by Sally Denton
Drew and his partner had divided nine of the bags into sets of three, she said, and attached a parachute to each set. They threw two more duffel bags out the airplane door attached to chutes; the bags were to be retrieved by crews waiting at designated sites. With their apprehension apparently imminent, Drew then tied the last duffel to his body and set the plane on automatic pilot. He gave his partner—a karate buff who had never parachuted—a quick rundown on the chute equipment, and pushed him out the door. Then Drew dropped out after him.
Rebecca told the men that when Drew’s partner arrived at the Knoxville motel, the two of them waited several hours for Drew to turn up. She listened to the television, simultaneously hoping for and dreading news about Drew. When the 6 a.m. local news came on, she heard a report of a dead parachutist. Rebecca and Drew’s accomplice then took off for Lexington, where, upon her arrival, she went directly to Drew’s apartment. Accompanied by Drew’s younger brother, she removed all incriminating evidence.
The man who had identified himself as Vincent impressed upon Rebecca that the Colombians were anxious to retrieve either their coke or their money.
Rebecca then assured Vincent and Bert Gordon that the situation, replete with extenuating circumstances, would be remedied under her watch. “Drew’s people are honorable,” she said, “and, if able, they will complete the deal. If they don’t honor my promise, they know I will have them killed.”
The bluegrass hills vibrated under the strong September sun as hundreds made their way past the Bourbon County gravesite. The mourners made up a Who’s Who of Kentucky aristocracy, a crowd of lawyers, socialites, and politicians. Thirteen floral arrangements decorated the rural cemetery, the largest of which was signed, “I will always love you, Rebecca.”
Police were there. Horse breeders. Gamblers. Convicts. They were paying their last respects to Andrew Carter Thornton II—all-American boy. A cocaine commando spawned by the upper-crust serenity and refinement of the genteel South. A member of the Elvis Presley generation.
“He [Thornton] was very fond of the words of the oriental philosopher who said, ‘Man can overcome any obstacle if he knows in his heart that he must and in his mind that he shall,’” the Reverend Cliff Pike of the tiny Episcopal church in Paris, Kentucky, said in his eulogy. Perhaps more than anyone, Thornton would have appreciated the absurdity of his death.
“He thought of himself as a purist, an innocent,” said Betty Zaring, Thornton’s former wife. Over lunch the previous summer, Betty had asked Thornton how he justified the violence, the paradoxes of his life. Thornton had replied that he meditated regularly, at which time he entered a world beyond good and evil. He told his ex-wife that he was of a hero-consciousness, that at another time in history he would have been a Genghis Khan, a ninja or a samurai, a valorous paragon of battle.
“He believed he was an ‘Impeccable Warrior,’” said Zaring, referring to Carlos Castaneda’s term. “He was a philosophical, incredibly disciplined, extremely spiritual, and loyal warrior, with his own code of ethics, who thrived on excitement.”
Others who knew him don’t share this romanticized version. They say Drew Thornton thrived on vengeance and murder.
PART ONE
BOOK ONE
The Preppy Mafia
CHAPTER ONE
Melanie Flynn was pleasantly surprised to hear her father’s voice when she answered the phone at 4 p.m. on January 26, 1977.
A part-time referee, her father had called to ask Melanie for a directory of Kentucky’s high school coaches which had been published by her employer, the Kentucky High School Athletic Association.
“I’ll bring it home tonight,” she assured him. Then, after a brief pause, added, “I love you, Daddy.”
Melanie had completed her secretarial assignments early in order to arrive on time for her five-thirty appointment with her psychiatrist. She called her mother—her closest friend—to say she planned to join the family for a turkey dinner. Melanie cleared her desk, covered her typewriter, and said good-bye to her coworkers as she pulled on her red leather coat, preparing for the bitter six-degree weather. She nearly slipped on the ice as she made her way to her Ford Elite in the parking lot in the early darkness of Lexington’s cold, gray winter.
But twenty-four-year-old Melanie never arrived home for dinner.
Former state senator Robert “Bobby” Flynn and his wife, Ella Ritchey Flynn, were not initially worried about their daughter. They had become accustomed to her independence and unscheduled comings and goings. For the past few years she had traveled extensively— to Florida, New York, Colorado, and the Caribbean—seeking employment as a singer or model. They knew she was a party girl who enjoyed a wild, extravagant life, and they gave her the leeway they believed an attractive, enthusiastic, high-strung young woman required. As do all parents, they watched in anguish as Melanie muddled through life’s pitfalls. But they trusted her judgment and morality enough to believe she could pull herself through anything that happened.
Two days later, though, when her boss called the Flynns to find out where Melanie was, Bobby Flynn knew something was wrong. He started calling all of her friends he knew, including the man she had been dating—Lexington narcotics officer Bill Canan. The psychiatrist she had been scheduled to see had waited for nearly an hour for his patient. She seemed to have vanished.
On January 29 Bobby Flynn called the Lexington police and filed a missing persons report. Detective Canan agreed to “look into Melanie’s disappearance,” but hinted that she had voluntarily fled. The last time he had seen Melanie she had been drinking and taking pills, he said. Downplaying his relationship with Melanie, Canan acted as though they had been mere acquaintances, as though he was unconcerned about her safety or whereabouts. This surprised the Flynns, who thought she had become seriously involved with Canan. She even had told her family and friends that she and Canan intended to marry.
While Melanie had a history of running away, the Flynns believed she had outgrown that stage. No matter where Melanie had traveled in recent months, even if in the company of someone of whom her parents did not approve, or for reasons for which she would be ashamed, she called or wrote. Her mother pointed to disturbing signs—an income tax refund check remained in Melanie’s bedroom; her favorite cosmetics, clothing, and beauty paraphernalia were also still there. Ella Flynn thought of the worst: Kidnapping, white slavery, even murder. She wondered if her trust in Bill Canan and the Lexington police was misplaced.
When Melanie’s car surfaced a week later in a seedy apartment complex in north Lexington, the police became more interested. A suitcase full of clothes from Melanie’s previous weekend trip to Louisville was found in the trunk, along with the leather coat she wore the day she disappeared. Her purse and keys were missing. The case was officially turned over to Lexington police detective John Bizzack. Her car was searched for blood, fingerprints, and other evidence.
Bobby Flynn told Bizzack everything about his daughter he thought might be relevant. She was particularly attracted to athletes— a leaning that ran in the family. Melanie’s brother, Doug, was currently playing baseball for the New York Mets. She had a passion for horses as well, and for many years harbored an ambition to be a woman jockey. But those dreams were shattered in 1972 in a bizarre accident. While working as an “exercise girl” at the Kentucky Horse Center, Melanie was thrown from a high-spirited colt, landing on her head. She remained comatose for a few days, and was hospitalized for nearly five months. Those closest to her claimed she was never the same. Upon recovery, at the age of nineteen, she and the teenaged son of a wealthy horse breeder eloped. Early in the immature marriage, Melanie received another blow to the head, apparently inflicted by her husband. Following days of partial amnesia and loss of consciousness, she filed for divorce, and recuperated at her parents’ comfortable home for several months.
Single again, she hooked up with a flamboyant Cuban-b
orn horse-breeder and producer of B-grade movies named Mario Crespo. Crespo had appeared rather suddenly on the Lexington horse scene, purchasing a legendary mansion called “Corinthian” and entering the bloodstock business. Crespo hired Melanie along with several other women as grooms, whom he dressed in shocking pink hot pants, to display his thoroughbreds at the famous Keeneland Sales. Melanie seemed oblivious to the raised eyebrows of the old guard who thought Crespo’s sales tactics vulgar and tacky. The thirty-seven-year-old, dark-haired entrepreneur felt a special affection for Melanie, who became his constant companion. Traveling with Crespo, she reveled in the opulence of the hotels they visited and boasted of her newfound jet-setting lifestyle. Bubbling with enthusiasm, she frequently called her parents. Despite their questions, she was intentionally vague about her role in Mario Crespo’s life, implying that it was purely professional.
In 1975, Melanie had decided to embark on a singing career. With a repertoire of country rock songs and the stage name of Melanie O’Hara, she moved to Cincinnati, where her brother was playing pro-ball with the Cincinnati Reds. She hooked up with an older, married man who paid her rent and travel expenses for a while. She apparently remained close to Crespo during this period. Again, the Flynns received regular phone calls and letters, even when Melanie was in Florida and New York auditioning for gigs.
A year later she returned to Lexington and took a job as a secretary with the Kentucky Athletic Association, dissatisfied with her life as a professional singer and the success that eluded her.
Back in Lexington in 1976 Melanie’s social life began revolving around two Lexington policemen—Bill Canan and Andrew Thornton. Canan and Thornton had gained a reputation for their fast-paced lives that included the best parties and nightclubs, flashy rolls of hundred-dollar bills, guns discreetly tucked into their ankle or shoulder holsters, and fast cars loaded with high-tech audio equip-ment—all, ostensibly, in the name of the war on drugs.
Like Drew, William Taulbee Canan wanted to be a legend in his own time. Born July 1, 1945, in Mount Sterling, Kentucky, he had returned to his home state in 1971 following a fourteen-month tour of duty with the U.S. Marines in Vietnam. Joining the Lexington police, he became the first undercover narcotics agent on the force, and the unofficial leader of the overzealous crew. Short and stocky, Canan used his muscular physique and icy blue eyes to intimidate his adversaries. He bragged about his Black Belt karate expertise, his macho command of all types of weapons, his purported ties to the CIA and DEA, and his supposed training by the military’s elite special forces. On and off duty, he wore an eight-inch dagger on his belt and stalked his nervous suspects into local bars. As an undercover agent, he could wear jeans and long hair and drink alcohol during his shift.
Unlike Drew Thornton, Canan was not a native son of Lexington’s prominent fathers. Though he possessed neither the breeding nor the manners that were second nature to Drew, the two men had found an instant affinity for one another.
Melanie’s friends said she had fallen madly in love with Bill Canan. What Melanie found attractive about Canan puzzled many, for he was considered by most who knew him to be an egomaniacal misfit with a penchant for brutality. He relished the role of the super-narc, and was somehow able to inspire fanatical devotion from his fellow undercover team members. Canan also had become a devotee of mind control. Like Drew Thornton, though, Canan took himself much more seriously than anyone else did.
The irony of Melanie’s uncommonly tight association with Drew and Canan was not lost on Detective Bizzack. Bizzack would not, however, humor the Flynns with speculation about the significance of such relationships. The investigation was in the most competent hands with the Lexington police and they would pursue every lead, Bizzack assured Flynn.
Less than two months later, Bizzack closed the case, announcing publicly that Melanie was alive and well, and living in Florida.
CHAPTER TWO
Ralph Ross didn’t buy it.
Ralph felt certain Melanie had been murdered. The head of the Organized Crime and Intelligence units for the Kentucky State Police had sources and informants who told him that Drew Thornton and Bill Canan were responsible for Melanie’s disappearance and death. But Ralph had no evidence, and his access to the Lexington Police Department’s investigative files seemed to be blocked. Ralph’s instincts told him the mystery was far from over.
In late May 1977, six weeks after Bizzack claimed to have solved the disappearance, Ella Flynn received a phone call from a woman who said her nephew had met a girl in Florida who identified herself as Melanie Flynn. Mrs. Flynn immediately called Bizzack. The Lexington police interviewed the witness, who said that he had been on vacation in Daytona Beach in March. He and his friends met four young women—one of whom said her name was Melanie Flynn. He remembered the name because he was familiar with Doug Flynn’s baseball career. Although the witness was also from the Lexington area, he claimed not to have heard news reports of Melanie’s disappearance until May.
Bizzack traveled to Florida to follow up on the man’s statements. Returning immediately, he closed the case again, issuing a cursory statement that said “…the possibility of foul play as being a part of her disappearance has been eliminated and due to that elimination the investigation has ceased.” Bizzack said Melanie Flynn had been identified through photographs, personal belongings, and activities and that she had been living in Daytona Beach since March. Admitting that he never actually found her, Bizzack claimed to have interviewed six hundred people during his investigation, but refused to identify the witnesses or reveal any evidence to either the family or the media.
Frustrated, the Flynns mustered all of their political and social clout and implored other law enforcement agencies to enter the case. Doug Flynn discussed his missing sister with FBI agents in various National League cities during the season. Melanie’s father beseeched former Kentucky governor “Happy” Chandler to exert his influence with the Kentucky State Police. But neither the FBI nor the state police had the statutory authority to open an official investigation unless white slavery, abduction, or some other federal crime was suspected.
Intrigued by Bizzack’s hasty conclusion, Ralph decided to retrace Bizzack’s steps with the help of an FBI agent in Florida. That agent located and interviewed many of the same witnesses Bizzack had interviewed.
“It wasn’t her,” the agent told Ralph.
It was a delicate situation. The Lexington police had already announced that the case was solved, and the local papers had printed stories praising Bizzack’s efforts. Ralph took his case file to a reporter at the Lexington Leader. “Read this,” he told her. “Maybe you should go down to Florida and conduct your own investigation.” The reporter declined to pursue the story.
The first week of August, the Kentucky Post published a controversial, four-part series of articles called “The Curious Case of the Missing Playgirl.” In the photograph accompanying the article, Melanie’s plunging neckline and give-anything-a-whirl gesture, intrigued even the most detached newspaper reader. In the article, Bill Canan denied a love or sexual relationship with Melanie, claiming instead that she had worked for him as an undercover narcotics informant. Canan said he had built a drug possession case against her, and then agreed not to prosecute her if she would help him infiltrate Lexington’s drug culture. He was quick to point out that their professional relationship had ceased two years earlier, casting doubt that her disappearance could be related to her work as a “snitch.” Canan, who was married, explained that Melanie told her friends and family she was engaged to Canan in order to provide herself with a cover.
Canan’s disclosures shocked the Flynns, who no longer believed anything he said. Neither court records nor police department expense accounts verified Canan’s claims that Melanie had been an informant.
Then, on August 13, a purse washed up on a boat dock on the Kentucky River during a flood. The purse was sent to the st
ate police crime lab where its contents were analyzed. The partially decomposed purse contained two medicine bottles, a tube of lipstick, and a perfume atomizer. Ella Flynn identified one of the bottles as Melanie’s antihistamine prescription—a fact that was subsequently confirmed by the state police crime lab.
Melanie’s purse had been found outside Lexington’s city limits. Finally, Ralph Ross had jurisdiction.
Shortly after Melanie’s purse turned up, Doug Flynn granted an interview to the Lexington newspaper. Flynn said he “‘just couldn’t understand why Canan would say that he and Melanie weren’t close…it looks like somebody was trying to cover up something down at the police department… something’s happened and I can’t believe the FBI won’t come in and help.’”
Ralph sent one of his men to interview Doug Flynn. But Doug was not forthcoming. He told the state police that his family was disgusted with the investigation, and had resigned themselves to the conclusion that Melanie’s dead body would never be found. “We would like to know what happened,” Doug Flynn told the trooper, “but it has gone on and on and on, and we finally just had to decide to leave it alone.”
Drew Thornton had resigned from the Lexington police force just two weeks before Melanie vanished. Ralph reviewed Drew’s personnel file, finding nothing exemplary in Drew’s eight-and-a-half-year career as a city policeman. Drew had received no promotions, an average number of commendations, and one brutality lawsuit had been filed against him. The lack of disciplinary action against Drew seemed irrelevant, since Drew’s social credentials outclassed the bloodlines of his superiors on the force. Funded by a federal grant, Drew had managed to enroll in a law enforcement course at Eastern Kentucky University, graduating in 1973 with a degree in law enforcement. The following September he had enrolled in law school, and transferred from narcotics to a mundane desk job in order to accommodate his academic schedule.
