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THE CASE OF
The Blue Alarm Clock
A over day dawned upon the sleepy old river town, It was
August 11, 1944. Two young men, Bernard Arcen and Harry
Biglow, were strolling through the gently rolling valley about
seven miles west of the town in the hope »s of shooting a squirrel
yr tivo
- On th the slope of a particularly thickly wooded hillside, Biglow
Saw < flour -e sprawled on its back behind a clump of saplings.
The youths came ost . It was the body of an elderly man
with the top and back of his skull litera lly blown away. Oddly
enough, his hat was sti “a clinging to one side of his battered head.
aa | believe it’s old man Costigan,” remarked Biglow, edging
away. “His place 1s right up on the hill near the road. Let’ sca “all
the sheriff.” a |
The pair “ tened to a near-by farmhouse and called Sheriff
Henry J. Welsh, who came to the scene in a police cruiser, stop-
ping first to in up Coroner Roberts. On the way, Sheriff W elsh
1ad to pull out of the narrow road to allow a ruck to pass. The
icon noted that the machine had | just come out of the Costigan
farmyard.
There were two young men in the truck, and the sheriff
ordered them to halt. From the manner in which the pair spoke
to the officers they appeared unaware of the death of Costigan.
However, Sheriff Welsh decided to look over the premises before
viewing the body.
The door of the house was padlocked but something caught
the sherifi’s eye. The staple holding the hasp had been pulled
348
ww
HE BLUE ALARM CLOCK 349
out of the wood, then hammered loosely into place ; again.
The sheriff, Coroner Roberts, and the two men from the truck,
Barry Conover and Dave Luke, trooped into the humble, pov-
erty-stricken interior. They were joined by Bernard Arden and
Harry Biglow. Welsh asked the quartet of young men if the
noticed anything missing, as all admitted being familiar with the
home. They looked warily about; then one of them exclaimed:
“His alarm clock is gone. I remember he had one—a cheap
tin one, painted blue.”
“His shotgun is missing, too,” said another. “I remember the
old man saying something alone a hammer getting Brolses n off.”
The sheriff and the entire party then went to the scene of t ane
murder. Coroner Roberts estimated that the forme er had be
dead at least twenty-four hours.
“Efe was shot with a single load from a No. |
gun, at close quarters,’ ’ the coroner added. “Probably n
quota of lead pellets is still in the body. They did not scatter.”
The sheriff then interviewed the truck driver. “I don’t know
anything at all about what happened to the poor man,” stated the
young man. “I came here to haul off two hogs for Mr. Fitz-
gerald, who bought the hogs off Costigan Friday night.”
Try as Sheriff Welsh w ould, | he could g et no more from either
of the men. They stuck to their story, and at length he allowed
them to continue on their way, first caution ing an to hold
themselves available for questioning.
Next on Welsh’s list was Fitzgerald. The sheriff approac! hed
his home but instead of entering immediately, he first inter-
viewed the man’s neighbors. There was a rumor that F: tzger-
ald was a former convict. But it was not known w hy and where
he’d served his sentence.
Thus forewarned, the sheriff knocked on the door. A slen:
7 bo
der,
gray-haired Wee ui answered the summons; but at the sight of
the sheriffs shield on the officer’s vest, she shrank back. The
sheriff walled inside he room. As he questioned the woman,
something caught his ear: a dull tick tock tick tock!
Welsh removed a garment that appeared to have been thrown
hastily on the rickety dresser and beheld a cheap blue alarm clock.
Then his roving eyes caught sight of an ld double-barreled
shotgun. One of the hammers was broken off close to the side of
5 Pas ” al ONE HUNDRED TRUE CRIME STORIES
When4?ndersheritf Egan heard the description, he exclaimed:
Bp Viy God, thers the killer!”
Unfortunately, the police at Fairview had lost track of the
suspected murderer when the officers reached that town. It was
atter midnight, when returning, they saw a man trudging along
the road. As the officers passed him Egan gloried at his face. He
turned to Donald. “Drive down a way, then turn around. I
want to take a better look at that guy.”
The pedestrian grew pale when the officers pulled up and
started questioning him. “I don’t know what you’re talking
about. My name is Ted Harris. I came from Phoenix, Arizona.”
Donald said, “We’ll soon find out. I have the name of a rela-
tive of Brandon. He’! tell us soon enough.” The suspect was
forced in the back seat, still protesting.
They pulled up at the house of Brandon’s relative. “Do you
know this man?” he was asked. The answer came instantly: “Yes,
don faltered. “PVH admit Iam Brandon, but I don’t know
anything about a murder. I was afraid you fellows were out t
Bel me for something. Lhat’s why I hed”
Donald turned to the relative. “When did you see him last?”
he asked.
“te was in here a while ago and changed clothes. He bor-
rowed those overalls he is wearing from me. He took off the
clothes he was wearing. [hey’re in the house.”
Donald examined a pair of blue serge trousers. “See that snag
nthe seat??? he said shoving the trousers in Brandon’s face. “You
did that when you were killing Mrs. Swanson. You killed her,
and you killed Samuel Swanson. And if I weren’t sworn to up-
hold the law, Pd kill you in cold blood with my bare hands.”
Brandon was taken back to Meadville where witnesses not only
identimea him as Brandon, but also as tae man, Naylor, He
denied the crime, claiming he was miles away at the time.
The police started to build their evidence. The threads on the
trousers matched. Plaster casts of footprints found on the scene
also matched. Bullets found im trees near the house proved to
be from the gun Brandon had stolen from Samuel Swanson.
Confronted with this evidence Brandon changed his story. He
said that when he returned to the house to get his belongings,
Swanson had made angry accusations, and fired a shot at him. He
Pin THWARGED LOVER 2:78
( a e . ‘
had returned the fire and killed Swanson.
On December 10, the case went to trial, and on December 24,
tee jury retired to weigh the evidence. They returned two hours
- 1X7 rer: & S/S 7 7 “5
ater with the verdict: “Guilty of murder—with the recommen-
dation of the death penalty.”
ares case went to the highest courts. Once, with the execution
a few hours away, Brandon was given a stay, and a sanity com-
miussion examined him. He was pronounced sane.
fi S ¢ . f
noe August 10, 1944, almost two years atter the brutal murder
of Samuel Swanson and his wife, Brandon was led to the scaffold
to pay for the double killing.
Ne
The Thwarted Lover
da
T+ was a cold October evening in 1942, Samuel Swanson sat in
ir, A kerosene lamp on the table by b us side cast flick-
ering reflections on the window. The glow of the pot-bellied
é 1 FOOM Wath ame ea Rut
night, the lone figure of a man stood
stove in the center made th
stat, 1 the ae ale 4
QAUUSiCS, 1M une Cl Isp, Col
wife, entered the room after putting their
three youngsters to bed. Samuel pulled her onto his lap and
atrice. sdimuels
Outside, the man muttered fierce curses as he stood watching
the happy domestic scene. Hatred flared in his eyes. Then, with
a deliberate gesture he deen a revoly ver an aimed at Saitel
Swanson who was dimly outlined against the window.
a t blasted through the window, and Samuel’s head
H j oe (7a! Ae Ae Ua
slumped, bleod spurting at the base of
in
d
his skull. For a moment
Mrs. Swanson stood wide-eyed with fear and shock. Then, in the
frantic hope that he was still alive, she tried to drag him to the
old touring car they used to drive to Meadville, the nearest
town, twenty miles away.
When she appeared at the open doorway the figure leaped
ee A powerful blow at the top of her head laid her uncon-
scious, but the cold night and wet grass soon revived her. Slowly
hel got to her feet and started moving towards the car, but the
thi ueon ce more raised his gun. Twice he fired and once more Mrs.
Swanson dropped to the ground. This time she didn’t move.
270
SE ISLIS, AMISL WY AIR 0 18,1D) ILO) 10,192 271
bety
The next morning, at five o’clock, Morton B;: ‘own, a friend
who ailed for Samuel every morning to drive him to the | logging
camp where both men were em; ployed, drove up to the house.
He saw Samuel sprawled half-way out of the door. He did not
sce Beatrice, but he found the youngsters sleeping sara
1g
He hurried back into the car, intending iy at Ive to town to
notity the police. But after traveling fifty yards ae > came across
the still form of Mrs. Swanson. Nouns ae at ye still lived, he
carried her back to the house. He put ee to bed, made her as
MER ee as possible and then went for a
heritf Donald and Undersheriff Egan, who had just BSC.
Mee ‘airview, a small village near Nadal: , where t they had
been working on another crime, rushed to the scene. T ihe ey sus-
pected immediately that the same man was responsible for both
crimes.
A tew yards away from the spot where Mrs. Swanson was
found, the officers discovered several threads that were caught
ina br ole branch lying on the ground, Examination proved that
they were from heav y bine serge cloth. This, at least, was a clue.
Only the week before, Samuel Swanson had entered the office
of the sheriff and borrow ied a gun from hi im. He said that a man
he had hired to clear the brush thae gone olf with his pistol. L ater,
the dying Mrs. Swanson sbscloses. that the hired man, whose
name was Brandon, had made advances to her. She had en glad
Wilemiie leis ton sic was afraid that Samuel might hear 4 it
and start a fight. Still, the fact that the hired man had stolen a
gun and made ach anes to Mrs. Swanson did not make him a
murderer.
A thought struck Undersheriff Egan: “Doesn’t it seem 2 bit
unusual”? “he asked Sheriff Donald, “that Bran don, as Beatrice
Sremsar described him, bears a striking resemblance to Naylor,
the suspect in the Fairview case?”
When the officers reached Meadville they telephoned and
warned Fairview police to be on the lookout for the men Bran-
don and Siac The police stopped Undersheriff Egan by re-
marking: “Weve already heard of the murder from a young
fellow that came through this mornit ng. One of the patrolmen
was in a café eating with him, and he told him all about it.”
The patrolman was ie on the telephone. “What did the fel-
tow you talked to look like?” the undersheriff i: quired.
ee ge
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7 « Me CO? Lee ’ Wore oe ae eae a Loge, pee Dg ive De
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a hee Oh 0a Ze tas fact eS of tbsp belie Lig Bes fan, Ceres.
| AA Kiln,
aA
f
358 ONE HUNDRED TRUE CRIME STORIES
the stock. Phe woman moaned as she watched the sheriff looking
at the two articles.
“Low do you explain this!?? Welsh said relentlessly. “George
Costigan’s a ck and shotgun here, and his hogs outside in your
yard! Are you going to talk?”
“John used to work for Mr. Costigan,” said the woman. “I
only know he left here early Saturday morning to hunt work, anc
when he came back sound noon he had those things with him in
a sack. He told one of the boys to clean up the shotgun. Then he
told me to say that Mr. Costigan had come over the night before
and sold us the hogs. He said to tell folks we’d paid for them
with four five dollar bills—I don’t know why.”
Shortly afterwards Fitzgerald returned home. He was placed
under arrest, and when told of the reason and of his wife’s state-
ment, he shot a Venomous glance at the woman, declaring:
“T don’t know what you’re talking about. The old woman must
be out of her min . to say things like that!”
He made up a long, rambling story about meeting and talking
to Costigan, and buying the gun, clock and a double-bitted axe
from him.
Then, a telegram was received by the sheriff that split the case
itentiary disclosed that John Dinsmore
wide open. [ he State Pen
Fitzgerald was a pare bigot convict, released in December, ees,
In May, 1921, he had n urdered a farmer in exactly the same
manner as Costigan. The farmer’s body had been found buried
in a shallow grave not far from h is home, shot through the back
of h his head with a No. 12 gauge shotgun.
zeerald had presented forged papers which indicated that
the fas rmer had sold the farm to him. In fact, the murderer had
been calmly living in the house of the murdered man when
_]
wrested.
Fitzgerald had at first contended that he knew nothing about
the crime, but later confessed, and was given 199 years.
Realizing that, due to the merit system he could lighten his
term, Fitzgerald had resolved from the beginning to be a model
prisoner. After twenty-two years, he was released on parole and,
within a few short months, repeated the same crime for which he
had been at first committed.
Had that soft-hearted parole board forced him to stay in jail,
where he belonged, his second crime would not have been com-
HE BLUE ALARM CLOCK >
3
Cid
‘tar = al +) | ie = ss
m1 itted and the old man ne had de ‘stroyed Ww yuld s sti il] be livin r
,
Confronted with the inform: ition that his prison record w:
PLACOT Gt Vas
known, Fitzgerald confessed his crime . Cannily he realized
what the court and jury would think of a “not guilty” plea.
The trial was brie It was shortly after the noon hour when
i
ns jury began ah d eran en. tne pe was fin: ly ma
ra , ry
We, the ju ‘ie “find the ‘defendant culty as ‘Charced. and
“OCG, al
recom” end the death penalty as just punt ishment there yf”?
Jn October 30, he was brought before Judge Smith, who
pronounced the formal sentence and fixed the date of Seecusion
by hanging, on December 4, 1944. .
Too late did Fitzgerald realize that he could not faunt the
laws of God and man. —
