On the Trail of a Murderer: William Bradford Bishop, Jr.
Dear Brad,
I am very, very disappointed in you. I spent the better part of July in Europe and received no signal from your end. I spent time in each country where you have language fluency: ex-Yugoslavia, Italy, France and Spain. In my post of June 15, I laid out tried and true methods spies use for you to contact me securely without giving away your location, but, alas, I received only dead silence.You're clearly afraid, and I get that. I know, you probably think I'm stalking you. Now there's a thought...
Starting out from Venice, I first checked out Croatia and Montenegro as places for a fugitive to hang out. While not bad places in which to be on the lam, I very much doubt you're there. First, those countries were under authoritarian communist rule until 1989, long after you'd fled your home after murdering your family. After Yugoslavia split up, they then engaged in bloody, genocidal warfare (not that bloody massacre would faze you in the least). Upshot: you were well ensconced elsewhere. No need to move. And your Serbo-Croatian must now be exceedingly rusty. But I thought I'd give it a shot.
I then spent time in two of your past Italian haunts: Sorrento and Florence. You had started your master's degree in Italian in Florence via Middlebury College after you were discharged from the army in 1964. Florence is an efficiently run city of 370,000 with heavy tourist traffic and an active U.S. consulate. Therefore, I rule it out as your abode. Sorrento, on the other hand, is a southern town of under 20,000 badly managed by a splintered municipal administration and a local police force that is usually (literally) out to lunch. A resident complained to me that the right hand never knows what the left is doing in Sorrento government. "People mind their own business," he said, adding that most foreign residents come from northern Europe. There are relatively few Americans resident there these days. Moreover, there are hodge-podges of warren-like neighborhoods with drab apartment buildings in and around Naples and Sorrento where a guy like you could live quietly under the radar, perhaps posing as a national of another country. Sorrento, of course, is the scene of the most credible sighting of you -- by ex-Foreign Service colleague Roy Harrell in a public washroom in January 1979.
Old news articles refer to your murdered mother, Lobelia Amaryllis Bishop, as having been born in France. This, however, is not true. She was born in French-speaking Canada, according to the 1940 U.S. census, and subsequently became a naturalized American citizen upon marrying your father. I figure you grew up learning the Quebecois dialect of French -- yet another coincidence; that's the French I learned! So, while I bounced around southern France, I just didn't see that country as an easy place in which to hide out. Too centralized and bureaucratic. And you'd be reçu comme un chien dans un jeu de quilles, as the Quebecois like to say. I also rule out Spain, since you have no history there and, from what I've been able to tell, no deep grounding in the language.
So, Brad, here's my take: You're cowering in one of two places: Italy or Canada. Your fluency in Italian, extensive knowledge of Italian society, Italy's loosey-goosey government administration and America's Most Wanted not seen there make that country a conducive hide-out for a murderer on the lam. American and Italian mafiosi have hidden out in Italy successfully over many decades. Your 1979 encounter with retired FSO Roy Harrell proves you were there. A similar 1994 run-in with an ex-Bethesda neighbor in Basel, Switzerland further places you within that region. Finally, many of the law enforcement professionals who have worked on your case over four decades believe you're living in Italy.
But then there's Canada. I happen to know Quebec very well. That province has a lot of rugged individualists, many, like yourself, expert outdoorsmen who pretty much keep to themselves. After those close calls in Europe, Brad, you might have made your way to Canada, easily stealing the identity of a deceased Canadian and burrowing your way into a place like Ste. Jovite or Noranda, getting by with your fluent Quebecois and free to speak North American English. Finally, each time I post about you, Brad, my blog gets a flurry of hits from Canada. Hmm. As they also say in Quebec, Mange-toi du pain blanc. Enjoy it while it lasts, because it won't.
Annette, Lobelia, Brad III, Brent, and Geoffrey will see to it.
See also:
Calling Brad Bishop! Calling Brad Bishop!
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