Kidnapper Gets Nervous as Plans Start to Unravel

The kidnapper was getting nervous.

Nothing was going as planned. The old lady was deaf as a plank and she hadn’t followed his written instructions about what to say on the phone to her grandson.

He couldn’t talk to her -- or call the grandson himself -- because he was afraid that his accent would give him away.

Even the disposable cellphone hadn’t worked out. He had tried to activate it from pay phones so the call couldn’t be traced, but it didn’t work. Finally, he gave up in frustration and used his home computer line.

The old lady kept moaning about the cold, and although he was feeding her hamburgers every day, he knew that she couldn’t last much longer.

Her picture was plastered all over town. He had to either get the money or get rid of her.

And he had to act soon.

*

The e-mail flashed onto Robert Mann’s computer screen.

“Are you ready to discuss business?”

“We have contact,” an FBI agent yelled, as other agents scrambled for computers and phones at Mann Bros. Inc., a construction company in Elkhorn that had begun to resemble a satellite FBI post.

“Are you ready?” one agent asked Mann.

Mann nodded. He had spent the past few days waiting for this moment, rarely leaving his desk.

It was 2:11 p.m. on Friday, Feb. 7.

Four days had passed since Mann’s grandmother, Heddie Braun, disappeared and, by now, everyone was losing hope. There had been no word from the kidnapper in more than 24 hours, since the delivery of a ransom note demanding $3 million.

“More and more it seemed like we were all hoping for a miracle,” Sheriff David Graves said.

Mann didn’t believe in miracles. He believed in fighting whoever was terrorizing his family, forcing Mann -- at the request of the FBI -- to send his fiance and their children to a relative’s home for safekeeping.

“Make your grandmother human,” the FBI agent assigned to be Mann’s “coach” said over his shoulder. “Tell him something that makes him relate to her as a person, not just as a victim.”

The sender’s address was bulletproof_655@hotmail.com.

Mann felt pure rage as he stared at it. But he forced himself to stay calm.

“My grandmother needs her heart medicine,” he typed. “Is there any way I can get it to her?”

*

Across town at the Walworth County Sheriff’s Department, Capt. Dana Nigbor, chief of detectives, combed through records from the TracFone company -- the type of phone that the kidnapper had used to call Mann’s office earlier in the week.

The records included the number from which the phone had been activated. It was a local area code.

She typed the number into the computer using a reverse directory service.

An address popped up: It was about six miles from Elkhorn.

Nigbor clicked on the computer again. The house belonged to Reinier Ravesteijn.

Another click -- this time to run a police background check.

A picture popped up of a burly looking guy, dark, slightly balding. Ravesteijn had been booked on breaking and entering charges in 1997.

Nigbor showed the mug shot to Det. Michael Banaszynski, nicknamed “Bambi” because his name is difficult to pronounce.

“Oh my God!” Banaszynski cried. “That’s Rene.”

“You know this guy?”

“I’ve known him for 20 years.”

“What?” Nigbor was incredulous. “Is he capable of kidnapping ... of killing?”

Slowly Banaszynski nodded.

“I think so,” he said. “I mean ... if he was desperate.”

*

“When are you ready to do the trade.”

A second e-mail flashed across Mann’s screen. Nearly three hours had passed since the last one, and he hadn’t moved from his desk.

It was 5 p.m.

“Ask for details,” the FBI agent urged. “Assure him that you have the money and you are ready.”

Investigators hadn’t traced the e-mail yet, but they were working on it, and the longer Mann could keep the connection, the better chance they had.

The Mann family had already raised about $180,000 in cash. The banks had promised more.

Mann had no idea that police already had a suspect.

At the command center across town, Banaszynski painstakingly wrote everything he could about the larger-than-life Dutchman he had met years ago.

Ravesteijn, now 45, had emigrated from the Netherlands to marry a local girl, Karen Evenson, after they met on an overseas trip. Her sister was once married to Banaszynski’s former partner.

Ravesteijn, a carpenter, had a reputation as a good worker, but a difficult one -- a hothead who smoked marijuana and didn’t much care for authority.

Through the Evensons, the Ravesteijns and Manns had become friendly. The Ravesteijns went to parties at Dick and Judy Mann’s house. Once, when Robert Mann was 12, they had all gone on a trip to the Netherlands together.

Although Ravesteijn had never been in serious trouble with the law, Banaszynski had no doubt that he had a violent streak. The man was capable of kidnapping, Banaszynski wrote. And, if desperate, “he is capable of causing bodily harm to the victim.”

By the evening of Feb. 7, local television stations were reporting the kidnapping. The family was frantic. Locals were getting uneasy too.

By now, investigators had traced the e-mails to an Internet cafe about 40 miles from Elkhorn.

A video surveillance camera had captured a fuzzy picture of Ravesteijn.

There was no doubt that he was their suspect. There was no doubt that they would arrest him.

The question was when.

Did they take him at his home, risking an emotional scene with his wife and children, and the possibility that he would deny everything and never lead them to the victim?

Did they try to stop him on the road, risking a high-speed chase and shootout?

They decided to watch him one more day.

“There was this unanimous feeling that he was going to be in jail by the end of Saturday,” Nigbor said. “The question was, would he lead us to Heddie?”

And was she still alive?

Next week: “Suspect is mobile!”