Born to Lose (27 page)

When led out under heavy guard, Hoss was surrounded by many people shouting questions. He said nothing but did smile for the cameras.

The Black Hawk County Jail was waiting. Officials would take no chances with their special prisoner. Hoss was taken to a maximum-security area on the fourth floor and placed in solitary confinement in a cell within a cell. He was stripped of all clothing. The mattress was taken from his cell bed. Sheriff Bob Aldrich stated that the FBI flyer had said Hoss had suicidal tendencies, “so he'll be watched round the clock.”

If Hoss was to escape from this jail—modern, only six years old, and full of the latest technology—he'd have to conjure up more ingenuity than he'd needed for his breakout with Tom Lubresky from the ancient Allegheny County Workhouse. His cell area could be reached only from a special elevator, with access from an outside door by a special key. To minimize prisoner movement, the Black Hawk jail had an interrogation room on the same floor, the fourth, as Hoss's cell—a room where Hoss would spend plenty of hours. Passing by the interrogation room, Hoss was led through a security door and down a twenty-foot aisle enclosed by steel bars, which accessed the maximum-security cell block area, inside a steel door six inches thick. Once through this door, Hoss was placed in a small cage. By use of another special key and electronics, the cage door was slid open, which led Hoss to a connecting cell. Then, without a stitch on, forced to sit on a metal bunk, Hoss listened to the whole apparatus buzz and click shut.

Early word was Hoss had talked a little. He told a guard he'd “screwed up” by parking across from the police station, and by leaving his gun in the car: “I carried that with me constantly. I slept with it.”

In the meantime, a search of the GTO “from trunk to ashtray” revealed a can of beer, tools, coins, and men's shoes. Also lifted carefully from the car was a child's car seat, a child's wagon, a birthday box, and a rag doll. Further, ominously, the trunk yielded evidence that something had been stuffed in there and then removed.

Back in Pennsylvania and Maryland, news of Hoss's capture was
the
topic
of every broadcast. Reporters hustled to interview any and all associated with the case. Cumberland's Sunday edition's front page was typical of scores of other newspapers: “Stanley Hoss Nabbed in Iowa.”

In an in-depth article under the heading “His Women,” Hoss's wife, Diane, told reporters she felt “all right, kind of relieved, but I still feel sorry for him. It's so hard to believe he'd do all the things they say he's done.” Diane mentioned the FBI men who'd been staying with her the past few weeks, describing them as “very nice. I was shocked they could be so good to us. I also want to say, I hope the two people are found and they're all right.”

Mistress Jodine Fawkes had a different slant on things. When the
Valley News Dispatch
telephoned, Jodine refused to discuss Hoss.

“I have to look out for my future,” she said. “You people keep putting things in the paper that aren't true. You keep saying I'm his lover.”

“Aren't you?” she was asked.

“No, I'm not his lover.”

Radio station KDKA reported that the FBI had asked Jodine to telephone Hoss in Waterloo to plead for information of Linda and Lori Mae Peugeot. KDKA had information that Hoss had hung up on her. When asked about the incident, Jodine shouted, “I don't have anything to say to you!”

Rounding out “His Women,” although she was not interviewed at the time, was Hoss's mother, Mary. Call it wild coincidence, spooky telepathy, or a mother's intuition, but in the same hour her son fought the Waterloo police, she suffered a heart attack. North Hills Passavant Hospital confirmed, “Mary Meyers, in her fifties, is a patient being treated for cardiac arrest. She is in our ICU in guarded condition.”

But why was Mary, wife of Stan Hoss Sr., suddenly Mary Meyers? The Hampton Township Police said Mary Hoss, along with her husband, had recently been using a variety of names, including Messer and Meyers. Since Joe Zanella had fallen, mortally wounded, and with all the subsequent horrible news, the Hoss name had turned to mud. Shunning, crimination, even threats became their lot. In a sense, they, too, were victims of their boy's crimes and notoriety. As parents, they did not forsake their son, but they forsook the name. They figured the public's harsh feelings might last for a while. They were right: even their gravestones are not etched “Hoss.”

Will Ellison and his wife, Irma, were in Pittsburgh visiting Phipps Conservatory, then having dinner downtown. At age seventy-two, Ellison had been a farmer all his life, often saying, “A more ornery and gratifying occupation there isn't.” On this special trip to the city, Irma was glad to see her husband finally out of work flannels and suspenders and into a starched
white shirt and tie. After dinner, meandering back to their car, they were approached by a pleasant young woman who said she worked for the
Pittsburgh Press
. She was soliciting opinions as to what should be done about Stanley Hoss?

Mr. Ellison, who'd seen more than one rabid dog in his time, said simply, “Miss, it's a hangin' matter.”

“Where are they, Stanley?”

That was the burning question, of course, but each time it was posed to Hoss in the early hours after the intrepid capture, he rebuffed it with invective or silence.

Q. Where are they, Stanley?

A. Who?

Q. Cut the shit. Linda and Lori Mae Peugeot, that's who.

A. I don't know them.

It was all the agents could do not to lunge across the table, yet they knew to rush in ham-fisted would fail with the likes of Hoss, who, by all information received from back east, was a lot smarter than his level of education would imply. In a fundamental way, Hoss knew the law as it applied to him during an interrogation and, even in his dire straits, those in the room knew he could not be intimidated. If they pushed him too hard, too soon, the agents knew they would be addressing a sphinx. Even with all the restraint they could muster, officials failed to get anything valuable out of Hoss until late on October 7.

It was a relief to G-men Edward Flint, Frederick Fehl, and Daniel Dunn that Hoss had agreed to speak at all, yet getting the information they most needed would not come easy. In light of the failure of earlier attempts to get information, Special Agent Daniel Dunn started off slowly. “Okay, Stanley, let's all relax and start again. You have kids … tell us about them.”

“Yes, I am married and have four children: Stanley Barton Hoss the Third, seven years old; Steven Glenn, six years; LeAnn Elizabeth, three years; and Lynn … I don't remember her middle name. She's two. I have been separated from my wife Diane for eight months.”

“Do you have other children?” Dunn asked.

“Yes, I have two children by Jodine Fawkes. She's eighteen. The kids' names are Stanley, two and a half; and Michael … he's two months old.”

“You have two boys of yours named Stanley?” Dunn said, with arched eyebrow.

“That's right.”

Agent Flint lit a cigarette then offered the pack around the table while saying, “What can you tell us about your activities in recent weeks, Stanley?”

“Well, I might as well go back to when I was charged with rape, armed robbery, assault, larceny, and receiving stolen property. That was in March of this year, back home in Allegheny County. I also had a parole detainer against me for compounding crimes.”

Q. Were you convicted of all those charges?

A. No, just the rape of Kathy Defino. I took an appeal an' got sent to the workhouse pending the appeal. I wasn't sentenced yet when—

“By the way,” Flint interrupted, “you know your partner in that, Richard Zurka?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he's caught. Got himself indicted last Thursday.”

Hoss said nothing.

“Okay,” Flint said, “You weren't sentenced yet when … ?”

“When me and Tom Lubresky busted out. We sawed through a skylight.”

Q. Where did you go then?

A. Tom and me separated pretty quick. I hid out on a farm near Fawn Township. While I was there, a kid was keeping a gun for me that I got in a stickup near Gibsonia before I was locked up.

Q. All this is in Pennsylvania?

A. Yes.

Q. Who was the kid keeping the gun for you?

A. I'm not giving you his name, but he gave me the gun.

Q. What kind of gun?

A. A .22 Higgins revolver, bluish steel color, 9-shot. I kept it loaded all the time and kept it in my shirt.

Q. Where did you get the ammunition?

A. The boy gave me fifty shells at the same time.

Q. How long did you hide out at the farm?

A. The cops chased me out of there. It was the Painter Farm. The cops came with guns loaded and helicopters, and I hid by the cop cars and they were looking every place but there.

Q. Then?

A. I went to Chicago, came back and stole another car in Cleveland but I don't want to tell you about it, and I got involved with a policeman, and I don't want to talk about that either.

State authorities were waiting in the wings, so it was decided to move forward while Hoss was in a talkative mood.

Q. After your “involvement” with the policeman, what then?

A. I'd made arrangements to pick up a Karen at a cemetery in Pittsburgh. I can't remember her last name.

Q. Would that be Karen Maxwell?

A. Yes, that's it. I knew her. I saw her the day before. She met me at the cemetery and we took a trip through a few states. She told her mother she was taking a girlfriend to Ohio so she could take me out of the radius of the police looking for me, and so we could spend some time together.

Q. Do you know what date you took the trip?

A. I don't, but we split up in Wheeling. She didn't think I'd be taken alive so, from what I understand, she fixed up a one-sided story on me. She stayed with her car at a hospital in Wheeling while I popped the ignition on another car. Then she left.

Q. What car did you steal in the hospital parking lot?

Hoss knew that answering this question would place him in the critical parking lot—at Kings in LaVale, Maryland.

A. I don't remember. I don't want to talk about that.

Hoss asked for a cup of coffee.

“You'll continue talking?” said Agent Dunn.

“Yeah, but I want some coffee.”

Hoss was brought two cups, black, before the interview continued.

Agent Flint spoke up. “Stanley, at Wheeling, after you released Miss Maxwell, we already know you took a '64 white Super Sport Chevy.”

“I think I dropped off Karen, not released her.”

“Okay,” said Flint, “‘dropped off' is fine, but did you take the Super Sport?”

“I thought it was a '65. Are you sure?”

Agent Fehl checked his notes. “Yeah, Stanley, it was a '64.”

“The thing is, those two years the Super Sport was really similar.”

“Is that so?” Fehl went on, keeping the conversation flowing. “And you drove it east?”

“Yes, that was early in the morning and I shot straight to Maryland.

Q. Why Maryland?

A. No reason at all.

Q. In Maryland, where did you go?

A. I took Route 40, a pretty road. I was out of gas, didn't have any money. I went to a Kings parking lot. It's on the right-hand side, down over an embankment.

Hoss had just placed himself in the exact spot of the suspected crime.

Q. Stanley, what happened to Linda and Lori Mae Peugeot?

All sat in dead silence a full minute before Hoss responded directly to Agent Dunn. “I don't know them.”

It had taken two days to get this scourge to the table. Since his capture, Hoss had been to a large degree shielded, fed well, and allowed to rest … to ruminate over the callous life that had brought him to his black corner, to realize his only salvation now was to fall on his knees and come clean before the Lord—and his inquisitors. How galling, then, when word spread that over those forty-eight hours of respite, whatever was on Hoss's mind was not enough to disturb his sleep or put him off his food.

Q. Well, you were at Kings, you said, so what time did you get there?

A. Late in the morning. I sat there a long time.

Q. What for? What happened?

A. I was just thinking, ya know, about what to do. I knew the police were looking for me heavy.

Q. And?

A. I want to call my mother, see that she's all right, and I want to call Jodine.

Agent Dunn spoke out forcefully. “No Stanley, you're not calling anyone. I will tell you as of this morning your mother is coming along well. She's out of danger. We'll put you in touch when you've finished your story. I would not lie to you about something like this. Now, are you ready to go on? And let me say this to you … Stanley, you have to speak the truth, too. It's time to do that.”

Stanley sat poker-faced, but gave Dunn a slight nod.

Q. All right, you're at Kings …

A. I saw this girl and baby go into the store. I waited an hour before they came out.

Q. Can you describe the two?

A. The baby was two. The girl was in her early twenties, I guess, and she was wearing dark blue or black slacks, a short-sleeved blouse, maybe it was red, and brown loafers. She was bareheaded. Of course, I had seen her park the GTO. When she got near her car, I got out of the Chevy and walked up to her, right beside her car.

Q. Did you have a conversation with the girl?

A. I said, “I want a ride. If you open your mouth, I will blow your head off. Get in the car.”

Q. What was the girl's reaction?

A. She hesitated, just meouncing around. I don't remember what she said. I had the gun on her.

Q. You had the gun on her?

A. Yeah, while I was talkin' to her I pulled the hammer back on it.

Q. Did the girl and baby get in the car?