PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Editors note: This report first published in 2007 and is periodically updated with new information.

Ray cut the wheel and started down the way he came. He was on the wrong side of the road and he knew it.

Up until now, Ray had been pretty lucky. At 18, he’d had his fair share of brushes with the law. But this time, he knew there was slim chance of escape.

There was, in his mind, a damn good reason he was on the wrong side of the road.

When the Franklin, Mass., cop flipped on his lights, Raymond L.S. Patriarca turned the wheel of his sedan and went the other way. Cops didn’t know anything about the kid. But they would.

Raymond wasn’t sure if he could outrun the suburban cop, but he gunned it anyway. Dirt flew from the back tires and he screwed down the nondescript road. But the cop caught up, and Patriarca was only successful in adding another charge to his first encounter with the law: failure to stop.

The Franklin police officer, without question, whom he’d just given a $20 ticket. In fact, neither did Raymond Patriarca.

As it turns out, that kid driving the wrong way on a suburban street would go on to organize a criminal enterprise that spanned decades.

• The Bosses
• Raymond L.S. Patriarca (1950-1984)
• Raymond Patriarca, Jr. (1984-1991)
• Nicholas “Nicky” Bianco (1991)
• Francis “Cadillac Frank” Salemme (1992-1996)
• Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio (1996-2009)
• Peter Limone (2009-2009)
• Anthony DiNunzio (2010-2011)

Raymond L.S. Patriarca, Boss 1950-1984

Raymond L.S. Patriarca was born in the blue-collar city of Worcester, Mass. He found his way south to the Ocean State when he was just a few years old. His father opened a liquor store on Atwells Avenue in Providence. His mother was a nurse.

His first official mark on Rhode Island’s rap sheet was in August of 1938: an arrest at Narragansett Race Track for robbery.

It was a small charge that masked the true power behind his budding enterprise. Patriarca was emerging as the force behind the New England crime family. He would eventually garner support from the families in New York. The result: a massive criminal network in the Northeast.

The date on which Patriarca actually took control of organized crime in New England is a matter of debate. But in July 1955, a very nervous man from Providence was arrested in Boston for robbing a bank of almost $5,000. He told the police that he owed money to the “Patriarca Mob.” He needed $1,500 by Thursday, “or else.”

“Patriarca is the Mayor of Providence,” the man told police.

It was written in the police report of the arrest, and marked the official beginning of the Patriarca Crime Family.

He was known as “The Man.” A lot of wiseguys had less powerful titles: “Baby Shacks,” “The Rifleman,” “Fat Bastard,” “Cadillac,” “Fat Tony.” But Raymond L.S. Patriarca was known affectionately as “The Man.” It was a testament to his power.

“The Man” ran his massive criminal organization out of a less-than-massive Coin-o-Matic vending machine company on Providence’s Federal Hill. The business officially opened in 1956.

Rhode Island State Police Lt. Col. Steve O’Donnell spent his time with the wiseguys. For six years he pretended to be one of them, and he has a clear understanding of how they operate and how they manipulate.

“The bosses back then operated with an iron fist. They had the system,” O’Donnell said. “They were involved in the system a lot more than now.”

That’s a polite, shiny-badge way of saying gangsters owned cops, judges, lawyers – Patriarca knew who to grease and it kept his guys out of jeopardy. But law enforcement is different now.

“The system is a pretty straight-shooting system now,” O’Donnell said. “It’s pretty difficult to corrupt the system.”

Over the years, Patriarca was arrested dozens of times, and spent nearly 12 years behind bars with four separate convictions.

His final arrest came in March 1980, for two murders: the 1968 killing of Robert “Bobby” Candos, a longtime bank robber who was poised to testify against Patriarca, and the 1968 execution of small-time hood Raymond “Baby” Curcio, who made the horrible mistake of breaking into Patriarca’s brother’s house.

• Exclusive: Never-before-seen details on the Patriarca arrest

Later that day, Patriarca entered Miriam Hospital. Over the next few years, his health rapidly deteriorated. It became part of the defense mounted for him by notorious mob lawyer Jack Cicilline. They even called a Boston cardiologist to say the mere stress from the trial would be a death sentence.

In the end, it wasn’t testimony that killed “The Man.” He died on July 11, 1984, while – to put it delicately – in the presence of a woman who was not his wife.

Patriarca’s wake and funeral attracted a who’s who’s of the underworld – an underworld that he left in disarray for his son to clean up.

Raymond Patriarca, Jr., Boss 1984-1991

There was an immediate struggle for power when Raymond L.S. Patriarca died. Genaro Angiulo of Boston campaigned the New York Mafia’s leaders for the nod. But Angiulo was not in favor with them, and in the end power remained firmly planted in Rhode Island’s capital city. In the hands of “Junior.”

Junior’s rather unfortunate other moniker was “Rubber Lips”: Raymond “Rubber Lips” Patriarca Jr. Those curious about the derivation of the name will only need a glance at a photograph of Junior to understand its origin.

Wiseguys were fairly obvious when it came to nicknames: “Blue Eyes,” “Jimmy the Builder,” “Fat Dom,” “Fat Tony,” “Fat Lennie,” “Fat Tommy” and so on. “Rubber Lips” came from the so-called “Mr. Potato Head mouth” with which the son of “The Man” was blessed.

Junior ran into hard times when his father left him a turbulent gaggle of mobsters. But order resumed, if only for a short time, as Junior Patriarca shuffled the ranks and paid tribute to those who supported him.

But many in law enforcement say Junior was never the true head of the family – that working like a puppet-master behind the scenes was someone with more respect and more knowledge of the family.

South Kingstown Police Chief Vincent Vespia, a former Rhode Island State Police investigator, is a little more direct.

“He couldn’t lead a Brownie Troop,” he said.

It was in 1989 that things got really rough for Junior (or “Rubber Lips,” if you prefer). He held a small but heavily wiretapped swearing-in ceremony to welcome four new members into the Mafia. It was on the first floor of a multi-family complex on Broadway in Medford, Mass., near the famed “Winter Hill” neighborhood.

One of the four was a young, upstart wiseguy named Robert “Bobby” DeLuca. (Yes, DeLuca got a pretty boring nickname.)

Unfortunately for “Rubber Lips,” the ceremony provided a wonderful piece of evidence for the existence of organized crime. He was soon indicted by a federal grand jury, and the induction tape was Exhibit A.

Junior was eventually sentenced to eight years in prison. In the end, his reputation as a “weak boss” spared him more time behind bars, according to federal judge Mark Wolfe.

Patriarca Junior, who turned 65 in 2010, is still shown signs of respect – a kiss on each cheek – when mob visitors go to his Lincoln home, according to law enforcement sources. But he has successfully stayed away from the world of crime and now deals in real estate.

Nicholas “Nicky” Bianco, Boss 1991-1991

There was a strong belief, particularly in the law enforcement community, that Junior Patriarca was only a ceremonial head of the crime family founded by his father and that the man really running the show was Providence’s Nicholas “Nicky” Bianco.

When Junior was indicted in 1991 following the bugged induction ceremony, sheer embarrassment from New York pushed the under-the-radar Bianco into the dark spotlight of Boss.

The New York families knew Bianco very well. Though he lived in Barrington at the time he officially took the reins, Bianco had spent 11 years in New York on orders from the elder Patriarca.

“In New York there were feuding organized crime factions,” Vespia said. “It is believed New York reached out to Raymond to make peace, and he sent Bianco.”

At the time, Bianco wasn’t even a made member of La Cosa Nostra. In order to make him the peacemaker, Vespia said, an impromptu induction ceremony was held in a restaurant in New York, and Bianco was hired.

He switched between two different powerhouse families in the Big Apple, and in doing so made a lot of friends. Unfortunately, after 11 years, he also made a lot of enemies. When it became clear he was no longer safe, he returned to Rhode Island to seek shelter under the wing of Patriarca Sr.

Raised on Atwells Ave., Bianco was not a flamboyant mobster; he was the blue-collar kind of gangster Rhode Island usually produces.

Bianco was picked in the same way all bosses and underbosses are chosen.

“They would have a sit-down, as they refer to it, and pick a boss,” O’Donnell said. “They would then pick an underboss.”

Who’s they?

“Internally, the New England crime family would pick the boss,” he said. “They would select a boss within their ranks and it would be sanctioned out of New York. They would have to agree with it.”

Bianco’s official time in power lasted only a short time. He was convicted of racketeering in 1991, and reported to prison in December of that year. He died in federal custody, of Lou Gherig’s disease, in November 1994.

Frank “Cadillac” Salemme, Boss 1992-1996

At the same “sit-down” where the family chose Bianco, Boston’s Francis “Cadillac Frank” Salemme was named underboss.

It would prove to be a historic appointment. Like a vice president who takes the reins from an ailing, dead, or jailed President, Salemme’s eventual grasp on the crime-saber would shift the head of the New England family out of Providence for the first time since 1955.

There are several articles that dispute whether Bianco was really a boss, possibly because his time was so short. When Bianco was sent to prison gravely ill, it was pretty obvious an immediate shift in power had to happen.

Some bosses survive prison and even operate from their cells, as Patriarca Sr. did. But when Bianco went away, it was clear to New York he wasn’t coming back.

First, though, let’s analyze the classic nickname “Cadillac Frank.” Though much has been written about Salemme and his history, little has been reported on how he got his name.

Longtime Boston Herald columnist and mob expert Howie Carr said he thinks it was because Salemme owned a bunch of garages in the Roxbury section of the city.

Did he specialize in Caddies?

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Carr said. “In fact, I think he was driving a BMW when he was shot.”

Carr was referring to a 1989 shooting in Saugus, Mass., where an unarmed Salemme was nearly executed outside a pancake house. He took one bullet to the chest and another to the leg, but survived.

“That tells you how down the American auto industry is,” Carr added. “A guy named Cadillac is driving a BMW.”

Francis “BMW” Salemme was indicted in 1995 for racketeering and pled guilty four years later. He was sentenced to 11 years behind bars.

Sometime after his indictments were handed down, the power shift back to Providence began to take shape.

Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio, Boss 1996-2009

Right off the bat, let’s try to address the nickname.

In the world of journalism, this has been a fairly active discussion. If you run Luigi Manocchio through a search engine, you will come up with “Baby Shanks” and “Baby Shacks.” And there is a good deal of debate – far more than there should be – on the derivation.

The two most popular theories: he got the “Baby Shanks” moniker from working in a restaurant (presumably a “shank” of meat) and “Baby Shacks” for being rather successful with the ladies (as in “shacking” up). The “Baby” part is a bit of a mystery, though a 1952 Providence Police arrest report lists one of his aliases as “Baby Face.”

One high-level law enforcement source said the confusion on the nickname isn’t the media’s alone.

“Wiseguys call him ‘Louie Shacks’ or ‘Baby Shanks,’ ” the source said, adding that “Shanks” has nothing to do with a cut of meat.

“God no,” the source said. “‘Baby Shanks’ – it’s a small knife.”

There is even some dispute over Manocchio’s first name; while most sources go with Luigi, the R.I. Division of Motor Vehicles lists it as Louis. (The DMV hasn’t taken a position on “Shanks” vs. “Shacks.”) In court filings, the federal government goes with Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio.

Manocchio, an Atwells Ave. resident, took the reins back from Boston sometime after the 1995 indictment of “Cadillac Frank” Salemme. Unlike an official election process, becoming a boss is not an exact science. Manocchio may have been in power earlier but sources say the shift happened within this time frame.

Over the years, Manocchio’s Capo Regime thinned dramatically through arrests and deaths.

In fact, one of those Capos was recently sent back to prison. Longtime Patriarca Capo Anthony “The Saint” St. Laurent, was wiretapped by the FBI in the Spring of 2006. “The Saint” was instructing three of his muscle men to shake down a pizza shop owner who was not paying tribute to some illegal drug sales. In 2011, St. Laurent pledged to plead guilty to extortion and murder for hire charges.

“Listen, if we take down a score,” St. Laurent is quoted in the affidavit. “I’m gonna take some off the top for the old man.”

The “Old Man” would be Manocchio, who turned 83 in June 2010. But unlike the previous Dons, who suffered from serious health problems, Manocchio is a health fanatic. Often seen running from his Federal Hill apartment to a nearby golf course; the elder Boss looked more like he was 50.

His number two was Boston’s Carmen “The Big Cheese” DiNunzio. (He was also dubbed “Fat Bastard,” presumably by very close friends.)

DiNunzio is currently seving six years in prison for trying to bribe his way into a lucrative Big Dig contract.

Manocchio began feeling the heat from a federal investigation in 2008 when two FBI agents paid him a visit at a Federal Hill restaurant. They found an envelope of marked bills on him allegedly linked back to the Cadillac Lounge strip club. He would later be charged with extorting protection payments from the Lounge and other adult entertainment spots in the state.

Around the time of the surprise FBI visit, sources say Manocchio stepped down as the reputed boss of the crime family, and the power shifted back to Boston. But the departure from kingpin didn’t stem the federal investigation; he was arrested in a Fort Lauderdale airport on January 19th, 2011 and charged in the extortion case. He was attempting to hop a flight back to Providence.

He charged again in a superseding indictment in March 2011. More than ayear after his initial arrest, Manocchio agreed to plead guilty to racketeering conspiracy and will be sentenced in May 2012.

Prior to his arrest, Manocchio was always a visible and approachable figure on “The Hill.” Several years ago, a rookie member of an organized crime investigative unit was introduced to Manocchio when a veteran investigator stopped by to say “hi.”

“This guy runs the mob up here,” he said pointing to Manocchio.

“You watch too many goddammed movies,” Manocchio shot back.

Peter Limone, Boss 2009-2009

As the Target 12 Investigators first reported in 2009, law enforcement officials have been monitoring a shift in power in the New England’s LCN, once again bringing the leadership back to Boston.

According to law enforcement sources, Peter Limone became the boss of the Patriarca crime family that year. Previously, after being released from prison after serving 33 years for a murder he didn’t commit, Limone was identified as the family’s “consigliere,” or advisor.

Sources say Limone then took over as underboss of the family when Carmen “The Big Cheese” Dinunzio was indicted by a Massachusetts statewide grand jury on extortion and illegal gambling charges.

Like Dinunzio, Limone is facing legal problems. He was arrested in 2009 on state gambling charges.

That arrest may have prompted an early exit for Limone as boss, teeing up a familiar name to take the reins.

           Anthony DiNunzio, Boss 2010 – 2011

He is the brother to the “Big Cheese,” and shortly after Limone’s arrest, Anthony DiNunzio took over as boss, according to law enforcement sources.

In a 2012 court filing by the Rhode Island U.S. Attorney’s office, a recorded conversation between reputed capo regime Edward “Eddy” Lato and a made member of the mob who was wearing a wire for the FBI, referred to tribute payments going to a boss named “Anthony” in Boston.

Lato: “He passes it all out … he told me. I said, what?”
Witness: “Who?”
Lato: “You give all this away. He gives all that money away.”
Witness: “Anthony?”
Lato: “What a spaccone. The other guy, his guy, ah, Mark, ah, and the other big kid, what’s his name? The other one that got pinched with Mark.”
Witness: “Oh, Darren. [sic]”
Lato: “Darren [sic]. What the [expletive], what do you keep for yourself… you got to keep this money for yourself, are you nuts?”
Witness: “So what’s the sense…”
Lato: “So we’re bringing you money and you’re giving it away like [expletive] candy.”
Witness: “And we’re taking the shot.”

“Their conversation then delved into their frustration over the fact that they send their tribute to the current Boss ‘Anthony’ and he then passes [it] out among other NELCN figures including Mark Rosetti and Darin Bufalino,” prosecutors wrote in the court filing. “Lato then explained to the Made Member that his frustration is exacerbated by the fact that he believes that he is taking all the risk of being observed by law enforcement.”

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

In this half-hour Inside the Mafia special, Target 12 investigator Tim White reveals new information about the 1975 Bonded Vault heist which he uncovered during a three-year investigation. White conducted nearly 100 interviews and obtained previously classified FBI files as part of the project.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Barbara Oliva looked down the shiny steel barrel of the .38 special, and had one simple question for the man at the other end.

“Are those real bullets in that gun?”

The gunman’s response: “Are you a [expletive] comedian?”

The bullets most certainly were real, and Oliva was about to become part of one of the greatest mob heists in U.S. history – the Bonded Vault robbery.

After a three-year investigation – including interviews with those who lived through the heist and a review of once-sealed FBI files – the Target 12 Investigators have pieced together the sweeping scope of the robbery and its dramatic impact on organized crime in New England.

The Heist

Aug. 14, 1975, was a sweltering summer day – especially for eight men who were stuffed into a nondescript van on Cranston Street in Providence. Among them was Robert J. Dussault.

Just after 8 a.m., Dussault casually stepped out of the van, dressed in a crisp light gray-checked suit and clutching a briefcase. He walked across a parking lot and through the front door of Hudson Fur Storage, a business at 101 Cranston St. Once inside, Dussault strolled into the office of Sam Levine, one of Hudson Fur’s owners.

Barbara Oliva was nearby, moving a rack of furs through a massive vault door when she heard Levine call for and his brother, Abraham, into his office.

“I just thought that they wanted Mr. Levine into the office, so I started walking away,” Oliva recalled decades later in an interview with Target 12. But Dussault stopped her. “Oh no,” he said. “You, too.”

“Why?” Oliva asked.

That’s when Dussault pulled out the handgun and pointed it at her face. “Because I said so,” he replied.

Dussault had Levine summon two other workers from their rooms, then sat all five inside Levine’s office and put pillowcases over their heads.

It was then that Dussault’s six accomplices lumbered out of the van and into Hudson Fur. The masked men carried drills, crowbars and enormous duffle bugs. One of the bandits stayed in the van as a look-out.

But the bandits weren’t interested in valuable furs. They were after a much bigger prize.

That’s because they knew something few others in Providence did: Hudson Fur Storage housed a secret room that contained 146 huge safe-deposit boxes, each measuring two feet high, two feet wide and four or five feet deep.

There was perhaps no safer place in all of New England for someone to hide their wealth – not because of the room’s fancy alarm system, but because of the clientele that used it.

Many of the 146 boxes contained the spoils collected by the powerful organized crime syndicate run by reputed mob boss Raymond L.S. Patriarca, whose crime family ruled La Cosa Nostra in New England for more than three decades. He had an iron fist and a reputation built on violence and fear. His bookies, associates and wise guys used the boxes to hide everything from cash and guns to gold bars and jewelry.

That was the prize awaiting the thieves as they entered the room and went to work on that hot August day.

“I could hear them drilling,” Oliva said. “Then I could hear the doors, the big, heavy doors, falling to the floor, and it sounded just like sewer caps.”

As it turned out, those drills proved worthless against the locks on the safe deposit boxes. But the burglars quickly figured out they could pop the solid steel doors off their hinges using only a crowbar and a lot of muscle.

The thieves called each other “Harry” to shield their real identities, Oliva said, and as they went from box to box she heard shouts of joy coming from the vault.

“They were yelling, ‘Oh, Harry, you gotta come! You would not believe what’s in here! You just won’t believe!'” she recalled. “They were taking turns going back and forth, and they were going, ‘Holy Christ, look at all this stuff – we’ll never be able to carry it all outta here.’ ”

And that turned out to be true.

After more than an hour’s work, the man dragged out seven duffel bags literally bulging with loot. They stuffed them in the van and the trunk of a nearby Chevrolet Monte Carlo they had stationed there. The bags weighed down the back of the car so badly that it practically scraped the pavement.

Once the bandits were gone, Dussault gathered up his hostages and led them to the back of Hudson Fur at gunpoint.

“I said, ‘Uh oh, here we go – execution,'” Oliva remembered. “I said, ‘I’m never going to see my babies again.'”

Dussault crammed the five hostages into a small, dank bathroom and jammed a chair against the door. He warned them that if they didn’t wait five minutes before trying to get out, they would be gunned down in cold blood.

But after just a few minutes, Oliva was getting claustrophobic. She pushed hard against the door and jarred the chair loose, freeing the captives.

Now free, the five briefly debated whether or not to call the police, Oliva said. But to her there was no question about what to do. She pressed the alarm button and within moments the police arrived at Hudson Fur.

The Take

No one knows exactly how much was taken in the heist. (After all, the type of people who rented those safe deposit boxes were not about to file an insurance claim or a tax return.) Public estimates always have been conservative, landing somewhere around $4 million in cash and valuables. Target 12 has learned that law enforcement for years has believed the take was far greater – probably at least $30 million, perhaps more.

Oliva said that figure would not surprise her considering what the thieves didn’t bother taking.

On the day of the robbery, a detective brought Oliva into the room to give her a look. She was ordered not touch anything.

“It was knee-deep in money, silver bars, gold bars, raw gems, guns, machine guns, chalices,” Oliva recalled. “It was unbelievable.”

And again, that was just what the men left behind.

Later that day, the bandits regrouped at 5 Golf Avenue in East Providence, where one of the gunmen – Charles “Chucky” Flynn – had rented a house.

They divvied up the loot and each took a bag full of cash – “the disposables,” in the words of Wayne Worcester, who covered the story as a Providence Journal reporter and is now a journalism professor at the University of Connecticut.

“They each got a grocery bag full of $64,000 figuring that later on – and this was the agreement – they were going to split the take from jewelry and silver ingots and gold coins,” said Worcester, who worked with the Target 12 Investigators in examining the crime. “That never happened.”

It turned out that the really valuable loot – gold bars, top-quality jewelry and rare gems – was given to none other than the alleged mafia boss Patriarca himself, according to interviews with retired FBI agents and others directly involved in the case.

At the time of the crime, that revelation surprised investigators because the people who lost valuables in the robbery were the same bookmakers, associates and wise guys who paid homage to Patriarca. Why would he move to punish his own men?

“Patriarca had just finished serving a prison sentence and came home to find the revenue that he should have made in his absence apparently was not quite what he thought it was,” Worcester said. “It either meant that someone was skimming from him while he was in jail, or his people were lying down – and either way he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t let that happen.”

Detectives with the Rhode Island State Police and Providence Police tried to connect the dots of the robbery back to Patriarca.

And Dussault himself said “the man” was the brains behind the heist.

In the early 1980s, the Providence Police brought Dussault in to speak to a class of cadets about organized crime. Target 12 obtained a video of his talk, which took place while he was in the Witness Protection Program.

Wearing sunglasses and seated at a long table beside former Providence Police Col. Anthony Mancuso, Dussault said that Patriarca not only gave the OK for the robbery – he even had a hand in the planning.

“[Patriarca] did do something for us,” Dussault told the cadets. “When I went in there to Bonded Vault that morning, that door wasn’t locked – that door was wide open, the safe … the vault, the room.” Of Patriarca, he added: “Nobody does anything without his OK, his piece of the action.”

According to a retired FBI agent who spoke on the condition of anonymity, Patriarca employed a Providence jewelry company executive as a fence. The executive would fly the jewelry overseas and sell it for millions of dollars in cash, the retired agent said.

In the weeks following the robbery, federal investigators made inquiries in two European cities — one in Switzerland the other in Germany — to see whether any of the stolen goods were being stored there, according to an FBI file obtained by Target 12. The documents, which were heavily redacted by the Department of Justice, do not reveal whether anything was discovered.

Although no made member of the Rhode Island Mafia, or La Cosa Nostra, was ever charged in the Bonded Vault robbery, the fallout from it reverberated throughout the organization, according to Worcester. He described it as the moment when the mob started to lose some of its grip in New England.

“I think that’s the whole reason for paying attention to Bonded Vault,” Worcester said. “If you look at what was going on with [the heist], you can see this was the first major incident of the mob really starting to feed on itself.”

Attempted Hit

Dussault fled Rhode Island just days after the heist to spend his newfound wealth the same way he always did – on gambling and prostitutes. There was no better place to do that than in Las Vegas.
“It was the score of a lifetime. I went from rags to riches,” he said in the police video.

Dussault threw his money around, renting a suite at the MGM Grand and getting a young concierge to help find him a prostitute. He eventually settled on the services of a 25-year-old beauty named Karyne Sponheim.

Flush with cash, Dussault lavished all of his attentions on Sponheim. The pair soon became a couple, but their free spending quickly drained his finances.

“Karyne had a couple of credit cards and they maxed them out quickly,” Worcester said. “I’m sure he pulled a couple of robberies; that was the standard response to having an empty pocket.”

In need of cash, Dussault repeatedly called his buddy Chucky Flynn back east looking for a second round of money from the heist. When it failed to materialize, Dussault grew more and more agitated.

Meanwhile, the wise guys in Rhode Island were starting to get impatient with Dussault’s antics and demands. They were also growing concerned that Dussault, who was not a member of La Cosa Nostra – and as a French-Canadian, never would be – could not be trusted.

“People wanted him dead,” Worcester said. “You’d have to have him dead, because of what he knew. He could implicate anybody.”

And so the decision was made: Dussault had to go.

Flynn and two other members of the Bonded Vault crew, made the trip to Las Vegas.

No one was closer to Dussault than Flynn. The pair had grown up together in Lowell, Mass., and worked together on several jobs. In fact, Flynn hand-picked Dussault to lead the Bonded Vault heist.

“That was the idea: send the best friend so you can gain access to him, and take him out,” Worcester said.

Dussault later told the cadets he knew his name was on the “hit parade.” He was able to elude his old friend for a while, but eventually Flynn caught up to him.

They met in the front seat of a van, Dussault clutching a sawed off shotgun and Flynn armed with a handgun. Somehow, Dussault was able to talk his way out of his own murder. In fact, a year later he told The Providence Journal the conversation between the lifelong friends ended in tears.

In a phone call back to Rhode Island, Flynn – who was a respected revenue producer for the crime family – told the higher-ups that he decided not kill Dussault because he was convinced he would never rat them out. But the attempted hits didn’t stop, according to Dussault.

“I knew they tried to kill me in Dallas, Texas, Las Vegas and Chicago. I knew that because I was the one that was running,” Dussault said in the video. “My name is on that bullet. I hope it never finds me.”

The Flip

Eventually it was the cops, not the mob that caught up with Robert Dussault.

Investigators had figured out who they were looking for within a week of the heist. A high-level source inside the Patriarca crime family had leaked most of the key names to a Rhode Island State Police detective, Target 12 has learned.

And then there was Barbara Oliva. The pillowcases Dussault had placed over her and her colleagues’ heads were threadbare.

“They were very thin and it was very bright in the room,” Oliva said. “I could see through the pillow case over to where the vault [was].”

It turned out to be a major break in the case. Oliva was able to describe not only Dussault but also Flynn, who wasn’t wearing his mask when he first entered the building.

Oliva was the only one of the captives who described the bandits to police, and she was the only hostage who was willing to testify at trial. Three days after the heist, Oliva was even able to draw a sketch of Dussault and Flynn. Later, after police were tipped to their names, she was shown an array of photographs and easily fingered the bandits.

“She really put them away,” Worcester said. “Nobody else was forthcoming with any kind of information that was very helpful at all. She really was a hero.”

Oliva’s husband was angry with her for cooperating with police because he feared for her and their children. It was one of the factors that contributed to the end of their marriage, she said.

Now, with the names in hand, detectives just needed to track Dussault and the others down.

Back in Las Vegas, Dussault’s luck finally ran out when he was arrested by police in January 1976, five months after the heist, after a violent spat with Sponheim.

Though he tried to use a phony ID, his fingerprints and a tattoo confirmed his true identity. Two Providence Police officers and two State Police detectives immediately took flight to Vegas to question the man they believed had been the lead gunman.

Dussault had no intention of cooperating, he said in the police academy video.

“I had never ratted, I’ve never told,” Dussault said. “I was an enemy of the law for 25 years.”

But his resolve to remain silent crumbled when Det. Anthony Mancuso – the same man who, as a colonel later invited Dussault to address his cadets – handed him a cigarette and leaned in to deliver a devastating piece of news.

” ‘Bob, they killed Chucky Flynn – your best friend – they killed him,’ ” Dussault recalled Mancuso telling him.

Dussault was completely alone. In that moment of truth – on the run, out of money and with a contract out on his life from one of the most ruthless organized crime outfits in the country – he pledged to cooperate.

Las Vegas police loaned a video camera to their colleagues from Rhode Island and Dussault confessed. He spilled everything: from the members of the crew that stormed Hudson Fur Storage that morning to the wise guys in the Patriarca crime family who he said organized the heist.

A couple of days later, Dussault was on a plane back to Rhode Island surrounded by detectives when Mancuso delivered another bit of news.

“Tony looks at me and says, ‘Bob, I’ve got to tell you something. Chucky Flynn isn’t dead. I lied,'” Dussault recalled in the video. “The oldest trick in the game and it was pulled on me.”

The Aftermath

The Bonded Vault proceedings turned into the longest and most expensive criminal trial in Rhode Island’s history. Armed state troopers lined the courtroom and key witnesses lived under tight security for months.

Oliva said she later learned that a contract had been taken out on her life because she was on the witness list.

“One of the detectives told me – after everything was over – he said that there was a hit out on me,” Oliva said. “They had detectives living with me, in my house, around the house, around the neighborhood. They helped fold baby diapers.”

Dussault was kept in a safe house during the trial and testified along with Joe Danese, who admitted to his role in the crime and agreed to testify on behalf of the prosecution.

In the end, several members of Dussault’s own crew went to prison. Others were acquitted.

But despite affidavits from Dussault and Danese, as well as additional information from other informants, one man was never charged: Raymond Patriarca.

That, of course, was the plan all along. In interviews with Target 12, people with direct knowledge of the crime said two of the bandits admitted they were ordered to make sure the investigation never led back to Patriarca or any other high-ranking member of the crime family.

“Nobody ever accused him of being stupid. He was a very, very smart man,” Worcester said. “I don’t think there was any grand plan to not go after Patriarca, it just would’ve been a terribly difficult thing to do. [Prosecutors] took the path of least resistance, which was [to try] a superficial group.”

Patriarca died in 1984 from a heart attack.

Off the grid

And then there was Robert Dussault.

After two years of repeated requests to the Department of Justice, Target 12 obtained his massive 362-page FBI file. While much of it was redacted, the file reveals Dussault changed his name to Robert Dempsey when he entered the Witness Protection Program.

According to the file, Dussault committed numerous bank robberies and other holdups even when he was living under the protection of the U.S. Marshals in the program, which was relatively new then. Dussault often disguised himself as a security guard before pulling out a gun and holding up a bank, according to the file. Several times he found himself once again inside a vault, making the employees open up safe deposit boxes.

Dussault’s undoing turned out to be a botched robbery of a Denver coin shop on July 17, 1982. He was arrested and eventually sent to a Colorado state prison, which is where the FBI file goes cold.

Prison officials in Colorado said Dussault – or Robert Dempsey, as he was known to them – was shipped off to a halfway house in North Dakota to finish his sentence. Public records say he died of a heart attack in 1992, just seven days shy of his 52nd birthday.

Dussault’s body was handed over to the Thompson-Larson Funeral Home in Minot, N.D., which had a contract with the government to handle the burials of federal detainees.

The service for Robert Dussault/Dempsey was videotaped by the funeral home, which customary for people in the Witness Protection Program, according to the funeral director.

Even in death, though, Dussault’s story had one twist.

The funeral home’s video opens with an image of Dussault lying in a casket and then cuts to an overcast sky at Rosehill Memorial Park Cemetery in Minot. A man reads briefly from a Bible before a cemetery worker closes the lid of the coffin.

But just before the casket is lowered into the ground, something happens to the video.

“There’s a break in the tape,” Worcester said. “It’s at precisely that juncture that Dussault would have said ‘OK, the show’s over,’ and walked away.”

Despite the anomaly in the tape, when asked by Target 12 the funeral director maintained he deposited Dussault’s dead body into the cold North Dakota ground that day.

Target 12 tracked down members of Dussault’s family in Lowell. His relationship with his 13 siblings was strained in the years after Bonded Vault, and none of them knew what had become of him until reporters showed them the government papers revealing his name change and death.

Still, several members of the family said they were skeptical about the accuracy of the government’s report, saying it would not surprise them if Dussault suddenly appeared at their doorstep looking for money.

In fact, when asked to recall the last time a family member had seen Robert Dussault, a sibling said their late sister Dorothy had spoken with him at a funeral in 1994.

That would be nearly two years after the federal government insists he died.

“If I had to bet money I would bet he’s dead, but I don’t know,” Worcester said. “He was a liar, and it would be like him to lie right to his grave – and beyond if he could.”

This report was researched with the help of Randall Richard, a writer and former investigative reporter for The Providence Journal, and Wayne Worcester, a former Journal reporter, now a journalism professor at the University of Connecticut.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – From a reputed capo regime to a former mob boss, 2014 is lining up to be a big year for New England mobsters set to be released from prison.

Matthew Guglielmetti, 65, of Cranston, is currently eligible to be released to a halfway house and will complete his sentence in December of this year, according to a Federal Bureau of Prisons spokesperson. He could be released to home confinement as early as June, records show.

Gulgielmetti – a reputed capo regime in the New England crime family – was sentenced to more than ten years in prison after pleading guilty to drug trafficking charges. Investigators said he promised to protect a shipment of cocaine traveling through Rhode Island.

• Interactive: See who’s eligible for release
• Related: History of New England Mob Bosses

Guglielmetti was a close associate to former mob boss Raymond “Junior” Patriarca, according to law enforcement officials. As Target 12 first reported, his notoriety even made its way into the informant files of James “Whitey” Bulger and Stephen “The Rifleman” Flemmi.

In a 1987 reference, Flemmi told his FBI handler that Guglielmetti “is the main contact for Raymond Patriarca, Jr.”

In 1997 Guglielmetti only enhanced his underworld stature when he showed up at Memorial Hospital suffering from two serious stab wounds. No one was arrested in the case, however, because Guglielmetti refused to cooperate with police.

According to a police report obtained by Target 12, the office wrote “the victim refused to furnish any information at all including where this happened.”

• Read the 1997 Pawtucket Police report on Guglielmetti’s stabbing

“He chose to not have the person that stabbed him prosecuted,” R.I. State Police Col. Steven O’Donnell said in a recent interview. “They typically want to take care of those types of incidents themselves.”

Guglielmetti was in attendance at a famous 1989 mob induction ceremony in Medford, Mass. that was being secretly recorded by the FBI. The audio from that day has been used in numerous organized trials as evidence that the mob exists.

Prior to his arrest in the drug case, Guglielmetti was sentenced to four years in prison in 1991 for handling the mob’s interests in Connecticut.

After his release from prison in 1995, Guglielmetti returned to the construction business working as a member of labor union Local 271. His ties to the construction industry eventually got him snared in a FBI investigation that used a fake contracting firm as a rouse to root out corruption.

O’Donnell said law enforcement routinely keep tabs on “career criminals” who get released from prison.

“He’s like anybody else. We wish him the best as he gets out and moves on to hopefully a good life,” O’Donnell said.

After a massive round of busts and convictions of high-ranking mobsters and associates in 2011, the mob Guglielmetti is returning to is very different from the one he left a decade earlier.

Jeffrey Sallet – the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Boston office of the FBI – said organized crime in New England has been “decimated.”

“The environment in the state of RI right now is you have very limited strength from Rhode Island in the ranks of La Cosa Nostra,” said Sallet. “We had our thumb on them, we will not take our thumb off them.”

“This is not a friendly environment for them to do business,” he added.

Three other men with ties to organized crime could taste freedom in 2014: former mob boss Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio and Alfred “Chippy” Scivola – who were convicted of shaking down strip clubs for protection money – are eligible to enter a halfway house this year.

Mob associate Raymond “Scarface” Jenkins is eligible for a halfway house now and will complete his sentence in May. He pleaded guilty to extortion conspiracy for taking part in the shakedown of a used car salesman.

“Let’s hope they stay out of it,” O’Donnell said. “If you are a sworn member you took an oath, it’s tough to get out of that. Even if you wanted to.”

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

BOSTON (AP) — A Boston mob associate who spent years on the lam living the life of an Idaho rancher faces sentencing in the attempted murder of a man who went on to become the boss of the New England Mafia.

Enrico Ponzo was convicted in November of several federal crimes, including the 1989 attempted killing of Francis “Cadillac Frank” Salemme. Ponzo fled Massachusetts in 1994, first to Arizona, and later to Idaho, where he spent more than a decade as a cattle rancher and stay-at-home father.

He was captured in Marsing, Idaho, in 2011.

Prosecutors have recommended a 40-year sentence, but Ponzo says he should not get more than 15 years.

Ponzo is fighting an attempt by prosecutors to forfeit his assets, which include $100,000 in cash and $65,000 in gold coins.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Matthew “Matty” Guglielmetti – a reputed capo regime in the New England crime family – is now on home confinement.

A spokesperson for the Bureau of Prisons confirmed for Target 12 that Guglielmetti was released from Fort Dix Federal Prison in New Jersey last Tuesday.

The 65-year-old Cranston man spent roughly 10 years behind bars after pleading guilty to drug trafficking charges. Investigators said Guglielmetti pledged to protect a shipment of cocaine as it moved through Rhode Island.

• Related: More on Guglielmetti’s mob ties
• Interactive: See who’s eligible for release
• Related: History of New England Mob Bosses

Guglielmetti was a close associate to former mob boss Raymond “Junior” Patriarca, according to law enforcement officials. As Target 12 first reported, his notoriety even made its way into the informant files of James “Whitey” Bulger and Stephen “The Rifleman” Flemmi.

After a massive round of busts and convictions of high-ranking mobsters and associates in 2011, the mob is very different from the one Guglielmetti left a decade earlier.

Jeffrey Sallet – the Assistant Special Agent in Charge of the Boston office of the FBI – said organized crime in New England has been “decimated.”

“The environment in the state of RI right now is you have very limited strength from Rhode Island in the ranks of La Cosa Nostra,” said Sallet. “We had our thumb on them, we will not take our thumb off them.”

“This is not a friendly environment for them to do business,” he added.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – A Connecticut man who prosecutors say claimed he had ties to the Patriarca crime family, was sentenced Wednesday for his role in a brazen home invasion on the home of a known mob associate.

Gennaro Miele, 62, of Niantic, Conn., was sentenced in Providence federal court to 41 months for the March 2010 robbery.

Court documents show the victim was 78-year-old Nicola Melia of Stamford, Conn., who prosecutors identified as “associate of the Gambino crime family.”

Miele pleaded guilty in June to conspiracy. U.S. District Court Judge John J. McConnell, Jr., also ordered him to serve one year supervised release.

According to court documents Miele and two other men – Napoleon Andrade of Central Falls and Stephen Conti of Swansea, Mass. – drove to Melia’s home and posed as deliverymen. Andrade “football tackled” Melia who was then bound and blindfolded, according to court documents. The trio made off with roughly $216,000 in jewerly and cash.

Investigators said the men targeted Melia because of an ongoing dispute over a loan-sharking debt.

Prosecutors said as the home invasion was coming to an end “oddly, Melia related that he asked the robbers to leave him a few dollars so he could get a Starbucks coffee and they did so.”

It took three years and an unrelated drug case by Alcohol Tobacco and Firearms to snare the men for the home invasion.

Andrade was picked up in a wiretapped conversation telling an informant: “Oh look, look, so I went with the Italians the other day, I did two home invasions, for 400 grand, right?”

“Yo the last dude I tied up a 77 year old man,” Andrade said on the wiretap. “I felt like [expletive] after.”

After their arrests, prosecutor said Miele attempted to intimidate one of his cohorts, accusing Conti of cooperating with investigators.

Conti was, and had a hidden recording device on him at the time.

“You’re not even supposed to talk to God, nobody … that’s the way you’re supposed to do it.” Miele said in the recording according to court documents. “That’s it … You understand? So we stay on the same page, that’s, that’s why, talk about rats.”

Investigators said Miele boasted he was an associate of the Patriarca crime family but that the claim appeared to be “overstated.”

One of his co-defendants said Miele was chosen for the job because of the ties he claimed to organized crime.

Federal prosecutor Gerard Sullivan from the Rhode Island U.S. Attorney’s office handled the case against Miele.

In 2011 Andrade was sentenced to 10 years for an unrelated drug trafficking case, which was enhanced by 63 months for the home invasion.

Conti has pleaded guilty to conspiracy for the home invasion and will be sentenced on September 26.

Melia – the victim of the home invasion – is currently serving five years in prison for extortion and possession of a firearm.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – The son of one of Rhode Island’s most notorious mob figures has been transferred to the same federal prison as his father.

Anthony St. Laurent Jr. was transferred to Devens federal prison in Ayer, Mass., where his father – reputed mob capo regime Anthony “The Saint” St. Laurent – is serving a seven-year sentence in a murder-for-hire case.

St. Laurent Jr., 48, of Cranston, was transferred from an upstate New York prison to Devens on Sept. 4, according to Bureau of Prisons spokesperson Chris Burke.

He pleaded guilty to extorting bookmakers in 2010 and sentenced to 6 1/2 years behind bars. St. Laurent Jr. is scheduled for release in the fall of 2016 – around the same time as his father – but may be eligible for a halfway house prior to that.

The elder St. Laurent pleaded guilty in a case where he was accused of trying to hire hitmen to gun-down rival mobster Robert “Bobby” DeLuca on three different occasions. State and federal investigators quickly intervened, at the time.

St. Laurent Sr., 73, of Johnston, has been in failing health for more than a decade, frequently appearing in court in a wheelchair.

Burke said there is no BOP policy that prohibits family members from being in the same prison. The only exception is in the case of identical twins because it could create confusion for correctional officers and officials.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – A reputed Rhode Island mobster who served nearly two years in prison for conspiracy has been released to home confinement, the Target 12 Investigators have learned.

Alfred “Chippy” Scivola, 73, was released from Devens Federal Medical Center – a prison in Ayer, Mass. – on Tuesday, according to Bureau of Prisons spokesperson Chris Burke.

Scivola is now on home confinement, according to Burke. He would not release the town where Scivola is now living, but records show he lived in Johnston when he was sentenced in 2012.

Scivola was snared in a wide-ranging federal crackdown into organized crime. He pleaded guilty to conspiracy for his role in shaking down strip clubs for protection payments.

Also convicted in the sweep was former Patriarca family mob boss Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio, who has one more year left of his 5 1/2 year sentence. The 87 year-old is currently housed at a prison in a low security prison in Butner North Carolina.

Scivola officially wraps up his sentence in January.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

CRANSTON, R.I. (WPRI) – Mob capo regime Edward “Eddie” Lato is back in Rhode Island for the first time since his conviction in a sweeping mob case two years ago, but his visit will be short-lived, the Target 12 Investigators have learned.

Lato, 67, formerly of Johnston, was transferred to the Rhode Island Adult Correctional Institution on Sept. 10 from a federal prison in Estill, S.C. He was serving a nine-year sentence for a federal conspiracy and extortion conviction.

Amy Kempe, a spokesperson for the R.I. Attorney General Peter Kilmartin, confirmed Lato was back in the state to face a state conspiracy charge for his role in an alleged illegal gambling ring that was busted open in 2011.

The state case was put on hold while the Rhode Island U.S. Attorney’s office wrapped up the federal case that also brought down former New England mob boss Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio.

In 2012 Lato pleaded guilty to charges that he took part in a scheme to shakedown strip clubs for protection money and extort $25,000 from a used car salesman.

Of the nine defendants in the federal case – including former reputed underboss Anthony DiNunzio of East Boston – Lato received the stiffest sentence. At the time, U.S. District Court Judge William Smith cited Lato’s lengthy criminal record on sentencing day in June 2012.

According to a press release at the time of state case, Lato was swept up by the R.I. State Police along with 23 other individuals including longtime made members and mob associates.

Also arrested in the sting was Frank “Bobo” Marrapese – who was on parole for the 1987 gangland slaying of Richard “Dickie” Callie. He was released from prison in 2008 – and Alfred “Chippy” Scivola. Scivola was just released to home confinement from a charge in the federal case.

Using court authorized wiretaps, state police detectives unearthed a large illegal gambling operation they say was run by Vincent “Vinnie” Tallo.

“It is alleged that proceeds of these activities were funneled to Edward C. Lato via intermediaries,” the press release stated.

After the state case concludes, Lato will be returned to federal custody. His sentence is scheduled to wrap up in July 2019.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Edward “Eddie” Lato, a high-ranking member of the Patriarca crime family, appeared in a Rhode Island courtroom for the first time in years to plead no contest for his role in a large-scale illegal gambling operation.

Superior Court Judge Jeffrey Lanphear sentenced Lato to a 10-year suspended sentence with 10 years of probation. Lanphear said the sentence was to be served at the same time as his federal prison term.

Lato, 67, formerly of Johnston, was transferred to the Rhode Island Adult Correctional Institution on Sept. 10 from a federal prison in Estill, S.C. He’s serving a nine-year sentence for a federal conspiracy and extortion conviction.

Lato has been identified by both state and federal law enforcement as a capo regime in the New England mob. In the courtroom to watch the hearing was Joseph Achille, a longtime mobster.

In May 2011 Lato was caught up in a state police sting that netter 23 other suspects including Frank “Bobo” Marrapese – who was on parole parole for the 1987 gangland slaying of Richard “Dickie” Callie – and Alfred “Chippy” Scivola.

The state police investigation began in the fall of 2010 and uncovered a large illegal gambling operation run by Vincent “Tootsie” Tallo of Johnston.

Assistant Attorney General James Baum said in court the state would have proved that Lato and Marrapese “managed a criminal usury and extortion enterprise together with several named and unnamed coconspirators.”

Lato’s attorney Mark Smith entered the no contest plea on behalf of his client.

The state case was put on hold while the Rhode Island U.S. Attorney’s office wrapped up the federal case that also brought down former New England mob boss Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio.

In 2012 Lato pleaded guilty to charges that he took part in a scheme to shakedown strip clubs for protection money and extort $25,000 from a used car salesman.

Of the nine defendants in the federal case – including former reputed underboss Anthony DiNunzio of East Boston – Lato was sentenced to the most time behind bars. At the time U.S. District Court Judge William Smith cited Lato’s lengthy criminal record on sentencing day in June 2012.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @white_tim

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Longtime Patriarca crime family associate Gerard Ouimette died over the weekend in federal prison, the Target 12 Investigators have learned.

Ouimette, 75, was at a federal prison in Butner, N.C. where he was serving a life sentence for under the federal “three-strikes-and-you’re-out” statute. Ouimette was the first criminal from New England to be prosecuted under the law by then-Rhode Island U.S. Attorney Sheldon Whitehouse.

Rhode Island State Police Colonel Steven O’Donnell confirmed the death, calling Ouimette “one of the most notorious villains Rhode Island has ever known.”

“He was a very violent career criminal that was closely aligned with the Patriarca family,” O’Donnell said. “He wasn’t a made member because he wasn’t Italian but in that world [Raymond] Patriarca used anyone who was ruthless, and that was Gerard Ouimette.”

Sources tell Target 12 Ouimette died of natural causes.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – The elderly former head of the New England crime family has been released from federal prison and is now at a halfway house, according to a spokesperson for the Federal Bureau of Prisons.

Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio, 87, was released from a federal prison in North Carolina on Tuesday and sent to a “residential reentry center” or halfway house, according to BOP spokesperson Edmond Ross. He declined to say where the halfway house is located but said it is generally near where the inmate plans to live when officially released.

“Because the individual is going to back into the community it is usually where they are from, unless they changed their residency but I don’t have any reason to believe that is the case here,” Ross said. “They allow a pass to go into the community where they are soon to be released, their whereabouts is always approved and they have to go back to the reentry center for curfew.”

The closest halfway house to Providence is in Boston, where convicted former Providence Mayor Vincent “Buddy” Cianci spent several months before returning to Rhode Island.

Manocchio pleaded guilty in 2012 to charges he and others shook down strip clubs for protection money. He was scooped up as part of a sweeping crackdown into organized crime. Manocchio was sentenced to 5 1/2 years in prison.

• Target 12 Breakdown of recent mafia-related prison releases

The BOP website says his sentence will officially wrap up in November. Ross said Manocchio could be transferred to home confinement at some point prior to the sentence expiring.

Admitted capo regime and Manocchio loyalist Edward “Eddie” Lato received the stiffest sentence in the sweep. He is set to be released in July 2019.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Former New England mob boss Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio is back home on Federal Hill.

Edmond Ross, a spokesperson for the Federal Bureau of Prisons, said the 87-year-old is now listed as being held on home confinement. Ross would not say exactly where Manocchio is located, he said it is “wherever he established his home.”

Rhode Island State Police Colonel Steven O’Donnell said Manocchio is returning to his apartment on Atwells Avenue where he has lived for more than a decade.

On Tuesday Ross said Manocchio had been transferred to a halfway house in an undisclosed location, but that he would be eligible to be held on home confinement at some point.

In confirming Manocchio was now in home confinement Ross said it was likely the former inmate was fitted with an electronic monitoring device at the residential reentry center – or halfway house – before being sent home.

“This is not unusual because if there is no benefit to the individual to be at a reentry center they will send them to home confinement,” Ross said. “In this case he is an elderly gentleman so it is likely he is not seeking employment, which is one of the programs at the reentry center.”

He was released from a federal prison in North Carolina on Tuesday.

O’Donnell said after Manocchio “retired” from being mob boss, the balance of power shifted to Boston. He said the crime family Manocchio is coming home to is splintered.

“The entire La Cosa Nostra nationally – traditional organized crime as we refer to it – is broken, is a shell of what it used to be,” O’Donnell said “But it’s like a snake it reinvents itself so you have to pay attention to it.”

O’Donnell declined to say if detectives will visit Manocchio.

“Hopefully he just continues on to do the right thing, sees the errors in his ways and stays away from that business if he can do that,” said O’Donnell.

Ross said inmates released to home confinement are under strict guidelines.

“He is accountable all the time,” Ross said. “He is still under supervision and electronic monitoring and is still under supervision under responsibility of the [halfway house].”

Ross said they make daily phone calls and will make unannounced visits, he declined to say what halfway house is handling Manocchio’s case.

The nearest one is located on Huntington Ave. in Boston.

Manocchio pleaded guilty in 2012 to charges he and others shook down strip clubs for protection money as part of a sweeping crackdown into organized crime. He was sentenced to 5 1/2 years in prison.

He will remain on electronic monitoring until his sentence expires. Manocchio will then be on supervised release for three years.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

Copyright 2015 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – Luigi “Baby Shacks” Manocchio is now free to move about Federal Hill.

The elderly former head of the New England crime family was released from home confinement by the Federal Bureau of Prisons last week. Manocchio, 88, of Providence, will now be on probation for three years.

As Target 12 previously reported, Manocchio was released from a federal prison in North Carolina in May and sent back to his apartment – located above a restaurant on Federal Hill – to serve the remaining six months of his sentence.

At the time a Federal Bureau of Prisons spokesperson said Manocchio was under “strict” supervision including having to wear an electronic monitoring bracelet. His release from home confinement means Manocchio is now free to come and go as he pleases.

In 2012 U.S. District Court Judge William Smith sentenced Manocchio to 5 1/2 years after he had pleaded guilty to six counts including extortion and conspiracy.

Prosecutors said Manocchio shook down strip clubs for protection money.

In all, nine mobsters or associates felt the sting from the sweeping crackdown into organized crime. The expiration of Manocchio’s sentence means four defendants from the case are still serving prison time: capo regime Edward “Eddie” Lato, former acting boss Anthony DiNunzio of East Boston, and mob associates Richard Bonafiglia and Albino Folcarelli all remain behind bars.

Authorities said DiNunzio took over as boss in 2009 when Manocchio stepped down.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

This report was changed from it’s original to reflect four defendants are still in prison, not three as previously stated.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – It’s the height of sports betting season, and that usually means a well-coordinated raid or two by law enforcement on illegal gambling operations in Rhode Island.

On Sunday state police detectives served a search warrant – once again – on the Decatur Social Club on Federal Hill in Providence. They charged the Tiberi brothers with running an illegal bookmaking operation. Joseph Tiberi, 83, of Coventry, and Richard Tiberi, 72, of Johnston, have been here before and will face a judge next month to answer to the charges.

In 2010 the Tiberi’s were charged and convicted of bookmaking for running a betting operation out of the Decatur. Both men have a criminal record dating back several decades.

Law enforcement officials say while fantasy sports sites have had an impact on the underworld betting operations, bookies still have plenty of clientele looking to place a bet.

State Police Lt. Christopher Zarella runs the Intelligence Unit and says illegal sports betting operations offer something the online services don’t.

“You can’t get online and gamble without a credit card,” said Zarella. “Most of the betting customers that frequent the organized criminal gambling establishments aren’t the type of people that are going to have very good credit.”

He said while the Tiberi’s are elderly, there are younger generations who are getting involved in bookmaking.

“There are certainly a plethora of people out there willing to open up a book and earn cash,” Zarella said.

Traditionally illegal bookmaking operations were a massive revenue source for the New England crime family. Thanks to a series of busts in recent years, the mob’s ranks have been decimated.

Zarella said they still see evidence that bookmakers are sending money to a larger operation, but acknowledges more independent shops are sprouting up.

• In-Depth: Here’s what you should know about daily fantasy sports
• Related: Fantasy Sports By The Numbers – A breakdown of who’s playing and what they’re spending

“The lone-wolf [bookie] is probably more prevalent now than it was years ago,” Zarella said. “We probably see more independent operations opening than you would have seen years ago where a bookmaking operation had to be sanctioned by La Cosa Nostra.”

He said the state police still investigate and crackdown on illegal sports betting outfits because they can feed into other crimes. Gamblers who get into serious debt with a bookie can turn to other crimes to try and pay off what they owe.

“I’ve investigated that type of crime now for too long and have seen the kind of victimization that takes place,” he said. “ This is a cash business and if they run out of cash and you’re still gambling and you have to pay and it comes with a certain type of consequence.”

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – After years working the dangerous streets of Washington D.C. as a police officer, Gregory Adams decided to take a job in a sleepy town 30 miles outside of Pittsburgh.

For seven years in the 1970s, Adams worked as one of just two cops in Saxonburg, Pa., a town of just 1,000 people. He eventually became the chief of police.

It was under his tenure the town was rocked by its first-ever homicide: his own.

What has followed in the 35 years since Adams was shot twice in the chest during a routine traffic stop has been an unsuccessful, international manhunt for a man with ties to the New England mob.

Donald Eugene Webb would be 84 years-old now, and rumors about what happened to him – including his death at the hands of the mob he worked for – have circulated for decades.

But the FBI special agent assigned to tracking Webb down believes he’s still alive, and now the feds are offering up $100,000 for any information leading to Webb, dead or alive.

Mob moneymaker

Webb came to New England by way of a dishonorable discharge. Originally from Oklahoma City, Webb made his way east when he was assigned to Otis Airforce Base on Cape Cod, Mass.

Special Agent Thomas MacDonald said Webb decided to stick around and landed in the New Bedford and Fall River area.

“He chose to make a living in a criminal fashion and that way was through conducting burglaries, primarily of jewelry stores,” MacDonald said during an interview at the Boston office of the FBI. “When you steal jewels, at least back in those days, you need to re-sell them in order to make a profit, and the best way at that time to fence those jewels was through the assistance of organized crime.”

Multiple organized crime sources interviewed by Target 12 – all of whom asked to not be identified – described Webb as quiet and mild-mannered, but a master at his craft. And he proved to be a moneymaker for the Patriarca crime family as well as an organized crime outfit in the Miami area, where he would also fence his ill-gotten gains.

According to a 1955 article in the Providence Journal, Webb was arrested in Boston after a failed bank robbery there. Going by one of his aliases, Donald Perkins, Webb told a reporter he owed a $1,500 gambling debt to one of mob boss Raymond L.S. Patriarca’ s bookmakers.

“I was told by a member of the Patriarca mob that I had until Thursday to get the money or else,” Webb told the reporter. “Patriarca is ‘mayor’ of Providence.”

After serving time at Walpole state prison for the botched robbery, investigators say Webb got his criminal act together and began looting jewelry stores and banks outside New England, then liquidating the goods through the Federal Hill mob.

Webb and his gang of thieves – which the FBI unceremoniously dubbed “The Fall River Gang” – hit the road to practice their craft. They would travel up and down the east coast, including Pennsylvania and New York, to rob jewelry stores, banks and hotels.

Peter McCann, a retired FBI agent from Pennsylvania who worked the Webb case in the years following Chief Adams’ murder, said Webb and his gang would do their homework on people staying at high-end hotels.

“They always had an inside guy, like the guy at the desk,” McCann said. “So he gets a high roller in there and they know when the woman has all the jewelry, they tip [Webb] off to what room they’re in.”

Retired Pennsylvania State Police Detective James Poydence said Webb usually ran with an alarm-system expert on his crew, and on at least one occasion, cut a hole in the roof of a jewelry shop when it was closed to clean it out.

All that loot would be returned to Providence, and expertly fenced, with the appropriate cut off the top for the wise guys.

While Webb was very good at what he did, he wasn’t perfect. In the mid-seventies, he had a two-year stint at a federal prison in upstate New York for a bank robbery there.

Then in December 1980, Webb was once again a wanted man, this time for a jewelry store job, again in New York. He was driving his rental car with out-of-state plates through Saxonburg when he was pulled over by Chief Adams.

The driver’s license Webb handed to Adams had someone else’s name on it. But whatever the chief did during the stop – or the questions he asked the stranger in his town – spooked Webb, and he reacted violently.

‘He was going to find out all about this guy’

What exactly about the White Mercury with Massachusetts’ plates prompted Chief Adams to pull it over will never be known. Detective Poydence said an elderly woman sitting in her living room knitting and looking out the window saw the white car pull into the parking lot – possibly to avoid being spotted by the cruiser driving toward him from the opposite direction – and was about to leave the lot again when Chief Adams pulled in.

Webb handed Adams a New Jersey license with the name Stanley Portas. The real Stanley Portas had died years ago, but the FBI said his widow had remarried Donald Eugene Webb.

“Greg [Adams] was a professional cop, no nonsense,” Poydence said. “He was going to find out all about this guy. He was going to find out Webb was wanted somewhere.”

Special Agent MacDonald said it was likely the prospect of going back to prison that motivated Webb to pull out a gun.

“[Webb] was 49 years old at the time of this car stop,” MacDonald said. “If the small-town police chief was going to identify and learn who he actually was, he was going back to prison and going back to prison for a long time.”

Webb brandished a .25 caliber handgun and tracks in the snow indicate he told Chief Adams to move away from the car and around the side of a building. Poydence said the evidence in the snow then showed a struggle ensued. Adams was beat violently to the face, likely with a handgun. At some point Webb was able to grab Adams’ service revolver.

“There were bloody handprints in the snow where a struggle obviously had occurred,” Poydence said.

Investigators say Adams was shot twice in the chest with Webb’s handgun.

Webb had been hurt too. It’s unclear how, but it is possible he was shot to the leg, either by Webb himself during the struggle, or by Adams getting a round off before his gun was taken away by the much-larger Webb.

“There was a blood trail from the open police cruiser door … to where the door of the Mercury would have been entered,” Poydence said.

The blood was Webbs’.

Investigators say he went to the cruiser after shooting Adams to rip out the microphone for the two-way radio, likely in case the chief was still alive and wanted to call for help. The top page of Adam’s notebook was also torn out.

The elderly woman never saw the violent struggle – as it was out of her view – but she watched the white Mercury drive out of the parking lot, alone.

A neighbor nearby said she was vacuuming when her teenage son ran to her saying he thought he heard gunshots. They went outside to find Chief Adams lying in the snow, moaning.

When police arrived, Adams was unable to identify his killer. He died on the way to the hospital in the back of an ambulance.

Detectives later found the driver’s license Webb handed to Adams in the snow and the .25 caliber handgun Adams was shot with, but the chief’s gun was missing.

“Anyone in law enforcement can relate to what happened to Chief Adams on that day,” MacDonald said. “He made a vehicle stop and lost his life.”

Months later, as winter’s grasp started to loosen its grip on Pennsylvania, a group of kids found Adam’s rusting handgun in the melting snow in a field as they walked home from school.

By then, the white Mercury rental car had been recovered in the parking lot of Howard Johnson’s hotel in Warwick, R.I., and Webb’s blood was all over the driver’s side floor.

“He made it back to New England, he made it back to Rhode Island,” MacDonald said. “Now we need to know who knows what happened next.”

Dead or Alive

Police believe Webb wasn’t alone when he returned to Rhode Island. His longtime partner in crime, Frank Lach, originally of Cranston, made the drive back from Pennsylvania with Webb, authorities believe. It’s unclear if he was with Webb at the time of the shooting. He has never been implicated nor charged in the homicide.

Lach certainly had his interactions with law enforcement after the death of Chief Adams: he served time for burglary, stolen goods and conspiracy throughout the 1980s and ’90s. Federal Bureau of Prison records show Lach was released from prison in 2000 and indicate he’s still alive, now 75 years old.

Webb’s wife at the time of the murder, Lillian Webb, is still living in the New Bedford area. Records from the Bristol County Probate and Family court show she divorced Webb in Sept. 2005. The cause listed in the paperwork is “desertion.”

No one came to the door of her North Dartmouth home when a reporter paid a visit. She later returned a call saying she wasn’t interested in talking about the case.

“I don’t know anything and can’t help you out,” Lillian Webb said just before hanging up.

She has been questioned repeatedly over the last 35 years about the whereabouts of her now-former husband.

Two years after the murder of Chief Adams, Detective Poydence and others flew up from Pennsylvania to question Lillian Webb. She had retained famed criminal defense Attorney John F. Cicilline, whose client list included ruthless mob boss Raymond L.S. Patriarca.

“We called Cicilline and he said we could come to his office and we could meet with Mrs. Webb,” Poydence said.

They booked a flight and flew to Providence. Poydence said when they arrived at Cicilline’s office, Lillian Webb was there as promised.

“I told her we were there to talk to her about her husband,” Poydence said. “She said ‘Mr. Cicilline has instructed me not to speak to you guys.”

The crew was stunned.

“It was like, wow,” Poydence said. “‘Why didn’t you tell us on the phone?'”

Cicilline has not responded to repeated requests for comment from Target 12.

Several organized crime sources said the rumor on the street was Webb was killed by the very people he made money for: the New England mob.

One of the theories is Webb had a disagreement with a wise guy over a robbery. Another is he was murdered because he brought unwanted attention on La Cosa Nostra by law enforcement for killing a police chief.

McCann, the retired special agent, said it’s entirely possible the mob was involved in Webb’s disappearance.

“If he was a pain in [their] backside, he could have been killed just to stop the heat,” McCann said. “But if they wanted to send a message, we’d find him.”

For McCann’s part, he says its “60/40” Webb is still alive.

‘They’re not over it’

Five months to the day that Chief Adams was murdered, the FBI put Webb on their “Top Ten Most Wanted” list. The case was profiled on the television program “America’s Most Wanted” and “Unsolved Mysteries.”

There was a glimmer of hope in 1990 when a letter was sent to then-FBI Director William Sessions penned by someone claiming to be Webb. According to newspaper accounts, the letter apologized for the murder and claimed Webb was considering turning himself in. At the time, the letter was deemed credible, but leads never materialized and now there is doubt that it was written by Webb.

He was removed from the FBI’s most wanted list in 2007, replaced by a new wave of alleged murderers and terrorists.

But the FBI has renewed their efforts, marking the 35th anniversary of the Pennsylvania homicide with a $100,000 reward for any information leading to the arrest of Webb, or to his remains.

Special Agent MacDonald said his gut tells him Webb is still alive, because a tipster would be more willing to come forward with information about someone who is dead.

“I still think someone out there knows where he is and how we can locate him, which is why the increase in reward to $100,000.” MacDonald said. “Let’s be honest, this case is in the ninth inning here; Mr. Webb is 84 years old and the time we have to locate him and take him into custody diminishes by the week.”

• VIEW: The FBI wanted poster for Donald Eugene Webb

If he is dead, the FBI would use DNA testing to determine the identity of the remains.

This past summer, MacDonald paid a visit to Saxonburg and to the scene of the crime. The murder – even 35 years later – still hangs like a cloud over the small town.

“They’re still not over it I can tell you that,” MacDonald said. “This is a case where to lose a young police chief in small town America is something that a home town has a hard time getting by and they just want this case to be resolved.”

MacDonald said Adams’ wife still lives in the area and his kids are now parents themselves.

“His children and his grandchildren want someone who knows something to do the right thing,” he said.

Susan Elaine Haggerty was an administrative assistant for the district court in Saxonburg when Adams was shot and used to interact with him on a daily basis. The day of the shooting, the court was loaded with police officers handling cases, she said. The building emptied out when the call came in that an officer was hurt.

“We were shocked,” Haggerty said in a phone interview. She is now a magisterial judge in the same courthouse.

“We didn’t expect something like that in a small community,” she said. “Nothing like that had ever happened before around here or anywhere that I know of.”

And nothing since.

Adams was the first homicide Saxonburg was ever rocked with and, 35 years later, it remains the last.

For her part, Haggerty thinks Webb is dead, because detectives and agents worked too hard over the decades and “they would have been able to find him if he was alive.”

“I hope I’m wrong and I hope they ultimately find him… but I don’t know,” she said, pausing. “It would be a wonderful thing to happen.”

Anyone with information regarding Webb’s whereabouts can call the FBI tip line: 1-800-CALL-FBI (1-800-225-5324)

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – The widow of a murdered police chief from Pennsylvania has a message for anyone in New England who knows what happened to the man accused of murdering her husband: “do the right thing and let us have closure.”

In an interview with Target 12 via Skype, Mary Ann Jones said her husband Gregory Adams left a dangerous job as a police officer in Washington D.C. to do the same work in the sleepy town of Saxonburg Pa., roughly 30 miles outside Pittsburgh.

“I remember him saying ‘I’m not making as much money but it’s safer up here,'” Mary Ann said.

Adams eventually rose to chief, one of two officers on the force.

On Dec. 4, 1980, the town was rocked by its first-ever homicide: their very own police chief. Adams was gunned down during a routine traffic stop.

Mary Ann said she was at home with their two young children ages two and eight months, when a secretary at the police department called: “Greg has been shot.”

She rushed to the hospital, but her husband had died in the ambulance.

“They took me in a room off the emergency room … someone told me that he was killed,” Mary Ann said. “I just remember all the doctors coming around me and sitting me down because I must have gone as white as a sheet at that point.”

Investigators say Adams was shot by Donald Eugene Webb, an associate of the Patriarca crime family. Webb made a living robbing banks, jewelry stores and high-end hotels up and down the east coast, then he fenced the ill-gotten gains through the mob in Providence.

James Poydence, a retired Pennsylvania State Police Detective, said they suspect Webb was in town casting out areas to hit when he was pulled over by Adams.

Special Agent Thomas MacDonald of the FBI – who is currently assigned to the cold case – said at the time Webb was a wanted man for a robbery in New York and likely didn’t want to go back to prison.

Mary Ann said a neighbor found her husband lying in the snow bleeding.

“She had gone out to cradle him and she said that he was trying to tell her to tell me something,” she said. “But because he was badly beaten and shot she said ‘I couldn’t make out what he said.'”

• TARGET 12: The mystery behind the disappearance of Donald Eugene Webb

The rental car Webb used was found in the parking lot of a Howard Johnson’s motel in Warwick, R.I., 17 days after the homicide.

“He made it back to New England, he made it back to Rhode Island,” MacDonald said. “Now we need to know who knows what happened next.”

Mary Ann raised their two children by herself. Nine years after the homicide she remarried and is now Mary Ann Jones.

The FBI is renewing their efforts to track Webb down by offering a $100,000 reward for information leading to his arrest or his remains.

• VIEW: The FBI wanted poster for Donald Eugene Webb

“I’m going to say he’s dead, [but] I would like to know for sure,” Mary Ann said. “I’m frustrated that my husband did not get any justice.”

She said she would like to have had the opportunity to address her husband’s killer in court.

“I probably would have said ‘you’ve destroyed my life and destroyed the life of two innocent boys,'” Mary Ann said. “We had to pick up and move on which was difficult.”

For his part, agent MacDonald believes Webb is still alive because people would be more likely to tip them off to someone who is dead.

“I still think someone out there knows where he is and how we can locate him,” MacDonald said. “Let’s be honest, this case is in the ninth inning here; Mr. Webb is 84 years old and the time we have to locate him and take him into custody diminishes by the week.”

For those in the New England area that might have information about what happened to Webb, Mary Ann is asking them to do the right thing.

“Let us have closure,” Mary Ann said. “Let us – meaning me and my sons – know where he is and if he is still alive and getting away with murder.”

Anyone with information regarding Webb’s whereabouts can call the FBI tip line: 1-800-CALL-FBI (1-800-225-5324)

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) – After more than six years in a federal prison, the son of a mafia captain has been released and tells Target 12 he plans on returning to Rhode Island.

Anthony St. Laurent Jr., 49, of Cranston, was released from a federal prison at Fort Dix, N.J., Wednesday. Justin Long, a spokesperson for the Federal Bureau of Prisons said St. Laurent has been sent to a “Residential Reentry Center,” or more commonly known as a halfway house. Long declined to say where the halfway house was located, but it is common for an inmate to be placed near where he will be living when his sentence is complete. The closest halfway house to Rhode Island is in Boston.

St. Laurent’s sentence officially ends in September, but he may be eligible to be placed on home confinement prior to that.

In an email to Target 12 three days before his release, St. Laurent, Jr., said he looks forward to reuniting with his wife and kids.

“On what happen with me going to jail things happen in life and you deal with it,” he wrote in the email. “That is all in the past. You must keep moving forward in life and that is what I intend on doing.”

Federal prisoners can exchange emails through a subscription service called CorrLinks. According to their website prison officials can monitor messages to and from inmates.

In Feb. 2010 St. Laurent, Jr., his father – mob capo regime Anthony “The Saint” St. Laurent – and his mother Dorothy, were charged in a federal conspiracy case.

Prosecutors said the family operated a lucrative shakedown scheme for 20 years, taking in upwards of $1.5 million in protection payments from bookmakers in the Taunton, Mass., area.

In the criminal complaint, investigators said St. Laurent Jr.’s “role has been to engage in violence and threaten violence when necessary to enforce continued payment, a role also made more important during his father’s frequent periods of incarceration.”

• READ: Details of extortion scheme from complaint against Anthony “The Saint” St. Laurent

St. Laurent Jr. eventually signed a plea deal with the U.S. Attorney’s office and was sentenced to 6 1/2 years in prison. At the time he told Target 12 “It’s just a family matter, that’s all,”

“If not, I would have [gone] to trial,” he added.

His mother was spared prison time in a separate plea agreement.

St. Laurent, Jr., will be on three years of probation and has to complete 500 hours of community service each year.

Anthony St. Laurent Sr., is currently serving his sentence at Fort Devens in Ayer, Mass., and is scheduled to be released in October.

Tim White ( twhite@wpri.com ) is the Target 12 investigative reporter for WPRI 12 and Fox Providence. Follow him on Twitter: @TimWhiteRI

This story was updated with information that St. Laurent Jr. was sent to a halfway house.

PROVIDENCE, R.I. (WPRI) — After the Target 12 Investigators broke the news of an FBI investigation digging Tuesday for an alleged human body involved in a cold case, the excavating and secrecy continued Wednesday.

The Federal Bureau of Investigation wouldn’t tell Target 12 much about what or who they were looking for. Their Evidence Response Team was part of the crew, they said, behind a chain-link fence at an old mill complex at 725 Branch Avenue, immediately off Rt. 146, in Providence. Police and detectives blocked the site from view as much as they could, and kept people back from the perimeter.

Sources have told Target 12 that the search for the body is tied to suspects linked to organized crime.

A backhoe took a breather off to the side Wednesday morning. A larger claw excavator was at work with serious digging.

Over the course of an hour, a flatbed lumber truck pulled up to the scene. Investigators came out wearing protective booties — like engineers or medical personnel use for clean room conditions. “We’ll take it from here,” a man said, keeping the truck’s driver outside the tape line. The investigators removed plywood from the truck and hauled it into the concealed area.

The process is being directed out of the Boston office of the FBI — which has plenty of experience with the workings of organized crime, past and present, in New England.

The mill complex on Branch Avenue has an intriguing history. Back in August 2015, the feds raided it, and uncovered an illegal marijuana growing operation. Complex owner William Ricci has agreed to plead guilty to criminal charges in that case; he’s due to face a judge in May to make the change of his plea official.

But, there’s no indication at this point Ricci’s case is connected at all to the FBI dig. Investigators also wouldn’t speculate on how long they’d be taking at the site.

Watchful neighbors said the crews had started up at eight in the morning Wednesday. Some are captivated by the activity, including eyewitness Corey Reckert: “It just seems like a dark history in Providence’s past, that might be coming back … It could be from a previous time. We’ll find out.”