Jim decided to take an impromptu trip to Paris, a two-hour ride by train.
There he visited a place that always beguiled him. Behind Notre Dame Cathedral is a parkette, and belowground is a monument lacking the ornate design of most everything in Paris. It is a Holocaust memorial called Memorial de la Déportation, remembering the French Jews who were captured and gassed by the Nazis. He descended the steps, the walls white and rough textured, the corridors tight, tomblike, all sharp angles. Words were etched on the wall as though put there by fingernails. And, visible but untouchable through a grate, were buttons, thousands of them, lined up to mark each death. So many innocent lives sacrificed on the altar of ideology. Just like the murdered babies, Jim Kopp thought. On the wall were quotations: “The day that people will have understood who you were, they will bite the earth with sadness and remorse, they will water it with their tears, and they will build temples to you.” Later, he walked along the Champs d’Élysées at his languid pace, his lungs filling with crisp spring air, moving past shops and cafés, Parisians sipping red wine on patios and breaking baguette. The folksy tune entered his mind, and then the words:
Joni Mitchell—“Free Man in Paris!” The lyrics and music flowed through his soul, from the angel poet he had held close to his heart since his teens in Marin County. He sang it to himself and it brought a smile. She was speaking to him. Trapped as he was on the run, he had for the moment escaped, gliding along on Joni’s rhythms. Later in the evening, he walked Rue St.-Honoré, which ran near the Louvre, the smell of crepes in the air, traffic jammed on the narrow street. Like Grafton Street in Dublin, Rue St. Honoré had the kind of upscale shops that someone of Jim Kopp’s means could never patronize.
He had a package he needed to mail. In the envelope was a letter he had written, with more quirky references, cryptic messages, a collection of thoughts and tangents that reflected the crosscurrents in his labyrinthine mind. He included some articles he had printed off the Internet. One that amused him bore the headline “Meteorite Iron Found in ‘Tomb of Queens’” about a tomb discovered by a team of archeologists in a place in Syria called Umm el-Marra. Marra. Perfect! He sealed the envelope, addressed it to Ted Barnes, Brooklyn, N.Y., and dropped it in a mailbox.
Brooklyn, N.Y.
March 16, 2001
On Friday, March 16, an envelope addressed to Joyce and Ted Barnes arrived at a post office in Brooklyn. It had a Paris, France, postmark. The FBI special agent picked up the envelope with a gloved hand and opened it. Michael Osborn took photos of the envelope, then pored over the contents and photographed each page. James Kopp had been a busy guy. There were dozens of pages in the package, Internet printouts, newspaper articles, handwritten letters. Osborn made notations referencing each item in the package:
• Handwriting: “C.S. Lewis wannabee; neverbee”
• Article: “Our Lady of Fatima Said in 1917”
• Birth certificate John O’Brien
• Birth certificate Daniel Joseph O’Sullivan
• Death certificate Daniel Joseph O’Sullivan
• Two passport application forms
• “Letter from Father Emily”
• “Meteorite Iron Found in ‘Tomb of Queens’”
• Article: “The Society of St. Pius X in Rome”
Osborn placed the papers back in the envelope and resealed it for delivery to Ted and Joyce Barnes. Three days later, on March 19, a Federal Express package No. 40055766270 arrived at a Brooklyn sorting station. The intended recipient was Ted Barnes. Osborn reviewed the contents, took photos and wrote out notations quoting the start of each item. Most were letters handwritten by Kopp:
• “I guess my situation…”
• “Anyhoo, my boss…”
• “add in xo above”
• Miller and Boissonneault addresses
• “Just got the pix”
• “Yes, I need help”
Osborn resealed the envelope. Later, after she had received the package, Marra wrote a new email in the Yahoo! draft folder for Kopp’s eyes.
Subject: I got your snail
Osborn wanted to widen the net further. He applied to put a tap on phone conversations. On March 21, Eastern New York District judge Reena Raggi signed an order allowing the FBI to listen to phone conversations between Loretta Claire Marra and James Charles Kopp on three phone numbers: 718-647-9440, 917-833-1317 and 917-826-8520.
Dinan, France
March 21, 2001 9:45 a.m
Jim logged on to the Yahoo! account. It was coming up on 4 a.m. in Brooklyn. He typed an emaiclass="underline"
Subject: now now now now now now
Dear person, this keyboqrd [sic] is all frenchied up. [The keyboards in France have small but vexing variations from North American models. The “q” is where the “a” should be, for example.] The sooner I get about 1000, the sooner you see this smiling cherubic face… DV.
He saved the message in the folder and wrote two more emails. He told Marra to send $20 to Jean Aubrigon c/o La Poste, Dinan, France.
Meanwhile, that morning in New York City, Michael Osborn read the messages. “DV.” Deo volente. It was Kopp all right. And he had made a big mistake. He had just announced his location. Got him, Osborn thought.
In Brooklyn, Loretta logged on to the account. She turned to Dennis. “He says the computer is ‘all frenchied up,’” she said. She wrote a new email at 1 p.m.
Subject: on my way
Will send the $20… my cellphone number is in the stuff you haven’t read. My hard line is listed in the phone book under the name you snail me at. The hard line is safest.
The money was wired from a Brooklyn Western Union office to Jean Aubrigon in Dinan. Loretta wrote another email.
Subject: 20 Sent
Money has been sent. I have as much $ as you need.
The next morning, Loretta was back on the computer checking for new messages from Jim.
“Anything?” asked Dennis.
“No,” she said.
“Probably doesn’t have money to get online.”
“I’m afraid he doesn’t have enough money to get himself back.”
On Friday, at 4 p.m., Jim Kopp entered the cybercafé in Dinan. He typed two messages.
Subject: thank You God Almighty qnd [sic] his little helpers
He wrote that he needed more money. The escape route was still open. How would he communicate with Loretta upon arrival? He wrote another email.
Subject: Jackie
jackie route unless you wave off….. very happy you’re there… will need rest/medicine when i get there.