address of Miner’s ex-wife.

The investigators shared my concern for the safety of the ex-Mrs. Miner, so I sent them on to Texas to gain her assistance, get her sworn statement, and take whatever measures were necessary to ensure her safety.  The investigators got lucky and were able to be in Texas within 12 hours.  They first contacted the local Sheriff’s Office who agreed to assist.  They contacted Mrs. Miner.  She was stunned, and very frightened.  The local Sheriff agreed to provide very discrete protection for Mrs. Miner and she promised that she would keep the case an absolute secret.  She agreed that she would maintain her daily routine.

Two very tired investigators returned home in just a few more hours to begin to put together the case and the arrest of Mr. Miner.  We had convinced Larry to travel to us and to assist us in setting up a sting on Mr. Miner.  Larry was due in Ft. Lauderdale in just a couple of days.  We rented adjoining rooms in a local Holiday Inn and Larry set up a meeting with Mr. Miner to finalize the transaction and so that Mr. Miner would pay Larry in advance.  The arrangement was that Larry would call Miner when Larry got to town and would give Miner instructions.  We used one of the rooms as a stakeout and command post. The other room was equipped with audio and video monitoring and recording devices.  Miner showed up at the time set by Larry, and after just a few minutes began telling Larry that he really hated his ex-wife, he wanted her dead, and he wanted her to suffer.  They had a conversation about shooting, stabbing, beating, and strangling.  Miner told Larry that if he wanted to rape her that would be just fine with him.  Miner believed that a rape scenario would ensure that he wouldn’t be a suspect.  As I recall, the fee was $5000 to be paid in cash and in advance.  Miner tried to negotiate a smaller down payment and to give Larry a promise that he would make payments. Miner’s skill at negotiation failed him, and he gave Larry cash in hand; the deal was consummated with Miner telling Larry he didn’t care how she was to be killed so long as she suffered.

Our plan was that, when the deal was consummated, Larry would utter a code phrase, and then excuse himself to go to the toilet.  At that juncture we would knock on the door, Larry would ask Miner to answer the door and we would arrest Miner.  Larry said the code phrase, which we heard, and we saw him head for the bathroom. 

My investigators and I left our room and went to the door of Larry’s room.  One investigator was posted on each side of the door.  I stood in front of the door.  We had prearranged with Larry that I would knock very loudly, say that I was management; I would call out his undercover name, and tell him that his car had been severely damaged by a delivery truck.  Larry, from inside of the toilet, was then to ask Miner to open the door.  It worked.  

Miner opened the door.  He was dressed in a pale blue flight suit.  He looked like a model for an Air Force recruiting poster.  He was tall, trim, graying-blond and had a very self-assured, smug air about him.  He didn’t immediately see the two armed investigators standing on each side of the door.  He looked at me and I said in a very friendly tone, “You’re Colonel Miner aren’t you?”  His ego triumphed over all caution, and he looked puzzled but pleased at being recognized. He smiled slightly and said, “Yes.”  At that juncture I stepped back slightly; brought my right arm from behind my back, put my sidearm into combat posture with the muzzle pointed at Mr. Miner’s nose.  I ordered Mr. Miner to raise his hands and told him that he was under arrest.  In an instant Mr. Miner went from smugness to terror.  He instantly submitted.  I asked my investigators to frisk and handcuff Mr. Miner.  I proceeded to advise him of our identity and of his rights while he was being frisked.  Suddenly the frisking investigator cried out, “Oh shit!” He was shaking his hand back and forth like he had plunged his hand into hot water.  It seems that when the frisk procedure reached Mr. Miners crotch, Mr. Miner, in absolute terror, had become incontinent.  And so my Deer Friends, our heroically handsome, confident, and angry retired Air Force Colonel, a man who wanted his ex-wife to suffer horribly as she died; a man who wanted his ex-wife raped, had pissed and shit his pants when threatened. 

Miner was convicted and earned a long, long prison sentence.  Larry was very busy after this arrest.  He had received half a dozen responses to his Soldier of Fortune ad from folks in several states and Canada who also wanted to hire a murder.  Their lives were to be forever changed. Larry went on to cooperate with other agencies and to make more arrests. In our case, Miller was convicted at trial. As I recall he was sentenced to 20 years for attempted first degree murder.

-END-

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