The Notorious Texas Swindler - The Mastermind Behind the Grayson County Five

It’s Fannin County Time, Boys

On May 1, 2006, the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s largest prison prepared to transfer one of its most high-profile offenders for a three-hour trip from the unit in Tennessee Colony to the Fannin County courthouse in Bonham, then back to the unit, all in one day, for a bench warrant to appear before a judge.

It’s a common judicial procedure; one performed hundreds if not thousands of times every day throughout the sprawling Texas criminal justice system. Often, the process involves routine bureaucratic house cleaning; Richard Glaser, the Fannin Co. District Attorney, was just trying to close some old cases when the prisoner in question’s file came up.

But Bob Harold Leach, the man summoned before the Honorable Jim Lovett on that drizzly, uncommonly warm spring day, was anything but a common inmate. He was perhaps the most notorious Texas outlaw since the heyday of Clyde Barrow.

When offenders are admitted into the Texas Department of Corrections (TDC), they go through an intake process that can take up to a month, to ensure the offender is properly entered into the system. During that time, a file, commonly called a “jacket” is created, comprised of the offender’s personal information, including medical records, names of immediate family members and crimes that the offender has been convicted of, along with possible release dates. The outside of Bob’s jacket bore markings in bold black ink, some heavily imprinted with a marker, flagging him as a security risk, with notations that in the event he was to ever be transferred from one facility to another, law enforcement along the route must be notified, and extra precautions taken.

The ominous warnings were justified. Five years earlier, Leach had set into motion one of the most infamous jailbreaks in modern Texas criminal history.

Before the affair was over, regional and national newspapers trumpeted the story accompanied by headlines in bold print. The “Grayson County Five” escaped Grayson County Jail, in the north Texas town of Sherman, in the late hours of Oct. 11, 2001 by digging their way to freedom through the underground air duct system of the old structure. A massive manhunt to end the trail of terror brought on by the fugitives was extended over a 180-mile radius, leading authorities through the north Texas region on a wild goose chase, the likes of which was seldom seen in modern times.

Bob, along with four other inmates, were not discovered missing until the early morning hours of Oct. 12. The Grayson County sheriff’s department received a call from Bob’s wife at the time, claiming she had been in touch with her fugitive husband throughout the night. 1

The news spread rapidly. There’s nothing like a jailbreak to sell papers and boost TV ratings. The public was warned that the fugitives were armed and dangerous and should not be approached. Instead, law enforcement should be contacted immediately.

Reported and contradictory sightings of the fugitives swamped the airwaves at local police and sheriff’s offices, as witnesses claimed to have seen the escapees, or a vehicle matching the description of the fugitives’ getaway car. Law enforcement checked every possible lead, no matter how insubstantial the account.

Meanwhile, as daylight rose on the morning of Oct. 12, the FBI, the Texas Rangers, and U.S. Marshals joined local and state police, as well as sheriffs from surrounding counties, in what soon became a statewide manhunt. Fully aware of the imminent danger to the public—desperados were, by definition; desperate, authorities searched non-stop, day and night, all the while exhausted from lack of sleep. Steven Spielberg and Sam Peckinpah had made crowd-pleasing movies about Texas jailbreaks; the real thing wasn’t nearly as entertaining. Nor was a happy ending automatically assured.

Jerry Riley and Jeremy Jon Reynolds, two of Bob Leach’s fellow fugitives, were captured on Oct.12 in Collin County, approximately 48 miles south of Grayson County, and the county jail in Sherman, while Bryan Riley was apprehended on Oct.13 in Fannin County, approximately 30 miles east. Meanwhile, the last of the two escapees, Gerald Lynn Gantt and Leach himself, remained at large.

While on the run, both Leach and Gantt crossed state lines, into Oklahoma and Louisiana, thus enhancing their charges from the state to the federal level. But in the end, charges of interstate flight were the least of their worries.

They were soon captured, but not without resistance. And not without subjecting an innocent couple to a prolonged and terrible ordeal.

Before taking a husband and his wife captive in their home in Montague County, northwest of Fort Worth, the pair kidnapped a woman in Bonham, a hundred miles to the east. 2

As the fugitives fled to the tiny town of St. Jo in Montague County, they drove every back road imaginable, swiftly veering off one road and turning down another.

The woman that they had taken captive was able to escape when the fugitives, for reasons unbeknownst, got out of the vehicle and turned their heads for just a moment, and she was able to escape her captors, somewhere between the Cooke and Montague County lines. Seizing the very tiny window of opportunity, she tore out of the backseat as quickly as she could, running barefoot through pastures filled knee-deep with briar stickers, trying to put as much distance between her and the fugitives as possible. She finally made her way to a nearby home, pleading for help as they contacted authorities. 3

Meanwhile, the fugitives were forced into precipitous flight when a peace officer spotted their stolen vehicle.

A high-speed chase quickly ensued between the lawman and the fugitives, with speeds reaching as high as 75 mph, too fast for a little windy two-lane back road. With nowhere to go, and desperately seeking a quick getaway, the fugitives sharply turned their vehicle onto a gravel road, throwing dust and rocks all around them, heading in the direction of a ranch-style house located a quarter-mile away.

Gantt charged through the back door of the house, maliciously taking a husband and wife, the homeowners, captive. (I. Forrester, personal communication, April 13,2011) Leach, meanwhile, stood outside, firing bullets from a stolen 30-06 deer rifle, warning the peace officer to stay back.4

The ensuing confrontation and shootout involved a host of law enforcement agencies including but not limited to the FBI, the Texas Rangers and officers from four county sheriff’s offices, as well as local authorities.

What followed was a terrifying ordeal for the hostages. Inside the house, the couple, Vincent and Irma Forrester, were forced to sit on the floor with their hands tied behind their backs. The rope that bound their wrists together was tied so tightly that it started cutting the circulation off in Vincent’s hands. Neither was able to move, both paralyzed with fear for what might happen next. (I. Forrester, personal communication, April 13, 2011), (V. Forrester, personal communication, April 13, 2011)

In the middle of all the chaos, a hostage negotiator managed to get Leach on the phone and convinced him to release the hostages. Realizing they were surrounded, with no way of escaping, Leach knew the cards were stacked against them.

Leach began to do his best to improve his position; He quickly showed remorse towards the couple and law enforcement, for putting them in harm’s way. It worked, at least to some extent. Some later believed that his decision to take the couple hostage was done in haste, while others viewed him as a hardened criminal looking for a quick way out of a bad situation.

The phone that Leach used to communicate with the outside was hanging in the hallway in the center of the house. When he was not talking to the negotiator, Leach would leave the receiver to dangle off the hook, so everyone on the other end of the line was able to hear everything that was going on inside the house. Then, Leach would return to the call, every so often, surreptitiously, so as not to be noticed by his violent compadre, who maliciously taunted the couple, insisting that he would harm them the first chance he got.

It was during that interlude, when the phone was left off the hook, and Gantt was out of earshot, away from Leach and the hostages, either outside shooting his gun or taunting law enforcement, when the negotiator and other family members could overhear conversations between Leach and the couple.

They sounded like old acquaintances sitting around a table, having a cup of coffee, discussing cattle, and realizing they knew some of the same people from the local auction barns, instead of hostages that were being held against their will by two fugitives on the lam. Against all odds, Leach appeared to have ingratiated himself with the couple.

Meanwhile, Gantt incessantly ran in and out of the house like a madman, waving his gun in midair, shooting at anything he saw. He was a pistol-packing prick with a vengeance, looking to put a bullet in anyone that was trying to take him down.

The standoff was turning into quite a show. Law enforcement had a helicopter brought in to fly overhead to get a better layout of the area. Gantt happened to be standing in the front yard at the same time that the helicopter flew over the house. As the aircraft hovered overhead, Gantt raised his gun, firing at the helicopter. The aircraft was hit, and the pilot had no other choice but to land several miles down the road. (Interviews with confidential sources, personal communication, May 9, 2016)5

Authorities were at their wits’ end. They were exhausted from lack of sleep, a consequence of trying to track down fugitives who had been on the run over half of Texas for days. The lawmen always seemed to be one step behind, and now that they finally had the last two escapees cornered, they had to figure out how to bring them in, once and for all. Hopefully without getting any more helicopters shot down.

Gantt went back inside the house and passed out drunk on the couch. He and Leach had stolen, among other things, a quantity of whiskey during the course of their flight.

There was now a window of opportunity for the couple to escape and they took it. Gantt awakened from his stupor and became enraged when he discovered Leach was trying to spirit the pair of captives to safety through a small bathroom window.

The pair scuffled, and Leach shot his hapless partner in the abdomen. Gantt collapsed on a living room couch as lawmen converged on the house.

Eight hours after the fusillade of bullets began, the gun smoke settled. It was all over.

Leach surrendered peacefully. Gantt, the more violent of the pair, pleaded in hysterics for his life. Weakened by blood loss, he tried to make a plea deal with God (“I wasn’t ready to go just yet.”) and he sobbed, as first responders surrounded him. (Interviews with confidential sources, personal communication, June 2016)

The standoff between the pair of fugitives and authorities had ended. All five escapees were once again in custody. The press, the police and the public moved on to other concerns.

On Nov.25, 2005, D.A. Glaser told the Fannin County district clerk to put the case from Fannin County, involving Leach and Gantt, on the docket, so it, like many other older cases, could be closed out. (D.A. Richard Glaser, personal communication, Apr. 15, 2016)

However, during a pre-trial discovery, the defense attorney determined it would be best not to compel the victims of the crimes that were committed in Fannin County to replay the traumatic events in the course of a trial. Bob wasn’t anxious to face a Fannin County jury, either. Therefore, a hearing was scheduled on May 1, 2006.

And so, a bench warrant was issued and Bob was readied for transport from the state prison facility in Tennessee Colony, en route to Bonham.

On the morning of the transfer, the administrators at the H.H. Coffield Unit carefully dotted every “I” and crossed every “T”, while the warden and correctional officers coordinated with law enforcement officials on the route of the transport. Bob donned a standard orange jumpsuit. Ear muffs and a hood were placed over his head for the transport, which was how D.A. Glaser described seeing Bob for the first time. Handcuffs were placed on his wrists, and a chain was wrapped around his waist that connected to the cuffs. Lastly, a plastic box was placed atop the cuffs, and manacles were fastened around his ankles, rendering him immobile.

Once outside, everyone, including Bob, paused long enough to take in the view. It was quite a party. Lined up on the opposite side of the formidable 15-foot chain link fence, topped with coiled razor wire, was a virtual caravan of law enforcement officials from state and federal levels. The elite troops consisted of deputies from the Sheriff’s Department of Fannin County, DPS state troopers, U.S. Marshals and even a local SWAT team. A helicopter hovered overhead to shadow the caravan of cars during the transport.

Bob was handed over, and the caravan prepared to roll. Manacled inside the transport and locked down, with no way of seeing or hearing what was going on around him, Bob was in limbo, isolated from the outside world.

Because of the security risk that Bob represented, a diversion had been created by authorities to throw off busybodies, interlopers and nosy reporters. It was publicly understood that there was to be a hearing at the Fannin County Courthouse at 11:00 a.m. that morning.

However, upon arrival, instead of going to the courthouse, Bob was escorted to the jailhouse instead. The imposing Art Deco-style courthouse and other businesses around the courthouse square in Bonham had closed for the day because of the carefully-planned excursion. There were few cars, if any, on the square.

According to D.A. Glaser, snipers armed with long range rifles equipped with silencers were positioned strategically along the rooftops of buildings. The helicopter that had accompanied the transport remained in close range overhead, carefully watching, as the caravan of law officials transported Bob, nervously watching for the slightest sign that someone, anyone, might unexpectedly try to intervene and attempt to break him free.

Once inside the jailhouse, Bob was taken to a single isolated cell, where he was read his rights and, shortly thereafter a small hearing was conducted. It was a measure of Leach’s notoriety that the formality was held inside his cell, rather than in open court.

He pled guilty to kidnapping and aggravated assault with a deadly weapon in Fannin County, where he received a 99-year sentence that ran consecutively with his other 13 life sentences. It was the capstone of a criminal career with few equals in the Lone Star State.

Southern Roots

Bob’s ancestors on the Leach side were Anglo-Saxon. They migrated to America in the 1700s from England and eventually settled in Tennessee before the Civil War began.

P.D. Thomas Leach, or Thomas, as he was known by his family, was Bob’s great-great-great grandpa. He fought in the Civil War for the Confederacy and had six children--two daughters and four sons. After the Civil War ended, Thomas, like many other Southerners, migrated with his family to Texas in 1876. Many an abandoned log cabins had “GTT” – “Gone to Texas” – etched in the doorpost as their owners looked for fresh opportunities in the postwar aftermath. The family settled in Bastrop County, not far from the state capital, Austin.

Bob’s ancestors spread out and worked for generations as farmers and cattlemen in the Lone Star State, and were prominently known and respected in their communities.

Bob’s great-great grandfather, Anderson Norman Leach, Thomas’ son, was born in Carroll County, Tennessee on November 26, 1865. In 1890, Anderson married and eventually had seven children, five girls and two boys. In 1900, they settled in Williamson County, on the edge of the Texas Hill Country, where Anderson worked as a corn and cotton farmer.

In the late nineteenth century, the Missouri-Kansas-Texas Railroad Company of Texas, also known as the “Katy”, was the first railroad to travel from Denison, just north of Dallas, 350 miles south to San Antonio.

One of the stop-offs along the route was in the tiny town of Weir, located thirty miles north of Austin, where Anderson had his farm. Posters for a train called the, “Katy Flyer” hung outside the railway station, advertising roundtrip tickets to Austin for $1.00, with fine-dining amenities and a snack bar car along the route. Anderson always purchased his ticket at that very railway station to ride the Katy to the downtown train station at Third and Congress. From there, it was a short walk to the Driskill Hotel. Anderson didn’t travel to Austin on farm business. He was there to gamble. And the Driskill hosted the hottest game in town.

The Williamson County Sun, in Georgetown, is the local paper of record. It has published numerous articles over the years about the Leach family, many of which described Bud Leach--Anderson’s son, and Bob’s great-grandfather--as being known for his friendly disposition and fine traits of character, as well as for being one of the most respected and successful cotton farmers and cattlemen in Williamson County. 1

The stock market crash of October 1929 ushered in the Great Depression. While others were struggling to stay afloat during the hard times, Bud was doing very well in the farming and cattle industry. He was honored in 1937 and 1938 for bringing the first bale of cotton into Georgetown.2