By the time Mr. Caldwell got to the bank, two thousand dollar-size pieces of paper were stacked and waiting for him. He left, however, with $30,000 in genuine U.S. currency. “If you can get back my Bernice safe and sound and catch these criminals too, Lieutenant, more power to you,” he explained. “But if they somehow elude you and find this fake Monopoly money, they might kill her. And that’s a chance I’m not going to take.”
The fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh phone calls from the kidnapper came in, each giving Mr. Caldwell a small portion of the instructions he was to follow in order to free his wife. Each call was traced and each telephone instrument at the various public telephone booths was dusted, and fingerprints were lifted. The kidnapper, secure in not being apprehended at the phone, did not worry about leaving fingerprints. Following a few minutes behind him were members of the Sheriff’s fingerprint crew. With enough samples, they got off a set to Washington by wire photo and received, an identification within a short time. The kidnappers really didn’t have a chance.
Mr. Caldwell put. the money into a cheap overnight bag and, accompanied by Lieutenant Koertz, who sat slouched low in the front seat, dropped it at a destination named by the kidnapper in his last call.
Good police work had identified a kidnapper as one of the two men who rented a room near the interstate highway. Within twenty-four hours after the abduction, Mrs. Caldwell was free and the kidnappers were in custody.
The Caldwell kidnapping was solved, but another and in some ways more vexing problem faced law enforcement authorities in the Tucson area. The $30,000 in ransom money had disappeared.
Shortly after the kidnappers were arrested, two detectives assigned to the Tucson Felony Squad were sent to retrieve the bag Mr. Caldwell had put in the trash can in the teachers’ parking lot at Mansfield Junior High School. The bag felt suspiciously light, so the officers dropped it back in and dragged the whole trash can back to police headquarters.
There, Lieutenant Koertz accused them of stupidity above and beyond the call of duty. He zipped open the bag, turned it upside down and shook it, then turned it inside out. After he upended the trash can, scattering its contents all over his office floor, he ordered six uniformed patrolmen to scour the school area and look for the $30,000.
The disappearance of the money rocked the city. The city’s two newspapers kept the story on page one for a week and made it the subject of several editorials. The morning paper, taking its usual approach, blasted police corruption. It rehashed every bribery and brutality story it had printed in the last thirty years and dwelt at length on a Missouri kidnapping that resulted in the murder of the victim, the execution of the criminals and suspicion that the police stole the ransom money, which was never recovered.
Officers Orozco and Salmi were tried and convicted in the morning press, and the city council had no choice but to relieve them from duty prending a full background investigation. They were guilty until proven innocent.
The afternoon paper had another view of the matter. Obviously there were three men in on the kidnapping. One who kept Mrs. Caldwell under guard in the motel room. Another who drove around town making calls to the victim’s husband. And a third, stationed somewhere within full view of the trash can, who emptied the bag within minutes after it had been dropped off.
The police had not been corrupt: they just hadn’t done their job very well and a kidnapper had escaped with $30,000 of a good citizen’s money. Perhaps it was time to get a new chief of police. Both papers tried to enlist Mr. Caldwell’s support for their points of view, but his only statement, although it undoubtedly endeared him to Mrs. Caldwell, didn’t do anything for them — “If it had been, thirty million, it still would have been worth it to have Bernice back. I don’t care who has the money.”
The kidnappers had a difficult line to walk. On the one hand, they insisted on their innocence. On the other, they tried to support the morning paper’s charge by supplying details that only the kidnappers could know. Their anti-police instincts were at war with their instincts for self-survival. The public defender assigned to their case warned them that the missing money would weigh against them. The prosecutor put it to them bluntly. “Return the money and I won’t press for more than ten years — keep it and I’ll pile charge on charge so you won’t get out in a thousand years with good behavior.”
A contributor to the letters to the editor column had still a third explanation.
Editor the Star:
I have read with interest the accusations of police malfeasance with regard to the disappearance of the Caldwell ransom money. I have also read in your competitor newspaper the theory of a third accomplice in the crime. But is it not possible that blind, stupid chance played a role in the matter?
In a city of 350,000 there are always people somewhere at any time of the day. Why can’t you suppose that someone — not connected with the kidnapping and not connected with the Tucson Police Department — noticed a man drive up to a garbage can, drop a bag into it and drive away? Why can’t you suppose that, this person, out of curiosity or for some other reason, decided to look into the bag and found the money? What would you or anybody else do if he found $30,000 in a garbage can? Remember, no one knew about the kidnapping then.
It is possible that right now someone is sitting in front of $30,000 and debating what he should do. And elected representatives of the people are screaming about a nonexistent third accomplice or making life a hell on earth for two Tucson detectives.
Morris Schechtman
Hector Mendoza’s wife read him Morris Schechtman’s letter as he was finishing his second cup of coffee for the morning. “There you have it,” she said cheerfully. “The cops took the money. The kidnappers took the money. Or someone out of the blue took the money. There is no other possibility.”
Hector Mendoza said nothing.
Mrs. Mendoza continued. “Seriously, honey, you worked on the case. You got the fake money ready. You know a lot of things that weren’t in the papers. What do you think happened to the money?” Mrs. Mendoza’s bright black eyes shone and her pretty round face glowed with animation and excitement.
Hector Mendoza said, “Nu, mein Schatz, I know only this. Of all the people on the police force, I’m one of the few who can’t be suspected. I sat holding a bank vice president’s hand until after they found the money gone. The lieutenant told me to sit still until he called me and the vice president, I guess, thought that included him, too.”
“Well, I don’t think for a minute any policeman took the money,” she said. “A guy stumbling onto the money is hard to swallow. I think the kidnappers somehow got the money. There is no other possibility, as the man said.”
“There’s always another possibility,” Hector Mendoza said.
“Not in this case.”
“In every case,” he said. He kissed her and left for his duty station.
Hector Mendoza, like the other police officers who had been involved with the Caldwell case, had been removed from regular assignment. His new duty station was Central Headquarters, where he waited around in detectives’ hall with other officers in the same situation. They discussed the Caldwell case until they were sick of it and then lapsed into silence. Each felt that bringing up any other subject made him look less dedicated, so it was talk about the case or shut up. The chief of Tucson’s police called them in one by one to question them. At four forty-five Hector Mendoza went home.
Mrs. Mendoza was reading a book when he came in. They kissed and Hector Mendoza said, “What are you reading?”