It was 3 a.m. when the car roared into the long driveway at 13343 Johnson Rd. A short man in his mid-30s with shaggy, dark hair and a Fu Manchu mustache slammed the driver side door and strode to the house. Lights flickered on in neighbors' homes as he struggled to unlock the door with one hand. In the other, he clutched a shotgun.
Courtesy Miami-Dade Corrections
Accused murderer Ronald Miranda, AKA Richard Gamble, hid out in South Florida for decades.
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He burst inside and violently threw a woman to the floor. She screamed. Next he walked into the living room and found 45-year-old Mitch Arambel. A single blast rung the small house like a bell. Moments later, Arambel was dead and the man gone.
The next morning, the small town of Los Banos, California, awoke to news of the murder. The only suspect was 33-year-old Ronald Miranda, a local bartender who had lived at the house until a messy separation from his wife a few months before.
A few days later, Miranda called police and agreed to turn himself in.
But he never showed. That was November 1980.
"He just disappeared," says Tom MacKenzie of the Merced County Sheriff's Department. "We had no idea what happened to him."
Thirty-one years later and 3,000 miles away, cops nabbed Miranda earlier this month after a dustup at a seedy Florida City restaurant. Few criminals have evaded authorities for so long, particularly those whom the FBI has listed among its most wanted. His capture and the sparse available facts of his underground life reinforce South Florida's reputation both as an outlaw haven and a mecca for shoddy law enforcement.
Miranda grew up in Los Banos, worked as a young man in the best restaurant in town, and got married, authorities say. Soon, though, his wife complained of domestic abuse and they separated. Six months later, on Friday, November 14, 1980, he drank at a bar until early the next day. Then he grabbed the pump-action shotgun and drove to their house on the edge of town. After he kicked in the door, his wife tried to grab the gun. Then he shot Arambel in the living room just as the man turned to run.
Police searched for Miranda after the murder. No one — except for him, of course — knows where he was for at least a decade.
Around 1991, he turned up in Kendall, calling himself Richard Gamble — a name weirdly similar to the star of the '60s television show The Fugitive, Richard Kimble.
William Bowers is the owner of Captain's Tavern Seafood Market and Restaurant, a busy and well-known eatery on South Dixie Highway near Kendall Drive. He recalls hiring Gamble/Miranda to work in the market.
Even back then, Captain's Tavern was a neighborhood institution, the best place for cheap fish and good conversation. "He was a fish cutter and a damn good one," Bowers says, adding that the then-44-year-old also held down a job at the Riviera Country Club in Coral Gables. "He was the hardest-working man I ever had."
Soon Gamble met Bridget Hyman, a tiny woman several years his junior who already had a shock of snow-white hair and spectacles. Her husband had just died. He introduced himself as a Vietnam War veteran from out West with three purple hearts and a Silver Star. In winter 1995, Gamble moved into her Pinecrest home. Around the same time, a set of trading cards describing the FBI's most wanted criminals was issued. Miranda was number 55. Apparently no one noticed the resemblance to Gamble.
"He was always a good man to me," says Hyman, an overly polite woman who looks like Sophia from The Golden Girls. Gamble, she says, never told her about his past in California. "He helped me emotionally after my husband passed away."
The pair lived together on and off for ten years. Gamble did well at the restaurant, and Bowers promoted him to waiter. Gamble drank, but mostly after work, and stayed out of trouble with the law. "He was pretty nice — you know, an average guy," remembers Dale, a Captain's Tavern employee who also knew nothing of his co-worker's past. "He was quite the golfer and sure knew his wines well."
Around 2006, Gamble was given even more responsibility. Bowers hired him to manage Captain's Restaurant, a smaller, shabbier version sandwiched between Krome Avenue and South Dixie Highway in Florida City.
Hyman followed, eventually moving into a tiny white trailer with rusty axles that Gamble paid $350 per month to park in spot G-14 of the Florida City Camp Site & RV Park. He kept to himself among the park's eclectic mix of Canadian tourists, Cuban refugees, and washed-out Anglos.
Gamble's ruse almost came to an end two years ago, however. On May 13, 2009, Miami-Dade Police Officer Phillip Hall pulled him over just outside Florida City for driving his Captain's Seafood van without the proper markings. Gamble didn't have a driver's license on him, but the cop believed him when he gave his fake name, said he was born in Brownsville, Minnesota — a real town on the Mississippi River — and listed a nonexistent local address. After giving a right thumbprint and promising to appear in court for the misdemeanor, he was allowed free.