Meanwhile, Todd established a new persona in Seattle. With nurse Krystle at his side, he became Dr. Gordon Skinner, world-renowned AIDS specialist from the United Kingdom. If his King’s English bore an Okie inflection, it was only because he’d spent a little time in Tulsa with his father, also known as Dr. Skinner. To his hi-rise neighbors, Todd was also a chess master and a military history expert. Much in demand, Dr. Skinner charmed everyone. Patients flocked to him at all hours.
Todd maintained his burlesque for the better part of a year before his facade began to crumble. According to Krystle, he ran a brisk MDMA business on the side, dealing as many as four thousand hits a week. To the unsuspecting public, however, he operated an exclusive rehab and holistic clinic where IVs of amino acid could counter most any ailment known to man.
During his brief sojourn in Tucson, Todd had met a young woman with a strung-out kid sister. In a dress rehearsal as Dr. Skinner, he introduced himself to Rain Tredway as her last best chance to save sixteen-year-old Tyra Tredway from heroin. Rain’s little sister had been on the stuff since she was thirteen.
Todd left the desert for Washington state before Rain could get Tyra into treatment, but she told her mother and they tracked the desert miracle worker down to his penthouse clinic. The Tredways dispatched Tyra to Seattle. Her cure seemed to be taking until the local District Attorney charged Tyra with selling MDMA.
Dr. Skinner intervened on her behalf. He told Deputy District Attorney Gary Ernsdorff that he and his father, also named Dr. Skinner, were treating the girl for heroin addiction. He’d injected her with amino acids, the same treatment he’d used on approximately 100 patients who’d come to the clinic with ailments ranging from AIDS to arthritis.
Combined with similar complaints from other families, the Tredway case triggered an FDA investigation. Special Agent DaLi Borden found that Skinner had been writing prescriptions at the local Bartell’s pharmacy for Imodium, erythromycin, and Compazine, but that he was no doctor. When the state pharmaceutical board ordered him to cease and desist, the filing bore the names of twenty youngsters like Tyra Tredway whose families had been bamboozled with phony prescriptions.
Meanwhile, Pickard’s defense team had tracked Skinner down and alerted his neighbors, as well as Chris Malone. Ignoring DEA warnings, the intrepid stereo salesman flew to Seattle, confirmed that Todd had installed his silo speaker system in his penthouse clinic, and called authorities. In mid-July, the Pottawatomie Sheriff issued a warrant. Seattle police executed it, Skinner surrendered, pled innocent to theft, and was released on $10,000 bail.
Malone was in Washington, DC, on business, browsing in a local bookstore, when Pottawatomie Sheriff Greg Riat called with the news.
“Chris, they arrested Skinner on Friday.”
“Yeah, I figured they would.”
“They let him out on Saturday.”
“I figured he’d bail out.”
“Well, he’s not very happy with us,” said Sheriff Riat. “He’s not happy with you and he’s not happy with me.”
“So what? I’m not worried about Skinner. He’s a big guy, but he’s a coward.”
“Yeah, but he’s not above hiring somebody. Chris, we’re taking precautions.”
After hanging up, Malone weighed the sheriff ’s words. He flew home to Sacramento to assure his family’s safety, then called Karl Nichols.
“Karl, this knucklehead is out there. It sounds like he’s dangerous. You guys are protecting him and I might be in danger.”
“Don’t worry, Chris,” Nichols assured him. “He’s not going to put out a contract on you.”
“How do you know that?”
“He’s out of money.”
“Wait a minute. The only reason he’s not putting out a contract is because he’s out of money? Karl, I happen to know he’s paying $5,000 a month in cash for four apartments. And you’re telling me he’s out of money?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Fine.”
Malone immediately applied for a concealed weapons permit.
“I’m not a gun guy, but I did that,” he said. “And I had my truck set up with a remote starter. I’m not a paranoid guy, but if a sheriff tells me he’s taking precautions, I’m thinking I’d better take this seriously.”
1. At the end of 2002, Skinner had chalked up $280,000 in legal fees. A former AUSA, Haney sued for $175,000 plus $200,000 for injuries he incurred hopping a fence at the missile silo, but never collected.
2. Subsequent testing showed the contents to be ergocristine, not ergota-mine tartrate.
3. Hallinan lost the DA position to Kamala Harris in 2004.
4. Founded in 1983, the second largest for-profit private prison company in the US houses approximately 90,000 in its more than sixty-five facilities and employs over 17,000 nationwide. CCA changed its name in 2016 to CoreCivic amid recurrent charges it shortchanges both inmates and taxpayers.
5. Under terms of so-called Kastigar immunity (Kastigar v. United States, 406 US 441, 1972), a criminal’s admission of guilt can’t be prosecuted unless the government learns about it from sources independent from the criminal’s confession.
XIX.
JOHN HALPERN DEBRIEFED THE DEA nine times between December of 2000 and May of 2002. His cooperation cost him friends, credibility, his marriage, and very nearly his career, but like Todd Skinner, he was immune from prosecution.
“The DEA went to Halpern first and he squealed like a little girl,” said Savinelli.
He never divulged the level of detail, but Halpern did confess before a grand jury. He dove so deeply into mea culpa that he admitted to once shoplifting with his wife. Gabrielle Halpern (a.k.a. Yan Yang Chen) divorced him once she learned about his indiscretion and alleged money laundering.
Halpern put on his best façade for the DEA.
“They flew out their top CIA polygraph operator,” he recalled. “Insisted that there is no way to beat the polygraph. But, I knew! I put on antiperspirant to counter my galvanic skin response and took something to keep my heart
