by Bob Hamer
For Sam, the therapy sessions provided him with insights into his own psychological malaise, but he remained a sex offender—albeit a sex offender with a better understanding of why he offended.
Sam’s admissions reinforced what I discovered throughout this investigation. The sexual offenders with whom I was dealing were not those who, under cover of darkness, slipped past sleeping parents into the bedroom of an unsuspecting child. These offenders began their quest in full view of an unsuspecting public. They were our sons’ teachers, doctors, therapists, neighbors, friends, and relatives. Their responsible behavior in public causes us to drop our guard. We somehow believe we are smart enough to recognize the pervert lurking in the shadows and, as a result of that confidence, fail to see the predator in our midst.
Since relocating to Albuquerque, Sam joined a gay men’s chorus. Recently, the group performed at a Unitarian Church. A seventh grader, the son of the man from the church who organized the performance, sat in the front row. At a postconcert reception, Sam served the boy punch, and they began a discussion. “He was so pleased to have somebody respond to him and share opinions,” said Sam. Sam wrote a thank-you note to the father and included a note to the son. Sam’s own words best describe his motivation: “I haven’t heard back, but I was grooming.”
Some sex offenders with whom I communicated enjoyed the planning stages of the seduction almost as much as the actual sexual experience. Sam’s attempt at grooming seemed textbook. He sought the child’s friendship, as well as the friendship of the parents. The grooming process began with a “look” at the concert, it continued when Sam provided the boy with refreshments following the performance, and it certainly continued with the conversation, in which Sam lavished praise on the boy for his insights and maturity. Sam was attempting to build trust. Maybe his only mistake was in choosing a boy whose father was in a position to see through Sam’s attempts. As I learned so often in my correspondence, the most easily conquered target is one without a strong, loving, caring father figure.
I take a deep, personal satisfaction at succeeding in my undercover role. During the evening’s conversation, two comments brought an inner joy reflecting that success. First, as Sam was complaining about law enforcement’s interest in him following his release from prison, he noted he often believed he was being watched. When I asked if he thought he was being watched while we ate, he didn’t respond until I added that I chose the pricey restaurant because I knew “no cop could afford to eat here.” He laughed and readily concurred. Meanwhile, my surveillance agents were two tables away.
But the second line I will always remember came when I asked what piece of advice he wanted to impart to the membership through our article. His answer was an undercover classic. He made a fist for emphasis, looked me in the eye, and pleaded, “Be aware that there are many, many sting operations going on. I was not aware of that ten years ago.” He still wasn’t!
As the evening was drawing to a close, I sensed the time was right to give Sam Lindblad a sniff of the bait.
Me: I’m a little reluctant to ask you this.
Sam: I don’t have to answer.
Me: Would you be interested in going on a vacation? We have a place in Mexico that is a bed and breakfast and a friend of mine has been twice, as recently as October. He’s going with us. It’s a BL’s delight. I don’t want you to get in trouble. . . . But I want to throw out the invitation to you.
Sam: I’ve heard about such things. . . . It sounds like something I can’t say no to. . . . I’m very glad you did ask me, even though you were reticent about asking, if for no other reason than just to know that such things exist, not only in Thailand.
Sam asked if he could invite Dick Stutsman because he was “lonely too.” How could I refuse? Sam said he would call Stutsman the next day and let me know the answer. He also promised not to tell Peter.
I left the Rancher’s Club that evening a very satisfied agent: I enjoyed a truly memorable meal, I afforded my two backup agents the same opportunity, I acquired incriminating admissions from a convicted sex offender, and I potentially gained two more members for the Ensenada BL tour. Altogether, a rather fruitful day’s work.
Meanwhile, I was trying to navigate around a few shoals and other obstacles in the path of the investigation—some being placed by the Bureau. A few days earlier, some administrative issues arose that forced me to place my UC activities on hold until the regulatory difficulties could be resolved; form over substance as far as I could tell. I quickly concocted a cover story that I was taking a trip to Australia on some business for one of my family’s “foundations,” and would be out of contact with Todd, David Mayer, and the others until I returned. When my San Diego supervisor concluded with me that HQ was wrong about their self-imposed issues, we resumed the operation—without Headquarters’ concurrence—and I “cancelled” my Australia trip.
I communicated this to Todd and David Mayer, and recapped for them my recent successes in getting past Paul Zipszer’s fiercely protective mother and potentially recruiting David R. Busby for the trip. I mentioned to them that in both cases financial assistance would likely be required.
In a return e-mail, Todd casually mentioned that he had been informed that his deposit and trip application had gone to the wrong PO box. He immediately called and e-mailed the undercover travel agent to determine if his materials were ever received.
This was worrisome: The travel brochures apparently had a wrong address printed on them, and one of my suspects’ all-important indications of intent had gone astray. But my cover story needed protection as well, since I repeatedly told my targets I was in mail contact with the travel agency. I quickly concocted a cover for my cover: the travel agency had printed “new” brochures with a wrong address. I had been using an “old” brochure with the correct address. I told Todd I called “my friend Sean” about the problem and received assurances the travel agency knew about the mistake and was taking steps to resolve it with no inconvenience to its customers. In other words, Todd didn’t need to stop payment on the check he used to purchase his money order.
Our group was growing. Just before I left for Albuquerque, I was awakened by an early-morning phone call. I groped for my phone, groggy since I had been up past three AM on a phone call related to the national security case I was also working on at the time. I had been speaking to a foreign general, negotiating a multimillion-dollar “weapons deal.” I could barely focus on the caller ID as I tossed a tape into my recording device.
The caller wasn’t the general, it was Paul Zipszer, who apparently didn’t quite grasp the concept of time differences between Florida and California, but the early-morning wake-up call was worth the disturbance. Paul wanted to join the cruise. Although finances were a problem, he would forward me the two-hundred-dollar deposit and asked me to front him the rest. I gladly accommodated that request. He provided me with his address and said that twelve to thirteen was his age of preference. He also stated that he liked “anal sex but not with a boy this young.”
Likewise, it didn’t take long for Sam Lindblad to respond to my invitation to join us in Mexico. The day after our meeting at the restaurant, Sam telephoned me and left a voice mail message. He had called Dick Stutsman and both would be going on the trip.
In my return call to Sam, his excitement was evident and apparently contagious. He told me he called Dick earlier in the day and convinced him to join us on the trip. Their plans included Dick driving from South Carolina to Albuquerque, picking up Sam, and driving together to Los Angeles. The interstate travel element of the offense would be easy to prove. Dick was willing to drive over three thousand miles across country, pick up a co-conspirator, and then take an eight-hour boat trip to have sex with underage boys.
Sam did say he would need my financial assistance to make the trip. Dick was going to make Sam’s two-hundred-dollar down payment, and Sam asked that I finance the rest. Sam agreed to repay me at fifty dollars a month, even offering to sign a promissory not
e. I gladly accommodated his request.
38
MY LIFE AS A GHOSTWRITER
In keeping with my stated purpose for the trip to Albuquerque, I actually wrote an article for the Bulletin I never expected to publish—until now. In a perverse way, I was sort of proud of it, since it provided a “BL-approved” example of the topsy-turvy ethics and logic of boy lovers. Since everything in the Bulletin is published under some sort of incomplete or assumed name to protect everyone’s identities, I guess you could say I did it as a ghostwriter. Here is an abridged version, appearing for the first time on the printed page, with Sam Lindblad’s name changed to Daniel—to protect the guilty.
The judge’s gavel crashed onto the mahogany bench and Daniel’s heart sank. The sentence had been imposed. . . . Less than six months ago, what began as an act of kindness ended in a prison sentence. At 48, a man who had devoted his life to helping boys was going to spend the next 7 years separated from the objects of his vocation and avocation.
Even at an early age, he found himself attracted to young boys. As a 15-year-old member of 4-H he loved the opportunity to work with the 9- and 10-year-olds. As a 20-year-old, he used his knowledge and skills to mentor boys. Although he married in his early 20s and fathered a son, his attention was always drawn to boys. . . .
Daniel knew he was different from the others. He knew that he loved boys in a way that society failed to understand. He knew that he had to constantly fight to satisfy the natural desires that he had for boys. Maybe someday an enlightened society would understand . . .
[H]e began a teaching career. Catering to the special needs of mentally handicapped boys, he could not only manifest his love in a format acceptable to society, he was able to spend every day with the boys he loved. Over the course of the next decade he was able to develop loving relationships with many boys, relationships that meant as much to him as they did to the boys. Only once was a complaint lodged because of his desires to be near a boy . . .
One day, a mother in need came into [his] business with her son. Daniel was able to help the mother. He also developed a friendship with her son, a friendship that began with the innocent sharing of letters. The youngster lived over 80 miles from Daniel and a regular correspondence resulted. Daniel noticed that the fatherless boy sought his advice on a variety of topics and Daniel was only too eager to help. One day however he noticed that the boy’s latest note came from a post office box. The boy said that he opened the box to prevent his mother from reading his mail. . . . Daniel should have listened to that inner nagging voice, especially as the letters became more sexual in nature. . . . As the relationship blossomed, the boy’s requests and demands seemed too sophisticated. . . . When Daniel agreed to meet the boy, Daniel was met by the police and arrested on child enticement charges. Daniel had been snared in a trap sprung by a mother who read her son’s letters and misinterpreted Daniel’s genuine and sincere advice . . .
That night he learned that the mother had contacted the police who opened the post office box and took up the correspondence that the boy had started . . .
What had he done! The news of his arrest spread throughout the county. The reaction of family and friends fell into three categories: abandonment, disbelief, or support. . . . Daniel’s acts of kindness have cost him his job, his pension, his livelihood, and his freedom.
He thought of fighting the charges. . . . He could explain each and every sentence he wrote. But taking the stand meant disclosing the prior arrest. . . . A court-appointed attorney encouraged him to take a plea. . . . He reluctantly took the deal offered by the District Attorney.
He began his prison sentence in Colorado but his incarceration resulted in imprisonment in five different institutions over the course of seven plus years . . .
As a sex offender, he was singled out by the prison system. Although he was the target of an attack by a fellow inmate, he managed to survive. Fortunately he was able to participate in a sex treatment program of approximately 50 sex offenders, ten of whom were BLs. The program was most simplistic in its approach, with a Nancy Reagan–type mantra of “just say no.” The program demanded that BLs “swear” off boys and tell everyone with whom they come in contact that they are sex offenders. . . . The genius who drafted such an approach had obviously never been the victim of hatred, prejudice, or abuse.
Rather than obtaining an early release, Daniel served the entire sentence. . . . Daniel was, however, a registered sex offender. When he finally settled after his release, he was forced to register with the local police. That registration placed him on the radar screen of the law enforcement authorities. . . . Despite their efforts he was able to meet boys and he even began corresponding until the day they searched his residence. . . . Now he continues to live under the threat that he might be targeted by the local police. He . . . longs for the day that an enlightened society will see the many benefits the BL community brings.
David Mayer and I spoke again on January 7. We shared a laugh when I gloated over the fact that I was able to connect with Paul when he, “my CIA operator,” couldn’t get through. He told me that his next attempt at reaching Paul had also been thwarted by Paul’s mother, whom David called “Kathy Bates,” referring to her Academy Award – -winning role in the Stephen King thriller Misery. “Stupid, she’s not,” he said. “She may be a drunk. She’s probably out of a trailer park somewhere. But, dumb this woman is not.”
David began issuing orders I gladly accepted, since they demonstrated his leadership role in the conspiracy. He told me to call Paul again. David needed to set up a time when Paul could call him so the two of them could make arrangements for Paul’s American Airlines family pass flight to San Diego. David asked me to make the arrangements because “Kathy Bates ain’t gonna let these phone calls go through.” David was also concerned that Paul didn’t have the application for the trip that needed to be submitted in a timely fashion. I told David I mailed Paul an extra brochure and application. David suggested I fill out the form and forge Paul’s signature by signing it with my “opposite hand.” David’s final question concerned a return flight from San Diego to Dallas, Chicago, and Florida. This question had arisen before. I hoped a return flight would not be an issue because my plan called for all three of them to be in custody not long after getting off the plane in California. However, I responded by detailing our return trip from Mexico with potential arrival times in San Diego, suggesting we might even want to go to Los Angeles after the Mexican trip, extending our vacation time together.
Paul and I spoke on January 8. He was looking forward to joining us for the trip and was going to repair his mother’s roof to get the necessary funding for the trip. On January 10, I received his deposit check for two hundred dollars, made out to my undercover name. I had an undercover bank account in a Los Angles bank. The only San Diego branch for that bank was in Carlsbad, thirty miles away. I needed to cash the check and enter the money into evidence, so I placed those tasks on my to-do list.
We all continued to trade e-mails and voice mails, keeping each other updated on the progress of the trip. David, who was willing to obtain a family pass or use his frequent flier miles for Paul, the bodybuilder, had no desire to assist Steve Irvin or David R. Busby. The reason appeared obvious: David Mayer had a schoolboy crush on Paul and may have been hopeful of taking his romantic adventures beyond the youngsters awaiting him in Mexico. From an investigative standpoint, everything was falling into place.
On January 15 I received Paul’s application and a letter.
Hi Robert!
I have filled out the reservation request as you needed. I will be starting my mother’s roof repairs this weekend at which time she will pay me and I will forward you the remaining $420. . . . I look forward to seeing you in LA. Thanks again.
Paul
The irony was apparent: His mother, who had so diligently protected him from David and Todd’s attempts to invite him into the criminal conspiracy, was now unknowingly providing the funding for him t
o join us.
Meanwhile, I was still deeply involved in a Los Angeles undercover investigation targeting international weapons dealers and narcotics traffickers and was now trying to minimize my NAMBLA contacts. On January 17, I had a meeting with one of those involved in the weapons deal and was en route to a second meeting with a faction of an Asian organized crime syndicate when my cell phone rang. It was Greg Nusca, aka David R. Busby.
I took the call, quickly switching from my macho, weapons-dealing persona to “Robert,” the lover of prepubescent boys. Greg proudly told me he had taken a second job to pay for the Mexican trip, an indication of how important it was to him. I almost laughed out loud as Greg explained that he completed the travel agency application using his alias, David R. Busby, combined with Miami Sam’s address—then used his true-name credit card to pay for the trip! Even though we already had him identified, his attempts at secrecy and concealment vanished with that move. I’ve always joked that I want my target’s IQ to be a few points lower than mine. It still makes the project challenging but also gives me a leg up on success. I’ve never claimed to be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even I see the futility of trying to conceal my identity when I provide a credit card with my real name on it.
As a way of covertly discussing our planned excursion into Mexico, Sam Lindblad and I began referring to our upcoming “fishing trip.” On January 19, Sam responded to the Bulletin article I rough-drafted.
Hello, fishing buddy,
I thought you did an outstanding job of putting our interview into well-chosen words. . . .
I did receive a brochure from Tim as per our fishing trip on the Iguana. I did pen out a promissory note spelling out my payback to you. I am going to stick it in the mail to you so you have a signed hard copy, but . . . I find I don’t have your snail-mail address. Please email that to me. I am excited also. I must admit that I have wondered if there could be any kind of STING here??? It’s called paranoia.
