ON THE evening of 29 May 1973, Leesa Jo Shaner drives to the airport in
Tucson, Arizona, to pick up her husband, Gary. He鈥檚 returning from a tour of
duty with the US Air Force in Okinawa. With his flight due to arrive at 10.15
pm, Leesa sets out in her father鈥檚 car at 9.25. At 10.30, Gary phones home from
the airport to say she hasn鈥檛 arrived.
Leesa鈥檚 father, Jim Miller, figures she鈥檚 had car trouble. So he drives to
the airport, keeping an eye out for her along the way. Once there, he searches
everywhere, even the women鈥檚 washrooms, and asks every staff member in the
terminal if they鈥檝e seen her. No one has.
About half an hour later, father and husband find her car in the parking lot.
One window is partly rolled down, and Leesa鈥檚 open purse is on the back seat.
Her money is untouched. Her car keys and parking stub are missing.
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At home, a party is under way to celebrate Gary鈥檚 homecoming. Leesa had lived
in Okinawa with Gary until just before the birth of their second child only six
weeks earlier. Their infant son and his two-year-old sister are waiting at home
for them now.
The family never see Leesa again. Three and a half months later, her remains
are found in a shallow grave about 90 kilometres south-east of Tucson airport,
in a remote part of a federal military base called Fort Huachuca. Only Leesa鈥檚
bones and a few items of jewellery remain. No one has been charged with the
murder.
Those are the bare facts, the ones retired FBI special agent Tom Weber brings
to us over lunch. We are gathered on the 11th floor of the ornate Public Ledger
Building in Philadelphia. After Weber introduces the case, the chicken and
asparagus is served. Fancy waiters inquire delicately, 鈥淲hite or red?鈥�, by which
they mean lemonade or iced tea.
The room is stuffed with experts. 鈥淥ne of the individuals in attendance today
may take a look at the evidence and say there鈥檚 a lead here,鈥� says Weber. There
are psychologists and forensic scientists, handwriting analysts and homicide
cops. Many of them wear a distinctive red, white and blue rosette, indicating
their membership of the elite society that is meeting today to try to crack this
unsolved crime.
The Vidocq Society (pronouced 鈥渧ee-duck鈥�) is named in honour of Eug猫ne
Fran莽ois Vidocq, the 19th-century French criminal-turned-cop who was the
inspiration for several fictional characters, including Victor Hugo鈥檚 Jean
Valjean and Honor茅 de Balzac鈥檚 Vautrin. Vidocq is considered by many to
be the father of modern criminal investigation (see 鈥淭he thin blue line鈥�).
Like Vidocq himself, the society aims to use its formidable forensic and
investigative skills to solve crimes that others have given up on. A quorum of
the 82 members鈥攐ne for each year of Vidocq鈥檚 life鈥攇et together once
every two months to re-examine unsolved murders.
My table is filled with retired FBI special agents and their wives. Someone
tells me the unofficial history of the Vidocq Society. Bill Fleisher, a
legendary FBI agent, who I鈥檓 told has nabbed more felons than anyone else in the
history of the Philadelphia police department, was at a 鈥渕urder mystery weekend鈥�
party with his buddy Frank Bender, a forensic reconstruction artist. Together
with a third friend, Richard Walter, a forensic psychologist, they got to
thinking: what would happen if a bunch of us got together like this to solve
real crimes?
So that鈥檚 what we鈥檙e doing here, pondering the real-life case of Leesa Jo
Shaner. Over pudding, Sergeant Don Cahill, a homicide detective with the Prince
William County police department in Virginia, gets up to speak. Cahill is a big,
avuncular man with yellow-tinted glasses and a talent for telling a story. He鈥檚
so friendly it鈥檚 hard to believe he鈥檚 spent his career outwitting murderers.
Over the years, that鈥檚 meant everything from going undercover as a member of a
biker gang to washing dishes in a Chinese restaurant. Or just sitting it out in
a cell with a suspect until he makes a fatal slip. 鈥淵ou鈥檝e got to have a strong
bladder,鈥� Cahill tells me later.
He combs back through the details of the Shaner case. It鈥檚 May 1973. A tall,
slim, blonde 22-year-old woman drives to the airport to pick up her husband. At
10.30 pm, the husband calls to say she hasn鈥檛 arrived. The family come to look
for her but find only the car.
When the vehicle is dusted for fingerprints, a palmprint is found on the
hood. Leesa鈥檚 father鈥攚ho, not incidentally, is himself an FBI special
agent鈥攕ays he washed the car that afternoon. Still, after extensive
inquiries, no one can be found to match the print.
There are no reports of an altercation in the parking lot. No one questioned
by Leesa鈥檚 father has seen Leesa. Later, though, a security guard admits to
having seen her walk into the airport terminal, and he even identifies her from
a set of photos.
A few days after Leesa鈥檚 disappearance, an elderly Hispanic woman contacts
the police. Maybe it鈥檚 nothing, she says, but at 10.30 on the evening Leesa went
missing, she was sitting on her front porch and saw a girl try to escape from a
van. The girl cried, 鈥淢other help me!鈥� but two white men dragged her back
inside. Another white man was at the wheel. The old woman lives just south of
the airport鈥攅n route, as it turns out, to the place where Leesa鈥檚 bones
are later found.
Some five weeks after Leesa鈥檚 disappearance, on 6 July, her father gets a
collect call at work from an unknown male. The man tells Miller he knows who
killed Leesa 鈥淜aner鈥�, but is uncomfortable talking on an FBI line. He asks for
Miller鈥檚 home number so he can ring later. He never does. The call is traced to
a Detroit phone booth, and when the voice is analysed it is said to belong to a
sincere, black male. A front-page appeal in the Detroit Free Press
leads to nothing.
On 16 September 1973, 110 days after Leesa Jo Shaner disappeared, her
skeletal remains are found in a shallow grave in a dry stream bed at Fort
Huachuca. The bones have been disturbed by coyotes, and the flesh has been eaten
or dried out in the Arizona sun. There is no bone damage, so no clues as to how
she might have died. There are a few bullet casings lying around, but this is a
remote corner of the base used for target practice. Thousands of military
personnel live on the base, and prints are checked for every last one. Hundreds
of people who left the base that weekend are investigated. Anyone with even the
hint of a sexually deviant past is interrogated. Still no leads.
Then in 1993, twenty years to the day after his daughter鈥檚 disappearance, Jim
Miller gets a mysterious greeting card from Tucson. It鈥檚 got a stock photo and
caption, which reads: 鈥淜nown to each other only as 鈥淴鈥� and 鈥淨鈥�, the two agents
often arranged inconspicuous rendezvous in public places.鈥� Inside, the card
continues: 鈥淚鈥檇 love to tell you all the exciting things I鈥檝e been up to, but if
I did, I鈥檇 have to kill you.鈥� To this, someone鈥攚ho has never been
identified鈥攁dds 鈥淒ear X, didn鈥檛 you recognise me? Q.鈥� The card is mailed
to Miller鈥檚 new address, and is addressed in clumsy German to 鈥淛.
惭眉别濒濒别谤鈥�.
It鈥檚 ten years before this, in 1983, that Cahill first hears about the Shaner
case. He鈥檚 having lunch in a popular law-enforcement hangout in Triangle,
Virginia, the Globe and Laurel, owned by his friend Rick Spooner. He mentions a
homicide he鈥檚 working on, a 42-year-old woman, shot dead, found behind an
elementary school in a shallow grave. Spooner tells him he should have a chat
with the fellow in the corner from Tucson, a psychologist working on the Shaner
case.
Cahill is intrigued. He already has a suspect in mind for his homicide. He
found him by sifting through 20 000 applications for accommodation in a block
known as the Oakwood Apartments in Alexandria, Virginia. The dead woman鈥檚
friends said she met a guy in a bar who lived there. Cahill did an FBI check on
31 of the applicants and one matched the set of partial fingerprints left in the
dead woman鈥檚 apartment. Interestingly, the owner of the fingerprints, Gregory
Barker, once lived in Tucson.
The two men talk, and the connections get stronger. 鈥淭he way the body was
found is exactly the way our body was found, other than our body had her hands
tied, and we could show she was shot in the back of the head because we found a
bullet hole,鈥� says Cahill. Because Cahill is closing in on Barker, he鈥檚 made it
his business to know everything about the man. An only child, Army brat, spent a
few school years in Germany. Joined the Army, trained in Army intelligence, saw
two tours of duty in Vietnam.
Cahill recalls one other significant detail: in the early 1970s, Barker was
working as a civilian at Fort Huachuca. In fact, his main work took place just a
few kilometres from where Leesa鈥檚 body was found. Cahill checks the record and
finds that while the Army claims to have interviewed all the people working on
the base at the time of Leesa鈥檚 death, somehow Barker has escaped being
interrogated.
Cahill thinks Barker is the man. 鈥淲e can physically put him there on the day
of the murder,鈥� he says. After Barker is convicted in 1992 for a series of bank
robberies and for the murder of the Virginia woman, Cahill tries to get him to
confess to murdering Leesa too, but he won鈥檛 talk.
Barker is in one of the meanest prisons in the US, in Florence,
Colorado鈥斺�漷he most secure of secure prisons鈥�, says Cahill. The convicts
live three floors underground and they鈥檙e either locked up or working. Barker
lives like a prisoner of war. He gets no mail, no visitors. Except from Cahill.
鈥淚鈥檓 biding my time. I send him a postcard once in a while, to let him know I鈥檓
still out there, still interested in talking.鈥�
The Vidocq members lean forward in their chairs as the coffee is poured.
Someone asks about the handprint on the car鈥攚as it Barker鈥檚? No, says
Cahill. The husband鈥檚? No. Has the husband been eliminated as a suspect? Could
he have set this up? Where is he today? Cahill replies that Gary Shaner
relocated to the West Coast, remarried some years later, and has stayed in close
contact with Leesa鈥檚 family. He was never a serious suspect.
Barker went to school in Germany. Could he have sent the card with the bad
German? Cahill is doubtful. By 1993, when the card was sent, Barker was already
in prison. Cahill reminds us that there is no record of Barker having sent a
letter to anyone. But has anyone tested the licked flap of the envelope for DNA?
Someone offers to do the testing in his lab in Boston.
Was there soft tissue on Leesa鈥檚 body that could be analysed? No tissue at
all, says Cahill. Were her bones entombed or cremated? Cahill isn鈥檛 sure, but
agrees the bones or photos of the bones should be re-examined. 鈥淚t would be good
to have a forensic anthropologist look at those bones,鈥� he says. 鈥淭hey could see
something an ordinary cop couldn鈥檛.鈥� He urges people to look at copies of the
autopsy, pictures of the bones, anything from the crime scene. 鈥淭he more you
know about how that person died, the more you can question the suspect.鈥�
Did Leesa work? Yes, she had a clerical job in Okinawa. Had Barker ever been
to Okinawa? Could he have met Leesa there? Interesting question. Barker may have
passed through on his way home from Vietnam, says Cahill, and could have met
either Gary or Leesa. But there is no evidence that he did.
The parking stub was dated and timed. Why did it go missing, do you think?
What could the motive have been for the murder? Did the father have enemies?
The coffee cups are cleared away with a clatter. A few members shake hands
and hustle back to work. Others linger around the podium. 鈥淪he wouldn鈥檛 have
gone into the airport without her handbag,鈥� says one woman to Cahill. 鈥淭he
security guard must be wrong. Has he been checked out?鈥�
The meeting is over. I feel glum. They have so little to go on. Yet in its
ten-year history the Vidocq Society has managed to solve a handful of 鈥渃old
case鈥� homicides鈥攖he ones the police have given up on and filed away.
Sometimes all a case needs is the fresh scrutiny of outsiders. In 1992,
Vidocq was asked to consider the case of Deborah Lynn Wilson, a student whose
beaten and strangled body was found eight years earlier in a basement hallway at
Drexel University in Philadelphia. There was neither a suspect nor a motive.
Vidocq members reviewed the files and were intrigued by the fact that the victim
was barefoot: was anyone at the university on record as having a foot fetish?
Their suggestion led investigators to a campus security guard once
court-martialled for stealing women鈥檚 footwear. He was convicted in 1995 of
Wilson鈥檚 murder.
Then there was the case of 24-year-old Scott Dunn from Lubbock, Texas. He was
missing and presumed dead for over a year. Scott鈥檚 father, Jim, started to
suspect the girlfriend Scott had been living with. In addition to her strange
behaviour鈥攖elling Scott鈥檚 dad she was worried 鈥渟omething had happened to
him鈥�, for instance, but telling his employer he鈥檇 gone off with another
woman鈥攖races of Scott鈥檚 blood were splattered all over the flat they鈥檇
been sharing. According to Texas law, a person can鈥檛 be charged for murder if
there鈥檚 no body, but Walter, and Frank Friel, a Vidocq Society member and former
cop, stepped in. They reckoned that Scott鈥檚 blood could amount to a body, and
helped by Scotland Yard, proved that enough of it spattered the apartment that
he could not have survived the attack. The girlfriend was convicted in 1997.
In Leesa鈥檚 case though, time is running out. Her father, Jim Miller, is dying
of cancer. Before he goes, he wants to know what happened to his daughter. A
roomful of files in Phoenix, Arizona, and over 25 years of searching have led
nowhere. Miller has even written a letter to Barker鈥攚ho is still in
jail鈥攁nd asked FBI friends to make sure he gets it. 鈥淎ll I need is
closure,鈥� he says.
Miller lives with a nagging fear that maybe his position as an agent had
something to do with Leesa鈥檚 death. 鈥淧art of the speculation was that this was
retaliation against me,鈥� he says. He spent eight years in Central and South
America with the FBI. 鈥淚 made a lot of enemies.鈥� Even the call from Detroit got
him wondering. Not long before Leesa died he鈥檇 run a raid on a group of soldiers
who鈥檇 gone AWOL from Fort Huachuca, and some of them had been from Detroit.
Or maybe it was just something Leesa let slip. 鈥淪he may have made the mistake
of saying, `My father is an FBI agent. He鈥檒l get you鈥�.鈥� Vidocq is still hoping
he will.
EUG脠NE Fran莽ois Vidocq (1775-1857) spent most of his early life
thieving. Though sentenced to prison a few times for petty crimes, he never
stayed long, as he was a skilled jailbreaker.
Vidocq believed that in order to catch criminals, you had to be one. When he
was 34, the French authorities began to see things his way and welcomed him in
the fight against crime. He founded the Police de S没ret茅, the
world鈥檚 first detective bureau, where he orchestrated a network of spies and
informers. His arrest rate was legendary.
During his career, he introduced many of the procedures that have since
become a standard part of forensic science. He was the first to keep detailed
records on criminals and their habits. He introduced handwriting analysis,
fingerprint identification and plaster impressions of feet and shoes. He used
the science of ballistics. He cultivated informers. He personally held patents
on indelible ink and unalterable bond paper. He was also a master of disguise
and surveillance.
He felt strongly that criminality was caused by poverty and that criminals
could be reformed. Sadly, he failed to live up to that ideal and was dismissed
in 1832 for a heist that he allegedly organised. Resourceful as ever, he set up
a private investigation firm, and continued to tread the thin blue line between
the right and wrong sides of the law.