Trapping of a Terrorist

An inept man hunt gets its man--at last--but a pair escape

It was the first anniversary of the terrorist kidnaping of Industrialist Hanns-Martin Schleyer. His widow and children and the relatives of his slain chauffeur and bodyguards attended a ceremony at the simple stone monument on the Cologne street where the abduction took place. Hundreds of other citizens laid flowers at the foot of the wooden cross erected at the site a few days after the shooting. But accompanying the sorrow was a jittery feeling that radiated throughout the city and across West Germany. Many of the Red Army Faction, whose members had killed Schleyer, were still at large, and no one could be certain they would not commemorate the anniversary in their own grisly fashion.

Three of the most wanted suspects--Willy Peter Stoll, 28, Adelheid Schulz, 23, and Christian Klar, 26--had eluded the most intensive man hunt in West German history. They stayed just a tantalizing step ahead of the law, thanks largely to some of the worst police work the world has witnessed since the Keystone Kops.

In June, for example, a gunshop owner and his wife sat paralyzed with fright in a Frankfurt restaurant as Stoll and a woman companion dined at a nearby table. The witnesses were sure of their man: a year before, Stoll had knocked the gun dealer unconscious and had stolen 20 pistols from his store. Finally overcoming his fear, the dealer alerted the police, but when investigators arrived, Stoll had melted away in the crowd.

Perhaps the police could not be blamed for failing to pick up the trail on that occasion. But in August, in an unparalleled display of ineptness, the authorities allowed Stoll and his comrades to slip through their fingers. As an outraged Bundestag investigating committee revealed last week, the suspects had been virtually handed over to the federal crime police antiterrorist squad by an observant helicopter pilot in Michelstadt, Karin Rieger. She reported that the three fugitives, equipped with a camera and video-tape equipment, had chartered her chopper for several flights over the Rhine Valley, ostensibly to film historic castles. Rieger became suspicious when she noticed that the supposed "film crew" not only handled their equipment awkwardly but repeatedly insisted on flying over the Frankenthal prison, where three other notorious terrorists have been locked up. They also made extensive photographs of the Ludwigshafen home of Bundestag Opposition Leader Helmut Kohl.

Rieger discussed her suspicions with her fiance, who informed the authorities. She had a piece of clinching evidence: on the right cheek of a squeaky-voiced member of the film crew was a telltale double birthmark, positively identifying her as Adelheid Schulz. Acting on the tip, police mounted an elaborate surveillance, observing--and even photographing--the suspects as they boarded Rieger's helicopter for subsequent flights. Handwriting experts examined the helicopter rental contract and concluded that it had been signed by Klar. But in a fit of inexplicable indecision, the cops failed to close in and make the capture. After completing their aerial survey of potential targets, the terrorists blithely drove away, losing a police tail in the winding streets of Stettbach, a nearby village. "An incredible performance," snapped an aide in Chancellor Helmut Schmidt's office. "The Chancellor is furious." In fact, Schmidt was reportedly ready to fire Antiterrorist Chief Gerhard Boeden because of the bungling.

Two weeks ago, the three suspects surfaced again. This time they posed as a high-fashion photography team in a residential section of Cologne. Passers-by warned the police when the "photographers" and their "model" spent an inordinate amount of time concentrating on the backdrop for their shooting: the home of wealthy Businessman Heinrich Wolf, a possible subject for a kidnaping. Once again, by the time police arrived, the terrorists had disappeared.

Finally last week, on the day after the Schleyer memorial services, Willy Peter Stoll's luck ran out. A woman recognized him as he sat sipping a beer in a nondescript Chinese restaurant near the Duesseldorf railroad station. She alerted the police. Minutes later, two plainclothesmen walked into the restaurant, sat down, studied their quarry for a couple of minutes. Then they rose, approached Stoll and ordered him to surrender. Dropping his hands like a Western gunfighter, Stoll reached for a 9-mm. pistol concealed in his jacket. Before he could draw, he was hit by a barrage of bullets. He died 40 minutes later during surgery. West Germans could not take much comfort from this police success. Stoll's comrades were not only still on the loose but now had a fallen colleague to avenge. .

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