Flanked by her defense attorneys, longtime fugitive Heather Tallchief appeared in federal court Thursday for sentencing on charges of embezzlement and possession of a fraudulent passport. Illustration by David Stroud.

The disparate pieces of Heather Tallchief's life collided in federal court on Thursday as she tried to reconcile her criminal past with who she became during more than 12 years spent on the run.

"I want you to understand that it's not in my nature to steal or to plot intricate thefts," Tallchief, 34, told U.S. District Judge Philip Pro in a halting voice. "I am not a thief. I am not a lifelong criminal."

Tallchief -- wanted for her role in a 1993 Loomis Armored van heist that netted $2.9 million outside Circus Circus -- voluntarily returned to the United States from the Netherlands last year to turn herself in to law enforcement.

Defense attorneys asked the court for leniency based on her surrender and her youthful susceptibility to the influence of Robert Solis, described as a Svengali-like figure who masterminded the crime and was the leader in the couple's private cult of two.

Solis, whom Tallchief left in 1994 after bearing a son, remains at large. Solis was 48 years old at the time of the crime. Tallchief was 21.

"I'd like to believe he actually loved me," said Tallchief, who was restrained in leg shackles and garbed in an orange jumpsuit with "Inmate" lettered across the back. "I loved him. I feel foolish and hurt now, but that's the past."

Pro gave Tallchief kind words and a measure of compassion before accepting her guilty plea and handing down a maximum sentence of 63 months in prison. Tallchief, Pro said, is all too typical of the female defendants who stand before him every day. Like Tallchief, most of them come from backgrounds that include bad childhoods, bad choices and bad boyfriends.

"You created the situation you find yourself in," Pro said as Tallchief bowed her head.

In addition, Pro said the sophistication and the impact of the crime had to be considered. Loomis Armored Inc. Vice President of Security John Toneatto spoke before Tallchief's sentencing and credited her with the infamy of creating the "drive-away" crime.

As far as Toneatto is aware, the 1993 heist was the first time on his watch that an employee of Loomis simply drove away with the cash they were entrusted to protect. Toneatto began working for the company in 1972. Unfortunately, Toneatto said, Tallchief's crime resulted in a rash of copycat crimes. That cost Loomis all of its casino contracts within a matter of months, which resulted in employee layoffs and further damage to the company's reputation.

"When you consider what sentence to impose, your honor, I ask that you also consider the message that will be sent to the persons who had to bear the brunt of her actions," Toneatto said. "I also ask the court to consider the message this sentence will send to anybody else who is contemplating following in Miss Tallchief's footsteps."

Tallchief apologized to Loomis and pledged to make reparation, which was also required by Pro, in the amount of $2,994,083.83. Tallchief said she does not know what Solis did with the stolen money. Part of it financed the couple's escape out of the United States to the Cayman Islands and also St. Martin. Tallchief plans to repay the funds by selling the movie rights to her story.

In a move prosecutors said was unusual, Tallchief made her first reparation payment Thursday, with $1,300 earned through the sale of photos to publications. In addition, one-third of whatever she earns while in prison will be garnisheed and put toward making reparation.

The daylong court proceeding took its toll on Tallchief. She made it calmly through the morning but began to break down when her attorney, Robert Axelrod, played a recording of character testimony from her friends and family in Amsterdam.

Tallchief cried as she listened to her longtime partner, Robert Wallace, and her closest friends recount their shock and heartbreak at finding out about her past, only to rally to her defense by describing her as a model mother, a loyal friend and a loving person incapable of committing any kind of crime today. The support came from friends Tallchief made while working as a maid, individuals who became close to her through her volunteerism at her son's school, and even from her 11-year-old son, Dylan, who appeared on the recording dressed in a tie and sweater.

"I hope I can see mummy soon," Dylan said as Tallchief's gaze locked on the projection screen.

Tallchief said Dylan is one of the main reasons she decided to turn herself in, even though she was in no danger of being captured. The child has no legal identity, something Tallchief wanted to remedy. Solis had registered the child's birth under a false name with fictitious parent names. After she left Solis with just $1,000 to her name, Tallchief worked as a prostitute to support her son, court documents state.

"If I have a life's achievement, that kid is it," Tallchief said.

Prosecutors opposed Tallchief's request for leniency, pointing out that she had committed not just one crime during her life, but several. Before meeting Solis, Tallchief married because a man seeking U.S. citizenship paid her to do so. She used a series of forged documents and false passports to travel after the Las Vegas heist. She has a history as a drug user.

U.S. Assistant Attorney Margaret Stanish also pointed out that if Tallchief were sentenced under current federal guidelines instead of the 1992 guidelines that apply, she would receive about 10 years in prison instead of 63 months.

"I think Miss Tallchief got what she deserved," Stanish said.