by Charles Fox
Tension was arising on all sides as this thing dragged on. Nowhere more so than among the members of the gang who were holding Paul. The family’s resistance had not been anticipated; its resources and logistics were being tested. It was one thing to move Paul to a more remote spot, another to keep changing the guard and supplying food and replacements. The more activity there was, the more likely they were to draw attention to themselves and, if there was one thing they all knew, it was that there were other players on the field besides the police. Paul himself began to see what he dared hope was a fracture within the gang, the very thing that Chace was aiming for.
Paul:
One guard liked to walk miles upstream, over the rocks and water, through enormous waterfalls. He’d walk in front. He always had a gun at his back. He said, “You know they call me the Chipmunk.” He could jump up and down the rocks, climb trees. A little, little guy, so strong, he’d get things out of the way for me. He’d pick up enormous logs and throw them in the stream. A monster, a creep, he’d set me down and show me his pistol. It was terrifying, from the war, a German pistol. He was so proud of it. He said he would never sell it; he’d had it almost all his life. I asked him why he was like this now, he said, “I’ve always wanted to be a bandit, to rob the rich and give to the poor.” His father bought him comics about bandits. Since he was five he read about cowboys and bandits; he loved the adventure. He’s a quite learned man, more than the others. He went to university, had lived in Rome, had been to New York. He was the smartest one. He had read a lot and could speak a little French.
He questioned me on how much they could get. I think he was trying to do it on his own, do a separate deal. He was, like, working with me on it. I told him probably $300 million, if they sold the houses, sold everything, every piece of jewelry, but probably $200 million, because my father would never sell his house for anybody, no way. The Chipmunk said, “Don’t tell the others what we talked about.”
He was with me all the time. Sometimes he was nice, but sometimes he was hell.
The level of tension was clear from a letter received by Iacovoni in Rome on the sixteenth and in two subsequent phone calls to him:
Dear Mother and Father,
I have been with my kidnappers a month. The waiting is terrible. Will my family pay or will I be killed? Mama and Papa, see that they don’t kill me. I am so young. I’m not even 17 and never, I say never, as in these terrible days have I dreamt to live for the rest of my life even in misery. If you think of me, if you love me as I hope, take me out of this hell. The amount is not 10 billion [approx. $18 million], what they are asking now for is what they really want: 3 billion [$5.5 million]. You have 20 days to prepare the money. It is useless to tell the press that you don’t have the money. If you don’t deliver it to my kidnappers according to the same instructions, that is, announce on television you are ready to pay …
Paul
PS: After the 20th day has passed, it will be difficult for you to see me alive.
The day following the arrival of this letter, the spokesman for the kidnapper—Fifty and—Iacovoni spoke:
I: So now tell me.
Fifty: Did that person come?
I: No.
Fifty: What do you mean no?
I: Nothing has come. Nobody has arrived. Only a letter dated sixth August—it’s rather old—delivered today. It’s an express in which there is talk of three billion [$5.5 million].
Fifty: Ah yes, that one, that’s it.
I: Anyway, listen, the news is the following: the father is disinterested in the business, the mother cannot do anything. The grandfather has sent an American. He has arrived. You still have to send me proof that the boy is alive.
Fifty: This you’ll have.
I: Well then, send it to us. Now, listen. An emissary from some of the American relations has arrived. This man will be here for ten days, after which he goes. Be very careful. He has with him about $100,000.
Fifty: I understand.
I: This is all we can offer you. Or you could kill the boy and turn yourself into assassins.…
Fifty: I didn’t understand, I didn’t understand.
I: This is necessary. You have to decide within ten days, because after ten days this man will go away.
Fifty: Ah—and the three hundred million from before, what then?
I: Nothing, no.
Fifty: Nothing?!
I: We don’t have it. Look, let us know. The father doesn’t want to know anything at all. The mother even went to London.
Fifty: Oh yes?
I: There is no money. The grandfather will not pay. This man from America has come and has with him one hundred thousand dollars roughly. Give us a precise answer, and rather quickly.
Fifty: Look, if it’s for that amount of money … There is nothing to be done because too little—too little.…
I: Listen. The father is disinterested in the question. The mother doesn’t have a lira. The grandfather will not pay even one lira. Therefore, this emissary of the American relations has come.
Fifty: Look, I’m talking seriously. Don’t let’s play games [sound of cars honking]. You said that there were three hundred million and now …
I: We can’t make miracles, unfortunately. You understand? Hello?
Fifty: Yes?
I: You understand me?
Fifty: Yes. This man has come.
I: I’m telling you. I repeat—he has come specially from America.
Fifty: Yes, I understand. I understand.
I: We have only this amount of money.
Fifty: OK.
I: When will you call me?
Fifty: I don’t know.
I: Hello?
The following day came a second phone call in the course of which the tension within the gang became very evident, as did Iacovoni’s effort to on the one hand stall the kidnappers and on the other keep them, as Gail put it, “In a positive frame of mind.”
Fifty: Hello. Avvocato Iacovoni?
I: Yes, speaking.
Fifty: Well, have you decided?
I: Yes.
Fifty: Can you hear me?
I: Yes. Tell me.
Fifty: You asked me for the names of certain particulars. The name of the Yugoslav friend.
I: OK, go ahead.
Fifty: B-R-A-T-I-S-L-A-W.
I: Bratislaw?
Fifty: Now I will tell you the name of some dog he wrote for me.
I: Tell me properly.
Fifty: Ussi, Snoopy, Pick, Ping-Pong. Then I’ll give you another one, dictated letter by letter. P-A-U-T-O-G-O-L-O. Then something else, Tava. I don’t know if this is male or female. One year ago he lost a lot of blood—always from the nose.
I: Who are you talking about? Who lost blood from his nose?
Fifty: Tava. I don’t know. Tava, as it is written, used to lose blood from his nose.
I: Is that all?
Fifty: Yes. Now, wait a moment. Wait a moment.
I: Yes, yes. I’m waiting.
(different voice comes on the phone)
Voice: Are you looking after the interests of the Getty family?
I: Yes.
V: In that case, listen. What is this story?
I: What story? What story of what?
V: Be careful. Be careful, you and all the Getty family. You understand?
I: Yes.
V: Listen.
I: Yes. Hello. But you have to send this to me in writing—these …
V: I’m not going to send you a thing. I’ll send you his body.
I: Well, in that case you don’t want the money?
V: Listen; send it immediately.
I: But how?
V: Stop all this. Listen very carefully.
I: Yes, but the money—how?
V: Were these names sufficient, yes or no?
I: Yes, but the money. You have to tell us where we have to take the money. Show us that the boy is alive.
V: The boy is alive and if you want him dead, you
can have him dead.
I: But we don’t want him dead.
V: Together with him, the entire Getty family will be exterminated with this false and lying bullshit. With all the others, and you too—avvocato, my balls …
I: Yes, I understand.
V: You’ve got to stop with the press.
I: But the press invent everything. We can’t stop the press. Anyway, you want the money—this fifty-three million …
V: Shove it up your ass, you and the whole of the Getty family.
I: All right. I understand. But what do you want?
V: Three billion. Three billion. Three billion. Three billion. Not a penny less, otherwise you will have his body and you will be the ones to kill him. Bastards, and I swear to you, and this is not idle anymore. I hope I have made myself clear.
I: I understand. How do you want the money? Where?
V: Exactly as it was explained in the letter. It’s always been made clear in the letter. What do you want, an arm or a leg? If you want Paul dead, you can have him dead. It is you who will be killing him.
I: But after we bring you the money, when will you give us Paul?
V: Tell the mother she will be responsible for the death of her son.
I: Hello?
Five days after this phone call to the Inspector, a letter came to the lawyer’s office and it was intercepted by Chace. It reiterated the substance of the phone call in still more violent terms.
The letter basically said:
With the two telephone calls to the lawyer you have had proof of the existence of Paul. Your son is in danger of death if you do not hurry and publicly go on television to state your intentions to pay the money, not fifty-six million, which was offered by that bastard of a lawyer or whoever did it through him. If you don’t pay the three billion we have asked, you will not see your son alive again. We will send you a finger if you do not quickly make a decision whether or not you want to pay. If you don’t want to pay, you will then receive an arm and a lock of hair and if you still don’t want to pay it is finished forever. This interview in the press should affirm your intentions to pay the money—the amount of three billion. Make the interview whether you intend to pay or not. If you don’t pay the money requested, you will be decreeing the death of Paul, because if you don’t have remorse for your son, it could incite us to kill him. It’s up to you whether you want him alive or dead.
To reinforce this letter to Gail, Paul was made to write a letter that was published in Il Messaggero two days later, making the whole matter public:
To Il Messaggero: I appeal to the press so that this letter can be published.
Dear Mother and Father, I beg you to pay to not have me killed. I have a great desire to live. I would never have believed that you don’t care about me. I am also sick and have fever. I’ve had fever for ten days. I beg you again to get me out. I want to live. I beg you, I beg you, I beg you. My grandfather—please pay the money. You asked for the names of the dogs. Here they are. The details of the family that were requested on the telephone by the lawyer. I pray you once more—let me come out alive. Much love, Paul. The dogs are: Kamarad, Ping and Pong, Partogolo, Brey, Stella, Gus. I heard that the lawyer said you don’t care anything about me. I hope this is not true. I want to live.
Paul
Chace was working closely with the squadra mobile detective and through him received information that only confirmed his suspicion of Paul and Gail.
Chace (notes):
The Roman Squadra Mobile follows the tracks of Paul’s contacts with the low-life of Rome. The boy was often seen in a restaurant frequented by Sergio Maccarelli, where he had even shown his paintings. There is talk, which isn’t clarified, of contacts with an unidentified man from Marseille. The Getty family has launched an ultimatum. Either the kidnappers accept 250 million lire by the end of August, or they will do nothing at all.
Once more there was silence from the other side.
12.
Gail, still in London, had now had a second breakdown. This time it was unrehearsed and clearly shows the strain on her. It was the end of August, six weeks since Paul had disappeared, and there was no sign that they were any closer to a solution.
Gail:
Lou went back to Rome. Then a very dear friend of mine loaned me a great big house in Kensington. He ran an oil company for Armand Hammer, my friend. He went on holiday with his family. He said, “Take the house and do what you want.”
I’m not sure exactly how it happened. I think Big Paul had one of his lucid moments and suddenly said, “Oh my goodness, of course the children can stay.” It was probably something like, “It isn’t a very good time for you, dear, but the children are more than welcome.” So I sent the girls back to their father. His fifty-first birthday was coming up.
I didn’t have any money. I couldn’t get any money out of Italy. I didn’t have anything, no money. I was alone. Lou, when he went back, sent me some money.
I went out to dinner with Donna, my sister-in-law, George d’Almeida, and some friends of theirs. It was an Italian restaurant at Kensington Gate or somewhere around there. I had a blue jean shirt on that I wore for good luck. It had been Little Paul’s and I thought some kind of vibrations might rub off. I wore it all the time. Someone at the dinner said to me, “What a nice-looking shirt,” and I burst into tears. I got up from the table, went into the loo. I went on for twenty or thirty minutes, sobbing hysterically. They finally got me out and I came back to the table and sat down. I got through a little bit more spaghetti with corn or whatever and then it happened again. George took me back to their house. Everybody was sitting round talking and it happened a third time. I went to bed. I shouldn’t have been out, socially anyway.
I thought, This is crazy. What am I achieving here? I’m being crucified. I’m alone. My parents couldn’t do anything. I was supposed to be here because they were trying to cool down the press. The whole plan just blew up in everybody’s face.
Paul’s friend Philip came up from Bath. He felt there should be a man in the house with me because I was absolutely, totally alone. Lou had gone back to Rome once we left the house in Kingston. The children were at their father’s house. Donna was supposedly staying at her brother’s but she would come over because nobody thought I should be alone.
Big Paul’s birthday was September 7. The plan was to give him a really extensive party.
But then my parents called me and said that Fraser McKno had called them and told them that Paul was planning to take the children from me. If I had to go back to Rome, I shouldn’t leave them with him. He wanted to take them from me. Chace may have been in on it too, because he called and said, “Be careful. I have a feeling Paul wants to take the children from you.” So when I knew I really had to go back to Rome, I called Lou and I said, “I don’t have a penny. Please do me a favor and send me some tickets.” And he did. The children were with me. I had gotten them out. I called Paul from the house in Kensington and said I was leaving and taking the children with me. He said, “You can’t do that. It’s my birthday and I’ve been planning and they’re so excited about staying. You promised me they could stay for my birthday.” I said, “I’m taking them back.” He said, “You can’t do this, I’m their father too.” I said, “I think it’s better if I take them back with me.” I didn’t say then that I had heard that he wanted to take them but I should have. Today, Paul says that he absolutely never wanted to. What would he have done with them? So who told Fraser to call my parents and say he wanted the children? Apparently there was definitely something going on that Paul didn’t know about.
He was terribly upset. I guess he couldn’t figure out in God’s name what I was doing. Why was I keeping his children from him? I wouldn’t let them go over to the house anymore. But when you have two people telling you, and my mother and father panicking, my father saying, “Gail, Fraser says you have to be disloyal to Paul. He is up to something,” what do you do?
Anyway, I said, “We’re just
going to go.” And he said, “I’ll show you who I am. They’re my children too. You wait and see what I do.”
By the stream in the mountains, things exploded in Paul’s face. The tension that had been brewing within the gang burst out. It’s not exactly clear what happened, whether the gang had grown suspicious of the Chipmunk or had been taken over by a different group altogether.
Paul:
Once, when he was crossing the stream, the Chipmunk thought I saw his face. He came up and said, “You saw me.” But I hadn’t. He said, “You bastard, you looked at me. I’m gonna tell the others. I’ll have to leave you.” He left. When he came back, he gave me a magazine article saying that my mother and Martine thought the whole thing was a hoax. He pleaded with me to tell the others that I did not see him, because otherwise they were going to kill him.
When the others came back they were very heavy and dark. One by one they came to me, they sat me out on a rock in the middle of the stream, with my back to them. I didn’t know what was going on, I thought they were going to shoot me. “Did you see his face or didn’t you? You have to tell us the truth.” I did tell the truth, I didn’t see him. I guess they had a big conference and they took the Chipmunk away. They told me that evening that they killed him. They said, “We’re like cannibals, we kill ourselves so we can let you go.”
I heard on the radio the next day that they found the burnt body of a man on the beach in Naples. He had been mutilated.
After Chipmunk was killed, everyone got paranoid. I got the feeling the chief was around. They started being mean to me. They were scared of one another. That’s how I got the idea that they were recruited, because none of them got along. It was fine to be with one alone, but as soon as it was two, they’d show off who could be the meanest. They said to me, “Oh, you know when you were sitting out there, the chief wanted to blow your brains out and throw you in the water.” Things that were really heavy.