softly. Everyone in the gallery leaned forward, straining to catch the words.
“Colton Harris-Moore, please stand.” Colt stood up straight, taller than anyone else in the room. He looked directly at the judge.
“Colton Harris-Moore, you are charged contrary to section 19-1 and 2 of the immigration act… You were found in Harbor Island, Eleuthera, in the Commonwealth of the Bahamas, having landed from a destination outside of the Bahamas without legally going through immigration. Do you understand the charge?”
“Yes, Judge,” Colt replied in a deep voice.
“How do you plead to the charge—”
Before the judge could finish his sentence, Colt jumped in and said, “Guilty.”
The judge calmly finished, “… guilty or not guilty?”
“Guilty,” Colt repeated.
The immigration officer testified that he’d checked the files and there was no official record of Colton Harris-Moore arriving in the Bahamas and presenting his passport.
Colt’s attorney was Monique Gomez, the judge’s niece, who’d been retained by the same person back in Washington State who offered Colt $50,000 to turn himself in when he began his summer road trip. Colton, she told the judge, admitted that he “swam to the Bahamas” sometime in June, but neglected to bring along a passport. She said that he wished to save the court the trouble of a trial and thus was pleading guilty.
The judge shuffled some papers and seemed a bit reticent to speak. Finally Colt was asked to stand again. He stood and looked down at his marshmallow-like shoes and shuffled his feet awkwardly.
“Colton Harris-Moore,” began Chief Magistrate Gomez, “having pleaded guilty to the charge of illegal landing, and in consideration of you saving the court’s time by pleading guilty to the charge, we impose a fine of three hundred dollars or three months in prison… and immediate deportation is recommended.”
The clerk immediately said, “All rise,” and the judge bolted out a side door.
THAT WAS IT. COURT dismissed. Everyone began to shuffle past, but I stayed put, watching the side of Colt’s face, hoping for a look at his eyes to get a read of what he was thinking and feeling. He hadn’t turned toward the gallery throughout the entire proceedings. A detective walked up and reached for Colt’s hands to redo his cuffs. At that point, Colt took a quick sideways glance around the room. I was staring intently, looking for fear, relief, sadness, despair… The last thing I expected to see was recognition. Colt looked at me and suddenly broke into a huge smile.
I involuntarily broke into one of my own.
I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT Colt saw other than an unexpected familiar face. Later I’d wonder if he recognized me just from photos on the Internet or if he’d gotten close enough to see me back home in the Northwest. At this moment in the courtroom, though, all I saw was a big, genuine smile from a kid in bad circumstances.
Colt looked down as the detective pulled his arms around and re-cuffed one of his wrists. Then Colt looked up at me again, smiling and giving a nod that seemed to acknowledge, maybe appreciate, that I’d come this far.
Colt glanced down again, then looked back with one more grin, this one accompanied by a sly little head shake that unmistakably said, “What a ride, eh?”
That third smile was noticed by the detective clamping on Colt’s cuffs. He glared at me, then barked at Colt, asking twice, “Him man your friend?” I couldn’t hear what Colt answered, but I started out the door before I found myself with my own immigration problem. A TV producer in the room had also noticed, and when it was reported, some folks put that together with the coincidence of my Bahamas background and blog posts in order to speculate that I’d been doing some travel consulting for Colt. Obviously not true.
I tried to linger in the courthouse hallway to get close enough to talk to Colt, but the larger of the two ninjas persuaded me to move along. I did manage to hold against the tide near the outside door, though, and asked Colt if he was okay. He’d already gone into his anti-paparazzi bow, but lifted his face and said, “Yeah.” A few steps past me, he entered the gauntlet, with reporters shouting questions, including repeatedly asking if he had any messages for his mother. Colt told them to “go to hell.”
The RBPF then marched Colt on what must be a world-record perp walk from the court building, through a shopping center, then up the street to a police station. The American authorities announced again that it might take a long time to get Colt back to the States. But as expected, he was in Miami later that afternoon.
The Bahamian government had played it smart. Their police force received well-deserved praise and worldwide recognition for capturing Colt without anyone getting hurt. The decision to not charge him caused some political blowback, however, with the leader of the opposition calling it “a national disgrace,” and some editorial commenters saying it proved there was a double standard, that a Bahamian citizen could not have fired a shot from a stolen boat and received only a small fine. A fine that, by the way, was also paid for by the mysterious Washington benefactor who’d offered the $50,000.
PART 6
GAME OVER
Chapter 30
Colt’s next flight was aboard the U.S. Marshall’s
Meanwhile, it was an election year. In Island County, Mark Brown ran unopposed and won his second term as sheriff—though there was at least one write-in vote for Colton Harris-Moore. Since 2008, budget problems have forced the Island County sheriff’s office to ax a quarter of its deputies. At the same time, the money crunch also hurt the county’s ability to do anything with at-risk youth other than lock them up. According to prosecutor Greg Banks, new evidence-based interdiction programs had been enjoying “great success at reducing the amount of juvenile crime and incarceration” in the county. However, he says, the best of these programs were being cut due to budget.
Down on Camano, Colt’s mom, Pam Kohler, remained in the public eye by calling local reporters and radio programs and pumping out quotes. After the tsunami hit Japan in March 2011, she went on a radio show to say that Colt could fly over relief supplies. On Seattle’s
THROUGH HIS ATTORNEYS AND in messages passed to friends on the outside, Colt repeatedly said he felt bad for his victims, and even that he regretted hurting or killing the planes. Colt’s victims responded to this in various ways. The owners of the three planes Colt “killed” each had significant out-of-pocket financial losses after insurance settlements. Seattle radio personality Bob Rivers, however, says he isn’t holding a grudge.
“I was irresponsible in my youth, and honestly didn’t get my shit together until I was thirty-three, so I can empathize with a young guy who made bad decisions,” said Rivers. “He also had a tough upbringing. On the other hand, in my charity work I’ve seen kids whose disadvantages make Colton’s childhood look like a cakewalk—and some of them his age are studying to be doctors. I’m glad Colton was caught, and he needs to pay his dues, but I
