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Authors: Gary Noesner
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movement had spooked him.
The station in Raleigh is about the size of a typical suburban home, ranch style, with a portico out front facing a small parking lot. Fred, Ray, and I found Chief Heineman inside, looking understandably tired and beleaguered. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache; he wore a tie and tweed jacket.
I had talked to my share of southern sheriffs over the previous couple of years, and I’d noticed that when meeting an FBI agent, they usually spent time on the slow exchange of pleasantries before getting down to business. In all likelihood they were meeting the federal agent for the first time, and they wanted to get a sense of whom they were dealing with. Heineman, though, got right down to business. His accent told me that he was a New Yorker, and it was obvious that he had a big problem on his hands and needed our help.
“Thanks for coming down,” he said, directing us to the station manager’s office behind a snack bar. He and a couple of other officers briefed us on the situation, focusing on Mario’s actions up to this point. Heineman told us that he thought Mario’s sister, Maria, was dead. The listening devices were picking up only the voices of Mario, Julie, and the crying baby, Juan. The implications of those three people trapped inside a small train compartment with a decaying corpse under the hot North Carolina sun were not pleasant to think about. He told us about their inability to get Mario to respond, and asked our advice.
Fred and I described a strategy to get him to start talking with us. The key in situations of this kind is to vocalize the fears and concerns likely driving the perpetrator’s refusal to talk. “I know you’re afraid and concerned that we want to hurt you,” the negotiator might say. “I want to assure you that no one out here wishes to harm you in any way.” Or “I know you’re confused about what to say or do. I want you to know that I’m here to help you get safely out of this situation, but I need to be able to speak with you in order to help.” We told Chief Heineman that even if the communication is all one-way, the calm and controlled voice of the negotiator can lower tension and create a more comfortable environment that encourages the subject to speak. Even though Mario might not be talking, he was probably listening.
Chief Heineman responded that he viewed us as the experts; he would follow our advice. We suggested that Ray be the primary contact with Mario and that we have him take over as soon as possible. I would assist him as a coach, using Jorge to translate what was being said to me so I could in turn provide Ray with suggestions in real time. Fred would be nearby to provide strategic guidance, concentrating most of his efforts on gathering more of a criminal and psychological history onMario in hopes of uncovering important personality clues that would help us get him to communicate.
Also assisting would be FBI agent Lathell Thomas, from the Charlotte FBI Field Office. He was fluent in Spanish—previously he had been assigned to the field office in San Juan, Puerto Rico—and he would be able to help Jorge provide me with instantaneous interpretation of the dialogue between Ray and Mario so I could coach.
While we were still inside the station, we received confirmation of what we had dreaded all along: Mario shouted out that his sister Maria was dead.
We knew that when one person dies in an incident, the chances of there being additional loss of life greatly increase. What had been the worst-case scenario all along was now more likely than ever: facing a homicide conviction, Mario might decide to kill the children and then kill himself rather than surrender.
Ray, Fred, and I walked back out the station’s front door, on the side opposite the platform, then circled around through the parking lot, coming back to the rail lines at a point just beyond where Mario’s compartment was stranded. We took up a
The station in Raleigh is about the size of a typical suburban home, ranch style, with a portico out front facing a small parking lot. Fred, Ray, and I found Chief Heineman inside, looking understandably tired and beleaguered. He was a tall man with salt-and-pepper hair and a mustache; he wore a tie and tweed jacket.
I had talked to my share of southern sheriffs over the previous couple of years, and I’d noticed that when meeting an FBI agent, they usually spent time on the slow exchange of pleasantries before getting down to business. In all likelihood they were meeting the federal agent for the first time, and they wanted to get a sense of whom they were dealing with. Heineman, though, got right down to business. His accent told me that he was a New Yorker, and it was obvious that he had a big problem on his hands and needed our help.
“Thanks for coming down,” he said, directing us to the station manager’s office behind a snack bar. He and a couple of other officers briefed us on the situation, focusing on Mario’s actions up to this point. Heineman told us that he thought Mario’s sister, Maria, was dead. The listening devices were picking up only the voices of Mario, Julie, and the crying baby, Juan. The implications of those three people trapped inside a small train compartment with a decaying corpse under the hot North Carolina sun were not pleasant to think about. He told us about their inability to get Mario to respond, and asked our advice.
Fred and I described a strategy to get him to start talking with us. The key in situations of this kind is to vocalize the fears and concerns likely driving the perpetrator’s refusal to talk. “I know you’re afraid and concerned that we want to hurt you,” the negotiator might say. “I want to assure you that no one out here wishes to harm you in any way.” Or “I know you’re confused about what to say or do. I want you to know that I’m here to help you get safely out of this situation, but I need to be able to speak with you in order to help.” We told Chief Heineman that even if the communication is all one-way, the calm and controlled voice of the negotiator can lower tension and create a more comfortable environment that encourages the subject to speak. Even though Mario might not be talking, he was probably listening.
Chief Heineman responded that he viewed us as the experts; he would follow our advice. We suggested that Ray be the primary contact with Mario and that we have him take over as soon as possible. I would assist him as a coach, using Jorge to translate what was being said to me so I could in turn provide Ray with suggestions in real time. Fred would be nearby to provide strategic guidance, concentrating most of his efforts on gathering more of a criminal and psychological history onMario in hopes of uncovering important personality clues that would help us get him to communicate.
Also assisting would be FBI agent Lathell Thomas, from the Charlotte FBI Field Office. He was fluent in Spanish—previously he had been assigned to the field office in San Juan, Puerto Rico—and he would be able to help Jorge provide me with instantaneous interpretation of the dialogue between Ray and Mario so I could coach.
While we were still inside the station, we received confirmation of what we had dreaded all along: Mario shouted out that his sister Maria was dead.
We knew that when one person dies in an incident, the chances of there being additional loss of life greatly increase. What had been the worst-case scenario all along was now more likely than ever: facing a homicide conviction, Mario might decide to kill the children and then kill himself rather than surrender.
Ray, Fred, and I walked back out the station’s front door, on the side opposite the platform, then circled around through the parking lot, coming back to the rail lines at a point just beyond where Mario’s compartment was stranded. We took up a
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