But Bissell’s aggressiveness led to accusations that he had overstepped his powers for personal gain, and ultimately the Feds indicted him. The governor stripped him of his job, and in May Bissell was convicted of 30 felonies, including abuse of power, embezzlement and tax fraud. Then, on Nov. 18–two days before his scheduled sentencing–he fled house arrest by cutting off his electronic-monitoring “ball and chain,” a wrist bracelet wired to police headquarters. Nick Bissell, 49, had come full circle–from flamboyant lawman to corrupt fugitive.

Not believing a suicide note he left behind in New Jersey, law-enforcement officials conducted an eight-day international sweep for Bissell. When U.S. marshals cornered him in room 374 of the Colorado Belle Casino south of Las Vegas last week, they found their quarry cowering on the floor, a French .380-caliber semiautomatic in hand. On the run, Bissell was hardly a criminal Einstein. He made cellular-phone calls to relatives and friends, which officials traced to Nevada. In the casino’s parking lot they found his hunter green Grand Cherokee, its New Jersey license plates replaced by a stolen set from Kentucky. During the brief early-morning standoff, one of the marshals tried to convince Bissell to surrender, asking him to think of his three children and the others he would leave behind. “I don’t want to hurt anybody,” Bissell replied, adding, finally, “I can’t do 10 years.” Bissell put the gun barrel in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

By killing himself, Bissell avoided a likely jail term of 6.5 to 8 years. But he leaves a family with big problems. His mother’s condo was put up as part of the bond while he awaited sentencing; ironically, it is now subject to forfeiture, though U.S. Attorney Faith Hochberg has hinted she may relent under the circumstances. Bissell’s wife, Barbara, was found guilty of 13 fraud counts in connection with her husband’s crimes and faces sentencing this week. The Bissells were convicted of skimming more than $200,000 from a filling station they owned, even cheating their partner of the proceeds from a life-insurance payout he received following his wife’s death. Prosecutors also said Bissell threatened to plant cocaine in the car of an Amoco representative who complained that the station wasn’t clean enough.

At a news conference, Hochberg expressed the obligatory shock about Bissell’s suicide. Others, though, could barely contain their glee. “He’s dead?” Denise Giuffre exclaimed to the Bergen Record. “Thank God!” Her brother-in-law James Giuffre had helped set Bissell up after Giuffre was arrested on drug charges. Bissell offered leniency in return for Giuffre’s surrendering two undeveloped lots he had bought for $174,000. Later, Giuffre wore a wire to help the Feds make their case. After Bissell fled, the FBI warned James Giuffre that he might come looking for him. In Franklin Township, the police put up a $1,000 reward for Bissell’s capture. He had feuded with them often and called police “crybabies, boneheads and jerks.”

In his heyday, Bissell was famous for his swagger. Fancy meals (when he wasn’t Slim-Fasting), fast cars, exotic vacations, Atlantic City blackjack–all were part of a larger-than-lifestyle financed by his misdeeds. He used money from the forfeiture fund to buy all 40 of his investigators memberships in a racquet club. He like to humiliate people, threaten them. Giuffre once ran into Bissell in the shower room of a gym, and Bissell went after him. Guiffre remembers it this way: “Watch out, Giuffre,” Bissell said. “My son’s in there, and if you drop the soap he’ll jam it up your a–.” The Bissell bravado, along with a psychiatric evaluation concluding he was not a threat to himself or others, may explain why the judge in his case let him remain at home pending sentence. Apparently, few thought the tough guy would turn out to be so weak under pressure. “He focused on himself, his needs and concerns,” Governor Whitman said after the suicide. “He never considered anyone else.”