In Search of the Sleuth

"[A] picture, I suppose, can be worth a thousand words…," Judge Linda Motheral said sagely in a conference with the lawyers, before deciding that the photos be placed in a safe deposit box at a nearby bank.

Later, when copies of the pictures began surfacing among some of Pankau's colleagues in the industry, attorney Neely accused Von Blon of trying to blackmail his client. Pankau sued Von Blon and his ex-wife for $1.5 million for gross negligence, defamation and conspiracy. When I asked Von Blon about the imbroglio, he kept his cards close to the vest. He did let drop that he had spent about $30,000 defending himself against Pankau, and believed it was worth it.

"I didn't pay [Pankau] a damn penny," he said defiantly.

But the barrister seemed determined to sidestep any future controversies.

"They're litigious as hell," he said of Pankau and Neely. "There's no way I'll comment further."

Talking to these jittery types was making me nervous. I needed more people who could discuss Pankau, perhaps say a few nice things about the man. I turned to the acknowledgments page of Check It Out! and began calling people the investigator himself had singled out for praise. Lew Vail was one of two people for whom Pankau reserved "special thanks" for working with him for almost 18 years. I called Vail at his home near Lake Livingston.

Not only did they work together, but it turned out Vail was Pankau's stepfather. I started asking warm, fuzzy questions.

"I'd rather not comment, truthfully," Vail said, cutting me off.

Pankau also gave special thanks to a Fulbright & Jaworski attorney. I dialed the man's home number, only to learn from his widow that he had died of a heart attack on the first day of duck-hunting season in 1985.

Finally, I got a warm body who would talk. Walter Johnson, chairman of Southwest Bank of Texas, said he has known Pankau for almost 30 years. On numerous occasions he has employed the sleuth to check out potential clients, and Pankau has delivered. One time Pankau discovered that a gentleman making overtures to the bank was under investigation for nine counts of fraud. Johnson declined the man's business.

"I missed the bullet because I was smart enough to tell Ed to check this guy out for us," Johnson said. "He's been very helpful and effective in saving us a lot of money."

Joseph Wells was another man willing to talk. He is chairman of the Austin-based Association of Certified Fraud Examiners, a 26,000-member organization to which Pankau once belonged. He even served one year on the association's board. Wells said he was initially impressed by the private eye, particularly his commanding speaking style and ability to captivate an audience. Sure, he noted discrepancies in Pankau's accounts of his various feats, but he didn't think too much about it until The Wall Street Journal ran its January 1994 piece.

In the article, Journal staff writer Laura Johannes picked apart various claims Pankau had made about his life and career. He purported to have been a Green Beret, when records indicated otherwise. Stories on Pankau had said the investigator had served in Vietnam and been wounded in combat. The Journal could find no evidence of that. The article also questioned Pankau's representations of his work on certain high-profile cases, including the Noriega episode and Pankau's claims to have sniffed out the affair between Gary Hart and Donna Rice.

After the piece appeared, the association's board booted Pankau by a unanimous vote for violating the code of ethics.

Pankau sued the group for defamation to the tune of more than $1 million but ultimately dropped the claim.

I was putzing around my cubicle at work late last month when the phone rang.

"John, it's Ed Pankau," a voice said on the other end. That animated voice, an octave or two higher than you'd expect, always on the verge of something fabulous.

"If you want to lose weight, try this flu. It works wonders."

Pankau told me he was available to meet that afternoon at his new office on Main Street. I took his bait like a hungry catfish, amazed that Pankau was back. I wanted to level with him, tell him I'd heard some things that weren't so nice and give him the chance to set the record straight.

The building at 310 Main is an old three-story town house, tucked between a trendy club and a tapas bar. A plaque beside the door identified the offices as belonging to a pair of lawyers. I made my way up the steep stairs and into a room of hardwood floors, exposed brick and high ceilings. A tall wood counter, stained a rich brown, ran the length of the room. I sauntered past leather furniture and potted plants until I came to a brunette in black.

"Yes?" she said, lashes fluttering like exotic butterflies.

"I'm here to see Ed Pankau," I said.

Pankau emerged from an office with a noisy "Hi, John!" He was wearing the same blue-and-white-striped oxford, maroon tie and khakis as the first time we had met. He wanted to show me his new office space upstairs.