“I would look at Lloyd Miller,” was all he had left to say.
Obviously, I wasn’t there that night to hear the exchange, but I didn’t have to be. I know it all word for word. Every detail. I’ve read it in every court document, every arrest report. Every piece of evidence against me started with that conversation in the police cruiser between officer Brian Alexander and Stephen May.
The police now had a starting point to find James’ partner — I lived in the right apartment complex, I was his brother and semi-constant companion, and I was the registered owner of a confessed getaway driver’s vehicle. They put my apartment, my family and I on surveillance. They took my photograph to every eye-witness and asked if I was the guy. My proverbial goose was cooked.
I’ll leave out a few details, but my arrest was even more dramatic than James’. They didn’t hurt me though. They surrounded my sister’s house with helicopters, newsmen, FBI agents and lots of guns. They lured my wife out of the house with a weird phone call from her sister and went in and showed me who was boss in a quick, efficient, no-bullshit way. They had in their possession a Federal Arrest Warrant with none other than the stamp of the president of the United States of America, Ronald Reagan.
I was formally charged with four open counts of bank robbery. James too was served charges for the robberies. We were considered co-defendants and were to be tried jointly in Federal Court. We were being held temporarily in the City Prison.
The morning of the third day of my incarceration we were taken into a chamber room that had barely enough standing room for the 10 or so occupants. I expected more cameras, more fanfare, but it was cut and dry. We were formally charged. Each side had a few words to say, then the judge stated, “In the interest of justice, these charges are dropped.” I was astounded. My attorney turned to me and whispered, “Don’t get excited.”
