California, S, 1884-1973, Undated

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action for false arrest. Beyond that I
have nothing to say.”

His protest was so genuine that for a
moment the officers felt misgivings and
considered the possibility that the actors
and settings in this extraordinary scene
were entirely legitimate.

But some hours later, after the trio had
been lodged in separate cells at the San
Francisco city prison, the men of the
robbery detail realized they had made one
of the most amazing hauls in their careers.

The two men with the smooth tongues
and the air of injured innocence were
actually Lloyd E. Sampsell, alias Sum-
mers, and “Mac” McNabb. They were
thugs, bandits and killers.

They had police and prison records
which began when both were boys in
their ’teens but the authorities had lost
track of them two years before when they
violated their last parole.

It was during this two-year period when
the police on the Pacific coast became
painfully conscious of the breath-taking
crimes committed by two men who were
more elusive than fictional ghosts. It
was the pouting, frustrated Sampsell who
cracked and told the story after Mc-
Mahon confronted him with a sheaf of
cancelled checks which, identified as part
of the Berkeley bank loot, had been found
ina desk at the Leavenworth street apart-
ment.

He confessed with a strange, twisted
pride, boasting about the things which
“men with brains” could do. But he over-
looked the stupidity that made them keep
the worthless, telltale checks from the
last bank they had robbed. Only a warped
mental perspective could produce the con-
tradictions that spilled from Sampsell’s
lips that night and, in some respects, they
were heralds of the disaster and death
these two men would breed in later years.

Some weeks before, Sampsell said, he
and McNabb had purchased the yacht
“Sovereign.” :

Then, fortified with ruthless determina-
tion and their guns, they began the series
of robberies which had terrorized three
Pacific coast cities and baffled police.
On each occasion, instead of crawling into
some underworld hole for safety they put
to sea in the luxurious yacht.

“And we'd have been out there yet,” the
bandit said bitterly, “if we hadn’t made
the foolish mistake of getting that apart-
ment in town and keeping our guns and
money there.”

“Your wife was in on these jobs with
you, Sampsell?” McMahon questioned.

The gunman’s expression underwent a
sudden change.

“Now, listen,” he said between his teeth.
“I’m not making a grandstand play, but
she had nothing to do with the stickups.
She has always thought McNabb and I
were salesmen, never anything else. You
can throw the book at me but leave her
out of this.”

“Maybe you’re right,” McMahon said.
“But we'll find out for ourselves. And
now,” he added with grim humor, “where
would you like to go first, Los Angeles,
Berkeley or Vancouver? They’re all yell-
ing for a chance to try you.”

A hollow mocking laugh came from the
bandit’s lips.

“What difference does it make where
go? I know where I’m going to end up
and so does Mac.” .

Several days later the authorities de-
cided to keep the criminal pair in
northern California and try them for the
two Berkeley holdups. The Alameda
county grand jury voted indictments al-
most immediately and’ in a few short

weeks they were convicted of both rob-

-beries and sentenced to Folsom prison for

life as habitual criminals. Sampsell’s wife,
cleared of all complicity after thorough
investigation, was released and went out
alone to gather up the broken pieces of
her life.

So the two “ghost” bandits entered the
oblivion of Folson. Sampsell and McNabb
both had college training and considerable
talent. They had made a warped pattern
of their youth and shamed the intelligent
and financially independent parents who
fought so hard to turn them straight.

They received numbers and coarse gray
suits, and by all the mathematics of
justice they should have been swallowed
in the anonymity of prisor routine. But
Sampsell and McNabb nursed their ego-
tism and fed it with hate and growing
fury. They looked ahead through the
long crawling years and saw themselves
rotting and being carried from those walls
feet first. Thus were sown the seeds of
despair which would harvest a hellish
crop.

Just one year after the big house gates
had closed and dulled the horizon for
Sampsell and McNabb, a guard walking
near the prison carpenter shop stumbled
over a bundle of cloth. It was too dark
in the corridor to see clearly so he rolled
it up and took it to the office of Warden
Court Smith. And there the shocked
officials identified the bundle as the
crumpled uniforms of the San Francisco
desperadoes.

It took only a few minutes to make a
checkup.

Barney Huse, Smith's executive secre-
tary, hurried back to the office, shaking
his head and frowning.

“They're gone, eh?” Smith anticipated
the news.

Huse nodded.

“That's right, Warden. Absolutely no
trace of them. Looks like they got out.”

“I’m not so sure,” Warden Smith said
quickly. “But it’s possible. C’mon, I'm
going to turn this place upside down.”

That night, with every available guard
pressed into service the great fortress-
like penitentiary was bathed in the glaring
spray of searchlights and searching for
hours. Cells were ransacked while the
prisoners sulked and grumbled. Flying
squads of guards swept through the shops
and out-buildings like a human sieve. A
special detail plodded along the stony
banks of the nearby frothing American
river, looking for ground holes.

But when morning came Sampsell and
McNabb still were missing.

The search turned to Sacramento, Calif,
the state capital 16 miles away.

But Lloyd Sampsell and his snarling
companion did not venture near Sacra-
mento and Warden Smith continued the
hunt at the prison, convinced with every
passing hour that the convicts never had
passed the boundary walls.

Finally, on the morning of the seventh
day, Warden Smith was standing alone in
the blower room of the blacksmith shop
when he heard a faint scraping sound
near him...

What was this eerie noise? Could prison
officials combat the evil forces which these
desperate men had unleashed within the
prison? Watch for the climax and smash-
ing conclusion of this thrilling story in the

April Issue of

STARTLING DETECTIVE ADVENTURES

Chain

stopped both n
Sanford and
Holle’s house. €
out of the prow
Holle auto.

“Hello, Eddie

Holle looked
recognizing the
had a chance
flashed his shi¢
audible undert:
car in the gar
Act natural, wi

Holle’s jaw r:
steering gear s
shone white.

“Okay,” he sa

Holle drove
lowing at a cle
garaged the au
his wife, “You
side, honey. I
corner for a |
right back.”

Puzzled, his

“What is it, F
no trouble is tl

“Trouble’s th
Holle.

Joining the r
car at the curb
asked: “Wha
me?”

“You're a g
officers rejoin:
ask you a few
quarters.”

“Can't you a

“Nope.”

Driving doy
the officers w
ing toreply to
concerning his

M MEDIAT
quarters, p:
barrage of w
“How's So
Meagher’s fir
was subseque
hour ordeal.
“Sophie?
Kujat?” Holl
“You know
“T don’t kn
seen her for
“Meaning a
Holle pon
that. I used:
ried now, yo!
any more.”
“You woul:
wife keep y<
friend, would
“She wasn
friend. Neve
Meagher t
‘She wasn't }
“It was a
you call then
her out four
like that bef
Why, what's
“Sophie’s t
“No 1”
“So you're
“Naturally
“It should:
“Me? No

gether on that
says you were
r on old Pop.”
unk. His face
100k with rage.
lirty liar!” he
side the bakery
vent in. When
im, Riddell was

he cellar where
eer and said to

or they'll be
yn the old guy,
ny Bowen who

The dirty rat!
to the hot seat

youth quieted.
“T believe you.
en and it won’t

“He went up
some relatives.
now.” He had
' realizing how
d him. But it

in learning the
tives and tele-
e James Mac-
., to arrest the

e Quincy police
i was being held
must be pressed
ek.

1 papers in two

wen's case was
because it was
‘sident Herbert
removal papers.
yen decided to

ler against me,”
re in Pictou at

, 27,a charge of
against him by
Massachusetts,

che date for the

1 on that day,
| papers and a
using Bowen of

to get his rela-
onsented to ac-
icer back to the

the crime, was
hearing Feb. 8.
. complete con-

ing the evening
“\We had been
We reached the
kery at Atlantic
lace to get beer.
bakery shop to
go we purchased

id we agreed to
and beer. We
hop and around
we approached
-d to mask our-
n’t recognize us.
adkerchief over
t a handkerchief
ed it behind my
ar a fence and
‘it in my pocket
1a gun.

“T entered the bakeshop first with Daly
behind me. We surprised Pop and I told
him to ‘Stick ’em up!’ Pop put his hands
over his head and Daly rushed by me
and went into the store where the cash

’ drawer was.

“T held the stick in my pocket and Pop
thought it was a gun. Daly yelled out,
‘I can’t open it,’ meaning the cash drawer,
and at that instant Pop took his hands
down and grabbed me by the front of
the coat.

“He started to wrestle with me and he
hit me twice in the face. I hit him on the
jaw and knocked him down. He got up
and rushed me.

“T hit him again and knocked him
across a table. He arose with an awful
look on his face. He had a scratch on
his face and I punched him again on the
chin and throat. He fell on the table and
I yelled to Daly to hurry up. I don’t
remember if I hit Pop with the stick.

“Daly came running out and we left.
Pop was partly on the table and bleeding
a lot under the chin. First we dragged
him in the rear room where nobody would
see him.

“T took my handkerchief off and started
to run away. Daly still had his handker-
chief over his face. He was dumb and
I pulled it off him. He probably would
have worn it to Quincy if I hadn’t.

“We went to Neponset down the rail-
road tracks and into a little shanty. Daly
turned over all the money, $12, to me,
and we went into a restaurant in Nepon-
set and while eating there Albert Martin,
who gave me the handkerchief I had
used, came in.

“The three of us went out after eating
and changing a lot of the pennies we
had into nickels. I gave Martin eight
pennies and told him to beat it.

“Then Daly and I went home. I took

some of the money and hid it in the
ground back of my house.

“T took my blue serge suit that was
spattered with blood and tore it into
shreds and went downstairs and hid it
between a bunch of lathes in the cellar.

“Then I went to bed. The next day at
11 o’clock I went over to Daly’s house
and learned that Pop Riddell was dead.
Daly and I went back to my home and
I dug up the money and we went to the
movies in Scollay Square, Boston.

“We left $5 or $6 buried. Three days
later I went to Pictou.” 5

Bowen,. arraigned before Judge Albert
E. Avery in Quincy, was held without
bail for the April grand jury.

Daly had previously been arraigned in
Dedham court by Assistant District At-
torney George W. Arbuckle and was held
in $20,000 bail as a material witness.
After Bowen’s confession, Daly was
brought back into court and held without
bail on a charge of first degree murder.

The pair went to trial May 22, 1933,
on charges of first degree murder. The
jury was hardly drawn before Bowen was
permitted to plead guilty to a second de-
gree charge. He then turned state’s evi-
dence against Daly. But the jury dis-
agreed.

Bowen immediately was sentenced to
life imprisonment in Charlestown Prison
and Daly remanded to a cell to await a
second trial.

Prosecutor Arbuckle announced that
Daly had agreed to plead guilty to a
charge of being an accessory after the
fact of murder and Judge Nelson P.
Brown sentenced him to two years in
the house of correction at Dedham.

(The names Albert B. Martin and Arnold B.
Moore are fictitious to protect the identity of
innocent persons.—The Editor.)

Partners in Doom
[Continued from page 11)

An almost imperceptible shadow flitted
across the man’s face.

“Oh,” he said.

“What’s your name?’?’ McMahon
snapped.

“Surmers. Lindley Summers. And I
assure you,” his voice was purring, “that
you are making a grave mistake. And
furthermore, what are you doing in here
without a search warrant?”

McMahon grinned.

“Don't worry. I’ve got one, and I’ve

_ already had a pretty good look around.”

“Oh, you mean you found the guns?”
Summers said quickly. “Of course, I don’t
wonder that you were suspicious. But as
a matter of fact, we were getting ready
to go on a hunting trip.”

“With tear gas, too, I suppose?”

Summers smiled wryly.

“No, you see, I’m a salesman for a
Chicago firm that ‘handles all those
things.”

The detective nodded.

“Got an answer for everything, huh?
Well, Mr. Summers, it won’t take long
to find out if your story’ll hold up. Now,
just, turn around and keep your hands
high.”” McMahon’s left hand went over
Summer’s clothes with a practiced touch
and found a fully loaded automatic in a
holster under the man’s left armpit.

“Okay,” he said, “now step into the next
room.”

Summers shrugged and marched stiffly
into the next room to face the appre-
hensive, questioning stare of the pretty
young woman who was his wife. He
masked his surprise at seeing her in
Rauer’s custody and spoke quickly.

“Now, don’t worry, honey. There’s a
mistake somewhere and it won't take long
to straighten out.”

“Oh,” she said in evident relief. “I
wasn't really worried but—”

Detective Rauer frowned.

“Save it,” he cut in. “You can do your
talking after we’re out of here.”

“Okay,” Summers said.

Returning to his post at the door Mc-
Mahon was joined by Detectives Wall and
Meyer whom McLaughlin had called in
from the street. A few minutes later
they swarmed over the third of the mys-
terious tenants, a hatchet-faced man with
deeply set black eyes, a carefully waxed
moustache and a thin cruel mouth. He
was wearing expensive sports clothes and
was carrying two loaded revolvers.

“I suppose you’re a salesman, too,” Mc-
Mahon said dryly.

“My name is Ethan Allan McNabb,” the
man said curtly. “And I-might add that
my attorney will take steps to bring an

FINGERMAN

Len Bash (above) tells one of the most
sensational “‘inside’’ gangster stories ever
written.

"Let Dillinger get the glory.
We'll get the cash!"

That was the motto of the quick-
shooting desperadoes of the Gibson
Gang for which Len Bash served as
fingerman.

Murder... kidnap... bank stick-
ups... the double-cross, all are
written in scarlet across every page
of Len Bash’s exciting story which
is presented as the book-length
feature of the March frue, now on
sale.

In addition the new, thrill-packed
issue of #rue includes more than a
dozen exclusive crime, mystery and
adventure stories. No other magazine
on the newsstands gives you more
thrills for -your money than frue.

GET YOUR COPY TODAY!

ae
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LENGTH OEE xe

HY MOB—A BOOK

THE PAINTED HOU

MAR. ISSUE

rue

NOW ON SALE

PN SUEUR GE teks OE |

“

LIEUTENANT Mort Greer holds
the snub-nosed .38 revolver that
killed one man and badly wounded
another. The slayer left it when
his pursuers almost trapped him.

INSIDE DETECTIVE, May, 1919.

eo Ras

ARROW POINTS to the blood spot
where the desperado met resistance
as he fled after robbing a finance
company. Three shots cleared an
escape path to the street outside.

Pa iad

by Prencls W. Hilton

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CORNERED IN HIS FLIGHT, THE ROBBER CUT LOOSE WITH A GUN. HIS BULLETS TOOK ONE

FROM THE INSIDE FILES OF SAN DIEGO

BUSINESS “WAS brisk at the Seaboard
Finance Company at Second Avenue and
B Street that Saturday morning of March 27,
1948. The early California spring had come to
San Diego and restless employes glanced long-
ingly at the sunlight slanting through Venetian

blinds. But as noon approached, eight patrons -
were still transacting business or waiting, seated, .

in the lobby.» .

At her cash drawer in the center of the long
counter was Mrs. Earline Loop, cashier. To the
left was Mrs. Ardis Hartong. Mrs. Mildred
Andreen stood nearby waiting on a customer.
At their desks were Mrs. Ruth Bailey, Mrs.
Violet Marshall and manager Robert E. Runyon,
while in the rear sat Harley Cook, a suburban
Chula Vista policeman and part time investigator
for the Seaboard company. He was in civilian
clothes and unarmed.

Across an aisle from the business enclosure

“were three opaque glass cubicles, all- occupied. In

one, Ray .Treinin was waiting on Arthur W.
Smith, an employe of the Rohr Aircraft Cor-

poration and vice president of. Machinists -
Lodge No.-775. . oy

“Into this busy scene two men walked, almost

unnoticed. The larger, a hulking figure in a.

wrinkled brown suit and brown hat, halted just
inside the main entrance, one of two doors into
the office from the street. His companion, in a
neat pin-striped blue suit and gray hat, sanntered
across the lobby idly contemplating the windows.
Those on the Second Avenue side already had
been shuttered against the morning sun. He
calmly pulled the shades on the B Street side.
His action went unnoticed by busy workers. Nor

» did they look up when he walked through the

employes’ gate and passed between the rows of
desks to where Runyon sat in the rear.

“Get in the back!” he ordered quietly, his
right hand in his coat pocket:

“What goes on here?” demanded the startled
manager, rising. ;

Cook overheard the remark. He arose and
moved beside Runyon and the stranger.

“I said get back!” The intruder slid a snub-
nosed revolver from his pocket. Without question
both Runyon and Cook obeyed.

The gunman left the two facing a tier of filing
cabinets, their backs to the counter, and walked
up front to Mrs. Loop. He rammed the revolver
against her side, opened the cash drawer and
scooped its contents into his pockets. Then he
moved to the cash drawer of Mrs. Hartong,
where the procedure was repeated.

The bandit returned to Runyon and Cook. He
spoke in an undertone. Runyon shook his head.
The gunman came forward and crossed the lobby
to the safe in the corner near a window facing
B Street.

For the first time the customers realized what
was happening. Pockets crammed with money,
the bandit moved from behind the counter, re-
volver in hand. He tried the safe. It was locked.
He forced Mrs. Loop to open the strong box.

From it the bandit took a small bag of

wae

LIFE

< : ae : ~

PRETTY MRS. EARLINE LOOP
was forced at gunpoint to open
a safe from which the robber
took a bag of money. She Ia
ter gave a clear story of crim

a
coins which he rammed into his pocket. His
big confederate slipped outside. Brandishing
the revolver, the gunman began backing to
the entrance. : ;
Having finished his business with Treinen
in the cubicle, and unaware of what “was

ing, Smith too started for the door.

He attempted to crowd past.the bandit only
to be pushed back. r

“T'm late for work,” he protested. “I have
to hurry.” Again he reached for the door
knob and was shoved aside:

“You-can't keep me here. I’m not an em-_
ploye,” Smith argued, ignoring the gun.

Y NOW-Runyon and Cook had moved up
; tothe counter. Cook edged through the
gate and moved cautiously across the lobby

gunman
~ now-had the door open but still faced Smith.
» Before the bandit could turn, Cook threw
himself on him, pinning his gun arm to his
side. Smith grabbed the robber about the
neck and jerked him forward. The three
tottered and started to fall. The revolver

But Cook’s hold was broken. He righted
himself and lunged for the gunman only to
stagger back as a bullet smashed into his
groin. The robber whirled and bolted out-
side. Runyon and Treinen, still clutching the

ash stand, started in pursuit. Cook staggered
to the telephone on the counter, braced him-
“self, called police, then collapsed. The pa-
trons, who had stood quietly through the

affray, broke for the door.

Up Second Avenue to A Street the bandit
raced, Runyon and Treinen shouting at his
heels. Once he turned and fired at the
~~ crowd that had joined in the chase.

: Runyon and Treinen ducked to cover be-

- hind an automobile then sped after the ban-
. dit as he fled down A Street toward First
Avenue. Treinen hurled the ash stand. The
robber dodged it, leaped into the street and
onto the running board of a car driven by
H. J. Bootman of San Diego, who was slow-
ing down for the boulevard stop at First
Avenue and A Street. The gunman sent a
bullet through the car, narrowly missing
Bootman’s wife and small child. The star-
tled driver lost control and smashed into
the curb. The bandit stepped down and
lurched across First Avenue.

Gordon Perry, chief of the photo-offset de-
partment of the Naval Electronics laboratory,
also slowing for the intersection, slammed on
his brakes to keep from hitting the weaving
gunman, only to have him jump on his run-
ning board.

“Keep going,” the bandit ordered, shoving
the gun against the startled Perry’s temple.
“Over to Broadway, and drive fast.”

“Perry obeyed. Three blocks down First
Avenue was the Greyhound Bus terminal.
Before Runyon and Treinen could ov:
them in a commandeered taxicab, the gunman
leaped from Perry’s car and disappeared
into the crowded bus station. Perry pulled
to the curb, found a telephone and called po-
lice. But by now squad cars were coming
from every direction, sirens screaming. The
police radio was rasping an alert to every
cruiser car in the city and its suburbs.

San Diego Detective Captain Clyde Freed
was among the first to arrive at the Sea-
board office. With complete composure Mrs.
Loop told her story.

-“He came up behind me and pulled open
my-cash drawer,” she said. “Up to that
oe I did not know he was in the office.
slammed the drawer shut, nearly catching

INSIDE

Wi Inside gambling: Bloated underworld big-

-wigs are actually having trouble counting all

the money they are =
raking in from to-
day’s ‘ unprecedented
gambling fervor on
the part of the
American people.
The take this year is
running to $1,500,-
000,000 a <month—
triple the betting to-
tal of a decade ago.

@ Suspects being
5. * aotad li di,

graph chart.

‘ss ‘Inside _ Europe: Streptomycin, ‘Science’s

newest miracle drug, is for sale abroad—in
the black market. Racketeers keeping pace
with the spread of tuberculosis overseas have
built up reserves of penicillin, streptomycin
and other antibiotics. Drug peddlers name
their own price; they know the balance of
life and death is in their hands.
- A * Aolsl, bb sadee 1 in
handling firearms takes a toll of 200 lives a
year in this country. Twe out of three fatal
accidents take place in the home; here half
the victims are children using guns for play:

JRMATION

BY LARRY ROBERTS

their cases with candid camera shots of their
subjects working around the grounds of
their homes or playing softball on a neigh-
borhood lot. Some investigators rig 2 movie
camera inside one of their car's headlights,
then sit back inconspicuously and let the
camera grind away.

m Room service: When a suspect is under
surveillance in 4 hotel room the chambermaid
changes his writing desk blotter every time
she makes the bed and cleans up. The used
blotters go to headquarters where document
examiners study the reversed writing of the
blotted ink impressions for clues.

empties. Cons beat this

phine gets into the patient’s bloodstream ;
instead the fluid backs up into the frosted
glass plunger for the inmate nurse to remove
at his own convenience.

ge: Im Mexico a bribe is

rs ca gee

things. About one-third of the a
deaths on hunting trips are self-inflicted.

veillance assignment frequently use a lighted
match to signal each other. Sleuths never
use book matches—always box matches,
which they prepare for guaranteed perform-
ance by rubbing the match head on a cake
of wax.

gw In important cases police no longer wait
for a suspect picked up under the influence
of liquor or narcotics to sleep it off before
questioning him in the morning. With such.
prisoners, to sober up is to clam up. So, no
matter what the felon’s condition, some offi-
cer has to sit down with him and hang on
the slobbering monologist’s every word in
order not to miss a possible lead worth fur-
ther investigation.

w Trade marks:
Seat a silversmith, a
shoemaker, a violin-
ist,-a jazz drummer
and an explosive
plant worker around
a dinner table, and a
veteran detective or
identification expert
can infallibly pick
them out by occupa-
tions. Shoemakers
have black-stained fingernails; silversmiths
come to have a slate gray complexion; ex-
plosive workers’ skins are stained a red-
yellow hue; violinists have a callus on their
necks; jazz drummers have the callus on
their left ring fingers.

@ Insurance company sleuths investigating
fake disability claims work on Saturdays and

~ his fingers. He shoved the gun in my side,
; (Continued on page 49) _

Sundays. ‘That's when they often crack

“ag Night light: Detectives on a night sur-”

@ Sp ng’

la mordida—the bite. Petty officials who put
the bite on are -los
mordelones—the
biters. Professional
fixers—the shady
characters who expe-
dite official business
by greasing thie right
palms—go by the
moniker los coyotes.

mw Add hofne-made
secret inks: milk,

w Comes winter and Treasury Alcohol Tax
Unit revenooers take off in planes following
snowstorm for a look-see ‘over rural illicit
still districts. Where A-men note snow
melting extra rapidly from part of a barn
roof, they know the internal heat may be
innocently generated by farm animals stabled
below—or moonshine cooking.

mw Police stenographers rank among the
country’s most accurate amanuemses. et
whenever they transcribe their shorthand
notes of a slayer’s confession, they somehow
become all thumbs. Scarcely a page is with-
out a typographical error. Slayers, carefully
reading over every word of their confessions
before they sign, naturally pick up obvious
misspellings of names and places and correct
them in their own handwriting. This gives
police a sample of the slayer’s script on every
page, so no wily defense attorney can claim in
court his client never read the confession but

just signed his name to the last page of it. ;

Horror in the

House
(Continued from page 25)

appeared to have been ransacked.

were strewn everywhere.

When the man returned to his wife’s side,
“The house has

The discovery of violent t seem.
: death had -
shocked pope — extent that
le no! lice by the
red Ralph C. Rueger of ” iar Point
family physician kne ichol
Longstaff had 2 weak heart and that he fe
- is i
tion, but it took only a cureoy ee ere
to prove to him that the daughter’s worst
rs were well ‘founded. He notified the
ties immediately.

Chief of A : :
ant ge Ree Jack Harvill, Lieuten-

in less than three eden my in this precinct

only ten bi Long:
staff house at 9138 Hayes Accne’ Wone

lowski
s was slain during a robbery of his

A bloody handpri living room
print on the
wall und floor of the Longstaff la led
jhe investigators to believe the victim had
felled in the living room but had
aled to his feet again. —
_ tle put up a terrific is. life,”
Lieutenant Kimball pole Passo =
tt hohe cigarstand, its handle te toned
geant Jocque pointed to an eight-inch

of metal, a piece of the shattered stand.

“Ai
Rrsy that could be the death weapon,” he
Deputy Coroner Vincent M i
pe Lieutenants Albert Langtry and. lames

‘orce’s scientific laborat
Le —_ ,of the head and left chest are
a few minutes later And gress announced
i 2 there’
peat groin finger = Pe right Seed Boon
D caus a bl
—_ instrument that pleat Era lg Td
- : : as Gene approximately three hours.
a Post mortem will tell the complete
The technicians from th
son e laboratory had
ira [oe to work, searching the scene
ief Harvill and Lieutenant Ki
= to question the distraught p awe
er the body had been removed.

“] LEFT the house about i
s 6:15 t wa
| Mrs. Lenz explained tearfully. “pace.
go bowling on Mondays at the Ramona Rec-
reation at Hickory and the Six Mile road.
We didn’t like to leave father alone beca:
he was diabetic and his food needed spacial
——
“Loren said that he would prepare so:
oe. I was to meet him at soles pico
mers when I finished bowling. I did,

* screamed : Teg thee the woman
ro hysterically. “Father’s been marx

“Father rarely moved from his favocite one sca cs
. - as fa L oy i
~ mags ~ Shi i Mon Sa ne could ge om came
. rove up in front of
house T noticed the light was on in the din- “aaa: Grain Bo “One hak.
i remar! about it to Loren.
went in while my husband put the car dar ihn

F
3
>
i
z
i
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¥.
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right away. It
that the house had |

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burly inspectors from San Francisco
police headquarters pushed quickly: past
her. A nude man sprang from a wall
bed and darted toward the window,
snatching a pair of trousers as he ran.
Two of the inspectors overtook. him,
bore him to the floor and thonged him.

Lloyd Sampsell had once more been
interrupted at his love-making, not an
infrequent calamity with this man who
was equally adept with honeyed words
or-a pistol. ;

The story soon came out in all its
sordid corruption. Not only had Samp-
sell been visiting Mrs. Bordet regularly
on week ends, but she had visited him
at Folsom and they had been taking
long walks together through the grain
fields and vineyards and woods of the
prison farm. They had gone unattended
and, as happens when men and romantic
women meet under such auspices, love
making had frequently ensued.

A warden lost his job for this and
several guards were fired, too. Samp-
sell had gone back to prison

Three years later, through loopholes
of the parole system in California,
Sampsell again walked out of prison,
free on parole with only the necessity
of making the formal reports to stay
him from his former activities. Precious
little restraint that was for -one as
criminally resourceful as Lloyd Samp-
sell.

EER pulled mug shots of Sampsell

from the San Diego police files
and showed them to bank employees.
All unhesitatingly identified the like-
nesses as Sampsell’s and there was
no longer any doubt as to the main
quarry.

There was, however, no remote iden-
tification of the slouching, tweed suited
man who had acted as lookout and un-
successful chauffeur for Sampsell.

Realizing that here was a case beyond

the scope of his own department, Geer
immediately contacted the FBI in Los
Angeles. He was put in touch with W.
A. Murphy, veteran investigator of
bank robberies and mail stickups, a
man with a finger on every known
desperado in America. Told that the
second man in the tragedy had not
been identified, Murphy packed a
series of photographs of known as-
sociates of Sampsell and took off for
San Diego.

There he found that Sampsell’s trail
had not exactly ended at the door of
the business building to which the taxi
driver had delivered him.

Following the first reports from the
bus station, another station employee
checking some stock in the room used
by Sampsell for quick change purposes,
found a .38-caliber revolver stuffed
behind some unclaimed luggage.
Turning it over to the police, she
had the satisfaction of seeing it definite-
ly identified as the murder weapon
of B-Street.

There had been other developments.
The late afternoon newspapers had
carried descriptions of Sampsell, both

38°" H469 7528 Greenwood, Chicago, II!. 60619

as he appeared when he robbed the

Seaboard and as he was last seen, |

by the bus station employees and the
taxi driver.

This unfortunate publicity,
knew, would provoke Sampsell into a

recognized in an attempt to get out

of the city on a public carrier. Certainly,.

having missed his escape car, he would
have to take that route out.

Geer ran a complete check on the
better clothing shops of the town. His
hunch that the elegant thug would dis-
dain the cheaper emporia, even though

that would have seemed most indiscreet
in his case because of his known fancy |

for the best, paid off for Geer.

A man answering the bandit’s descrip- *
tion had purchased a tan, tweed jacket /

bth age RA. 3. sca oS

Geer ©

still further change of attire, lest he be ©

in one place, a pair of dark brown’ ©
gabardine slacks in another and a pair ©

of brown and white spectator shoes
and a $135 English kit bag in another.

ties 1 RNeS ba.

Viet eda er iia 6

man in tweeds had called to ask if a .

Mr. Simmons had registered there.
From the description, it was obvious
that the tweedy man was the con-
federate trying to contact Sampsell.

Murphy then produced the FBI pho-
tographs and after a careful study of
them, the hotel man pointed to a pho-
tograph of one Albert (Fatty) Richard-
son, an erstwhile cellmate of Sampsell’s
at San Quentin.

“There’s something in that man’s face
that reminds me of the fella that came
here,” he said, “but he’s too fat...
too jowly. The fella that came here
was sort of emaciated ... that is, his
jowls kind of hung down, like a blood-
hound’s, and his clothes hung on’ him
loosely.” ; 5

Murphy produced another photo-
graph. It was of a man with a wrinkled
face and slack mouth and drooping
neck folds. The hotel manager said,
quickly, “Certainly . . . that’s the man

. not the fat one here.”

Murphy nodded. “Same man,” he
said. “Richardson got out of Quentin
on a T.B. plea and I guess he really
had it. They say he picked up with
Sampsell again .. . parole officers got
the new shots...”

Bank employees promptly identified
the ,thin-faced image as Sampsell’s
accomplice and Murphy and Geer were
ready for their next move—and: where
it would lead to, and how, not the most
sanguine police official could have pre-
dicted.

ORKING in collaboration with
Geer, Murphy began. the long,
tedious job of checking every move
made by Sampsell since his release
from San Quentin.
Given permission, after this release,

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to leave California, where he was about
as welcome as bubonic plague, Samp-
sell had been assigned a parole check
point in Kansas City. There, Murphy
learned, he had reported regularly
until approximately three weeks before
the Pasadena job, in March.

The investigation was apparently
endless. In time, Murphy learned that:
Sampsell had spent several days in
Los Angeles after the Pasadena robbery
and prior to the San Diego job.

It was at this time that the mauve
interlude with the lush blonde in the
swank hotel occurred—an assignation
from which he had walked into the
stickup-murder that once again set the

‘nation’s bloodhounds on his spoor.

Murphy learned that shortly after
the Diego holdup, a man in a tweed
suit—a slouchy, emaciated man—had
appeared at the hotel seeking both the
blonde and Sampsell. Muttered impre-
cations overheard by hotel employees
indicated that the man was in no mood
for frivolity and might bear some
lasting grudge against the bandit.

Upon this last incident Murphy
based a campaign which only time
could develop successfully.

He caused newspaper reports of the
chronic perfidy of Sampsell to be ‘pub-
lished and injected the underworld
grapevine with legends of Sampsell’s
double dealings with his confederates.
He played up his ‘treachery in the
Ethan Allen McNabb case and caused
to be circulated stories of how Sampsell
had consistently failed to split the loot
of his robberies with his aides.

Through channels, he endoctrinated
the underworld with the Sampsell
technic. Always it was Sampsell who
scooped up the money and always it
was Sampsell who kept the booty in
his charge until time to cut it up. Then,
as often as not, he misrepresented his
take; but just as often he simply doled
out a miserable lagniappe to his suckers
and arrogantly pocketed the rest.

This chicane campaign had gone on
almost a year when a tall man, im-
maculately dressed in a double breasted
sharkskin suit, white shirt with regi-
mental striped tie of conservative
colors, highly polished black shoes,
gray semi-Homberg hat and carefully
placed breast pocket handkerchief, and
wearing rimless ‘spectacles and carry-
ing an expensive brief case, entered
the Hoover Street Branch of the Bank
of America in Los Angeles and stepped
briskly to a cashier’s window.

Tersely he ordered the cashier to
give him what cash he had in his cage,
at the ‘same time showing a _ short-
barreled Luger pistol almost concealed
in his wide palm and long, bony fingers.

The cashier piled the money on the
counting ledge and the bandit swept
it, with a practiced maneuver, into the
expensive brief case. Before the cashier
could recover his composure, he had
slipped into the street.

Aware of what had happened only
after the robber had slipped through
the door, a guard gave chase nonethe-

less. It was a hopeless pursuit, however.

Angeles at that hour and the robber.
lost himself quickly in their ebb flow.

Police arrived with sirens screaming
and pandemonium reigned in the smart
residential and shopping area, but none
could definitely remember seeing the
highwayman.

Immediately, word of the holdup
reached Myrphy’s office. Not for a mo-
ment was there any doubt in his mind
that his most important quarry had
returned to beard him.

Audacity, he knew, was one of Samp-
sell’s most potent weapons; audacity
forged into cold, mathematical calcula-
tion.

There is an old, old theory in crim-
ina investigation that a persistent crim-
inal, given enough rope, must eventual-
ly hang himself. The maxim is. pre-
dicated partly on another credo: that
for every villain there’s a stool pigeon.
It was on these premises that Murphy
had built his campaign and he didn’t
have long to wait for his reward now.

Returning to his office after a per-
functory visit to the holdup scene, he
had a telephone call, A bitter voice
came over the wire, snarling its com-
plaint: “You want that bum that just
stuck up the bank, dontcha?”

“I'd take him if you’ve got him
handy,” Murphy answered.

The caller snapped, “Well, it was
Sampsell and he done them Pasadena
and San Diego jobs a year ago, too.”

“That’s fine,” Murphy tried to keep
his tone casual, “but how do you know
and what makes you want to tell me?”

“Because I helped him in both jobs,”
came the fierce answer, “and he not
only double crossed me on the glue, he
stole my twist...”

“Yeah?” Murphy almost bit the
transmitter off his telephone. “Who
is this and where’s Sampsell?”

“Never mind who this is,” the voice
bridled. “But if you wanta get him,
you'd better get out to the airport
because he’s taking a TWA flight éast
at five o’clock this afternoon.”

Murphy shot a glance at his watch.
It was four-twenty-five. He signalled
an aid to trace the call he was on,
said, “Wait a minute,” into the trans-
mitter, then dropped the phone on his

There were crowds in mid-town Los H
t

desk and ordered an immediate con-.

nection with police hgadquarters.
There he called, for a motorcycle

escort to meet him in front of the

federal building a block away, signalled

two FBI men in his office, and eight -

minutes later was picking up his escort
and heading for the Municipal Airport.

ELDOM has there been a motor-

cycle escort for anything important
that didn’t encounter unavoidable de-
lays. The Supreme Grand Steamshovel
of the International Order of Hod
Wrestlers can arrive in town, get an
escort and be through the entire city
of Los Angeles in twenty minutes; but
allow an FBI man, or a sheriff’s posse
to start on the trail of a mad killer
and everybody on the freeway wants

to move his house down Crenshaw, or
out Wilshire, or over Figeuroa at pre-
cisely that moment.

Thus, by the time that the escort
had circumvented two bungalows on
rollers, one smash-up involving a street
car, a truck and a motor scooter, and
one suddenly burst water main that left
a pool even a wartime amphibian
couldn’t have negotiated, it was pressing
five o’clock when the cavalcade got
within sight of the airport tower.

A mile away, a train cut across a
spur that, by latest figures, had been
used less than once weekly since the
war, and another three minutes was
lost.

Finally the sirens screamed into the
gate, whipped down to the runway en-
trance, caught sight of a silver flash in
the skies miles to the southwest and
learned that the TWA flight East had
just taken off and by now was some-
where over Ontario.

Without hesitating, Murphy ‘contact-
ed his office and obtained the okay for
a chartered flight for himself and his
two aides to Phoenix, first available
stop for the giant airliner. Then he
arranged for a fast, four place job that
would overtake the TWA Constellation,
or beat it to Phoenix, and twenty min-
utes later was winging eastward.

Not even when he was airborne on
sone of the finest speed planes built,
»however, had Murphy entirely shaken
the jinx. Half way to Phoenix, when the
glint of the speeding Constellation had
just been spotted a few miles ahead
over the yellow Arizona desert, the
right engine on the Murphy plane
sputtered, coughed asthmatically once
or twice and then died with a discordant
sigh.

“Don’t tell me,” was all Murphy
could say as he scanned the pilot’s
anxious face.

“Just a ‘minute,” the pilot said,
working frantically. There was a mo-
ment of awful suspense, then a gradual
dive and finally the balking engine
took hold, a cylinder at a time, and
they were off again.

The drama of Lloyd Sampsell ended
less than an hour later. Not even when
the huge Constellation settled to the

runway in Phoenix and the passengers
debouched on the pilot’s order did any-
thing comparable to the usual pattern
of Sampsell theatrics occur.

Murphy and his men, joined by half
a dozen Phoenix officers in plain clothes,
waited at the foot of the ramp.

As a tall, carefully dressed man car-
rying an expensive brief case descended,
they surroundéd him and he looked at
tHem without so much as the flick of
an eyelash. Then he said calmly:

“Government men, I suppose?”

“That’s right, Sampsell,” Murphy re-
plied.

The tall man’s shoulders sagged de-
jectedly, but only for a second, as he
muttered, “Well Lloyd, old boy, I
guess this is it.”

Then, his evil pride reasserting itself,
he straightened, smiled amiably and

said, matter-of-factly, as if giving an
order instead of begging a favor: “If
you don’t mind, can we skip the hand-
cuffs here? There seems to be enough
of you to take one man without that.”

In spite of his relentless hatred for
this blood-thirsty killer, Murphy could
not repress a smile.

“Okay, duke,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The officers found $7,890 of the
$8,300 loot from the bank hold-up in
the brief case, something of a confirma-
tion of the informer’s’ claim that he
had been shortchanged.

HE only feature of Sampsell’s trial

was the appearance of a graying,
quiet little woman who sat behind
him and scarcely took her eyes off his
well shaped head. Quiet, with lined
face and infinitely weary eyes, Mrs.
Sampsell seemed only to want to be
near this ruthless killer to whom she
was married.

She spoke to him only when he
spoke to her and when the verdict of
guilty that was to send him back to
San Quentin to die in the lethal gas
chamber -was read, her face never
changed expression, but remained calm,
as if, at last, a great weight had been
lifted from her tortured soul.

WEEK after the guilty verdict,

Lloyd Sampsell went back to San
Quentin. He waited there, through the
perfunctory appeals, through their de-
nials, through the interminable period
of silence and reflection, until the
cyanide tablets were assembled on the
trap beneath the sturdy oak chair in
the octagonal death chamber, ready to
be dropped into the pan of water that
would convert them to a death-dealing
gas.

He took his impending end calmly,
perhaps a little wearily, doubtless be-
cause no man knew better than he the
inevibability of the retribution that
awaited him.

Thus, alone, friendless, unmourned,
Lloyd Sampsell came to his end, far
from the flesh and wine luxuries his
perverted talents had brought him. *

Editor’s Note: The name Marie Bordet
is fictitious as used in this true account.

FOUR CORPSES
(Continued from page 19)

“The Alberts’ car is missing,” Meals
said. “You say Mrs. Albert drove it
home about 1 P.M. yesterday. When
did you last see the car?”

“I noticed it was still in the driveway
when I started to get supper at
o'clock,” the housewife said. “But later
in the evening it was gone.”

The woman said she had heard no
shots or any particular commotion in
the Albert house the previous day.

HE detectives talked with another
neighbor, who had been fixing his
roof the previous evening. He recalled
seeing — Billy McCormick come
home shortly after 5 o’clock and Ted

Albert arrive at about 7.

“The Alberts’ car was no longer in the
driveway when I stopped work around
8 o’clock,” he said. “I figured they must
have gone out for the evening.”

Further questioning of neighbors
brought no more information. The offi-
cers were unable to talk with Mrs. Ruth
Thompson again since she had been
taken home in a state of shock and
was now under a doctor’s care.

There seemed no doubt that the
killer had stolen the Alberts’ car to make
his getaway. Lieutenant Geer and De-
tective Meals returned to headquarters
and Meals telephoned the auto license
bureau. He obtained the license num-
ber and a description of the Alberts’
car, a 1954 Oldsmobile. He sent out a
four-state bulletin for the car, with the
caution that it was probably in the pos-
session of a four-time murderer who was
still armed.

“As I see it, there are-several pos-
sibilities in the c’.e,” Meals told his
superior officer. “The victims were ap-
parently robbed, and robbery may have
been the principal motive. Perhaps the
killer was a vagrant criminal who came
to the door around noon, was admitted
by Patricia Dare and killed her—then
lurked around the house and robbed and
murdered the others as they came home.

“But some sort of a personal motive
looks more likely to me,” Meals con-
tinued. “Probably jealousy or revenge,
directed principally against one person.
I believe the slayer was someone who
knew the family. Why, after brutally
murdering them, would he have covered
the bodies carefully with sheets except
out of respect for them?”

“Better look up relatives of the vic-
tims and see what you can find out
about their private lives,” Geer said.
“Perhaps someone held a grudge against
Ted Albert, came to his house to settle
scores, and killed the others just be-
~—_ they happened to come home

rst,”

“Or young Billy McCormick may
have been in some trouble,” Meals sug-
gested. “Well, I'll check out every pos-
sible angle and see what I can come
up with.”

Throughout the night, the officers re-
mained at headquarters to coordinate
the search for the missing ‘Oldsmobile.
Then shortly after daybreak, Mrs. Ruth
Thompson's physician called to say that

. She had regained her composure to an

gg and the police might talk with
er.

Detective Meals hurried to the wom-
an’s bedside and questioned her about
the affairs of the Albert family.

“Ted and Virgie led a quiet, God-
fearing life,” she told him. “Ted had no
enemies. No one in the world would
have wanted to harm him. My young
grandnephew, Billy McCormick, wasn’t
in any sort of trouble—of that I’m sure.
He was a clean-cut, hard working boy.

“That leaves my niece, Patricia Dare,”
Mrs. Thompson continued. “She went
back to live with her mother and father
about two months ago, after she sepa-
rated from her husband, Richard Dare.
She was working at Tinker Air Force

BEST-DRESSED KILLER

(Continued from page 10)

ically and died.
The bandit ran into the street. The
manager and an assistant manager
followed him. The gunman turned and
fired three times at them, the bullets
whistling among terrified pedestrians
who ducked for safety.

NCE so _ methodically cool, the
bandit now seemed to have lost
his nerve. He ran down the street,

coat-tail flying, and directly past an

automobile in which his confederate
sat, the motor running,

The confederate blew the horn wild-
ly, but the robber fled on through
the downtown crowds.

Two blocks from the scene of the
crime, he leaped onto the running board
of an old model car, thrust the gun in
the driver’s face and ordered him to
turn at the first corner.

Instead, the driver. swerved the car
suddenly, loosened the robber’s hold
and he rolled across the pavement
almost under the wheels of an oncom-
ing truck, Seemingly indestructible, he
scrambled to his feet, snatched open
the door of a passing car-and climbed
into the. seat beside the driver, ‘gun
still in hand.

“Drive fast, turn at the next corner
and ask no questions,” he snarled and

the driver drove fast and turned. at

the next corner.

The corner turned, he recovered his
equilibrium and started a mild protest.

The gun was thrust into his ribs
and the passenger growled, “Drive to
the Greyhound Bus Station, brother,
or I'll kill you right where you sit.
Don’t forget that I’m hot as a fire-

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cracker and one more killing, more
or less, won’t make me any hotter .. .”

The man prudently drove to the bus
station where his passenger slid from

the car, bade him a pleasant good-bye.

and walked into the waiting room.
Inside, he went directly to a sideroom
used for storage and extra baggage.

A few minutes later, noting a stranger
leaving the room, carefully patting
down the lapels of a brown sports coat
as he left, a bus station employee
decided to investigate.

In the room, the employee found a
gray, chalk striped suit, a snap brim
hat, a white oxford shirt and a pair
of almost new black shoes. He also
found an open gladstone bag into and
overt which the discarded clothing had
been carelessly tossed.

Outside, a tall man in a cocoanut
brown sports jacket, fawn gabardine
slacks,. brown reversed leather shoes,
brown Borsalino ‘type hat, wide bowed,
thick framed horn rim.spectacles and
fawn spots shirt without a tie, stopped
at the newsstand, bought a pack of
cigarettes, swung jauntily off through
a side door to the street and entered
a taxicab,

The hackman drove him to a mid-
town office building where the man
pajd him casually, giving him two silver
dollars for a sixty-five cent fare, and
disappeared into the building.

In all, the bandit had spent less
than five minutes in the bus station
storeroom. It was obvious that he had
previously planted the gladstone bag
with the change of clothing there. He
had changed his glasses, too, but no
trace was found of, the discarded
cantilevers, nor of the necktie he had
worn so meticulously when he entered
the Seaboard offices.

Temporarily, at any rate, the trail
grew cold at the door of the office
building where the startled taxi driver,
unused to such generous largesse, stared
after the man, guppy-eyed.

Once more a supreme ego, which
could not resist the flash of an ex-
cessive tip, helped to focus attention
upon an otherwise reasonably com-
monplace figure.

ORT GEER, chief of the San
Diego Detective Bureau, stood
glumly over the body of Arthur Smith
and heard the story of the tragedy.
Monotonously he asked them to re-
peat, until the last-minute detail was
established, a description of the bandits
with emphasis on the tall one.

“,.. about six feet tall, immaculately
dressed; gold cantilever glasses; fault-
lessly pressed suit; white shirt: black
carefully polished shoes; hair graying
slightly at the temples and neatly
combed; wide-set, steel gray eyes; large
hands with long, strong fingers .. .”

Geer thought carefully before he
said grimly: “Lloyd Sampsell .. . no
doubt about it!”

Into these words was crowded all the
bitterness of a conscientious cop who
has seen a madman sent to prison,
only to be released by a misguided,

falsely philosophical, uninformed parole
board.

For Lloyd Sampsell, one of the dead-
liest criminals ever spawned on the
Pacific Coast, had been sent to prison,
not once, but twice, for major offenses.

He had been the Yacht Bandit chief,
riding up and down the waters of the
Pacific in the handsome Sovereign, a
$10,000 craft purchased in the mid-
twenties with the ill gotten gains of
thievery from a wealthy cafe owner
in Los Angeles, and earlier bank rob-
beries.

He had first been jailed for bigamy,
then for forgery and again for armed
robbery. He had escaped from San
Quentin prison with his pal, Ethan
Allen. McNabb and had killed a guard
in the escape.

Then, when trapped and returned
to prison, he had ratted on McNabb
and calmly watched as the lesser, and
relatively more decent, man had gone
to the gallows while he, Sampsell, the
ruthless, unscrupulous brains of their
joint holdups and of the escape, took
a life sentence for informing.

Sampsell did not remain long in
San Quentin. He was transferred to
Folsom, described as the Dannemora
of California, the hard penitentiary for
hard men. Why it should be so des-
cribed is beyond evplanation. There
are a few ugly ones there, kept under
close guard and often in solitary. They
are forced to work on the prison farm
and do fearful penance in seclusion and
despair.

But in many instances the prisoners
are loaned out to the state farms at
Davis. They live in pleasant little cot-
tages instead of cells, work casually in
the fields with light and sunshine, and
enjoy better food, thanks to their
proximity to the source, than the sup-
posedly less vicious inmates of the
great, gray pile on the Marin County
shore of San Francisco Bay.

One of these favored ones was,

‘unaccountably, Sampsell. He occupied

one of the cabins, did clerical work,
bossed some of the other prisoners arid
generally pleased with his witty tales
of misadventure and wenching. ©

One night a substitute guard was
set to patrol the area in which Samp-
sell’s cabin stood. The substitution had
been made because of illness, late on
a Saturday, and no bulletin had been

issued to percolate into the prison _

grapevine of the change. So it was
that when this guard looked into Samp-
sell’s cabin late that night, Sampsell
was not there.

The guard sounded the alarm. The
warden ordered a guard captain to
make a check. He returned to report
that Sampsell’s cabin was empty.

Two hours later three burly men
stopped before the door of Apartment
302 at a Bush Street address in San
Francisco. One rapped lightly. There
were voices inside. The burly man
rapped again and said, casually, “Tele-
gram for Marie Mordet.”

The door opened to frame the lithe

body of a handsome woman. The three_

Soden

Fie Wit ea» oye» Cel 225 yup 4s

= NEN UR Chai th OE RRC ur

wea ib ee He.

stessaes ie blah 18% 6

SANCHEZM S i ASSE i )
SANCHEZ Jose Jose, His., gassed CA (Imperial) January 26, 1948,

of the house. Pushing
Bernice !”’
wed by Whitmore. The
lence there had been a
{an inch or more of ice
e sink. Pushing on into
ut again, then recoiled
is Farnsworth and Ira

hitmore, “I’ll look up-
0k down cellar.” The
eached the hall at the
Whitmore,
the cellar!”
and into the dimly
ittered body of Mrs.
stained ax,
‘ther the two men re-
id telephoned Sheriff
Little Valley.
uble tragedy, lost no
a former sheriff and
Attorney A. Edward
ye of the Friendship
tor the Farnsworth
ey found Bennett and

ick and see that noth-
ra told the officers.
s take a look around,
‘hat you know,”
1 as well as they
-« the coroner ar-
‘en shot through the
the body lay a small
t where it lay on the
tS position, Carls6n
One shell had been

uggle in the living
‘rently in its proper

‘sement. A shocking
| the beams of their
id woman. She had
toot of the stairway
viously the murder
they found it, they

le coroner,
ms disclosed noth-
been opened and
small metal box
\n attempt had

th, Carlson, Miller
ise. They agreed it
suicide. As they

what he knew of

sughout the county,
le had been active
s to be an author.

her stories never
tors aml eventually
tor which she had

| nyon, daughter of

ttle city of 18,000

# ends of the novel
tory of regenera-
minal and, falling
served his prison
reform him

he two would

STARTLING DETE@TIVE, April, 1948

BY ROBERT JAMES GREEN

S IT turned out, there
were really two yel-
low roses that came

to light in the weird murder case. Two deputy sheriffs found the
first one and it led them to the second, which in due time provided
the clue to the killer’s identity.

The midwinter morning on which it happened was warm and
filled with sunshine, typical of Southern California. Winter had re-
stored life to the vast desert of the southwest. Date palms feathered
the soft wind. Roses, orange blossoms and wild geraniums made
the Imperial Valley a blaze of color.

Here, then, on February 9, 1946, was the setting for a murder
as savage as it was baffling. That the victim was the object of a
particularly brutal attack, with robbery as the apparent motive,
made it even more puzzling.

It was just after dawn when C. B. Dozier made the gruesome
discovery. The horses in the corral of the Charles Ferguson ranch
were restless; snorting and pawing the ground. Usually the animals
were waiting patiently to be fed. Dozier, who was Mrs. Ferguson's
brother, went out to see what was the matter.

He first looked around for coyotes. From the
Mexico-California border a few miles south, a warm breeze was
springing up. From the mighty Colorado River to the blue Salton
Sea, the sun was tipping the desert buttes with gold. But he saw
nothing to alarm the horses.

He fed them and busied himself about the stables for an hour,
until breakfast time. Then he started for the ranch house. Between
the corral and barn he saw a pile of earth that he and Ferguson
had excavated, A little more digging, he reflected, and the trench

would be ready for the gas tank. He went over and looked in.

international

e se a x Deputies Bob Jensen, left, and
* i Ss PINE aA ae EN Bill Bridwell. When the fatter

showed the girl -the pressed
ae Seo aa flower she knew that something
ge fos, Baie te if had .happened to her beloved.

WITH

SCENT OF DEATH

Bludgeon Victim of the
Vengeful Plotter

[Continued from page 40]

o’clock,” the daughter said. “Mother al-
ways finished her work by that time. She
was an immaculate housekeeper and
polished furniture in all the rooms every
day. Mother didn’t answer when I called a
little after 11 o’clock, so I phoned every
half hour until 4:30. Then I came over
here.”

Ahearn asked if Mrs. Griffith was in the
habit of keeping large sums of money in
the house. “We found $75 pinned inside
her nightgown,” he added.

Mrs. Cava thought that would have
been the extent of the money in the
house. “Mother liked to have change when
roomers paid their rent,” she said. “But
there was no reason to have more than
that around.”

The inspector wanted to know about
the roomers.

“There are only two at present,” the
daughter told him. “One room is vacant,
so there is probably a Vacancy sign in the
front window.”

Mrs. Cava said a man named Charles
Lang occupied the upstairs front room.

“Mr. Lang has been here almost two
years,” she said. “He’s an electro plater
at the Bethlehem shipyard. Mother liked
him very much. He helped her fix things
around the house.”

The daughter said the other current
roomer was Walter Page.

“He has been here only a short time,”
‘Mrs. Cava added. “I don’t know much
about him except that he has traveled a
lot and wérked at various types of jobs.”

Inspector Ahearn went to the down-
stairs front room to check the Vacancy
sign. It was not in the window and he
found it on the floor of the hall closet.

Ahearn was about to say something
about the sign when Patrolman Pope, who
had been standing guard out front,
brought a short, dark haired man ‘to him.

“This is Walter Page,” the officer said.
“He rooms here.”

The little man, puzzled by the presence
of policemen, explained that he had just
returned from work. When Inspector
Ahearn told him about Mrs. Griffith’s
murder Page did not flinch.

“That is terrible!” he exclaimed. “Who
would want to harm that nice lady?”

In response to Ahearn’s questions,
Walter Page said he had roomed in the
Capp Street house less than two months.
“I work in the office at Bethlehem,” he
told the inspector, “and learned about the
place through Charlie Lang, who also
rooms here.”

“What time did you leave the house this
morning?”

“About 8:15. When was Mrs. Griffith
killed?”

“The coroner thinks it was around 11
o’clock,” Ahearn said. “Did you see Mrs.
Griffith this morning?”

Page said he hadn’t. “I don’t eat here,”
he told the investigator. “Sometimes Mrs.
Griffith is around when I leave and some-
times she isn’t. I didn’t see her today.”

7 Ahearn mentioned the empty room.
Did you notice the vacancy sign in the
front window this morning?” he asked.

The office worker told Ahearn he had
noticed the sign.

The inspector made a mental note of
that because the sign had been found’ in
the hall closet.

“Whoever killed Mrs. Griffith ransacked

7% >

the rooms,” Ahearn told Page. “I’ll check
and see if the men from the science lab
are through dusting for Letig od plas You
should look through your belongings to
see if anything is missing.”

Inspector McDonald said the identifi-
cation men had completed their work.
Page took inventory and told Ahearn a
box containing some personal papers was
missing.

“I don’t know what anyone would want
with them,” he said.

Inspector Ahearn couldn’t answer that
question. One thing did go through the
investigator’s mind. This murder had
taken place on June 28, 1948. Police in all
large cities, especially important seaports,
had been alerted by the FBI to be on the
look-out for possible Communist espio-
nage. Both Walter Page and Charlie Lang

were employed at the Bethlehem shipyard, .

an important cog in Pacific Coast defense.

“What about this Lang?” the inspector
wanted to know. “Why isn’t he home by
now?”

“Charlie is on vacation,” the roomer .

told him. “He left a couple of days ago for
a fishing camp near McMinnville, Ore.”

Page was beginning to be concerned
with all the questioning. “You don’t think
Charlie or myself know anything awful
do you?” he asked.

Ahearn reminded him that he and Lang
both had keys to the Capp Street house.
“We're not accusing anybody,” the in-
spector added, but we’ll have to get in
touch with Lang and question him. You
had better remain within the city limits
until this investigation is over.”

The inspector returned to headquarters
and called the sheriff of Yamhill County,
where McMinnville is located, in north-
west Oregon.

“Check all fishing and hunting camps
in the vicinity for a man named Charles
Lang,” the San Francisco policeman re-
quested. “We have a murder case here and
he might be able to provide some infor-
mation about the victim.”

Meanwhile, Dr. Jean Miller, who per-
formed the autopsy on Mrs. Griffith’s
body, turned in his report.

“Death was due to multiple lacerations
on the back and one side of the head,”
the doctor concluded. “There were mul-
tiple underlying fractures to the skull and
brain damage. Part of the brain was ex-
posed. The murder victim had not been
raped.”

“Mrs. Griffith never had a chance,” In-
spector Ahearn told McDonald. “The way
it looks she went to the closet to get some-
thing out of the tool chest. She was bend-
ing over with her back to her assailant
when he let her have it with the Stillson
wrench.”

McDonald said that made it look as
though Mrs, Griffith might have known
her murderer.

Ahearn agreed. “That’s the way I see
it,” he said. “Put a tail on Walter Page
and find out if he was at his desk all day.
We know he was in his room last night
as he says he left early this morning.
Walter Lang was friendly enough with
Mrs. Griffith to fix things around the
house, so he would know about the tool
box and Stillson wrench.”

The Yamhill County sheriff in Oregon
called back quicker than Ahearn had ex-
pected.

“Charles Lang is here with me,” the
county officer told Ahearn over long dis-
tance. “I’ve told him what happened and
he wants to talk with you.”

The Bethlehem electro plater insisted
he had left San Francisco two days before.
“I’ve been here ever since.” Lang told
Ahearn. “The camp owner will verify
that. But I can’t understand anybody
killing Mrs. Griffith. I want to help all I

can. I'll be on the next train for San
Francisco.”

Before hanging up, Lang handed the
telephone receiver to the camp owner.

“If that murder took place within the
last 24 hours,” the Oregon sportsman told
Ahearn, “you can eliminate this man. He
has been at my place for the last two
days.”

The inspector turned to McDonald when
he hung up. “Lang is coming back,” he
said, “but he couldn’t have killed Mrs.
Griffith. He has a perfectly good alibi.”

Inspectors Cahill and Nelder went to the
Bethlehem shipyard on San Francisco
Bay and talked with the office manager
who said that Page had been busy at the
Office all day. bd

“We had an unusual amount of work to
get out,” the office head explained. “Page
reported on time and didn’t leave until
after 5 o’clock.”

Cahill asked about the employes’ lunch
hour.

“Because of the rush of work, we had
ne sent in,” the office manager
said.

That satisfied the two investigators.
They went back to headquarters and re-
ported to Inspector Ahearn. The men in
the science lab had been working con-
stantly since completing their tasks inside
the house on Capp Street. They could be
sure of only one thing. Whoever wielded
the 14-inch Stillson wrench had been
careful to wipe it off.

“No fingerprints there,” the technician
in charge told Ahearn. “But we came up
with several from dresser drawers in
various rooms. We’re trying to classify
them now.”

When Charles Lang arrived from Ore-
gon no further progress had been made.
He told Inspector Ahearn about previous
roomers in Mrs. Griffith’s house.

“They were all nice men,” this witriess
stated. “Most of them only stayed a short
while. I wouldn’t even know where to
start to find them.”

Lang assured the investigator that so
far as he knew there had been no trouble
between Mrs. Griffith and any roomer.
Mrs. Cava corroborated that statement.

About the only lead Ahearn and Mc-
Donald had was that they knew whoever
committed the crime was searching for
something. They could arrive at only one
conclusion. It had to be money.

“The coroner’s office says Mrs. Griffith
died about 11 o’clock,” Ahearn said. “The
killer missed the $75 pinned in her night-
gown. Mrs. Cava called on the phone
around eleven. If the murderer was still
in the house the ringing could have
frightened him into flight lest the person
calling might come to the house.”

That sounded logical to McDonald.

“Walter Page says he saw the vacancy
sign in the front window when he left for
work,” Ahearn reminded McDonald. “We
found it on the floor in the hall closct.
That could mean something.”

McDonald went along with that line of
thinking. “It could mean someone rented
the vacant room before 11 o’clock the
re Mrs. Griffith died,” the inspector
said.

“She would have allowed a prospective
tenant in. He could have said the room
was satisfactory, but wanted something
fixed. Mrs. Griffith could have gone to the
tool box and gotten the Stillson wrench
which he told her was too big. Maybe she
was looking for a smaller one when he
bashed her head in.”

Ahearn shrugged his shoulders. “If that's
the case,” he said, “we're in for trouble.
Nobody saw this person enter or leave,
and probably he had never been to the
house before.”

“The science lab is sti
prints found inside that
pointed out hopefully.
emphasized the thor:
mother's housekeeping.
pleted the work, incluc
furniture every day, by
killer opened drawers j
Mrs, Griffith did her po
good chance he left his

earn had been aw:
was the one slim hope |
to solve the murder. The
the technician working
he had found enough t
California State Bureau
in Sacramento and to the
ton, D. C.

There wasn’t much th
except wait. The San :
who had worked around
rooming house murder }
crossed. They would r
finger the guilty man.

That break came with
the state capital and th:

‘The man you want
ford,” these agencies wir

ford escaped from C:
Authority Camp at Ben
of this year.”

Additional information
he had been in the Coa
time. He had been cor
ifornia’s maximum secur:
juveniles at, Lancaster j
an armed robbery con.
transferred to the youth c
Cruz mountains in April

An orphan, Sanford’s
dress was on 30th Street
and not far from Mrs.
Both Sacramento and W
forwarded photographs o

This evidence arrive.

Mrs. Felipa_ Griffith’s
Ahearn and McDonald hu
Street address, but Willi:
not there. Aided by In
Murray, Ahearn, McDon
Nelder started canvassing
bars. Shown photograp!t
several barmen said the.
fugitive within the last 22

“That means he either
get away with this or is
told his co-workers.

_ Two full days passed be
tives came up with som.
after 10 o’clock Wednesda:
lord on 19th Street look
Sanford’s picture and fel
the person to whom he hac
that day,

“He gave his name as F;
the proprietor said.

The rooming. house ma
new tenant was upstairs
Murray followed while
Pointed out.

When Ahearn knocked
answer, but the detectives
heard someone moving i:
threw his full weight aga
mn, and the two men

e be
a was rumpled. Cigar
Inspector Ahearn thre
and looked under the bed
ford was crouched tightly ag
I knew you'd get me for
the camp at Ben Lomond,”
aenrtey assured him it w

are Set this time,”
Said. “You’re charged with
Felipa Griffith in h

Capp Street.” a
Sanford clammed up, but t

‘ain for San

- handed the
ump owner.

‘e within the
5ortsman told
this man. He
the last two

cDonald when

ing back,” he
e killed Mrs.
z00d alibi.”

ler went to the
san. Francisco
office manager
on busy at the

unt of work to
plained. “Page
n't leave until

mployes’ lunch

work, we had
office manager

» investigators.
uarters and re-
rn, The men in
, working con-
reir tasks inside
_ They could be
"hoever wielded
ench had been

’ the technician
3ut we came up
ser drawers in
ying to classify

rived from Ore-
had been made.
n about previous
3s house.

.en,” this witriess
ly stayed a short
know where to

vestigator that so
1 been no trouble
and any roomer.
that statement.
Ahearn and Mc-
ey knew whoever
vas searching for
arrive at only one
»e money.
says Mrs. Griffith
Ahearn said. “The
nned in her night-
ied on the phone
murderer was still
nging could have
ght lest the person
the house.”
1 to McDonald.
ie saw the vacancy
ow when he left for
jed McDonald. “We
in the hall closet.
yething.” ;
ng with that line of
ean someone rente
fore 11 o'clock the
died,” the inspector

llowed a prospective
have said the room
t wanted something
juld have gone to the
the Stillson wrench
is too big. Maybe she
maller one when he

is shoulders. “If that’s
we're in for trouble.
rson enter or leave,
d never been to the

“The science lab is still trying to classify
prints found inside that house,” McDonald
pointed out hopefully. “And Mrs. Cava
emphasized the thoroughness of her
mother’s housekeeping. She usually com-
pleted the work, including polishing the

furniture every day, by 11 o'clock. If the,
killer opened drawers in the rooms after

Mrs. Griffith did her polishing, there is a
good chance he left his fingerprints.

Ahearn had been aware of that fact. It ©

was the one slim hope the detectives had
to solve the murder. They took heart when
the technician working on the prints said
he had found enough to forward to the
California State Bureau of Identification
in Sacramento and to the FBI in Washing-
ton, D. C.

There wasn’t much that could be done
except wait. The San Francisco officers
who had worked around the clock on the
rooming house murder kept their fingers
crossed. They would need a break to
finger the guilty man.

That break came with word from both
the state capital and the FBI.

“The man you want is William San-
ford,” these agencies wired. “Age 20, San-
ford. escaped from_ California Youth
Authority Camp at Ben Lomond May 13
of this year.”

Additional information on Sanford said
he had been in the Coast Guard at one
time. He had been committed to Cal-
ifornia’s maximum security institution for
juveniles at Lancaster in 1947 following:
an armed robbery conviction and was
transferred to the youth camp in the Santa
Cruz mountains in April of 1948.

An orphan, Sanford’s last known ad-
dress was on 30th Street in San Francisco
and not far from Mrs. Griffith’s home.
Both Sacramento and Washington, D. Cc.
forwarded photographs of the youth.

This evidence arrived two days after
Mrs. Felipa Griffith's violent death.
Ahearn and McDonald hurried to the 30th
Street address, but William Sanford was
not there. Aided by Inspector George
Murray, Ahearn, McDonald, Cahill and
Nelder started canvassing Mission district
bars. Shown photographs of Sanford,
several barmen said they had seen the
fugitive within the last 24 hours!

“That means he either thinks he can
get away with this or is broke,” Ahearn
told his co-workers.

Two full days passed before the detec-
tives came up with something. Shortly
after 10 o’clock Wednesday night a land-
lord on 19th Street looked at William
Sanford’s picture and felt sure he was
the person to whom he had rented a room
that day.

“He gave his name as Frank Wheeler,”
the proprietor said.

The rooming house man thought the
new tenant was upstairs. Ahearn and
Murray followed while the room was
pointed out.

When Ahearn knocked there was no
answer, but the detectives thought they
heard someone moving inside. Ahearn
threw his full weight against the door.
It gave and the two men rushed inside.
The bed was rumpled. Cigaret smoke filled
the air.

Inspector Ahearn threw back the covers
and looked under the bed. William San-
ford was crouched tightly against the wall.

“I knew you'd get me for escapin from
the camp at Ben Lomond,” he said,

Murray assured him it was more than

at.

“It’s murder this time,” the inspector
said. “You’re charged with killing Mrs.
Felipa Griffith in her rooming house on
Capp Street.”

Sanford clammed up, but the detectives

found a receipt for $5, advance payment
for a room rented in Mrs. Griffith’s house.

The 20-year-old youth showed amazing
calm for his age. Taken to the interroga-
tion room at headquarters and questioned
by Inspector Ahearn and: Assistant Dis-
trict Attorney Bert Hirschberg, Sanford
told an amazing story of planned, cold
blooded murder.

“T killed that woman alright,” he said.
“I needed money. I thought sure she would
have plenty stashed away, but I was
wrong.”

Ahearn asked him what he needed the
money for.

“To buy a gun to kill my girl friend,”
Sanford replied coolly. “I’ve loved this
yirl since we were kids and we were al
set to get married. Then they hung that
robbery rap on me and put me away at
Lancaster. She told me she would wait
for me.”

The confessed killer made a gesture of
futility. “Dames are all the same,” he said.
“Ag soon as I was out of the way she
started two-timing me, running around
with another guy. I have friends who told
me about it. I planned everything. I be-
haved myself at Lancaster and got a trans-
fer to the camp. It was easy to walk away
from there.”

Sanford told how he had come directly
back to San Francisco. “I’d made up my
mind to kill that girl,” he said. “But I
didn’t have the money for a gun. I figured
rooming house women would have cash
around and that the tenants would be out
in the day time.

“I picked up an old suitcase in a hock
shop for a buck so as to look like a trans-
sient. After inspecting rooms in several
buildings that didn’t look right—too many
people around—I saw the vacancy in the
Capp Street rooming house.

“Pirst I made sure that she was alone
in the house. Then I had her show me a
room and told her I would take it.”

The youth went on to tell how he had
planned the attack ahead of time.

“This old suitcase had a bent fastener,”
he said. “When we got back to the kitchen,
I showed it to the landlady and asked

‘her if she had something to straighten it.

She took me into the kitchen and got a
big Stillson wrench out of a tool box in
the closet. That was just what I needed to
kill her, but I asked for a smaller wrench,
keeping the 14-incher in m hand. When
she bent over, to get vider: han wrench I
let her have it.”

“She had never seen me before, so I
thought sure I would get the money I
needed and never be caught, Then the
telephone started ringing. I left the body
in the kitchen and searched the rooms.
There was no money, so I got out of there
quick before somebody showed up.”

When the confession was over Sanford
asked the officers a question. “How did
you manage to trace me?”

Inspector Ahearn told him Mrs. Griffith
was an unusual housekeeper. “She pol-
ished the furniture in all the rooms every
day,” he said. “You got there right after
she had completed her morning’s work.
Yours were the only fingerprints on the
dresser drawers you rifled.”

Detectives were sent to question the
parents of the girl William Sanford said
he wanted to kill. They had known the
youth, but insisted he had never gone
steady with their daughter.

“We didn’t like the boy,” the father
told Inspector Murray. “I told him to stay
away from my daughter. I was sure we'd
never hear any more from him when he
was picked up for robbery.” ‘

William Sanford explained why he had
made a full confession. “I want to die in
the gas chamber,” he said. “It is just luck

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that it isn’t two murders. I intended to kill
my girl friend. Send me to the gas cham-
ber and get it over with. I’m as sane as
any cop on the force.”

A court appointed psychiatrist agreed.
William Sanford went to trial for the
murder of Mrs. Felipa Griffith before
Superior Judge Daniel R. Shoemaker on
November 15, 1948. Found guilty, the 20-
year-old was sentenced to die at San
Quentin prison.

“That’s what I wanted,” Sanford mut-
tered as Judge Shoemaker imposed the
mandatory sentence.

The youth who murdered one woman :

to get money to buy a gun to kill his girl

friend got his wish. He was put to death
in the gas chamber at San Quentin on
July 15, 1949.

All detectives who worked on this case
received citations, but Inspector Ahearn
gave most of the credit to the slain
woman’s daughter, Mrs. Juanita Cava.

“She was the one who gave us the in-
formation about her mother's immaculate
housekeeping,” that officer stated. “We
were able to make an identification by fin-
gerprints on the newly polished dresser
drawers.

(The names Charles Lang and Walter Page
are fictitious to protect the identity of persons
} i involved in the investigation.—The
Editor)

Churchyard Slaying

[Continued from page 41]

Converging police squads found a man
lying in a pool of blood near a green 1951
Ford car. He was a husky, clean-featured
young fellow of about 30 and his left arm
had been amputated near the elbow. He
had been shot twice in the back but was
still breathing.

As he was being lifted into an ambul-
ance, he stiffened and his lips parted as
he vainly sought to speak. But the effort
was too great and his head dropped back.
Before arriving at Parkland Hospital, the
victim had died.

His clothing yielded nothing as a clue
to the murdered man’s identity. In fact,
his pockets contained ‘only a key and a
half-empty pack of cigarets. Investiga-
tors were wondering if the green Ford
might contain some identification when,
at 2:30, a woman called the hospital
emergency ward and tensely inquired:

“Has a gunshot victim been brought in
there—a man with an amputated arm?”

Told there had ‘and that he was dead,
the woman broke into hysterical sobs and
started to hang up.

“Just a minute!” an alert attendant
insisted. “Can you tell us who the victim
is?”

“Yes, yes!” the caller moaned. “He is
Bill Parrish.”

“And who are you?” she was asked.

“My name’s—” There was a definite
hesitation as the woman caught herself,
then she went on, “I’m Jean Gibson.”

The attendant was about to press her

for further information but she hung up.

A few minutes later a man called, stated
he was C. J. Landrum, and asked for a
description of the dead man.

“I think that’s my brother-in-law, Bill
George Parrish,” he said. “I’ll get right
over there.”

Landrum hurriedly entered the emer-
gency room a short time later. An orderly
uncovered the corpse and Landrum
nodded gravely.

“Yes, that’s Bill,” he sorrowfully told
officers. “I got the message in a strange
way. I don’t have a phone, so my father-

‘in-law, Frank Garrison, came to tell me

a woman had called for me at his place
with what she said was an urgent message.
I dressed, went out and called the num-
ber she had left. The woman that an-
swered had been crying. She told me
Bill had been shot in a churchyard some-
where and that I should call Parkland
Hospital.”

Filling in the investigators on the vic-
tim’s background, Landrum told them
that Bill Parrish was assistant manager
of the R. M. Smith Company, a local loans
and mortgage firm. He was 31 years old,

married and the father of three children.
His left forearm had been amputated
following a childhood accident.

“Last night,” Landrum went on, “my
wife and Bill’s wife left with the children
to visit a sick. relative in Odessa. They
went in Bill’s car, and Bill and I were to
stay at my place till they returned. Well,
we watched television a while, then I
dozed off. When I woke up, the station
was off the air. Bill was gone and so was
my car. That was all right because it was
understood he would share my car while
our wives had his.”

Landrum was unable to supply the
identity of the grief-stricken woman who
had informed him of the tragedy. She
had given him a name other than Jean
Gibson and it seemed evident that both
names were false. However, he turned
over her phone number and officers noted
it had a Lisbon exchange, probably not
far from the Sunnyvale church.

During the hospital interview with
Landrum, other officers continued the in-
vestigation at the-scene. One neighbor
believed he had ‘caught the silhouettes of
two men scuffling near the parked cars.
Mrs. Viola Benton, who lives nearby, said
she heard a man running into a five-acre
field adjoining the church grounds. All
witnesses were certain, though, that a
second car had departed rapidly about
that time.

On Mrs. Benton’s tip, officers spread
out over the field and began searching it
thoroughly, trampling down weeds and
Johnson grass under which a man could
hide. About 200 yards from the church,
they came upon a sleeping figure huddled
at the foot of a tree.

“Hey! Hey!” the sleeper muttered,
blinking bloodshot eyes as flashlights were
played on him. He got up unsteadily, a
tall, gangling blond-haired youth whose
arms and fingers were liberally tattooed.
He reeked of cheap whisky.

Capt. L. S. Reeves patted the youth’s
rumpled clothing for weapons but found
none. “What are you doing here?” he
demanded.

“Hell, can’t you see, I'm sleeping off a
jag!” answered the blond man. “I was
partying with some fellows down the
street and this was as far as I could make
it.” He took a deep breath. “Well, let’s go.
You don’t need the whole police depart-
ment to make a simple drunk arrest!”

His cocky manner evaporated once he
learned a murder had been committed a
short distance from where he lay.

“You say—somebody was shot to death
back there?” he repeated incredulously.
“Lord, no, I didn’t hear it. I was out cold.
Guess I been here since 9 o'clock last
night.”

The 18-year-old youth, whose name was
Marvin Connolly, lived in the same gen-
eral neighborhood. Cemnolly didn’t need

to have his predica:
him. He was so pani:
postponed questionin
bered up.

A neighbor attracte
was Carlos Kenner, :
along the street a few
shooting. He told offic:
other Ford, a 1956 }
tinental kit, parked ne
that Parrish had b
brother-in-law. Kenn:
car was painted red ;

Detectives M. K. "
‘Blessing criss-crossed
which the woman ti
Landrum and found i
the residence of Ceci
address approximatel:
the Sunnyvale Churci

They drove there a:
saw a Ford which fit
of the red and white cz
A light shone in a |
and a tall, attractive b:
mitted them. Her fa
that she had been cryi:

In response to their
tified herself as Mrs.
telephone operator. H:
chanic, was summon
room wherg he was s
reason for the visit \
couple volunteered to .
ficers to headquarters

There, Homicide Cap
tioning the brunette s
that she was the phor
described herself as “J

“I used a false name
become involved,” she
antly. “I was so afraid
husband and my job if
You see, I wasn’t wit}
reason some people mi;

ce
You oo with h
urged. “What happene

Well,” Joyce Dryde

driven to the church yar

then Bill Parrish drove
him and we had been
ten minutes when a m
pena at the window
stuck a gun in my face.
of the car!’ —
lage said, ‘Oh, no
‘Then Parrish jum
told him not to pl that
armed. But Parrish ran
and started scuffling wi:
stranger started shooting
lost my nerve. I got inm
off. Then I saw that P:
and that the gunman w;
so I got out of the car a

“Parrish was bleeding

waving me away. ‘Go on!
So I drove off as fast as
_ The veteran detective
intently. “You’re sure y
this man?” he insisted.
_ Mrs. Dryden shook he
ically, “I had never laid «
fore, He was young, may!
looking—or maybe he wz
a moonlit night and J got
him.”

Then Fritz inquired,
weren’t with Parrish for ‘
people might think’? Th
that you, a married wom:
man there at 2 o’clock in

Mrs. Dryden flushed at t
answered readily, “You s«
Bill Parrish for some tin
certainly been nothing be:
way, the fact that I knew
related to the trouble he v
my husband.”

Felipa Griffith ran a rooming house and thought she
4 had another guest, but he paid her off with death.

i George Murphy holds large bloody weap-
on in front of sneering killer who used it on woman.

When no one answered, Mrs. Cava went around back. That
door was locked, so the anxious daughter looked in the kitchen
window. The two cockers were crouched close to Mrs. Griffith’s
body sprawled on the floor.

Stifling a scream, the terrified daughter turned quickly and
ran around front almost into the arms of Patrolman Robert
Pope.

“Help!” she screamed. “Something has happened to my
mother!”

Officer Pope followed the woman to the back porch. He took
one quick look inside and kicked in the door. What had once
been Mrs. Felipa Griffith was a mass of blood and gore and
her nightgown was pulled high. One side of the skull was
crushed so viciously part of the brain was actually exposed.
Blood was spattered on the floor and walls.

A quick call to the Mission district stationhouse brought
Inspectors Ralph McDonald and Alfred Nelder to the scene
along with Deputy Coroner William Unger and police photog-
rapher Gerald Fennell. .

The dead woman had fallen on her back not far from a closet
containing a large tool chest. Patrolman Pope pointed to a
blood-encrusted 14-inch Stillson wrench on the floor beside
the corpse.

“There’s your murder weapon,” he said.
McDonald contacted Inspector Frank Ahearn at central homi-

' cide headquarters. “We've got a nasty one at 719 Capp Street,”

he said. “Better get here as fast as you can. With the best
technicians you have.”

Ahearn arrived .with Inspector Tom Cahill and a corps of
experts from the science lab. None of the officers had ever seen
a worse example of sheer brutality.

“She’s been dead between five and seven hours,” Deputy
Coroner Unger told Ahearn.

It was then a little after 5 o'clock in the afternoon. That
meant Mrs. Griffith had been killed around 11 o'clock in the
morning. From the position of the body police believed she
had been leaning over to get something out of the tool box
when somebody struck her down from behind, causing her
to fall backward.

“What about rape?” Ahearn asked.

Unger couldn’t say for sure. “The post mortem will answer
that question,” he said.

Examination of the corpse turned ups $75 in bills pinned
inside the victim’s nightgown.

“That seems to eliminate robbery as a motive,” Inspector
McDonald said.

As he spoke Cahill and Nelder returned from searching the
house.

“Not entirely,” Cahill said. “We've been looking through the
rooms. They are all numbered except one in the rear. This is a
rooming house. Dresser drawers are pulled out and closets

ransacked. Robbery may not have been the primary motive,

but whoever killed the woman was sure looking for something.
He even went through some papers in a table in the room just
off the kitchen where the corpse lay.

The other officers realized the killer could have missed the
money pinned iriside the nightgown. The men from the science
lab took the Stillson wrench to be examined for fingerprints
and dusted various objects while Inspector Ahearn questioned
Mrs. Cava.

“My mother kept roomers,” the distraught daughter said after
partially recovering from shock. “This house was too big for
her after my father died and my brother was killed in the
Pacific. But the place meant so much to her, she insisted on
staying here. She enjoyed having people around, so she rented
rooms. The one in back that isn’t numbered was hers. Now she
is dead.”

Inspector Ahearn did not press the grief-stricken woman. His
long service in the department made him a good judge of
people, and he felt certain Mrs. Cava would help all she could.
She told the homicide officer she always either called or visited
her mother daily.

“I usually wait until around 11 [Continued on page 78]

oo ene

A secret

and two |

Ci
°

«he Lisbon

in the early n
30, 1958, seve:
and hoarse sh
the Sunnyvak
their windows
dark church ;
“You shot 7
Something t
footfalls that r
A second lI:
turned onto th
could note th

Detectives go
checking the
ally picked up

‘ins’ prints with any lifted
ison home.

tives discussed the case
tant district attorney on
police station, and after
ie evidence, the DA’s aide
a murder warrant, charg-
1 Johnson’s slaying. The

‘btained from a magistrate,

vide search was launched
orrell and Eickenhorst uti-
their search,
‘imes as this man has been
vagrancy, I don’t think
g to wait before he’s ar-
‘ere,” Correll observed.
imment was made on Oc-
2. His words proved pro-

ry next day, when Ann.

tan, police notified the
‘rs that Atkins had been
tody there as a vagrant. A
e NCIC had revealed At-

« homicide suspect.

suston detectives immedi-
e district attorney to ini-
on proceedings, but this
essary when, two hours
or officers contacted the
‘rs again to say that At-
‘d extradition and would
ston voluntarily. Eicken-
rrell flew at once to
ng the suspect back.
s advised Atkins of his
” ves on taking him into
y made no effort to
discuss the case until
‘S arraigned before Muni-
‘lix Stanley in Houston.
ormally informed the ac-
‘harges against him, and
Atkins’ constitutional

a written affidavit the
iting he had shot John-
ith Johnson’s own rifle,
robbery was the motive.
| his statement that the
’ on impulse, and was an

sequence from a tele-
iad seen some time pre-

‘tt Memphis to come to
sth of October, hitch-
Vest. “I wanted to get a
and be a cowboy,” he
Johnson picked him up
s of Houston, “and |
“d drop me off at the
1 Army mission. He said
5 car washed first, and I
| right. He stopped at a
‘ook my duffle bag out
ach while the car went

on took him to a mis-
: Atkins lodging at his
perhaps a job. Atkins
{, and he and Johnson
to Johnson’s home at a
Johnson bought him a
1 picked up some beer
ason’s home, where the
ind chatting until bed-

. a fellow came in and
id Atkins, adding that
oxicated and he didn’t

noticed him, He said

when Johnson decided to go to bed, he
set up the cot and made the small bed
with clean sheets before retiring.

“T laid there, and I couldn’t sleep,”
Atkins said. “I walked into the room
where a desk and TV was and I got the
gun down off the rack.” He said he was
fascinated by the gun, and took it to the
chair near his cot to examine it. “I
pushed the lever and emptied all the
shells,” he stated. “These bullets fell on
my cot. I looked at the rifle some more
and I cocked it and put the rifle on my
cot and looked at the bullets. I then put
the bullets back in the rifle.

“I then clipped one out. Then I took
a towel and wiped over the gun. I put
the rifle back on the rack and went back
and got two towels. I Wrapped one
around the barrel, and another around
the first towel. It was too big, so I took
one off,

“T got this idea from a story on tele-
vision, you see. I then stood in the door-
way of the office and bedroom and I
aimed the rifle at the man’s head and
pulled the trigger. I then laid the gun on
the chair.”

Atkins said he ransacked Johnson’s
rooms and billfold, but obtained only a
handful of change and two $1 bills. He
said he picked up two sets of keys,
intending to take Johnson’s station
wagon, but he couldn’t unlock the sta-
tion wagon. “I couldn’t find the right

key,” he said.

Growing nervous, Atkins said he gave
up and left on foot, throwing away the
two sets of keys in a vacant lot.

“T caught a ride that night with a
man who took me to Baton Rouge,
Louisiana,” said Atkins. “From there |
went to Nashville, Tennessee, and then
to Ann Arbor, where I was arrested.”

Atkins led the officers to the spot
where he said he thre. away the keys,
and the two sets were i covered after a
search of the vacant field.

A January term, 1973, grand jury,
after hearing the evide:ce against At-
kins, returned a true }i|! charging him
with murder with malice aforethought.
Unable ' post a $100,000 bond, he was
remanded to jail, wher he remains at
this writing, awaiting t:\./ on the charge
of murdering a man \ho_ befriended
him. Pending the outcoiie of that trial,
the accused man is entiiled to the pre-

sumption of innocence. ooo

EDITOR’S NOTE:

William Carson, Lorna Carson,
Charles Hawse, Rick Scarsdale, J.H.
James, “Milly,” Ber Colter and
Heidler, are not the real names of the
persons so named in ‘the foregoing
story. Fictitious names have been
used because there is no reason for
public interest in the identities of
these persons,

The Killer and the
Lady Wrestler

(Continued from page 55)

possibly a woman accomplice. All these
officials were convinced that the killers
were the same Mutt and Jeff heist team
which had been holding up taverns ev-
ery few nights in the Hollywood area
for the past couple of weeks.

During the next few nights after the
murder, more places were held up by

-man bandit teams, but detectives, af-
ter checking carefully, did not believe
these were the work of the killer pair,
even though one guy bragged to his vic-
tims that “I’m the one that shot that
guy over in Hollywood.”

The first solid break came on Janu-
ary 13th, from El Paso, Texas, where a
tall, hollow-cheeked man armed with a
pistol had held up a ginmill the night
before and bragged of having “killed a
man out in Hollywood.” Facsimiles of
the composite sketches were rushed to
El Paso police. They showed them to
witnesses, who agreed that the sketch of
the Hollywood shotgun bandit was the
‘spittin’ image” of the gunman who had
held them up.

With clear indication that the Holly-
wood killer had crossed state lines, this
brought the FBI into the hunt. Mean-
while, the search through the mug files
was occupying the attention of a dozen
detectives. By mid-January, Captain
Donahue’s men had combed through
some 6,000 pictures. By then, they had
exhausted recent L.A. Police Depart-
ment mug shot files and were turning to

those of other Southern California
areas.

On January 18th the Central Rob-
bery team of Sergeants Stanford R.
McCaleb, H. W. Killeby ind DeWitt C.
Lightner came up with a inug that bore
an astonishing resemblance to the
sunken-cheeked, fire-eyed No. 1 killer as
depicted in the sketch by the police
artist. Shown to witnesses to the tavern
killing of Ken Savoy, they unerringly
picked the hot mug out of a collection
of 20.

“That’s the man wio shot Ken
Savoy!”” the detectives heard the wit-

nesses say.
Thus, the most wanted criminal in
Southern California finally had a name.

He was George Alber! Scott, alias
George Albert Scotty, alias Albert
Schmand and many other names. He
was a 36-year-old ex-convict, originally
from Little Rock, Arkansas, with a
15-year record of arrests in Texas, Ar-
kansas, Arizona and California. FBI and
other files quickly yielded his full
history.

Scott's first arrest was in Little Rock
in January 1949. No disposition. In
November of the same year he was
nailed for robbery in Phocnix, Arizona
and put on 5 years probation. Violation
of that probation in Phoenix a year later
got him 5 to 10 years in \rizona State
Prison. In December 1952 the sentence
was commuted to time served on the
condition that he leave Arizona.

In the next couple of years, Scott
was busted in Texas on a \ycapons viola-
tion and a few times in ‘alifornia for
robbery. In 1954 he did six months, and
in 1955 he did 90 days, tie latter for a
traffic violation in San Dievo. After an-

other San Diego robbery arrest in De-
cember 1955, Scott was pronounced a
mental case and sent to Patton State
Hospital for treatment. The doctors said
he was faking insanity, and he was re-
turned to court for trial on the robbery
charge. Found guilty .of second-degree
burglary, he was sentenced to a term of
1 to 15 years. On November 12, 1958,
he was released on parole from the Insti-
tution for Men at Chino.

One day short of seven weeks later,
he shotgunned Ken Savoy to death in
the Hollywood tavern. Now he was be-
ing sought for murder and robbery.

Scott’s parole officer proved to be a
gold mine of information, and through
his assistance, Hollywood detectives got
a line on the man believed to have been
his short accomplice on the Mutt and
Jeff heists that were climaxed with mur-
der. Police tracked him through several
previous addresses and arrested him at
his latest motel address in Compton.
“Jeff” proved to be a guy named Joel
Fraggert. In his room, the arresting offi-
cers found a 12-gauge sawed-off shotgun
with a taped stock, as well as a deer
rifle.

Fraggert was an unemployed tool
and die maker from Chicago. He was 41,
“T knew I’d be caught sooner or later,
he was quoted as saying. ‘“‘That’s the
gun that killed that Savoy fellow all
right. It’s my gun. I was along with
Scotty that night—I was the fellow they
called the Jeff bandit. I drove the car,
but I didn’t kill anybody. I didn’t even
have a gun, and I wasn’t even in the bar
when Scotty blasted that fellow.

“Scotty came running out and told
me he had to shoot a guy that tried to
grab the gun away from him... I didn’t
know, till I read about it in the papers
the next morning, that Scotty cut down
this guy in cold blood, and that the guy
was dead. I was scared of Scotty ... and
I figured the next one might be me.

“That guy is nuts, take it from
me! ... He was watching me.-close, but I
slipped away from him the frist chance I
got and I took my gun with me, before
he got ideas about using it on anybody
else. That was on January 2nd, and I
haven’t seen Scotty since.” ;

Joel Fraggert had no major police
record, although he allegedly admitted
that he and Scotty had pulled six hold-
ups as the Mutt and Jeff bandits, start-
ing on December 16th and culminating
with the murder of Ken Savoy on the
30th. They assertedly had netted and
split a little more than $1,100 from the
six jobs. ae

Fraggert denied committing any oth-
er crimes and appeared to be genuinely
remorseful. “It was bad company, I
guess,” he said. “I was sort of at loose
ends, so far away from home and the
people I love. I met Scotty through
some guys in a bar, and he talked me
into going along with him to make a fast

00.”

a enrough Fraggert, detectives tracked

down a Long Beach waitress who had

accompanied them the night of the fatal

stickup. Police believed her story that |

she had simply gone “along for the
ride” that night and had no idea a stick-

up was going to be pulled until Scotty

(seh tale aS aN lta ai

came running out of the tavern and an-
nounced he had to shoot a guy. She got
away from him as soon as possible after
that and had not seen him since January
2nd.

She was able to provide an important
piece of information, however. She said
she had heard Scotty was currently go-
ing around with a lady wrestler he had
met in a bar around Christmas time. The
waitress had reason to believe the lady
wrestler might have left town with him,
She recalled that he’d said he was home-
sick, “‘what with Christmas and all,” and
he talked about taking a trip back to
Texas or Arkansas.

She and Joel Fraggert made volun-
tary formal statements. The girl was not
detained, but Fraggert was charged with
murder and robbery.

The lady wrestler was quickly identi-
fied by detectives as Lorna Lareen, 36,
of Los Angeles and Phoenix. She was a
tall, muscular but well-proportioned
brunette who had been “a champion-
ship contender” a few years earlier
when women’s wrestling matches were
popularized by television.

Miss Lareen had no police record.
Her friends and associates had not seen
her since shortly after she met Scotty
during the holidays.

The Texas trail of the fugitive grew
hotter when Detective Captain Will
Fritz of Dallas reported that patrons of
two cocktail lounges in that city had
Positively identified photos of George
Albert Scott as the bandit who had
lined them against the wall on the night
of January 20th and relieved them of
their wallets. The earlier El Paso holdup
victims likewise identified Scott and he
was formally charged with the Texas
crimes.

On the night of Saturday, January
24th, the far-flung manhunt reached its
climax when FBI agents tracked Scott
to a motel unit on the outskirts of Tex-
arkana, Arkansas. Before attempting to
take the fugitive, they mustered a force
of some two score FBI agents, state and
city police and sheriffs? deputies from
both sides of the Arkansas-Texas bor-
der. They were armed with machine
guns, rifles, pistols and tear gas guns
when they closed in on the motel unit.
With the cooperation of the manager,
nearby units had been evacuated. Only
then did the lawmen make their move.

When all the forces were in their as-
signed positions and the unit where

Scott was holed up was completely —

sealed off, an FBI agent telephoned the
fugitive’s room, told him he was sur-
rounded without a chance to escape,
and called on him to surrender. Scotty
hung up without a word.

At a signal, an officer fired a tear gas
shell at the cabin window, and Scotty
immediately opened fire. The lawmen
surrounding the place cut loose with
everything they had.

The motel cabin unit was riddled
with lead. Its front was virtually demol-
ished, but the trapped fugitive kept fir-
ing back. During a lull, the motel man-
ager phoned Scott and urged him to
surrender. Scotty didn’t reply, but the
manager heard him say to his com-
panion:

““We’re surrounded. We haven’t gota
chance. We may as well kill ourselves.
Do you want me to shoot you first? Or
would you rather shoot me and then
shoot yourself?”

Whatever their decision was, they
never got the Opportunity to carry it
out. Officers rushed closer and lobbed a
veritable shower of tear gas shells
through the shattered windows. When
the barrage let up, Scotty decided he’d
had enough.

There was a yell from inside the
cabin, then the door burst open and the
big brunette came stumbling out first.
She was barefoot and wearing only a
housecoat over her ample naked charms,
and the housecoat flapped in the breeze
as she groped her way forward out of
the blinding tear gas fumes. Tears
streamed down her face and she gasped
appeals to the officers not to shoot.

The lawmen held their fire, and in
the next instant, Scotty, clad only in his
trousers, blinded by tear gas, gasping
and retching uncontrollably, staggered
out behind his lady wrestler friend. He
held his empty hands high over his head.
Within seconds he was securely
manacled.

Seott flatly sed to make any
statement to the ral officers. He and
his hefty girl fries both suffering from
the effects of the (ear gas but otherwise
\inhurt, were arraigned at a special Sun-
day morning ses:’on on January 25th
before U.S. Cc missioner Thelma Win-
vam. The commissioner ordered Scott
held in $50,000 bond on a federal
charge of unlawful flight across state
lines to avoid prosecution for murder
and robbery.

The lady wrestler was ordered held
‘nder bond of $5,000 on a charge of

harboring a federal fugitive. She was not
charged with complicity in the Califor-
nia crimes.

In due course, Scott was returned to
California, where a grand jury, on Feb-
ruary 3rd, after listening to testimony
of detectives and many other witnesses,
returned indictments against George Al-
bert Scott and Joe] Fraggert.

Both were charged with murder, plus
8 counts of robbery for Scott and 7
counts of robbery for Fraggert,

Some three months later, the accused
were brought to trial, and on May 20,
1959, Scott was convicted of the mur-
der of Kenneth Savoy and sentenced to
be executed in the gas chamber at San
Quentin. Joel Fraggert was acquitted of
the murder charge because he cooperat-
ed with the police and because he had
left the tavern before the shooting of
the young movie studio executive.

A series of appeals from Scott’s
death sentence dragged on for nearly
two years, but all were rejected. A final
appeal for a stay of execution from the
U.S. Supreme Court also was turned
down. In the meantime, Scott attempt-
ed suicide in his Death Row cell on
three occasions, but was thwarted each
time. Finally, on September 7, 1960,
George Albert Scott paid the supreme
penalty when he went to his death in

the California gas chamber at San Quen-.

tin Penitentiary. ooo

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Joel Fraggert and Lorna Loreen
are not the real names of the persons
so named in the foregoing story. Fic-
litious names have been used because
there is no reason for public interest
in the identities of these Persons,

Tex Rickard: Suckers
Couldn't Refuse Him

(Continued from page 52)

tween Jim Jeffries, the 35-year-old
heavyweight who had retired as the un-
defeated champion five years previous-
ly, and Jack Johnson, the 32-year-old
Texas Negro who, after flattening
Tommy Burns at Sydney, Australia, was
claiming to be the new world’s champ.

Tex had everything he needed in
matching Jeffries and Johnson, The big
thing, of course, was the racial issue.
Putting words in the mouth of Johnson,
Tex had him say: “No white man’s
gonna lick me!” Putting words into the
mouth of Jeffries, he had him say: “No
black man’s gonna lick me!”

Weeks before the fight was to be
held, in Reno, Nevada, Tex had the
whole country talking about it. From
coast to coast, blacks were accosted on
the street by whites and whites were
given the business by blacks—all on ac-
count of the feeling that Rickard had
whipped up for the coming battle.

Rickard cleaned up a fortune for
himself on the Jeffries-Johnson fight, at
which Johnson gave the business to Jef-
fries and became the first black heavy-

weight champion of the world. Jack
Johnson was to hold his champ’s title,
flooring everything in sight, for seven
years, until at the age of 39, Jess Willard
gave him the business.

But while Jack Johnson was the
champ, Tex, the foxy one, made the
most of keeping him in the public eye,
the better to draw big crowds to every
fight he fought. Tex’s big thing was the
racial issue. He sat down and wrote let-
ters to scores of the biggest newspapers
in the country accusing the champion
Johnson of everything under the sun—
from attempted marriage to white
women to love affairs with white girls
only 14 years old.

Johnson was no paragon of virtue—
far from it—but he wasn’t nearly as bad
as Tex pictured him in his letters to the
newspapers. And how were the letters
signed? Most assuredly not by Tex’s
name of initials. He signed them Outrag-
ed Citizen, Anti-Black, Pro-White, and
more of the same.

Largely as a result of Tex’s letters to
the papers, and words he put in the
mouths of hired speakers throughout
the country, he steamed up a hell of a
lot of anti-Negro feeling from coast to
coast. Blacks and whites alive stormed
the gates every time. Jack Johnson
fought and, next day, Rickard went to
the bank with one hell of a deposit.

Dell Car-
evez, New
quorrel. But:
they clinched
marriage vows.

ew fite

TABLOW

A GAMERA TOUR BEHIND

THE SCENES IN POLICE
IRCLES OVER THE U.S. stoma coe ntact Clef

arrest in a San Francisco apartment. Sampsell’s stories
of many other weekend jaunts out of confinement caused
g warden's discharge and a probe of prison conditions.

| ere Mildred McCoy, 22-year-old schoolteacher, was one of three Thomas Robertson, only 17, admitted marrying three wives
victims in a farm murder near Washington ourthouse, O., in Kansas City last July. Left to right: Nina, who was
half certain that she still loved the’ bigamist;

Sos en Thanksgiving. Lacking clues to 4 motive for the crime, at least
~~ police were baffled until an old feud was uncovered and Katherine, who was quite sure she did not; and. Lucille,
-,.a relative confessed shooting Miss McCoy and her parents. who also said she still harbored a fondness for Thomas.

L102 - 2 AGe Ale yy. gs / G of ZL)

s
>
aie 8
ce

ae " 5 °
‘phe pie Pte yo os Shaptaic abies sabe XS Seed eee

WILLIAM WEISS. National

Bankruptcy Act. Age, 32; height,
5 ft. 9 in.; weight, 150 Ibs.; eyes,
blue; hair, brown. Nationality,
American; education, three years
callege. Indictment returned by
Federal Grand Jury at Los
Angeles, California.

2 0 16 U IOI 20
Fi. C. -

1 18T I

LLOYD EDISON SAMPSELL,
Sr., several aliases. Unlawful
Flight to Avoid Prosecution
(Murder). Age, 48; height, 5 ft.
8% in.; weight, 145 Ibs.; eyes,
blue-gray; hair, light brown.
Wears glasses, may have a mus-
tachbe. Cccupations. printer, res-
taurant worker and salesman. Is:
armed ar.d is considered danger-
ous,

17 0 17 W Ho
F.P.C. -—

L 29 R OOO 11

MICHAEL GIULIANO, several
aliases. Unlawful Flight to Avoid
Prosecution (Robbery). Age, 30;
height. 5 ft. 4 in.; eyes, brown;
hair, black. Scar under left eye,
cut scar on left wrist, cut scar
on base of palm of left hand. Is
armed and is considered danger-
ous. .

16 M 25 W IIM 6
FP Ls

M 1U0QMW

fr DevectivE ap/l- 94s 4

SAMPSELL, Lloyd E., white, asphyx. San Quentin (San Diego) )-29-1952,

If you possess authentic information concerning
any of the fugitives on this page, communicate
immediately with the nearest FBI office or the
: __ local police. As soon as you have done this, notify

». the editor of REVEALING DETECTIVE CASES,
: - 241 Church Street, New York 13, N. Y.
. Proof must be submitted that the claimant iden-
tified the fugitive prior to'his arrest, before the
reward of $100 will be awarded. (Police officers
who effect the capture of fugitives wanted by
their own department are not eligible for rewards.)

for APPREHENSION
of these FUGITIVES

to the person who first identifies the fugitive, ' :

tet 4

prior to his arrest, from the photograph of the.
man appearing on this page. a 2g x

REVEALING DETECTIVE CASES reserves the ans a
right of final decision in determining whether —
the evidence submitted by the claimant to the.
reward is sufficiently clear and conclusive.

FRANK DOUBLAS PRZYBYL-
SKI, several aliases. National
Motor Vehicle Theft Act. Age,
32; height, 5 ft. 1144 in.; weight,
175 Ibs.; eyes, brown; hair,
brown. Occupations, chauffeur,
stenographer; hobbies, motor-
cycling, stamp collecting. Scars
on left index finger and left
thumb; dimple point of chin. Is
considered dangerous and may
be armed.

10 O 25 W IO 6 Ref: 25

FP. *
M 17 U 000 13

WILLIAM MILTON HOFF.
MAN, several aliases. Unlawful
Flight to Avoid Prosecution
(Robbery). Age, 53; height, 5
ft. 7% in.; weight, 135 Ibs.;
«ses, slate blue; hair, gray. Edu-
cation, 8th grade; occupation,
plumber. Mole below left eye,
mole atove right eye. Is con-
sidered dangerous and may be
armed.

10 S 1 U—t Ref: T, T, U
F. P.C.

SIA 3 A, T, T

KYLE FRANKLIN MARTIN,
several aliases. Parole Violator.
Age, 36; height, 5 ft. 10 in.;
weight, 165 lbs.; eyes, blue,;
hair, dark brown. Occupation,
cook, Scars above left eye, on
right temple and center of fore-
head at hairline. Was arrested
in several states for forgery, dis-
turbing the peace and violation
of the Selective Training and
Service Act.
19 M 1 U OO! 6 ?
F.P.C. . “
L 1 U OM a rh

198 Trial by Ordeal

watch him die, spotted Deputy Sheriff Frank Wilson of Ala-
meda County.

“Wilson was the man who first brought Sampsell to San
Quentin twenty-three years ago on a robbery charge. Now,
before he turned to sit down in one of two metal chairs,
Sampsell gave Wilson a smile. Two of the guards hastily
strapped Sampsell’s arms and legs to the metal chair, while
the third blocked the doorway whence Sampsell had walked
... from the... room in which all condemned prisoners live
out their last night at San Quentin.

“Then, as Wilson stood with the other witnesses, breathing
heavily, Sampsell turned and deliberately winked at him, as
though to relieve Wilson’s heightening nerves. Then Samp-
sell looked straight ahead as the guards scurried out of the
room and the first of the cyanide pellets hit the bottom of
the metal container, with their awful warning of doom soon
to come. There was no tenseness to Sampsell’s body as he
waited for what he knew must come next. His hands rested
lightly on the metal death chair, relaxed. He glanced around
twice, like a bored commuter waitin g for his destination, and
then sighed, and closed his eyes.

“A witness gasped, in a sotto voice:

“Hell, he ain’t even interested.’

“Some of the guards scowled, and the witness bowed his
head. Inside the chamber, the only indication that the fumes
were beginnirig to reach at Sampsell’s brain was the reflex
action of his suddenly clenched hands. He took a deep
breath, not hungrily but casually, and then another, and a
third, and then tossed back his head. After a few minutes,
his head dropped to his chest, and the dying went on.

“To those who watched the fifty-two-year-old Sampsell
die, and recalled the forgotten headlines, his death more
properly seemed to belong to another decade. . . .

“At 9 a.m., an hour before the scheduled execution, a hush

, .. And Then We Die . 199

fell across the prison. An hour and thirteen minutes later,
trusties began to appear on the streets of San Quentin Prison

again. Sampsell was dead.”

Some of us die hard, full of terror.

SLAYER GOES TO GAS DEATH SCREAMING, said the headline,
and the lead sentence-paragraph beneath that headline re-
ported: “Leandress Riley went to his death unreconciled,
fighting and screaming yesterday.” .

Leandress Riley was the frightened but friendly tiny
Negro I introduced you to in the preceding chapter. He was
wild-eyed when the death watch took him downstairs. At a
quarter to ten the next morning, he began to scream. He
moved frantically about his cell. Death’s cold breath was
blowing full upon him. His screams became strangled cries.
He fought when the guards came for him, and he was fight-
ing not the guards but an enemy who wasn't there. His cries
turned into a piercing shriek that carried audibly up to
Death Row. Terror made his heart pound. He struggled and

_ kicked. Strapped down, he jerked his arms free of the straps.

The guards had to re-enter the gas chamber and secure his
arms again. His face was contorted. The terrible, high-
pitched sounds of fear kept bursting from his lips.

He had worked one arm free for a second time when the
gas found his lungs. He stopped fighting. His body jerked,
convulsed, went limp. He began to die, now silent. And the
official witnesses watched, many of them sickened.

At 10:16 a.m., his body slumped forward, Leandress
Riley—the little Shifter—was pronounced dead. The official
witnesses filed silently from the green room in the center of
which squatted a gleaming chamber, tribute to man’s tech-

———

“

Ture COULDN'T BE any more
horrible crime of its kind,” said the
Criminal Court judge when he sen-

tenced seventeen-year-old Sam
Palumbo to life imprisonment.

What merited the severe sentence
was the youth’s sly trick of tele-
phoning for a baby sitter from a
Baltimore apartment he had just
burglarized and whose occupants
were away on a vacation. When a
young girl arrived in a taxicab,
Palumbo took her upstairs.

When she asked to see the baby,
he led her through several rooms
pretending to look for the infant.

Finally, when the two reached
the back of the house, the youth
turned and assaulted her.

The girl screamed and fought
back, and in the struggle they both
rolled downstairs. Then Palumbo
bound her with the aid of a rope
he had brought with him, gagged
her with pieces of his shirt, and
tied her to a kitchen chair.

He covered her face with a pillow
and threatened to cut her with a
knife if she dared to make an out-
cry.

Fortunately, neighbors who al-
ready had been alarmed by sounds
of the struggle telephoned for the
police.

The attack was interrupted and
Palumbo was seized as he tried to
make a getaway.

Only the fact that he was not
yet eighteen saved Palumbo from
the death penalty.

—BrYANT BUTLER

TEVEZ DEVETOE
idea f TOP.

mysterious-looking trunk and found the
fully clad body of a middle-aged wom-
an, a man’s scarf wound tightly around
her throat.

The man, who had been working
about the hotel grounds on the day of
July 9th, 1947, had spied the large trunk
far underneath the back porch. Know-
ing that it was usually stored in the
basement, he pulled it out, made his
grim discovery, and called the police.

At the morgue, an autopsy revealed
that the victim had been murdered ap-
proximately one week before. The
woman’s fingerprints, when sent to the
FBI Identification Division in Washing-
ton, D. C., were identified as those of
Mrs. Helen King, wife of Morley Vernon
King, chef and operator of the hotel
dining-room.

Investigation revealed that King had
last been seen leaving the hotel grounds
driving a two-toned gray, 1941 Buick,
at three o’clock on the morning before
the body was found.

The maid who cleaned King’s room
told the police that on July 1st she had
found a “Do Not Disturb” sign on his
door. On going downstairs she had
been surprised to see King at work in
the kitchen, and had asked him about
the sign. “His only explanation was that
he didn’t want his room disturbed for
several days,” concluded the maid.

It soon became apparent to the authori-
ties that the killer had committed the
crime on that same date—J uly Ist. Un-
able to dispose of the body until six
days later, he had finally hidden the re-
mains in the trunk before fleeing,

A warrant was issued charging Morley
Vernon King with his wife’s murder.

LLOYD E. SAMPSELL. Alias: Leslie B.
Summers. Murder. Rewards: TRUE De-

Wetch for these Sugitives

TECTIVE, $100; The Seaboard Finance
Corporation of San Diego, Calif., $1,000.
Age, 48; height, 5 feet, 8% inches;
weight, 145 pounds; eyes, blue-gray;
hair, light brown; complexion, swarthy;
sometimes wears mustache. Marks of
identification: vaccination scar on upper,
outer part of left arm; two blotch scars
on lower part of chest. Occupation:
Restaurant worker. If located, notify
Chief of Police A. E. Jensen, Police De-
partment, San Diego, California.

PISSATISFIED with an allowance of

$250, college student Lloyd Sampsell
turned to forging checks for additional
spending money. This was the start of
a string of crimes which culminated in
murder,

After his initial experience in forgery,
Sampsell tried bank robbery, selecting
the Western State Bank at Los Angeles,
California, for his first attempt. After a
successful getaway, he was picked up
and sentenced to a term in San Quentin.
There he met a convict of his own age
and socially prominent background. Dis-
covering that they had a similar aim in
life, the two became close friends.

In the fall of 1927, both were paroled,
and together they staged a long series of
bank robberies along the West Coast.
For a while their unique getaway
method worked successfully. Immedi-
ately after each hold-up, the two bandits
went to sea in a luxurious cabin cruiser,
and in this way eluded the police who
were conducting a widespread search on
land. Shrewd detective work uncovered
the fugitives in 1929, and both were
given long sentences at Folsom Prison,

Last year, after approximately eighteen
years behind bars, Sampsell was re-
leased,

This time he teamed up with two
other ex-convicts. Early on the morn-

ing of March 27th, 1948, the bandits .

walked into the offices of the Seaboard
Finance Corporation and demanded all
the money on hand. An off-duty police-
man who happened to be on the scene
tried to apprehend Sampsell. In the
struggle which followed, the officer was
wounded, and a patron, Arthur W. Smith,
was killed by a stray bullet.

The trio made their getaway, but
shortly afterward, one of them was ap-
prehended. He admitted his part in the
crime, naming Sampsell as the gunman,

A. E. Jansen, Chief of Police, San
Diego, California, has requested this
Magazine to aid him in an all-out effort
to bring about the capture of Lloyd
Sampsell.

JOHN AD
Criminal A.
TRUE DETEC
Age, 51; 1}
weight, 135
dark; comp]
tification: t]
of nose; nun
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This led to t)
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cove which at
d most of aris-

credible era of
n and heralded
flawless system

ley, the charm-
he rolling hills
corner of Shat-
e University of
rtant branch of
constantly alive
ction thunders
an electric lines
san Francisco.

lice department
ioneer in crimi-
hods have been

to one that no
ank for a day-
yle, was crystal-

| paused idly in
ass windows for

satisfaction there

utes was so swift
itly had difficulty
ery itself was no
ank with $17,500
manager, M. H.
The bandits had
e long before the

it the gunmen had
andages on their
‘aust to avoid the
was a technique
rned months later
1 in bank crimes.
S.
had been accom-
amazing link ina
coast.
up in another sec-
employes in the

acht” bandits who
8.

NG DETECTIVE

The yacht “Sovereign,” below, was the clue which
eventually trapped the daring robbers. Lloyd Sampsell, ;
pictured below, was the other bandit police. sought.

MAD CAREER OF
CALIFORNIA’S
PRISON KILLERS

College avenue branch of the Oakland bank. There had been
two sensational daylight holdups in Los Angeles, in which banks
had been looted of $8,000. In Seattle there had been an appalling
series of bank and store holdups. Vancouver, B. C., had been
terrified by the viciousness of two “phantom bandits.”

Each of these crimes had the same pattern.

There were always two men whose guns were concealed by
bandages. They struck with extraordinary speed and vanished
before the police could plug up the gaps in available channels of
escape. Police finally reached the conclusion that all the holdups
were the work of the same elusive pair.

They could not know that they were up against mad dogs
who, one day, would be branded “‘the most dangerous in Cali-
fornia” and whose exploits still would be news ten years later.

But for the moment there was not one single clue to the
identity of the gunmen.

ADVENTURES

eure ‘i “we iy ven iy werSenty gate whe strat
7 rennin iggtet pine neeteneccconneoncgaavanmnalaniaeiscinnch hey hae
‘ te * % »

em 4

The usual police showups yielded nothing. Countless suspects
were run through the grill. Victims stared at rouges’ gallery
photos until their eyes watered.

It was about this time when an astute police inspector in Van-
couver, running down every lead which had the least possibility,
came across two bits of information which constituted a strange
paradox. The first turned up in an express office. A slip of paper
showed that a man named L. V. Summers had shipped his
automobile from Vancouver to San Francisco by rail. The
second was linked to the first. A shipping register entry listed
the same L. V. Summers as the recent purchaser of a $20,000
power yacht. Further investigation showed that the yacht had
slipped out of Vancouver harbor one night and had not been
seen or reported since.

The two transactions were sufficiently mysterious to stir the
inspector’s curiosity and he promptly wrote an airmail letter

co’s police

ctor wrote,
if the auto-
street... -
here around

ist Berkeley
teep streets :
1 frank talk 1
1 apartment

nimers here. a
ducated and

now, a Mr.

like to take
you under-

his morning.
- ride out on

nch he takes

p floor of the
e large rooms
ned with good
idly, with the
ything seemed
cautiously for
io search war-

(eMahon knew
had the right

were four auto-

id acidly. “I’ve

e
°

a |
; pee eee
; ve 2 3 ci
ox Sas Seg ce Fee Pras

this air view, 1 METS}
afraid of a vengeful death at the
hands of crazed Sampsell and
ScNabb when the robbers mys-
teriously disappeared.

{hem
to

them

hem
Nice
the
They
woman,
» from

OSs;

The manager winked at McLaughlin and pressed the buzzer
for the Summers apartment three times, the signal on which they
had agreed.

“That’s Mrs. Summers,” the manager said as the elevator
disappeared upward.

“Nice looking girl,” the detective commented. “But you never
can tell about these gang molls if that’s what she is. I hope she
doesn’t try to start anything.”

In the top floor apartment at that moment McMahon and
Rauer drew their guns, pressed their bodies flat against the
wall and tensed themselves as they heard a key slip into the lock.
The door swung open and suddenly, with one foot over the
threshold, the girl stopped and her wide eyes stared into the
muzzles of two guns. She dropped her handbag in fright,
screamed shrilly and backed up against the opposite wall.

“Who are you? What do you want ?” she gasped.

McMahon turned back his coat to reveal his star.

“Police,” he said brusquely. “Just keep your hands up, lady,
and there won’t be any trouble.”

“Police?” she echoed surprisingly. “I haven't done anything.
What do you want here ?”

“We'll get to that later.” McMahon nudged Rauer. “Take
her into the next room, keep her hands cuffed. And keep quiet,”
he added, addressing the girl again. “It won't do any good to
yell a warning to your boy friends. We’ve got the whole build-
ing covered.”

The girl’s full, sullen mouth dropped and a sharp retort bal-
anced on her tongue. But she said nothing and followed Rauer
into another room with scorn and defiance dilating her light
blue eyes. She knew this was no time to argue.

Half an.hour later the buzzer split the silence again.

McMahon, alone at the door this time, drew back a few feet
from the door and his finger was curled around the trigger of
his gun. But the slim, impeccably dressed man who came
through the door apparently was in no mood for opposition
and his hands flew toward the ceiling automatically when Mc-
Mahon’s voice whipped at his ears.

“A stickup, eh?” he drawled. ‘Well, I haven’t got much but
you’re welcome to my wallet.” His right hand dropped toward
an inside coat pocket but it stopped in mid-air when McMahon
snapped a sharp warning.

“Never mind reaching for anything! I’m a police officer.”

[Continued on page 71]

--_

Aaah Peedi

1 a Ne ety
Tec cern innes
eee a

TR ne Em

H
:
¢
i
j

‘ee

low,

a Inspector

i William McMahon, above, was the keen-witted’
*-’ sleuth who captured Sampsell and McNabb, Guards, be- |“
are! pictured in Folsom prison

plotted to continue their interrupted careers, | .

where the bandits

OPTS

to Inspector William McMahon of San Francisco’s police
robbery detail.

“] have nothing specific against Mr. Summers,” the inspector wrote,
“but I wish you would quietly check up on him, and find out if the auto-
mobile actually was delivered to his apartment on Leavenworth street... -
He also bought a yacht here, and may be keeping it somewhere around

San Francisco bay... -

On the morning of June 18, four days after the last Berkeley
bank robbery, Inspector McMahon drove up the steep streets
of San Francisco’s historic Russian hill and had a frank talk
with the manager of an exclusive and high-priced apartment
house on Leavenworth street.

“Why, yes,” the manager, said, “I have a Mr. Summers here.
A very nice geritleman, too. He seems to be well educated and
his wife is very charming.”

“Oh, he’s married?”

“Yes, They have a friend staying with them now, a Mr.
McNabb. I hope nothing is wrong, Inspector.”

“So do I. However, if you don’t mind, I’d like to take
a look around the apartment. Just routine, you under-
stand.”

“Certainly. I’ll take you up. They’re all out this morning.
Mr. Summers mentioned something about a boat ride out on
the bay.”

“Boat ride?” McMahon interrupted casually.

“Yes. Mr. Summers said he has alittle launch he takes
fishing trips in.”

“tImm. He must have money.”

“Yes, indeed. I’m sure he has.”

The Summers apartment covered the entire top floor of the
building. It was a lavishly furnished suite of five large rooms
that had the expected atmosphere of luxury combined with good
taste. McMahon wandered through the rooms idly, with the
manager following him, and at first glance everything seemed
to be in order. The detective was proceeding cautiously for
he was acting only on slim suspicion and had no search war-
rant.

But then, opening a closet in a rear room, McMahon knew
that the Canadian officer who wrote to him had the right
hunch.

For there, leaning against the wall ona shelf, were four auto-
matics equipped with Maxim silencers.

“A respectable gentleman, eh?” McMahon said acidly. “I’ve

been in m
man who

The mi

“T can’

“T can.
and he ru
significan
fully loac
projectile
manager.

“T thin)

It took
stumbled
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nition, a
paper clij
that conti
was prob:
but McM

He gr
quarters,

N LES

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George M
shooting
Mahon q

“We're
he said. ‘
before, it
stock a r

“Are y
at the do

“At th:
get insid

McMal
Laughlin
others w
had been
wearing i
two rings
walked i

In Fol
this air
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hands c
McNabl

ter

so’s police

ctor wrote,
if the auto-
street. ...
ere around

st Berkeley
-eep streets
frank talk
apartment

umers here.
lucated and

1ow, a Mr.

ike to take
you under-

is morning.
ride out on

ch he takes

floor of the
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ed with good
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hing seemed
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search war-

Mahon knew
ad the right

sre four auto-

acidly. “I’ve

Be cain wes aN

been in my business for a long time but I never knew an honest
man who needed silencers on his guns.”

The manager was staring at the closet in amazement.

“T can’t understand it,” he said.

“J can.” McMahon’s curiosity was thoroughly aroused now
and he rummaged through the closet, emerging with two more
significant articles. One was a sawed-off shotgun, a vicious,
fully loaded instrument of death. The other was a tear gas
projectile gun. McMahon flashed a grim glance at the startled
manager.

“T think,” he said, ‘‘that this place needs a going over.”

It took McMahon only a few minutes to realize he had
stumbled upon the refuge of some sinister band, for his swift
search brought to light an amazing number of guns and ammu-
nition, a suitcase stuffed with currency, a bundle of news-
paper clippings dealing with various robbers and a briefcase
that contained the floor plans of several bay region banks. There
was probably other damaging evidence hidden in the apartment
but McMahon had no time for further search.

He grabbed the telephone and barked orders to head-
quarters.

N LESS than 15 minutes he was joined in the lobby of the

building by Detective Sergts. George Wall, Robert Rauer,
George McLaughlin and Otto Meyer, four of the toughest, sharp-
shooting men in the San Francisco detective department. Mc-
Mahon quickly explained the situation.

“We're up against something here that I can’t quite figure,”
he said. ‘I don’t know who these guys are, never heard of them
before, in fact. But they’ve got enough artillery up there to
stock a regiment and it looks like a big-time setup.”

“Are you going to wait until they get inside or grab them
at the door?” McLaughlin asked.

“At the door. We’re just asking for trouble if we let them
get inside with all those guns. C’'nion, let’s get posted.”

McMahon and Rauer hid behind the apartment door, Mc-
Laughlin sat down in the lobby with the manager and the
others went outside to cover the front and rear exits. They
had been waiting about an hour when a pretty young woman,
wearing an expensive fur coat and with diamonds flashing from
two rings, a bracelet and a brooch on her fashionably cut dress,
walked into the lobby and stepped into the elevator.

afraid of a vengeful death at the. .

hands of crazed Sampsell and. .

McNabb when the'robbers mys- ©
iously disappeared. : .. .

The manager winked at McLaughlin and pressed the buzzer
for the Summers apartment three times, the signal on which they
had agreed.

“That’s Mrs. Summers,
disappeared upward.

“Nice looking girl,” the detective commented. ‘But you never
can tell about these gang molls if that’s what she is. I hope she
doesn’t try to start anything.”

In the top floor apartment at that moment McMahon and
Rauer drew their guns, pressed their bodies flat against the
wall and tensed themselves as they heard a key slip into the lock.
The door swung open and suddenly, with one foot over the
threshold, the girl stopped and her wide eyes stared into the
muzzles of two guns. She dropped her handbag in fright.
screamed shrilly and backed up against the opposite wall.

“Who are you? What do you want?” she gasped.

McMahon turned back his coat to reveal his star.

“Police,” he said brusquely. “Just keep your hands up, lady,
and there won't be any trouble.”

“Police?” she echoed surprisingly. “I haven’t done anything.
What do you want here ?”

“We'll get to that later.” McMahon nudged Rauer. ‘‘Take
her into the next room, keep her hands cuffed. And keep quiet,”
he added, addressing the girl again. “It won’t do any good to
yell a warning to your boy friends. We've got the whole build-
ing covered.”

Half an.hour later the buzzer split the silence again.

McMahon, alone at the door this time, drew back a few ‘feet
from the door and his finger was curled around the trigger of
his gun. But the slim, impeccably dressed man who came
through the door apparently was in no mood for opposition
and his hands flew toward the ceiling automatically when Mc-
Mahon’s voice whipped at his ears.

“A.-stickup, eh?” he drawled. ‘Well, I haven’t got much but
you're welcome to my wallet.” His right hand dropped toward
an inside coat pocket but it stopped in mid-air when McMahon
snapped a sharp warning.

“Never mind reaching for anything! I’m a police officer.”

[Continued on page 71]

”

the manager said as the elevator

Pe weer

em ahi Se,

That he was eminently right jn his
caution was proved later when police
and FBI men, checking the story of
a certain fatal robbery, learned from
the hotel switchboard that at about
ten o’clock on that day the receiver
had been lifted from that very hotel
room’s telephone, but returned without
any service being requested.

N a city approximately 125 miles

south of the metropolis in which
that hotel was located, a ppliceman
walked into the lobby of a finance
company, looked around, spotted the
manager and strolled over to lean on
the railing beside his desk and chat.
It was March and, for March, it was
warm in San Diego.

Sitting in the office of the manager
of the B-Street branch of the Seaboard
Finance Company was Harlan Cook,
employed part time by the company
. aS a special guard and at’‘other times
a full time policeman in suburban
Chula Vista, near the Mexican border.
Cook spoke amiably to the policeman
and that symbol of authority removed
his cap, mopped his brow and said,
significantly. “Every time I ask the
sergeant if I can knock off this check
in here every hour, he tells me not
to get too lax.”

Cook grinned appreciatively. The
manager turned to Cook and said,
jovially: “First thing you know, I'll
have to give half the San Diego police
department loans for services over and
above the call of duty.”

“Just the same,” the patrolman ad-
monished him, “the sergeant’s got a
point. There’s been two stickups in the
last thirty days and they always come
by threes, leastwise that’s what the
sergeant says.”

He rapped his night stick sharply
on the new finish of the office railing,
turned and strolled. through the door
and into the street. As he left, Cook
got up, stretched his legs and started
for the rear of the building with a
mumbled, “Might as well make a check
around.” “

The manager fell to reflecting on
the Seaboard Company holdup in
Pasadena a little more than a week
before when two bandits, a tall, brisk
man and a smaller, obviously aging
confederate, had gotten $3,220 in a
daylight holdup, and of the similar
sortie in Los Angeles ten days before
that, when another finance chain had
yielded $4,000 to robbers answering the
same description. He found no cause
for alarm in the reflections, however,
and bent to the complex routines of a
bank executive’s work.

It was a dull day in the B-Street
branch and few customers were in the
lobby. Business had been none too
brisk recently and there “was reasqn
to wonder why bandits, apparently
already well heeled, would risk a try
at a spot none too prosperous, at best,
and located so close to their last two
attempts.

Five minutes later, he looked up to
see a tall, steely eyed, immaculately

dressed man in a gray chalk-striped,
double breasted suit and wearing gold,
cantilever type glasses, standing at the
rail.

Beyond him, at one of the desks
provided for customers, he barely
noticed a stooped man in_ loosely
fitting tweeds, apparently busy with
some papers.

“Yes,” he said, rising. “Can I help
you?”

“I’m Charles Webb, from New York,”
the man said. “May I speak with you?”

“Certainly . .. come right in,” he
said, stepping to the gate and holding
it back to admit the visitor.

The man moved quickly into the
area and the manager extended his
hand. Instead of the businesslike hand-
shake he’d expected, the startled man
saw, below the level of the rail where
it could not be seen from any other
part of the room, a blue, automatic
revolver. -

“Just keep quiet and do as I say
and no one will be hurt,” the man
said, evenly. “If you don’t, Ill kill
you.”

The security of the Seaboard’s money
in this branch was his responsibility,
but so, too, was the safety of the
employees, not to mention his own life.
It is a policy of the company to provide
adequate insurance for holdups in order
to lessen the obligation of the em-
ployees to protect these funds, and
it was upon this invaluable prop that
the manager leaned now.

“Walk along here, at my left, over
to the cages,” the bandit said. “Instruct
your cashiers there to give me what
money they have without making any
sounds or giving any alarms. After
that, we’ll open the safe.”

They walked first to Cage 2. The -

stooped man in the tweeds had crossed
over ta that point now and as the tall
bandit stepped inside, he said, to
his obvious confederate, “Keep, ’em
covered and watch the door... I'll
take care of the rest.”

A girl was at the window in Cage 2.
The tall bandit stepped to the cash
drawer and opened it. She slammed
it shut, then saw the gun and paled.

The bandit turned to the manager:

“Unless you tell your employees to
have better manners, someone is going
to get hurt,” he said, savagely.

“Do as he says and don’t speak,” he
told the shaken girl.

The bandit opened the drawer and
took out $1,600 in bills, closed it and
went toward the Number 1 cage. There
he scooped up 1,700 from the cash
drawer and stuffed it into his coat
pocket.

“Now,” he said, turning back to the
manager, “open the safe.”

“I can’t. I don’t have the combina-
tion.”

“Open it,’ the bandit hissed and
jammed the pistol barrel into the
manager’s middle, “or get a bullet in
your guts.”

“Wait,” the girl pleaded, “he’s telling
the truth. I’m the only one that knows
the combination.”

“Then you open the safe,” snapped
the man.
She went to the safe and, after

spinning the dial nervously, swung
back the big door. The bandit ordered
the manager inside with him. As he
passed through the door, he shot back
grimly over his shoulder:

“Try to lock this door on me and
I’ll put a bullet in this guy’s brain.
Understand?”

Inside the safe, he scooped up a
handful of checks, rifled through them
and threw them into a corner. He
found a bag of silver on a shelf and
stuffed that into his jacket pocket.

“Where’s the big stuff
folding money?” he demanded.

“You’ve got it all. It was all in the
cages.”

The bandit stared at him for an
instant, then said, “Okay. Move.”

He ordered the manager to walk
ahead of him into the main room.

’ A door slammed in the rear of the

building and the tall man looked up
quickly. He called to his confederate
sharply, “Get the car ready... I'll
be right out.”

The man in tweeds shuffled out the
door. He turned right and the tall
bandit turned toward the manager.

As he did, he was seized from be-
hind. Cook had come through the rear
door, caught at a glance the implications
of the scene, slipped behind a half
wall until the bandit had turned back,
and then attacked.

While the bandit struggled in his
grasp, the manager turned to his office
to release the police alarm. A burly
man looked in the B-Street door, saw
the struggle and rushed in to Cook’s
aid.

The bandit saw him and shouted:
“I’m being robbed ... grab this man.”

It was clever, and it might have
worked. But unfortunately for the
desperado, Cook and Arthur Smith were
friends. Smith lunged at him and locked
his head in a muscular grip. Suddenly
the handit whirled, tripped Smith up
and the three fell, writhing, to the
floor. The wiry bandit was too quick
for the others, and probably too ex-
perienced in this sort of thing.

He wriggled away in a flash, leaped
to his feet, whipped the heretofore
concealed gun from his pocket and
fired, pointblank, at Smith as he
scrambled to his knees.

Smith sank backwards, clutching at
his abdomen, and Cook jumped again
at the robber. Another burst of fire and
Cook stumbled backward and sat down
abruptly as blood made a rosette on
his white shirt front.

Wordlessly,, the bandit turned on
Smith, writhing painfully on the floor.

Smith saw him through blurred
eyes and moaned, “For—don’t shoot
again...

“You asked for it, friend,” the bandit
spat between his teeth and then two
more bullets ploughed into the dying
man’s middle, and he jerked spasmod-

the

(Continued on page 36)

Pa ee ee ee

MASE

% THE man stood nude in the middle of the floor,
inhaled noisily once or twice, then reached for a pair
of striped silk shorts and drew them over his long legs.

His already immaculately groomed hair was graying
at the temples and there were heavy lines about the
cold blue eyes, deep set in a tanned, mobile face with
prominent bone structure and firm jaw.

His body, however, was lithe and muscular with the
long, loose sinews of the perpetual athlete to whom
physical fitness is a creed and vital good health a con-
secration. The hips were lean and the stomach muscles
flat, and he moved with the feline grace that betokens

CRIME CLASSIC

lightning agility and hidden strength.

“Must you go now, Baby?”

The voice came from the wide bed against the inner
wall of the large and palpably expensive room. It was
the saccharine voice of a woman whose profession is
cajolery and whose hallmark is winsomeness, ¢ven
while lying unclothed before a man not her husband.

She was a pretty woman, lush and white skinned,
and, as is fashionable in her world, a decided blonde.
Her eyes were blue, a feature that conventionally
calls, in the demi-monde, for liberal applications of
bleach to the scalp, and this she had not ignored.

She could not have been called buxom, since her
flesh was less extravagant than that, but curvaceous
she decidedly was.

She swung her well turned legs over the side of the

bed and sat up, her thighs swelling provocatively.

against the mattress edge, then stood up, tall and, by
purely physical standards, uncommonly alluring.

The man smiled as he dropped a flawless linen shirt
over his square shoulders, then shook his head.

“Save it, sweets,” he said. “I can’t be tempted now.
Papa has work to do.”

The woman’s face was suddenly serious. She threw
a garish red velvet peignoir over her tawny body,
pushed her soft hair back over her ears in a graceful
sweep of her two hands and moved over to a night
stand to take up and light a cigarette.

“I’m worried about this job, Baby,” she said. “It’s

”

so close ..

“What do you mean, so close?”

“So close to the other one,” she answered. “I’m
afraid you’re pressing your luck.”

He had finished lacing on his neat black shoes over
conservative black silk socks and now drew on gray,

KILLE

TTT. ff vA @ ™Er

Vib WAL ES NAGAZ AAS g My, AY

Sn eee

chalk-striped trousers and, carefully tucking in the
white shirt, made them fast with suspenders over his
shoulders and a belt loosely buckled.

“T’ve told you, doll,” he said, firmly, “that I don’t
operate on luck. I operate on solid, scientific princi-
ples. Guys who depend on luck... .” he shrugged his
shoulders and spread his hands, palms up... “well,
they’re the guys who run up the gas bills in San
Quentin.” ‘

The woman shuddered, then went to him and put
her hands on his shoulders and then on his face and
pulled his mouth down and kissed him.

“T’m sorry ... I won’t say anymore,” she whim-
pered. “But don’t put it that way ... it terrifies me.”

. The man slipped into his coat, adjusted his tie, put
a gray, snap brim hat carefully on his head, took a
thick, expensive briefcase from. a drawer and turned
to face her.

“You understand,” he said. “I’ll be in touch with
you in ninety days. You’ve got enough money.”

“Plenty,” the girl said.

“Good. I'll pay the bill here as I go out and you’d
better be gone by noon. It’s safer.”

He kissed her lingeringly, then went out the door as
she stared after him apprehensively, as well she might
because this man for whom she had been so solicitous
was setting out, as a businessman might set out, on
one of the most dangerous missions in all the fantastic
world of crime.

The woman turned, finally, from the door, dropped
the red robe from her shoulders and faced the floor

- length mirror. She stood, momentarily, with her arms

raised above her head, then ran her hands caressingly
down over her fine body and smiled appreciatively at
her image, as many a man must have smiled in her
brief life.

She turned, humming to herself, walked to the tele-
phone, lifted the transmitter, then slowly replaced it.
We can only assume that she was about to make a
telephone call, possibly to some now ‘more available
lover with money to spend, but that she changed her
mind when she remembered that he who had just left
had cautioned her many times, as his kind would,
against making telephone calls through PBX boards.
Only bank robbers who depended on luck would per-
mit their mistresses. such a heedless indulgence as
that CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE

He could have been called
‘Dapper Dan' with his silk
suits and pleated shirts.
To the FBI, he was the #1

gunman on the wanted list!

Accused griped to newsmen that the unsightly attire
provided by state prison hindered him from getting
any sympathy from the jury, consisting of 12 women.

FBI agents missed Sampsell when he boarded plane at
Los Angeles. But they caught up with him in Phoenix.

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cover all
in Diego.
‘rks, were
remained
the mur-

next in
, the busy
local Sea-
1 patrons
int, and

aust have
would be
ornia, he
ig his first

‘held up
the Bank
ie entered
h of the
‘ler Max-
id dashed
irm could

ranch of
‘up by a
$3 in cur-
s place in
vith other

customers. A woman who had stood be-
hind him for several minutes, Joan Par-
rish, later identified the bandit, from
photographs, as Sampsell.

The hunt was intensified. In the latter
part of November, the FBI distributed
10,000 more circulars for the man. Al-
though the Fedéral Bureau of Investiga-
tion issues no formal list of the most
wanted criminals in the country, they
stated that of the dozen men they were
most anxious to arrest, Sampsell occupied
the number three spot.

Months passed, and clespite the num-
ber of law enforcement agencies seeking
him, no trace of the fugitive was re-
ported. Nor, over the winter, were any
more robberies attributed to him,

Still; something :did turn up. On Los

Angeles’ ‘Vermont ‘Avenue,: which is jam-
packed with some of the largest used car
lots in the country, the Union Auto Sales
is one of the smaller outfits. Shortly after
10 on Thursday morning, March 24,
1949, a short, slim, bespectacled man,
neatly dressed in a brown suit, entered
the lot and stopped to examine a 1938
Ford sedan. He asked the manager,
Arthur Penton, several questions about
the car, muttered that hé might come
back later for a demonstration, and strode
away. :
At about 1:10 that afternoon, he re-
turned. “Would you mind driving it over
to the house, so my wife can take a look
at it?” he asked. Penton murmured, “Not
at all,” and called over salesman Troy
Patrick to demonstrate the car. The lat-
ter, a tall, and heavily built man with a
florid complexion and steel gray hair,
slid hamid: the wheel without throwing
the customer a second glance. The man
opened the door opposite the driver and
sat beside him. “Drive down toward
Virgil Avenue,” he. suggested.

The Ford, painted a bright blue, with
“$185 DOWN” emblazoned in. orange
paint on the windshield, was approach-
ing Virgil and Fourth when the customer
observed mildly that he thought the
clutch was slipping.

“I don’t think it is,” Patrick replied.

“Well, let's stop and see.” F

The sedan braked to a stop. Patrick
was slipping the gear shift into neutral,
when the customer spoke again,

“Now. don’t turn around to look at
me. Just get out and walk back to your
place.”

Despite the admonition, Patrick was
so taken aback that he turned involun-
tarily to stare at his passenger. The ‘man’s
eyes were as cold.and hard as diamonds.
His mouth was compressed in a thin line.
His right hand held a nickel plated re-
volver pointed at the salesman’s stomach.

“Please,” the little man murmured.
“Don't make it difficult for both of us.”

The salesman slipped from behind the
wheel and began walking. En route, he
called headquarters. By the time he ar-
rived at his car lot, Detective Marty
Winn, of the Los Angeles robbery squad,
was waiting for him.

Winn listened to Patrick’s story, and
after obtaining a description of the gun-
man, dialed headquarters. from Arthur
Penton’s office. He spoke with Captain

Jack Donahue, commanding officer of

the robbery squad.

“It was Sampsell, all right,” Winn con-
cluded. “My guess is that he’s got a job
on tap and stole that car for his getaway.”

Donahue agreed. At once, plans were
laid to augment the robbery squad with
every available detective and patrolman,
to cover all banks and finance company
offices within the confines of Los Angeles.
The task would be huge, since the city
limits sprawl over an area of 450 square
miles. ‘

Before the plans could be gotten under
way, however, Sampsell struck. At 1:25
Pp. m., a “scholarly looking” man in a
brown suit entered the Hoover Street
branch of the Bank of America through
a rear door. He walked quickly up to
teller H. C. Swanson, shoved a revolver
at him and murmured, “Open the
drawers and give me what you've got.
No funny business, and keep smiling.”

Sampsell followed Swanson along
the row of tellers’ cages, and quickly
shoved an estimated $7,000 in bills into
his pockets. He fled the bank on foot, and
though the teller and an assistant cashier
gave chase, they lost him in a crowd
within a block.

At once, all cruiser cars in the vicinity
of Hoover were alerted for the gun-
man and the stolen sedan. When the blue
Ford was later found abandoned a mile
from the bank, it seemed apparent that
if Sampsell were to flee the city, he would
have to use one of the public transporta-
tion systems. Los Angeles patrolmen reg-
ularly assigned to the Union Station,
Municipal and Burbank Airports and all
interstate bus stations, were warned to be
on the lookout for him. At the same time,
additional flyers on the bank robber were

rinted and distributed to ticket sellers
in all the terminals.

Thus, when Patrolman Henry Wild

went on his regular tour of duty at the

Municipal Airport, shortly before
midnight Thursday, .he carried with
him several of the Sampsell “wanted”
notices. One of the spots he dropped

them off at was the TWA ticket stall.

The TWA booth at the airport. near
Inglewood, consists of a long, low coun-
ter, about elbow high, behind which the
clerks sell tickets and offer flight informa-
tion. A foot square paneled column rises
from the center of the 15-foot long coun-
ter to the ceiling. This appeared the most
likely spot for the poster, so Wild tacked
it up on the inside, facing the clerks. On
night duty from midnight till 8 a. m.
was Dale Jensen, a slim, tanned man in
his middle twenties. He regarded the mug
shot for several minutes, and then turned
away from. it. The night dragged on
slowly; there was little traffic at the air-
port after midnight.

Shortly before 7 o’clock Friday morn-
ing, a short man in a dark brown suit
approached the TWA stall. He carried a
briefcase in his right hand, with a brown
topcoat thrown over his arm, and a smal]
leather overnight bag in his left.

“When does Flight 96 leave?” he asked.

Jensen turned to the flight board on
the rear wall. Ninety-six was the Constel-
lation to New York, scheduled to take off
at 7:15, Turning to the passenger now to

_ give him the information, his heart
jumped. If the man wasn’t Sampsell, he
‘looked enough like him to be his twin
brother, Jensen thought fast. ‘he prob-
lem was to get the gunman away from
the desk, so he could notify Wild with-
out arousing his suspicions.

The ticket agent kept his face expres-
sionless.

“It'll take off at 7:15,” he said, “but the
plane's loading now. You can board it
through gate 25.”

The man nodded, muttered his thanks,
and turned toward the gate. Seconds
later, Jensen was dialing Extension 202.
Wild’s office, located some distance from
the TWA stall. “If it isn’t Sampsell, it’s
his spitting image,” he told the officer.
“I’d sure feel better if you’d come down
and look him over.” Wild replied he'd
make it as soon as possible.

Ironically enough, now that he had

TRUE POLICE CASES

“They went that way.”

maneuvered the man onto the plane, so
that he could make his phone call, Jensen
felt it imperative to get the suspect off
again. In the event he was Sampsell,
_ there might be a gun battle aboard the
ship, especially if Wild attempted to
- make the capture there. He strode out
to the gate, conferred with Chief Passen-
ger Agent Leonard Reed, who was load-
ing the plane, and then walked to the
Constellation. Glancing inside, he saw
that there was no one beside the man.
Hostess Joan Lalor, as was customary,
was taking down the names of the pas-
sengers. From her, he learned the suspect
was traveling under the name of H. B.
Shaw. His flight ticket called for Kansas
City.
se conferred, with Reed and
Patrolman Wild, and devised a plan for
getting “Mr. Shaw” off the Constellation.
The mail and baggage was already on
board and the plane was nearly ready
for takeoff. Jensen entered the ship again.
Walking to the suspect, he muttered
something about a discrepancy in the
man’s reservation. Would he mind step-
ping to the front desk a minute?

It the passenger's suspicions were
aroused, he gave no indication. Stepping
off the plane, he was confronted by Reed
and Patrolman Wild. The latter held a
police flyer on Lloyd Sampsell in his
hand.

The passenger regarded the two men
for several seconds. “What’s it all about?”
he asked, finally. There was anxiety in
his voice, despite an effort at noncha-
lance.

“Don't be alarmed,” Wild said easily.
“There’s some question about your resem-
blance to this picture of Lloyd Sampsell.”

There was a long,, waiting silence. One

important discrepancy between the de-
scription of Sampsell on the flyer, and
the suspect himself, was obvious. The
gunman was described as having blue-
gray eyes; this man’s eyes seemed a deep
brown. ;

The passenger took the flyer from
Wild’s hands. He glanced.at the photo-
graph, frowned, and turned to ticket
agent Jensen.

“This is all very embarrassing and ab-
surd,” he said calmly. “Why, this man
here looks more like that picture than
I do.”

Wild forced a laugh. “Now you're em-

barrassing him,” he said.

Asked for identification, the man
showed a driver’s license and other cre-
dentials which indicated he was H. B.
Shaw of Joplin, Missouri.

Although not entirely convinced the’
passenger was not Sampsell, Patrolman
Wild allowed him to reboard the plane.

He could not possibly leave the Constel-
lation, the officer knew, until it landed
at Phoenix, Ariz, at 9:55 Mountain
Time. The flight would provide ample
time for the authorities there to be noti-
fied, and for further investigation. Reed
muttered conventional apologies, and at
7:17 the big ship was airborne. - -
Checking immediately with the TWA
ticket office in downtown Los Angeles,
Jensen ascertained that H. B. Shaw had
purchased his ticket at 6:45 the previous
evening. He had given the Biltmore
Hotel as his address, in the event it was
necessary that he be notified of a flight
caneellation. Meanwhile, Patrolman
Wild had contacted Captain Jack Dona-

hue. The latter had promptly relayed the’

information to the FBI in Phoenix that
passenger H. B. Shaw on Flight 96 out
of Los Angeles might be Lloyd Sampsell.

Special Agent William Murphy, who
had been transferred from the San Diego
Field Office to Phoenix, headed the
group of FBI men and city police waiting
at the Phoenix airport. As the Constella-
tion taxied toward Flight Operations, the
officers walked toward the plane. When
“H. B. Shaw” strolled off to stretch his
legs, they closed in on him.

The passenger again indignantly de-
nied he was Sampsell. A search of his
baggage revealed a fully loaded .44 with
an additional 30 rounds of ammunition.
On the plane seat, wrapped in a paper

ackage, was $7,600 in currency. Con-
ronted with this evidence, “Shaw”
shrugged and admitted his identity.

Agent Murphy later expressed sur-
we at the ease with which the gunman

ad been apprehended. “I fully expected
trouble,” he said, “and thought we might
have to kill him.”

Brought back to Los Angeles, the bank
robber: was besieged at the jail by re-
porters and photographers. He firmly but
courteously refused to pose for pictures
until after he had bathed and shaved.

“After that, I will be at your disposal.”
he told-them. “At present, I look like an
animal.”

He was immediately indicted in Los
Angeles for the robbery of the Bank of
America, for transportation of stolen
money, and flight to avoid prosecution.
Meanwhile, District Attorney Don Keller
preasee his efforts to have the gunman
rought to San Diego to stand trial for
murder. United States Attorney James
Carter in Los Angeles agreed. “It’s our
customary policy,” he said, “to allow the
more serious charges to take precedence
in prosecution.” Thus, on March 381, in
the custody of Sheriff Bert Strand and
Chief of Police A. E. Jensen, he was
driven south to San Diego.

Sampsell, whose glasses had been tinted

to make his blue gray eyes appear brown,

_ stated that the Bank of America holdup

was to have been his last. He had been
en route to his farm near Joplin, Mo.,
when apprehended. It was because he re-
quired capital for equipment and stock,
he stated, that he returned to his old pro-
fession after hiding out all winter.

“I’ve always said,” he told reporters
later, “that when one wants bread, one
goes to the bakery; for meat, you see the
butcher; well—” he shrugged—“I_ needed
money, so obviously I went to the banks.”

The robber, looking drawn and almost
emaciated, glanced down at his unpol-
ished shoes. His suit was unpressed; his
sports shirt soiled.

“I can’t admit having committed that
murder last March,” he went on, in a
low voice, “although I’m afraid there’s
ample evidence to prove I was in San
Diego that morning. However, what hap-
pens to me is unimportant. When a man
gets to be my age, his age and health—
I've got a little T.B.—gang up on him
anyway. I suppose there’s no futuze for
me.”

On ws oh 8, Lloyd Edison Sampsell was
indicted by the grand jury on charges of
first degree murder, robbery and assault
with a deadly weapon. He endeavored
during the following week to plead guilty
to murder in the second degree. Don
Keller refused, and on April 19, when ar-
raigned on the indictment, Sampsell
pleaded innocent to the charges.

On May 16, Sampsell’s trial opened
in Superior Court before Judge William
A. Glen and a jury of 12 women. The
bank robber took the stand in his own
defense, admitted he had taken part in
the San Diego Seaboard Finance Com-
pany robbery, but swore that he did not
remember firing his gun during the strug-
gle with guard Harley Cook and Arthur
Smith,

“I felt myself being hit,” he said, “and
fell down. But I have no recollection of
the gun going off. I heard two shots and
found myself running. I was scared.”

On May 23, after deliberating seven

hours the jury found him guilty of first
degree murder, attempted murder and
robbery. Sampsell quipped about the jury
superciliously. “I didn’t think twelve
women could make up their minds.”
Judge Glen said he would pronounce
sentence on June 27, but Sampsell then
requested an earlier date.

I would like to see my wife just once
more,” he told the Court, “and then have
her return to her family as soon as pos-
sible.”

The request was granted. Two days
later the judge sentenced Lloyd Sampsell
die in the gas chamber at San Quentin

rison.

Half of Passion’s
Puzzle

[Continued from page 37]

ends are twisted together. The trick is
to get them together or apart like a cou-

le of links in a chain, without unfasten-
ing the ends. I’ve seen a lot of ’em.”

Silent a moment, his brow wrinkled in
a frown. “The trick now is to find the
fellow who has the other part of this
gadget.”

Sheriff Steinman lost no time in visit-
ing the stores in Logan, showing the little
wire ring and asking if any sales had
been made of puzzles such as he de-

scribed. But his quest was fruitless.
Several] places had handled the little rings
a year before, but they were not made
of wire like the.one in the sheriff's pos-
session. Neither could the proprietors re-
call to whom the things had been sold.
“Nearly every kid in town had one,” the
merchants said.

Steinman was disappointed at his lack
of immediate success, but far from dis-

cai

coura:
the p
Ther
woul’
other
puzzl:
lost h
for tl
the n
Shi
next

sum
the
awa
aloi
‘7
Eth
the
bre
hac
\
lati
al
hac
He
ass:

something's wrong
Cava explained.

in the kitchen. But

herself in?”

greed that the cir-

strange.

ITHER odd thing -

elves into the back
with pathetic eager-
ogs. The pets’ tood
fith always brought
and left there all
1 sight. The two

r the visitors and -

ntically.
sound as though

g premonition of
1en hurried up the
of the bolted door
1, but through a
9 the porch behind
. Griffith used as a
.w a large wrench,
lying on the table.
or in,” Mrs. Cava
flimsy bolt. I can
weight against the
ucked it again. On

pen.
over a pair of

_-ruding from the *

e the door. Her
lenced the howling
od! She’s dead!

indeed dead. She
partially kneeling
the toolbox on the
f bloody laundry
er gray hair was
|. Blood was spat-
et walls. She was
bed jacket, bath-
vers. When her

iand she found it

ope of Mission
e woman’s frantic
vectors Ralph Mc-
{ George Murray
tail who arrived
the house at 719

n but controlled,
ing the roomer’s
oom. .

he was really a
peculated. ‘“May-

1,” Nelder pointed
en dead for some
st night. It isn’t
iave stuck around

trived, examined
iat the back and
v's head had been
leavy blows. So
zging that part of
exposed.
‘rench bore blood-
-bvious murder

“Mrs. Griffith
nind while kneel-
ibly at the com-
laundry had ap-

‘MBORt¢aees 2a

SREY ITTVI IEE! ee

parently been stuffed over her head to stop
the spurting blood.

The coroner’s man found $75 in ¢ur-
rency pinned inside the slain woman’s
nightgown.

“Mother always kept money around for
emergencies,” Mrs. Cava explained. “She
hid it in different places or pinned it in
her clothes. Whoever killed her may have
been after that—and didn’t think of look-
ing in her nightgown!”

A. swift canvass of the house indicated

that several rooms had been invaded.
Drawers hung open and clothes were
scattered in the closets.

The detectives theorized that Mrs.
Griffith, alone in the house or returning
from an errand, had surprised the bur-
glar at work. .

Inspector Frank Ahern, head of homi-
cide, and Inspector Tom Cahill arrived
with the fingerprint man, photographer,
and other technicians and while they were
making a careful search of the flat, Mrs.
Elsie Hansen, tenant of the lower flat
and old friend of the dead woman, re-
turned home from her shopping.

When she had recovered from the shock
of the news, she was able to supply
valuable information. She had last seen
Mrs. Griffith about 9 o’clock the previous

‘morning, on the back porch, she said.

“T thought something was wrong this
morning, when I heard the dogs howling

A DEPOSIT on a room in
this Mission district house
assured the youthful‘slayer
of an inside track when
he was ready to strike.

FOOLED by the guileless
'manner of one of her.ten-
‘ants, Mrs. Felipa Griffith
provided the weapons for
her own brutal murder.

and saw they hadn’t been fed,” she told’.

‘ the officers. “I rang Felipa’s bell, and one

of the roomers answered. He said she

wasn’t home. I went out shopping. I’d.

meant to look for her again, maybe feed
the dogs myself, as soon as I got home.”

“Do you know the roomers? Who was
it that answered the door this morning ?”

“Why, it was the new one—that little
dark fellow. Rojas, his name is. He works
over at the Bethlehem shipyard.”

“Do you know the others?”

“Well, there’s Mr. Berger who’s been
with Mrs. Griffith a long time. Then
there’s that new young fellow—Bill
something-or-other—he has the front
room. And there’s that other quiet man—
I forget his name...” |

“That's Mr. Murphy, I think,” Juanita
Cava offered. “I don’t know his first name,
or where he works. He’s been rooming
here for a couple of months. George
Berger’s been here for almost two years.

‘He’s .an electro-plater at Bethlehem. He

was mother’s favorite roomer. He used
to do little odd jobs for her.”

The women pointed out the rooms of
the several lodgers, and Inspector Ahern
looked them over and drew up a list, to
keep the complicated setup straight.

Murphy’s room,. at the head of the

stairs, appeared to be in order. But of
course, Ahern was quick to realize, it
might have been set straight overnight

after having been ransacked. It containea
very little in the way of clothes and per-
sonal effects, and nothing to indicate
Murphy’s full identity or place of em-
ployment.

Rojas’ room near the front still showed
traces of the prowling and George Berg-
er’s, at the back, was in wild disorder—
drawers pulled out and clothes strewn on
the floor. It appeared not to have been
tidied or even occupied since the intruder
had been there. The bed was still neatly
made, with some of the rumpled clothes
lying .on it.

[XN THE FRONT room over the stairs,

tenanted by the man known only as
Bill, the inspectors found no personal
articles at all—nothing but an unmade
bed and a large empty airplane-type suit-
case standing in the middle of the room.
The fastener of the suitcase was bent
back. Possibly, the officers thought, it had
been pried open and looted.

Mrs. Griffith's own room had been
thoroughly ransacked. Examining the
chaos, Mrs. Cava discovered that her
mother’s jewelry was missing from its
box—two gold watches, a bracelet, and
a ring.

“Tt’s hard to figure,” Ahern said. “Each
room different. The best thing we can
do is to get hold of there four roomers
and.talk to them. We’ll know more then.”

“Do you think one of the roomers... ?”

“Can't say. It doesn’t seem likely, since
they knew they’d be the first we’d ques-
tion. And those fellows would know there
wasn’t enough loot around here to make
murder worth while. On the other hand,
it looks as though the killer was familiar
with the house. For one thing, that busi-
ness of locking the inside kitchen door
to delay discovery of the body. Who'd be
likely to think of that, except someone
who knew Mrs. Griffith locked that door
when she went out ?” 7“

Ahern dispatched Cahill and Nelder
to the big Bethlehem shipyard on the
shore of the bay, not far from Capp
Street, to check on Rojas and Berger.

While the technicians went about their
work, commenting that the killer didn’t
seem to have left any traces for them—
not even a fingerprint on the bloody
wrench—Ahern questioned Mrs. Cava
and Mrs. Hansen closely about the vic-
tim’s relations with her roomers, both
present and former. Both women agreed
that she had always been on the best of
terms with her tenants, whom she had

- called “my boys.” She had never had any

trouble with anyone, so far as her daugh-
ter and neighbors knew. A jolly, friend-
ly woman, entirely devoted to the upkeep
of her house, she could safely be said to
have had not a single enemy in the world.
The two women were positive that she
had been slain by a burglar or robber,
probably a stranger to her—and not for
any personal motive.

Ahern called headquarters on Mrs.
Hansen’s phone and dictated the brief
facts of the case, for the attention of the
burglary and robbery details. Machinery
was set in motion for a pickup of routine
suspects throughout the Mission district.

Shortly, Inspector Cahill called from
the shipyard to (Continued on page 63)

” . " .

iey know any-
they do—they

em about the
He was just
mn entered.

ief deputy told
thers or sisters
‘ two brothers

»0ked worried.
it one of Mrs.
mixed up in
um reason that
zrudge to the
ither-in-law is
his didn’t stop
Churchey that
It just doesn’t
* would try to

was someone
place,” Bacon
dors do seem
—even though

cllows ?” Mac-

a Claus,” the
loyd Whipple
is share of the

his brother’s

tile gesture.
.u to believe,

ipanied Mac-
»ple farm.

ice about the
it their car to
en stepped to
vas fully five
d on the door
ied it. There
tin his weary

-r the officers
Sheriff Mac-

rmer replied.
of the day.”
estioning this

He spoke
ance. It was
y burden was

* MacDonald
” The man
doorway.

Vhipple made
srent from his
o men to be.
he officers to

. trouble with
verty rights,”

And we never

ere and what
een dark and

‘T dressed up
over to John
Lloyd: Whip-

ie speaker in
icture of the
‘-ginning to
a man will-
iis brother-
ister. The
» understand.
Donald and
; not entirely

“Tye always believed John Churchey did
me out of: my rightful inheritance,” Lloyd

Whipple continued.. “I’ve thought about this

for a long time. Then I got my gun and
went after him. I’ll get the suit and.I’ll get
the gun.” - ‘

The two officers accompanied the farmer to
an upstairs room where he produced a well-
worn Santa Claus suit and a shotgun.

“That outfit’s been in the Whipple family
a long time,” the confessed killer said. “It
came in handy when I needed it.”

Lloyd Whipple was acting strangely. He
seemed without remorse. “I. thought I could
get away with this,” he added. “But right
after I fired those shots I knew you'd catch
me. I don’t mind going to prison.” -

The man signed a full confession on the
night of Saturday, December 27, He was
held in jail without bail. The officers knew
that his peculiar behavior would make a
mental examination imperative. .

The following Monday. morning Lloyd
Whipple was brought beforé Judge Paul
Younger in Municipal Court where he was
arraigned on a eharge of murder in the first
degree. He was indicted two weeks later,
but just. as the officers had expected, he
was examined and found to be unfit for trial
at that time. :

The court, with’ full knowledge that Lloyd
Whinple’s signed confession is on record,

- ordered that he be placed in an institution for

the criminally insane until such time as he
will be ruled fit to stand trial.

If, and when, that time arrives the sheriff’s
officers of Ingham County will enter court
armed with moulages that match Lloyd
‘Whipple’s army boots, the Santa Claus suit
and the missing button, the gun that blasted
life from John Churchey anda full confession.

Eprtor’s Nore: To spare possible embar-
rassment to.innocent persons, the names Ezra
Robbins and Hubert Watkins, used in this
story, are fictitious. ;

Crime of the
Missing Lodger

(Continued from page 25)

report that he and Nelder had located Al-
fonso Rojas. This roomer, a welder at the
yard, was on his day off, but they had found
him at a nearby cafe after checking with his
fellow-workers. He had been at work as
usual the previous day, Monday, reporting at
8 in the morning.

This information appeared to put. Rojas in
the clear since’ Mrs. Hansen’ was positive
she had seen Mrs. Griffith alive as late as 9
o’clock Monday morning. And the coroner
estimated that she had been dead a little
more than 24 hours, which would place her
murder in mid-morning, while Rojas was at
work. This estimate was supported by the
fact that Mrs. Hansen recalled she hadn’t seen
the dog’ dishes put out the previous day,
which indicated that Mrs. Griffith was killed
in the morning, before she had a chance to
feed her dogs. :

George Berger, however, was a different
case,” Cahill reported. The yard records
revealed that he had gone on vacation at the
end of the previous week on Saturday, June
26. Some of his co-workers believed he had
gone on a hunting trip to Oregon, others said
he was still around San Francisco.

When the inspectors brought Rojas back, ©

he was able to contribute little of importance.
He repeated his story that his room had been
prowled, and described the missing clothing,
but he had seen no one around the house

_ around,’

when he came home at 11 Monday night and
he hardly knew Mrs. Griffith and the other
roomers. Nevertheless, he provided one
helpful lead—he named a neighborhood res-
taurant at which he thought Murphy habitu-
ally took his ‘meals.

Cahill and Nelder learned from the res-

taurant proprietor that Murphy’s first. name.

was Henry, and that’ he worked as a book-
keeper at a‘nearby plant. They located him
in short order. He,-too, had been at work all
the previous day, from early in the morning.
He said Mrs. Griffith had been getting up
when he left at 8:30, He confirmed that
Rojas had left much earlier.

“Bill—the fellow: in’ the front room—lI

_ don’t know. the rest of his name—was still
in his room when I left,” Murphy told Ahern.

“As far as I know, Berger left on his va-
cation Saturday night. I haven’t seen him
Murphy was not sure where Berger had
planned to spend his vacation, but named two
neighborhood friends he thought might know

about this. He agreed there was no evidence |

of an intruder in his room and said the visit
of the police to his office was the first he
was aware that there was anything amiss on
Capp Street.

king over Berger’s looted room, Mur-
phy noted that a radio was. missing. It was
a table model, not the sort. Berger would
have been likely to take on his vacation with
him.. He had no explanation ‘to offer for
the bareness of the front room, but identi-
fied the airplane suitcase as beloriging to Bill.
He had met Bill—a youth of about 20—only
once or twice, and had no idea what he did
for a living.

It was finally established that Berger had
left the city with some friends Saturday night,
heading for the mountains of northern Oregon
near Willamina, where they planned to camp
for a week, .

“That seems to let Berger out,” Ahern
summed up. “The only one left is this: Bill—
and it begins to look as though he was the
last person to see Mrs. Griffith ‘alive. I
want to talk to that boy.”

But it appeared that Ahern’s wish was
not to be gratified immediately ; no one knew
Bill’s last name, nor where he could be lo-
cated. It was-now late in the afternoon, and
the homicide men could only wait in the hope
that he would come home soon. Meanwhile
the trail of the killer was getting colder and
colder:

Impatient, Ahern questioned Mrs. Han-
sen further about Bill, whom she had seen
once or twice. She described him as a dark,
pleasant-facéd, soft-spoken fellow.

“I remember when he first came here,” she
said. “It was a little more than a week ago—
let’s see—it must have been the Saturday
before this last. Felipa called me up to the
back porch and introduced me to him, but I’ve
a poor memory for names.

“They were talking about the war, and
about Felipa’s son who was killed in the
Pacific. Bill said he’d been in-action in the
Pacific toe, and they were comparing notes
on the names of islands and so forth. .

“Felipa’s always been worried that her
son didn’t get a proper burial.. But this Bill

was telling her that all the fellows out there |

were buried with full rites of whatever
church they belong to. He was laying if on
so. thick thought he was exaggerating.

They didn’t always have time for burial serv-_

ices in the middle of the fighting—but I
figured he was just trying to make Felipa

' feel better. I think she took a liking to him

because_he looked a bit like her son.”

ot aged THEY WAITED for Bill’s pos-
sible return, McDonald and Murray, with
the help of Mrs. Cava, began a new and more
thorough search of the flat, in the hope of
turning up a, clue.

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In a drawer McDonald found a half-used

‘receipt book in which Mrs. Griffith had kept

the stubs of rent receipts. He thumbed
through it idly, then snapped to attention.
“Maybe we can find Bill’s full name in
here—let’s see—Berger—Murphy—Berger—
last names and dates...

“Mother always kept’ careful track of her
receipts,” Mrs. Cava supplied. ‘
“_Here we are—June 19—Berger—Mur-
phy—say, there seems to be a stub missing!”
The others craned to see. A jagged edge
showed that a stub made out on June 19 had:

. been torn out.

“That’s funny. Mother never would have
done that!” .

“You ‘see. what this means?” McDonald
urged excitedly. ‘“They’re all here except

> this one. This must have been Bill’s receipt

for his first week’s rent.. He evidently didn’t
pay the second week—all the others for the
twenty-sixth are in order, and.no more torn
out. It was Bill himself who tore this out,
to conceal his name! That means he’s the
killer, and a smart one at that, to think of
such a detail!”

“That’s right.” Ahern stood up wearily.
“It means, too, that we needn't wait here any
longer. He won't be back. There’s nothing
more we can do here. If he was smart
enough to destroy that receipt, he was
smart enough not to leave any: other trace of
himself or his name. Mrs. Griffith was the
only person besides Bill: who. knew what
name was on that receipt—and she’s dead !
Let’s go. We'll have to get busy on the
headquarters end.”

“Wait a minute,” Juanita Cava broke. in
eagerly. “You're not quite right. Mother
wasn’t the only person who knew what name
was in the book!” .. ;

“What do you mean?” i

“Well, you see, mother. was a native of
Salvador—-never learned to read or write
English! ‘She always said she was too busy
to learn such things when she came to this
country, and got along all right without it.”

“But how... .?”

“George Berger used to write out her
receipts for her. I’ve seen him’ do it time
and again. George Berger knows Bill’s
name!” :

“Well, what are -we waiting for? Let’s
get back downtown and hit that telephone
to Oregon!”

After consulting a map, Ahern telephoned
the sheriff’s office at McMinnville, the near-
est large town to Willamina.

Impressing them with the urgency of the
case, he asked the Oregon officers to locate
Berger at his mountain camp and bring him
to the phone as soon as possible.

“We're on the trail of a brutal killer,” he
told them: “Berger may be able to help us.”

The Oregon sheriff promised to send men
to Willamina at once.

While waiting for the return call, the homi-
cide men were far from inactive. Armed
with a detailed description of Bill, the jeans
and tan shirt he had worn when Mrs. Han-
sen had last seen him, they ‘set about scour-
ing every rooming-house in the Mission dis-
trict. Ahern thought it likely that the ab-
sence of clothing in the youth’s room indicated
that he had gone out and rented another
room. .

The laboratory men were busy too. An
autopsy established that Mrs. Griffith had
been killed about 10:30 Monday morning,
and the Stillson wrench, which belonged in
her own. toolbox,. was identified as the mur-
der. weapon.

At 3 in the morning the Oregon authorities
called back to report that they had learned
the location of Berger’s camp, but that diffi-
culties of the wild terrain prevented them
from reaching it till dawn.

Having canvassed every rooming-house for

blocks around Capp Street, the weary de-

tectives knocked off for a few hours of
sleep. ‘

Frank Ahern was at his desk again at 8 :30,
when the sheriff at McMinnville called back.
He put George Berger on the wire.

The connection was bad, and Berger was

‘ considerably broken up at the news of his

Jandlady’s murder.

“I’m trying to think—yes—I met that fel-
low, Bill. I wrote out that receipt and stub
on that Saturday morning—we were in the
kitchen—Mrs. Griffith asked me .. .”

“What was his name? His last name id

Ahern held his breath as the thin voice
came from 500 miles away, over the rickety
mountain line. ‘

“Tet’s see now—it began with an
Sanders? No—wait—I’ve got it! Sanford!
Bill Sanford! That’s his name!” t

Ahern thanked Berger hurriedly, cut the
conversation short, and dashed upstairs to
the bureau’of identification.

It was the work of only a few minutes to
locate, among the several Sanfords, a 20-
year-old Bill who fitted the description
exactly. He was not unknown to California
authorities. ;

A former Coast Guardsman with a minor
juvenile record, in 1947 he had been con-
victed of armed robbery and sent to the re-
formatory at Lancaster in Southern - Cali-
fornia. On the strength of his good behavior
there, he had been transferred in May, 1948,
to the forestry camp of the California Youth
Authority, an honor institution near Ben
Lomond in the mountains south of San
Francisco.

He had promptly walked off into the forest.
The Youth Authority had issued an all-points
pickup bulletin and. for three weeks officers
throughout California had been on the watch
for slim, dark, pleasant-faced William H.
Sanford.

Ahern snapped up some pictures of San-
ford from the files, mixed them_with several
others, and sped out to Capp Street. Mrs.
Hansen and Henry Murphy identified him at
a glance.

Ahern contacted the juvenile authorities
and learned a little more about Bill Sanford.
He had been in ‘trouble several times. Or-
phaned ‘in 1942, he had joined the Coast
Guard. On his discharge, he had reverted to
reckless living and bad. companions.

He and. his. five brothers and two sisters
still maintained the old family flat on
Thirtieth Street, only a few blocks from
Mrs. Griffith’s place. They shared it, taking
turns living there from time. to time.

The juvenile officers also gave Ahern. sev-
eral other addresses where Sanford might be
hiding out, and the names of some of his
cronies. :

Inspectors McDonald and Murray went out
to the Thirtieth Street flat, while Ahern and
the rest of his men followed other leads. No
one answered their ring at the old Mission
district house, and the neighbors told them
they didn’t think anyone had been there for
some days. :

The two detectives posted themselves un-
obtrusively across the street, and settled down
to wait. They waited the rest of the morn-
ing, all afternoon, and all evening, without
seeing a single person enter or leave but
‘Ahern instructed them to stay on the job.

At 2 o'clock inthe morning, the officers
were ‘startled to see a small boy leave the
dark flat, go to the all-night restaurant on
the corner, and return with a piece of pie
and a newspaper. They called headquarters.
‘Ahern decided it was time to crash the flat,
and sent Cahill and Nelder out to join them.

- Two of the officers went to the front and
two to the back, and they pushed in both doors
at the same moment.

‘The first room they scanned was empty. In
the second was a rumpled bed. Cigarette
smoke hung in the air.

Inspector McD
—and pulled out

The youth was
mitted without a
they wanted hin
the forestry ca
him of that noti

Searching Sa
found in the poc
receipt stub for
June 19.

On the way |
ficers questione:
cated to him t
rights. By the
homicide office \
sistant District
Sanford knew t
to make a full c

For his age, |
and lack of re
story.

“Sure, I kille
thought she had
I couldn't find 1:
a half from h:
and clothes -and
and sell the stu:

“T killed her
money to buy :
We've been sw
but she two-ti:
when I was in
and that’s why
I couldn't stan¢
and when she w
the story was
kill her. But
are expensive.”

He told how
“vacancy” sigi
her, sized up t
with the delib«
and killing he
him.

Waiting till
Monday morn
on his suitcase
asked her for
planned the w}
behind ther as
accepted the !
for another s:
over, rummag}
over the head

“T hit her <
bluntly. “Iw
dead.”

Sanford acti
he had finishe«
“That’s the
want to go to
can. I’m tire
telligent, but |
known it all n
I could never
why I’m mak
liberate, first-«
He wanted
but Assistant
don refused to
Sanford led
‘the loot and <
tight case. 1
old “girl-frien
enue not far
Both she anc
had ever gone
like him,” th:
told him to ke
ter to see hin
A court-ap
Sanford’s ow
and responsib
On Novem
trial before $
maker. Assi:
Peery presen
for the death

i few hours of

‘sk again at 8 :30,
ville called back.
e wire.

and Berger was
the news of his

—I met that fel-
receipt and stub
-we were in the
.me...”

is last name?”

s the thin voice
over the rickety

n with an S—
zot it! Sanford!
ame!” ‘
urriedly, cut the
shed upstairs to

a few minutes to
Sanfords, a 20-
the description
wn to California

an with a minor
> had been con-
d sent to the re-

Southern - Cali-
us good behavior
ed in May, 1948,
California Youth
ution near Ben

south of San

ff into the forest.
sued an all-points
2e weeks officers
een on the watch
ced William H.

pictures of San-
1em with several
op Street. Mrs.
identified him at

enile authorities
yut Bill Sanford.
eral times. Or-
oined the Coast
e had reverted to
ipanions.

and two sisters
family flat on
ew blocks from
shared it, taking
to time.

gave Ahern sev-
Sanford might be
of some of his

Murray went out
while Ahern and
other leads. No
the old Mission
thbors told them
d been there for

{ themselves un-
and settled down
‘est of the morn-
evening, without
er or leave but
cay on the job.

aing, the officers
ll boy leave the
ht restaurant on
1a piece of pie
led headquarters.
to crash the flat,
out to join them.
to the front and
hed in both doors

>d was empty. In
bed. Cigarette

Inspector McDonald reached under the bed
—and pulled out Bill Sanford.

The youth was in his underwear. He sub-
mitted without a struggle, pretending to think
they wanted him merely for escaping from
the forestry camp. They soon disabused
him of that notion.

Searching Sanford’s ‘clothes, McDonald

found in the pocket of his jeans the crumpled
receipt stub for $5, paid to Mrs. Griffith on
-June 19.
* On the way back to headquarters, the of-
ficers questioned him judiciously, and indi-
cated to him that they had him dead to
‘rights. By the time he was closeted in the
‘homicide office with Inspector Ahern and As-
sistant District Attorney Bert Hirschberg,
Sanford knew the game was up and agreed
to make a full confession.

For his age, he displayed amazing coolness

and lack of remorse—and told a startling .

story.

“Sure, I killed the old lady,” he said. -“I
thought she had some real money around, but
I couldn’t find it. All I got was a dollar and
a half from her purse, and some jewelry
and clothes -and a radio. I was afraid to try
and sell the stuff.

“I killed her because I had to have the
money to buy a gun—to kill my girl friend.
We've been sweethearts since we were kids,
but she two-timed me with another fellow
when I was in Lancaster. I heard about it,
and that’s why I crushed out of Ben Lomond.
I couldn’t stand it. I came to San Francisco,
and when she wouldn’t see me and I found out

_the story was true, I made up my ming to

kill her. But I was almost broke, and guns
are expensive.”

He told how he had spotted Mrs. Griffith’s
“vacancy” sign in the window, talked with
her, sized up the place, and rented the room
with the deliberate intention of robbing her
m killing her so she could never ‘identify

im.

Waiting till the other roomers had left on
Monday morning, he had bent the fastener
on his suitease, shown it to Mrs. Griffith, and
asked her for a wrench to repair it: he had
planned the whole thing carefully. Standing
behind her as she bent over the toolbox, he
accepted the heavy Stillson, then asked her
for another smaller wrench. As she bent
over, rummaging in the box, he struck her
over the head with the heavy tool in his hand.

“IT hit her again and again,” he admitted
bluntly. “I wanted to make sure she was
dead.”

Sanford actually smiled with relief when
he had finished his confession.

“That’s the story,” he said, “and now I
want to go to the gas chamber as soon as I
can. I’m tired of living. I’m sane, I’m in-

telligent, but I’m emotionally unstable. I’ve |

known it all my life. I'll be better off dead.
I could never stand life in prison. That’s
why I’m making it clear that this was de-
liberate, first-degree murder !”

He wanted to plead guilty immediately,
but Assistant Public Defender William Fer-
don refused to let him do so.

Sanford led them to where he had hidden
‘the loot and Ahern and his men built an air-
tight case. They interviewed his 19-year-
old “girl-friend,” who lived on San Jose Av-
enue ‘not far from the scene of the murder.
Both she and her parents denied that she
had ever gone steady with him. “We didn’t
like him,” the girl’s mother said, “and we
told him to keep away. I forbade my daugh-
ter to see him.” :

A_ court-appointed psychiatrist confirmed
Sanford’s own diagnosis, that he was sane
and responsible, but unstable. ;

On November 15, 1948, Sanford went to
trial before Superior Judge Daniel R. Shoe-
maker. Assistant District Attorney Charles
Peery presented the police case and asked
for the death penalty despite Sanford’s youth.

- chamber at San Quentin.

It was one of the shortest murder trials in
San Francisco annals. It was over -in less
than twa days. After hearing the story. of the
wanton murder, the jury in a matter of
minutes found: him guilty of first-degree mur-
der, with no recommendation for mercy.

On November 19, Judge Shoemaker sen-
tenced Sanford to die in the lethal gas-

Sanford is’ in San Quentin, awaiting the
outcome of his automatic appeal to the state
supreme court, which is mandatory.in death
sentence cases.

Eprtor’s Nore: To spare embarrassment to
innocent persons, the names George Berger,
Henry Murphy and Alfonso Rojas, used in
this story, are fictitious,

At this writing,

To Seal His Lips

(Continued from page 37)

constable had been listening closely. “You're
pretty good at alibis, Pete,” he said. “That’s
why you're bringing in your friend, Jess Har-

low. But neither Jénkins nor the people at |

the store said’ anything about Harlow being
in your car.”

Sheriff Brown locked Shadwick-in the
county jail, then gave orders for deputies
Hale and Dill to pick up Harlow, a shady
character.and associate of Shadwick’s. At
his home, the deputies were informed that
Harlow had gone to Chattanooga on Mon-
day. He was expected back at any time.

Back.at the jail Shadwick admitted that
Harlow had appeared as his alibi witness at
the preliminary hearing before the federal
commissioner. In fact, he gave his friend
full credit for bringirfg about the dismissal of
the liquor charge. vate

Questioned specifically, Shadwick was
either unable or unwilling to say what had
become of Harlow after the federal hearing.
Shadwick positively denied that either of the

slain men was mentioned as a government.

witness against him, or that he had any rea-
son to take their’ lives.

The next day, while the search for Harlow
continued, the Browns again questioned Jim
Jenkins. He denied that Jess Harlow was
in Shadwick’s' car that Sunday, or that he
had seen him at all that day. .

Back at the jail the sheriff advised Shad-
wick of what Jenkins had said. Old Pete
got mad.

“Sheriff,” he sputtered, “I’ve been in
plenty of trouble and I guess that’s why you
doubt my word. But let me tell you some-
thing. Jim Jenkins is still in his teens but
he’s bad. If he told you Jess Harlow wasn’t
in my car Sunday morning, he’s lying. Before
you make any murder charge against ‘me, I
hope you'll check up on Jenkins.”

Returning to the jail office, the Browns sat
down. Shadwick’s plea: had started a train
of thought about the young sawmill worker.
They knew that. during the past several
months Jenkins had come under suspicion for
theft and arson. In February Charley Solo-
man of Morgan Springs, had accused him of
taking a shotgun out of his car.’ One night
later a well-filled barn owned by Soloman
on his tenant farm near the Houser cabin,
in Bledsoe County, had been burned.

Soloman charged that Jenkins had cam-
mitted the crime in retaliation for the gun
stealing charge. As the alleged’ larceny was
committed in adjoining Rhea County, that
case was pending there while the arson
matter was awaiting grand jury action in
Bledsoe County. ,

Fhe Browns decided their next step would
be to question Houser’s relatives about his

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pickings. One victim remarked to him that he’d picked a lousy
time for a robbery—“right after Christmas, between paydays.
Everybody’s about broke.” The bandit chuckled.

One man had only a dollar bill in his wallet. The robber
handed it back, saying “You need this more than I do.” A
couple of bar patrons told him they had no wallets. He frisked
them to prove it. A woman took three or four bills from her
purse and started to put them on the bar.

“Put that away, honey,” the short bandit said. “We don’t

‘take money from ladies. We’re not that hard up.”

He was about halfway through his collections along the bar
when his partner holding the gun near the door took the ciga-
rette out of his mouth and touched it to a balloon hanging
amid the holiday decorations from the low ceiling. At the

sudden explosion, everyone gasped. The gunman laughed

nastily.

When the short bandit had finished his collection he paused
for a few quick words with his partner holding the gun, then
went out the front door. The other one remained, keeping
everyone covered with the shotgun. In a moment the short guy
was back, sticking his head in the door and saying, “All right—
we're set. Let’s go.”

Warning everyone to take it easy and not make any wrong
moves, the tall gunman turned to follow his short partner out
the door. That was the precise moment that a man named Ken
Savoy, a handsome, husky young movie studio executive from
Boston, pushed open the door and entered the bar, smiling a
genial greeting to the company inside. He actually bumped
into the short bandit on the way in, and murmured an

apology.

Then Savoy spotted the shotgun in the tall guy’s hands, and
the tense-faced customers all staring in his direction. He must
have realized instantly what was going on because without a

-word he wheeled and headed out the door again.

The tall gunman stopped him, nudging him in the ribs with
his gun barrel as he snapped, “Just a minute, mister. This is a
stickup. Let’s have your wallet.”

The well-dressed young executive, an ex-GI and former col-
lege athlete, halted in mid-stride and turned around siluwly. His
movements were casual. He didn’t appear to be frightened, not
even mildly upset. He made no move to raise his hands. His
glance was contemptuous as he coolly looked the gunman up
and down. —

I won’t give it to you!” His answer to the gunman’s de-

‘mand for his wallet rang loud and clear. “I don’t have any

~ Sergeants William Munkers (/.) and Charles Hancock discussed strategies to trap fugitive being sought for robbery and murder 4

ini by

4
A

responsibilities,” he went on. “I’m all by myself out here. If
you want my money, you’re going to have to kill me for it.”

For a long instant, the two men remained frozen in a
Mexican standoff. Savoy defiantly looked the gunman right in
the eye. The gunman glared back at him in angry disbelief.
Then he stepped back three paces, holding the gun level across
his middle, and without another word, he pulled the trigger.

The blast in that low-ceilinged room was like a bomb ex-
plosion. Ken Savoy doubled over, his hands clutching at his
abdomen. His face was contorted with agony, he crumpled to
the floor. :

Without stopping to take Savoy’s wallet, the gunman
stepped over his victim’s body and hurried out. the door. A
moment later the horrified witnesses heard the sound of a car
roaring away.

Hollywood Division Radio Officers A. J. Linehan and R. C.
Wares were the first to respond to the report called in to
police. They found Savoy on the floor in a widening pool of
his own blood. He was groaning. A man and a woman were
trying to stanch the flow of blood from his awesome gut
wound with towels handed them by the bartender. Above the
cash register a colorful electric sign flashed alternate greetings
of the season:

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Ken Savoy, now unconscious, was still alive when the am-
bulance pulled away with him, He was DOA a few minutes
later when it reached Hollywood Receiving Hospital. The shot-
gun charge, fired at him from only a few feet away, had taken
him under the heart, almost cutting him in half.

There was no wallet in Savoy’s pockets, and he had only
$4.36 on him. He had given his life in a quixotic sacrifice
rather than be pushed around by a punk with a gun.

Detective Sergeants Chet Turner and Walt Colwell of the
Hollywood night watch and other officers were at the scene in
a few minutes. By the time Sergeants Charles W. Hancock and
William R. Munkres of the Hollywood robbery detail arrived,
they had assembled the essential data and an emergency radio
alarm had already gone out for the fleeing killers.

Within the next few hours, the probers would learn that
Kenneth S. Savoy, a 35-year-old Ristonien, World War If
veteran and 1950 business administration graduate of the Uni-
versity of Maine, was an executive secretary in the controller’s
division of Samuel Goldwyn Productions. Savoy was un-
married and lived alone in an apartment on Franklin Avenue,

—

te
e

Scott was next seen in Dallas and of-
ficers began betting that he would head
for the familiar ground of Arkansas. By
this time the FBI were seeking Scott as
a fugitive from California and the trail
was getting hotter.

On the night of Thursday, January 22,
a man answering Scott’s description held
up a liquor store in Dallas and took a new
German Luger along with the cash.

Driving northeast, the same man and
an unidentified woman stopped at a hard-
ware store in Gladewater, Tex. where the
man bought 100 rounds of Luger ammuni-
tion. The hardware merchant took the
license number of Scott’s car and men-
tioned the sale to the local police.

The lawmen ran a make on the license
and through state agencies and the FBI
learned that the man now armed with at
least 100 rounds of ammunition undoubt-
edly was the ex-convict wanted for ques-
tioning in the wanton shotgun killing of
Kenneth Savoy.

Law enforcement officers converged on
the northeast corner of Texas. On Friday
they swooped down on a motel in Mt.
Pleasant, Tex., just a few hours after Scott
and his girlfriend had checked out.

Texarkana appeared to be the next logi-

cal stop and local police under Chief Max
Tackett and FBI agents under J. J. Casper,
agent in charge of the Little Rock office
got ready to greet the fugitive.

Unknown to police, Scott and the
woman had slipped into Texarkana Satur-
day night, January 24, and registered in
the Andrews Pines Motel on Highway 67
under the name of Mr. and Mrs. J. R.
Lucas.

Police and federal agents. had been
checking all motels in the area when about
11 am. Sunday, an FBI man spotted
Scott’s car. Within five minutes five other
agents and three Texarkana officers con-
verged on the hideout.

Carefully all the guests were moved out
of other motel units until only Scott and
his girlfriend remained. Dick Andrews,
owner of the establishment, gave the of-
ficers detailed information of the layout
of Scott’s apartment and then they tried
to call him on the house phone.

The phone rang for a long time before

a tense voice answered, “Yeah?” An FBI
agent identified himself and asked Scott
to walk out of the cabin with his hands
up. Scott’s reply was to slam the. phone
down on the receiver.

The agents rang the cabin once more
and Scott again answered. This time the

BANDITS WENT THATAWAY

Pharmacist Marion Buckniaster tells Officer Vic Perez how she chased two gunmen
from Long Beach, Cal., drug store by throwing bottles at them. They shot at her
and one bullet came so close as to leave gunpowder stains on her smock. Another
punctured a shoe of clerk Marlene Hair. The thugs, however, left empty handed.

> SONI Rp

agent told him the place was surrounded.
Another federal agent had slipped into the
cabin next to Scott’s and pounded on the
wall, demanding that he walk out with his
hands in the air.

Scott dropped the phone without put-
ting it in the receiver and the agent could
hear him telling his girlfriend they were
trapped and that they might as well kill
themselves.

They were having a discussion as to who
would be first to die when Chief Tackett
lobbed the first of a dozen tear gas shells
at the cabin.

Scott opened fire and the police re-
turned it with shotguns, sub-machine-
guns, pistols and high powered rifles.
Clouds of eye-searing tear gas billowed
around the motel, but none of the shells
had gone directly into the room.

Under cover of machinegun and shot-
gun fire, Chief Tackett rushed right up to
the cabin and fired two shells into the
room, And in seconds the manhunt was
over.

In the eerie silence that followed the
deafening gunfire, a woman’s scream
pierced the smoke that surrounded the
cabin.

“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot!” she pleaded,
“I’m coming out.”

Coughing and sputtering, groping
blindly in the bright sunlight, Barbara
White, 36, a former 180-pound female
wrestling champ stumbled out. She was
barefoot and clad only in a housecoat.

Seconds later she was followed by Scott
who was wearing only a pair of shorts. A
half dozen weird tattoes stood out lividly
on his chalky white arms and shoulders.
Standing beside his muscular girlfriend,
the cold-blooded gunman looked like a
little boy.

In the cabin FBI agents found four
guns—including the Luger that brought
about Scott’s downfall—and a large quan-
tity of ammunition.

The pair was taken to the Miller County
Jail in Texarkana where, at a Sunday
hearing, U. S. Commissioner Thelma Win-
ham ordered Scott held under temporary
bond of $50,000 on a charge of unlawful
flight to avoid prosecution for murder and
robbery.

The female wrestler, who insisted she
only was “being with the man I love,” was
held on a $5,000 bond on a charge of har-
boring a federal fugitive.

However, Dallas Police Capt. Will Fitz
said that Scott and his girlfriend admitted
robbing six Dallas establishments during
the short time they were in town. These
included three bars—Scott’s specialty—a
grocery store and two liquor stores.

Meanwhile, back in Los Angeles, police
had uncovered information that threw a
possibly new light on the killing of Savoy.
It appeared that he might have been cut
down for another reason than just because
he refused to surrender his money. There
is some indication that Savoy once had
been introduced to Scott by a girl in a
Hollywood bar. In that case, police figured,
the gunman might have realized that
Savoy recognized him.

Sitting in Los Angeles, a grand jury on
February 3 indicted Scott and Lichten-
walter on charges of murder and the for-
mer on eight counts of robbery and the
latter on seven robbery counts. No charges
were returned against Mrs. Margaret
Sampson, and on the following day all
counts against her were dismissed.

(The name Bill Jones is fictitious to protect
the identity of a person indirectly involved in
the investigation, as is that of Mrs. Sampson
to prevent possible embarrassment of a person
who was cleared of all charges.—The Editor)

Vanished

phone on Jun:

Tt. Raym y
Mar
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transferred
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Chief Fletc!
on June 3, 194
William Heay
vestigation Bu
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added. “Mrs
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witness had ss
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chief of police

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check every :

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‘ min ~ sei , ae , i ; :
ecorT, George Albert, white, asphyx. Calif. (LA) september 7 1960
< = ?

—— Shoot-’em-up finish of the romance of

oeeeee s

ITHE KELLER ano tue
_|LADY WRESTLER

by RANDALL SHANLEY

out the plug accidentally.
“Stay right where you are, every-

. “It body,” the gunman continued when he
ndix was sure he had everyone’s attention.
ician “Keep your seats, put your hands on
the bar and keep looking straight
ono HE NIGHT BEFORE New ahead.”
Year’s Eve the holiday celebrat- The bartender knew a professional
ing had already started in the stickup when he saw one. He raised his
rion little cafe on Melrose near Bronson in hands and waited warily for the gun-
n he Hollywood, California. The place was man’s next order. Most of the customers
ig. It right in the heart of the movie and TV sat frozen at the bar, looking into the
2, -@ capital’s production center, just around mirror on the backbar. One woman let
from ~@ the corner from the big Paramount and out a scream, quickly stifled. Another
only @ RKO studios. The studios had given laughed, a little hysterically. The gun-
mew their personnel the next day off, which man was jittery; his eyes kept flicking to
2 the was why: the holiday festivities had got- the door.
teeG ten under way 24 hours early. Then, getting down to “business,”’ he
|. The tall, gaunt, pasty-faced young ordered everone to put their wallets on
b guy in the gray topcoat did not attract the mahogany as he took up a position
much attention when he sauntered into near the front end of the bar, from
long the dimly lit cocktail lounge and took a where he could cover the door and
‘ical- seat at the bar. He ordered a beer. The everyone in the place with his sawed-off
iced, stocky fellow in the trench coat who shotgun. His short pal moved quickly
idn’t came in a moment later by way of the behind the bar and cleaned out the cash
back alley door and the kitchen didn’t register. The gunman warned everyone
imb- draw any special notice, either. The to “quit looking at us. Keep your eyes
vhen stool next to the first guy was vacated down. Look at the bar!”
lly a by a drinker going to the juke box, and , Most of the frightened patrons
ull a the newcomer took it. He never did obeyed at once, but one gray-haired
ours order even the first drink. character actor standing near the front
rem- No sooner had he taken the stool with a drink in his hand turned to the
than the tall guy in the topcoat sudden- gunman and sneered, “‘You’re not so
vhat y whipped out a sawed-off shotgun tough. I haven’t got any money. What
who rom under his coat and began rapping are you going to do about it?”
ards loudly on the bar with the stock to The tall gunman wheeled on him. He
tally attract attention. Even in that noisy | whizzed up the sawed-off barrel of his
bedlam, he got it, and in the sudden shotgun and his dark. eyes glinted with
ihe hush that followed as all eyes turned to murderous rage. The others in the place
the lean, rangy gunman, he yelled, “This held their breath, but at the last instant
and sastickup!’ the gunman changed his mind. The old
ised His shouted announcement pierced guy who had made the taunting remark
the an instant of abrupt quiet as the juke slumped weakly against the bar.
for box suddenly went dead. Later it was Meanwhile, the short bandit method- Police tear gas barrage forced George
mo- theorized that someone had tripped ically moved along the bar, emptying Shit to flee hédecut ced only In pants
over its electrical connection and pulled wallets, which yielded noticeably poor ¥ ae
old-
‘hen
ght-
and ;
big make ° .
10W A New Year's killing in Hollywood led police and FBI men
—he
lin . . .
jotine across half a continent in pursuit of a hard-nose
toa :
tid H .
: gunman who had left a body behind him to prove
sm’t :
Lf aa we
“64) he couldn't take “No” for an answer...

Mcleatce May/? 72

“sr

hing at his?
rumpled tos

alled in to
ng pool o

i
A ts) it was’clear he wasn

scriptions-of the, Mutt, and Jeff bandit team, In substan
ey came quite close to agreement on all major detailsyé
“The two were described as white Americans, from 25 to <
ars. old., The “Mutt,” or taller, bandit, the actual wielder o
‘the shotgun;,:was about 5 feet«d0 inches to 6 feet tall;.170

a mm lace, with hollow cheeks and receding brown hair streaked.

with gray. His complexion was noticeably pasty. All the wit-
nesses mentioned his large, smoldering, intense, deep-set dark
brown eyes, and how they seemed to spark when he was

angry.

“That guy is mean—real mean,” the bartender declared.

“You could see it in his eyes. He just had to hurt somebody.”

‘ The blonde cocktail waitress nodded her head in fervent agree-
ment. “Mean,” she echoed, “just nasty mean!”

The old actor who had dared to taunt the gunman was still

+stockily built, with a full, fleshy face, dark brown or black hai
vslightly wavy in front, and blue eyes.

- and either a Plymouth or a Dodge,

pounds or maybe less, of skinny build. He had a thin, narrow: : :

»killer’s partner,” orter’ ‘Je
scribed as. being about 5 feet-7 inches,;:170:or 180 pound

icounle of passersby, who: had ‘to

ar and speed away said there might have been a third manj.
maybe @ woman, waiting in the getaway car, They said the
vas a dark green or blue 4-door sedan; seven ¢ r

Hollywood detectives ‘touche
hed. as. soon as descriptions of,

descriptions obtained from witnesses to the heist-killing, They
fully realized this was a long gamble, but if they got lucky, one
witness might recognize someone in the mugs and then they’d
have a name to help in the manhunt.

Deputy Chief Thad F. Brown, city detective commander,
Captain Jack A. Donahue of central robbery, and Lieutenant
Fred. F. Earl, Hollywood detective commander, assigned ur- iid
gent top priority to the hunt for the skinny, trigger-happy !
shotgun slayer, his stocky pal, and (Continued on page 62)

£ 4
ee

SAMPSELL, Lloyd E., white, asphyxiated San Quentin (San Diego County) AMHXX 1-25-1952,

IE AAL

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ENGLEWOOD CLIFFS

PRENTICE-HALL,

TEN Ty eee Ey MAT

cet kdeobl wit

ALSO BY CARYL CHESSMAN: Cell 2455, Death Row

TT CTT a ee ere ep kee tear | ae ne
2 Ss AS Te SA lede ated ea

ve Trial by Ordeal

is. The gas chamber. No stopping now. No turning back.
Youre hustled into this squat, octagonal, glass- and metal-
sided cell within a room. Its elaborate gadgets don’t interest

_ you. Quickly you find yourself seated in the No. 2 chair. The

guards strap you down. Their movements are swift and sure
smoothly rehearsed. The stethoscope is connected.

There! The job is done.

“Good luck,” says the guard captain in charge.

Then youre alone. The guards have left. The metal door
has closed. The spoked wheel on the outside of that door is
being given a final turn.

Everything is in readiness! This is the dreadful, final mo-
ment. While the physical preparations were underway, while
you moved, it wasn’t so real. Activity blocked full realiza-
tion. It was like watching a gripping scene in a movie, where
the camera had been speeded up and the action had carried
you along with it, irresistibly. You had only a blurred aware-
ness that it was leading to this. But now that youre phys-
ically immobilized, there’s a jarring change. The camera
slows. You see; you absorb; the scene unfolds with a terrible
clarity. For an instant, time is frozen. Your thoughts and sen-
sory impressions are fragmented, each one stabbing at you
like a needle. .

The Warden is at his post. So is the executioner and the
attending physician. On the opposite side of the chamber
behind a guard rail less than four feet from where you sit,
stand the official witnesses, their eyes riveted on oou
through the thick glass. In a matter of minutes youll be
dead. They’re here to watch you die. |

The executioner is signaled by the Warden. With scientific
precision, valves are opened. Closed. Sodium cyanide eggs
are dropped into the immersion pan—filled with sulphuric
acid—beneath your metal chair. Instantly the poisonous hy-
drocyanic acid gas begins to form. Up rise the deadly fumes.

... And Then We Die 197

The cell is filled with the odor of bitter almond and peach
blossoms. It’s a sickening-sweet smell.
Only seconds of consciousness remain.

We who are doomed—how do we die? That depends. It
depends on the kind of men we are. Some of us die bravely,
aloofly, contemptuously. | |

Here is a graphic account of how one of us died. It was
written by Will Stevens and published in the San Francisco

Examiner on April 20, 1952: °

“Lloyd Sampsell, a jail-worn Rip Van Winkle returning
briefly to the ‘yacht bandit’ headlines he hogged in the
mid-twenties, was executed at San Quentin Prison yesterday
with all the efficiency the State of California traditionally ac-
cords its lawfully condemned.

“Like so many murderers before him, both the cowards
and the brave, Sampsell was put to sleep for keeps in the
prison’s octagonal gas chamber at 10:13 a.m., less than thirty
yards away from a little patch of marigolds blossoming out-
side, at the foot of a guard tower, in the cold and gray morn-
ning. He died thirteen minutes after entering the chamber
and ten minutes after the first deadly cyanide eggs, plopping
into a container filled with sulphuric acid, began to spew out
the calculated death of their horrible fumes.

“So calm was Sampsell, a thin man in a white shirt, his blond
hair freshly barbered, he went through the complete cere-
mony of his own death with seeming disinterest, from the
moment he first was hustled into the chamber by three over-
sized guards. As he walked in, unaided, he glanced at the
ring of official witnesses, supplemented by twenty guards,

and after a smiling appraisal of those who soon were to

* Reprinted by permission.

ee ——————————

>
<

194 ;
Trial by Ordeal

get him a hacksaw blade. This bit of intelligence was speed-
ily reported to the chief psychiatrist and with equal dispatch
Ordinary found himself transferred to Death Row. His next
stop was the gas chamber. He died well; that is, calmly. :

Were not all characters. But the waiting is tough on the
hardiest of us. The demands it imposes are formidable ones
Death Row is no fun. It isn’t meant to be. The time we Src
here is grim at best. At the same time it is an education in
the meaning and the worth of life—an education acquired
too late. It offers a harsh maturity. You grow up or else. The
waiting, finally, means death. And it is this paradox that
gives us either the strength and the stability to withstand the
pressures and tensions of waiting or that eats away at will
and sanity until we collapse or explode.

19 ... And Then We Die

Your waiting is over.

Three of the executioner’s assistants come for you. The
cell door is unlocked, opened. You're told quietly, imperson-
ally, “It’s time.”

It’s time to die, to be executed.

You stand there for an instant, unmoving. Perhaps you
take a last drag on your cigarette, drop the butt, step on it.
Three pairs of eyes watch you.

“Go to hell!” you can scream defiantly. “I'm not going! Do
you bastards hear me? I’m not going?”

They hear you. But youre going nevertheless. They'll take
you by force if necessary. They have a job to do. :

You can whimper. You can cry out to God to help you, to
save your life. But don’t expect a miracle. He won't inter-
vene. So ask only for the strength to die like a man.

You can shrug. You didn't think it would come to this, but
it did. And here you are, at the end of life’s road, about to
take that last short walk.

Automatically, your legs move. Youre walking, mechan-
ically—out through the death watch cell entrance, around a

bend in the short hallway, through a doorway. And there it
195

21); PACIFIC -2nd= 8133 70 SUPREME COURT 1016
SAMPSELL, Lloyd Edison, asphyxiacted San Quentin (San Diego) on April 25, 1982.

"Barring a last minute delay, Lloyd Sampsell will die at 10 a.m, today in the skate
gas chamber for the murder of Aythur W. Smith, 35, of Chula Vista, during a holdup
of the Seabord Finance Co, here March 27, 1948, The associated Press reported from
San Francisco, Yesterday the State Supreme Court turned down Sampsel s plea for a
stay of execution, He then rushed out a self-prepared petition for a°federal writ
of habeas corpus but Judge Louis E, Goodman quickly turned it down, Samseel spent
more than half his life in prison, He once had $200,000 in loot stashed aboard his
yacht headquarters and became known as the 'Yacht Bandit,' 'They say I've led a
wasted live,' said the man who must die for killing a cashier in a $3,)00 holdup,
‘but here's something I've never told anyone, I've got a sone He's six-foot-three,
170 pounds, He's married, got two kinds, He's in the service, overseas right
nowe A good boy, Sotve left something good,! 'How will you go?f a newsman asked,
'T haven't had that experience yet,' he replied, 'so I can't tell you, You know
me, You tell 'em how I'll go,' But he displayed nervousness, even listening to a
clock, ‘Listen to it tick,' he said." UNION, San Diego, CA, April 25, 1952 (a3/he)

"Lloyd E, Sampsell, scholarly appearing 52-year-old San Diego bandit-killer, was exe=
cuted in San Quentin's gas chamber yesterday, Sampsell was strapped to the wooden
chair and a cyanide péllet was dropped at 10:03 aam, He was pronounced dead 10 min-
utes later, He remained calm to the end and even showed curiosity, about the straps
used to pinion his arms and the pellets which released the deadly gas. Sampsel was
convicted of shooting A,thur W, Smith of Chula Vista, Mar, 27, 1918. The killing
took place during the notorious bandit's holdup of the Seaboard Finance Co, then at
1,0 B Street. Smith, a customer, wastransacting business in the establishment when
the gunman's bullet ended his life, During the 1920s, Sampsel became known to law
enforcement agencies ab the 'yacht bandit', He and a companion robbed banks up and
down the California coast and used a yacht as a hideaway. He had spent nearly 25
years behind bars, His last years were devoted to bombarding various officials and
court agencies with legal briefs which he prepared from his cel]. Such was his know-=
lege of Legal procedure that his case was carried to the State Supreme Court 3 times
and once it was considered by the United States Supreme Court, He stayed awake
through the night preceding his execution, the Associated Press reported, and turned
out a barrage of letters from 5 a.me until he was led to the chair, Designed to
accomodate 0 witnesses, the execution room was crowded to twice its capacity by
police officers and the curious, A total of 5,official invitations had been issued,
but an additional 50 persons attended, Sampsel s wife, Bernardine, of Sacramento
visited him for the last time Sunday," UNION, San Diego, CA, April 26, 19b2 (a1/1&2)

SOO te

could find it, we would have to admit that
the pair had outwitted us; and have to
see the two bank robbers walk out of our
courtroom completely vindicated.

Then the tanker unexpectedly arrived
in the Bay. :

The defense had closed their case, but
we had not yet begun our rebuttal, so
there was still time for them to obtain
the court’s permission to put on this addi-

‘tional witness whose absence they had

been bemoaning throughout the trial. We
took it for granted that we would have to
face this corroborative testimony; but just
to make sure, we inquired of the court
clerk whether any subpoena had been
sent out for Fritz Graham. To our sur-
prise he said. no. ;

This seemed odd in view of the im-
portance the defendants themselves had at-
tached to this witness. Could it be they
had reason to think he might fail them,
after all? Hastily, I sent for Graham to
find out just what his version of the story
was.

lt was disappointing. ‘He remembered
getting permission to cross the yacht, but
he had no idea what day it was, or even
what time of day. He couldn’t remember
what he had been doing before he left the
yacht, or what he had done after leaving
the yacht harbor. I asked him if he re-
membered talking to anybody else the
same day, but he ‘couldn't recall that.
Then I asked him another question—and
his answer to that changed the whole
course of the trial.

When we went into court again I in-
formed the defense that their additional
alibi witness was now available. They
replied that they didn’t think they’d need
him, that their case was strong enough
without his testimony. I said that, in that
case, I would call him myself. And I did.

“Do you remember,” I asked him, “get-
ting Mr. McNabb’s permission to cross his
yacht sometime in the middle of June?”

“I do,” he said.

“Do you recall what day it was?”

“No,” he said. “We arrived in the yacht
harbor Friday the 14th, and were there
several days. It might have been any of
those days.”

“Do you recall what time of day it was?”

“No.”

The defendants were smiling. This wit-
ness apparently was going to do us no
good at all. .

“Do you remember what kind of a day it
was?” I asked. ;

“It was raining,” he said.

A gasp went through the courtroom.
Previous testimony had brought out the
fact that up to and including the day of
the robbery it had been regular summer
weather in the Bay District, but that the
following day it had rained.

“on Friday.

“That’s all,” I said.

The defense attorney leaped to his feet
and approached the witness. It was my
turn to smile now, for I knew what he
was going to ask him, and what the an-
swer would be.

“Do you remember,” he demanded, “what
the weather was like every day for the
last month?”

“No,” said Graham.

“Then how do you happen to be so sure
that it was raining on that particular day,
more than a month ago?”

“Because,” Graham said, “as I was
crossing the yacht I noticed that it was
registered from Seattle, where it rains a
lot. I turned to Mr. McNabb and asked
him if he had brought the rain with him
from Seattle. He laughed and said he
guessed he had, because there had been
a black cloud following him all the way
down the Coast.”

“That’s all!” said the defense attorney
disgustedly, and sat down.

It was the turning point of the trial, It
definitely established the fact that it was
Saturday, and not Friday, that the special
policeman had seen McNabb on the yacht
between 2:30 and 3:30.

It was easy now to see what had hap-
pened. McNabb had a shrewd knowledge
of the workings of the human mind. Pre-
paring ahead for the possible need of an
alibi, he had seen ag many persons as pos-
sible on the day of the robbery, and as
many as possible of these same persons
around the middle of the following after-
noon. He knew that in all probability
some of these would later confuse the
dates in their own mind, and think they
had seen him in the middle of Friday
afternoon.

The special policeman had seen McNabb
at 2 o'clock and again at'4 o’clock; and
the Gray Goose had arrived at 2:30—all
It was natural that, later on,
he should have associated the following
day’s incident of the sailor with the arrival
of the yacht and with the two other times
he had seen McNabb on Friday. And
McNabb’s shrewd and daring plan would
have succeeded perfectly had it not been
for the queer chance of the sailor’s hap-
pening to notice, on a rainy day, that the
yacht hailed from a rainy city.

McNabb’s alibi now had a gap in it two

’ hours wide. This made it easily possible

for Samspell to have picked him up at
the yacht harbor at 2 o’clock; for them
to have reached the bank by 2:40, and for
McNabb to have driven the car away at
3:15, reaching the yacht harbor by 4
o'clock. This left McNabb with no alibi
at all, and, of course, left Sampsell in the
same fix. That was that.

But even with the alibis out of the way,
we still had McNabb's scar to contend

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with. We were positive by this time that
there was some catch in it—but what?
Suddenly a thought came to me. I went to
the three persons who had seen McNabb
at close range during the robbery, and
asked each of them just what McNabb had
done with his left hand. One finally re-
called that he had shielded his eyes from
the light; another, that he had mopped
his forehead with his handkerchief and
the third, that he had rested his elbow
against the vault door, propping his hand
against his forehead. So clever was he
as an actor that not one of his observers
had suspected that any of these actions
was anything but natural.

This fully explained why no one had ‘

noticed the scar. So now there was noth-
ing. left to interfere in any way with the
vital fact that both men had been’ posi-
tively identified as those who perpetrated
both holdups. The result was a jury
verdict, delivered July 17th, 1929, finding
them guilty of first-degree robbery. Under
California’s indeterminate sentence law,
the term for this crime is automatically
prescribed as five years to life; and be-
cause of their prior convictions, the mini-
mum in their case was fixed at twelve
years.

They went to Folsom—California’s
stronghold for second offenders—vowing
that they would never stay there. One
day in the summer of 1930 both Sampsell
and McNabb disappeared.

Search of the prison showed no trace
of thém; no clue to the means by which
they might have escaped. After several
days it was conceded that they must have
got away, and the search turned to the
state at large.

On the eighth day, some one happened
to move a box which had been lying on
the floor of the prison blacksmith shop.
Under the box was a newly dug hole in
the floor, and in the hole were Sampsell
and McNabb. They had been living there,
more or less comfortably, for the entire
eight days. In another day or so, after
they were sure the hunt for them had died
down, they were to have made their escape
during the night.

A closer watch than ever was placed
on the men, their visitors, and their cor-
respondence. Yet, later, mysterious re-
ports began circulating that another break
was imminent. The surveillance of the
two prisoners was tightened. Then one
day a trusty, working near a_ building
under construction, accidentally knocked
over a keg of nails—and out rolled three

‘ automatics and sixty-six rounds of ammu-

nition.

The guns were quickly traced to the
same man who had sold the automatic rifle
to McNabb. To this day the authorities do
not know how the affair was engineered.
But they do know that behind the plan
were the active brains of Sampsell and
McNabb.

Sampsell and McNabb smiled when they
were questioned. “We'll be out of here
soon,” they declared. And early in the
same year, the pair made a third daring
attempt to escape. They had succeeded
in drilling a hole through the heavy stcel
lock of ‘their cell door, and had a plan
nearly perfected for a night getaway, when
the hole was discovered.

The authorities, by this time thoroughly
tired of the two, decided to separate them
when their last attempt at escape became
known. McNabb was sent to San Quentin
and Sampsell was kept in Folsom.

Epitor’s Note
Pictures of the bank robbers appear
on the following pages: Ethan McNabb
(with Mrs. Summers) on page 18; Lloyd
Sampsell (seated in yacht) on page 19. |
}

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THE GRAY GOOSE ALIBI

(Continued from page 19) Northwest for
some weeks, began again, In May they
bought the yacht, and early the follow-
ing month they sailed for San Francisco,
arriving just before the Berkeley robbery.

As Sampsell and McNabb, the two wrote
regularly to the state parole officer that

they were working hard and saving their |

money. As Summers and Meline, they lived
high, spent freely—and when they needed
more money, went to the nearest bank
and got it.

We found that an amusing incident had
occurred .a couple of days before their
arrest. At the St. Francis Yacht Club,
Mrs. Summers had met the wife of a
prominent San Francisco businessman,
and the three had invited this lady to go
for a Sunday cruise about the Bay. On
the trip they came near the Marin County
shore, and saw the gray walls and towers
of San Quentin rising from near the water’s
edge.

“What's that funny-looking place?” asked
the man known as Summers.

“That’s San Quentin.”

“What’s San Quentin?” inquired Meline.
“Some kind of hotel?”

“Yes,” laughed the visitor. “It’s the state
penitentiary.” ;

“So, that’s what a prison looks like!”
exclaimed Summers, ;
* “I wonder what it’s like inside,” said
Meline. .

The visitor laughed and said she didn’
know. Not for a moment did she or Mrs,
Summers suspect that they were listening
to two of its most prominent former in-
mates, ‘

We went into court confident that we
had a perfect case. The defendants had
already served terms for similar crimes;
they had been caught with the goods and
carrying weapons, and they were known
to have been in the Bay District at the
time of both robberies, Officers of the
Oakland bank positively identified ‘them
as the men who had held up their institu-
tion. So did officers of the Berkeley bank.
They had seen McNabb staring in through
the window at 2: 40, they said; at 3 o’clock
Sampsell had entered the bank and held
it up; at 3:15 he had left it and stepped on
the running board of an automobile which
had immediately started away. McNabb’s
presence at the bank window made it
evident that he had been the driver. We
rested our cage, confident that we had left
not a loophole of escape,

But we were mistaken. Each man testi-
fied that he had been innocent of the crime
for which he had been previously con-
victed, and claimed he had been railroaded
to prison. Most ex-convicts would have
had difficulty in making this sound con-
vincing—but not these. Looking at them,
it was far easier to believe that they had
been sent to prison by mistake than be-
cause they deserved it, The jury, we
could see, was immediately sympathetic.

After the police had failed, they Said,
to catch the clever bandits who were rob-
bing the Coast banks, they had determined
to retrieve their reputations by making
an arrest. Obtaining access to the apart-
ment in the absence of the defendants,
they had planted the money there, know-
ing that the prison records of the two
would make their guilt appear plausible.
Also, they had Placed the box containing
the gun just outside the door, so that the
first to arrive would naturally think it was
a parcel that had been delivered, and
would carry it in.

Now they attacked our case from a new

McNabb produced medical testimony that
he had received such a scar in an auto-
mobile accident, and that he had still had
it after the time of the robbery. The
natural conclusion was that the bank peo-
ple had identified the wrong man. And
if they were wrong as to McNabb, why
shouldn’t they be wrong as to Sampsell?

Having thus disposed of our positive
evidence against them, they proceeded to
try to prove that they were nowhere near
the Berkeley bank at the time of the
robbery.

McNabb reiterated a previous statement
that he had spent the entire afternoon on
the yacht. Then he called to the stand
the manager of an established cab com-
Pany, who brought records showing that
on Friday the 14th a cab had left Post
and Leavenworth Streets at 1:19 and had
arrived at the yacht harbor at 1:35. The
driver of the cab identified McNabb as the
Passenger who rode with. him on that
trip,

McNabb had stated that soon after ar-
riving at the yacht he had received a phone

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found McNabb in khakis, working around
He remembered that this was
a little before 2 0’clock,

“Did you see Mr. McNabb again that
afternoon?” he was asked,

“Yes,” he replied. “Between 2:30 and
3:30.”

“State what occurred at that time.” °

“Another yacht, the Gray Goose, came
into the harbor at 2:30,” he said,
had no berth ready for it, so we moored
it alongside the Sovereign. There was a
young sailor on board who wanted to go
ashore, and he asked Mr. McNabb for
Permission to cross the stern of the Sov-
ereign. I heard Mr. McNabb give him
permission, and they had a few words of
conversation which ] couldn’t hear,”

“How do you know it wasn’t later than
3:30?” .

“Because I wasn’t down around the boats
after 3:30 that day,” said the policeman.
“I was up around the head of the pier,”

“Did you see Mr. McNabb again?” ,

“Yes. About 4 o'clock he came up to
the booth and used the phone.”

“Was he still in his khakis?”

“Yes,”

The taxicab manager, recalled to the

stand, produced records showing that it
answer to a phone call a cab had_ beer:
sent to the yacht harbor to) pick up a
passenger, leaving there at 4:32. Ther:
the driver of this cab identified McNatt!
as the passenger. He said that on the |
way uptown, McNabb had made him wai’
somewhere on Geary Street while he wen
into an office. Then the manager of th
truck sales department of an automobil
agency at Geary and Van Ness _testifiec
that McNabb had dropped into his office
for a social call a little before 5 o'clock
remaining about twenty minutes, while
his taxi waited outside,

So there was McNabb’s afternoorr all ac.
counted for by six reliable witnesses!

True, there were some gaps in it,.but
none of these was wide enough to have
permitted him to take part in the Berkeley
robbery. From the yacht harbor to the
auto ferry at the foot of Hyde Street take:
at least two minutes by automobile. The
ferry’s running time to the Berkeley. pier
is twenty-three minutes, Three miles
along the pier and two through Berkeley
Streets to the bank at Dwight Way and
Shattuck Avenue take another ten min.
utes. So the minimum time between the
two points is thirty-five minutes, even as-
suming that one makes Perfect connections
with the ferry,

If the sailor incident occurred at 2: 30, ;
then McNabb could have reached the |

in time to drive Sampsell away |

from it at 3: 15; but not in time to look |
in the window at 2:40. But if McNabb
wasn’t the man who looked in the window,
then there was no evidence that he was
present at the robbery at all!

If the incident of conversation with the
sailor occurred at 3:30, he could have
looked in the window at 2:40—but he

cally the same alibi. as McNabb. Our
case against each of the two rested on the

So there was our whole case knocked
higher than a kite by alibis which could

to his
assertion that he had given him leave to
cross the yacht between 2:30 and 3:30, We
knew he was correct in saying this witness
could not be Produced, for the sailor,
Fritz Graham by name, had left the yacht
and had shipped on a tanker, which was
now somewhere out in the Pacific.

We studied that alibi till we were ex-
hausted, shifting the time elements as fa;
as they would go in every direction. But
no way could we make room for a trip
to Berkeley that would allow for a thirty.
five-minute stop-over there between 2:40

The worst of it was, we were confident

we had the right men, Somewhere, there
was a flaw in those alibis; but unless we

se Seats: Saad

B W ARD WINSLOW “Well, why not? We didn't do so badly the last time. And The yach
y anyway, the layout of the streets and the town over there is cn eventually
better than San Francisco for our purpose.” “pictured |
“Okay. Are you going to case the bank tomorrow ?”
“Yes, I think so. First, we've got to get an apartment.” He
reached down for two bundles of currency, gave one to his com-

panion, stuffed the other into his pocket and closed the safe.

ie IEE SELL OES PE

Re:
a

was new and silvered over the brown-rock breasts of the
Golden Gate. Her masts were like gaunt fingers pointing

at the sky. The ripples scarcely made a sound as she slid silently > ne? ”
along. A brass name plate was fastened to her sharp bow— The lights blinking on the southern rim of the bay were
“Sovereign.” closer now and the boat glided silently past the Yacht club break-
Yachtsmen saw her as she glided into the harbor that sultry water and found a berth in the picturesque little cove which at
night and perhaps they puzzled a little about it for she never one time or another in recent years has harbored most of aris-

was seen again on the choppy wash of San Francisco bay. They tocracy’s private yachts.

Si: slithered through the murky water when the moon

did not know until later that the “Sovereign” was a ship of And so, on a warm June night, a new and incredible era of
sinister purpose manned by a brutal and ruthless crew. blood and disaster was spawned by the two men and heralded
There were three grim-faced figures in the cabin this night. what the cunning desperadoes believed was a flawless system
They were two men and a dark-haired girl. to beat man-made laws.

The walls around them were lined with open closets which Shattuck avenue is the business artery of Berkeley, the charm-

made a veritable arsenal. Revolvers, sawed-off shotguns, ma- ing, tree-studded college town which clings to the rolling hills
chine guns and tear gas bombs filled the recesses. Another on the eastern lip of San Francisco bay. At the corner of Shat-
cubicle was stacked with boxes of ammunition, gas masks, tuck and Dwight Way, just a few blocks from the University of
acetylene torches, small leather cases of hand-wrought chisels, California’s vast memorial stadium, is an important branch of
hammers and other tools. Below it, set into an alcove, was a the far-flung Bank of America. It is a corner constantly alive
small safe filled with thousands of dollars in currency neatly with a rushing human current. The intersection thunders
bound with rubber bands. under a continual rumble of important interurban electric lines

The vessel had just passed Land’s End, the cliff which stands and automobile traffic between Berkeley and San Francisco.

like a sentinel high over the mouth of the bay, when the leader Nearby is the headquarters of the Berkeley police department

said: whose one-time chief, August Vollmer, was a pioneer in crimi-

“Well, here’s Frisco. We'll be tying up pretty soon.” nology and whose modern crook-catching methods have been
“Yes.” The second man nodded. “Til be glad to get my feet ‘adopted by police from coast to coast.

on the ground for awhile. What’s the program, Mac?” In other words the chances were a hundred to one that no

The older man glanced at a chart spread out on the table. smart gunman would pick Shattuck avenue bank for a day-
“Pm not quite sure,” he said, “but I think it'll be that Berkeley light crime. But the impossible, the unbelievable, was crystal-

bank we’ve discussed.” lizing on this June day in 1929.
“What? Berkeley again?” It was a little after 10 a. m. when two men paused idly in
The leader grinned and winked at the girl. front of the bank, peered through the big plate glass windows for

ERS IN |

a moment and strolled in, after noting with satisfaction there | M
were only one or two customers in sight. |

The sequence of events in the next few minutes was so swift
and smooth that the bank’s employes subsequently had difficulty C J
recalling exactly what happened. But the robbery itself was no
mirage, for the two men walked out of the bank with $17,500 P]

which they had taken at gun point from the manager, M. H.
Faust, and his assistant, Miss Ruth Lehrman. The bandits had
vanished in the maelstrom of Shattuck avenue long before the
police shotgun squad roared toward the bank.

Colleg
ATER in the morning it was announced that the gunmen had two se
concealed their weapons beneath fake bandages on their had be
hands and had shoved a threatening note at Faust to avoid the | series
necessity of a spoken demand for money. It was a technique | terrific
characteristic of their work and detectives learned months later \ Eac
that they were the inventors of this innovation in bank crimes. The
The robbery stirred a furor in police circles. banda
It was not so much the ease with which it had been accomi- before
plished, but rather that this was just one more amazing link in a escapt
chain of similar baffling raids on the Pacific coast. were
Eight weeks before two men had made a coup in another sec- Th
tion of Berkeley, taking $10,000 from five employes in the wie
orniz
Ethan Allan McNabb, left, was one of the “yacht” bandits who : Bu
terrorized Pacific coast cities. identi
STARTLING DETECTIVE ADV

STARTLING DETECTIVE, March, 1939

detective asked

he car had been}.
he realized, to
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ective Sergeant
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had left Seattle

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“ought it in on
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- off five minutes, then was interrupted by four discreet buzzes
on the phone. The three leaped to their feet.
There was a click at the elevator, followed by the sound of
a key scraping in the lock. The door opened to reveal a young
» woman in tastefully expensive furs. © —
“Mrs. Summers, I believe?” said McMahon.

$ tabourets. A gold-and-white Louis XV clock briskly ticked ”

“May I ask——-?” she began crisply, But McMahon flipped ‘

back the lapel of his coat. : ;

“Just a little call on your husband,” he interrupted, “and
his friend Mr. Meline, Mr. E. A. Meline.” i,

She stared open-mouthed at him a moment, then walked
into an adjoining room where she sat, puzzled and speechless.
It was plain to be seen she knew nothing that would be of
help in the case.

Again: the police waited, and again after a while came
the four _portentous buzzes. A moment later, in walked a
handsome young man with a dark mustache, who carried
under his arm a long cardboard box.

“This would be Mr. Meline,” remarked McMahon. “And
what have you in that box?”

““I don’t know,” said Meline. “I found.it leaning against

the door.”
McMahon opened jit and drew forth an automatic rifle.

Handcuffed, Meline was made to sit down.and join the de- :

tectives.. Presently the four buzzes came again, and then the
door swung open to admit Summers. McMahon walked over
to him and ran his hands over his person. a
' From Summers’ hip pocket he pulled an automatic.
Accompanied by his fellow officers and the prisoners, Mc-
Mahon walked into the nearest bedroom and’ opened the top
drawer of the dresser. It was half full of neckties and hand-
kerchiefs. But mixeéd carelessly. with these were bundles of
currency, many of them with the bank’s stickers still around
them, bearing the initials of the tellers in the Berkeley bank

that had been robbed the week before. There was more than -

$4,000, together with $400 in gold coins still in the metal con-
tainer in which they had been kept at the bank.

In jail, the two men were confronted by officers and em-
ployees of both banks, and were identified as the robbers.

Then a search of prison records disclosed that both men
had served time in San Quentin for bank robberies, and were
still on parole,

Summers’ true name was Lloyd E. Sampsell, and he was the
son of the millionaire proprietor of six Los Angeles restau-

rants. In his youth he had been wild, and when his father -

attempted to curb him by cutting down his allowance, he
forged a check in San Diego for which he was placed on pro-

luxurious cabin of their yacht, the Sovereign, bought with stolen money

bation. Later he ran away to Missouri, forged another check,
and was sent to the Joplin Reformatory, but escaped and re-
turned to Los Angeles... He managed: somehow to wriggle out
of both difficulties, and finished his interrupted education.
Then, unable to live as gaily as he wished on the $250 a month
his father allowed him, he held up the Western State Bank in
1923, robbed it of $1,000 and was sent to San Quentin. There

- he met Ethan Allen McNabb, a young fellow from Lafayette,

Indiana, who was serving time for two Los Angeles robberies.
The two became close friends, both having the same education
and aim in life. '

Sampsell was paroled in the fall of 1927, and his father made
him manager of one of his restaurants, at a wage of a hundred
dollars a month, later raised to two hundred. McNabb was
paroled three months later, and becamé boatswain on the Dol-
lar liner President Jackson. Whenever the ship touched at
San Pedro, he ran up to Los Angeles to see Sampsell.

Presently began a series of Los Angeles bank robberies, in
which the perpetrators were described as unusually well-edu-
cated, good-looking, and well-mannered. On January. 28th,
1929, the Merchants Trust and Savings Branch at Fifty-fourth
and Western Avenue lost $1,400; on March 5th, $2,500 was
taken from the Forty-seventh and Central Avenue Branch of
the Pacific National; and on March 9th, a Bank of Italy Branch
at Sixty-eighth and, Western Avenue was robbed of $5,770,
making a total of close to $10,000. ;

A week later, Sampsell, growing weary of working all day
in his father’s restaurant, severed his connections and left by
automobile for Seattle, taking. with him as his wife Lydia
Bernardino Summers, who was completely unaware of his
criminal activities. . In Seattle they took an apartment at the
Northcliff, where they were joined by McNabb, who left his
ship as soon as it reached that port.

Within the next month, there were a number of bank rob-
beries in Seattle, Vancouver, and other towns in the vicinity.
Later they came to San Francisco, and a few days after that

the Oakland bank was robbed.
They went next to Southern California, and a number of

holdups immediately occurred in that part of the state. Early
in May they returned to Seattle by airplane, and bank holdups,
which had been quiescent in the (Continued on page 62)

my 2a
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» the ex-
stographs
on head-
‘Il as the
ard rob-

nparison
ger and
air rode
, execut-
ite force
n, Lloyd
aan. His
sant, his
peccable,
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. With all

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: of 1929
ortsman,
the rob-
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cruising
- 40-foot
ry “Sum-
mugged -
itify him

» burglar
Sergeant
ed “Sum-
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llen Mc-
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oo
ive, suit-
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ishington
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ly heated
ivored to
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Alameda
ecute the

abb stood
ery which
hey were
later, and
sentenced
in Folsom

Sampsell, expensively dressed, took his
sentence good naturedly, and promptly
attempted his first escape Inspector
Frank Waterbury removed the handcuffs
from him later, before he was led away,
to permit him to embrace his wife. The
prisoner kissed her goodbye, turned, and
gave the inspector a quick shove, sending
him sprawling. He bolted down the long
corridor outside. At the end, he faced
two halls; one led to the street and free-
dom, the other to the boiler room.

He took the wrong one and, ‘minutes

later, as a squad of officers searched for

him, emerged from back of the boiler.
Hands held , high, a sheepish grin
stretched over his face, the bank robber
laughed. “Well, it looks. like I made an-
other bad guess,” he told the officers.
“Things just don’t seem to be breaking
for me these days.” a

Nor did things break for him three
years later, when he and McNabb hid
under the flooring in the boiler room of
Folsom prison for an entire week, wait-
ing for a chance to ake, Despite other
attempts, Sampsell fina ly succeeded in
securing a transfer to Strayloch, a Folsom
prison farm near Davis, close to Sacra-
mento. eS

There, he was instrumental in pre-.
cipitating a scandal which, in 1943,
rocked the State Penal System.

On the evening of November 26, while
ostensibly in confinement, he was found
in the San Francisco apartment of a Mrs.
de La Prevotiere. An attractive red-head
with whom he had corresponded for some
time, she insisted her interest in him was
purely “psychological.”

“1 don’t think,” she stated, “that Lloyd
is a criminal at heart.”

The startling disclosure hit the front
pages, and prompted a thorough investi-
gation. Gov. Earl Warren's Prison Board,
under the direction of Isaac Pratt, imme-
diately ordered the suspension of Clyde
Plummer, warden of Folsom prison, and
R. H. Thompson, chief guard at Stray-
loch. ;

The prison board's robe . revealed
that Sampsell had made four unescorted
trips to visit his lady friend. He admitted
he had devised a code so that he could
convey such vital information as the time
of his arrival to her in his letters.

Questioned on this point, Thompson,
whose duty it was to censor mail, ad-
mitted that Sampsell could have devised
such a code and gotten away: with it.

He had missed seeing the convict on
two or three Sunday alternoons previ-
ously, the guard said, but had taken no
disciplinary action. Instead, he had en-
deavored to reason with him, and show
him that such breaches of conduct would
cause him to eventually suffer the con-
se
' Subsequent investigation revealed that
other prisoners had received unusual
privileges. Several of the inmates had
been escorted by guards to red light dis-
tricts near the farm.

Sampsell was romptly transferred to
San Quentin prison, and early in 1944,
Warden Plummer resigned from his

position. James Adam of San Francisco

was named to succeed him.
This, then, was the type of criminal

San Diego authorities were seeking for
the Seaboard robbery, and Chief Jensen
was frank enough to admit that never in
his career had he been called upon to
apprehend a crook of Sampsell’s guile
and cunning.

The chief promptly arranged for 1,500
“wanted” notices to be printed on Samp-
sell, and mailed to authorities of every
city of substantial size in the United

States. On the morning of. April seventh,
the first flyers were placed in the mail.
‘They read as follows:

WANTED FOR MURDER—REWARD
Sampsell, Lloyd E.
Summers, Leslie E.
Summers, Leslie D.
DESCRIPTION WMA 48 years,
5/8” 145 Ibs, swarthy complexion,

THE “EYE OF GOD”

Many people believe that the stars
guide their destinies. Although it is yet
to be proved that the stars control our
affairs, but there was once a comet that
helped solve a murder case.

It was back in 1910 when three events
took place combining to make this strange
story.

First, Halley's Comet appeared and
with it, a wave of mass hysteria, Some
predicted that the coming of the comet

_ marked the end of the world. There were
thousands of gullible people who believed
them, As the time approached, praying
throngs gathered in churches. Crowds
fled to the hills to watch the skies for
the first sign of doom. Many gave away
all their possessions as a last gesture.
Common sense and scientific facts were
powerless before this primitive terror—a
terror, which added to the suspense of
waiting.

Second, on the night of May 11 of that
year, in a cabin on the road between
Samptown and New Brunswick, New
Jersey, two men engaged in a drinking
bout.

Bad blood existed between them be-
cause of a local woman, police reports
indicated. As the evening passed on, sur-
face friendliness wore thin and before
long. sullen jealousy flared into brutish
rage. In the fight that followed, Patrick
Cahill was murdered. The slayer buried

’ the body under a pile of cornstalks not
ten feet from the shack. .

And third, a week later, two Newark
detectives were driving along the Samp-
town road about dusk, This was in the
days of Black Hand Acitivity and they
were on the trail of a dangerous con-
spirator. A tip had taken them to a

nearby Italian settlement but the search
had proved fruitless.

As their rig’s lights swung around a
curve, they picked up a dark figure as it
darted across the road and vanished into
the bushes. Thinking it might be the man
they wanted, they gave chase. After a
rugged half hour, they cornered him in
a small grave yard. He put up an amazing
struggle, but was finally hauled to the
rig. The officers were puzzled by the man.
To all their questions, he would only
keep yelling, “Not Black Hand member.
Not Black Hand!” In any event, they ar-
rested him upon suspicion and locked
him up.

Tn the prison, fear pf the Comet had
infected the inmates with superstitious
frenzy. Stark terror rose as the Comet
drew nearer.

In his cell, the Samptown prisoner
muttered and prayed. Drawn by the tur-
moil of the crowd in the street, he at last
looked through the barred window at the
throng. All were gazing skyward. He too, .
looked up.

Hie stood transfixed! He stared, and .
whimpered, “He sees mel The Eye of
God!” With a shriek that shifted the
crowd's gaze from the comet to the cell
window, he flung himself upon the steel
door pounding for the guards and scream-
ing, “I'll tell! I'll tell.”

At first Chief Kelly and Detective Pel-
litere thought that it was the confession
of a madman, for the authorities had no
record of the killing. However, they knew
Luigi Cerefice was sane when he showed
them the body beneath the cornstalks.

It's ironic, however, to think that the
little suspect might have gone free had it
not been for Halley’s Comet—“The Eye

of God.” —M. D. Jenkins

antom
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~ Harley Cook, a guard dressed in civilian BY ROGER ALLEN Then Arthur Smith moved in to assist
clothes, had chipped in to help with the * Cook. Grasping the gunman’s head between ~
paper work. At about 11:45 he was seated at a desk near his hands, he pulled the man forward, accidentally knock-
the swinging door. He was filling out forms when a little ing the guard off balance. As all three ‘men fell in a heap,
man walked through and asked for the manager. the bandit wrested his trigger hand free.

Cook looked up briefly, turned his head and gestured There were three almost simultaneous reports. Two
toward the figure of Robert E. Runyon, standing beside ripped into Arthur Smith’s cheek. The third struck Harley
one of the rear desks. “That's him.” Cook in the groin. '

The man muttered his thanks and walked back. In the ensuing excitement, the bandit scrambled from
He appeared to be about 45. Under his neat blue suit, he the floor and dashed out of the office, followed by Runyon
wore a gray shirt and blue’ figured tie. Short and thin his and assistant manager Ray Treinen. :
high cheekbones and sallow complexion gave him a worn “His pockets were so full of money that he couldn’t swing
appearance. Wearing a gray sna -brim hat, a pigskin glove his arms past them,” Runyon told the police later. “We
was on his right hand, He carried the other glove loosely started chasing him up the block, and with the loose change

in his left. loading him down, were gaining on him, when he turned
Approaching Runyon, he must have slipped a revolver to take a shot at us.”
from a holster or from one of his pockets. Cook said later The gunman missed, and running to the corner, into

he hadn’t seen the gun, but it was the first thing Runyon _ the street, he leaped onto the running board of a car. The
noticed. The gunman held it in his right hand, with little driver, startled at the sight of the blue steel revolver,
more than the muzzle showing. One pigskin glove was stalled his car, causing a collision as a vehicle following
draped over the barrel. close behind crashed into him.
“This is a stickup,” he observed mildly. “Would you The bandit leaped from the automobile driven by Her-
mind walking toward those filing cabinets in the back?” bert Bootman, raced directly across the street and comman-
Although his appearance was unprepossessing, his man- deered a Chevy moving in the opposite direction.

ner was one of calm confidence. “I slowed up to avoid hitting him,” the driver, Gordon

The manager hesitated momentarily. Perry, told officers, “wheri he jumped aboard and stuck a
“Please,” the gunman urged quietly. “Let's not haye gun in my face.

any trouble.” “Keep driving, doc, and drive fast,’ he said. And
Runyon turned and led the man toward the back. Curi- brother, I did.”

ous as to the little man’s business there, Cook, too, strode Perry, was ordered to drive to Broadway, San Diego's

toward the rear. He was promptly lined up with Runyon main thoroughfare. At the corner of First Avenue, the

behind a row of filing cabinets. bandit leaped from the car and [Continued on page 46]

Now the bandit stepped toward the cash drawers,
shoved their contents‘into his pockets and turned
back to the manager. :

“Open the safe,” he directed.

Runyon shook his head. “I haven't got
the combination.” .

The gunman’s mild blue eyes grew cold.
His thin lips tightened. For the first time,
he raised his voice a little. .

“You're the manager, aren’t you? Now,
open itl”

The effect of his command was spoiled
by sounds of an argument at the front of
the office. It became apparent to the victims
that the bandit had an accomplice.

A huge man, with a tremendous chest and a
grossly protruding abdomen, stood beside the front
door, holding it shut with one foot. He was arguing
with a customer who, evidently unaware of what was going
on, couldn't understand why he wasn’t permitted to leave.
Not until this incident had any of the other customers
realized that a holdup was in progress. Those in the con-
sultation rooms were, in fact, still unaware that anything
unusual was happening.

The gunman ‘glanced at Runyon and Cook. With the
warning, “Stay there and don't move!” he coolly turned to

‘the front of the office. The unexpected altercation dis-
turbed his composure not one iota. At the front door, he °
turned his back to the street and attempted to calm the
customer.

Runyon recognized. the latter as Arthur M. Smith, from
Chula Vista. Smith was complaining loudly that he had
to go to work. Harley Cook took advantage of the situation
to slip from the office through a side door and race around
the street to the front entrance. He suddenly burst through
the door, and before the gunman could wheel, whipped
his arms around him.

“Cookie’s got him!” Runyon yelled, running forward
to nee

Cook did have the gunman. Tall and well built, the guard

towered over his : risoner, whose arms were inned firmly
against his sides. is right hand still chacnek the gun, but

it was pointed harmlessly now at the floor.

In. 1943, killer Sampsell strayed from
Strayloch, a Folsom Prison farm, in
order to kill some time with Mrs.
Jacqueline de La Prevotiere (left)
in her San Francisco apartment.

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It. brown hair, blue gray eyes, wear-

ing moustache, restaurant worker _

San Quentin No. 70694, Folsom
No. 18586. Cal State No. 310 B 110.
Case k-1487
April 7, 1948
During a robbery of, the Seaboard
Finance Co this city, Mar 27 1948,
a customer was shot and killed. The
Seaboard Finance Co authorizes pay-
ment of $1,000 reward for his arrest
and conviction. ;
Arrest—Hold—Notify
A. E. Jensen
Chief of Police °
San Diego

A further probe into the bank robber’s
background revealed that he had started

his career in crime in San Diego, at the |

age of 15, when he had been arrested for
forging a check. At the time, he had been
attending high school and residing with
his parents in Los Angeles. Shortly after,
he joined the Navy, from which he later
received a dishonorable discharge.

The resultant publicity, after the clis-
closure that Sampsell was wanted for the
San Diego murder, was followed by the
usual false reports as to his whereabouts.
Men answering the gunman’s descrip-

tion were sighted, during the following -

week, at points as remote as Bangor, Me.,
and as close as Escondido, 35 miles north-
east of San Diego.

One direct result of the publicity,
however, could nat by any stretch of the
imagination be termed usual. On Tues-
day afternoon, April 13th, Detective
Lieut. Mort Greer was seated at his desk
at Homicide, when his phone rang. The
operator at the police switchboard down-
stairs told him a call was coming through
from Billings, Mont., for “anyone” at the
Homicide Squad.

The lieutenant waited. Minutes later,

a big booming voice came over the line.
“This is Ben Richardson,” said the
voice. “Say, I hear you guys are looking

for me. Look, I don’t want any part of :

that murder rap, I didn’t even know any-
body was killed until I read you were
looking for Sampsell. I’m gonna give my-
self up.”

Tense as he was, Greer kept his voice
‘even. “Where are you in Billings?” he

‘asked.

Richardson’s booming laugh came

‘ through the receiver. “You won’t believe

this, but I’m in the sheriff's office. I came
in to surrender, but there’s nobody here
right now!”.

For a moment, the officer was com-
pletely taken aback. “All right, stay
there,” he blurted finally. “Somebody'll
show up soon.”

Richardson chuckled again. “Nope.
I'll leave my bag here, but I'm going out
for a little fresh air. It may be a long time
before I breathe any more of it, eh? Don’t
worry, I'll be back.”

There was a click as the con hung up?
Greer waited a few minutes, and then
asked the operator for the sheriff's office
in Billings. He waited another five min-
utes for the call to be put through, and
spoke finally with a woman employe.

_ There was no man in the office, she as-

sured the lieutenant; then, hesitating a

2) een ng

moment, added, “Oh, there’s a man com-
ing in now .. .” There was a pause. “Yes,
he says his name’s Richardson.” .The ex-
convict’s voice came over the wire again.
“Okay, I’m back,” he said. “Now get
somebody up here in a hurry. I want to
get this rap over with.”

Brought back to San Diego that Satur-
day by Detectives Russ Ormsby and An-
thony Maguire, Richardson told his
version of the loan office robbery and of
his association with Sampsell. He had
met the gunman in Folsom. and months
after the latter was released from San
Quentin, they had arranged to team up.
Two weeks prior to the San Diego job.
they had held up a Seaboard office in
Pasadena and taken $400.

He had fled from the San Diego Sea-
board office, he said, because “things
weren’t.running smooth,” and had waited
outside in his car for Sampsell. When he
heard the shots, minutes later, he had
stepped on the gas and raced to Los
Angeles, passing through San Diego be-
fore the police had established their road
blocks. No, there was no third man in-
volved, as the police had suspected. He
had been the lookout, and driver of the
getaway car as well. He had had his car
parked near the office, at the corner of
2 Avenue and A Street.

Before driving down to San Diego for |

the job, he and Sampsell had taken the
precaution to arrange for a meeting in
L.A. for the Sunday following the hold-
up, just in case anything were to go
wrong. Sampsell had shown up as ex-
pected, and had given him $75 as his
share. He had been satisfied with this
sum, he added, for his partner had been
forced to discard his coat with the greater
part of the loot. If things hadn't gone
wrong, he was certain he would have re-
ceived more, for Sampsell was “honest.”
Then his partner had told him that he
escaped from San Diego by taking the
train to Los Angeles, Saturday afternoon,
but he had not told him that the angry
customer had been shot to death. No, he
hadn't the slightest idea where Sampsell
might be in hiding. They had separated
the day after the crime, and hadn’t been
in touch with each other since.

When the murder of Smith was men-
tioned, Richardson's face took on a hurt
expression. “I had nothing to do with
it,” he protested. “I wasn't armed; I
wasn't even there. The fact is, I don’t
believe in killing. It’s not my nature.”

“Fatty” Richardson was charged, never-
theless, with two counts of assault with
a deadly wh re with intent to murder,
and with robbery. Since Arthur Smith
had been murdered during the commis-
sion of a felony, Richardson, as a partici-
pant in the crime, was as guilty of murder
under California law as if he had fired
the fatal shot.

“On July 22, shortly before he was
scheduled to be brought to trial, he of-
fered to plead guilty to murder in the
second degree. Upon the recommenda-
tion of District Attorney Don Keller, the
original charge was reduced, and Rich-
ardson’s plea accepted. Judge L. N. Tur-
rentine of Superior Court then sentenced
him to serve from 5 years to life in Fol-
som prison.‘

3 :

Meanwhile, the hunt for the elusive
Sampsell’ continued. Throughout the
summer, he kept out of sight. No robbery
committed on the Coast evidenced the
Sampsell touch, nor was the bandit
rumored to have been sighted anywhere.

Then, on the morning of September 2.
for the third successive time, he selected
a Seaboard Finance Company office for
a holdup. This time, he chose the branch
in Inglewood, eight miles south of Los
Angeles,

Opening the office door at 8:40 a. m.,
Assistant Manager Robert Adams found
the bandit, later identified through pho-
tographs as Sampsell, and an accomplice
waiting for him. By a strange quirk of
circumstance, Sampsell was forced to flee
empty-handed, The assistant manager,
a replacement for the regular man-
ager, who was on vacation, did not have
the combination to the safe. It was in the
hands of a senior employe, Blanche May,
who had been delayed by a flat tire on
her way to work that morning. While
calling the ‘office to notify Adams she
would be late, she was struck by the odd
manner in which he answered her. With
Sampsell at his elbow, he told her to try
and make her payments as promptly as
possible, to assure that her credit rating
remained excellent.

“Is it a holdup?” the woman asked over
the phone.

“Why, yes. Of course,” Adams replied.
“That's just what I mean.”

The woman promptly dialed the po-
lice, but Sampsell, evidently suspicious,
left two minutes before they arrived. ,

The report'of the attempted holdup,
when received in San Diego, prompted
another get-together of high ranking of-
ficers. Since Sampsell had gotten no
money, the officials reasoned he was likely
to strike again soon. And, since he had
shown a preference for the Seaboard
Finance Company offices, it was possible
he select one of them for his next
job.

Arrangements were made to cover all
five of Seaboard’s offices in San Diego.
Two detectives, posing as clerks, were
‘assigned to each office. They remained
on duty for an entire week, but the mur-
derer failed to appear. 4

Instead, he turned up next in
Fresno. On October 13, during the busy
noon hour, he walked into the local Sea-
board office, herded clerks and patrons
into a back room at gun point, and
escaped with $1,120.

Despite the fact that he must have

known a search for him now would be
concentrated in central California, he
waited but 18 days before making his first
of three strikes in San Francisco.
_ On Tuesday, October 26, he held up
the Whitcomb Hotel branch of the Bank
of America. Three days later, he entered
the Market-Ellis Street branch of the
Anglo-California Bank. From teller Max-
ine Backlund, he took $715, and dashed
from the premises before an alarm could
be sounded.

Three weeks later, another branch of
the Bank of America was held up by a
bandit, who escaped with $1,083 ‘in cur-

- rency. The bandit had taken his place in

line before the teller’s window with other

customers,
hind him {:
rish, later
photograph
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Lloyd Sampsell

[Continued from page 31]

disappeared into the Greyhound bus
terminal.

Within minutes after Perry told his
story, every available patrolman was
rushed to the vicinity of the bus station.
While a cordon of police cut off the sur-
rounding area for several square blocks,
other officers began a floor by floor search
of all buildings. At the same time, San
Diego County deputy sheriffs and the
California State Highway Patrol blocked
off every highway léading out of the city.
Other officers searched the Santa Fe
depot.

Descriptions of the gunman and his
accomplice were relayed via short wave
to all California State Highway patrol
cars. Detective Sergeant Al Gayton, the
department's liaison officer with the
Mexican police, left immediately for Tia-
juana, 15 miles south.

By mid-afternoon, it became apparent
the gunman had escaped the police cor-
don. He had either fled the city or had
found a hideout there.

Meanwhile, Arthur Smith and Harley
Cook were both rushed to the County
Hospital, where Smith died soon after
arriving. The autopsy, performed later
by Dr. Frank E. Toomey, County Sur-
geon, showed both bullets had lodged in
the victim’s neck. Cook, it was an-
nounced, although critically wounded,
would recover.

The search of the bus terminal hadn't
roved fruitless. In a locker there, police
ound the blue .pin-striped suit jacket,

identified as having been worn by the
gunman, and a gray woolen shirt. The
jacket pockets contained $1,200 in cash,
one pigskin glove, a blue steel revolver,
and a frayed pack of cigarets. ‘These were
taken to Chief Jensen’s office at San
Diego headquarters, where the top off-
cers in the locality conferred. Present
were Detective Lieutenant Mort Greer,

- head of the Homicide Squad, Chief of

Detectives Clyde Freed, Sheriff Bert
Strand and, since the crime involved a
bank robbery, FBI Special Agent Wil-
liam Murphy.

It was possible the murderer was an
ex-convict, only recently released from a
California penitentiary. A check with
the wardens of Folsom and San Quentin
might provide a lead.

“The only drawback,” the chief went
on, “is that there must be hundreds of
ex-cons of about his height and weight.
We might identify him more quickly if
we try to trace his accomplice first, and
follow that lead.”

His argument appeared logical. Wit-
nesses described the lookout as having
been “fat and sloppy looking.” About 50
years old, he was about six feet tall, and
weighed in the neighborhood of 250
pounds, certainly an unusual appearance.

Detective Anthony Maguire was as-
signed to the detail, and left immediately
for the State Bureau of Identification at
Sacramento.

The blue steel revolver, identified by
ballistics experts as the murder gun, was
a .88° caliber Colt, manufactured and
sold by that company to police officers
exclusively. Through its serial numbers,
it was quickly traced to Detective Tommy
Bryan of the Los Angeles police depart-
ment.

_Contacted by San Diego authorities,

Bryan said the weapon had been stolen.

from him the previous June. Ironically
enough, he had been en route to attend
a Peace Officers Conference in Reno,
Nev., when the gun had been taken from
his Pullman berth. °
Reno police were immediately asked
to search for the suspects there. Mean-
while, employes of the Seaboard Com-
pany and other witnesses examined
thousands of rogues’ gallery photographs
at police headquarters, but failed to
identify either of the bandits.
The following morning, Easter Sun-
day, rookie patrolmen and veteran of-
‘ ficers mingled among the Easter parade
crowd strolling along San Diego’s Broad-
way, on the lookout for the killer. The
next day, Runyon, on behalf of the
finance company, offered a $1,000 reward
for information leading to the arrest and

conviction of each member of the,

ang.
. Police speculated that more than two
men were involved. They felt that the fat
man, after deserting the gunman in the
finance company office, might have fled
to a getaway car, driven by a third man.
Several days passed, during which time
Detective Maguire combed through Fol-
som and San Quentin prison records.
Finally, on Friday, April 2, Maguire air-
mailed a prison photograph of one Ben
“Fatty” Richardson to San Diego head-
quarters. That evening, he was identified.

Richardson's prison record showed
that he had spent half his life in jail.
First convicted in San Bernardino, his
home town, in 1921 on a forgery charge,
he had served time in both Folsom and
San Quentin. He had last been jailed in
Riverside in 1940, for a safe burglary.
Described as being 53 years old, with a
ruddy complexion, Ben Alert Richard-
son, alias Elarencs A. Benjamin, alias
Albert Clarence, was five feet 11 inches
tall, and weighed 260 pounds. A squad of
San Diego detectives was detailed imme-
diately to probe into his activities.

The trail led to Las Vegas, Nev., where
Richardson had driven a taxi; from there
to Reno, where he had evidently acquired
the Los Angeles officer’s revolver; and
thence to Glendale, a small city north of
Los Angeles. There, the officers deter-
mined, on January 6, he had purchased
a car on time payments. Since he had not
paid cash, he must have given several
credit references. Through these, the
authorities hoped to either ascertain the
fat man’s whereabouts or obtain a lead
as to the identity of his accomplice. They
traced his loan application to the bank
and examined it.

Chief of Police Jensen could not have
been more surprised. For “Fatty” had
named Lloyd E. Sampsell as a reference.

For several years, in the late ’20s, the
brilliant Sampsell had tantalized the

forces of law and order on the West

Coast. Four years before, the highly pub-
licized . Dillinger had robbed his first
bank. At that time “Pretty Boy” Floyd
was serving his first, and a minor, sen-
tence in the Missouri Penitentiary but
Lloyd Sampsell was credited with having
successfully staged over 100 bank rob-
beries on the coast. His capers ranged
from Vancouver, B. C., to the Mexican
border.

It appeared incredible that the man,
who: had been released from prison in
August, 1947, after serving 18 years, had
turned again to his old profession, But
within two hours after receiving the ex-
con’s name, rogues’ gallery photographs
flown from State Identification head-
quarters identified Lloyd Sampsell as the
man who had staged the Seaboard rob-
bery and slain Arthur Smith.

It is, perhaps, an unfair comparison
to mention Sampsell with Dillinger and
Floyd. For, while the latter pair rode
roughshod over the Middle West, execut-
ing their bank robberies by brute force
‘and the use of the tommy gun, Lloyd
Sampsell was ever the gentleman. His
voice had been mild and pleasant, his
manner graceful, his dress impeccable,
and his grammar perfect. He had lived
the life’of a gentleman in crime, with all
the luxury the term implies.

For years, West Coast law officers had
been completely baffled by the mysterious
“Phantom Bandits” who had staged one
bank robbery after another and vanished
without a trace. Not until June of 1929
did they suspect a young sportsman,
“Leslie E. Summers,” of staging the rob-
beries. Subsequently, they learned he and
his accomplice had avoided their road

‘blocks and dragnets by leisurely cruising
away from each scene on their 40-foot
cabin cruiser. And not until after “Sum-

mers” had.been apprehended, mugged -

and fingerprinted did they identify him
as Lloyd Sampsell.
On June 18, the San Francisco burglar

_ detail, under the direction of Sergeant

George McLaughlin, apprehended “Sum-
mers,” his wife Lydia, and the master of
his yacht, “Captain” Ethan Allen Mc-
Nabb, in their fashionable apartment at
805 Leavenworth Street.

An automobilé load of baggage, suit-
cases and trunks crammed full of cur-
rency, gold coin, travelers’ checks and
other valuables, was taken from the apart-
ment. While the officers removed the
loot, a $3,000 maroon coupe, shipped
down from Seattle and consigned to
Mrs. Summers, arrived at the apartment.

For several days, district attorneys of
California, Oregon and Washington
cities converged upon San Francisco.
Good natured and occasionally heated
quarrels arose, 4s each endeavored to
take Sampsell into custody. But it re-
mained for the comparatively unknown,
young district attorney of Alameda
County, Earl Warren, to prosecute the
“Phantom Bandits.”

Officially, Sampsell and McNabb stood
trial for an $18,000 bank robbery which
they had pulled in Oakland. They were
found guilty only a few days later, and
the following week, each was sentenced
to serve from five years to life in Folsom
prison.

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THE MYSTERIOUS LODGER

(Continued from page 47) returned in the
evening.

Mrs. Elsie Hansen met him once, when
she came up the back stairs to pay her
rent. The Hansens occupied the lower flat,
where they had lived for nine years.

“Elsie,” said Mrs. Griffith, “T want you
to meet a very nice boy.” Then she called
the good-looking youth into the kitchen,
and said, “This is Bill, who has given me
some wonderful news.”

Her eyes were moist, and Mrs. Hansen
guessed what was on her mind when she
saw some official-looking letters lying
on the table. They were part of the cor-
respondence Mrs. Hansen had helped her
carry on with the military authorities in
Washington.

A devout Catholic, Mrs. Griffith feared
that her son’s body was lying in some
nameless and unconsecrated grave, and she
had been trying for three years to have
it shipped home so that she could give it a
Christian burial.

It quickly developed that Mrs, Hansen
had surmised correctly.

“Just think,’ Mrs. Griffith exclaimed,
smiling through her tears, “Bill was right
there in that same battle where my Tom
was killed.”

The youth confirmed this, explaining that
he had helped in rescuing the bodies of
fallen soldiers from the water offshore.

“But the important thing is,” Mrs.
Griffith continued, “that he saw the
Catholic boys buried with the full rites
of the church. He is sure Tom was among
them.”

Mrs. Hansen was incredulous. “You mean
there was a priest there to conduct burial
services,” she queried, “in the midst of all
that fighting?”

“That’s right,” he asserted. “Mrs. Griffith
has nothing to worry about on that score.”

Mrs. Hansen was frankly skeptical about
his story, but she later concluded that if

he had lied to the grieving woman, he must
have done so out of pity. He was un-
doubtedly a kind-hearted youth, as well
as a handsome and ingratiating one.

A few days later, on Tuesday, June 29th,
the widow’s attractive young daughter,
Mrs. Juanita Cava, came to call on her.
She had just returned to San Francisco
with her family after spending several
days vacationing at Russian River.

She rang the doorbell repeatedly, but
there was no response. Apparently Mrs.
Hansen wasn’t in, either, so she started
around to the back yard to look for her
mother.

She met Lino Trejo, who was just coming
from there. He said he had been looking
for Mrs. Griffith since the previous evening,
when he had discovered that his room
had been entered while he was at work
and his best suit of clothes taken.

“Oh, my!” she exclaimed. “Was your
door locked?”

“yes, I locked it when I went to work
and it was locked when I returned. But
my bed wasn’t made, and there was no
sign of your mother. I’ve just come back
during my lunch hour to look for her.”

The worried girl discovered that her
mother’s two Pomeranians were in the back
yard. She never left the dogs there when
she was to be gone long, so Mrs. Cava
felt sure she was somewhere in the neigh-
borhood.

“P| find her,” she promised, “and tell
her about your suit. If it’s been stolen,
we'll call the police.”

Trejo thanked her, and used his key
to open the front door for her, then he
hurried back to his job.

Mrs. Cava found the upstairs flat in good
order, The kitchen door was locked, the
way her mother always left it when she
went out.

She happened to have a key to the
kitchen door, but when she tried it she

“Dm taking the 4:34 up the river. Now, don’t say I never tell
you where I’m going.”

found that the lock had been tampered
with. She got a step-ladder and peered
through a small opening near the top
of the door.

Her mother’s purse was lying open on the
kitchen table. Her set of pass-keys was
there, too.

Alarmed, the girl went to the rear of
the house and tried the door to the en-
closed porch. It was securely bolted, and
she couldn’t see inside.

She hurried to the home of her aunt,
Mrs. Arcadia Canada, who lived a few
blocks away. They returned together and
finally got the back door open by forcing
back the sliding bolt.

Lying face down in the doorway of a
small closet on the porch was the widow’s
bludgeoned body. On a table near by was
a heavy pipe wrench, the end of which
was covered with dried blood.

Officer Raymond Pope, of Mission Sta-
tion, arrived in response to Mrs. Cava’s
hysterical telephone call. He was followed
by Homicide Inspectors Frank Ahern, Tom
Cahill, George Murray, Ralph McDonald
and Al Nelder.

A deputy coroner estimated that the
victim had been dead between twenty-
four and thirty-six hours.

A pile of bloodstained clothing, evi-
dently from a near-by laundry hamper,
covered the woman’s head. When the
deputy coroner started to remove the
clothing, he found part of it imbedded in
her skull, the back of which had been hor-
ribly crushed by countless blows.

The victim’s purse had been rifled, but
the slayer had overlooked $71 in currency
that was found pinned inside her garments.

Mrs. Cava discovered that her mother’s
bedroom had been ransacked and several
articles of jewelry taken.

It was several hours before the police un-
covered a clue to the identity of the mur-
derer. Trejo and Twomey were eliminated
as potential suspects, and both said their
rooms had been entered during their
absence on Monday.

Harry Cohn had left the previous Satur-
day on his annual vacation. He was plan-
ning to spend a month in Oregon, but no
one knew his address. He had left most of
his belongings in his room, from which a
radio had been stolen.

As far as could be determined, Mrs.
Griffith was alive Sunday afternoon, and
she was murdered that evening or the fol-
lowing morning.

Apparently the youth occupying the front
room next to Trejo’s was still living there,
for his suitcase and other belongings were
in his room. But he could not be located,
and no one knew his name or very much
about him.

Several receipt books were found in the
kitchen, and the stubs bore notations show-
ing when the tenants had paid their rent.
One of the stubs had been torn out, how-
ever, and there was none to show the name
of the still-unidentified youth.

Cohn’s vacation address was obtained
from his employers at the shipyard where
he worked, and on the following day the
Oregon authorities finally located him at
Willamina, south of Portland.

Inspector Ahern talked with Cohn over
the telephone.

“Yes,” he said, “I made out a rent receipt
for that fellow. He said his name was
Sanford—Bill Sanford.”

A short. time later, by means of the
suspect’s mug photo, he was identified as
William H. Sanford, a young escaped con-
vict.

Checking with the juvenile authorities,
the homicide detectives soon obtained con-
siderable information about the twenty-
year-old youth.

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re twenty-

A year previous, he had been convicted |

of three armed robberies and sent to the
reformatory at Lancaster. He was sub-
sequently transferred to a prison camp in
the Santa Cruz Mountains, from which he
escaped on June 14th—five days before he
turned up at the widow’s rooming house.

Young Sanford came of a good family,
and he was an enigma to all who knew
him. His parents were dead, and he and
his four brothers had been reared by an
elder sister, who was now serving over-
seas with the Red Cross. All of the boys
had been honor students in high school,
but William Sanford was especially bril-
liant.

After finishing high school, he had gone
on to a parochial college, where his scho-
lastic record was outstanding. Mental tests
had given him an unusually high intel-
ligence rating. He was interested in psy-
chology and allied subjects, and in prison
he had spent his spare time studying
Freud’s works.

In addition, the youth’s handsome, clean-
cut appearance and well-bred manners
would have led almost anyone to trust him,
yet unlike his brothers, he had been in
trouble with the police since his early
boyhood.

Finally, just before he was caught and
sent to the reformatory, he had evidently
turned to crime in earnest.

Since his escape, the police had been
watching his brothers’ home, which was on
Thirtieth Street, but he had evidently
made no effort to contact them.

The homicide detectives reasoned that
inasmuch as he had hidden out by renting
a room in a private home, he might attempt
to do so again. Therefore, after sending
out his description by radio and teletype,
they began a systematic canvass of the
hundreds of rooming houses in the sprawl-
ing Mission District, in which he had been
reared.

They spent seventy-two sleepless hours
in the manhunt before they uncovered a
lead that indicated he was still in the city.
The landlady of a rooming house identified
him by his photograph and said he had
stayed there two nights previous.

Later they again picked up his trail. This
time he had left a key in a dresser drawer,
and it was found to be the one Mrs. Griffith
had given him when he rented the room
there.

Meanwhile, Inspectors McDonald and
Murray had been staked out in an un-
marked police car near the home of the
fugitive’s brothers, and although they felt
sure he had not yet shown up there, some-
thing happened that aroused their sus-
picions.

At 1:30 in the morning, one of Sanford’s
younger brothers left the house and went
to an all-night bakery, where he bought a
pie and a newspaper.

“e's in there,” Murray declared. “He
sent the kid out to get the newspaper so he
can see what’s been published about the
murder.”

Ahern and the others were contacted by
radio. Half an hour later, they broke in
and found William Sanford hiding under a
bed.

His clothing was searched, and in the
watch pocket of his trousers was found a
wad of paper. Smoothed out, it was found
to be the missing rent-receipt stub bear-
ing his name.

At headquarters, Sanford made an as-
tonishing confession.

“I killed Mrs. Griffith,” he said, “so I
could rob the house and get enough money
to buy a gun.”

They asked him why he wanted the
gun.

“So I could kill my former sweetheart,”
he replied. “My sole purpose in escaping

from the prison camp ‘was'to come back ~

here and kill’ her. We were informally
engaged until I got sent up, then she threw
me over for another fellow. She’s a very
pretty girl, and I couldn’t get her out of
my mind. I finally decided that I had to
kill her.”

Arriving in San Francisco, he said, he
had stolen the suitcase later found in his
room, as well as various other articles
which he had sold.

‘TJ had nothing against Mrs. Griffith,” he
explained, “but I needed money and she
was an obstacle that had to be removed.”

He described the murder in detail. On
Monday morning, after the other lodgers
had left, he asked the widow for a wrench
with which to fix a bent fastener on his
suitcase. She led him to the closet on the
back porch and handed him a monkey
wrench, which he said was too small, then
the pipe wrench, which he said was too
large. While she was searching in the
closet toolbox for others, he brought the
heavy Stilson wrench down on the back of
her head.

She fell forward, bleeding profusely. He
threw soiled clothing over her head to
prevent the blood from spreading; then he
rained blows on her skull through the pile
of clothing.

Youth was in-

troduced as "a
very nice boy"

Later, while leisurely ransacking the
rooms, he came back several times, and
each time he struck her head a few more
blows, to make sure there was no life left
in her. .

“But I assure you she died without feel-
ing any pain,” he told the detectives. “I am
not devoid of natural sympathy, and I re-
gretted having to kill her. However, the
truth is that she’s better off dead. She was
grief-stricken and had to work too hard
for a bare living.”

He found only a dollar and a half in her
purse. He carried his loot, including Cohn’s
radio, away in one of her suitcases. He hid
the jewelry below a cliff and sold the rest
of the stolen articles to a fence.

All the loot was recovered by the police.

Still lacking enough money to buy a
gun, he said, he had visited his ex-sweet-
heart. Her new boy friend was there, and
he seemed like a nice chap.

“Even if I’d had a gun at that moment,”
he declared, “I don’t think I could have
killed either of them.”

He explained that in addition to planning
to murder the girl, he had wanted a gun
to enable him to pull off a series of rob-
beries.. Then, with sufficient money for
his purpose, he would have left San Fran-
cisco and continued his career of crime in
some distant city.

Bena told the news reporters who in-
terviewed him that he was prepared to die
for the murder of Mrs. Griffith. He re-
peatedly acknowledged that the crime was
fully and deliberately premeditated, and
tacitly admitted that he had played up to
the widow in order to win her confidence
and get the opportunity to murder and
rob her. His story about being a war

veteran was pure fiction.

Deputy Public Defender William Fer-
don pleaded him not guilty and not guilty
by reason of insanity, and he was brought ~
to trial before Superior Judge Daniel R.

Shoemaker and a jury of five men and
seven women.

Assistant District Attorney Charles Peery
asked that he be given the death penalty,
as the only means of insuring his perma-
nent removal from society.

Sanford himself had told reporters, “If I
am not put to death and they some day
turn me loose, I certainly will kill some-
body else.”

On November 17th, the jury found the
confessed slayer guilty of murder in the
first degree, and since the verdict did not
specify a life term, this meant that he
would be sentenced to die.

The youth still had a chance to escape
the lethal gas thamber, if the sanity hear-
ing showed that he was not mentally re-
sponsible at the time of the murder. But
as soon as the verdict was announced, he
sealed his own fate by telling Ferdon to
withdraw his insanity plea. He would not
testify in his own defense, he said.

Court-appointed psychiatrists had al-
ready examined him and found him sane,
so Ferdon had no choice. The secondary
plea was withdrawn immediately, and the
jury was discharged. |

Those who had studied Sanford’s case
found it difficult to understand why any-
one of his intelligence would deliberately
turn to crime, knowing that eventually he
was bound to be caught and punished.

Sanford had a partial explanation. He
had coldly analyzed himself, and said that
the deaths of his parents, followed by that
of a beloved younger sister, had left him
embittered.

According to his self-analysis, he was
legally and mentally sane but possessed of
“schizoid traits.” He said he had long been
aware that he had a split personality, and
that his better self was unable to control
the evil impulses that often motivated him.

As a representative of Master DETECTIVE,
I attended the trial and watched the good-
looking youth force Ferdon to take the step
that meant his own execution. When it
was all over, I asked the defense attorney
why Sanford wanted to die. Most crimi-
nals, by the time they are brought to trial,
want to go on living no matter what they
have done, I remarked.

“Yes, life is sweet even to Sanford,” Fer-
don said. “He told me he lacks the nerve
to commit suicide, but he feels that he has
disgraced his family and everyone who
ever befriended him. No doubt he has a
guilt complex that goes back to his early
boyhood. At any rate, he wants to pay
for his crime, and by refusing to aid in
his own defense, he has made sure that the
State will do the job for him.”

Although Ferdon did not say so, it oc-
curred to me that here was a clue to the
paradoxical career of the enigmatic youth.
Psychiatrists tell us that an unconscious
urge toward suicide motivates many whose
behavior cannot otherwise be explained.

Was William Sanford unconsciously
looking for his own destruction, I won-
dered, when he escaped from the prison
camp and set out to kill his former sweet-
heart? And when he callously planned
and executed the murder of the gentle
widow who had befriended him, didn’t he
know in his heart that he would pay for
the crime with his own life?

On November 19th, as cool and imper-
turbable as ever, the slender, dark-haired
youth stood: before Judge Shoemaker and
heard himself sentenced to die in the gas
chamber.

“Thank you, your Honor,” he said.

Five days later, he entered Death Row
at San Quentin Prison. On July 15th, 1949,
Sanford was executed.

Eprtor’s Note: A picture of William
Sanford appears on this page.

|
|

ae aor See

Tur NEW LODGER was a handsome
youth who appeared to be in his early
twenties, and Mrs. Felipa Griffith, who
ran the rooming house at 719 Capp
Street in San Francisco, took a liking
to him immediately.

A younger woman might have found
him romantic, for he had nice, intelli-
gent eyes and wavy brown hair, but
Mrs. Griffith was a widow of fifty-five,
and her interest in him was maternal.

He arrived there early in the after-
noon of June 19th, 1948. He was carry-
ing a suitcase, and explained that he
had seen the “room-for-rent” sign in
her window.

She showed him the vacant room,
which was in the front of the upstairs
flat, overlooking Capp Street. After
telling him that the rent was five dollars

When she saw pets in yard, Juanita

* Cava (above) knew mother was near by

A SRB SA ARR RAE REDE EE EIA AAR: REN MeN NAC INE IA! 9 ph

a week, she asked him what he did for
a living.

“I have no job yet,” he -said. “I’ve
just been discharged from the naval
hospital. I was in the Coast Guard
during the war.”

Instantly sympathetic, she asked
whether he had been wounded in battle.

“Yes, but I’m well enough now to look
for a job,” he said.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she exclaimed.
Then tears came into her eyes as she
told him about her soldier son, who was
killed during the invasion of Europe.
“Tom was just a boy,” she added. “Just
a boy like you.”

“Pm very sorry, ma’am,” he mur-
mured.

He agreed to take the room, and she
led him to the kitchen and called in

Wrench (examined by Asst. District At-
torney Peery above) was death weapon

Harry Cohn to make out his rent re-
ceipt. The others came and went, but
Cohn was her star lodger, having lived
there two years, since shortly after her
husband died. He issued the receipts
for her because she, a native of Nic-
aragua, had never learned to write
English.

“What's your name?” Cohn asked the
youth.

“Bill Sanford,” he said.

Cohn filled out the receipt form and
gave it to him, then went back to his
room.

Neither Cohn nor the other two
lodgers, Hugh Twomey and Lino Trejo,
saw much of the newcomer during the
ensuing week. They went to work early
each morning, and he was seldom there
when they (Continued on page 52)

Kindly Mrs. Griffith (above) felt ma-
ternal sympathy for her young lodger

before he was

BLUDGEON VICTIM

of the

VENGEFUL PLOTTER

BY BOB WILLIAMS

‘Ds two-story residence at 719 Capp Street in San
Francisco’s. Mission district meant a great deal to Mrs.
Felipa Griffith. Most of her memories were wrapped
up in the old building.

A native of Salvador, the Latin beauty had come to
the then new house as a bride.

It was where her two children, a girl and a boy,
were born. The girl had married from there and Mrs.
Griffith’s husband had died in an upstairs room. It
was where the War Department sent word of her
son’s death in the Pacific during World War II.

It was also where she was murdered.

sn ETN ne pips

able to add another corpse to his list

Mrs. Griffith’s daughter, Mrs. Juanita Cava, had been
trying to get her mother on the telephone throughout
that Monday in June. Greatly concerned, because she
knew the older woman seldom left the house for more
than an hour at a time, Mrs. Cava got her car and
drove to Capp Street.

A strange premonition that something was wrong
came over the daughter as she hurried up the front
steps. Instead of yapping happily as usual, her mother’s
two cocker spaniels were whining mournfully inside.
The ringing of the doorbell only added a frantic note
to the cries of the dogs.

A
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The body of motion picture executive Kenneth Savoy (inset) is placed in ambulance after
he was shot to death when he refused to give up his money—$4.43—during a tavern holdup.

COLD-BLOODED L/
KILLER at the
TAVERN

Witnesses to the shooting furnished a police artist with infor-
mation which enabled him to draw this sketch of accused, left.

was informed. “Only three of them chose
the workhouse, and the others have scat-
tered in all directions. But the trio who
chose jail as a winter home remember
your man and are sure he was among
the evacuees.”

Once more Robinson requested the co-
operation of railroad officials. He asked
for a list of all freight trains which had
left Kelso during the 24 hours after the
burning of the hobo jungle, along with
their points of destination and times of ar-
rival. Two days later, on January 21, the
Portland detective chief received the in-
formation and: immediately advised the
police in cities where the departing
freight trains had stopped to be on the
alert for Little.

Emil Smith, chief of detectives at Ta-
coma, Wash., 70 miles northeast of Kelso,
received a copy of Robinson’s request and
immediately assigned men to waterfront
dives and other hangouts of vagrants to
watch for the fugitive.

Before noon Chief Smith’s men reported
back that a man answering Little’s de-
scription had been preaching on street
corners during the past few days. He had
solicited money from a penny up after
quoting Bible passages in an attempt to
prove that the female sex lay behind all
earthly temptation and evil.

Before nightfall, two plainclothesmen
picked up a _ half-starved, hollow-eyed
vagrant at a hobo encampment on a rail-
road siding just inside the city limits. The
man was identified by fellow hoboes as the
sidewalk preacher. In the side pocket of
his tattered jacket the police found an
unloaded .22 caliber pistol. The man who
refused to identify himself said a com-
panion he had met on the road gave him
the weapon. He denied that he had ever
been in Portland.

Taken to Tacoma police headquarters
for further questioning, the haggard

a ai

vagrant was shown a copy of the police
mug shot that had been taken of Paul
Little more than four years earlier. He
took one long look at the faded photo-
graph, turned to Chief Smith and mut-
tered:

“It’s the worry that’s done it. To look
at me today you'd never believe I was
once that good looking. Yes, it’s the worry
that has made me.an old man. The worry
over all the evil that comes from women
and drink.”

“And yet you wanted to marry a woman
less than a month ago,” interrupted Smith
softly. “You even went so far as to tell
the proprietress of the hotel where you
stayed that you had married her.”

Paul Little explained in a patient, tired
voice that the only reason he had told
Mrs. Hochsheid the brunette was his wife
was in order to get her into his bachelor
apartment. “I found her in a bar, drinking
and trying to pick up a man,” the fugitive
explained. “I thought that if I pretended
to be attracted to her, I could get her up
to my place. Then, once | had won her
confidence, I could show her the evil of
her ways.”

“Is that why you got her into a strip
poker game before giving the Bible les-
son?” inquired Smith with quiet irony.

“Yes, that was all part of my plan. I
didn’t intend to hurt her. I wouldn’t have
hurt her if I’d known what I was doing.
But after we played cards, she got into
bed and I sat drinking a final bottle of
beer to get into the mood for my Bible
reading. Then, suddenly she rose up and
said she was going to leave.

“She grabbed me and started kissing
me. When she said she was leaving again,
I said, ‘Oh, no you're not.’ Then I forced
her down on the bed and choked her. I
guess I pressed my hands into her throat
for at least ten minutes.”

Returned to Portland by Detective

Quinn and Deputy District Attorney
Oscar Howlett on January 26, Little re-
peated his statement in the presence of a
police stenographer. When asked to de-
scribe the death scene again, he explained
that he had not been angry with the
woman nor had she offended him in any
way.

“Suddenly I looked down at her and
instead of the woman I’d brought to my
room I saw the face of a prostitute who
had led me astray when I was still an
innocent boy,” the accused killer declared.
“That’s when I put my hands on her
throat and kept choking her until she
was still. Then I laid her back on the
bed and pulled the covers up over her
head.”

It had taken him almost half an hour
to locate the New Testament passage
which he had underlined and left on the
table next to the bed in which his victim
lay dead, Little told police. “I don’t know
why I chose that particular verse,” he
added. “I guess I must have a weird sense
of humor.”

Arraigned on a first degree charge in
City Court the day following his return
to Portland, the prisoner said that he had
selected his victim at random after meet-
ing her in a tavern near her home. He
told the court that he had been a “Bible
student” since he was a child. Asked the
reason for his interest in religion, he
answered simply, “Why, for peace of
mind. That’s what I have been wanting for
years. I read the Bible whenever I get
moody. I like the parts on life after death.
That’s a better life than this rotten one
here on earth. I never did get a break in
this world.”

Paul Frederick Little got one break,
though. The court ordered an automatic
plea of not guilty and arranged for a
criminal lawyer to defend him when he
appears for trial.

Cold-Blooded Killer at
the Tavern

[Continued from page 39]

the bar. Then Shotgun barked, “O.K., put
your wallets on the bar, but be damn
careful that all you take out of your pocket
is your wallet.”

When the women reached for their
purses, Shotgun told them, “Never mind,
girls, we’re gents. We never -rob ladies.

ust men.”

While each patron was taking out his
wallet, Shotgun removed a cigaret from
his mouth and touched the lighted end
to one of the balloons.

The pop sounded like a pistol shot and
the bandit laughed like a crazy man when
everyone winced and pulled their necks
a little deeper into their collars.

“Take it easy, fellas,” he laughed. “I
was just funnin’.”

Frank Cerny, 62, one of the customers,
made some remark to the effect that Shot-
gun wasn’t so tough. The man glared at
him with such hatred that Cerny later re-
marked, “I thought for a second he was
going to rap me over the head with that
shotgun.”

Said Lang, the barkeep, “That’s right.
That joker with the shotgun looked like
dl pope had to ert sumone: He sure

ad a nasty sense of humor, popping that
balloon and all.” —

Shotgun’s pal collected the money and
then went outside the bar to make sure
the coast was clear. A minute later he

564

stepped back in and said, “O.K. we're
all set.”

With a parting word of advice, “Play it
cool and don’t make any trouble. The
last time we came back .and checked,”
Shotgun turned to leave.

At that very moment in walked an-
other customer, Kenneth Savoy, 35, an ex-
ecutive secretary at the Sam Goldwyn
studios.

Shotgun greeted him. “Step right in,
buddy, you’re just in time for the party.”

Then he shoved the shotgun viciously
into Savoy’s midsection and _ snarled,
“Gimme your wallet.”

Savoy was icy cool. He gave the gunman

_a long, searching look and then with a

smile replied, “I haven’t any.”

Shotgun jabbed him with the shotgun
again and told him, “Don’t monkey with
me. Gimme that wallet.”

The 15 persons in the bar stared bug-
eyed at the tense scene in the doorway
and held their breath when Savoy re-
plied quietly and determinedly:

“I haven’t any responsibilities. There’s
nobody but myself. So if you want my
wallet you're going to have to kill me
for it. So go ahead and shoot.” ‘

The gunman’s eyes blazed with hate and
frustration. Without a word he stepped
back three feet and squeezed the trigger.
A deafening roar and odor of gunpowder
filled the gaily decorated bar. The blast
from the gaping mouth of the sawed off
shotgun was frightening. And the full load
struck Savoy just above the belt line.

As he slumped to the floor, the bandit
hightailed it into a waiting car and roared
off with his pal.

The customers, sitting under the big

“Happy New Year” sign, were paralyzed
for a minute and then they went into
action. Someone called Hollywood police
station and asked for an ambulance. The
others tried to help Savoy. And still others
were ready for a good stiff drink.

Patrolmen A. J. Linahan and R. C.
Waers were the first to arrive at the cafe
at 5414 Melrose Avenue. They notified
the Hollywood detective bureau at once.

While they took statements from the
customers, the bartender and the owner,
an ambulance arrived from Hollywood
Receiving Hospital but it was too late to
do much for Savoy. A sawed off shotgun
at close range doesn’t give a doctor or a
patient much of a chance.

Later at the morgue, attendants said
Savoy hadn’t been lying when he said he
didn’t have a wallet. All they found in
his pockets was $4.43—the price he paid
for his life.

Back at the bar, Detective Sgts. Charles
Hancock and Bill Munkres had begun
their investigation by checking the state-
ments of the witnesses as to descriptions
of the suspects, the type of getaway car,
etc.

The following day, Detective Hector
Garcia of the headquarters homicide di-
vision went into action. Garcia is one of
the growing number of crime artists
whose job it is to do the work of a camera.

During his eight years on the force,
Garcia has made a specialty of creating
faces of suspects from the often incom-
plete and sometimes confusing descrip-
tions supplied by terrified witnesses.

During his time with the department,
Garcia has drawn some 150 composite
sketches, usually of men suspected of

criminal assa
where mug s!
exist.

With the ir
witnesses, he \
of Shotgun. H:
chart of typic
features, plus |
mug photos of

Garcia, a
in a line here
the hair line
finally all the
portrait resem!
gered the saw:

Then Detec!
picked up the
Shotgun was
held up the ¢
not to look at !
him for an ex

So with the
record and id:
and Hancock !
photos of re
California wh
bery.

After hours
they picked «
was a dead ri
of Shotgun. 7
shown to wit:
and all identif
dit.

His name
and his inch-:
bureau showe
dating back t

It began w
serter in E] }
was picked
Anggles, sent
jail and drev
vided he ret
sas.

In July of :
arrested in I
the charge
kept off pc
1946. At that
his home tow
of robbery, b
is recorded.

Then Scott
a little weigt
placed on fir
bery in Phoe:
arrested in
probation an
the Florence

Two years
muted to t!
that he clea:
and went to 7
arrested for
and fined $1!

In March
Diego follow
was dropped
served six
grand theft
he was agai!
burglary

At that ti:
and was sent
from which h
was capture
amined and

Scott was
was sentenc
years but g
November 1}
released fr
Cal., and w

The two
dedicated
and through
Scott and B
together in

Attorney
Little re-
esence of a
ked to de-
e explained
with the
um in any

stitute who
vas still an
r declared.
nds on her
- until she
ack on the
ip over her

uf an hour
passage

! left on the
1 his victim
. don’t know
verse,” he
veird sense

» charge in
; his return
that he had
after meet-
home. He
en a “Bible
Asked the
‘eligion, he
peace of
wanting for
never I get
fter death.
rotten one
a break in

one break,
automatic
iged for a

when he

paralyzed
went into
wood police
ulance. The
i still others
ink.
ind R. C.
it the cafe
» notified
au at once.
from the
the owner,
Hollywood
too late to
ff shotgun
joctor or a

ndants said
. he said he

found in
ice he paid

sgts. Charles
had begun
g the state-
lescriptions
etaway car,

tive Hector
iomicide di-
ia is one of
‘ime artists
of a camera.
the force,
of creating
tten incom-
ng descrip-
tnesses.
iepartment,
composite
ispected of

criminal assault, robbery and forgery,
where mug shots of the suspects may not
exist.

With the information supplied by the
witnesses, he went to work on the portrait
of Shotgun. He prodded memories with a
chart of typical head shapes and facial
features, plus portions of faces taken from
mug photos of known criminals.

Garcia, a careful craftsman, penciled
in a line here, erased one there, doctored
the hair line, trimmed the nose, until
finally all the witnesses agreed that the
portrait resembled the man who had trig-
gered the sawed off shotgun.

Then Detectives Munkres and Hancock
picked up the ball. They were certain that
Shotgun was an ex-convict. The way he
held up the bar, his order to the patrons
not to look at him and his coolness pegged
him for an experienced stickup artist.

So with the help of the clerks in the
record and identification bureau, Munkres
and Hancock began looking over the mug
photos of recently released convicts in
California who had served time for rob-
bery.

After hours of careful and diligent work,
they picked out the photo of a man who
was a dead ringer for Garcia’s conception
of Shotgun. The police file picture was
shown to witnesses of the Savoy killing,
and all identified him as the shotgun ban-
dit.

His name was George Albert Scott, 36,
and his inch-thick package in the record
bureau showed he had a criminal record
dating back to 1944.

It began with his arrest as a Navy de-
serter in El Paso, Tex. in 1944. In 1945 he
was picked up for grand theft in Los
Angeles, sentenced to a year in the county
jail and drew a suspended sentence pro-
vided he returned to his home in Arkan-
sas.

In July of that same year he was again
arrested in Los Angeles for burglary but
the charge was dismissed. After that he
kept off police blotters until January
1946. At that time he was picked up in
his home town, Little Rock, on suspicion
of robbery, but no disposition of this case
is recorded.

Then Scott’s record began to pick up
a little weight. In November 1949 he was
placed on five years’ probation for rob-
bery in Phoenix. A year later he was again
arrested in Phoenix for violating that
probation and given five to ten years in
the Florence state prison.

Two years later the sentence was com-
muted to the time served on condition
that he clear out of Arizona. He obliged
and went to Texas where he was promptly
arrested for carrying a concealed weapon
and fined $100.

In March 1954 he was arrested in San
Diego following a robbery but the charge
was dropped. In July of that year he
served six months in Los Angeles for
grand theft and the following December
he was again arrested in San Diego for
burglary.

At that time he feigned mental illness
and was sent to the state hospital at Patton
from which he promptly escaped. When he
was captured and returned he was ex-
amined and declared sane.

Scott was returned to San Diego and
was sentenced to from 6 months to 15
years but got out in two years. And on
November 12, 1958, George A. Scott was
released from the state prison at Chino,
Cal., and was back on the street.

The two detectives went to an agency
dedicated to rehabilitating ex-convicts
and through careful checking learned that
Scott and Bill Jones, who had done time
together in San Quentin, each had left the

rooming house suddenly on the night of
November 15—three days after they were
admitted for rehabilitation.

It proved easier to find Jones than Scott
and the ex-convict was taken to Holly-
wood police headquarters for questioning.
He denied emphatically that he had been
running with Scott or that he had any-
thing to do with the Savoy killing.

As a seasoned ex-con he didn’t say any
more than he had to, but he did insist
that he had had no part in the tavern
murder. Also, he agreed to take a lie
detector test to back bad his story.

Wired to a polygraph machine in the
crime lab of the Los Angeles Police De-
partment, Jones gave the detectives some
surprises.

During the questions put to him about
the holdup and murder in the In Between
Cafe, the needles rode along the graph
paper as steady as a rock, indicating he
was telling the truth.

But when any reference was made to a
shotgun, the needle staggered like a
drunk, indicating Jones was lying. Han-
cock and Munkres were about half con-
vinced that Jones had been working with
Scott, but the polygraph disagreed with
them.

But why the wavering needle whenever
the word shotgun was mentioned? Ques-
tioning by the two detectives found the
answer.

Jones, according to the police, admitted
he had sawed off a shotgun for Scott! That
in itself is a federal offense and Jones was
jailed for safekeeping more than any-
thing else.

In the hopes of flushing out either the
accomplice or someone who knew him,
the detectives released Scott’s photo and
the composite of Scott to the newspapers
on January 19 even though they were cer-
tain he was long gone from Los Angeles.

The photo did the trick. That evening
an attractive young woman walked into
the Long Beach police station. She identi-
fied herself as Mrs. Margaret Sampson,
26, the wife of a serviceman on a tour of
duty overseas. According to police, she
admitted she had been Scott’s girlfriend
and had been with him the night Savoy
was killed.

She reportedly told police that Scott’s
accomplice on the job was a man named
Curtis Lichtenwalter, 41, who had no po-
lice record and who apparently had turned
to robbery when he lost his job.

Mrs. Sampson said she didn’t know
where Lichtenwalter was living, but here
again the detectives got a break. In the
woman’s Long Beach apartment, Hancock
and Munkres found a phone number that
proved to be that of a friend of Lichten-
walter. The man told the detectives their
quarry was living in a motel in suburban
Compton.

Lichtenwalter surrendered without any
fuss and in his apartment Sgt. S. R. Mc-
Caleb found a deadly sawed off shotgun.
Both Mrs. Sampson and Lichtenwalter
were taken to police headquarters where
they both began to sing like birds about
Scott.

Mrs. Sampson said she had been Scott’s
girlfriend since shortly before Christmas,
but that he had dropped her on January
2 for a hefty woman believed to be a fe-
male wrestler.

According to the story Mrs. Sampson
told police, she went along on one robbery
with the two men for “kicks.” That was
the night Savoy was murdered. She said

she sat in the car outside the bar while .

the two men went in. She told officers that
Lichtenwalter was just leaving the bar
when she heard the gun go off and saw
Scott run out.

saab <i tte was NM ina een RA EA

Lichtenwalter’s story oozed with self
pity, but he wanted to make it quite plain
right from the start that it was Scott and
not he who had been the trigger man.

What was he doing with the sawed off
shotgun? It was his, said Lichtenwalter,
he had brought it out west with him from
Chicago nearly a year before.

His story was that he had been a ma-
chinist and met Scott through a mutual
friend. When he was laid off early in De-
cember, Lichtenwalter said, he told his
troubles to Scott who made him this pro-
position:

“How would you like to make a fast
$1,000?”

It seemed like a pretty good idea to
Lichtenwalter at the time, so the man who
had never been arrested before in his life
teamed up with a hard case gunman.

According to the police version of
Lichtenwalter’s statement, they made
their $1,000—$1,113 to be exact. But it
wasn’t fast or easy. They specialized in
robbing saloons and taverns. On Decem-
ber 16 they made $30, on the 17th $429, on
the 19th, $126; on Christmas Eve, $182;
on December 28, $126, and at the In Be-
tween Cafe on the 30th, $220.

Lichtenwalter insisted that although
he owned the shotgun, he always let Scott
pack it on the jobs and, contrary to Mrs.
Sampson’s story, Lichtenwalter said he
was in the car when the shooting took
place.

Lichtenwalter and Mrs. Sampson
both said that when Scott piled into the
getaway car he told them he had “shot a
guy” because the man had grabbed for
the gun.

The trio headed for Long Beach where
they drank in bars until 2 a.m. closing
and then spent the next two days at Mrs.
Sampson’s apartment. Both Mrs. Samp-
son and Lichtenwalter declared that they
didn’t know Savoy had been killed until
they read it in the papers the next day.

It took a murder to show Lichtenwalter
the error of his ways. He apparently
didn’t mind running with Scott when the
ex-con stuck to robbery. But murder was
a crime of another color.

“I was frightened and figured the next
one to get it might be me,” Lichtenwalter
told police. “I always thought that guy was
kind of crazy. So about a day or two after
the last job, I waited until Scott had gone
out, then grabbed my shotgun and took off.

“Why did I take the gun with me? I
didn’t want him using it on someone else—
especially on me.”

Lichtenwalter added that he has a son
in the air force, a 16-year-old son in
Chicago and a married daughter.

Why had he taken up with Scott? Why
did a man who had been a hard-working,
law-abiding citizen all his life suddenly
turn to strong arm robbery? This is Lich-
tenwalter’s explanation:

“Maybe it was loneliness. I was in a
strange city. Away from the people I

’ know and love. And now I’ve disgraced

them.”

Both Mrs. Sampson and Lichtenwalter
were booked on suspicion of murder and
lodged in the Los Angeles County Jail.
And the search went on for Scott.

All points bulletins from Los Angeles
began to trickle into police departments
all across the country. Day by day word
filtered back to Hancock and Munkres.

Scott had been seen in Phoenix, one of
his old stamping grounds. Officers in El
Paso—another of Scott’s haunts—man-
aged to get part of a California license
plate as a car sped away from a holdup. A
check with Los Angeles police showed
that it matched Scott’s.

2 5

™N

BY ROY SANDERSON

\
|F was a small, friendly group—eight men and seven women
—in the In Between Cafe on Hollywood’s Melrose Avenue
on the night of December 30, 1958.

Ray Watts, the owner, had festooned the place with
balloons for New Year’s, And there was the usual banter
between the customers and George Lang, the bar-
tender.

It was a Tuesday, usually a slow night. And then at
10:15 p.m. two strangers stepped through the front door
and the pace suddenly quickened. One of the pair hung
back while his sallow-faced companion stepped up to the

Accused, far right, after he was
flushed out of motel in hail of
bullets and tear gas bombs. His
girlfriend, a muscular wrestler,
was with him. She was not sought
in connection with the slaying.

Nearly a month
went by before the law
tracked down the
fugitive in a hail of

bullets and tear gas

The man on left tells Sgt. S. R.
McCaleb that he is the owner of
sawed off shotgun used in killing.

bar to demand some service. And a sawed off shotgun can
get a man a lot of it!

He pounded the 16 gaugé weapon on the bar and declared,
“This is a-stickup.” Then looking over the customers seated
along the bar he told them, “Just Stay sitting just like you
are. Look straight ahead and don’t try to look at me and no
one will get hurt.”

While ‘he kept the customers covered with the vicious
looking weapon, his accomplice went around to the back of
the bar, scooped the money out of the till and two other cash
drawers and then reached for a March of Dimes container
on the bar.

With the eyes of the customers on him, he changed his
mind and stepped out from behind [Continued on page 56]

ulance after
vern holdup.

ith infor-
cused, left.

description, by the name of Terrell Ber-
ger, had been employed at the store but
had quit his job early in August.

Possibility that the young man might
have a positive connection with the case
was seen when the proprietor of the house
where Berger had stayed informed offi-
cers that Berger had left Sault Ste. Marie
early the morning of August 14, after
announcing that he was going back to
Detroit to get his old job back in an
automobile factory.

The theoretical case against the youth
gained strength when the trail of George
Stanley Spaul and his 1928 automobile
was picked up again at St. Ignace. The
description of the man seen with Spaul
tallied closely with that of Terrell Berger.

While the town-by-town canvass for
information continued unabated, state
authorities advanced beyond that probe
to request Detroit police to institute a
search for Berger, believed to be working
in an auto plant.

While Detroit detectives contacted
various automobile factories in their
search for Terrell Berger, other officials
of the motor city were striving to piece
together the portion of the case stemming
from the discovery of Spaul’s abandoned
car. They believed they had definitely es-
tablished the time of the car’s arrival in
that city.

Two Detroit patrolmen recalled having
seen the car parked on Charlevoix Avenue
near East Grand Boulevard some distance
from the place where it later was recov-
ered, on the night of August 15.

HE patrolmen told their superiors

that they had stopped beside the car
when they observed that the vehicle car-
ried foreign license plates and also saw
that its owner was having difficulty chang-
ing a flat tire.

According to the officers the motorist
identified himself as George Stanley Spaul
of Consul, Saskatchewan, and displayed
personal papers, including his driver’s li-
cense and car title.

The officers added that, when they

drove back past the spot on Charlevoix
Avenue about midnight, they noticed that
the old sedan was gone.

The patrolmen’s disclosure threw a
confusing light on the picture. Did Spaul’s
presence in Detroit mean that he had de-
cided to alter his route to Canada by
crossing the border at Detroit instead of
Port Huron?

If that were the case, what about the
testimony of the farmer in Kenockee
Township who had seen a car like Spaul’s
parked beside the road the afternoon of
August 15? Could he have made a mis-
take in the date... ?

A surprising answer to the perplexing
questions came when the Detroit police-
men who had examined the distressed
motorist’s credentials compared a descrip-
tion of George Stanley Spaul with their
recollections of the appearance of the man
they had tried to help.

That man was not Spaul at all, they re-
alized, but very likely the Canadian’s
slayer!

The Canadian had been a man of small
stature, with reddish-brown hair and a
crippled left foot. But the individual hav-
ing trouble with a tire was a tall man,
with straight grayish hair and a mustache.
Furthermore he had walked without a
trace of a limp.

The search for Terrell Berger ended in
a West Side automobile factory. Taken
into custody for questioning, Berger did
not deny he had hitchhiked from Sault
Ste. Marie the morning of August 14. He
acknowledged that he had caught his first

SOUGHT IN
MURDER

Lloyd E. Sampsell

Chief of Police A. E. Jansen of San
Diego, Cal., asks the cooperation of the
readers of STARTLING Detective in locating
Lloyd E.-Sampsell, alias Leslie E. Sum-
mers and Leslie D. Summers. There is a
$1,000 reward for the arrest and convic-
tion of this man in connection with the
killing of Arthur W. Smith and wounding
of Harley Cook, March 27, 1948, during
the robbery of the Seaboard Finance Cor-
poration in San Diego.

The 48-year-old Sampsell is 5 feet
814 inches tall; weighs 145 pounds; has
swarthy complexion, light brown hair,
blue-gray eyes and when last seen’ wore
a mustache. A restaurant worker, he has
served terms in San Quentin, Folsom and
California State prisons.

ride with a man who identified himself as
George Spaul.

“But I couldn’t have had anything to
do with ... with this!” the suspect pro-
tested.

And why not, his questioners de-
manded.

“Because I didn’t ride all the way with
him!”

“You can prove that?”

Berger said that he could.

“I left Spaul after we crossed the
Straits,” he alibied, “and stopped off in
Cheboygan for a couple of days to stay
with some friends.”

He added that he did not continue on
to Detroit until August 16. He said he
arrived late that night and checked in at
a small hotel -near the place where he got
a job the following morning. i

Berger was‘viewed by the patrolmen

who had seen the distressed motorist with
a flat tire and they readily rejected Berger
as the suspect in question.

The youthful auto worker was kept
under close surveillance until his story
could be thoroughly checked, however.
That probe required only a few hours.
When it was determined that the alibi
was substantiated in every respect he was
released and cleared of suspicion.

Armed with a description of the new
suspect, the one who had displayed the
murdered Canadian’s credentials in De-
troit, State Police pressed forward with
their hunt for clues along Highway 27
leading south from the Straits of Macki-
nac.

An old snapshot of Spaul and his 1928
automobile was furnished by Mrs. Mc-
Bain, the victim’s sister, and with its help

State Troopers picked up the Canadian’s

trail near Gaylord. There they found a
roadside restaurant employe who told of
waiting on two men traveling in an old
sedan on an afternoon in mid-August.
The restaurant man viewed the snapshot
and instantly recognized Spaul as one
of the two travelers.

He furnished a sketchy description of
the second man. Incomplete as it was, it
was enough.

Spaul’s companion at Gaylord and the
fraudulent ‘“Spaul” encountered by the
Detroit patrolmen were one and the
same!

HE restaurant worker added one bit

of information. He said that Spaul had
asked about the distance to Port Huron
and also had inquired about the best place
to stop for the night along the way.

“T told him he ought to make it to
Grayling by dark,” the witness explained
to the officers.

The Grayling lead proved to be'a good
one, In that Central Michigan sports cen-
ter investigators learned that the two
men, Spaul and the same companion, had
spent the night in a roadside cabin.

It looked as though the trail had ended
in Grayling until Detroit police still try-
ing to uncover further leads learned from
an attendant, at a gas station near the
scene of the flat tire incident, that the
fictitious ‘“‘Spaul” had put in an appear-
ance there the morning of August 16.

“This old car I’ve been reading about
in the papers was in the station when I
came to’ work that morning, Saturday,”
a attendant said. “One of the tires was

at.

“A while later a tall, gray-haired guy
came in and asked me to fix the tire. But
he’d driven on it too much and the casing
was shot. Then he said he was in a hurry
to get up to the Sault and he didn’t want
to fool around buying a new tire. He used
the telephone here to call the bus station
and I heard him ask about the time the
next bus would leave for the north. Next
thing I knew he drove out of the station
right on that flat tire.”

“This chap was a cool one,” Inspector
Branton asserted. “Probably one with a
criminal record. Being in trouble and
knowing his way around with policemen
was nothing new to him. An amateur
would have tipped his hand, especially
when our boys were going through the
papers of a man he had murdered only a
few hours before. Our only chance is to
check our files.”

Homicide experts instantly charted
two courses.

First, they rushed a message asking
police at the Sault to search their files

‘for police characters whose descriptions

appeared to match that of the unknown
suspect,

Ce nerme

Second
ords and
as East L

Within
had been
forwarde:
nals who
that of th

All but
suspects
viewed |

in contac:

The on
former
William
possessor
to 1920.

Michig
police an
Their file
released
court orc
years of
criminal.
given as

With a
Foster a:
worthy
Marie.

HER
Chief

his force
whereabc
That jc
than they
Check:
homicide
learned t)
home of
And fron
garnered
several o
ence of |
“being in
Williar
When C!
and Cor
his relat
Sault Ste
dered wi
Hustle
question¢
iff Lucas
Sergeant
derson o:

who had
ing card
Lincoln
The bloc
tion,” th
chicken }
house ha
writing «
pen the |:
to Chief
his wife
another :
“Have
Lincoln.
“No,”
“Well
I shot th
a corpus
and you

C NABB is missing from
his cell!”
Those words, shout-
ed over a telephone by
Captain of the Guard Clarence
Larkin at California’s Folsom
Prison, where I was then
warden, were the start of a
drama that was to give me and
other prison officials many
sleepless nights—a bloody dra-
ma marked by ingenious plots

E. A. McNABB—— and by four deaths.

was called one of Captain Larkin reached me
the cleverest of on the phone at the railroad
known criminals. station at Sacramento, the

state capital which is just a

short distance from Folsom,
where I had gone to board a San Francisco-bound train,
on the evening of June 6, 1930, only a few months after
McNabb’s arrival as a “two-time-Joser.”

At the age of thirty-two, Ethan Allen McNabb, to-
gether with his twenty-nine-year-old crime partner,
Lloyd Sampsell, was brought to prison by officers who
termed them “two of the cleverest criminals known.”

. I was soon to find that McNabb was to become the
toughest prisoner I would be called upon to handle in
my long service at Folsom and San Quentin prisons.

A warden meets many “smart cons” and faces many
perplexing problems. But in McNabb I ran up against
a man with a brilliant mind—a mind which if he had
gone along normal channels might have led to real fame
and honest fortune.

I sped back in my automobile from Sacramento to
Folsom, where Captain Larkin met me with these as-
tounding words:

“Sampsell’s gone, too!” a

McNabb and Sampsell, who had garnered thousands
of dollars in a series of bank robberies extending frorr
British Columbia to Mexico, had become used to a lux-
urious life, with expensive clothes, beautiful women
friends, and even a yacht! They hated prison ... and
they had vowed that they’d never be caged for long,
They wanted to return to their erstwhile careers of high
living.

Had McNabb and his crime partner made good in
their escape plot?

Extra guards manned Folsom’s high granite walls.
Searching parties, led by my best and most courageous
guards, started a systematic search of every corner of
the huge prison. I was convinced that the men had not
gotten outside—that they were hiding out somewhere
within the walls, waiting for darkness and a break over
the walls.

The search continued throughout the night with the
finding of but a single clue—McNabb’s shirt and Samp-
sell’s coat in an excavation pit adjacent to the adminis-
tration building annex, which was under construction.
I figured these garments had been placed there by other
convicts to throw us off the real trail. It was a hunch,
and I wanted to follow it.

The next morning I re-
leased Folsom’s 2,500 in-

mates for breakfast and LLOYD SAMPSELL

then ordered them locked was “in” with McNabb
again in their cells. The in dering break plots.
42

themselves.

search within the prison was to continue un- . me for my

hampered. I didn’t want any further “plants” leave bece
placed by fellow conspirators of the missing pair. = ' Had Mc
As night fell on the second day, I received a ;*. ‘prison, m
letter in the evening mail that startled me. It yy were sco’
was signed by both McNabb and Sampsell and 4 Oakland’
had been postmarked at Oakland, more than one’ d * Some =
hundred miles from Folsom! facts, as
The letter was genuine. A check on the pair’s ae But I<
handwriting disclosed that they had written it ‘ful geta\
And, ironically, the letter thanked “This

hme DEE yy

Oo thbe_ (FT /? 40

S itieacahh crate cit Be

Pe aie

inue un-
“plants”
ing pair.
ceived a
me. It
sell and
han one“

1€ Pair’s
ritten it
thanked

- 1} But I couldn’t believe that

> ful getaway. I told my guards:
3 tten by McNabb and Sampsell

their way through ga
were scouring the highways for
Oakland? site
were convinced those were

Some of my men
facts, as bitter as it might be to swallow them.
they had made a succ

prison, made

“This letter was

ji + j
ip bebe et

the search inside the prison.

letter smuggled out and that
federate at Oakland. I may be wrong, but
inside the walls.

they’re hiding out somewhere
the continue our search here.”

ess- came and went.
M s, who were workin

y L
tired after 72 hours of hunting,

‘
I, - oe

jabs be ee be Fae

”

only tragedy.

;

ee
aoe

, it had been the rule’

to “hunt three days and three nights” and then, if un-

ng the missing prisoners, to list them
formally as “escaped.”

“We're breaking that

old rule handed down from
the days of the Spaniards,

” I told my men. “I feel that
are two smart birds, figured
after the third night. Well,

are gone. They got hold of
ms and marched out. Now,

n our cells. Let us return to
our jobs.”

I checked up on the number

and found that none was missing.

She was defiant,
Saying:

“If Lloyd is free, I wish him luck. But I don’t want
him to come near mie or our two children. I owe a
duty to them. Besides, I have decided to get a divorce,”

Since Sampsell’s downfall, she had been forced to
80 to work as a waitress. She was an entirel y different
person from the mink-coated, diamond-studded, fash-
ionably-garbed girl that had travelled up and down the
coast with Sampsell and McNabb on their yacht “Sover-
eign.”

Back to the prison I went and ordered tre

ads placed
from rows of Pick handles I h

morning found all
I got the bluepr

J. B. HOLOHAN—_

ormer warden at San
Quentin knew McNabb
as @ model Prisoner,

of guards’ uniforms—

Coa CR eee re

structio:
any fal:
built fo
But a
every
where
hiding °
Most
impatie
tinuing
after t)
Six

I decic

se A Le A RODE SO

The chicks he lusted
after were the ones

who charged!

by JOE F. MAYS

* MUST YOU go now, Baby?”

The voice came from the wide bed against the inner
wall of the large and palpably expensive room, It was
the saccharine voice of a woman whose profession is
cajolery and whose hallmark is winsomeness, even while
lying unclothed before a man not her husband.

She was a pretty woman, lush and white skinned, and,
as is fashionable in her world, a decided blonde. Her eyes
were blue, a feature that conventionally calls, in the demi-
monde, for liberal applications of bleach to the scalp, and
this she had not ignored.

She could not have been called buxom, since her flesh
was less extravagant than that, but curvaceous she decidely
was.

She swung her well turned legs over the side of the bed
and sat up, her thighs swelling provocatively against the
mattress edge, then stood up, tall and, by purely physical
standards, uncommonly alluring.

The man stood nude in the middle of the floor, inhaled
noisily once or twice, then reached for a pair of striped silk
shorts and drew them over his long legs.

His already immaculately groomed hair was graying at
the temples and there were heavy lines about the cold
blue eyes, deep set in a tanned, mobile face with prominent
bone structure and firm jaw.

_ His body, however, was lithe and muscular with the
long, loose sinews of the perpetual athlete to whom physical
fitness is a creed and vital good health a consecration. The
hips were lean and the stomach muscles flat, and he moved
with the feline grace that betokens lightning agility and
hidden strength.

He smiled as he dropped a flawless linen shirt over his
square shoulders, then shook his head.

“Save it, sweets,” he said. “I can’t be tempted now.
Papa has work to do.”

The woman’s face was suddenly serious. She threw
a garish red velvet peignoir over her tawny body, pushed
her soft hair back over her ears in a graceful-sweep of her
two hands and moved over to a night stand-to take up and
light a cigarette.

“[P’m worried about this job, Baby,” she said. “It’s so
close...”

“What do you mean, so close?”

“So close to the other one,” she answered. “I’m afraid

(bus 4YCLG

you're pressing yC
He had finishe:

conservative black
striped trousers a
made them fast \
belt loosely buck

“T’ve told you, °
on luck. I oper:
who depend on |

_ spread his hands
* who run up the :

The, woman s!
hands on his sh:
his mouth down

“[’m sorry . -
“But don’t put —

The man slip’
gray, snap brim
expensive briefc:

“You underst
in ninety days.

“Plenty,” the

“Good. I'll p
better be gone |

He kissed he
she stared afte
because this m
was setting out.
the most dange
crime.

The woman
the red robe fr
mirror. She s!
above her heac
fine body and :
a man must ha

She turned,
phone, lifted t!
can only assun
call, possibly tc
to spend, but t
bered that he
times, as his |
through PBX |
luck would pe
ence as that.

vainst the inner
» room, It was
» profession is
ess, even while
susband.

te skinned, and,
londe. Her eyes
ils, in the demi-
» the scalp, and

since her flesh
sus she decidely

side of the bed
vely against the
purely physical

he floor, inhaled
iir of striped silk

- was graying at
about the cold
e with prominent

uscular with the
‘1o whom physical
consecration. The
at, and he moved
tning agility and

aen shirt over his
be tempted now.
-rious, She threw
wny body, pushed
ceful-sweep of her
ind to take up and

she said. “It’s so

wered. “I’m afraid

‘ who run up the gas bills in San Quentin.

you're pressing your luck.”

He had finished lacing on his neat black shoes over
conservative black silk socks and now drew on gray, chalk-
striped trousers and, carefully tucking in the white shirt,
made them fast with suspenders over his shoulders and a
belt loosely buckled.

“I've told you, doll,” he said, firmly, “that I don’t operate
on luck. I ‘operate on solid, scientific principles. Guys
who depend on luck...” he shrugged his shoulders and
spread his hands, palms up... “well, they’re the guys

The woman shuddered, then went to him and put her
hands on his shoulders and then on his face and pulled
his mouth down and kissed him.

“I’m sorry... I won't say anymore,” she whimpered.
“But don’t put it that way .. - it terrifies me.”

The man slipped into his coat, adjusted his tie, put a
gray, snap brim hat carefully on his head, took a thick,
expensive briefcase from a drawer and turned to face her.

“You understand,” he said. “Ill be in touch with you
in ninety days. You’ve got enough money.”

“Plenty,” the girl said.

“Good. I'll pay the bill here as I go out and you'd
better be gone by noon. It’s safer.”

He kissed her lingeringly, then went out the door as
she stared after him apprehensively, as well she might
because this man for whom she had been so solicitous
was setting out, as a businessman might set out, on one: of
the most dangerous missions in all the fantastic world of
crime.

The woman turned, finally, from the door, dropped
the red robe from her shoulders and faced the floor length
mirror. She stood, momentarily, with her arms raised
above her head, then ran her hands caressingly down her
fine body and smiled appreciatively at her image, as many
a man must have smiled in her brief life.

She turned, humming to herself, walked to the tele-
phone, lifted the transmitter, then slowly replaced it. We
can only assume that she was about to make a telephone
call, possibly to some now more available lover with money
to spend, but that she changed her mind when she remem-
bered that he who had just left had cautioned her many
times, as his kind would, against making telephone calls
through PBX boards. Only bank robbers who depended on
luck would permit their mistresses such a heedless indulg-
ence as that.

Don’t count sheep—
count on

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» slowly. al
' izes that you probably know more about his

gazed at them with indifference.
to to your boy friend.”

“I told you once I don’t know where he is.
He said he was going down to Medford.
Frankly, I don’t blame him. In -the past
the cops have tried to pin things on him he
hasn’t done. I don’t know where he is—but
I know he never knocked the old man off.
Bob is sweet. He’s no killer.”

“I used to know Bob,” Brian remarked
casually. “He seemed like a nice kid. Prob- -
ably yr have some bad breaks. - How is he

ys?”

The kindly word about Garver melted the
beauty.

“You wouldn’t know him now,” she smiled.
“Remember how fat he used to be? Well, I
guess he wanted me to be proud of him, be-
cause he’s been on a diet for months. Stream-
lined himself down to 160 pounds.”

“Miss Lowman, at that weight your boy
friend is the picture of the man we want,”
Brian said. “You'd better help us find him.”

She shook her head obstinately. “TI tell you
he said he was going to Medford. That's all
I know.” =
“= The detectives rose and started for the
door." Then Brian. turned back and stood
above the girl who was reflectively turn-
_ing her glass im her hand. _ ~_ a

-“You may be telling the truth,” he said
“But remember this—Garver real-

habits, his ways of: life, than anyone else.

'
He knows those are the things that will lead

us to him eventually.

“If he’s hiding here m Portland, and you
know it, he'll get. thinking about you. If
he’s a murderer now, and if he thinks his life
depends upon your silence—well, remember
there are more bullets im the gun that killed
Abbott.” *

The detective noted that the girl shivered
slightly, but she did not look up nor speak.
Brian left her sitting there.

“Good work!” Browne congratulated his
men. “Garver seems to be our slayer. And
with your warning plasted in that girl’s mind,
she may see the light and let us know where
he is when she finds out.”

This was Thursday night, three days after
the murder. Most of Friday detectives sought
Garver around Portland without avail. The
Medford, Ore., police department reported
the man had not been seen in that city.

“We'll hear from that girl,” Browne pre-
dicted: : .

Friday evening Miss Lowman telephoned
and in a frightened voice gave an address in
southeast Portland. “You'll find Garver
there,” she directed.

Lieutenant Carl R. Crisp led a squad of
police and detectives to the address and sur-
rounded the house. No one answered the
door bell, and thé doors were all locked.

Was it a trap? Or had the girl led the
police on a false trail to give her sweetheart
a chance to slip from some other hiding
place and escape the city? .

“There’s only one way to find out,” decided
Lieutenant Crisp. Police drew guns, the
lock was slipped, and they poured into the
dwelling. :

It appeared untenanted and the air was
chill as if the house had been unheated for

ys. .
“Don’t miss a room, boys,” Crisp ordered.
The men spread out through the house—

basement, ground floor, upstairs and attic.

Then came a yell. “Here he is!”

The officers rushed to a small room on
the ground floor where Garver stood, hands
high over his head.

“Don’t shoot,” he pleaded.

Despite a three-day growth of beard, his
features and hair cut gave him an astonish-
ing resembiance to the movie star.

“{ know I’m hot,” he told the officers.
“T’ve been hiding out here, and spent one
night sleeping out in the open.”

After Garver was questioned by Captain
Browne, the chief of detectives announced
he had obtained the names of the other two
men in the case. He also announced that he
had obtained the 32 Colt automatic. which
had slain, Abbott. The witnesses identified
Garver as the tall gunman.

EVERAL DAYS later, after Garver was

indicted by the Multnomah County grand
jury for first degree murder, his attorney an- ~
nounced he would offer proof that Garver
was insane at the time of the slaying.

When Portland newspapers announced

Garver’s arrest and carried Captain Browne’s ~

statement that he had obtained the names ~
of the other two men involved, these two sus-
pects were soon located. . :
On Sunday, six days after the mmrder,
police received a tetephone call. “This is
Marshall. I’m coming in to surren-

der. Don’t shoot me.” : Ms,
Detectives McMeeken and George Turner’
waited tensely for half an hour outside police
headquarters. Then a chubby youth of 20
walked up to them. " :
He gave his full name as-Leland Delbert
Marshall, and his occupation as meat cutter.
He had previously been arrested for va-

grancy. e :

“Sure I was there,” he said. “The only
idea was to rob the old fellow of money we ~
thought he was carrying. I got out of the
car with ver. There -was no idea of any
gunplay—then Garver blew his top and
started shooting.” ¢

Marshall’s pistol also was received. It
had not been fired in the affray, police said:
Marshall also said the three were in the,
stolen car when it later was involved in. the
hit-run accident with the truck. ¥

Police still sought the third man, driver of
the death car. They had learned he was Nor-
man Carroll Andrus, a 23-year-old Port-
lander with a long record.

On Monday morning Andrus called Cap-
tain Browne. “I read in the paper you want
me. Come get me.” He gave a Portland ad-
dress. 5

The detective chief, Brian and “Blewett
raced to the residence where “Andrus, a slim,
weak-faced youth, awaited them. re

“I drove the car,” he admitted readily.
“But no shooting was planned. Garver did
it. Why, I'll never know. We wouldn't be
in this spot but for him.”

Confronted with the confessions of Mar-
shall: and Andrus, Garver shrugged.

tained.

“Both Andrus and Marshall say Garver
did the shooting. He denies that, but admits
he was there,” Captain Browne said in dis-

“mm =
not the one who shot the janitor,” he main- BS

cussing the detective work done on the —-

case. He offered high praise, in yhich a ~

cept as it may temper justice with mercy-
For under Oregon law all participants are
guilty if a person is killed during com-
mission of a crime of violence. nail
All three men face trial in the near future.
If convicted of first degree murder, they will
face either life imprisonment or death in the
Oregon state penitentiary at Salem.

Eprror’s Note: The names Adrian Vance,

George ‘Melvin Moore and Betty June Low
‘nan, uscd in this story, are fictitious.

_ and
a bag with about $65 i

_ Trigger-Crazy! —

(Continued from page 40)

saying, ‘Give me that money.’

tisk

even by Mrs.

locked it*every day.

would not be- able to
“Being i

|
ali

dark complexioned, had a small he

possibility that the lookout man had fled with
the driver of a getaway car, abandoning their
Cook

His accomplice, who had
Seaboard of

and brown hat. The age of both
pagal ng Z was placed

_ The police radio broadcast these descrip-
tions over the county. Sheriff’s deputies and
the State Highway Patrol swung into ac-
tion. Road blocks were set up at Pala, Ra-
mona, Julian and Alpine, key points on es-
Cape routes east to the Imperial Valley and
the Colorado desert. Escondido police posted
a blockade on north-south arterial Highway
395. Coastal Highway 101 to Los Angeles
swarmed with officers. Outgoing buses were
searched. But in spite of the speedily or-
ganized efforts to cut off their flight the
bandits managed to elude arrest.

The cordon was lengthened. Riverside,
Orange and San Bernardino County law
—— were es Mexican officials co-
operated to guar border around Ti
Juana, 18 miles south. Eee

gun-wielding partner when Smith and
police Chict AE. Jeneen ni

Po! ensen placed ju
Chief Wesley Sharp in charge of the 7
gation. Lieutenant Mort Geer, chief of the
——— <= — with Detective

rgeants Russell Ormsby, Anthony Maguire
and George Orr. , eae

Manager Runyon tentatively set the amount
lost in the holdup at $3,451. This figure later
was scaled down to $2,251 and the Seaboard
Finance Company posted a reward of $1,000
for the arrest and conviction of each and
every member of the gang.

Deputy Coroner E. A. Turner conducted
an inquest into the death of Arthur W.
Smith. Little was brought out detectives did
not a ae and — z was forth-
coming to aid them in establishing the identit
of the bandits. Due to his wound, Cook ar
unable to appear. Serious as it proved to
be, however, he survived and a few ‘weeks
later returned to duty on the Chula Vista
— force.

fhen the investigators assembl
clues they found oe ee: —-
The snub-nosed ‘aliber police special

Fred Astaire Says:

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revolver from which the killer had failed to
wipe traces of fingerprints. .
The print of a palm taken from the door
af gecngyt ely en.
gray t in P "$ car ii
eee
pi love the pin-striped blue
coat, doned in the bus che < gens
$itgs along with the money bag containing

A gray shirt initialed “E. A.” and bearing
laundry marks.

Here was an imposing array of clues. Yet
not one of them helped to establish the
identity of the bandits nor did any of them
contribute toward the final solution.

A legible print could not be found on the
revolver. A check of local dealers and pawn-
shops failed to uncover any record of the
gun. But when-the serial number reached
the Los Angeles police department it was
easily identified. It belonged to Tommy
Bryan, Los Angeles police officer, and had
been stolen a-year before from a Pullman
compartment while Bryan was on 4 trip.

* the gun lead proved worthless, de-
tectives concentrated on the initialed shirt
which was of the color and type issued to
convicts on release from prison. Checkups
werg started at both San Quentin and Fol-
somt in a~* attempt to trace it. Detective

Maguire was detailed to this task
and also to confer with George Rewumn
— r of the ne Identification Bureau

On the chance that the lookout and the
driver of a getaway car might have reached
Rose Canyon, the San Diego outlet to High-
way 101, before blockades were posted,
search was intensified in the local underworld
for the killer. Yet as days passed and noth-

_ ing was turned up, investigators concluded

More Strikes

:
:

VTE OFITETEMRTETEM | son. Richardson himself had signed the slip
at the station the day of the Seaboard holdup-
3801 4c) 4.904458 | murder. The attendant had heard of

Poe
fa >

J “ oa OE cite pe %

“Take Pflueger Reels on any fishing trip

= and you'll do more and better fishing.

* Their construction adds to the skill of

any angler. Materials and workman-

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* pany, Akron 9, Ohio, AGRE

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PFLUEGER

(Pronounced "Flew-ger”)

A GREAT NAME IN TACKLE

8
F

rete

ge
i:

ine

f
dg

£8

ia
t

aed

Rie

Sw
Me

vict associates was 2 man named Lloyd E
Sampsell. Sampsell had been from
Folsom in September of 1947. his release

be had been isened » gray shist similar Se Se

apt

bank robberies. In May, 1929, Summers
and Meline bought, for $80,000
yacht Sovereign.

aeee cruised the West Coast. Welcomed

8
i
M5
E
2.
i
E
5

ncisco harbor. , the
of i in Berkeley was robbed of $18,000.
The arrival of the Sovereign, with the two
coincided so closely

eration. 10 full
oO certified

horsepower
brake h.p. at 4000r.p.m.) Very
slow trolling. Fuel tank sepa-
rate—carry it easily—plug
it in—cruise for hours! Fuel
fevee. rubber mountings.
ight weight.40 great features.
Anew kind of outboard. See
it at your Johnson dealer's.
JOHNSON MOTORS
Rd_, Wackegan, If.
‘ Jobasen Motors of Caneda, Peterboro
: fer free Handy Chart which i
Write sa sec Treat new mocer.

pi
‘Diego. It was identified by Seaboard em-
ployes as that of the gunman im the holdup
murder. , Peey : ?

On April 6, ten days after the crime, an-
ee OT et enmeall tn Goo ine
the arrest of Lloyd FE. ior mur-
der of Arthur W. Smith. .

With the fugitive suspects named, the man-
hunt was on in While it centered in
Southern California, it also ¢ d
length of the Pacific Coast and into Arizona,
Nevada and other Western states. The FBI
stepped in to make the search nationwide.

Sampsell’s crime record started in 1916,
when he was 18 years old.” He was arrested
for forging a check. Son of a wealthy Los
Angeles restaurant chain owner, his tastes
ran far beyond his liberal family allowance.
Other forgeries and arrests followed. until
in 1923 he held up the Western States Branch
Bank in Los Angeles. He was caught and
sent to San Quentin.

There he became friendly with Ethan A.
McNabb, convicted robber. Paroled three
months apart in 1927, they kept im close
touch with each other until in 1929 they as-
sumed the aliases of Leslie Summers and
Ethan A. Meline. This alliance was to be-
come one of the most fabulous partnerships
in the annals of crime.

GUTBOARD
MOTORS

» JOHNSO

Early in 1929 three Los Angeles banks

“Where are you?” ;
. “In a restaurant in Billings, Mont.” was ~~~
the reply. “I want to give myself up.” ae

Geer signaled to the secretary. i
the mouthpiece with his hand, he instruct
her to have the Billings operator trace the
call and contact both the sheriff’s office and
the FBI immediately. A

“Why do you want to give yourself up?” fee
Geer stalled, while the secretary tried for
connections.

“I read in a paper here last night that I'm
wanted down there on a murder charge,
“I don’t know anything
about any murder. So I decided to give
myself up and get clear of it.” z

The secretary signalled she had the office
of the Yellowstone County, Mont., sheriff on
the line. 3

Convinced that the speaker really was the
fugitive Seaboard suspect, Geer demanded,
“If you are Ben Richardson and want’ to
give yourself up, why don't you go over fo
the, sheriff’s office?” e

Sotve sient beck there" te woes oe

"> swered. “There wasn’t anybody around, so- ‘

Lal

came over here and called
desk.

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he
wa 108 and Sates sot Las Angpden:
‘ollowing day, he said, he met
Sampsell, who had gotten out of San Diego

_ He stuck to his story that he knew noth-
ing of any Kling und te read it in a San
‘3 co newspaper at illings i
library. It was only then, he chned thes
he learned of the murder warrant out for
him. He swore that he did not know Samp-
sell was armed when they entered the Sea-
board office, although he identified the snub-
nosed police special 38 revolver found in
the locker room as one he had gi Samp-
sell prior to the Pasadena robbery.

ing, May 14.
time, before Acting ~ Municipal
Judge FE. S. Wattawa, 1 ger

-In a recent statement, J- Hoover,
director of the FBI, announced that Lloyd E.
Sampsell was one of the ten most eagerly
sought criminals still at large in the

“Hook and Bullet -

(Continued from page 6)

ae ame ooo
Ps . ° = eS coon
he is not inclined to make a long race of
it. He puts his dependence in the safety
of a tree. Within 20 minutes the hounds are
pressing their game too closely, and he goes
up an oak sapling with the speed of a squirrel.
The tree-bay of the hounds is unmistakable,
and we find a circle of dogs around the

at some forthcoming supper for Charley’s
numerous ily.

Although the possum has few endearing
qualities as an animal, the night-shrouded
woods would lose some of its glamor with-
out him. I’m sure he'll continue to furnish

sport for men and hounds for i
despite encroaching civilization. vet enear

een

MILLSITE TACKLE CO.

HOWELL, MICHIGAN

sss odd | wnncatniit ih

i
i
;
4
q
4

. te ew be . re
Ee erhr tt aaa
ee!

obser
ite Sout

Then he started, scarcely daring to
believe what he saw. Lying face down
in the excavation was the body. of.a
man. His only garment was a pair of
trousers and the half-nude torso was
spattered with blood. ’

Dozier drew a sharp breath. “No
wonder the horses were afraid! With
all that blood he must be dead.”

He rushed to the house and in-
formed the Fergusons. The ranch
owner took a quick look, then re-
turned. ‘“He’s dead all right. But who
is he?” he demanded, astonished.
“Who put him there? Certainly he
didn’t crawl in there by himself?”

Soon Mrs, Ferguson’s call reached
El] Centro, seventeen miles southwest,
the county seat’ of Imperial County.
There she was connected with Sheriff
R. W. Ware, to whom she told the
vague details.

To the sheriff, her story sounded
more than strange but he promised
immediate help, then he swung around
and consulted a map. The huge val-
ley, reclaimed by irrigation’ from the
desert, was a vast fertile wedge of
produce farms, citrus orchards and
cattle ranches. The ranch, he finally
determined, lay like a tiny speck in
the eastern part.

The sheriff detailed two young
deputies, William L. Bridwell and
Robert W. Jensen, to investigate.
They were both trained in identifica-
tion and deputized as coroners.

“There’s not much doubt about it
being murder,” Ware said tersely, “so
you'd better take along full equip-
ment. Let me know immediately what
you find.” :

With cameras and fingerprint
equipment stowed in their car, they
soon were heading east. At the Fer-
guson ranch they were met by the
three ranchers.

“Have you moved the body ?” asked
Bridwell. \

“I should say not,” replied Fergu-
son. “We've been waiting for you
fellows.” ’ :

“Suppose you start at the begin-
ning,” the deputy suggested, “and tell
us all about it.”

Dozier stepped forward, relating
‘the events that led to his macabre
find. “The body’s over by the corral,”
he added.

The men followed him across the
yard, Jensen carrying, his camera.
Beside a mound of fresh earth was a
deep:pit in the clay. In the bottom lay
the still body of a man.

For a long moment everyone stared.
“Slashed right across his spine,” com-
mented Jensen. He turned to the
ranch folks. “You don’t recognize
him?”

“No,” replied Dozier. ‘We talked
that over already. It might turn out
to be somebody we know, however.”

“But why would anyone put a body ~

in here?” the deputy continued. “It
was certain to be found. There’s a
thousand better hiding places around
here.”

The ranchers admitted it was
mighty puzzling but they could offer
no clue to a motive. They had ex-
perienced no trouble with any neigh-
bors nor anyone else. Both men stated
they had inspected the excavation only
the evening before.

The corpse had been placed in the
trench, therefore, some time during
the night. But the ranchers insisted
they had heard no unusual noise, no
sound of a car. “The hired man might
have heard something,” Ferguson put
in. “We can ask him.”

“Who is he?”

“Alex Garcia. He works at the Cox
& Shaw cattle ranch, a few milés north
of here. He leaves here about day-
break every morning.”

Further inquiries disclosed that he
had worked for Ferguson over a
period of many months. He occupied
the two-room’ bunkhouse near the
ranch buildings.

Bridwell mulled this information
for a moment. “You say he doesn’t
work for you,” he reminded, “yet he
lives here, and you called him a hired
man.”

“He only rides for Cox temporarily,
until my new crops are up. Help is
hard to get, so I let him use the bunk-
house. That way, he’s here when I
do need him.”

Asked if he considered the man was
involved in the queer killing and
burial, Ferguson shook his head
doubtfully. Garcia was a hard worker.
He was never in trouble.

“Well,” concluded the deputy, “he

might ha
night
Jim
Ar
Lomans
Sheriff \\
took pictu
were low
he was lty
Lying
more of ‘
shoulders
and slas},
dried blo!
about hi
The r:
and that
the depu
going th:
other. th
not the
The «
examina
amazed
It was
and he:
used.
“It n
strengt!
“This 3
a pulp.
“Rev
Jensen
cuts W
a pers
such n
Att
Mrs. |
Cox b
Gare
morni:
Spe
about:

admitted it was
out they could offer
tive. They had ex-
ble with any neigh-
se. Both men stated
the excavation only
e,

been placed in the
some time during
e ranchers insisted
) unusual noise, no
1e hired man might

ing,” Ferguson put
im.

works at the Cox
h, a few milés north
s here about day-
ng.” .

s disclosed that he
Ferguson over a
mths. He occupied
ikhouse near the

this information
ou say he doesn’t
reminded, “yet he
called him a hired

r Cox temporarily,
s are up. Help is
him use the bunk-

he’s here when I

lered the man was
ueer_ killing and
shook his head
2° 4 hard worker.

2 deputy, “he

might have heard something last
night. Better have your wife phone
Jim Cox so that he can ask Garcia.”

-An' ambulance from the Wiley &
Lomans mortuary, despatched by
Sheriff Ware, now pulled up. Jensen
took pictures of the scene. Then ropes
were lowered around the victim and
he was lifted out.

Lying. face up, he appeared even
more of an enigma. The face and
shoulders were distorted by deep cuts
and slashes and thickly caked with
dried blood. “Can you tell any more
about him now ?” Jensen aikel,

The ranchers said they could not
and that it might be anybody. To this
the deputies agreed. Bridwell started
going through the man’s clothing. But
other than thirteen cents, there was
not the slightest bit of identification.

The deputies made a preliminary
examination. At once they were
amazed at the size of the lacerations.
It was evident that something larger
and heavier than a knife had been
used,

“Tt means: somebody with a lot of
strength,” said Bridwell thoughtfully.
“This man has been hacked almost to
a pulp.”

“Revenge or grudge work,” added
Jensen grimly. “I think any of these
cuts would have caused death. Only
a person crazy with anger would do
such mutilation.”

At this point news was brought by
Mrs. Ferguson. She had talked to Jim
Cox by telephone, only to learn that
Garcia had not arrived for work that
morning.

Speculatjon regarding his where- ‘

abouts, however, stopped instantly.

For as the mortuary attendant cleaned
the victim’s features, it brought forth
a startling revelation. Ferguson and
Dozier at once identified him as Alex
Garcia! They were positive the hired
man had been murdered for his money.

“What makes you think so? asked
Bridwell quietly.

“Well, he saved his money,” said
Ferguson. “He didn’t drink or gamble.
And just the other day he asked me
about banks. I figure he carried his
savings with him and somebody knew
it. Of course, I don’t know how much
he had.”

Bridwell lighted a cigaret. “Yes,
it’s possible. But it’s the first robbery
victim I’ve ever seen cut up so much.”

The deputies next decided to inspect
the bunkhouse. At once they came
across a dark red stain on the door-
step and more red marks on the door.

The farther they went into the
house, the more evidence of murder
they found. The bedclothes scattered
upon the floor indicated a fight. A
further inspection of the bedding
showed it was slashed, torn and blood-
stained. The deputies knew that a
struggle had started here, possibly
with the victim in bed.

A complete search of the bunk-
house revealed another surprising
fact: there was not one article of
clothing. The slayer was a queer one,
indeed, to take a working man’s
clothes and shoes.

They were about to leave, when,
as an afterthought, the painstaking

Bridwell got down and _ explored

AYULESA LM

, , a 4

under the bed. With a grunt of satis-
faction he brought forth a small note-
book. Obviously it was quite new and
the only entry was on the first page.
There, written in a feminine hand,
were the words:

“Happy Birthday to Alex Garcia.”

It was dated two weeks previously.
Between the center leaves, pressed
and somewhat faded, was a single yel-
low rose. The deputy noted the flower
was not yet extremely dry and judged
it was placed there when the entry
was dated.

He turned to the ranch owner. “Did
Alex have a girl friend?”

“He never said anything about it,”
Ferguson replied. ‘But he did get oc-
casional letters, and the handwriting
looked a lot like this. He went to

Holtville every Saturday night and
stayed over until Sunday.”
Bridwell thoughtfully pocketed the
notebook. While he and the others
[Continued on page 51}

een left there.
questioned at
‘ir illicit rela-
y they pleaded
tery and were
in the county

Franklin S.

behind barred
pretense. But
, tactful ques-
ightest know-
uch had been
Admitting a
ve girl and her
»ms as on the
fared emphati-
been any seri-
e among them.
girl a heavy,
‘ve got it back
iswer to what
e's face. Why
of trouble and

indifferently.
like that,”’ she
n't even a ring

yn to the case
ersick, O’Don-
qued day after
ernate periods
vith the same

eteran Spo-
got most of
through.”
ust two weeks
iple from Ore-
»w ruse. Hart-
» strain of re-
into the ques-
igered Verna's
mi.
you're a good-
a way with the
st one you've
she’s not the
for you—”
e effect of his

zhting the sup-
s. “Well—”
na’s about done
we know about
too, that she’s
hand punch as
erna’s about to
and before she
the good sense
hat you know
be in the clear.
ile the girls had
night.”

‘ous lip, stared

{ an affair with

ves wide. “No.
Verna’d been
iake something

words but they
‘thing was fine

and Verna went

ad in helpless
ight as well tell
7:30 and Verna
‘when she came
yut with Bon-
and see if she

that alley and
t of moaning. I

could see she was all cut up and had a
rag in her mouth and I was scared. I
didn’t know what to do, so we came back
to the house. But we kept talking about
it and wondered what would happen if
she died and someone found her there.
So sometime after midnight we went
back and I felt of Bonnie’s pulse and she
was still alive, but I knew she was dying,
so we dragged her to the alley where she
was found.”

The long spell of tension broken, Eller-
sick and O’Donnell relaxed for the first
time in a month, while Prosecutor Mc-
Farland summoned a stenographer to
take a formal statement.

Confronted with her lover's confession,
“Tarzan” Keller shook her head slyly.
She didn’t believe it. “Let me think it
over tonight,” she said, “and maybe I'll
tell you something in the morning.”

She was still skeptical when she again
faced the investigators the next morning.
But a brief study of Hartley’s detailed
statement convinced her.

“Tf that’s the way it is, I may as well
talk,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean to kill
her, but I wanted to teach her a good
lesson about playing around with
Sammy.”

She admitted having several drinks
during the afternoon and more during
the Plaster girl’s visit. Enraged by the

younger girl’s attentions to her sweet-
heart, she had remonstrated with lier,
after which they had. agreed privately to
meet a half hour later and “talk it over.”

“We walked down Euclid Avenue
toward Bonnie’s house,” she related, “and
when we passed that alley I asked her to
step back in the dark where we could
argue it out.”

There, she confessed, she hurled her
140 pounds of brawn upon the younger,
slighter girl and beat her unmercifully.

“Bonnie fell and was lying there moan-
ing. I pulled off her slacks and wrapped
them around her neck, then tore a piece
from her panties to put in her mouth so
she wouldn’t start opp § Then I ran
and called Sammy, because I didn’t know
what to do...”

Both confessions completely exoner-
ated the young boy, who had accom-
panied them in their flight, of any
knowledge of the crime. ,

Waiving preliminary examination in
justice court, the two were Frames
arraigned before District Judge E.
Boughton and, on the advice of an at-
torney appointed by the court, entered
pleas of not guilty.

(The names John Dutlow and Henry J. Barton
are fictitious to protect the identity of persons in-
nocently involved in the investigation.—The Edi-
tor.)

YELLOW ROSE
WITH SCENT
OF DEATH

[Continued from page 15]

searched the yard, Deputy Jensen set up
his camera to photograph the bunkhouse
interior. He soon discovered the electric
lights were not working and traced the
trouble to a break in the wires outside.

Ferguson confirmed that the wire had
broken during a storm, three days before,
and with that the deputy promptly forgot
the matter. He was to recall it, with a
start, later on. For as subsequent events
proved, the broken wire was to play an
important part in the murder. Now the
body of Alex Garcia was started for El
Centro atid the search continued.

Mystifying was the fact that if some
cowhand had killed Garcia for money, it
seemed hardly likely he would go to the
trouble of dragging the body to such an
easily seen spot. ‘

Admittedly, robbery might have pro-
vided part of the motive. But the brutal
attack upon Garcia puzzled the deputies.
Killing to rob was one thing but a mutila-
tion murder was something else.

“Let's see if Ferguson has recalled any-
thing else,” said Bridwell. 7

The rancher didn’t know much. “Alex
had a valuable open-faced watch,” he
said. “As for money, Jim Cox has been
paying his wages lately. Here he comes,
now.”

Two riders pulled into the yard and
dismounted. With the bluff, weather-
beaten Cox was one of his cowboys,
Howard Foster. They computed Garcia’s
earnings and guessed his savings should
total in the neighborhood of three hun-
dred and fifty dollars.

“T gave him a check yesterday,’’ Cox
added. ‘For $77.”

“Which bank was it on?” queried Jen-
sen.

“The Security First National, in El
Centro.’

The cattleman, however, had no ideas
to offer on the slaying. As far as he knew,
the man got along all right with every-
one,

The two deputy sheriffs moved aside.
“What do you make of it?” asked Jensen.

“On the face of things, it adds up toa
robbery murder,” said Bridwell. “But
whoever gave him that notebook ‘and
rose may be the real motive. Somehow,
we've got to find her.” .

Jensen flicked a glance at his watch.
“The killer may have headed for the bor-
der. With only twenty miles to go, he
could be there already. If he gets across,
well—Mexico won't extradite anybody
for murder, you know.”

Both deputies realized there was no
time to lose. They hurried to their car
and by short-wave radio called Sheriff
Ware. Details were missing, but, work-
ing with the slender information they
possessed, a start was made at- plugging
escape routes.

The sheriff promised speedy action in
stopping-payment on the check to Garcia.
The border patrol would be asked to
watch for any suspicious character, es=
pecially one with bloodstained clothing.

Bridwell and Jensen decided first to
make a thorough search for the murder
weapon. If it was an ax, then likely it was
still around and might carry fingerprints.

Everyone joined them in the search.
Twenty minutes later it was the deputy
himself who investigated an empty oil
drum and found an ax. The handle was
bloodstained as was the blade. But the
officers were doomed to disappointment
here, for the handle was smudged and
no prints were found.

The young deputies had done about all
they could do at the ranch. The next
thing, much more difficult, was to get a
line on the slayer. Had he raced for safety
across the international border? Or was
he craftily lying low in some nearby hide-
out? Opinion of all present was divided
on this, but one thing was certain: he had
several hours head start.

Since the Fergusons had heard neither
hoofbeats nor automobile during the

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side, Washington, and told me I could
come back home.” )

“After you promised not to tell—”

A puzzled frown crossed the boy’s
face. “You mean—about me going with
them?” ‘

“I mean about what happened to Bon-
nie Plaster!”

The boy started. “They never talked
about Bonnie—”

“Isn't that why they were running
away? Isn’t that why they took you
along—so you wouldn't tell?” :

“Gee, I don’t think so. I don’t know
anything about Bonnie. They just asked
me to go along, and then I got sort of
scared of leaving home and they bought
me the ticket.”

Achman’s eyes narrowed, his voice was ~

firm. “But, look, you do know where
Bonnie was after six o’clock that Friday
night!”

“Oh, sure.” The youth’s eyes bright-
ened with relief. “I was at the house with
Hartley and Verna when Bonnie came
in just about six o’clock. But she only
stayed about an hour and we both left.
Bonnie went one way and I went an-
other. That’s the last I saw her.”

“What happened while you were at
the house?”

The lad hesitated, uncertainly. ‘““Noth-
ing—unless—well, we just talked and
told jokes. Verna’d been drinking a bit,
I guess, and she said some things to
Bonnie about flirting with Sammy. But
they made it up and everything was okay.
When Bonnie left, Verna said, ‘Don’t for-
get, I’ll be seeing you.’”

“What did she mean by that?”

“IT don’t know. They had a talk alone
in the bedroom and I guess they made
a date or something.”

He continued to insist that the couple

f / ,

had acted inno way fearful in his pres-
ence after the discovery of the ‘murder.
“They. just told me it might be best if I
didn’t mention anything about Bonnie
being there Friday night, because the
police might think we all had something
to do with it. They didn’t say that was
the reason they wanted me to go away
with them.” |

More days of tense expectancy slipped
by as the boy, held as,a possible material

’ witness, added little to his seemingly

earnest account. of the last known: hour
before Bonnie Plaster’s' death: ‘Word
came from Lookout, Washington, that
Hartley's car had been located ina ga-
rage where he had sold it for $175. But
the couple had left long before the dis-
covery. The trail was picked upiat Yaki-
ma, but again officers found. they. were
two hours behind their quarry.

The trail was bending. southward
toward Oregon. Two days. later came a
message ‘which. started Chief O’Donnell
and a deputy sheriff on their way to.On-
tario, Oregon. . ‘

On Wednesday, October 29, they re-
turned with a tall,. slender, nervously
smiling youth and a broad-shouldered,
mannish-mannered young woman, who
stared in'solemn contemplation upon the
curious gathering about her. - °

To Achman, Chief:O’Donnell confided,
“They didn’t even mention Bonnie—even
to ask if we’d solved the case. All they

know is that we've got them for living

together.” : ; i
Achman nodded his ‘satisfaction,

_glanced) at Verna Keller’s left .hand.

There was no ring there such as. wit-
nesses had described. At first she de-
clared she had lost it, But the discovery
in her purse of a pawn ticket issued in

an Oregon town brought a reluctant ad-

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mission that the ring had been left there. -

' Separated, the two were questioned at
length. Both admitted their illicit. rela-
tionship. The following day they pleaded
guilty to the charge of adultery and were
sentenced to ninety days in the county
jail by Probate Judge Franklin S.
Bonner, ui

With the pair securely behind barred
doors,. Achman dropped pretense. But
through days of relentless, tactful ques-
tioning, they denied the slightest know-
ledge of the cruel fate which had been
met by Bonnie Plaster. Admitting a
friendly association with the girl and her
frequent visits to their-rooms as on the
fatal Friday night, they declared emphati-
cally that never had there been any seri-
“us disagreement or trouble among them.

Achman laid before the girl a heavy,
masculine-styled ring? “We've got it back
for you, Verna. It’s the answer to what
made those cuts on Bonnie's face. Why
don’t you save us all a lot of trouble and
tell the truth?”

he girl shrugged indifferently.
“There are lots of rings like that,” she
parried, “and maybe it wasn’t even a ring
that cut Bonnie—” +

Confident that a solution to the case
was within their grasp, Ellersick, O’Don-
nell and McFarland continued day after
day with Achman their alternate periods
of questioning the pair with the same
seemingly hopeless results.

“Just give ’em time,” the veteran Spo-
kane sleuth, advised. “We've got most of
ninety days left. They'll come through.”

Then on November 12, just two weeks
after the return of the couple from Ore-
gon, he decided upon a new ruse. Hart-
‘ley, nervous, showing the strain of re-
peated ordeals, was called into the ques-
tioning room. Achman fingered Verna's
ring on the desk before him.

“Sammy,” he began, “you're a good-
looking boy and you-have a way with the
girls. Verna’s not the first one you've
made jealous; and maybe she’s not the
\first one who'd even fight for you—”

He paused, awaiting the effect of his
words,

Hartley fidgeted, ego lighting the sup-
pressed twinkle of his eyes. “Well—’

“But, look, Sammy. Verna’s about done
fighting. She knows what we know about
this ring, and you know, too, that she’s
got about as good a left hand punch as
most men around here. Verna’s about to
do some talking, Sammy, and before she
does, why don’t you show the good sense
you've got by telling what you know
about this thing so you'll be in the clear.
Beginning with that trouble the girls had
at your place that Friday night.”

.The youth bit his nervous lip, stared
silently into space. -

+ “Is it true that you had an affair with
the Plaster. girl?” .

Hartley started, his eyes wide. “No.
We just kidded around. Verna’d been
drinking and wanted to make something
of it—”

“Go on—”

“Well, they had some words but they
made right up and everything was fine
when Bonnie left—” Boch

“But they made a date and Verna went
out and met her later.”

Hartley. shook his head in helpless

resignation, “I guess I might as well tell

you. They had a date at 7:30 and Verna
was gone maybe an hour when she came
back-and said she’d had it out with Bon-
nie and wanted me to come and see if she

_ was dead. :

“She led me down to that alley and
Bonnie lay there just sort of moaning. I

could see she
rag in her n
didn’t know v
to the house.
it and wond
she died and
So sometime
back and I fc
was still alive
so we dragge
was found.”
The long s)
sick and O'T
time in a mc
Farland sun
take a forma)
Confrontec
“Tarzan” K:
She didn’t t
over tonight
tell you som
She was s!
faced the inv
But a brief
statement co
“If that’s
talk,” she si;
her, but I v
lesson abo
Sammy.”
She admi
during the
the Plaster

YEL)
WI'
OF

[Co:

searched th«
his camera 1
interior. He
lights were
trouble to e

Ferguson
broken duri:
and with th:
the matter.
start, later «

roved, the
important p
body of Ale
Centro and

Mystifyin
cowhand ha
seemed har:
trouble of ¢
easily seen
| Admitted:
vided part «
attack upon
Killing to rc
tion murde:

“Let’s see
thing else,’

The ranc!
had a valu
said. “As fc
paying his -
now.”

Two ride
dismounted
beaten Cor
Howard Fo
earnings an
total in the

. dred and fi:

"I gave |
added. “Fo
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De chen gh an aoe tee Pere ee

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te

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rat

HE VIOLENT death of Felippa

Griffith had a very special impact

on San Francisco's old south side
Mission District, where she had operated
a thriving rooming house for several years
after her own family was grown and off
to set up homes of their own. Mrs. Grif-
fith, whose unquenchable energy and jol-
ly good humor belied the fact that she
was in her early fifties, was known “by
just about everybody” in the area, and, as
one of her long-time neighbors told a
reporter, “Anybody who knew Felippa
liked Felippa.”

Thus, very soon after their arrival at
the tall, ornately adorned rooming house
built early in the century. Homicide In-
spectors Al Nelder, Ralph McDonald and
George Murray knew they were dealing
with that most frustrating type of murder,
the slaying in which the victim “didn’t
have an enemy in the world.”

The only witness who could tell them
anything at all was Felippa’s married
daughter, who had made the shocking
discovery of her mother’s death. She had
just returned from a two-week vacation |
with her husband and when she was un-
able to reach her mother by telephone,
she went to the rooming house to in-

vestigate. What she had to tell was Shin

by CHARLES WALKER

Bt ‘1

ra
+

Toa
front of the dodr. Her head, covered bya
pile of bloody dish towels, rested face
down ona tool-box. Her dark hair, streak-
ed with gray, was clotted with blood. A
small monkey wrench was gripped in
right hand. a) we

The first presumption that. the
swarthy stranger encountered by the vie
tim’s daughter was the killer had to be
revised when the coroner’s deputy who
examined the corpse announced that
Felippa Griffith had been dead for at
least 24 hours, quite possibly longer. It
seemed most unlikely that the murderer
would have remained on the premises for
a full day after he had slain‘the woman

The coroner’s man announced that
Mrs. Griffith's head had been crushed by
repeated heavy blows on the back and
right side, blows struck with such savage
force that brain matter had been laid bare
between fragments of the shattered skull.
A bloodstained 14-inch pipe wrench from
the toolbox appeared to have been thei
strument of death.

There was no indication of a sexual -
assault, although the wanton ferocity of
the attack on the sketchily-clad woman «
hinted at a sadistic, bloodlusting killer
whoa derived some sort of twisted sex
gratification from battering his helpless

her description of the man matched that of the swarthy stranger

i as
4]

couldn't conceive of him as a killer. Another roomer, George
Barrett, had been living there three or four months. None of the
* yietim’s kinfolk knew the other two lodgers, both of whom were
fairly recent arrivals.

At this point, veteran homicide commander Frank Ahern
wrived with his aide, Inspector Tom Cahill, to take charge of the
investigation. As they were being briefed, an old friend of Felip-
pas, Mrs. Edna Potter, who lived in the ground floor flat, return-

> edhome from marketing. When she recovered from the shock-
ing news of the murder of her old friend, she was able to offer
some vital information. She said she had last seen Felippa at 9
@dock on Monday morning, the day before. The window had
been on the back porch, wearing her bathrobe, and had called
out a friendly greeting. Mrs. Potter said she’d wondered if
‘something ‘was wrong this morming when she heard Felippa’s -
dogs howling and saw they had not been fed; and now that she
thought about it, they were pretty noisy the night before, so
maybe they weren't fed yesterday, either. Mrs. Potter said she
bad rung F elippa’s bell, but only one of the roomers came to the
door. He said his landlady was out. After that Mrs. Potter went
shopping, and she had only just returned.
* Asked what the roomer who answered the door looked like,

_ Feliippa’s daughter had met on the stairs. She said he was the most

» fecent arrival, Manuel Murillo, another shipyard worker who
bad been there only a few days.

* Queried about the other lodgers, Mrs. Potter said George

Barrett was a bookkeeper at a factory somewhere. The fourth

» man, who occupied the front room, .was a goodlooking

precious little.
The only clue that something was
amiss—although she didn’t realize it at

Whereabouts of two roomers could not be

accounted for when body of female victim
was found on top floor of rooming house

victim again and again.
When the body was turned over
preparatory to removal, $75 was found

amgster, about 21; his name was “Bill” something-or-other, and
d béen there only a week. Mrs. Potter said she understood he
was fresh out of the Army and was looking for a job.

pa:)

the time—was the mournful howling of
her mother’s two Pomeranian dogs in the
back yard. ‘ j

“Did you notice anything else out of e
the ordinary?” Inspector Nelder asked the young woman.

As a matter of fact, she had, but she could not be sure it meant
anything. While she was looking around on the lower floors,
thinking that her mother would probably be doing up her
lodgers’ bedrooms at that hour of the morning, she was startled
by the appearance of a swarthy stranger at the head of the stairs
coming down from the second floor. He had told her he was are
cent arrival at the lodging house and was just leaving for work.
She didn’t know his name. When she asked him where Felippa
was, he said he hadn't seen her around. He did mention that he
was living in Room 2.

“What time was that?” asked Inspector Murray.

After consulting her watch, the distraught young woman said
it was about a halfhour ago, which would have made it around
10:45 on that Tuesday morning of June 29th.

“He said he’d been here only a few days,” she added. “I
thought there was something odd about it. He acted nervous, and
he was in such a hurry to get away.”

The body had been found half-in, half-out of a closet in Felip-
pa’s quarters on the top floor. Her bare legs lay across the
threshhold. Theslain widow was clad in a nightgown, bed jacket,
bathrobe and house slippers, suggesting that she had gotten out
of bed only a short time before she encountered her slayer. The
position of the bedy suggested that she "had piteked forward,
headfirst, into the closet while she was kneeling on the floor in

48 |

. named Chuck Henry was found badly disordered, with drawers

pinned inside Felippa’s nightie. This
didn’t surprise her daughter, who said het
mother usually kept money around for”
emergencies: She used to hide it, or pin
inside her clothing. Another $50 was found in a hiding place
pointed out to officers by the daughter, but the victim’s purse, ia
which she habitually kept only small amounts of money,
been rifled, a fact Which made it appear that robbery might have
been the prime motive for the vicious killing. This theory recet¥
ed additional support when a search of Felippa’s quartets
revealed that someone had done a thorough job of ransacking the
place. Among items which could not be found were two of Mn
Griffith's gold watches, a valuable heavy gold bracelet, and
diamond and gold ring.
A back bedroom occupied for the past two years by a mas

pulled out and clothes strewn about. The bed had not been slept
in. A front room contained nothing but a large suitcase, empty
with the catch bent as though it had been pried open. —
The inspectors could find no sign of forcible entry, although
they were assured by relatives that F elippa always had been very
careful about lettitig strangers into the house. This, coup! ;
the fact that she had been wearing nightclothes, strongly #
dicated that she had known her slayer. ;
“She would never have let in a stranger when she was dressed
like that,” her daughter said. That seemed to point quarely at om
of the widow's four roomers as the possible murderer,
rehatives were inclined to dismiss the-missing Ghuck Henry

se
suspect. He, they said,.was Felippa’s favorite “boy.” A mi ‘

~ © Inspector Ahern dispatched Inspectors Nelder and Cahill to
~ the big Bethlehem shipyard over on the Bay, not far away, to
: on Chuck Henry and Manuel Murillo. The crime
ians went to work as soon as the body was removed, but
came up virtually empty-handed; the only fingerprints they
raise were the victim’s. The handle of the pipe wrench

FTIRO-*O

ed to be the murder weapon bore only smudged prints that Gren serrated. wit haps i enon »
|) Were worthless. i—~
~ An hour and a half after they had departed, Inspector Cahill Ww
: aed Inspector Nelder called in with a report from the shipyard. >
ety: i : |
ig?)
he |

When West Coast sleuths unraveled the strange _

murder of a woman everybody liked, they found = >:
_ they had a slayer with a very weird motive...He a
needed money to buy a gun with which to wipe ©

~~. out his ex-girlfriend and her new love...

\
ast

A ee oh cate Ret

Pe a

a MRSA

mapa aenenemameane

‘

They had located the swarthy stranger, Manuel Murillo, and
were bringing him in. He was a welder, and they had established
that he was on the job Monday morning at8 o'clock; his time card
and at least a dozen witnesses would prove that. He had worked
all day. Chuck Henry could not-be found; he was off ona week’s
vacation. His last day at work was the previous Saturday, when
he had put in six hours of overtime. Fellow workers said he'd
been talking about going ona hunting trip somewhere in Oregon.
The inspectors brought Murillo back to the rooming house to

be interrogated by Inspector Ahern. The victim's daughter readi-

ly recognized him as the man she had seen on the stairs. Murillo.

was obviously frightened and anxious to help, but he was unable
to shed any .light on the murder. He said he saw no one around
when he left his room at 7 o'clock Monday morning to have
breakfast at a small neighborhood restaurant on his way.to work.
Inasmuch as Felippa Griffith had been seen alive at 9 o'clock on
Monday morning, the verifiable . account . of Murillo’s
whereabouts around that time put him in the clear. :

Another roomer would be cleared in the same fashion.*

George Barrett's employers and fellow workers confirmed that
the bookkeeper had been at his desk at 8:30 a.m. and had been on:
the job all morning. But Barrett was able to give the detectives
some further information about the missing Chuck Henry.

He said Chuck had left for Oregon with some friends on

_ Saturday night, which explained why his room had not been slept

in. Presumably, his clothes were strewn about the room by the
killer seeking something of value to steal. Barrett, who was a
close friend of Henry’s, looked over his room and said that

Chuck’s new radio was missing, and, he thought, a couple of -

good suits as well; “I’m pretty sure,” he added, “that Chuck
wouldn't have packed those suits to go on a hunting trip.”

Barrett provided the names of Chuck Henry’s hunting com-
panions, and calls to their homes established that they had left
with Henry on Saturday night, on schedule. They were bound for
Willamina, in the coastal mountains of northern Oregon, some
700 miles from San Francisco. :

“So Chuck Henry is in the clear, too,” Inspector Ahern
reflected. “That leaves one to go—this young fellow Bill, in the
front room.”

Checking on Bill, however, presented a problem, for the sim-
ple reason that no one knew his last name. George Barrett was
sure Bill was in his room when he left for work at 8 o'clock Mon-
day morning. That, it appeared, would have left him alone in the
house,with Felippa. Still, persons who had seen the young man,
described as dark, handsome, clean-cut looking, openly ex-
pressed doubt that he could have been the landlady’s killer. The
investigators were not that sanguine; all had known good-looking

killers before, but for the moment, without any further leads to

Captain of Inspectors McDonald led search for vicious kill

oe Fz

ers
‘Regge

ts SAE

his identity, they could only wait and hope that Bill would retum

to his room so they could question him.

Inspector Ahern now pursued another tack, the Possibility
that the comely widow might have been slain by some roomer .
who had lived in her house in the past, someone with whom she _

~ might have had some trouble. He was able to obtain the namesof , cEae

a Bee of men who had been asked to leave because of persis formed that Chuck Henry was calling in from rp gan
tent obnoxious behavior during chronic drunkenness. Infor-
mants emphasized, however, that they had left without serious
unpleasantness, and they doubted either man would have’ # > Tale
wanted to kill Felippa Griffith. Nevertheless, Ahern gave orders ee ere sem tor Beek at the request of Felippa.
to track them down and ascertain their whereabouts on Monday, # Rene?
although he realized that would take a lot of doing. ~ me

At the same time, George Barrett was able to supply the
names and approximate whereabouts of two other roomers who
had moved out recently, and Inspector Ahern detailed a couple “was Sanford. William Sanford!”
of detectives to find and check on them as well. :

In a renewed, more intensive search of the mu
ment, meanwhile, Ahern turned up a receipt book in which the

‘victim had kept stubs listing her rent receipts for tax records. | description to a T. Not only that, bu

’ Hoping this would give him Bill’s last name, he w :
quickly, only to find that the last stub, on w
most recent arrival only days before, should have been entered,

had been torn out!

“Why would Felippa tear out one of t
victim's relatives who happened to be pr :

“She didn’t tear it out,” Ahern said grimly. “Bill tore it out, te
conceal his name. He must have paid a week’s rent in advance
when he came here, and his is the only stub missing. That means
he’s our boy. It also means he used his real name, or he wouldnt
have bothered to tear out the stub. And he’s a pretty shrewd
customer, to think of a detail like that after committing murder”

Clearly, the inspectors realized, the mysterious Bill would not
be returning, and since Felippa Griffith was the only one who :
knew his name, the odds against establishing his full identity had_
suddenly become staggering. The detectives’ gloom when they”
realized this, however, was soon lightened considerably whena
kinswoman of the victim came up with something that waslikea 7

hopeful bolt from the blue.

The informant told Ahern and his men that Felippa Griffith,
originally a native of El Salvador, had never learned to read and :
write English, although she spoke the language with orily the.
slightest trace of an accent. “Chuck Henry used to write out het
business papers for her. He often made out
book. Chuck must know Bill's last name!”

Chuck, however was somewhere in the wilds of Oregon, In”
spector McDonald promptly relayed this information to Inspec. brunette d
tor Ahern at headquarters, where Ahern had just received infor
mation that eliminated from suspicion the two roomers Felippa
‘had ousted because of their drinking habits. Ahern consulted a

map of Oregon and promptly called the Yamhill County Sheriffs
Office at McMinnville. When Ahern explained his problem, the
Yamhill sheriff promised to send deputies to Willamina at once
with orders to locate Chuck Henry and bring him toa telephone.
He warned the San Francisco homicide commander, however,
that it, might be several hours before he could get back to him.

Late that afternoon, detectives from the Mission Station,
supplied with a full description of the wanted youth, began a
- canvass of lodging houses and hotels throughout the southerm

part of the city on the theory that Bill might have rented another
room. In the meantime, information that came in that evening
effectively eliminated from suspicion the last of Felippa Grif-
fith’s former roomers. By a strange coincidence, both men 7
been injured in separate auto accidents, one on the previous F La
’ day, the other the following afternoon, and they had wound upit
the same ward in the same hospital, where they were still cm FE Fectors McDonal Re

fined.

murder suspect, that was it.

The Oregon sheriff called back at 1:00 a.m. to report he had
just heard by radio from his deputies; they had traced the party

der apart.

ent through it"
hich Bill’s name, as the

the receipts fromher ”

If anything further had been needed to nominate the
mysterious young guy known only as Bill as the Number O-

Ps eS

of California hunters to their camp in a wilderness area near
Willamina, but they wouldn't be able to reach them until dawn. It

* was 8:30 the following morning when Inspector Ahern, who had

. stayed at his desk all night to receive reports from his men can-

vassing the Mission District hotels and lodging houses, was in-

‘yd

| © He sounded still badly shaken by the news of the murder of
his landlady and long-time friend, but in response to Inspector -
Ahern’s questions, he said he had written out the receipt for the

+ .“What’s his name?” Ahern asked him. “Do you remember his

There was along silence as Henry thought about the question.
Then he said, “Let’s see—it began with an S- Maybe Samuels. Or
~ was it Santley? No, that wasn’t it. Hold on now, I remember—it

Ahern thanked the man hastily, then he and Inspector Mc-
- Donald headed for the records bureau, where they quickly
_ struck paydirt. William H. Sanford, age 20, fitted the suspect’s
t he was already wanted by
the law.
|» The young San Franciscan, who had served a hitch in the
Coast Guard, had a juvenile record for burglary and auto theft. (=) ~
Convicted on three counts of armed robbery the previous year,
ent to the reformatory at Lancaster, in southern
California, where he served only a few months before he was
transferred, little more than a month ago, to a Youth Authority
_ forestry camp at Ben Lomond, in the Santa Cruz Mountains
south of San Francisco. On June 14th, just two weeks before the
_ murder of Felippa Griffith, he had walked off into the forest and
~ kept right on going. The Youth Authority had issued a pickup
__ order for him.

The files yielded several good mug shots of the handsome,
dark-haired youth. Ahern rushed them out to the murder scene,
j e Mrs. Potter and George Barrett without hesitation picked
_ them out of a sheaf of other mu shots and said he was the miss-

ig roomer who had occupied the front room in Mrs. Griffith’s
lodgir ing house.
’ From juvenile officers, Ahern obtained a list of Sanford’s
friends and places he had been known to frequent. Ahern
sent out a team of detectives to check out these contacts without
‘“@elay. Investigators Ahern, Cahill and Nelder, meanwhile,
~ followed up other leads. They located one of Sanford’s cronies,
~ ®ho reluctantly admitted he had seen the wanted youth about a
Week or ten days before. The badly frightened informant dis-
‘Sosed that Bill was very bitter about his girl friend, a 19-year-old
lescribed as “prettier than any movie starlet,” who had
sent him a letter at the forestry camp telling him that she was
ing off their relationship because she had fallen in love with
*omeone else and was thinking very seriously about marrying her «

‘a newspaper and a bag of sandwiches.

hitting the front and back doors of the flat simultan
burst in and switched on the lights. The small boy, t

from under a bed where he was hiding. ?

receipt.

~~ “That was why Bill walked out of there (the forestry camp),”
s buddy told the detectives. “This chick had promised to wait
' -him, then she wrote and told him she was going steady with

| $Me other guy. Bill couldn’t stand thinking about it. He told me
| Was going to get both of them. He was laying low and keeping

tabs on them till he figured out a way.”
-T . detectives hastened to the girl’s home. on San Jose
Avenue. She and her parents were terrified to learn that a hunted
“ tiler was after her. She had broken off with the wayward Bill
y at her parents’ insistence, it turned out. About two weeks -

8g0, he had telephoned her, but she refused to meet him. Police
Sards were posted at her home, and also at the home and place
f employment of her new boy friend.
eanwhile, during the check on Sanford’s known haunts, In-
nd Murray had located a flat on 30th Street
i) here the wanted youth had once lived, and they decided to
4 out the place. They had been reporting periodically to In-
~ Sector Ahern, but all they had to report thus far amounted to no
: ess. This condition changed abruptly at 2:00 a.m. when
; idenly they saw a small boy slip out of the apparently dark and
teserted

“Sat

however.

demeanor underwent a change.

the stuff. I’ve got it stashed away.”

“Why did you need money that badP”.

but she double-crossed me.
flat, which had its own street entrance. The lad walked

* to the all-night restaurant on the corner and returned shortly with

The inspector reported this by radio to Inspector Ahern, who
sent Inspectors Nelder and Cahill out to join them. With two men
eously, they

wide-eyed, cowered in a corner as they routed Bill Sanford out

The handsome youth gave up without a fight. He was unarm-
ed. In a pocket of his jeans the officers found the crumpled rent

u. At first he pretended to believe the cops had come after him
only because he was wanted for escaping from the forestry
camp. He loudly protested that he didn’t know a damned thing
about any murder. That attitude would not last very long,

Byt the time he was taken into the homicide commander's of-
fice to face Inspector Ahern and Assistant District Attorney Bert
Hirschberg and pad heard them lay it all out for him, his whole

Finally, making a wry grimace and shrugging resignedly, he
said, “I killed the old lady, all right.” He shook his head disgusted-
ly as he added, “J thought she had some real money around, but
all I could find was $1.50 in her purse. And some old jewelry. I
took some clothes and a radio, too, but I was afraid to try to sell

“Why did you have to kill her, Bill?” Inspector Ahern asked.

The young sugpect spread his hands in a hopeless gesture. “I
had to have the money to buy a gun to kill my girl friend and the
guy that took her away from me: She promised to wait for me,

“I couldn’t stand thinking of them (Continued on page 53)

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past when only a relative handful of
Americans, mainly law enforcement people
and a minuscule minority of the press with
specialized interests in the subject, gave any
thought to crime in America. The turnabout that.
would produce a growing concern in the minds of
ordinary citizens actually began in 1967. That
was the year that President Lyndon Johnson’s
Commission on Law Enforcement and Ad-
ministration of Justice, after two years of work
and the expenditure of a few million dollars,
released its 340-page report. The entire 340 pages
could have been summed up in one chilling
sentence: :

“The United States is in the grip of a hell ofa
crime wave!”

Any police chief in the country could have told
them that before they spent a dime. So could those
of us who had been saying the same thing in print
for several years before LBJ got around to ap-
pointing his highly-touted commission, which,
judging by conditions today—eight years later—
didn’t accomplish a damn thing.

Why not?

The litany of reasons is endless, but not the
least of them is the fact that the commission’s
recommendations, in all too many instances, were
so vague and inspecific as to be virtually
meaningless; few contained sufficient urgency to
impel legislators—even on local levels—to get
moving and press for meaningful laws designed to
curb the depredations of criminals. As for the
public, it was told that things were bad, but we
were offered little hope they were going to get any
better. The commission’s report, in effect, was
more confusing than clarifying.

The confusion persists to this day, and'one of
the more significant areas of perplexity in the
public mind is the one that involves mercy,
punishment and justice for criminals. Well-
intentioned individuals and groups throughout
the country finally pressured the United States
Supreme Court into decreeing that capital punish-
ment as practiced in America was cruel and un-
usual punishment. The nation’s highest tribunal
has procrastinated for years in deciding whether
revised capital punishment statutes passed by 31
states have corrected the conditions previously
condemned by the court.

We will get into the merits and/or demerits.of
the death penalty another time, but it should be
pointed out that oft-heard charges by foes of
capital punishment that everyone who is for it is a
bloodthirsty monster are not only unfair, but in-
accurate. :

The truth is that most people who want the
death penalty put into practice again argue for it
on a premise which was one of the earliest tenets
of America’s founding fathers—the greatest good

of hee WAS A TIME in the not too distant

[

yesvarece even cence
. } :

EDITORIAL | 4

by A. P. GOVONI

~ aconvict hopes and prays he’II get a life sentence,

ageaeNOAODAAURADSUONHONTONLENSUGAQTIUEQUONESUOBQENGOLOFONNNOGONUUUECLU0S0G0QG1OUENS4OU400Q4NUOUESUEbENRGUANOUH4GGQHUQUUUOGUNS4IGSUSSNS58000400000000800040E800N004400UUCONNNOOOUDOOLLUANEOODUCENNUTANHGUGOnUrooNeAgOOOUooOndet

‘ a yet

for the greatest number; the protection of society
as a whole against individual predators. ;

Having won the fight against execution of
criminals, the tenderhearted turned to new fields
to conquer, namely the imposition of light
sentences on criminals convicted of heinous
crimes, the stress on rehabilitation rather than
punishment, the lowering of standards which
determine when a convict has learned the error of
his ways and is fit to return to society.

They won that battle, too, and society is paying
dearly for it. Law enforcement experts on all
levels have pointed out that if hardened
criminals—particularly the type President Ford
calls “career criminals,” that is, men with long,
frightening records which stamp them indelibly
as persons for whom crime is a way of life—were
held in prison and kept off the streets, there would
be an almost immediate, dramatic decline in crime
statistics. The man in a prison cell can’t prowl
yee seeking a victim to rob, rape
or kill.

Even LBJ’s crime commission gave a once-
over-lightly nod to the great latitude given to
parole boards, and pointed out that “While many
parole officials are extremely able and
knowledgeable, some still are merely political ap-
pointees without training...” In our book, for
“some” the wording should have been “‘a grea
many.” '

Quite probably the most absurd factor in the
premature release of convicts hinges on the
sentencing practices of American courts. We read
frequently that a convicted criminal has been
sentenced to life, or 25 or 50 years in the peniten-
tiary.

Such sentences are utterly meaningless. They
do not mean what they say, and the judge knowsit
when he imposes such a sentence. In some states,

rather than, say 10 to 20 years. Why?

Because if he gets the lesser penalty he will have
to serve a minimum term longer than that required
for a life sentence! In some jurisdictions he can be
out on the street in eight years if he gets a life
sentence. é ‘

Many of the advocates of capital punishment
freely concede they would abandon their demands
for the return of the death penalty if they could be
sure dangerous criminals would actually have to
serve the misleading long terms imposed by the
court. Their principal motivation is keeping
dangerous criminals locked up where they can’t
use the business establishments, streets and
homes of these United States for their own
private hunting preserve. :

If our courts would go along with that, an awful
lot of people who will be sent to their graves by
violence during the next year would be alive to en-
joy the pleasures of home and family. eee

Brushoff Set Him
On a Murder Trail

a (Continued from page 51}

“4ogether. That’s why I walked out of Ben
“Lomond. But when I got here I was
‘almost broke, and guns cost money. I
“needed getaway money, too.”
-. Calmly, and without apparent
~femorse, Bill related that he had seen Mrs.
© Griffith’s “Vacancy” sign in the window
"and had rented the room with his last few
» dollars, as a base of operations. Talking to
". the sociable landlady, and watching her
“covertly, he became convinced that she
* kept money in the house and finally he
decided to rob her. —
“Thad to kill her so she could never
"identify me. After all, I was going to kill
two other people, too, and it had to be all
‘ “the way, or nothing.”
~. After the other roomers had left Mon-
day morning, Sanford recounted, he bent
the clasp on his suitcase, then asked his
landlady for,a wrench to repair it. He
stood behind her as she knelt over the
toolbox and handed him the heavy pipe
wrench.
~*~ When she bent over the box again, he
brought the heavy wrench crashing down
__ on her head. “She keeled over without a
sound. I hit her again.and again, I don't
~ know how many times. I had to make
_ sure she was dead.”
~~» Sanford said he had planned to buy a
gun immediately, kill his girl friend and
> * his tival that same night, and get out of
~ town. Those plans were frustrated when
- he could not find the money he'd ex-
cae to get from his murder of the
landlady. All he could do then was
swallow his disappointment and go into
)> hiding.”
~_.. Billy Sanford led the homicide detec-
+ «tives to where he had cached his meager
» loot. and the case was wrapped up. He
, told his captors he wanted to plead guilty
at once and go to the gas chamber.

“4
is
‘3

youth said. “I’m sane, I’m intelligent, but
‘2 Tm emotionally unstable. I've always
‘ “known that. I guess you'd call me a
__ menace to society. I'll be better off dead.”
- © The public defender appointed to
> <fepresent Billy Sanford refused to enter a
Builty plea for him, however. The court
4 ordered a psychiatric examination of the
". accused’ man, and he was found to be
p» legally sane and possessed of an im-

: | Pressively high 1.Q., but emotionally dis-

turbed, as he himself was aware.

‘ psychiatrist who examined him
> ‘ventured the theory that the robbery
Motive was really only a mask—that the

phaned youth, rejected by his girl

friend, had found an outlet for his blind,

baffled rage and hate in the savage
ering of the motherly landlady.

In view of the cold brutality of the
Crime, the district attorney asked for the
th penalty when Sanford was brought

“I'm tired of living,” the 20-year-old .

to trial. The jury concurred with this re =

quest, and after one of the shortest

murder trials ever held in San Francisco *’

courts, the jurors found Sanford guilty of
first-degree murder. They made no:
recommendation for leniency, and
Superior Judge Daniel R. Shoemaker
sentenced him to die. ‘
The verdict and sentence were sub-
ject to automatic appeals, of course, but
after the routine procedures had run their
course, the appeals were denied. On July

15th, two weeks more than a year after |.

the young escapee had brutally battered
out the brains of a kindly widow for a
cash return of a paltry dollar and a half,
William Sanford went stolidly to his

_ death in the gas chamber at San Quentin

a),

Penitentiary. oo¢

EDITOR’S NOTE:

Edna Potter, Chuck Henry,
George Barrett and Manuel Murillo
are not the real names of the persons so
named in the foregoing story. Fic-
titious names have been used because
there-is no reason for public interest in
the identities of there persons.

Torture, Inc.
(Continued from page 45)

before that came to pass, rulings were
handed down ordering some of the
defendants accused of less serious crimes
to be tried separately.

When at last the formal trial in the tor-
ture case began on April 4th of the follow-
ing year, eight men, including Charlie
Richardson, sat in the dock accused on 22
specific charges. In Johannesburg, South
Africa, meanwhile, the death sentence on
Johnny Bradbury, who had given infor-
mation of great value to the police, had
been commuted to life’s imprisonment.

Mr. Justice C. B. Lawton presided —

over the trial at Old Bailey, and the
veteran prosecutor, Mr. Sebag Shaw,
presented the evidence for the Crown.
The Torture, Inc. trial, as most of the
public referred to it, had received such
wide publicity that the courtroom was
packed daily, with an overflow crowd
clustering in the streets outside. Friends

and relatives of the accused had lost some +

of their defiance by this time, and the trial

went on with only a few disruptions.
For the most part, the witnesses were

the same persons who had testified at the

magistrates trial, with one important ex-

ception. This was Jack Duval, who had

been hiding from Charlie as well as the ~

police. Police had found him, and he had
already been convicted of fraud in the
sale of airline tickets and was serving a
three-year prison sentence, which he
hoped might be reduced in return for his
cooperation.

Duval, a portly, balding man of 40,
was a former soldier in the French

had lived for some years by “fraud in-
olving large sums.” . ;

He also admitted he had worked for
Richardson off and on for some four
years, but had avoided him recently out
of fear. He told the court about purchas-
ing nylon stockings in Italy on credit fora
dummy company and shipping them to
Richardson in London. Then, when he
was being sought by the police in Italy, he
said, Charlie sent him to Germany on a
false passport and he made similar
purchases on credit there. He also arrang-
ed for the purchase of airline tickets
worth up to 30,000 pounds with the
knowledge that they would never be paid
for. He admitted that he owed Richard-
son some money as a result of his
dealings, but he swore it was only about
1,000 pounds—far less than the amount
the gang boss had demanded of him.

During his relationship with Richard-
son, the witness said, he had been beaten
up badly three times to remind him that
he must “do what Charlie says.” Once,
when he was slow in his payments, he had
been pummeled with golf clubs until he
was covered with blood. But after this

“beating Charlie Richardson had

apologized and bought him a new suit,
telling him at the same time that he was
still on the payroll. He finally went into
hiding out of mortal terror of Richardson,
Duval testified.

At one point in his testimony, Duval
told about seeing Richardson sitting
behind a desk with a cannister of knives in
front of him. “He was throwing the knives
at Arthur Blore, another man who work-
ed for him,” Duval said. “Blore was back-
ed up against a wall, shaking with terror.
Charlie finally quit after he put a knife
through Blore’s arm.”

The high point of the trial at the Old
Bailey came when Charles Richardson's
lawyer, Mr. Geoffrey Crispin, Q.C.,
called the gang boss to the witness box in
his own defense. Neatly dressed in a con-
servative gray suit, Richardson spoke
calmly and forcefully, and his words
carried a certain conviction as he made a
wholesale denial of the charges against
him.

“What has been described in this court
never happened,” he stated in a quiet
voice. “There was no little black box. lam
a reputable businessman, and I have
never extorted money from anyone.
Many : of the. Crown’s witnesses are
criminals themselves, and they have
given perjured testimony against me to
curry favor with the police and save their
own skins.”

Richardson said he had paid 5,000
pounds into a company named Common
Market Merchants, Ltd., of which Jack
Duval was a representative. The com-
pany had gone into liquidation, he said,
and he had lost 1,200 pounds.

“It was Jack Duval who got all the
money,” Charlie averred. “He is a con-

Ba 4
So:

3 Foreign Legion who claimed he could * reat
”. speak five languages. He admitted that he

pesed ipeet re ae benieee atl oo

oe ——< z

But even as we were questioning
Sawin the mysterious gunman was
nearing the end of his trail. On
the outskirts of Denver, Officer John
Byrne and F. H. Herndel, assistant
superintendent of the auto theft detail
of the State Highway Patrol, were
cruising in their prowl car. A Plym-
outh coupe passed them at a mod-
erate rate of speed. Herndel stared
intently at the receding license plate.
“That’s funny,” he said, “did you
notice the front of that car, John?”

Byrne shook his head.

“There was no plate on it. And
that one on the back is badly bent up.”

Automatically Byrne speeded up
the cruiser, drawing close behind the
Plymouth. “California? You got
your check sheet?”

Herndel’s head was bent over a
typewritten list of cars reported
stolen in California.

“That number’s not on it. Let’s
stop these boys anyway and find out
what happened to their front plate.”

The siren screamed as Byrne cut in

CRIME

DETECTIVE

to the trusty. But the trusty wasn’t
there to hear all my words.

When I shouted “Here it is,” he had
run out of the building, scared stiff.
He didn’t want to be connected with
any of my findings. Other convicts, I
knew he feared, might think he tipped
me off and he would be put on the spot
as a squealer. '

I looked down into the pit... and
saw a man’s arm move!

After six and a half days, the search
uP McNabb and Sampsell was at an
end.

Lieutenant Ryan, who had found
out that I had entered the shop alone,
and other guards, who had seen the
speechless trusty dash out, came run-
ning in and they pulled McNabb and
Sampsell from their hideout.

Both convicts were weak and near
exhaustion. They were blinded by
their return to daylight and I ordered
them taken to the hospital and placed
under heavy guard. Neither would
answer any questions.

They had been in a self-made prison
within a prison, and had planned to
stay there until I called off the search.
They had lived under almost unbe-
lievable circumstances in a pit which
was six feet long and three feet high.
In the hideout they had secreted a

five-gallon can of water and some
chocolate bars and cookies, their only
food, and a stolen pair of wire clippers.

It was their plan to sneak out some
night, crawl to a wire fence sixty feet
away from the shop, cut the wire and
then lower themselves eight feet into
the canal that borders that part of the
prison—and then swim to freedom.

I was to learn that they had em-
ployed another convict to dig the
hideout, taking out the dirt in his
pockets over a period of nine months,
and had him erect the fake cabinet
over the pit.

My action in locking up all convicts

.during the week of search, however,

balked the carefully-conceived plot,
for the pair’s confederates were un-

CRIME DETECTIVE

ahead of the coupe.

Fifteen minutes later two young
men fidgeted uncomfortably in their
chairs. in the office of Captain of De-
tectives James E. Childers of the
Denver police department. The high-
way patrol officers had identified the
Plymouth coupe through its motor
and serial numbers as the one stolen
from George Johnson in Los Angeles
the night of the Hempel shooting. Its
single license plate had evidently
been stolen from another car.

ENVER officers wired us news of

the pick up. I immediately con-
tacted them by telephone to report the
results of our investigation and ask that
the men be held for us and ques-
tioned. From the description given
by the Denver police I was positive
the driver of the coupe was Joseph
Davis.

Bryan and Anderson left imme-
diately for Denver to return the sus-
pects to Los Angeles. Before they
reached Colorado I was notified that

Captain Raydell of the Denver detec-
tive .bureau had secured a complete
confession from Davis. Moreover,
Hempel’s revolver, used by Davis in
the murder, had been found with the
tools in the back of the Plymouth.
His companion was identified as Rob-
ert Louis Noser, wanted here on sus-
picion of robbery.

On Tuesday ete 16 Paul Hempel
lost his valiant fight for life. Bryan
and Anderson returned Davis from
Denver on the 19th. Three days later
a coroner’s jury officially named
Davis as the murderer of Hempel.

Like an accusing finger pointing
from the grave, Paul Hempel’s iden-
tification of the picture of Davis which
we found in Sawin’s room, clinched
our case.

The staff of District Attorney
Buron Fitts has planned speedy jus-
tice for the twenty-five-year-old
bandit killer. Hempel’s identification,
Sawin’s story, and Davis’s confession,
have formed a chain of evidence from
which there can be no escape.

THE TOUGHEST CRIMINAL

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 45

able to tip them off when the moment
to make a freedom dash—and swim—
arrived. .

The general conception of the plot,
its cunning execution, and evidence
that the two crime partners had inside
help convinced me that Folsom could
not hold both men together. I told
these facts to the State Prison Board
directors and they agreed with me.

McNabb and Sampsell were kept in
solitary confinement for months, but
this punishment failed to alter in the
slightest their indomitable purpose to
win freedom.

In August, 1931, just a year after
the record hideout, an excited convict
ari to the office of Captain Larkin and
said:

“My pal is sitting on the keg...
you’ve got to work fast!”

“Sitting on the keg? What for?”
demanded Larkin.

“We dumped a keg of nails over
on the construction job—and three
brand new automatic pistols and sev-
eral clips of cartridges fell out! None
of the other cons saw what happened.
You’ve got to get there quick before
anybody gets wise ... or there’s going
to be a lot of blood shed!”

“McNabb and Sampsell are working
in that con gang— it’s another of their
plots. Let’s get goin’... .”

APTAIN Larkin worked fast. He
got the deadly weapons and
brought them to my office. I traced the
entire plot to McNabb and Sampsell,
who were immediately thrown back
into solitary. They had a confederate on
the outside intercept the keg between
a warehouse in San Francisco and the
prison and he secreted the pistols.

If McNabb and Sampsell, them-
selves, had dumped the keg—as per
their original plan—neither Captain
Larkin nor I, nor some of my best
guards, probably would have survived,
as the two desperate criminals had
vowed to “get” us in their plots for
freedom.

Just how close Sampsell was to
come in his desire to “get” me in an-
other plot will be related later. And
Captain Larkin, who was to become
warden at Folsom after I had been
transferred to the wardenship at San
Quentin, later died a hero’s death
while foiling still another Folsom es-
eepe plot that took a toll of eight lives.

ix months later, McNabb and
Sampsell were released from soli-
tary and they were at it again. We
caught them drilling a hole in the door
of their cell.

I had McNabb brought at once to
my Office.

“Shackle him hand and foot,” I told
three husky guards standing by my
wee, “and place him in my automo-

ile.” .

McNabb glared at me as the guard
shackled him. He said nothing.

He was put in a prison automobile.
The big gate of Folsom swung open
and the car zoomed out.

“You’re taking me for a ride! You’re
going to bump me off!” bellowed Mc-
Nabb. -

“No, we’re not!” I replied. “Your
partnership with Sampsell is over—
finished! You’re going to San Quen-
tin! The Prison Board gave me au-
thority to break up your little team!”

That night McNabb was locked in
a cell at San Quentin, the largest pris-
son in the world and known through-
out the underworld as the “Big
House.” And it was at the “Big House”
that McNabb was‘to pull his master-.
piece in jail breaking.

Sampsell missed McNabb. But he
still had his mind set on “going out.”
All of his previous plots, however,
were only preludes to his major es-
E. attempt on February 27th, 1933.

was at my home just outside Fol-

som’s main gate when the telephone
rang and Sherman Powell, the prison
telephone operator, said:

“Warden, you are wanted in your
office right away on important busi-
ness.”

That was |
Powell to mak

thing was al!
any response
line. I was!
as in the a

J left my
normal pac¢
tention. As
gate leading
the guard ©

trusties
tration
shirts, 2
trusties
wearing
shirted

“I told you he had checked out!”
sneered Sampsell. °

We rushed into the building and
couldn’t find Colson. Finally, we found
the door leading to the private: rest
room adjacent to my office locked—
locked from the inside.

“Come. on out, Colson! We've got
you covered!” I shouted.

There was no reply.

Captain Larkin and other guards
then broke down the door... and
we found Colson’s huddled body with

CRIME DETECTIVE

a bullet in his head. Yes, the plotters
had guns. And incredible as it may
sound, they had made the weapons
and the ballots from plans left behind
by McNabb, who had learned gunnery
science while a machinist’s mate in
the United States Navy.

I was to learn from my investiga-
tion, which I started at once, that the
weapons were manufactured, bit by
bit, from materials picked up in va-
rious prison shops. Powder for the
bullets was made from charcoal, sul-

PRINCIPALS IN TRAGEDY

Laura Long, 35, and Ralph W. Griggs of Los Angeles are pictured
together in this snapshot before tragedy overtook them. The partly
nude, hacked body of a woman identified as Mrs. Long was recent-
ly found stuffed in the turtleback of a car driven by Griggs. Police
declare Griggs confessed killing her. She was his morganatic wife.

i "a. F tad
Mo Yet

phur, saltpeter, tips of matches and
celluloid eye-shades. Jackets for the
bullets were made of copper stolen
from a work shop.

Thus, Colson was the first of four
men to die by McNabb’s misdirected
genius. :

I was to learn from my good friend,
Warden James B. Holohan (whom I
replaced at San Quentin when he re-
tired) that McNabb outwardly had led
the life of a “model prisoner” from
the date of his arrival at San Quentin
... until March 12, 1934, an extremely
foggy day—the day that McNabb had
waited months for—

Secretly, McNabb had organized a
new prison mob—a desperate gang
that “wanted out.”

For his lieutenants McNabb had
picked:

“Big Bad Bill” Bagley, a gunman
and leader in a successful prison break
at Oakalla, British Columbia, in 1931
and wanted by Canadian authorities
as a fugitive from justice.

Lewis H. Downs, former Oakland
schoolboy and “thrill killer” of a po-
liceman in his home city across the
bay from San Francisco.

George Fredericks, sent up from
San Francisco as Bagley’s crime part-
ner.

George (“Rusty”) Masters, a Los
Angeles badman.

McNabb had another ingenious plot
—he was going to “shoot his way out”
with a new set of “home-made” weap-
ons, designed and manufactured by
himself!

McNabb was sure that his plan
would work. Besides, he wanted to
prove to Sampsell that McNabb rods
could open the gates, so to speak, and
that the ill-fated Sampsell-Colson
plot would have worked had he been
there to lead it personally. In addi-
tion, McNabb had a burning desire to
return to the life of luxury he had
enjoyed when he had teamed up with

— as the fabulous “yacht ban-
its.” :

VEEN McNabb saw the heavy fog
on the morning of March 12, he
called Bagley, saying:

“Bill, this is the day we’ve been
waiting for. The rest of the gang are
ready. Get the rods and shivs.”

_ Just two weeks before, John Dil-
linger, the mid-west desperado who
was to become U. S. Public Enemy No.
1, had escaped with a wooden gun
from the county jail at Crown Point,
~ and McNabb had heard about
i

If Dillinger could do it with a fake
weapon, he could with real ones, Mc-
Nabb felt.

McNabb’s fellow conspirators knew
their parts in the plot well. Downs,
who had entered prison three years
before at the age of seventeen, went
into action. He walked up and down
in front of the prison barber shop to
catch the eye of Guard Fred H. Miller,
on duty there.

Miller, realizing that Downs wanted
to talk to him, approached and asked,
“What’s the matter, kid?”

“Some of the cons are drinking
whisky in the electric shop. I thought
you ought to know,” spoke Downs,
baiting Miller into a trap.

Miller was a bit suspicious of
Downs’ “tip” because the young lifer,
a tough customer and guard-hater,
certainly wasn’t a “stoolie.”

But Miller thought it might be wise
to investigate, anyway. e walked
into the electric shop and somconc

Before Miller ¢
back

and. oe
“We're goin
“take off your
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a a rage
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were not in ‘
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Miller, a ¢
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was elect
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McNab
picked vu
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Nabb’s
This

uniforms—

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THE ARSENAL——

McNabb had acquired
was a credit to any
professional gunsmith.

struction to see whether
any false walls had been
built for hideout purposes.
But another search of
every nook and crevice
where the pair might be
hiding proved fruitless.

Most of my guards, by this ti
impatient with me. They thought I was crazy for con-
tinuing the search,
after time. But I was determined to continue.

Six days and six nights of frui
the prison came and went. All records for convict hide-
outs were broken. And the old Spanish rule to “hunt

three days and three nights” and then give up had been

doubled.

My guards were worn out
I, myself, was on the verge of giving up the hunt.
I decided to question a few more convicts.

by the constant searching.
But

>" prep HERO'S DEATH——
Capt. Clarence Larkin was
fatally wounded during break.

I asked for the convicts whom McNabb and
Sampsell had associated with during their recrea-
tion periods. They were sent to me. ‘And convict
after convict said “I know nothing.” Each was
living up to the No. 1 Commandment of the
Underworld—Thou Shalt Not Squeal.

Then came a break— :

One convict became talkative. Midway in our
conversation, he said:

“{ saw them talk to Fat Richardson.”

That was a “lead” that I had been waiting for.
Unwittingly, the talkative convict had given me
what I considered a hot clue. I let him talk. I
made believe that I wasn’t impressed by what
he had said.

As soon as he was returned to his cell, I picked
up my phone and asked Lieutenant of the Guard
Bill Ryan:

“Where does Convict Fat Richardson work?”

“In the blower room,” replied Ryan.

I wanted to check the blower room personally,
at once. But I didn’t want to tip my hand, not
even to my most trusted officers. So I left my
office and walked in a direction exactly opposite
from that which would have taken me to the
blower room. I walked down to the prison canal

_.. and finally turned back toward the black-
smith shop, where the blower room was located.

I FELT that, at long last, I had the right clue.
; I entered the blacksmith shop and found
1d faithful colored trusty, one
of the few inmates who wasn’t locked in a cell. To-
gether we looked around. My interest centered on a
wooden cabinet in a corner. I didn’t recall having seen
it before.

I pulled out several shelves and found several knives
and forks that didn’t belong there. I tossed them into a
sack and told the trusty I wanted them returned to the
mess hall.

Finally, I pulled out the bottom shelf .. . and saw
that it had covered a pit beneath the cabinet!

“Here it is! Just what I’ve been looking for! This
cabinet is a fake!” I shouted (Continued on page 88)

but one person there, an 0

detec-
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reover,
avis in
ith the
mouth.
s Rob-
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fempel
Bryan
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CRIME DETECTIVE

That was a strange remark for
Powell to make. He had never called
me before and made any such remark.
I became suspicious at once.

“Pm coming down,” I replied, and
hung up the receiver.

- IT waited a minute and picked up the
no again. I wanted to check with

owell and determine whether every-
thing was all right. But T couldn’t get
any response from Powell’s end of the
line. I was now sure that “something
was in the air.”

I left my house and walked at my
normal pace, so as to not attract at-
tention. As I went through the main
gate leading toward my office, I aske
the guard on duty, “Ts there anything
wrong?”

I feared I was about to walk into a:
trap .- ; and I recalled Sampsell’s oath
to “get” me and his great desire for
freedom.

“Warden,” replied the gate guard,
“J haven’t noticed anything or heard
anything.”

A trusty overheard our conversa-
tion. He winked at me and I knew
he wanted to say something. I walked
toward him an he said, in a low
voice:

“J don’t know whether anything is.
wrong but a few minutes ago I
two cons in their gray shirts walk into

_, and then enter the
administration building by the side
door.”

This was a red hot tip. Because
trusties in the hospital and adminis-
tration building don’t wear gray
shirts, as do the other convicts. The
trusties are given the privilege of
wearing white. shirts.
shirted cons don’t walk around these
buildings as they please. It was ob-
vious that at least two convicts had
eluded the guards and
the administration building for some
sinister purpose.

“Do you know who they were?” I
asked the trusty.
rden!” he replied.

What were those two cons up to?
answer i

get me to walk intoatrap.. .
But I wasn’t oing to walk into any
‘At once, I went to the big gate

Lawson and James Delaney-

r °
and told the guard to sound the escape
siren.

The eerie wails of the siren vibrated
throughout the prison and the nearby
countryside. Several guards, arme
with leaded canes, rushed to my side.
Other guards, with rifles and shotguns
ready for action, were on the walls.
Convicts were quickly herded from
their jobs to their cells.

Suddenly, the F gene rang at the big
gate. The guar answered, turned to
me and said, “Warden, the call is for

ou.”
“Is that you, warden,” asked the
voice at the other end of the line.

“Yes, this is the warden,” I replied.

“It doesn’t sound like your voice.”

i from the
other end of the line I recognized the
pis vg there—it was the voice of Samp-
sell:

“Yes, this is the warden and I know
that’s you, Sampsell! How many of
you are in on this?”

“Just Marty Colson and I. We've
got the phone operator—and we've
got guns! We want you to take us out,

FRiccused of taking part in four holdups in Philadelphia, John
Mount is shown being carri d into courtroom by. Officers illiam
He was held without bail.
sought by police, Mount, an ex-convict, was captured after an
automobile crash in which four died and his-leg was broken.

Long

warden! The guards won't shoot if
you are with us!”

I WASN'T surprised
Colson, a holdup artist serving life

Colson had tried
to escape before, failing in a fantastic
plan to elude the guards by crossing
the prison canal in,a home-ma' e div-
ing suit. Besides, he had played close
to McNabb and Sampsell and he was
supposed to have gotten the third
pistol in the nail keg smuggling plot
that failed.

“Sampsell,” I shouted into the

hone. “I’m not taking you out. The
jig is up. Drop your guns, if you have
them; take off every stitch of clothing
on your back, and come marching out
the side door—with your hands high
in the air. We won't shoot!”

“Okay, then, warden,” spoke Samp-

out. But
“Checked out” in prison lingo meant
Colson had taken his own life. But
was Sampsell telling the truth? Or,
setting the stage for some new trick?

I ordered two shotguns |
gave the wea ons
the
side door of the administration build-

appear.

that might happen.
There was a tense delay of several

stark naked and
with his hands high in the air, ap-
peared. The hostage, Operator Powell,
followed him and I gave a sigh of .re-
lief that he had not been harm
““where’s Colson?” I demanded.

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said, “Wait a minute,” into the trans-
mitter, then dropped the phone on his
desk and ordered an immediate con-
nection with police headquarters.
There he called for a motorcycle
escort to meet him in front of the
federal building a block away, signalled
two FBI men in his office, and eight
minutes later was picking up his escort
and heading for the Municipal Airport.

eee has there been a motor-
cycle escort for anything important
that didn’t encounter unavoidable de-
lays. The Supreme Grand Steamshovel
of the International Order of Hod
Wrestlers can arrive in town, get an
escort and be through the entire city
of Los Angeles in twenty minutes; but
allow an FBI man, or a sheriff’s posse
to start on the trail of a mad killer
and everybody on the freeway wants
to move his house down Crenshaw, or
out Wilshire, or over Figeuroa at pre-
cisely that moment.

A mile away, a train cut across a
spur that, by latest figures, had been
used less than once weekly since the
war, and another three minutes was
lost.

Without hesitating, Murphy contact-
ed his office and obtained the okay for
a chartered flight for himself and his
two aides to Phoenix, first available
stop for the giant airliner. Then he
arranged for a fast, four place job that
would overtake the TWA Constellation,
or beat it to Phoenix, and twenty min-
utes later was winging eastward.

Not even when he was airborne on
one of the finest speed planes built,
however, had Murphy entirely shaken
the jinx. Half way to Phoenix, when the
glint of the speeding Constellation had
just been spotted a few miles ahead
over the yellow Arizona desert, the
right engine on the Murphy plane
sputtered, coughed asthmatically once
or ig and then died with a discordant
sigh.
“Don’t tell me,” was all Murphy
could say as he scanned the pilot’s
anxious face.

“Just a minute,” the pilot said,
working frantically. There was a mo-
ment of awful suspense, then a gradual
dive and finally the balking engine
took hold, a cylinder at a time, and
they were off again.

The drama of Lloyd Sampsell ended
less than an hour later. Not even when
the huge Constellation settled to the

runway in Phoenix and the passengers
debouched on the pilot’s order did any-
thing comparable to the usual pattern
of Sampsell theatrics occur.

Murphy and his men, joined by half
a dozen Phoenix officers in plain clothes,
waited at the foot of the ramp.

As a tall, carefully dressed man Cat-
rying an expensive brief case descended,
they surrounded him and he looked at

(them without so much as the flick of

‘an. eyelash. Then he said calmly:
“Government men, I suppose?”
“That’s right, Sampsell,” Murphy re-

plied.

The tall man’s shoulders sagged de-
jectedly, but only for a second, as he
muttered, “Well Lloyd, old boy, I
guess this is it.”

Then, his evil pride- reasserting itself,
he straightened, smiled amiably and
said, matter-of-factly, as if giving an
order instead of begging a favor: “If
you don’t mind, can we skip the hand-
cuffs here? There seems to be enough
of you to take one.man without that.”

In spite of his relentless hatred for
this blood-thirsty killer, Murphy could
not repress a smile.

“Okay, duke,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The officers found $7,890 of the
$8,300 loot from the bank hold-up in
the brief case, something of a confirma-
tion of the informer’s claim that he
had been shortchanged.

fiom only feature of Sampsell’s trial
was the appearance of a graying,
quiet little woman who sat behind
him and scarcely took her eyes off his
well shaped head. Quiet, with lined
face and infinitely weary eyes, Mrs.
Sampsell seemed only to want to be
near this ruthless killer to whom she
was married.

She spoke to him only when he
spoke to her and when the verdict of
guilty that was to send him back to
San Quentin to die in the lethal gas
chamber was read, her face never
changed expression, but remained calm,
as if, at last, a great weight had been
lifted from her tortured soul.

WEEK after the guilty verdict,

He took his impending end calmly,
perhaps a little wearily, doubtless be-
cause no man knew better than he the
inevibability of the retribution that
awaited him.

Thus, alone, friendless, unmourned,
Lloyd Sampsell came to his end, far
from the flesh and wine luxuries his
perverted talents had brought him. ¥&

Editor’s Note: The name Marie Bordet
is fictitious as used in this true account.

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guess he really
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.aboration with
egan the long,

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ice his release

ter this release,
ce he was about
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There, Murphy
orted regularly
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March, 1948.
‘as. apparently
learned that
tal days in
lena robbery
Diego job.
hat the mauve
blonde in the
an assignation
alked into the
2 again set the
1 his spoor.
t shortly after
ian in a tweed
ated man—had
2eking both the
[uttered impre-
otel employees
vas in no mood
ht bear ‘some
ae bandit.
ident Murphy
ich only time
lly.
c reports of the
osell to be pub-
the underworld
3 of Sampsell’s

lis confederates. -

eachery in the
‘ase and caused
of how Sampsell

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lis aides,

2 endoctrinated
the Sampsell
Sampsell who

and always it ‘

at the booty in
cut it up. Then,
represented his
ie simply doled

e to his suckers |

i the rest.
‘iad gone on
(| man, im-
ble breasted
hirt with regi-
' conservative

colors, highly polished black shoes,
gray semi-Homberg hat and carefully
placed breast pocket handkerchief, and
wearing rimless spectacles and carry-
ing an expensive brief case, entered
the Hoover Street Branch of the Bank
of America in Los Angeles and stepped
briskly to a cashier’s wiridow.

Tersely he ordered the cashier to
give him what cash he had in his cage,
at the same time showing a short-
barreled Luger pistol almost concealed
in his wide palm and long, bony fingers.

Aware of what had happened only
after the robber had slipped through
the door, a guard gave chase nonethe-
less. It was a hopeless pursuit, however.

There were crowds in mid-town Los
Angeles at that hour and the robber
lost himself quickly in their ebb flow.

Police arrived with sirens screaming
and pandemonium reigned in the smart
residential and shopping area, but none
could definitely remember seeing the
highwayman.

Immediately, word of the holdup
reached Murphy’s office. Not for a mo-
ment was there any doubt in his mind
that his most important quarry had
returned to beard him.

Audacity, he knew, was one of Samp-
sell’s most potent weapons; audacity
forged into cold, mathematical calcula-
tion.

There is an old, old theory in crim-
inal investigation that a persistent crim-
inal, given enough rope, must eventual-
ly hang himself. The maxim is pre-
dicated partly on another credo: that
for every villain there’s a stool pigeon.
It was on these premises that Murphy
had built his campaign and he didn’t
have long to wait for his reward now.

Returning to his office after a per-
functory visit to the holdup scene, he
had a telephone call. A bitter voice
came over the wire, snarling its com-
plaint: “You want that bum that just
stuck up the bank, dontcha?”

“I'd take him if you’ve got him
handy,” ‘Murphy answered.

The caller snapped, “Well, it was
Sampsell and he done them Pasadena

‘ and San Diego jobs a year ago, too.”

“That’s fine,” Murphy tried to keep

‘his tone casual, “but how do you know

and what makes you want to tell me?”

“Because I helped him in both jobs,”
came the fierce answer, “and he not
only double crossed me on the glue, he

stole my twist .. .”

“Yéah?” Murphy almost bit the
transmitter off his telephone. “Who
is this and where’s Sampsell?”

“Never mind who this is,” the voice
bridled. “But if you wanta get him,
you’d better get out to the airport
because he’s taking a TWA flight east
at five o’clock this afternoon.”

Murphy shot a glance at his watch.
It was four-twenty-five. He signalled
an aid to trace the call he was on,

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SAMPSELL, Lloyd E., wh, gassed

emcee pa LC

T WAS a quiet day in the Seaboard
Finance Company on B Street in
San Diego. March had once keen
an active month in the brokerage

business, but 1948 had ushered in a
considerable decline in. automobile
buying, financing which was Sea-
board’s largest single ‘operational
item.

A sailor came in and paid-a note on
a used car. A florid man, steaming in
the already hot San Diego. weather,
argued hotly over the insurance rates
on a car he was buying. A policeman
entered, looked around sharply, nod-
ded to Branch Manager Robert E.
Runyan and went out.

“The cops are more nervous than I
am,” Runyan remarked casually to
Harlan Cook, a suburban Chula Vista
policeman and part-time employe of
the Seaboard Company. “Lightning
never strikes twice in the same place,
you know.”

“Just the same, it suits me if they
keep on casing this joint,” Cook re-
plied. ‘“‘Don’t forget that Pasadena’s
two hundred miles from here... . not
exactly the same place.”

SLAUGHTER

“Ss

By RICHARD MAYE

REAL DETECTIVE, November, 1949.

Above: Arthur Richardson during
questioning. Right: the Seaboard
office immediately after holdup.

CA (San Diego) April 29, 1952

They were referring to the holdup,
a week before, of the Seaboard’s
branch in Pasadena. Two armed ban-
dits had entered the office there,
flashed revolvers, and made off with
$3,020 in cash. No one had been hurt.
In fact, the bandits had been the’soul
of politeness, but there remained the
terrifying fact that both had handled
the weapons as if skilled in their use
and ready to shoot if conditions war-
ranted.

“Forget it,’ Runyan laughed, turn-
ing back to ‘his desk. Cook walked to
the rear of the office and disappeared
through a door leading into an alley.
As he disappeared a woman crammed
a sheaf of papers into a handbag and
turned from the No. 2 window; two
men entered and asked where to
make a deposit, but left immediately
when told they were not in a bank;
and then the office was momentarily
clear.

Two minutes later the B Street
door opened and a tall, immaculately
dressed man entered, went to one of
the lobby desks, withdrew an envel-
ope from his inside pocket, and

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The manners of
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killing, then, under the instructions which
were given, they certainly could not have
found him guilty of murder of the first de-
gree as defined in the instructions, but must
either have acquitted him or found him
guilty only of a less serious type of homi-
cide. It is not, on this record, a reasonable
inference that the giving of the requested
instruction on the right to pursue as well as
to stand one’s ground would have affected
the jury’s conclusion. -Hence, even if we
interpret the circumstances shown (having
in mind, particularly, the five severe axe
wounds) as indicating that the defendant,
contrary to his own testimony, had, when
attacked or at any time during the fight,
instead of fleeing, stood his ground and
then pursued Garcia, the error in failing to
give the requested pursuit instruction could
not here to held to require reversal.

[5,6] Defendant complains of the re-
fusal of the court to give the following in-
struction which he requested and which,
he argues, was necessary to enlighten the
jury in case they determined that defend-
ant first killed justifiably and then decided
to and did take the property of his victim:
“Tf you believe from the evidence defend-
ant killed in defense of his life, then not-
withstanding the fact that you also find
that defendant subsequently committed an-
other offense you must acquit him.” De-
fendant is correct in his assertion that a
killing which was justifiable cannot be-
come criminal by virtue of subsequent con-
duct of the killer.’ But there is nothing in
the instructions which could give a con-
trary impression and the defendant did not
testify, nor is there other evidence to sug-
gest, that he formed the intent to or did
take any of Garcia’s property only after
the latter’s death. He claimed only that
he killed in actual self-defense or possibly
in terror induced by Garcia’s asserted at-
tack. No motivating cause for the killing
other than defendant’s theories or the
State’s theory of robbery can logically be
gleaned from the evidence. The jury were
told that “All murder * * * which is
committed in the perpetration or attempt
to perpetrate * * * robbery * * *
is murder of the first degree” (Pen.Code,
§ 189) and that “Robbery is the felonious

184 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

taking of personal property in the posses-
sion of another, from his person or im-
mediate presence, and against his will,
accomplished by means of force or fear”
(Pen.Code, § 211). It is clear from these
instructions that to constitute the killing
murder of the first degree because it was
committed in the perpetration of robbery,
the killer must at the time of the killing,
have had the purpose to rob (although not
necessarily the purpose to kill), whereas,
as the jury were told, in the case of a
justifiable killing in self-defense defendant
“must have acted under the influence of
such fears [of great bodily harm] alone”
(Pen.Code, § 198). In view of all the evi-
dence and of the instructions which were
given and which have been previously
noticed, it is not reasonably conceivable
that the jury could have believed, or had
a reasonable doubt, that the defendant kill-
ed Garcia in self-defense or terror, and
still have found the verdict of first degree
murder. If they had had a reasonable
doubt on the question of self-defense or
killing in terror they must have either ac-
quitted the defendant or found the homi-
cide to be an offense less than first degree
murder, Hence the refusal of. the instruc-
tion as worded (predicated on belief that
“defendant killed in defense of his life’)
did not prejudice defendant.

[7] Here, as in People v. Peterson
(1946), 29 Cal.2d 69, 78, 79, 173 P.2d 11,
16, “The court, in instructing the jury as
to what constitutes murder of the first de-
gree (apparently inadvertently, in the
light of its other instructions), erroneously
included portions of disapproved former
stock instructions declaring that ‘There
are certain kinds of murder which carry
with them conclusive evidence of premedi-
tation * * * [etc.],’ and that a man
‘can premeditate, that is, think before doing
the act, the moment he conceives the pur-
pose.’ Each of these two former stock in-
structions has been often condemned.
(People v. Bender (1945), 27 Cal.2d 164,
182-185, 163 P.2d 8; People v. Valentine
(1946), 28 Cal.2d 121, 134, 135, 169 P.2d 1;
People v. Bernard (1946), 28 Cal.2d 207,
210-212, 169 P.2d 636; People v. Honeycutt
(1946), [29 Cal.2d 52], 172 P.2d 698.) In

at,

PEOPLE y. SANCHEZ Cal 679
Cite as 184 P.2d 673

“All reasonable doubts must be resolved
in favor of the defendant by your verdict
of not guilty.” The first portion of this
instruction, although it is unnecessarily
complex in its wording, contains no actual

the present case they directly conflict with
other, correct instructions which the court
gave on the same subjects. ‘Inconsistent in-
structions have frequently been held to con-
stitute reversible error where it was impos-
sible to tell which of the conflicting rules
was followed by the jury. [Citations.]’
(People v. Dail (1943), 22 Cal.2d 642, 653,
140 P.2d 828.)” As shown above, there
is evidence that defendant murdered in the
perpetration of robbery. The instructions
as to that phase of the case are not incor-
rect although unnecessarily repetitious, and
it does not appear that the instructions as
a whole so misled the jury that their con-
clusion that defendant is guilty of first
degree murder is based on a finding not
that the murder was committed in the per-
petration of robbery, but that defendant
“premeditated” before killing the moment
he conceived the purpose to kill.

[8] The jury were correctly instructed
in the language of section 1096 of the Pen-
al Code concerning presumption of inno-
cence and-the definition of reasonable
doubt. Other portions of the charge as
to reasonable doubt include a lengthy in-
struction which commences as follows:
“CI]f you believe from the evidence, be-
yond a reasonable doubt and to a moral
certainty, that the defendant * * *
did, unlawfully and with deliberate, will-
ful, intentional premeditation and with
felonious intent kill the deceased * * *
and that said killing was done with malice
aforethought and was not justifiable under
the law as I have given it to you in the
preceding instructions, and you further be-
lieve from the evidence beyond a reason-
able doubt and to a moral certainty that
the defendant is guilty of murder of the
first degree, as defined in the preceding in-
structions heretofore given to you’ [which
include definition of murder in the perpe-
tration of robbery], then, you would be
warranted in so finding by your verdict
* * *,” (Italics added.) The instruc-
tion contains similar paragraphs as to mur-
der of the second degree and manslaughter,
reiterates that each element of an offense
must be established beyond a reasonable
doubt to justify a verdict of guilty of such
offense, and concludes with the statement,

misstatement of law. The last quoted
sentence of the instruction, as defendant
says, is at best ambiguous and should not
have been given, but we cannot agree with
defendant that, upon the whole record,
there is any probability that the jury seized
upon it and concluded, despite other, cor-
rect instructions to the contrary, that in
order to acquit defendant they must decide
in his favor every issue upon which they
had a “reasonable doubt” or that no rea-
sonable doubt, on any issue (as for ex-
ample, the issue of punishment or that of
degree of the offense) could be resolved
in his favor except by a complete acquittal.

[9] Defendant contends that the court
erred in failing to give an instruction, re-
quested by him, that “In a trial for mur-
der it is not necessary for the defendant
to establish self defense hy evidence suff-
cient to satisfy the jury that the self de-
fense was true, but if the evidence is suff-
cient to raise a reasonable doubt as to
whether the defendant was justified, then
he is entitled to an acquittal.” This pro-
posed instruction correctly states the law
and, where the evidence warrants sub-
mitting the issue to the jury, should be
given, (See People vy. Kane (1946), 27
Cal.2d 693, 701, 166 P.2d 285; see also
People v. Roe (1922), 189 Cal. 548, 565,
209 P. 560; People v. Albertson (1944),
23 Cal.2d 550, at page 587 of concurring
opinion, 145 P.2d 7; 13 Cal.Jur. 737, § 104.)
However, its principle was repeatedly
brought to the attention of the jury for,
as above indicated, they were told as to
murder of the first degree, again as to
murder of the second degree, and again as
to manslaughter, that to warrant a verdict
of guilty they must believe “beyond a rea-
sonable doubt and to a moral certainty”
that, among other things, the killing “was
not justifiable [or was unjustifiable] under
the law as I have given it to you in the
preceding instructions.” They were also
told that they “should consider all of the
instructions as a whole in arriving at”

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674 Cal

record with inapplicable instructions, and
in avoiding unnecessarily prolix and re-
petitious statements, as well as in inform-
ing jury adequately on issues actually in-
volved. ; :

14. Homicide €=340(4)

In murder prosecution, error in giving
instruction on involuntary manslaughter,
which was not an issue under the evidence,
was not prejudicial where jury rejected
testimony that defendant killed under in-
fluence of fear and found him guilty of
first degree murder.

15. Criminal law €=925(1)

Placing in charge of jury’ a deputy
sheriff who was active in investigation of
the murder and was an important prosecu-
tion witness did not necessitate new trial
in absence of showing of prejudice. Pen.
Code, § 1064.

16. Criminal law €=1186(4)

Refusal to permit defendant in mur-
der prosecution to impeach witness who
had acted as interpreter when defendant
was first interviewed by district attorney,
by showing interpreter’s motive for favor-
ing prosecution, was not prejudicial where
interpreter’s testimony accorded with de-
fendant’s testimony. Const. art. 6, § 4%.

Appeal from Superior Court, Imperial
County; Elmer W. Heald, Judge.

Jose Sanchez Sanchez was convicted of
first-degree murder, and he appeals.

Affirmed.

D. M. Campbell and D. M. McGahey,
both of El Centro, for appellant.

Fred N. Howser, Atty. Gen., and Henry
A. Dietz and Frank Richards, Deputy Attys.
Gen., for respondent.

SCHAUER, Justice.

On February 9, 1946, defendant Sanchez
admittedly killed Alejandro Garcia, con-
cealed his body, and fled from the United
States. Thereafter defendant was appre-
hended and prosecuted. A jury found him
guilty of murder of the first degree and
made no recommendation as to penalty.
Defendant appeals from the ensuing judg-
ment imposing the death sentence and from

184 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

an order denying his motion for new
trial.

[1] It is the theory of the People that
defendant murdered Garcia in the perpe-
tration of robbery; it is the theory of de-
fendant that he killed justifiably in self-
defense or, at least, in such a frenzy of
terror that the killing could be no more
than murder of the second degree or vol-
untary manslaughter. No other explana-
tion of, or reason for,. the slaying is
claimed. It is true that the charge to the
jury contains many erroneous and irrele-
vant instructions which in other circum-
stances could require a reversal. However,
the evidence (hereinafter related) amply
justifies a finding that Garcia was murder-
ed by defendant in the perpetration of a
robbery; the jury were adequatcly in-
structed as to this phase of the case; and
it does not appear that they were misled
by other instructions or that errors. com-
plained of by defendant resulted in a mis-
carriage of justice. Therefore, the judg-
ment must be affirmed.

Defendant .and Garcia were Mexican
laborers who had worked on farms in the
Imperial Valley. On the evening of Fri-
day, February 8, 1946, they told the farmer
by whom they had been employed that
“They wanted to lay off * * * to go
to Mexicali.” Each received his pay check,
defendant's being for the sum of $52.70 and
Garcia’s for $77.80. The two men went to
the cabin where they resided. This cabin
contained two rooms, a kitchen and a bed-
room; its single outside door opened from
the kitchen. At about 4 or 5 o’clock on
Saturday morning defendant killed Garcia
with an axe, dragged his body to an out-
side toilet and concealed it beneath the
toilet seat, washed some of the blood from
the cabin, and fled to Mexico. Before he
was killed Garcia had, besides his pay
check, “a good watch,” a pair of shoes and
(according to defendant) a knife. When
his body was discovered, about 8 or 9
o'clock on Saturday morning, none of these
articles of personal property were on the
body or in the cabin or its vicinity. Gar-
cia’s pockets contained only 25 cents. His
body bore five deep axe cuts which appar-
ently had been inflicted in rapid succession:
one across the small of the back, which

PEOPLE v. SANCHEZ CaL 675
Cite as 184 P.2d 673

went through his belt, through another
belt which held a truss, and to the bone;
one into the head, from which brain tissue
had spilled; one across the mouth, break-
ing bones and teeth; one which nearly
severed the left arm above the wrist; and
one which went through the left thigh to
the bone. On the throat were marks (not
deep cuts) which appeared to have resulted
from “stabbing” or “gouging” with a knife
or scissors. A pair of sheep shears was
found in the cabin.

Defendant cashed his pay check in a
grocery store on Saturday morning before
he left this country. Garcia’s pay check,
endorsed “Garria” or perhaps “Garsia,”
was also cashed at this store. In the
opinion of a handwriting expert, the en-
dorsement thereon was written by defend-
ant. Exemplars of defendant’s handwrit-
ing made by him after his arrest similarly
misspelled the name of deceased as “Garria”
or as “Garsia.” Paychecks made and de-
livered to Garcia by a former employer
and cashed prior to the dates involved
herein were endorsed “Alejandro Garcia”;
such latter endorsements, in the opinion
of the handwriting expert, were not written
by defendant. Defendant on cross-exam-
ination testified as follows:

“Q. Now, before you put — or at any
time after you killed Alejandro Garcia, did
you take anything from his clothes or from
his body? A. No. I didn’t take anything.

“Q. Iam showing you a check which is
People’s Exhibit No. 1 [the pay check Gar-
cia received the evening before he was
killed], and ask you if you had that check
in your possession that morning. A. No,
sir, *°* -*

“Q. Did Garcia carry a watch? A. I
don’t know. I never saw it if he did.”

The limited extent of these denials, and
the fact that they were adduced only upon
cross-examination, should be noted. De-
fendant did not deny that he endorsed or
negotiated Garcia’s paycheck nor did he
claim that he formed the intent to and did

take any articles of personal property from
Garcia only after the latter’s death.
Defendant’s testimony as to the circum-
stances of the homicide is as follows:
Prior to the day of the killing Garcia “got
sore because I had to correct him for poor
work * * * [F]rom that time on he
did things that were not right, and I paid
no attention to him.” On the morning of
Saturday, February 9, Garcia, contrary to
his custom, arose early and prepared cof-
fee. Defendant wakened but did not arise.
“T could see he had some bad intentions.
And he turned out the light, and I had a
cigarette lighted, and I put it out, and then
I pulled the bed clothes up over me.
* * * T heard him open a knife.” De-
fendant did not see the knife at this time
or during the ensuing struggle but he knew
that Garcia carried a pocket “spring knife
* * * One of those that the blade
jumps.” Deceased leaped upon defendant
and struck at his head with the knife but
did not cut him. Defendant “slipped out
from under him,” ran out the door and at-
tempted to fasten it “to stop him coming
out, and then as I was trying to fasten the
door was when he jumped on me and tried
to cut me in the throat, and that was
when, in guarding, I received this cut on
my arm1 * * * Then he was pursu-
ing me, right behind me, and I was forced
to do what I could to defend myself, and
the first thing I got hold of was an axe
[which was lying about eighteen feet from
the door of the cabin] * * * and then
I struck him a blow, and at that time he
— was when he tried to cut me in the
stomach, and from the right I struck him
another one. I don’t remember any more
about it than that. And then he turned
half around * * * and he stumbled
over there by the door of the house” And
then I stood there not knowing what to do,
whether to give notice or advise the au-
thorities, or whether to beat it. Then I
thought I would put him in the hole, be-
cause I would be punished. And therefore
then I hauled him over to where the hole

1A superficial cut which, according to
testimony of a physician who examined
defendant on July 11, 1946 (five months
after the killing), could not have been
more than six weeks old at the time of
such examination.

2 According to the testimony of the
physician and surgeon who examined
the body of Garcia, after a man received
a wound such as one of those on Gar
cia’s head or back: “He wouldn’t go any-
where. He would simply drop.”

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672 Utah 184 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

another member of the firm appeared at 2:00
p.m. We find from reading the record that
defendant was ably represented.

No prejudice can arise by denial of a
continuance when the moving party is well
represented and has ample opportunity to
present his case. See State v. Green, 89
Utah 437, 57 P.2d 750. The record fails to
show that defendant was unable to obtain
witnesses or the necessary evidence for her
defense and for prosecution of her counter-.
claim. There was no abuse of discretion in
denying the continuance.

(2] The complaint is barely sufficient to
state a cause of action. While appellant
claims the evidence is insufficient to support
a deerce in favor of plaintiff, she does not
seriously contend that no divorce should
have been granted. Rather, she asserts that
she should have been awarded the divorce
under the facts of this case. If these par-
ties were younger, we might hesitate to sus-
tain the decree. However, in this case both
parties are over 70. They are rapidly ap-
proaching the time when they will be sole-
ty dependent physically as well as finan-
cially. Acts and remarks which would us-
ually not irritate people much younger, have
annoyed these people because of ill-health
and difficulties in hearing. Their inability
to adjust, their lack of cooperation, their
old-age and utter financial dependency, have
tended to magnify the irritation over the
conduct of each other.

Under the peculiar circumstances of this
case, the trial court was warranted in de-
ereeing a divorce, since it would be incom-
patible with the well-being of socicty in
view of their mutual dependency, to compel
them to live together or to continue the
restraints which cause the irritation. While
a wife is ordinarily granted a divorce on
less provocation than a husband, Doe v.
Doe, 48 Utah 200, 158 P. 781, there are
circumstances which may have appeared to
the trial judge who was able to see the wit-
nesses and the demeanor of the parties in
court, to present a stronger case for the
husband,

[3] The chief complaint here relates to
an alleged unequal division of the property,
which appellant contends was grossly in-
equitable in this case. The plaintiff testi-
fied that he paid the original purchase price,
but the testimony of defendant shows that
some of her funds were used for remodeling
the house, and that she did considerable
work to aid in the improvement of the
property to make the house livable. She
did the housekeeping over a period of four
years, This evidence is not disputed.
While plaintiff complained because she was
absent a great deal, the situation created
by plaintiff was not conducive to constant
companionship in the home.

The record indicates that the house was
purchased in 1943 for $395 by funds ac-
cumulated by plaintiff, and that improve-
ments were made which enhanced the value.
The record is silent as to market value of
the property as of the date of trial, and
also as to the value of the personal property.
We think that a more equitable division of
the property than that made below is sug-
gested by the record, whereby defendant
would receive the benefit of the value which
she contributed to the realty. The value of
the real estate should therefore be deter-
mined, and defendant should be awarded
one-half the market value in excess of the
original purchase price; and plaintiff
should be permitted either to pay defend-
ant one-half of such enhanced value and
retain the property, or the property should
be sold under court order, and after reim-
bursing plaintiff for the amount of the
original purchase price which he testified
that he paid, the balance, after deducting the
costs of sale, should be divided equally.

The cause is remanded to the district
court with directions‘to modify the decree
with respect to the real estate, to provide
for a division as herein above specified.
Each party shall bear his or her own costs
on this appeal.

PRATT, WOLFE, WADE, and LATI-
MER, JJ., concur.

PZOPLE vy.

SANCHEZ ‘ Cal. 673

Cite as 184 P.2d 673

PEOPLE v. SANCHEZ.
Cr. 4769. —

Supreme Court of California,
Sept. 10, 1947.

{. Criminal law €=1186(4)

Conviction of first-degree murder with
death sentence must be affirmed despite
many erroneous and irrelevant instructions,
where evidence amply justified finding that
defendant murdered victim in perpetration
of robbery, jury were adequately instruct-
ed on this phase, and it did not appear that
they were misled by other instructions or
that errors resulted in miscarriage of jus-
tice. Const. art. 6, § 4%.

2. Criminal law €=822(1)

Instructions. which were not model
statements, but were not misleading when
read in their context, were not ground for
reversal of conviction.

3. Criminal law ©=806(2)

Conviction would not be reversed be-
cause instructions on self-defense unne-
cessarily repeated certain principles, where
the principles were not prejudicially mis-
stated. Pen.Code, §§ 197, 198.

4. Homicide €=300(3), 341

An instruction that person exercising
right of self-defense may not only stand his
ground but may purstie his adversary un-
til he has secured himself from danger was
correct, but failure to give it was not prej-
udicial where defendant claimed that de-
cedent pursued him.

5. Homicide 101

A justifiable killing cannot become
criminal by virtue of killer’s subsequent
conduct. ;

6. Homicide €=341

Refusal of instruction that, if defend-
ant killed in defense of his life, he must be
acquitted though he subsequently committed
another offense, was not prejudicial where
evidence and instructions made it not rea-
Sonably conceivable that jury could have
believed that defendant killed in self-de-
fense. Pen.Code, §§ 189, 198, 211.

184 P.2d—43

7. Criminal law ©=822(6)

In prosecution for murder committed
in perpetration of robbery, unnecessarily
repetitious instructions on premeditation
were not incorrect, where it did not appear
that instructions as a whole so misled jury
that their conclusion of guilt was based on
finding, not that murder was committed in
perpetration of robbery, but that defend-
ant “premeditated” before killing the mo-
ment he conceived the purpose to kill.

8. Criminal law €=1172(2)

Lengthy instruction on reasonable
doubt was not ground for reversal, where
first portion contained no actual misstate-
ment of law, though unnecessarily complex
in wording, and jury probably did not mis-
interpret ambiguous statement that “all
reasonable doubts must be resolved in favor
of the defendant by your verdict of not
guilty”. Pen.Code, § 1096.

9. Criminal law €=829(5)
Homiclde €=300(3)

In prosecution for murder, instruction
that defendant need not establish self-de-
fense by evidence sufficient to satisfy jury,
but is entitled to acquittal if evidence is suf-
ficient to raise reasonable doubt, was cor-
rect, but its refusal was not error where its
principle was repeatedly brought to jury’s
attention in other instructions.

10. Homicide €=309(3, 4)

Involuntary manslaughter is not in-
volved in charge of murder as a matter of
law so as to require instruction on involun-
tary manslaughter regardless of whether
evidence raises the issue.

{!. Homiclde €=307(1)

Charge to jury in homicide case should
comprise instructions on the law applicable
to issues raised by the evidence, not a dis-
sertation on all. classes of homicide known
to the law.

12. Criminal law ©8113 F

An instruction correctly stating a
principle of law which has no application
to facts is erroneous.

13. Criminal law ©=770(1), 806(1), 813
Trial judge should be diligent in re-
fraining from burdening the jury and the

*ON61-92-1 (Tetzedly) utqueng ues *xfkydse S*xey S“eyourg esoy *ZqHONVS

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UNIVERSITY OF A:

676 = Cal.

was, in order to allow myself a chance to
get away. Then I threw him in the hole
and I went back into the house and I got
the wash basin and took it overto * * *
[the] stove, and washed my arm, Then
when I got through with the arm I took
the basin of water and began to clean up
there. I took a sweater * * * and I
grabbed my handkerchief and tied it around
my arm and took to the road.”

The testimony of defendant (which was
given through an interpreter) corresponds
closely to defendant’s answers to questions
of the district attorney given through an-
other interpreter shortly after defendant
was apprehended.

The physical condition of the scene of
the homicide on the morning Garcia was
killed and after defendant had fled, was as
follows: In the bedroom was a bed and
also a pallet on the floor. The covers on
the pallet were stained with “a consider-
able amount of blood” and “appeared to
have been cut with some sharp object.”
(Although defendant was not asked direct-
ly whether he was in the bed or on the
pallet when Garcia assertedly attacked him,
it appears that he was in the bed. He
testified that “All of the time we [defend-
ant and Garcia] were there we slept in
that same bed, because it was the only
bed that was there, and it was a big bed”;

184 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

that shortly before the homicide defendant
arose and then “went back to bed.”) In
the kitchen there was blood on and under
the stove. The blood spots on the stove
did not “appear to be the result of an open
cut that was dripping”; “they were not on
top, they came down at the side and down
at the bottom, as though they had been
splattered up against the stove.” The kit-
chen floor had been recently washed but
a large spot of blood remained. The step
leading from the cabin had been washed
and swept but blood spots remained on it.
It is significant that although there was
blood in the cabin and on the cabin step,
and “an enormous amount of blood on the
door and on the floor of the toilet, and on
the seat of the toilet,” there was no blood
at the location outside where, according
to defendant, Garcia was killed; that the
kitchen and the step had been scrubbed
and swept whereas the ground where, ac-
cording to defendant, Garcia was killed
was not disturbed except for a mark “as
though something had been dragged along”
displacing the leaves and surface of the
soil. This “drag mark” ran from the
cabin step to the toilet and in it were
prints of high heeled boots such as de-
fendant customarily wore.

[2,3] The instructions given as to self-
defense are long and repetitious.3 Defend-

3 Among these instructions are the
following:

“In the present case, it is not denied
by the defendant that he killed Alejandro
Garcia, the deceased, but he claims that
it was in necessary self-defense, and to
repel a violent and dangerous attack
which the deceased was then making, or
was about to make upon him. The right
of self-defense of a party violently as-
saulted by another, to repel such attack
and fully protect himself, is a law of na-
ture. It antedates all written enact-
ments, and is fully recognized in the
laws and regulations of all civilized peo-
ple. The right is expressly recognized
by our own statutes, and the conditions
under which it may be asserted are clear-
ly defined. ‘These are, that the party
was not himself the first aggressor; or
if the aggressor, that he had in good
faith withdrawn from the contest before
the fatal blow. Second, that the slay-
ing was necessary to prevent the in-
fliction upon himself of a great bodily in-
jury by the party slain.

“To justify the killing of another in
self-defense, it must appear that the dan-
ger was so urgent and pressing, that,
in order to save his own life, or to pre-
vent his receiving great bodily harm,
the killing of the other was necessary,
and it snust appear that the person killed
was the assailant, or that the slayer
had really and in good faith endeavored
to decline further struggle before the
mortal blow was given.

“A bare fear of the commission of the
offense, to prevent which a homicide may
lawfully be committed, is not sufficient to
justify it; but the circumstances must
be sufficient to excite the fears of a rea-
sonable man, and the party killing must
have acted under the influence of such
fears alone. It is not necessary, how-
ever, to justify such killing, that the
danger be actual. It is enough that it
be an apparent danger; such an ap-
pearance as would induce a reasonable
person in defendant's position to believe
that he was in immediate danger of
great bodily injury. Upon such appear-

pete, Bes eget x, eat

PEOPLE v. SANCHEZ Cal. 677
Cite as 184 P.2d G73

ant contends that they “seriously limit de-
fendant’s right to defend his life and per-
son.” Some of the instructions singled out
for attack are not undue limitations, but
rather approved definitions, of the extent of
the right of self-defense. Others, while
not model statements, are not misleading
when read in their context. Although
there was no occasion to state more than
once certain principles as to the law of
self-defense those principles are not preju-
dicially misstated.

[4] Defendant complains that the
charge as to self-defense does not include
a correct instruction requested by him, or
any instruction, embodying the principle
that “A person in the exercise of his right
of self-defense not only has a right to
stand his ground and defend himself when
attacked but he may pursue his adversary
until he has secured himself from danger.”
(Italics added.) Such an instruction, it
has been held, “clearly states the law on
the subject.” (People v. Hatchett (1942),

56 Cal.App.2d 20, 22, 132 P.2d 51, 52.) It
has been held that the substance of the re-
quested instruction relative to the right to
pursue an adversary as well as stand one’s
ground is not adequately covered by in-
structions (given in the instant case) that
in exercise of the right of self-defense one
may repel force by force and may act upon
apparent necessity (People v. Orosco
(1925), 73 Cal.App. 580, 598, 239 P. 82).
But here, if defendant’s testimony is ac-
cepted at its face value, the failure to give
the requested instruction, if error at all, is
not prejudicial, for the defendant did not
claim that he pursued the decedent or even
that he stood his ground; on the contrary,
defendant testified that he fled and that de-
cedent pursued him and that, during his
effort to escape, he killed Garcia while
acting under the influence of terror in-
duced by Garcia’s unprovoked attack. If
defendant’s testimony had caused the jury
to have a reasonable doubt as to defendant’s
state of mind or purpose at the time of the

ances, a party may act with safety;
nor will he be held accountable, though
it should afterwards appear that the in-
dications upon which he acted were whol-
ly fallacious, and that he was in no ac-
tual peril.

“The rule in such cases is this: What
would a reasonable person—a person
of ordinary caution, judgment and ob-
servation—in the position of the defend-
ant, seeing what he saw, and knowing
what he knew, suppose from this situa-
tion and these surroundings? If such
reasonable person so placed would have

been justified in believing himself in
jraminent danger, then the defendant
would be justified in believing himself in
such peril, and acting upon such appear-

ances.. The defendant is not necessarily
justified, because he actually believed
that he was in imminent danger. When
the danger is only apparent, and not
actual and real, the question is, ‘Would
a reasonable man, under all the circum-
stances, be justified in such belief? If
so, the defendant will be so justified. If
this was defendant’s position, it was his
right to repel the aggression, and fully
protect himself from such apparent dan-
ger. * * *

“If you believe that the deceased him-
self made the first hostile demonstration
against the defendant by drawing or at-
tempting to draw a weapon, or other-
wise assaulting him in such a manner
and under such cirenmstances as would

have justified a reasonable man in de-
fendant’s situation in believing that the
deceased was about to inflict upon de-
fendant great bodily injury, the defend-
ant was justified in acting upon these
appearances and belief; and if necessary,
for his own protection, and to prevent
great bodily injury to himself, he killed
the deceased, he was justified in so doing,
and your verdict should be one of ac-
quittal. * * *

“A person may repel force by force in
defense of person, property, or life
against one who manifestly intends or
endeavors by violence or surprise to com-
mit a known misdemeanor or felony or
either or to do great bodily injury to his
person and the danger which would
justify the defendant in the aet charged
against him may be either real or ap-
parent; and the jury are not to con-
sider whether the defendant was in ac-
tual peril of his life or property, but
only whether the indications were such
as to induce a reasonable man to believe
that he was in such peril of person or
property; and if he so believed reason-
ably, and had sufficient cause so to be-
lieve and committed the act complained
of under such belief, you should acquit
the defendant. * * *” (Italics add-
ed.)

The court also instructed the jury in
the words of sections 197 and 198 of the
Penal Code.

- M4 Andcyendent-Aournal, Saturday ~

. 3, 1964

Convict Kept Date With Noose

Cc ‘reread? fers ‘ape M3

unicnlion and the reads were
lit ‘le more than trails, the vic-
tim of 2 brawl was generally a
coroner’s case by the time the
sheriff arrived.

CATTLE AND horse thieves
seldom, if ever, had a chance
for trial. The thieves were
hanged soon after capture.
Cases of stealing wood from
Jarge ranchos filled court rec-
ords.

The first Marin County jail,
built in 1850, was not large
enough for all prisoners. On
Nov. 7, 1858, the sheriff was au-
thorized to contract with James
M. Estell at San Quentin Prison
for the keeping of county pris-
eners, provided the expense did
not exceed 75 cents a day.

ESTELL AND Gen. Mariano
Vallejo had gone into partner-

ship to keep state prisoners at -

San Quentin. They also con-
tracted the convict labor, ac-
lually slave gangs.

Estell’s treatment of convicts
was so brutal that Vallejo soon
withdrew from ihe partnership.
The convicts were worked with-
out proper food and clothing.
Many of them tried to escape
and were shot down. This was at
least one way to avoid the hor-
rors at San Quentin.

CONDITIONS AT the prison
were common knowledge. There
is no record of county prisoners
being taken there at that time.
However, the sheriff of San
Francisco contracted with the
counly to keep Marin prisoners.

—~On_ Nov. 8, 1855, Marin’ Super-

visors ‘ordered at the county
jai oa and strength-
that suitable clothing

vided prisoners. This jail
evidently for minor offend-

- “€Next day,

ra.

Al BARNEY was one of
those who saw Pueblo
Santos take his authorized
leave prior to execution
‘date. Barney was an early

county judge. (Marin His-
torical Society photo)

in The Independent Feb. 23,
1915, the editor wrote that he
had inierviewec James Tun-
stead, a former sheriff, a short
time before his death. The sher-
iff told. of a remarkable inci-
dent about Marin’s early justice.

“IN SEPTEMBER, 1851, an
Indian rode to San Rafael and
apprised Sheriff Baetchell that
a drunken man, Pueblo Santos,
had killed his wife.
the sheriff -pto-
curedha warrant from the- County

judge and J. ies Poindexter,
county cle?’ foceeded to
Marshalls which was inhabited
in those days“by Ynore than 500

half-breed Andians. ae
“Whe the sheriff arrived on

cene, he found Pueblo\\who

recovered from his de

“a

“* * SHERIFF cea
his” ssion and Pus isked
to be alles wed lo at! a the fu-
neral, After the funeral, prom-

ised Pueblo, he would accom-
pany the sheriff to San Rafael.
The sheriff told Pueblo to meet
him at Point Reyes the next
morning.

“When the sheriff arose,
Pueblo was waiting for him.

“Judge Shorb heard the case
and District Attorney Walter
Skidmore prosecuted. The de-
fendant pleaded guilty and re-
Iused mercy. Remorse over his
crime and the loss of his wife,
had: prayed on his mind, and he
begged the jury to bring im the
death penalty,

“AS THE evidence at the trial
showed, Pueblo had beaten his
victim to death with a club. The
jury brought in a verdict of
murder in the first degree. The
date of the hanging was fixed
for Jan. 16.

One morning the condemned
man sent for the sheriff and
said he wanted to go to Mar-
shalls to visit his wife’s grave
and bid goodbye to his mother,
brothers and sisters before the
fatal day.

He said that he would be back
in time for the sheriff to carry
out the law. He begged the sher-
iff in such a pitiable way that
he was granted permission to
go. He had 11 days to make the
trip, and he started out on foot,
swearing to the sheriff that he
would be back.

“WHEN THE condemned
Dag is departure,” The
penient’s story continu “a
delegation consisting~of James
t, B. B. Car-

ter, Willia evnolds, James
Miller, Ai ney, Dr. A. W.
Taliafer Hudspeth, J.

. J. M.

fae.

@f all the people j

DR. A. W. TALIAFERRO
placed bet on a convicted
murderer, saying the man
would return to San Rafael
on the day of execution.
Many skeptics were eager
to toke the bet. (Marin His-
torical Society photo)

one had heard anything of
Pueblo.

“The sheriff was in the midst
of the crowd in front of the mis-
sion. Horses and fancy bridles
were freely wagered that Pu-
eblo would not return. Finally
the sheriff procured a wagon
and the rope and proceeded to
the oak tree at the head of E
Street. The crowd followed.
“The crowd had no sooner
réached the tree than a mian
was \seen coming up the path
from west end of’town on

the dead\run. It turned out to

be Pueblo.»

“The sh ested the rope
while blo stood. waiting to
expiaté his crime con-
derfined man had shaken hands

the cro

as oe mud fi af

ered by all

the same fate suf
“hanging trees.” Su;
says they all die.

stitiea

—~ Timothy Cronin was the first

to suffer the extreme penalty on
@ scaffold built near the adobe
courthouse. It was surrounded
by a fence to keep spectators
away.

Cronin and his wife lived on a
ranch in Bolinas. When Mrs.
Cronin disappeared, there were
rumors of foul play which
reached Sheriff Peter Austin, He
searched the house and through
the ranch and discovered some
fresh earth in a duck pond.

HE STARTED digging there,’
and Cronin objected. The sher-

“iff persisted. Cronin fled toward

the barn.

When the hacked body of Mrs.
Cronin was dug out of the pond,
the sheriff went after Cronin
who was running toward the
hills.

Jesus Briones on horseback,
lasseed Cronin and turned him
over to the sheriff. Judge Joseph
Almy presided at the brief trial.
Bradley Hall prosecuted and
Judge E. B. Mahon defended
Cronin. Cronin was hanged May
8, 1868,

WHEN THE new courthouse
neared completion, the adobe,
which had been the Murphy
home and the adjacent property
were sold to Isaac Shaver, who
had a lumber mill and built
many houses in San Rafael.
(Many are still standing.)
The newspapers irr erently
reférred to the Mur br tacende

s the Heuston Block,
convicted persons were_ hanged
—_ a scaffold where t all

By FLORENCE DONNELLY
I-J Histerian

Early Western justice was
savage, not tempered by mercy.
During the missionary period in
California, the alcaldes were
charged with physical and ad-
ministrative duties.

They had the task of keeping
peace and administering justice
among the Indians, |

In 1821 when Mexico declared
her independence from Spain,
and California came under Mex-
ican rule, the powers of the al-

caldes were-increased, They re-.

ceived their orders from gov-
ernmenta! headquarters in Mon-
terey, Calif.

APPEALS COULD then be
made to higher authorities. Par-
ticularly viscious cases, such as
murder, were taken to Monterey
for trial. In such instances, con-
viction generally ended in exe-
cution.

In 1834 when the order for sec-
ularization of the missions be-
came effective, the administra-
tion for the Marin District was
shifted from Monterey to So-
noma. The Alcaldes were then
appointed by the Sonoma Grand
Council,

The separation of the missions
from their crops and livestock
and division of the lands among
the Indians were the duties of
the alcaldes. However, there
was corruption, and the Indians
received practically nothing.

Naturally, they were dissatis-
fied and stole cattle or horses or
whatever else was close at hand.

HANGING TREE is shown in this early
painting of the First Presbyterian Church
of San Rafael. The oak is to the right of

‘ oO AP
the church entrance. The tree, lower than

the dark cypress behind it, stood about
‘where the entrance

to the San Rafael

Library is now.

Early Marin Justice

The few soldiers quartered at
the Presidio of San Francisco
could provide no security for the
early settlers,

After 1846, California was un-
der military rule. Capt. John C.
Fremont, in 1848, was in com-
mand of the territory from So-
noma north and his word was
law. His orders to kill were
obeyed.

NO COURTS were set up, nor
was there any method of appeal.
Fremont’s decisions were final.

At this time, California be-
came a territory_of the United

: States. Boundaries were defined

and a governor was appointed
from Washington, D. C. But it
was a year before courts of law

_ were established.

On Sept. 1, 1849, a constitu-
tional convention met at Mon-
terey. After weeks of delibera-
tion, a constitution was drafted
and machinery set in motion for
a judicial and governing body.

AT AN ELECTION Nov. 13,
1849, the constitution was rati-
fied and Peter H. Burnett was
elected governor.

(Peter Burnett Sheehan of
Sausalito and Gregory Sheehan
of Greenbrae are great-great-
grandsons of Governor Burnett.
Hood Burnett of Ross is a great
nephew.)

After retiring as governor,

Burnett went to San Jose and
became a banker,

ON DEC. 15, 1849, the legisla-
ture met at San Jose. Robert
Hopkins was appointed to the

Sonoma District as disirict
judge. By legislative act Marin
was joined with the Sonoma Dis-
trict, thus Hopkins became
judge in Marin.

A court of sessions was in-
augurated for Marin County on
April 11, 1850. It was to handle
law and business of the section.
Officers were J. A. Shorb, coun-
ty judge; James Black and
George Milewater, associate
judges, and S. S. Baechtel, sher-
iff.

CALIFORNIA WAS admitted
as a state Sept. 9, 1850, and Ma-

counties. Waiter Skidmore was
chosen as district attorney. The
following year, he and J. H.
Sheiton were admitted to the
practice of law in the Court of
Sessions. James Miller was
named coroner a year after.

The courts in 1851 were desig-
nated ‘‘Superior” and ‘‘Justice.”
The buildings of the Mission San
Raphael de Arcangel provided
space for courtroom and super-
visors’ chambers until 1858
when the county purchased the
#dobe which had been the home
of Don Timoteo Murphy.

Murphy built the home in
1844. The county purchased it
and adjacent property, now part
of downtown San Rafael, for
$5,000.

During these formative years
in Marin County, law and order
were largely a question of might
versus right. Brawls in saloons
were common. Because there
was no quick means of com-

_ Continued on Page M4

“bint became one-of the original ~}-

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being’ taken there altal time,
Hovever, the—-shepiff of San
Francisco” centracted—awiih the
to keep Marin prisoners.

On Nov. 8, 1855, Marin super-
visors ordered that the county
jail be repaired and strength-
ened and that svitable clothing
be provided prisoners. This jail
was evidently for minor offend-
ers.

In an article which appeared

“Next tha choriff pro-

day,
cured a warrant ie county
judge and J. indexter,
county clerk, ai. ,.--eeded to

Marshalls which was. inhabited
in those days by more than 500
half-breed Indians.

“When the sheriff arrived on
the scene, he found Pueblo, who
had recovered from his de-
bauch, the chief mourner over
the body of his wife.

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swearing lo the shelf thatthe
whuld be back.

“WHEN THE condemned man

took his departure,” The Inde-
pendent’s story continued, “a
delegation consisting of James
Black. A. D. Easkott, B. B. Car-
ter, William Reynolds, James
Miller, Ai Barney, Dr. A. W.
Taliaferro, J. M. Hudspeth, J.
T. Stocker, John Keys, J. F.
Peck, G. W. Morgan and a num-
ber of others were present. The
supervisors were also in session,
and bets were being made that
Pueblo would not return.

“DR. TALIAFERRO and the
sheriff took the side of the con-
demned man and wagered a
Jarge sum of money that Pueblo
would return. On the morning of
Jan. 16, farmers from far and
near. were on hand to see the
hanging. The hour was fixed at
11 a. m. and at 10 o’clock, no

“The crowd had no sooner

NY eteachedthe tree than a man

Was seen coming up the path
from the west end of town on
the dead run. It turned out to
be Pueblo.

“The sheriff tested the rope
while Pueblo stood waiting to
expiate his crime. The con-
demned man had shaken hands
of all the people in the crowd.
When the sheriff was ready,
Pueblo mounted the wagon.

“The sheriff adjusted the noose
around the convict’s neck, and
then waved his hand. The horses
dashed ahead, sending Pueblo
out into space, dangling from
the end of the rope.”

It was a pure case of strangu-
lation, and after Dr. Taliaferro
had pronounced life extinct, he
and the sheriff went downtown
to collect their winnings.

THE BIG oak from which Pu-
eblo’s lifeless body hung had

AE Oo, : :
_~ Wee te
Mm setyer

NEW COURTHOUSE, completed -in 1873, contained an
interior scaffold for dispatching: convicted murderers:
long after hangings seen, the outline of the trep could
be seen in the courthouse floor.

many _Touses — in San Rafael,

(Many—are s nding.)
The newsr irreverently
referred to th hy hacienda

as the “old mud pue.”

After the courthouse was com-
pleted in 1873 on what was
known as the Heuston Block,
convicted persons were hanged
from a scaffold where the Hall
of Records now stands. Several
wealthy citizens had guaranteed
to make good any deficit be-
tween the price of $12.000 for
the Heutsen Block and sale of
the old courthouse site. Bonds
were issued for the construc-
tion of the courthouse.

FOR SEVERAL years. the
site of hangings inside the
courthouse could be seen in
the outline of the trap from
which executed persons were
dropped to a cell below. All
trace is gone now, an elevator
having been installed in that
location.

Another grisly attraction at
the courthouse was a small
room at the front and south-
west side where murder wea-
pons were dispiayed. This in-
cluded knives, pistols, shotguns,
swords, bats, hatchets and
pieces of rope.

..THE MARIN County History,
published by Alley, “Bowen. and
“Cé. in 1830. has a ‘special sec-
-tion devoted to homicides. These _
“accounts” areas blood chilling
as any modern thriller.

ose Lee Doon, a Chinese, goes

the distinction of being the last
man to be hanged in the Marin
County Courthouse. He was
convicted of the murder of
Shelton, a San Rafael man. Ac-
cording to Arthur Jue of San
Rafael, his father, a Presby-
terian minister, was interpretet
at Lee’s trial. Arthur said Lee
was working as a gardener on a
San Rafael estate when Shelton
angered him by pulling up somé
flowers. The Chinese ended the
vandalism and Shelton’s life at
the same time.

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APPEALS

LAST woRoDS

EXECUTION

ics (2; oe n 4)

FRANK NEWTON OFEECE SUPPLY-OOTHAN

Smith, writhing painfully on the floor.

Smith saw him through blurred eyes
and moaned, “For Christ’s sake, don’t
shoot again. .. .”

“You asked for it, friend,” the bandit
spat between his teeth and then two
more bullets ploughed into the dying
man’s middle, and he jerked spasmod-
ically and died.

The bandit ran into the street. Runyan
and Raymond Trienen, an assistant man-
ager, followed him. The gunman _turn-
ed and fired three times at them, the
bullets whistling among’ terrified pedes-
trians who ducked for safety,

NCE so methodically cool, the bandit
now seemed to have lost his nerve.
He ran down the street, coat-tail flying,
and directly past an automobile in which
his confederate sat, the motor running.

The confederate blew the horn wild-
ly, but the robber fled on through the
dcwntown crowds.

Two blocks from the scene of the
crime, he leaped onto the running board
of an old model car, thrust the gun in
the driver’s face and ordered him to
turn at the first corner.

Instead, the driver swerved the car
suddenly, loosened the robber’s hold and
he rclled across the pavement almost
under the wheels of an oncoming truck.
Seemingly indestructible, he scrambled.
to his feet, snatched open the door of
a passing car and climbed into the seat
beside the driver, gun still in hand.

“Drive fast, turn at the next corner
and ask no questions,” he snarled and
the driver, Gordon Perry, a lithographer,
drove fast and turned at the next cor-
ner.

The corner turned, Perry recovered his
equilibrium and started a mild protest.

The gun was thrust into his ribs and
the passenger growled, “Drive to the
Greyhound Bus Station, brother, or I'll
kill you right where yeu sit. Don’t for-
get that I’m hot as a firecracker and one
more killing, more or less, won’t make
me any hotter, .. .”

Perry prudently drove to the bus sta-
tion where his passenger slid from the
car, bade him a pleasant good-bye and
walked into the waiting room. Inside,
he went directly to a sidercom used for
storage and extra baggage.

A few minutes later, noting a stranger
leaving the room, carefully patting down
the lapels of.a brown sports coat as he
left, a bus staticn emplcye decided to
investigate.

. In the room, the employe found a
gray, chalk striped suit, a snap brim hat,

a white oxford shirt, and a pair of al-
most new black shoes. He also found an
open gladstone bag into and over which
the discarded clothing had been careless-
ly tossed,

Outside, a tall man in a cocoanut brown
sports jacket, fawn gabardine slacks,
brown reversed leather shoes, brown Bor-
salino’ type hat, wide bowed, thick
framed horn rim spectacles and fawn
sports shirt without a tie, stopped at
the newsstand, bought a pack of ciga-
rettes, swung jauntily off through a side
dcor to the street and entered a taxi-
cab.

The hackman drove him to a mid-town
office building where the man paid him
casually, giving him two silver dollars
for a sixty-five cent fare, and disap-
peared into the building. :

In all, the bandit had spent less than
five minutes in the bus station store-
room. It was obvious that he had pre-
viously planted the gladstone bag with
the change of clothing there. He had
changed his glasses, too, but no trace
was found of the discarded cantilevers,
nor ‘of the necktie he had worn so
meticulously when he entered the Sea-
board offices,

Temporarily, at any rate, the trail
grew cold at the door of the office build-
ing where the! startled taxi driver, un-
used to such generous largesse, stared
after the man, guppy-eyed.

Once more a supreme egd, which could
not resist the flash of an excessive tip,
helped to focus attention upon an other-
wise reascnably commonplace figure.

ORT GEER, chief of the San Diego

Detective Bureau, .stood glumly
over the body of Arthur Smith and
heard Runyan recite the story of the
tragedy.

Mcnotcnously he asked Runyan to
repeat, until the last minute detai]l was
established, his description of the bandits
with emphasis on the tall one. ,

“|, about six feet tall, immaculately
dressed; gold cantilever glasses; fault-
lessly pressed suit; white shirt; black,
carefully polished shoes; hair graying
slightly at the temples and neatly comb-
ed; wide-set, steel gray eyes; large hands
with long, strong fingers .. .”

Over and over Runyan repeated the
description and the twc women from the
lcoted cages substantiated it.

Geer thought carefully before he said
grimly; “Lloyd Sampsell . . . no doubt
about it... they would let the son-of-
a—out of Quentin, .. .”

Into 'these words was crowded all the

Bank Robber

(Continued from page 43)

bitterness of a conscientious cop who
has seen a madman sent to prison, only
to be released by a misguided, falsely
philosophical, uninformed parole board.

For Lloyd Sampsell, one of the dead-
liest criminals ever spawned on the Pa-
cific Coast, had been sent to prison,
not once, but twice, for major offenses.

He had been the Yacht Bandit chief,
riding up and down the waters of the
Pacific in the handsome Sovereign, a
$50,000 craft purchased in the: mid-
twenties with the ill gotten gains of
thievery from his distracted father, a
wealthy cafe owner in Los Angeles, and
earlier bank robberies.

He had first been jailed for bigamy,
then for forgery and again for armed
robbery. He had escaped from’ San
Quentin prison with his pal, Ethan Allen
McNabb and had killed a guard in the
escape.

Then, when trapped and returned to
prison, he had ratted on McNabb and
calmly watched as the lesser, and rela-
tively more decent, man had gone to
the gallows while he, Sampsell, the ruth-
less, unscrupulous brains of their jcint
holdups and of the escape, took a life
sentence for informing.

Sampsell did not remain long in San
Quentin, He was transferred to Folsom,
described as the Dannemora of Califor-
nia, the hard penitentiary for hard men.
Why .it should be so described is be-
yond explanation. There are a few ugly
ones there, kept under close guard and
often in solitary, They are forced to
werk on the priscn farm and do fearful
penance in seclusion and despair.

But in many instances the prisoners
are loaned out to the state farms at
Davis. They live in pleasant little cot-
tages instead of cells, work casually in
the fields with light and sunshine, and
enjoy better food, thanks to their prox-
imity to the source, than the supposedly
less vicious inmates of the great, gray
pile on the Marin county shore of San
Francisco Bay.

One of these favored ones was, unac-
countably, Sampsell. He occupied one
cf the cabins, did’ clerical work, bossed
some of the other prisoners and generally
pleased with his witty tales of adventure
and wenching.

One night a substitute guard was set
to patrol the area in which Sampsell's
cabin stood. The substitution had been
made because of illness, late cn a Sat-
urday, and no bulletin had been issued
.to percolate into the prison grapevine
of the change. So it was that when this
guard looked into Sampsell’s cabin late

that night, Sar
The guard
warden orderec
a check, He
Sampsell’s cabi
Two hours |:
ped before the
at a Bush Str

cisco. One ra:

voices ‘inside.
again and sai
Marie Bordet.
The door o
bedy of a har
burly inspector
lice headquart
her. A nude
bed and dar
snatching a p
Two of the
bore him to t
Lloyd Sam;
interrupted at
infrequent cal
was equally :
or a pistol.
The story
sordid corrupt
sell been visi!
on week ends
at Folsom ar
long walks t:
fields and vir
prison farm. '
and, as happe
women meet
making had ‘
A_ warden
several guard:
had gone ba
ing from Ear!
ernor who, a:
attorney, hac
San Quentin,
ed up and S$
Three year
of the parole
sell again w:
cn parole w:
making the f
from his forr
tle restraint «
inally resourc
Geer pulle:
from the Sa
showed them
ployes. All u
likenesses as
no longer an
quarry,
There was,
tification of |
man who hac
successful ch
Realizing t!
the scope of
immediately .
Angeles. He
A. Murphy, +
robberies and
the finger o

As ne did, he was scized from behind. Cook had come through
lications of the scene,

The man moved quickly into the area and Runyan extended
the rear door, caught at a glance the imp

his hand. Instead of the businesslike handshake he'd expected,
the startled Runyan saw, below the level of the rail, where it slipped behind a half wall until the bandit had turned back to

could not be seen from any other part of the room, 4 blue, Runyan and then attacked. :
autcmatic revolver. While the bandit struggled in his grasp, Runyan turned to his

“Just keep quiet and do as I say and no one will be hurt,” office to release the police alarm. A burly man looked in the
the man said, evenly. “If you don't, I'll kill you.” B-Street door, saw the struggle and rushed in to Cook’s aid.
Runyan had to think fast. The security of the Seaboard’s The bandit saw him and shouted:

money in this branch was his responsibility, but so, too, was “Pm being robbed . . . grab this man.’
it might have worked. But unfortunately

the safety of the employes, not to mention his own life, It is It was clever, and } ;
a policy of the company to provide’ adequate insurance for for the desperado, Cook and Arthur Smith were friends. Smith

holdups in order to lessen the obligation of the employes to lunged at him and locked his head in a muscular grip. Suddenly

protect these funds, ana it was upon this invaluable prop that the bandit whirled, tripped Smith up and the three fell, writhing,
Runyan leaned now. iry bandit was too quick for the others, and

to the floor. The w
“Walk along here, at my left, over to the cages,” the bandit probably too experienced in this sort of thing.
said. “Instruct your cashiers there to give me what money they He wriggled away in a flash, leaped to, his feet, whipped the
have without making any sounds er giving any alarms. After heretofore concealed gun from his pocket and fired, point
that, we'll open the safe.”

blank, at Smith as he scrambled to his knees.
They walked first to Cage 2. The Smith sank backwards, clutching at his abdomen, and Cook
had crossed over to that point now an

bber, Another burst of fire and Cook
ped inside with Runyan, he said, to his obvious confederate, stumble

tly as blood made a
“Keep ‘em covered and watch the door... I'll take care of the rosette 0
rest.” Wordlessly, the han

proved later
certain fatal
at about ten
om that very
service being

metropolis in
ilked into the
tted Manager
‘he railing be-
id, for March,

reet branch of
rok, employed
at other times
ir the Mexican
the policeman
spped his brow

stooped man in the tweeds
d as the tall bandit step- jumped again at the ro
d backward and sat down abrup

n his white shirt front.

. off this check
dit turned on (Continued on page 64)

hdammed lax.”

tively. Runyan

the San Diego
above the call

him, ‘the ser-
stickups*in the
leastwise that’s

w finish of the
door and into
legs and started
“Might as well

‘ompany holdup
yen two bandits,
confederate, had
ie similar sortie
rer finance chain
ame description.
ns, however, and

d few customers

‘0 brisk recently”

s, apparently al-
1one too prosper-
st two attempts.
see a tall, steely
lk-striped, double
glasses, standing

‘d for customers,
ely fitting tweeds,

y.
uw?”

man said. “May

d, stepping to the

stepped to the cash drawer and opened it. Miss

as at the window in Cage 2. The tall bandit

Miss Erlen Leop w
Loop slammed

it shut, then saw the gun and paled.
The bandit turned to Runyan.
“Unless you tell your employes to have
one is going to get hurt,” he said, savagely.
“Do as he says and don't speak,” Runyan told the shaken
girl.
The bandit opened the drawer and took out $1,600 in bills,
closed it and moticned Runyan toward the Number I cage. There
he scooped up $1,750 from the cash drawer and stuffed it into
his coat pocket.
“Now,” he said, turning back to Runyan, “open the safe.”
“T can’t,” Runyan said. “I don’t have the combination.”
“Open it,” the bandit hissed and jammed the pistol barrel
into the manager’s middle, “or get a bullet in your guts.”
“Wait,” Miss Loop pleaded, “he's telling the truth. I’m the
only one that knows the combination.”
“Then you open the safe,” snapped the man.
Miss Loop went to the safe and, after spinning the dial nerv-
ously, swung back the big door, The bandit ordered Runyan
inside with him. As he passed through the door, he shot back

grimly over his shoulder:
“Ty to lock this door on me and I'll put a bullet in this guy’s

brain. Understand?” |
Inside the safe, he scooped up a handful of checks, rifled
through them and threw them into a corner. He found a bag
of silver on a shelf and stuffed that into his jacket pocket.
“Where's the big stuff... the folding money?” he demanded

“You've got jit all,” Runyan said. “It was all in the cages.”

The bandit stared at him for ar
Move.”

He crdered Runyan to walk a
toward Runyan’s office.

A dcor slammed in the rear of the building and the tall man
jooked up quickly.
the car ready... I'll be right out.”

The man in tweeds shuffled out the doo
the tall bandit turned toward Runyan.

better manners, some-

, instant, then said, “Okay.

head of him into the main room,

ayy Gi EE Ph nye wie: TH,
The story came out In all Ms sordid corruption.

Not ‘only, had Sampsell been visiting, the woman.
regularly on week ends, but she had been ‘coming:
gut to: Eelsom:and the two had been, taking long
walks togethe and alone, thru the prison ferns
: att 3 a beng teed 5

He called to his confederate sharply, “Get

r. He iurned right and

Neen tia

Prekws ¢ |
cop who
ison, only
d, falsely
te board,
the dead-
an the Pa-
Oo prison,
offenses.
idit chief,
rs of the
vereign, a-*
the © mid-
gains of
futher, a
geles, and

r bigamy,
or armed
from San
‘han Allen
ird in the

‘turned to
Nabb and
and rela-
1 gone to
the ruth-
‘heir joint
ook a life

ng in San
.o Folsom,
»f Califor-
hard men.
ved is be-
. few ugly
guard and.
foreed to
do fearful
alr.
’ prisoners
farms at
little cot-
asually in
shine, and
their prox-
supposedly
reat, gray
sre of San

was, unac-
upied one
irk, bossed
d generally
adventure

‘d way set
Sampysell's
had been
cn a Sat-
een issued
grapevine
when this
cabin hate

at ct

AR 2 2 Pina

that night, Sampsell was not there.

The guard sounded the alarm. The
warden ordered a guard captain to make
4 check, He retumed to report that
Sampsell’s cabin was empty.

Two hours later three burly men stop-
ped before the dcor of Apartment 302
at a Bush Street address in San Fran-
cisco. One rapped lightly. There were
voices ‘inside. The burly man _ rapped
agnin and said, casually, “Telegram for
Marie Bordet.”

The door opened to frame the lithe
bedy of a handsome woman. The three
burly inspectors from San Francisco po-
lice headquarters pushed quickly past
her. A nude man sprang from a wall
bed and darted toward the window,
snatching a pair of trousers as he ran.
Two of the inspectors overtock him,
bore him to the floor and thonged him.

Lloyd Sampsell had once more been
interrupted at his love-making, not an
infrequent calamity with this man who
was equally adept with honeyed words
or a pistol,

A warden lost his job for this and
several guards were fired, too. Sampsell
had gone back to prison with a warn-
ing from Earl Warren, California’s gov-
ernor who, as Alameda County district
attorney, had first imprisoned him in
San Quentin, that Folsom must be clean-
ed up and Sampsell contained.

Three ‘years, later, through loopholes
of the parole system in California, Samp-
sell again walked out of prison, free
cn parole with only the necessity of
making the formal reports to stay him
from his former activities. Precious lit-
tle restraint that was for one as crim-
inally resourceful as Lloyd Sampsell.

Geer pulled mug shots of Sampsell
from the San Diego police files and
showed them to Runyan and his em-
ployes. All unhesitatingly identified the
likenesses as Sampsell’s and there was
no longer any doubt as to the main
quarry,

There was, however, no remote iden-
tification of the slouching, tweed suited
man who had acted as lockout and un-
successful chauffeur for Sampsell.

Realizing that here was a case beyond
the scope of his cwn department, Geer
immediately contacted the FBI in Los
Angeles. He was put in touch with W.
A. Murphy, veteran investigator of bank
robberies and mail stickups, a man with
the finger on every known desperado

in America. Told that the second man
in the tragedy had not been identified,
Murphy packed a series of photographs
of known associates of Sampsell and took
off for San Diego. '

There he found that Sampsell’s trail
had not exactly ended at the door of
the business building to which the taxi
driver had delivered him.

Following the first reports from the
bus station, Mrs. Ivy Behler; another
station employe, checking some stock
in the room used by Sampsell for quick
change purposes, found a 38-caliber re-
velver stuffed behind some unclaimed
luggage.

Turning it over to the police, she had
the satisfaction of seeing it definitely
identified as the murder weapon cf B
Street.

There had been other developments.

The late afternoon newspapers had car-
tied descriptions of Sampsell, both as
he appeared when he robbed the Sea-

beard and as he was last seen, by the
bus station employes and the taxi driver.

This unfortunate publicity, Geer knew,
would provoke Sampsell into a still fur-
ther change of attire, lest he be recog-
nized in an attempt to get out of the
city on a public carrier. Certainly, hav-
ing missed his escape car, he would have
to take that route out.

Geer ran a complete check on the
better clothing shops of the town. His
hunch that the elegant thug would dis-
dain the cheaper emporia, even though
that would have seemed most indiscreet:
in his case because of his known fancy
for the best, paid off for Geer.

A man answering the bandit’s descrip-
tion had purchased a tan, tweed jacket
in one place, a pair of dark brown gab-
ardine slacks in ancther and a pair of
brown and white spectator shoes and a
$135 English kit bag in another,

With this information in hand, Geer
had checked cn the city’s best hotels a

Dancer Lola Titus, convicted of wounding night club operator Mark Hansen
who allegedly refused her a job, being restrained at sanity hearing in court.

second time. A first check had uncovered
nothing, but the second brought the
sheepish confession from the manager
of the city’s leading residential inn that
the quarry had occupied a room in his
house for three hours shortly after the
hold-up, He had left, he said, shortly
after a smallish, stooped man in tweeds
had called to ask if a Mr, Simmons had
registered there. From the description,
it was obvious that the tweedy man was
the confederate trying to contact Samp-
sell,

“There’s something in that man’s face
that reminds me of the fella that came
here,” he said, “but he’s too fat...
too jowly. The fella that came here
was sort of emaciated . . . that is, his
jowls kind of hung down, like a blood-
hound’s, and his clothes hung on him
loosely.” \

Murphy produced another photograph.
Jt was of a man with a wrinkled face
and slack mouth and drooping neck
folds. The hotel manager said, quickly,
“Certainly . . . that’s the man. , . not
the fat one here,”

Murphy nodded. “Same man,” he said.
“Richardson got out of Quentin on a
T'.B. plea and I guess he really had it.
‘They say he picked up with Sampsell
again. . , parole officers got the new
shots... .”

Runyan and Miss Loop promptly iden-
tified the thin faced image as Sampsell’s
accomplice and Murphy and Geer were
ready for their next move—and where
it would lead to, And how, not the most

sanguine police official could have pre-

dicted,

ORKING in collaboration with
Geer, Murphy began the long, tedi-
ous job of checking every move made
by Sampsell since his release from San
Quentin, ; F ‘
Given permission, after his release, to
leave California, where he was about
as welcome as bubonic plague, Samp-
sell had been assigned a parole check
point in Kansas City. There, Murphy
learned, he had reported regularly until
approximately three weeks before the
Pasadena job,

The investigation was apparently end-
less, In time, Murphy learned that Samp-
sell had spent several days in Los Angeles
after the Pasadena robbery and prior to
the San Diego job.

It was at this time that the mauve
interlude with the lush blonde in the
swank hotel occurred—an assignation
from which he had walked into the

stickup-murder that once again set the
nation’s bloodhounds on his spoor.

He learned that shortly after the San
Diego holdup, a man in a tweed suit—
a slouchy, emaciated man—had appear-
ed at the hotel seeking both the blonde
and Sampsell, Muttered imprecations
cverheard by hotel employes. indicated
that the man was in no mood for fri-
volity and might bear some lasting grudge
against the bandit.

Upen this last incident Murphy based
a campaign which only time could de-
velop successfully. '

He caused newspaper reports of the
chronic perfidy of Sampsell to be pub-

‘lished and injected the underworld grape-

vine with legends of Sampsell’s double
dealings with his confederates, He play-
ed up his treachery in the Ethan Allen
McNabb case and caused to be cir-
culated stories of how Sampsell had
consistently failed to split the loot of

Long Haired Pirates
RATE citizens who believe that
_™ it should be beneath the dignity
. of Congress to permit a minority
. .8toup to delay action by means of
ow filibuster will be pleased to learn
, that the term itself has a long |
“criminal record! * uae
» Originating several hundred years
\. ago, it is a survival of the lawless
; days of the Spanish Main, The
, bearded ‘cut-throats who defied in- |
_ ternational law and preyed on the ¢
_’ ships of all nations almost without _
’ “exception sailéd in swift, light ves-
(sels. ‘The Britis called such a ship |
a “flyboat.”’ Taken over’ in |Span-
ith, | thes word became’ “filibote.”
"Since priates sailed in filibotes, the. '
, term’ became ‘attached to the out- ”
{Jaws of the, sea themselves,’ Slight °
«Changes _in spelling yielded “fili- .
buster,” which | still has the mean-:
ing’ of piracy even in Congress.

i aes 1 yeas
Fates Ys “ ee ei }

Net
rt

sate oe ee ee

‘his robberies with his aides.

Through channels, he endoctrinated
the underworld with the Sampsell technic.
Always it was Sampsell who scooped
up the money and always it was Samp-
sell who kept the booty in his charge
until time to cut it up. Then, as often
as not, he misrepresented his take; but
just as often he simply doled out a
miserable lagniappe to his suckers and
arrogantly pocketed the rest.

This chicane campaign had gone on
almcst a year when a tall man, immacu-
lately dressed in a double breasted
sharkskin suit, white shirt with regi-
mental striped tie of conservative colors,
highly polished black shocs. gray semi-

Homberg hat and carefully placed breast
pocket handkerchief, and wearing rim-
lays spectacles and carrying an expensive
brief case, entered the Hoover Street
Branch cf the Bank of America in Los
Angeles and stepped briskly to a cash-
ier’s window,

Tersely he ordered the cashier to give
him what cash he had in his cage, at the
same time showing a_ short-barreled
Luger pistol almost concealed in his
wide palm and long, bony fingers.

The cashier piled the money on the
counting ledge and the bandit swept
it, with a practiced maneuver, into the
expensive brief case and, before the
cashier could recover his composure, had
slipped into the street.

Aware cof what had happened only
after the robber had slipped through
the door, Elmer Higgins, a guard, gave
chase nonetheless. It was a bootless pur-
suit, however.

There were crowds in mid-town Los
Angeles at that hour and the rokber lost
himself quickly in their ebb flow,

Pclice arrived with sirens screaming
and pandemonium reigned in the smart

‘residential and shopping area, but none

could definitely remember seeing the
highwayman.

Immediately, word of the holdup
reached Murphy's office. Not for a mo-
ment was there any doubt in his mind
that his most important quarry had re-
turned to beard him in his own fief,

Audacity, he knew, was one of Samp-
sell’s most potent weapons; audacity
forged into cold, mathematical calcula-
tion.

There is an old, old theory in crim-
inal investigation that a persistent crim-
inal, given enough rope, must eventuul-
ly hang himself. The maxim is predicated
partly on another credo: ‘that for every
villain there’s a stool pigeon. It was
on these premises that Murphy had: built
his campaign and he didn’t have long
to wait for his reward now.

Returning to his office after a per-
functcry visit to the holdup scene, he
had a telephone call. A_ bitter voice
came over the wire, snarling its com-
plaint:

“You want that sonuvagun that just
stuck up the bank, dontcha?”

“Td take him if you’ve got him handy,”
Murphy answered,

The caller snapped, “Well, it was
Sampsell and he done them Pasadena
and San Diego jobs a year ago, too.”

“That's fine,” Murphy tried to keep
his tone casual, “but how do you know
and what makes you want to tell me?"

“Because I helped him in both jobs,”
came the fierce answer, “and the—not
only double crossed me on the glue,
he stole my twist... .”

“Yeah?” Murphy almost bit the trans-

mitter off his tel:
and where's Samp

“Never mind w
bridled. “But if
you'd better get
cause he's taking
five o'clock this «

Murphy shot a
It was 4:25. He si
the call he was o
ute,” into the tr
ped the phone on
an immediate c
headquarters.

There he calle
motorcycle escort
of the federal b
signalled two FBI
eight minutes lat
escort and_ head:

Airport.
ELDOM has t

escort for ar
didn't encounter
Supreme Grand |
ternational Order
arrive in town,
through the enti:
in twenty minut
man, or a sher
the trail of a m.
on the new free:
house down Cre:
or over Figeuro:
ment.

Thus, by the
had circumventec
ers, one smash-
car, a truck anc
one suddenly bur
a pool even a wa
have negotiated,
o'clock when th
sight of the ain

A mile away, «
that, by latest
less than once
and another thr

Finally the si
gate, whipped d
trance, caught s
the skies miles
leamed that th:
just taken off .
where over Ont

Without _hesit
ed his office an
a chartered flix
two aides to Ph
for the giant ai
for a fast, fou
overtake the TV
it to Phoenix, a
- was winging ea:

Not even wh
one of the finest
ever, had Mur
jinx. Half way
glint of the sp:

seized his head in
d was bearing him
the man suddenly
‘wung around with
by his lean frame,
ith and Cook spin-

ck to the fight and

to scramble up.
get to his feet the
1ed his pistol, Two
.d Smith, from the
“He shot me...

t the gun and the
1im and fired. Cook

then sat down
se suddenly pale,
; shirt front. Then
iitted one of the
d acts ever wit-
cn holdup, a wan-
would have done
ames or Billy the

smith and snarled,
hardest when shot
,’ then fired
’, into Smith’s ab-

Smith begged,
on’t shoot me

7 wounded Smith
or and Cook tried
-unch the flow of
‘ound, the bandit
m his confederate
in and Raymond
int branch mana-
n and twice the
g as he ran, fired
; whistling among
os the crowded
s.

. later, and borne
y in the trial, that
acing for his life
i street, ran di-
etaway car. His
itting in it with
and the way clear
the bandit who
lessly cool in the
ee him and con-
crowd.
the holdup scene,
y convinced that
ted him, he ran
ind ordered the
2 nearest corner
stead, the driver
ddenly and loos-
old on the door,
Tously into the
ffic.
man was on his
later had flung.
‘ door of another
in, at the same
an on the driver
o, drive fast and

and I'll take you
go,” the driver,
an Diego lithog-
gunman, hoping

Officer Harlan Cook, who survived

thereby to stall for time and hit
upon a plan for turning the man
over to the police.

The obviously desperate man was
not to be stalled so easily. Pressing
the muzzle of the gun close to
Perry’s face, he snarled, ‘Listen,
Brother, I’d just as soon kill you as
look at you. I can’t lose, so drive me
to the Greyhound bus station and
step on it.”

Perry drove to the bus station and
the man stepped briskly out of the
car, leaned in the door to snarl once
more, “Get going and go fast,” and
then walked quickly into the station.

There, as if he had previously
cased the place carefully,-he stepped
into a side room used for baggage
storage. When an employe entered
the room five minutes later, after
seeing a stranger emerge carefully
patting down the lapels of his jacket,
she found a colored shirt, a felt hat,
a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, a
canvas money bag, and a pistol.

Entering the bus station, the ban-
dit had worn a brown felt hat, a blue
shirt, and horn-rimmed glasses; and
he had carried a gun and a money
bag filled with silver coins. The man

seen to leave the side room wore a

- gray, soft hat of the Borsalino. type,

pince-nez glasses, and a _ white
sports shirt open-at the neck. The

’ necktie the bandit had worn never

was found and it was assumed that,.
in a fit of frugality, or sentiment, h@

had stuffed it in his pocket before -

leaving.

He left casually, although step-
ping briskly, stopped at the restau-
rant cigar stand to buy ‘a pack of
cigarets, then emerged on the street
and took a taxicab. Later, the taxi-
cab driver was to testify, he left the
cab in front of, a midtown office.
building, paid the driver, and disap-
peared into the building.

The trail had been lost, to all in-
tents and purposes, when the bandit
entered the bus station. It was to be
many, many long and tragic months
before it was to be picked up again
and the ruthless killer finally run to
earth.

YING Arthur Smith had not

been lifted from the pool of
blood into which he collapsed at the
Seaboard offices before Mort Geer,

- shrewd Chief of the San Diego hom-

icide Squad, arrived. Geer had not
won his position at a relatively early
age without unusual qualifications,
A quiet man, monosyllabic and in-

shooting fray, shown in hospital where he was rushed for treatment.

tense, he was a terrier by instinct,
as hard to discourage and as re-
sourceful.

It was one of Geer’s traits that he
knew when he was stymied. He
knew his limitations and the limita-
tions of the organization at his com-
mand. Efficient though the San
Diego police department has be-
come, as proved by its good record
in a city once noted for its lawless-
ness—thanks to the nearby Mexican
border and the avenues of escape for
evildoers: by sea and desert—its
functions are limited:

Here, Geer knew, was a case
where the authorities would have to
have a wide range. He knew, before
he’d been on the job ten minutes,
that this was no local and no ama-
teur holdup. It had all the ominous
elements of a hard-boiled, cold-
blooded professional’s work. The
fact that no one who’d observed the

«bandit in his flight could come for-
‘ward to give even the slightest hint
of ever having seen the man in San
Diego before, was proof that the
search for him would have to ex-
tend beyond the. sunny environs of
‘the colorful navy town.

Geer’s first move was to get in
touch with the Los Angeles office of

LON

to SLAUGHTER

(continued) ’,

scanned some papers. Almost im-
mediately a stooped, nervous man
entered through the same door and
walked to the window at which Mrs.
Ardis Hartong was working.

The tall man replaced the papers
in his pocket and walked toward
Runyan’s office. Runyan saw him
approaching and invited him in.
Such was his appearance that he
could have been a Seaboard direc-
tor; at worst he could have been no
less than a well-heeled customer
whose business was welcome at this
none-too-flush period.

The visitor stepped briskly into
Runyan’s office. ‘I’m Charles Webb,”
he said, and Runyan extended his
hand. At the same moment the vis-
itor’s right hand came quickly out
of his jacket pocket and Runyan
saw a pistol leveled at his heart.

“Just keep quiet and do as I say
and no one will get hurt,” the man
said. “Let’s get going .. . and quiet-
ly.” ‘
The Seaboard Company is heavily
insured against robbery and main-
tains a policy of protecting its em-
ployes rather than trying, by reck-
less methods, to save its. cash.
Trained in this school, Runyan read-
ily went along with the bandit.

“Just walk at my left,” the bandit
said, shifting the gun to his left
hand, ‘‘and a little ahead of me and
you won’t attract attention. I don’t
want to have to hurt anybody.”

Runyan walked, as the bandit in-
dicated, onto the lobby floor, then,
as directed, opened the door that
“gave onto the cages and, with his
captor, walked through it. At No. 2
cage the stooped man was fumbling
with his papers. The bandit said
sharply to him, “Keep them covered

and watch the door... Pll do the
rest.”

He turned back to Runyan. “Tell
your people here to do exactly as I
say and remember—if they don’t,
-it’s their funeral and yours.”

“T don’t have to tell them,” Run-
yan said. “They’ve had their in-
structions.”

“Good,” the bandit said, then
turned to the cage occupied by Mrs.
Erlen Loop. Holding the revolver on
Mrs. Loop, he opened her cash
drawer with his free hand. Defiantly
she slammed it shut. The man
turned bitter gray eyes on her, the
pupils distorted behind thick lenses
in tortoise-shell frames.

“T thought you knew better than
that,” he said evenly. “Do you want
me to have to kill everyone here?”

Mrs. Loop blanched and stepped
back. He opened the drawer again

and she made no move to interfere.
He scooped up $1,600 in bills and
stepped quickly to Mrs. Hartong’s
cage. There he opened the cash
drawer and took out $1,750, then
turned back to Runyan.

“Open the safe,” he ordered.

“T can’t. I don’t have the com-
bination,” Runyan said...

The bandit thrust his gun into

-Runyan’s middle. “You ‘know,” he

said, grimly, “it hurts like hell to die
with a bullet in your guts. I know.
I’ve seen men die that way.”

“J don’t know the combination,”
Runyan insisted, paling. The ban-
dit’s left forefinger tensed on the
trigger. Suddenly Mrs. Loop cried:

“Don’t shoot ... please... he’s
not lying... I’m the only one that
knows the combination.”

“Then open the safe,” the robber

said, “and hurry.”

Mrs. Loop went to the safe and _

spun the dial. She was pale, but she
managed to work the combination
and the door swung back. The ban-
dit motioned to Runyan to go inside
ahead of him. Runyan obeyed. He
turned back to Mrs. Loop.

“Close that door while we’re in.

here and I’ll shoot him in the belly
and let him die by inches.”

Then he followed Runyan inside.
He scooped up a handful of checks
and riffled through them, then dis-
carded them. He took a bag of silver
from a sub-compartment and thrust

_it into his side pocket.

“Where’s the folding money?” he
demanded. .

“You can see all there is,’ Run-
yan said. And from the safe door
Mrs. Loop added, “He’s telling the
truth ... that’s all there is today
. . . just checks and silver.”

The bandit backed out and turned
toward the lobby. As he did the rear
door opened and Cook walked in.
Neither the thin man nor his con-

federate saw him. The lean one

called to the stooped man; “Go get
the car ready. I’ll be right along.”

The other walked calmly out the
door and turned right. A minute
later a muscular man in his mid-
fifties came through the B street
door. As he did so the lean bandit
was struck from the rear. Cook had
come up from behind and grabbed
both his wrists, pinioning his arms
behind him. It was obvious that, in
order not to attract attention as he
left the building, he had dropped his
pistol in his side pocket. en

The bandit struggled in Cook’s
viselike grip. Cook attempted to
hurl him to the floor, but the-man
was agile as a _ scat-back and
wouldn’t go down. :

“Grab him,” Cook shouted to the
newcomer. “He just held up the
place.” .

-“He means he’s holding me up,”
the bandit shouted, but Arthur
Smith,.the stocky man from the
street, recognized Cook and lunged

at the robber. He seized his head in
a hammerlock and was bearing him
to the floor when the man suddenly
tripped him up, swung around with
a strength belied by his lean frame,
and sent both Smith and Cook spin-
ning.

Cook leaped back to the fight and
Smith attempted to scramble up.
Before he could get to his feet the
bandit had regained his pistol, Two
shots rang out and Smith, from the
floor,’ cried out, “He shot me...
grab that gun.”

Cook lunged at the gun and the
bandit swung on him and fired. Cook
staggered back, then sat down
abruptly, his face suddenly pale,
blood staining his shirt front. Then
the bandit committed one of the
most cold-blooded acts ever wit-
nessed in a modern holdup, a wan-
ton killing that would’ have done
credit to Jesse James or Billy the
Kid.

He stood over Smith and snarled,
“They always die hardest when shot
in ‘the guts, you .’ then fired
twice, deliberately, into Smith’s ab-
domen, even as Smith begged,
“Don’t shoot—don’t shoot me
again... .”

As the mortally wounded Smith
writhed on the floor and Cook tried
desperately to staunch the flow of
blood from his wound, the bandit
ran in the direction his confederate
had taken. Runyan and Raymond
Treinen, an assistant branch mana-
ger, ran after him and twice the
bandit, half turning as he.ran, fired
at them, the bullets whistling among
the pedestrians on the crowded
downtown sidewalks.

T WAS reported later, and borne

out by testimony in the trial, that
the thin bandit, racing for his life
along the crowded street, ran di-
rectly past the getaway car. His
confederate was sitting in it with
the motor running and the way clear
for an escape, but the bandit who

- had been so mercilessly cool in the

stickup failed to see him and con-
tinued on into the crowd.

Two blocks from the holdup scene,
by now apparently convinced that
his pal had deserted him, he ran
alongside a car and ordered the
driver to turn the nearest corner
and drive fast. Instead, the driver
swerved his car suddenly and loos-
ened the bandit’s hold on the door,
rolling him dangerously into the
street amid the traffic:

Immediately the man was on his

feet and seconds later had flung.

open the right front door of another
car and scrambled in, at the same
time training his gun on the driver
and ordering him to, drive fast and
ask no questions.

“Put that gun up and I’ll take you
where you want to go,” the driver,
Gordon Perry, a San Diego lithog-
rapher, told the gunman, hoping

Officer Harlan

thereby to sta!
upon a plan f:
over to the poli
The obvious]:
not to be stalle
the muzzle of
Perry’s face, !
Brother, I’d jus
look at you. I c:
to the Greyhoi
step on it.”
Perry drove |
the man stepp«
car, leaned in t
more, “Get goi
then walked qu
_ There, as if
cased the place
into a side ro
storage. When
the room five
seeing a stran
patting down t!
she found a co
a pair of hor
canvas money
Entering the
dit had worn a
shirt, and horr
he had carriec
bag filled with
seen to leave
- gray, soft hat

to SLAUGHTER

(continued)

the FBI. There he told the story of
the robbery to W. A. Murphy, a
diffident, cultured man who dealt
with the most dangerous of all fed-
eral criminals, bank robbers.
Within two and a half hours Mur-
phy was in San Diego and he and

Geer were organizing their hunt.

Their first move was to summon the
victims of the Pasadena job to com-
pare their descriptions of the ban-
dits with those of the San Diego
victims. —

It was found, barring a few in-
consequential details, that the de-
scriptions tallied. Moreover, the
manner in which the holdups had
been staged corresponded, aside
from the tragic shooting in the sec-
ond. No one had been hurt in Pasa-
dena; in fact, no one had been so
much as pushed around. Fortunate-
ly, in the first stickup, no one had
appeared to make a surprise attempt

Spectators gather to view two bullet holes (circles) in Seaboard offices shortly after holdup shooting.

to capture the gunmen, otherwise
tragedy might have stalked there,
too. .
Geer and Murphy found the em-
ploye who had searched the.room in
the bus station after the stranger
had walked out of it, apparently
after having used it to make changes
in his attire. The employe was Mrs.
Ivy Behler, a clerk for the Grey-
hound .company. She produced the
pistol she found there, together with
the other articles.

Immediately Runyan identified
the gun, a .38 caliber revolver, as
similar to the one he’d seen in the
hands of the bandit. Murphy and
Geer turned it over to San Diego
police ballistics experts, along with
two bullets taken from the body of
Arthur Smith and one dyg from the
chest of Cook.

The eheck proved that all three
bullets had been fired from the .38
caliber revolver.

Important as this information
might be in the future, is was rela-
tively unimportant now. What was
important was that no fingerprints,
beyond those of Mrs. Behler, who
had inadvertently handled the gun,
appeared on it.

Runyan explained this with the

information that the. bandit had
been wearing skin tight gloves. No
trace was found of the gloves in the
Greyhound station and the assump-
tion was that the fugitive kept them
on to avoid leaving fingerprints any-
where along the route of his flight.

QpEER and Murphy reasoned that,
® being a professional robber and
aware of the stupidity of precipitate
flight, the thin man had holed up
somewhere in San Diego. They also
figured that the second man, the
stout one, undoubtedly had decided
to leave his partner and had escaped
in the automobile. No one had got-
.ten a description of the car or its
license number, As a matter of fact,
none had observed it at all; certain-
ly not in connection with the hold-

Now, Geer and Murphy reasoned,
a man as skilled as their quarry in
his profession would take precau-
tions, in addition to those taken in
the bus station, to change his ap-
pearance. It occurred to them that
he would, of necessity, have been
traveling light and that he therefore
would purchase a new outfit some-
where in the city, perhaps at several
stores.

MANN NWWN We

— (

AVN

They immedia'
men to checking ©

erdashery shops.

posite pictures di
department artis
of the thin man.
began a check of
ing stores, but M
immediately.

“This man
dresser,’ he poin
he knew the va)
Don’t waste any
places. Get into
shops and may!
where.”

Three hours
ported back. T!
that a man re
posite had boug}
one shop, a pal)
ardine slacks i
shirt in a third, <
He had also bc
oxfords in a de
a necktie in th:
of the same stor
up at the Seabo

In each place,
donned the clot
taken the disca
him. Near the
they discoverec
chased a $125 b:
hunting kit, o1
goods shop less
the town’s fines

A check was
the hotel. No
man’s descript
there, nor had
hotel’s garage i
stout man, rese
tion of the banc
stopped briefly
resembling the
tion had appe
then driven of
medium priced
employe of the
enough signific
to check the m

This, too, af
Seaboard ho
throughout the
had appeared
two afternoon

With this
Murphy and ‘
dead end insof
concerned. Th
ever, the broac
the reckless rc
ently had come

The first ope
such as they r
follow was to
all stickups of
widening area.
gin, in this cas
self, then fan
San Francisc
New Orleans,
seaboard if nec

Following 1
went into the
Diego police ¢

it the bandit had
cin tight gloves. No
of the gloves in the
on and the assump-
2 fugitive kept them
ng fingerprints any-
> route of his flight.

rphy reasoned that,
‘essional robber and
pidity of precipitate
man had holed up
an Diego. They also
2 second man, the
ibtedly had decided
aer and had escaped
le. No one had got-
n of the car or its
As a matter of fact,
ed it at all; certain-
tion with the hold-

1 Murphy reasoned,

as their quarry in
rould take precau-
1 to those taken in
to change his ap-
irred to them that
cessity, have been
id that he therefore
a new outfit some-
, perhaps at several

, holdup shooting.

‘
“me

NNN WNW

AVY

They immediately set a squad of

_men to checking the downtown hab-
_erdashery shops. Armed with com-

posite pictures drawn up by a police
department artist from descriptions
of the thin man, they methodiéally
began a check of the cheaper cloth-
ing stores, but Murphy stopped that
immediately.

“This man was a_ meticulous
dresser,” he pointed out. “Obviously
he knew the value of good clothes.
Don’t waste any time with cheaper
places. Get into the better clothing
shops and maybe we’ll get some-
where.”

Three hours later the men re-
ported back. They had found out
that a man resembling the com-
posite had bought a sports jacket in
one shop, a pair of expensive gab-,
ardine slacks in anothen a sports
shirt in a third, and a hat in a fourth.
He had also bought a pair of tan
oxfords in a department store and
a necktie in the men’s department
of the same store, all after the hold-
up at the Seaboard Company.

In each place, it developed, he had
donned the clothing purchased and
taken the discarded garments with
him. Near the end of their search,
they discovered that he had pur-
chased a $125 brown leather English
hunting kit, or bag, in a leather
goods shop less than a block from
the town’s finest residential hotel.

A check was run immediately on
the hotel. No one answering the
man’s description had. registered
there, nor had he been seen. At the
hotel’s garage it was learned that a
stout man, resembling the descrip-
tion of the bandit’s confederate, had
stopped briefly and asked if a man
resembling the thin one’s descrip-
tion had appeared there. He had
then driven off in a plain, black,
medium priced sedan and not one
employe of the place had attached

_enough significance to the incident

to check the number.

This, too, after the alarm of the
Seaboard holdup had _— spread
throughout the city; even after it
had appeared in one of the city’s
two afternoon newspapers.

With this gloomy information,
Murphy and Geer had reached a
dead end insofar as San Diego was
concerned. There remained, how-
ever, the broader field from whence
the reckless robbers all too appar-
ently had come.

The first operation in a campaign
such as they now obviously had to
follow was to check the records of
all stickups of a similar nature in a
widening area. The check would be-
gin, in this case, with San Diego it-
self, then fan out to Los Angeles,
San Francisco, Phoenix, Denver,
New Orleans, even to the Eastern
seaboard if necessary.

Following this procedure, Geer
went into the records of the San
Diego police department and Mur-

phy returned to Los Angeles to
check the FBI files there.

Murphy’s first move was to sep-
arate the bank and brokerage hold-
up cases from the filling stations,
stores, and homes. Then he boiled
his work down to the types of hold-
up men involved: the mask-over-
the-face, the pistol whipping type,
and the smoothie, such as the one
who had robbed the Los Angeles
bank. ‘

He found few smoothies. None, in
fact, aside from the Pasadena Sea-
board job, in the last five years. That
was going pretty far back, but there
was.an explanation. This bandit
might have been fresh out of prison.
He might have finished a stretch,
found himself bankrupt, and turned
to the profession he knew best, his
technic doubtless improved by new
tricks learned in stir.

During the ten days devoted to
checking through the monumental
files of the FBI, Murphy was advised
of a new smoothie holdup, in Fresno,
halfway between Los Angeles and
San Francisco. Again a finance,com-
pany had been held up and again
there was the thin man and the
stooped one, the suave manner, the
grim commands, the threatening
gun.

Immediately upon the heels of
this, with only 36 hours separating
the operations, came word of a bank
holdup in San Francisco. A Market

_ Street branch had been entered, the

thin, polished stickup man _ had
swept up $1,600 in bills while his
usual lookout covered the lobby.
Then they’d gotten away, plunging
into the heavy traffic and losing
themselves almost immediately from
pursuit.

BY NOW Murphy’s technic was
ready to pay dividends. His rec-
ords revealed one name and it stuck
in his mind. It was the name of one
of the West Coast’s most famous
bandits, a man who had left a fine
home and heritage to gamble with
the bigger game of bank robbery.
He was an educated, suave man,

‘slim and immaculate with the voice

of a professor and the impeccable
manners of a successful physician.
So signal had been his early tri-
umphs as a highwayman that he had
earned enough (he liked to call it
earned) to buy a 50-foot yacht in’
which he and his evil crew sailed
up and down the Pacific Coast, rob-
bing at will and always putting out,
usually for the Mexican coast, until
the heat was off. .
Many had seen the stately yacht,
Sovereign, in the San Francisco an
San Pedro yacht harbors, or off*
Santa Monica, or in San Diego, even
up-to Seattle and Astoria and Ta-
coma. But none, until years later,
had ‘identified it with the wave of
banditry that had* terrorized the
West Coast in the mid-twenties.

Last words: Sampsell bids wife
good-bye after receiving death
sentence in a California court.

Then, invading the territory of a
grim, purposeful man who was des-
tined to become a great power on
the West Coast and? in-America, the
bespangled buccaneer had_ finally
met his nemesis. An Oakland bank
was robbed, two clerks were badly
beaten, not by the master bandit, but
by his aides. It was an unlucky day
for the robbers, because Alameda
County District Attorney Earl War-
ren had sworn that lawlessness was
dead in his domain.

Three months later slim, dapper,
suave Lloyd Sampsell was to learn
that he was facing no ordinary man
when he confronted the towering,
blonde ex-athlete who was to thwart
him. for the first time in his vicious
career.

Warren sent Sampsell and his
chief lieutenant, Ethan Allan Mc-
Nabb, to prison for from ‘twenty
years to life. There was no delay;
no long drawn out appeal. The pair
were hustled across the bay to the
great, gray prison and clamped into
bad men’s cells, far removed from
each other.

Five times Sampsell and McNabb
attempted to escape and five times
they were foiled. The fifth time saw
the end of McNabb and brought into
bold relief the perfidy of Sampsell.
Halted by a lone guard as they were
on the verge of delivery, the two
might well have overpowered their
enemy.

In McNabb’s hand was a crude
pistol he had fashioned from iron
pipe and a bit of wood. As the guard
appeared, McNabb fired, point-
blank. The guard went down and. as
he did, other guards appeared be-
hind the fleeing pair.

Sampsell acted quickly. As Mc-
Nabb started to run, he threw him-
self upon him, knowing well there
was but a single shell in the crude
gun. He bore McNabb to earth,
shouting back to the oncoming offi-
cers, “I’ve got him, boys; come and
get him.” ( Continued on page 90)

RES OF

By Karl Gilbert
Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

-book for murder,
and below, Mrs. Juanita Cava,
who found her mother's body

SANFORD, W. H., White, asphyxiated sii
San Quentin (San Francisco) on.

“TPT; TIP.

ag apes So 2

gene

Ps Ly
hail wr i

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE, March, 199.
Still Another Person Would Be Murdered,

San Francisco Detectives Feared, Before

They Could Solve This Landlady's Death.

But with All Four Roomers Missing

1948. Mrs. Juanita Cava stood on the

stoop of the old, Victorian-style
rooming-house on Capp Street in San
Francisco and rang the doorbell for the
fifth time. For the fifth time she heard
the hollow rasp of the buzzer inside.
Still there was no answer.

The young housewife studied the tips
of her spike-heeled shoes worriedly.
Her mother was expecting her. Why
hadn't she answered the bell?

Then there was the sound of foot-
steps descending the inner staircase.
The door was flung open. Startled,
Juanita Cava raised her head so that
her hair flashed raven-black against
her white Summer dress. *

The man who had opened the door
was a stranger. Dressed in jeans and a
leather jacket, he had: knotted his
work-seamed hands into fists and his
face was twisted with anger. Across
the broad chest of his blue shirt was
a vivid red smear.

“What d'ya want?" he asked.

[: WAS Tuesday morning of June 29,

“I'd like to see the landlady. Mrs.
Griffith. She’s my mother.”

“You want to see her?’ echoed the
stranger. “That's a hot one.”

Before Mrs. Cava could reply the
man had bolted down the steps and
was more running than walking up
the street.

She stepped inside. After the warm

.cutdoors it was cold and dark in there.

Juanita shivered, groped for the
banister and ascended the gloomy
staircase.

*“Mother!"’ she called.

The long, shadowy hallway muffled
her call. There was no answer. She
walked down the corridor, hearing only
the ghostly tapping of her high heels
on the wood.

At the end of the hall the kitchen
door was locked. Mrs. Cava stopped
and tried to think clearly. Perhaps
her mother was out. Perhaps she had
forgotten her daughter was coming
to visit her. Perhaps—

A shrill yap split the silence and

<e
é

E
a
bf

Now that the body was gone he
could find out what Mrs. Griffith had
been doing in the closet in the first
Place. He rooted vigorously among
what laundry remained, tossed the
soiled clothes out on the linoleum
floor and promptly uncovered a tool
chest. The chest contained everything
from a brace_and bit to a claw. ham-
mer. :
Everything, that is, except a wrench.

It wasn’t hard to reconstruct what
had happened. Mrs.
knelt in the closet to get the wrench
for someone else. That someone else
had been standing behind her. As
soon as the widow handed him the
wrench over her shoulder he let her
have it.

Obviously, then, the murderer was
someone Mrs. Griffith had known and
trusted.

But who?

By this time Mrs. Cava had recovered
from her grief sufficiently to answer
a few additional meget

“Robbery was the motive for the slay-
ing, but we’re not sure what kind of loot
the killer was after,” McDonald told
her. “Did your mother keep any money
around the house?”

“Yes, she always had about seventy-
five dollars in cash. She had to keep
that much on hand so she could make
change for the roomers when they paid
their rents.” :

“Who knew about this money?”

Mrs. Cava shook her head. “Me,
maybe my aunt, and certainly the

20 :

Griffith had -

roomers. That's all. Mother never
talked about it.”

“And there are four roomers?”

“Usually, yes, but when I went out of
town for my vacation a couple of weeks
ago there were only two. I guess Mother
must have rented the vacant rooms
while I was away, though.”

“You just returned to the city today?”
Ahern asked.

my 8. Early last week I wrote Mother

a postcard telling her that I would
be back this morning and I’d come to see
her. That’s why-I suspected something
was wrong when she didn’t answer the
doorbell.”

Ahern turned to McDonald. “Four
roomers, four suspects. Things are
narrowing down.” He took a notebook
out of his pocket and jotted down the
names of the two roomers Juanita Cava

new.

First was Lee Davis, a bookkeeper for
a downtown department store. Forty-
ish and bespectacled, Davis had a flair
for botany and stamp collecting. He
had been living in room No. Two for
nearly a year. :

Joe Sloan had occupied Room No.
Four for more than two years. Quiet
and intelligent, he worked as a teller in
one of the city’s largest banks. Mrs.
Cava was positive he wouldn't harm a
fi

Then there was the rugged guy the
daughter had bumped into earlier in
the day. Chances were he was a roomer
too or he wouldn’t have been inside the

Inspector Frank Ahern, head of San Francisco's Homicide Squad:
"A little bit of coincidence | can swallow, but this story—"

house in the first place. But his actions,
to say the least, had been peculiar.
Moreover, he had been sore as a hornet.
And the red smear that could have been
blood across the front of his shirt didn’t
exactly make him look innocent either.

“But I don’t understand,” protested
Mrs. Cava. “How can one of the tenants
be guilty when all of the rooms were
looted?”

“One of them wasn’t looted,” Mc-
Donald explained. “The killer simply
messed it up to throw us off the trail.”

The asthmatic jangle of the telephone
swallowed the Inspector’s last words.

Doctor Miller was on the other end
of the line.

“I've just found seventy-five dollars
in currency pinned to the inside of Mrs.
.Griffith’s dress,” said the autopsy sur-
geon. “I thought you might be in-
terested.”

The detectives were plenty interested.
The discovery of the money showed that
the slayer had not found what he was
looking for.

After summoning Officer Raymond
Pope of Mission Station to stand guard
over the rooming-house, the detectives
returned to the Hall of Justice. :

“Let’s hope we can.nab this killer be-
fore he knocks off someone else for a
few bucks,” said Ahern.

At Headquarters the two officers held
a brief conference with Inspectors Al
Nelder, Tom Cahill and George Mur-
ray of Homicide. :

“McDonald and I will question Lee
Davis. The rest of you talk to Sloan,”
Ahern directed. ‘“We’ll all meet back
here as soon as we’re finished.”

Minutes later the two teams of de-
tectives were rocketing to their sepa-
rate destination in a pair of official cars.

On arriving at the department store
which employed Davis, Ahern and Mc-
Donald immediately talked to the
bookkeeper’s superior. They learned
that Davis unquestionably had been at
work at the time the crime had been
committed.

Ahern took out” his notebook: and
crossed the bookkeeper off the list of

, Suspects.

“One down and three to go,”’ he said.
“But if Davis is innocent he still may be
able to give us some valuable leads.”

Insp. McDonald: “How far
can you throw a cue ball?"

The slender, mild-looking roomer
was found easily. When told of the
murder he blinked rapidly behind his
glasses, turned pale and flopped into the
nearest chair.

“Thank Heavens I haven’t been home
since Friday,” he said. “I’ve been visit-
ing my sister in Oakland.”

“Maybe you can tell us who occupies
Room One,” suggested McDonald. ‘

A little coloring had seeped back into
Davis’ face by now and his voice was
steadier. “A young chap about twenty
or twenty-one years old moved into the
room about ten days ago. I never did
learn his name but he’s clean-cut look-
ing and he has very nice manners.”

“How about the new tenant in Room
Three?”

Davis was surprised. “What new
tenant? That room is vacant.”

“Vacant! It can’t be! The bed is
unmade and clothes are scattered from
one end of the floor to the other. Some-
one must live there.”

“Perhaps,” replied Davis with stiff
Petulance. “All I can say is that I
never saw the man.”

“Now listen—”

‘

**HYOLD on, Frank,” McDonald cut in.

“There’s no mystery. Davis here
hasn’t been to the house since Friday.
The new roomer simply moved in on
Saturday or Sunday.”

“Well, it could be.” Ahern admitted
Slowly. “We'll find out. Let’s go back
to the Hall and see what the others have
learned.”

Nelder, Cahill and Murray were wait-
ing at Headquarters when the Homicide
chief and McDonald got there.

“We didn’t even see Sloan,” Nelder
declared. “He supposedly left town for
a month’s vacation at Willamina, Ore-
gon, on Saturday morning.”

“That's what we were told,’» Murray
affirmed. “So far we have no positive
proof that he made the trip.”

Ahern wrinkled his forehead. Here
was Sloan, a man who had been living

Assistant District Attorney
Peery: He granted a wish

regularly at the rooming-house for some
two years yet who reputedly was out of
town the precise day his landlady was
Slain.

“A little bit of coincidence I can swal-
low,” said the Chief. “but this story
bears looking into.”

He grabbed the telephone, called the
sheriff at McMinnville, Oregon, the seat
of Yamhill County in which Willamina
is located, and requested that Sloan be
located as swiftly as possible.

“I want to talk to the guy over the
Phone even if his alibi holds water,”
the Homicide Chief continued. “Have
your call made to the Bureau of In-
spectors. The Bureau will contact me
through Radio Communications if I'm
not around here. No, I don’t know ex-
actly where Sloan is staying. The only
mailing address he left was General
Delivery.”

(Continued on Page 48)

*
. Mrs.
ed the

ly the
Ss and
ng up

warm

there.
r the
sloomy

nuffied
She

itcnen
topped
erhaps
1e had
‘oming

e and

vO Meare BET TY hia ee pitta

ahi Reh

STAIRS TO YARD

Official diagram of the
rooming-house of death

shattered what remained of Mrs.
Cava’s composure.’ She whirled on her
heel with her heart pounding against
her ribs like a sledge-hammer.

The first yap was followed by a
series of staccato barks. Mrs. Cava
sighed with relief. It was only her
mother’s two Pomeranians.

The brunet stood on her tiptoes and
peered through the minute triangle of
glass set in the kitchen door. First she
saw the tiny dogs with their brown
eyes and sharp, fox-like muzzles lifted
toward her. Then she glimpsed the
inverted purse on the table by the
stove, and alongside of the purse her
mother’s string of keys.

EAR crept spider-like up Mrs. Cava’s

spine. How had the two Poms
been locked in the kitchen? On nice
days like this her mother invariably
put the dogs in the back yard. More
frightening yet were the keys, for Mrs.
Griffith never had locked herself out
before.

Mrs. Cava hurried down the hall
and tried her mother’s bedroom door.
It, too, was locked.

Now Mrs. Cava knew something
was wrong. She fled down the stairs
and slammed the door behind her.
With her silken legs flashing in the
sunlight she rushed to the home of
her aunt, Mrs. Acartia Canada. Half
an hour later found her. back at the
rooming-house with a key to the
kitchen in her possession.

“Don't worry, Honey,” Mrs. Canada
had said. “Your mother’s probably
out shopping.”

Juanita wasn’t so sure. As soon as
she had gone through the alley she
mounted the steps to the rear porch.
The door to the laundry room, to the
side of the porch, was locked but a
piece of paver pasted over the door’s
window had warped so that Mrs. Cava
could see the table inside. There was
a cracked piece of oilcloth on the table,
and on the oilcloth was a steel wrench
that looked as if it had been dipped
in a bucket of dark, viscous paint. A
big, blue-green fly crawled drowsily
along the wrench.

Abruptly Mrs. Cava remembered that
this rear door had only an eye-and-
hook latch. The room also opened
into the kitchen but that door, too, was
locked and the key Mrs. Cava held
would not fit.

“I must get in!” she told herself.

Again and again she hurled her
body against the door until her
shoulder was a throbbing mass of pain.

In the kitchen beyond the laundry
room the Pomeranians barked with
shrill, unremitting hysteria.

~ Mrs. Felipa Griffith: She waited too long to collect her rent

Mrs. Cava bit back her own growing
panic and flung herself against the
door in one last desperate effort. The
latch groaned rustily, then gave. The
door opened some ten inches before it
jammed against a resisting weight on
the other side. Mrs. Cava sucked in
her breath and squeezed through the
narrow aperture.

Entering the laundry room, she
ani stumbled over her mother’s
egs.

For a moment she thought her
mother was kneeling to get something
out of the closet. Then she saw. Her
scream sliced the warm day like a
knife.

The interior of the closet was a riot
of scarlet. Blood was everywhere. It
splattered the wooden paneling and
mottled the two purses that hung
open-jawed from the _ clothes-hook.
But most of all it was soaked into the
pile of laundry that covered what was
left of Mrs. Griffith’s head. |

Juanita Cava stumbled to the
kitchen door and flipped open the lock.
She had to get the police. Fast.

Her mother had been murdered.”

Inspector Frank Ahern, head of. the
San Francisco Police Department’s
Homicide Detail, arrived at the

Mission District rooming-house at
1:30 p.m. With him was his partner,
Inspector Ralph McDonald.

The two detectives were followed by
Criminologist Frank LaTulipe, Police
Photographer Gerald Fennell and
Coroner’s Surgeon Doctor Miller.

While the three technicians went
about their work, Ahern = and
McDonald took the set of keys found
on the kitchen table and checked the
five bedrooms leading onto the hall.

Each and every room showed signs .

of having been ransacked. Most upset
of all was Mrs. Griffith’s bedroom.
Clothing was strewn over the carpet,
bureau drawers had been yanked out,
and even the bedding was scattered.

“Not much need to look any farther
for a motive,” said McDonald.

“Yeah, it was robbery all right,” re-
plied Ahern,

When the sleuths returned to the
laundry room the body already had
been removed by a brace of coroner’s
deputies and Doctor Miller was filling
out a preliminary autopsy report.

Mrs. Griffith’s skull, the surgeon
found, had been crushed by repeated
blows of a blunt instrument. The
attack had occurred between nine
a.m. and noon of the previous day.

“The first three or four blows were

received directly on the base of the
head,” said Miiller, “It’s my guess
that Mrs. Griffith then began to bleed
badly. The stayer piled laundry over
her head to stamnch the flow of blood,
then proceeded with the beating.
pipe Sie he was, he made a vicious job
of it.” .

The six-foot-two-inch, hawk-
featured Framk Ahern nodded grimly.
“Vicious” was a weak word for it.

The detective crossed the room and
stared at the blood-crusted wrench
on the oileloth-covered table. The
wrench undoubtedly was the murder
weapon, but LaTulipe had found it to
be devoid of fimger-prints.

“It looks to me as if the killer wiped
the handle clean,” declared the crim-
inologist. .

“It shows we're up against a guy
who’s as cagey as he is brutal,” Ahern
declared. ‘That and the doors.”

“The doors?”

“Sure. The killer locked all the
doors leading to the body on his way
out. That was sharp. It delayed dis-
covery of the body for an entire day.”
Ahern paused, creased a match into
flame with his thumbnail and lighted a
cigar. Clampimg the stogie between
his teeth, he strode to the death
closet.

wecdHess

LIVERSITY OF A!

680 = Cal.

their verdict. Under the circumstances
the error in failing to give the instruction
as requested was not prejudicial.

[10-14] The jury were told in the lan-
guage of section 192 of the Penal Code
that involuntary manslaughter “is the un-
lawful killing of a human being, without
malice * * * in the commission of an
unlawful act, not amounting to felony; or
in the commission of a lawful act which
might produce death, in an unlawful man-
ner, or without due caution and circum-
spection.” Defendant relies upon People
vy. Hatchett (1944), 63 Cal.App.2d 144, 161,
146 P.2d 469, 477, where it is said that by
this instruction the jury were told that
“the act of shooting, if believed lawful [in
self-defense], might constitute the offense
of manslaughter if it was done in an un-
lawful manner or without due caution and
circumspection, Any such theory of guilt
would have been entirely unsupported by
the evidence or any legitimate inferences
to be drawn therefrom, The instruction
clearly tended to divert the minds of the
jury from the sole question whether de-
fendant acted reasonably and in good
faith in defending herself from a felonious
attack and may well have operated to her
prejudice.” The People rely upon People
vy. Hashaway (1945), 67 Cal.App.2d 554,
569, 155 P.2d 101, 823; and People v. Chap-
man (1946), 76 Cal.App.2d 651, 173 P.2d
860, In those cases it is said that because
the defendant was charged with murder,
and involuntary manslaughter “as a mat-
ter of law” was “involved” in such charge,
it was proper to instruct concerning invol-
untary manslaughter. These statements
are not correct and are disapproved, The
charge to the jury in a homicide case
should comprise instructions on the law
applicable to issues raised by the evidence,
not a dissertation on all the classes of hom-
icide known to the law. It is error to give
an instruction which correctly states a
principle of law which has no application
to the facts of the case. (People v. Roe
(1922), supra, 189 Cal. 548, 565, 209 P. 560;
People v. Silver (1940), 16 Cal.2d 714, 722,
108 P.2d 4.) We agree with defendant that
a trial judge should be diligent in refrain-
ing from burdening the jury and the record

184 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES

with inapplicable instructions and in avoid-
ing unnecessarily prolix and repetitious
statements as well as in informing the jury
adequately on the law pertinent to their
duties on the issues actually involved. In
the present case, however, it does not ap-
pear that the giving of the subject instruc-
tion had any effect other than to add to
the bulk of the charge. Since the jury
rejected defendant’s testimony that he kill-
ed under the influence of fear and found
that the homicide was murder of the first
degree, they could not have been concern-
ed, as they might have been in the Hatchett
case (where the defendant was charged
with and convicted of manslaughter only
[page 147 of 63 Cal.App.2d, 146 P.2d 469]),
with the possibility that a killing in self-de-
fense might be involuntary manslaughter
because not done cautiously and circum-
spectly.

[15] Defendant next contends that the
trial court erred to his prejudice when, on
the last day of trial, it put Deputy Sheriff
Bridwell in charge of the jury while they
lunched and while they retired to consider
their verdict. Bridwell was active in the
investigation conducted after the body of
deceased was found and was an important
prosecution witness. Defendant concedes
that there is no showing that Bridwell was
actually prejudiced against defendant but
urges that the officer “was biased against
the defendant as a matter of law” and
placing the jury in his charge gave “an un-
warranted weight to the state’s evidence.”
No objection was made at the time Bridwell
was sworn to take charge of the jury. The
People concede, as indeed they must, that
it was “poor practice and poor judgment”
to have placed Bridwell in charge of the
jury but urge that the mere fact of such
“poor practice,” without timely objection
thereto and without any showing of actual
prejudice, is not ground for reversal. It
must be recognized that the act complained
of, under other circumstances, could well
amount to worse than “poor practice.”
Where it was proved that the sheriff because
of bias was disqualified to summon a jury
(Pen.Code, § 1064), it was held to be pre-
judical crror to entrust the jury to his care,
over defendant’s objection, when it retired

PEOPLE v. SANCHEZ Cal. 681
Cite as 184 P.2d 673

to deliberate. (People v. Fellows (1898),
122 Cal. 233, 238, 54 P. 830.) On the other
hand, it has been held that it was not ground
for reversal that a jury was placed in charge
of an officer who was technically disqualified
or even actually biased, where no timely
objection was made and there was no show-
ing of actual prejudice to defendant. (Peo-
ple v. Babcock (1911), 160 Cal. 537, 546, 117
P. 549; People v. Nakis (1920), 184 Cal.
105, 113, 193 P.92; People v. Zirbes (1936),
6 Cal.2d 425, 430, 57 P.2d 1319; People v.
Hamilton (1920), 49 Cal.App. 30, 38, 192
P. 467.) To the credit of Deputy Sheriff
Bridwell, it is noted that a careful scrutiny
of the record leads to the conclusion that
he is an intelligent and ethical peace officer,
fair alike to the State and to the defendant,
who performed his investigative duty dili-
gently and whose testimony shows no indi-
cation of animus or prejudice. Since it does
not appear that the process of law was ac-
tually impaired, or that the cause of de-
fendant was prejudiced by the matter in
question, we are satisfied that it does not
necessitate a new trial.

[16] Defendant also contends that he
was prejudiced by the trial court’s refusal
to allow him to impeach the witness Esca-
lera, who had acted as interpreter when de-
fendant was first interviewed by the district
attorney and who testified to the substance
of the statement made by the defendant at
that time. On cross-examination Escalera
was asked, “What was your occupation at
the time you did the interpreting?” The
People’s objection to the question was sus-
tained. Defendant’s counsel argued that
“under the circumstances I think the jurors
might imply a certain amount of prejudice,
or bias in the matter.” According to his
briefs defendant’s counsel by this question
sought to show that Escalera, at the time he
interpreted, was a prisoner in the county
jail and had an application for parole pend-
ing before the county parole board. Such
board consisted of the district attorney, the

184 P.2d—4314

sheriff and a chief of police; Escalera had
been prosecuted by the deputy district at-
torney who prosecuted this case, before the
judge who tried this case; Escalera was
paroled after he interpreted defendant’s
statement and was still on parole at the
time he testified. These facts might, in the
opinion of a jury, show a reasonable basis
for an inference that the translation and the
testimony of Escalera were influenced by a
hope that he would be leniently treated by
the officials if he aided in the conviction
of defendant. (People v. Robles (1868) 34
Cal. 591, 594; People v. Pantages (1931),
212 Cal. 237, 253-259, 297 P. 890 and cases
there cited.) If Escalera had testified to a
statement by defendant which differed dis-
advantageously in any material respect from
defendant’s testimony at the trial, then de-
fendant might have substantial cause to
complain of refusal to permit him to im-
peach Escalera by showing his possible mo-
tive. (Although the transcript does not
show that a specific offer of proof was
made, the inference seems clear, from the
context surrounding the question and ob-
jection and from the unchallenged state-
ment in the briefs that the same judge tried
Escalera, that the trial court knew what the
question was designed to elicit.) But
Escalera’s testimony as to defendant’s state-
ment substantially and in all material re-
spects accords with the testimony of defend-
ant, given through another interpreter.
Therefore, it does not appear how defend-
ant’s position would have been bettered by
discrediting Escalera.

After examination of the entire cause we
have concluded that the errors complained
of by defendant have not resulted in a mis-
carriage of justice. (Cal.Const., art. VI,
$414.) For this reason the judgment and
order appealed from are affirmed.

GIBSON, C. J., and SHENK, ED-
MONDS, CARTER, TRAYNOR, and
SPENCE, JJ., concur.

af
ie

Cid

» CHIC,

E Sanaa

CAL, BATURDAY ?

Eres

MORNING

‘Saturday, June 24, 1882.

G ‘CHRONICLE.

: ‘Schmidt Murders
‘his Wife by Shooting

tre Villain
Se . with Spending
‘and Beating her like a dog,

‘is Allowed to Leave tuwn

her money.

without Punishment. but he

About 9:15 0 mock this evening:
_ two sharp reports of a pistol were
“heard in the Opera “Saloou, on

3 Main Street, and on investigation
a horrible. sight was ‘presented.
‘Upen the floor near a small table

‘Tay the body of Mrs. Schmidt welt-
ering in her gore and apparant-_
ly lifeless. | Although ;

As THIS MURDEROUS DEED
Was done at.an early hour. "and
numbers of ‘person were in the

: - immediate neighborhood, no one

- instant it. was Meow “that ‘the

arise from the desperation of her

not Content 28
~ with four infant children and for ce

: ‘under $500 bail, ‘and not being able

of Jeaviug . town ext

fapward And cane *out near 4s Bas “was *able” ae walk, about ‘the. ri
cheek . bone. — She lived. about, without trouble. ~ He, refused to
pihirty minutes, ‘talk about the affair. bnt continnf
. THE CAUSH, OF THE SHOOTING: ally kept ; groaning. as’ if. in. Ereat.
pain. This dodge did ‘not deceiv'
husband, owing to family troubles any of the officers ‘or. medical
growing out. of his attempt.,to go ‘gentlemen in. attendance, for. his:
into the saloon business here. ‘The pulse. was firm and it was ‘noticed _
parties were inarried in “Stockton that. whéuever deft to himself for.”
“some five or six months ayo. ‘She a ‘moment he © ‘turned his” face
had a little money and sume prop- qiiietly ti vard, ‘the. _company “and

erty left her by a former husband.

her in the Head. : ve

(The money sue gave Scumidi toin- “pPexaioly
“vest in Chico. and the veutire not > Bee
proving a success, she came here ‘<

oka.

ayia! ait of beer Mith a
Hay From’ this peraghh, ‘the

itn 283, We learn,th 5
ticalars; ‘Mrs. Séhmidt
the frout door which

awhile livedton the corner of: Wall.
and Seveuth streets. ‘Tie parties
had several stormy sceves which |
finally Jed to ‘er getting severely le
‘beaten. He was arrested and pat

is
“to give 16 Was kept in jail until last pioonits With ‘hia back to the ‘dor

nN t ening, whe
cee ie ort se Pot eas “While engaged in ‘conversation | ee
& vy on some one stepped quickly. into the”

morning, room «from the.» street
‘and ap-|
Mrs. Schmidt, alth. nga’ so° badly proached. within five t

injured in pocket and person, gave . Schmidt..?
him $20 to pay his way, and it was” fee his right. hand,
‘an understood thing that a divorce _ warning ~
_was to be had as soon as possible. e

was ‘anchor ie pointed

He took his departure and the af- Fs
Mrs..Sch : t

fair had been forgotten wv RONTa SRS midt and fired. At the.

hen the 7
first shot she. sprang to. her. feet
terrible event of last evening evidently ‘uphart,. but at the ie
brought i it into. B aplantling Prowl ond she fell. Our witness at. once
HENCE. rushed into’ the store of R. 5. Mid-
ee " dlebam and gave the alarm. while

guilty one was her husband and The vigorous nay proved; suc. ‘the murderer escaped by the rear.
“the officers assisted by sconting ‘cessful and ina few minutes officer one t» Second and thence to. Wall
+ parties at once started in hot pur-_ Goodrich found Schmidt oo Wail The excitement. -cansed by this -
~~ suit. The services of a physician Street near the residence of A.J, dastazd deed, WAS. intense. and loud_
“were 8000 ‘secured and an exam- Gifford. © “Be was. lying on the’ threats of lynching were frequent.
ination of the victim showed that sidewalk in his shirts] eves. ‘still Jy heard.
Sa a ie Peseta + elutching the deadly pistol. - ‘On
% “LIFE WAS NOT EXTINCT, ' « being taken to the jailhe acted as | G. Ww.
*Yet the bullet of the assassin “had if suffering from a dose ‘of poison. ne ~
done its fatal work, She was shot Dr. Watts was ‘on hand ‘with a SURGEON ‘AND. PHYSIOLAN,
in the neck just bebind the left ear “stomach pump which was put into RESIDENCE “AND - OFFICE

‘ 520 J STRE oF
and the bullet ranged forward and | service and i in’ a few minutes he Sixth, SACRAMENTO. ah and

abe i

> 7 Pe,

eg NERA SERIAL EEE,

“You'll have to kill me to get my money,” Ken Savoy

SPE Bo

ei Fie epee

Witnesses provided accurate description of wanted killer

heart of the movie and TV capital’s production center, just
-around the corner from the big Paramount and RKO Radio
studios, a bustling quarter by day but quiet and almost
‘deserted on this winter night between the two big holidays.
The tavern, filled with a late throng of studio workers and
neighborhood residents, was the sole moderately bright
spot of gaiety on the dark, fog-shrouded block of business
buildings closed for the night.

It was 10:15 p.m. when the tall, gaunt, pallid-faced

young man in the gray tweed topcoat sauntered into the

dim-lit room, took his seat at the bar under the big “Happy
New Year” banner and the festive balloons, and ordered a
‘beer. None of the holiday imbibers, close to a score of
persons about evenly divided between men and women,
paid any particular attention to him at first. Nor did they
give more than a cursory glance to the husky, stocky fel-
low in the light trench coat, who came in by way of the
pack alley door and the kitchen, and quietly took his seat
next to the other man.

But a scant minute later, everybody was paying startled
attention to the two strangers. When the tall man, in the
style of a TV-crime thriller, whipped a sawed-off shotgun
from under his topcoat and rapped loudly on the bar with
the stock, the sociable hum abruptly diminished, as though
the volume knob had been turned down.

(i.

) told gunman—and died. Sgts. Munkres and Hancock (r.) tracked killer

“This is a stickup!” the skinny, hollow-cheeked man an-
nounced in the sudden hush. “Stay right where you are,
everybody. Keep your seats, put your hands on the bar
and keep looking straight ahead.”

The experienced bartender, who knew 4 businesslike
heist when he saw it, automatically raised his hands and
waited for the gunman’s next order. The customers sat
frozen at the bar, looking into the mirror. One woman
emitted a short scream, but clapped her hand.to her mouth.
Another laughed hysterically. A man swore.

The Mutt and Jeff bandits went into their regular rou-
tine. The shorter, round-faced one walked swiftly around
behind the bar. He opened the cash register, ignoring the
immobile bartender, took out the folding money and
stuffed it into his coat pocket.

The tall man stood at the front end of the bar, near the
door, keeping the crowd covered with his leveled shotgun,
a wicked-looking professional weapon with stock ‘sawed
off as well as barrel, and the stock covered with white

“ adhesive tape for easier handling. A cigarette dangled
from his mouth. He was jittery; every few seconds he
glanced sideways at the closed door.
~ “pyt your wallets on the bar, all of you,” he ordered, as
his pal finished with the cash drawer and started back
around the bar. “And quit looking at us. Keep your eyes
down. Look down at the bar.”

Most of the scared customers hastened to comply, but
one gray-haired man, standing near the front with a high-
ball in his hand, turned and faced the skinny gunman.
“You're not so tough, fellow,” he snapped. “I haven’t got
any money. What are you going to do about it?”

The “Mutt” bandit wheeled on the speaker. He brought
up the ugly black barrel of his weapon, and his bony
knuckles were white. His deep-set, dark eyes flamed with
murderous rage. The wide-eyed bystanders tensed, await-
ing a blast of gunfire. But the gunman, after eyeing his
elderly challenger for a breathless moment that seemed an
eternity, turned away with asneer. The gray-haired man
slumped weakly against the bar.

During the tense tableau, the “Jeff” bandit went ahead
swiftly and methodically emptying the wallets. He didn’t
get much loot. Somebody ventured to remark, “You
picked a bad time, right after Christmas and between pay-
days.” The bandit chuckled. ;

One man had only $1 in his wallet. The robber handed
it back to him, saying, “You need this more than I do.” A
couple of men told him they had no wallets, and he frisked
them to verify it. When a woman took a few dollars from

|" :

HOLLYWOOD'S HOMESICK KILLER

He thought the lady wrestler would ease his loneliness,
but FBI and police had other plans for him

by EVERETT WILSON

LONG WITH CAROLS i good will toward men,
the Christmas season in a big city always brings
heightened activity on the part of holdup artists and

1creased headaches for the overworked police. Not only
re pickpockets putting in long overtime hours in crowded
tores, but brethren of the heist fraternity need money for
hristmas shopping and New Year merrymaking, the same
Ss anyone else, and their belief in Santa Claus is strictly
n the do-it-yourself side. Last. winter’s holidays in South-
rn California were no exception. The Los Angeles area
yas plagued with a mounting series of armed robberies.
7un-toting bandits were free with threats of violence and,
s Christmas passed and the New Year of 1959 approached,
arassed detectives were thankful no one had yet been
illed. But death’s holiday couldn’t last forever, and it
idn’t.

Small neighborhood taverns and cocktail lounges, from
[ollywood all the way over to the 77th Street district on
he south side of Los Angeles, were the targets of a nerv-
us but businesslike pair of “Mutt and Jeff” shotgun ban-
its, whose operations ‘had ominous overtones of an
nminent explosion. Starting the week before Christmas,
ae roving heistmen, a tall, skinny, pasty-faced fellow and

shorter, stocky one, terrorized bartenders, cocktail wait-
esses and customers alike. The money in the cash regis-
2r wasn’t enough for them. They made the holiday
elebrants at the bars and in the booths disgorge the con-
ants of their wallets.

On Christmas Eve, with augmented radio patrols and de-
ective stakeouts on the alert on both sides of town, the
rash duo popped up to victimize a popular cafe on busy
[elrose Avenue at Cole Avenue, just a few blocks down
ne street from Hollywood police station. They got away

with $182. Four nights later, with police vigilance con-
centrated in Hollywood, they turned up 10 miles away on
the southwest side and took the Sunday night crowd in a
South Vermont Avenue bar for $126. In this job, they
carelessly left fingerprints on the glasses of beer they or-
dered while casing the crowd, but the partial prints ‘were
too meager for identification.

The robbery victims at the various spots supplied fair
but slightly divergent descriptions of the pair, one of whom
carried a sawed-off shotgun and kept the bar covered while
his partner collected the money. Detectives of the central
robbery division worked night and day following up vari-
ous tips, 'and a number of likely suspects were quizzed, to
no avail. Victims viewed mug photos of known robbers

and other potential suspects, but shook their heads.

In the five jobs thus far attributed to them, the Mutt
and Jeff pair had alternated between the Hollywood and
77th Street areas, which meant that if they followed the
same pattern their next strike would be in Hollywood.
Downtown robbery squad and Hollywood Division officers
were staked out at likely spots. Tavern operators had been
tipped off. Tension fairly crackled in the air as plain-
clothesmen eyed the festive crowds of early New Year
celebrants. A violent blowoff was overdue. But when it
came, it appalled even the alerted police with its brutal,
senseless savagery.

When the shotgun bandits next cropped up, on the cold,
foggy Tuesday night of December 30th, 1958, it was in
Hollywood as anticipated, but with their ‘accustomed
shrewdness or luck the heist pair picked a section where

no police cars happened to be around at the time. The.

scene was a crowded little cafe on Melrose near Bronson,
five blocks from the previous strike. It was right in the

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ight

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screaming
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but none
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holdup
or a mo-
his mind
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audacity
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in crim-
ent. crim-
eventual- -
»redicated
for every
. It was
had: built
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‘Tr a per-
scene, he
ter voice
its com-

that just
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it was
Pasadena
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tell me?”
th jobs,”
the—-not
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the trans-

Ime ste coca

mitter off his telephone. “Who is this
and where’s Sampsell?”

“Never mind who this is,” the voice
bridled. “But if you wanta get him,
you'd better get out to the airport be-
cause he’s taking a TWA flight east at
five o’clock this afternoon.”

Murphy shot a glance at his watch.
It was 4:25. He signalled an aid to trace
the call he was on, said, “Wait a min-
ute,” into the transmitter, then drop-
ped the phone on his desk and ordered
an immediate connection with police
headquarters.

There he called for an immediate
motorcycle escort to meet him in front
of the federal building a block away,
signalled two FBI men in his office, and
eight minutes later was picking up his
escort and heading for the Municipal
Airport.

ELDOM has there been a motorcycle

escort for anything important that
didn’t encounter unavoidable delays. The
Supreme Grand Steamshovel of the In-
ternational Order of Hod Wrestlers can
arrive in town, get an escort and be
through the entire city of Los Angeles
in twenty minutes; but allow an FBI
man, or a sheriff's: posse to start on
the trail of a mad killer and everybody
on the new freeway wants to move his
house down Crenshaw, or out Wilshire,
or over Figeuroa at precisely that mo-
ment.

Thus, by the time that the escort
had circumvented two bungalows on roll-
ers, one smash-up involving a street
car, a truck and a motor scooter, and
one suddenly burst water main that left
a pool even a wartime amphibian couldn’t
have negotiated, it was pressing five
o’clock when the cavalcade got within
sight of the airport tower.

A mile away, a train cut across a spur
that, by latest figures, had been used
less than once weekly since the war,
and another three minutes was lost.

Without hesitating, Murphy contact-
ed his office and cbtained the okay for
a chartered flight for himself and his
two aides to Phoenix, first available stop
for the giant airliner, Then he arranged
for a fast, four place job that would
overtake the TWA Constellation, or beat
it to Phoenix, and twenty minutes later
was winging eastward.

Not even when he was airborne on
one of the finest speed planes built, how-
ever, had Murphy entirely shaken the
jinx. Half way to Phoenix, when the
glint of the speeding Constellation had

just been spotted a few miles ahead
over the yellow Arizona desert, the right
engine on the Murphy plane sputtered,
coughed asthmatically once or twice and
then died with a discordant sigh.

“Don’t tell me,” was all Murphy could
say as he scanned the pilot’s anxious
face.

“Just a minute,” the pilot said, work-
ing frantically, There was a moment of
awful suspense, then a gradual dive and
finally the balking engine took hold, a
cylinder at a time, and they were off
again.

The drama of Lloyd Sampsell ended
less than an hour later. Not even when
the huge Constellation settled. to the
runway in Phoenix and the passengers
debouched on the pilot’s order did any-

| een cemiieeiiemmaisiiiil

’. - Ghostly Gossip :
‘. Before his death on October ,
31, 1926, Harry Houdini ar-
ranged with his wife a secret
code message which he would
endeavor to transmit from be- .

\ yond the grave. The code was,
“not secret, but the message it~ |
* self was known only to Hou-
dini and his wife. | tia
After Houdini’s death, his
wife offered $10,000 to anyone...
who could give her the prear~-
) ranged message. A year later.
. she withdrew the offer. Only iP
‘\ then. did a. psychic, Arthur.
ty Fords: come, forward with a
omessage -which ‘she knew at.)
pr once.'In her statement to the
press she pulled no. punches:
“ “Y wish to .declare that; th
“> message, in its entirety and in)
{ .the agreed upon sequence, Biv-.))
en to me by Arthur Ford is the.
, correct one, arranged’ between |
« Mr. Houdini. and :myself.”)

a,
vi

thing comparable to the usual pattern
of Sampsell theatrics occur.

Murphy and his men, joined by half
a dozen Phoenix officers in plain clothes,
waited at the foot of the ramp.

As a tall, carefully dressed man Car-
rying an expensive brief case descended,
they surrounded him and he looked at
them without so much as the flick of
an eyelash. Then he said calmly:

“Gcvernment men, I suppose?”

“That’s right, Sampsell,’ Murphy re-
plied.

The tall man’s shoulders sagged de-
jectedly, but only for a second, as he
muttered, ‘Well Lloyd, old boy, I guess
this is it.”

Then, his evil pride reasserting itself,
he straightened, smiled amiably and said,

matter-of-factly, as if giving an order
instead of begging a favor:

“If you don’t mind, can we skip the
handcuffs here? There seems to be enough
of you to take one man without that.”

In spite of his relentless hatred for
this blood-thirsty killer, Murphy could
not repress a smile,

“Qkay, duke,” he said. “Let’s go.”

The officers found $7,890 of the $8,300
loot from the bank hold-up in the brief
case, something of a confirmation of
the informer’s claim that he had been
shortchanged.

Tee only feature of Sampsell’s trial
was the appearance of a graying,
quict little woman who sat behind him
and scarcely took her eyes off his well
shaped head. Quiet, with lined face and
infinitely weary eyes, Mrs. Berardine
Sampsell seemed only to want to be
near this ruthless killer to whom she
was married.

She spoke to him only when he spoke
to her and when the verdict of guilty
that was to send him back to San
Quentin to die in the lethal gas chamber
was read, her face never changed ex-
pression, but remained calm, as if, at
last, a great weight had been lifted from
her tortured soul.

WEEK after the guilty verdict,
Lloyd Sampsell went back to San
Quentin. He waited there, through the
perfunctory appeals, through their de-
nials, through the interminable period of
silence and reflection, until the cyanide
tablets were assembled on the trap be-
neath the sturdy oak chair in the oc-
tagonal death chamber, ready to be
dropped into the pan of water that would
convert them to a death dealing gas.
He took his impending end calmly,
perhaps a little wearily, doubtless be-
cause no man knew, or ever has known,
better than he the inevitablity of the
retribution that awaited him.

Thus, alone, friendless, unmourned,
Lloyd Sampsell came to the end of
his last detour to hell, far from the
flesh and wine and sybaritic luxuries his
perverted talents had brought him.

It was, in the end, retributive justice.
Murphy’s inculcation of the theory of
the double cross into the underworld had
finally flushed out an informer for Lloyd
Sampsell, the informer par excellence.

Fatty Richardson? No one, aside from
tbe FBI, was ever to know whether it
was he who made that call to Murphy.
At least, none knows yet and Richard-
gon, returned to prison for breaking
parole and sitting not too far from
Sampsell’s death cell, isn’t likely to tell.

Editcr’s Note; The name Marie Bordet

is fictitious as used in this true account.

A pleasant-faced young man
with a brief case entered the
enclosure where the man-
; ager ‘of the College Avenue
Branch of ‘the Oakland Bank sat at his
desk,
“No noise, please,” smiled the Visitor,
» pointing an: automatic.
of At the same moment, a distinguished-
3 looking young man with a dark mus-
Hf tache pressed a similar weapon against
i the side of the assistant manager, who
had just locked the front door for the
2 day, and took the keys from him. As

non

“on the door. °
Without hesitation, the young man
$ dropped his gun into his pocket. “My
3 partner has you covered,” he whispered
eI to the assistant manager. ‘He tossed his
; hat on the floor and swung the. door
open. Outside stood a depositor hold-
ing a passbook from which protruded
a thick wad of checks and currency. —

“Come right in!” said the young man
cordially,

Through the receiving ellian'e: win-
| dow the new arrival saw the bank’s.
employees lying face down on the floor,
and stopped short. The bandit reached
for his passbook. “I'll, take care of
that for you,” he said, beckoning the
teller up from the floor, “Enter this to
the gentleman’s credit, please,” he di-
rected. When the teller had done so, the
stranger pocketed the checks and cur-

‘&
oa
+4
®
a

rency, and handed the passbook back,

to the customer.
In.a few minutes the cash drawers

and vaults had yielded $10,000, which: -:
the two stuffed . carelessly’ into their:
brief cases, One of them cut the phone.

wires and they. walked out, locking ‘the

door on the outside; then the pair’

he did so, there came a loud a

+ Editor's Note: MASTER. DE-
- TECTIVE readers will enjoy
this absorbing case illustrat-
ing the brilliant prosecuting |
_ technique of the then Dis-

trict Attorney of Alameda

Governor of California:

County, Earl. Warren—now — -

strolled up the street to an automobile,
and drove away.

_ Their technique and pleasant man- -
ners told the police that these were

the “Society Bandits” who in two years
had robbed fifty branch banks from San
Diego to Vancouver without once get-
ting caught.

Their robberies were well planned

‘and their wits equal to any emergency.

They never found it necessary to run,

so nobody ever thought to follow them

or even get their license number till it

was too late.
tips often bring down the wiliest crimi-

nals, knew nothing of them. Descrip-—

tions of them were useless, for when

‘compiled, they matched some of the

banks’ best customers.

‘From the few facts we had concern-
ing ‘them, it was possible to draw sev-
eral deductions. We knew they must

be mingling with respectable people.’

But it was certain they were not living
the lives of staid home owners. They
traveled too much for that. We knew
they, had a dishonest income averaging
about two thousand a week.’ It was
safe to say, then, that they spent it

-freely—leading gay lives and staying

One
They

in the best apartments and hotels.
thing, moreover, was obvious:

could not keep their money in banks.’

If the money stolen from one bank were
deposited in another, the numbers on
the bills would be recognized.

So up and down the Coast the word

was passed to the police, and from them
to apartment managers, hotel. pro-

prietors, dealers. in expensive cars, and

looking men who never paid by check.

The underworld, whose.

James Brennan, wealthy yachtsman,

”-was sitting on the veranda of the Seattle

Yacht Club, when a fellow member
approached with a man whom he intro-
duced as Ethan A. Meline, and who, he
said, wanted to buy a yacht.’ Brennan
was looking for a. buyer for the Sov-
ereign, a luxurious. power craft which
had, been built at a cost of $70,000.
Meline inspected it, ‘and’ promptly
handed Brennan a $500 deposit.

“Mr. Leslie ‘Summers, my business
partner, wants a half-interest,” he said,
“so he’ll have ‘to~-see it rowan we can
close the deal.”

Next day, Meline ied Summers
with him, and the three went for a
cruise on Puget Sound. From their con-
versation, Brennan gathered that the

two were interested in the stock market.

On their return to the Yacht Club, they
got into Summers’ car, and drove to the
exclusive’ Forest Hills‘ ‘district,. stopping

‘in front of the Northcliff. Apartments

. Jewelers—for there would be a woman °
im this somewhere—to watch for ‘a:
: couple. of free-spending, respectable-

‘on Boren Avenue. Brennan was ushered

into a luxurious apartment and greeted

-hospitably by a charming young woman

who, he was informed, was Mrs. Sum-
mers, In _ the-soft-cushioned study
Meline handed Brennan ‘a certified check
for the balance of ‘the price, and received
the bill-of sale.

“Where are you planning to moor
her?” asked Brennan: '

.Summers said he had thought: of

: Joining the Seattle Yacht Club. Bren-

nan advised him how to’ proceed... A
couple of weeks passed in which Bren-

nan saw nothing of the pair. Soon’ —

'. thereafter. Brennan received’. a’ phone’

call from. poles beadquarters,.. asking
him to. drop “in: *

" “We've just learned that you: ouatty -

sold your. yacht,” a detective informed

By EARL WARREN, Governor of California: a

as told to mene FITZGERALD

him when he arrived. “It’s part of our routine to investi-
gate all power-boat transfers, on account of the rum-run-
ning from Canada, you know,”
J “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed this . time,”
‘ said Brennan. “These gentlemen are wealthy sportsmen,
well-educated and highly’ cultured. They're not the rum-
running type. I would almost count on that.”
“What's the source of their income?"
“The stock market, f believe.”
“What bank do: they do business with?”
“The deposit,” said Brennan, “was made in currency and
the balance was a cashier’s check from the First National.”
: The detective called up the bank and asked what references
it could give for a Mr, E. A. Meline.

“They say they know. of no bank connections of his,”
he told Brennan as he hung up. “He got the cashier’s check
by paying cash for it.” *, ? :

“What’s that supposed to. mean?” asked Brennan curiously}:

“Even miliionaires,” replied the detective, “don’t keep the’
price of a yacht around the house in loose currency. No-
body’s that careless about money unless they have an in-
exhaustible supply—of other peoplé’s money. We're looking

tion of these men as you can.”

When Brennan had finished the detective smiled approv-
ingly. : 8.

“You’ve given an excellent description,” he said, “of the
two cleverest bank bandits the Coast has ever known!”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Brennan,

for a pair like that now. Just give me as ‘accurate a descrip- .

” fashionable apartment house district.

“Did they have an automobile?” the detective aske
suddenly,

“Yes, a big.coupe.”

At the garage the detective ‘learned that the car had bee
taken out ten days before. It was too big, he realized, t
have been taken on the yacht. A search of freight and ship
ping offices revealed that it had been shipped on the Rut)
Alexander to an address on Leavenworth Street, San Fran.
cisco. A few minutes later this information was flashing
southward over the telegraph wires.

In the San Francisco Hall of Justice, Detective Sergeant
William McMahon Jaid down the telegram and looked at his
caleniday, “It was now June 18th. The yacht had left Seattle
on the..8th. With its speed it should have come down the
Coast in-eltout four days. That would have brought it in on
the 12th. And on the 14th the Dwight Way Branch of the
Bank of America in Berkeley had been robbed of $18,000
by two men answering the description of the “Society
Bandits.” If it should turn out that these yachtsmen had
arrived just before this new robbery, it would appear all the
more certain that the suspicions of the Seattle Police were
correct.. McMahon took three men and hurried out’ to‘the
address on Leavenworth Street. ;

He found the building to be an imposing structure in a

Berry Faught, the
manager, looked up in astonishment when the tread of the

Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Summers and Mr. Meline were living

there. - He consulted his records. They had arrived on the
12th. McMahon nodded with satisfaction.

“They’ve been here before,” said Faught. “They were
April! That-was the time of the Oakland robbery!
“Are they in now?” asked McMahon quickly.
After an inquiry on the phone, Faught told him there was no
one in the apartment at the moment.

“Take us up there, then,” said McMahon. — He posted one

the apartment. Never had he gone looking for bank robbers
in a place like this, with its solid and expensive comforts, all in
excellent taste. Then he remembered that that was the kind

Mrs. Summers and. one of the bandits
as they appeared while recuperating
from injuries sustained in accident

)
|

SAMPSELL, Lloyd E, |
on April 29, 1952.” eee MENT Xe CODE

(San Diego County).

amet \ al
wr al

‘Branch of

desk.

“No noi:
pointing :
At the s
looking y:
tache pre:
-the side «
had just
day, and
he did so
on the dc
Withou’
dropped !
partner bh
to the as
hat on t
open. Ov
ing a pe
a thick \
“Come
cordially
Throu:
dow the
employe:
and sto;
for his
that for
teller u}
the gent
rected. \
strange:
rency, :
to the c
In.a
and vat
the tw:
brief cz

wires a:
door 0)

im. When I saw
I figured he was

Then I caught
ind fired into his
as dead when he

I got scared, so
m into the door-

oom for a couple
c started getting
2d it was time to
‘own. I managed
i, well, you know
that better than

ler is waiting in
ra court of law
analty, if any, he
ying to which he
sed.

» protect persons

in a murder in-.

3 Mike Davis, Lou
, and Mary Ray-
tt fictitious.

ughter

e 27)

the photographs
yise-shell glasses
ed, he said:

vithout question.
chat face because

2, Mrs. Hartong,
the photograph.
che lithographer.
he clerk at the
was called. She
ograph and ap-

” she said, “but

her the photo-
d been superim-

saw come out of
id, quickly. “I

from the Grey-
this photograph
an Diego news-
opies. They ap-
ig paper and al-

bombshell hit

etective and the
a Diego’s largest
. hotel appeared
rs, abashed and

the night of the
’ the night man-
it now... and
ssed it then.”

e can put on,”
etective, fanning
“Why, I thought
r ever a college
on some kind of

aid, dryly. “At
diego is still hos-
ied visitors.”

iow tried a series
m to have been
mpsell’s, on the
ar a dozen like-
ned, Runyan put
1 one ...a fat
10wn to the au-
‘Fatty) Richard-

son, a one-time cellmate of Sampsell’s
at Folsom who, police reports said, had
ceased to be fat since leaving prison
and had grown gray and stooped from
the ravages of a wasting disease.

Murphy and Geer went to work on
Sampsell. They checked Kansas City,
from whence he had sent his parole
reports. No trace of him was found
there and it was noted that, since the
Pasadena holdup, he had ceased to
send in these reports.

In the end it was Sampsell’s per-
verse. bravado that gave the police
their lead. Obviously convinced of
his evil star’s omnipotence, he haught-
4 invaded enemy territory to re-
plenish a bankroll that apparently had
been decimated in the year since the
San Diego episode.

It was shortly before. the 3 p.m.
closing hour that a neatly dressed,
graying man, thin and alert with
something of a clerical manner,
walked into the Hoover Street branch
of the Bank of America in Los Angeles
and stepped to a cashier’s wicket.

There was a quick flash of blue steel,
a terse command to, “Give me what
cash you have there and don’t make
any sound,” a deft’ scooping up of a
pile of bills into an expensive brief-
case, and the ministerial looking man
was striding confidently out of the
bank and into the Los Angeles traffic.

RURSUIT by the startled bank help
was vain. As Guard Earl Hig-
gins ran into the street after learn-
ing what had happened, he saw only
the teeming Los Angeles crowds.
Clerical looking men in conservative
suits and wearing horn-rimmed spec-
tacles were as numerous in his ken as
plump women in slacks, or oily-haired
pachuchos in levis; and expensive
briefcases, in this heart of an ex-
pensive, midtown residential hotel and
shopping district, were a dime a dozen.

But one hour later, a_ stoolpigeon
came to Murphy of the Los Angeles
FBI. Returning to his office from the
holdup scene, Murphy arrived just in
time to take a telephone call. He
found the voice on the other end bitter
and disillusioned.

“You want the guy that just heisted
the ginny bank, don’t you?” the voice
said, “ginny” being used to denote
the Bank of America, once the Bank
of Italy in the West.

“Naturally,” Murphy said, with de-
ceitful calm.

“Awright, he’s flying to Kansas City
on the TWA. He took a plane five
minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” Murphy said, “but wait
until I copy this down. Who are you?”

‘Don’t be a wise guy,” the voice
said. “That louse tossed me exactly

two hundred smackers and it’s the’

second time he’s cut me short. I want
him pinched, not me. I’m hanging up
now, see.”

“Wait a minute,” Murphy stalled.
“We'll take care of you if you help
us—”

“And when you get him you'll have
that Sampsell rat that done the San
Diego job last year, too... and that’s
all for now, brother,” the voice in-
terrupted, and then there was a click
and Murphy was unable to get an im-
mediate trace on the call.

Failing to make a spot check on the
source of the informer’s call, Murphy
rushed a call through to the Municipal
Airport. He learned that a TWA Con-
stellation had taken off five minutes
earlier for Kansas City with a Phoenix
stop scheduled. He then sent out an

alarm to pick up Fats Richardson.

The great, silver. Constellation set-
tled lightly to the Phoenix, runway.
The. motors gasped to a stop, then
sputtered as they picked up the idling
range and the propellors fanned the
desert air lazily.

A singular request floated back over
the public address system from the
pilot’s cabin. The voice was terse and
not unduly excited. ,

“All passengers will alight here,” it
said. “There is no danger. This has
been requested by the authorities so
that a complete check may be made
of the passengers’ baggage in connec-
tion with interstate fruit laws. There
is no cause for alarm.”

The aye eg filed out slowly.
First a business man, growling at the
delay, then a pair of honeymooners,
then two movie executives, then an
airline executive, then two plump
middle-aged ladies chattering excited-
ly, then, a: briefcase under his arm
and his suit and tie immaculate, every
strand of ‘his straight graying hair in
place, a man who might have been a
college professor or a clergyman on
a hurried trip somewhere.

Six local officers and four FBI men,
headed Pr the ubiquitous Murphy of
Los Angeles, flown to Phoenix in a fast
plane, stepped up te the thin, immacu-
late man. He looked at them question-
ingly, then smiled.

“I know, I know,” he said as Murphy
started to speak. “I really have been
expecting this.” Then, under his
breath, “Why didn’t I shoot that
squealing pig?”

The officers found $7,890 of the $8,-
300 loot takén from the Los Angeles
bank in his briefcase, evidence enough
that the informer had not lied about
being short changed. They also found
a .44-caliber revolver with a fore-
shortened blue steel barrel tallying
exactly with the description given by
the victimized bank teller in the case.

FOR a time Lloyd Sampsell denied
the San Diego job, but admitted
the Los Angeles bank robbery. Then,
little by little, he recalled that he had
participated in the Seaboard robbery
in Pasadena and, finally, in the San

Diego tragedy, denying, however, that

he had fired a shot in either place.
He went to trial in mid-May of 1949,
before a jury of twelve-women. It was
a pathetic swan song for the man
whose career had been so resourceful
and so dramatic.
As identification after identification

‘was made, the evidence against him
mounted overwhelmingly. Then he

took. the stand himself as his wife, a
handsome, . smartly dressed woman,
her eyes coldly concealing her emo-
tion, sat behind him in the court.

He said he remembered nothing, ex-
cept that there had been a struggle.
Someone had grabbed at the pocket
in which he’d had the pistol, he said,
but he’d heard no shot. e next thing
he knew, he told the jury, he was in
the street, running.

Then he played his trump card. He
said that he was an epileptic and that
he had recurrent spells of coma, es-
pecially when excited. The court sum-
moned neuro surgeons. They found
nothing to substantiate his claim.
Sampsell sat back sullenly in his chair
as this decision was read.. Then the
jury filed ‘out.

The twelve women returned five
hours later. Their verdict was written
plainly on their grim faces. “Guilty

Men and women “are bed animals,”’ say
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DETECTIVE

Robert B. Phillips, Sr., Founder
35 years’ Detective Experience. Formerly
U. S. Gov. Special Agent. For free par-
ticulars write the come Secret Service
System, 1917-HD No Kenneth -Ave.,

of murder’ in the first degree without
recommendation of mercy.”

Lloyd Sampsell smiled hopefully
and bowed toward the jury box gently,
all his fabled poise returning.

The judge announced that he would
pass sentence the following Thursday.
Sampsell asked to be heard. The judge
granted his request. It was an amaz-
ing one.

“Could you please pass sentence im-
mediately,” he’said, calmly. “My wife
is here and is anxious to return to our
home and resume management of our
business.” P

The judge granted the request.
Sampsell heard himself condemned to
die in San Quentin’s gas chamber.
Then he kissed his wife fondly and
was led off to the San Diego jail as
she turned with great dignity and

walked alone from the courtroom.

Three days. later he entered San
Quentin. There, as Douglas Riggs, as-
sociate prison warden, met him, he
dropped a pack of matches, started to
pick them up, then straightened.

“What’s the use?” he said, resigned-
ly. “Where I’m going fire will be
plentiful.”

Eprror’s Note: Was “Fats” Richard-
son the real partner and informer on
Sampsell and, if so, what became of
him? The first question may never be
answered, since the FBI guards that
information zealously. But Richardson
was picked up two hours after the
telephone conversation, told all the
police wanted to know, and was re-
turned to San Quentin for breaking
parole.

REAL
DETECTIVE

matting,” he announced. “I’m told it’s
turkey blood, but I want to be sure.
How soon can you find out for me?”

“It shouldn’t take long,” La Tulipe
replied. “An hour. Maybe forty-five
minutes. Is that all right?”

“It’s fine,’ Ahern answered. “I want
to study this case for a while anyway,
and I’ve got some work to do down-
stairs.”

Cahill was waiting for his superior
in the fourth floor office.

are you think he killed her,” Cahill
said.

“How do you know?” Ahern asked.

“I knew when you dropped the mis-
ter,” Cahill replied. “She’s a pretty
girl. I hope you’re wrong.” i

“So do I. But look at it this way.
That girl has no friends, no one to go
to outside of this city. If she just
ran away she would have contacted or
visited somebody here. But none of
her close friends have seen her. Neith-
er have her parents, or Panattoni’s for
that matter. On top of that she has a
seven-months-old baby who needs her
care waiting at home. That leaves
only two alternatives, or possibly
three.

“First, she could be mentally ill,
but that isn’t likely because by now
she would have shown up in a hospital
somewhere. Second, she could have
been attacked on the street or kid-
naped and murdered. If she was at-
tacked we’d have found her body, un-
less she was kidnaped. Then she
might have suffered the same fate as
Thora Chamberlain. They never did
find her body.

“The third possibility is that she
never left home alive.. Besides, I
don’t believe Donald Panattoni is tell-

ing. the truth. That nosebleed story.

sounds phony. Also he’s pretty com-
posed. And the last thing, it doesn’t
make sense to me for none of the
neighbors to have seen her since
Sunday.

“However, that isn’t important.
She may or may not have gone out
during the day Monday. On the other
hand we know Panattoni didn’t sit
home waiting for her when she went
to the show. He left the house alone
at seven fifteen Monday night. The
strange thing is the neighbors saw him
drive his car away and didn’t see

“Elaine Is Dead”

(Continued from page 49)

Elaine. Panattoni walking to the
movie. That may just be coincidence,
but it doesn’t add up.

“TI think we’ll know a lot more when
we find out about that so-called tur-
key blood. It seems pretty likely to
me that Panattoni killed his wife,
took her down to the basement,
stuffed her in the trunk of the car,
and drove out of the garage.”

“Where do you think he took her?”

_Cahill inquired.

“If we find out that isn’t turkey
blood I guarantee you we'll find out
where he took her,” Ahern answered.

For the next half hour Ahern busied
himself with routine work at his desk,
pausing a to glance at his
watch irritably. orty-five minutes
passed before his telephone rang.

“That turkey blood you brought up
here didn’t come from a turkey,” La
Tulipe’s voice informed him. “It’s
human.”

“Are you sure?’ Ahern inquired.

“It’s my business to be sure,” La
Tulipe replied.

“Thanks, Frank.” Ahern replaced
the telephone. “Put on your hat,
Tom,” he said. “We’re going back to
Thirty-eighth Avenue.”

“What if he’s flown the coop?” Ca-
hill inquired.

“He doesn’t dare,” Ahern answered.
“All he can do is wait there and try

‘to bluff it out. We're. going to take

a good look at that house this time,
and , think we’ll find the things we
want.”

JRANATION! greeted them with a
hopeful tone in his voice. “Have
you got news?” he asked, glancing
quickly at each officer.

“Maybe,” Ahern replied. “I want
angther look at your cellar.”

“All right,” Panattoni said. “But I
don’t see how you expect to find any-
thing that will help down there.”

“Just let us down there,” Ahern an-
et “We'll take care of that de-

ail.”

In the cellar Ahern approached a
large laundry basket half full of
soiled clothes. He pulled out one
piece at a time and inspected them all
minutely. When he had finished he
turned to Cahill. “There’s nothing
there. Let’s look at these walls.”

One by one
boards that e
the left of t)

paused.
“There’s onl
he said. “All

“See if you ¢
said.

Cahill tugge
away easily.
work gloves «
the detective:
them up, insp
passed them
caked with d
blood.

“That isn’t
Ahern said.

He stood in
surveying th
Finally his ey
dry chute ab
ment later he
his right arn
When he with
a crumpled sh

“All right,
now,” he said

The inspec
before him.
were encruste
with blood. £
door Panattor

“I suppose
Ahern said,
buyer.

“Of course 1
calmly. “I w.
when Elaine
guess they
chute.”

“And I su)
drifted up t
stuck there,”

“No, I put
replied.

“6 9”

“You fellov
time you we
you'd be bla
ance on me, :
gloves out of
hid them. I j
trouble. I h
ready.”

“TI suppose
the garden b
nosebleed,” /

“What mak
that?” Panatt

“That’s the
have been sc
dirt. Or ma
even that w
damp first b
them, wouldr
and sticky.”

“J don’t kr

“T know,”
know somet!
the back of y
a turkey. It

Panattoni’s
as he answer
I don’t reme!

“You didn
informed hir
wife, in the £
or maybe bo
to the cellar
trunk and th
ied her. Sor
hills around
Elaine Panat
her, Donald,
T’ll tell you.

“When you
of your car
wouldn’t ha\
had been dé
think of you

——- —— y

“Brains” of a unique team
20-odd years ago,
this strangely cultured

bank robber who had

the West Coast up in arms,

has tried it again.

Now, it’s murder.

Bandit,” Sampsell cracked banks up and

down the Pacific coast area, always get-

ting away on his fast motorboat, (below).

Unuaty, when a large number of eyewitnesses observe a
crime, it becomes difficult for the police to determine what
really happened. A case in point is that there were 20
people. customers and employes, in the B Street office of the Seaboard Finance

mpany during the holdup murder there on the morning of March 27, 1948.
But, soon after, the San Diego police had a dozen different versions. _

All witnesses agreed on one gact, however: no one had noticed the mild man-
nered little man in the blue pin-striped suit, nor his companion, when they
first came in.

After everyone had been questioned on conflicting points, Chief of Police
A. E. Jensen boiled down their observations to what he hoped was a fairly
accurate version of the sequence of events.

Seaboard's B Street office, one of five the company operated in San Diego,
was located on the street floor of the building at 140. 4 was shaped in the form
of a rectangle, with consultation booths of mahogany-stained ‘plywood, waist
high, and topped with non-transparent glass: There the customers talked over
loans with credit men. The office was bisected by a counter and a guard rail.
A swinging half-door in the rail opened to the rear of the office. Cashiers, accept-
ing time payments and dispensing loans, worked back of the counter, and behind
them. were lined up desks of the company’s officers and clerks.

he
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THE ROSICRUCIANS (AMORC)
SAN JOSE, CALIFORNIA

his. run-in with Cameron on his in-
ability to “get situated” after leaving
the Marine Corps, he admitted having
met Cameron at the Wickliffe bar. “I
was with Sally. Harry was by himself.
Later on we picked up Lou and Mary,
had a few drinks, and went up to
Harry’s apartment.

“I got mad at Harry later when I
saw he was making out better with
Sally than I was. ter all, she was
my girl in the first place. I had a right
to her, and he had no business horning
in. I was getting on fine, until Harry
began shoving his two cents in.

“Well, while we were arguing, I
turned around and called Sally. There
was no answer. So I began looking for
her. Then I realized she had left for
good. This made me madder than ever,
and J guess I took it out on Harry. I

socked him a couple of times, but he -

wouldn’t fall down. So I took out my
.32 and started beating him on the
head with the butt.

“Finally he ran out of the apartment

and I took off after him. When I saw
him cross the street I figured he was
going to the police. Then I caught
him, hit him again—and fired into his
face. I thought he was dead when he
fell down at my feet. I got scared, so
I started dragging him into the door-
way. Then I beat it. .

“T holed out in a room for a couple
of days. When traffic started getting
tight Sunday, I figured it was time to
start moving out of town. I managed
to get to Canton—and, well, you know
hers happened after that better than

Cad

Today Robert Ziegler is = 4 in
Lake County jail for a court of law
to determine what penalty, if any, he
must pay for the slaying to which he
has allegedly confessed.

Eprror’s Note: To protect persons

innocently involved in a murder in- -

vestigation, the names Mike Davis, Lou
Bennett, Sally Lewis, and Mary Ray-
mond are not real but fictitious.

REAL
DETECTIVE

By this treacherous gesture, Samp-
sell guaranteed special consideration
for himself in the pair’s subsequent
trial. Three months later McNabb
went to the gallows, but Samp was
merely transferred to maximum se-
curity at Folsom prison to finish his
previously fixed term. Not long after-
ward Warden Plummer of Folsom
lost his job. He lost it when it was
discovered that his most famous pris-
oner, Lloyd Sampsell, had been spend-
ing weekends in San Francisco with a
girl friend.

Three years later, over the bitter op-
position of Ear] Warren, now governor

| of California and the Republican vice-

presidential, candidate in 1948, -the
California State Board of Paroles re-
leased Lloyd Sampsell and he dropped
from sight.

As he left Folsom, at 45 years of
age, he was still slim, still dapper, still
alert and cat-like, still-suave and still
as dangerous as he had been the day
st betrayed Ethan McNabb to the gal-
Ows.

This, then, was the ruthless villain
Murphy had culled from a thousand
possibilities as the man who had
pumped two bullets into a helpless
peg s body as he lay, pleading, at his

eet.

There was always something of
reckless bravado about Sampsell.
Cunning, unscrupulous, and hair-trig-
ger witted, he felt. that he was, in spite
of more than half a lifetime spent in
prison, above and beyond the law. So
it was that, with seeming scorn, he
was next heard of in California...
as a bank robber.

aUnrry took a series of Sampsell
ghowanene to San Diego. On
some he painted, carefully, the type
of horn-rimmed glasses Sampsell had
worn during the raid. On one or two
others, he reproduced a pince-nez type
of glasses. Armed with these, he sum-
moned Geer and together they called
in the San Diegans known to have
had a good view of the bandit-killer.
Runyan was the first to identify him.

Confess to Slaughter

(Continued from page 27)

Pointing to one of the photographs
upon which the tortoise-shell glasses
had been superimposed, he said:

“That’s the man, without question.
I could never forget that face because
it’s so disarming.’

At once Mrs. Loop, Mrs. Hartong,
and Cook identified the photograph.
So, too, did Perry, the lithographer.
Then Mrs. Behler, the clerk at the
Greyhound bus line, was called. She
was: shown the photograph and ap-
peared puzzled.

“It looks like him,” she’ said, “but
I can’t be certain.”

Then they showed her the photo-
graph upon which had been superim-
posed the pince-nez.

“That’s the man I saw come out of
the room,” she said, quickly. “I
couldn’t miss on it.” - :

The taxicab driver from the Grey-
hound also identified this photograph
and after this the San Diego news-
papers were given copies. They ap-
peared in the morning paper and al-
most immediately a bombshell hit
Geer’s office.

_The night house detective and the
night ee of San Diego’s largest
and finest downtown hotel appeared
at police headquarters, abashed and
confused.

“That man spent the night of the
robbery in our hotel,” the night man-
ager said. “I realize it now... and
I can’t see how I missed it then.”

“What a front he can put on,”
moaned the house detective, fanning
himself lugubriously. ‘Why, I thought
he was a lawyer, or ever a college
professor, down here on some kind of
a case.”

“Thanks,” Geer said, dryly. “At
least we know San Diego is still hos-
pitable to distinguished visitors.”

Geer and Murphy now tried a series
of bad actors, known to have been
avr mates of Sampsell’s, on the

oldup victims. After a dozen like-
nesses had been scanned, Runyan put
a tentative finger on one... a fat
faced, bulky man known to the au-
thorities as Albert (Fatty) Richard-

son, a one-time
at Folsom who,
ceased to be fa
and had grown
the ravages of
Murphy and (|
Sampsell. They
from whence h
reports. No tré
there and it wa
Pasadena holdt
send in these re
In the end it
verse. bravado
their lead. Ob
his evil star’s on
ily invaded en
plenish a bankr:
been decimated
San Diego epis:
It was short
closing hour tl
graying man,
something of
walked into the
of the Bank of A
and stepped to
There was aq
a terse commar
cash you have
any sound,” a «
pile of bills int:
case, and the m
was striding cc
bank and into t)

URSUIT by

was vain.
gins ran into t!
ing what had h
the teeming |
Clerical looking
suits and weari:
tacles were as n
plump women i:
pachuchos in
briefcases, in 1
pensive, midtow
shopping distric’

But one how
came to Murph
FBI. Returning
holdup scene, Vv
time to take a
found the voice
and disillusione

“You want th:
the ginny bank,
said, “ginny” |
the Bank of An
of Italy in the V

“Naturally,” 1
ceitful calm.

“Awright, he’s
on the TWA. ]
minutes ago.”

“Thanks,” Mu
until I copy this

‘Don’t be a
said. “That lou
two hundred s
second time he’s
him pinched, no
now, see.”

“Wait a mim
“We'll take car
vs+.”’

“And when yc
that Sampsell r
Diego job last y
all for now, br
terrupted, and t
and Murphy wa:
mediate trace o

Failing to maj
source of the in
rushed a call thi
Airport. He lea:
stellation had t
earlier for Kans:
stop scheduled.

attractive woman stopped in her tracks.

“Where’s my mother—Mrs. Griffith?”
she demanded in a voice that betrayed her
growing nervousness. .

“I don’t know,” the stranger replied in
broken English. “I haven’t seen her since
yesterday morning.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m one of the roomers.”

The girl squinted up into the gloom.
The man was fully dressed and even wore
a hat.

“l’m Mrs. Griffith's daughter, and I’ve
never seen you before!”

The stranger smiled apologetically.
“I’ve only been here a few days. I’ve only

seen your mother a couple of times. I .

seatsaty go to work early. Won’t you come
in?”

Reassured by the man’s manner, Mrs.
Cava ascended the stairs, surprised that
there seemed no other sign of life in the
usually bustling house.

“Where are the others?”

“I guess everyone’s gone out,” the man
said. “I was just going out myself. I’ve
been looking for your mother, but she
doesn’t seem to be around. The kitchen
door is locked. I’ve called and she doesn’t
answer.” .

“That’s odd. She’s usually home. . .”

The swarthy stranger took off his hat
and bowed jerkily as the girl reached the
top of the stairs. “I’ll have to be going,” he
told her. “If you see your mother, tell
her somebody’s been in my room. Some
shirts and socks are gone, I hate to make
trouble, but I thought she ought to know
about it.” :

“You mean somebody stole things from
your room? -How could that happen?
Mother’s here all the time.”

“TI don’t know,” the man said, still with
his air of apology. “I came home late last
night and all the drawers were pulled out
and my things were gone. I didn’t want to

wake Mrs. Griffiths up, so I thought I’d
tell her this morning.”

“Which room is it?”

“Room No. 2, right next to your
mother’s.”

Mrs. Cava looked uncertainly at the
closed door. “I’ll tell her when she comes
in, But...”

“Oh, don’t go to any great trouble. |
have to be going now. Goodbye.”

The door. closed behind him, and
Juanita Cava was alone in the silent hall.
For a moment she had the irrational feel-
ing that she had blundered into the
wrong house. She walked back to the
inner kitchen door, found it .locked as
the man had said. This was not unusual
in itself, since. Mrs. Griffith had a habit
of locking it when she went out so the
roomers wouldn’t be tempted to use her
kitchen for cooking. But, pulling the lace
curtain aside and peering through the
glass panel, Mrs. Cava saw her mother’s

. purse lying open on the kitchen table, with

her bunch of keys beside it.
It was unthinkable that Mrs. Griffith
would go out without her keys and purse.

.The front door key was among’ those on

the table.

Mrs. Cava, rattled the doorknob.
“Mother!” she called. “Mother!”

This time she was answered, but in.an
unexpected way. Mrs. Griffith’s two Pom-
eranians, usually. very quiet and well-
behaved, set up a mournful howling from
the backyard.

Grateful for some sign of life to re-

“lieve the frightening silence, Mrs. Cava

went downstairs to the front again and
tried the door at the side alley leading
to the rear. It was locked. She rang the
bell of the downstairs flat. No answer.
Recalling that her aunt, Mrs. Arcatia
Canada, who lived just around the corner,
had-a key to. the alley door, the girl

_ hastened to find her. Together they hur-

THERE were a number of tipolf clues to help
Inspector Frank Ahern, head of the homicide
detail, as he opened the city-wide manhunt.

TOO MANY things were wrong at her mother’s
rooming house
She couldn’t rest until she found out why.°

fo suit -Mrs. Juanita Cava.

day, were nowhere. in sight.

ried back. “I know something’s wrong
with mother,” Mrs. Cava _ explained.
“Maybe she’s fainted in the kitchen. But
why should she lock herself in?” “

The elder woman agreed that the cir-
cumstances were very strange.

when they let themselves into the back
yard and were greeted with pathetic eager-
ness by the two little dogs. The pets’ food
dishes, which Mrs. Griffith always brought
down in the morning and left there all
The two
Poms jumped all over the visitors and
barked and howled frantically.

“The poor things sound as though
they’re starved !”

With an increasing premonition of
calamity, the two women hurried up the
back steps. The glass of the bolted door
was heavily curtained, but through a
rent they ‘could see into the porch behind
the kitchen, which Mrs. Griffith used as a
laundry room. They saw a large wrench,
ominously out of place, lying on the table.

“Let’s break the door in,” Mrs. Cava
decided. “It’s just a flimsy bolt. I can
do it.’ She threw her weight against the
door, drew back and bucked it again. On
the third heave it flew open.

Mrs. Cava almost fell over a pair of

little. closet just inside the door. Her
screams momentarily silenced the howling
dogs. “Mother! My God! She’s dead!
Look at her head!”

Felipa Griffith was indeed dead. She
lay fallen forward in a partially kneeling
position, face down in the toolbox on the
closet floor, a pile of bloody laundry
covering her head. Her gray hair was
clotted with dried blood. Blood was spat-
tered all over the closet walls. She was
clad in her nightgown, bed jacket, bath-
robe and’ house slippers. When her
daughter touched her hand she found it

“-was icy cold.

Officer Raymond Pope of. Mission

Station responded to the woman’s frantic ~

call and summoned Inspectors Ralph Mc-
Donald, Al Nelder and George Murray
from the homicide detail who arrived
shortly after noon at the house at 719
Capp Street.

Juanita Cava, shaken but controlled,

‘told her story, including the roomer’s

tale of the ransacked room. j
“How do we know he was really
roomer?” McDonald speculated. “May-

be he...”

“The body’s stone cold,” Nelder pointed
out. “Mrs. Griffith’s been dead for some
time, probably since last night. It isn’t
likely the killer would have stuck around
that long.”

A deputy coroner arrived, examined
the body and found that the back and
right side of the woman’s head had been
crushed by multiple heavy blows. So
savage had been the slugging that part of
the Tesin was actually exposed.

The 14-inch Stillson wrench bore blood-
stains and appeared the obvious murder
weapon.

It seemed evident that “Mrs. Griffith
had been struck from behind while kneel-
ing in the closet, possibly at the com-
mand of the killer. The laundry had ap-

parently been st
the spurting blo
The coron
rency pinne
nightgown.
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“Have you seen this man?”

No one had.

The sizzling sun scorched the officers’
necks and ricocheted off the pavement
into their red-rimmed, sleepless eyes.
Perspiration streamed down their faces
and soaked into their collars. Street
after street slipped beneath their aching
feet until nerves were as raw as tempers
were short.

Then, at nine o’clock that night, the
inspectors got their first break. A sultry
redheaded waitress in a steamy ham-
burger shop remembered that Sanford
had eaten there on Monday evening.

“ FTER he ate he went into the bar

across the street,” she _ said,
straightening an errant shoulder-strap.
“Then I didn’t see him no more. Least,
I think it was that there feller.”

The detectives hurried to the tavern.
Ahern slid Sanford's photo across the
polished bar. “Seen this guy lately?”

The bartender scratched his head.
“He was in here Monday night, but he
ain't been back. He had a lot of stuff
he was trying to sell—a radio, men’s
clothes, things like that. I figured
maybe the stuff was hot so I sent him
packing. He might’a tried the pool-
room down the block, though.”

At the poolroom the officers learned
that Sanford again had tried to dispose
of his loot but failed.

“I wanted to buy the radio, but the
kid was offering it too cheap,” said the

How Could | Know I'd Be Trapped? (Continued from Page 31)

I can truthfully swear today that I
had not the slightest inkling of what
Mac planned. But I can say this. Mac
took me dancing on a Thursday night,
September 9. He brought me home
early, as he always did.

“You’re a working girl, Baby,” he
always said. “Got to get your beauty
sleep.”

He kissed me goodnight at the door
of that little apartment I had near the

tavern. He’d kissed me before, but this .

time it was strange and fierce.

“Goodby, Baby.” He turned on his
heel, quickly, and walked away, not
looking back.

I was puzzled. Mac usually was not
so abrupt. Walking down the hall, he
would stop two or three times and call
to me.

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth,
Baby.” Or, “Sweet dreams, Kid.”
Things like that. :

But not this night. He just said

goodby.

I think Mac knew. I believe that men
who live dangerously have a strange
sort of premonition of what the next
day will bring, yet they are helpless to
change the course they already have
set.

For this was the evening of Septem-
ber 9, the evening of the day before Mac
met a blazing death in an outlying sec-
tion of Queens Borough I didn't even
know existed.

It is torture to think of that day, yet
I force myself to think of it, and to write
about it, because it is my hope that
some other girl may be spared that
same torture.

Mac frequently stopped in the bar
around noon. If I wasn’t busy we’d
talk.

But the next morning, the tenth, he
didn’t show. None of the boys were in.

I was nervous as a cat and my hands
were shaking. I honestly could not ex-
plain it, but something told me this was
the day. Mac was on his last job. That
strange kiss the night before, the fact
that Mac hadn’t put in an appearance
during the morning, plus the love I had
for him, all combined to make a score.
My beating heart said—this was it!

It came time for my lunch swing but
I couldn't eat. I went back to work
again, hoping desperately to keep busy.
However the bar was virtually deserted.
I polished glasses and then I polished
them again. Seconds were minutes and
minutes were hours.

Actually it was only 2:30 when a
customer came in with a copy of a

slick-haired house man. “I thinks to
myself there must be a joker in the
deck, so I tells the guy to come back in
a day ortwo. ‘That is’, I says, ‘if you’re
still in town.’ ‘Don’t worry about that,’
he answers. ‘I won’t be no farther away
cant you can pitch that there cue

It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was
something. The inspectors promptly
canvassed every building within the im-
mediate vicinity. By 1:30 a. m. they
had covered ten square blocks without
result.

“How far does Sanford think you can
throw a cue ball?” asked McDonald.

The cacophonies of the city had sub-
sided and it was quiet now. Streetlamps
threw pale blisters of light on the side-
walk and a faint west wind stirred the
crumpled newspapers lying in the gut-

ter.

“We might as well try here,” said
Ahern, jerking his thumb at a narrow
side street that was lined with ancient,
weatherbeaten buildings.

HE detectives were about to enter the
corner house when they heard the
scuffing of footsteps behind them.
Presently a small, tow-headed boy with
@ newspaper in one hand and a piece of
apple pie in the other emerged from
the darkness. —
_ “Hey, you guys, get off my steps,” he
said indignantly. , ;
His indignation turned to amazement

newspaper tucked under his arm. His
face was familiar. I'd seen him around
before, but I didn’t know his name and
don't know it to this day.

He ordered a whisky from Freddie
and spread the paper on the bar. I
could see him pointing, and Freddie’s
lips puckering into a soundless whistle.

I wanted to scream, “What is it?”
but I couldn't. I stood there inanely
polishing a glass and listening to the
beating of my heart. The customer
drank his whisky, slowly, while Freddie

read the story again, shaking his head..:

Then he folded the paper, asked a
question to which the answer was a nod
of the head, and walked slowly toward
my end of the bar.

“This is bad news, Kid,” said Freddie.
He pointed to the paper.

And as I read icicles formed around

my heart, each sharp point digging in
like a dagger. .
; Cops Shoot 2 Bandits
In Flushing Holdup

2 Others Captured in Gun Battle

There weren’t many details. Two men
had been rushed to Flushing Hospital.
John Williams and Paul Bokun. Doc-
tors said Bokun would live.

“There is no hope for Williams,” the
news story said. “His death is a matter
of hours.”

I know my face was pasty-white,
Grained of blood, and my heart was fiut-
tering. Yet somehow I did not scream.

“Take it easy, Kid,” Freddie said
kindly. “Knock off.”

Wordlessly, I untied my apron and
let. it lie where it fell, I moved on
wooden legs to where I had left my
purse and fumbled for some coins. Then
I went to the telephone booth and
leafed through the “F's,” looking for

‘the number of Flushing Hospital. It

wasn’t there.

I had the Manhattan telephone di-
rectory, and Flushing Hospital is in
Queens. I didn’t know that. I dialed
Information.

She gave me the number. It is en-
graved in my memory. I will know that
number the day I die. Flushing 9-2000.

It seemed like hours yet it was only

seconds until an impersonal voice said,°

“Flushing Hospital.”

“John Williams!” I asked. “What is
the condition of John Williams?”

“One moment, please.”

Iheld a dead receiver until the imper-
sonal voice returned.

The words that caine back over the
wire spelled the end of Paula Barrett.

“Mr. Williams passed away at one

when he learned the men were officers.

“Yeah, that’s our new roomer,” he said
when he saw Sanford’s photograph.
“Only Ma says he ain’t gonna stay for
long unless he pays his rent. He’s in
the first room to your left as you go in.”

The. detectives entered the dimly
lighted hall with their guns in readiness.
Ahern tried the door, but it was locked.

“Open up, Sanford!’’.

There was no answer. . ,

Ahern stepped back, then lunged for-
ward. The door creaked. He did it
again; the door popped off its hinges.
They burst into the room, groped for
the light switch and flicked it on.

Opposite them, sitting on the bed, was
William Sanford. The neatly dressed,
fine-featured youth regarded the in-
spectors with a calm and impassive
amusement. “Well?” he said, his jaw
slowly moving up and down.

Ahern snapped the handcuffs on his
slender wrists. “I suppose you never
heard of Mrs. Felipa Griffith.”

Sanford continued his methodical
chewing. “No,” he said, “I never did.”

Ahern gave the youth a sudden slap
on the back of:the neck. Sanford
coughed, tried to swallow and failed.
The tiny pellet of paper he had been
chewing flew out of his mouth and
bounced on the floor. :

“Your rent stub?”

“Yes,” Sanford said wearily. “I guess
I should have thrown the thing away
earlier.”

fifty-five,’ the woman said, as if she
were announcing the departure of a
train.

ee is the body?” I managed to
ask. ‘

“The body of Mr. Williams has been

claimed by the Medical. Examiner. It
is being taken to the Queens General
Hospital morgue.”

Wordlessly, I replaced the receiver
and stepped out of the hot telephone
booth into the coolness of the bar. It
was deserted again.

I sat on a stool. “What’s a good drink,
Freddie? A strong one?”

He looked at me. “All over?”

I remember dabbing at my eyes that
felt like they were crying although they
were dry.

“Mac died at one fifty-five. His body’s
at the morgue.”

Freddie clicked his tongue.

“Give me a drink!” My voice was

* rising, almost a scream.

Methodically, like a doctor, Freddie
leaned across the bar and slapped my
face. “Calm down, Kid.”

He didn’t say any more, and I was
grateful for that. He mixed me up a
whisky sour and I drank it. The liquor
was warm in’ my stomach, the only
warm spot in my whole body. My hands
were cold; they felt numb. I sat there
like a clothes dummy, powerless.

REDDIE mixed me another and
pushed it toward me. “That’s all you
get in here, Kid,” he said. His voice was
kind, fatherly. “I been in this racket
a long time. I seen ‘em come and go. I
know what you want to do. You want
to go rushing out there. Don’t do it,
Kid. Stay the Hell away from. there.
The cops got nothing on you. They
don’t even know you're alive. But if you
go out there asking questions, making
scenes, the cops and the reporters, too,
he be on you like a duck on a june
jug.”
He wiped his big, red hands on his
apron, ~‘“‘Need some dough, Kid?”
I shook my head. Money, fortunately,
was not an immediate problem. I’d
ini quite a bit. Tips were always

good.

But what now? Freddie’s advice was
sound; I knew_it. The cops would be
tickled to death to question me, a ban-
dit’s sweetheart.

But I had to see him. I just had to.

Freddie sensed my thoughts. “Let
it cool for a day,” he said. “Mac has
relatives. They’ll arrange for burial,
and there’ll be a big crowd at the fu-

At Headquarters the youth made a
full confession and also designated the
lonely beach spot where he had buried
his loot.

“All I wanted was a few bucks to buy
a gun for Tootsie,” he said. Tootsie was
an eighteen-year-old blonde who had
been his sweetheart since childhood.
“But when I got in trouble she jilted me.
After that I couldn’t think of anything
except killing her. And if I’d been able
to buy a gun I would have done it, too!”

On November 17 William Sanford was
brought to trial for first-degree mur-
der. For two days packed with drama,
Assistant District Attorney Charles
Peery and Deputy Public Defender Wil-
liam Ferdon clashed swords in a bril-
liant display of legal fireworks.

UT even the herculean efforts of
Ferdon could not save a man who
refused to testify in his own behalf.

“I’m sick of life and sick of myself,”
Sanford said. “I want to die.”

A jury of seven women and five men
swiftly found Sanford guilty as charged,
and on November 19, 1948, Superior
Judge Daniel Shoemaker passed the
mandatory sentence of death in the
San Quentin gas chamber.

- Sanford spoke four brief words.

“Thank you, your Honor,” he said.

The names Lee Davis, Joe Sloan and
Fred Cole are fictitious to spare em-
barrassment to actual persons.

Read It First In
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

neral. You can go to that and no one
will spot you.”

I nodded. ;

“You promise?” Freddie’s voice was
sharp. '

I said I promised. It was the onl
way. Paula Barrett isn’t dumb. She
has a screwball heart, but she isn’t
dumb. I decided then and there to ~
keep as far away from cops as I could.

I got my hat and coat. “Tell the
boss I’m finished,” I said to Freddie. “I
can’t ever work in here again.”

Then I went out into the sunshine.

. The yak-yak of Broadway came faintly

to my ears. People, thousands of
people, jostled past me on the sidewalk.
But I was the loneliest girl in all that
vast city. I felt like a boat with the
sail set and no rudder. No anchor.
Where the wind blew, that way I drift-
ed. I had another drink then another.

Somehow I got back to my apart-
ment; I'll never know how. I wasn’t
drunk; I was in a daze. ‘

Somehow I slept. :

When I awoke it was daylight—Sat
urday. I dressed feverishly and raced
out of the apartment. I must learn the
details of the tragic drama that had
been played in Flushing. The account
I had seen was very clipped and brief.
The morning papers would have the
full story. ; _

And they did. Complete accounts.
This is what I read:

A man by the name of William Fol-
liard has a real-estate and insurance
office on 162nd Street, in the section of
Queens Borough known as Broadway-
Flushing. A building contractor rents
a desk and telephone in the office, and
on Fridays he makes up a payroll there,
about $3,000 each week.

Mac must have known about it; the
boys hit that office at eleven o'clock in
the morning, when the payroll should
have been there. :

They had a new Chevrolet and were
driving out Northern Boulevard when
they stopped for a traffic light at 158th
Street. Another car pulled up along-
side. Two men were in that car and
they looked at Mac and at Braddish,
who was driving, and at Paul and Hugh,
in the back seat.

When the light flashed green, Louis
stepped on the gas and drove on to
162nd Street. He turned right, went
past Mr. Folliard’s office, made a U-
turn and parked across the street.

Louis stayed behind the wheel. Mac,
Paul and Hugh went in.

and Farnam. I wanted to go to the
bowling alley on Fortieth Street, but
when I got in the cab I realized I had
only two dollars.”

T= the holdup plan came to him, he
said. He told James Keene to take
him out on Seventy-Second Street—he
didn’t know the address but he could
find the house. When they got there,
Elvin Keene picked out a crossroads,
told Keene to stop the cab.
; After they got out of the cab Elvin
said, “This is a stickup.”

James Keene didn’t speak. He
started walking. toward Elvin. Elvin,
his hand on the gun in his pocket,
backed away a few steps.

He repeated the stickup order. James
Keene kept walking toward him.

Elvin yanked the gun from his
pocket and fired three rapid shots.
James Keene yelled out, then toppled
to the ground. Elvin screamed.

He got into the cab, “but I couldn’t
make myself drive.” A car came over a
hill, and the headlights glared on the
cab. Elvin jumped from the cab,
grabbed the flashlight and fled into
the field.

The rest of the case was routine, but
there were some interesting angles in
tying up the loose ends.

Elvin’s parents were respected citi-
zens in Abilene. Elvin had been home
several times after the murder, but had

It Was Tootsie He Planned

“T’ll find the man, but it may take a

spell,”’ drawled the sheriff. ‘“Willamina .

is quite a scoot from here. And of
course Sloan may be staying in the
country outside of Willamina. If he is,
it'll make finding him a heap more dif-
ficult.”

Ahern banged the phone down dis-
gruntedly. Everything was breaking
wrong. Absolutely everything.

“We can’t just sit around here all
night,” he said angrily. ‘There must
be some way of learning who was in
Rooms One and Three.”

Cahill drummed his fingers thought-
fully on his cigarette-scarred desk.
“Mrs. Griffith did run a rooming-
house,” he ventured.

“So?”

“So she must have kept some sort of
record of rent payments. Find her

ledger and you’ll find the names of

those two roomers.”

Just like that. It sounded easy. To
make it still easier McDonald contacted
Mrs. Cava at her home on Elsie Street.

“We're looking for your mother’s
rent ledger,” he explained. “Can you
tell us where it is?”

_ oe OTHER’S never kept a ledger,”

answered Mrs. Cava, “but all her

rent receipt books should be in the
kitchen cabinet.”

“Good enough,” declared McDonald.
“Okay, boys. Let’s go.”

At Capp Street the five inspectors
were met by Officer Pope.

“If this is a rooming-house, business
is sure bad,” said Pope. “No one has
come in or gone out since I’ve been
here.”

“What are you beefing about?” asked
Nelder. ‘‘We’re coming in, aren’t we?”
Upstairs, the officers found the receipt
books in the kitchen cabinet just as Mrs.
Cava had said they would. What Mrs.
Cava had not said was that the books
numbered nearly a hundred and cov-
ered a period of years.

“Each of you grab a handful of these
things,” Ahern ordered. “As soon as
you spot the current book, yell out.”

The detectives seated themselves at
the kitchen table and went to work.
Some fifteen minutes later McDonald
leaped up from his chair and flourished
one of the green, cardboard-oacked
books in the air.

“Here it is!” he shouted. He slammed
the book on the table and thumbed
through the stubs.

“Here's Sloan,” he said, ‘and here’s
Davis and—” He' stopped abruptly.
“There are no more names here.”

Ahern expelled his breath between
his teeth in a hiss of dismay.

“Maybe a couple of stubs are stuck
together,” he said half-heartedly. “Go
through it again.” ‘

McDonald did: The others pressed
around him. No one spoke. The ceil-
ing lightbow] poured brilliant white il-
lumination down on their bowed heads.
Except for the slight flicking of the
stubs there was no sound.

Finally McDonald halted. He picked
up the book and pried two of the stubs
so far apart that he nearly broke the

. thinly glued binding.
There, adhering to the metal staple
that kept the stubs together, were two

‘tiny fragments of paper. These frag-

ments obviously were what remained of
a stub that had been torn from the book.

McDonald groaned. He’d made a dis-
covery, but all it showed was that one
of the two unknown roomers had oblit-
erated a crucial clue to his identity.

“We'll have to search Rooms One
and Three to try to get some lead on our
mysterious tenants,” Ahern announced.

“You'll search Room Three over my

dead body,” said a sardonic voice from
the doorway. :
._ The inspectors whirled around to find
themselves facing a man in jeans and
a leather jacket. Behind the man was
Officer Pope.

Pope gestured helplessly. “I was
standing outside when this guy barged
up the steps. I tried to find out who
he was and—”

“Aw, shut up!” the man said. He
wasn’t a very tall man but he had a
chest like a beer keg and a pair of
hands as big as mallets. His face was
flushed with anger and there was a vivid
red smear across the front of his shirt.
“I don’t know who you jokers are or
what goes with the flatfoot here,” he
bellowed, “but I’m damn well telling
you to stay out of my room!”

Ahern looked at McDonald and Mc-
Donald looked at Cahill and Cahill
looked back at Ahern.

Either the stranger was off his rocker
or he hadn’t read the newspapers.

“Don’t you know that your landlady
has been murdered?” Cahill questioned.

The stranger’s amazed expression in-
dicated that he obviously didn’t know.

Thereafter, and when he had seen
Ahern’s badge, he told his story.

On Sunday afternoon he had phoned
the Capp Street house for a room, say-
ing that he intended to move in late that
night. Mrs. Griffith had left a pair of
keys under the doormat for him but
told him to pay his rent at a later date
because she wanted to go to bed early.

_ ‘There's no one else here right now
so I couldn’t make you out a receipt
anyway,” she had said.

What had Mrs. Griffith meant by
that, Murray asked.

“How should I know?” returned the
man, who identified himself as Fred
Cole. “The point is that I left the house
early Monday morning without ever
having seen my landlady.”

Cole added that when he had re-
turned Monday evening he had found
that his room had been ransacked.
Nothing valuable was missing, however,
so he decided to report the incident to
Mrs. Griffith in the morning instead of
to the police. In order to corroborate
his story, he had left his room as he
found it.

“But I couldn’t locate Mrs. Griffith,”
he went on. “In fact, so far as I could
see I was the only person in the house.
I waited hours for Mrs. Griffith to show
up but she didn’t. And all the time I
waited I should’a been at work. The
more I thought about it the more
burned up I got. Finally I scrammed
and on my way out I bumped into this
pretty girl who claimed she was the
landlady’s daughter. That’s all there
is toit. I ate dinner downtown tonight
and took in a movie afterwards. You
know the rest.” 7

not mentioned it to his parents. He
had washed out the bloodstained work
pants he had worn at the time of the
killing and taken them home to his
mother to have them patched.

£ LVIN had bought the pistol—a palm-
sized 6.35 millimeter Czechoslovak-
ian automatic—in a San Francisco
hock shop. After the shooting he had
oiled it carefully and put it in a suitcase
in his room. Test shots later fired from
it matched the bullets taken from the
body of James Keene.

Officers later found that Elvin had
worked for the county as a part-time
janitor. He was often in the court-
house. He probably had rubbed shoul-

ders in the courthouse elevator with
some of the officers who were looking
for him.

After Elvin had sigmed his confes-
sion a county official twrought him his
final paycheck, for $24.

“Ought to keep kiim in cigarette
money,” the official: observed.

On November 8, 1948, he was brought
to trial and pleaded guilty to a charge
of second-degree mmrdier. He was sen-
tenced to life impriseanment.

In this story the mames Fred Master-
son, Mr.and Mrs. Wailter Kneppler and
Lewis Milton are fictitious, to protect
innocent persons.

to Murder (Continued from Page 20)

“You never saw the tenant in Room
One?”

“No.”

‘How about that red streak on your
shirt?”

Cole laughed. “If you were in my
business you’d get your clothes dirty,
too. I’m asign painter.” -

Cole’s story had the ring of truth, but
it still needed to be checked. ‘“‘McDon-
ald and I will look into this story,”
Ahern told the other officers. “The
rest of you stay here at the house and

keep an eye onCole. While you’re wait--

ing to hear from us make a thorough
search of Room One. Maybe you’ll find
something to identify the kid who lives
there.”

Within 20 minutes Ahern and
McDonald had roused Cole’s employer
from bed and learned that the sign
painter indeed was innocent.

“Certainly Fred was at work all
Monday morning,” declared the man.
“Where do you think he was—in
China?”

Ahern took out his notebook and
pencil and crossed Cole off the list of
suspects. ‘

Two men -had been cleared. That
left only Sloan and the quiet, well-
mannered kid in Room No. One. Or a
stranger.

Since Sloan’s current rent stub was
in the receipt book, it was clear that the
missing stub was the kid’s. This didn’t
necessarily mean that the kid had torn
it out. It didn’t mean a thing, really-—
Mrs. Griffith might have filled in a stub
incorrectly and torn it out herself.

“But if the kid is innocent, where is
he?” asked Murray when the five in-
spectors were back in the Hall of
Justice.

“And who is he?” asked Nelder. “We
went over his room from top to bottom
and found zero.”

_ were vital questions. As puz-
zlers, though, they had nothing on
Mrs. Griffith's enigmatic remark that
she couldn’t make out a receipt for Cole
because no one else was present in the
house.

“She must have meant she needed
help to write the slip,” mused McDon-
ald. ‘But why? There was nothing
wrorg with her hands.”

“Write—that’'s it!” exclaimed Cahill.
He swooped up the telephone, spun the
dial and spoke briefly to Mrs. Cava.

“Yes, that’s correct,” confirmed
Mrs. Cava. ‘Mother learned to read
excellently, but she never could write
too well. She was a native of San
Salvador, you see. Joe Sloan usually
made out the rent receipts for her.”

Shortly after Cahill had put down the
receiver a call came in from Willamina,
Oregon. The McMinnville sheriff was
on the other end of the line.

“We haven't located Sloan yet, but
we're still hunting,” he reported.
“We'll find him within the next ten
hours for sure.” .

The detectives settled down to wait-
ing with all the cheerfulness of a
conclave of undertakers. Two of them

eased back in their chairs, tilted their
hats over their eyes and tried to sleep.
But it was no use.

Hour after hour passed with agoniz- |
ing tedium and still there was no word

from Oregon. By the time night had
dissolved into the jomquil tints of dawn
the office was fogged with tobacco
smoke and the ash-trays brimmed
with crumpled cigarette butts and
burnt-out matches.

Then, at eight a. m., ithe McMinnville
sheriff phoned.

“Yep, I’ve found Sloan. He’s stand-
ing right here beside me,” the officer
announced. “He was staying at a re-
sort out in the country just like I fig-
ured. Sure, he’s im tthe clear. He’s
been up here in Oregom since Sunday
night.”

A few moments later Sloan himself
was on the line. .

“Yes, I remember the fellow in Room
One. I made out a remt receipt for him
around June twentieth,” he told Ahern.
“But it’s hard to believe he murdered
Mrs. Griffith. He was an orphan and
Mrs. Griffith had lost her son in the
war. The two of them seemed to hit
it off fine.”

“Do you recall his mame?”

Sloan pondered. “It was Bill-some-
thing. The last name escapes me right
now. I only saw the boy a couple of
times.”

“Think,” Ahern umged. “You've got
to remember.”

“Wait a minute. He had a name like
a college.”

“Yale? Duke?

“No, Stanford.
Bill Sanford.”

Ahern hung up and crossed Sloan off
the list of suspects. Of the four men,
three had been cleared. Only one re-
mained.

The clean-cut kid in Room No. One.

At the Bureau of Identification
Ahern found William H. Sanford’s
criminal record card. In 1947 the 20-
year-old youth had been sentenced to
the California Youth Authority Forest-
ry Camp at Ben Lomond on a charge of
armed robbery. But on June 9, 1948, he
had escaped.

While Police Photographer Gerald
Fennell made up additional prints of
Sanford’s line-up picture. Ahern spoke
with the juvenile authorities who had
handled the youth’s case. The author-
ities disclosed that Sanford had an in-
telligence quotient equal to that of the
average college graduate and that he

California? Har—”
Qnly it’s Sanford.

had spent most of his life in and.

around the Mission District.

Ahern immediately issued an all-
points bulletin for Sanford’s arrest.
Additional officers were posted at San
Francisco's transportation depots and
warned to be especially on their guard.

“I don’t think Sanford will try to blow"

town.” declared Ahern. “He knows the
Mission District and that’s probably
where he’ll hide out. Let’s take a look
over there.”

The job was tougher than it sounded,
for the Mission was San Francisco's
most densely populated district.

Noon came and passed and still the
officers had uncovered no trace of the
suspect. Weary, unshaven and gaunt-
faced from lack of sleep, they continued
their manhunt. Under a boiling sun
they moved from restaurant to hotel,
from hotel to rooming-house, from
rooming-house to tavern. Again and
again they flashed Sanford’s photo-
graph and asked the same question:

SANFORD, William H., wh, gassed CASP (Sam Francisce) July 15, 1949

(INSIDE DETECTIVE, April, 1949)

is not fooled by what ..
npty room. He reached
d a cowering youth by

him into. the open.
by professional models)

FROM THE INSIDE FILES OF CALIFORNIA

ALTHOUGH SHE HAD spent most of her girlhood

in the big old-fashioned house on Capp Street, pretty
Mrs. Juanita Cava felt like a stranger, and more than a
little uneasy, when she went to visit her mother, Mrs.
Felipa Griffith, on the morning of June 29, 1948, Every-
thing seemed to be wrong.

Mrs. Cava and her husband had just returned from
two weeks’ vacation, and her first thought, after straight-
ening up her own house, was to hurry over to see her
mother, who had no telephone but lived only a few
blocks away, in San Francisco’s Mission district. She and
the widowed Mrs. Griffith were very close to each other,
especially since her younger brother had been killed in
the war. Her mother, a jolly woman who loved to have
people around her, took in roomers rather than be left
alone in the big family flat; but this transient brood
hardly made up for the absence of her. own children.

So Juanita Cava hastened across the sunny Mission
blocks, glad to be back among familiar ‘scenes again and
eager to tell about her vacation.

EMBITTERED BY A S

THIS bull-necked slayer admitted he was emo-
tionally unstable and seemed glad to confess
the crime that had netted him less than $2
in cash and a radio he was afraid to pawn.

But when she reached the Capp Street house her mood
quickly changed to one of annoyance, then apprehension
and deepening anxiety. In the first place, when she
hurried up the steep imitation-marble steps and rummaged
in her purse, she found she had lost or mislaid her key
to the front door. It wasn’t on the ring with the others.

‘She rang the bell and stood impatiently with her hand
on the big bronze doorknob. But nothing happened.
Frowning, she rang again, and listened to the echo of
the bell fade into silence.

This was highly unusual. Her mother was invariably
home at this hour, busy with the housework, and always
answered the bell promptly. Mrs. Cava looked up at the
closed and shaded windows. There was no movement
anywhere. She leaned on the beli again.

Finally, just as she was about to give up, there was a
rattling inside and the door creaked open.

When Mrs, Cava entered and peered up the dark sthirs,
she had still another unpleasant turn. The short, swarthy
man who stood there was a total stranger to her. The

Hollywood's
L4mesick Killer

(Continued from page 51)

person, and he had only $4.36 in his pock-
ets. He had died needlessly, tragically,
rather than be pushed around by a cheap
hoodlum. ;

Detective Sergeants Chet Turner and
Walt Colwell of the Hollywood night
watch and other officers were at the scene
in a few minutes, and by the time Ser-
geants Charles W. Hancock and William
R. Munkres of the Hollywood robbery de-
tail arrived, together with men from cen-
tral robbery, they had assembled the
essential data and an emergency radio
alarm had already gone out for the fleeing
killers. _

The slain man, Kenneth S. Savoy, a 35-
year-old Bostonian, World War II veteran
and 1950 business administration. graduate
of the University of Maine, was an execu-
tive secretary in the controller’s division
of Samuel Goldwyn Productions. Savoy
was unmarried and lived alone in an
apartment on Franklin Avenue, near Hol-
jJywood Bowl. Coming to Hollywood orig-
inally in 1953, he had swiftly made a name
for himself as an expert in the complex
field of movie production finance, and was

,regarded as a young man with a brilliant
future in the industry. Genial and affable,
he had hosts of friends throughout Holly-
wood.

_ Ken Savoy frequently dropped into the
little Melrose Avenue tavern, where sev-

friends from other studios hung out,
he had been in several times over the
noudays. Most of the people in the bar

*’ knew him. There was no question but

that he and the two robbers were total
strangers to each other. Not the slightest
sign of recognition had passed between
them.

Though he was moderately well-fixed,

, Savoy made a habit of never carrying

much money on him, his acquaintances
said. Plainly, with only $4.36 in his pock-

’ et, he had not been trying to save his

money at risk of his life. Bravely or fool-
ishly, according to the way one viewed it,
Kenneth Savoy had given his life for prin-
ciple: he simply didn’t intend to be shoved
around. And the burning-eyed shotgun
bandit just as obviously didn’t like people,
especially well-dressed young Hollywood
executive types, who scorned his orders.

The killers had escaped with a total of
about $220. They got $200 from the cash
register and $20, or a little less, from the
men’s wallets.

Most of the excited witnesses, eight men
and eight women patrons and three bar
employees, were able to give graphic de-
scriptions of the Mutt and Jeff pair. Even
though the colored Iights in the tavern
were dim and tricky, the murderous erup-
tion had etched the faces of the two men
in their minds, more so than was the case
with victims of the previous jobs, where
the tall and short duo had merely robbed
and not murdered. Naturally the word-

pictures given by the different witnesses
varied a bit, but they agreed on essentials.

1e two were described as white Ameri-

; from 25 to 35 years old, most likely
_. the older side. The Mutt bandit, the
actual wielder of the lethal shotgun was
about 5 feet 10 inches to 6 feet tall, 170
pounds or perhaps less, of skinny build.
He had a thin, narrow face, with hollow

M cheeks and receding brown hair streaked
D with gray. His complexion was markedly

pallid, pasty. All the witnesses mentioned
his large, smoldering, intense, deep-set

dark brown eyes, and how they had flamed
when he was enraged.

“That fellow is mean, real mean,” the
bartender declared. ‘You could see it in
his eyes. He just had to hurt somebody.”

“He had a nasty sense of humor,” the
blond cocktail waitress added with a shud-
der. “I’ll never forget how he laughed
when that balloon popped and everybody
jumped.”

The gray-haired man who had initially
defied the shotgun killer was still quaking
over his narrow escape. “He looked like
he was going to wrap that gun around my
head!” the man recalled.

The slayer’s buddy, the Jeff bandit, was
said to be about 5 feet 7, 170 or 180 pounds.
He was of stocky, husky build, with a full
fleshy face, dark brown or black hair with
a wave in front, and blue eyes. Under the
tweed topcoat and light, belted trench
coat, both men wore neat, new-looking
sports shirts and slacks. They were hat-
less. The sawed-off shotgun wielded by
the first man was a single-barrel pump-
style weapon, make and gauge unknown.
The shorter bandit was not seen with any
gun.

A couple of passersby who had seen the
two men run to their car and speed away,
disappearing east in the foggy darkness of
Melrose, said there might have been a
third man, or maybe a woman, waiting in
the getaway car, which they described as
a dark green or blue four-door sedan, per-
haps a 1949 or 1950 model Plymouth or
Dodge.

It was past midnight when the Holly-
wood robbery detectives, who were in
charge of the case since murder com-
mitted during robbery usually is the work
of professional heistmen with a history,
finished assembling the descriptions. Sup-
plementing the original radio flash, an all-
points bulletin carrying further details
was broadcast by radio and teletype. The
latent fingerprint men and the photogra-
pher were still busy combing the little
cocktail lounge for prints or other physical
evidence. The tall killer’s beer glass
yielded a few fragmentary finger smudges,
but not enough to be of much value.

Lieutenant Charles W. Crumly, the
Hollywood night watch commander, and
Sergeants Hancock and Munkres were in
ready agreement on the next step. “With
all these descriptions in hand, it’s time we
called in Ector Garcia,” Crumly decided.
“T’]l1 phone downtown and get hold of him.
Keep all those witnesses there.”

Officer Ector Garcia, currently assigned
to central homicide, is LAPD’s official
sketch artist, a young man with a remark-
able talent for drawing “dead ringer” like-
nesses of hunted criminals. Time and
again his skilful charcoal pencil sketches,
circulated in police bulletins, have re-
sulted in the capture of badly wanted fel-
ons.

Garcia, who was off duty at the time,
hastened out to the Melrose Avenue bar,
arriving shortly after 1 a.m. Reading over
the detectives’ notes and talking with the
witnesses, Garcia, with the facility of long
practice, soon picked out the two wit-
nesses, a man and a woman, who gave the
most vivid descriptions of the bandit pair.
He showed them some sample pictures he
carried in his pocket and they filled in
added details on various features.

The two witnesses, still badly shaken by
their experience, agreed to come down to
headquarters early in the morning. Officer
Garcia went down to his desk in the homi-
cide division and worked throughout the
small hours of the morning, studying pic-
tures from his large collection, selecting
this feature or that, and adding other ele-
ments. Meanwhile the Hollywood detec-
tives and the central robbery men combed
through the ID and MO files, pulling out
mug photos of men with robbery records,

especially any who had used shotguns, and

.recent California prison parolees.

The witnesses came to Ector Garcia’s
office at 8 o’clock Wednesday morning. He
showed them the sketches he had made.
He added, deleted and revised various fea-
tures at their direction. In less than an
hour the young police artist had produced
two large composite sketches which the
witnesses agreed were almost uncannily
realistic likenesses of the Mutt and Jeff
slayers. The pictures were rushed to the
processing lab, and by 10 a.m., 500 sets of
reproductions were ready to be distributed
to police and sheriff’s units and the press
throughout Southern California.

Deputy Chief Thad F. Brown, city de-
tective commander, Captain Jack A. Dona-
hoe of central robbery, and Lieutenant -
Fred F. Earl, Hollywood detective com-
mander, assigned urgent top priority to
the hunt for the skinny, trigger-happy
shotgun slayer, his stocky pal and their
possible woman accomplice.

The pair had been holding up cocktail
bars every few nights. Now that they had
graduated into murder and had nothing to
lose, there was every chance they might
go berserk, especially if they had a few
holiday drinks, and stage a reign of bloody
terror amid the celebrating throngs on
New Year’s Eve, that very night. Accord-
ing to the pattern, the 77th Street district
should be the scene of their next raid, but
Hollywood obviously couldn’t be slighted.

Scores of additional officers were as-
signed to duty that New Year’s Eve in the
southwest and Hollywood areas. They
cruised the streets, looked into every
crowded bar, and staked out at the most
likely locations. At any moment, as the
festive night went on, they expected a new
murder flash to come crackling over the
radio. But the witching hour of the New
Year and the first gray dawn of 1959 came
and went without any further alarm.

Not at all reassured by the bandit pair’s
inactivity, the robbery, detectives worked
without letdown through New Year’s Day,
following up scores of tips and leads that
had poured in from well-meaning citizens
ever since: the newspapers had headlined
the murder of Ken Savoy and printed the
composite sketches of the hunted killers.
But, one by one, the tips came to nothing.

At 2 am. Friday, January 2nd, two

-masked men, one armed with a shotgun

and the other with a revolver, held up a
bar on South Western Avenue. They left
two men and two women bound and
gagged, and got away with $740. The vic-
tims quoted the shorter of the pair, the
one with* the pistol, as remarking, “My
friend here is trigger-happy!”

The robbery sleuths were not sure this
job was the work of the same duo, since it
differed so radically in technique, but if
not, it was plainly inspired by the forays
of the original Mutt and Jeff pair.

The manhunt was intensified, if that
were possible. Detectives reinterviewed
victims of the earlier holdups, showed
them the Garcia sketches, and satisfied
themselves that the killers of Kenneth
Savoy had pulled at least five previous
jobs since December 16th.

On the night of January 7th a lone man,
toting a pistol, held up a tavern on West
Pico Boulevard and fled with $200, after
telling the bartender and patrons, “My pal
is outside with a shotgun, and for your in-
formation, I’m the one that shot that guy
over in Hollywood.”

Again the police didn’t believe this lat-
est job was the work of either one or both
of the hunted killers. In ensuing nights
there were a few more bar holdups, but
none of them had the earmarks of the
original raids. Several suspects in the
January holdups were arrested, but were
cleared of the December series.

On January 13th came the first real

% Quizzed further,

'I didn’t even get out of the car.

I drove the car, but I didn't
kill anybody. I didn’t have a gun, and
I wasn’t even in the bar when Scotty
blasted that fellow.

“Scotty came running out and told me
he had to shoot a guy that tried to grab
the gun away from him. We drove back

Long Beach, had some drinks and hit

e sack. I didn’t know, till I read about
1t in the papers the next morning, that
Scotty cut this guy down in cold blood,
and that the guy ‘was dead. I was scared
of Scotty. I knew too much about him,
and I figured the next one might be me.
That guy is nuts, take it from me! He’s
liable to do anything. He was watching
me close, but I slipped away from him
the first chance I got, and I took my
gun with me, before he got ideas about
using it on anybody else. That was on
January 2nd, and I haven’t seen Scotty
since.”

Curt Lichtenwalter, who had no major
police record, admitted he and Scotty had
pulled six holdups as the Mutt and Jeff
bandits, starting on December 16th and
culminating with the murder of Kenneth
Savoy on December 30th. They had netted
and split $1113 from the six jobs.

Curt denied any other crimes.
peared genuinely remorseful.
company, I guess. I was sort of at loose
ends, so far away from. home and the
people I love. I met Scotty through some
guys ina bar, and he talked me into going
along with him to make a fast $1000.”
Lichtenwalter reluc-
tantly identified Scotty’s red-haired gir]
friend Jessie as a Long Beach waitress
whose full name he didn’t know. They had
met her shortly before Christmas, and she
and Scotty had gone steady for a couple
of weeks, he said. She had gone along in
the car with them on the murder night.

It didn’t take long for the robbery de-

tives to identify the waitress as Jessie

e Noah, a diminutive 27-year-old di-

cee. The next. day, while they were
hunting. her, Jessie Mae walked volun-
tarily into the Long Beach police station,
explaining that she had heard the police
were looking for her.

The slender, attractive young readhead
admitted she had gone along with Scotty
and Curt on the night of December 30th.
She said, “I just went along for the ride.
Scotty
came running out of the bar and said he’d
shot a man. I got away from Scotty as soon
as I could. I haven’t seen him since Jan-
uary 2nd.”

Jessie Mae said she had heard Scotty
was now going around with a lady wrestler,
whom he met in a bar around Christmas,

JefY bandit.

He ap-

“It was bad~

and she believed he might have left town
with her. He said he was homesick, at
Christmas, and he talked about going
back to Texas or Arkansas.

Curtis Lichtenwalter and Jessie Mae
Noah made full and voluntary statements
about their association with the accused
tavern slayer and answered all the police
questions. Since implication in a violent
felony, in the course of which murder is
committed, makes all parties to the felony
equally guilty of first-degree murder un-
der the law, the district attorney, on
January 21st, issued a formal complaint
charging Lichtenwalter with murder and
robbery, along with the missing Scotty.
Municipal Judge Louis W. Kaufman held
him without bail for preliminary hearing.

The lady wrestler was quickly identified
as Barbara White, 36, of Los Angeles and
Phoenix, a tall, hefty, muscular 180-pound
brunette who had been a champion wrest-
ler a few years ago when women’s wrest-
ling matches were in vogue. She had no
California police record. Her
hadn’t seen her since shortly after she met
Scotty during the holidays.

Checking on the Texas trail of the
fugitive, Detective Captain Will Fritz of
Dallas reported that patrons of two Dallas
cocktail bars positively identified photos
of George Albert Scott as the bandit who
had lined them against the wall at gun
point on the night of January 20th and
relieved them of their wallets. The earlier
El Paso holdup victims likewise identified
Scott, and he was formally charged with
the Texas crimes.

FBI agents secured a partial license num-
ber of the car in which Scott had left
California, apparently one he had bought
under an assumed name. They trailed him
northeast out of Dallas and surmised he
was heading for his native -Arkansas to
hide out among old friends.

The massive hunt now centered along
the Texas-Arkansas state line, some 1700
miles from its Southern California start-
ing point, and sheriffs and police from
both states cooperated with the federal
men. Apparently the. pair were taking a
circuitous route, traveling back roads late
at night and holing up in motels during
the day.

On Saturday night, January 24th, the
all-out hunt came to its inevitable climax.
Tipped that Scott might be hiding out in
Texarkana, Arkansas, FBI agents checked
motels there and spotted his California
car parked beside a motel unit on the
outskirts of town. They sent out an
emergency call for assistance, and shortly
before midnight a posse of more than 35
FBI agents, state and city police and

Tommy Leonetti
Speake Out ptbout

THE JUKE BOX RACKET

Plus 26 Portracts of
TV’s WESTERN HE-MEN

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Garry Moore ¢« Ralph Edwards

Salah Edeverds: Showmon.
Wks Lowes His Neighbors

in the June TV RADIO MIRROR on sale at all newsstands

‘ cae ‘ ‘ s

-their quarry.

friends

sheriffs deputies from both sides of the
line, bristling with machine guns, shot-
guns, rifles, pistols and tear gas guns,
closed in on the motel.

With cooperation of the manager, they
evacuated a dozen or more guests quietly
from the other cabins, without alerting
Moving under cover of
darkness, they dodged behind parked cars
and surrounded the unlighted cabin where
Scotty and Barbara White presumably
were sleeping.

When everything was set, an FBI man
phoned Scotty’s room, told him he was
surrounded, and called on him to come
out peaceably. Scotty banged up the re-
ceiver without a word. At a signal, an
officer fired a tear gas shell at the cabin.
Scotty immediately opened fire. With that.
the lawmen started blazing away with
everything they had.

The little motel unit was literally riddled
with lead, its front practically demolished,
but the cornered fugitive kept on firing
back. During a lull, the motel manager
phoned Scott and urged him to surrender.
Scotty didn’t reply, but the manager heard
him say to his companion, “We’re sur-
rounded. We haven’t got a chance. We
may as well kill ourselves. Do you
want me to shoot you first? Or would
you rather shoot me and then shoot your-
self?” .

But they didn’t have a chance to carry
out any such desperate pact. Officers
moved closer and lobbed more tear gas
shells in through the windows. At the
twelfth shell, Scotty decided to give up.
The door banged open and the big bru-
nette came stumbling out first, barefooted
and wearing only a housecoat, her hands
high in the air. Tears were streaming
down her face. In a choked voice she
called on the officers not to shoot. They
held their fire, and Scotty, clad only in
his trousers, blinded by tear gas, gasping
and retching, staggered out behind her,
his empty hands held high. In a few
seconds both were handcuffed.

Scott refused to make any statement to
the FBI men. He and his hefty girl] friend,
both suffering from the effects of the tear
gas but otherwise unhurt, were arraigned
at a special Sunday morning session on
January 25th before U. S. Commissioner
Thelma Winham. The commissioner held
George Albert Scott in $50,000 bond on a
federal charge of unlawful flight across
state lines to avoid prosecution for mur-
der and.robbery, and held Barbara White
under $5000 bond, charged with harboring
a federal fugitive. She was not charged
with complicity in the California crimes,
and is not wanted there.

At the grand jury hearing on February
3rd the red-haired cocktail waitress, Jessie
Mae Noah, testified that she did not know
Scott intended to hold up the cafe in
which Kenneth Savoy was killed. She
said she remained in the car while Scotty
and Curt went into the“tavern. Her testi-
mony helped the grand jury return an in-
dictment against the two men, George
Albert Scott and Charles Lichtenwalter.
Both were charged with murder, plus 8
counts of robbery for Scott and 7 counts
of robbery for Lichtenwalter. The Los
Angeles police asked Governor Edmund

- G. Brown to institute proceedings to ex-

tradite Scott, who had refused to, waive
extradition. Both men will be prosecuted
in Los Angeles for the vicious murder of
Kenneth Savoy, and for the robberies.

Barbara White is still in jail in Tex-
arkana and federal authorities plan to
press the charge against her of harboring
a federal prisoner.

And the Hollywood detectives feel satis-
fied that the depredations of the Mutt and
Jeff bandits are at an end. Visitors to
local cocktail bars now enjoy a convivial
hour without molestation. oeo4¢

—

aE cnt i

with a teletype

kin the manhunt,
Fpolice of El Paso, Texas, reporting
a tall, hollow-cheeked man armed
a pistol had held up a bar there the

before, and bragged of having
‘dq @ man out in Hollywood.” Facsim-
of the composite sketches were rushed
¢ Texas city, where the tavern vic-
declared the sketch of Hollywood’s
tber One bandit was the “spittin’
fe” of the man who had held them up.

this indication that the cadaverous
F had fled from California, the FBI
{came into the hunt, and bulletins and
lars were dispatched all over: the
hwest. Los Angeles and Hollywood
ttives watched incoming teletypes
tly for the gaunt Slayer’s next appear-
}in Texas or elsewhere.
kantime the patient, plodding search

mug shots was proceeding day by
; On the theory that one or both of
Mutt and Jeff bandits had a prior
td, teams of detectives were assigned
mb painstakingly through the files of
men convicted of robbery in the Los
fles area in the past few years, par-
larly those recently released from
m. They sought any mugs that re-
bled either of Garcia’s Sketches, and
{and again officers rushed out to show
y pictures to the victims and wit-
f By mid-January, Captain Dona-
}men had combed through some 6000
wes. They had exhausted recent Los
les criminal files, and were turning
hose of other Southern California
6.
{ January 18th the central robbery
| of Sergeants Stanford R. McCaleb,
W. Killeby and DeWitt C. Lightner
tup with a mug shot that bore a really
ting resemblance to the sunken-

ed, smoldering-eyed Number One -

as pictured in the sketch by the
artist. They hastened to Holly-
and showed the photo to the two
al Melrose Avenue witnesses. The
and woman instantly picked the
ss from among a half-dozen others,
t’s the man who shot Ken Savoy!”
exclaimed. “We could never forget
ace!” Half a dozen other witnesses
ed up by Hancock and Munkres
added their positive identification.
uthern California’s most wanted
gnal at last had a name and a his-
f He was George Albert Scott, alias
lge = Albert Scotty, alias Albert
hand and other names, a 36-year-old
onvict originally from Little Rock,
sas, with a 15-year record of ar-
in Texas, Arkansas, Arizona and Cali-
- FBI and other files Swiftly yielded
1 history,
narrow-faced, sunken-eyed heist-
was first listed as wanted when he
ed from the navy in El Paso in
fine the age of 21. Picked up in Los
ples in 1945 for grand theft and bur-
y, he was sentenced to a year in the
ity jail, put on three years’ probation
given a floater back to Arkansas.
{January of 1949, Scott was arrested
tobbery in Little Rock, with no dis-
tion shown in the record. In November
he same year he was picked up for
bery in Phoenix, Arizona, and put on
fyears’ probation. Jailed again in
enix a year later for violating his
lation, he was Sentenced to 5-to-10
in the state prison at Florence. In
tmber, 1952, this sentence was com-
td to time served, on condition that
t leave Arizona,
led in El Paso a month later for
ult’ with a deadly weapon, the wan-
bg young ex-con had good luck again.
charge was reduced to carrying a con-
‘td weapon, and he got off with $100
: In March, 1954, Scott was’ picked
a San Diego,- California, on a robbery

charge, which was later dismissed.

In July, 1954, he was arrested by San
Francisco police on a Los Angeles robbery
charge, which netted him six months in
the county jail. <A traffic violation in
San Diego in September, 1955, brought
him 90 days in jail.

Arrested for a San Diego burglary in
December, 1955, Scott was pronounced a
mental case and sent to Patton State Hos-
pital for treatment. Sometime later the
doctors reported he was feigning insanity.
Scott was returned to court, found guilty
of second-degree burglary and sentenced
to 1-to-15 years in prison. Last year the
minimum term for two-time losers was re-
duced from five years to two by the
state legislaure and, on November 12th,
1958, Scott was released on parole from
the Institution for Men at Chino. That
was little more than a month before the
Mutt and Jeff bandits launched their two-
week holiday heist spree, culminating in
the wanton murder of Kenneth Savoy.

George Albert Scott was described as
5 feet 11, 145 pounds, with receding brown
hair streaked with gray, and dark brown

included an anchor, a wreath of roses, a
skull, an Indian head and a girl’s bust. He
was known as a ladies’ man and a heavy

On January 19th, Captain Donahoe se-
cured a district attorney’s complaint: ac-
cusing Scott of murder and robbery. A
federal fugitive warrant was issued, new
bulletins were broadcast by the police and
FBI, and the manhunt went all-out. Scott’s

partner was still unidentified, but not for -

long.

Scott’s parole officer, to whom he had
reported a couple of times since his re-
lease from Chino, supplied names of his
known associates and contacts, both male
and female. Round-the-clock investiga-
tion by the Hollywood and central rob-
bery teams turned up a couple of scared
pals who confirmed that Scotty and a
husky fellow known as Curt were the
shotgun bandits and said the pair had split
up since the murder. Scotty had fled to
Texas. At the time of the murder, Scotty
had been going with a young redhead
named Jessie, his erstwhile pals said.
Working closely together, Sergeants
Hancock, Munkres, McCaleb, Lightner and
Killeby backtracked George Scott all over
southern Los Angeles County.
learned he and his pal Curt had occupied
a Long Beach motel cabin together for
the last two weeks in December, They
had left Separately on January 2nd. The
detectives noted several phone numbers
scribbled on the wall of the motel unit
and checked them. One of the numbers
belonged to a friend of the erstwhile Mutt
and Jeff partners, who identified the ‘short,
stocky bandit as Curtis Lichtenwalter, and
supplied his new motel address in nearby
suburban Compton.

Late that same night, January 19th, the
officers, holding their own shotguns ready,
closed in on the little motel apartment on
Tamarind Street. The husky suspect was
cooking dinner for himself. Taken by
surprise, he gave up without resistance.
He first protested total innocence of
any wrongdoing, but glumly gave up the
pretense when the raiders found the death
weapon, a 12-gauge sawed-off shotgun with
taped stock, as well as another gun, a
deer rifle, hidden in his room.

Curtis C. Lichtenwalter, of whom Ector
Garcia’s Number Two sketch was a very
close likeness, proved to be a 41-year-old
unemployed tool and die maker, a recent
arrival from Chicago. “I guess you've
got me.” He shrugged. “I knew T’'d be
caught sooner or later. That’s the gun
that killed that Savoy fellow all right. It’s
my gun. I was along with Scotty that
night, I was the fellow they called the

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"70

Redhead helped police place the slayer at scene of crime. His frightened friend desert

him and

later told Sgt. McCaleb (r.) that the taped, sawed-off gun was his but he had not used it to murder

1er purse and started to lay it on the bar, the short man
‘old her, “Put that away.: We don’t take money from la-
lies. We're not that hard up.”

In the middle of the collection round, while everybody
was watching the trench-coated man efficiently looting the
vallets, the tall fellow with the shotgun quietly took the
ighted cigarette from his mouth, stood on tiptoe and
ouched it to one. of the gay holiday balloons hanging from
he ceiling.

The balloon exploded with a loud pop. The gun-con-
cious crowd flinched. A woman screamed. One man al-
nost fell off his bar stool. The bandit laughed nastily,
winging his shotgun from one to the other to keep them
n order.

When the collection was finished, the round-faced man
coined his buddy at the front of the bar and they ex-
hanged a few whispered words. Then the short one
urned and ‘hurried out the door. The other remained in-
ide, keeping the customers covered. Apparently his part-
er had gone out to make sure the coast was clear. In a
rinute or so he was back. “All right, we’re set,” he told
ne ‘tall one. “Let’s. go.” |

“Take it.easy, now, everybody,” the man with the shot-
un admonished, waving the weapon from side to side.
Stay right where you are. You’ve been smart so far.
jon’t make any wrong moves.” He turned to follow his
ompanion out the door.

At that fateful moment Ken Savoy, handsome, husky
oung movie studio executive from Boston,. pushed open
1e door and entered the bar, smiling a genial greeting to
1e company inside. He actually bumped into the “Jeff”
andit, who hurried on past him and out, as Savoy mur-
ured an apology.

Then Savoy glimpsed the shotgun in the second man’s
and. He saw the tense-faced customers all staring in his
rection, and he realized in a flash what was going on.
‘ithout a word he turned around and started for the
or, just ahead of the gunman. .

The tall, pasty-faced robber, hesitating only a split sec-
id, stepped quickly after Savoy and nudged him in the
bs with the gun barrel.

arled. “This is a stickup! Let’s have your wallet.”

“Just a minute, mister,” he .

The well-dressed young executive, an ex-GI and former
college athlete, halted in mid-stride and turned slowly
around. His movements were casual. He didn’t appear
to be frightened or even the least bit upset. He made no
move to raise his hands. His glance was contemptuous,
and his lip curled as he looked the gunman coolly up and
down.

“I won't give it to you!” Everybody in the room heard
Savoy answer the gunman loudly and firmly. “I don’t
have any responsibilities. I’m all by myself out here. If
you want my money, you’re going to have to kill me for
i,”

The pair stood in a frozen tableau for a long moment,
Ken Savoy looking the shotgun wielder straight in the face,
calmly awaiting his next move, and the bandit staring with
burning eyes at the man who dared to defy him and his
shotgun.

Then the holdup man stepped back three paces, holding
the gun level, and without a further word cut loose with
his ugly weapon.

The blast was a muffled roar. The gun’s flash flickered
weirdly in the dim mirrors. A wisp of acrid smoke curled
up, as Ken Savoy doubled over, clutching at his abdomen.
His face contorted with agony, he toppled to the floor. .

Without stopping to take Savoy’s wallet, without even
glancing back, the pasty-faced gunman stepped over his
victim’s body and hurried out the door. A moment later
the horrified witnesses heard an automobile roar away.

When Hollywood Division Radio Officers A. J. Linehan
and R. C. Wares arrived a minute later in response to the

‘bartender’s breathless phone call, Ken Savoy was groan-

ing on the floor in a spreading pool of blood, a shocking
spectacle under the gay Christmas and New Year decora-
tions and colored lights. A man and a woman were ap-
plying towels in an effort to stanch the blood pouring from
the fearful, gaping wound iin his midriff, .

Savoy was still alive, though unconscious, when the
ambulance came, but he was dead on arrival a few min-
utes later at Hollywood Receiving Hospital. The shotgun

_charge, fired from a few feet away, had taken him right
_under the heart, almost cutting him in half.

There was no wallet on Savoy’s (Continued on page 78)

‘Wl

SR ee cee

2 pene Be

wiieis

CRIME DETECTIVE 31

nd
he quickly shut the door pehind him. son off the wall when he lowered the made _ bullets proved them to be
ien Before Miller could turn to see who ope. very deadly. McNabb’s bullets con-
shut the door, he felt a gun against his Williamson, surprised at the de- tained 69.3 per cent potassium chlo-
ur back. mand, stepped out of his Gun Box and rate, 8.5 per cent sulphur, and 22.2 per
ed Bagley was the man with the gun. peered down into the fog to see what cent charcoal and some other car-
McNabb, who was the one who shut guard was giving him orders. bonaceous material — all athered
id, the door, stepped up with a surly Just then the fog partiall lifted from various stolen articles within the
iI smile on his face and a gun in his and Williamson recognized the im- prison. se
e- hand. : postor guard. McNabb knew that he McNabb’s bullets compared with a
ed “Were going out,” said McNabb. had been recognized, drew his re- standard formula used by many
am “Take off your ‘uniform. I’m going to volver and shouted: United States manufacturers of 75 per
tin put it on.” 2 3 “Stand where you are or Vl kill cent potassium nitrate, 1242 per cent
sly In a corner, Miller saw eight coh” you!” . ee ees and 12% per cent charcoal.
ad victs—not members of the McNabb Williamson, who had left his high- Potassium chlorate, used by McNabb
mob—tied with wire and rope. The powered rifle in the gun box, made a in place of potassium nitrate, is more
La were not in on the plot an McNab quick dive into the box just as Mc- violent in its action than the regulation
ng wanted them out of the way, =| Nabb fired a bullet which shattered a nitrate.

Miller, a courageous guard, wasn’t window in the box. In each of the pullets used in the
ad willing to submit. It was his belief McNabb and his henchmen plazed large caliber pistols, which looked like
that he could talk McNabb out of his away. at the gun box with Williamson sawed-off shotguns, were found ten
an plot. : : hugging the floor. If the mob could — small steel balls. The revolver that
ak _ “Mac, youre & fool. Youcan’tmake plu Kailamson, place the ladder - MeNabb used himself fired small lead
31 it. You haven't a chance,” he said. against the wall and climb over, they projectiles whose heads had been
es McNabb’s answer wae © justy blow would at least have @ bin’ for the drilled to make them into deadly

with a billy on the top of Miller’s world outside. dum-dum bullets.
id head. The guard fell to the floor. Al- A score of guards in that section of
o~ though dazed, he removed his uniform the prison, armed only with leaded b & bieostntey my predecessor as
he under the menace of the convict’s guns canes, closed in on the gang on the warden of San Quentin, told Dis-
and knives. . : ; emo risking their lives in the per- trict Attorney Henry Greer of Marin
| m Seeing Miller in his underwear, ormance of duty. : : county that he wanted the McNabb
| a Bagley sneered:, The gang broke up, running for dif- mob punished to the full extent of the
| ‘Oh! So you're the tough bull of ferent places of she ter. But McNabb law. But a coroner’s jury ruled that
os the alley, are ya? Well, ym don’t stood his ground, pouring more lead the killing of Arbuckle was accidental.
look so tough now! Haw! Haw! at Williamson. Thus, a murder charge against the five
of “Cut the laughter,” directed Mc- Bagley dashed for the lowes yard could not be considered. And a con-
t Nabb, “and tie him up! and toward a gate leading into the viction of attempted escape would add
- Bagley followed orders and McNabb prison ball grounds. Gun Box No. only five years to their already long
Vv grabbed another convict who wasn ta 10 Guard J ohn L. Holmes, seeing Bag- sentences.
member of his gang. This convict was ley firing at Guard Charles Cleveland What was to be done? Holohan,
d John Hubert ‘Arbuckle, a San Bernar” in Box No. 7, fired two slugs into the and the entire prison board, wanted a
oO dino bigamist who was just starting convict’s legs. Bagley staggered be- drastic enalty, to set an exam le for
7 : Pp Ys Pp.
is his sentence. , Miller and Arbuckle, hind a pile of coal sacks and re-loaded other convicts who might attempt a
d each bound with rope, were tossed to his weapon — which resembled a similar escape, shooting at guards and
nm the floor when everyone in the room Thompson submachine gun—prepared taking the lives of wel behaved pris-
n ‘was electrified by the sudden flash of to fight it out to a finish. oners.
\- a gun’ District Attorne Greer dug up a
ne) “McNabb looked at Arbuckle as he Bu Fred Hogeboom, captain of ‘the sttera wand aca d of the auf tornia
d picked up the revolver. There was a jute mill, and two aides, Guards J. penal code dealing with “assault by

h crimson hole in Arbuckle’s neck. H. Query and G. J. Glassock, rushed ife- ae» Conviction Un-
Blood came from his cars and mouth. in and grabbed Bagley midst a hail of alia ce canged a. single
In another minute, Arbuckle breathes bullets fired at them by Fredericks, penalty—death on the gallows.

his last, an innocent victim and the who had secreted himself at a window aa ervini life term, was
s second of four. men to die from Mc- _ inside the industrial building. | St or nf trial ie that section. An
1e Nabb’s misdirected genius. Masters and Downs hid their gun Attorney General U. 5. ebb r
Rive unexpected turn of events and raced back to their regular prison that the other four were technically
n dion . ueuree the cool, calculating jobs, hopeful that they wouldn’t be jifers, having been sentenced to terms
‘e cNabb. : recognized. A ith : ible imum of life, an
“Tough break for this fish,” he re- McNabb kept firing at Williamson vi ect to trial Kee om the same section
- marked. ‘But see if anyone 1S coming until his gun jammed. en he en- as Downs.
i) down the alley. J don’t think anyone gaged Guards Nels Peterson and It was a bitter trial. McNabb testi-
n heard that shot.” | Robert Posthumus in a fierce hand-to- fied that he was being “tortured” at
n McNabb was right. In the hustle hand struggle. San Quentin and “had to escape
t; and bustle of work in the nearby Peterson, an elderly guard, was avoid further torture.” He said he
it shops, the sound of the bullet had been felled quickly and McNabb was get- was being “tortured” because he had
swallowed Up. McNabb was now ting the best of Posthumus when Cap- aid a $12,500 pribe to two guards at
e ready for his next step. tain Hogeboom and Guards Query Folsom to assist him to escape. I was

He went to the door ‘and opened it’ and Glassock, who were taking Bag- sefied th t Folsom had
slowly. Then whispered, “Come on, ley to the office of Captain of the crore any bribe ona that MeNabb, a
boys. We're off!’ Yard Homer E. Breakfield, came upon smart con if there ever was one, wou

W
8, Out in the fog-swept alley McNabb the struggling palr. “ ; resort to any tactic to cloud the issue
‘Ss Jed his four lieutenants. Garbed as a McNabb was felled with a pick of his trial.
it guard, McNabb walked briskly. With handle which Posthumus had brought Masters and Fredericks produced
n him, posing as 4 construction gang of into the fray but had dropped in the convicts ‘who testified they, were in
- convicts were Bagley, Fredericks, fight. Lieutenant Dan Coughlin other parts of San Quentin during the
ry Downs, and Masters, who carried a grabbed Fredericks. break. nd they were acqui :
fourtecn-foot ladder and forty fect of Bagley was taken to the prison hos- Downs won a separate trial and finally
‘ telephone cable. pital; the others to the dungeon. succeeded in having the charges
d, Downs, Fredericks and Masters de- against him dropped. :
if yee objective—the twenty-foot nied they were “Gn” on the plot. But McNabb and Bagley were con-
g prison wall—was only a hundred A “shake-down”’ of the prison re- victed. .
ut and fifty feet away. sulted in the finding of all the weapons And they paid the supreme penalty
S, Reaching the wall, McNabb shouted uscd in the plot, including those hid- together on the twin gallows at San
to Ernest Williamson, on duty in Gun den by the plotters as they fled. Be- Quentin on September 6, 1935—the
of Box No. 6 atop the wall: sides their knives, the convicts had third and fourth to die from McNabb’s
r, ‘Hey, Ernie, drop your rope. I four weapons whose workmanship misdirected genius.
", want you to give these boys a could be envied by any professional JY rank McNabb as the cleverest
hand!” gunsmith—an exact duplicate of a .38 criminal I have ever known. He mign
. Wall guards have ropes which they caliber Smith & Wesson revolver, two have made an honest fortune in legiti-
d lower for lunch boxes and other _ pistols and one duplicate of a Thomp- mate lines. His case aptly illustrates
Cc things that must be sent u to them. son submachine gun, the. frequently proved adage that
It was McNabb’s plan to jer William- An expert analysis of the’ home- “crime does not pay.”

pags none

Lloyd Sampsell, one of the deadliest criminals ever |
“spawned, Ruthless, unscrupulous and cold blooded, he |
“had a long record of robbery and murder. But in the |
end, his two weaknesses, @ supreme ego and women, ©... :

That he was eminently right in his caution was proved later
when police and FBI men, checking the story of a certain fatal
robbery, learned from the hotel switchboard that at about ten
o'clock on that day the receiver had been lifted from that very
hotel room's telephone, but returned without any service being
requested.

a city approximately 125 miles south of the metropolis in
which that hctel was located, a policeman walked into the
lobby of a finance company, looked around, spotted Manager

Robert E. Runyan and strolled over to lean on the railing be--

side his desk and chat. It was March of 1948 and, for March,
it was warm in San Diego.

Sitting in the office of the manager of the B-Street branch of
the Seaboard Finance Company was Harlan Cook, employed
part time by the company as a special guard and at other times
a full time policeman in suburban Chula Vista, near the Mexican
border. Both Cook and Runyan spoke amiably to the policeman
and that symbol of authority removed his cap, mopped his brow
and said, significantly:

“Every time I ask the sergeant if I can knock off this check
in here every hour, he tells me not to get too gahdammed lax.”

Runyan laughed and Cook grinned appreciatively. Runyan
turned to Cook and said, jovially:

“First thing you know, I'll have to give half the San Diego
police deparlinent loans for services over and above the call
of duty.”

“Just the game,” the patrclman admonished him, ‘the ser-
geant’s got a point. There's been two of those stickups in the
last thirty days and they always come by threes, leastwise that’s
what the sergeant says.” A

He rapped his night stick sharply on the new finish of the
office railing, turned and strolled through the door and into
the street. As he left, Cook got up, stretched his legs and started
for the rear of the building with a mumbled, “Might as well
make a check around.”

Runyan fell to reflecting on the Seaboard Company holdup
in Pasadena a little more than a week before when two bandits,
a tall, brisk man and a smaller, obviously aging confederate, had
gctten $3,220 in a daylight holdup, and of the similar sortie
in Los Angeles ten days before that, when another finance chain
had yielded $4,050 to robbers answering the same description.

He found no cause for alarm in the reflections, however, and
bent to his work.

It was a dull day in the B-Street branch and few customers
were in the lobby. Business had been none to brisk recently
and there was reason to wonder why bandits, apparently al-
ready well heeled, would risk a try at a spot none too prosper-
ous, al best, and located so close to their last two attempts.

Five minutes later, Runyan looked up to see a tall, steely
eyed, immaculately dressed man in a gray chalk-striped, double
breasted suit and wearing gold, cantilever type glasses, standing
at the rail.

Beyond him, at one of the desks provided for customers,
Runyan barely noticed a stooped man in loosely fitting tweeds,
apparently busy with some papers.

“Mr, Runyan?” the tall man asked briskly.

“Yes,” Runyan said, rising. ‘Can I help you?”

“I'm Charles Webb, trom New York,” the man said. “May
I' speak with you?”

“Certainly .. . come right in,” Runyan said, stepping to the
gate and holding it back to admit the visitor.

him into the arms of the law—and the death house.

—

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of the floor, inhaled noisily once or

twice, then reached for a pair of
striped silk shorts and drew them over
his long legs.

His already immaculately groomed
hair was graying at the temples and there
were heavy lines about the cold blue
eyes, deep set in a tanned, mobile face
with prominent bone structure and firm
jaw,

His bcdy, however, was lithe and mus-
cular with the long, loose’ sinews of the
perpetual athlete to whom physical fit-
ness is a creed and vital good health a
consecraticn. The hips were lean and the
stomach muscles flat, and he moved with
the feline grace that betokens lightning
agility and hidden strength. .

“Must you go, now, Baby?”

The voice came from the wide bed
against ‘thé inner wall of the large and
palpably expensive room. It was the sac-
charine voice of a woman whose profes-
sion is cajolery and whose hallmark is
winsomeness, even while lying unclothed
before a man obviously not her husband.

She was a pretty woman, lush and
white skinned, and, as is fashionable in
her world, a decided blonde. Her eyes
- were blue; a feature that conventionally
calls, in the demi-monde, for liberal ap-
plications of bleach to the scalp, and this
she had not ignored.

She could not have been called buxom,
since her flesh was less extravagant than
that, but curvaceous she decidedly was.

TH. man stocd nude in the middle

He went directly from the hotel
assignation to work—the stickup
and murder business. The blonde,
meanwhile, dressed and left the
hotel; it was much safer that way.

urned legs over the side of ‘the
bed and sat up, her. thighs swelling provocatively against
the mattress edge, then stood up, tall and, by purely
physical standards, uncommonly alluring.

The man smiled as he dropped a flawless linen shirt
over his square shoulders, then shook his head.

“Save it, sweets,” he said, “I can’t be tempted now.
Papa has work to do.”

The woman's face was suddenly serious. She threw
a garish red velvet peignoir over her tawny body, pushed
her soft hair back over her ears in a graceful sweep of
her two hands and moved over to a night stand to take

up and light a cigaret.
“I'm worried about this job, Baby,” she said. “It’s 80

She swung her well t

the hotel
2 stickup
2 blonde,
left the
that way.

”

close...
“What do you mean, So close?”
“So close to the other one,” she answered. “Ym afraid

ycu're pressing your luck.”

He had finished lacing on his neat black shoes over
conservative black: silk socks and now drew on gray,
chalk-striped trousers and, carefully tucking in the white
shirt, made them fast with suspenders over his shoulders
and a belt loosely buckled,

“Tye told you, doll,” he caid, firmly, “that I don't
operate on luck. I operate on solid, scientific
principles. Guys who depend on luck . . as
he shrugged his shoulders and spread his
hands, palms up... “well, they’re the guys
who run up the gas bills in San Quentin.”

The woman shuddered, then went to him
and put her hands on his shoulders and then
on his face and pulled his mouth down and kissed him.

“Pm sorry... 1 won't sav anymore,” she whimpered.
“But don’t put it that way... it terrifies me.”

The man slipped into his coat, adjusted his tie, put
a gray, snap brim hat carefully. on, his head, took a thick,
expensive briefcase from a drawer and turned to face
hef.

“You understand,” he said. “I'll be in touch with you
in ninety days. You've got enough money.”

“Plenty,” the girl said.
“Good, I'll pay the bill here as I go out and you'd

better be gone by noon. It’s safer.”

He kissed her lingeringly, then went out the door as
she stared after him apprehensively, as well she might
because this man for whom she had been so solicitous
was setling out, as a business man might set out, on
one of the most dangerous missions in all the fantastic
world of crime.

The woman turned, finally, from the door, dropped the
red rcbe from her shoulders and faced the floor length
mirror. She stood, momentarily, with her arms raised
above her head, then ran her hands caressingly down over.
her fine body and smiled appreciatively at her image, as
many a man must have smiled in her brief life.

She turned, humming to herself, walked to the. tele-
phone, iifted the transmitter, then slowly replaced it. We
can only assume that she was about to make a telephone
call, possibly to some now more available lover with
money to spend, but that she changed her mind when she
remembered that he who had just left had cautioned her
many times, as his kind would, against making telephone

calls through PBX boards. Only bank robbers who de-
pended on luck would permit their mistresses such a

heedless indulgence as that.

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; i

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man with a finger on every known
desperado in America. Told that the
second man in the tragedy had not
been identified, Murphy packed a
series of photographs of known as-
sociates of Sampsell and took off for
San Diego.

There he found that Sampsell’s trail
had not exactly ended at the door of
the business building to which the taxi
driver had delivered him.

Turning it over to the police, she
had the satisfaction of seeing it definite-
ly identified as the murder weapon
of B-Street.

There had been other developments.

The late afternoon newspapers had
carried descriptions of Sampsell, both
as he appeared when he robbed the
Seaboard and as he was last seen,
by the bus station employees and the
taxi driver.

This unfortunate publicity, Geer
knew, would provoke Sampsell into a
still further change of attire, lest he be
recognized in an attempt to get out
of the city on a public carrier. Certainly,
having missed his escape Car, he would
have to take that route out.

Geer ran a complete check on the
better clothing shops of the town. His
hunch that the elegant thug would dis-
dain the cheaper emporia, even though
that would have seemed most indiscreet
in his case because of his known fancy
for the best, paid off for Geer.

A man answering the bandit’s descrip-
tion had purchased a tan, tweed jacket
in one place, a pair of dark brown
gabardine slacks in another and a pair
of brown and white spectator shoes
and a $135 English kit bag in another.

With this information in hand, Geer
had checked on the city’s best hotels a
second time. A first check had un-
covered nothing, but the second brought
the sheepish confession from the man-
ager of the city’s leading . residential
inn that the quarry had occupied a
room in his house for three hours
shortly after hold-up. He had left, he
said, shortly after a smallish, stooped
man in tweeds had called to ask if a
Mr. Simmons had registered there.
From the description, it was obvious
that the tweedy man was the con-
federate trying to contact Sampsell.

Murphy then produced the FBI pho-
tographs and after a careful. study of
them, the hotel man pointed to a pho-
tograph of one Albert (Fatty) Richard-
son, an erstwhile cellmate of Sampsell’s
at San Quentin.

“There’s something in that man’s face
that reminds me of the fella that came
here,” he said, “but he’s too fat...
too jowly. The fella that came here
was sort of emaciated... that is, his
jowls kind of hung down, like a blood-
hound’s, and his clothes hung on him
loosely.”

Murphy produced another photo-
graph. It was of a man with a wrinkled

face and slack mouth and drooping
neck folds. The hotel manager said,
quickly, “Certainly ... that’s the man
. . . not the fat one here.”

Bank employees promptly identified
the thin-faced image as Sampsell’s
accomplice and Murphy and Geer were
ready for their next move—and where
it would lead to, and how, not the most
sanguine police official could have pre-
dicted.

ORKING in collaboration with

Geer, Murphy began the long,
tedious job of checking every move
made by Sampsell since his release
from San Quentin.

Given permission, after this release,
to leave California, where he was about
as welcome as bubonic plague, Samp-
sell had been assigned a parole check
point in Kansas City. There, Murphy
learned, he had reported regularly
until approximately three weeks before
the Pasadena job, in March, 1948.

The investigation was apparently
endless. In time, Murphy learned that
Sampsell had spent several days in
Los Angeles after the Pasadena robbery
and prior to the San Diego job.

It was at this time that the mauve
interlude with the lush blonde in the
swank hotel occurred—an assignation
from which he had walked into the
stickup-murder that once again set the
nation’s bloodhounds on his spoor.

Upon this last incident Murphy
based a campaign which only time
could develop successfully.

He caused newspaper reports of the
chronic perfidy of Sampsell to be pub-
lished and injected the underworld
grapevine with legends of Sampsell’s

double dealings with his confederates. .

He played up his treachery in the

to be circulated stories of how Sampsell
had consistently failed to split the loot
of his robberies with his aides.

Through channels, he endoctrinated
the underworld with the Sampsell
technic. Always it was Sampsell who
scooped up the money and always it
was Sampsell who kept the booty in
his charge until time to cut it up. Then,
as often as not, he misrepresented his
take; but just as often -he simply doled
out a miserable lagniappe to his suckers
and arrogantly pocketed the rest.

This chicane campaign had gone on
almost a year when a tall man, im-
maculately dressed in a double breasted
sharkskin suit, white shirt with regi-
mental striped tie of conservative

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That he was eminently right in his
caution was proved later when police
and FBI men, checking the story of
a certain fatal robbery, learned from
the hotel switchboard that at about
ten o’clock on that day the receiver
had been lifted from that very hotel
room’s telephone, but returned without
any service being requested.

N a city approximately 125 miles

south of the metropolis in which
that hotel was located, a policeman
walked into the lobby of a finance
company, looked around, spotted the
manager and strolled over to lean on
the railing beside his desk and chat.
It was March and, for March, it was
warm in San Diego.

Sitting in the office of the manager
of the B-Street branch of the Seaboard
Finance Company was Harlan Cook,
employed part time by the company
as a special guard and at other times
a full time policeman in suburban
Chula Vista, near the Mexican border.
Cook spoke amiably to the policeman
and that symbol of authority removed
his cap, mopped his brow and said,
significantly. “Every time I ask the
sergeant if I can knock off this check
in here every hour, he tells me not
to get too lax.”

Cook grinned appreciatively. The
manager turned to Cook and _ said,
jovially: “First thing you know, I'll
have to give half the San Diego police
department loans for services over and
above the call of duty.”

He rapped his night stick sharply
on the new finish of the office railing,
turned and strolled through the door
and into the street. As he left, Cook
got up, stretched his legs and started
for the rear of the building with a
mumbled, “Might as well make a check
around.”

It was a dull day in the B-Street
branch and few customers were in the
lobby. Business had been none too
brisk recently and there was reason
to wonder why bandits, apparently
already well heeled, would risk a try
at a spot none too prosperous, at best,
and located so close to their last two
attempts.

Five minutes later, he looked up to
see a tall, steely eyed, immaculately
dressed man in a gray chalk-striped,
double breasted suit and wearing gold,
cantilever type glasses, standing at the
rail.

Beyond him, at one of the desks
provided for customers, he barely
noticed a stooped man in loosely
fitting tweeds, apparently busy with
some papers.

“Yes,” he said, rising. “Can I- help
you?”

“I’m Charles Webb, from New York,”
the man said. “May I speak with you?”

“Certainly . . . come right in,” he
said, stepping to the gate and holding
it back to admit the visitor.

“Just keep quiet and do as I say
and no one will be hurt,” the man
said, evenly. “If you don’t, I'll kill
ou.” ‘

The security of the Seaboard’s mone:
in this branch was his responsibility,
but so, too, was the safety of- the
employees, not to mention his own life.
It is a policy of the company to provide
adequate insurance for holdups in order
to lessen the obligation of the em-
ployees to protect these funds, and
it was upon this invaluable prop that
the manager leaned now.

They walked first to Cage 2. The
stooped man in the tweeds had crossed
over to that point now and as the tall
bandit stepped inside, he said, to
his obvious confederate, “Keep ’em
covered and watch the door... I'll
take care of the rest.”

A girl was at the window in Cage 2.
The tall bandit stepped to the cash
drawer and opened it. She slammed
it shut, then saw the gun and paled.

The bandit turned to the manager.

“Unless you tell your employees to
have better manners, someone is going
to get hurt,” he said, savagely.

“Do as he says and don’t speak,” he
told the shaken girl.

The bandit opened the drawer and
took out $1,600 ,in bills, closed it and
went toward the Number 1 cage. There
he scooped up $1,700 from the cash
drawer and stuffed it into his coat
pocket.

“Now,” he said, turning back to the
manager, “open the safe,”

“I can’t. I don’t have the combina-
tion.”

“Open it,” the bandit hissed and
jammed the pistol barrel into the
manager’s middle, “or get a bullet in
your guts.”

“Wait,” the girl pleaded, “he’s telling
the truth. I’m the only one that knows
the combination.”

“Then you open the safe,” snapped
the man.

She went to the safe and, after
spinning the dial nervously, swung
back the big door. The bandit ordered
the manager inside with him. As he
passed through the door, he shot back
grimly over his shoulder: i

“Try to lock this door on me and
I'll put a bullet in this guy’s brain.
Understand?”

.Inside the safe, he scooped up a
handful of checks, rifled through them
and threw them into a corner. He
found a bag of silver on a shelf and
stuffed that into his jacket pocket. -

“Where’s the big stuff ... the
folding money?” he demanded.

“You’ve got it all. It was all in the
cages.” ;

The bandit stared at him for an
instant, then said, “Okay. Move.”

He ordered the manager to walk
ahead of him into the main room.

A door slammed in the rear of the
building and the tall man looked up
quickly. He called to his confederate
sharply, “Get the car ready ... I'll
be right out.”

The man in tweeds shuffled out the
door. He turned right and the’ tall
bandit turned toward the manager.

As he did, he was seized from be-
hind. Cook had come through the rear
door, caught at a glance the implications
of the scene, slipped behind a _ half
wall until the bandit had turned back,
and then attacked.

While the bandit struggled in his
grasp, the manager turned to his office
to release the police alarm. A burly
man looked in the B-Street door, saw
pe struggle and rushed in to Cook’s
aid.

The bandit saw him and shouted:
“I’m being robbed ... grab this man.”

It was clever, and it might have
worked. But unfortunately for: the
desperado, Cook and Arthur Smith were
friends. Smith lunged at him and locked
his head in a muscular grip. Suddenly
the bandit whirled, tripped Smith up
and the three fell, writhing,.to the

floor. The wiry bandit was too quick —

for the others, and probably too ex-
perienced in this sort of thing.

He wriggled away in a flash, leaped
to his feet, whipped the heretofore
concealed gun from his pocket and
fired, pointblank, at Smith as he
scrambled to his knees.

Wordlessly, the bandit turned on
Smith, writhing painfully on the floor.

Smith saw him through blurred
eyes and moaned, “For—don’t shoot
again...

“You asked for it, friend,” the bandit
spat between his teeth and then two

more bullet:
man’s midd]
ically and c

The banc
manager 2:
followed hir
fired three -
whistling a:
who duckec

NCE s
bandit
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scrambled
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he safe,” snapped

safe and, after
1ervously, swung
1e bandit ordered
with him. As he
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ilder: sas
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this guy’s brain. {

1e scooped up a
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2 main room.

. the rear of the
man looked up
his confederate

cr ready .o. VU

; shuffled out the
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the manager. °:
seized from be- |
through the rear |
e the implications

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iad turned back, ’

struggled in his

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| alarm. A burly
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ied in to Cook’s

im and shouted:
. grab this man.”
d it might have

-unately for the.

Arthur Smith were
at him and locked
ar grip. Suddenly

tripped Smith up
writhing, to the .

lit was too quick
probably too ex-
t of thing.

in a flash, leaped
1 the heretofore ~ |
his pocket and

t Smith as he ?
es. q

irds, clutching. at

ok jumped again

burst of fire and ‘

ird and sat down

ide a rosette on j

indit turned on
lly on the floor.
through blurred
For—don’t shoot

ciend,” the bandit
th and then two

- more bullets ploughed into the dying

man’s middle, and he jerked spasmod-
ically and died.

The bandit ran into the street. The
manager and an assistant manager
followed him, The gunman turned and
fired three times at them, the bullets
whistling among terrified pedestrians
who ducked for safety.

NCE so methodically cool, the

bandit now seemed to have lost

his nerve. He ran down the street,

coat-tail flying, and directly past an

automobile in which his confederate
sat, the motor running.

The confederate blew the horn wild-

ly, but the robber fled on through

the downtown crowds.

Two blocks from the scene of the
crime, he leaped onto the running board
of an old model car, thrust the gun in
the driver’s face and ordered him to
turn at the first corner.

Instead, the driver swerved the car
suddenly, loosened the robber’s hold
and he rolled across the pavement
almost under the wheels of an oncom-
ing truck. Seemingly indestructible, he
scrambled to his feet, snatched open
the door of a passing car and climbed
into the seat beside the driver, gun
still in hand.

“Drive fast, turn at the next corner
and ask no questions,” he snarled.

The corner turned, he recovered his

. equilibrium: and started a mild protest.

The gun was thrust into his ribs
and the passenger growled, “Drive to
the Greyhound Bus Station, brother,
or I'll kill you right where you sit.
Don’t forget that I’m hot as a fire-
cracker and one more killing, more
or less, won’t make me any hotter .. .”

The man prudently drove to the bus
station where his passenger slid from
the car, bade him a pleasant good-bye
and walked into the waiting room.
Inside, he went directly to.a sideroom
used for storage and extra baggage.

A few minutes later, noting a stranger
leaving the room, carefully patting
down the lapels of a brown sports coat
as he left, a bus station employee
decided to investigate.

In the room, the employee found a
gray, chalk striped suit, a snap brim
hat, a white oxford shirt and a pair

. of almost new black shoes, He also
found an“open gladstone bag into and:

over which the discarded clothing had
been carelessly tossed.

_ Outside, a tall man in a cocoanut
brown sports jacket, fawn gabardine
slacks, brown reversed leather shoes,
brown Borsalino type hat, wide bowed,
thick framed horn rim spectacles and
fawn sports shirt without a tie, stopped
at’ the newsstand, bought a pack of
cigarettes, swung jauntily off ‘through
a side door to the street and entered
a taxicab.

‘The hackman drove him to a mid-
town office building where the man
paid him casually, giving him two silver
dollars for a sixty-five cent fare, and
disappeared into the building.

In all, the bandit had spent less
than five minutes in the bus station
storeroom. It was obvious that he had
previously planted the gladstone bag
with the change of clothing there. He
had changed his glasses, too, but no
trace was found of the discarded
cantilevers, nor’ of the necktie he had
worn so meticulously when he entered
the Seaboard offices.

Temporarily, at any rate, the trail
grew cold at the door of the office
building where ,the startled taxi driver,
unused to such generous largesse, stared
after the man, guppy-eyed.

Once more a supreme ego, which
could not resist the flash of an ex-
cessive tip, helped to focus attention
upon an otherwise reasonably com-
monplace figure.

M°s: GEER, chief of the San
Diego Detective Bureau, stood
glumly over the body of Arthur Smith
and heard the story of the tragedy.

Monotonously he asked them to re-
peat, until the last minute detail was
established, a description of the bandits
with emphasis on the tall one.

“ .. about six feet tall, immaculately
dressed; gold cantilever glasses; fault-
lessly pressed suit; white shirt: black
carefully polished shoes; hair graying
slightly at the temples and neatly
combed; wide-set, steel gray eyes; large
hands with long, strong’ fingers .. .”

Geer thought carefully before he
said grimly: “Lloyd Sampsell ... no
doubt about it!”

Into these words was crowded all the
bitterness of a conscientious cop who
has seen a madman sent to prison,
only to be released by a misguided,
falsely philosophical, uninformed parole
board.

For Lloyd Sampsell, one of the dead-
liest criminals ever spawned on the
Pacific Coast, had been sent to prison,
not once, but twice, for major offenses.

He had first been jailed for bigamy,
then for forgery and again for armed
robbery. He had escaped from San
Quentin prison with his pal, Ethan
Allen McNabb and had killed a guard
in the escape.

are a few ugly ones there, kept under
close guard and often in solitary. They
are forced to work on the prison farm
and do fearful penance in seclusion,

One of these favored ones was,
unaccountably, Sampsell. He occupied
one of the cabins, did clerical work,
bossed some of the other prisoners and
generally pleased with his witty tales
of misadventure and wenching.

One night a substitute guard was
set to patrol the area in which Samp-

sell’s cabin stood. The substitution had
been made because of illness, late on

‘a Saturday, and no bulletin had been

issued to percolate into the prison
grapevine of the change. So it was
that when this guard looked into Samp-
sell’s cabin late that night, Sampsell
was not there.

The guard sounded the alarm. The
warden ordered a guard captain to
make a check. He returned to report
that Sampsell’s cabin was empty.

The door opened to frame the lithe
body of a handsome woman. The three
burly inspectors from San Francisco
police headquarters pushed quickly past
her. A nude man sprang from a wall
bed and darted toward the window,
snatching a pair of trousers as he ran.
Two of the inspectors overtéok him,
bore him to the floor and thonged him.

Lloyd Sampsell had once more been
interrupted at his love-making, not an
infrequent calamity with this man who
was equally adept with honeyed words
or a pistol.

A warden lost his job for this and
several guards were fired, too. Samp-
sell had gone back to prison with a
warning from Earl Warren, California’s
governor who, as Alameda County
district attorney, had first imprisoned
him in San Quentin, that Folsom must
be cleaned up and Sampsell contained.

Three years later, through loopholes
of the parole system in California,

(Continued on page 68)
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indentations in it.

In answer to the district attorney’s
questions, the medical examiner eX-
plained that Mrs. Jordan had died as
the result of a series of blows on the
head with a blunt object. Further, Ma-
grath produced the death-causing in-
strument, It had been the object of
Magrath and Crowley’s nocturnal visit
to Somerville.

The medical examiner held up a
flatiron and declared that it had been
the weapon Chester Jordan used to
kill his wife, As ptoof, he fitted the
point of the iron into the triangular
indentations in the dead woman’s skull.
Mr. Magrath went on to testify that
he and Crowley had found the iron
tucked away in its accustomed place on
a shelf in the pantry. This revelation
utterly demolished Chester Jordan’s
claim that he had killed his wife while
temporarily insane. Magrath demon-
strated beyond doubt that Jordan must
have known what he was doing when
he killed his wife. He didn’t grab just
any object that happened to be lying
around to throttle his wife with. No,
he went to the exact place where the
iron was kept and reached up to get
the death-dealing object. This estab-
lished that Jordan was rational when
he killed his wife.

The jury deliberated for 24 hours
before finding Chester Jordan guilty of
murder in the first degree. The verdict
was appealed several times before be-
ing finally and irrevocably upheld by
the Supreme Court of the United
States. :

On the night of September 24th,
1912, four years after the crime, Ches-
ter S. Jordan paid with his life in the
electric chair at Massachusetts State

wife.

BLOOD MONEY
(Continued from page 37)

Sampsell again walked out of prison,
free on parole with only the necessity
of making the formal reports to stay
him from his former activities. Precious
little restraint that was for one as
criminally resourceful as Lloyd Samp-

sell,

CGC. pulled mug shots of Sampsell
from the San Diego police files
and showed them to bank employees.
All unhesitatingly identified the like-

no longer any doubt as to the main
quarry.

There was, however, no remote iden-
tification of the slouching, tweed suited
man who had acted as lookout and un-
successful chauffeur for Sampsell.

Realizing that here was a case beyond
the scope of his own department, Geer
immediately contacted the FBI in Los
Angeles. He was put in touch with W.
A. Murphy, veteran investigator ‘of
bank robberies and mail stickups, a

Prison, for the brutal murder of his .

nesses as Sampsell’s and there was.

If you are tro

dandruff, itchy sc

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Nothing help
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eons

‘

“

‘d that he crept
oot, during the
| leave the same

might be fol-

k to the road,”
. “More likely

about the bunk-
dotprints. Sure
Bridwell began
mning to Jensen
ilong the xside-

went straight
irrigation ditch,
ien they veered
south, across a
struck the rail-

1 the man had
he tracks con-
clear, a full six
of Holtville. At

. right through
1 Jensen. “Let’s
and see if we

apletely circled
aes to examine
o further trace
tried again on
iat led straight
ied along some
v failed to pick

the outskirts of
nity where the
1. Here they
e cabanas and
s. All declared
\king into town

es had worked
’ often thought
was no use of
<iller. The only
ck on Garcia’s
p a clue. Some
2 Cox & Shaw
the murdered

e ranch, where
v hands for the
ley swung off
up to the pole
ing. The men
ing silently on
old them of the
us of surprised

seemed well
ted all were at
slaying motive.
about a girl?”

* attending the
1e never talked

e one Saturday
‘exan. “He was

3 with satisfac-
olunteered any
than to imply
ellow who kept
self,
not passing up
w remote. He
trouble Garcia
of them. This
stance,
had money
aued. “Can
, ast night?”
im. All slept in
thus each man
next one. Their

a , ails <i5%, wis
mii dl jp acl alate Ny al Si

’ from thousands.

oe i = pee ake SA met Pe cea a
bedrolls and clothes. were forthwith’ in-
“spected, but none revealed. any. dark

stains, :
When the others rode away, Bridwell
detained the Texan. ‘About that girl you

saw with Garcia,” the deputy told the —

rider. “Can you describe her'to me?” ,
The man tilted back his Stetson and

~ tolled a cigaret. “Yep, ‘aoa as a picture.

Red ‘slippers and a yellow flower in her
black hair.‘ Prettier than a pinto horse.’

“Guess you’d remember her, then, if
you saw her again. She was Mexican, 1
sup ose?”

ell, she looked it, all Hehe: But if
she was, she’ s the first one I ever saw had
blue eyes.’

Here was a valuable clue to the mys-
terious woman in Garcia’s life, Blue eyes,
the deputy realized, would single her out

‘But for the: moment
there was nothing to do but return to El
Centro and report.

ae THE county seat they stopped at the
morgue, on the chance the autopsy
would show up some clue. They found
Dr. Frederick Peterson had, completed
the post-mortem and it helped confirm
their suspicion. Plainly, the killer had cut
Garcia in a vicious, insane rage.

But nothing pointed to the killer. F rom

- the sheriff, Bridwell and. Jensen learned

the bank had been notified, also the bor-

. der patrol. The first details: had been

given to the El Centro newspaper.

Ware listened to his deputies and
nodded approval. “No girl did that kill-
ing,” he said. “But she might be involved.
Mosey over and look in the back door of
Holtville. Maybe you can get a line on
her.”

That evening Bridwell and Jensen
drove over, their guns concealed in shoul-
der holsters. To all outward appearances
they were a couple of ranch hands
meandering around town.

They kept to the lower end, favoring
each passing woman with a brief, im-
personal glance. Many had. flowers in
their hair, a dozen wore red slippers. But
none had blue eyes.

With the thought that maybe the one
they wanted was employed, they began
dropping in at eating places. Mostly they
sipped coffee, moving constantly to the
next one.

In one smoke-filled cafe a dark eyed
waitress came to their table. “What do
you two fellows want?” she demanded
pertly. “You looking for somebody?”

“How did. you know,’ Bridwell an-
swered, “My girl vamoosed on me and
I’m trying to findsher.” He brought out
a five dollar bill and toyed with it. ‘

“This for helping me find her,” he con-
tinued. “A little senorita with blue eyes.”

She regarded him insolently -a full
moment. “What do you want to eat?”

“Tortillas and coffee.”

She returned with the food. “I have —

seen your girl,” she said, “‘at the dehces.

her tomorrow | night, perhaps, at the Fl
Toro.’

Bridwell gave her the bill. They
downed the coffee and left. “It checks
with what we know,” he told. Jensen.
“We'll be here with bells on.”

It was late the next evening when they
returned and found the dance hall. A
crowd was already dancing. to the music
of fiddles and guitars. “There’s our wait-
ress,”’ said Jensen suddenly.

Bridwell strode over and asked her to
dance. As they whirled away, she asked:
“You have not found her? Then you must
be blind. There she mands by the mu-
sicians.’ \

a yellow rose in her black hair, surrounded,

‘girl, Twice Bridwel
. intently at the front door.

Be dept wa. eelender ‘girl with a’
by’ four. men, “Her \pale features were
finely’ chiseled and Bridwell. guessed she
was part American and part Mexican. He
put another bill in his partner’s hand.
“Get her away from them,” he said. “I
want ‘to talk to her, alone.”
-It was ‘money well.spent. Five minutes
later he was Meise with the blue eyed
noticed her gazing

When the music’ stopped he -casually
brought out the notebook, pretending to
examine it and the yellow rose prenens
between the leaves.

_At sight of it her dark eyes widened. -
“Where did you get that?” yes question
was almost a.demand.....

““Why ‘do you ask?” the deputy count-

_ ered, watching her closely.

“y’ gave that book—or one ‘like it—to
someone, And the flower, too. Surely he
would not give it away.”

“No, he didn’t do that. I found it under

Alex Garcia’s bed.”

Her delicate nostrils flared. “Frankly,

I don’t believe you, He promised to wear

it always, next to ‘his heart.” Then a sud-
den suspicion appéared to dawn in her
mind.’ “Has anything happened to him?”
“Did you expect him here, tonight?”

‘She tapped a tiny foot impatiently. “Of
course I do..We are to be married soon.
Wh do you speak in such riddles?”

"11 tell you about him. Come outside
with me.”

They moved out to a moonlit bench
under a pepper tree. There he learned her
name was Leah Morley, whose American
father was dead. She was so eager for
news of Alex Garcia that Bridwell won-
dered how to break the news. In the dis-
tance a mission bell struck the hour.
Stars hung low in the sky, like tiny lan-
terns, Then, gently as possible, he started
in.

“Leah,” he said; “I’m a deputy sheriff.
Something terrible has happened to Alex
Garcia. He was murdered two nights
ago.” He sketched in a few details.

“Murdered!” she echoed. Instantly the

‘ peaceful scene dissolved in tears. “‘Poor

Alex!” she sobbed. “Who would hurt
Alex?” ed :

“T don’t know,” said Bridwell uncom-
fortably, “but-I want you to help me find
who did it.”

“1?” she-cried helplessly. ‘What can I

do? Do you think if I knew I would be
sitting here?” She clenched a small hand
in. determination. a will do anything if
I can, to help you.’

“T’ve got an idea you may’ iki ow more
than you think. I want you to tell me how
you met Alex. I’ll ask you some ques-
tions.’

.In a, voice choked with emotion, she
told of meeting him at a dance six months
before..He appeared suddenly before her,
a dark young man who bowed gracefully

had proved to be a gay and polite cabal-
lero and the courtship had progressed to
marriage plans.

“You had: other suitors, I imagine,”
said Bridwell.

“Yes, a few. But I gave them up.”

“And some did not give up so easy.”

She shrugged. “True, some did not.
But in time they met other girls. What
has it to do with Alex?”

“Just this. I think some jealous man

_ killed him. Try and remember if someone

has been trying to court you. Recently,
I mean.’

‘She sat uiprighti “You mean Joe:
Sanches?”

“It could be. Is he in there, dancing?”

She shook her head. Joe Sanches, she

aN sh Med woe
paratttaoets. ea!

viata.

is said, had met her a month ago. There:

after he continually bothered her for
dates. He was a dark, agile man. And
‘handsome. But he was not to be trusted,
Leah thought. So she refused to have
anything to do with him,

She had seen him at dances afterward.
Invariably he stood in the background,
glowering at Alex and herself, the last
time being a week ago. -

She slumped on the bench, her spirit
crushed, “He was very angry, I know,”
she said wearily. “Maybe he killed Alex.
It’s all so terrible.” She broke into an-
other fit of weeping.

This information was what Bridwell
had been expecting. “Tell me everything
you can about Joe Sanches,” he re-
quested.

The girl did nor dence much. Sanches
was about twenty-eight, with dark eyes
and a thatch of black hair that lay real
heavily upon his forehead. When last she
saw him he wore a broad-brimmed som-
brero, riding boots and a red-checked
shirt. He had spoken of once being a
cowboy for the Rancho Verde, a big cat-
tle outfit a few miles below the border.

“Do you think he was in the country

illegally?” the deputy asked.

“No. I saw his passpoft in a wallet.”

“Good. Then his picture will be on file
at the border station. But Sanches is a
pretty common name. Will you come
with me tomorrow and identify it?”

“T will go with you now—tonight.
Take me home first to get my coat.”

Deputy Jensen brought the sheriff’s
powerful car and soon the three headed
— in the darkness for Calexico-Mex-
-icali,

At the border station, Leah was shown
a dozen “mug shots” of passport owners
named Sanches. She instantly picked out
one as the murder suspect. Luckily, there
was a sample of the man’s handwriting
and the deputies borrowed it.

Next day the picture was copied and
additional prints made. These were dis-
tributed to peace officers and the local
newspaper. Word now came from the
bank that the $77 paycheck given to
Garcia had come in.

The check endorsement and sample of
Sanches’ handwriting were airmailed to
the FBI laboratories. Back came their
reply. The same person had written both.
With this confirmation, the sheriff and his
men were fairly certain they had identi-
fied the slayer. To catch up with him was,
of course, something else.

Ww EN the suspect’s picture appeared
in the newspaper, it brought sev-
eral tips. First to call was Dr. S. T. Gear-
hart, who reported treating a J. Sanches
for cuts on his arms, shoulders and face.

“How was he dressed?” asked Jensen.

“TI didn’t pay much attention at the
time,” said the doctor. “He wore a big
hat, dark shirt and cowboy boots. He
said he rode for the Carl Gibson ranch.”

Bridwell and Jensen, to their surprise,
found the man at.the ranch. He looked
like the passport photo and he admitted
to the name Sanches, but said his first
name was, John. His injuries, he ex-
plained, were due to a car accident.

The deputies promptly took him to
-Leah only to have her declare he was not
the wanted man.

Other leads checked out in the same
disappointing manner. During the ensu-
ing month, the two deputies brought in
two more suspects, but they proved their
innocence.

“He got across the border, all right,”
said the Sheriff. “But he won’t stay
there. Not after being accustomed to

higher wages over here. The border pa--
trol is our only hope.” {

Five months passed with no further
word of him. More suspects were
brought in for questioning, only to be
released, The only encouragement was
Sheriff Ware’s unshaken belief that Joe
Sanches would return to his familiar
haunts, Leah and higher wages.

The night of July: 16, 1946, Deputy
Bridwell and Jensen were roused from
their beds by an urgent telephone call.
Border Inspector Anderson had arrested
a’ Joe Sanches trying to cross from Mex-
icali into Calexico.

In doubt, but hopeful, the deputies
drove hurriedly to the border. At sight of
the suspect, they fished out his picture.
Surely no two men could look so much
alike. At once the man confirmed their
hope. ;

“Sure, I’m Joe Sanches,” he said, arro-
gantly. “I’ve been visiting and now I'm
going back to Holtville. Sure, I had a
fight with Alex Garcia. But he hit me

* Bridwell. 9)

“Sure. It w

to stay with Alex all night-I woke up °
about four o'clock the next morning. He »

had the lights on and was fixing coffee.
I ‘went back to sleep. 'The next thing “I
knew, he was after me with a knife.”

Sanches said he ran ‘outside and’.
’ grabbed up an»ax for protection, But

Garcia kept coming, so he struck him,
When he still came on, Sanches ‘struck
him again.” j

“After a little I realized: he’ was dead,
but I was afraid nobody would believe

my story. So I dumped him in the hole,

confession and signed it. He
bing..Garcia and professed to be very
angry atthe deputies for implying he

money.

~ But the! defective wiring of the bunk-
house, showing the lights could not have
been on, whereas Sanchés said they were,
and the forged handwriting on Garcia’s
check, trapped him.

On, September 23, 1946, a jury began
hearing the murder evidence, before Su-
perior Court Judge Elmer W. Heald.
They promptly found Joe Sanches guilty
of murder in the first degree and made
no recommendations for clemency.

Judge'!Heald pronounced sentence on

intending to bury him, ‘But it started to. «October 8, 1946, condemning Sanches to

get light, and so I left, him and hurried
across the border,” iy
“Why did you come back now?”
“I thought it was all forgotten,”
At the jail in El Centro he repeated his:

die in the lethal gas chamber of Cali-
fornia’s San Quentin Prison.

(The name Leah Morley is fictitious so as to pro-

_. tect the person involved from any embarrassment,—

The Editor.)

HARVEST
OF HATE

[Continued from page 27]

“All right,” Evans said, trying to con-
ceal his exasperation, “let's take a look
at the corpse.” ,

Shaking his head, Duncan turned and
led the way down the path to the rear of
the long, es, silent ranchhouse. Not a
light showed anywhere inside.

“Was the light on in the kitchen when
you found Springer?” the deputy asked.

“Yes, but I turned it off pronto when
I realized what a fine target I made there
in the kitchen for anyone waiting out-
side,” the farmer answered.

“Mmmm. Your arriving so soon after
the killing may have scared the murderer
away before he was able to complete his
job. That is, if he intended any more than
murder—robbery or who knows what.”

His hand on the knob of the screened
back door, Duncan nodded. Then he en-
tered the dark house. A moment later,
finding the light switch, he flooded the
kitchen with yellow light. :

As he stepped across the threshold,
Evans’ glance was immediately caught by
the crumpled figure in the middle of the
floor. The shotgun blast had torn open
Springer’s chest, and he lay on his back
in a wide pool of blood.

The deputy also noted two other items;
a shining, steel-bladed kitchen knife
clutched in the victim’s right hand, and—
he squinted and looked again—yes, it was
grass ...a handful of blades of grass, the
brown earth still clinging to their roots,
thrown on the dead man’s face,

“Was that there when you discovered
him?” Evans asked when he had recov-
ered from his initial astonishment. +

“The grass? Yes, but I didn’t stop then
to wonder about it.”

Duncan stooped down. “That sure is
an odd thing to do—throw a handful of
ordinary grass on a dead man’s face. Say!.
It looks as though Mr. Springer nicked
whoever killed him,”

Duncan’s finger was pointing to a smear
of blood on the point of the knife still
grasped by the victim’s hand.

Evans nodded silently in agreement,
for his keen eyes had already noted that
important detail. “All right. No question

about him being dead. Now let’s have a

look at the phone you mentioned. Where
is it?” ‘ Lig dneak SpAgaA RD
“Right off the kitchen in. that little
hallway,” Duncan said, indicating the
inner door. 7a eh vit by

Striding into the corridor, the deputy
soon found the telephone, black and squat
on top of a narrow table. As he lifted the
instrument, however, he noticed the
ragged end of wire where the connection:
had been ripped from the wall box. ‘Then
he turned back to the kitchen,

From the doorway, Evans surveyed the
scene once. more. The room showed no
sign of a struggle. But the body lay in’

the center of the floor—far from any

furniture that might have been over-
turned. And the knife. blade, tipped with
blood, indicated that the killer had been:
wounded, ;

“From the looks of that knife, Springer
must have put up a fight,” the deputy
commented, “Didn’t you hear any sounds
of a brawl?”

“My cottage is a good 200 yards away
—behind a-small ridge back there and
with a grove of orange trees between us,”
Duncan shook his head. “I couldn’t have
heard anything going on here,”

“6 ASN’T anyone else around here
tonight? ‘Springer didn’t , live

‘alone, did he?’

“He had no house servants, if that’s
what you mean,” the farmer replied, “Of
course, there’s his wife. But she drove
into town this evening along, with my,
missus to see a movie, Oh! And...” He:
stopped suddenly. '

“Go on, And what?” Evans demanded. }
“There was someone else here tonight.” bi

“Well, who was it?” . dik ‘

“Mr, Stratton,” Duncan said slowly.
“Warren Stratton. He owns the property
right behind Mr. Springer’s, to the east,
there. But'I can’t believe Stratton... .”

“Y oy don't have to,” the deputy cut him

off, ‘He'll get a chance to speak for him-

self— Now. let’s see about getting some
help down here.”
Since Duncan refused to remain alone

on the ranch: with the. grass-bedecked

corpse, Evans took the tenant farmer
along in his car as he drove down the
highway to the nearest phone. Placing his

call to the sheriff's office in’ Dallas, the |

deputy hurried back to the Springer es-
tate to.make sure nothing was disturbed
until other’ officials arrived, “) aa

_’ Twenty minutes later, the slamming of . |
car doors out on Dooley Road announced.

§ pay oh abba.

“the arrival of Sheriff Steve Guthrie. He

led the way up the path, followed by In-
spector Claude James and Gordon Mar-
tin, criminologist in the county detection
laboratory,

Briefly, Evans outlined the situation to
the newcomers.

When the deputy finished, Guthrie
commented, “Let's have a closer look at
this grass, It sounds queer enough to get
special attention,”

Crowding into the kitchen, the officers
viewed the corpse, When the others had
finished their inspection, Martin knelt to
remove the knife from the dead man’s
hand. He took charge of that piece of evi-
dence, along with the shotgun, in order
to examine them for fingerprints. At the
same time, the criminologist picked a
spear of grass from the victim’s face and”
éyed it curiously.

ton of you ever see this type of grass
before?” he asked, holding up the stubby
shoot, }

Puzzled, the others shook their heads.

“This is Bermuda grass,” Martin ex-
plained. “You see a lot of it on the Rio
Grande and along the border into Cali-
fornia. It’s been gaining popularity in this
part of the country, too, because it does
so well even in the hottest summers. But
it’s still not very yy yaad in this
neighborhood—so it might turn out to be
a valuable clue.”

“Could be,” James observed, “providing
the killer went to the unlikely extent of
carrying: along a handful of grass when
he set out to kill Springer. But seems
more likely that he plucked the grass right
outside here and threw it in his victim’s
face in his anger or as a symbol of some
kind”) :

“That sounds more likely,” Martin con-

" ceded. “I can check it in a moment by
. taking a look at the grass outside.”

The laboratory expert hurried outside
to return in a few moments to the waiting
officers, One look at the triumphant ex-
‘pression on his face and they knew the
answer.

“There is nothing but the common rye
grass from the road right up. to the
kitchen steps,” reported Martin signifi-

cantly,

“In that case, you'd better take the rest
of this grass back to the lab,” Guthrie
instructed him. “And be careful not to
shake off the earth from the roots, Maybe

a soil test can tell us something about '

where this grass came from.” j
Rarrying out the sheriff's suggestion,

the scientific expert gently lifted the grass
») ear ( ees ; a

took ‘anything but the victim’s life. Nor '
‘ did Sanches have the watch or any

off the. face
empty enve!

The sher
heading for
better have

take a |
his plac
While mM
tograph the
of Mrs. Sp
for removi!
other three
ton home.
joined Spr |
it was a fif
about roa:
ranch, ;
Once, t
knock was
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A stout,
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see me?”
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Springer
quietly.
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action fo:
dropped
“Bud’s ¢
credulous

HER
Evan
far as we
son kno\
“But |
liver a
my wife,
home, s«
Bud abc
was not
altogeth
minutes

I remer

clock st

toward
The

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when |

Insp
of law:
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peered
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“Ber

“Go:
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while |
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er I
hich
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time

me
leep,
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into
s. |
it. I

Har-
‘y 2,
went
later
sen-

James
vrotect
in the

re we

who
old us
lerton
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ilgore
d her.
o you
ad ex-

didn’t

d her.
iat she
ything
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ch her
n't di-
suldn’t
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lived a
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s Sands
ng the
l p.m.

call

ww this,

SANCHEZ, JOSE, His., gassed CA (Imperial) January 26, 1948,

~~ te

gentlemen,” he said, after comfortably
seating himself. ‘You see, I’m pretty
sure in my own mind that she’s dead,
“Alice was a headstrong woman and
got to drinking too much the last few
ears we were together. That's why. I
insisted on the separation, And we had a
mutual woman friend who was interested
in me. Alice had the settlement money on
her person that I’d given her after we

finally separated when she met this .

woman,

“About a year later, I saw this woman
again and she told me that she and Alice
had gone out on a lake in a rowboat and
that Alice had drowned when the boat
capsized. She claimed that she had
$10,000 that she had saved out of the
accident and wanted to share it with me.
I told her in no uncertain terms that a
didn’t want to hear any of the details
and that I never wanted to see her again!

“Whether she died in Wyoming as my
brother-in-law wrote, or whether she
drowned, I can't tell you.”

“Let’s talk about Ellen, then,” I sug-
gested, “You didn’t really pay her $20,000
in cash in a public place like a coffee shop,
did you?”

He looked at me. “Well, no, Mr. Calla-
han, I gave her $3,000 and an I. O. U.
for the rest, I have the money cached
away in the Oregon foothills and I in-
tended getting it and sending it to her;
that is until I learned of het disap-
pearance.”

Sands had taken his notebook out of
his pocket when the conversation .began
and had been taking down the conversa-
tion in shorthand. I saw Hayton, in spite
of his coolness, glance at the scurrying
pencil several times.

“Tf you're taking all this down,” he
said worriedly, “you must think I had
something to do with it. Some of my
statements must seem confusing to yo
but if you don't believe what I said abdut
the money being in Oregon I'll be& glad
to go down there with you and pfove it,”

“We're going to take you in dnd book
you on an open charge, Hayton, And
we'll let you go to Oregon or fany place
else you want to prove your statements—
in our company, of course.”

Sands and Freeman took him in their
car and I talked to Ski on the \way back
to the office. “This fellow Hayten is no
fool, Ski,” I told him, “He wants to-go
to Oregon for some reason, or he’d never
have brought it up. You and the boys
take him down tomorrow. We haven't
much on him so far, but if we can find
out whatever it is he’s got on his mind
down there, we may learn something im-
portant,”

That was on Monday, January 19.
They left early Tuesday morning and got
back Wednesday afternoon. Ski’s 220

ounds looked a little deflated and his
eft wrist was in a cast,

“Did you discover why he was so
anxious to fo to Oregon?” I interrupted.

“Yeh, I found out—the hard way! I'll
tell you about it.

“We got down there about 3 o'clock
in the afternoon—about five miles out
of Milton, in the Blue Mountain country.
Hayton said it was going to get dark too
soon for us to try it that night, but we
had flashlights so made him get started.

“He took off at a good pace for a few
hundred yards and then sat down on a
rock. Said he guessed we didn’t know
how to climb mountains. You could
travel faster if you rested every so often,
he said. We must have covered two miles
straight up, Cal!

“It was getting dusky but you could
still see the countryside. We finall
reached a kind of plateau with one cli

falling off into nothing, I found out what
i on his mind, all right!” |
listened impatiently but didn’t inter-

upt.

“T told him we seemed to be at the top
and asked him where the money was.
-“‘Ower there,’ he pointed and made
a bee-line for the edge of the cliff. I
slipped and fell and busted a‘bone in my.
hand here,” he pointed to his cast, “but
I got up in time to make a flying tackle
and grab him before he went over!”

“So it was suicide he was thinking of!
What a round-about way to accomplish
it. But he must have known we had the
goods on him that night we took him
into custody.”

“Yes,” Ski answered disgustedly, "He
told us down there in Sheriff Goad’s of-
fice that he killed Ellen. Figured the jig
was up, I guess. We got him in the car,
Cal. He’s going to show us where he
buried her.’

Hayton directed us to a lonely road
north of Seattle near Arlington, I heard
the story while we were driving.

He and Ellen had agreed on the sepa-
ration and the amount to be paid for set-
tloment. He was to keep the home and
the car and she and her son would live
at the riding academy. But the morning
of January 8 she had gotten up and was
dressing after her son had left for school
and Hayton had come in to sit on the
edge of the bed. They got into an argu-
ment, and she slapped him.

In order to strike him she had turned
toward him so that his left hand was
loosely clasped around the back of her
neck, He tightened his fingers and held
the grip.

Her face purpled and she fell to the
floor, He ran to the bathroom and got a
wet wash-cloth and tried vainly to revive

her. So he sat on the edge of the bed and
wondered what to do.

After about a half hour while the
corpse lay in front of him on the floor,
he got up and put her body in a wood-
box next the fireplace in the front room.
A trap door from this led directly into
the garage.

In the garage he trussed her into a
jack-knife position and worked her into
a large duffel bag. Then with the body
and a shovel jouncing in the car’s trunk,
he headed toward Mt. Vernon, a locality
he had come to know while married to
his first wife.

We found the body in the duffel bag
in a shallow grave at the base of a tree
about 100 feet off the little used road.
Hayton smoked a cigaret as the body
was brought to light. Later he enacted the
slaying at his home for Prosecutor Lloyd
Shorett and myself. .

On Saturday morning he requested to
see Phil Sands and Bill Freeman, He was
going to crumble all the way.

“I think I can show you the approxi-
mate location of Alice’s grave,” he said,
‘Gf you care to take me there.”

Again Hayton, Lyskoski, Sands, Free-
man, and I took the trail of the mail order
brides of death; this time south of Brem-
erton, to near Hoods Canal and Panther
Lake,

We found Sarah Alice Hayton buried
ina lonely grave at the butt of a large,
blown down cedar tree.

Hayton and his wife had camped near-
4 on the first lap of their trip to West

irginia in June, 1945. As evening closed
in over the beautiful lake an argument
waxed hot within their trailer, Hayton
railing at her with the same accusations
he later hurled at Ellen.

Sarah Alice burst from the door and
ran for her very life! But Hayton stood
in the doorway and fired his 32-20 rifle
into the gathering dusk. Sarah Alice fell
with a bullet m her brain,

He located the cedar, dragged the body
to it at the end of a rope and rolled it
into a shallow pit he scraped out. As a
final gesture he dropped the rope-end in
on her face and filled the grave.

We called Mason and Kitsap officials
to complete the disinterment, as it came
under their jurisdiction, and returned to
Seattle to begin a final check.

But Hayton’s first wife in Mt. Vernon
had died from natural causes. The di-
vorcee and her sister were located in
Kansas City. Both were in apparent good
health as each had married several times
since knowing Hayton!

The story of the overturned rowboat,
as told by Hayton, was thoroughly ex-

loded when we located the woman. Her
indignation at the tale knew no bounds
and she proved that it was a further ex-
ample of Hayton’s fertile imagination.

Hayton signed full statements on the
death of both his wives and was moved
to Shelton in Mason County where he
will stand trial in the killing of Sarah
Alice Hayton.

Her death was considered to have a
stronger element of premeditation than
that of Ellen, wife number three. How-
ever, Hayton has a charge of her murder
standing against him in King County re-
gardless of what happens at Shelton.

The mysterious telegram announcing
Sarah Alice Hayton’s death in Wyoming
is still a mystery as this account of the
police investigation leading to the indict-
ment of Roscoe Hayton is prepared tor
publication, Perhaps that angle will be
explained during the trial that will de-
termine the innocence or guilt of Hayton.

(The names Andrew Stets and Jake Bellen are

fictitious to protect the identities of persons inno-
cently involved in the investigation.—The Editor.)

een left there. -

» questioned at
eir. illicit. rela-
y they pleaded
iltery and were
in the county

Franklin ~ S.

behind barred
pretense. But
3, tactful ques-
lightest know-
hich had been

Admitting a
he girl and her
oms as on the
clared emphati-
been any seri-
le among them.
2 girl a heavy,
e’ve got it back
nswer to what
ie’s face. Why
of trouble and

indifferently.
s like that,’ she
sn’t even a ring

on to the case
lersick, O’Don-
nued day after
ternate periods
with the same
e veteran Spo-
ve got most of
me through.”
just two weeks
uple from Ore-
ew ruse. Hart-
e strain of re-
| into the ques-
angered Verna's
im.

you're a good-
a way with the
rst one you've
2 she’s not the
t for you—”

1e effect of his

ghting the sup-
es. “Well—”
na’s about done
we know about
too, that she’s
hand punch as
‘erna’s about to
and before she
the good sense
that you know
be in the clear.
rle the girls had
night.”
vous lip, stared

d an affair with

yes wide. “No.
. Verna’d been
nake something

words but they
ything was fine

and Verna went

zad in helpless
ight as well tell
7:30 and Verna
when she came
t out with Bon-
ne and see if she

that alley and
‘t of moaning. I

i atta

ee ee Ie

’ could see she was all cut u

over tonight,” she said, “and

, p and: had a
rag in her mouth and I. was iscared. I;

+ didn’t know, what to do, so we caine back’

to the house. But we kept talking about:
it and wondered what would happen if |
she died atid sqmeone found jher there.

So sometime after midnight we went /

- back: and I felt of Bonnie’s pulse and: she

was still alive, but I\knew she was dying,
so we dragged her to.the alley where she
was found,’ \ °. fais

The long spell of tension broken, Eller-

sick and: O’Donnell relaxed for, the first

time in a: month, while ‘Prosecutor Mc- » .

take a formal statement. \
Confronted with her love

“Tarzan” Keller shook her

She didn’t believe it. “Let

Farland sutmmoned a stenographer to

confession,

aybe I'll .
tell you something in the mornihg.”
She was still skeptical when she again
faced the investigatots the next morning.
But a brief study of Hartley's détailed
statement convinced, her. i?
“If that’s the way it is, I may as
talk,” she sighed. “I didn’t mean 'to
her, but I wanted to teach her a good
lesson about playing. around. wi
Sammy.” 4
She admitted having several drinks
during the afternoon and more during
the Plaster girl’s visit. Enraged by the

and called Sammy,‘ because
what to:do.. 6 oe
Both: confessions completel
ated the ote boy; : ,
fn their fli

panied them +
knowledge ofthe crime.
tl
Judge .E. V.
the, court, entered

Waiving | preliminary:

utlow and Henry J. Barton

(The names John

' ave fictitious to propect the identity of persons in-
scctesivstnobivet nm the investigation.-The Edi-

YELLOW ROSE
WITH SCENT
OF DEATH |

[Continued from page 15]

searched the yard, Deputy gecinen set yf
his camera to photograph the bunkhoyse
interior. He soon discovered the elegtric

roved, the broken wire was
important part in the mur4
body of Alex Garcia was/started for El —
Centro atid the search. coéntinued.

Mystifying was the {é
cowhand had killed Gafcia for money, it
seemed hardly likely He would go to the
trouble of dragging he body to such an
easily seen spot. Cos
| Admittedly, robbery might have pro-
vided part of the/motive. But the brutal °

attack upon Gar€ia puzzled the deputies. |

Killing to rob ye 3 one thing but a mutda-
tion murder yas something else.

The rancher didn’t know much. “Alex
had a valuable open-faced. watch,” he
said, “As for money, Jim Cox has been
paying his wages lately. Here he comes,
now.” ey

Two riders pulled into the yard and
dismounted, With the bluff, weather-
beaten Cox ‘was one of his cowboys,
Howard Foster. They computed Garcia's
earnings and guessed his savitigs should
total in the neighborhood. of three. hun-
dred and fifty dollars.

“T gave him a check yesterday,” Cox
added. “For $77.” ‘

“Which bank -was it on?” queried Jen-
sen. : Oe

f nagtelstt
Mabie ug ee Se

Te ea
‘eae ae

“The killer may-ha

_ for murder, you know.

Security First National, in El

The attleman, however, had no ideas
to offer on the slaying. As far as he knew,
an \got along all right with every-

' “On the fate of things, it adds up to a
robbery murder,” said Bridwell. “But
whoever, gave \him that notebook ‘and

_ rose may be thereal motive. Somehow,

we've'got to find ;

Jensen’ flicked sa glance at his watch.
s headed for the bor-
der. With only twekty miles to go, he
could: be there alread}. If he gets across,
well—Mexico: won’t extradite anybody

Both deputies realized there was no
time to lose. They hurried to. their car

and. by short-wave tadio\called Sheriff .

Ware..Details were missing, but, work-
ing with: the slender .infornation ‘they
possessed, a start was made \t-plugging
escape routes. HRN
' The sheriff promised speedy ‘ection in
eA lg mh on the check: t&\Garcia.
The border patrol would be asked to
watch for any suspicious charactek, es=
pecially: one with, bloodstained clothing.
‘Bridwell and Jensen decided first Yo
make aythorough. search for the murda
weapon..If it was an ax, then likely it was
still around and might carry fingerprints.
'» Everyone joined them) inthe. search.
Twenty minttes later it.was the deputy

himself who. investigated an» empty oil —

druméand found ‘an ax. The handle was
bloodstained, as ;was the blade. But the
officers: were doomed to disappointment
here, for the handle was smudged and
no ptints were found. :
.. The young deputies had done about all
they could do at the ranch. The next
thing, much more difficult, was to get a
line on the slayer. Had he raced for safety
across the international border? Or was
he craftily lying low in some nearby hide-
out? Opinion of:allipresent was divided
on this, but one thing was certain: he had
several hours head start. 4
Sitice the Fergusons had heard neither
hoofbeats nor automobile during the

AKA I
eon

he two deputy sheriffs moved aside,
“What do you make of it?” asked Jensen. |

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TO KILL A GIRL FRIEND
(Continued from page 8)

gators now turned their attention to
the daughter.

Mrs. Griffith’s daughter repeated how
she had become worried upon getting no
answer to her telephone calls and had
come to Capp Street only to discover
the brutal murder of her mother. She
explained that the house was a room-
ing house-

“I always call at about eleven in the
morning,” the daughter explained. “By
that time mother is usually finished
polishing the furniture. She was an
immaculate housekeeper. She did all
the furniture in every room, every day.”

“Did your mother keep large sums
of money around the house?” Insepctor
Ahearn asked.

“No, not more than fifty or seventy-
five dollars,” the young woman replied.
“She liked to have enough around to
make change for rent payments and
to pay small bills.”

“How many roomers did your moth-
er have here at present?”

“There were only two: Mr. Charles
and Mr. Loeb.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes. One room is vacant. There is
probably a ‘To-Let’ sign in the window,”
the daughter replied.

“Can you tell us anything about the
two guests?”

“Mr. Charles has the upstairs front
room,” she said. “He’s been here al-
most two years. He works for the
Bethlehem shipyard as an electro-plater.
Mother liked having him around. He is
so handy. He fixes everything around
here.”

“And Mr. Loeb. . .?”

“He’s only been here a short time.
I really don’t know much about him.
He’s traveled a lot and-has held a
variety of jobs.”

Inspector Ahearn asked some of his
men to look for the “To-Let” sign. Just
then Patrolman Pope, who had been
stationed at the front door, came in
with Mr. Phillip Loeb.

“This gentleman claims he rooms
here,” the patrolman said.

“What's going on?” Loeb demanded.

“Who are you?” Ahearn countered.

“I'm Phillip Loeb. I live here.”

“Where are you coming from?”

“I’m just coming from work at the
Bethlehem shipyard.”

“You had better sit down, Mr. Loeb,”
the inspector said. “I’m afraid Mrs.
Griffith has been murdered. I’m going
to want to ask you some questions.”

HE inspector watched the new-

comer’s face as he told him the
news. He was surprised to note a com-
plete absence of reaction in Loeb’s ex-
pression.

“How long have you been living
here?” Ahearn asked.

“A little less than two months.”

“How did you happen to pick this
place to room?”

“I met Jim Charles at the shipyard

and’ he brought me here,” Mr. Loeb
replied.

“What time did you leave the house
this morning?”

“At about eight.”

“Did you see Mrs. Griffith this morn-
ing?”
‘Mr. Loeb replied that he didn’t take
his meals at the boarding house and
that sometimes he saw Mrs. Griffith and
sometimes he didn’t. That morning he
hadn’t seen her. :

“Did you notice a vacancy sign in
front this morning?” Inspector Ahearn
then asked.

Mr. Loeb told the inspector that he
had noticed the sign. Ahearn took care-
ful note of this since the sign had al-
ready been found by one of his men in
a hall closet.

“Mr. Loeb,” the inspector said, “who-
ever killed your landlady also ransacked
the house. I. suggest you go up to your
room and take inventory of your belong-
ings. Please make a complete list of
everything that is missing and give it
to me.”

The technicians finished their work.
Scores of photographs had been taken
and every stick of furniture in the house
was dusted for fingerprints. Several
sets of prints had been found and “tift-
ed.” These were sent to the science lab
for classification. The technicians de-
parted as did the coroner’s deputy,
who saw to the removal of the body.

Mr. Loeb returned to the living room
and informed Inspector Ahearn that all
of his belongings were intact except
for a small carton that contained his
personal papers.

“J can’t understand why anyone would
want to take them,” the small, bespec-
tacled boarder said.

“Neither can I right now,” Ahearn
rejoined. “What about your friend, the
other boarder, Mr. Charles? How come
he’s not home from work yet?”

“Jim is on vacation,” Mr. Loeb re-
plied. “He left for McMinnville, Ore-
gon, on a fishing trip a couple of days

ago.
a frown spread over the spare, little
man’s face. “Now look here, Inspec-
tor,” he said heatedly, “I’m beginning
to get annoyed at all these questions.
Surely you don’t suspect Jim or me, do
you?” :

“I'm sorry,” the detective said, “but
right now I have to suspect just about
everyone who had any connection with

this house.” ;
“Are you going to arrest me?” Loeb

demanded.

“Of course not,” Ahearn replied.
“But don’t leave the city without noti-
fying me.”

With that Ahearn and the rest of the
detectives left the scene. A round-the-
clock watch was posted on the Capp
Street house. The investigation was re-
sumed at headquarters.

Inspector Ahearn telephoned the
Sheriff of Yamhill County, in north-
west Oregon, the area where Jim Char-
les was to have gone on a fishing trip.
Ahearn asked the sheriff to canvass all
the fishing camps in the area and lo-
cate the vacationing roomer. The San
Francisco policeman told the sheriff

that Charles was wanted for question-
ing in the murder case.

The autopsy report came through
shortly afterward. Dr. Jean Miller, who
performed the autopsy, said that Mrs. j
Griffith had died as the result of mul-
tiple lacerations of the head. In addi-
tion there were numerous underlying
skull fractures and severe brain damage.
Mrs. Griffith had not been criminally
assaulted.

“Mrs. Griffith never had a chance,”
McDonald said after hearing the report..

“It seems to me,” Inspector Nelder
said, “that the victim went to that tool
chest to get something out. I think the
killer let her have it when she was
bending over the chest.”

“You know,” Tom Cahill put in,
“that boarder, Charles, was always fix-
ing things around the house, according
to the daughter. He would have known
where the Stillson wrench was kept.”

“The fact that there were no signs
of a struggle,” Ahearn said, “suggests
to me that Mrs. Griffith was acquaint-
ed with her killer; that and the fact
that she turned her back on the assail-
ant.”

“Don’t forget that both Loeb and
Charles had keys to the house,” Mc-
Donald said.

OR several hours the investigators

sat around discussing the evidence
and the possibilities. The phone rang
and Ahearn was delighted to learn that
the Yamhill County Sheriff had found
Jim Charles‘in so short a time.

“He’s here with me now,” the sheriff
said.

“Does he know what happened?”
Ahearn asked.

The Oregon sheriff replied that he
had informed Charles of Mrs. Griffith's
murder. The sheriff said that the board-
er was anxious to talk to Ahearn.

“Put him on,” the inspector said.

The electro-plater was very excited
on the phone. He insisted that he had
left on his vacation two days earlier
and had not been out of the McMinn-
ville environs since.

“The camp owner is here with me
now,” Charles said. “He’ll vouch that
I've been in his camp for the last two
days.”

Ahearn spoke to the camp owner and
was Satisfied that James Charles was
completely innocent of any involvement
in the Griffith murder. The boarder
seemed genuinely shocked by the day’s
events and informed the inspector that
.he would take the first train back to
San Francisco to render the police any
aid he could.

“Charles has got an air-tight alibi,”
Ahearn told his men. “He’s in the
clear.”

Inspectors Nelder and Cahill paid a
visit to the shipyard which employed
Phillip Loeb. They spoke to the office
manager and asked him to verify Loeb’s
story that he had been at work the
entire day of the murder. The manager
readily confirmed the boarder’s alibi.

“Did he leave the plant for any length
of time during the day?” Nelder asked.

“No, not at all.”

POLICE FILES

Pay wee

a Dattnti

Pe TE Mae

stints Sali ii at tt A hon om

“How about during his lunch hour?”
Cahill asked.
“As a matter of fact,” the manager
replied, “Monday was such a heav
day that all of the office staff had ‘each
brought in. They ate at their desks.

Mr. Loeb did not even leave for lunch.”

The two officers left satisfied that

Phillip Loeb was telling the truth. Ca-
hill and Nelder reported their findings
to their chief.

“Well, that leaves us without a sin-

gle suspect,” Ahearn said.

Jim Charles returned from Oregon

and presented himself at the inspector’s
office. He had little to add. In response
to Ahearn’s questions, Charles said that
he could not remember the names of
any former boarders, nor did he even
know how they might be traced. The
electro-plater said that, to his best recol-
lection, Mrs. Griffith had never had
any trouble with any of the other board-
ers. On this, Charles was borne out by
the daughter. Mr. Charles also remem-
bered seeing the vacancy sign in a
front window on the morning he started
his vacation. The boarder left and the
police were no nearer a solution.

The police were puzzled by the fact
that the “To-Let” sign was found in a
hall closet. The only conclusion they
could come to was that someone had
come to rent the vacant room before
11 o’clock that morning when Mrs.
Griffith was murdered. Whether that
prospective renter was the killer or not
was a matter for speculation. Another
intriguing puzzle was the ransacking
of the house. But the killer had neglect-
ed $75 pinned to the victim’s night-
gown.

The person who murdered Mrs. Grif-
fith was searching for something,”
Ahearn said. “What? . . . It could only
have been for money. Mrs. Griffith died
at about eleven a.M. Her daughter
called at about that time. The killer
might have been frightened by the ring-
ing of the phone, and left the seventy-
five dollars.”

“It sounds logical to me,” McDonald

said,
“If the killer got into the house on
the pretense of wanting to rent the vac-
ant room that would account for a great
deal, including the fact that the vacancy
sign was found in the closet,” Inspec-
tor Nelder offered.

“Yes,” Cahill said. “A woman like
Mys. Griffith would have let a stranger
in only for some reason like that.”

“Maybe the killer went up to the
room,” Ahearn speculated, “and then
perhaps he complained that something
there needed fixing. That would have
gotten Mrs. Griffith to the tool chest.”

“But how could he have had the
Stillson wrench and still killed the wom-
an in the position which we surmised?”
McDonald wanted to know.

“Maybe Mrs. Griffith handed him the
Stillson wrench,” Inspector Ahearn
guessed, ‘and he said that he needed a
different size. She would have bent
over for another and then the killer
could have let her have it with the one
he had.”

“It all sounds reasonable,” Inspector

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42

SANFORD, W,llian, white, asphyxiated

* BREATHING HARD, sweat
pouring down his face, the killer star-
ed at the body of the woman he had
just killed. It had been easier than he
thought. He had just hit her with all
his strength when she turned away
from him. She had fallen backwards
on the floor, blood pouring from the
jagged, gaping hole in her skull. The
murderer stiffened as the jangling of
the telephone pierced the quiet. Wast-
ing no time, he hustled up the stairs
and began looking for what he had
come for. Frantically he pulled out
the drawers in each of the rooms,
becoming more and more afraid with

each passing second that the person

calling on the telephone would sud-
denly put in an appearance.

Finally he gave up his search and
left the house on Capp Street, making
sure that all the doors were locked .

The two-story frame house, in San
Francisco’s Mission district, meant
nothing to the killer. Blind chance had
directed him there. But to Mrs. Felipa
Griffith that house held the history of
her life.

As a young bride she had come there
to live with her husband. She had given
birth to a son and a daughter in her
bedroom in that house. There she had
received the dread cable from the War
Department telling her that her son had

POLICE FILES MAGAZINE, OCTOBER, 196h.

been killed in the Pacific. Her beloved
husband had died in the house on Capp
Street. The house had known birth and
death, sorrow and joy and now—mur-
der.

When her daughter married and Mrs.
Felipa Griffith found herself alone in
the house, which was much too large
for her own needs, she decided to con-
vert it to a rooming house. It had been
a good idea. Mrs. Griffith found that
the upkeep of the house for her guests
relieved the purposelessness of her ex-
istence. She lost her loneliness in rou-
tine. Each day was alike, with its chores
and little diversions. Each day, just
after Mrs. Griffith finished polishing all
the furniture, at about 11 a.m., her
daughter would phone.

The daughter got no answer to her
many phone calls on that fateful Mon-
day in June. She phoned her mother at
11 as usual. Throughout the day she
kept trying. By late afternoon the girl
was extremely alarmed, for she knew
that her elderly mother seldom left the
house for any length of time. Finally
she decided to visit the Capp Street
house at once.

Mrs. Griffith’s daughter found the
front door locked. She got no answer
to her ringing. Finally the young wom-
an walked through the alley to the back
of the house. She peered in the kitchen

_Wwindow and saw her mother dead on

the floor. Speechless with horror, .the
daughter stumbled through the passage-
way, sobbing with grief, and collided
with Patrolman Robert Pope, passing
the house on his beat.

WA? Gu] Wnt
Cb | G4] POL

San Quentin (San Francisco) on July 15, 199.

“Help!” she screamed, tearing at the
Officer’s uniform. “My mother . . .
she’s dead . . . inside!”

Officer Pope followed the girl around
to the back. One look in the window
was all the policeman needed. He
heaved all his weight against the back
door and crashed into the kitchen. He
was appalled by what he saw there. In
his many years on the force he had nev-
er seen anything so gory. Blood was
spattered all over the floor. The woman’s
skull was so badly shattered that por-
tions of her brains were exposed. The
daughter collapsed on the floor and had
to be carried to a couch in the living
room.

PA TROLMAN Pope put in a quick
call to the Mission district station-
house. In short order Inspectors Ralph
McDonald and Alfred Nelder were on
the scene, along with Deputy Coroner
William Unger.

“There’s the weapon,” said McDon-
ald, pointing to a 14 inch Stillson
wrench, blood-stained, lying near the

corpse.
“Yes,” agreed Inspector Nelder. “It
looks as though the woman was hit

from behind and fell over backwards
here.”’

Fila! phone homicide,” McDonald
said.

In response to the call Inspector
Frank Ahearn, of central homicide
headquarters, accompanied by Inspector
Tom Cahill and a team of technologists,
arrived at Capp Street.

““We’ve got a nasty one,” McDonald

% Df POLICE FiLEs
aE ioe

> ars aiay

Inspectors Frank Ahearn (I.) and Ralph McDonald (c.) confront the killer with 14 inch Stillson wrench used as murder weapon.

Said to the newcomers.

_The technologists busied themselves
with their appointed tasks. The deputy
coroner straightened from his prelimary
examination of the body.

“This woman has been dead between
five and seven hours,” he said.

Since it was then 5 p.m. the time of
the murder was set at approximately
11 o’clock that morning. From the posi-
tion of the body the investigators were
able to deduce that the victim had been
standing with her back to her killer
and bending over a chest near the wall.

“Is there any sign of criminal as-
Sault?” Ahearn asked the medical ex-
aminer.

“Apparently not,’ the doctor re-
plied. “But I’ll be able to say definitely
after the autopsy.”

“Well, it looks like robbery is out,”
McDonald said, removing $75 in bills
that had been pinned underneath the
victim’s nightgown.

As the officers discussed this latest
find, Inspector Cahill came down from
his examination of the upstairs rooms
and joined the conference.

“Don’t eliminate robbery too quick-
ly,” Cahill said. “All the drawers in
the upstairs rooms have been pulled
out. Someone was looking for some-
thing.”

“The killer might have missed the
money in the nightgown,” Inspector
Nelder offered.

Several technicians were detailed to
dust every drawer upstairs for finger-
prints. The Stillson wrench was care-
fully placed in an envelope and dis-
patched to the crime lab. The investi-

(Continued on page 62)
POLICE FILES

"Nelder said. “But if that was the way

it happened, we’re in for a tough time.
The killer entered and left the house
unseen. Probably he’d never been there
before, either. We haven’t even got a
clue to his identity.”

“That’s right,” Ahearn put in. “All
the lab boys have been able to tell us
is that whoever used that Stillson wrench
took good care to wipe it carefully.
They did succeed in getting some prints
off the drawers, but they haven’t fin-
ished classifying them as yet.”

HE fingerprints remained Ahearn’s

one last hope. He knew that the vic-
tim was a scrupulous housekeeper and
had just finished polishing the furniture
when she was killed. The inspector was
hopeful that, in view of this fact, any
prints found on the drawers would be
the killer’s. In a short time the tech-
nicians had finished their preliminary
classification of the prints and they were
forwarded. to the California State Bu-
reau of Identification in Sacramento.
Copies were made and a set of the
prints went to the F.B.I. in Washing-
ton, D. C. Until the results of those
bureaus’ tests came through there was
little that Ahearn and his staff could
do besides just wait.

The break came with word from
both agencies. The prints found in the
Capp Street rooming house belonged to
William Sanford. Sanford was 20 years
old and had escaped from the Cali-

fornia Youth Authority Camp at Ben

Lomond, on May 13th of that year.

Additional information on Sanford,
from both the state and federal agency,
said that he had been in the Coast
Guard at one time. In 1947 the youthful
delinquent had been convicted of arm-
ed robbery and sentenced to California’s
maximum security institution at Lan-
caster. In April of 1948 he had been
transferred to Ben Lomond.

It was learned that the suspected
killer was an orphan and his last address
had been on 30th Street in San Fran-
cisco, a stone’s throw from Mrs. Grif-
fith’s boarding house. Several photo-
graphs of the young punk had been for-
warded by both criminal identification
agencies.

It had taken just two days to learn
the name of Mrs. Felipa Griffith’s bru-
tal killer. Now the problem was to find
him. Ahearn and his men descended on
30th Street. They were too late. San-
ford was not there. Ahearn, McDonald,
Cahill, Nelder and scores of patrolmen
canvassed the entire Mission district of
the city. They covered every bar and
rooming house in the neighborhood.
Then they hit pay-dirt. Ahearn ques-
tioned a barkeeper who recalled seeing
the wanted man in his bar less than 24
hours before.

“He must be in the area,” the in-’

spector said. “Either he thinks he’s out-
foxed us completely and feels confident,
or he’s broke.”

Two more days of futile searching
went by before the investigators came up
with something. Ahearn and Inspector
George Murray visited a run-down
rooming house in the Mission district.

They snowed the landlord Sanford’s
picture. The proprietor told the officers
the suspect was in the hotel in a room
upstairs at that very moment. Ahearn
and Murray followed the landlord to
the room.

The two officers knew, exactly, the
procedure to be followed. They each
took up a position on either side of
the door and listened for sounds from
within. Ahearn heard someone moving
inside. He motioned to his partner.
Murray stationed himself directly in
front of the closed door, crouching and
with gun drawn pointing to the room.
Ahearn suddenly heaved his weight
against the ancient door and tore it
from its hinges. He crashed into the
room, his gun ready. Murray quickly
followed.

The two men saw no one inside. A
pall of smoke hung in the air. The ash
tray was crammed full of butts and
smoke curled up from one of them.
Ahearn looked under the bed and found
Sanford pressed against the floor there.
He yanked the young suspect out and
put the cuffs on him.

“What do you want with me?” asked
Sanford as they rode to headquarters.

“You know what we want with you,”
snarled Ahearn.

“Yeah,” Sanford said, “I knew you’d
get me for breaking out of Ben Lo-
mond.”

“It’s more than that,” Ahearn spat.
“We’ve got you for murder this time.”

Sanford said nothing more. He refus-
ed to answer the questions put to him
at first. When the detectives searched
him they found a receipt for a $5 ad-
vance payment of room rent signed by
Mrs. Griffith. The young suspect was
astonishingly calm in the face of this
evidence. Sanford was taken to a room
where he was questioned by Ahearn
in the presence of Assistant District
Attorney Bert Hirschberg. Displaying
no emotion or remorse whatever, San-
ford confessed to the cold-blooded,
brutal murder of Mrs. Felipa Griffith.

“Yes, I killed her, all right,” the
youthful Sanford confessed. “I needed
money bad. I thought the old dame
would have plenty, but I was wrong.”

“Why did you need money so des-
perately?” Ahearn asked.

“To buy a gun,” Sanford said. “I

needed a gun to kill my girl friend.”

The coldness with which this admis-
sion was made astonished the listeners.
Sanford went on to say that his girl
friend had promised to wait for him
when he was convicted of armed rob-
bery. He had loved this girl since
childhood. Word soon reached Sanford

at Lancaster that his girl was two- .

timing him. He vowed he would kill her.
“I played it right,” the young killer
said. “I behaved myself at Lancaster.
In a while they transferred me to Ben
Lomond. It was a cinch to get away
from there. I just walked out.
“I came straight to San Francisco.

But I didn’t have any money and I

needed that gun. I figured that a room-
ing house landlady was my best bet.
They usually have money around and
tenants are out during the day.

“I bought a battered old suitcase for
a ‘buck.’ I looked around for a while
trying to pick my spot. Most of the
rooming houses I tried at first had
too many people around. Finally I came
to this place on Capp Street. It looked
right. There was a vacancy sign in the
window. I went up and rang the bell.

“The old dame let me in when I
told her I had come to rent the room.
She showed it to me. I said it was fine.
All this time I was looking around to
make sure we were alone. I gave her
my last five ‘bucks’ and she gave me
a receipt. Then she went and took the
sign out of the window.

“I pretended I was going to go up
and unpack. The suitcase I had bought
had a broken clasp. I told the woman
I would need some tools to open it
before I could unpack. We went into
the kitchen to the tool chest. I told
her I would need something heavy.
She got me a Stillson wrench. I told
her that it was too heavy. When she
bent down to get the smaller one I hit
her over the head. She never knew
what hit her. I hit her a few more
times to make sure that she was dead.

“I figured I had it made. She had
never seen me before and I figured
I could get all the money I needed.
Then the phone started to ring. I went
upstairs and started to search through
the drawers there. The phone rang
again. I got scared and figured that I
better get out of there before whoever
was calling decided to come over. I
wiped off the wrench, climbed out the
kitchen window and shut it after me.
I never thought you would get me. I ~
didn’t leave a trace. How did you know
it was me?”

“If Mrs. Griffith wasn’t such a metic-
ulous housekeeper we might never have
known,” Ahearn said. “She had just
finished polishing the furniture when
you came. A clear set of your prints
were the only ones found.”

Inspector Murray visited the home
of William Sanford’s girl friend. The
girl’s father told the investigator that
he had never liked the young man and
had been instrumental in ending the re-
lationship.

“I want to go to the gas chamber,”
Sanford cried. “I have nothing to live
for. That’s why I confessed.”

Sanford insisted that he was com-
pletely sane and wanted to die because
his girl had jilted him. He showed ab-
solutely no remorse over his brutal kill-
ing. A court appointed psychiatrist
agreed that the young killer was sane
and he went to trial on a charge of first
degree murder before Superior Judge
Daniel R. Shoemaker on November
15th, 1948. The 20-year-old defendant
was quickly found guilty and the state
obliged by sentencing him to die in the
gas chamber.

On July 15th, 1949, William Sanford,
who murdered so that he could com-
mit a second murder, was granted his
final wish. He was put to death in San
Quentin’s gas chamber. *

Editor’s Note: The names James Charles
and Phillip Loeb are fictitious. :

POLICE FILES

Metadata

Containers:: Box 6 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 13
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: Lloyd Sampsell executed on 1952-04-25 in California (CA)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: June 28, 2019

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