When Duty Didn't Call

Cleveland Police Sergeant Cristino DeJesus had been on shift only a few hours January 3 when his cell phone rang. It was his brother-in-law, Timothy Moulder, and he needed help. Friends had spotted Moulder's face on a Crime Stoppers flier that afternoon, he told DeJesus. He had no idea why he was wanted.

After being married to Moulder's sister for 12 years, DeJesus knew his brother-in-law was no altar boy. He had been in and out of prison since age 19, his crimes growing more serious with each arrest. But Moulder insisted he was clean.

DeJesus hung up, then called Moulder 30 minutes later to get his Social Security number. With that, he logged into a police database. It showed Moulder was wanted for aggravated robbery, kidnapping, and felonious assault involving the gunpoint robbery of roofing company owner Robert Cutler in April 1999. Cutler had picked Moulder out of a photo lineup, and an arrest warrant had been issued in March 2000.

DeJesus called Moulder a second time. This time, they talked for eight minutes. DeJesus would later testify that he merely confirmed the warrant and told Moulder to get a lawyer. Moulder's fiancée, however, said DeJesus provided information from the police report. Either way, the damage was done. Desperate to avoid returning to prison, Moulder would swing violently into action within 24 hours.

Perhaps disturbed by the conversation, DeJesus tried to call his brother-in-law the next morning. Moulder wasn't home, so DeJesus waited. And though he would soon learn that Cutler had been shot, he continued to wait.

In fact, DeJesus didn't tell anyone about the conversation until he was summoned to the Cuyahoga County prosecutor's office months later. By then it was too late -- too late for Moulder, too late for DeJesus, and much too late for Robert Cutler.

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Cutler had no reason to be suspicious when he received a frantic phone call January 4. He was still in bed at 11 a.m., and the last thing he cared about was the caller's fallen tree and damaged roof. Cutler had the flu.

It was unusual to find him in bed, for Cutler seemed to delight in work. Even those rare hours when he wasn't on the job were filled with activity -- hiking, rappelling, skiing, canoeing.

Just over six feet tall and muscular, Cutler had a no-nonsense shaved head and a swarthiness from working in the sun. Strangers might mistake him for a tough guy; friends never made that mistake twice. His best friend, Kevin Williams, remembers inviting him to go deer hunting. Cutler said the only thing he'd shoot a deer with was a camera.

Williams met Cutler at the University of Florida. The two were soon hanging out every Friday with Cutler's girlfriend, Susi, watching a week's worth of taped Letterman shows and enjoying a beer or two. Both were Rust Belt transplants -- Williams from western New York, Cutler from Cleveland. Both were raised by their mothers.

"We did things where people might say, 'Men don't do that,'" Williams says. "But we learned from our mothers. He could ride around in his pick-up truck and do things guys do, but he could also do laundry and clean the house." He was a great cook with a talent for grilling, Williams says. "He cooked things you wouldn't expect a big tough roofer to cook."

Indeed, Cutler's profession seemed an odd fit. He graduated from Florida with honors and a degree in finance, but he wasn't bent on a slow climb up the corporate ladder. His father, Bob, owned Western Roofing and Remodeling in Cleveland. "It wasn't that he wanted to learn how to run a roofing company," Williams says. "He wanted to know how to run a business. He knew he could learn from his dad."

In the 13 years that father and son worked together, the company prospered. "He was a good person and a hard worker," Cutler Sr. says. "If he wasn't working here, he was at home working on the house."

Business was brisk, though Cutler found time to slip away to St. Thomas, marrying Susi with the sun in their hair and their feet in the water. They bought a house in Fairview Park and frequently entertained extended family, but only on the weekends. The week was for work.

When Dad retired in December, he handed the company to his only child. But, at one month shy of 35, the son had no desire to run the business for the rest of his life. He confided his master plan to his mother, Linda Grekian: work for five years, sell the company, move to Florida, slow down. "He was able to put together a long-range plan and realize he didn't have to work so hard forever," Grekian says. Cutler told Williams he might buy a marina.