by Bob Hamer
Dick Stutsman had just written our operation order! Amazing! He laid out the entire undercover proposal. Would he still succumb to temptation?
I needed to get going, because I had to return to my Vietnamese drug dealers. I told Dick I was in the middle of a real estate transaction and had to go to the bank to sign escrow papers, but I promised to call him back that evening.
He said he had one more horror story he would tell me when we spoke later in the evening, but before he hung up he wanted to read me an article he found on the Internet while researching this subject. The article was entitled “U.S. Law Enforcement Targets Child Sex Tourism.”
Dick began,
On April 30, 2003, President Bush signed into law the Protect Act aimed at strengthening U.S. law enforcement’s ability to prevent, investigate, prosecute, and punish violent crimes committed against children. Many of the provisions of the Protect Act focus on protecting children within the United States, but the new law also reaches well beyond U.S. borders to protect young people and combat child sex tourism. Since the law was enacted, eight U.S. residents have been placed in federal custody on charges of child sex tourism. U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE), the largest investigative arm of the Department of Home-land Security, conducted the investigations leading to these arrests. In addition to the indictments brought under the new provisions there are many more investigations in the works, ICE spokesman Dean Boyd told the blah, blah, blah . . .
Dick didn’t finish reading the article to me, but he made his point. We said our good-byes with a promise to speak later in the evening.
Undercover agents love the thrill, the chase, and the confrontation. Dick’s call made the endgame of this investigation even more exciting. Entrapment wasn’t an issue, but successfully convincing him to join me on the “fishing expedition” was a challenge—and I love a challenge.
I rushed to my meeting with the Vietnamese, refocusing and putting on my drug dealer game face. My target spoke in detail about his involvement in a previous drug deal I did with one of his associates. From surveillance, we knew of his participation, but his admissions on tape insured his indictment when the investigation was complete.
Returning to the office, I completed my paperwork on the drug negotiation and prepared for my second call with Dick. I retreated to a large conference room in the San Diego office and closed the doors. Most of the agents had gone home for the evening, but I shut off the overhead paging system and made the call. Once again, the call produced more than any prosecutor could hope for. For an hour and ten minutes, Dick continued to paint himself into the corner, just as he had begun in the earlier call.
Criminal intent and entrapment issues were completely eliminated by his admissions. For a cautious man concerned about a potential sting operation, Dick’s open conversation was remarkable, to say the least.
He thought I was perfectly safe in going on the trip. Although he “did not want to offend” me, his reasoning went, “I don’t know if you and Sam are part of the deal. . . . You know people who have done this before and nothing has happened. And if that’s really true, then you have nothing to worry about. It’s just: do I believe you? I don’t know and I want you to convince me, because I really want this, you know? I want to do it. I just want to be safe.”
I said, “No, I appreciate your honesty. I really don’t know what to tell you. Because even after we go on it and have a great time and we call you back, you still may think, oh, they got arrested, and now they must be working with the cops.”
Dick then told me about his brother, a social worker for the city of Charlottesville, Virginia, in whom he confided. His brother warned him not to go on the trip and recited stories of other sting operations.
Remarkably, Dick remained undeterred by his brother’s warning, insisting he still wanted to go. He then began to instruct me on the legal system.
Now, I’ve always had this fantasy that if I were charged with some kind of crime of which I wasn’t really guilty or even if I was technically guilty of intent of something, if I hadn’t done anything wrong, I think I could get the jury to exonerate me. But that means you have to have a trial by jury. Now, the court system hates jury trials.
If arrested, Dick planned to represent himself in court. He continued to detail his strategy.
I’m a very strong believer in the fully informed jury, and the judge will usually instruct the jury that they have to base their judgment as to whether you’re guilty solely on the evidence of whether you’ve committed that crime. But, in fact, juries have the power to nullify the law if they think the law itself or the sentencing that’s based on the law is unjust. So even if there’s undoubtable [ sic ] evidence . . . if they don’t think that the crime [is really a crime], that there should be a law [against the crime] in the first place, or [don’t believe] that there should be a strict penalty, had you violated [that particular law], all you have to do is convince one jurist to not find you guilty. That’s all . . . but a lawyer won’t do that. You know why? Because he is defying the judge. He is telling the jury they can ignore the judge’s instructions with impunity, which they can and they don’t know that. I can tell them.
After educating me on his potential legal strategy, Dick continued to express his desire to be convinced that the trip was safe.
Me: I don’t know what to say to you.
Dick: I know, there’s hardly anything you can.
Me: I don’t want to talk you into it if you don’t want to do it. . . . Here’s a couple of things that I’ve said to some other people. And you can take it for what it’s worth. . . . There was an article in the L.A. Times within the last couple months about how even the FBI and all of their resources are being devoted to terrorism and there was even a complaint, an anonymous FBI person, who said that they couldn’t even do criminal wiretaps because all their resources are being diverted to terrorism. They didn’t have enough money and personnel.
I previously laid out the fictitious L.A. Times story to Todd and David Mayer, but would Dick buy it? The answer was quick in coming.
Dick: And I believe that. . . . What you just said makes me feel much less fearful. In fact, I’ve never heard of a case of wiretapping being used to convict a child molester. . . . That’s why I speak freely when I’m on the phone.
Dick went on to criticize the U.S. government, Presidents Bush and Clinton, the handling of the Branch Davidian affair at Waco, and the war on Iraq. I finally managed to turn the conversation back to the trip by saying, “I will miss you very much on the trip.”
Dick quickly responded, “Oh, I’m not saying I’m not coming. I may come. I haven’t cancelled it at all. I’m really wanting to be put at ease.”
I told Dick “they have had other trips since Sean’s October excursion.” Dick liked that answer. “And if this is really true,” he said, “then I have nothing to worry about.”
Me: My biggest concern isn’t that this is a sting operation. My biggest concern is that somebody down in Mexico is going to do something stupid and that’s why to me it was important that we had people that we knew.
Dick: What’s different about this trip is . . . a lot of important people that work for NAMBLA or are with NAMBLA [are going]. The government hates NAMBLA. You know that they would love to get rid of us.
As we continued our conversation, I complained about how the organization was being run and said I considered not even renewing my membership. “My only reason for continuing my membership, quite frankly, is the annual conference, where I can network with other people, because I don’t get that opportunity often.”
Dick then asked, “Can I ask you how many conferences you’ve been to and how long ago you went to your first one?”
I made a potentially costly mistake with my answer, but my instincts said I needed to close this deal with a strong record of membership. Although I had only attended the New York and Miami conferences, I lied by saying, “I’ve been to about five, you know—six or seven years.” I
reasoned that if confronted later with the lie, I could say I misunderstood the question, and that I had been a member about five years but had not attended conferences in each of those years.
Dick: Okay, if that’s true, and I’m sure I can confirm that with somebody—
Me: Yeah.
Dick: Then that puts me at ease, right there. Because that means you’re not an unknown. Because, you see, when Sam mentioned you, he said, “Well, he was kind of quiet and he didn’t really say much at the meeting.” And I thought that was suspicious, but I didn’t know if that was your first meeting.
Me: No, no, no.
Dick: For all I knew, it was, and you could have been the government plant.
Me: No.
Dick: But if it’s true that you’ve been to five and really nothing has happened . . . then I think maybe that’s a good thing and I feel much better. I really want to go.
Dick even went so far in the planning stages of his trip as to arrange for someone to care for his cats while he joined us in Mexico. It became clear to me that despite his professed and exceedingly well-informed caution, Dick Stutsman really wanted to be convinced it was safe to go with us to Mexico to have sex with underage boys. That’s how strong the pull of his obsession was.
Paul Zipszer’s mother tried to protect him. Dick Stutsman’s social worker brother offered good advice as well. But neither Paul nor Dick heeded the well-intentioned efforts of family members.
Dick cited another problem that arose with the undercover travel agency: “I thought it was suspicious that [the undercover travel agent] said, when I wanted to use a credit card, that he didn’t think his machine worked. . . . See all these things, if you’re paranoid enough?”
And yet, despite his paranoia, he continued to express a desire to join us on the trip. I complimented him on how much he opened my eyes during these two conversations and told him I would like to set aside an hour for him to present his ideas in a formal setting at the next conference, which I was hosting. “The membership needs more of this.”
When I told him the boat was picking up passengers in Los Angeles and San Diego, he joyfully responded.
Oh, I didn’t know that. . . . That’s more good news. In other words, I’m really beginning to feel okay about this now, because, first of all, you’re a member in good standing, you’re with Peter, you’re involved in this western conference next year. . . . In my mind, if you’re trustworthy, then I know that this is not a sting operation. . . . I don’t think the feds would have invested five years of somebody’s time to get inside of our organization.
When he said these words, I know a smile came over my face as I sat in the dimly lit conference room. I had him hooked and now only needed to reel him in. I responded, “You know what? . . . I would sure hope not. If we had 9/11 . . . I mean, if they’ve got some crippled white guy out there that wants to be an undercover cop, I wish they would have put him in some Arab terrorist organization, rather than NAMBLA.”
As we began to wind down the conversation, Dick had three questions he wanted me to research. “I want to make sure that these valets are not under duress, that they are free agents, however old they are, that they’re not doing this ’cause they’re working for some scummy pimp. . . . I don’t want to be part of this problem where a large number of children in the world are in fact very abused.” He also wanted to know what an appropriate gratuity might be, and whether we would be able to express affection in public. I promised him I would find the answers.
He then discussed his relationship in college, when, as an eighteen-year-old, he had his first sexual encounter with a thirteen-year-old paperboy. He was expelled from New Mexico State University when the affair was discovered.
He wrapped up the conversation with “I want this trip. I want it!”
I hung up with a great sense of satisfaction. Dick Stutsman was in and he was bringing Sam Lindblad with him.
41
INTENSIVE CARE
The next day, I headed up to Los Angeles for a series of meetings with the subjects of our Chinese organized crime investigation. With the help of my East Coast counterpart, this undercover operation netted eighty-seven indictments later in the summer. For the moment, I was no longer the lover of prepubescent boys, but a tough international arms dealer and narcotics trafficker—a role, frankly, I was more comfortable portraying. On February 2, I met with two of the subjects in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Pasadena. We enjoyed a fine dinner in my hotel room and exceptional criminal conversation. Both subjects made valuable admissions to be used in their indictment and subsequent conviction.
After spending the night at the Ritz, I met with a third subject and again discussed an international weapons transaction. Following that meeting, I returned home. My brother was visiting from back east, and my wife and I wanted to take him to dinner. Before leaving the house, I gave Dick Stutsman a call, answering his questions from our phone call two nights earlier.
I shocked Dick when I opened the conversation with the fact I was mad at him. I said I had trouble sleeping after our conversation because I now was questioning whether or not this could be a sting operation. I told him, however, I spoke with “Sean” and was much more comfortable after that conversation. I answered Dick’s questions, and he, too, seemed satisfied. He mentioned he was debating taking pictures while there but was fearful; he “didn’t want to leave any evidence.” He was also concerned about taking a valuable camera or computer on the trip, fearing that if it were stolen he wouldn’t be able to report it to the authorities, since our presence at the bed and breakfast would be for illegal purposes. As the conversation was waning, I was pleased when he said, “I’m starting to get a little better picture of this and I’m starting to feel comfortable with this.”
As we finished up the call, Dick said he was looking forward to “re-meeting” me, since he could not recall my presence at the Miami conference. Since he left himself wide open, I took a not-so-subtle shot: “Well, maybe I’ll do something so you’ll remember me.” His response was classic: “I’m sure I’ll remember you this time.” Do tell.
Steve Irvin and I went several weeks without any contact. I was busy balancing the other undercover cases and concentrating most of my NAMBLA work on the San Diego travelers, David Mayer, Todd from Dallas, and Paul Zipszer.
On February 3, Steve e-mailed me.
Hi Robert
How are things in California? Cold in Pittsburgh.
I haven’t heard anything from anyone for a while, since I talked to [the undercover travel agent] a few weeks ago. Is everything ok? Just wasn’t sure if there was a problem. I did tell him I was a little concerned about law enforcement. I just don’t trust our current administration and their right-wing moralists. At any rate, I hope I didn’t offend him, and am looking forward to the trip. . . .
I just started my sabbatical yesterday! I’m ready for the break. . . .
I have to take two computer classes starting the 17th, the day I get back in Pittsburgh. Both on web page development.
Well, Robert, better go for now. Please let me know if there is a problem. . . . I’ll see you on the 12th. Smile.
Have a good week.
Steve
I finished the call to Dick and read the e-mail from Steve. I then joined my wife and brother for dinner. Less than three hours later, I was lying in an emergency room.
For some unknown reason, I passed out and woke seconds later, bathed in sweat. I had severe cramping, diarrhea, and internal bleeding. The hospital stay lasted four days, two of which were spent in intensive care. All kinds of scenarios ran through my head. Had I been poisoned by the Chinese? It made no sense. Besides, I ordered the food and they had nothing to gain by my death. If they suspected me of being an undercover agent, the prudent move would be to return to China; killing undercover agents in hotel rooms usually leaves a trail of evidence. A series of medical tests and procedures suggested a few possible problems, but the condition was never definitively diagnosed.
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I remember one humorous incident during my hospital visit—at least it’s humorous now. I was lying in bed when I heard alarms going off and people rushing down the hallway. I thought, “Boy, some poor guy is in trouble.” About then, medical personnel came charging into my room, pushing a crash cart.
My pulse was at twenty-six and my blood pressure had fallen to dangerously low levels, and as they worked on me, I prayed, “God, if it’s my time to go, fine. But you’re really going to mess up three pretty good investigations if you take me now.” I guess the Lord either listened to me or has a sense of humor, because the staff was able to stabilize me.
My biggest fear was getting out of the hospital in time to meet the travelers on Friday, February 11. Without me being at the airport, I’m not sure we would have a case. I couldn’t wait for more procedures or tests. Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. I was released from the hospital early Sunday evening. I missed the Super Bowl, but it could’ve been worse.
On February 7, I sent the following e-mail to Sam Lindblad, “David R. Busby,” and Steve:
Hi,
Had a scare this past week and don’t know if you have been trying to contact me. I went to dinner with friends on Thursday night and as I was driving home had a severe stomach cramp and passed out. I didn’t wreck the car but they rushed me to the hospital where I spent two days in the ICU. No contact with anyone but doctors. I’m home now and the doctor said if I rest for a few days I should make my cruise. My voice mail was full so I don’t know if you tried to contact me. Short of death, I WON’T MISS OUR TRIP!!! See you Saturday. I’m really looking forward to this. I hope you have a better week than I did. Take care and be safe.
