A day later someone made several calls from Vegas on Scozzaro's cell phone. The phone company notified the San Diego police. The SDP alerted the Metro Las Vegas police, providing descriptions of the Volvo, the Audi and the principal suspect—an ex-con named David Casper.
"My back has been giving me trouble," a cheerfully resigned Billy said last Thursday after shooting an 84 in the first round of the Masters. A round in the 80s is no big deal to an older former champ like Casper, who tees off when the grass is still wet with dew and plays for fun. But Billy's back had him hitting everything left-left, and he had decided not to play on Friday. "Anyway, this is what makes this place special," he said, taking in the tables, the patio umbrellas, the familiar faces. Shirley, walking with the aid of a cane, said they still planned to stay through the weekend.
Bobby Casper had turned in his white jumpsuit and was ordering lunch at a table on the clubhouse balcony. It was jarring, he said, the way life worked. One week your little brother is standing in shackles before a Nevada judge. The next week you're caddying for your dad in a fantasy forest teeming with gentle people.
"David's my brother, and I love him," Bobby said, "but I don't like the choices he has made, and I really don't like what he has done to my mom and dad. He can be so bad, so evil." He shook his head. "He's a sweetheart when he doesn't have that stuff going through his blood."
There was no warning. "We were laughing," Llamas told the grand jury, "and the next thing I know I see Metro policemen running in from every which way with guns."
It was Nov. 11, two days after the Bunkhouse robbery. The police had spotted the stolen Audi and Volvo outside the Wild Wild West Gambling Hall & Hotel. They were waiting when Casper and Llamas came out of room 755, on the second floor, and walked down the exterior stairs. "Put your hands up and get down or we're going to shoot!" a cop shouted as Casper and Llamas neared the landing. Three officers aimed shotguns at them.
Llamas was stunned. She raised her hands and started to go down. But Casper looked at her, his face turning red, his right hand frozen at his hip. "He was getting ready to get his gun," Llamas testified, "and he looked back at me, and he couldn't say nothing."
Casper's version: "I was not interested in hurting the officers. I was pulling the gun to get away. I looked over at Lisa, and her eyes were as big as any eyes I have ever seen." The Beretta, his instrument of escape, was in his pants, and he was prepared to use it. But he couldn't get past the terrified eyes of his friend, who might be killed if he opened fire. Still looking at Lisa, he put his hands up and went down on the pavement.
Four months later Casper stood before Judge Mark Gibbons in a Clark County District courtroom. "There's a lot I'd like to tell you," Casper said. "I obviously was not in the right state of mind when I did those things. I'm apologetic.... I thank God nobody got hurt." Ten years, said the judge.
In Chula Vista, Billy fought back tears. "I look at what David's going to miss in life, and it just kills me," he said.