The Falcon and the Snowman (28 page)

Chris just smiled, and Laurie drunkenly said, “Please take me home.”

Under the eyes of the watching policemen, they all left then. But it wasn't the last time that Laurie went after Chris.

Carole Benedict had returned from Hawaii and was living with her mother, who had remarried, and she was now dating Daulton regularly; it was an expensive courtship in terms of the gifts and expensive dinners he lavished on her, but it gave him access to her wonderful body. Although his drug habit was also expensive, the Russians were providing him with a steady income, and there was every reason to think this income would continue for a long time: the Russians were panting as never before.

The only problem Daulton saw—and it was growing more and more frustrating—was Chris. He had begun to sense that Chris was becoming uncooperative again; in fact, he was so unpredictable it was impossible to figure him out sometimes. It was bad for his drug business, Daulton knew that. Several times, Chris had promised him an important load of merchandise that he claimed would be worth at least $20,000 to the Russians, but the Russians said the material wasn't worth anything—either the photographs were fogged or their value fell short of Daulton's asking price for other reasons. Daulton always managed to bargain a few thousand dollars beyond what Boris offered. But it wasn't what he expected, and this caused problems for Daulton in his drug trade because he usually planned in advance how the money would be spent. Once, for example, before making a trip to Mexico City with a load that Chris said ought to bring $20,000, he placed an order for two tons of marijuana. The weed was waiting for him in Jamaica at $30 a pound; he should have more than enough money for the deal. But that delivery brought only $5,000, and it was an embarrassment for him with the dealer who had set up the buy.

There were other problems, too. Barclay Granger had borrowed $18,000 from him to front a cocaine buy, but he'd lost it to a rip-off artist. Barclay said he'd pay it back, but that had been three months ago, and Daulton decided that he was through with his old friend.

“Why don't you fly up to San Francisco with me for dinner?” Daulton told a group of friends who had gathered at his home for a party on a Saturday night late in April. Carole was there, along with George and Margie Fein. Daulton—he was called “Daultonomous” by the Feins in joking affection—had met George in a high school woodworking class and they had remained friends. It was the birthday of Margie Fein, and Daulton had invited them over to celebrate. Now he was proposing that they extend the party to San Francisco, with him picking up the tab; he said he had to be in San Francisco to catch a telephone call.

Before inviting them to San Francisco, Daulton explained to Fein that he was conducting a profitable new business selling stocks and bonds to an “uncle” in Mexico City. He boasted that he had made $100,000 from it, and that he made a new delivery each month, picking up an additional $5,000 or $10,000. He had to go to San Francisco, he explained, to arrange his next trip, and he showed Fein a sheet of lined yellow paper that bore a list of scheduled appointments in Mexico City and other places. Fein noticed that it seemed to be in some kind of code, and noticed “S.F.” marked under the current day's date. The group all rejected his invitation to fly to San Francisco, so Daulton flew off by himself to take a call from Boris.

When Daulton returned, after setting up his next meeting in Mexico City, he faced yet another crisis in his efforts to stay out of jail.

His psychiatrist had been scheduled in March to report the results of Daulton's hospital examination—the report that could decide whether he went back to jail or not. But the psychiatrist sent a note to Judge Donahue saying that he had been ill and apologizing for having to postpone submission of the report.

Because of the delay, Attorney Kahn managed to put off the court hearing to decide Daulton's future repeatedly during the early spring. But in May, the psychiatrist finally finished his evaluation, and Judge Donahue scheduled a new hearing on Daulton's future on May 18, 1976.

After noting he had found no evidence of drug addiction during the hospital stay, the psychiatrist offered his analysis of the forces that had shaped Daulton and thrust him into trouble with the law so frequently:

Mr. Lee demonstrated anxiety, tension and considerable depression but was cooperative and responsive to the daily intensive exploratory and psychotherapeutic interviews with him during the hospitalization. These revealed the persistence of unresolved conflicts which date back to childhood and especially the adolescent years. As the oldest son he felt an obligation to fulfill what he felt were his physician father's ambitions for him, which entailed acceptance at Notre Dame University and athletic and academic success. Unfortunately for him his only average grades and below average stature frustrated these aspirations and left him with a deep sense of failure and a feeling of paternal rejection. This led to adolescent rebelliousness and acting out which entailed drug dealing and, again unfortunately for him, he was only too successful in this pursuit and it became a way for him to become a “big shot” in a delinquent way and at the same time triumph over and get revenge on his father.

The uncertain success of work and study have never matched for him his illegal endeavors which have persisted with the same neurotic component, as well as much guilt and alienation in relation to his Roman Catholic upbringing and rather harsh but ineffective conscience.

In addition then to establishing that although having used drugs he is not an addict, the hospital studies led to confirmation of the initial impression that the extra-legal behavior pattern had a neurotic substructure which would potentially be amenable to psychotherapy.

Course since Discharge from Hospital:

The hospital stay led to some symptomatic improvement but more importantly the beginning of a therapeutic relationship to be developed on an outpatient basis.

He was discharged to his family to arrange a rehabilitation period of several months, living and working as free of stress as possible while he continued in therapy. Plans were made to work with an elderly craftsman to further his experience in the manufacture of custom furniture and in due course obtain his own apartment near a bus route.

The psychiatrist added that psychotherapy continued “approximately twice weekly throughout February and early March,” but then had to be suspended because of the psychiatrist's illness, a serious case of influenza. He said psychotherapy had resumed intermittently since then and added:

During the treatment sessions it was felt that continuing progress has been made towards better self-understanding and the difficult but not impossible task of rehabilitating himself with family, friends and society, possibly as a legitimate business entrepreneur or in custom furniture manufacture.

This young man has made a good start towards rehabilitating himself and should in my opinion be given the chance to continue along this road, which though neither short nor easy, offers hope for salvaging someone with good potential from a criminal identity, which might otherwise be further and perhaps irrevocably ingrained.

There is no question that he is neither from an anti-social background, nor basically psychopathic, but rather belongs to that minority of offenders whose behavior have a psychoneurotic basis.

He is therefore amenable to individual psychotherapy and should continue it for many months. There is good support from his family, and although no guarantees of success can be given there seems to be an excellent result possible here. It is strongly urged that he be allowed to continue these treatments under probation supervision as part of his probation program.

At the May 18 hearing, Judge Donahue allowed Daulton to remain on probation until he evaluated the psychiatric report, even though the Los Angeles County Probation Department, citing Daulton's consistent failure to submit to supervision by probation officers since 1972, was less favorably inclined toward him than the psychiatrist. It had recommended that he be returned to jail. The court ordered a new probation evaluation based on the psychiatrist's report. Daulton could be free at least until early September, the judge ruled. Ken Kahn had scored another victory.

Daulton was, again, out of immediate danger of being sent to prison. After the hearing, he boasted to friends that he had fooled both the psychiatrist and the judge and predicted he would never have to return to prison.

Meanwhile, he wasted no time in resuming his twin businesses, selling drugs and selling defense secrets. He had plenty of time to see Carole, and once Barclay Granger was sentenced to Federal prison for cocaine trafficking, he inherited another one of his girlfriends—Darlene Cooper.

31

Daulton sensed a change in Boris Grishin beginning in June. When they exchanged the passwords, his greeting wasn't as warm, and there was a coolness during their meals. Boris complained more than ever about the quality of the material and insisted on meeting
Cristobal
. An uneasiness that the Russians might be trying to get rid of him began to trouble Daulton. As usual, each delivery was paid for, but Boris was becoming increasingly impatient with Daulton's excuses.

Still, Daulton remained certain that they were hooked, and he continued his pattern of gilt-edged promises. Whenever Boris squeezed too much, Daulton did what he had always done with a troublesome junkie: he threatened to withhold the goods. He tacitly let the Russian know that he might not ever hear again from him or his friend if he pressed too hard. And that was enough to make Boris back off for the moment.

Daulton tried not to let Boris' change of mood bother him. After all, they were
still
paying. When he returned from Mexico City in June he got high at a party and hinted to one of the cocaine dealers who traveled in his crowd in Redondo Beach that he was doing business with the Soviets. Without giving any details, he said in an optimistic boast, “The Russians are so dumb they'll buy anything.”

Nevertheless, Daulton knew he would have to come up with something better if he was going to keep stringing them on. After he returned to California in June, he went to Chris's house and said that Boris was pushing hard for answers to the questions he had sent earlier to Chris, as well as the frequencies and pictures of the birds. Chris responded with the same reply Daulton had heard before: “Fuck 'em; we'll give 'em what we want, and that's it.”

Daulton appealed to Chris to go into the High Bay area, at least, and photograph a Rhyolite satellite. The Russians, in fact, already knew what a Rhyolite bird looked like; they had purchased documents containing an artist's concept of the satellite. Unbeknownst to them, however, the satellite had been outfitted with a new set of antennae, and a photograph of the bird would have been a valuable prize for the Soviets.

Chris refused to take the picture.

“Why not, asshole?” Daulton asked.

“Tell 'em you're working on it,” Chris said.

“That won't work anymore,” Daulton said. “I've already told them that. Look, they're willing to pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for that shit. Can't you realize that? Green, coin of the realm. And here I sit. You're blind! Why do I have to take all the risks? You're a mother-fucking coward.”

“I've heard that before; it doesn't work.”

Chris, as he did most of his waking hours lately, was chain smoking, and he reached for another Lark.

“You're tearing me up inside,” Daulton said angrily. “I'm not going to be responsible for what happens. I can't take it anymore. You're the reason I'm on this goddamned smack.”

There was a pause. Daulton said, “There's always your father.” It was a hint that he might tell Chris's father of their enterprise if Chris didn't become more cooperative.

“Yes, there always is, and if he didn't blow your brains out, I would.”

“You don't have the stomach for it,” Daulton said.

“Try me. I really wish you would try me.”

“I couldn't care less if you overdosed,” Chris added. “You more than pay for your habit with dealing and smuggling. No one is forcing you to go to Mexico City; if you have any brains left at all, quit. It can't go on forever.”

Daulton had taken a whiff of heroin and decided to switch to a more persuasive approach.

“Look, you want some more money?” he asked.

“You can give me a pound of Colombian. A fresh pound.”

“I just gave you a pound Saturday!” Daulton said. “What the fuck did you do with that one?”

“It's gone. I gave five ounces to Old Rasputin,” he said, referring to an old friend. “You burned him for five ounces. And I gave Dennis and Margie some and the guy next door an ounce; we all took some excellent brownies to the desert.”

“Hey, stay out of my business.”

“You don't run a business,” Chris retorted. “You rip people off.”

Daulton was not ruffled. Once again, he appealed for new data from the vault. “
Please
,” he said.

“All right, James Bond. You play your game and I'll play mine.” Chris said he would get some new material from the vault in a few days. “What happened to your attaché case?”

“I forgot the combination and had to pry it open.”

“God, some swift spy you are. It's a miracle I'm not dead. You've used up all our luck, every last drop.”

Several weeks later, on July 9, Stephen Sharp and Michael Maxwell, Los Angeles County deputy sheriffs, were riding in a patrol car shortly before midnight in an industrial section of Long Beach, the coastal city southwest of Los Angeles, when they saw a white Ford zoom past them. They could see the Ford hurtling toward the center divider strip in the road and braced for it to carom off the divider. But at the last moment, the Ford made a long, looping right-hand turn all the way from the center lane to another street. The deputies gave pursuit and clocked the Ford at 65 miles an hour.