Wild Spree Was Big Tip-Off -- Big-Spending Bank Robbers Buy Ticket To Prison

THE THIEVES' SHOPPING LIST included a velvet Elvis painting, a $10,000 pool table, breast implants and, in the $635,000 mansion, a wine cellar full of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer.

CRAMERTON, N.C. - The friends and neighbors of Steve and Michelle Chambers became suspicious soon after news broke that an armored-car company in nearby Charlotte had been relieved of $17 million.

Here was the tip-off: Three weeks after the October 1997 heist, the blue-collar couple moved from a rural mobile home to a $635,000 mansion in the swank, gated confines of Cramer Mountain, an exclusive community east of Charlotte.

But that was only the beginning. They also bought a BMW convertible, a $10,000 pool table, a Rolex watch and a 3 1/2-carat diamond ring worth $43,000. Michelle made a beeline to a plastic surgeon for a set of breast implants, while Steve tossed out $900 in tips on a single night out.

After the reckless spending spree, the couple's downfall was just a matter of time - five months, to be exact. Now they and 17 others have been convicted and are awaiting sentences on an assortment of federal charges arising from the heist.

On Saturday, federal marshals will auction off the contents of the Chamberses' ill-gotten palace and equally frantic buys made by their accomplices. Items include a velvet Elvis portrait, a Harley-Davidson Road King motorcycle and other vehicles, big-screen TVs and the painting that hung in the Chamberses' new foyer: a bulldog dressed as Gen. George S. Patton, complete with riding crop.

Stranger than fiction

In the annals of bold, wacky but almost successful crimes, of crooks with dumb luck and dumber follow-through, the Loomis, Fargo & Co. heist will long be remembered among FBI agents and area residents who followed every unraveling detail. Besides being the second-biggest bank robbery in U.S. history, it had an improbable cast of characters and a plot line that drew national attention - and lots of disbelieving laughter.

"Ever since the first arrest was made, it has taken on a type of folk-tale flavor," said U.S Deputy Marshal Steve Gladden. "Let's face it, you're moving from a trailer in a field in a remote county to the country club. It was very much `The Beverly Hillbillies.' "

But there also was a sinister, and even sad, edge beneath the antics. During their five months as millionaires, the robbers grew ever more paranoid and eventually turned on one another; some even plotted to kill another member of the gang. And in their desperate effort to stash the money, the Chamberses enlisted the aid of their working-class parents and other former innocents to obtain safe-deposit boxes. Now, those older people, who had never been in legal trouble, are convicted felons.

"I think this case can be summed up as how a sudden influx of cash really fails to change a person's true character," said Charlotte defense attorney Monroe Whitesides, who related the tale in the current edition of Charlotte magazine under the headline "White Trash Crime."

"When you get into a character study of this group, you see a lot of people who thought money would bring power and happiness," he said. "And all it did was put them at each other's throats."

Whitesides, 39, entered the picture in January 1998 when he was contacted by a frightened client he identifies only as "Ken," a printing company co-worker of Eric Payne of Belmont, N.C., who would later be convicted as one of the robbers.

Neither the FBI nor the U.S. attorney's office has much to say about the case, citing the upcoming sentencing and the fact that two final money-laundering defendants have yet to go to trial. That leaves Whitesides and licensed private investigator Steve Hartness, 50, of Charlotte, who also is Ken's uncle, to provide the details. Little was revealed at trial, because all the defendants but one pleaded guilty.

A simple plan

The story began Oct. 4, 1997, when Loomis Fargo vault supervisor David Scott Ghantt used a stick to prop open a vault door at the company's Charlotte depository, Whitesides said. Returning later that night, Ghantt began loading a company van with cash and soon made his first mistake. Although he removed the tapes from two security cameras, he failed at first to realize that 16 others were recording his every move.

Ghantt, now 29, had never been in trouble with the law. But in addition to a wife, he also had a girlfriend, Kelly Campbell, who had previously worked at Loomis Fargo, and Campbell knew a small-time hustler named Steve Chambers. The three, with two other accomplices, put together the scheme.

Later that night, Chambers and two partners worked feverishly in a nearby woods to unload the stacks of bills that Ghantt had piled into the Loomis Fargo van. They had to leave $3.3 million behind, according to court documents, because they had not brought enough 55-gallon barrels to store it in.

While the others worked, Campbell drove Ghantt, who realized too late he had been taped, to Columbia, S.C., to catch a plane to Mexico, only to learn that the airport did not offer international flights. Campbell put him on a bus for Atlanta and hurried back.

According to later news reports, Ghantt made it to Mexico and holed up in a resort hotel, where he spent his time smoking cigarettes and eating M&Ms.

Unaware of Ghantt's flight, FBI agents who immediately began investigating the heist surmised that his disappearance might mean he had been killed, Whitesides said. The agents waited and watched as the big spenders sealed their doom, he added, because the FBI wanted to be sure it did not have a murder case on its hands before moving in.

Meanwhile, back at the mansion, Chambers, 31, was acting the part of the Big Boss - and the biggest spender of them all.

It was Michelle Chambers, now 26 and the mother of two small children, who reached new heights of indiscretion. A month after the robbery, she reportedly entered a Belmont bank with a suitcase stuffed with $200,000 in cash and asked the bank manager, "How much can I deposit without the bank reporting the transaction?"

The manager, who noticed the money was still encased in Loomis Fargo wrappers, made an excuse to decline the deposit, Whitesides said.

At home, Ken reported, Steve Chambers stocked the wine cellar with Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Although he had bought the house fully furnished, he added plenty of personal touches. But $20,000 worth of fine Cuban cigars was ruined when he did not realize he had to put water in his expensive new humidor.

A break in the case

In January 1998, about three months after the robbery, Chambers offered $150,000 to Ken to smuggle $2.5 million in cash to a bank account in the Cayman Islands, Whitesides said. That's when Ken, concerned about potential legal problems and his own safety, notified his uncle, who contacted the attorney. The three met with the FBI. Ken was outfitted with a $16,000 digital recorder, Hartness said, and sent off to gather incriminating evidence.

By February of last year, Chambers was packing a pistol and hiring a bodyguard. As March approached, it was clear he had decided that Ghantt, still languishing in Mexico, was too dangerous to live; and besides, why continue to share the money?

Chambers discussed with his bodyguard, Mike McKinney, how best to smuggle a firearm into Mexico, according to court documents, and even booked McKinney a flight. But by this time, the FBI had a line on Ghantt's whereabouts.

Near dawn on March 2, the big spree came to an end. Agents showed up at the Cramer Mountain mansion to arrest the Chamberses and Campbell. They went quietly. Ghantt was arrested in Playa del Carmel, Mexico. Other arrests soon followed, and the contents of nine safe-deposit boxes were seized.

For his trouble, Whitesides said, Ken received a "nice six-figure reward."

Much of the stolen money was reclaimed or accounted for, said FBI spokeswoman Joanne Morley, except for about $2 million that remains missing.

But this time, Whitesides wryly noted, "Nobody's talking."