There was a long wait, but eventually Carl and Jill were granted those visits. Jill's residence of record was a Motel 6, not a house in Salem, not even one in the section closest to the prison known as Felony Flats because so many parolees and prisoners' families lived there.
Bowles was given a "social pass" —the euphemism for a conjugal visit— on February 17, and he returned to the prison after several hours, right on time. On May 17 he asked for a thirty-six-hour pass, which was refused. He settled for another four-hour pass, which was granted.
At 8:15 on that Friday evening in May, Carl Bowles left the prison in the company of a young corrections counselor, more of an escort than a guard. He wasn't in handcuffs or leg irons, and his escort wouldn't go into the motel and sit outside the door of Jill's room— he would wait in the parking lot to drive Carl back to prison shortly before midnight.
They drove to the sprawling pink-and-green Motel 6 on the outskirts of Salem. There, Bowles was taken to the room of his twenty-three-year-old fiancée to begin several hours of a social visit. The concept was kind of romantic when you thought about it, with roses and lilacs blooming all over Salem and a lonely prisoner united for only a few hours with his true love.
While Carl and Jill were inside her room making love, his counselor waited discreetly in the motel parking lot, but in a spot where he had a good view of the exit. At 11:00 P.M. he tapped quietly on the door of Jill's room. He waited. There was no answer. He tapped louder. Finally he got the motel manager to open the door with a passkey.
The room was deserted. The escort knew it even as he poked futilely in the closet and slid back the shower curtain. Both his prisoner and Bowles's fiancée were gone— and probably long gone, from the looks of the room. The bed had not been used, the soap in the bathroom was still wrapped, and the paper band across the toilet seat had never been broken. That meant that the pair had at least a three-hour head start. The prison escort told the manager he didn't understand how they had escaped without his seeing them; he'd been watching the exit constantly.
"That's the front way in," the man said. "You didn't know there was a back door?" The chagrined officer shook his head. "I knew, but I thought it had an alarm on it."
"Not until after midnight."
When the press got word that Carl Cletus Bowles— cop-killer, kidnapper, repeat felon— had been allowed a conjugal visit in the Motel 6 and had managed to easily dupe his guard and escape, there was hell to pay. Governor Tom McCall called Hoyt Cupp home from the wardens' conference and demanded an explanation. Cupp explained that he had indeed authorized short leaves for Bowles so that he might have some hope and some ties with the outside community. Cupp said he believed Bowles would not resume his criminal career when he was released.
McCall was a no-nonsense governor and a decisively fair man. He withheld judgment until an initial investigation was conducted. Then he docked Cupp's pay by $1,000, and gave him a fourteen-day suspension, saying he hoped he wouldn't have to give him more than this "mild" reprimand because of Cupp's long and distinguished career. But he hinted that Cupp's job could be in jeopardy if anyone was injured because of Bowles's escape.
The question arose immediately: Who was Jill Fina? A check into her background brought some startling news. Jill Fina, née Onofrio, had been only fourteen years old when Bowles and Waitts ripped a path through Oregon, California, and Nevada. But she remembered it well. She was not, it seemed, a stranger who had begun to write to Bowles, nor was she his fiancée. She was Carl Cletus Bowles's niece, the daughter of his sister! She was the wild little girl who saw her uncle as a hero.
Ironically, an urgent message had been teletyped to authorities at the Oregon State Penitentiary in September of 1973 by Amarillo Detective Jimmy Stevens. It read: "Bowles and his girlfriend, Jill Onofrio, are planning to break him out in some way."
However, Warden Hoyt Cupp never saw that message, and it was never entered into Bowles's file. One explanation for this gross oversight was that, at the time of Stevens's warning, there was an uproar in the prison because one convict was holding another hostage with a knife at his throat and was demanding his own release.
Detective Stevens said that his source had reported that Jill was "scared to death of Bowles," but that made no sense. If she was frightened of him, why had she visited him so often? Why had she left her home, her husband, and a good job to journey a thousand miles once a month to visit him, to talk with his warden and his counselors, even to pretend so convincingly to be his fiancée? All they could deduce was that Bowles had some kind of Svengali-like influence over Jill or that there might be an incestuous relationship between the young woman and her uncle. Or perhaps they had both inherited the "danger gene"; like her uncle, Jill Onofrio Fina yearned for excitement and danger and a walk on the wild side. Now she had it. She was somewhere out there with an escaped felon.
In Eugene, the widow of Deputy Carlton Smith, now remarried to another officer in the Lane County sheriff's office, was shocked to hear that Bowles had been given a conjugal pass. "I never would have thought a pass would have been issued to someone of Carl Bowles's nature," she said. "It's especially difficult to explain to my four children, who range in age from nine to seventeen, how their father's killer managed to escape. It's pretty hard to explain what a conju gal pass means. If he had been issued a supervised pass to visit a sick mother or to go to a funeral, that wouldn't be so hard to take. But how do you tell a child that they gave him a pass to visit a girlfriend in a motel?"
Bowles's escape sat hard with other prison inmates, too. They worked hard to earn privileges, and the notoriety of this escape brought a clampdown on all prisoners, even those who really did want to go straight. In 1973 some 30,000 social leaves and work releases were granted, and only .023% of the prisoners failed to return on schedule. There were 24,941 passes for work release for one to twelve hours, 1,800 work-release passes for more than twelve hours, and 3,839 unescorted passes for social reasons— for visiting families or for job interviews.
But never before had a pass been issued to a man with a record like Bowles's. Governor McCall pleaded with Bowles to return for the sake of the warden who had trusted him. But wherever he was, Bowles didn't give a hoot about Warden Cupp.
Six days after the couple disappeared from the motel, Jill Fina's Thunderbird was found on the Reed College campus in Portland, 47 miles north of Salem. Three other vehicles had also been stolen in the immediate area, and their descriptions were put on Teletype wires as possible getaway cars for the fugitive duo.
No one knew where the couple had gone. They had not shown up in Texas to visit Carl Cletus's mother. They had seemingly gone to earth, just as a wily fox hides from mounted hunters. Investigators didn't know if they were still together, or if Jill was even still alive; she might merely have been an expedient way out for Bowles, an adoring niece who had now become expendable.
There probably had never been a manhunt in Oregon that was as important to the officers who now looked for Carl Cletus Bowles for the second time. None of them had forgotten the fallen deputy in Eugene. They knew that any cop who approached Bowles faced the same danger.
It was almost a month after Bowles's escape when he finally made headlines again. On Thursday, June 13, a pretty young woman entered a mom-and-pop grocery store in South Eugene and carried half a rack of beer to the checkout counter. She was asked for proof of age and presented a driver's license bearing the name Jill Fina— in Eugene, of all places, where the names of Carl Bowles and Jill Fina were familiar to almost every man on the street! The son of the store owner sold her the beer and then attempted to follow her when she left the store. When he lost sight of her, he ran back to call the police. They had been waiting for this call, and already had a contingency plan. Stealthily, a cordon of local officers and FBI agents positioned themselves around a fourteen-block area. The search moved into high gear when the sun rose the next morning. At 8:00 A.M., two federal agents in a stakeout car spotted a man who looked remarka
bly like Carl Bowles at the corner of South 34th and Willamette Street. They approached him to ask for his I.D.
He showed his identification all right; he waited until they were thirty feet away from him and then opened fire with a handgun. The agents returned fire as they ducked behind a parked car, but Bowles escaped by running between houses into a thickly wooded area. The Eugene-area task force was made up of seventy-five officers, including FBI agents, Springfield and Eugene city police, Oregon State Police, and Lane County deputies. They began a house-to-house search. When residents of the area tried to return to the streets where they lived, they were stopped and told to stay away; it wasn't safe to go home. Those who were at home were urged to keep their doors and windows locked and open them only to law enforcement officers with proper identification.
Shortly after the search began, Jill Fina was spotted in a guest house behind a residence in the neighborhood. She didn't resist arrest. She was subsequently charged with hindering prosecution. The woman who owned the guest house was not at home and had no idea that her cottage had been appropriated by the fugitives.
Jill, in custody after her abortive escape honeymoon, seemed to have tired of adventure and danger. She had huge dark circles beneath her eyes as she told the FBI that she and Bowles had been in the Eugene area for seventeen days. She named two men who had assisted them by driving them to a commune-type residence on May 28. There they were outfitted with camping equipment and driven to a rural area outside Eugene. They had stayed out in the woods until one of the men picked them up and drove them to the house where she was arrested.
Jill admitted that she had been in on Carl's escape from the beginning. Prior to the actual escape, she had coordinated the arrangements with the Eugene contacts. She either did not know or would not say where her uncle-companion was at the present moment.
The two men who allegedly helped the escapees were charged with willfully and knowingly harboring an escaped prisoner. The charges were soon dropped on one of the men, however.
Two days later and 500 miles away, Carl Bowles surfaced again. Somehow he had evaded the tight net that lawmen had dropped over Lane County and had headed east. Kootenai County, Idaho, Sheriff Thor Fladwed would eventually be able to reconstruct Bowles's zigzagging travels.
Sometime during the morning hours of Sunday, June 16, Carl Bowles commandeered a mobile home owned by an elderly couple in Kingston, Idaho, by threatening them with his gun. This location was about fifteen miles east of Coeur d'Alene, well into Idaho. For reasons known only to him, Bowles was heading west at that point, toward Washington State. The trio had driven along Interstate 90 to a spot west of Coeur d'Alene when the elderly man refused to go any farther. Bowles "slapped them around a bit," but left them alive when he fled.
A short time after that, he stopped an automobile driven by a resident of Post Falls, a hamlet of 3,000 just inside the Idaho state line. With an armed Bowles beside him, the driver drove only a few miles before he smashed into a utility pole. Either he was so frightened that he lost control of his car or he hit the pole deliberately. At any rate, Bowles took off on foot.
Next Carl Bowles wrestled a motorcycle away from a young man who came riding down the road. But the police were closing in. Bowles leaped off the motorcycle and headed for the Spokane River. Three Post Falls officers, led by Police Chief Del Larson, were right behind him. They didn't know who he was, beyond the fact that he had abducted at least four motorists at gunpoint. The fugitive jumped into the river, and when officers ordered him to halt he turned and raised his pistol.
It was one of those moments that seemed hours long. Post Falls Patrol Sergeant Jim Guy had the man in the river in his gunsight and ordered him to drop his weapon. But Bowles lifted it and aimed it at Guy. Guy pulled the trigger.
Carl Cletus Bowles— who until now had walked away from every encounter with the law without so much as a scratch— fell into the river. The water turned red from the severe wound in his abdomen.
Jim Guy had never shot a man before and wasn't happy about having done so now. The sensation of watching blood bubble from another man's belly sickened him. "The FBI told me I did everyone a big favor," he said later, "but that still doesn't make me feel any better."
It was ironic. Bowles, who had slipped through the fingers of some of the most skilled big-city officers in the West, had been shot by a small-town policeman. He was rushed to Kootenai Memorial Hospital where he underwent six hours of emergency surgery to repair extensive damage to his colon. Surgeons speculated that the tough little con would live, barring infection or hemorrhaging.
But the incredible saga wasn't over yet. The Teletype that went out to law enforcement agencies early on the morning of June 17 was phrased in the taut language of such communications, yet it was ominous indeed:
Wanted: Federal fugitive. Vehicle involved. Carl Cletus Bowles, fugitive. Currently hospitalized in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho, after being shot resisting arrest. Investigation at Eugene, Oregon, reveals Bowles at residence of E. C. Hunter and wife subsequent to Friday, 6/14 last. Mr. and Mrs. Hunter, ages sixty-two and sixty respectively, together with 1971 Chevrolet coupe, currently missing from residence. Whereabouts unknown. Bowles advised Hunters and car in Yakima, Washing ton. Car described as 1971 Chevrolet coupe, tan over beige, Oregon license JHS 772, VIN 16447LCL79284. All law enforcement agencies be alert for information re Hunters and vehicle.
And later in the day:
Urgent. Locate vehicle and missing persons. Possible homicide. Earl C. Hunter, 6'3", 235, black hair, wears glasses. Last seen wearing blue checked sport coat, blue slacks, white shirt, and tie. Wife "Vi" Hunter, 5'6", 150, brown, blue. This department has reason to believe this couple was abducted by Carl Bowles after exchanging gunfire with FBI agents in this city. Request all police agencies check the areas of their cities where vehicles have been stolen in an attempt to locate the above vehicle. It is urgent that if the vehicle is located, notify the Eugene Police Department immediately to process the vehicle. This request is urgent. Notify Lt. Lonnecker immediately or Sergeant Moreland, Eugene, Oregon. Lt. Lonnecker, E.P.D.
Back in Eugene, Earl Hunter had left work early at 3:30 in the afternoon on Friday, June 24, after telling fellow workers that his wife was upset by the news that an escaped killer was loose near their home. That was the last time he and Vi Hunter were seen. Police checked their empty home after neighbors became alarmed. They found that three of the four single beds in the house had been slept in, leading them to believe that Bowles might have held the Hunters captive overnight. There was also evidence that someone had shaved off a heavy beard in the bathroom sink. Vi Hunter's glasses were found on the floor of the garage and their car was gone.
Recovering in the Idaho hospital, Carl Bowles admitted that he had abducted the Hunters and used their car, but he insisted that he had let them go in Yakima, Washington. He said they had told him they had friends in Yakima, and would enjoy the trip. Their children, who lived in Seattle, told police that their parents had no friends or relatives near Yakima. They said that Bowles's explanation made no sense at all to them.
If the Hunters had been released unharmed, surely they would have contacted their worried relatives or the police. But their silence was ominous. Days passed, and despite massive searches neither the Hunters nor their car turned up in the Yakima area.
Hoyt Cupp flew to Bowles's bedside and talked to him for two and a half hours in an attempt to learn what had really happened to the Hunters. "I uncovered no significant facts," Cupp said wearily. "He still insists that he left the Hunters safe in Yakima, and that there was no bodily harm. He said he hitchhiked from Yakima to Coeur d'Alene. I do not feel he has been truthful."
The eastern half of Washington baked under temperatures in the mid-nineties as the fruitless search for the Hunters went on. The couple's son went to Carl Bowles's bedside and begged him to tell him where his parents were. But Bowles only said in a convincingly sincere voice that they were perfectly fine when he got ou
t of their car in Yakima. Nothing could shake him from his story.
On Friday, June 21, the Hunters' Chevrolet was found on a quiet residential street in Spokane, 250 miles east of Yakima. All that nearby homeowners knew was that the car had been there for about a week. No one had seen anyone get into or out of the car. FBI agents processed the vehicle and found a wallet and two pair of men's glasses in the trunk. "But there was no indication there had been any bodies in there."
Hope for the safe return of the Hunters faded rapidly. Investigators who had contacted the oil company the missing couple had patronized for years found that their credit card had been used at a Yakima self-service gas station on June 15, but station attendants could not remember who purchased the fuel.
Lane County detectives proceeded with their investigation as if it were a double homicide. Only the missing couple's son held out hope. "It's my objective opinion," he said, "that he did not shoot them. I think he left them somewhere, probably where they can't escape." There were lots of spots in the broad plains, dry deserts, and sweeping hills between Yakima and Spokane where the missing couple could have been left. They might have been locked in some deserted barn or stranded on some rattlesnake-infested wasteland miles from help.