By New Times
By Connor Radnovich
By Robrt L. Pela and Amy Silverman
By Ray Stern
By Keegan Hamilton
By Matthew Hendley
By Monica Alonzo
By Monica Alonzo
Somewhere, those kids are snickering.
You can bet that they are--whoever they are--getting quite a kick out of this whole thing, their adolescent, pimply faces breaking into grins of vandalistic glee every time a news account of their devilish handiwork appears in print or on TV. God knows, they're high-fiving each other until their palms are red.
But Mike DiQuattro, well, if any part of his anatomy is red these days, it is most likely his face. And who can blame him? To hear him tell it, the poor chap was only doing his best for the neighborhood. Out there every night with Block Watch, on patrol pursuing the alleged pranksters with his walkie-talkie on full, just doing what any concerned, community-oriented citizen would do if the houses on his cul-de-sac--in particular, his very own abode--were BOMBARDED BY ROCKS!!
But now the cops are singing a different tune. Pesky kids looking for cheap thrills? No way, says the Chandler Police Department. After some 400 hours of surveillance under the official heading of Operation "Night Stoner" (interestingly, many of the attacks during the six-week period began as early as 3 p.m.; apparently, "Night Stoner" sounds better than "Early Dusk Stoner"), the police have come to the conclusion that it was DiQuattro himself heaving the rocks.
Mike DiQuattro, 32, self-employed mechanic, family man, respected neighbor, well-liked fella. Heaving rocks. At his own property and that of his neighbors. At night. Over a six-week period. Calling the police more than 50 times. For no sane reason that anyone can think of.
It goes like this:
Right around Christmastime, rocks began coming out of the sky, landing on houses, on parked cars, in front yards, in backyards, shattering the quiet in the residential side streets of this Chandler neighborhood. These rocks were river stones, heavy things the color and shape of buffed-steel brains, from "golf-size to half the size of a basketball," according to one neighbor.
Most of the damage ($8,200 out of $9,600 total reported) was done to the property of Mike DiQuattro, who was a leader in the local Block Watch, a group that Chandler police Sergeant Ed Upshaw describes as "one of the best I've ever seen." So good, apparently, that the cops had a rough time attempting to carry out any level of discreet investigation without the neighbors knowing they were in the 'hood. DiQuattro--who said that, as much as he wanted to talk to me, his lawyer has instructed him not to--wasn't happy with the progress that the police were making, and he let them know it.
But the force had canny crime-solving techniques up its collective blue sleeve that DiQuattro never reckoned with. Sergeant Matt Christensen takes up the story.
"When we first went out there, he was misleading us, saying these things were being flung across an alley, or two or three houses, and hitting residences. We went back and tested it, got a house that was set for demolition, and we made a rock thrower. We pretty much plagiarized the design for a water-balloon launcher," reveals the sergeant. "We just beefed it up. By the time we got to where we could throw the rock far enough, the damage it did on the house was incredible. It would go clean through an outside wall and embed itself into an inside wall."
Destruction on that level was far worse than what was happening during the alleged DiQuattro stonings; the police nixed the idea that the culprits were kids with a catapult. But the investigation didn't stop there.
"It was obvious the rocks weren't being thrown by any device," Christensen continues, "so we backtracked. Our officers pretty much range in sizes; we got guys that are real thin and we got a couple of guys that are beef eaters. We took those people out there and had 'em throw rocks as far as they could to see what kind of range they could get. So once we did that, we tagged it into an area where the rocks could be thrown from. Then, once you plotted them all out on a map, it was obvious that DiQuattro's house was dead center."
Sergeant Upshaw, boss of Operation Night Stoner, pares down his professional skepticism to a bare, instinctive essence: Large rocks thrown to great heights and over long distances wouldn't pitter-patter on roofs. They would smash the hell out of the houses.
"I kept some of the rocks in my car the first couple days 'cause I wanted to ask people, 'Do you believe this thing fell out of the sky over a telephone pole?' My ass!"
I must admit, when I first heard of this strange case, I thought of the supernatural. I mean, rocks falling from the sky, seemingly out of nowhere, a mysterious barrage upon a distinct target--it all adds up to one painfully obvious answer in my mind: poltergeist activity.
I'm sure that everybody's familiar with the "Stone-Throwing Devil" that besieged houses at Great Island, New Hampshire, in 1682. Then, in 1903, a Dutch man living in Sumatra reported that stones coming through the roof of a bedroom were unusually slow of descent and warm to the touch. As recently as November of 1968 in Nicklheim, Germany, a laborer and his family were victimized by stone showers in closed rooms. When a priest was brought in to bless the house, a large rock fell from the ceiling, yet all the doors and windows were locked tight. The rock was sooty, and "warm."