Born to Lose (30 page)

The entire Hoss operation was cloaked in secrecy. Indeed, long after the plane had landed, Hoss and his escort could not be found. Seeking information at the U.S. Marshals Service, reporters were blandly told, “We have no knowledge of a Stanley Hoss. Perhaps you could call the FBI.” When the FBI was called, reporters were directed to try the U.S. Marshals Service.

Meanwhile, back in Waterloo, the stymied Captain Start and Detective Corcoran agreed to an interview with reporters, only to have to inform those gathered that they'd received a long-distance call from superiors ordering them to make no comment. “Curly” Hultman, U.S. attorney for northern Iowa, was not so hampered by orders from above, but, as he spoke from the mezzanine of his office building in Waterloo into a bank of microphones, he knew he would have to be deceptive to spare the Peugeot family and to uphold the feds' agreement with Hoss. He knew that Linda and her daughter would not be coming home, but he couldn't say so. The day's headline, “Pennsylvania Badman Admits Kidnapping, Silent on Fate of Two Victims,” was the amount of truth allowed for now.

Hultman opened with praise for the law agencies involved in the fugitive's capture, but he soon found himself fielding questions about the Peugeots. “At this very moment,” Hultman said, “there is more than one major
search party at work. We are using every scintilla of information we have to find Mrs. Peugeot and her daughter.”

A
Waterloo Daily Courier
reporter asked about the heavy security around Hoss in the city's jail and at the airport. “Those security precautions are not only necessary because of Hoss's record,” answered Hultman, “but also because someone may try to harm him. We don't want another Jack Ruby case.”

Several news reporters from Ohio stood together, representing their papers in Cleveland, Columbus, and Akron. They knew their state had been an early part of Hoss's escape route and were aware of Hoss's brazen gift of roses to his girlfriend, sent from Wellington. Selected by Hultman to ask a question, one of them queried, “Sir, Pete Jones of the
Plain Dealer
…. Can you tell us more about Hoss? Is he cooperating?”

Hultman said yes, Hoss was cooperating, but declined to give specifics. As to Hoss himself, the U.S. district attorney likened Hoss to the convicted murderers portrayed in Truman Capote's book,
In Cold Blood
, then uttered the quote of the news conference: “Capote's characters are like Cinderella compared to Hoss.”

Staff writers Ben Beal and Carl Tomayko of Tarentum, Pennsylvania's
Valley News Dispatch
had been hot on the story in Pittsburgh, Cumberland, and Waterloo. Ben turned to Carl and whispered, “Why did Hultman say that? I mean, yeah, Hoss shot Zanella and kidnapped Maxwell, and now the Peugeots, but referencing Hickcock and Smith, and the Clutter family? Why's he talking like Hoss is a multiple murderer?” Carl answered his friend, “Because he is. For some reason Hultman just can't make it official.”

The
Dispatch
laid out for readers the possible penalties for Hoss's crimes. Under Pennsylvania law, a person convicted of first-degree murder may face the death penalty. Under federal law, a person convicted of harming a kidnap victim likewise may face the death penalty. Based on what the public knew and guessed regarding Hoss's crimes against Zanella, Maxwell, and the Peugeots, it seemed likely that Hoss would not be getting out of this alive—a satisfying thought for many.

District Attorney Duggan, still fuming, made it back from the West Mifflin Airport to his downtown Pittsburgh office in time to hear a radio statement by Blair Griffith, an assistant U.S. district attorney, who said, to Duggan's surprise, that federal authorities probably would yield to Pennsylvania on the Zanella murder charge. “It is logical to do so,” said Griffith. “Stanley Hoss has terrorized this part of the country and that is why the state, through DA Duggan's office, has been so firm and aggressive in their actions.”

Duggan sighed in relief. Did this mean the feds would relinquish Hoss to the state? Had he won the custody battle? Yet within the hour, Duggan was brought up short when federal attorney Hultman, speaking from Iowa, stated, “Warrants dealing with crimes involving Mrs. Peugeot and her daughter will take precedence over others …”

“Just what the hell is going on?” Duggan exploded to an office aide. “Hultman doesn't have that kind of weight. Who gave him the go-ahead on that? Hoover? Mitchell?”

Attorney Barney Phillips, who'd been retained by Hoss's parents first to defend their son against the rape charges brought by Kathy Defino and then to appeal his conviction, was now put on notice by Duggan's office to stand ready Thursday afternoon, with no determination of hour. Smoking Marsh-Wheeling cigars, Phillips hung around the Pittsburgh courthouse, where reporters caught up with him. “If my client had contacted me after he escaped,” Phillips explained, “I would have told him to get right back and give himself up.” Phillips wondered aloud if the police had checked to see if Linda Peugeot had known Hoss previously—a remark considered curious and inappropriate by many. Phillips well knew that one of Hoss's tactics was to suggest his victims' complicity in his crimes. He'd done so with Kathy Defino, claiming she'd gone with him willingly and only cried rape when he had refused her advances. Likewise, when Detective Matzen had asked for Hoss's ID in the Maywood's parking lot, Hoss had given a false name, adding, “That woman in the café knows me.” Most recently, Hoss, with faux sincerity, had claimed that he'd had a rendezvous with Karen Maxwell at the cemetery and that she had willingly helped him get away from Pittsburgh. Give pause. Create doubt. Buy time.

When reporters informed Phillips that investigation had shown no acquaintance between Hoss and the Peugeots (something Phillips almost certainly knew already), the attorney replied, “Of course, of course, and my worry now, like yours, is about the woman and child.”

At 4:40 P.M., with a small army of city and county police, detectives, and marshals guarding the Pittsburgh courthouse yard and corridors, Hoss was brought to the courtroom of Judge Robert Van der Voort, presiding judge of criminal court. The yard area had been cleared, and officers kept everyone away from windows overlooking the yard to prevent any attempt to injure the prisoner. An hour before, Hoss had been taken from the feds' hiding place, which turned out to have been the State Regional Correctional Facility at Greensburg. Someone had spilled the beans as to his whereabouts, for when the convoy arrived downtown, half the city seemed to be waiting to
see whatever could be seen. Onlookers lined the streets, and a crowd gathered on the Forbes Avenue side of the courthouse, while others watched from offices in the City-County Building and from other nearby locations.

Judge Van der Voort, with Judge Samuel Strauss sitting beside him, opened the hearing, which had nothing to do with Hoss's recent great crimes but solely with his July conviction for the rape of Kathy Defino. Before Hoss's escape, while he was locked away in the workhouse pending sentencing for Defino's rape, Barney Phillips had submitted an appeal. Now, therefore, the law had a hook in Hoss: Van der Voort would sentence him, and any sentence of two years or more qualified as a state sentence, mandating custody in a state prison. This was essential for security reasons alone. Once Hoss was salted away, the various prosecuting bodies of government could put their cases together, knowing their nemesis was harming no more and would be made available when his time came to answer for his enormities.

Inside Van der Voort's third-floor court, Hoss, dressed in the same trousers and white dress shirt he had worn when captured in Waterloo, stood erect but appeared tired. Van der Voort began by reminding those present that it was Judge George Eppinger who had presided over the rape trial in July. Then, noting that Eppinger could not be present for today's sentencing, he added that since Eppinger had concluded that Kathy Defino's rape had been committed with a gun, it should be considered a very serious offense.

Phillips had the impossible task of defending his client by offering up scant favorable reports of Hoss or pointing out this or that mitigation. Phillips looked around the room and noticed it was filled. He also saw a deputy at each window and a dozen more officers sprinkled throughout the room, not to mention the four beefy types ringing his client “and the plain clothes guy by the door holding a barely hidden tommy gun, for Chrissakes!”

Barney Phillips, a well-worn court fighter, would not or could not fight this hour of this day. He simply stated the obvious: “There may have been grounds for a new trial but as later developments turned out there appeared there wasn't. I was to present my arguments with my client eight days ago on October first before Judge Eppinger, but my client was not here to attend.”

“For the record,” interjected Van der Voort,” why was that?”

“Well, because it is my understanding that Mr. Hoss escaped from the workhouse, had taken flight.”

“True enough,” commented Van der Voort, “he did that. Please continue.”

“In view of my client's failure to appear and regarding subsequent events, I withdraw my motion for a new trial.”

“To be clear,” Van der Voort queried, “your contention is your client forfeited his right to a new trial when he failed to appear at the scheduled argument October one?”

“That is so, your Honor.”

With no further ado, Van der Voort addressed the prisoner.

“Do you have anything to say before sentence is pronounced?”

Stanley Hoss, slightly arrogant, replied, “No.”

“All right then, for your July 8 conviction for rape, this court sentences you to a term of imprisonment of no less than ten years but no more than twenty years.”

It was over. The hearing had lasted only twenty minutes. As the five o'clock hour sounded in the courthouse tower, Hoss was placed in a black station wagon that carried him the few miles to Pittsburgh's venerable Western Penitentiary.

Officials were appetent that after Hoss got his wish to speak to his mistress and parents, he would give up the locations of the Peugeots' bodies. After all, that was the deal. However, disquiet plagued all the officials involved, from detective to district attorney to J. Edgar Hoover. Hoss might be in custody, but he still had leverage. The distance from Cumberland to Waterloo alone was 1,400 miles. Could the Peugeots ever be found without the killer's help? Would Stanley Hoss keep his promise? Was he in any sense an honorable man?

In the event, Hoss's parents did not visit him at the penitentiary. He understood that after the heart attack his mother suffered, she was not strong enough for the trip. The greater mission anyway, authorities believed, was to arrange for a visit from Hoss's mistress, Jodine Fawkes. If Hoss loved anyone, that one seemed to be Jodine. During one interrogation, speaking of his decision to return to Pennsylvania, Hoss had said, “I didn't care how many cops I had to kill to do it but I was going to see Jo.”

Thus Dunn, with another federal agent and a woman from Children and Youth Services, arrived at the home of Jodine Fawkes to tell her that the FBI once again needed her help.

“I'm not going anywhere,” said Jodine. “You've been treating Stanley like dirt, like you believe everything bad you hear. People keep calling me, reporters too, questioning me, saying bad things. My mother gets some of these calls, and she's scared, and you want me to help you, and get in the papers some more? No!”

Dunn considered the angry nineteen-year-old blonde before him. She embodied the FBI's quid pro quo with Hoss. “Get your coat and let's go,” Dunn said, with no further attempt at coddling.

“No,” Jodine repeated. “I can't anyway, I got my kids.”

“We've made arrangements.” Nodding toward the woman who'd accompanied him, Dunn introduced the matron from CYS. “While we're gone she'll look after Stanley and Michael.”

Prison personnel were waiting. Upon Jodine's arrival, necessary individuals were led to an interview room. When Hoss was brought in, Jodine broke into tears. Hoss, separated from Jodine by a wide table, remained oddly impassive but the two exchanged “I love yous.”

Agent Fehl reminded Hoss that Miss Fawkes had been allowed to see him “because the federal government is acting honorably in its agreement with you, and you, therefore, must hold up your end.”

“I will,” said Hoss.

Hoss conversed easily with Jodine, asking about their boys, friends, and relatives. More than once, he told her, “I've missed you, baby.” Jodine responded in kind.

Cutting short the sweet talk, Fehl asked Hoss to tell Jodine “what you need to.” Hoss said he hadn't wanted to “take that girl and baby,” but he needed money and a different car. From newspapers, Jodine knew her man had confessed to the kidnapping but she, like virtually everyone else except some of the lawmen, knew nothing of their murder, so when the father of her two boys said point-blank, “I shot the girl, Linda,” Jodine's body, her very being, slumped. Closing her eyes, she leaned so far forward her forehead rested on the table. When she raised herself, she cried, “Why, Stanley? Say you didn't.”

“Jo, listen, I just wanted to scare her, put a shot past her but she got hit.” Hoss let it go at that, thereby, for Jodine's ears anyway, turning one of the most heartless killings in memory into something of a careless accident.

“Stanley,” Dunn followed up, “do you wish to tell Jodine about the child?” Hoss laid his handcuffed wrists on the table, then again addressed Jodine, who stared ahead with wet, blank eyes.

“I didn't know what to do with her. She was with me for days,” Hoss explained, “and it would get to me. She'd cry and fuss and wouldn't eat. It couldn't go on, so I smothered her first, then I shot her to make sure she was dead.”