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EXPERTS:
VANISHING EASY IN FLORIDA
Thursday,
July 24, 1997
Section: Front
By
CURTIS MORGAN Herald Staff Writer
Memo: GIANNI VERSACE SLAYING IN SOUTH BEACH
He could
be in another city, another country or hiding down your
block. Andrew Cunanan could be anywhere.
The
only thing authorities know for sure is that a suspected
serial killer lived quietly in Miami Beach and frolicked
loudly on South Florida's gay scene for two months and now
seems to have simply vanished, despite massive media exposure
and a manhunt that ranks among the largest in state history.
To the
public, the fact that an infamous sociopath could pass undetected
for so long is unsettling. To experts, it isn't surprising
-- particularly with South Florida's shifting population
of tourists and transients.
``Miami's
a good town for this,'' said Brian McGuinness, a
veteran Miami private investigator. ``I don't think it's
a huge trick to blend into the landscape.''
In
fact, South Florida is such a great place to turn ghost
that Kenn Abaygo, author of Advanced Fugitive: Running,
Hiding, Surviving and Thriving Forever lists it as a top
destination for the desperate.
``It's
excellent. As a matter of fact, in Advanced Fugitive, I
recommend Fort Lauderdale. All of South Florida is excellent
for urban evasion,'' said Abaygo, a Plantation resident
published by the niche house, Paladin Press, known for controversial
guides like Hit Man: A Technical Manual for Independent
Contractors.
A
week after the brazen slaying of designer Gianni Versace,
authorities continue to publicly profess the belief Cunanan
remains in South Florida. But that amounts mainly to a presumption
police and federal agents must go on until solid leads point
them elsewhere.
Some
investigators on the case believe he fled immediately. Mike
Marquez, a Miami Police detective who has spent the past
week fielding phone tips, says, ``If he's any kind of smart,
he's out of here. There are 400 agents out looking for him.
He's in the kitchen and there's a lot of heat.''
But
even with the heat, experts outside the case agree, it's
not unusual that Cunanan could hide in plain sight with
relative ease -- either here or on the run. He has a lot
going for him, from where he lived to his lifestyle to his
looks.
The
neighborhood around the Normandy Plaza Hotel, where Cunanan
paid cash for his $36-a-night room, is packed with similar
hotels and condos, clean but cheap. With a revolving supply
of working-class residents and tourists, Cunanan's behavior
-- in all day, out all night -- didn't raise an eyebrow.
He
depended on the same social dynamics that make South Florida
a magnet for fleeing crooks and scammers, says McGuinness,
the private detective. ``It's not like small-town America
where people talk about the new stranger.''
Before
the Versace killing, Cunanan, despite national publicity
and status on the FBI's most wanted list, openly mingled
in gay clubs from South Beach to Fort Lauderdale -- apparently
without a single patron recognizing him.
Many
new faces
George
Mangrum, Miami bureau chief for the gay-oriented magazine
Scoop, finds that understandable as well. With South Beach
an international tourist destination for gays, there are
so many new faces that its hard to be recognized -- even
for those who work hard at it.
``It's
a very different attitude here. It's friendly but it's blase
about other people's lives. It's a very self-centered town,''
Mangrum said. ``It's the same reason Gianni Versace felt
like he was able to go unnoticed.''
Experts
agree another factor working for Cunanan is his appearance.
With a pleasant but bland face, Latin-like coloring and
medium height and build, he resembles the definition of
average South Florida male.
That
makes disguise a relatively easy matter. Miami Beach Police,
who found women's underwear and hair clippers among Cunanan's
possessions, issued a caution that he could be dressed as
a woman. But even a baseball cap and glasses would serve
him well.
``He
doesn't have any outstanding physical characteristics,''
said Humberto Rapado, a special agent with the Florida Department
of Law Enforcement and acting chief of the violent crimes
squad, which hunts dangerous criminals.
Human
nature also works in Cunanan's favor, Rapado said. Despite
the widespread publicity and the thousands of tips pouring
in, most people simply don't believe they'd be the ones
to spot a killer.
Probably
lying low
Whether
he's in South Florida or elsewhere, he likely is lying low
now, says Peter Smerick, a retired FBI agent who specialized
in criminal profiling. ``He's probably watching every program
that comes on and reading every newspaper that's available.''
He
could be alone or have enlisted help -- from a friend or
lover here or elsewhere or by threat. His potential hiding
places range from houses to houseboats. He could have fled
on anything from bike to bus to stolen boat, even a rusty
freighter to Haiti. Bogus IDs are a breeze to acquire and
with a credit card, it's also simple to drive from Miami
to say, New Hampshire, without ever even showing your face
to a gas clerk -- just slide a credit card into the pump.
On
the wilder side, author Abaygo said, Cunanan could even
blend into with the homeless, a technique he advocates in
his book. ``It's remarkably easy to do,'' said Abaygo, who
says he is a former government operative trained in evasion
tactics. ``When was the last time someone checked into a
homeless shelter and was asked for identification?''
Abaygo
also likes South Florida for other options, including the
Everglades, but he doubts that move for Cunanan. ``He's
very much an urbanite. He'd be uncomfortable heading out
of Miami into the Everglades.''
Outcome
unpredictable
The
likelihood, experts say, is that some serious mistake by
Cunanan or tip from the public will eventually nail him.
The notion that agents can predict the actions of deranged
killers like chess masters plot opponent's moves is a ``Hollywood
type of situation,'' says Smerick. ``Unfortunately, real
life doesn't work that way.''
In
real life, killers sometimes escape. Take Juan Fleitas,
one of six killers who tunneled out of Glades Correctional
Institution in January 1995. Fleitas slipped through a statewide
dragnet.
``There
are people who have been gone for a number of years,'' Rapado
says. ``Then, there are people we've never heard from again.''
Herald
staff writer Frances Robles contributed to this report.
Reprinted
with written permission of The Miami Herald.
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