Richard Weber, the warden, was a big man, agile as a gymnast and energetic, a workaholic who was dedicated to his job. Heavyset but solid as a rock, he wore a perpetual grin that ever so slightly curled the corners of his lips. A strict disciplinarian with a strong approach to reform, he put the prisoners to work making products, working the gardens, and joining a number of educational studies. His program of compensating the inmates in a small way, along with rewarding them with reductions in their sentences, enhanced his reputation as the “Tough But Fair Warden.”
Bronson was close to the mark in claiming Weber could not be bribed. He was known as a man far above the taint of corruption or graft. A devout Catholic, Weber and his wife had raised a family of eight children. His salary as chief of the state’s largest prison facility was ample but left little for extra niceties. His dream of retiring someday to a ranch in the San Joaquin Valley was only that, a dream.
Though it was often said that every man has his price, all who knew Warden Weber thought of him as untouchable. But, as it turned out, beneath that hard veneer of integrity he was only human.
Soon after Cromwell was locked up in solitary confinement, Weber visited the bandit/banker in his small cell two levels below the main prison building. After ordering the guard to unlock the steel door, Weber entered the cell and sat down on a small folding chair he had brought with him.
“Mr. Cromwell,” he said politely, “welcome to San Quentin.”
Cromwell rose from his bunk and nodded. “Perhaps I should say I’m grateful for your hospitality, but that would be a lie.”
“It’s my understanding that you’ll only be with us for a short time.”
“Until I’m arraigned in federal court,” said Cromwell. “Is that what Bronson of the Van Dorn Detective Agency told you?”
Weber nodded. “He said he was waiting for instructions from the Criminal Investigation Department in Washington.”
“You know why I was arrested?”
“I was told you were the notorious Butcher Bandit.”
“Are you familiar with my status in the community?” asked Cromwell.
“I am,” replied Weber. “You own the Cromwell Bank and are an admired philanthropist.”
“Do you think such a man could rob banks and kill dozens of people?”
Weber shifted on his seat. “I must admit I find the idea a bit far-fetched.”
Cromwell circled for the kill. “If I gave you my word that I did not commit any crimes and these are false charges by the United States government to take over my bank, would you release me?”
Weber thought a moment, then shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Cromwell, I am not authorized to release you.”
“Even though formal charges have not been filed?”
“I have been assured that charges are being filed as we speak.”
“If I guarantee that I do not intend to escape but need go directly to my attorneys in the city and obtain the necessary release papers from a court magistrate, then would you allow me to leave the prison?”
“I might if I could,” said Weber. “But, as warden, I cannot permit you leaving the prison grounds before the release papers are in my hands. Besides, there are Van Dorn agents patrolling outside the prison walls to prevent you from escaping.”
Cromwell looked around the concrete, windowless cell with its steel door. “Has any inmate ever escaped from solitary?”
“Not in the history of San Quentin.”
Cromwell paused to lay his trap. “Suppose—just suppose, Warden—that you personally took me into San Francisco?”
Weber looked at him with interest. “What do you have in mind?”
“Deliver me to County Prosecutor Horvath’s office and fifty thousand dollars in cash will be delivered to your house on the prison grounds by private messenger precisely one hour later.”
Warden pondered Cromwell’s offer for several moments. He knew it was not an idle offer. The banker was worth many millions of dollars and the offer was in cash, which would leave no trail should law enforcement investigators come sniffing around. Fifty thousand dollars was an enormous sum. He could keep the money hidden until his retirement. Weber also did his arithmetic and knew that it was more than enough to buy him a ranch second to none in the state. It was an offer even an honest man of integrity could not refuse.
Finally, Weber rose from his chair, stepped to the steel door, and rapped three times. The door opened and the uniformed guard entered. “Put a hood over the prisoner’s face and take him to the office behind my house. I’ll be waiting there.” Then he turned and left the cell.
Ten minutes later, the guard pushed Cromwell into Weber’s office. “Remove his hood and manacles,” Weber instructed. As soon as the hood was off and the manacles around Cromwell’s feet and hands removed, the guard was dismissed.
“I trust I can rely on your word as a gentlemen that my compensation will arrive an hour after I safely deposit you on the steps of the city hall?”
Cromwell nodded solemnly. “You can rest assured, the money will be in your hands this afternoon.”
“Good enough.” Weber rose and walked to a closet. He returned with a woman’s dress, hat, purse, and shawl. “Put these on. You are a small man and about the same size as my wife. You will be disguised as her when we drive through the inner gates and the main gate. Keep your head down and the guards will take no notice. She and I often take drives around the countryside or into town.”
“What about Van Dorn’s agents who are patrolling the outer walls?”
Weber smiled thinly. “I am the last man they would suspect of foul play.”
Cromwell looked at the clothes and laughed.
“Something funny?” asked Weber.
“No,” replied Cromwell. “It’s just that I’ve been here before.”
When Cromwell had slipped on the warden’s wife’s clothes, he wrapped the shawl around his neck and pulled the hat down so it would cover the beard
