made a phone call. “The dog is dead,” one of them said, before ordering the others to completely clean the flat. Prescott was then taken to another flat and threatened by Reggie Kray to keep her mouth shut. She was told that “they gave [Mitchell] four injections in the nut”. Mitchell’s body was disposed of at sea.
Ronnie Kray didn’t deny that Mitchell was dead, but blamed it on one of his men, Billy Exley, and three Greeks, who had offered to get Mitchell out of the country. However, when they couldn’t cope with him, they shot him. (Equally, another member of the Kray firm said that Ronnie told him: “He’s f***ing dead. We had to get rid of him; he would have got us all nicked. We made a mistake getting the bastard out in the first place.”)
Either way, Frankie Mitchell achieved his aim of not being in Dartmoor at Christmas. Wally Garelick received an eighteen-month sentence for his part in the escape.
Sources:
Daily Mirror,
19 December 1966: “Dartmoor warders in plea to Mitchell”
Evening Argus,
29 October 2003: “Ex-Kray henchman spared jail”
Hansard, 13 December 1966: “House of Commons: Dartmoor (Prisoner’s Escape)”
Hansard, 14 December 1966: “House of Lords: Dartmoor Escape of Frank Mitchell”
TheKrays.co.uk
Foreman, Frankie with John Lisners:
Respect
(Arrow, 1997)
Glasgow Herald,
26 June 1968: “Crown story of Frank Mitchell’s murder after escape from Dartmoor”
Caught Because They Could
Cinema audiences in 2002 were treated to a fun romp starring Leonardo DiCaprio as a young criminal being pursued by a dogged FBI agent played by Tom Hanks. Directed by Steven Spielberg,
Catch Me If You Can
was a highly fictionalized version of the life of Frank Abagnale junior, a conman who had achieved great success before his twenty-first birthday. But while the film didn’t hesitate to conflate events and characters, Abagnale’s story was astounding enough without any additions. According to one report, there was even a plaque on the wall of Atlanta Federal Penitentiary commemorating Abagnale’s escape from the prison since apparently he was the first person to do so. (He wasn’t, but he was one of the very few who did.)
It is very difficult to verify many of the claims that are made in Abagnale’s book, also called
Catch Me If You Can.
According to the former conman himself – who has subsequently gone straight, and acts as a security consultant – not everything should be taken at face value. “I was interviewed by the co-writer [Stan Redding] only about four times,” Abagnale writes on his company’s website. “I believe he did a great job of telling the story, but he also over dramatized and exaggerated some of the story. That was his style and what the editor wanted. He always reminded me that he was just telling a story and not writing my biography. This is one of the reasons that from the very beginning I insisted the publisher put a disclaimer in the book and tapes.” As with some of the other stories in this volume where the primary evidence comes from the escapee’s own account – such as Henri Charriere or Casanova (a comparison that the younger Abagnale would probably have enjoyed) – this should perhaps be taken with a pinch of salt.
Abagnale’s account of his life as a conman from the ages of sixteen to twenty-one – posing as a Pan Am co-pilot, a paediatrician who worked for nine months as an administrator in a large hospital, a lawyer, a college professor and a Los Angeles stockbroker – makes for highly enjoyable reading, but by the end of his short-lived career, he was on the run in twenty-six different countries around the globe. He spent six months in the infamous Perpignan prison in France, where he was thrown naked into a cell, about five feet cubed, and told he would be there for his entire year-long sentence, with no bedding or anything beyond a bucket. From there he was transferred to Swedish custody for trial on fraud charges, and found their
Ronnie Kray didn’t deny that Mitchell was dead, but blamed it on one of his men, Billy Exley, and three Greeks, who had offered to get Mitchell out of the country. However, when they couldn’t cope with him, they shot him. (Equally, another member of the Kray firm said that Ronnie told him: “He’s f***ing dead. We had to get rid of him; he would have got us all nicked. We made a mistake getting the bastard out in the first place.”)
Either way, Frankie Mitchell achieved his aim of not being in Dartmoor at Christmas. Wally Garelick received an eighteen-month sentence for his part in the escape.
Sources:
Daily Mirror,
19 December 1966: “Dartmoor warders in plea to Mitchell”
Evening Argus,
29 October 2003: “Ex-Kray henchman spared jail”
Hansard, 13 December 1966: “House of Commons: Dartmoor (Prisoner’s Escape)”
Hansard, 14 December 1966: “House of Lords: Dartmoor Escape of Frank Mitchell”
TheKrays.co.uk
Foreman, Frankie with John Lisners:
Respect
(Arrow, 1997)
Glasgow Herald,
26 June 1968: “Crown story of Frank Mitchell’s murder after escape from Dartmoor”
Caught Because They Could
Cinema audiences in 2002 were treated to a fun romp starring Leonardo DiCaprio as a young criminal being pursued by a dogged FBI agent played by Tom Hanks. Directed by Steven Spielberg,
Catch Me If You Can
was a highly fictionalized version of the life of Frank Abagnale junior, a conman who had achieved great success before his twenty-first birthday. But while the film didn’t hesitate to conflate events and characters, Abagnale’s story was astounding enough without any additions. According to one report, there was even a plaque on the wall of Atlanta Federal Penitentiary commemorating Abagnale’s escape from the prison since apparently he was the first person to do so. (He wasn’t, but he was one of the very few who did.)
It is very difficult to verify many of the claims that are made in Abagnale’s book, also called
Catch Me If You Can.
According to the former conman himself – who has subsequently gone straight, and acts as a security consultant – not everything should be taken at face value. “I was interviewed by the co-writer [Stan Redding] only about four times,” Abagnale writes on his company’s website. “I believe he did a great job of telling the story, but he also over dramatized and exaggerated some of the story. That was his style and what the editor wanted. He always reminded me that he was just telling a story and not writing my biography. This is one of the reasons that from the very beginning I insisted the publisher put a disclaimer in the book and tapes.” As with some of the other stories in this volume where the primary evidence comes from the escapee’s own account – such as Henri Charriere or Casanova (a comparison that the younger Abagnale would probably have enjoyed) – this should perhaps be taken with a pinch of salt.
Abagnale’s account of his life as a conman from the ages of sixteen to twenty-one – posing as a Pan Am co-pilot, a paediatrician who worked for nine months as an administrator in a large hospital, a lawyer, a college professor and a Los Angeles stockbroker – makes for highly enjoyable reading, but by the end of his short-lived career, he was on the run in twenty-six different countries around the globe. He spent six months in the infamous Perpignan prison in France, where he was thrown naked into a cell, about five feet cubed, and told he would be there for his entire year-long sentence, with no bedding or anything beyond a bucket. From there he was transferred to Swedish custody for trial on fraud charges, and found their
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