New York, T-V, 1888-1984, Undated

pool of stagnant water in the gutter.
Ht was a white duek, Ane

Walley saw that its white feathers
were stained with light-red blood!

A bloody duck! Lamplighter Walley
read the newspapers. Instantly, while
the duck stood near, he bent to inves-
tigate that pool.

It came from a drain, which empticd
into the gutter.

And the drain-pipe was running
blood!

That was enough! Walley made a
noise at the duck, which proceeded to
waddle home. Walley followed it, noted
that it was the Hafftens’ duck, went
into the Hafftens’ house and told what
he had seen. In reply, they told him
what they knew—for they knew some
important facts.

That was how it happened that De-
tective Sergeant Barrett, and Detec-
tives Price, O’Donohue and Boyle
soon were able to flash Headquarters:
“The murder house is found! It is
Number 346 Second Street, Astoria,
Long Island!” The clew of the bloody
duck had done its work.

The Hafftens, it developed, had been
asked to keep the keys of the vacant
house near by. And on the previous
Wednesday Mrs. Louisa Hafften had
been visited by a large, dark, strongly
built woman who gave the name of
“Mrs. Braun” and asked to inspect the
house. After looking it over, “Mrs.
Braun” had gone away, but returned
later with a man—‘Mr. Braun’—
heavy-set, stoop-shouldered, oiled hair,
a Kaiser mustache.

bist had rented the house, paying
‘aieens dollars for the first month’s
rent.

And on Saturday Mrs. Hafften had
seen a surrey containing a man and a
woman drive up to the place about 6
p.m. Later she had seen the man com-
ing out of the house, loading bundles
into that surrey, The vehicle had
driven away.

Detectives examined the house. But
if there were any signs of murder
they were too slight to be discovered
—scientific detective work hadn’t de-
veloped yet. The bathtub which com-
municated with that drain was spot-
lessly clean, newly washed in fact—
the rest of the house was dusty. The
blood in the drainpipe was plainly to
be seen—great clots of it—some was
still melting away, some had dried. The
pool alone had betrayed the horror
that had gone on in that empty house.

And now Mrs. Hafften, taken to
Headquarters, unhesitatingly identified

Mrs. Nack. She was “Mrs. Braun.” But:

—where was Martin Thorn? And what,
in detail, had occurred?

For in one respect the time didn’t
check. The three boys had pulled Gul-
densuppe’s upper torso out of the river
at 2 p.m. Saturday. Mrs. Hafften had
seen those packages loaded into the
surrey at dusk Saturday evening, which
checked with the liveryman’s story.
Since they couldn’t have been the up-
per torso, then they must have been
the lower part of the body, and the legs,
which had been found respectively the
next day, Sunday, and the Tuesday
after that. The murder and the carving
of the body must have been committed
some time after 3 a.m. of. Saturday,
when Guldensuppe had left the bath-
house, and 2 p.m. of the same day,
when the torso had been found. Mrs.

~Hafften must have seen the murderers

when they came back with the surrey
to get the rest of the butchered body.

But Augusta Nack had preserved
her stony silence; and Martin Thorn
was still at large. Where was Martin
Thorn?

It was now Wednesday—four days
aia the boys’ discovery of the floating
Orso.

It was late that afternoon that a
barber, John Gotha, working in a
barber shop out on Eighth Avenue near
125th Street, Manhattan, looked so
worried and nervous that his boss,
Tony Martinelli, asked him:

“What on earth is the matter with
you, John?”

“J want to get off for the rest of the
day,” John replied. “I’ve got to meet
someone. It’s important.”

“What's it all about?” pressed Mar-

AD4

tinelli. abruptly, Gotha burst
oul:

“Pve seen Martin ‘Thorn, that's what!
I know him, we’re old friends, and
Ive seen him in the past two days.
He’s told me something-— you know, he
talks a lot—and it’s been on my mind.
I hate to turn in one of my old
friends!

“Now he wants to see me again—at
this street corner, tonight at ten

And,

o’clock. I can’t stand the worry of it.,

What shall I do?”

“Do!” exclaimed Martinelli. “If
you’ve seen Thorn, there’s just one
thing to do! Go to the police! Here—
T’ll phone them myself!”

And so it happened that, on receiv-
ing the call, Detective Sergeant Mc-
Cauley hastened to that barber shop.
And the capture of Thorn was planned.

Gotha now told the Sergeant the en-
tire story. It was this:

He had previously worked for some
time in a barber shop where Thorn
was employed. The wordy barber had
told him all about “Gussie” Nack, all
about Guldensuppe’s butting in, all
about the fist-fight, at the time they’d
occurred. A boastful, vain man, mad
about women and forever bragging of
his conquests and prowess, Thorn had
sworn vengeance against the athletic
blond masseur.

Thorn had queer ways. He never
told anyone his home address. A
frenzied gambler, he played pinochle
constantly, and won so steadily that it
was said he carried a cleverly marked
deck. He advertised in the matrimonial
publications, to feed his constant
amours. No one, he hotly declared, had
ever “cut him out” before Gulden-
suppe. Or licked him, either.

But the big masseur, after moving
in with Mrs. Nack and ousting Thorn
from his former bed, had thrown him
bodily out of the house besides. Thorn
couldn’t forget. He harped on the
humiliation constantly, to Gotha.

The murder had occurred; and, after

it, Gotha had run into Thorn himself,
in a saloon. They had sat over their
drink and talked; Thorn had made
what amounted to a complete confes-
sion. He had told Gotha:
’ “Guldensuppe did me one and I
owed him one. He didn’t know it,
but while he was working nights I’d
got back in with Gussie Nack. She’s
quite a woman—you know, she used to
be in the abortion business in this
town, running a ‘hospital’ of her own,
before she took up midwifery.

“T told her Guldensuppe was cross-
ing her up with other women and she
believed me. She was mad enough to
murder him, and we planned it. We
cooked up that story about her start-
ing a baby-farm—he was to go out to
approve of the house—and we rented
the house. She made the date for him
to go out there with her.

“T went out and got there first. I
went upstairs and stripped to my un-
dershirt and socks; I had a gun. I hid
in a closet. I had a saw and razor,
too. Around ten o’clock Saturday
morning they came to the front gate
and Guldensuppe came upstairs, Gussie
waiting downstairs or outside—I don’t
know which.

“IT shot him from the closet, He
wasn’t dead, so I dragged him to the
bathtub and cut his throat. I went
down and told her it was all right, I’d
done it—to go away and come back
that evening. She left.

“Then I cut the body up, in the tub.
It was quite a job, but I made good
time. I fixed the head up in plaster of
Paris so it would sink and I did the
rest up in the oilcloth she had bought
a couple of days before. I washed the
tub out clean.

“That evening she came back with
the surrey and we loaded the parcels
and brought them into the city, throw-
ing the head and some others off the
ferry into the East River and throw-
ing the biggest one into the woods
where it was found. We parted and she
went home. I’ve been sort of lying
low, wanting to get out of New York,
but she got arrested before she could
send me the money. Maybe I’m a fool
to tell you all this, but I had to talk
to someone, and you’re not the kind,
John, to turn against an old pal!”

This was the grisly revelation which
John Gotha bad kept bottled ap in his
breast for 24 hours past. Now ‘Thorn
had sent word he wanted to see him
again, And the innocent man couldn't
stand it.

He agreed to “finger” Thorn, as they
would say today. At ten o’clock that
night a heavy-set man stood leaning
against an iron railing in front of a
drug store at the appointed corner.
Three other men_ strolled near—
Sergeant McCauley, Detective Price
and Chief of Detectives O’Brien him-
self.

John Gotha approached. Possibly the
murderer saw something suspicious in
his gait, for before Gotha reached him,
he turned and walked rapidly down
Eighth Avenue. Detective Price guessed
his identity and grabbed his right arm.
Sergeant McCauley immediately seized
his left. The capture was made without
a struggle.

Thorn was grilled all night. In the
morning there were rumors he had
confessed. They must have reached
Mrs. Nack in her cell; for when the
two were brought into court to be
formally charged with murder that
next morning, she hissed at him in
German: “Say nothing!” She herself,
iron-natured, hadn’t let drop a syl-
lable.

It was the following November when
the first trial came. A battle royal was
foreshadowed, for Mrs. Nack had en-
gaged Manny Friend, then the most
celebrated criminal lawyer in New
York, to defend her. Thorn chose to
be tried alone, and his trial came first.
And on the third day, after the various
witnesses had outlined their circum-
stantial case, there came an amazing
sensation.

District Attorney Olcott called the
next witness:

“Mrs. Augusta Nack!”

And the woman whose name had
been for months on the nation’s lips
marched firmly to the witness stand.

Her lawyer had saved her life; she
had turned State’s evidence. Her story
was substantially that which Thorn
had told to Gotha, except that she pro-
tected herself. But—

Fate intervened. A juror got ap-
pendicitis. A mistrial was declared—
and, on the next trial, Thorn took the
stand himself, declared that Mrs. Nack
had committed the murder, and that
he had only helped to cut the body up!

It didn’t work. Thorn was convicted,
and executed at Sing Sing on August
1, 1898. Mrs. Nack, by pleading guilty
to manslaughter in the first degree—a
bargain made in return for her testi-
mony against Thorn—received a sen-
tence of 20 years to life.

N PRISON this monstrous woman

comported herself with such stolid
efficiency that she made a_ perfect
record and was released in the Summer
<n her debt to Society paid in
ull.

Mrs. Nack became, after release, a
shadowy figure. She started a clothing
and notion shop in the old ‘neighbor-
hood, but children recognized her and
came crying to their mothers. Then she
ran a delicatessen shop in Tenth Ave-
nue, under the name of “Mrs. A.
Huber.” Finally she vanished for
good. She would be a very old woman
if alive today. Some say she returned
to Germany.

And, because neither she nor Thorn
ever fully confessed, one unexplained
angle remains in the story even today.
That hired surrey with its ghastly oil-
cloth packages didn’t leave the Wood-
side murder cottage until 6 p.m. or
after—the surrey hadn’t left the livery
stable until 4 p.m.—yet before that, at
2 p.m., the three boys had pulled that
first ‘piece of William Guldensuppe’s
upper torso out of the East River!

How had it got there so early? A
ferryboat from Queens had landed at
the Tenth Street wharf about fifteen
minutes before. Who had crossed on
that ferryboat?

Whose hands had thrown that first
oilcloth package, containing the chest,
shoulders, arms, lungs and heart of a
newly killed man, into the East River
in broad daylight of that hot day?

Thorn’s? Or Mrs, Nack’s?

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caston he hadn't shown up. He had
formerly been a sailor, and the bust of
towers owes tattooed oom dis left
breast, Arnold's heart trip-hammered:
he was recalling that wound on. the
Man's chest where the shin had been
cul or scraped off!

“Ts he a blond?”

“Yes, he is German and fair-haired.
A finely built man—very strong in the
shoulders,”

“Let me look at your hands, all of
you,” said Arnold.

Ts rubbers extended their hands,
laughing. All were white, soft and
clean!

“Anything peculiar, about one of his
hands? Think hard.”

Max Zorn, a rubber, instantly re-
plied: “Sure, He had a bum fingernail
on his left hand. And a big wart—”

“You see, we all work around here
without much Glothes on,” explained
Varellenberg. Arnold now was certain
he had his man identified, and his
whole being thrilled. If he could only
keep it exclusive, especially from the
World!

“Tell me everything you know about
him—his friends, his women friends,
his private life,” commanded the re-
porter.

Two more rubbers now had entered
and he listed all their names carefully.
They were Max Zorn, Adam Stubling,
Michael Scully, Frank Gartner and
James Flood.

In a group, they told him. Gulden-
suppe lived at No. 439 Ninth Avenue.
He lived with a woman, German. like
himself; her name, they said, was
Gussie, and after a time they remem-
bered her last name was Nack. Mrs.
Augusta Nack, that was it. She was a
big, strong woman, not young; a mid-
wife by trade, with money of her own,

Guldensuppe had taken her away
from another man, some months be-
fore, after thrashing him soundly in a
fist-fight, the men recalled. They strove
to remember the name of that man;
they only knew what William had told
them about the fight at the time. The
fellow had been a boarder of Mrs.
Nack’s, a barber. “Gussie” had lived
with him before William came along.
But William had gone to board there
too, Gussie had fallen for the big blond
athlete, they had two-timed this barber
for a while. Finally the barber had got
wise, had come in with a gun and
caught them together, William had
leaped up just in time to seize the
gun. In the fight that followed, he and
this barber had wrecked the bedroom
and fallen crashing down the stairway;
then William had proved the more
' powerful and kicked Gussie’s former

lover out into Ninth Avenue. That had

been in snow  time—the previous

February, the men thought.

They hadn’t seen much of Gussie
herself, But she phoned William some-
times at the baths; they knew her
voice and accent, She had a husband
somewhere, Herman Nack, and he, too,
had threatened William’s life,

The previous Thursday, June 24,
Guldensuppe had told his chum, Frank
Gartner, at the baths, that he and Mrs.
Nack were going out to Woodside, Long
Island, to look at an empty house. She
was going to start a baby-farm there.
She had picked the house and he was
to approve it, since he would be part-
ner in the business. He was on night
duty, and at 8 p.m. a phone call had
come for William, and Frank had
heard him say:

“Gussie? All right—I’ll go with you.
I’ve arranged to get the day off.” He

. had left the baths about three o’clock
of Saturday morning.

And he hadn’t returned.

It had been Saturday afternoon,
about two o’clock, when the first oil-
cloth bundle was found in the East
River.

Monday morning, late, Mrs, Nack
herself had shown up at the baths.

Kirst, she had asked whether Gulden-
stppe had returned: then, on Voerataye
fold he hadn't, said to the
proprietor:

“T pot a wire from hime yesterday. 1
says he won't be back, Here it as.” And
Gussie had shown them a telegram, in
low German, which read:

she had

BITTE GEHE WO ICH GEARBITET
UND SAGE ICH WERDE NICHT KOM-
MEN DA ICH VERREITE AM VOLGE.—
WILHELM GULDENSUPI, .

Instantly Arnold noted that, appar-
ently, this man did not know how to
spell his own name, or spelled it in two
different ways. He suspected a forgery.

Translated, the wire meant: “Please
go where I work and say I won’t come
back because I have gone on a voyage.”

It sounded thin. It seemed like a
weak cover-up by someone who knew
that Guldensuppe would never be back
and who wanted to
departure and continued absence.

Arnold was jubilant. He knew he
had “broken the story.” Phoning his
office, he delivered the great news. He

arranged for reporters to be sent im-.

mediately to escort the five rubbers to
the morgue on press-time and keep
them under cover for the scoop, while
he himself rushed over to the Ninth
Avenue address to locate—and ques-
tion—Mrs. Nack. It was already 1 a.m.
and he’d have to use speed.

The rubbers, it may here be men-
tioned, identified the portions of Gul-
densuppe’s body instantly, And the
dowernal guarded the process so com-
pletely that the World didn’t even get
a hint. It was a complete, perfect,
historic scoop!

.The murdered man, then, was Will-
iam Guldensuppe—definitely identified
from parts of his headless body. Per-
sistent, ingenious detective work had
won out,

And now—to find out who had mur-
dered William Guldensuppe!

Mrs, Nack’s rooms were above a
drug store. At first no response came to
Arnold’s ring. Then a lamp was lit,
and a window was opened.

“What do you want?”

“It’s a midwife case for you—a baby
is coming.”

A woman came down, admitted the
reporter, led him upstairs. Arnold sus-
pected it was the murderess, but
brazened it out. “It’s no midwife case.
What I want to know is, where is
William?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of his.”

She was a large, heavy, powerful
woman, about 40, with thick lips, a
wealth of jet-black hair and black,
piercing eyes. She was not unhand-
some, after the buxom standards of
the ’90’s. She gave the impression of
controlling a violent temper.

“Well, he’s not here. I don’t know
where he is. I haven’t seen him since
Friday morning early, when he came
home, put on his best clothes and went
away. He made me give him fift
dollars I had taken out of the bank.”

“Did he say where he was going?”
This didn’t check with what the rub-
—. had told.

“ 0. ”

“Does it occur to you that he might
have been killed?” Arnold drawled the
question and eyed the woman keenly.
She gave no sign.

“Oh, you don’t say!” she snapped,
with irony in her voice. “You scare
me!”

“Then where is he?”

At that her temper suddenly flared
up. “I don’t know! I don’t care, either!
I don’t care for him anyhow. He fools
too much with other women! Listen—
Thursday afternoon a woman was call-
ing here, and I had to go into the
bathroom, and she and William were
in the dining-room, Do you see these
mirrors? From the bathroom I could

explain his abrupt.

Jook into the mirrors and see them to
nether Andi she took out her eard ane

handed it to him! f knew what that
meant! Al men are alike all beasts!
“Thats (he reason bquarceled with
him Friday, and why he went away.
He's with her now. All beasts!”
“What's her name and where does
she live?”
Mrs. Nack_ stared sharply. “Mrs.

Cunningham. Down on Bedford Street.
He sent me a note Sunday—Sunday,
mind you! I curled my hair with it’
A telegram, too—I burned it, I’m glad
he’s gone!”

Back to his newspaper Arnold hur-
ried and, fatigue forgotten, rushed out
his story in longhand. It checked amaz-
ingly with a quite independent item,
obtained by Kemble and Lloyd, which
would have been the front-page sen-
sation only for Arnold’s achievement.
This was the interview with Mrs.
Riger, Astoria storekeeper who had
sold some oilcloth of Pattern No. 3220.

The store was at Jackson Avenue
and Jane Street, Queens. The sale had
been made the previous Wednesday to
a woman who had entered, demanded
oilcloth, but hardly glanced at the pat-
tern. This was so unusual that Mrs.
reed noticed the woman especially.
And— -

“She was a strong, tall woman, quite
robust, about 40. She spoke English,
but I’d say she could have spoken
German if she’d wanted. She took all
I had—several yards—and I gave hera
quantity of twine.”

And now the police, who had been
inclined to resent the Journal’s super-
activity on the murder mystery, had to
acknowledge the compelling quality of
the facts that had been found. Arnold
was up all night, and at eight o’clock
the next morning he was back at Mrs.
Nack’s house, with Detectives O’Dono-
hue and Robinson. Men were at work
in the place, taking out the furniture,
one it up! Mrs. Nack was moving
out!

Yet, at 1:30 o’clock that morning,
there hadn’t been the slightest hint of
any such move!

And now—as was frequently done
in those days—they put her under ar-
rest and took her to Headquarters for
a thorough grilling, while police and

newspapermen joined forces in round-:

ing up more evidence. Augusta Nack
sneered, scowled, and was silent, her
head held high. Try as they would—
and it was openly printed that she was
“third-degree-ed”—they couldn’t break
her pride,

ONFIRMATORY evidence was pil-

ing up, though much remained to be
solved. Mrs. Cunningham, of Bedford
Street, was located and insisted Mrs.
Nack. had lied—she hadn’t seen Gul-
densuppe in six months, she declared.
Detectives, locating Mrs. Nack’s bank,
found she had drawn out a consider-
able sum the day before her arrest;
and she had told neighbors she was
going back to Germany, unexpectedly,
because her mother was dying. A wo-
man friend, Mrs. Sophie Miller, came
forward and stated that she had tried
to visit Mrs. Nack on Saturday, now
fixed as the murder date, but the
blinds were down and the doorbell
hadn’t been answered.

Brisbane’s reporters were out all
through the neighborhood, watching
the Nack residence, questioning trades-
men. And now they turned up an ad-
ditional important piece of evidence,
which pointed at last to the “mysteri-
ous unknown” in the case, the “other
man” in Augusta Nack’s love-life.

This new evidence came from a
livery-stable keeper, George Vockroth,
whose stables were on Ninth Avenue.
He knew Mrs. Nack, and stated that
she had come to his stable, alone, the
previous Thursday and arranged to
hire a horse and a two-seated buggy,
a surrey, for the next day. In the
morning she had come back and con-

firmed the order, as if if wes impor
Vanet, Byerly) ste oscnel at) wasn’t te be
brought to her house—someone would
eall

And the someone!’ proved to be oa
man, broad, short and husky, with
heavy stooped shoulders and a eurled
mustache “like the Kaiser’s,” Vockroth
said. He hadn’t got the man’s name, but
thought he would know him again,
Clearly, it wasn’t Guldensuppe,

It was Sophie Miller who supplied
the man’s probable name, She, like
the rubbers at the Turkish baths, had
heard about the fight of the preceding
February between Mrs. Nack’s old
lover and her new one; and she named
the defeated man as Martin Thorn, He
was a barber by trade, wore loud vests,
sported an upturned mustache, brushed
his hair in an elaborate hair-oiled curl
over the forehead, was very talkative
and boastful. It suited, to a T, the
liveryman’s description of the fellow
who had called for the horse and sur-
rey on the last day of Guldensuppe’s
known life.

A barber! Could a barber have cut
up that body? On making further in-
quiries, and learning that Thorn was a
German and had got his barber's
training in Posen, where barbers took
courses in rudimentary surgery before
graduating, the police and the ever-
busy Journal trumpeted the cry: !

“Find Martin Thorn!” i

He couldn’t be found. He had dis-
appeared,

And it was obvious that, unless some’
real evidence developed—tfor example,’
the house where the murder had
been committed and Guldensuppe’s
body segmented—Mrs. Nack would
have to be released. There wasn’t evi-,
dence enough to prove a murder
charge. |

Guldensuppe’s legs had now been
found—tied together in a piece of that!
same red oilcloth, and bound with that!
same twine—bobbing around in the!
water of a submerged drydock in the
Brooklyn Navy Yard.- The head was
still missing—in fact it never was
found—but the law didn’t need that
head since George Arnold’s scoop. |

Everything pointed to Astoria as the
murder locality. The oilcloth had been
sold there. The horse and surrey had
been driven many miles, through mud.
The East River ferry had to be used in
returning to New York from there.
Journal reporters’ were out combing
Astoria—and they turned up Herman
Nack, the woman’s missing husband,
driving a bakery wagon in Long Island
City; they brought him to Headquar-
ters after a fist-fight, only to have him
readily convince the police of his in-
nocence,

It was now Chief Conlin’s inning.
He and Captain of Detectives O’Brien
had their men out, too, in Astoria. And
they uncovered one of the most amaz-
ing incidents in the annals of crime
investigation.

For it was a duck that solved the
mystery of the murder house—yes, a
plain, waddling, domestic Long Island
duck! A duck that quacked, swam
around in muddy ponds, and had no
thought in its head beyond keeping
his feathers cool in that hot Summer
and diving in slush for worms and
slugs, The duck hadn’t even a name
or a pedigree, It was just a duck.

The duck belonged to a couple
named Hafften, who lived on Second
Street, in Woodside, near Astoria. It
was a sparsely built section, and the
Hafftens’ ducks went wandering
around the neighborhood.

Around the neighborhood, too, went
aman named Walley. He was the town
lamplighter—these were gaslight days
—and each evening at dusk he made
his rounds, It was Walley who, lighting
up the outlying roadways of Astoria,
stood near the gutter and noticed that
duck.

The duck was just waddling out of a

September Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES of
Women in Crime Will Be on Sale Friday, August 12

52

ADt


a eee |

1ORN, Martin, wh, elec. NY (Queens) August 1, 1898

TWO MEN LOVED THE SAME WOMAN — AND ONE

HE RIDDLE of Willie Gulden-
suppe—one of the knottiest .mur-
der mysteries that ever confronted
the New York City police—had

its beginning on a warm Saturday after-
noon in June.

It was, to be exact, the 26th of
June, and the year was 1897.

In that Gay Nineties era the science
of detection was far from what it has
become today, and Manhattan didn’t
even have a central homicide bureau.
There were no highly specialized lab-
oratory workers, no identification ex-
perts, no bulging files of laundry marks
or fingerprints.

The investigators responsible for
cracking the Guldensuppe puzzle had
to rely on deduction of the Sherlock
Holmes variety, a large amount of luck

and plenty of slogging footwork. Then, .

too, the official probe was helped along
by the resourcefulness of reporters for
the Journal and the World, which were
engaged in a bitter circulation battle.

The case was made to order for the
headlines. An unknown corpse, illicit
love, fiendish plotting, macabre angles
worthy of the pen of Edgar Allen Poe.
Even Poe’s imagination couldn’t have

By STANLEY FORBES

HEADQAURTERS DETECTIVE,
February, 1951.

conceived a more intriguing opening for
the classic in crime. .

Seeking relief from the heat, ‘three
youngsters left their tenement homes
that June afternoon and made their
way over the cobblestones of Eleventh
Street to a pier that jutted into .the
East River. -

Swimming in the river—especially’
<“in the raw”’—was frowned upon by
the police, but ‘the leader of the trio,
Joe McKenna, issued a dare.

“Let’s go in,” he said to John Mc-
Guire and Edward Kerley. “I ain’t
afraid of the coppers. You're a couple
of sissies if you don’t... . .”

Just then McGuire spotted a large
bundle floating with the tide a dozen
yards out from the pier. It helped him
and Kerley to make up their minds—
without doubt, the package contained
mysterious treasure!

‘The boys stripped in a matter of sec-
onds, dived into the river, swam out to
the bundle and pulled it ashore. Scarce-
ly had they clambered back on the pier
when they were faced with the wrath
of the law in the person of Patrolmen
Adolph Mohr.

“You kids want to get run in?” Mohr

demanded sternly. Then, noticing the
bundle, he asked, “What have you got
there?”

Obviously there was only one way to
find out. While the boys struggled into
their clothes the patrolman went to

york on the parcel. Cutting the twine
with which it was bound, he peeled off
successive wrappings of manila paper,
red and gold oilcloth and cheesecloth.

The cheesecloth, he noted, was hafd-
ly damp, so the bundle couldn’t have
been in the water long.

With the last layer removed, Mohr
was shocked to see that the youngsters’
“treasure” was~a fragment of a man’s
body!

Forgetting all about his threat to
punish the lads for their dip, the officer
burried with the grisly find and the
wrappings to the Union Market Sta-
tion. His superior, Captain Frank
Hogan, notified Coroner Elmer Tuthill
and Deputy Superintendent L. J. Rick-
ard, and presently the hunk of flesh
was taken to the Bellevue morgue.

Tuthill, assisted by.a panel of doc-
tors, determined that the body fragment
consisted of the shoulders, arms and

upper torso of a man of good physique. .

"THORN ambushed the unlucky lover in Woodside Cottage.

prankis}
surmise:
But t
Althoug
with a
Pointed .
professic
And stv
Peeled a
they wo
their exp
In the
himself t
though v
some mu)
Hogan a
“Precio
observed
ings on t!
can try t
checked g
have muc
Piece of s)

NE

ing the
ou got

way to
ied into
yent to
ie twine
‘eled off
i paper,
esecloth.
as hafd-
n’t have

d, Mohr
sungsters’
a man’s

threat to
he officer
and the
rket Sta-
in Frank
ier Tuthill
.. J, Rick-
< of flesh
1orgue.

el of doc-
y fragment
arms and
i.physique. -

loodside Cottage.

The head had been chopped off, and
the trunk had been severed below the
fifth: rib. Bs.

Of special interest was the fact that a
patch of skin had been removed from
the center of the chest.

“This must be the work of some
prankish medical students,” the coroner
surmised. }

But the group of doctors disagreed.
Although the dissection had been done
with a fair amount of neatness, they
pointed out, it certainly didn’t show the
professional skill of aspiring surgeons,
And students wouldn't simply have
petled a hunk of skin off the chest—
they would have cut into the Keart in
their experiments.

In the end Coroner Tuthill allowed
himself to be convinced. “It looks as
though we have a particularly grue-
some murder to solve,” he told Captain
Hogan and Superintendent Rickard.

“Precious little ‘to go on,” Rickard
observed dourly. “There are no mark-
ings on the wrappings. Of course, we
can try to trace the oilcloth with the
checked design, but it isn’t likely we'll
have much luck. I wonder why that
piece of skin was taken off the chest.”

“I can see only one answer to that,”
Hogan put in. “Our victim must have
had a tattoo there, and the killer re-
moved it to balk identification.”

There, was only one mark on the
corpse that might be of any help: a
scar on the left index finger ‘showed
that the victim had at one time under-
gone an operation for the removal of
a growth. \

“The doctors and I will be able to
tell more ‘about, ‘Mr. X’ when and if
other parts: of \the body turn up,”
promised Tuthill. “Let's hope it will
be soon!”

T HE coroner’s wish was answered the

following day. A citizen named

Julius Meyer was taking a_ stroll
through Ogden Woods with his two
sons wher he spotted a bundle, wrapped
in manila paper, protruding from a
clump of. bushes. Ogden Woods in
those days was a sylvan area which was
considered “way, uptown;” today it is
Part of the teeming Bronx.

_ Meyer started to open the package,
then thought ‘better ‘of it ‘and sent: the
boys to fetch ‘an officer from the nir-
est stationhouse, about a. mile away.

By fortunate coincidence, the call was
answeréd by Detective Arthur Carey,
one of the department’s shrewdest in-
vestigators: Carey was destined to or-
ganize New York’s homicide bureau
and to earn fame by acting as its chief
for 25 years. .

As soon as he removed the heavy
outer paper wrapping‘ and saw the sec-
ond wrapping of red and gold checked
oilcloth, Carey had a good hunch what
the bundle contained. There was a
layer of cheesecloth;- as in the East
River package, and inside that was an-
other fragment of “Mr, X!”

Carey hustled down to Bellevue
morgue with the find. There it was de-
termined that the new body portion
was the lower trunk and upper legs of
the victim. The legs had been cut off
halfway between the hip and knee.
The section fitted in perfectly with the
fragment taken from thé river. What
was more, the jagged edges of the two
pieces of oilcloth went together like
parts of a jigsaw puzzle.

At Carey’s: urgent request, Superin-
tendent Rickard arranged his transfer
from the Bronx so that he could work

with the (Continued on page 49)

Ing parts of the victim's mutilated corpse.

&o

4


~P
4

men. This was a state of affairs which
Thorn proposed to remedy with her
co-operation.

On the pretext of spending the re-
mainder of the summer in the healthful
climate of suburban Long Island, Au-
gusta had persuaded the reluctant Guld-
ensuppe to inspect a house which she
declared she intended to rent in Wood-
side. They had traveled out by trolley,
then engaged a horse and carriage and
had arrived at the house without being
observed. /

Mindful of the fact that her new
champion, Thorn, had been waiting in
the hot linen closet with revolver and
razor since early in the morning Au-
gusta turned on all her charms and man-
aged to coax Guldensuppe into inspect-
ing all the rooms including the most
unusual closet while she was viewing the
garden.

After she had heard the shot she
knew that the inspection had been satis-

factorily completed and went into the
house and upstairs. There was a consid-
erable difference of opinion as to wheth-
er Thorn helped Augusta in the actual
dissection, which is what he claimed, or
whether she assisted him, pausing at one
point in the task to take a walk in the
garden.

EpING at least part of that grue-
some day, Captain O’Brien admits,
Augusta Nack did re-appear in her
Ninth Avenue flat where, seated at the
window, she was observed by neighbors
to be trimming a hat. A neat woman,
she did return to the Woodside house in
the evening to tidy up.

When she did so Thorn, she declared
on the witness stand, already had the
late William Guldensuppe tied up in
convenient size oilcloth packages for
easy disposal. His head, as Captain
O’Brien had suspected, was encased in
plaster of paris and never was found.

FATAL MEETING IN MANSION
(Continued from page 43)

underclothes clung to the voluptuous
form of the dark-haired widow. Her
waist and skirt, ripped from her body,
lay in a heap nearby. Heavy blows had
battered her head, and her face had
been mutilated with some sharp weapon.

The room itself showed signs of a
violent battle. The walls were spattered
with blood and furniture was overturned,
Similar evidence of a fierce struggle was
apparent in the dining room. and the
front hall. ,

Gehrig strode out to the hall tele-
phone and put through a call to village
police headquarters.

Minutes later, a chorus of. sirens
howled down the street as Hempstead
Police Chief Phineas Seaman arrived
in his big black sedan, escorted by
Patrolmen Harold R. King and William
Ricker on their motorcycles. ;

The officers lost no time in entering
the house. Inside, the gruesome scene
that met their eyes shocked even Chief
Seaman, a veteran of many homicides.
“Good Lord!” he gasped.

While the Chief and Ricker inspected
the body, King walked out into the
kitchen for a quick look around. On
the linoleum under the sink he spotted
a six-inch length of lead pipe. He slipped
a long pencil into the tube and picked
it up, preserving any possible finger-
prints. On it were blood stains.

King returned quickly to the living
room with his find, which he showed
to the Chief. Seaman examined it care-
fully. “This may have been the weapon
used to crush Mrs. Bartlett’s skull,” he
observed. “But another instrument was
used to make the multiple punctures
on her face. You and Ricker search
the house thoroughly and, see what else
you can turn up.”

58

Thorn’s astute lawyer, William Howe,
tried to take advantage of the missing
head and plead non corpus delicti, But
when Augusta got on the stand as state’s
witness there wasn’t the slightest doubt
in the jury’s mind that the headless body
was Guldensuppe’s.

On November 30th, 1897, the jury
filed out of the courtroom into the jury
room, turned around and came back
almost before one could say “William
Guldensuppe.” Pleading guilty to man-
Slaughter in the first degree, Augusta
Nack got off with nine years.

As for Martin Thorn, before he died
in the electric chair at Sing Sing on
August Ist, 1898, he asked to see Cap-
tain O’Brien. For some reason he want-
ed to talk to him about the red-haired
woman. :

“She made love to me from the first,”
he said proudly. “I loved her very fond-
ly. Right up to the time she went on the
witness stand.” *

HILE the patrolmen left to make

the rounds of the six downstairs
rooms and the seven others in the fwo
upper stories, Seaman turned to ques-
tion Mrs. Seabury and her husband’s
cousin.

“I didn’t have too much contact with

Mrs. Bartlett,” the lawyer volunteered.
“I think my cousin’s wife can tell you
more, being the victim’s sister.”

“All right, then,” said the Chief, ad-
dressing Mrs. Seabury, who had re-
covered from the shock of the grisly
discovery sufficiently to talk. “Did your
younger sister have any enemies?”

“I don’t think so,” replied the woman,
still pale and shaken. “That is, none
that I know.”

“It’s been some years since your
sister’s husband died, and she was quite
attractive. Did she keep company with
any men?”

The color came back to Mrs. Sea-
bury’s cheeks. “I know Minnie had
nothing to hide. She had two regular
suitors—Sam Turner and Bill Maynard.”

“I know them. both,” replied the
Chief. Maynard, an automobile sales-
man, and Turner, a real estate dealer,
were among the village’s most eligible
bachelors. Both had reputations of un-
questioned integrity.

The low growl of another siren sound-
ed outside as an ambulance, summoned
by police from Nassau Hospital at
Mineola when Gehrig had called head-
quarters, rolled to a stop in front of
the house. Close behind it was the coupe
of Dr. Arthur Jacques, Nassau County
medical examiner.

Dr. Jacques made a careful examina-
tion. Arising at last, he shook his head.
“In all my experience,” he said to the
others, “I’ve never seen such.a vicious
murder. Death might have resulted from
any one of three causes. Heavy blows
on the head have fractured the skull,

her brain has been pierced through the.
face and strangling has broken - her -

larnyx. It’s difficult to tell which injury
occurred first.” :

The array of autos in front of the
Colonial mansion was swelled by the ar-
rival of a Nassau County Police squad
car, bringing Detective Ferdinand Miller
and the department's fingerprint expert,
Charles Hanson.

The county officers hastened inside,
where Chief Seaman reviewed the cir-
cumstances of the crime and the prog-
ress thus far for their benefit.

“Off hand,” observed Miller, “I’d say
that the slayer was a maniac intent on
criminal assault.”

“Are there any visible fingerprints?”
inquired Hanson.

“I believe there are some faint ones. |”
on that piece of pipe,” put in King, “a

pointing to the weapon lying on the
mantel.

The expert walked over to the fire-
place, opened his kit and carefully
dusted the pipe with powdered French
chalk. Under his magnifying glass, three
well-defined prints appeared.

At this point, Patrolmen King and
Ricker came downstairs from _ their
search of the rooms on the second and
third floors.

“The drawers of all the bureaus and
dressers have been ransacked,” King
told Chief,Seaman, “and the jewel box
on the vanity in Mrs. Bartlett’s room
has been emptied.”

Turning to Mrs. Seabury, Seaman
asked: “Did your sister own much
jewelry?”

“Very little, for a woman of her
means,” the sister replied.

-“The killer stripped her of whatever
jewelry she wore,” the chief said.

Dr. Jacques now engaged in a closer
examination of the body before giving
the order to the ambulance crew for
removal to the county morgue at
Mineola. He paid special attention to
the dead woman’s hands.

“Here’s something!” he exclaimed

DETECTIVE CASES


But of whose murder? And why? He
admitted to himself then and there that
all he had, in addition to his suspicion,
was the flimsiest of circumstantial evi-
dence. He knocked at the door.

Red-haired Mrs. Nack appeared in a
flowered wrapper. She was attractive
and cool looking. When Captain
O’Brien told her that he and Cunning-
ham were from Headquarters and asked
to see her husband, her conversation
proved even cooler than her appearance.
She hadn’t seen her husband, Herman
Nack, in more than six months, she told
O’Brien, looking straight at him. Fur-
thermore, she hoped she never would.

The captain cracked his knuckles
apologetically. Had Mrs. Nack any idea
where her husband could be found?
Mrs. Nack had not. If Herman hadn’t
as yet drunk himself into a pauper’s
grave, he probably was working for
some bakery somewhere in New York.

O’Brien veered
Mrs. Nack, he said delicately, looked
remarkably like a Mrs. F, Braun who
had lived for a short period in Wood-
side, Long Island. At that Mrs. Nack
blushed becomingly and explained.

“There’s no keeping the secrets of
one’s private life from you smart police-
men,” she said. “And I think I’m en-
titled to my private life since Mr. Nack
no longer lives with me. It is true that
a boyhood friend from Prussia was in
this country for a short time and I vis-
ited him in a house we rented in Wood-
side, so the neighbors here wouldn’t
talk. But what was the harm in that?”

No harm at all, O’Brien hastened to
assure her. As a man of the world he
understood perfectly. He began to beat
an orderly retreat. Soon he and Cun-
ningham were outside of the door.

“Now I need a beer,” he told his as-
sistant. “Two of them. Let's drop in
around the corner.”

They sat in a booth for a long time
trying to figure things out. The key to
the mystery, O’Brien concluded, still
was the missing head of the dissected
body in the morgue. And it began to
look as though it wasn’t going to turn
up.

“How about this Herman Nack?”
suggested Cunningham. “Couldn’t he be
the one who was cut up in the bathtub
by the boy friend from Prussia and the
wife?”

“Not likely,” O’Brien mused aloud.
“Everything points to Nack being a
little man and that body in the morgue
was a two hundred pounder. What
seems logical is that Nack heard about
his wife and the other man, walked in on
them in their Woodside hideaway and
killed the sweetheart. Then for some
reason Mrs. Nack decided to shield her
husband—probably for fear of being im-
plicated herself. One thing is clear.
We've got to locate Nack.”

Detailing Cunningham to start search-
ing for the husband, O’Brien returned
to headquarters, automatically stopping
off at Missing Persons, Nothing was
new there nor had a head shown up at
the morgue.

In his own office Brodie was waiting
with the collection of rogues’ gallery pic-
56

to another course.’

tures. As far as they were concerned,
he reported, he had drawn a blank.

“Never mind,” said O'Brien, “We've
found the woman and she hasn’t got a
record.”

“Well, as long as you've found her,”
Brodie began. “Say, Captain, I don’t
know if it’s important but while I was
walking around with those pictures 1]
stopped in at the paint store in Wood-
side. The owner said that a couple an-
swering the Brauns’ description had
bought two or three pounds of plaster
of paris.”

O'Brien shook his head dejectedly. “I
was afraid of something like that since
the head didn’t turn up in the last few
days,” he admitted. “They probably en-
cased the head in the plaster and tossed
it into the-river. You go help Cunning-
ham find Herman Nack!”

With no optimism at all, the captain
also arranged for two crews of police-
men with grappling irons to take to row-
boats along the routes of the East River
ferries and to fish for a plaster-encased
head.

Three days passed and Brodie brought
the indignant protesting Herman Nack
into O'Brien's office. Herman had been
found driving a bakery wagon in the
Bronx and he had been taken ‘to the
Homicide Bureau, small, pale and nerv-
ously voluble.

"BRIEN looked him over, like a

surgeon deciding just where to
make the incision to expose the first
layer of guilt. He tried the direct ap-
proach,

“You've been causing us fellers quite
a bit of trouble with that murder over in
Woodside, Herman,” he began mildly.
“Also a lot of running around which
isn’t good for a man in hot weather like
this. Now that we’ve got you, suppose
you give us a complete confession and
get it all off your mind. Then I'll send
Brodie here out to rush the growler and
we'll all have some beer and feel a lo
better.” :

Nack looked at him defiantly. “You're
crazy!” he said. “You ain’t got nothing
on me.”

O’Brien sighed wearily. “I was hop-
ing,” he said plaintively. “Now we got
to take you all the way out to Woodside
to be identified by a dry goods man, a
paint store clerk, and a real estate agent.
And by simply telling us the truth you
could save us all that trouble!”

“Go on!” the bantam Herman said in-
dignantly. “I ain't got nothing to tell.
Let me out of here. Or take me to
Woodside if you want to. I ain’t never
been there before.”

They took Herman Nack to Wood-
side by trolley and he protested all the
way. The real estate agent failed to
identify him as F. Braun. The clerk in
the paint store said that he was the same
height and build as the man who bought
the plaster of paris but he wasn’t posi-
tive. As for the dry goods store clerk, he
pointed out that the buxom redhead
who had bought oilcloth hadn’t actu-
ally been escorted into his store. A short
man had been waiting outside. That man
might have been Herman Nack.

“L’'ll bet you carved plenty of bologna
and roasts when you owned that delica-
tessen on Tenth Avenue, Herman,” said
the captain;

Nack admitted that he had and ang-
rily demanded to know what about it.

“Well,” said O’Brien, “we’ve- been ad-
miring your work so much that we’ve
been collecting some examples of it at

the morgue and now we're going to stop -

off there and have a look at it.”

The visit to the morgue shook Nack
visibly. His defiance wilted rapidly,
O’Brien worked on him some more and
by the time they reached headquarters
Herman was ready to confess.

“Who is that man at the morgue?”
O’Brien shot at him. 3

“His name is William Guldensuppe,”
admitted Herman. “At least without the
head the rest of him looks like Gulden-
suppe. He was the manager of the Mur-
ray Hill Baths on West 42nd Street.”

“Why did you kill him?”

“Kill him?” Herman's watery eyes
grow round with amazement. “I didn’t
kill him. I’ve been keeping my mouth
shut because I’ve been ashamed to tell
what happened.”

“What did happen?”

FTER he had lost his delicatessen

and restaurant and moved to 44th
Street, Herman declared, things got so
bad that it was necessary to take in a
boarder, Big, handsome Guldensuppe
had become that boarder, He had a
curling blond mustache and wavy hair
and he saw quite a bit of Mrs. Nack
since Herman was drinking heavily.

“One day I came home and Gulden-
suppe kicked me down the stairs and my
wife, Augusta, threw my clothes down
after me and they told me never to come
back,” said Herman.

O’Brien, tried to break down that
story but the little man stood firmly by
it. He insisted not only that he didn’t
have anything to do with the murder
of Guldensuppe but that he hadn’t the
vaguest notion of who the actual killer
might be.

After considerable checking the cap-
tain found that Herman was telling the
truth. He had plenty of witnesses to
prove that he. hatin’t been out of the
Bronx for a long, long time. As for Gul-
densuppe, a visit to the Murray Hill
Baths revealed that he had been miss-
ing for almost two weeks, presumably
on a vacation in the country.

For that reason no one had been
alarmed at his absence and employees
who were taken to the morgue tentative-
ly identified the headless body as his. No
one could recall that the affable Gulden-
suppe had any enemies either, with the
possible exception of Herman Nack, the
outraged but ineffectual husband.

“Which brings us back to Mrs. Nack
and her visiting boy friend from Prus-
sia,” said O’Brien, “Now that we know
who the victim is we can stop handling
the red-haired lady with kid gloves.”

Released from custody with a clean
bill of health, Herman proved to be of
no further help. Sure, his Augusta had
come from Prussia, he said. So had he.
He had met her in Hamburg and they

DETECTIVE CASES

nina Oi toes.

cB ia

ena

abate wan

had been married at Lauenburg before
coming to the United States. She had
been very attractive and undoubtedly
had numerous boy friends. One of them
might well have paid a visit to America
and temporarily taken a house at Wood-
side as she had said. .

Captain O’Brien went over to Ninth
Avenue and paid another call on Au-
gusta Nack. Politely but firmly he ex-
plained that he wanted her to identify
the body of a friend of hers, one Wil-
liam Guldensuppe who for some days.
past had been lying in the morgue.

The red-haired Augusta didn’t deny
that she had known Guldensuppe. Since
O’Brien had casually mentioned that he
had a long and illuminating interview
with Herman Nack, she was too clever
to attempt such a denial. Coolly she ac-
companied the captain to the morgue
where she viewed the headless body, and
without’ a quaver in her throaty voice
declared that it positively was not that
of William Guldensuppe.

When they left the morgue O’Brien
thanked her for co-operating so fully
and left for police headquarters, She
stood indecisively on the corner for a
minute and then called a hack. Cun-
ningham, who was loitering near-by, fol-
lowed her. At Sixth Avenue she went
into the barber shop of Martin Thorn.

There were no customers in the store.
It was six P.M. and the man at the sec-
ond chair; the barber’s assistant was just
leaving. After he had gone through the
door Augusta and Thorn engaged in a
conversation. The red-haired woman,
Cunningham observed, appeared to be
doing most of the talking. As she spoke,
Thorn, a short, slim man, looked more
and more worried.

ARLY on the following afternoon,
Captain Steve O’Brien, brave man
that he was, dropped in at Thorn’s bar-
ber shop for a shave. There was no
doubt about his bravery because with
the razor hovering over his Adam's
apple he suddenly said: “Wonder what-
ever happened to old Guldensuppe? I
haven’t seen him around lately.”

The hand that held the razor
twitched, Then Thorn said without con-
viction. “I don’t know the gent you
mentioned. What do you think of Bob
Fitzsimmons’ chances?”

‘ At quitting time, Brodie and Cun-
ningham lurking in the vicinity corralled
the assistant barber and took him
around the corner to the saloon where
the freshly shaven O'Brien was waiting.

The assistant’s name was John Gar-
tha, O’Brien asked him if he knew Guld-
ensuppe. He certainly did. Guldensuppe
had been a steady*customer until he and
Thorn had quarreled over Mrs. Nack.
The barbershop owner had been squir-
ing her around town on nights that
Guldensuppe was working. The latter
had warned Thorn to cease doing so.
He had emphasized the warning by
blacking both of Thorn’s eyes.

“What did Thorn do then?” asked
O’Brien.

“He began carrying a revolver and a
razor with him, Also he took Gulden-
suppe’s engraved shaving mug from its

DETECTIVE CASES

cubby hole and smashed it.”

“I see,” said O’Brien. “Now, Mr.
Gartha, do I have to lock you up for a
few days as a material witness to keep
you from talking or can I depend upon
you to be quiet?”

Gartha was sure he could keep quiet.

On the following day both Thorn and
Mrs. Nack were picked up on suspicion
for the murder of William Guldensuppe.
Since the crime had taken place in
Woodside they were separately indicted
in Queens County. With their arrest,
Thorn turned indignantly upon Augusta
Nack. With all the care and cleverness
with which the murder had been plan-
ned and executed, Augusta had stupidly
gone straight to Thorn after viewing the
body at the morgue.

Without regard for Augusta, Thorn
took on the noted firm of lawyers, Howe
and Hummel to defend him. Augusta
retained the equally famous firm of
Friend, House and Grossman. Blaming
each other for the crime, Thorn and
Augusta staged a race to become state
witness. The red-haired lady won.

After having been beaten up by Guld-
ensuppe, Augusta revealed, Thorn had
become so obsessed with the idea of
revenge that he had persuaded her to
lure the blond giant to the rented house
in Woodside. Among other things, he
had pointed out to her and correctly so,
that the bemustached one, instead of
contributing to her support as formerly,
was now being supported by her and
spending his own money on other, wo-

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TICE, Joseph L., white, 63, electrocuted Auburn, NY (Monroe County) May 18, 1892,

"Auburn, NY, May 18, 1892=Joseph L, Tice, the Rochester wife-murderer, was executed at
6:39 this morning, The execution is considered a great success, The witnesses saw
no burning of flesh, no exhalation of air from the lungs, no struggle of the victim,
The murderer met his fate calmly, ‘he electric current was turned into the body
times, each contact being brief, Physicians in charge believed that better results
would be obtained in this way than with 2 long contacts, The complete time of con-
HABEXSBEXEAK tact was 50 seconds, The chair was the one in which Kemmler died two
years ago, The machinery, with slight improvements and an increased voltage, was the
same, A new electrode was applied to the head, the Warden said, and would divide the
current, carrying it each side of the head instead of ending in one spot, Above

the chair were two rubber bags to provide a constant flow of water to the sponges at
the hands and legs, Tice told the chaplain, who was with him alone, half an hour
before the execution, that he did not sleep well last night and his spine hurt him

a great deal of the time, He said he would die brave like a SKHIXSETARYXXNHENXALY
Christian, When all was ready, Dr. Ce Me Daniels, of Buffalo, the physician in
charge, raised his right arm as a signal to électrician Davis, The latter pressed
down a lever, and instantly the body of Tice leaped and tugged at the straps. It |
lasted 15 seconds, Then the contact was broken for a space of 3 seconds, when the
current was turned on for another 15 seconds, Once more the body pulled at its
fastenings, and again settled back when the current was broken, For a third time a
contact was made, this time lasting 10 seconds, Then there was a rest of 5 seconds,
The fourth a last contact lasted 10 seconds, The total time of contact was 50
seconds and the total time of execution 63 seconds. At the request of Dr. Daniels,
Drs. Baker and Irvine examined the body, They said there was no pulsation whatever,
Tice was dead. The other physicians also examined the body, a little later,

on invitation of Dr. Daniels, All agreed that Tice had passed into eternity the
instant the first contact was made, Electrician Davis said that the indicator

showed 1,720 volts on the first contact, with a very slight falling off when the
other 3 circuits were made, A closer examination of the body showed no marks or
burns upon it. Dr. Daniels announced that the autopsy would be held at 10 o'clock.
Then the witnesses went to the office and signed the official certificate of death.
Warden Durston said that the execution was thoroughly successful, and Electrician
Davis likewise, Further than that they had nothing to say, ‘It speaks for itself,'
said Dr. Daniels, 'It could not have been better, That is all I have to say,' He
declared that the electrocution was perfection itself, Tice promised Dr. Sayger,
prison physician, several days ago, that he would close his left hand and open his
right hand as he took his seat in the fatal chair, and if he was conscious after the
bolt struck him he was to try and close his right hand. When he took his place

in the chair Tice placed his hands in the position agreed upon, but at no time was
there the slightest movement of them, Tice was a native of Albany and was 63-years=
old, The autopsy disclosed that one electrode had caused a slight scalding. There
was considerable blood in the muscular tissues of the chest. The skull was extreme-
ly thick, The heart was in normal condition, but showed the instantaneous effect

of the electric bolt. The remains of Tice were buried in a quick=lime grave in the
prison yard. The physicians declare that there were absolutely no indications of

the passage of the electric current through Tice's system, The vital organs were in
a normal condition, and it would have been utterly impossible to have ascertained

the cause of death without previous knowledge of the electrocution," COURIER-WOURNAL
Louisville, Kentucky, May 19, 1892 (2/6.)


80

member of the trio. On.the second day
of his search, after shuffling out of a pool-
room, his eye lit on a bonfire near the
curbstone at Fifty-fourth Street near
Ninth Avenue.

Pritz walked over and stopped beside
a sandy-haired youth. “Hello, Matt,”
he said.

The latter turned sharply. “Oh, it’s
you. , How come the cop’s didn’t nab
you!

Pritz replied: “Just fool luck. They
must be out looking for me now and be-
lieve me, I’m plenty scared.”

“Forget about it,” Matt said. “In a
month the whole affair will blow over.”
He leaned forth threateningly. “And if
you say a word to the coppers, it will be
your last. Remember, if I’m not here
to do it, I got friends. And if you're
not here to take it, we’ll take it out on
your family.”

He tumed to a youth on his side.
“What do you say, John?”

John held a murderous-looking knife in
front of Pritz’ face. “Matt’s telling you
the truth,” he said.

The cab driver gulped hastily, mumbled
a few words of excuse, and fled. At the
Forty-seventh Street precinct he notified
Sergeant Falvey, who was on duty. Fal-
yey sent Detectives Ruggieri, Begg, and
Hirty along with Pritz,

As they approached the bonfire, Begg
said: “There are six men around that
fire. Which one is Matt?”

But Pritz could not distinguish him
from the distance. Begg made_ the wit-
ness get down in the tonneau of the car,
so that only his eyes showed above the
door. “I don’t want him to know who's
pointing him out,” he explained.

As they passed the fire, Pritz called,
“That’s him. The fellow in the blue coat,
with his hands jammed in his pockets.
And that fellow next to him is the John
who threatened me.”

FE. ducked down in the car again and

Ruggiero and Begg jumped out of
the car. Begg stuck a revolver against Matt
while the other detective covered John.
Begg lifted his hat. This was a signal
for the police car, carrying the cab driver,
to speed away. Hailing a taxi, the offi-
cers brought the men to the precinct.

I was notified immediately of the ar-
rests and sped to the station. Before I
questioned Matt, I called in the witnesses
to the slaying of John MacGowen. With-
out a single exception, they pointed the
finger of guilt at him. Against John,
whose full name was John Kelly, we had
nothing. When I asked him why he
threatened Pritz, he denied it.

I released him from custody.

Matt said that his name was Joseph
Moran and that he lived at 203 West
Seventy-eighth Street. He had no rela-
tives alive. He denied having been im-
plicated in any of the killings or hold-
ups. I had William Curley brought into
the room.

“Do you know him?” I asked.

Matt never batted an eyelash. “I never
saw him before in my life.” William Cur-
ley swore to the same statement.

I called Mrs. Sarah Reichstein, the
owner of the boarding house Matt said he
resided in. “Do you have a Joseph Moran
living there?” I asked.

She said yes. He had moved in with |

a friend on New Year’s day.

I asked her to come to the precinct at
once. I resumed questioning the suspect
and drew from him the story that he had
gone to the Loew’s State theatre when
the killing had taken place.

True Detective Mysteries

“What show did you see?”

“Claudette Colbert in ‘Private
Worlds,” was the reply.

“What was on the vaudeville bill?”

This he couldn’t remember. Nor could
he recall the exact details of the picture.

When Mrs. Reichstein arrived I had
her look at both Matt and William Cur-
ley. “Sure I know them,” she said. “They
are Mr. Martin and Mr. Moran. They
both came in to rent a room from me.”

“Why did you tell me you never saw
Bill Curley before?”

“Because I never have,” he flashed
back. “That woman doesn’t know what
she is talking about.”

“There is nothing to be gained by this
lying,” I said. “I happen to know that
your real name is Matthew Curley and
that Bill is your brother.”

“That's a lie,” he shouted.

“There’s only one way to prove it,” I
said. “I’ll call your mother, or rather
Bill’s mother, and see if she recognizes
you.”

Matt’s face went pale. “O. K., you win.
That’s my right name. But that doesn’t
mean I had anything to do with the
case.”

I arraigned the Curley brothers and
“Two-gun Turner” on January 25th. The
Curleys plead not guilty to the murder
charge, ‘Turner, with characteristic reck-
lessness, pleaded guilty.

The Judge looked surprised. “You
can’t plead guilty to a first degree mur-
der charge,” he said.

“Listen, Judge,” Turner said. “I know
T’m going to burn. Do I need a lawyer
to help me do it?”

When the Judge changed the plea to
not guilty, Turner remonstrated, “Let’s
leave out the fancy trimmings,” he
sneered.

Shortly before the trial I received a
visit from the killer’s father. The latter,
a respected army officer, told me: “If
my son is guilty I want him to be punish-
ed for it—and take it like a man! But
then I am his father and I will do my
best to help him get off.”

_ The trial opened before Judge Collins
in the Court of General Sessions on May
3rd, 1932. The Curley brothers imme-

diately changed their pleas to guilty of
murder in the second degree. For this
they were sentenced to serve in Sing Sing
rison for from twenty-five years to life.
he indictment charging them with the
slaying of Fred Becker was dismissed.

For the prosecution competent physi-
cians and psychiatrists who had examined
Turner, declared that he was legally sane.
The consumption he had told me about
when I questioned him after his arrest,
they said, was purely a figment of the
killer’s imagination.

The courtroom was packed throughout
the trial with eager spectators. But the
man who seemed coolest and most un-
concerned was the man whose life hung
in the balance.

Turner sat at the counsel table thumb-
ing a greasy deck of cards. He was play-
ing solitaire! Assistant District Attor-
ney Joyce, who was conducting the cross-
examination, asked Judge Collins to put
a stop to this flagrant defiance of the
Courts dignity.

yarn COLLINS said: “The defendant
will please obey the rules of the Court
and put the cards away.”

Turner merely regarded the Judge
coolly and continued playing. He leaned
toward his defense counsel and said: “Do
you think an officer would arrest me if I
slipped) this black seven behind a red
six?”

Although this was contempt of court,
Collins was powerless to act. The trial
continued. The defense admitted that
Turner was the slayer, but pleaded in-
sanity. On May 11th the jury returned
with a verdict.

Turner was found guilty of murder in
the first degree. The penalty was death.
On November 22nd the Court of Ap-
peals upheld the verdict and set the week
of January 20th, 1933, as the date of
electrocution. Governor Herbert H. Leh-
man gave Turner a two-week reprieve in
which time a state-appointed Lunacy
Commission examined the killer.

They declared him sane.

On February 2nd, Turner, a quip on
his thin lips and a flash in his cavernous
aree, walked to his doom in the electric
chair at Sing Sing.

Scene of the MacGowen hold-up and killing

had fol!
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”

to see him. All were positive in their
identification.

Patrolman Leonard said: “Sure. He’s
one of them. I’d recognize him any-
wheres.”

George Gavin, one of the patrons, said:
“That’s the fellow that shot the table
full of holes—the one I was hiding be-
hind.”

The other witnesses were just as
positive.

I finished questioning Curley at 3 A.
M. While we were planning our line of
investigation, the officers on the eight-to-
four tour of duty tramped into the sta-
tion. For the first time most of them
learned about the murder.

One of these was Patrolman Callahan.
“That’s funny,” he told Detective Browne.

_ “Ll bet that was the get-away cab that

I stopped down on Broadway.” He de-
tailed the events that had transpired. He
described the two passengers who had
walked away from the cab.

“This is the break we’ve been waiting
for,’ Browne exulted. “Those descrip-
tions are too perfect to fit anyone
else.”

“Hop out there and bring him back,”
I told him. We had a perfect lead to
the identity of the master killer. That
was William Curley. But if, we traced
his background and got a line on his
cronies, the time involved would give the
murderous leader an opportunity to es-
cape. Fred Pritz was my answer to a
solution before day broke.

Browne, accompanied by two detec-
tives, rushed out of the station, jumped
into a car and sped to Headquarters.
Here they checked on the garage in which
Pritz’ taxi was stationed. Then they were

off.

An hour later Pritz shuffled into my
resence. He had a weak mouth, watery
lue eyes, and a shock of dirty blond
hair.

“Who were those passengers you had
in your car when the Patrolman stopped
you?” I shot at him.

Pe laughed uneasily. “I never ask
the names of my fares,” he said.
“Bring Curley up here!” I ordered. A
detective rushed the prisoner up from
his cell.

“Do you know this man?” I asked Pritz.

The driver glanced up sharply, lowered
his eyes. “No, sir,” he replied in a low
voice. “I never saw him before.”

Curley was taken from the room.
“You're lying!” I spoke sharply.

“Honest, ’m not!” he protested.

“You knew those three fares that you
picked up earlier in the evening went out
to ‘hist? a speakeasy, didn’t you? But
what you didn’t know was that they were
committing a murder and that you aided
them in escaping!”

His face went pale. “Please, I’m not
mixed up in this,” he begged in a hoarse
voice. “I got a wife and children . . mi

I cut him short. “I don’t want a sym-
pathy story. I want the facts.”

“Sure, sure,” he agreed eagerly. “But
I’m innocent, I tell you.”

And then his story came tumbling
forth. His cab had been used by the
killer over a period of three weeks. Pritz
hadn’t realized at first what it was all
about. He knew he would stop before a
cider stube, wait five minutes, and then
be rejoined by a fleeing trio. Toward
the end he realized that the men were
“histing” the joints, but in absence of
confirmation, he let well-enough alone.

For his driving he was given only what
the meter read and_sometimes an extra
tip. On the night Becker was slain, he
was not with the trio, he said. But Bill,
the fellow who did all the shooting, had

True Detective Mysteries

Have You
A STORY ?

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fact case, with actual pho-
tographs, deemed suitable
for publication in the mag-
azine, please address the
Editor, TRUE DETECTIVE
MYSTERIES, Chanin Build-
ing, 122 East 42nd S&t.,
New York City, and ask
for our “Letter of Sugges-
tions,” covering full in-
formation relative to writ-
ing the accounts of fact
crime cases for this maga-
zine.

told him that “a fellow named Ruby who
drives a dark-maroon, Paragon cab,” had
helped with the get-away.

I wondered whether this would mean
Rubenstein, the first driver I had ques-
tioned. His cab answered the description.

“What is this fellow Bill’s other name?”
I asked. ;

“T don’t know,” Pritz replied. “T just
know him by his nickname. I know he’s
living with some relatives out in Brook-
lyn—somewhere on Cortelyou Road.
Though I don’t know the address I could
spot the place if I saw it again.”

An hour later we were in front of a
two-story frame_house. The address was
1218 Cortelyou Road. “That’s the place,”
Pritz said.

Guns drawn, four officers surrounded
the house. Detectives Browne and Me-
Carthy rapped on the door. About five
minutes later a young girl responded.

“What do you want?” she asked, draw-
ing a robe tightly about her.

“We've come to see Bill,” Browne ex-
plained.

The girl hesitated. “He’s asleep now.
You see, he came in pretty early this
morning.”

“That’s all right,” Browne said, “Just
show us his room.” The girl indicated a
bedroom on the second floor. The de-
tectives came to a halt before the door.
They drew their guns. With a quick flip,
they flung it open and played a flash-
light on the bed. The precautions were
unnecessary.

The killer lay outstretched on a huge,
double bed, his head buried in the pillow.
Trom its depths came the regular breath-
ing of one fast asleep.

Browne nudged him with the snout of
his gun. The sleeper awoke with a start.
He sat up in bed and his feet swung to
the floor.

“Don’t move!” Browne warned. “Mc-
Carthy, frisk the bed.”

Expertly, the detective’s hand slid
under the pillow. He dragged forth a
thirty-two caliber Harrington and Rich-
ards gun.

“Where’s the other one?” Browne
barked.

The killer’s cavernous eyes flashed with
a sudden light of understanding. “So you

79

finally caught up. with me?” he sneered.

“Where is that other gun?” Browne
snapped. .

“Keep your shirt on,” the killer leered.
“Pm sitting on it.”

McCarthy dragged him to his feet.
There was no gun. The killer laughed
wildly. “This is a hell of a game!”

McCarthy lifted up the mattress. On
it lay a forty-five caliber black metal
revolver. The killer was dressed hastily,
a pair of handcuffs were slipped over his
wrists and he was driven to my office in
the District Attorney’s office.

His full name was William Turner. He
was twenty-two years old_and the son
of a retired army officer. His parents, he
said, had left for England a month earlier.
The Killer had been in the Navy, but
had been dishonorably discharged.

His attitude. throughout was: “Well,
you got me. You know I did it, and I
iknow I did it. So let’s get it over with.”

He admitted the- Becker and Mac-
Gowen killings but couldn’t give an exact
list of the places he had victimized. “I
took so many,” he admitted, “it would be
impossible to name them all.”

“Who was with you on those jobs?”
I asked.

“Nobody,” he snapped at me. “And
get this straight. I did it. And I’m ad-
mitting it. But there was nobody else
in on any of the jobs.”

I reminded him that there were nearly
a hundred witnesses who could testify
that he had two companions on all the
jobs.

“T guess you're right,” he grinned, “But
I picked up a different two on every
‘hist’ So how can I remember them.”

“Why did you kill MacGowen?” I asked.

“Ts he the one I gave it to Jast night?”

I nodded my head.

4 ELL, he tried to pull a sneak toward

the back door. That was a crazy
thing for him to do. I just Iet fly. Then
somebody kicked over a table and I let fly
at him. Before I knew it somebody was
shooting away at me and I was giving
it back. But get this straight, those two
guys that came in with me had nothing
to do with it. I just picked them up out-
side and used them as a front to get by
the bartender.”

He never changed this assertion. ‘To
the end he protected Curley and the third
member of the trio. He denied ever hav-
ing seen Pritz or Rubenstein. In fact,
he lied glibly, he had made his escape
from both killings by using the subway
trains.

When I had finished questioning him.
I asked: “How is it that with a good
upbringing and with respectable parents
you Iet yourself in for this?”

“Do you see this?” he asked. Ife
brought his hand up to his face. “That’s
t.b. I figured I was bound to go soon so
I would make it a short life and a merry
one, When I began ‘histing’ the joints,
I thought if they catch me on a stick-up,
it will mean a couple of years and that’s
us good as a death penalty. The next
step was to knock over any  gtly Uhasel
lifted a finger against me. Whether they
get me for murder or burglary, the re-
sult for me would be the same.”

Detective Sergeant Harry Butts, the
ballistic expert, reported that the guns
turned over to him after the Turner ar-
rest had been used in both slayings. Wil-
liam Curley still persisted in his refusal
to talk.

Meanwhile, Fred Pritz, acting under
police orders, made a tour of the West
side speakeasies, poolrooms, and lunch
wagons in an effort to locate the third


14

os

BY JACK SLATER

T was New Year's Eve, and Jake
Denver was lonely. In the snow-
-swept streets, thousands of men
and women were milling around,
yelling, whistling, blowing horns.
Jake put on his. overcoat and muf-
fler and walked two blocks to Fred

‘Becker’s tavern on East 88th Street -

in midtown Manhattan.
Becker himself was behind the
bar. He was a big man with red

hair and a voice that boomed like ©

a scratchy foghorn.
. “A beer,” said Jake.

Becker grinned. He shoved back
the money Jake’ put down’ on the
bar. “It’s on the house tonight, mis-
ter,” he said. ‘““Many happy returns.”

Jake mumbled’ his thanks. He
gazed around the cozy, softly-lit
room. Five -men and a blonde

woman who was sitting alone in a
booth were there besides himself.
The warmth and the cigarette smoke
relaxed Jake. He joined in the
general conversation.

Nobody heard the door open as

_ the three men walked in. One of the

strangers stayed near the door. His
two companions walked to the bar.

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78

“T don’t care what you are,” was the
reply. “Drop that gun!”

Leonard’s gun clattered to the floor.
His right hand went up to the lapel of
his coat and he drew it aside. He showed
his police shield. The figure “two” was
dented inward. The bullet fired by the
sallow-faced killer had struck it. But for
that he would have been a dead man!

“Sorry,” Turbidy apologized. “You
were in plainclothes and I couldn’t take
a chance.”

Leonard rushed to a telephone and
called Headquarters. Within thirty sec-
onds a flash went over the police radio
system.

“Hold-up and murder on Fifty-seventh
Street. All cars, Calling all cars. Watch
for a cream colored taxi, speeding south
on Tenth Avenue. Two men in rear
seat. They are dangerous. Use your
guns. License number unknown. That’s
all.”

ITHIN five minutes I was on the scene

of the murder. Already in the cider
stube were Chief Inspector Francis Kear,
Detectives Charles Browne, Dan Mc-
Carthy, and Patrick Harty. The place
was a wreck. Bullets had smashed the
plaster from the walls and ceiling in more
than a dozen places. The overturned
tables were peppered with bullet holes.

Behind the bar was the open cash
register. Several bottles had been smashed
by flying bullets and their spilled contents
spread a strong alcoholic aroma. On one
side of the room sat the captured killer.
His left eye was swollen closed, and col-
ored a deep red and purple which was
rapidly turning a deeper shade of black.
He held a handkerchief over a bleeding
lip, with his left hand. His right wrist
was handcuffed to a chair.

On the far side of the room lay John
MacGowen, the proprietor. He was dead.
He had died before his body hit the
ground. His head was in the small vesti-
bule toward the rear exit while his feet
protruded into the room. He had bled
profusely and the blood had splattered
over the exit. door.

Detective Browne, with whom I had
worked on the brutal Becker slaying, was
prying into the walls with a penknife.
After he had extracted a half dozen bul-
lets he brought them to me.

True Detective Mysteries

“Here’s a forty-five caliber full metal
case bullet,” he said pointing to the
appropriate slug. “And this one is a
thirty-two caliber slug, same style.”

He looked up at me. “Does that tell
you anything?”

“Nothing I didn’t know before,” I re-
plied. “Those are the same type bullets
that killed Becker. I suspected the killer
was working again as soon as I heard it
was a speakeasy job.”

Dr. Gonzales arrived, examined the
body, waited until the police photogra-
phers had finished their work, and or-
dered the removal of the body to the
morgue.

While we brought our prisoner to the
Nighteenth Police Precinct at West
Torty-seventh Street, the fugitive taxi
had doubled in its tracks and had sped
northward. At Columbus Circle it
wheeled about and sped southward again
along Broadway. With thousands of taxis
jamming this busy thoroughfare at night,
it was the perfect street on which to avoid
detection.

But the fugitives were too anxious to
escape. As the lights turned red at the
Forty-fifth Street intersection, the driver
sped across. An elderly woman, stepping
down from the pavement, was almost
struck down. Patrolman Edward Calla-
han, on duty at that crossing, raised his
whistle to his lips and gave three shrill
blasts.

On the Forty-third Street crossing Pa-
trolman Rotaleato hailed the cab and
ordered it to halt. It pulled over to the
side of the street. Patrolman Callahan
came rushing down from his post, his face
red with fury.

“What’s the matter with you?” he
shouted angrily. “Didn’t you see the
lights change?”

“J—I’m sorry, Officer,” came the halt-
ing reply. “I was nervous. I didn’t
see the lights change.”

“That would be a poor excuse to offer
the old lady if you struck her!” Calla-
han stormed. He thrust his head through
a window and examined the driver’s li-
cense. It was then that he noticed the
two fares sitting quietly in the rear seat.

One of them, a slim figure with dark,
deep-set eyes, regarded the patrolman
coolly. His hands were thrust deep in
his overcoat pocket.

Fred Becker’s speakeasy and death place

The driver, a tall, husky, blond chap,
whined: “Don’t turn a report in on this.
I got a wife and children to think of. I
don’t want to lose my license.”

The dark, slim passenger cut in. “The
Officer is right. You operate the cab in
entirely too careless a manner.” He took
a fifty-cent piece from his pocket, tossed
it to the driver, and climbed out, fol-
lowed by his companion.

Callahan saw them saunter southward
along Broadway. Then he jotted down
the driver’s name and address. It was
Fred Pritz, 3807 Walcott Avenue, Astoria,
Queens.

He wrote out a summons, handed it to
Pritz and dismissed him.

Back at the Eighteenth Precinct I set
the prisoner, whom Officer Turbidy had
subdued, in the squad room and ques-
tioned him. His name, he said, was Wil-
liam Curley and he lived at 232 East
Seventy-sixth Street.

His answers came sullenly from behind
a wet, bloody handkerchief that he held
to his lip.

“What kind of work do you do?” I
asked.

“Oh, anything,” was the reply. “Mostly
running errands.”

“For whom?”

He looked up surprisedly. “Aw, I never
worked in my life.”

I RAN through the legal formalities.
“My name is Carney. I am an Assistant

District Attorney attached to the Homi-
cide Squad of New York. I want to ask
you_some questions about the shooting
on Fifty-seventh Street. You don’t have
to say anything if you don’t want to;
anything you say can be used against
you. Now, what time did you start out
with these men tonight?”

“IT refuse to answer,” he mumbled.
“You just told me I don’t have to
answer.”

“We already know what has happened
and the part you played in it,” I said.
“Why don’t you come clean?”

“Look at what they did to me, al-
ready,” he moaned bitterly. He pointed
to his blackened eye and split lip.

“When the Officer caught you, he
once rou pe he?”

ertainly,” he replied heatedly. “Ri
off the bat.” , ms eet

_“You had a gun in your hand at the
a "tid eh 1

‘I did not,” he replied. “That gun
found in the street.” ee

“You threw it there, didn’t you?”

“J didn’t have any gun to throw away.”

“Did you come out of the speakeasy
when he caught you?” I asked.

“I can’t say nothing here,” Curley re-
sponded,

“You certainly ought to know whether
you came out of that place or not,” I
told him,

“If I told you, you’d only use it against
me later,” he replied peevishly,

“In other words,” I retorted, “you don’t
want to say anything.”

“Td rather have a trial.”

“You will have a trial. I am merely
giving you an opportunity to tell your
story if you want to.”

“T'll tell it in court,” he replied definite-

y

“Have you ever been arrested before?”
“Once. For petty larceny,

T looked at him steadily. “Is that the
only time?”

“The only time that counted,” he
snapped back.

I asked him who accompanied him but
he refused to answer. To the remainder
of my questions, he replied shortly,
“Pass it up. I got nothing to say.”

We locked him in a cell and brought
the witnesses to the murder of MacGowen

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N.Y.] PEOPLE v. BRUNT. 437

interference was dangerous, and led not unnaturally to the events of the fatal
night. Using a pistol, threatening to shoot an intruder upon his courtship,
were things not unfamiliar to his thought, for Eva testifies to such a threat
against her own father, and another against a chance visitor.

On the night of the murder, the prisoner had gone upstairs to his room,
while Eva and Will had passed into the sitting-room. Ile had acquired the
bad and evil habit of carrying about with him, at least in the evenings, a
loaded pistol. Je had produced it when he asked Eva to marry him, and in-
dulged in some wild talk that they would have to live together or die together,
and that he would shoot her if she did not consent to marry him. Evidently,
here was a man, perhaps not wholly meaning all that he said, but quite too
fond of thinking and talking about shooting, and liable to underrate the enor-
mity of the offense. Ilis habit was to leave his revolver in the day-time on
the secretary, or in the pocket of his overcoat, hanging in his room; but to
put it in his hip-pocket, as a rule, when he went out at night. He says he did
so on that night, but when he came in and undressed for bed it would be quite
natural for him to take out the pistol, and put it one side, as no longer needec,
to avoid the danger of dropping it from his pocket, or exploding it by careless
or thoughtless handling of his clothing. He declares that when he reached
his room he undressed, and went to bed, and fell asleep. As his custom was
to leave his ahh pig in his room through the day, it would naturally be also
his custom to take it out of his hip-pocket, and lay it aside, as he prepared for
bed. Fred Roy, who was his room-mate and slept with him, says that was
his habit. He further testifies that the prisoner did not come to bed; but he
depends partly upon inference, and may be mistaken. The prisoner says he
was awakened, and heard whispering downstairs, and, without knowing who
it was, got up, and put on his socks and pantaloons, and began an endvavor
to ascertain what was going on. He listened first at a stove-pipe hole, and, un-
able to hear, stole silently in his stocking feet down the stairs. Eva saw
him, and describes him as peeking from the foot of the stairs. Te tells us
that he knocked down something which made a noise, and, since they would
know from the sound that some one was coming, he went back to his room.
Eva heard him go back to his room after she had seen him looking at them
from the stairway. Ilis suspicions had been verified. The persons he saw
were Iva and her half-brother, and she sitting near him in her night-dress.
He did not know that she had innocently put iton over her ordinary clothing,
and to his jealous suspicions and hot temper we can imagine the effect of the
discovery. Why did he go back to his room? If “fired with jealousy,” as he
says, and acting from impulse and without reflection, why did he not burst
out upon them at the first view of what seemed to him the situation? The
inference that he went back to get his revolver appears to us very strong. In
describing the events of the night tothe witness Davis, he said “he mistrusted
it was young Roy talking with Eva, and he took his revolver in his hand, and
started downstairs.” va describes him as peeking out at them twice before
he made his appearance. After having gone back to his room, he came down
again, and walked into the sitting-room, and stopped in front of the pair. He
describes what he saw, or believed that he saw. There was the girl who had
promised to be his wife sitting by the sewing-machine in her night-dress, and
her half-brother, suspected of being her lover, sitting near, with his arm about
her shoulders. ‘To the jealous and angry temper of the prisoner, the sight
was calculated to evoke a burst of passion, unless controlled by reflection, and
restrained forthe accomplishment of a further purpose. The passionate out-
break did not come. Where he stood, the eyes of Eva and Will were upon him.
The latter was strong and athletic, and not likely to be shot down without re-
sistance, if he saw the weapon in advance. Standing there, the prisoner ut-
ters only this remonstrance: “Eva, I thought your ma wanted you to go to
bed some time ago. Nowyouare sitting up here at this time in the morning.”

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436 NORTHEASTERN REPORTER, [NS YX.

2. Homicipr—Murper—Sur ficiency or Evipence.

On a trial for murder, there was evidence that defendant was of a jealous, nerv-
ous, and angry disposition; that on the night of the murder he was awakened by
whisperings in a room below, and, going down, he saw his fiancee, in her night-
dress, in close proximity to the deceased whom he suspected of being a lover; that
defendant returned to his room for his revolver, as it appears, and walked into the
room, and made some casual remark to the deceased, and mildly remonstrated with
the girl; that defendant then passed around the deceased to one side, placed the
pistol close to his head, when his attention was diverted, and fired the fatal shot.
fIeld, that the jury properly found a verdict of murder in the first degree.

Appeal from general term, supreme court, Fifth department.

The defendant, Robert Brunt, alias Van Brunt, was indicted for murder
in the first degree in killing one William Roy. Ile was tried and convicted
of the offense. The conviction was aflirmed by the general term, and defend-
ant appealed.

L. W. Thayer, for appellant. Z. IM. Bartlett, for respondent.

Fincn, J. The defense of the prisoner was confined solely to the degree of
his crime. The killing was conceded, and no attempt was made to justify or
excuse it, but the whole contest at the trial turned upon the inquiry whether
the act was deliberate, or a sudden and unreflecting outbreak of passion. Evi-
dence was given tending to show that the defendant was subject to severe
headaches, and fits resembling the known effects of epilepsy, and that he had
made one or two attempts at suicide, but no claim or defense of insanity was
interposed. The circumstances were relied on to make more probable the
prisoner’s testimony that he fired the shot which took the life of William Roy
without forethought, and upon an instantaneous impulse. The jury, how-
ever, were so satisfied that the act was characterized by some degree of delib-
eration as to have disbelieved his statement to the contrary; and they rendered
a verdict of murder in the first degree, which the general term have affirmed.

The prisoner asks us to review the facts under the law of 1887, amending
section 528, Code Crim. Proc., and to determine, upon such review, whether
the verdict shall stand. The prosecutor insists that the amendment, by its
terms, has no application to this appeal, and relies upon its provision that
“the amendments herein shall not affect any appeal taken to or pending in the
supreme court or court of appeals at the time this act shall become a law.”
The appeal to the supreme court was taken before the amendment, but that
to this court after its enactment. It is possible to construe the terms of the
amendment distributively, and we think we ought to do so, and not deny to
the prisoner the review upon the facts which he seeks by any nice or critical
construction of the amendment. Nevertheless, after having read carefully
the whole of the evidence given upon the trial, we have reached the same con-
clusion upon the question of deliberation which prevailed with the jury. The
prisoner’s jealously of the deceased was no new or sudden emotion. It had
for weeks occupied his thoughts, and filled him with hatred for the half-brother
whose death he finally effected. It had broken his sleep, and made him un-
happy and miserable, according to his own account. His imagined injury
took two forms. He believed that the deceased was using his influence as a
brother to induce his sister, to whom the prisoner was engaged, to break that:
engagement, and retreat from the promised marriage; and was continually pre-
venting, by his presence, the personal interviews which the defendant sought
with Eva, ‘The other and more remarkable suspicion was that Roy was pur-
suing his half-sister as a lover, and with her knowledge; for he says that she
admitted to him that she had become satislied that such was the fact. She
was recalled by the prosecution after the prisoner had testified in his own be-
half, and, denying the truth of some of his statements, was silent as to this.
The anger and resentment thus born and fostered evidently gained the mas:
tery of a suspicious and unbalanced mind. It produced, as we are told by his
own declarations to others, a warning given by him to the deceased that his

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Eva answered that her mother had allowed her to come out and talk with Will,
because he was going on the midnight train. In this quiet and almost timid
remonstrance there is no trace of sudden passion, unless covered and concealed
for an ulterior purpose. He spoke to the girl after having simply expressed
his surprise to the man that he had not gone on the midnight train. Thenhe
passed around Will in a half circle, and takes a position which brings him no
longer in front of, but at the side of, each; a position behind the sewing-ma-
chine, and a stand near it, in which a pistol could be drawn and aimed with
a safety from observation and interference which while standing in front could
not be obtained. Eva asks Will where he is going. Ile replies, “ean over,
and I will tell you.” As their heads approach, and their attention is diverted,
the prisoner sees his opportunity, and reaching his revolver across the sew-
ing-machine, and quite near to his victim’s head, shoots him through the tern-
ple. Describing the scene afterwards, he says, “I shot to kill.” The remark-
able thing about his assertion of a sudden impulse pr»mpting to the murderous
act is this: that when such impulse would have been natural, and might have
been expected, it did not come; and when the moment for such impulse had
passed, and no new event sufficient to provoke it had occurred, it made its
tardy appearance. His change of position, as the general term suggests, was
quite significant. He was asked to explain it, and gave his reason for the
movement, but answered only that he did not know. Not only in these facts
was there time in abundance for reflection and deliberation, but from the mo-
ment that he took his pistol, and stepped softly, and tried to step silently
down the stairs, it seems possible to trace the purpose and plan which unfolded
itself in his movements and ended in the murder,

Taking all the facts together, and making every allowance for the peculiar
mental organization of the prisoner, weare yet constrained to say that the jury
did not err in their verdict. The judgment should be aflirmed.

All concur,

(108 N. ¥. 463)
Cons et al. v. DOLPHIN MANUF’G Co.

(Court of Appeals of New York. February 28, 1888.)

1. ARBITRATION AND AWARD—SuUBMISSION—CONSTRUCTION.

The plaintiffs sold to the defendant a certain quantity of jute butts, “guarantied
bagging quality,” and the defendant rejected a part, on the ground that they were
not of the guarantied bagging quality. The matter was referred to arbitrators “for
a just and equitable settlement as to their rights and obligations under the con-
tract.” Held, that it was within the submission for the arbitrators to allow one-
sixteenth of a cent per pound as damages to buyer for failure of the sales to be of
bagging quality, and the buyer was bound by the award.

oD

3. Samp—EviIpENCE—MATTERS OCCURRING BEFORE TIE ARBITRATORS.

Jn an action in which there had beenan award by arbitrators, under an agreement
by the parties which set forth that it was referred for the purpose of obtaining a
just and equitable settlement of their rights and obligations arising out of a con-
tract of sale of a certain quantity of jute butts which the buyer had refused to take,
because not of the guarantied bagging quality, one of the arbitrators was asked,
“Would you have made the award, in so far as you made the deduction of this award,
if you had not received the letter from the scllers?” after stating that he had not
made the award before receiving the letter. Held, that the terms of the submis-
sion were unambiguous, and the answer to such question was inadmissible in evi-
dence.

8. Same—Fattern or Partirs To Orrer EVIDENCE BEFORE ARBITRATORS.

The plaintiffs sold to the defendant a certain quantity of jute butts, “guarantied
bagging quality,” and the defendant rejected a part on the ground that they were
not of the guarantied quality. Tho matter was referred to arbitrators “for a just
and equitable settloment as to. their rights and obligations under the contract,” and
an award was made by thei, after a personal inspection of the rejected article, that
the buyer should take the jute and receive an allowance of one-sixteenth of a cent
per pound on account of the defective quality. J/eld that, it appearing that the ar-
bitrators were well acquainted with the value of the article, the failure of the par-
ties to offer evidence before them as to the value of the goods would not tend to
show that the award was not within the submission.

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cated a witness who had seen Gentile run-
ning from Hintz’ apartment house and
hurrying agound the corner of Seventh
Avenue a Sw seconds after the shooting.

Hintz lived in agony 21 days before he
died. Even at the end, staring death in the
face and recognizing the inevitable, he re-
fused to talk. Nevertheless Monaghan, re-
lying on Hintz’ first whispered statement
to his wife and the other bits of evidence
he had so meticulously assembled, went be-
fore the grand jury and obtained the in-
dictment of Sheridan, Dunn and Gentile
for first-degree murder.

The crowning test of Monaghan’s career
as' a prosecutor came on December 12th,
1947, when he brought the murder case be-
fore a jury. Monaghan contended that all
three thugs had lurked in the stairwell,
waiting for Hintz, on the morning of the
murder. Dunn had been the triggerman,
and he and Sheridan had fled upstairs and
escaped across the roof, Monaghan con-
tended. Gentile had run downstairs to the
street and had been seen ‘hurrying around
the corner.

The defense, handled by an ace criminal
lawyer, Hyman Barshay, made much of
Hintz’ stubborn deathbed silence; of his
repudiation of those first, whispered words
to his wife. But Monaghan, in a brilliant
summation before the jury, explained this
by describing the “copper-riveted code of
the waterfront, where the mobsters settle
their own disputes in their own way and
never talk.”

In such a case, he asked the jury, what
would they believe, the first words of
Hintz after he had been shot or his refusal
to speak later after the code and habit of
a lifetime had reasserted itself?

“Nobody ever blows the whistle on the
docks,” Monaghan roared, “but thank God,
for the first time, we were able to go be-
hind the curtain of silence and find the
three murderers of Anthony Hintz.”

The jury wrestled with the problem for
19 hours and then decided that Monaghan
was right. It convicted Sheridan, Dunn
and Gentile for first-degree murder. Again
George Monaghan had defied impossible

3 odds and won. '

Faced with the electric chair, Gentile de-
4 cided to talk, and his sentence was com-
7 muted to life imprisonment. But Sheridan
3 and Dunn, stubborn and unrepenting, died
in the chair on July 8th, 1949, without
to ever telling the real story behind the New
id York dock rackets.
Such colorful prosecutions brought Mon-
3- aghan into public prominence. His repu-
‘A tation as an ace trouble-shooter was fur-
of ther enhanced when Governor Dewey, his
ar former boss, picked him to handle a special
th investigation of corruption in Albany
a- County. Monaghan spent 26 months on
or the probe and obtained 52 indictments and
"es 38 pleas of guilty. Fortified by such a
2a, record, he became a natural choice to clean
ho up New York City’s Fire Department,
shaken by a graft scandal in late 1950.
"as Monaghan spent only six months in the

ik. Fire Department, but he was credited with -

tz. having done a pretty thorough job of re-
ad. organization by June, 1951, when Police
s’ Commissioner Thomas F. Murphy, the
prosecutor of Alger Hiss, resigned to be-
come a judge. Monaghan was named to
succeed him, and promptly found that an-

other tough job was waiting for him.
re The Police Department had been rocked
“at from top to bottom during the regime of
1 former Mayor William * O’Dwyer by the
iy) Harry Gross bookmaking scandal. Gross, a
my pudgy, sleek-haired, free-spending Brook-
ed lyn gambler, ran a $20,000,000-a-year gam-
ri- bling empire as openly as a clerk slides a
as soda across a fountain in a drugstore. He
did this, he said, by paying $1,000,000 a year

in ice, or protection money, to police.
The Cross seandal had been a fostering
” core during; most of Murphy's regime as

police commissioner, but it hadn’t really
come to a head because, at the last minute,
Gross had balked on the witness stand in
a Brooklyn criminal trial and had refused
to talk. Faced with 12 years in prison,
however, he changed his mind and agreed
to give the evidence he previously had
withheld about graft-taking policemen.

Even before Gross did this surprising
about-face in May, 1952, however, Monag-
han had acted. Shortly after he took office
as Police Commissioner, he examined Gross’
testimony before a Brookiyn grand jury, in
which he had named his contacts in the
Police Department. In a quiet way, de-
spite the fact that, as police commissioner,
he was surrounded by career cops who
always have a tendency to protect their
own, Monaghan made important changes in
the department’s commands.

He named a new Chief Inspector, the
second-ranking post in the department, and
he placed increased reliance on Inspector
Kennedy, a man with an awesome reputa-
tion as a tough cop who liked to kick in
the doors of bookmaking parlors with his
own two feet. Even Gross was to testify
later that Kennedy was so far above
bribery and so tough that he had quaked at
the thought of Kennedy’s coming to
Brooklyn.

“Jimmy Kennedy, the bookmaker’s
friend,” Monaghan says with a laugh, “he’s
my right arm. I begin every day by con-
ferring with him.”

These conferences and Monaghan’s forth-
right action in the Gross case have brought
changes in the department. After Gross
finally took the stand and testified at the
departmental trial of five policemen in
early May, Monaghan spent a sleepless
night, working around the clock at his
office in police headquarters to study the
voluminous trial testimony. The next day,
acting promptly on the recommendations
of his trial commissioner, he kicked right
off the force the five policemen whom Gross
accused of taking his bribes.

In addition to the brewing scandal inside
his department, Monaghan was confronted,
when he took office, with a narcotics prob-
lem of record-breaking magnitude. Ped-
dlers were even disposing of the habit-
forming heroin in the yards of grammar
schools. Thousands of school children were
becoming addicts; hospital records showed
that some, their physiques wrecked by the
vicious drug, were dying before they could
graduate from high school.

Though the press and public had been
clamoring for action, Monaghan -found
that the city narcotics squad consisted of
only 33 men and that even this number
had been reduced by illness and assign-
ments to other duty. One of his first ac-
tions was to boost the squad to 105 men and
to put every precinct in the city on its
mettle to smash the narcotics traffic.

“The precincts, up to this time, hadn’t
made many arrests,” Monaghan explains.
“They looked on narcotics cases as the job
of the narcotics squad. As a result, this
one, tndermanned squad had been mak-
ing 75 per cent of all the narcotics arrests
in the city.

“We have worked out a system. The
narcotics squad has been ordered to con-
centrate largely on the big pushers, the
men at the top; the local detectives are
held responsible for wiping out the small
fry in their districts.

“Now look what has happened. The re-
inforced narcotics squad has quadrupled its
number of arrests (it made 1600 in 1951),
but today it makes less than 50 per cent of
the arrests in the city. The others (making
an over-all total of 3363 arrests) are made
by the local precincts who rarely used to
touch a narcotics case.

“Ag a result, the narcotics traffic, which
was our No. 1 headache a year‘ago, isn’t
really so serious today. It has been re-
duced to the point where it doesn’t over-
shadow other problems like traffic and
juvenile delinquency. We are concen-
trating on these—and on the Schuster case,
of course.”

Every discussion of * police problems
brings Monaghan, the fighting, bulldogish
former assistant district attorney, back to
the Schuster case. No one knows better
than Monaghan just how difficult it is to
get witnesses to talk, and he had deter-
mined that this was one murder that would
not go unavenged.

“It may look as if we do not have much
to go on, but we are going to solve this
case,” he says confidently.

And the underworld, knowing him from
the past—knowing his record for perform-
ing the impossible, for sending cop-killer
Willie Thomas and the waterfront toughs
who killed Anthony Hintz to the chair—
wouldn’t want to make book against him.
Even if Harry Gross and his $1,000,000
slush fund were still operating, a bet
against George Patrick Monaghan in the
Schuster case would find few takers.

4

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-<

THORN, Martin,

| WAS IT THE MISSING HEAD?

-Alloged Discovery of Hoya at Branch-
port, N. J.

| New York, July 13.—Acting Inepector
O'Brien recelved word to-day that the
‘head of Wiliam Guldensuppe ta re-
ported to have been found by some boys
In Branchport, N. J. According to a
story told by Thamas Cooper he and
some other boys while in a clump of
bushes picked up a package wrapped tn
newspaper. They untled the atring
with which it Pha been fastened, opencd
the newspaper and discovered some oll-
cloth, of what kind 1s not ‘vet known,
When they had unfolded thia they dis-
closed a large lump of what seemed to
be plaster of Poris, and through this
stuck out a number of halra. The hoys
were so frightened by the find that they
took the thing, not knowing what {t
waa, and threw {t into the pond Near by,
,Cooper told of hig discovery to hits
jtoother who ts said to have informed
ithe pollee,

A telephona message from Hote] Nor-
Wood at Rranchport etated that nothing
had been heard there of the alleged (ind.
Deputy Coroner Morris of Long Branch
aldo was In ignoranoe of the mutter and
atarted out to investigate iminediate-
ly upon learning of the report,

When the Thorn and Nuck cases were
called before Magistrate Flammer to-
day an adjournment was taken to Aus
gust 3,


say
zation
and

a cg GLO TLED:

The

Perfect
Murder

No. 22

A NIGHTMARE OF A DREAM HOUSE

™ Willie Guldensuppe was a big bruis-
er used to having his own way; what
he wanted he took, by force if neces-
sary. Willie wanted Augusta Nack. He
began wanting her practically from the
day he moved into the Nack’s home as
a boarder, and he soon began having
his own way to such an extent that
soon Mr. Nack moved out of his own
home in disgust.

That was all right by Willie.

It was also all right as far as Au-
gusta Nack was concerned, too . .
for a while—until her heart began
flipping for another boarder, Martin
Thorne. Willie Guldensuppe thought
he solved that problem by beating
Thorne up and kicking him out of the
house, but one day he came home
to find Augusta and Thorne alone to-
gether. He beat Thorne up again, and
threw him out a second time.

But brute force was not going to do
Willie any good, because Augusta want-
ed no part of him. She wanted Thorne,
and secretly she and Thorne began
plotting ways to make their meetings
safer. They had to get rid of Willie,
they decided, and Willie’s love played
right into their hands: in an effort to
win back Augusta, Willie told her one
day, he’d built a little summer cottage
—a dainty dream house—just for her.

“Jt isn’t all finished,” Willie told
her, “but let’s go out and look it over
this weekend. I think it'll make you
change your mind about me.”

Augusta thought it over. So did Mar-
tin Thorne. Augusta told Willie she’d
be happy to go with him.

When Willie and Augusta arrived
at the partly-furnished cottage, the
first thing Willie did was step up to
the closet to hang their wraps.

He opened the door and was shot
dead.

Martin Thorne was inside the closet

4)

en pf
~~ 7

/ ,
en

with a revolver. He. also had a butcher
knife, a bottle of carbolic acid and a
rope for hanging, just in case. None
of these aids was necessary: Willie
was very dead.

Thorne and Augusta lugged the
corpse to the bathtub. At last, they
were free of Willie. Now, with plenty
of leisure and.all the privacy they
needed, all they had to do was cut
up the body and get rid of it piece by
piece and no one would ever know
what had become of Willie.

When the first piece of him was
fished out of the East River on June
28, 1897, New York had a torso mur-
der but no possible identification of
the victim. Thorne and Augusta fig-
ured they were safe as long as no iden-
tification of  Willie’s dismembered
corpse could lead back to them.

Their plan seemed without flaw, and
it might have been except for a farmer
who wondered why his ducks were
turning red. He couldn’t figure it out
until he found them swimming in.a
nearby pond that was scummy with
crimson. It was a pond right near
which a New Yorker had recently put
up a cottage.

The farmer called the law, and the
trail from the pond lead right to Au-
gusta and Thorne, once blood stains in
the cottage indicated foul play and
the owner of the cottage was identi-
fied as Willie Guldensuppe.

Willie had told Augusta his dream
cottage was not entirely finished; it
was the plumbing that was incomplete:
the water lines were in but the sewer
pipes were not, and the bathtub mere-
ly drained into the pond. As the fiend-
ish killers cut up their victim, his
blood had drained into the pond. That
was the dead giveaway that eventually
sent Thorne to the chair and his mis-
tress to a long prison term. |

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THORN, Martin

A TRUE SHORT-SHOR

ALT Disney has immortalized
W PD »nald Duck, but few have heard
about Julia the Duck. Yet, Julia
covered herself with far more glory
than the screen bird. Julia helped
solve a murder that. had the New
York police running around in circles.
Julia led a calm, ladylike life on a
small farm at Woodside, Long Island,
but one night she failed to return at
her customary hour. Her owner, en-
visioning Julia neatly roasted on the
dining table of one of his neighbors,
searched frantically for her. He had
just about given up hope when Julia
waddled in, quacking contentedly.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the
farmer. “She’s covered with blood!”
He nervously examined Julia for
some trace of an executioner’s ax,

but no. sign of bodily harm was ~

visible.

The following mornin} Julia :was
released from her pen: Happily, she
waddled off through the trees, the
farmer close on her tail.

Ten minutes later he was shriek-
ing over the telephone to an excited
lieutenant in police headquarters.

“I’m not drunk I tell you,” he
yelled. “There is a pool of blood right
up the road leading from my house.”

“We'll be right over,” the ‘officer

replied.
In less than an hour a flock of de-
tectives were tracing the blood stream
to an unoccupied residence a short
distance away. Suddenly, one of the
plainclothesmen was struck by a
weird thought. ; :

64

EXP OSES,

March, 1943

“Say,” hejexclaimed to an associ-

late as they stood in the cellar of the:

‘deserted house. “I'll bet that guy
iwe’ve got in the morgue was killed
there! We've! been collecting pieces of
him all week.”

| “Collecting” was the word for it.
For six days, the police had been
finding dismembered parts of a hu-
man body, wrapped in red oilcloth.
Identification had been impossible.

| Finally, however, sufficient portions
had been gathered to enable several
lemployees from a Turkish bath to
identify the remains as those of a fel-
low worker) named Willie Gulden-
isuppe. He had been missing for some
itime.

| Further investigation developed
that Guldensuppe and an Italian bar-
‘ber, known as Martin Thorn, were
competitors for the affections of one
‘Augusta Nack.

Mrs. Nack, whose husband had left
lher, ran a cheap boarding house
‘where Guldensuppe and Thorn were
constant visitors. Guldensuppe was
the original contestant for the favors
lof Augusta,| but when Thorn. tossed
his hat into ithe ring, the first suitor
rapidly declined in prestige. However,
‘the fallen favorite persisted and, as a
‘result, the two fought it out. Thorn
received a severe beating over which
the brooded.. |
| This information first led police to
suspect Thorn, but no conclusive evi-
idence pointed the. finger of guilt at
either him or Mrs. Nack. The two
might have! escaped suspicion, had

Sa UR RE Se

m= is

t ernie
t The plotting woman
“| lured the unsuspect- ;°
‘Bing young man to.

5 Wek
“1@ her cottage. i;
Sh j (Specially Posed)

not Thorn’s tongue, loosened by
drink, babbled a complete confession
to an associate whose wife notified
the police. -

Thorn also implicated Augusta, and
both were soon arrested. Neverthe-
less, Mrs. Nack was amazingly un-
disturbed. When confronted with the
grisly remains of Guldensuppe, she
remarked indifferently, “I don’t be-
lieve those are Willie’s legs.”

However, purchases of the red oil-
cloth were eventually traced to her,
and when it was discovered that she’
and Thorn ‘had jointly leased the un-
inhabited house under an assumed
name, the case against the pair was
almost complete. Yet, the actual lo-
cale of the butchery was not known
until Julia the Duck, dripping with
gore, entered the picture.

Her blood bath had been provided
by Thorn. While vivisecting Gulden-
suppe’s body, he had let water run in
the bathtub—thinking it would empty
into a sewer. Instead the water ran
above ground and created the pool
in which Julia had wallowed.

When confronted with this fact, the
frightened murderer confessed:
“Augusta lured Guldensuppe to that
cottage where I shot him. Then I cut
up the body, while she stayed out:in
the yard. Later, she helped me get
rid of the pieces.”

Thus, it was Julia who furnished
the final link in the chain of evidence
that sent Thorn to the chair, and Mrs.
Nack to prison for nine years.

* * *

testim<
don'tir

4

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4

1 amar |

= srome sss8O


ievelopments were
erent parts of the

purb of Woodside,
t by the name of
ghter by vocation,
out something. Mr.
ite domestic ducks.
zen, for his own use.
. man who enjoyed
. fact, had liked to
f a Saturday night
y morning, he would
1, holding his head
coursing to himself
ng beverages.
pe following the
ruldensuppe had be-
ial and scattered ap-
had been sitting on
ing to contain his
-ention was attracted
Mr. Wahle took his
hinge at his fowl
his first impulse was
r to touch a drop of
day he lived. For
are pink. Not brown,
nor speckled. Pink!
yndering if the color
al or fancied hue in-
mmoned a neighbor.
cks. ‘What color,” he
“are those ducks?”
ighbor, “they’re pink,

‘avily in relief. Then
\in’t that the damned-
en?” he asked. “Now
ks get pink all of a

z in the water they’re
said the neighbor.

* *

VS request that the
asize the oilcloth and
sieces of the body had
>gan to pay off. The
sf a small dry goods
Dutch Hills section of
across the East River *
id not far from Jake
_ read the newspapers
jolice. On the Saturday
ours before the boys
ece of Guldensuppe—
nedium-sized man with
jeeks had entered the
or some oilcloth and
) wrap some packages.
packages?” asked the

zes. Maybe this size.”
tranger—held his palms
yart.

kages do you want to
woman, trying to figure.
naterial the purchaser

or six. Give me enough
so much canvas.

Jked out with some red

ioral design, some white
canvas. When detectives
ods proprietor the wrap-
suldensuppe had turned
. the material as that
d to the Saturday morn-
Then the yardage was
‘Brien and his men, it
‘l of the red oilcloth had
yst of the white and most
Chere would have been
sloth and enough canvas
up the still missing head.

ERS who had crossed
ee a Long Island-Man-
previous Saturday morn-
sr the stranger had made
the Long Island City dry-

goods store, had long memories. They
had noticed a man—a man with remarkably
rosy cheeks—carrying a large bundle, done
up in red oilcloth with a distinctive floral
design, acting very furtively on the stern
of the ferry. One of these passengers was
under the impression that the man had
left the ferry driving a surrey.

As the hours wore on, O’Brien, sitting at
his desk in headquarters going over re-
ports coming in from all parts of the city,
began to hear more and more about the
man with the rosy cheeks. When, on Mon-
day, the intelligence had come in from the
dry-goods store on Long Island, the de-
tective chief had assigned men to comb
the area for some trace of the furtive
stranger.

The sleuths turned up the fact that such
a man had been seen driving a surrey near
the store the previous Saturday morning
and, in the words of one informant, beating
the hell out of the horse to make it go
faster. What color, O’Brien inquired, was
the horse? Black. O’Brien ordered livery
stables canvassed. “Chances are,” he said,
“the man who was making that horse go
so fast hired it at a livery stable. No man
treats his own horse that way.”

Now the captain issued instructions that
all telegraph offices be checked in quest
of the original of the telegram that Mrs.
Nack had received from Guldensuppe on
Saturday. O’Brien, like many Irish officers,
played hunches. He had a hunch that Gul-
densuppe had never left the confines of
New York City. He did not, as a matter
of fact, think that Guldensuppe sent the
wire at all.

The captain, whose every move, hunch
or deduction, had paid off with stunning
effect, was right again. The original of
the telegram bearing Guldensuppe’s name
was turned up at a telegraph office on
West Forty-sixth Street, near Sixth Ave-
nue, only a short walk from the baths
where Guldensuppe was employed, and not
far from Mrs. Nack’s home. It was hardly
likely, on the face of it, that Guldensuppe,
a nickel nurser, would have gone to the
expense of sending a wire to Mrs. Nack
when he could have walked to her house
and given her a verbal message for noth-
ing. The clerk who had taken the original
message took many messages during the
course of a busy day and therefore seldom

~ remembered what: the senders looked like.

But the clerk remembered the sender of
this wire. The man had “the reddest
cheeks,” said the clerk, “I ever saw.”

The handwriting on the original message
was bold—straight up and down. The mes-
sage was taken around to Mrs. Nack’s. The
woman looked at it, although she appeared
to be looking at something just beyond it.
“Not Mr. Guldensuppe’s writing,” she said
with an air of finality. “Not his at all.”

“Do you have any idea whose writing it
is, then?”

Mrs. Nack shrugged. “Maybe some hus-
band with a wife,” she ventured to sug-
gest, “who was friends with Mr. Gulden-
suppe.”

Mrs. Nack was now beset by another
problem she had not bothered the police
swith on the occasion of their first visit.
‘Guldensuppe, it now developed, had been
short at the pockets the day he disap-
peared and, not having time to go to the
bank, had borrowed $50 from his landlady.
“How,” Mrs. Nack inquired, “will I get

"my money back?”

2

qe NEXT RUMBLE that was relayed
+ to O’Brien was from one of the detec-
‘tives assigned to canvass livery stables in
“search of the black horse and the surrey.
‘This officer, asking the same question for
‘perhaps the twentieth time, got an im-
mediate response out of August Streuning,
“who owned a stable in the 400 block on

‘Ninth Avenue. Streuning certainly did own

such a rig. The black horse that drew the
surrey, a comparatively valuable mare, had
been out from early Saturday morning
until late in the afternoon. “And I wish,”
Streuning told the sleuth, “I could lay my
hands on the guy that hired it.”

“Why?” asked the dick.

“Because,” said Streuning, “he almost
ran her to death. I wasn’t here when she
came in in the afternoon but the boy who
works for me says she was covered with
sweat.”

“Did you see the man who hired the rig
when he took it out?” asked the dick.

“Yeah, I saw him. He paid in advance
and put down a deposit.”

“Who was he? Did he sign anything?”

“He didn’t give no name. But I’d know
him.”

“How?”

“His cheeks. They were practically the
color of blood!”

From the various sources who had seen
the man—the livery stable people, the
woman in the dry-goods store, and the
passengers on the ferry—it appeared that
he had been about 40. Aside from his facial
coloring, he had been quite nondescript.
But those rosy cheeks were a really dis-
tinctive clue and one that O’Brien was
thankful for.

BY THIS TIME part of the pattern of the
crime was quite clear to O’Brien. The
man with the red cheeks was obviously
neck deep in guilt. He had somehow pre-
vailed upon Guldensuppe, or contrived that
Guldensuppe be prevailed upon, to be
absent from work on the Friday. Gulden-
suppe had promised:to be back at work
Saturday. He wasn’t back at work for the
simple reason that he had been murdered
—murdered, O’Brien figured, on Friday. It
had been on Saturday that the man with
the red cheeks had begun to cover his
tracks and dispose of the body. He had
covered his own tracks, or at least at-
tempted to, by covering Guldensuppe’s. He
had sent that telegram which would at
least delay the onset of any alarm over
the victim’s whereabouts until the killer
had a chance to get rid of the remains.

The way O’Brien had it doped out, the
dismembering of the body had probably
kept the murderer quite occupied following
the murder on Friday. By Saturday morn-
ing, the murderer had been ready to ad-
dress himself to the problem of disposal
of the Guldensuppe sections. He had hired
the rig on Ninth Avenue, driven to Long
Island, purchased the oilcloth and the
canvas, performed his wrapping chores,
disposed of the pieces during the return
to Manhattan via ferry, then sent the spuri-
ous telegram.

The fact that the killer had hired the
rig in Manhattan, then driven to Long
Island to purchase his wrappings, plus the
fact that he had been seen with a bundle
Rr a ferry traveling from Long Island to

anhattan, indicated to the detective chief
that the murder had taken place on Long
Island and that the body had been cut up
there.

O’Brien sent his men swarming over
Long Island like locusts. Thus they came
upon Jake Wahle, the man with the pink
ducks. The ducks were still slightly pink.
They did their swimming in a little stream
in the rear of Wahle’s property. The
officers began to examine the stream. They
examined everything that emptied into it.
They came to a small, two-story cottage
that drained into the stream, less than 500
feet from Wahle’s house. The cottage was
unoccupied. Wahle said it was owned by a
woman in New York. She rented it to who-
ever wanted it during the summer months.

The more the sleuths looked. at that
empty cottage, the more interesting it be-
came. They shouldered their way through

the front door. The place was furnished

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neatly but cheaply. Everything seemed to
be in order—on the first floor, anyway. It
was on the second floor that the police
solved the riddle of the pink ducks, One
of the bedrooms and the bathroom looked
like a branch of a big New York slaughter-
house. The rooms were a shambles. Blood
everywhere. The answer was shudderingly
lucid now. The bathtub drained into the
stream where the ducks did their swim-
ming. The ducks had become pink by water
reddened with the blood of William Gul-
densuppe.

A family who lived near the cottage had
seen a surrey drawn by a black horse pull
up to the place on Saturday morning. A
man and a woman had emerged from the
surrey and gone into the house. Later,
they had come out together, carrying
several bundles The family had not gotten
a look at the woman. All they knew was
that she had been a very large woman—
“as broad as she was long.”

The woman who owned the cottage lived
in Manhattan. She had, she told O’Brien’s
men, rented the place, for the month of
July, to a man named Fred Braun—a
gentleman whose outstanding character-
istic was his rosy cheeks. Mr. Braun had
given as his address a number on Ninth
Avenue, in the 400 block, that turned out
to be a vacant lot. The landlady had never
seen Braun prior to the transaction. He had
paid a month’s rent in advance, and then,
on the Monday after Guldensuppe’s pieces
had begun to show up, had dropped her a
note saying he wouldn’t be occupying the
place after all but to keep the rent he
had paid her. She still had the note. It
was written in a bold hand, almost straight
up and down—the same hand that had
worded the telegram bearing Gulden-
suppe’s name.

0% THE TUESDAY following the Satur-
day when William Guldensuppe had
begun to appear in jig-saw form, O’Brien
fell to thinking, in the light of other things,
about Gussie Nack. It was, he decided, high
time he had a little talk with the midwife.
He had more than one reason for his de-
cision, Mrs. Nack had been described to
him as being as broad as she was tall—a
description that fitted a great many women,
to be sure, but which also fitted the woman
who had been seen entering the murder
cottage.

Then there was the matter of the 400
block on Ninth Avenue—the block where
Mrs. Nack functioned as a midwife. Two
items pertinent to the mystery had turned
up in that block. One was the livery stable
where the surrey had been hired. And
now it turned out that Fred Braun, who-
ever, precisely, he was, had chosen the
400 block of Ninth Avenue as the locale
of his spurious address. A person must
know a block pretty well to determine
which numbers on it are vacant lots. Was
there, O’Brien wondered, any connection
between the fact that Mrs. Nack lived in
the 400 block of Ninth Avenue and that
the killer had chosen that particular
block to hire the surrey and to establish
his fictitious address?

When Mrs. Nack waddled into his office,
O’Brien recognized that she dripped with
guilt. The detective chief motioned her to
a chair. He just sat looking at her for
comeeny seconds, making up his mind about

er.

“Who,” he asked at length, “is Fred
Braun?”

Mrs. Nack’s oily skin began to redden.

“Who,” repeated O’Brien, “is Fred
Braun? And where is he?”

Mrs. Nack said she didn’t know what
the captain was talking about. What, the

T detective chief wanted to know, had she
D been doing out on-Long Island, the previ-

ous Saturday morning? Mrs. Nack denied

8 having been on Long Island Saturday

morning. So it went. The closer O’Brien’s
questions got to the heart of the murder,
the more vigorous her denials became. At
length, O’Brien told her she could go.

The captain realized that Mrs. Nack, by
virtue of her ugliness and her guile, had
derailed the two detectives who had first
questioned her about her possible rela-
tions with Guldensuppe—even throwing
out such a red herring as the statement
that Guldensuppe had borrowed $50 from
her. He now assigned other officers to
thread their way into her past.

N EVERY NEIGHBORHOOD there is at

least one woman who specializes in
minding other people’s business. The
officers now located such a woman. Mrs.
Nack’s next door neighbor.

Herman Nack, her absent husband,“had
left her because William Guldensuppe, the
early-day wolf, had beaten his time with
Mrs. Nack. Herman Nack, it seems, was a
timid soul. When he learned that Gulden-
suppe had supplanted him in the affections

of his wife, he had just packed up and -

had gone away.

Apparently Gussie Nack had charms that
did not meet the eye and which flowered
best when darkness obliterated her short-
comings. Guldensuppe had, for five dollars
a week, not only received meals and
lodging but the amatory services of the
midwife. He had been, for all practical
purposes, the head of the household for

TO KEEP OUT FIREMEN?
Recently a department store in Perth,
Australia, was destroyed by fire, re-
sulting in a loss of $160,000, in spite of
the best efforts of the fire department.
However, the firemen were quick to
point out the reason for their failure.
They had been unable to bring the
fire under control because of the steel
fireproof door the store had installed,

—Lawrence R. Barney

=

almost a year. Then Mrs. Nack. over the
rubber’s protests, took in another boarder
—a rosy-cheeked man named Fred Braun.
The new boarder, it appeared, was some-
thing of a great lover, too. He was a
smallish man, compared to Guldensuppe,
but he was a one-woman man—a quality
never resident in Guldensuppe. Gussie
Nack knew a good thing when she saw it.

Something had to happen. And it did.
Guldensuppe’s' suspicions were soon
aroused. Late one night he decided to look
in on Braun, quietly. The rival was not
in his room. When Guldensuppe did locate
him he gave him a frightful shellacking
and tossed him out into Ninth Avenue,
with his belongings after him. The fracas
aroused the entire neighborhood.

That had been about four months before
the murder. Guldensuppe had thereupon
taken the place in Mrs. Nack’s affections
that he had occupied before Braun’s ap-
pearance on the horizon—or so he thought.
Braun, however, continued to visit Mrs.
Nack frequently while Guldensuppe was
‘away at work.

The whole thing was clear now. Braun,

whoever he was, had killed Guldensuppe
for two reasons: out of vengeance and to

remove an obstacle. And Gussie Nack had

undoubtedly been in on the plot.

Mrs. Nack’s gossipy neighbor said she
understood that Braun was a barber. This
was another corroboration of one of
O’Brien’s earliest deductions, based on the
report of Dr. O’Hanlon that the dismem-
bering of William Guldensuppe had been
performed with definite skill.

The police, keeping a close eye on Gussie
Nack, spread the dragnet for Braun. There
were no barbers named Braun. There was,
however, an extremely rosy-cheeked
barber by the name of Martin Thorn. He
was employed in a midtown shop.

Thorn was Braun. He had adopted the
name of Braun when boarding with Mrs.
Nack. He was picked up, charged with the
murder and promptly identified as the man
who had rented the murder cottage, the
man who had hired the surrey, the man
who had bought the oilcloth, the man who
had been seen with the bundle on the
ferry, and the man who had sent the tele-
gram signed Guldensuppe. Still he wouldn’t
talk.

Rs MRS. NACK TALKED. Plenty. It
had been just as the police figured.
Thorn, alias Braun, had been so enamoured
of Mrs. Nack’s hidden attractions, and
had come to bear such hatred for his
rival as a result of the beating Gulden-
suppe had given him, that he had decided
to kill two birds with one stone.

Thorn, after talking the plot over with
Mrs. Nack and getting her cooperation,
had rented the cottage on Long Island. It
had been Mrs. Nack who had lured Gul-
densuppe there. “I got a chance to rent a
nice place for the summer,” she had
told him. “Come with me and look at it,”
That was how Guldensuppe had asked for
a day off—a day off to get murdered.

Thorn, the plotter, was hiding in a closet
in an upstairs bedroom when Gussie and
Guldensuppe reached the cottage late on
Friday afternoon. Thorn stepped out of
the closet and shot Guldensuppe through
the head. Gussie went back to New.
York while Thorn got down to the business
of dismembering the body.

Thorn had come to the cottage well
equipped for what he had in mind. He had
brought his razors with’ him. He had also
brought a saw and some pilaster of Paris,
After cutting the body up in the bathtub
he devoted special attention to the head.
Knowing that a head would be the quickest
and most certain means of identification,
he decided to make sure it was never
found. He hollowed the head by way of
the neck, then filled in the space with
plaster of Paris, poured water on it and
left it to harden overnight.

Next morning, Saturday, Thorn went to
New York, picked up the surrey, and drove
out to Long Island. He bought the oil-
cloth and the canvas, then he and Gussie
Nack went to the cottage. She helped him
with the wrapping.

On the way back to New York, under
shadows of darkness, Gussie helped’ Thorn
dispose of the remains. \

The head of William Guldensuppe, which
he lost first to Gussie Nack, then to Martin
Thorn, was never found. But it wasn’t
needed. The physician who had operated
on Guldensuppe for the felon on one of
his fingers identified the scar. That, and the
other recovered parts of the body, estab:
lished the corpus delicti.

Gussie Nack turned state’s evidence at
Martin Thorn’s trial before Judge Maddox
in Long Island City in December, 1897
Thorn was executed at Sing Sing Prison the
following August. Gussie Nack drew 15
years. When she completed her sentence
the prison doors were opened to her. She
walked out and vanished.

TRIGG
TERRC

(Continued fr
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road, he land.
and cracked ]

Dazedly he

on his back jy
reached out a
limbs, and w
motionless, wa

The voices 0
toward him,
Ing down fro:
see nothing, b.
heard the girl
her bullet had
of the men re,
as the fall was

A few mome
car drive away.
_As the sound
distance, Smith
to climb back L
Toad. To his as
he couldn’t moy
whatever in the
his legs seemed ;

doll,

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to turn over, but
Spiring, he gave
a merciless bree;
to the bone, he
had happened to _

Abruptly, with
realized the Stag
that had failed {
left him paralyze.
if he had no legs.
he was, Precariou

of the cliff, and hc
happen and someo:
he died.

4

8eodetic surve
the Bakersfield on
Richmond, Californ
when, around 3 0%
found himself grov
could not trust hin
at the wheel, Jus
Parker turned off
Parked, After locki
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seat of his car and v
Parker. was awak:
ping on the window
and Saw a girl sta;
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reply came in muffle
stood her to Say that
Parker rolled doy
found himself lookin
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Saw a hulking figure s
locked the door, and
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slugging him on the he
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After a few Mumbled
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PERPLEXING PUZZLE OF
THE PACKAGED PARAMOUR

SO CAREFULLY PLOTTED AND EXECUTED WAS THE MURDER, IT MIGHT HAVE
GONE UNPUNISHED — EXCEPT FOR THE CLUE OF THE BLOODSTAINED DUCK!

* WHEN HIS VISITOR walked in-
to his office at the Homicide Bureau
in New York City Police Headquar-
ters, it was not surprising that Cap-
tain Steve O’Brien’s face expressed a
good deal of fastonishment. The man,
a Norwegian, was carrying a duck
under his arm, and the bird was pro-
26

If not for a duck, this man’s murder might have gone unsolved.

testing vigorously and raucously at
the indignity. For a moment, not a
word was spoken as the captain and
the duck stared at each other. O’Brien
was not the man to be embarrassed
long by a fowl, and he soon found
words.

“What in the name of all the saints

by Jules Griffon

is the meaning of this?” O’Brien de-
manded, :

“You are a detective policeman?”
asked the Norwegian mildly.

“Yeh,” replied O’Brien curtly. “Who
are you, a lunatic?”

“No, I bane a caretaker in Woodside,
Long Island,” answered the Norwegian
with quiet gravity. “My name is Charles
Iverson. This is Olaf, my pet duck.”

“Thanks for the information,”
snapped O’Brien. “I’m glad to know
he ain’t a hippopotamus. Now get him
out of here. I’m busy!”

Iverson scratched an ear deliberately.
It was evident that he had something on
his mind and he was thinking of the best
way to put it into words. :

“1 don’t think you understand, mis-
ter,” he said. “You look carefully at
Olaf’s breast and you see dried blood.
I bane sure it is human blood, Maybe
somebody has been killed.”

The captain took a closer look, What
he had first thought was merely a red-
dish tinge on the duck’s breast was un-
doubtedly a dried, matted something
that did resemble blood.

O’Brien cracked the knuckles of both
of his freckled hands thoughtfully.
‘From a desk drawer he tock a pair of
scissors and from the water cooler a
beer glass. He handed both to Iverson,

’ asking him to cut some of the discolored

down from the duck’s breast.

When this had been done to the ac-
companiment of Olaf’s quacking pro-
tests, he sent the half-filled glass of down
to the laboratory for analysis. Then he
asked Detective Tom Cunningham, his
assistant, to look through the files for
recent crime reports from Woodside.

“Why are you sure this is human
blood?” he demanded of Iverson. “And
how did it get on the duck?”

The caretaker answered with simple
directness. In Oslo, the old country, he
said, he had been apprenticed to an
undertaker. That was how he knew what
human blood looked like. He hadn’t
liked his job. He had come to America,
taken out his citizenship papers-and had
been a caretaker and gardener on Long
Island for almost thirty years.

At present he was custodian of a large
house in Woodside. His sole compan-
ion was Olaf. The duck wandered
around on his own a good part of the
days and was fond of seeking shallow
pools in which to swim. Two days ago
he had come home from one of his ex-
cursions with his breast stained.

oper

-

This woman sought vengeance.

Suspecting that somebody had met
with foul play, Iverson had followed
Olaf on the next day. He had trailed him
to the back yard of a small, two story
house where he had seen him swimming
in a tiny pond resulting from a leaky
ccllar pipe. The water was tinged with
red.

There was something queer about the
house, the caretaker added. While it
appeared to be deserted, he thought he
heard the sound of water running in it.
Of course it might have been from the
leaky pipe alone, although he imagined
he.also heard it from somewhere on the
second floor. He had mentioned all this
to neighbors. As a good citizen, they had
told him, he should report everything
directly to the police and so he had
come with Olaf.

“You did just right,” O’Brien said

more amiably. “What’s been doing in
Woodside, Cunningham?”
- “Not a thing, Captain. Couple scorch-
ers on bicycles arrested. Outside of that
like a Sunday school. Here’s the general
New York list.”

He handed O’Brien the detailed re-
port of the most recent homicides,
There were almost a score of them.
They included half a dozen Black Hand
vendettas in Harlem, two tong killings
in the vicinity of Chatham Square, a
grimly choice assortment of robbery-
with-murders. Last on the list was the
curious notation: “July 19, 1897. Pair
of legs. Muscular, heavy, male. Blond
hairs. Severed by sharp instrument at
hip-joints, Recovered from East River
at foot of 12th Street, approximately
noon by Roundsman Dunnigan. Corded
and wrapped in black-striped red oil-
cloth. Disposition, Morgue. Surgeon’s
report: Victim probably heavy set man
of 200 pounds about 40 years of age.
Dead 24 hours. No claimants or identi-
fication. Pending.”

With a pencil O’Brien put a large
question-mark next to this data. He had

DETECTIVE CASES, JUNE, 196h.

been about to turn Iverson and the duck
over to precinct detectives in Queens
County. That would have been the
normal procedure for investigating the
Woodside house, But the severed legs
which had come under his jurisdiction
as a “New York murder” had put a new
aspect on the matter. It was just barely
possible, he reflected, that some homi-
cidal Woodsider had heaved the grisly
bundle from the East River ferry. At
least it was worth looking into,

Presently word came from the lab-
oratory that the matted substance in
the beer glass was indisputably human
blood. Iverson nodded solemnly and the
duck eyed O’Brien with truculent sus-
picion. He was not to be taken in by
the detective’s conciliatory words.

“Looks as if you and your duck there
have been a real help to us, Iverson,”
said O’Brien. “Detective Cunningham
and I will go back to Woodside. with you
and have a look around if you'll be good
enough to show us the house.”

The three men and the duck went to
Woodside where they rented a surrey,
and at Iverson’s direction drove about a
mile along the tree-lined road.

_“T live here,” said the caretaker point-
ing to the largest house in a group of
four or five. “The house where Olaf was
swimming is down there.” He indicated
a small dwelling with three dormer win-
dows, which was somewhat isolated and
set well back from the road. He seemed
somewhat chagrined when O’Brien
stopped to let him and his duck out of
the surrey.

“We'll probably call on you before
long,” the detective assured him. “That’s
about all you can do to help us right
now.”

When O’Brien and Cunningham drew
up to the house they observed that the
caretaker had been telling the truth.
There was a small pool of red-tinted
water on the right side of the house and
they saw it was being fed from a broken
drain pipe partly buried in the ground.
Further, they distinctly heard the sound
of running water in one of the rooms
above.

“That tile pipe is a waste drain con-
nected with the sinks and bathtub,”
commented Cunningham who knew his
plumbing.

O’Brien eyed a cellar door that had
an impressive lock on it. He inspected
it more closely, took a screw driver from
his pocket and removed four screws
from its hasp. Then he swung open the
doors.

“We'll take a look around,” he de-
clared.

The cellar was neat and orderly. So
was the main floor. The parlor, with its
heavy, overstuffed furniture, appeared
well dusted and the kitchen, stocked
with utensils, was scrupulously clean.
Aside from the fact that there were no
personal knick-knacks or souvenirs
about, there was nothing to awaken
their suspicion.

They walked up the stairs to the sec-
ond floor and made their way down the
narrow hall to the bathroom, guided by
the sound of running water. There, in
the high bathtub, they found both fau-

He loved the pretty redhead. :

cets turned full on, The reason why the
tub itself wasn’t overflowing was be-
cause no stopper was in the drain.
O’Brien shut both faucets off. ‘

“Someone,” he opined, “wanted to
make dead sure that the bottom of this
tub was perfectly clean. Why?”

“Could be that it was used as a sort
of carving block and the killer wanted
to wash away the evidence,” volunteered
Cunningham.

“Yeah, but we knew almost as much
as that before leaving headquarters,”
said O’Brien a bit tartly. “But who and
why? You get busy and find out who
lived here and how long. Go and talk
to Iverson’s neighbors. I’ll do some more
looking around here.”

When Cunningham left, O’Brien ex-
amined the bathroom carefully, but dis-
covered nothing. A search of the two
small but neat bedrooms likewise failed
to disclose anything suspicious.
then opened the large linen closet in the
hall and found that it was empty. Then
he saw something which caused him to
stop in quick surprise. Imbedded in the
clean plaster wall of the narrow hall at
chest height and directly opposite the
linen closet was a leaden slug that look-
ed as though it had been fired from a
.38 revolver.

The detective got down on his hands
and knees and examined the varnished
floor. Almost directly under the crack
caused by the slug it appeared to him
as if the varnish was worn off. It might
well have been subjected to a vigorous
scrubbing with soap and brush. On all
fours he crawled slowly towards the
bathroom. At intervals there were other
places where the floor had been lustily
scrubbed.

He got to his feet, walked back to the
linen closet, and stepped into it apprais-
ingly. “Someone,” he told himself with

conviction, “was waiting in this closet
for someone else to open this door.
(Continued on page 54)
27

He-

q

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ee ay

urgrey ‘NYOHL

cate § egTgH

er,

*g6gT-T-g (sueend) yzoZ 4 ON peqnoory

ever did that would have needed a key
to get into the store after Mrs. Stein
went to bed. Then there was the poi-
soned candy. When it was delivered to
the store Votta received it without
Elizabeth Stein knowing about it. He
carefully stuffed the chocolates with
poison, and didn’t give the box to her
until Friday.”

“It adds—to the point of the back
door being broken in,” Koch. said.
“Votta had a key and could have got
in to turn the gas on, but why break
his way in on the night that she was
shot?”

“He realized that Elizabeth didn’t eat
enough of the candy to. die. He was
present in the store when Debois argued
with her and ate six. pieces of candy.
He figured that Debois had unknow-
ingly poisoned himself. Believing De-
bois would die, an apparent suicide, he
decided to act that very night, but to
operate the way Debois might if Debois
had to kill Mrs. Stein. Instead of using
his key to let himself in quietly, he
broke the door down, as Debois would
have done!”

Koch braked the squad car at this

point, directly in front of Votta’s house.
They’ were too late, relatives informed
them. Louis Votta had left in his car
about an hour before. Mintiens got on
the police radio network. He ordered
into operation a state-wide search for
Votta, describing the man and _ his
Pontiac sedan.

Two days passed without an arrest.
On Monday morning Harold Debois
was classed as “out of danger” by his
physician. The sleuths immediately
went to the hospital and questioned him.

Debois revealed that Votta had been
secretly in love with Elizabeth Stein for
three years, although nobody had sus-
pected this. “Votta must have inter-
cepted the candy I sent her. He was
taking inventory at the time I ate that
candy. I shouldn’t have eaten it. As for
the pinch-bar and screwdriver, Votta
was lying when he said I borrowed
them.”

On Wednesday afternoon the search
for Louis Votta came to an end when
a police patrol squad spotted a curious
sight at a lonely spot off the Bird River
Grove a few miles outside of Baltimore.

A Pontiac sedan was parked near the

Grove, an inner tube leading from the ~

exhaust pipe into the rear window. All
the windows were tightly shut, and
slumped at the steering wheel was the
body of Louis Votta. He was dead—
from carbon monoxide poisoning.
Under the dashboard police found a .22
caliber target pistol, with one shot fired
from it. Ballistics tests proved that the
one discharged bullet was the one that

had killed Elizabeth Stein. A note on‘

the seat proved to be Votta’s confession.
“I made sure nobody else would have
Elizabeth,” the note read.

A formal charge of murder was *

placed against 38-year-old Louis G.
Votta on the docket at the Northeastern
District Police Station. Following that
entry were the words: “‘Abated by death,
January 8th, 1947, at White Marsh,
Baltimore County.”

Votta, who attempted to pin guilt
on an innocent man, had been driven
to abandon his perfect murder plot and
seek escape in the only way left to him
—suicide. Shrewd and persistent detec-
tive work had prevented injustice and
pressured the guilty man into suicide *

THE PACKAGED PARAMOUR
(Continued from page 27)

Whoever it was knew that the door was
going to be opened.

“When the closet door was opened
the party of the first part let the party
of the second have it. Probably right
through the heart. After that the killer
dragged, not carried, his or her victim
into the bathroom, stopping for a
breather where those bloodstains were
scrubbed up and—” .

Pleased with himself, the detective
reached into his pocket and took out
the copy of the general homicide list
and carefully read the notation next to
which he had penciled a question mark.

“Surgeon’s report: Victim probably
heavy set man of 200 pounds,” he re-
peated to himself. “That would -tally
with the need for dragging the body.
Then into the bathtub where the body
was cut up and the parts wrapped in
black-striped red oilcloth. As for the
clothes—”

O’Brien made for the cellar and
opened the furnace door. The inside of
the furnace was as clean as a whistle.
He gave an exclamation of disappoint-
ment. Then his face lighted. Of course,
he told himself. The party of the first
part was cautious. Burning clothes in
the furnace would mean chimney smoke
in July. That would excite the neigh-
bors’ curiosity if not suspicion. Smoke
in the stove pipe was something else
again.

He went upstairs to the kitchen,
opened all the lids of the cumbersomely
ornate wood stove and began probing
54

with the poker. Mixed with the charred
wood-ends and wood ashes were the
lighter ashes of burnt rags. Presently he
was rewarded with a small patch of bad-
ly scorched pepper-and-salt suiting
which he carefully placed in his leather
wallet. :

“All we have to do now,” he told
himself, “is to find out who is the party
of the first and of the second part and
why one killed the other.”

Returning to headquarters he learned
that Detective Cunningham had not yet
returned. While he had been away a
chest and torso wrapped in black-striped
red oilcloth had been found by two
small boys playing in the Inwood Park
section of the Bronx. The bundle had
been taken to the morgue.

It had been a hot day and O’Brien
was tired. Still, pleased with develop-
ments, he decided to run over to the
morgue. He went to the water cooler,
ran his handkerchief under the tap and
gratefully placed the linen over his red,
heavily freckled face for a moment.
Then he called Detective Brodie to him.
Handing him a small patch of black-
striped red oilcloth he said:

“Brodie, go over to the Dutchman’s
and have a beer for yourself and one for
me. You'll need ’em because you're
going to be awfully thirsty. I want you
to go out to Woodside and get me the
name of everybody in a ten mile area
who has bought any of this stuff in the
last month. It’s going to be tough be-
cause almost every school kid uses mate-
rial like this to cover his books, not to
mention all the women who use it for
their shelves and tables!”

At the morgue O’Brien viewed the
torso briefly and spoke to the doctor

who had performed the autopsy. There
was no doubt that the legs previously
found and this torso had belonged to
the same victim, Dr, McClellan assured
him. There was.no trace of poison in the
stomach. The man had probably died
instantly as a result of a gunshot wound
that had passed right through his chest
at close range.

O’Brien nodded. “What about that
‘large superficial wound on the chest
area?” he asked.

Dr. McClellan’s heavy brows met in
a furrow. “That was done with a very
sharp instrument, a knife or even a
razor, to prevent identification,” he said.
“The victim probably had a large skin
blemish.”

“Or perhaps a tattoo mark,” the de-
tective added. “Somehow he was begin-
ning to think that the muscular build
of the victim was associated with sea-
faring. It was just a hunch.

“Yes, that could be, Captain,” the
doctor said and he had one helpful com-
ment to add, Whoever had performed
the dissection had done so very skill-
fully. He might have been a surgeon, a
butcher, or perhaps a barber.

“With all this running around and
finding of body parts we still don’t know
who this chap is,” O’Brien commented
tuefully. “No one, in the past few
weeks, has reported a missing person
like him. If his head wouid only turn
up somewhere it would be a big help.”

O’Brien went home to his hot flat
where he had a late meal. Then he
tumbled into bed and had fitful dreams
about a large red duck that kept rolling
unidentified heads across his desk in the
Homicide Bureau.

On the following morning he found

DETECTIVE CASES

x

4a

Cunningham waiting for him at Head-
quarters with a report of his investiga-
tion. About two weeks ago, he said, a
couple who gave their names as Mr.
and Mrs, F, Braun had inquired at a
Woodside real estate agent’s office about
the possibility of renting a small fur-
nished house. They had announced their
intention of moving from New York
City to the suburbs,

“This agent showed ’em the house,”
said Cunningham. “They seemed to like
it well enough and gave him a month’s
rent in advance. Braun was about five
foot six, 38 years old, black haired and
on the thin side. He was a snappy dress-,
er. His wifé was about five foot four,
kind of curvy and red headed. Dreifuss

guessed she was about 30 or so. Hard °

to tell exactly. An attractive woman.”
“What did the neighbors say?” asked
O’Brien.
“They couldn’t add anything. Saw

little or nothing of the couple.”

. “Maybe we ought to have another
talk with Iverson.”

“I thought of that,” said Cunning-
ham, “I dropped in on him after I had
seen the others. He and that duck of his
don’t know anything but what they al-

‘ready told us.”

FTER bringing Cunningham up to

date on the other developments,
O’Brien consulted a New York City Di-
rectory. Altogether there were twenty-
one Brauns in the book. None of them
had the initial “F.”

“Here’s another job for you,” said
O’Brien. “Look up all these Brauns. I
don’t think that any of them will fit the
description that this man gave you. But
Braun is an odd name and I don’t think
that Woodside couple just picked it out
of a hat. One or both of them must
know a Braun. Now find out if one of
the Brauns ever knew them.”

O’Brien was rather hopeful that the
arms and perhaps the head of the un-
known victim would show up some-
where in New York City that day. He
stuck pretty close to his desk as a result,

“But nothing happened. Before going

home he checked with the Missing Per-
sons sergeant. No one had been inquir-
ing for a 40-year-old, blond, two hun-
dred pounder.

“Beginning to look like an out-of-
towner,” reflected O'Brien. “If I’m right
about that seaman hunch it may even
be tougher. He might even be a for-
eigner who was met at one of the piers
by the ‘F. Brauns’ and lured over to
Woodside to be robbed and murdered.”

However, the careful planning, the
execution and the disposal of the re-
mains of the murder victim seemed too
elaborate for merely the commission of
robbery and the killing of some hapless
sailor. The precautions taken rather
were those which a slayer would take
with a man who was well known.

It wasn’t until the following day that
Detective Brodie put in a weary appear-
ance. “I shoulda dipped my arm in a
pitcher of beer right up to the elbow at
the Dutchman’s before I started on this
thing,” he remarked.

“What’s the matter?” O’Brien asked.

DETECTIVE CASES

“Writer’s cramp,” answered Brodie
laying several sheets of foolscap on the
desk. “Everybody buys black-striped red
oilcloth. Few of ’em give their names.
Here’s the list and descriptions. Where
the clerk was able to remember their
names I put them down.”

The captain went carefully over the
list. About halfway through he paused
at one notation. Eight days before, at
the Woodside Dry Goods and Notions,
a “handsome, buxom red-haired woman
of about 32 had purchased ten yards,
more or less, of black-striped red oil-
cloth.”

“This is what we’re looking for,” said
O’Brien, elated. “What did you find out
about her?”

“Not much,” answered Brodie. “The
clerk said she must be new in the neigh-
borhood, He hadn’t seen her before or
since. She did make some remark about
prices being a lot cheaper over on Ninth
Avenue.” :

T THAT O'Brien’s freckled red face
positively shone. “That’s good,
Brodie,” he said. “Very good indeed.
Now we know that she isn’t an out-of-
towner. Let’s see what Cunningham is
going to dig up.”

He spent the rest of the day in the
rogues’ gallery looking for a picture of
a buxom, attractive red-haired woman.
He made almost a dozen tentative selec-
tions, adding several older women who,
by even a remote flight of fancy, might
qualify, and brought the photographs
in to Brodie. He told the detective to
take the pictures back.to Woodside and,
beginning with the dry goods clerk,
show them around in the community
with the hope of having one of them
identified as Mrs. F. Braun.

Cunningham put in his appearance.
There was a slight, forgivable swagger
in his walk. Like a big game hunter who
had just made a kill. He was still young
and impressionable enough to think that
detecting was adventurous.

There was a Mr. and Mrs. August
Braun, he reported to the captain, who
lived in a flat over a delicatessen and
restaurant at Tenth Avenue ‘and 28th
Street. The couple who had formerly
owned the eating and drinking establish-
ment, they had told Cunningham, were
a Mr. and Mrs. Herman Nack who
appeared to answer fully the description
of the “F. Brauns.” They had been run-
ning a rather prosperous business until
Mr. Nack began treating himself as his
own best customer and became a heavy
drinker. About a year ago they had sold

out and moved to a flat at Ninth Avenue’

and 44th Street, Nack, it was thought
had gone into the baking business.

At the mention of “Ninth Avenue”
O’Brien’s freckled face beamed. “Mrs.
F. Braun” he recalled, had made a com-
ment to a Woodside storekeeper about
prices being cheaper on that avenue.

With Cunningham in tow and a feel-
ing of elation, O’Brien made for the
Nacks’ apartment on 44th Street. But as
he reached the neat brownstone house
and started climbing the three flights of
stairs his spirits began to droop. He was
about to accuse the Nacks of murder.

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“William J, (Three Gun) Turner, on trial for his life in N'Yawk,
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1932, page 1Ol.


“tt.

54

(Left) The door to the speak-
easy-restaurant at 407 West
57th, New York City, where
the hollow-eyed Phantom struck
again. Arrow points to the
body of the victim—John Mac-
Gowen. (Below, left) Assis-
tant District Attorney George
M. Carney, co-author, who
worked on the investigation into
the baffling speakeasy hold-up
jobs

By
Assistant

DISTRICT ATTORNEY

GEORGE M.

CARNEY
New York City

As told to
MICHAEL STERN

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Clew of the Two Who Lived (Continued from

The killer turned on him, and in the
scuffle little Eleanor was aroused.

King remembered that she’d had
knife wounds on her hands.

“She was shielding somebody,” he
said to himself. “She had her arms
around her daddy and she was begging
the killer not to hurt him.”

The Inspector thought this over
grimly, and then his brain turned to
the girl in the gutter. How explain
her?

King couldn’t. He wracked his brain
for an idea. Who. was she?

Obviously she had been sleeping in
that apartment. She had heard the
fight. She became frightened and ran.
And the killer ran after her.

Why had the stabbing fiend wanted
to be sure she was dead?

King didn’t know. He needed to
know many things to get his investi-
gation properly under way.

Culkin and Vaughan were out talk-
ing to people, rounding up witnesses.
But King doubted if they would find
any.

He looked carefully about for the
death weapon. A knife streaming blood
is not easily disposed of. But he found
no sign of it. The kitchen, aside from
the floor, was spotlessly clean. Pets
and pans were in place, as were the
kitchen knives.

As he paced around the apartment,
King’s eye lighted on the telephone.

It was just an ordinary instrument,
but the gay little pad suspended from
the mouthpiece intrigued him.

Inspector King unhooked it from
the phone proper and ‘leafed through
it. Perhaps two score numbers were
recorded, none of them seeming very
significant.

A number for the butcher, the gro-
cer, the fuel-oil dealer, the plumber,
friends. They might be questioned
later. But not now. Nothing in any of
those numbers seemed significant.

King kept turning the pages.

He went through the A’s, the B’s,
the C’s and eventually reached the V’s.

There he found a number without
a name.

It had a Jamaica exchange.

The Inspector moved to dial it, then
drew back his hand.

“Suppose this is important,” he
thought to himself. “If I call now, the
game’s up. I’d better get one of the
boys down there.”

So he picked up the phone, dialed
the “O” for operator, identified him-
self and asked for the address of the
number he gave her. Then he called
in Culkin, told him the Jamaica ad-
dress and sent him out to investigate
as quietly as possible.

“This may be everything or noth-
ing,” King said. “It’s only a number
in a telephone book, but we can’t take
a chance.”

Culkin nodded that he understood
and was off.

King had Vaughan call the hospital
in the meantime, and the detective re-
ported back that both Seelig and his
daughter were on the critical list and
could not be questioned under any cir-
cumstances.

He was still cursing his own luck
when a knock sounded on the door and
a young cop walked in.

“I got a bus driver out here, Chief,”
he said, “and he knows something.”

His name was Jimmy Byrnes.

He held out a long, thin butcher-
knife, still brown with bloodstains. He
had the handle wrapped in a piece of
paper.

“TI heard about finger-prints,” he an-
nounced, “and if there are any on this
frogsticker, they’re made by the guy
that held it last.”

“You know about the crime that’s
just been committed here, do you,
Jimmy?” asked the Inspector quietly.

“Sure,” responded the bus driver,
Pee whole line’s talkin’ about Floren-
ina—’

“Florentina?” asked the Inspector.
“You know her name?”

Jimmy looked at him in amazement.

“We all know her name—knew her
name,” he amended. “They ain’t a
guy on the line that hasn’t carried that
girl somewhere—to .the movies, the
skating-rink, to school, to the park.
Sure we knew her. Why, what about
1?”

“All right, skip that,” King said.
‘“Where’d you get the knife?”

Byrnes cocked his hat on the back
of his head and explained.

“I’m pushin’ the 10 to 12 bus up the
turnpike,” he said, “and when I pass
here I see a mob in front of the joint
where Florentina lives. Then up at the
next corner some guys get on and one
says a girl has been stabbed to death.
I’m curious but I got to keep rolling,
and at the next stop a guy gets out.
I think nothin’ of that, but a couple of
blocks further an old gent comes up
with this bag and he says somebody
left it on the seat.

“Inside it is the knife, and I figure
it’s got something to do with that stab-
bing, so I brought it back here.”

Inspector King examined the knife
curiously. It was a_ butcher-knife,
honed down to needle sharpness on the
end and ground thin. From Doctor
Curphey’s description, this was just the
kind of weapon that could have done
the job.

ic inG was curious, naturally, about
the passenger which had left the
weapon on the bus.

But Byrnes couldn’t help him there.

“This guy got on someplace down
the line,” he said. “I’d know him if I
saw him, but I can’t tell you anything
about him. He just got on, that’s all,
and got off again a few blocks up.”

Inspector King was about to order
the squads out when the phone rang.

Detective Culkin was calling from
the Jamaica address.

“The girl’s Florentina Valle,” he said
into the receiver. “This house you sent
me to is the place where Florentina’s
mother works as a maid. And that wo-
man who was killed—Mrs. Seelig—
she’s the mother’s sister. I found that
out, too.”

“Yes?” said Inspector King.

“There isn’t much more,” Culkin re-
plied. “I’ve been talking to the mother
and she’s in a bad way. She tells me
Florentina’s been living with the See-
ligs—the kid’s aunt and uncle—for
about a year.”

“But who could have killed her—
and her aunt?” King inquired sharply.

“The mother doesn’t know,” Culkin
answered. ‘“She’s busted up and isn’t
talking too coherently right now.”

“All right,” King interjected.
“Where’s the father?”

“Mrs. Valle has no idea,” responded
Culkin. “They’re separated.”

“Come on in,” advised King.

He cradled the phone. Well, the girl
was identified. But what good did that
do? How could it help find the
killer?

Inspector King turned his attention
again to the knife.

It was still in the sack, and King
extracted it gingerly. He called in
Vaughan, and the two of them exam-
ined the weapon closely.

No attempt had been made to wipe
the blade free of blood, and it was a
grisly sight.

“That did the trick all right,” Culkin
observed. “Notice how sharp the point
is, and how carefully the blade has
been honed?”

“T know one place you’ll always find
a knife like that,’ Vaughan said.
“That’s a restaurant. A good chef can
make one of those things do tricks.”

“Then you think that a chef did
this?”

“No,” Vaughan replied. “It’s been
my experience that men who work
with knives rarely use them for any-

thing else except the job they we
signed for. I’ll bet that knife ha
stolen from a kitchen.”

“That could be a waiter or a p
King answered. “Or a dish-w:

He hesitated, then said, “The
look at this, it has to be someor
knew the Seeligs or was a fri
theirs. I’d say I think the killer
out on Mrs. Seelig and stabb:
husband and then the little gir)
they interfered. Then he chase
entina out and killed her <
couldn’t be a witness against hi

Vaughan objected. “Why d
and leave Seelig and his dé
living?” he asked. -

“Well,” declared King, ‘ob
this man thought everyone was
That's what we've got to d
someone who doesn’t know thc
about the two who lived. The
will be a dish-washer or a wa
someone who works in the kit«
a restaurant, and he’ll have :
quaintance with the Seeligs and
hatred for them.”

Detective Culkin came in th:

He didn’t have much more to
Mrs. Valle didn’t know anything
the crime.

“She’s pretty broken up,” sai
kin. “Maybe she’ll remember
when she gets over it.”

“How about the husband—w
he?” King asked. “He might |}
to help us.”

“Mrs. Valle isn’t sure,” Cull
plied. “She thinks he’s somew!
Staten Island. He’s a waiter.”

A waiter! King and Vaughan
at each other.

“Naw,” said Vaughan. “Wh
the girl’s father. Nobody coulc
their own daughter up like that

Inspector King said, “I hard]:
so. We'll probably learn that thi
was someone who had a grudge :
the Seeligs.”

But how could they locate
How find the man who- had
Nick Seelig the evening before—

‘past midnight then—and wh

burst loose with a knife in mac

Talk to the neighbors, Inspect:
thought, and the friends of
From them learn of other
Question them all, eliminate th
until the last one is isolated, i:
nated.

A commotion at the door inte:
the Inspector’s thoughts.

A uniformed policeman e
clutching tightly to the arm of a
foreign-looking man with d
eyes. The man’s neat clothing -
disarray and he had a bandage
the small finger of his right ha

The policeman identified hir
Officer Harold Johnson,

''tTHIS fellow came into a drv

up the turnpike about a m
asked for some bandage for his
Johnson told King. ‘I think
blood on them pants.”

The Inspector regarded the
brown stains closely.

“Sure looks like it,” he said.
did you happen to be there?”

“The druggist heard about t)
ings on the radio,” the policer
swered, ‘“‘and he was suspicious
fellow, so he called my booth.”

The prisoner had said nothi
King looked at him sharply.

“What’s your name?” he ask

“Louis Valle,” was the answe:
in a soft, sibilant voice.

“Then you’re—?”

“I am Florentina’s father, y«
sponded Valle. He lowered hi
“I—I saw what happened hi
night.”

Inspector King could not con:
amazement.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Valle. “It is
ible, but it is true. I am a w:
work at a tavern in Port Ric

June Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES on Sa


District Attorney Edward
J. Neary: He wouldn’t
let the case come to him

Detective Culkin called in the fin-
ger-print squad and they went to work
on the room, while Inspector King
busied himself elsewhere.

He returned to the bloody kitchen,
where the man and the little girl had
been found.

From this starting point he hoped to
solve two problems:

1. The identity of the girl found
slain in the gutter. °

2. The reason for it all.

King reconstructed the picture this
way:

Mrs. Seelig. had had a_ quarrel,
probably with a man, since this looked
like a man’s knife work.

The quarrel had taken place in the
kitchen, and in the quarrel the man
had drawn a knife and stabbed Mrs.
Seelig mortally.

She had started to run to the street
but collapsed beyond the doorway.

In the meantime her husband,
aroused by the commotion in the
kitchen, had come in to inquire what
was happening.

(Continued on Page 42)

woman was his wife, Olivia.
» girl, herself near death, was
just turned eleven.

e girl found dead at the curb
tness didn’t know her. He’d
en her before.

spector was impatient. He felt
clew to the whole mystery
at crumpled form, which was
cen off to the morgue.

t Culkin and Vaughan around
> neighbors—those who were
dy up because of the excite-
the street, and then he made
study of this house of death.

irtment behind thé store con-
of four rooms. In the living-
3. Seelig had been found. Two
; were off to one side, one
used by the Seeligs, the
Eleanor and a second person.
the girl in the street. Two
e in this room, and both had
apied.
sirls were asleep,” Inspector
soned. “No sign of a struggle
and nothing to indicate that
- was in here at all.”
led in Culkin. ;
‘ you can find any prints in i
: ordered. “I don’t think you
e from those of the girls, but

tht be something here we can Louis Valle: He had complained of the “sinister” things go-

ing on in the house where, later, four persons were stabbed

19


From the apartment in the
rear of the bedding store at
left, Florentina Valle had
fled toward the tavern across
the street only to fall, and
be slain, at the spot indi-
cated in the picture above

the dead woman was his wife, Olivia.
The little girl, herself near death, was
Eleanor, just turned eleven.

But the girl found dead at the curb
—the witness didn’t know her.. He’d
never seen her before.

The Inspector was impatient. He felt
that the clew to the whole mystery
lay in that crumpled form, which was
being taken off to the morgue.

He sent Culkin and Vaughan around
to arouse neighbors—those who were
not already up because of the excite-
ment in the street, and then he made

-a careful study of this house of death.

4 ee apartment behind the store con-

sisted of four rooms. In the living-
room Mrs. Seelig had been found. Two
bedrooms were off to one side, one
obviously used by the Seeligs, the
other by Eleanor and a second person.
Perhaps the girl in the street. Two
beds were in this room, and both had
been occupied.

“The girls were asleep,” Inspector
King reasoned. “No sign of a struggle
in here, and nothing to indicate that
the killer was in here at all.”

He called in Culkin. :

“See if you can find any prints in
here,” he ordered. “I don’t think you
will, aside from those of the girls, but
there might be something here we can
bite into.”

Louis Valle: He had cor
ing on in the house wh:

neti reeeaceestunt

From the apartment in the
rear of the bedding store at
left, Florentina Valle had
fled toward the tavern across
the street only to fall, and
be slain, at the spot indi-
cated in the picture above

: aot
nce mae hia aE, ne

fod

the dead woman was his wife, Olivia.
The little girl, herself near death, was
Eleanor, just turned eleven.

But the girl found dead at the curb
—the witness didn’t know her. He’d
never seen her before.

The Inspector was impatient. He felt
that the clew to the whole mystery
lay in that crumpled form, which was
being taken off to the morgue,

He sent Culkin and Vaughan around
to arouse neighbors—those who were
not already up because of the excite-
ment in the street, and then he made

-a careful study of this house of death,

T= apartment behind the store con-

sisted of four rooms. In the living-
room Mrs. Seelig had been found. Two
bedrooms were off to one side, one
obviously used by the Seeligs, the
other by Eleanor and a second person.
Perhaps the girl in the street. Two
beds were in this room, and both had
been occupied.

“The girls were asleep,” Inspector
King reasoned. “No sign of a struggle
in here, and nothing to indicate that
the killer was in here at all.”

He called in Culkin. ;

“See if you can find any prints in
here,” he ordered. “I don’t think you
will, aside from those of the girls, but
there might be something here we can
bite into.”

Louis Valle: He had cor
ing on in the house wh:

a fn

D

*
!

aS a aeahemepr Speer ig eet ten epenttya Rb unnte me denen ite pay caret ra

37 Danforth A¥e>
< Haalenargh, (ied) 12122

June 12, 19

ear Harveys
The only man, other than Henry (Dick) Steadman, to die in line of

duty while a member of the Schoharie Oounty Sheriff's Department, to the

pest of my knowledge, was Deputy Sheriff William Huddleston. He was mur-
dered in 1818 by John Van Alstyne on whom, as I recall in my research,
was clubbed to death while in the act of serving a Summons. Van Alstyne
was subsequently tried by a judge and jury, convicfed of murder in the
first degree and hung in Schoharie on March 19, 1819. Hope this will be

of some help to yous Steadman was sheriff, as you know, and was shot on

—_

July 16, 1930, and died the next days Best regards,

—

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Canajoharie Sherif f ’s: Murder

after suspicion

By tentie 8. sORD

Freie ts Sle ot, NS be @ sertes Of

Peal n'a osgafery aturtes |)
s

PART ONE
* at ervued the eligenry
7 epi tie Frontier gay back
tn ‘he infant dave of melodrama
Giul Gieliy tiuataches @id mot ar-
Cog on fas netgnaarhond alnouah
tre ‘ou.tacity plagert a large past
ti ° The inesdens eas tne murder
ef Stes! Witien Haddiestane af
Catia mtiace in Mactgumery Counts

The swo'e of the sisying waa the

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be Uric tcid te pour bteed reacteg

'hetd fase

feavela eppesving farm af John |
Von AuvGir ofe Bad been Raving |
Pioeicis, thle Van Aine
Af cweoorts incmete oes bo Bree
Cras fo leadets antl at fiftec
Bas & falners O.ustree

Van Alstine flees Montgomery County farm

rests upon him |

Ce een aoe

, At aittieen he was compelled to
| lake over the tase of caring for his
maAner and three sisters | 4

Became Merse Rwapper

He did ihe job with commendable
theroughness, buy
Writing about him euggests that his
love {of making money grew and
paved the way for subeequent
events Gays the eriter' “Mia de-
aire ine gesting money grew into
@ Passion and he became a swapper
of horses, and for a long tme he
to is integrity,
lau i38 Brought him to an tgnom-
inwbus death ” e

tan Alstine’s love of horses grow
will the years and it ls recoraed
he woud travel even as far as @
miee—a journey of magniiude in
Uidee Gaye—-to see the hangtalls
atfut thew stulf Whether he par-
Ucipated In the eras equivalent of
the mofem pan-mutuels be not
stated. But from the decline of Nis
prosperity {t ls reasonable to assume
ha did Things went from bad to
worse for Varmer Van Alstine, until
In the autumn of 1779 the sheriff!
anrounred a male of the farmer's

WUrthritis ~ tit juate emre memes kee,
PReumelw peime Bowtie meusaigte? }
Miadise ersececs’ © tees trritgticnt |
to wen tat atgts Burn tay 1
rare | aoe eh Ftd Paaisp!
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Tee adet and mart be wat
et et witha COMP any
Cat ior Wi ofan

Vat Manmpina (aaa

bluff

dai’ lo ealicly AN Inatetent creditor,
The tale it would appear, was
Orly as @ last reset and appeara
'o hare Been |i the nature of a
to try to get Van Alstine to
Pas pote cats to pmy on Nila Gebta
Dla ts evident Dy the fect that on
‘he Gay of ‘he tale Bhem{! Muddle-
ie Bp ,wared at) Van Alatines,
aire iced the sale had peen |

a werk and ganed Van!

une

i* Chater

Aue Go fe BA ie aN Gd Judge |
nt! aod samethong on another to!
ve.git Luella a ste |
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Van Aletine Sutpected '
Poveda ot foe aheatl anew anly!
Ce be ae hed bef te go tu}
1@ wath

Asuce faim and a4 noe.

one historian,

but at!

return home that night. Not sus-
Decting any foul play, they began
checking the next day at Mrs. Hud.
Giestone’s request. , i

Buspicion rested on Van Alstine
when it became known the sheriff
had been seen going to the farm,
but not leaving it. A few days later
Van Alstine tendered p $3 bill tn

yment of a debt. The aheriff was

to have had such w Bill on
his person when he disappeared.
Bille were quite a rarity for coune
Uy folks, who Gealt inostly by awap.

Gensing what was afoot, Van Ale
atine tossed in hile bed that night,
Presently hie wife wakened him

“Where you planning on going,
John?” she asked

“Nowhere, why ahould I be going
away?”

“I don't Know, ‘cept in your aleep
you kept talking boul moving on.
If you go, I can manage things
here.” :

Van Alatine looked at her ine
lently.

“Do you think I murdered him?”
ihe asked

Mre Van Alatine cast her eyes
downaard

“Tt don't Know, bul youre sus.
pected“

“Ill probably be arrested as a
suspect tomorrow,” Van Alastine ob-
served

Via wife put an arm on his
shoulders .

“Youd better go. I ran look after
the children,” ahe said quietly.

Rides Away at Night

Not long afterwards Van Alstine
stepped stealthily from the yard of
his home, carrying a saddie His
fodtalepe munded loudly through the
Silence of the night He walked @
mile along paths amd through fields,

{hoaa affectionately. then mounted.

Tis a oe alla

to a tree
The animal sninnied as it waa
asaddied Van Alstine rubbed ite

For a minute of two he looked back
across the moon-bathed fields to
where ha could discern the dim out-
‘ine of his heme and barna Then
uletly he urged Woe animal forward
‘The beat of hooves faded tntn the,
Night A cloud of duat along the!
traul settied = A.) was atu].

‘Part tua of thhe atery will ap.
pear in lamorroy « Colrter-Rapresa)
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RIL 10,

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Self-expression devel-
‘opment is advocated
by Dr. Quale
By 1 KATHERINE SMITH

“There is no psychology of the
handicapped. Handicapped persons
are Just human beings, with human
urges, needa, aspisations and affece
tions *

That statement comes from none
other than Margaret 8 Quayle. who

conducts Bulfalo'a sole course In
psychology of the handicapped This
University of Buffalo course ta
given Tuesday afternoons, at Bt.
Mary's School for the Deaf on Main
Btreet.

Adjustments Needed

Dr Quayle realizes that handi-
capped prraons must make special
adjustments to @ world (hat makes
ho exceptions for physical limita-
tions.

“Teach your pupils to accept and
face reality.” she advmes teachers of
the handicapped. “Develop in them
means of self-expression. and build
up their self coniidence.”

Dr Quayle has observed among
handicapped persons a marked ten-
dency to live In a makebelleve world
To counteract thia tendency, ale
urges their teachers to equip and
Girect them to find satisfaction in
real accomplishment The Involves
self-expression which. in her opinion.
Dlaya an Important part in develop-
ing courage and sel{[confidence.

“For Wt takes courage to express
oneself,” ahe points oul. “Many peo-
Die don't dare try, for fear of ridicule
or disapproval.”

Bhe urges teachers to encourage
handicapped persona to make their
OWN decisions, aaaume responsibility,
nd develop a sense of mutuality.”
which ahe defines as “recognition of
the obligation to compensate. in
some way. for the favors they muat
Oak and receive.”

“And here's my harping atring
that To never tire of thrumming,”

Instruction of Hand

sd

ee nee a ee soe.

icapped

Pi

Ur

w
©
ANTI

_tiewe
' lat

—Juanita Ball Photo

DR. MARGARET &. QUAYLE

exercisea involving the swaying of
thelr bodies *

Advantages of Friendshipe

Dr. Quayle thinks Inendaips be-
tween persons with the same phyal-
cal limitation may have certain ad-
vantages such aa complete freedom
from seliconsciousness and atl feel-
ing of infestority.

“The enjoyment of such friend- |
ships and in fact everything else
I've mentioned In connection with
the handicapped. are matters each
individual muat decide for himael!
We cant lay down hard and fast
rules for the person with a physical | '
imitation any more than for any
other human belng He ts an tndi-
vidual. and aa such must solve nis ,
prodlenia ” sud;
Dr Quayle waa born at Hope, g

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PEO Ao Peet
a8 .

Athansas Mer grandfather was a’
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Clew of the Two Who Lived (Continued from Page 19)

nd in the
used.
he’d had

ody,” he
ler arms
s begging
his over
urned to
’ explain

his brain

eeping in

eard the
and ran.

d wanted

‘ceeded to
s investi-

out talk-
vitnesses.
ould find

for the
ing blood
he found
side from
xan. Pots
were the

oyartment,
»phone.

strument,
ded from

it from
through
ers were
ing very

the gro-
plumber,
uestioned
in any of
cant.

s.

the B’s,
d the V’s.
’ without

1 it, then

int,” he
now, the
.e of the

e, dialed
ied him-
ss of the
re called
aica ad-
vestigate

or noth-
number
an’t take

derstood

hospital
ctive re-
and his
list and
any cir-

wn luck
door and

2S.

butcher-
ains. He
piece of

” he an-
y on this
the guy

ye that’s
do you,
quietly.
driver,
Floren-

“Florentina?” asked the Inspector.
“You know her name?”

Jimmy looked at him in amazement.

“We all know her name—knew her
name,” he amended. “They ain’t a
guy on the line that hasn’t carried that
girl somewhere—to .the movies, the
skating-rink, to school, to the park.
Sure we knew her. Why, what about
it?”

“All right, skip that,” King said.
“Where’d you get the knife?”

Byrnes cocked his hat on the back
of his head and explained.

“I’m pushin’ the 10 to 12 bus up the
turnpike,” he said. ‘and when I pass
here I see a mob in front of the joint
where Florentina lives. Then up at the
next corner some guys get on and one
Says a girl has been stabbed to death.
I’m curious but I got to keep rolling,
and at the next stop a guy gets out.
I think nothin’ of that, but a couple of
blocks further an old gent comes up
with this bag and he says somebody
left it on the seat.

“Inside it is the knife, and I figure
it’s got something to do with that stab-
bing, so I brought it back here.”

Inspector King examined the knife
curiously. It was a_ butcher-knife,

honed down to needle sharpness on the ,

end and ground thin. From Doctor
Curphey’s description, this was just the
kind of weapon that could have done
the job.

ING was curious, naturally, about
the passenger which had left the
weapon on the bus.

But Byrnes couldn’t help him there.

“This guy got on someplace down
the line,” he said. “I’d know him if I
saw him, but I can’t tell you anything
about him. He just got on, that’s all,
and got off again a few blocks up.”

Inspector King was about to order
the squads out when the phone rang.

Detective Culkin was calling from
the Jamaica address.

“The girl’s Florentina Valle,” he said
into the receiver. ‘This house you sent
me to is the place where Florentina’s
mother works as a maid. And that wo-
man who was killed—Mrs. Seelig—
she’s the mother’s sister. I found that
out, too.”

“Yes?” said Inspector King.

“There isn’t much more,” Culkin re-
plied. “I’ve been talking to the mother
and she’s in a bad way. She tells me
Florentina’s been living with the See-
ligs—the kid’s aunt and uncle—for
about a year.”

“But who could have killed her—
and her aunt?” King inquired sharply.

“The mother doesn’t know;” Culkin
answered. “She’s busted up and isn’t
talking too coherently right now.”

“All right,’ King interjected.
“Where’s the father?”

“Mrs. Valle has no idea,’ responded
Culkin. “They’re separated.”

“Come on in,” advised King.

He cradled the phone. Well, the girl
was identified. But what good did that
do? How could it help find the
killer?

Inspector King turned his attention
again to the knife.

It was still in the sack, and King
extracted it gingerly. He called in
Vaughan, and the two of them exam-
ined the weapon closely.

No attempt had been made to wipe
the blade free of blood, and it was a
grisly sight.

“That did the trick all right,’ Culkin
observed. ‘‘Notice how sharp the point
is, and how carefully the blade has
been honed?”

“I know one place you'll always find
a knife like that,” Vaughan said.
“That’s a restaurant. A good chef can
make one of those things do tricks.”

“Then you think that a chef did
this?”

“No,” Vaughan replied. “It’s been
my experience that men who work
with knives rarely use them for any-

thing else except the job they were de-
signed for. I’ll bet that knife has been
stolen from a kitchen.”

“That could be a waiter or a porter,”
King answered. “Or a dish-washer.”

He hesitated, then said, “The way I
look at this, it has to be someone who
knew the Seeligs or was a friend of
theirs. I’d say I think the killer started
out on Mrs. Seelig and stabbed the
husband and then the little girl when
they interfered. Then he chased Flor-
entina out and killed her so she
couldn’t be a witness against him.”

Vaughan objected. “Why do that
and leave Seelig and his daughter
living?” he asked. He GS

“Well,” declared King, ‘obviously
this man thought everyone was dead.
That’s what we've got to do—find
someone who doesn’t know the truth
about the two who lived. The killer
will be a dish-washer or a waiter or
someone who works in the kitchen of
a restaurant, and he'll have an ac-
quaintance with the Seeligs and a deep
hatred for them.”

Detective Culkin came in then.

He didn’t have much more to report.
Mrs. Valle didn’t know anything about
the crime.

“She's pretty broken up,” said Cul-
kin. “Maybe she’ll remember more
when she gets over it.”

“How about the husband—where is
he?” King asked. ‘He might be able
to help us.”

“Mrs. Valle isn’t sure,” Culkin re-
plied. “She thinks he’s somewhere in
Staten Island. He’s a waiter.”

A waiter! King and Vaughan looked
at each other.

“Naw,” said Vaughan. “Why, he’s
the girl’s father. Nobody could carve
their own daughter up like that.”

Inspector King said, “I hardly think
so. We'll probably learn that this killer
was someone who had a grudge against
the Seeligs.”

. But how could they locate him?
How find the man who had visited
Nick Seelig the evening before—it was
past midnight then—and who had
burst loose with a knife in mad fury?

Talk to the neighbors, Inspector King
thought, and the friends of Seelig.
From them learn of other friends.
Question them all, eliminate them all,
until the last one is isolated, incrimi-
nated.

A commotion at the door interrupted
the Inspector’s thoughts.

A uniformed policeman _ entered,
clutching tightly to the arm of a small,
foreign-looking man with deep-set
eyes. The man’s neat clothing was in
disarray and he had a bandage around
the small finger of his right hand.

The policeman identified himself as
Officer Harold Johnson.

'tTHIS fellow came into a drug store

up the turnpike about a mile and
asked for some bandage for his finger,”
Johnson told King. “I think there’s
blood on them pants.”

The Inspector regarded the dark-
brown stains closely.

“Sure looks like it,’ he said.
did you happen to be there?”

“The druggist heard about the kill-
ings on the radio,” the policeman an-
swered, “and he was suspicious of this
fellow, so he called my booth.”

The prisoner had said nothing and
King looked at him sharply.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Louis Valle,” was the answer, given
in a soft, sibilant voice.

“Then you're—?”

“IT am Florentina’s father, yes,” re-
sponded Valle. He lowered his eyes.
“I—I saw what happened here to-
night.” .

Inspector King could not conceal his
amazement.

“You saw it?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied Valle. “It is incred-
ible, but it is true. I am a waiter. I
work at a tavern in Port Richmond,

“How

Staten Island. My wife—well, we are
not together. Our daughter lived here.
For New Year’s I have the holiday, and
my daughter spends it with me.

“Yesterday I bring her back. I stay
for the visit. My brother-in-law is not
friendly.

“He wants to quarrel, this Seelig. He
is not himself. For my Florentina, he
wants more board money. I am a poor
man. I cannot pay more.

“Suddenly we are fighting and Olivia
—that’s my sister-in-law—attempts to
stand between us. Nick, he grabs the
knife. He’s like crazy.

'It'THE knife goes all around. Olivia,

she’s hurt. The girls, they hear and
come running out. There is blood
everywhere.

“Tam in a corner by the door. Some-
how my hand is cut. I look at Nich-
olas and I call, ‘Nicholas!’ He stops.
He looks on the floor and there is his
daughter. She is all bloody. He stands
there.

“Suddenly the knife begins to move
once more. He stabs himself, this Nich-
olas, again and again and again. Then
he falls.

“TI stand there. I keep thinking about
Tony, Tony the chef who gave me the
knife to give to Olivia. I think, ‘You
had better take the knife back.’ So I
pick it up and put it in a bag and go
out of the store. I cannot remember
more except that I find myself in a lot
with blood dripping from the finger.
I hunt for the apothecary’s shop and
then the policeman comes.”

Inspector King listened to this story
without visible emotion.

“Take him to Headquarters, John-
son,” King ordered. “But first give me
his pedigree.”

The officer left the necessary infor-
mation on a slip of paper — Valle’s
name, age, address and place of em-
ployment.

When the two had left the room
King turned to the detectives.

“What do you think?” he asked
quietly.

“If that story isn’t true he sure told
it well,” answered Vaughan.

King reached for the phone and gave
the number of Nassau Hospital in
Mineola.

“Only two people could disprove that
story,” he said as he waited for the
connection. ‘“They’re Seelig and his
daughter.”

He asked his questions of the switch-
board attendant, listened carefully and
replaced the receiver.

“Both have had blood transfusions
and they are still on the danger list.
Neither can be questioned now,” he
reported.

“We ought to take a little ride to
Staten Island,” interposed Culkin. “TI
could think of a question or two I’d
like to ask that Tony.”

“I was just about to suggest that,”
King said. “Let’s go.”

The hour was late and the Inspector
and his men were tired. They dozed
while the police chauffeur piloted their
car through the dimmed-out streets,
onto the ferry that took them across
the traffictjammed bay to Staten
Island.

They found the restaurant without
any trouble, for it was a fairly well-
known eating-place. As luck would
have it, the chef and several other em-
ployes lived upstairs and were soon
aroused.

The chef, Tony, was Antonio De-
Lana, and he was a good friend of
Valle. Both had been born in Lima,
Peru.

He hadn’t heard, naturally, that a
killer had run amok in distant Floral
Park, and after he cleared the sleep
from his eyes he was most willing to
cooperate with the police.

The knife?

He hadn’t given Valle any knife.
Yes, he had missed one of his from the

ue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES on Sale Friday, May 7

AD. 1


rack and half suspected that the waiter
had taken it, but he didn’t want to
make a fuss.

As for Valle himself, he was “ a nice
guy but screwy.”

The chef chatted on.

New Year’s Eve for example. Valle
was off, and strolled into the kitchen
with his daughter.

“A nice-looking girl,” the chef vol-
unteered. “We got a bottle from the
bar and had a highball. Like kidding,
Louis says to his daughter, ‘You want
one?’ and she says ‘Yes.’ I thought he
was going to bust her one. He poured
out the drink and let her take it, but
his face was red and I can see he’s
pretty mad.”

“Then what happened?” inquired
King.

“Nothing, then,” Tony answered,
“but around midnight, when he had a
few drinks in him, he began asking
Florentina where she learned to drink,
and s*~ says they always have whisky

at Uncle Nick’s, and she’s tasted it
there.”

“How old was Florentina?” the In-
spector asked curiously.

“Fifteen,” replied the voluble chef,
“but everybody thought she was older.”

King and his men got some more
routine information out of Tony and
set off for Mineola. Daylight had come
by the time they arrived, and as King
walked through the door of Police
Headquarters a lieutenant handed him
a message.

The phone call was from Nassau
Hospital and the Inspector hurried
over.

Seelig could be questioned.

Newspaper reporters had heard that
rumor, too. They ganged up in the
hospital lobby and waited for the In-
spector. They followed him, half an
hour later, back to Headquarters and
waited outside his office while he went
into a conference with Louis Valle and
Detectives Vaughan and Cuikin.

An hour later he emerged.

“Louis Valle has confessed,” he told
the reporters.

Seelig, the Inspector said, had denied
every word Valle had uttered. And,
according to King, when Valle learned
this, and that Seelig as well as his
daughter, Eleanor, would live, he broke
down and admitted the crimes.

The Inspector declared that Valle
admitted that he quarreled with Seelig
and Mrs. Seelig about Florentina’s
drinking. He became enraged, then lost
his head completely, according to his
confession as the Inspector quoted it.

On Sunday, January 3, Valle was ar-
raigned before District Court Justice
Cyril M. Brown in Mineola and held
without bail for the grand jury. Jan-
uary 12 he was indicted on two counts
of murder for the killing of his own
daughter and the killing of his sister-
in-law, Olivia Seelig. As this issue of
AcTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES Magazine,
goes to press he is awaiting trial.

When Her Sole Cried "Help"! (Continued from Page 29)

Until long after 11 o’clock that eve-
ning Finneran canvassed the neigh-
borhood of Michigan and _ Liberty
Streets. But none of the restaurants
in the vicinity were missing a waitress;
none of them used the kind of order
pad on which the message had been
written and no one had seen a young
woman in a maroon sedan that after-
noon.

“There are a lot of restaurants in the
neighborhood,” Finneran told Kinney
later, “but most of them are closed.

man explained. “I think she left about
five minutes ahead of time. Said she
was going to a doctor’s office to get
some medicine for one of her kids.”

“Kids?”

“Yes, sure,” the manager said. ‘‘She’s
got two. Boy and a girl. The boy’s
five, the girl about eight.”

“Does she live with her husband?”

“Oh, yes. He is a painter. They
just live around the corner.”

“Fas the husband been in this morn-
ing?”

touch with Joseph Jarboe, husband
of the waitress, and when Finneran
arrived he learned that Jarboe just
had left for the city morgue with
Engelbright.

“It’s the Jarboe woman all right,”
Kinney declared. “Her husband iden-
tified her clothing. He says his wife
was kidnaped. He thinks she was too
wrapped up in him and the kids to
go out with a boy friend.”

“That could be,” said Finneran,
“Maybe she met him for some other

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s.

. . S wine oe ete Be which hay had been pulled away ot

her heels she walked into the yard; “Found it when I brushed the hay Ms
to meet the posse. back.” sald the finder, aC
“Morning. Mis’ Van Alstine.” hes. | The discovery stirred the men to °F

tatingly said the ran who had been | renewed activity. Before long an-/ 7c,
Gesiznated as spokesman. “We'd other beckoned the others to a fence|  -

rn L like to sce John.” Where other stains were visibie.| _
Et AtUtude Defiant | Then following the tral! with keen a
Ma é‘ rs. ¥ . . -| eyes. the searchers came to the spot | _
0 tee : oa hod “a ae ee ht in the newly harrowed field where co
poke isn't here.” . there seemed to b a@ slight mound. =
ix . No gn needed to give voice to the | G

ae ; suggestion. Some of the men|_.
pe Pen ‘ COUNTY OF ERIE- Derantuent op | dashed back to the barn and re-| Db?

PURCHASE , Vv le
134 W Page B:. Biffalo, NY turned with shovels. Mrs. Van A

SEAR PROPOSALS wil be received and! stine gazed from behind a curtain In
. "nance < uséera.gned a: 3 30} her home as dirt began to Ny. In- Fe

Markers or Headstoses. tie same to be erected | termitiently she stopped to wipe ’
Se ey an yrttan atone ciate! | away a tear. She gesed in feariol

t
Verees with® Erie Counce ‘horror a short while later when she re
A’. Bat to be in accordance with spec fice.
A tint mow en ft:

Ai jhe dove edaiew woere) SAW the men lift a limp form from a é
toe mer be conasiied of cb:ained » reject | SAllow grave. Her last allm hope }

|

Tas department rece es the rght

@urier all pas and eure any lnformal.nen | was shattered. Her worst fears were
1928

Daed Annie be
DWARD GO” Dose, true.

Porchaving Agen: oo .

For Cosete ot Evie, Apri as "| News Spreads mnie
“DEP: Cae Grim-faced men spread the news

THEASURY DEPARTMENT. om ! Du.

“: S .perv.ser, Aleshol Tax Uni Buress “| throughout the area that Gay. TR

@r
Di.erral Reven N York New York %
ot ta publication ‘Mareb Pe 1938 "Sedien ic | sheriff had been alain, they said.

Rereey a en phot on March 18 193M exe 1939 with a blow on the head by John
Srolet Cree, t N 3682502. Reral \ i ‘ie ¥
: 7 With eenensores as seed ss Bee | Wan Alstiné, The motive had been
New York tor Meta tee by | a double one, fear of foreclosure, and |
t ' se ews to-w:t " 30. . *

= fot tea Revrard ia utee. AR pisses obpery. ed sheriff's pockets had

oy ‘ F, : i + 3D ga. Propert= must ap- en empt ed. e re
©” Investiestor tn Charge. | .

486 U8 Courna ny nets. While all this was going on, far to

Ie) Bulfaio xo Y.. and tile clam 34 cost
Ret, Bt Bro ded “by Becton 3480 Uniey| the north a tired horseman plodded

Kacy Revised Statutes. on of before Aon! 27.) with only an occasional halt to ore
$33 te os th r 7? at? ‘
e’ aeearg'ng *a low. "War D, Sbeaa®” Soveeed and water the horse. That night he} |
Men SU Apert et . stopped at a farmhouse and paid or
—_— — SE ae a -_— - ’
t . NOTICE TO CREDITORS as } for a bed. Early the next day he} “7
‘K PURSUANT to an order of Honsrasie to; was on his wav again. The blue §
a, cre ~T yes R Mart. Surro “@ of Erie County aj) Perse .

Paving ¢la.ms t.B Mans late ct waters of the St. Lawrence rose up | —

TA of the Dumestc Re- Wan Alstine?”
, Wan Alstine’s ips wavered slightly.

‘ Wootton: '

aes a peution bas been pre-e’ Then he shoved his jaw out firmly. S
Pe gR ash C Wostion your! «Ne fr isn't.” he replied. “Why do

1-89 62 your Matl.age on re fi

: have adsened y ) you ask?

bine even reat" e ears les: pas: she! “NO special reason—except this.” |

sh}, Sald the stranger. and from a pocket TT

{

= “da Led at ee wi yt i ahead. That night the horseman toe
q ' toe unders.gned Exeeutors of the | Tested in Kingston, Ont. |
ee See’, 0,300 Brie reeereise | John Van Alstine—for it was he-- —
s L ‘er piemver yoy,” ° “re oe made his appearances on the streets |
sf Sn ilieheiin P< eee Biacemrg,. Of Kingston as few as circumstances | fa
TNE MARINe jime SPEIER. Burrato WOuld permit. But even at that. one ~~
: ; = Executors | Night when he tumed tn at a trad-;
“BD BLAMESLER. IR. Attorney top Eeccue | ing post in search of articles he was th
tera. Bulla ere has Moa. to Aug 33. | collecting for further Might a rougn- | b :
STATE OF NEW YORK AUPREME CovrT.| OOkiNg man accosted him spies |
a : Bee Coty. In the Mere eo! The Appice. | “The name wouldn't be Van Al- | on
x ben of Rees © Wooten for a: Order G.a-) stine would 1?" he asked. “John !
HB Der mart.age wt Charies E Wootten . | Ce
Hard :

bele.es you t> be Cead. that

ane bei esas to @a order of said Cour: entered oa t 2 .

> ar arigrar - rer ,. ay of Mars “938 pigs ie ei be tad ! he withdrew a soiled paper. ; 4
£ @ peution at tne sa:d Supreme Cour.’ John Van Alstine’s eyes widened |;
rheeee sim ibeseat co Par: it :-, @8 he saw in black letters the words A
3 : «| “Governor's Proclamation . . . John >

' Van Alstine Wanted for Murder!” | di
i “You meet the bul right tight: 1m

Pes.: 4c, i) Sald the stranger. “Full of face and | Te
"Rid BSG, Auger Ee Bra.) Dlue of eye. with sandy hair-and |

° Bisco New York ‘horny hands.” S:
> . La aE H AP AANL) “Suppose T do.” sald Van Alstine, | 5%
- NOTICE OF PUBLIC MRARING “what of it? This is another coun. | &¢
, are : q To BW om} Mee Concer: oo §

ee a ue e on 10a! pursuan: ¢ . try.
1 dat tet. theme naw bee ng ee: “Nothing. nothing. to be sure." : Wy
o.9 —— ‘é . u be re ce i Honore ¢ said the other. “I've no mind to !
eis Lo Noting Maver ws | interfere. +In fact. 7 might help.) ty
oak Ree of: 9 | For a consideration. of course,” jo
“How might you help?” asked Van

: Alstine Suspiciously.

'

.
a a
pe seauaese-

‘ Law
City op BUFFALO eae
Pw TOCAL = Law — INTRODYCTORY No 3, Whispers Scarcely Audible
A LOCAL raw AMENDING» SECTION THREE | ye
HUNDRED SIXTY -FOUK OF THE CMARIBR | The other drew clase to whisper P
OF THE city oF BUFFALO IN RELATION re a
RINE CONDITIONS PRECEDENT To! the farmer's ear. Only an occa- se
MAINTAINING TAIN Civil ACTIONS sional world could be heard beyond
ACAINSE SHE OrTy : es a
IP Psacte my TF coamos. &@ foot.” 2: | friends ... Fort Erie | <*
Tety OF BUPEALO . .. better than Tope..." ied
Sweat Gleamed on Van Alstine’s | De

5

, brow.
“All right.” he answered and
handed over severa! Silver coins. | ct.
“Take me to them. I must go. If!
YOu recognized me others may.” ' tee.
Scan: hours later Van Alstine | yu sma
walked cautiously from a cabin Oa ye =
wrens seb matice waiting cart, looked around Cares Oy
Mery? nine poet! be mactened aracee! SUy then crawled in. Hoof beats Coal
the t.°8 15) damnvae er intunes te tos" perma | And the creak of wheels faded along Re

be 2 Poopery viwaced in consequence of the! the Path leading through the Wood-
terse et snaw as npen ane achwalk j ed country to the Wrest. Davs later

oo EP RES LE PE TIN RR TI EEL EN ONE nd
5 Tat aA ah eS :

iki ettine

sek PACE wey or perk approach, (he stepped ou: Siong the banks of
Cuese ertton nace tnerent fe'ating ta the. the Niagara Riter. gazed with won- r
per iejae tere was ar ualy Bren a the

a zi : cer at 3: y
Comm issiomer of Pinte Werks and tnere was : i wanddtan she ekg
e 'elite or noe.~t > Cae ane ene ar ore — ne he Mth _ —- ia

F a ws Al Wei sedieswrags xan shore to Fort Erie Staring curi-
Hewes oe, O reewmehe ome ater! OUSIV Across the water at the sma!)

Pe rere at wa ne Os eotertion of huts that was Black
twee 2M’ i%8: ee ene! tere efter! Rock. he ‘ood long in contempla-
} wee . 1 Piay | Hon, Watching the lazy swir} that
followed in the wake of two schoon.

Cry Cera of the Cy of Buttale

es]


enetabttee ican ante

a Wg

iti Ee

¢

8 rte!

. - Stee eee, Whe settee FAD &
inches, two and two reverse motifs
6% x6% inches and six motifs 1x1%
inches; illustrations of stitches:

;t¥ Guswis we are unadle to. {1]]
; Canadjan orders. Be sure to write
Plainly your name, address and pat-
tern number. -

n Marder of a Sheriff

Posse Finds Body of Missing
Sheriff as Farmer Disappears

Man sought for murder _ is recognized ‘in
Kingston, Ont.; he flees to Fort Erie

(William Huddlestone, sherif’ of|

Montgomery County. disappears in

1779, and suspicion is cast upon John |

Van Alstine, a farmer who has been
in flnancial difficulties. Van Alstine
atseppears. .

Part Two

Along the dusty Nighway over
which John Van Alstine has disap-
peared a few hours before, a party
Qf grim-faced men rode shortly
after sunup. They turned into the
Van Alstine farm, the golden rays
of the morning sun glinting on the
dark polished ‘surface of muskets.
Lines furrowed the brow of Mrs.
Van Alstine as with her children at
her heels she walked into the yard
to meet the posse.

“Morning. Mis’ Van Alstine.” hesi-
tatingly said the man who had. been
designated as spokesman. “We'd
lixe to sce John.”

Altitude Defiant

rs. Yan Alstine’s face was (le-
fant. “You can't,” she said. “He
isn’. here.” . ‘

COUNTY OF ERIE--DEPARTMENT OP
PURCHASE
134 W. Fagie 5: Bilfato. % Y.
SEALED PROPOSALS 83!) be Teceived and
puomely opened by the uaderaened a: 230
Dom. ADr:l 23, 1938. for furmeaniag <ranice
Markers or Headstones. the same to be erected
S° [Be graves of deceased World War. Spanisy
War and Oy A.R Veterans. .aterred in ceme-
teries withh Er.e Counce
All bids to be in accordance With specifica.
ons mow on file at the ado.e addiess where
they may be conauited or eDiained
Ta.8 departmen reserves ihe r ght » reject
Q@nvoor al Os and ere any lolormal.ties.
Daed Anr! © t9r8
EDWARD G DOBE,
Porchating Agen:
For County of Erte.

Apr:l 8911

TREASURY DEPARTMENT. O!t.co of Dis-
Rr.ct @ipery.sor. Alechol Tax Uni: Bureau of
Titerral Reven, New Yo:k New York Date
Of f.98t pudlic a. March 28. 1938 WNullee is

‘Mas on March 18 293M ane 1939
- Motor No. 3682202. Serial Ny
. BoM aclemsmores Was seized 24 Brie
New Yorme for vielaton ef the In-
ternal Revenue Laws to-w:t: Section 3450,
Ursted States Res sed Statutes. Anvw person
€-a.M.N@ O22 interes: so aad Dropert> must ap-
Dear a: "Ae office of Investigator in Charge.
Aconrt Tat Unit 4060 8 Courthouse Bu:ld-
Ise Bittaio, M. ¥.. and file Clam asd cost
bond as br Becuon 3449. Dnited
Braves Revised Siasutes. on oe delore Apr) 27.
37330 einere.we ihe praper'y @.!l be suapased
e° ecenrd'ng to lew Wm D Mow.

PORSUANT to an order of Momoradie fou¥
R Hart, Surroga @ of Erie County a1) persons
Paving clams egainst Elder: B Mana late cf
tse Ccy of Buttaio Cecease Qh are hereby re
@ured ta oan the seme wth sonchers
trereof t@ tne undersgned Exesutare of the
Will of wad Cocensed a: 296 frie County Bang
BROG@> Bit'a.o MN YY. oo oF Before the
64 Gav ef Sepember 3°38.

Dared Pedriary 24 1938

. ELEANOR MANN BLAKESIi gg.
ftwis R GULICK
TNE MARINE TaustT COMPANY OF BUFPALO
Executors
BD BLAKES EE IR. Altorney for Eaecu.
tort, Ballas New York
Ped 28 LO Moa. te A.g 33.

STATE OP NEw YORK SUPREME COURT:
Boe Corriv tu the Ma: er of The App. ca-
ten .f Ras © Wastou for ey Orger as.
O60.ne Mer mart.age aca Charies EK Wootten
P-Teiast ta pect TA Of the Dumesic Re-

- +8 258 Lae

Ts) Chares BE Woo:ten

Take not.ce, tna: a peUtion bes been pre-
orcted to tha Cocrt by Ruch C Wos:ion Your
© fe. for tae @ero.ctaa of YOu? Marriage on
the greus@ tha: dow are adsen ed yourse.f
for f.ve +9) slecoauce years las: past wiisout
beng Brown i> her ta Se Leing and that she
brle-ee you t> De dead. and thal p.sravan:
to B23 order of said Court entered on the 334
@ey of Mary 1938 @ hearing will be tad
L pen 8.4 peucion a: rs temae Caurt,
@: an Uys y Term checest a Par: ota the
Fee Coss:y Court House in ihe City of But.
fe.9 Couns of Erie and Bae of New Yorn
es t5e@ & 5 dee ef sine jee oat je Ota
Ih 50 forennen taro e3 sas re time

Dare@ Mer 23. ist8 Nottess we OY

RUTH C WOOTTON.

Be payin 3 RSS ICK  Attornepg fa5 Perse

ener O'l¢e 9 4 P O Adtrese, 308 Brg-

Bare Big Bes New You
Mar I Apr leant

om wees ~

SNOCTCE OF PUBLIC MEARING

Te wml Met Coe

be ee *) (Pet piss: ta Rew.
fovoast ef * Wome Rie Law a 4 Reis
Qc st me Craver of tne t 7
PrP» ae
ere ~2 as Me, Po. vor?
Ro'’s e. Me el ce ! $ 1 Ne
& Nee e Mece- “ao
. T'S e@ Of. dee -* ase ’ eo

‘| interfere

A murmur of surprise ran through
' the waiting party.

, been guilty.” said one man.

be nigh,” said. a second.

“Let's look,” suggested a third.

At the thought the bronzed
Pioneers sprang into action. Two or
three ‘began searching outside the
barns and outhouses. Others went
Inside. Chickens cackled : wildly.
Presently from inside the main barn
came a cry.

“Look! Blood!”

The others ran and stared in hor-
Tor at a blood-stained area from
which hay had been pulled away.

“Found it when I brushed the hay
back.": said the finder. :

The discovery stirred the men to
renewed activity. Before long an-

where other stains were visible.
Then following the trall with keen
eyes, the searchers came to the spot
'in the newly harrowed ficld where
there seemed to b aw slight mouhd.

No gn needed to give voice to the
suggéstion. Some of the men
dashed back to the barn and re-
turned with shovels. Mrs. Van Al-
stine gazed from behind a curtain In
| her home as dirt began to fly. In-
'termittently she stopped to wipe
| away a tear. She gazed in fearful
i horror a short while later when she!
| Saw the men lift a limp form from a!
| shallow grave. Her last slim hope!
| was shattered. Her worst fears were
true.

News Spreads Quickly
| Grim-faced men spread the news

| throughout the area that day.
| sheriff had been slain, they sald,

“with a blow on the head by John

| Van Alstiné. The motive had been! —

| a double one, fear of foreclosure, and |
| robbery. The sheriff's pockets had
been emptied.. ‘ :

While all this was golng on. far to
the north a tired horseman plodded
with only an occasional halt to feed
and water the horse. That night he

“Hes run away. He must have.

“You're right. Then the body must A

other beckoned the others to a fence |

'
{

ras

ay,

ue ® | stopped at a farmhouse and paid |
NOTICE TO CREDITORS aN } for a bed. Early the next day he'

t
was on his way again. The blue |
waters of the St. Lawrence rose up|
j; ahead. That night the horseman |
j rested in Kingston, Ont. |
; John Van Alstine--for it was he-- |
| made his appearances on the streets |
of Kingston as few as circumstances |
would permit. But even at that. one |
i night when he tumed tn at a trad- |
| Ing post in search of articles he wes
collecting for further { ight a rougn-
looking man accosted him rudely.
“The name wouldn't be Van Al-
| stine, would 1£?" he asked. “John
Van Alstine?*

Van Alstine’s Ups wavered slightly,
Then he shoved his Jaw out firmly.
“No, ft tsn't.” he replied. “Why do
| you ask?” {
{ “No spectal Teason—except this.” |
, fald the stranger, and from a pocket |
‘he withdrew a soiled Paper.

; John Van Alstine’s eves widened
; as he saw fn black letters the words
| “Governor's Proclamation... John H
| Van Alstine Wanted for Murder!” |
i “You meet the bill right tighe,~:
; Sald the stranger. “Full of face and
j blue of eye, with sandy hair:and!
yhorny hands”

“Suppose I do.” sald Van Alstine,
“what of it?) This ts another coun. !
; try.”

“Nothing. nothing. to be sure.”
sald the other. “Ive no mind to!
‘In fact. I might help.
| For a consideration. of course"

“How migh:

$0232

}

Vor het meket Van

lsd

M4

- 0;

22,2.

Sep |

fog
a

os

In
re

t

hi

cd
sat

cA

c
thy

~~)

ets a

‘

GUMUPRE
|] ERGLAND - FROINCE - COUMANY
WITH HAPAG-LLOYD

Speed» Luxury
Coimfart

EUROPA
Apr. 15

Ceurstuinio
Apr. 21

BREmMCcnH
Apr. 23

BeRtin

IRELAND ACDED .

suwway Apr. 241

HAMBURG
Apr. 23

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Adsoming Grand Central

‘

MURDER OF A SHERIFF
| Furious Storm Foils Fugitive’s

- Attempt to Escape Into Ohio

Slayer’ of Sheriff is recognized, jailed in
cabin; he proves repentant at hanging

By LESLIE N. FORD

(After Sherif’ William Huddlestone
of Montgomery County ts slain in
1779, John Van Alstine flees to
Kingston, Ont., later ta Fort Erie.)

PART THREE

The decision the hunted John Van
Alstine had made was to take the
charte of returning to the United
States in order to ship a boat
headed up the lakes. If, he him-
self, he were able to get out of New
York State, perhaps into Ohio he}
would be beyond the pale of the
Governor's proclamation.

That night he dickered with 8
boatman and soon was being ferried
out into the fast moving stream at
a point where the International
Bridge now stretches its spiny back.
Lanterns gleamed from the settle-
ment soon destined to bear the name
Black Rock as oars were shipped.
Van Alstine stepped ashore and dis-
appeared up the bank.

Haunts Docks, Watches Ships

With the passing days he haunted
the docks and watched the ships
come and go. Finally he heard the
news he wanted. A schooner leav-
ing.on the morrow was going
Sandusky, O. He paid his passage,
went aboard in the cead of night
and slunk to his quarters. While
other passengers and crew lined the
deck tn the morning he stayed out
of sight. When the ship nosed into
the lake and tacked toward the west
he breathed more easily. Whert the
outline of the ahore had grown dim
he ventured on deck. But he held
himself aloof from other passengers.

But fate seemed to have had a
grudge against the Meeing man. For
many miles along the lake things
went well, then the autumn skies
| sew dark and the water rolled in
| rising wind. Before many hours

choppy waves were tossing the bark

in sickening lurches. As the tempest
increased, sailors tried to make their
cries heard above the wind while
they worked with sails and made all
movable objects fast.

Sick and scared. Van Alstein
crawled from his hiding place below
deck and pulled himself to the
cabin where the other frightened
passengers were huddled together.
Gone was his furtive demeanor and
for the {first time the others had a
‘chance to glimpse his face. Finally
word was brought from above that
the bark was making for the shelter
of Long Point to ride the storm out.

Winds Howl Ominously
All through the night and the
wind continued to

| wind, witt
‘and before many hours turned into
Niagara’s weloome channel and tied
up at Black Rock.

_ But before John Vaa Aistine
} could collect his belongings and seek
‘out another ship, several men, one
of whom had been a fellow pas-
|senger on the schooner, accosted
jhim. Once again he saw the
| fourtsh of the Governor's proclama-
tion and heard himself placer under

me

arrest. Without ceremony he was
marched to a secure cabin and
bolted inside. There were no daily
newspapers or radio stations to flash
the news, but word of mouth proved
facile and curious citizens came to
peek and stare.

-Where his jail was located recards
do not indicate. It is recorded that
in despondency he attempted to
strangle himself with a neck cloth
but was prevented by his captors.
Slowly as befitted the time, the
wheels of justice ground and it was
days before he was bundled into
a cart and driven back to Mont-
gomery County. Historians say he}/
later told of having a mighty men- |)
tal fight to prevent himself from
Jeaping out upon his head in an-
other suicide attempt.

Resigned to his fate, and appar-
ently compensated in being able to
see his wife and children again, Van
Alstine freely confessed. He said the
fact the farm was to be taken by
foreclosure had not prompted the
killing, but the sheriff's demand for
settlement of an old Judgment and
refusal to apply on that particular
bil payments already made.

“I hit him on the head. and then
I had to drag him inside the barn
by one leg because my boys came
along and I was afraid they'd see. I
sent them on errands and that night
buried the body tn the field. I
took the money from his pockets,
but robbery did not lead me to kill
him. It was passion.” he said.

After a formal, but apparently un- f
necessary trial Van Alsiine heard
himself sentenced to be hanged by
the meck until] dead. Adopting a
repentant turn of mind, he professed
to hoki no malice towards those who
were instrumental in sending him to
the gallows tree and earnestly beg-
ged the forgiveness of those he had
wronged. He died silently on the
appointed cay.

(Beginning next Sunday, the amasz-
ing Stielow-Green case.)

MOOSE TO VOTE TODAY

Fraternal order will choose new
board of officers

Buffalo Moose will vote today for
a new board of officers to assume
their duties May Ist. Polls will be|'
open in Moose Hall, 910 Main Street. |{
from 2 to 9 o'clock. Results will
be announced after the lodge meet-
mg, which will include initiation of
a@ special class of candidates.

A. L. Doty, nominated for dic-
tator to succeed Edward J. Beitz,
is without opposition, as.are Ed-
ward J. Bernhardt and Thomas L.
Bowman, nominated for the three-
year and two-year terms of trustee-
ship. Mr. Beltg will represent Buf-
falo lodge at.the 1938 convention ||
of the supreme lodge.

Three contests will be decided by
today's ballots. Arthur L Linen-
berg. Joseph Trierweller and Edward
L. Nightingale are seeking the vices
dictatorship, John A. Simons and
John 8. Barnes the post of prel-
ate, and William L Halliday and
George C. Clarke the treasurership.

OFFS aNe Le

UMAR ES >
3 G.2

Cc

erent en +

<= TT TERT NTN

Shortal to Speak at Forum {
Daniel B. Shortal, former labor

board attorney. will discuss Labor,
Taw and Indiuetrial Datariane ate

=“.

os. - Pee

4

> CNew York] [Vor Grau]

bee Lad ip 1886 (<a

MURDER AT CASTILE
Robert i. Van Brunt, a tailor, on Oct. 7, at the home of his father,Simon
Roy, a painter, killed his son William E&. Roy, 20 yrs, a popular young.

farmer. Van Brunt is an Englishman, from Toronto & had beeh a boarder
at the family of the Roys. He was a suitor for the hand of Miss va
Roy & said that he was engaged to her.

On Wed. evening, Will, Robert and #va sat chatting untid10:30, when
Van Brunt said good night & retired. The girl also started to retire,
but was called back by her brother to talk with her as he was going
away om the midnight train. The pair then passed into the family room
where the father and a small child wepe asleep on a lounge. Here they
conversed for some time when they heard Van Bréunt moving arouyd
upstairs & afterward listening to theib conversation downstairs.

About 10 oclock, VanBrunt came into the room. Young Roy sat on one
side of a sewing machine& Eva sat at the other end. Van Brunt walked
up to Eva looking pale and angry. “I thought your mother told you to
go to bed" Eva replied" So she did but Will asked mem to sit up with him
as he was going off on a midnight train. Eva then asked Will when he was
going and he said"Lean over and I will whisper it in yomn ear"

c It was then Van Brunt drew a 32 caliber fine shooter & placing it
within a &% inch of Will's head fired. Will threw up mis hands & falling
to the floor lay there insensible on his back. The report of the "2,
revolver awoke the father. Van Brunt went upstairs & was taken in

charge by another half brother,Fred with whom he slept. Ihe ball entered
the brain where it remained. Dr. Miller was called & also Dr. Smith but
nothing could be done for the boy. Officer Marcus Pond took Van brunt

in charge & placed him in the lock up where he was. surrounded in the
morning by an angry crowd of citizens worked up to nearly the lynching
point. The examination was held before Justice Shay, district attorney
i.M. Barlett being in attendance& W.H. Sherwood appearing as the prisoner's
counsel. The dispositions of Simon, Eva & Fred Roy were taken& also that
of Constable Pond& Dr miller. The prisoner was then remanded to jail
charged with manslaughter in the first degree or murder.

x In Jail, he was in very fair spirit,then some despondest & allowed
that jealousy had wrought him up to such a pitch of excitement that

he was unable to understand ‘hipiainedee? the desire to do away with the
young man. He inquired anxiously about% the youym man & seemed relived
when told that he still lived. The victim died at 12:30 noon Fri. &

the funeral was held Sunday.

Van Brunt was in Toronto two years ago where he has a grandmother.

He came from rhere to Tonawanda & then to Vastile. Here he joined the
Salvation Army & visited Warsaw, Wyoming & LEKoy. He left them at LeRoy
& went to Tonawanda whwre he engaged in piling lumber. He appeared again
at Castile about 5 weeks before the murder and was a convicting witness
against the proprieter of the Olean House charged with selling liquor
without a license, which case ia now pending,having been carried up.

Van Brunt is the man who fired the revolver when they threatened to

mob Salvationists there. He said that he always carried a gun & is a
good shot. He said that he was once a peddler of Brbles. He is a man

of excit#able temperament & was known as "Happy Bob" et Aemey fr errr

his being unable to be quiet during religious excitement. Miss
Roy became acquainted with Van Brunt at one of the meetings of the
Salvation Army and corresponded with him while away temporarily.
On learning his character Miss Roy's parents tried to break up. the
match but afterwards are reported as withdrawing their opposition.
Van Brunt denies that he ever threatened to shoot one Thomas Ellis
for keeping company with Miss Roy.


ee Jour cur |

The Roys are an e§timable family and have lived at Castile 18 yrs.
Young Roy had been working for Mr. Elwell, a farmer at Gainesville,
prior to bis beimg murdered. Van Brunt says he got the revolver
to protect himself against Gibbs, the hotel man and his friend, who
threatened to thrash him for swearing falsely in a liquor case. Van
Brunt is subject to epileptic fits and his swooning away during religious
excitement caused considerable stir in Castile & Le Roy. This is the
fourth murderer ever jailed in Wyoming Co.- the man hung at Genesee Falls
being the first; Teachout, the second, and the Attica murders of Betsey
Minkle the third.

Oct. 21, 1886 issue- Rochester Herald said that Van Brunt had on several
occasions got into different scrapes and was often fighting among his
companions. On one occasion while out boating on the creek with some
friends his quick temper arose by the fact of being splashed with a little
water by some boys who were passing in a boat and for this trivial offense
he drew a revolver and threatened to shoot.

A Toronto dispatch said he was arrested in Toronto in 188) for
attempting to commit suicide after a Salvation Army girl rejected him.
lwo years previously he was at a hospital in Toronto and attempted to
throw himself over the bannister of a spiral staircase.

Feb 17, 1887 Trial of Van Brunt opened in Warsaw on Feb. ll, with Judge
Albert Haight, Buffalo, presiding. JI, Sam Johnson, one of Defense coun-
sels, asked for postponement to interview and secure witnesses from Cana-
da.- Toronto and St. Catherines. Gen. Linus Thayer was associate counsel;
also said time was needed to trace his movements during last two years
as he believed him insane at time of murder. Dist. Attorney HKugene Bartlett
argued that the case start at once and offered.to send at once to Canada
for witnesses. Trial ordered held. 56 examined before jury of 12 were
selected. Myron C. Bartlett assisted his son, the district attorney.
Jury was:

Arcade- Homer Burton; Covington, George Hastman; Hagle, Edwin B
Brown, Thos. Nelson; Java, Henry Hogan; Middlebury, Russell Miller; Pike,
Spencer Carnes, Hugene Powers,(forman); Perry, Brayton J. Taylor, Eugene
Jeffres; Wethersfield, Jacob Pfifer; Warsaw, Walter S. Carpenter.

First witness was Eva Roy. Met Van Brint at skating rink in War-
saw and introduced at Army meeting. He proposed to her and wanted £B a
secret marriage. When I said my folks would not permit it, he had threat-
ened to shoot her if she wouldn't marry him. They quarreled frequently.

Was jealous of her half-brother, Roy, and a friend, Tom Lucas of Castile.
He had been engaged to a Le Roy girl.

Simon Roy,father testified. Lived in Castile,married three times,
50 yrs old,had 2 children by 1st wife, by end & 10 by third. Roy was
youngest by 2nd wife. Lived in BuffaloSt. His son was 2h yrs old last
Jan. Father identified photo,etc.

Col. James 0. McClure testified about map of house he had made, etc.

Constable Marcus Pond, Castile next witness. Locked Van Brunt up.
Van Brunt told him he shot Roy, "Because he was meddling with my girl.

I was jealous" Will was trying to induce Eva not to marry fan Brint.
\

Maggie Roy, mother, called. Married 19 yrs. Did board Van Brunt
but thought their engagement was “all in fun". Told Van Brunt he could
not have Eva. Was asleep when murder took place.

Frank E. Davis, Buffalo Eve. News reporter, testified that in inter
view with Van Brunt in Warsaw jail a day or two after his arrest, the pris-
oner admitted picking up revolver and shooting. |

Defense called. Charles Hughes & Herman Able, Toronto; & Rev,
Charles Darling, Toronto. The former had employed him - the latter had
talked with him after his 1885 suicide attempt.


\ys

Van Brunt testified Friday morning before a large crowd. Said he
was born in London, 2 Mrs old last Dec.; a taile son of Robert Edward
smith, an officer in WW Queen's Zuerds, but did know where he went -
possibly to America or Australia. His mother died in hospital when he was
6 or 7, that he lived with grandmother named "Brunt", he himseld added "Van!
Since coming to U.S. Hip disease of childhood caused lameness. Educated
privately by grandmother and a titled lady (Lady Alderson) with whom he
lived two years in the north of England. He was sent away from this luxur-
ious home in disgrace because he mingled with the villagers and was ap-
prenticed to a tailor in Dorchester. Ran away, caught, sent back to London,
came to Canada in 1882 with grandmother and aunt. Twice in hospital &
arrested for suicide attempts. Said he had headaches and what he said were
epileptic fits. Told of Salvation Army experiences. Said on occasions his
mother weckoned him to fellow her, ‘Testified Eva was in love with Koy.
Didn't intend to shoot when he went downstairs. His testimony lasted more
than 5 hrs with utmost coolness.

ie

Case fiven to jury Gat, 19th at 3 o'clock. Verdict three hours
later- murdér En'the ‘Ist degrees: Van Brunt said it was not done with pr
meditation or deliberation. Judge Haight then sentenced him to be ha
BOT, (57). Cost ef trail set at about $1500, Sheriff Hough says Van Brunt
spends most of his time reading the Bible,

o
oe,

oan)

pH

\

3-10-"87. Van Brunt busy writing his autobiography.

3-17-87 Sheriff Hough has received numerous applications from persons all
over the state for tickets of admission to execution of Van Brunt, Only
26 to be admitted,

pr i, 1007 = Van Brunt's execution stayed due to appeal.

Oct. 6, 1887 - VUonviction of Van FE runt has been affirmed, He wild
be resentenced on Rochester, Oct. 7 - Later, to be sentenced at Warsaw
WoC. <5, ac 10 a.m.

Now 3, 1887 - Sentenced to be executed Dec. & between hours of 11 &

Lh by Judge Lewis. Van Brunt read a statement saying there was no pre-
meditation, he had not planned to kill, had carried revolver all evening
anyway. Did not feel the extreme penalty should be carried out. Judge
Lewis reminded him that he had had a fair and impartial trial conducted
by able counsel and that the case had been taken to General Terms and
they had discovered no error in the trial,

Van, Brunt: told TIMES reporter he did not expect statement

would do any good, but wanted to take opportunity to speak his opinion.
He knew he had committed a *errthble crime and should atone. Van Brunt
has decorated the walls of his cell and the corridor in which he sits
with pictures of all kinds cut from illustrations in papers and over
his cell are the words, “Happy Bob" in large letters cut from silver
papor. He keeps his corridor scrupulously neat. Vosburgh & Thorpe are
the death watch.

Nov 10, 1887 - Van Brunt case has cost the county more than $3,000.

Dec. 1, 1887 - Gen. Thayer has served notice of appeal of Van Brunt
which will stay his execution.

eee

Dec/ 29, 1887 - Evidence in Van Brunt case ordered printed for the ap-

, 2008

Mar. &, 1888 - Court of Appeals upheld judgment. Mar 1, Warsaw, Judge
Haight sentenced Van Brunt to execution Apr 13, (eri) between 106 il.
Van Brunt thanked his counsel and received back his personal papers, etc


"TTM
Brunt,
take
Apr.

Mar. 22, 1885 - Democrat & Chronicle reporter had long interview with

Van Brunt. Described prisoner as blue eyed, pale, light complexion,

hair almost white, slenderly built. He wore carpet slippers, smoked

a cob pipe, and was reading a religious book. Dressed in dark blue blouse
relic of Salvation Army days and other dark clothes; on head was a tra- ’
veling cap turning inside out so the red lining was conspicuous. Said

he felt well, sleeps well and has good appetite. Said his parents were
Church of England and he attended that church as a child and didn't think
his new Catholic faithewas very far apart. Joined Army in Toronto as he
liked to sing. Went to Castile to follow business of tailor. Thought trial
fair only Eva Roy swore his act was premeditated, but "I never thought
once before I shot young Roy. It was all the work of an instant." Van
Brunt has many visitors and takes pride in showing his cell with pictures
cut from periodicals. Cell neat & orderly. Has photograph of only sister
her husband and child, and an imitation altar over the head of his bed
with a curdboard cross covered with tin foil taken from tobacco

packages.

Mar. 29, 1888- Van Brunt asked Gen. Thayer not to'seek executive clem-
ency. In interview to reporter of Buffalo News he said he would pre-
fer execution to hanging.

ES" A Apr 95. 1888 - Reprints long letter from Gen. L.W. Thayer to Van
reviewing efforts to change the sentence. Thayer claimed he did not

the case for money.

12, 1888 - Review of life of Van Brunt, to be hung, Apr 13, for murder

CGct.
tinue
Dec.
Mar.

7, 1886: Feb.1h, 1887 - first trial, Judge Haight presiding, and con-
d through week. Convicted by jury. Sentenced to be hanged Apr 15.

8, 1887 - again sentenced by Judge Lewis after appeal to @eneral Term
1, 1888 - sentenced third time by Judge Haight after appeal to Court

of Appeals.

Annie
end o

Van Brunt's Salvation Army work in Canada caused him to meet Miss
Lepper, of Thorold, whose father consented to marriage. if. at the
f a year, he could aupport her. He was ill three weeks with congestion

of the brain, at her house, and after that the engagement was broken off.

Apr. 12, 1888 - Miss Roy left yesterday for Albany in hopes to see Gov. Hill
as she thinks there was no premeditation on Van Brunt's part, - to get him
to stay execution or commute sentence to life. |

the o

Arrangements for execution being made - the second in WYoming County,
nly other one being a man named Russell in 1853 for killing a fellow

workmanrnnamed Mc Cann on the Erie Rr at the time of its construction.

5 @

In order to hide the scene a fence has been erected on the top
of the stone wall surrounding the jail yard, and also a standard
over which to throw a canvass. Throuen the Gourtesy of sheriif Gilbers
of Buffalo, Sheriff Gardiner has secured the scaffold belonging to
Erie Co, & 1t fas been set up im the jail yard. 10 is one of the old-
fashioned drop kind, by which the condemned man climbs km a stair-

way, steps upon a trap, and then when the latter is jerked from under him

is dropped to the end of the rope. Rope made of strongest hemp by
sailmakers of Buffalo.
Attending physicians will be Dr. Lusk, Warsaw and Dr. G.I’. Palmer,

Pike. Father Leddy will be assisted by Father Vanderpool of Le Roy in
the last ministrations. Burial will take place in afternoon in the Cath-
olic Cemetery. Jurors subpoenaed ares’ Geo. P. Tisdale, Arcade; Grove
Barnum, Bennington;f.A. Dutton, Gainesville; £.S. Smith, Middlebury;
Frank Glasner, Sheldon; Frank H. Wilson, Jr., Hagle; A.P. Sage, Warsaw;
Lewis Jl Morgan, Wethersfield; G.M. Palmer, Pike; John S. Dann, Genesee
Falls; Charles Morris, Warsaw. Deputies Gardiner, Wetherel, Bradley,
Tozier, & Crosfield will also be present.

Monday, Van Brunt was moved from upper corridor of jail, the windows
of which overlook the jailyard, and put in lower corridor on west,side,
all of which was newly pApered, carpeted and lighted, for his benefit.

He was very much upset by this change, was very nervous, and later told

TIMES he wouldn't have minded. witnessing from the windows preparations
for his execution. An Eagle: burglar, was at his request, moved to keep
him company in the corridor. He spent last days answering letters and
had a picture of Self from newspapers over the deurzo! his cell.

Apr 19, 16685 = Van Brunt executed Fri. Apr 13, at 10:17 a.m. opent last
day visited by spiritual advisors, doctor, sheriff and three newspaper
reporters. At 11:30 p.em., ate, smoked, bathed and did not retire until

3 aem.; slept fitfully and was up at 6 o'clock. Ate light break fast

at 8 and visited by Dr. Lusk. Refused: stimulents, saying he did not need
them and would not weaken. Eva Roy returned at an early hour from Albany
begged an interview with him but was refused, and left for Gastile at

10 a.m. J, Sam Johnson called upon him 40 9 o'clock with message from
Gen. Thayer who spent the day in Kochester to avoid being in town.

His last hour was spent with priests who arrayed him for death and
burial in neat white shroud with cuffs and turn-down collar and a band
about his waist. Before leaving cell, Deputy Sheriff Wetherel adjusted
noose about his neck with knot under left ear, pinioned his arms and put
on the black cap. At 10 o'clock witnesses assembled and procession moved
at 10:15 with deputies Wetherel & Bradley on eiyher side and priests
ahead. Van Brunt was pale but showed courage and nerve. He walked up stair
and under crossbeam, sheriffs, priests and attending deputies only with
him. The Sheriff pinioned legs and drew black cap over his eyes, and Van
Brunt said, "Good-bye, God Bless you." Sheriff made preparations, signal-
led to deputy and undersheriff who pulled the fetal lever. [ne trap tell
at 10:17 and death was instantaneous. Ay 10:30 Drs. Lusk & Randall
pronounced life extinct and his body was taken down, and laid in casket
of imitation rosewood with plated handles and lined with white. Body
taken to east parlor of jail where body could be viewed until 1:30 when
pokerment, $39" place in Gatholic Cemetery in presence of Father Leddy,

. S and a few curious spectators. No excitement in village,
a pleasant day. Van Brunt left last letter to Gen. Thayer proclaiming
the crime was not premeditated.

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MOTIVE

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APPEALS

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Crmank WEWION OFFICE SUPRLY-OOTHAN


| VAN BRUNT, Robert, white, 2, hanged Warsaw, NY, l)-13-1888,

wy 3.4 PEOPLE v. BRUNT. | 435

to exist, and others may occur. But, outside of these, subsurface currents or
percolations are not governed by the rules and regulations respecting the use
and diversion of water-courses, and they may be intercepted or diverted by
the owner of the land for any purpose of his own. The case first above cited
resembled the present one in‘the feature that the action was to prevent the
interception and diversion of certain sources of supply reaching a water-
course known as “Longwood Brook.” One of these was a swamp or wet
piece of ground which the opinion describes as “merely like a spring, so to
speak, fixed on the side of a hill;” and of the subterranean courses commu-
nicating with the swamp, which certainly existed, it was deemed a suflicient
answer that they were “not traceable so as to show the water passing along
them ever reaching Longwood Brook.” Another source of supply was de-
scribed as a stream welling out of the ground al adepth of about two feet,
which flowed into a receiving basin, three feet square, used as a watering
place. 1n those respects it resembled the spring in the present case; but, un-
like that, the surplus and waste, instead of disappearing in the ground, fol-
lowed ditches and depressions in the surface until it reached the brook. Both
supply sources were intercepted and diverted, and a right of action therefor
denied,—as to the first, on the ground that the subterranean currents were
concealed, and not traceable; and the second, upon the distinct proposition
that the owner might intercept or stop them before they reached a natural
water-course. In Village of Delhi v. Youmans, supra, it was said that the
owner of land might lawfully intercept percolations or under-ground currents.
The reasons and justification of the doctrine are well stated in Acton v. Blun-
dell, 12 Mees. & W.324. They are that, as the water does not flow openly in
the sight of the owner of the soil under which it passes, there is no ground
for implying consent or agreement between the adjoining proprietors, which
is one of the foundations on which the law of surface streams is built; that a
different rule would enable a lower proprietor to prevent the upper owner
from using the water in his own soil, and expose him to loss and danger in
making improvements on his own land; and a further reason is found in the
indefinite nature of the right claimed, and the great extent of obligation
which would be incurred. The law in other states is in accordance with the
views here expressed. Haldeman v. Bruckhart, 45 Pa. St. 514; Greenleaf v.
Francis, 18 Pick 117; Frazier v. Brown, 12 Ohio St. 294; Chatfield v. Wil-
son, 28 Vt. 49; Roath v. Driscoll, 20 Conn. 533. And the rule is strongly
stated in Ang. Water-Courses, c. 4, § 114, as being that “the owner of land
on which a spring issues from the earth has a perfect right to it against all
‘the world except those through whose land it comes; and has a right to it
even as against them until it comes in conflict with their enjoyment of their
own property.” ‘The proposition, while very broadly stated, and somewhat
open to criticism, embodies the substance of the prevailing doctrine as to the
right of the owner to intercept and divert under-ground currents and percola-
tions for his own uses, without responsibility to a lower proprietor.

The judgment of the general term should be aflirmed, and judgment abso-
lute rendered for the defendant, with costs.

All concur.

(108 N. Y. 656)
PEOPLE ¥. BRUNT.

(Court of Appeals of New York. February 28, 1888.)

Y. Crimm~aL LAw—Apprrat—ReviEw or Facts—StTaTUTES—AMENDMENT,

Laws N. Y. 1887, c. 493, (amending Code Crim. Proc. § 528, so as to vest in the
court of appeals the same jurisdiction to review the facts as the supreme court, )
provides, in section 3, that the amendment “shall not affect any appeal taken to and
pending in the supreme court or court of appeals at the time this act shall become
alaw.” Held, that in a case in which an appeal had been taken to the supreme
court before the enactment of the law, but appealed to the court of appeals after

the enactment, the court of appeals would review the facts.

ses Gite ols Pimms ttn sag Taree stmt


wero GERMAN", [VAN BRUNTS LIFE;TAREN :
teres = Spee set arbaaitd Saaparnenaneanaenen THR CasTILE MURDERER RARUED In ot
i § LAGER] ™ scname=
ODS bn anes nei an ANN Wiens He Died Bravely—Death Was Palniess, His
. on Wy er Lm i Neck Bemg Brokea—Ho jf 1
ome ‘Drawn from the Wood, |, Sail jo Sen the Prise” Called at the
Be : ae AT. ? A Batavian's Interview. With | ont his ik 1
‘PEOPLE oe ee Him Yesterday—Sketch of Van Brant’s any wi saat p
‘Ps af yt . ’ " Career and the Story of the Crime, .
2 George F. Green’s| cnr: ras meee”, 288 on F808 to ee
7 Pe ge eee Ww Thuraday, October 7, 1886)-In the Roy
we ams ansaw, April 18.—During the last house.” Eva Roy, who wis sixteen :. years
ss. RESTAURANT .. hour or two of Van Brunt's life his spiritual | old, Was .sittlng-up with her ghattbrother,
ee advisers were with him. Dr. Lusk saw him | Wlillam Roy, who “wals to tal ay early
in oe T RECEIVED [it ‘Te condemned man diepiayed re. Ma Van rans Feu fo gale
ne J US ’ markable resignation and very little ner- that Eva‘and hen! brother, were aitting “ap, : .
P oe ae vousneas, (fe sh ae be feome “aigwn salts ‘at “about 3 o'clock. ‘fe ae oe A. -Brown,: tht’ j
- tier. At 10:19 when the prieet few Eva, in her night-dress, which she had ede ee ee ee
: pri had completed drawn over her Will g00da——The Ever; '
, oe F "© [fre services, Deputy Sneritte. Bradley. and Roy. Then he went beck to te oo, but Association have electe _ ;
ea J B FO N D A S Witheril! escorted Van Brant through the Soon returned, and told Eva she had better trustecs fora term-of th ”
. Se eae x | corrider and out into the inclosure.. The Heures, 22 her mother did not approve of her | J Jeng nee, A: Port Ns
- 7 o Main Street, : condemned man did not look atthe scaffold. was coe oy ate. The capi Meee for the past wafteralls .
$ Fe : He glanced at the Priests and seemed to find mother objected. ~ At this Van Brunt’s pas- discharged, ts 104. —a—— 4
200-Gallons of the J ustly Hod lg fares oe stén gained muster over him, and, drew- Scare eetines of
. - audible tone and walked up revolver, he ' ~ through Dakota A” x
N : Celebrated the steps to the Scaffold. He trembind"'s the head, causing . _in about thirty-six Seuae ‘8 Secon Sten :
L' : é Rete little, but seemed less affected than most of the Bal og eee Od een evening next———-A fow n
= Det We Lead Works|ssse "eh, ooo eal taes Sareiat rks cleteneeas i
rh : are a : Were being pinioned he whispered -to 2 been for dae get, jp Had if not
? i : % ; tinct depaty that 1t was unnecessary, Bit Fens the RGB, Which: was: by
| LIQUID PAINT. Wiest mse Gnd ancun cua-|Scoaen Semen Tea
s . The bane aot Meher, palled © drop. heaped eicre stmt eably have
a sold 40 gal. of It in 1886 and over 400 ga). asual Bape Poet nod th the eee Van Brurif was arzotted at oncé and taken
ee aed i to bee mnmeed ‘by all who have | oe wert an death resuited from sto a Femi tip ay ra Bat eh
sing ‘in An used it to ig chca as su t we * lation. ows . FE LG. t un LO-Gay, « pon
v on Os Te tod Dr. Luak ste t th ‘Gial he was convicted gf murder In the first
‘ade THB BEST LAQUID. PAIRT EVBR SOLD) ,.2%,i20¥ tats that tne neck Pe consed in| 2670 and. on ‘Petey Ie, ae

IN BATAVIA.

: ‘PiCeacks or Peak eB 2 oes psn ae ertenme:

The white gown in which Van Brunt ‘i
hanged

2 eal 5 aM ‘0
i ote Hee 2 . down aha Placed in a neat ‘eedar cacket i third
et a J. B.FONDA, was 1 ake ple tion ont ‘The Dural | ARtenced, for the
igralna i ° ee : was" 6 place fn ic, cemetery |
Sand $1.00 i 70 Main St... Batavis, N.Y. - | at 1 o'lodk this afteruoon. eK =!
er : ——— he extention was witnessed only by the
ee a OrzB4 neces, [per magn, 7 PY MM and. few. nse
8 Bo matter on aa ™ Van Brint ate, amoked, and took-a. bath j
FIRE & HITE. : - - wf about guanine tet night, and, alter an
7 .. BATAVAA, - «| houk’s divation, an Deh - He
oa. SATURDAY - ae 4% {8 souridly until 6 o'clock,
; ee : | Woke andafose, He bimeelt |
a EVENING, . April 14, a8 be had at all other times, py

aq. “oli Sige aatess Sat 7 i

DIxs hy.

Sapported by the Kfiicient Organization,
- BICE &. DIXEWn

ig Rnrles: | 'x|

a greta 9
Supported by the Eilic: i. Urganization,

MR. HENRY FE. — [3%,

avoided, which tho condemned’ man him-
‘eared “

Pag

Eva Roy is here. She came early this
motning, and at 7 o'clock entered the dwell-

A ttl. Biae sated

agement toa — ie
re “ =

"J ULLDUAL coureyed W Val runt tue Gener- ie age
al’s parting words, and thus a scene was| Brunt tien
avoldéed, which the condemned man him. | 50. and he wor aes

RICE & DIXEWs

self bad feared,

fourteen. minutes, The death was. pain- tenced to be hinged
" tgr Warranted not to Powder, Chalk,| ‘7 we

th
delle

avail. Within the ‘past month Van Brunt | Ch:
‘wrote a long letter to Gan. Thayer, express-|

Ajaoqoy: * INQMe NVA RS

7
i
ne
PRIRAS, | ates
= Re ie Bi ‘gang Phin
’ , # i ot >=
+

in, WhO wasin Rochest:

iby I. Sam. Jobn-| that he Saw, and he got the Ae Sag

rgetically in behalf} Ho 08 Rave a descrintion

of the unfortnnate yonne men hee 6 ,

Bl

Je

“tresae poswey

Me

pack

TRS


A ees COUVEYEU WV au TULL We Geuer-
iy ~%3
eo cee aed arting words, and thus a scene was

- “qua Supported by the Eis: uit Urganization, )geumt4ed, which tho condemned man him-
r > © RICE & DIXEWs ee ne - s
: s Big Burlesque Co’y fog Taof hejatand ew bere a cng he ertudo to im and saying that li | Mes. "wath Sohnoos
- OY BIXTY oe the ner Renowned . boii aca kindy ane opi eae he was content to die. He had no faith in 8. Ruth Johnson died a:

: i ‘| go to Gen. Thayer's house or to a hotel, | 82 ®Ppeal to the Governor for mercy. The} ofhtrson, Alonzo Johnson,
A-D O-N [—S | _ | ‘108, Shetity, piease let me see him,” plead. | S0FY of the tragedy was printed ta ‘Tne linejroad In Batavia yesterds |
oh oe ' Jed Eva with tears in her eyes: but tho of- subeeyeene rete nee aad the the B7th yearofherage, Mi-
With lis Wéelth of, Attrections and Great: Cast ot | Aclal was obdurate, and Eva left :
Characters. New Musie! - :

to the Governor, have been fully detailed in| Fesided during the past wh

. Augmented Orcbestra! — ire 1 ter, Mrs. Ruth Morge_

New Contumiea! Now Specialtiea! Sagaif cee ee at Delavin, whip tal Get nbc tants oes
ony Boone ; Warsaw yesterday, had an interview with A Rrakeman SeMouly War ristt—She took a severe oc
tsy 61 and Pie Firat} Van Brunt. Mfr. Ward and Sheriff Gardner ie : sulted in pneumonia. The fi *

fosarved at $1.40. All taped are old friends, and when the former called

ae :

afternoon NeDonald met} Fritz Gelster, the old Gen

aE ~ } his religious adviser, asked him to come aut with ajserions socident, falling f 2

- y per. of his cell a minute, as he had an old friend deck 0 : ear aia the | assaulted last December some
9

1 poauey ‘yaodod Fin

4

starting of the train. Kuowing | 924 Whose case attracted cons
lost his balance that he must fall, | tion at the time, is evidently »
: landing on his feet but falling|tomer. He has showed no
pees in an hat be tee ewe and] violent'y, striking on the back of his head Corer he ihe
nese sctemmaese ee i TD Ee remarked to him that he was pleased to see Hi 1 uD ouse, been a
ae ee DC ve rmmiaicin him looking so wel! in such a trying time! oonak, Seriticnlroeenee ene Md Stant expense to the town. 1
; RU a a ve es and expressed the hope that his courage “pees

—— was dronk on the street and : .
would not fall him when the last hour came. In Burrogate’s Court. « | took him to jai This mornh ~’

Van Brunt thanked him and aald: ice Crosby senthim to the C
PER : ROLL. “Oh, Thave no fear in regard to that.| ‘TheJwill of Thompson Walt, late of Elba, | tor four montha.
ie er es ae My courage will nog failand I have no fear has beén admitted wo Probate In Sorrogate’s]  eooms Spellman Goes tp 3 Goes to:

for the fatare. I place my trust entirely in
: the Supreme Being.” : ft ; ena
'-- | A few more words passod between them | , The] will of Rebecca 8. Garrett, late of| Emma Spellman, the girl:
sod Van Brunt shook hands with Mr. | Alexay alps ee | gnats {of probate, from hunger and exposure
Ward, bade him goodby and walked back 4 estate owing to the nnkindness | he:

Into his cell with a firm step. In regard to] Of Johh Bibbey, Jate of Pembroke, bas been she ae

Van Brant’s personal appearance Mr. Ward } Preseiped Rete

“= {gays he was agrecably impressed with him, |. ‘
““s~ | He has not 2 bad conntenance at all, and is} —~ ~
quite intellectual looking. The Sheriff told Mr.
Mr. Ward that » better prisoner could Dot ly of He
.: [dé asked for. He has almost always been | !¥ of fs
quiet and fs quite an interesting companion,

€yi0] “MON Smesae

ae belng well read and a good conversational-| fits of iatural gay at Toledo, be thinks Ba- fare, :
. fle” ee : tavlanp will make a great mistake {f they! : - | ee —ineeeerenmeataan, £
é PULL wee TT TN fg VOD Brant was.3¢ years old and av Eug-| aband n thely gas well at its present depth.| : Death From Henre D0:
She naked 2 905 3 80 FY ST anman, He was born of parents nawad = es 2 MN cmcsamsin

Say Sp murs ;
7p Smith, but his mother died when he. was NOW Advertisments. -— b xtla Ne i aged 17 you Z
:} mother, named Brant, with 4 following John Noun, who
| for s tie. He wre df a3

uy

Pod ae

sa

|


~~

mattress near the wall the officers viewed
the half burned body of the young girl.

Lillian lay face down, her arms out-
stretched. Only portions of her shoes, her
socks and her plaid skirt remained un-
burned. The skeletal network of her wired
brassiere pressed into scorched flesh. The
girl’s hair was burned off to the scalp line.

Lussen turned away in frank revulsion.

“Her undergarments were partially
stripped off,” Carey told him. “The kid
must have been raped.”

“Sure,” Lussen said. “I’m going upstairs
to talk with the boy. Let me know the
minute the medical examiner comes.”

According to Richard, when Lussen in-
terviewed him, there were signs that an
intruder had broken into his mother’s
home. He had found the porch door par-
tially open. The first floor was disordered,
apparently by a searcher.

The detective commander pointed out
that 187th Street was close to the center
of the city’s illicit narcotics trade. An
addict on the prowl for money with which
to buy a fix might have broken into the
house and surprised the young girl alone.

“You look around and see if anything is
gone, sonny,” he said. “If some hophead
took away something to pawn, that might
be the best lead we'll ever get to him.”

While young Mojica made the rounds of
the house with detectives, the Rev. Father
Francis Xavier Griffin, of St. Elizabeth’s
Church across the street, hurried over to
administer last rites to the victim. The
officers spoke with him afterward.

“She was a fine young lady,” Father
Griffin said sadly. “They’re a very pious
family. Good .people, moral, self sacrific-
ing.”

“She came to church regularly?” Deputy
Inspector Carey asked.

“Yes,” the priest said. “They came as a
family group.”

“You know the mother?”

“I do,” Father Griffin said. “I’ll call her
up at her place of work and break the
news to her, if you like.”

Assistant Medical Examiner Francis
Mathus arrived at’ the Mojica home ina
mortuary ambulance from Bellevue Hos-
pital. Inspector Lussen accompanied Dr.
Mathus to the basement.

Dr. Mathus quickly determined that an
attempt had been made to strangle the
young girl with a venetian blind cord, the
charred remnants of which still encircled
her throat. A loop of similar material was
wrapped around the dead girl’s left wrist.

“I’m certain she was subjected to a sex-
ual assault,” Mathus told the detective
commander, “but we'll know more about
that after the autopsy.”

“About what time was she killed?”

The physician could only approximate
the time of death. It was his opinion that
Lillian had been lying under the mattress
in the cellar since mid-morning.

“She was struck on the head with some
sort of blunt instrument,” the medical
examiner concluded. “I have no idea what
the nature of that instrument was, but I’m
sure that death either resulted from that
blow on the head or from asphyxia due to
the manual strangulation.”

The remains were photographed by
technicians from the scientific section. The
body was then removed to the morgue.

Mrs. Anna Mojica, numbed by grief, was
brought to the home in a squad car. On
the verge of collapse, she was much too
upset to be questioned. She confirmed that
when she left the house shortly after seven
in the morning, Lillian had still been at
home.

Twenty-five detectives, assigned to the
case along with the complement of men
from the homicide squad, toured the area

74 >

in search of information, By dusk a num-
ber of neighborhood youths had been
shuttled to the Wadsworth Avenue station
for questioning. In addition, school friends
of the dead girl were similarly rounded
up.

One by one, the four boarders at the
Mojica home returned to the house where
they were immediately interviewed.
Lorenzo Acevedo and Eduardo Riveri had
left their rooms at the same time that
morning. Riveri was able to prove that he
pues a copy of El Diario, a Spanish-
anguage newspaper, at the corner news-
stand. The attendant confirmed that both
men had stopped at his stand before 7:30
on their way to the subway.

Twenty-five year old Andrez Aponte
said he had left only a short time after-
wards. At his place of work, his time card
indicated that indeed he had arrived at
the normal time, 8:25 a.m.

Pablo Vargas, 33, the last to return
home, was also able to give a compre-
hensive account of his day. Vargas, as as-
sistant cook at Brooklyn Jewish Hospital,
gave the officers the name of the personnel
chief at the institution and urged them to
telephone at once.

This was done. Vargas had indeed ap-
peared at Brooklyn Jewish Hospital that
day. He came to the office in the late morn-
ing and spoke with one of the clerks.

“Funny thing about that,” the person-
nel chief told the police. “Normally, this
is Vargas’ day off. He said somebody
phoned him at his home and told him to
report to work. He showed up here, but
we have no record of any such call.”

“Somebody from that hospital called
me,” the swarthy assistant cook averred.
“I went all the way out there and got
changed into my whites before the dieti-
cian said I should go home.”

“But you didn’t come home,” Deputy
Inspector Carey pointed out. “Why not?”

Vargas shrugged. “My wife and I are
separated,” he said. “But I go to see her
every once in awhile. You know how it is.
I figured that’ as long as I was out, I’d
drop in on her and the kids.”

Searching his recollection, the lodger
retraced his movements from the time he
left the hospital in mid-morning. First he
cashed a check at the bank, then he went
downtown to the lower East Side where
he visited with Justina, his estranged wife
at her apartment on Third Avenue.

“We put the baby to sleep in the crib,”
Vargas said, “and when the two older boys
came back from school I took one of them
out and bought him a pair of shoes.”

“How come you're not living with your
wife?” Vargas was asked.

Hesitantly the husky assistant cook ex-
plained that he had been arrested for try-
ing to knife Justina in the course of an
argument some years before. From that
time on the couple had agreed to separate.

The officers went with Vargas to the
room which he occupied in the Mojica
home: They found that the assistant cook
had a taste for fancy clothes. In his closet
were ten suits, several pairs of carefully
pressed slacks, and an extensive and costly
collection of sport shirts. In addition, the
lodger’s bureau top was burdened with an

_array of pomades and handsomely bottled

toilet waters. His vanity was manifest, and
from his manner it was obvious that Pablo
Vargas considered himself something of a
gay dog with the ladies.

“Did you know that Lillian Mojica was
in the house this morning at the time you
left to go to the Brooklyn hospital?” he
was asked. ‘

“No,” Vargas said. “I figured she was in
school.”

“She didn’t go to school this morning.
How come you didn’t see her?”

,

se nk RMR AF

Vargas, his brows beetling, suddenly
became angry.

“What are you trying to do?” he de-
manded. “Somebody knocked off the kid.
Okay. I’m sorry as hell. She was a cute girl,
and good as gold. But what’s that got to
do with me? I’m not-on the make. I got
all the women I can handle.

“Maybe I like to be well dressed,” Var-
gas stormed. “But that doesn’t make me
into a killer. Why ask me about this deal?”

Questioning of people in the neighbor-
hood served only to enhance Lillian’s im-
peccable reputation and threw no addi-
tional light on the murder.

Even tough street corner loungers added
to this concept of the unfortunate murder
victim. Lillian was never seen in the com-
pany of young men, although she was
“whistle bait.” She never encouraged the
advances of the young toughs who called
to her when she passed.

From Bellevue, the preliminary autopsy
report confirmed that the depraved as-
sault on the young victim was, in all
probability, Lillian’s first encounter with
sex. Tests indicated that the girl was raped
after being knocked unconscious, and
while she was in her death throes as the
result of asphyxia. Strangulation, and not
the severe blow on the head, had put an
end to the girl’s life. The skull injury
suggested that Lillian might have fallen
against some blunt projection.

Experts from the police technical squad
found indication that the girl had died in
the bathroom of her home. She had either
fallen or been knocked down so that her
head struck the edge of the bathtub. Blood
and hair specimens taken from the rim
of the tub bore out these conclusions.

The technicians also ascertained that
“some highly volatile agent” had been
used to drench the girl’s body and clothes
before she was set afire. The blaze had
been so rapid that the intense heat literally
crisped the girl’s flesh in the few seconds
before the mattress was thrown over her
body. Fortunately, the mattress, instead
of feeding the flames, had extinguished
them.

In searching for the “volatile agent”
which turned Lillian’s body into a torch,
the officers gave careful attention to the
perfumes found in Pablo Vargas’ bedroom.
No other combustible material could be
found in the home. The officers searched
the lodger’s closet, hoping to find an
empty scent bottle. Instead, they found
something which seemed of even greater
pertinence to the case.

A blue flannel bathrobe, liberally
spattered with blood, was balled up be-
hind the laundry bag on the closet floor.
The robe was rushed to Centre Street to
be processed by serology experts.

Meanwhile, Pablo Vargas explained the
presence ‘of blood on his robe by telling
the officers that he was constantly picking
at the acne pimples which marred his
complexion.

“I pick them and I blot away the blood
on my robe,” he said.

“Aren’t you afraid of starting an infec-
tion?” Inspector Lussen asked him.

“What the hell—” Vargas said cynically.
He rubbed his fingertips along his pock
marked face. “It’s my skin and it’s my
robe. I figure I can do what I please with
the both of them.”

A uniformed police officer came in and
handed the inspector a note. Lussen read it
and nodded. ‘

“Type O blood on that robe,” he told
Vargas. “The dead girl had type O blood
too. All I can tell you, mister, is that those
pimples of yours better show type O blood
when the doctor takes a look at you.”

It was not necessary for the police sur-

geon to cond
suspect. Pablc
the investigat
he would soo:
ment.

On Friday,
the rape an
pretty Lilliar
New York Pc

“Vargas ha:
in the ground
carrying her
there setting !
ment asserted

“An autops
of strangulati
report shows :
She suffered !
the stranglins
tions, though

The police
Vargas’ state
surprised the
ing her raven
room of her 1
a sudden way
way into the

“Something
claimed to hz

* to explain it.

and be with !

Clad in }
allegedly cla
ardent embr
frightened. I:
he knocked

A Bullet

gp ee?

Sheriff Pel:
so sure.

“By the set
“It’s out of o
keep it in re

“Who boug

The manag
liam Adkins
where he liv
sale was mac

“Did you «
ever asked

“No, not t!

The sheriff
612 Myrtle /
and a clean-
swered the ¢

“We're loc
Sheriff Pele,

‘Tm Willi:
“What can I

The county
Adkins looke
sheriff and d:
salesman,” A
suitcase he s
extended tri;
here. Has tt
her?”

Sheriff Pel
Annie Mae.

Adkins we
turned with
beautiful gi:
it carefully,
news, Mr. A:

William A
shocked. .

“Dead?” h

Sheriff Pe!
band slump
in his hands

“We founc
pond this mc
“When did y


1 eat an go a AMONG al

sears:

alte OCB cca et pal

BO spat SOT at TN

sae gras

THE SEX SAVAGE WHO WATCHED AND WAITED

SHOW BUSINESS 1S
‘BAD BUSINESS!
sa good kid—a__

kid! But killian“*

n Mojica wa

the choir of the Manor Community
Church in lower mid-town Manhattan.

On working and school days the
house was usually empty by 7:30 a.m.

Thus it was that when Richard got
home that afternoon and found no-
body there, he was neither surprised
nor alarmed.

But there was something that did
cause him immediate concern. In the
first place, the porch door was ajar—
and there was an acrid odor of smoke
seeping up from the basement. Richard
went down to investigate.

The youth saw the smouldering mat-
tress in the dark recesses of the cellar.
And then as his eyes became accus-
tomed to the light, he saw one of his
sister’s arms protruding from the mat-
tress.

At this shocking sight, Richard
bounded up the stairs, out of the house,
and sprinted to a neighbor’s. He asked
them to call the police.

Detectives from the Manhattan West
and Homicide Squads under Deputy
Inspector Frederick M. Lussen rushed
to the scene. and a medical examiner
followed shortly thereafter.

Lillian’s clothes had been almost en-

26

tirely burned off. The upper half of
her body was badly charred.

On the girl’s wrists and about her
neck were found the remnants of Ve-
netian blind cord.

Beneath Lillian’s burned hair, police
investigators found an ugly wound. Her
skull had been crushed apparently by
some blunt instrument.

(The following day Inspector Lussen
said a medical examiner’s report show-
ed that the girl had been raped, and
that the cause of death was asphyxia-
tion by strangulation.)

The last persons known to have seen
Lillian alive were her mother and
brother. When they left the house short-
ly before 7 a.m. Lillian was ironing a
skirt. She had told her mother that
she wasn’t feeling well and might not
go to school that day.

It did not take Lussen and his squad
of 50 detectives working on the case
long to break it.

Indeed, it took them less than 24
hours—and Lussen announced they had
their man.

He was identified as Pablo Vargas,
33, who, Lussen said, admitted the rape

and murder of Lillian Mojica after long
hours of questioning, during which he
appeared to be the most unconcerned
person present.

And Pablo Vargas was one of Mrs.
Anna Mojica’s boarders, who had had
a room in the house for a year and a
half.

Vargas, police said, fancies himself
as quite a ladies’ man and is a sharp
dresser. When they searched his room,
the cops said, they found no less than
10 suits and a rather considerable
quantity of hair dressing and _ toilet
water.

Police also found something else in
Vargas’ room, they said—a_blood-
stained bathrobe and shirt. When con-
fronted with these damning garments,
police said, Vargas blithely explained
the crimson marks by saying they came
from his pock-marked face, which he
is given to scratching.

Police were -at the Mojica home
trying to calm Lillian’s mother when
Vargas walked up the front steps. He
affected to be surprised when report-
ers and photographers, encamped on

the porch, asked him if he lived

2s

Smouldering mattress in whi

ch killer wrapped and set fire to Lillian’s body.

Police remove the dead girl from basement after preliminary medical exam.

there, and bewildered by the police
cars.

A photographer opened the door for
Vargas and announced to the cops
inside: “We have another boarder for
you.”

Vargas, a swarthy man, slim, about
5-feet-8, and well-dressed—with a pen-
cil moustache and black hair parted
on the side—was employed as an as-
sistant cook at Jewish Memorial Hos-
pital.

He was taken to the Wadsworth
Avenue Police Station and the all
night quiz session began. Police said

_the suspect drank coffee, ate dough-
‘nuts, and appeared completely unim-

pressed by the line of questioning.

Later, while policed checked Vargas’
story, he sat at a table in the detec-
tives squad room, alternately napping
and staring at newsmen. They all
agreed that he behaved as if he hadn’t
a care in. the world.

bin.

Shortly after noon Friday, day after
the crime, Vargas made what the Dis-
trict Attorney’s office chose to call a
“statement.” Assistant D.A. Herman
said he “wouldn’t call it a confession,”
but ordered Vargas booked on a charge
of homicide.

It was Inspector Lussen who dis-
closed the details of the “statement.”

Lillian, he said, was in the second-
floor bathroom fixing her hair and fully
dressed. That was a little after 7 a.m.
Thursday and Vargas, who had a day
off, was the only other person in the
house.

Vargas went down to the bathroom,
Lussen said, wearing his bathrobe and
saw Lillian through the open door.

He seized the girl in a fierce em-
brace, the inspector continued, and
when she broke loose and pushed him
away he knocked her down and her
head struck the bathtub.

Vargas then attacked the girl, ac-

cording to Lussen, but said he could
not remember whether she was dead
or alive at the time.

Then the boarder carried Lillian’s
body down two flights of stairs to the
basement.

“He claims he does not remember
wrapping Venetian blind cord around
her throat or wrists,” Lussen said. “He
told us he set fire to her jacket with
matches and waited around until the
fire was going good.

“He threw a mattress on top of her.
Then he went upstairs, got dresed and
went out.”

The three other boarders had been
questioned, but proved to the satis-
faction of the police that they knew
nothing of the rape-slaying.

But investigators had their doubts
about Vargas and questioned him at
greater length. His story was that he
had received a call from the hospital
where he was employed to report for
work that day, although it was his da:
off. :

A check revealed that Vargas actu-
ally did go to the hospital and made a
point of seeing and talking to several
employees, Lussen said. But there was
no record of a phone call having been
made to him.

Vargas left the hospital, Lussen said
went to a bank, cashed a check end
then visited his wife, Justina, in lower
Manhattan. Lussen said the couple had
been separated eight months, but were
on friendly terms—despite the fact that
Vargas once attacked her with a knife
and slashed her face. He served a year
in prison, Lussen said, and is still on
parole for the attack, which occured
five years ago.

The couple were married 14 years
ago in Puerto Rico and have three
children. The wife came to New York
first four years later. After working for
a year in a laundry, Mrs. Vargas re-
turned to Puerto Rico to get her daugh-
ter. Vargas and their son came to New
York in 1950.

On the day of the murder, Mrs.
Vargas said, her husband was with
her from 10:30 a.m. until 4:30 a.m.

“My heart is breaking,” she said. “I
don’t believe my husband did this.

“He came here to my home. He made”
love to me. He would not come here
and do that—if he made love first to
the girl.” THE END

27


an went
or chin,”

ie from,
wanted

"she had
or target
us with
ght have
es, Mrs..
e that I
don’t re-

. Bergen

ood was
something

he d
se_. __d
into the
home, ar-

- The sus-
the New

-e she lec-

until 9:30

ment the
Mr. Ber-
mly, “But
yout what
Vhen I got
.p the car
weater.”
y she took
- an empty
. gallon of
fuel from
to Lake
said, “I
» down it,
trunk and

3. Klumpp
» was con-
the body
| ially man-

ass °™ 1g

oli er
tpe , id
a flaming
stench of

onfessed _

3
i

Te ee i domnisbiadocmaall

tS ail

win sie cai ha he

by Robert Chase

POLICE DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, J

THE SEX SAVAGE

IFTEEN-YEAR-OLD Richard
Mojica came home from school
one afternoon last February and
stumbled upon a grisly spectacle.
Shatteringly, young Richard found
himself in the presence -of death—in-
deed of murder, a savage, ruthless
murder.
And the victim was Richard’s pretty
sister, Lillian, 16-year-old choir singer
and high school girl.

Lillian’s charred and _ bludgeonéd
body was found by her brother in the
basement of her home in Washington
Heights, New York. It lay beneath a
smouldering mattress face down in a
remote corner of the cellar, arms out-
stretched.

It was shortly before 4 p.m. Thurs-
day, February 14th, that Richard re-
turned to the family home at 663 W.
187th Street, a large three-story frame
building, one of a. row of private
houses in the venerable residential
neighborhood of north Manhattan.

Richard, a student at Aviation Trades

WHO WATCHED
AND WAITED FOR LILLIAN:

New York, N.Y.

VARGAS, Pablo, PR,

She was sweet
16, but while
rapidly be-
coming a tender
delight to the
male eye, sy
she had not yet"
matured into

a morsel ripe
for a

conscientious

Unfortunately,
a rapist knows
no conscience,
only the
burning fires of

his own lusts!

High School, lived there with his
widowed mother, Anna, and his sister,
Lillian. There were also four male
boarders, which Mrs. Mojica had taken
in to pad out the family income follow-
ing the death of her husband, Car-
mella, who died last June.

Everybody in the house either worked
or went to school. Mrs. Mojica was em-
ployed at the Memorial Center for
Cancer and Allied diseases. Lillian
attended the Grace Dodge Vocational
High School, where she was a sopho-
more and was taking a nursing course.
And on Tuesday nights she sang in

man’‘s taking...

elec:

NY

f
#


suddenly

°” he de-
ff the kid.
a cute girl,
hat got to
ake, I got

sed,” Var-

make me
this deal?”
neighbor-
illian’s im-

no addi-

igers added
ate murder
n the com-
h she was
uraged the
who called

wry autopsy
praved as-
vas, in all
unter with
| was raped
scious, and
iroes as the
on, and not
had put an
kull injury
nave fallen

nical squad
had died in
- had either
so that her
htub. Blood
om the rim
onclusions.

tained that

had been
and clothes
» blaze bad
,eat literally
few seconds
yn over her
ess, instead
xtinguished

itile agent”
nto a torch,
ntion to the
as’ bedroom.
ial could be
ers searched
to find an
they found
-ven greater

»e, liberally
alled up be-
closet floor.
tre Street to
erts.
-xplained the
ne by telling
antly picking
marred his

ay the blood

ing an infec-
d him.

uid cynically.
yng his pock
and it’s my
I please with

came in and
Jussen read it

obe,” he told
type O blood
is that those
type O blood

k at you.”

1e police sur-

geon to conduct an examination of the
suspect. Pablo Vargas, alarmed at the turn
the investigation had taken, indicated that
he would soon be ready to make a state-
ment.

On Friday, the prisoner’s confession to
the rape and_ strangulation murder of
pretty Lillian Mojica was announced by
New York Police Chief Leggett.

“Vargas had admitted striking the girl
in the ground floor bathroom, killing her,
carrying her down to the basement, and
there setting her body on fire,” the state-
ment asserted.

“An autopsy shows that the victim died
of strangulation. The medical examiner’s
report shows also that she had been raped.
She suffered hemorrhage of the larynx in

. the strangling. Her scalp showed lacera-

tions, though no fracture.”

The police reported that, according to
Vargas’ statement, the swarthy boarder
surprised the young girl as she was brush-
ing her raven hair in the downstairs bath-
room of her mother’s home. Overcome by
a sudden wave of lust, Vargas pushed his
way into the bathroom.

“Something came over me,” Vargas is
claimed to have said. “I don’t know how

‘to explain it. I felt I had to go in there

and be with her.”

Clad in his blue bathrobe, Vargas
allegedly clasped the fully clad girl in an
ardent embrace. She pushed him away,
frightened. In the struggle which followed,
he knocked her down and the back

of her head’ had struck the bathtub.

According to the police, Vargas, when
he attacked the girl, did not know whether
she was alive or dead. In a report of what
Vargas told officers, Lussen said:

“He raped her in the bathroom. Then he
dragged her down two flights of stairs
to the basement. He claims he does not re-
member wrapping the venetian blind cord
around her throat and wrists. He told us
he set fire to her jacket with matches and
waited around until the fire was going
good. He threw a mattress on top of her.
Then he went upstairs, got dressed and
went out.”

On Saturday morning, swarthy, sullen
Pablo Vargas stood before Magistrate
Anthony Maglio in Felony Court. Vargas’
lawyer asked the court’s permission for

the prisoner’s wife, Justina, to stand by

his side. :

“No!” thundered the judge. “He will get
no special consideration from this court.
He will be treated as coldly, as impartially
as he treated his victim. He will get the
full protection of the law, and nothing

more.”

“But on behalf of his wife and three
children—” the lawyer continued. |

“He never thought of them,” interrupted
the judge. “The only thing he thought of
was to use them as an alibi.”

Charges set forth in an affidavit by De-
tective Redmond P. Burke were then read.
Neal as was committed to city jail without

ond.

A Bullet Silenced Annie Mae

[Continued from page 42]
Sheriff Pelever asked how he could be

so sure.

“By the setting,” the jeweler answered.
“It’s out of one of our catalogs. We don’t
keep it in regular stock.”

“Who bought it?” Pelever asked.

The manager checked his records. “Wwil-
liam Adkins of 612 Myrtle Avenue. That's
where he lived two years ago when the
sale was made.”

“Did you ever see Adkins’ wife?” Pel-
ever asked.

“No, not that I recall.”

The sheriff and Deputy Parrish found
612 Myrtle Avenue to be a neat cottage
and a clean-cut man in his late 20s an-
swered the door bell. :

“We're looking for William Adkins,”
Sheriff Pelever told him.

“Ym William Adkins,” the man said.
“What can I do for you?”

The county officer identified himself and
Adkins looked puzzled as he ushered the
sheriff and deputy inside. “I’m a traveling
salesman,” Adkins offered. Pointing to a
suitcase he said, “I just got back from an
extended trip. My wife, Annie Mae, isn’t
here. Has this got anything to do with
her?”

Sheriff Pelever asked to see a picture of
Annie Mae. ;

Adkins went into a bedroom and re-
turned with a portrait of a young and
beautiful girl. The county officer studied
it carefully, then he said, “This is bad
news, Mr. Adkins. Your wife is dead.”

William Adkins seemed surprised and
shocked. .

“Dead?” he exclaimed.

Sheriff Pelever watched the young hus-
band slump into a chair and bury his face
in his hands.

“We found her body in Gridley’s mill
pond this morning,” the officer said softly.
“When did you see her last?”

Pelever waited, but no answer to his
question was forthcoming from the
stunned man.

“Your wife had been in the water three
or four days,” the sheriff said finally.
“You've been away?”

The young man nodded. “Yes,” he said
at last. “I’ve been away for ten days. Annie
Mae was all right when I left, but she
wasn’t here when I got back today. I was
going to go to her mother’s. She was sup-
posed to be staying there. Please tell me
what happened.”

“A fisherman found the body this morn-
ing. It was weighted down with stones en-
cased in chicken wire.”

William Adkins seemed startled. “Then
she was murdered?” he asked.

“yes. There was a bullet hole in the
back of her head.” g

“Poor Annie Mae,” the young husband
said. “She was so pretty and she loved life
so much.”

Something in the tone of Adkins’ voice
made the county officer wonder about this
young man’s relations with his wife.

“You have been married two years?”
he asked.

“That’s right.”

“Were you and Annie Mae happy?”

William Adkins did not answer for a
long time. Finally he said, “We were at
first. Then she met another man. Things
weren't the same after, that.”

Sheriff Pelever could see the young
husband was deeply moved by what had
happened to his pretty wife and whatever
had preceded the tragedy.

“{ want to help you,” the officer said.
“Tell me as much as you can.”

William Adkins began by saying he and
Annie Mae had been very happy, -but busi-
ness frequently took him away from.
home.

“My wife was young,” he added. “She
didn’t like being alone and she had this
girl friend. They liked to go out together.
I didn’t mind that. A young girl should
have some fun, but then she met a man
named Conrad Vaughn. He was good look-

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ry loft
levery
on the
sledge-
anding,

slunged
20m 100
p lights
oom, 46
ne, had
stinctive
ibruptly
rap, the

c, strode
him was
r James
id Squad.
‘0 police

st 117th

"two detectives, Victor Shanley (/.) and Thomas Walsh

” was knocked off with thoroughness and dispatch.

Convicted: football fixer Alvin Paris
(c.) tells: Monaghan and a detective
how he met briber Harvey Stemmer
at Bellevue Hospital for conferences

Commissioner Monaghan and part of arsenal equipment
in room of Sutton pal Thomas Kling ‘(c.) flanked by _

«

: New York's underworld finds

business in a slump since the ~ _

“~ a

fighting D. A. has become

the battling Commissioner .

and the capacity to forget self in long hours of pack-break-,

Street. It was time for an executive, even a police com-
ing work” that are characteristic of George Patrick Monag- ~ .

missioner, to be leaving his office and heading for horne.

But Monaghan is a man who knows not the meaning of han. * RG! VEN sgh bee
regular hours. -His detectives had learned that this dice Now 51, 5 feet 9 and.stocky, Monaghan is a battler who
game was being run by a powerful mobster, and the com- has assaulted life every foot-up the ladder and has wrested

from it, the hard way, the things he wants. He became boss...
of New York’s army of 19,000 policemen after 13 years ass”
His participation was not just the type of social call that an_ Assistant District Attorney, a post:in which he became *
high brass sometimes pays while the flash bulbs are popping. known as a brilliant courtroom strategist and.in which he: .
Monaghan stayed on the job far into the night, grilling the © hung’ up a record of 100 homicide convictions, 41 for first-<-
captured gamblers personally in his hunt for information degree murder. 4 ; sofas semis
that might lead to the underworld backers of the enterprise. Throughout his career, Monaghan: always has risen to the: —
As crime goes in the nation’s greatest city, a metropolis challenge of the impossible. _ Tell him a prosecution is: ~~
of some 8,000,000 persons where. even a $100,000: fortune __- hopeless, and he: presses relentlessly forward until he has: .
commands only faint respect, the East Harlem gambling battled through to a. conviction. -Tell him a crime can’t... --
raid was.a picayune operation. But it is significant’ of be solved and he becomes determined to solve it. For such —
New York’s twenty-third police commissioner that he gave a man, the lure of the easy way has no appeal. | He cares not.
the case his full attention, the drive of his determined — for daydreams about a happy past Or a rosy future. ¥
personality, until he became convinced that this particular He says: “Each year I live I like it better. Each, year ~
sore spot had been wiped out for good. seems like a happier one. I don’t want to be 30 again, —
The incident is typical of the attention to minute detail or 25 or 17. I’ll settle for today and tomorrow.” Svea

missioner headed the raid himself, to make certain that it

&


W ij 1 lism hHliael fa Pia wy Wi
William, black, elec, NY (NY) 7/10/1947.

Known as the man who never will
give up—George Patrick Monaghan

oe
at Police

BY FRED J. COOK

fi «

EW YORK POLICE surrounded the four-story loft
building in teeming East Harlem. They. covered every
exit, every window, and even took up posts on the
roof. : Up the stairs rushed a special detail, carrying sledge-

‘hammers and hatchets. Reaching the third-floor landing.
they rained thunderous blows on a locked door. .

The door gave way, and the raiding party plunged

through its splintered remnants into a smoke-filled room 100
feet long and 20 feét wide, with green-shaded drop lights
hanging*from the ceiling. The occupants of the room, 46
men who had been engaged in a $10,000 dice game, had
scattered like. a covey of startled. quail. The instinctive
_rush to doors and windows stopped, however, as abruptly
as it had begun. Boxed in by the perfect police trap, the
gamblers could only stand and wait their fate. .

Then, through the wreckage of the shattered door, strode

-Police Commissioner George P.’ Monaghan. With him was
his close aide, Supervising Assistant Chief Inspector James
R. Kennedy, head of the Commissioner’s Confidential Squad.

It was 5 P.M. February 5th, 1952, when the two police
bosses entered the raided dice room at 508 East 117th

Brooklyn D. A. Miles McDonald (R) hears Police
Commissioner Monaghan describe the Sutton capture

i
q
7


TINE C2)745" 5 PE WE C2)S357.

THOMAS, William, black, electrocuted at Sing Sing (New York) on July 10, 1917.

"Three youthful Harlem thugs who rented stolen pistols for their holdups, were cap=
tured yesterday after a funning duel in which a policeman was killede., Two were
caught a few doors away and the third was caught 13 hours later in Harlem, The

man captured in Harlem was Willie James Thomas, 19-years-old.,.alledged ringleader
of the mob. Police said he confessed to using a .li5 caliber automatic in killing
the patrolman, James Bussey, 33, the father of 3 young children, Thomas was hled on
a homicide charge. Thomas also admitted, the police said, that he had used the

same weapon in the killing of John Fell, a customer in a luncheonette last Thursday.
The two other prisoners tere James Simmons, 22...charged with being Thomas alledged
accomplice in the Fell killing, and George Anderson, 22, charged with robbery and
violation of the Sullivan law. Anderson was accused of being with Thomas on Oct,

°1 when a restaurant at 201 West 36th St. was held up and $161 was taken. Held
with the trio was Connell Lowett, 18-years-old., charged with violation of the
Sullivan law. Although he did not participate in the shooting of the policeman,

it was he, the police said, who rented the pistols they used in a series of
robberies throughout the city. The police said fowett stole the weapons he rented,
Patrolman Bussey and his partner, Thomas Rooney, in- their radio car, were driving
north on Ninth Avenue at 2:30 AeMe Rooney was at the wheel and Bussey was record=
ing radio messages, Near 55th Ste, Rooney spotted the five men as they were about
to enter a bar and grill,..Just as Bussey stepped out of his car with his gun drawn,
the five wheeled around, Thomas, the police said, opened fire immediately, The
bullet strik Bussey in the forehead killing him instantly, Thomas blazed away at
Rooney, who crouched low in the car, then jumped out, returning the fire. (The
other suspects were captured by the police and a bystander.)s.eThree pistols, the
eS Colt automatic, a p-38 German autmoatice and a German 6,35 caliber automatic
were found near the scene of the crime, as well as a shoe box full of ammo.)eue
Lovett had stolen the weapon out of aoldier's locker in a midtown bus terminal,"
TIMES, New York, NY, 10.29.195 (1:2.)

—

(HOR NV, Aco Dax )

§ ui hai % SSAA aie ) ‘
h d at Undercliffe avenue and 176th street,
that the second part of the corpse was found, At
the manufacturers’ identification mark on the oil-
if esome remains were wrapped and in
ictured part of the bloody cord used
very, horrified: New York.

Dariwie DETECTIVE Mor 1935

os

&

BUN]
_ bing «
East

to its most
decade.

Aside fron
was nothing
front scene
1897. Tug:
long strings
yacht glide:
Gulls wheel
edged along:
the warehou
and the run

Off the f
youngsters \

“Beat you
eldest.

The othe
but the race
spied the I:
Their curio
to the shore
about open

The parce
was secure]
gold tracing
Slashing w
boys came t
brown pap
cloth.

‘Looks |
threw awa
youngsters
being disca


bing on the cross-currents of the

East river, introduced New York
to its most sensational murder of a
decade.

Aside from that parcel of death there
was nothing unusual about the water-
front scene the afternoon of June 26,
1897, Tugs puffed upstream, towing
long strings of barges. A rich man’s
yacht glided slowly toward the Bay.
Gulls wheeled over a freighter being
edged alongside a wharf. From beyond
the warehouses came cries of truckmen
and the rumble of wheels over cobbles.

Off the foot of Eleventh street three
youngsters were taking a swim.

“Beat you to the dock !” challenged the
eldest.

The other boys started chasing him
but the race was interrupted when they
spied the bundle floating in the water.
Their curiosity aroused, they pushed it
to the shore. Dressing hastily, they set
about opening it.

The parcel, almost three feet square,
was securely bound in red oilcloth with
gold tracings. Stout twine encircled it.
Slashing with their pocket knives, the
boys came to an inside wrapping of stout
brown paper, then to layers of cheese-
cloth.

“Looks like something a butcher
threw away,” commented one of the
youngsters as the final wrappings were
being discarded.

A BUNDLE of red and gold, bob-

But the elder boy, who was kneeling
over the object suddenly knew it was
nothing so innocent as discarded meat.
His eyes popped in horror. He sprang
up and screamed:

“It's a body! It’s part of a man!”

One glance at the arms folded across
a raw, blood-clotted chest was enough to
prove that he was right.

Soon the gruesome fragment was in
the morgue. Acting Captain John Hogan
and detectives voiced the opinion that
“those medical students have been at it
again.”

Tf DID appear that this might be the
upper part of a corpse on which med-
ical students had been practicing surgery.
The head had been severed at the neck
with considerable neatness and the lower
part of the trunk had been cut off at the
fifth rib. Off the chest a piece of skin
the size of a man’s hand had been
slashed. Such wholesale dissection
easily could have taken place in the
laboratory of a medical school.

And yet Coroner TPuthill was not com-
pletely satisfied, Tle called in several
doctors to view the lump of flesh. They
made a unanimous report that this was
not the work of medical students, but
must be evidence of a revolting murder.

For one thing the heart had not been
removed as it certainly would have
been by a student. A person studying
anatomy would have had no reason to
remove a slice of skin from the chest nor
would he have severed the head and
lower trunk with incisions of the type
disclosed.

“Besides,” the doctors told Captain
Hogan and Coroner Tuthill, “if students
had disposed of a corpse in this manner
it was because they had stolen it from a
grave. There’s no evidence of decompo-
sition and judging by the condition of the
flesh and the wrappings the victim was
killed within the last 24 hours.”

Convinced, Captain Hogan with va-
rious identification experts and Detec-
tives Carran, Carter and McCormack
started. to work on the puzzle.

Even in those days science had begun
playing a part in crime detection. By
proportionate measurements and by ex-
amination of the skin, the investigators
determined the victim must have been a
blond, about five feet ten inches in
height and weighing 190 or 200 pounds.
He probably had been around 35— years
of age.

The arms were muscular yet the hands
were white and soft, evidently not those
of a laborer. The nail on the index
finger of the left hand was blackened and

19


of short growth, possibly the result of a
hammer blow. Beside the nail was a
scar.

Closer examination of the remains
disclosed what might have been the
method of murder. There were bruises
and cuts about the chest. A knife thrust
had gone close to the heart. Yet it was
impossible to tell whether these were in-
flicted before or after death,

Captain Hogan and his superior,
Deputy Superintendent Charles Rickard
who now took a hand in the case, decided
that publicity more than anything else
would help them in making an identifica-
tion. In the reports of men missing
within the past day or two they would be
most likely to find a vital clue.

Publicity was granted in great quan-
tities the morning after the boys dis-
covered the package, At that period, the
New York Journal and the World were
raging their celebrated circulation battle
and this newest sensation was made to
order for the city desks. News of the
mystery was emblazoned across the front
pages of both papers.

Even while New Yorkers read of the
case in their Sunday morning papers
another startling find added fuel to the
flames,

Miles north of 11th street in Ogden
woods, then a peaceful, rural neighbor-
hood but now a part of the teeming
Bronx, a resident and his two sons set
out early to pick berries. One of the
youths suddenly stopped beating: the
bushes to exclaim:

“Oh, look at the package !”

The father hastened to his side and
looked down upon a bundle covered with
red and gold oil cloth and_ tightly
wrapped with stout twine. There was
a rope handle on the parcel. A roadway
ran just above the scene of the discovery
so he presumed the package had been
jolted out of the rear of a passing car-
riage,

“METTER run and fetch a_police-
man,” said the man, who was a
cautious soul, “while I start opening it.”
He had just removed the oilcloth and
was removing some layers of brown
paper when the boys returned with
Officer Bruner, a mounted patrolman
whose beat was in that territory. The
men finished the unwrapping. They

‘stared at a mass of human flesh.

“Tt’s another one!” breathed Patrol-
man Bruner, He dashed off to inform

detectives at his precinet station that a
second victim of the butchering killer
had been found.

The theory that two murders had been
committed was blasted however when the
bloody mass was removed from Ogden
woods to the morgue at Bellevue. The
parcel discovered by the berry pickers
ximply contained another portion of a
body. It fitted perfeetly with the frag-
ment that had been found in the East
river the day before!

The second part of the jigsaw corpse
consisted of the remainder of the trunk
and the stubs of the legs, which had been
cut off six inches below the hips.

The oilcloth wrappings of the two
packages were identical. Detectives
were even able to match up the ends to
prove the two pieces had come from the
same bolt,

Now there was not the slightest doubt
in official minds that an epic in crime had
been committed. ‘‘This,” said Coroner's
Physician O’Hanlon, “is a deliberate
murder.” ;

Police investigators and_ reporters
flocked to the scene of the discovery in
Ogden woods but could find no indica-
tions that the slaying and dismember-
ment had taken place at that spot. The

When police learned that the murdered
man and Martin Thorn, at left, had quar-
reled in a saloon, they started an inter-
national search for the phantom killer.
Above is a sketch of the tattoo mark that
was stripped from chest of Guldensuppe.

killer or killer
east the bundl:
In some re:
ever. The fac:
found at such
the careful st:
perpetrator of °
or in the terr:
Detective Art)
the second px
later was to |
argued that t!
Long Island.
with the Ogd
into East rive:
drifted over t

HE red a:

of a cheaj
traced it back
by dozens of :
peddlers. Ds
hunch, found
a store in A;
But the store
might be reg:
The name-
police but bh
have been th
remains in t!
tion could |
“Mister NX.’
When a t!
victim was fi


t station that a
utchering killer

urders had been
wever when the
ed from Ogden
Bellevue. The
ce berry pickers
r portion of a
with the frag-
nd in the East

Jigsaw corpse
r of the trunk
which had been
the hips.
zs of the two
al. Detectives
up the ends to
come from the

' slightest doubt
pic in crime had
‘said Coroner's
is a deliberate

and reporters
he discovery in
tind no indica-
ind dismember-
that spot. The

t the murdered
t left, had quar-
tarted an inter-
phantom killer.
ittoo mark that
{ Guldensuppe.

killer or killers must have driven past there at night and’
cast the bundle into the bushes where it was found.

In some respects the mystery now was deeper than
ever. The fact that the two sections of the corpse were
found at such widely separated points was as baffling as
the careful steps taken to prevent identification. The
perpetrator of the crime might be anywhere in Manhattan
or in the territory now known as the Bronx. In fact,
Detective Arthur Carey, who came into the case because
the second portion was found in his precinct, and who
later was to be one of New York’s best known sleuths,
argued that the murder might have been done over on
Long Island. There was a ferry connecting Long Island
with the Ogden woods neighborhod and a bundle tossed
into East river on the Long Island side might easily have
drifted over to the foot of Eleventh street in Manhattan,

HE red and gold oilcloth was not overlooked, It was

of a cheap grade and when detectives and reporters
traced it back to the manufacturer they learned it was sold
by dozens of stores in the metropolitan area as well as by
peddlers. Detective Carey, following his Long Island
hunch, found that some of the oilcloth had been sold at
a store in Astoria, across the river from Ogden woods.
But the storekeeper could not recall any customers who
might be regarded with suspicion.

The names of many missing men were reported to
police but by their descriptions none of them could
have been the victim. Scores of persons filed past the
remains in the morgue but not even a partial identifica-
tion could be made. The victim) won the name of
“Mister X.”

When a third bundle containing the lower legs of the
victim was fished out of the water off the Brooklyn shore
[Continued on page 78)

FP,

MW

~

ANS
\
we

wy
\ UP;

Oj

v4

Discovery of the torso
and legs of a man
scattered in widely sep~-
arated sections of the
city led police to identify
the carved corpse as
that of William Gulden-
suppe, left. The figure
above shows how. the
body of the murdered
man was dissected. The
victim. received knife
wounds at points A and
B. The breast was lac-
erated at D. The section
marked E was. found
near 176th street,


a stream

sual sight.

fling case

created a

n but they

lice solve

er murder

HYND

>HIL BERRY

APTAIN STEPHEN O’BRIEN, the mild-mannered,
middle-aged chief of the detective bureau of the
New York Police Department was an unusual

policeman. O’Brien abhorred violence. He particularly
abhorred the results of violence, especially when the
results took on a gruesome form. For a man of his
temperament, he was in for a rather bad time of it
beginning on the afternoon of June 26th, 1897—a
Saturday.

A man began to put in an appearance in New York
City—in various parts of New York City. The man
was dead—a murder victim—and he was in pieces. His
lower trunk, wrapped in red oilcloth of a gay floral
pattern, showed up first. Some boys came upon it float-
ing in the East River, near Eleventh Street, in Man-
hattan, one of the five boroughs of New York.

On the following morning, Sunday, a group of berry
pickers in a remote field in the Highbridge section of
the city found themselves picking at the wrappings
of'a package—wrappings consisting of red oilcloth of
a gay floral design. When they removed the wrappings
they gazed upon the upper torso of a man, including
the arms and hands. The head was missing.

A little later in the day, some sailors at the Brooklyn
Navy Yard fished a floating package out of the East
River and found themselves with a pair of man’s legs,
complete with feet. This package was wrapped not in
red oilcloth, but in plain white oilcloth and canvas.

The pieces were all neatly matched up, jig-saw
fashion, in the morgue. Everything was there except
the man’s head. Detectives whom O’Brien assigned. to
the case had the. strong hunch that the head was going
to be hard to come by, if indeed they were going to
find it at all. Murderers like to hide heads so that
they would never be found; the practice made positive
identification difficult, or at least delayed it while the
perpetrator of the crime devoted himself to smudging
his tracks.

The coroner’s physician, Dr. Philip O’Hanlon, was a
man who liked his work. He would have had to, to
have enjoyed what he was obliged to do on this Sun-
day afternoon in June. The doctor had been planning

an outing with his family; instead he checked into the
city morgue, where the human jig-saw lay awaiting
his: inspection.

The man hadn’t been dead: long—perhaps a day or
so. He had been of medium height and stockily built,
apparently about forty years old. His feet seemed
large for the rest of him, as if they had spread because
of an occupational factor of some kind. They were
extremely thickly calloused on the soles. The man’s
hands were strong, very white and singularly free of
dirt. One finger bore the scars of a surgical treatment
for a felon. A circular piece of flesh about six inches
in diameter had been carefully hacked out of the man’s
chest—out of the center of the chest.

Whoever had cut up the body and sawed off the
legs and the head had apparently had more than the
average person’s knowledge of anatomy. The cutting
work in particular was quite neat—something in which
the murderer could have taken a certain amount of
justifiable though grim pride.

It was late on Sunday afternoon when Doctor O’Han-
lon walked into O’Brien’s office at headquarters.

“Can you tell me what I should know without going
into any unpleasant details?” O’Brien asked.

The doctor said he would try. He mentioned, among
other things, the unusual callouses on the feet and the
strong white, dirt-free hands. O’Brien was a master
of quick deduction, ‘Sounds to me like the man might
have worked in a Turkish bath as a rubber or some-

thing,” he said. “His feet would have spread and got

callouses on them from him walking around without
shoes all day.” ;

“And such a man would have had hands like this
man has,” agreed Doctor O’Hanlon. “And the pieces
of the body?”

O’Hanlon mentioned the neatness of the dissecting
work. “A doctor or a medical student are the obvious
guesses,” said O’Brien. “Of course butchers, barbers
and artists know a lot about anatomy, too. So do
undertakers.”

Now O’Hanlon took up the matter of the piece of
flesh that had been hacked (Continued on page 76)


THORN, Martin, wh, elec. NY (Queens) August 1, 1898

Pink ducks in a stream
are a most unusual sight.

In this baffling case

they not only created a
sensation but they
helped the police solve

a sinister murder

BY ALAN HYND

ILLUSTRATED BY PHIL BERRY

TRUE DETECTIVE, November, 1951

————

mid
Ney
policema
abhorred
results t
temperar
beginnin;
Saturday
A man
City—in
was deac
lower tr
pattern, ;
ing in th
hattan, o
On the
pickers i
the city
of'a pac!
a gay flo
they gaz
the arms
A little
Navy Ya
River an
complete
red oilck
The p
fashion,
the man’
the case
to be ha
find it a
they wou
identifica
perpetrat
his track
The cx
man whi
have enj
day afte:


CURIOUS CASE OF THE HUMAN JIG-SAW

(Continued from page 31) out of the center
of the victim’s chest.

“That,” said O’Brien quickly, “was prob-
ably to remove a mark of identification.
Maybe a tattoo.”

When the doctor left, O’Brien summoned
a group of his best detectives. He briefed
them on the known facts, then began to
issue instructions based on his own deduc-
tions.

“Start canvassing all Turkish baths,” he
said. “Find out if any rubber or other
worker—especially somebody with a tattoo
on his chest—has been missing. Then, when
you find out who the victim is, start look-
ing among people who knew him for some-
body who might have had a good reason
for wanting him out of the way.”

The oilcloth and the canvas—two kinds
of oilcloth—constituted, to the captain, a
separate clue. Both the oilcloth and the
canvas were new.

“This means,” O’Brien explained to a
team of officers, “that the stuff was prob-
ably bought recently. In fact, it was prob-
ably bought just to wrap the pieces of
this man in.” ‘

O’Brien’s point was obvious: If the oil-

“cloth and the canvas had been obtained
within the past few days, then whoever
had sold them might recall the purchaser.
O’Brien called in the newspapers and
asked them to play up the story, to em-
phasize the newness and importance of the
oilcloth and the canvas, and to describe in
detail the gay floral design on-the red oil-
cloth.

It was on the following day—Monday—
that O’Brien’s men got their first rumble.
They got it at the Murray Hill Turkish
Baths, on Forty-second Street, near Sixth
Avenue, in the heart of the city’s theatri-
eal, sporting and night-life district. A
middle-aged German rubber employed at
the baths, a blond, square-headed charac-
ter who circulated under the somewhat un-
wieldy name of William Guldensuppe, was
missing from work. Guldensuppe, a big,
stolid, earthy German who was reputed to
have the first dollar he had ever earned,
wasn’t, the owner of the baths told the
officers, the kind of man to miss work.

Guldensuppe, it developed, had, the
previous Thursday, asked his employer for
a day off—the following day, Friday.

“Sure,” said the employer, “but you
know you won’t get paid.”

“Don’t matter,” said Guldensuppe. “Got

to go away on business. Be back Saturday.”

But Guldensuppe had not returned Sat-
urday. His absence had, however, been ex-
plained—at least partially explained. Gul-
densuppe boarded with a woman who lived
in the 400 block on Ninth Avenue, about
a ten-minute walk from the baths. This
woman, Mrs. Gussie Nack, had appeared at
the baths Saturday afternoon with a tele-
gram signed by Guldensuppe, which she
had just received. She showed the mes-
sage to the owner of the baths. Gulden-
suppe wired Mrs. Nack that he was still
detained out of town on business and would
not be able to report to work Saturday.
Would Mrs. Nack be kind enough to ex-
plain his absence at his place of employ-
ment?

Guldensuppe would, the message said,
be back at work Monday. Now it was
Monday and Guldensuppe, far from being
back at work, was in the city morgue, in
pieces. At least there was little doubt in
the minds of the sleuths that the jig-saw
in the morgue was compounded of parts of
William Guldensuppe.

The German rubber, they learned, had
been operated on for a finger felon not
long ago. He had had a tattoo on his chest—
the tattoo of a naked girl—in the exact
spot where the flesh had been removed

from the torso. When a detective began
to speak of the large white hands of the
corpse, a patron of the bath, emerging from
a hangover and listening in while the
officer questioned the owner, became in-
terested. “That’s Guldensuppe, all right,”
said the man with the hangover. Gulden-
suppe had been proud of his hands and
kept them immaculately clean. Also he
had liked to pad around the bath in his
bare feet. These two habits coincided with
O’Brien’s picture of the victim, even be-

fore he had been identified.

The sleuths put two and two together.
They wondered, in view of the fact that
the tattoo on Guldensuppe’s chest had been
that of a naked girl if the man had been
overly interested in the opposite sex.
“Was he!” said the man with the hang-
over. “It’s all he talked about.”

“Any woman in particular?” asked the
officer.

“Anything in skirts” said the inform-
ant. “But married women mostly.”

Quite obviously, the sex life of Billy
Guldensuppe—a happy knucklehead whose
earthy tastes demanded quantity rather
than quality—was deeply integrated into
the mystery of the jig-saw murder. But
nobody in the baths could furnish the
sleuths with any specific information about
the identity of the rubber’s feminine inter-
ests.

O’Brien instructed two of his officers to
have a shot at Mrs. Gussie Nack, Gulden-
suppe’s Ninth Avenue landlady. Mrs. Nack
was a midwife. She lived in one half of a
mustard-colored double frame house. She
was, the police knew the instant she opened
the door to them, a remarkable woman—
remarkably unattractive. She was, at 42,
almost as broad as she was long, the result
of eating six to eight meals a day. She had
not merely two chins, but three; she was
cross-eyed, so that she did not always
appear to be looking at what she was
looking at.

“Come,” she said, very friendly. “Come
in.

Mrs. Nack, it developed, had a hus-
band—Herman, a native of Germany, as
was she. Her husband had left her some
two years before, however.

Mrs. Nack did not have the telegram
Guldensuppe had sent her advising that
he was detained out of town and would
not be back until later than planned. She
had destroyed it after discharging the re-
quest in it—that she notify Guldensuppe’s
employer that he would not be back to
work until Monday. Mrs. Nack had met
Guldensuppe at a German social club about
a year previously. Being a woman who
liked to have a man around the house, and
having had one around since her husband
had deserted her, Mrs. Nack suggested
that the Turkish-bath rubber: come and
board with her. So Guldensuppe had
moved in.

.The sleuths naturally wondered if there
had been any romantic link between Gul-
densuppe and Mrs. Nack. They put the
question to the lady as delicately as they
could. Mrs. Nack practically blew a fuse.
The very idea of suggesting that she was
a woman with morals anything less than
impeccable!

All of which left the mystery right where

the police found it—obscured in limbo.
Mrs. Nack could furnish no clue to Gulden-
suppe’s private life. She had heard that
the man was what would today be called a
wolf. But that had been his own business.
She hadn’t cared what he was so long as
his wolfing didn’t intrude into her home
and so long as he was prompt in paying his
board.

But if the detectives questioning the mid-
wife on Ninth Avenue weren’t getting

anywhere, interesting developments were
coming to light in different parts of the
city.

Out in the quiet suburb of Woodside,
Long Island, a resident by the name of
Jacob Wahle, a lamplighter by vocation,
was deeply puzzled about something. Mr.
Wahle kept ducks—white domestic ducks.
He had only about a dozen, for his own use.
Now Mr. Wahle was a man who enjoyed
a drink; sometimes, in fact, had liked to
get a little starched of a Saturday night
whereupon, of a Sunday morning, he would
sit on his front porch, holding his head
between his hands, discoursing to himself
about the evils of strong beverages.

On the Sunday morning following the
Saturday when Billy Guldensuppe had be-
gun to put in his gradual and scattered ap-
pearance, Mr. Wahle had been sitting on
his front porch, trying to contain his
breakfast, when his attention was attracted
to his ducks. When Mr. Wahle took his
first slightly blurred hinge at his fowl
that Sunday morning his first impulse was
to take a pledge never to touch a drop of
liquor to the longest day he lived. For
Mr. Wahle’s ducks were pink. Not brown,
nor white, nor black, nor speckled. Pink!

The lamplighter, wondering if the color
of the ducks was a real or fancied hue in-
duced by alcohol, summoned a neighbor.
He pointed to the ducks. “What color,” he
asked the neighbor, “are those ducks?”

“Why,” said the neighbor, “they’re pink,
Jake. Pink.”

Wahle breathed heavily in relief. Then
he grew concerned. ‘‘Ain’t that the damned-
est thing you ever seen?” he asked. “Now
why would my ducks get pink all of a
sudden?”

“Must be something in the water they’re
swimming in, Jake,” said the neighbor.
“Paint or something.”

oe * *

APTAIN O’BRIEN’S request that the

newspapers emphasize the oilcloth and
the canvas that the pieces of the body had
been wrapped in began to pay off. The
woman proprietor of a small dry goods
establishment in the Dutch Hills section of
Long Island City, across the East River
from Manhattan, and not far fron Jake
Wahle’s pink ducks, read the newspapers
and yelled for the police. On the Saturday
morning, several hours before the boys
found the first piece of Guldensuppe—
the lower trunk—a medium-sized man with
remarkably rosy cheeks had entered the
store and asked for some oilcloth and
canvas in which to wrap some packages.

“What kind of packages?” asked the
woman.

“Oh, big packages. Maybe this size.”
The man—a total stranger—held his palms
four or five feet apart.

“How many packages do you want to
wrap?” asked the woman, trying to figure
out how much material the purchaser
would need.

“Oh, maybe five or six. Give me enough
oilcloth. But not so much canvas.”

The stranger walked out with some red
oilcloth of a gay floral design, some white
oilcloth and some canvas. When detectives
showed the dry-goods proprietor the wrap-
pings in which Guldensuppe had turned
up she identified the material as that
which she had sold to the Saturday morn-
ing customer. When the yardage was

totaled up by O’Brien and his men, it.

turned out that all of the red oilcloth had
shown up, and most of the white and most
of the canvas. There would have been
enough white oilcloth and enough canvas
left over to wrap up the still missing head,

OME PASSENGERS who had crossed
the East River on a Long Island-Man-

hattan ferry the previous Saturday morn- —

ing, not long after the stranger had made

his purchases in the Long Island City dry-

goods store, ha
had noticed a ma)
rosy cheeks—car)
up in red oilclot
design, acting ve
of the ferry. One
under the impre
left the ferry dri
As the hours w
his desk in heac
ports coming in f
began to hear m
man with the ros:
day, the intelligen
dry-goods store
tective chief had
the area for son
stranger.

The sleuths turr

a man had been se

the store the pre’

and, in the words

the hell out of t}

faster. What color

the horse? Black.
stables canvassed.

“the man who wa

so fast hired it at

treats his own hor

Now the captain

all telegraph office

of the original of

Nack had received

Saturday, O’Brien,

played hunches. He

densuppe had nev.

New York City. H.

of fact, think that

wire at all.

The captain, who
or deduction, had }
effect, was right a
the telegram bearin
was turned up at
West Forty-sixth St
nue, only a short
where Guldensuppe
far from Mrs. Nack’
likely, on the face o:
a nickel nurser, wo
expense of sending
when he could have
and given her a ver}
ing. The clerk who }
message took many
course of a busy day
remembered what th:
But the clerk remen
this wire. The ma
cheeks,” said the cle:

The handwriting on
was bold—straight up
Sage was taken aroun.
woman looked at it, a
to be looking at some
“Not Mr. Guldensupp:
se an air of finality.

“Do you hay iv
is, then?” has
| Mrs. Nack shrugge
band with a wie a
gest, “who was friend
suppe.”

Mrs. Nack was no\
problem she had not
with on the occasion
Guldensuppe, it now c
short at the pockets
peared and, not havin
bank, had borrowed $5
How,” Mrs, Nack in
my money back?”

HE NEXT RUMBLE
to O’Brien was fron
ves assigned to canva
Search of the black ho)
his officer, asking the
perhaps the twentieth
n sgt nee out of
who Owned a stable j
Ninth Avenue. Streunin,


SS Sa aaa sD SS

os a eam ov. -

whom he introduced as his wife. The
owner showed the investigators a brief
letter, which she subsequently received in
the mail. It read:

New York, July 1st
Mrs. Baula:

On account of sickness in my family I will
not move into the house at Woodside before
another week or ten days. °

F. Braun

Steadily, relentlessly, they were tighten-
ing the net of circumstantial evidence
about Thorn and the woman. But there
was one fact that even the most optimistic
member of the Detective Bureau could
not deny—Martin Thorn was still missing.

Then, when the case began to take on
an almost hopeless appearance, there oc-
curred one of those breaks that help to
make the profession of crime detection the
fascinating business it is.

@ DETECTIVE McCAULEY, who had

been working night and day on the mys-
tery, learned that John Gotha, a barber
employed in a shop on Eighth Avenue in
New York City, was one of Thorn’s closest
friends. He called on Gotha, who readily
admitted the friendship, but declared that
he had not seen the wanted man for sev-
eral weeks. Satisfied with his explanation,
the detective left.

Later that same day, July 5th, while
Gotha was shaving a customer, Martin
Thorn entered the shop. He did not speak,
and kept his eyes averted. The barber,
too, was silent. The man for whom all
New York was searching, sought a chair
in a dark corner and picked up a news-
paper containing an account of the police
hunt for him.

When Gotha had finished with his cus-
tomer, Thorn got into the chair and indi-
cated that he wanted his hair trimmed.
Then, from beneath the cloth that was
drawn about him, he slipped a note to his
friend. It asked the barber to be at a
certain corner on 120th Street at on
o’clock that afternoon. :

At that strange daylight meeting, Thorn
went directly to the subject that was up-
permost in his mind. ‘

“John,” he said, “you are the only friend
I have in the world and I need your help.”

He kept a furtive watch for police as
he related how Mrs. Nack had lured Gul-
densuppe to the Woodside cottage, and
how he then shot and killed his rival and
dismembered his body.

“Gussie called the Murray Hill Baths on
Thursday,” he declared. “She told Gul-
densuppe that she had found a bargain in
a house—a place easily worth $1,500, that
she could get for $1,000. She said it would
be a fine chance to start the baby farm
that she had been talking about. He was
to get Friday off and go with her to see it.

“I went to the cottage early on Friday,
taking my revolver, a razor, a stiletto and
a saw. When I got there I removed my
shoes so that when Willie came I could
approach him without any warning.

“He and Mrs. Nack arrived between ten
and eleven o’clock in the morning. When
they reached the doorway I heard her say
that she wanted to inspect the yard. He
said he would wait for her, but she told
him to go into the house and look around.
She mentioned especially the clothes
closet upstairs—that was where I was
hiding.

“When he opened the closet door, I fired
just as he caught sight of me. The bullet
entered his head near the right temple,
and he fell.

“I ran downstairs and told Mrs. Nack
that it was done.

““T know it is,’ she said. ‘I heard the
shot.’

“Then I told her to hurry back to New
York and return at five o’clock when the
body would be ready for removal.

58

A ee

“I went back upstairs. Guldensuppe
was still breathing. I stabbed him in the
back with my stiletto.

“By the time she had returned from New
York, I had stripped off his clothes, bought
five pounds of plaster from a grocer in
ha and placed the body in the bath-
tub.”

Thorn then related in detail how, with
his razor and saw, he dismembered his
victim, removed the tattoo from his chest,
encased the head in plaster of Paris and
wrapped other parts of the body in oil-
cloth, which the midwife had purchased
from a store in Dutch Hills.

“Everything was ready for a getaway
that evening,” he continued, “but we de-
cided to leave the bundles in the house
until Saturday morning. Then we took
the upper part of the body over to Green-
point and crossed to New York on the
Tenth Street ferry. We stood on the stern
of the boat and when everyone else had
gone forward as we entered the slip on
the New York side, I threw the package
overboard.

“Later I carried the head in my lap, on
a street car, and threw it into the river.
We took the other parcels in a surrey and
dropped one in the East River near Green-
point, and hid the other in some bushes
near High Bridge.”

Gotha had listened to the story in
shocked silence. Now, as Thorn, his eyes
darting nervously, watched apprehen-
sively for officers, his friend spoke.

“You certainly made an awful botch of
the job,” he said.

“I know it,” Thorn agreed. “But what
was I going to do? It’s all that woman’s
fault. I should have weighted each pack-
age, but she didn’t think it was necessary,
and I followed her advice.”

@ AGAIN HE lapsed into silence, as

though he regretted having taken Gotha
into his confidence. His friend noted the
change in his manner, but agreed to meet
him again at eight o’clock the following
night.

In the meantime, Gotha told his wife of
the strange happenings of the afternoon,
laying particular stress on the regret Thorn
had displayed after talking so freely about
the crime. They discussed the matter at
some length and, feeling that the wanted

- man might be planning to commit a second

murder to, protect himself from betrayal to
the police, decided that Gotha should go
to the authorities and tell them the story.

The barber contacted Detective Mc-
Cauley and agreed to carry out the meet-
ing just as Thorn had planned it.

The suspected killer appeared on sched-
ule the following evening. But instead
of finding the lone friend he had expected,
he was surrounded suddenly by nine
roughly dressed men who hustled him into
a drug store on the corner. His captors,
as he subsequently learned, were Captain
O’Brien and eight of his men, disguised as
laborers.

They relieved Thorn of a revolver and
razor, then took him directly to Head-
quarters where he was questioned at
length. He had little to say and made no
damaging admissions.

Detectives noted that, except for shaving
éff his mustache, he had made no attempt
to change his appearance, despite the fact
that officials throughout the United States
and Canada were looking for him.

The following day, July 7th, the prisoner
was arraigned in Jefferson Market Police
Court and was remanded for further ex-
amination. On July 8th, he and his erst-
while landlady were indicted by the New
York Grand Jury for the murder of Wil-
liam Guldensuppe.

Next day, in General Sessions, there
was a dramatic meeting as the two de-
fendants faced each other for the first

time since the murder for which they now
were in custody.

It was evident to observers in the court
that the accused slayers were in love.

They noted that, as he passed near the a
woman, Thorn clasped her wrist and
pressed it. arr
“Keep your mouth shut!” she was heard bah
to whisper. “
Arraignment on the true bills was de- “Ww
ferred until July 13th, at which time both dol
entered pleas of not guilty before Judge Th.
Newburger, then were returned to the put
Tombs. C
Despite the indictments in New York at

County, the fact remained that the crime

1 : = Sai
had been committed in Queens, and apy
authorities in that county promptly sum- ent

moned the Grand Jury and called wit- he
nesses. New indictments, charging Thorn

and Mrs. Nack with murder, were re- pn
turned. The two then were surrendered pai
to Sheriff Doht and District Attorney the
Youngs and transferred to Long Island Dil
City. E
Once more, upon arraignment, the pris- frie
oners pleaded not guilty. The case was | doc
set for trial on November 8th. fal)
It soon became evident to the Queens
County officials that the midwife was los- @)
ing some of the surliness that had char- d
acterized her attitude much of the time see
since her arrest. She was not exactly cle:
communicative, but they were confident bee
that, given a chance to turn State’s evi- the
dence, she would make a desperate effort fou
to save her neck. Gussie was worried about saic
her future, and her concern for her own mir
safety and well being apparently over- che
weighed any regard that she had for the anc
dandified barber who sat disconsolately afte
in another section of the jail. |
When the trial opened, Mrs. Nack was ber
called as a witness for the State. On the tho
stand, she calmly painted her former lover he
as a cunning and ruthless rake whose pan- no\
handling and philandering habits had dee
made him anuisance. Thorn, she testified, bee
had plotted for months to do away with not
Guldensuppe. des
“As long ago as last March,” she told the L
jury, “he tried to get me to bring Willie hov
toa — where he said he would kill him tive
and put his body in a trunk. He planned pic)
to throw'the trunk in the river.” ano
intaining that she had refused to have the
anything to do with such a scheme, the had
woman declared that Thorn’s continued Ch:
pleas, and threats against her life, finally he
had dfiven her to help in the plot. She the
admitted, without any show of emotion, shit
that she lured Guldensuppe to the Wood- the
side cottage, hired the rig in which por- hou
tions of his body were taken to the woods pic]
near High Bridge, and that she helped T
dispose of the remainder of the body in Shi
the East River. the

W HER TESTIMONY corroborated in de- =e

tail the story of the crime as police:had my:
heard it from John Gotha, the barber in ook
whom Thorn confided before his arrest. nat
And despite a desperate effort by the de- My:
fense to pin responsibility for the murder The
on Mrs. Nack, the jury, just three hours
after receiving the case on December 3rd, il
1897, found Thorn guilty of murder in the bes
first degree. got

Judge Maddox promptly sentenced him
to die in the electric chair during the week 1
of January 10th, 1898. After the usual de- ag hi
lays, the man who has been characterized

as one of the most cold-blooded killers in kni:
the history of New York, went to his death tee
at Sing Sing Prison on August Ist, 1898. abt
Following the Thorn trial, Gussie Nack, aa
the cross-eyed midwife who professed to oe
love babies, was permitted to plead guilty ;
to a manslaughter charge and was sen- trur
tenced to serve fifteen years in prison for say
her part in the slaying of the unsuspecting fet
William Guldensuppe.

MASTER DETECTIVE


m this address, too,” |
and the News spoke
intidy heaps of the:

scrap stéel, in fact,
»ath—a curved, 20-
wide and 30 inches
f in a truck or cart
picked up this for-
premises and had
sleep around 4:15
his house was siz-
a its upper floor, he
downstairs cubicle

ndow. The-head of
wall, covered more
r and son protected

:s by sleeping with

t had been through
irderer entered. He “4

|
|
|

ivf

et
te

4edddddddddadad tem
ibiiil cs

EhaLERRRLEEAALAALD
EEE

VICTIM'S HOME—* “ 7’ A

THE KILLER—
‘He terrorized a girl he had picked up, but the
girl got even by telling police all about him.

,

Schoenberg's slayer entered through the righthand,

ground-floor window of. the house shown in photo.

col "i

job was done 3 by a private Sporatige to help the poli

ar hy
i Fh : a
¢° sey : )
* en OO ® J ‘hed a y


had done so by removing the entire lower window sash,

from the outside.’ The police found the sash outdoors, eh
one end on the ground, the other leaning against the called first
clapboards of the house. . cian, and
ey acce and Max Schoenberg must have been sound ori oe
sleepers, indeed, for not only did the murderer ac- injured m
complish this maneuver within less than a foot of their unavailing
pillowed heads, but he then, perforce, mounted to the Be neniusn
sill from the ground—a distance of 40 inches—and

slipped through the 15-inch openjng he had thus cre- ED BY
ated between the edge of the bedstead and the side of McCul
the window frame. ; : 4 police and
Max Schoenberg slept next to the wall. He had gone RN a
to bed at 10 o’clock, ahead of his father, as had. his infis: only
mother, who shared a bed upstairs with one of her fi. dropping i
daughters. Jacob walked downtown just before 10 ‘6 he. jumped
o’clock. One of.his older girls, Anna, a clerk in an F. W. et iden tak
fingerprint
took char;

moved.
Clearly
Batavia p:
badly sme
Though
uncover e&
my shad afflict
We: ,during th
n| Schoenbe:

MURDER ROOM—
At left in photo above may be seen the safe which
burglar overlooked in committing a senseless crime.

Woolworth store, worked late Saturday nights, and on
such occasions her father made it a practice to méet her
and accompany her home.

By 11 o’clock, however, the house was quiet. A sin-
gle, low-trimmed gas mantle kept all-night vigil in the
living-room—another family custom—and its feeble rays
shone: dimly through the curtained doorway into the
area where father and son slept. .

Hours later, Max awakened, startled. His return to
full consciousness had been preceded by. a sleep-filled
awareness of movement on the window sill, then of
‘movement within the room, and finally of the reverbera- ~
tions‘of thumping on the very bed in which he lay.

The boy sat-up, wide-eyed. He saw a bareheaded but
‘otherwise: fully dressed stranger standing over him. In
‘one hand, this short, stocky, dark, mustached marauder
held a revolver, and in the other the steel bar, upraised.

“One sound out of you and I’ll let you have it!” the
armed ‘man threatened. “Flop down, kid, and keep
your mouth shut!”

The youth might have obeyed if he had-not, at that
moment, glanced down at the figure of. his father lying

_on ‘the outer side-of the bed. Jacob Schoenberg emitted
a deep groan, and Max, horrified, saw that his head +
: -~and jaw had been brutally bashed in and: that blood:
\ spurted from the wounds., ,
: . “Mama! Mama!” Max yelled at the top of his voice.
_ “Anna! Eva!’ Sarah! Help! Help!”
The intruder cursed, and whirled back to the window.

o.

FRANK JAWCZYNSKI— . ; pre te
es Ordinarily « stylish individual, this detective dressed
as shown at left on a special out-of-town assignment.

%
Eo Se

_ hg ea

to kill him.”
very much at
have to have

reason, Crox-
1ey countered.
in dope—and
. Hatfield and
is. Before you
2 the superin-
y School and.
out when you
What the goud
‘ound here is
yn a narcotics
n Kansas City.
ireau of Nar-
om them that
em about you.
ing to expose

im.
angle to this. .

his friend, and
ng, preyed on
»m his friends
over this and
‘ainst drinking
t you’ve been
, he got onto
id he believed
ou.”
ed back in his
That,” he an-
varv nice, but
ald is an-

Roberts in
hey were both
t Langdon saw
t him to talk,
r case will be

cesting you for.

tfield.”
c Croxdale for
was something
» that Missouri
nation that the
ime for a nar-
omething few
: first. But the
uth West City.
a grim silence,
wife came up
sheriff and the
get anywhere
seted with him
n she came out,
husband will

hoot Hatfield,”
unk, but not so
I was. I’d de-
, Doc, and Hat-
Doc hell. Doc
and got a shot-
passed out.
where Hatfield
xt thing I knew
sidewalk, his
d Doc was run-
with his shot-

used to confess.
jf and that, with
yne caused the
‘dict of murder
udge Charles I.
‘oxdale to life
se was appealed
e Court, upheld
y Doctor Crox-
r the murder of

anted to re-

ue was involved
in the slaying
ccordingly, the
Ed Sloane and
n the foregoing

ee

DETECTIVE

and the putty removed from the pane .

of one of his study windows.

Similarly, Mrs. Edmund Holton,
whose home was a block north, at
Jackson and Cherry, had her sleep
disturbed. At 2:45, approximately, her
side door rattled. She raised an upper
window and called: ‘Who is it? What
do you want?”

A dark figure scurried off, and the
next morning, Mrs. Holton, too, found

her phone dead, the reason identical -

with that affecting the instruments of
her neighbors. ‘

Was all this the work of one and
the same man? asked the Batavia
News. A good question, thought Tom
O’Grady, as -he put the paper aside.
On the face of it, the answer was yes,
he figured. Someone, bent on house-
breaking,/had made six tentative stabs
before actually gaining entrance to a
residence. Still, so far as the Schoen-
berg murder was concerned, there
were other aspects which had to be
giveh consideration. ;

T THE Batavia station Private De-
& tective O’Grady was met by
Attorney Coon, who walked with him

toward where the Schoenbergs lived,.

only a few blocks distant. “Back there
are the New York Central’s tracks,”
Coon pointed out, “and just a. short
ways south of here runs the Lehigh
Valley. Strange thing—but all the
trouble we had during the small hours
Sunday happened in between the two
railroads.”

The district attorney gave the de-
tective a quick recapitulation and then
made a suggestion. “We'll go down
Jackson Street and you can see for
yourself where alk the telephone wires
were cut.”

O’Grady preferred this. En route to
the Schoenbergs’, he made’six stops,
closely questioned each of the mo-
lested householders, and inspected not
only the outer surfaces.and yards of
their dwellings, but the interiors as
well.

Finally reaching the Schoenberg
home, the detective saw a two-story
frame structure set back from the
street a distance of about 50 feet. At
the right, there was a porch and an
entrance; at the left, a scrap-littered
drive which led to a barn. Though
badly in need of a coat of paint, the
house nevertheless had about it an
air of comfort and friendliness. Its
windows sparkled from washing, and
the curtains hanging back of them
were obviously not long since starched
and laundered.

O’Grady noticed several large boxes
which lay about the front yard. Each
bore the legend “Rosner’s Bread,” and
in an area whose disorder was forthe
most part occasioned by scattered
metal machinery parts of every shape
and description, the boxes, made of
wood, were therefore outstanding.

Inside the house the detective met
the six surviving members of the
Schoenberg family—the murdered
man’s widow, his son, and five daugh-
ters—and Coroner Emerson” Snow,
who was there making preparations

PN ee ae Se ee

MURDER MARKS

Continued from page 55

for an inquest. Also present were
O’Grady’s two other friends in Ba-
tavia officialdom—Chief Horsch and
Captain McCulley. The group sat
about a plainly furnished but scru-
pulously clean living room. Now that
evening was coming on, Mrs. Schoen-
berg lit a gas lamp which stood on a
board Mission Oak center table. For
the benefit of thé coroner and the de-
tective, various members of the fam-
ily repeated their ‘stories of what had
happened. i

O’Grady’s ears pricked up when
Doctor Snow asked Mrs. Schoenberg
a routine: question: “What life insur-
once did your husband leave?”

But the grief-stricken woman’s an-
swer was lacking in significance. Her
husband, she replied, carried only a
weekly-payment industrial policy for
$750. There were so many mouths to
feed in the family, and so many backs
to clothe, that Jacob Schoenberg’s in-
come did no more than cover neces-
sary, current expenses, and there had
never been money for a policy of sub-
stantial size.

Then O’Grady took over the in-
quiry. He wanted to know first if Ja-
cob Schoenberg slept with his son, in
the tiny downstairs..bedroom custo-
marily, or if the arrangement for
Saturday night had been something
out of the ordinary.

The latter case was true, Mrs.
Schoenberg said. ‘Usually, she and
her husband occupied an upstairs. bed-
room together, but Saturday morning
a letter arrived from a friend in a
neighboring town—a young man—
who declared his intentions of spend-
ing the week end in Batavia, and it
was in order to give this”expected
guest a room to himself that she and
her husband vacated their quarters
and doubled up with the children.

“And.this friend—did he ever ar-
rive?” O’Grady pressed.

“No, he didn’t,” the widow replied.
“T wonder what happened. We ex-
pected him to get here late Saturday
night, but in the excitement of oa
terday and today. I forgot all a’
him.”

The detective obtained the name
and address of the friend—George
Gross, of Medina. Then he’ went on
to something else and asked about the
bread boxes in the front yard.

Young Max Schoenberg answered
now. His father had been a scrap-
metal dealer, pec eige bess he said, but
for years, too, he’d dealt in bread, re-
ceiving a once-a-week shipment from
Rosner’s Bakery, in Rochester, of
poppy-seeded hard rolls—a type be-
loved by many of the European-born
peoples of the neighborhood. These
shipments came in on Fridays. On
such occasions, it was his and his
father’s custom to hitch up a wagon,
fetch them from the railroad station
and then make delivery throughout
the section. True, the sideline enter-
prise had never profited more than a
meager amount, but every little bit
helped in a big family. ‘The bread
business used to be better,” Max
said, and his face suddenly clouded.

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89


i

“He

BT, sa,

‘nearby ‘and reac

Gonsciousness. ° - >
| ast py antec at

T= BY. District Attorney Coon, Chief Hor

‘.
1 & ig

“took ‘charge of*the
moved.: °”

badly ‘smeared. ~

’

he safe which
nseless crime.
: SCH ca
nights, and:on CHOENBERG LIVING ROOM
ice to méet her
; quiet. A sin-
ght vigil in the
1 its feeble rays
yrway into the

His return to
y. a sleep-filled
w sill, then of -
f the reverbera- ~
iich he lay.
bareheaded but
ig over him. In
iched marauder
21 bar, upraised.
»u-have it!” the
kid, and keep

iad not, at that
his father lying
yenberg emitted
, that his head
and: that blood:

op of his voice.

< to the window.

tective dressed
wn assignment.

leaped through and. was gone. Mrs.eSchoenberg and,
‘her ‘daughters, ran downstairs, and one of the ‘girls
called; first Dr. Hiram ‘Manchester, the family’s. physi-
cian,” and then’ the” police. Doctor Manchester’. lived . .
hed the house in a few minutes. He. the furor .at © the ‘Schoenberg house. ,
‘phoned’ for ‘an ambulance and rushed the desperately” connect the ‘two incidents un
ment “was -

injured “man tb: the. hospital, but. all treat :
‘regaining

(unavailing. J acob Schoenberg “diéd, without
sch; Captain «
El McCulley . and Sheriff. David ~ Garrett, - squads: of;
police-and deputy sheriffs scoured the neighborhood;
“but could find no trace of the killer. He had left behind |.
i, him. only. the weapon he’d’ borrowed for the ‘crime, :
4% ‘dropping it’ onthe ground outside the window. when»
i he.jumpéd. One end of the. steel bar was bloodstained; .

P. frotn the other, the. police hoped to. obtain. identifiable”
fingerprints. -With.this ‘same purpose in view,, too, they 7. v f
~ ‘window ‘sash: which had: been re= , “South Jackson Street ran northwest..At Chestnut, it i

- Cleatly, discernible on its pane were prints,’.but the.,
- Batavia paper quoted Chief Horsch as saying they were e

‘ fe Though unable to locate the killer, the police. did’
mm) uncover evidence of a curious series of misdeeds which
had afflicted Liberty Street and its cross-thoroughfare
during the“hour or so prior to the attack: on Jacob
Schoenberg. ‘The murdered, man’s next-door neighbor, - found. their phone. wires cu

By the dim light of gas lamp on table,
bedroom door, victim’s son glimpsed the murderer.

: Say alert Pah kN

at 240 Liberty, was Angelo Anituso. During the night,

‘Ancuso. was ‘awakened by the sound of:breaking glass.

He.switched on a light,;looked out an upstairs window,

but saw ‘nothing. Yet ‘a quarter hour : later he heard
Nor did he

til; after dawn Sunday

ae

CS IE

morning; ‘he: found one of his own downstairs windows

“smashed. 0. te ee :
“ Ancuso occupied .a corner house: Here Liberty. Street

: intersected South, Jackson. -Living on. South Jackson,
across from ,Ancuso, were three householders whose
properties adjoined: Max-Pies, William Wilson ‘and C.
E. Knapp..At evarious hours on Sunday, all found that

' their telephone lead-in wires had been cut, apparently -

peepee

‘‘
during the’ night, ° for. the three phones had. worked f
perfectly ‘Saturday evening. ‘In addition, Wilson re- i
‘called hearing a mysterious noise between 3:30 and 4 . }
o’clock in the. morning, and Knapp discovered a screen
on. one of his lower-floor windows slashed.

\ turned’ due north ‘and ‘thenceforth :was called simply ti
Jackson Street. ‘Around this corner lived Mrs. Hobart .
‘B..Cone and her son Newell, a Municipal Court Justice. Hl
“During the night both had been awakened—at 3:05, to Y
-be exact, for the Justice made.a mental note of the
“'time.. Mother and: son’ turned. on: lights and looked out.
Both’ saw a bareheaded, stockily built. man running
out of their yard,’ and the next morning the Justice
t (Continued on page 89)

46h% 3 © ea J
r “ {

shining through

Memorandum 100 NORTHEASTERN 1132

on March 31, 1913.

"> ..eTwiman has been feared by the Scottsville folk for some time, it is said, because at
times he has appeared irresponsible, He is an excellent shot, having developed great skill
as a hunter, and it was due to this that a good sized posse feared to approach the barri-
caded house, Twiman went on a rampage Tuesday and his father asked that he be arrested,
This morning the desperado went to the home of James L, Cox, after he evidently had killed
his father, for he said: 'They can come now and take the old man away.' Twiman started home
and Cox notified the authorities, Soon afterward deputies surrounded the place, After fir-
ing into the house for an hour, and drawing replies from the negro whowas armed with a ri-
fle, a revolver and a shotgun, they telephoned to Rochester for a squad of national guardse
men, Before the arrival of the reinforcements, however, the deputy sheriff's posse made

a sally on the house. Deputy Sheriff Simon Birmingham and Deputy Sheriff Herbert F, Abbott
tried to burst in a rear door with a telephone pole as a battering ram, but Twiman drove
them aways As Birmingham was approaching the house again he was shot and killed, The cra-
zed black shot Abbott in the back the next minute with bird shot. Then in quick succession
he sent a bullet into the arm of Deputy Sheriff Walter Vogt and Deputy Sheriff Yenkins of
Scottsville was shot ih the hrad, Every time a human target appeared within range the negro
fired, and held them all at safe distance until the militiamen arrived, The militiamen
Lined up in front of the couse. Cowed by the formidable looking beseigers, the negro
surrendered," DAILY NEWS, Galveston, Texas, January 11, 1912 (9/3.)

TWIMAN, William, 35-year-old black man, electrocuted Auburn Prison, N. Ye (Monroe County)

"Rochester, Ne Yey Jane ll, 1912="m, Twiman, the negro, who, after killing his father
at Scottsville yesterday, held off a posse and killed a deputy sheriff and wounded 3
other deputies, is not insane, in the opinion of District Attorney Barrett, In the
house after Twiman surrendered there were found three bottles of gin and whisky, The
elder Twiman possessed considerable property and the son, it is said, was afraid he was
going to leave it to other relatives, To the district attorney, Twiman said: 'I had an
argument with my father and got mad and pulled the gun out of my pocket, I saw the
automobile with the men in it drive into my yard, I knew they were coming for me and

I didn't propose to let them get me without a fight. I was sure they would get me, so
I made up my mind to kill everybody that came in range, I didn't come out till I

heard the sheriff say I wouldn't be shot,'! The wounded deputies all are likely to re-
cover," TENNESSEAN, Nashville, TN, 1-12-1912 (1-2,)


ored taxi. This time, nobody had the

presence of mind to take down the

license number. ;
Exactly 48 hours later, on January

5, five days after the wanton killing of .
. Fred Becker, teeming Times Square

trio. A busy 42nd Street tavern was,

@ was the target of the swift-stepping

raided 50 feet from the busiest cor-
ner in the world! a :
One. patron, slightly befuddled by

drink, kept his hands down in ap-—
parent defiance of the snarling leader’s -

order to “Reach!” The itchy-fingered
bandit’s guns blazed. Two slugs missed
the customer by the slimmest shadow
of Death’s beckoning hand.

The slugs were later dug out of the
wall. Ballistics tests showed that they
had been fired from the same guns
that had killed Becker.

Clearly, the gauntlet was down. Re-
fusing to wait for the heat to die down,
Mob X was openly thumbing its nose
at the law. The kill-crazy, arrogant
leader was spurring his men to a new
and dizzy tempo of crime.

Ai MIDNIGHT two days later, bar-
tender Jack McGowan was pour-
ing a‘drink for a customer in a tavern
on 57th Street, near 9th Avenue. He
happened to glance up as the door
opened, and he saw a short, flat-faced
man whose hands were deep in his
overcoat pockets, enter with two com-
panions. ~
McGowan’s face muscles tightened.
While he poured the drink, he nodded

slightly to'a broad-shouldered man .

who was sitting alone at a table with
his back to the door. The “customer”
was a patrolman in plainclothes, one
of a half-hundred men planted in

@: places throughout Manhat-

on: waiting for just such a chance as
Ehis. :

The cop coolly continued to sip his
drink. He didn’t even turn around.

The flat-featured man reached the
bar. His thin, bloodless lips tightened
as he cased the room. Suddenly, he
barked a command, “All right every-
body, reach!”

A woman started to scream. A bale-
ful look from the leader silenced her.
She got shakily to her feet, the dozen
men and women followed her lead.
The policeman obeyed with the others.

A second bandit hurdled the bar.
The cop’s right hand inched towards
the’ gun holster beneath his overcoat.

But even ‘this slight movement didn’t.

oe the leader. The officer had to
wait.

The blond bandit reached: the cash
register. McGowan was in his way
and, the thug gave him a vicious shove.
The bartender lost his balance, and
his flailing arms knocked over a whis-
key bottle which crashed to. bits on the
hardwood floor, -

The leader ripped out:an oath. His
two-guns belched flame. Two bullets
struck McGowan. The -killer fired
again. A slug plowed. through the
wounded man’s stomach. He fell dead.

The cop went into .action, kicked
over a table, and made a nose dive
behind it. A slug opened a flesh
“wound on his chest,
struck the table, ricocheting in every

ection. The plucky cop sent:three

its hurtling at the killer. All missed.
= bullet from the killer’s gun hit the
ceiling light, shattering it. In the semi-
darkness, he and his two confederates
fled into the street toward a cream-
colored taxi waiting at the curb.

The shots brought Patrolman Frank
Turbidy running to the scene. He saw

More bullets.

a man leap for the running board of
the taxi. Turbidy grabbed the bandit,
swung him around, and sent a savage

left crashing to his jaw. The bandit,

went down like a felled ox. But his

feet tripped the cop, and he went down °°

in a flying heap. Before he could climb
back to his feet, the taxi had roared
away. Turbidy sent two shots winging
after the escaping - gunmen. They

‘missed. -

The bandit on the sidewalk was
still out cold. He was manacled to
Turbidy’s wrist and hustled off to a

cell. Recovered, he refused to admit

that he had had any hand in the tavern
holdups.

_ “I was just a guy gettin’ into a cab,”
he glibly told Mullins.

He gave his name as William -Curley.
His address was a boarding house on
East 76th Street.

“Make it easy ay ose, Bill,” the
homicide ace invited. “Talk now and
get it over with: We'll get your pals
anyhow.”

It was obvious that the long-jawed
youth with the cleft chin and narrow,
cold eyes wasn’t Zoing to crack. Wear-
ily, Mullins and his aides took turns
trying to break down his iron nerve.
In the morning, after eight solid hours

of parrying, side-stepping the barrage

of questions flung at him, he still clung
to his statement that he was innocent.
He was taken back to his cell for a
cooling-off period. In a few hours he
would be back in Mullins’ office again
facing his inquisitors.

But, out of a clear sky, came a dra-
matic break for the hard-pressed in-
vestigators. The night before, around
midnight, a patrolman was directing
traffic a dozen blocks from the scene
of the 57th Street tavern. killing. A
cream-colored taxicab with two pas-
sengers inside sped through a red light
and came within an ace of running
down an old woman.

The traffic officer blew his whistle,
and the cab came to a Screeching stop.

He bawled out the driver, took out

his book, and started to write a sum- -

mons. As he did, the cabbie’s eyes

filled with tears, and he told a pitiful.

story of how he just got the job and
how desperately his wife and children
needed every penny he earned that
week. Sickness had struck hard at his

small family, and the bills were all but -

driving him crazy. A summons would
just about put the crusher to every-
thing. :
The cop listened and sympathized.

He didn’t finish writing the summons,
but he again warned the driver to be
careful and waved him on.

It wasn’t until the kind-hearted offi-
cer got back to his precinct station
early that morning that he learned the
killers had made their getaway in a
cream-colored taxi.

“I got the license number,” he in-
formed. his’ superior, “and the cab
driver’s name is Harry Tregob. He
lives in Queens.”

The important news was relayed
immediately to Captain’ Mullins. A
few minutes later, Trainor and
Browne sped to Queens. Tregob’s
three-room apartment was dark. They
rang the bell, and after a few minutes,
a thin, wiry man clad in pajamas,
came to the door. He eyed the two
officers with undisguised fear.

‘““We’re the police,” Browne told him
grimly. “Get your clothes on. We’re
going for a ride.”

Net A WORD was spoken during

ithe long trip back to Centre
Street. But Captain Mullins pounded
verbally at the 30-year-old cabbie
the moment he entered the Homicide
Squad office. “So you’re the guy that’s
been hauling those killers in. and out
of jobs,” he said with savage anger.
Tregob blanched. “Killers? I don’t
know any killers,” he said weakly.
“You know what the penalty is in
this state for taking part in a murder

‘ aS an accessory before and after the

fact? You’re as guilty as the man
who fires the gun!”

Tregob licked his lips. “Look, cap-
tain,” he said eagerly, “I got a wife
and two kids... .”

“So you told the traffic officer,”
sneered Mullins.

“It’s true. I ain’t mixed up in any-
thing, honest. I wouldn’t do a thing
like that to my familys

“Last night. wasn’t the first time
you drove those gunmen, .around,”
Mullins: accused,

NO, Sit.”

“You knew all
were.”

el did.”

Mullins leaned back.
have your story,” he said.
Tregob took a deep breath. He said,

couple of months ago, I’m sitting
in my cab at the hack stand and three
guys get inside. They give me an ad-
dress. It’s a tavern, and they tell me
to wait outside. A few minutes later,
they come tearin’ out. They tell me to
step on it. Ido... and that’s the be-
ginning.

“That night, I read in the papers

along who they

“Okay, let’s

(z3

about a holdup. I tried not to think -

about it.. Maybe it'll blow over, and
that will be the end. But a couple of
nights later, they’re back. The same
thing happens only with another ad-
dress. It goes on for weeks, and I’m
goin’ nuts. I don’t dare to squawk to
the cops on account of my: wife and
kids. On the other hand, if I clam up,
I might get into a real jam..

“Like this one,” he added ruefully.

“Go ahead,” said Mullins.

“Last night. was the pay-off. When
that cop stopped me for goin’ through
a red light, I figured I was a goner,
I talked fast and got out of it,”

“What about New Year’s Eve?”

“I never showed on the street that
day. I called my boss and told him I
was sick. I was, too.”

“Who is Anthony Revere?”

“I never heard the name.”

Ae much did you get as your
cul?

TN Pr 4 et toy

ng the summons,
the driver. to be
n on.

-ind-hearted offi-
precinct station
at he learned the
ir getaway ina

aber,” he in-
, and the cab
rry Tregob. He

WS was relayed

ain Mullins. A
Trainor and
jeens. Tregob’s
- was dark. They
rafew minutes,
lad in pajamas,
e eyed the two
sed fear.
3rowne told him
othes on. We're

3 spoken during
ack to Centre
Aullins pounded
year-old cabbie
2d the Homicide
re the guy that’s
Hers in. and out
savage anger.

Killers? I don’t
said weakly.

ile penalty is in
art in a murder
‘e and after the
lty as the man

ps. “Look, cap-
,, “I got a wife

traffic officer,”

l up in any-
, do a thing

the first time
inmen .around,”

long who they

*k. “Okay, let’s
said.

breath. He said,
ago, I’m sitting
stand and three
give me an ad-
nd they tell me
v minutes later,
They tell me to
id that’s the be-

\ in the papers

ed not to think -

blow over,. and
But a couple of
mack. The same
ith another ad-
weeks, and I’m
‘e to squawk to
of my- wife and
1d, if I clam up,
jam.
added ruefully.
llins.
pay-off. When
wr goin’ through
I was a goner.
wit of it.”

s Eve?”

street that
and told him I

vere?”
lame.”
u get as your

“Cut? Them pikers never even gave
me a decent tip!”

“Who are they? .What are their.

names?” |

“Honest, I don’t know.” =

“You heard them talking?” .

“Yeah. The guy who led the mob
and carried the guns was Bill. Matt
was the tall guy, The one you caught
was named Bill, too.”

“Where do they live?"

“Bill’s got a place over in Cortelyou
Road in Brooklyn.”

Captain Mullins got up from his
chair. ‘“We’re going out there now,”
he said tersely. He and Tregob, along
with Browne, Trainor, MacGuiness,
and McCarthy got into the long black
car downstairs. Tregob sat next to
Mullins who was driving.

They crossed the bridge, rode for
about 30 minutes. until they reached a
quiet residential street. They slowed
down.

“That’s it!” exclaimed Tregob. He
pointed to a two-story frame house.

The squad car stopped quietly.

“Which room is his?” Mullins asked..

“Upstairs. The hall bedroom.”

It was only 9 o’clock. The night was
cold, and there were few stragglers in
the street. The nearest lamp was about
40 feet away. :

“Tregob, you stay in the car and
wait,’ Mullins ordered. “The rest of
you pile out. McCarthy, you and

‘Browne take the back. Trainor, watch

that cellar door. MacGuiness and I
will take the front.

“We'll keep out. of sight till mid-
night. If that punk leaves the house,
nab him from the rear, quick. Re-
member he’s heeled. Don’t shoot un-
are you have to, but if you do, shoot

rst.

“The light’s on in his room. When
it’s out, we'll give him a chance to
fall asleep. Then we’ll go in after
him,”

The grim-faced, tense trio took up
their silent vigil for three hours. One
by one, the lights in the house went
out. At 11:30, the hall bedroom was
dark. The gang leader had not left
the house. Obviously, he had gone to
sleep.

“Okay,” said Mullins at last. “Check
your guns. We're going in. Browne
and Trainor stay where you are. Mat,
you come along with MacGuiness and
me.”

The three sleuths moved swiftly
along the shadows of the wall into the
dimly lit vestibule. They tip-toed up
the carpeted stairs. At the back of the
corridor was the hall bedroom.

The sound of heavy snoring came
through the door. Captain Mullins
nodded. Slowly, he reached for the
knob. He turned it and put the weight
of his shoulder gently against the
door. It was locked. He inserted a
lock pick, but the soft click of metal
rubbing metal told him the key was
still in the lock.

The snoring stopped. The tensely
listening men heard the creak of foot-
steps in the room. The window was
being raised!

Mullins kicked hard at the door.
“Open up in there!” he yelled.

HE MOBSTER’S answer was to

send a bullet crashing through the
panel of the door. The three men.
dropped to the floor out of the line of
fire. From his awkward position, Mul-
lins took aim and splintered the lock
with a bullet. Using the butt of his
gun as a lever, he pushed open the
door,

Two quick shots from the killer’s
gun blasted the darkness. The three
cops fired back. ‘ ;

“Better give up!” Mullins cried.

The trapped man’s hand was on the
window sash. Mullins fired and a cry
of pain tore from the killer’s lips. The
bullet had nicked his thumb. Before
he could recover,, MacGuiness made a
flying tackle at his legs. In a twinkling,
the savage killer was manacled.

“A lucky shot,” he sneered. “You
never would have got me otherwise!”

From the rear yard, came the sounds
of a violent scuffle. The gunman’s
confederate, the third member of the
unholy trio, had sought to escape by
leaping from a rear window. Trainor’s
gun butt laid him low.

At the prosecutor’s office where both
prisoners were taken for questioning,
the two-gun terrorist gave his name
as William J. Turner, and his age as 22.

“I planned every job myself,” he
bragged, “pretty slick for a kid, eh?”

“Not so’ slick,” said Assistant Dis-
trict Attorney George Carney. “Get-
ting the chair at 22 isn’t very smart.”

“We all gotta go,” said Turner
shrugging. '

The third member of Mob X was
Matthew Curley, brother of the cap-
tured William Curley. Less cold-

blooded and cynical than his cocky pal’

in crime, he readily admitted his share
in over 60 holdups.

“Bill was like a crazy guy some-
times,” he said when he was alone with
his inquisitors. “He never wanted to
ease up for a minute. The more cops
were looking for him, the better he
liked it. He’d have pulled a dozen jobs
a night if we’d have gone along!”

Matthew Curley gave Anthony Re-
vere and Harry Tregob a clean bill of
health. “Turner wouldn’t take a cou-
ple of guys like them in his mob,” he
said contemptuously. He likewise
denied that the vanished blonde wom-
an was anyone they knew. “She was
just a scared dame,” he said.

- William and Matthew Curley were
brought before Judge-Cornelius Col-
lins on May 19, 1933. Both men threw
themselves upon the mercy of the
court and were sentenced to terms of
from 25 years to life.

William Turner played out his string
till the very end. Facing Judge Col-
lins, he said tauntingly, “Go ahead,
Your Honor, throw the book at me.
I’m guilty. You know it and I know
it. Why kid around? I plead guilty.”

Judge Collins reminded the prisoner
that it was against the law of the State
of New York to plead guilty to a first-
degree murder charge. He was ordered
to change his plea to not guilty.

“That’s goofy,” cracked Turner.

The youthful terrorist’s trial was
held in the Court of General Sessions.
He mugged and smirked throughout
the entire proceedings. A panel of psy-
chiatrists examined the kill-crazy gun-
man and found him sane.

The jury was out less than two
hours.

It found William J. Turner |

guilty of the murder of John Mce- .

Gowan. ‘He was sentenced by Judge

Collins to. die in the electric chair on |

February 2, 1934.

At.the hour of his doom on that fate- -

ful day, Turner glanced up as he was
being strapped into the death chair

and said to the warden: “A nice gadget -

you got here!”

Nore: The'names Jake Denver, An-
thony Revere, and Harry Tregob are
fictitious to protect the identity of in-
nocent persons,

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help pay their expenses. The four
men who now roomed with the family
were all at work, but should return
soon, Richard added.

The moment he got inside the house,
the boy continued, he smelled smoke.
He rushed down to the cellar, in the
belief that the ancient oil heater might
have exploded. His attention was im-
mediately attracted by the mattress.
Then he made the grim discovery of
his sister’s body.

Richard said that he had left for
school that morning at 8 A.M. as
usual. His sister, a pupil-at Grace
Dodge Vocational High School, was in
the kitchen, ironing her plaid skirt, at
the time. She did not have to leave
until half an hour later. At 9 o’clock
his mother would be the last one to
leave the house, for her job at the
Memorial Center for Cancer and Allied
Diseases in Manhattan. . Meanwhile
the four male boarders in their home
would ‘have departed for their jobs in
other parts of the city. Officers were
sent out in an effort to locate the four

A check with school officials quickly
revealed that Lillian had not attended
her classes that day. That, they re-
ported, was unusual, since she had an
almost perfect attendance record.

Inspector Carey, a veteran homicide
investigator, was quick to observe that
the mattress which had been flung
over the body was not burned, al-
i though the flames which consumed the

victim’s dress had completely charred
‘the upper portion of her body. While

22

roomers at their places of employment.

That morning she got ready for school. Now her body was being taken to the morgue

\

the homicide chief continued to ques-

‘tion the slain girl’s brother, gfher de-

tectives learned that a neighbor smelled
smoke at about 9:30 that morning
and came over to investigate. bas
glanced through the uncurtained front
and side windows but could see noth-
ing, so I decided everything must be
all right,” the neighbor related.

“Did you see the girl, or anyone else,
about the place at that time?”

The neighbor shook her head. She
saw the Mojicas’ boarders leave for
their work ds usual, between the times
when Richard and his mother left
the house, she recalled. No one else,
as far as she knew, had either come
or departed from the house during
the forenoon hours. The neighbor
said she had been working in her
kitchen, facing the east side of the

Mojica home, and would have been.

likely to see anyone who arrived or
departed before noon.

‘Examination of the girl’s bedroom
on the second floor revealed that the
bed had been neatly made. Beside
it were the shoes she usually wore
to school, along with her outer gar-
ments and schoolbooks. Called to ex-
amine several dark spots on the floor
of the second-floor bathroom, Dr.
Mathus expressed the belief that these
were blood. The bathmat, it was noted,
lay crumpled up at one end of. the
room. In none of the other rooms of
the house was anything disturbed.

Neighbors described the victim as
a quiet girl whose principal interests

‘outside her schoolwork were church

activities.
choir of the Manor Community Churel

She sang soprano in th(bi

in midtown Manhattan, and each Tues plunt weapon hé

day night went there for practice, the

said. Richard said his sister showed and that an atte

little interest in boys, other than thos¢

to’ cremate her

whom she met at church. He ee es mate?

that the pastor of their church, th
Reverend Thomas E. Little,

mother.

accompanied by Mr. Little,
at the house just as the body of he
slain daughter was being taken away
to the morgue.

Shocked at the news of her daugh-
ter’s murder, Anna Mojica was unabl
to make a coherent statement. A be-
spectacled, motherly-appearing woman
dressed entirely in black and with a
babushka over her graying hair, she
was placed under the care of a neigh-
borhood physician, who administered
a sedative.

Meanwhile the midtown preacher
told detectives Lillian had joined his
congregation four months before and,
although still in her teens, was con-
sidered one of his most ardent workers.
He confirmed the neighbors’ state-
ments that she had shown little in-
terest in anything other than her
schoolwork and church activities.

Later Mrs. Mojica told the police

that she had left the house at 9 o’clock | -
She thought}

that morning as usual.
that all four of their boarders had
departed before she left, but she had
been busy in the kitchen and actually
had seen none of them go.
Mrs. Mojica revealed, had said she
felt ill and might remain at home that)
morning. The girl had just ‘finished
ironing her school dress when her
mother left the house. She was wear-

: day.

Lillian, |

nor a container f
be called be found. As th
to break the news of the tragedy to his pleted their exe
Inspector Lussen telephoned the

to the minister and Richard’s mother; one,
arrived that morning.

four board:
to the hous

‘Three of the

20s _. and unma
leave their jobs

as detectives ar

‘These men—A

renzo -Aceved:
Riveri, 27—sai
between 8:30 @
‘and.-not retw
The fourth b
lo Vargas, saic
‘during the sa
ing a call fro
“Hospital, whe
a cook’s help:
regular day
to report for \
-en employee
‘on sick leav:
arriving at t
+ informed tha
all, so’ he w
where he |S}
his wife @
Vargas, -like
~ poard at the
the death in
~pand. Alth
dren lived <
- he had tak«
“family in c

ing her night clothes and a robe at
the time.

Asked to check the slain girl’s cloth-
ing, Mrs. Mojica revealed that her
daughter had -been wearing nothing

except the plaid dress, her house slip- §.
pers and bobbysox, when she was slain. .
All of her underwear could be ac- |.

counted for. But Lillian frequently
went about the place with only an
outer dress on, before dressing at the
last minute for school, the mother
added.

Inspector Lussen assigned 25 detec-
tives to question friends and neighbors
of the family, while homicide investi-
gators under the direction of Inspector
Carey waited at the house for
the return of the Mojicas’ boarders.
Meanwhile Lillian’s body was removed
to the Bellevue Hospital morgue for
an autopsy. Before leaving, the house
Dr. Mathus told police he believed the
charred cords found about the victim’s
neck and on her left wrist had come
from a Venetian blind. ;

Returning to the basement, detec-
tives discovered a blind from which
the cord had been cut off. They also

© left the ho
aa Inspecto)
» check on *
* poarders.

~ tives star
neighborh«
records.

~ men the

’ who had
© in which
be “though t}
~ the hous:
“Mrs. Moj
value wa
preclude

was slair
the hous
glarizing
knowled:
all the

away or

been ha

in the s:
~~ weeks.
That
carded


ister and Richard’s mother,

ad by Mr. Little, arrived
isé just as the body of her
hter was being taken away
‘gue.
at the news of her daugh-
r, Anna Mojica was unable
coherent statement. A be-
motherly-appearing woman
‘irely in black and with a
ver her graying hair, she
under the care of a neigh-
ysician, who administered

e the midtown preacher
ves Lillian had joined his
1 four months before and
1 in her teens, was con-
of his most ardent workers.

ed the neighbors’ state-]}

she had shown little in-
nything other than ‘her
and church activities.

w

. Mojica told the police’
left the house at 9 o’clock
§ as usual. She thought
r of their boarders had
ore she left, but she had
| the kitchen and actually
me of them go. Lillian,
_Tevealed, had said she
light remain at home that
1e girl had just finished |’
school dress when her
1e house. She was wear-
t clothes and a robe at

eck the slain girl’s cloth-
Ojica revealed that her
| -been wearing nothing
iid dress, her house slip-
ysox, when she was slain.
inderwear could be ac- |
But Lillian frequently
he place with only an
1, before dressing at the ~
for school, the mother

Issen assigned 25 detec-
on friends and neighbors
while homicide investi-.
1e direction of Inspector
| at the house for
the Mojicas’ boarders.
ian’s body was removed
e Hospital morgue for
efore leaving the house
1 police he believed the
ound about the victim’s
er left wrist had come
n blind,
the basement, detec.
1 a blind from which
cen cut off. They also

_ neighborhood youths

discovered an unopened bottle of rub-
bing alcohol. Although it was the
medical examiner’s opinion that a
blunt weapon had been used in the
attack upon the young choir singer,
and that an attempt had been made
to cremate her body with some in-
flammable material, neither weapon
nor a container for such material could
be found. As the homicide men com-
pleted their examination at the scene,
the four boarders returned, one by
one, to the house which they had left
that morning.

Three of the men, all in their mid-
20s and unmarried, were about to
leave their jobs at 5:30 quitting time,
as detectives arrived to question them.
These men—Andrez Apond, 25; Lo-
renzo Acevedo, 24; and Eduardo
Riveri, 27—said they left the house
between 8:30 and 9 a.m. for their jobs
and. not returned there during the
day.

The fourth boarder, 33-year-old Pab-
lo Vargas, said he had left the house
during the same period, after receiv-
ing a call from the Jewish Memorial
Hospital, where he was employed as
a cook’s helper. Although it was his
regular day off, he had been asked
to report for work because other kitch-
en employees at the hospital were

_ on sick leave, he related. But upon

arriving at the hospital he had been

- informed that he was not needed after

all, so he went to Lower Manhattan,
where he spent the entire day with
his wife and their three children.
Vargas, like the others, had come to
board at the Mojica home shortly after
the death in June, 1956, of Anna’s hus-
band. Although his wife and chil-
dren lived at the other end of the city,
he had taken a room with the Mojica
family in order to be near his work,
he explained. He told the police he
had heard Lillian talking with her
mother in the kitchen at the time he
left the house.

Inspector Carey assigned men _ to
check on the stories told by the four
boarders. Meanwhile other detec-
tives started rounding up a dozen
with criminal
records. In addition, Carey gave his
men the names of two teenage girls
who had been involved in burglaries
in which violence had been used. Al-
though there was no indication that
the house had been ransacked, and
Mrs. Mojica reported that, nothing of
value was missing, the police did not
preclude the possibility that Lillian
was slain by someone who broke into
the house with the intention of bur-
glarizing the place. It was general
knowledge in the neighborhood that
all the occupants of the house were
away on week days. And there had
been half a dozen daylight burglaries
in the same vicinity during the recent
weeks.

That theory, dis-

however, was

carded before the night was over. Dr.

Mathus. reported that an autopsy, per-
formed immediately after the arrival
of the body at the morgue, revealed
that the pretty choir singer had been
raped before her body was dragged to
the basement and burned. Death, said
the medical examiner, was caused by
strangulation. The injury to the head
had been severe enough to cause loss
of consciousness, but there was no
fracture of the skull and the head
wound could not have proved fatal to
the victim.

Police laboratory technicians mean-

while revealed that traces of blood
taken from the floor of the bathroom
were of the same type’as that of the
victim. Similar scrapings found later
on the stairway leading to the second
floor, on which were located the bath-
room as well as the bedrooms occupied
by the four boarders, were also human
blood, said the laboratory men.
' Analysis of the contents of the slain
girl’s stomach indicated that she had
died within two hours of eating her
breakfast between 7:30 and 8 a.m., re-
ported the autopsy physician. There
was neither blood nor skin beneath her
fingernails, which would have been in-
dicative of a struggle with her assail-
ant.

Said Dr. Mathus: “A well-propor-
tioned, mature girl, 5 feet 6 inches in
height and weighing 125 pounds, Lil-
lian would have been well able to de-
fend herself against any but an
unusually powerful assailant. The
blow on her head was struck from the
front. She would certainly have had
some warning of an impending attack
—unless the attacker was someone she
knew.and trusted.” .

Carey agreed, pointing out that Lil-
lian’s mother had locked the:front door
behind her upon leaving the house at
9 o’clock. Whoever attacked the girl,
he believed, must already have been
inside the house, or had been volun-
tarily admitted by his victim sometime
after her mother left for work.

Throughout the early morning hours
of Friday Lillian’s mother and 15-
year-old brother sat in the Wadsworth
Avenue station house. From time to
time they looked up as detectives
brought in teenage friends and ac-
quaintances of the slain girl for ques-
tioning. From time to time one of the
homicide men had a question for the
grief-stricken mother or her son, after
talking with one of the slain girl’s
schoolmates. Between midnight and
4:30 a.m., when the mother and son fi-
nally returned to their home, Richard
alternately read his Bible and studied
a science book he had brought to the
station house with him.

Among those picked up for’ ques-
tioning were the employees of a ga-
rage next to St. Elizabeth’s Church,
across the street from the Mbojica
home. Two youths who had worked
all day Thursday in the garage said
they had seeri: no one enter or leave

*

Grief-stricken mother and brother of
young choir singer could offer no clue

the house across the street after 9 a.m.
Early on Friday detectives sent out
to check on the boarders’ alibis re-
turned with sworn statements from
the employers of the three men who
had been at work the day before. All
had remained on their jobs from 9
A.M. to 5:30 P.M., according to their
employers and fellow workers.
Detective Redmond P. Burke, the
homicide investigator assigned to
check the story of the 33-year-old
boarder, Vargas, spent most of Friday
morning questioning the man’s pretty
brunette wife and the oldest of his
three children. Mrs. Justina Vargas,
the petite, dark-eyed mother of Var-
gas’ children, told Burke her husband
arrived at (Continued on page 83)

23


to: -- “If I: go,

th me.
ne.”
th crime for good,”
it you talked me into
it it. I’m a fool, and
been a leader,: only
jam, now, because
r of a stupid leader.”
nounced that he was
ile. “I’m not taking
“I’m going it alone.”
Burton’s departure,
e tobacco barn and
- Little’s handcuffs.
vas handcuffed to a
n. At 5 p.m., he was

They’ll have

and handcuffed to ..

vis and Burton split
Then Burton put a
left.

le and passed. Davis
Iked of suicide and
arid Calvin Shelton
ut it.

g'to do,” Little said.

1 COWard’s way out.

ighty brave to send
rain.”
newscast featured
Ruiie Eliott, being
the manhunt. Da-
s he listened. “I
he kept repeating.
ze.” He turned to
“he said suddenly.
vith me. We’ll use
be I can make it.”
‘s handcuffs and
of the house, a gun
ne door closed he
a not going any-
myself off, but I
‘or ©S-Iton’s wife.
rn 1. you hear
t darn.”
We.r wild. Within
single shot. They
ind Davis, badly
snowy earth. “I
he told them
‘n’t do a good job.”
for Trooper Bill
- to the barn and
is frantic message
uri by Trooper N.
‘kly relayed it to
ites, the Shelton
lice. In the van-

tle said chidingly,
have?”
‘Ss using my hands

ite of shock from
was rushed to
emergency oper-
ntered the lower
hrough the heart
his back.
1? posses searched
ind for Carl Bur-
‘e of the fugitive.
ed the aid of the
him through the
“Over the loud
m to come in.
was marred by a
d noon the roads
1orbidly curious,
olice were hunt-
inglish, 24, a for-
1 Was in a car
audie English, 27.
an, and her hus-

were in the back

proached a road-

OO OR 6 ors

TIL,

It was a fatal decision. Not- waiting for
instructions from the officers manning the
roadblock, the automobile moved on. Im-
mediately a Missouri trooper and a civil-
ian volunteer grabbed their guns and
opened fire. Jewell English slumped over
in the car, dead.

On Tuesday night, February 4th, the
manhunt came to a dramatic end. At 8:10
P.M. Carl Burton walked through a cor-
don of searching peace officers and sur-
rendered himself to Captain Marshall
Jeffords and Patrolman L. J. Stubblefield
at Paducah police headquarters. Burton
came through the door, arms raised.

The prisoner was’ soot-stained and
grimy. He had spent the 24 hours hiding
behind the steam boiler in the Illinois
Central Railroad roundhouse situated in
the South Yard. After sneaking out of
the roundhouse, the fugitive made his way
to the home of his aunt in Paducah.

“She fed me and talked to me,” Burton
is quoted as saying. “She said to me,
‘Sailor, you’d better give yourself up.’ She
didn’t pressure me, but she didn’t let me
go until I promised I would come here.”

Burton was completely remorseful for
his part in what had happened. The death
of Jewell English, whom he remembered,
touched him deeply.

“Two people already have died,” Bur-
ton said. “That’s enough. I want to take

my medicine. I’m sorry about that’ girl.”

Actually only one had died. Burton be-
lieved that he had shot and killed a police
officer in the course of a California hold-
up. The California police, who had tied
Burton in with the holdup, had reported
that the officer involved had recovered.

Burton was brought to the second floor
of the historic Paducah courthouse, where
he was arraigned before Federal Commis-
sioner Herbert S. Melton Jr. The com-
missioner fixed the ‘prisoner’s bond at
$30,000-on the kidnaping charges, and at
$5,000 for violation of the Dyer Act. Har-
old Davis, brought in on a stretcher from
the prison ward of the hospital, had al-
ready been similarly arraigned.

“This didn’t have to happen,” Carl Bur-
ton told newsmen who interviewed him.
“A single thing can change a man’s life.
If my wife had told me she was having
a second baby, I’d have stayed out of trou-
ble. We’d have come back to Paducah,
but not like this. I sure hope some poor
sap, somewhere, gets a lesson from what’s
happened to me.”

Davis said nothing. He was too weak
to talk. His doctors are certain, however,
that he will have sufficiently recovered by
April 21st to be on hand for the proceed-
ings when the McCracken County grand
jury meets to consider charges against
both men. oo¢

The Choir Singer
and the Beast

(Continued from page 23)

her apartment on Third Avenue—more
than 9 miles from the Mojica home at the
other end of the city, and at least a 90-
minute ride by subway and bus—at 10:30
A.M. on the day before.

“Pablo remained here with me and the
children until 4:30, when he left to return
to the room where he’s been living since
we separated eight months ago,” Justina
Vargas related. “During the afternoon he
took our 13-year-old daughter out and
bought her a pair of shoes for school.”

Detective Burke returned to headquar-
ters at noon Friday to learn that a search
of the boarders’ rooms at the Mojica house
had turned up a bloodstained, dark blue
bathrobe. This, reported Inspector Carey,
was found in the bedroom occupied by
Pablo Vargas. Questioned about the stains
on his robe, the mustachioed suspect
pointed to his lean and pock-marked face.
“IT have a skin infection that causes much
itching,” he said.. “When it itches, I
scratch. And when I scratch there is blood.
I probably got the blood on my robe by
rubbing my sleeve against my face.”

Vargas was shown a white shirt with
similar stains upon the sleeve. He denied
having worn the shirt the day before, but
offered the same explanation for the spots.

At the Jewish Memorial Hospital, where
the boarder in the Mojica home was em-
ployed as cook’s- helper, several kitchen
workers remembered having seen him

i: early on the murder morning. But no one

“ Highway 45 and | P.

”

ie said.
ju P going,”

could be found who remembered having
telephoned him to come to work.

Asked again about the telephone call he
claimed to have received the day before,
Vargas said he was dressing to go down-
town to call upon his wife and children
when that call came in, at about 9 a.m.
He was not sure whether Lillian’s mother
had already left for work at the time.

Mrs. Mojica told detectives she was sure)

the telephone had not rung between the
time she got up at 7 a.m. and 9 A.M. when

she left for her own hospital job.

Informed of the contradictory evidence
in regard to the early morning telephone
call, Detective Redmond ran a check on
the suspect with the identification bureau.
Shortly after noon ID officers came up with
the information that five years before
PabloVargas had been convicted of felo-
nious assault and sentenced to prison. His
arrest had followed a domestic argument
during which he drew a knife and slashed
his pretty wife across the face in a fit of
jealousy. Vargas had been freed after a
year in prison, but was still on parole.

Burke decided to question Justina Var-
gas once more. Back at the tenement
where she lived with her three children,
he demanded to know whether the suspect
had mentioned the Mojica girl during his
visit of the day before.

“He never mentioned other women or
girls, but I am positive he could have had
nothing to do with Lillian Mojica yester-
day before coming here,” Justina Vargas
said flatly.

Burke asked her how she could be so
sure of that.

“Because,” countered the young wom-
an, “Pablo made love to me right after
getting here yesterday morning. If he had
first made love to that girl where he
boards, he would not have come and made
love to me right afterward.”

“Love?” said Burke, remembering the
gaping wound in the pretty choir singer’s
head, the burned cord about her neck and
the mutilated face and torso. “Did you call
it love when he slashed you across the
face with a knife five years ago?”

Justina Vargas had no answer for that.

Burke was told that Vargas had married
his wife 14 years before in their native
Puerto Rico. Two years later Justina had
come to the United States. She worked
for several months in a laundry, then re-
turned to Puerto Rico for her year-old
daughter. A son was born the next year
and, in 1950, she paid for her husband’s
passage to the States. They separated soon
afterward, but “remained friends.” Early
in 1957 their third child was born.

Justina Vargas said her husband con-
tributed $10 weekly toward the support
of herself and the children. “It is all he
can afford on his poor salary,” the pretty
brunette pleaded. The City Welfare De-

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partment helped support the family.

But back ‘at the drab, brown-shingled
house in Washington Heights other detec-
tives even then were examining the
twelve expensive suits, the dozens of silk
shirts and undergarments that filled the
bureau drawers and closet in the $5-a-
week room occupied by Pablo Vargas.
Other boarders at the house told officers
that the hospital worker had often boasted
he was a “lady-killer” and had scores of
women continually pursuing him. On a

‘dressing table in Vargas’ room were doz-

ens of bottles and jars of facial lotions,
hair pomades and other cosmetics.

When Burke returned to his headquar-
ters, after the second interview with Var-
gas’ wife, he found the perfumed and
pomaded suspect being questioned by
Alexander Herman, chief of the homicide
bureau, and Assistant District Attorney
Leonard Sandler. Vargas, dressed im-
maculately in a powder blue suit and gray
top coat, showed no nervousness as he re-
viewed once more his movements of the
day before. He swore he had received a
telephone call from the hospital at about
9 a.M., and left the house immediately.

Aware that when Vargas returned to his
rooming house to find the police awaiting
him on the day before, he was wearing the
same well tailored suit and dress shoes in
which he now sat answering their ques-
tions, Sandler asked why he had not been
in his work clothes if he actually had
planned to work the day before.

“Because,” answered the erstwhile Puer-
to Rican sugar field laborer, “I always
wear my best going to and from work.”

Sandler looked questioningly toward the
detective who had questioned Vargas’ fel-
low workers at the hospital ten blocks
from his rooming house. An almost im-
perceptible nod of the head assured him
Vargas was telling the truth.

“But you did change your shirt just be-
fore leaving for work, didn’t you?” de-
manded the district attorney.

“Yes, I told you I wiped my sleeve
against the sores on my face. There was
a spot of blood on the cuff, so I changed.
I always dress with extreme care.”

“The police chemists agree that there is
a spot of blood on the shirt you wore, Var-
gas,” said Sandler as he held the other’s
eyes in a steady gaze. “But it isn’t your
blood. You know, we have ways of telling.
Scientific ways. So how can you explain
that the blood on your shirt is the same
type as that of the young girl who was
raped and murdered some time between
9 A.M., when you admit being in the house,
and 10:30 when you claim to have arrived
at your wife’s rooms downtown?”

Pablo Vargas, a nearly illiterate laborer
who did not know the meaning of modern
scientific criminology, now realized that
for the first time he was confronted with
a question to which he was unable to offer
a glib reply. But the grilling continued
for more than four more hours before the
suspect finally broke and dictated a state-
ment in Spanish—which the police and
district attorney hope will send him to the
electric chair.

In that statement the flashily dressed
cook’s helper allegedly told how he waited
until the other boarders and_ Lillian’s
mother left the house on Thursday morn-
ing. Then, following the pretty teenager
to the second-floor bathroom where she
stood combing her hair, he pushed in and
seized her in his sinewy arms.

Vargas said he was dressed in his under-
clothes, shirt and a blue flannel “dressing
robe.” The girl wore the plaid, dress she
had just ironed, bobbysox and her house
slippers. The undergarments she planned
to wear were hanging in the basement.

When Lillian turned and pushed him

away, according to police who interpreted

Vargas’ written statement, he struck her
with his fist and she crashed to the floor,
striking her head against a plumbing fix-
ture. Then he tore her dress away and
assaulted her. Finally he lifted her un-
conscious form, carried her down to the
ground floor, through the parlor, dining
room, kitchen and down to the basement.

Vargas was quoted as admitting that he
cut the cord from an old Venetian blind
and bound his young victim’s wrists be-
fore tightening a length of the cord about
her throat and strangling her. After that,
according to police who heard his con-
fession, he “lighted her clothing with
matches until she was burned beyond rec-
ognition.” The mattress, taken from an old
bed that had been stored in the cellar, was
thrown over the body in the hope that it
would become ignited and fully cremate
the body. Instead, it extinguished the tiny
flames that still rose from the charred
cord about Lillian’s neck and wrists.

Then the self-styled lady-killer went up
to his room, changed into a clean linen
shirt, put on his powder blue suit and
light gray overcoat. He hurried down-
town to make love to the pretty brunette
wife whom he had deserted five years ear-
lier, after slashing her across the face in a
fit of wild jealousy.

Early on Saturday morning, February
15th, just two days after he allegedly
slugged, raped, strangled and attempted to
cremate the helpless 16-year-old girl, Var-
gas appeared for arraignment before Mag-
istrate Anthony Maglio in Manhattan
felony court. A short affidavit charging
him with first-degree murder was read by
Detective Burke. Wilson G. Graves, an
attorney who said he was employed by the
prisoner’s estranged wife, entered a formal
plea of not guilty.

Burke’s affidavit did not mention either
the rape or the attempt to cremate Lillian.
But Judge Maglio showed that he was
fully familiar with the circumstances that
led to the girl’s death when he angrily
excoriated the dapper defendant who
stood calmly before him twisting the brim
of his pearl gray fedora, and from time to
time straightening the flashy blue-dotted
tie over his immaculate white shirt.

When Attorney Graves asked permis-
sion to have Vargas’ wife and three chil-
dren brought to the front of the court to
stand beside the man accused of brutally
attacking a girl only three years older
than his own daughter, Judge Maglio half
rose behind the bench and shouted, “No!
There will be no special consideration for
this man. He will be treated as coldly and
impartially as he treated his victim. He
will be given the full protection of the
law, but that is all.”

Vargas’ attorney stepped forward, his
lips parted in protest. But before he could
speak, the magistrate went on angrily, “He
will be treated like the lecherous beast he
is—a man whose crime is so horrible that
there can be no compassion for him.”

The pock-marked prisoner raised a trem-
bling hand to his sweating forehead, but
his gaze remained lowered to the floor.
The judge was not through, though. He
leaned across the bench so far that those
in the courtroom wondered that he was
able to maintain his balance. “I hope you
understand what I said about you. I hope
you understand why I will not allow your
wife and children to stand beside you here
in this courtroom. You had no thought
or consideration for them when you com-
mitted your crime. Your only thought was
that you might use them for an alibi.”

After ordering Vargas held without bail
for the grand jury, Judge Maglio turned to
a courtroom attendant and’ said huskily,
“Take him away—and pick a good rat hole
down at the Tombs Prison to keep him in
until he can be brought to trial for his
detestable crime.” o¢¢

“I've Gone

Throug:. «|

(Conti

and I had no one to ca
did I have the money
could trust. Clyde fi
took Rusty to his owr

“Rapids. But I missed

Casey and I decided
Vivian. We wanted t
wanted my son back.
Vivian, far from c
vorce, decided to con
live with Casey. Th:
to talk something out
only in talking. Viv
about it, in one way; :
things very difficult fi
fortable, if she had v
were no bitter words .~
a flat refusal. Casey
twice, hoping to chan*
both occasions she stat
nitely, that she woul:
divorce. She had a ]#
had three children t
her own point of vie
I suppose, justifiable.
but that didn’t help.
In the end, Casey a1
better stop seeing ea
lost his job and I lost
our children were ri
portant factor. We co
lives. I decided I we
different future for wv
and try to forget Case
But my future cz
any planning, at the
when Clyde called t
brother Ed hai 1
was very unh. i
‘roundings. Clyc \
off with Casey. Perha)

- it to the baby to try «é

the child terribly and
to get a decent job, |
to convince. I pack:
went down to New Y
my marriage all over
We took a winter
summer rental, furni
we could do on short
weeks we agreed, on
it was just no good.
gers now. We agreed
a go of our marriag:
We figured that ir
could save enough m
able to go to another
and have enough left
until the decree be
said he’d pay $25 a w
of our baby and help «
cy that might come up
to build an educatio:
and I said I ‘wanted.,
have Rusty for a m
year. We started imn*
aside $125 as our dg
weeks later, poor Cly
I had known Casey «
York for a boat sh
end of January 17th t
been talking about it
J still loved him an
much. I guess I was
Vivian also had found
riage couldn’t be pai
Clyde if he would o
Casey while he was
met once, up in Utica
friendly toward each
a little thought, Clyde
but he asked me to


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identified them. ‘Phen Andreoli put) the
killing on Bowers.

Arraigned before a magistrate and iden-
tified again by the negro boys, Bowers
said: “Lo owish E'd killed) them; then 1
wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Bow Wow and Andreoli were taken
hi ick = to.) Wilkes-Barre and indicted.

fowers went on trial September 28, 1937,
before Judge W. A. Valentine,

The trial was remarkable for Bowers’
testimony in his own defense. “I thought
I had the safety catch on the gun and I
was pushing him across the room when
the gun accidentally exploded,” he swore.

The handsome, soft-spoken former ath-
Iete made a long plea to the jury of eleven
men and one woman, a plea which took all
District Attorney Leon Schwartz’s skill
to tear down later.

“I am guilty of this crime, as guilty as
T might possibly be,” said Bowers, “but
I didn’t kill this man in cold blood. Tf
you jurors think [ killed this man inten-

tionally PE shall weleome the extrenie pen
alty which | realize is death.”

Sowers pleaded for two hours for his
life: a dozen times he reiterated: “T never
pulle do that: trigger,

The jurors took 51 hours to decide that
Bowers was guilty of first degree murder.
But his unparalleled harangue saved his
life; the jury made a mandatory recom.
mendation of Life tmiprisoniment,

Andreoli threw himself on the merey
of the court, which fixed his guilt as first
degree murder and gave him a life sen-
tence, too.

The two began their terms at Eastern
State penitentiary October 11. They
were taken before a magistrate briefly
on November 12, arraigned for holdup and
abduction,

That was a naive concession to “life
sentences” as they are sometimes served.
If Bowers and Andreoli ever get out of
the “life” sentences, there’s still another
charge waiting for them.

New York’s Case of the Floating Corpse

[Contined from page 21]

police still did not seem to be any closer
to making an identification.  Vle head
continued missing: and without this vital
bit in the jigsaw puzzle “Mister X" prom-
ised to be as much a mystery character
as ever.

There was a significant thing about the
feet. They were heavily calloused as if
the man had gone barefoot a good deal.

“Maybe that's important if we can only
fit it into the picture,” Superintendent
Rickard said in discussing the case with
Captain Hogan, “ What kind of a man
goes barefoot in New York?”

“Tre must have gone naked a good deal,
too,” Hogan suggested. “The only thing
to be concealed by stripping the skin off
the chest was a tattoo, Phe tattoo mist
have been pretty well known or the killers
wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of re-
moving it.

“And another thing, the arms were
muscular. This indicates our ‘Mister N’
used them a lot even though his hands
were so soft that he couldn’t have been a
laborer.”

The two officers brooded over the rid-
dle. Then after some long moments, Su-
perintendent Rickard snapped his fingers.

“LT think I’ve got it!” he exclaimed, “A
rubber in a Turkish bath!”

In 1897 ‘Turkish baths were more com-
mon in New York city than they are
today. Gentlemen of means visited thet
regularly to keep themselves in) trim.
They also were generously patronized by
gay young blades trying to recover from

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“the night before.” Employes of these
establishments formed ao sizeable clique

Ncting: upon Riehkard’s deduction ae
tectives and reporters descended upon
the various Turkish baths, asking if any
of their masseurs were missing, Pt was not
long: before they struek pay dirt.

At the Murray Hill baths the proprietor
said that one of his men, William Gulden-
suppe, had recently left,

“But bE think he just got tired of work-
ing,” the proprietor amended. “His land-
lady came here with word from him that
he'd decided to quit. Twas surprised. [le
had been with me for four years, But you
know how those fellows are; they get a
notion in their heads and drop a good
steady job to po off on a wild-oose chase,
I wouldn't be surprised if Willie went to
Alaska hunting for gold.”

“Did this Guldensuppe have anything
tattooed on his chest?” a reporter asked,

“Why yes, come to think of it, lhe did.
The head and shoulders of a woman, A
bust T guess you call it.”

IPE reporter) grinned with elation.

“That tattoo mark would be reeos-
nized by countless persons who had seen
him at his job. It would be a sure method
of identification. It would be the first
thing a murderer would want to destroy.

The proprietor paid little attention to
the reporter and continued:

“You know, Willie was one man T
thought IT could depend on. In all his
four years here he'd never missed a single
day. He didn’t) give me any advance
notice either, Just walked out at the usual
hour and said, ‘See you tomorrow,’ or
something like that. Let’s see, that was
Friday, Mriday the 25th.”

And the first pareel had been found
floating in) East river on Saturday the
26th!

The proprietor of the baths along with
several employes were taken to” the
morgue to view the remains. With vary-
ing degrees of certainty each declared he
believed that “Mister X” was the missing
Willie Gouldensuppe.

The identification was clinched when
Dr. J. S. Crosby, a patron of the Murray
Hill, took a look at the body.

Apvertiskp Branp!

pita ae

“ANG thont cleouls
he sae Pat de
final proof. Ab:
noticed that Wi
finver and TP ott
operation resulte
ened nail which 4

While this was
morcue Detectis
Detective Joseph
of reporters wer:
Guldensuppe’s kk
prietor of the ba
dress and said
Nack.

Beside the do
house the invest
“Nugusta Nack,
bell, they were
strong-featured
you want me for

“Nope.” reph:
looking for Wil!
him to do seme
stood we could

HE woman
room.

“T haven't. se
morning,” she
a CGrerman aeees
he ts. Ele came
dav and putoon |
www Dat bet
HOO trom mie.”

A few minute
There seemed
to be obtained ¢
answered then
without hesitath
neivhborhood vv
of the patssdie ny

Meanwhile at
John Durfee. a
to constables thy
pertng with his
had become stek
an overtlowing »:
aoweek previou
dered what coul

Durfee knew
being investigate
the constables, a
pond, found th
had collected at
Closer. serutiny
probably came t
with aoosmall ou:
lonely road just
which was) the
radius of several
sewer except 1)

New York re
case, sugeested t
duck pond mich:
immediately we
they learned lac
a Mr. and Mrs

The couple th
tare, the owner
it several times,
observed then ¢
building. Tle
couple was Cat
rent and he had
fere,

* AN few hours
water in the duc’
human blood.

If the cottage }
house, there was
The interior of :
clean, as though °
it thoroughly in
their abode the:

The detectives
murder had been


i¢ the extreme pen-
death.”

two hours for his
citerated: “TI never

vurs to decide that
rst degree murder.
tarangue saved his
mandatory recom-
risonment,

self on the merey
ed his guilt as first
ive him a life sen-

r terms at Eastern
dctober Il. They
magistrate briefly
zned for holdup and

concession to “life
sometimes served.
oli ever get out of
here’s still another
‘mM.

x Corpse

Employes of these
1 a sizeable clique.
rd’s deduction de-
s descended upon
aths, asking if any
missing. It was not
k pay dirt.
vaths the proprietor
n, William Gulden-
te
got tired of work-
vended. “His land-
ord from him that
was surprised. He
our years. But you
ws are; they get a
and drop a good
a wild-goose chase.
lif Willie went to
Py)

pe have anything
a reporter asked.
think of it, he did.
sofa woman, A

' -

ned with elation.
would be recog-
sons who had seen
1 be a sure method
vould be the first
{ want to destroy.”
little attention to
tued:
was one man I
‘don. In all his
ver missed a single
me any advance
ed out at the usual
xu tomorrow,’ or
ets see, that was
had been found
on Saturday the

baths along with
e taken to the
dns, With varye
- each declared he
“was the missing

ws clinched when
onof the Murray
body.

EL

La Aer

“Without doubt that is Guldensuppe,”
he said, “That left index finger of his is
final proof. About three months ago I
noticed that Willie had a felon on his
finger and I offered to remove it. The
operation resulted in the sear and black-
ened nail which you still can see.”

While this was taking place at Bellevue
morgue Detective Sergeant Sam Price,
Detective Joseph O’ Donohue and a couple
of reporters were hastening to check on
Guldensuppe’s lodging place. The pro-
prietor of the baths had supplied his ad-
dress and said his landlady was a Mrs.
Nack.

Beside the door of the Ninth avenue
house the investigators found the sign:
“Augusta Nack, Midwife.” Ringing the
bell, they were confronted by a stout,
strong-featured woman who said: “Ja,
you want me for a case?”

“Nope,” replied Sergeant Price, “we're
looking for Willie Guldensuppe. Want
him to do some work for us and under-
stood we could find him here.”

HE woman led them into the living
room,

“T haven’t seen Willie since Friday
morning,” she said, her words marked by
a German accent. “I don’t know where
he is. He came in from work early Fri-
day and put on his best clothes and went
away. But before he left he borrowed
$50 from me.”

A few minutes later the detectives left.
There seemed little further information
to be obtained from Mrs. Nack who had
answered their questions frankly and
without hesitation. But a canvass of the
neighborhood was started to learn more
of the missing man’s habits if possible.

Meanwhile at the village of Woodside,
John Durfee, a farmer, had complained
to constables that someone had been tam-
pering with his duck pond. His ducks
had become sick. The pond, formed by
an overflowing sewer, had been discolored
a week previously he said and he won-
dered what could be done about it.

Durfee knew nothing of the murder
being investigated in New York city, but
the constables, after examining the duck
pond, found that the foreign substance
had collected at one end of the tiny lake,
Closer scrutiny disclosed this substance
probably came from a sewer connecting
with ‘a small unoccupied cottage on a
lonely road just outside Woodside and
which was the only building within a
radius of several miles connected with the
sewer except Durfce’s house.

New York reporters learning of this
case, suggested that the substance in the
duck pond might be blood and detectives
immediately went to the cottage which
they learned had recently been rented to
a Mr. and Mrs. Braun.

The couple had not occupied the cot-
tage, the owner said, but they had visited
it several times. He added that he had
observed them carrying packages into the
building. He said he had decided the
couple was “queer” but they paid their
rent and he had seen no reason to inter-
fere.

A few hours later an analysis of the
water in the duck pond showed traces of
human blood.

Tf the cottage had been used asa charnel
house, there was no evidence of it inside,
The interior of the place was spotlessly
clean, as though the couple had renovated
it thoroughly in preparation to taking up
their abode there,

The detectives concluded that if the
murder had been committed in the house

the body was dismembered in the bath
tub, which could be thoroughly cleaned,
and the bloody water then drained into
the sewer. From there, they concluded,
the drainage would be into the duck pond.

The logic of this theory was proved
when they poured a solution of blue dye
down the bath tub drain. A short time
later a bluish tinge was transmitted to
Durfee’s duck pond, half a mile away.
Another angle was checked in the record-
ings of the water meter in the house. De-
tective Carey found that thousands of
gallons of water had been consumed dur-
ing the short period the couple had rented
the cottage.

The papers blazoned these new dis-
coveries, and as a result a livery keeper
in the neighborhood came forward to say
that a couple had rented a horse and
buggy from him Friday night, June 25,
and had not returned it until very late.
This was the conveyance in police opinion
that had transported the lower portion of
the victim’s trunk to Ogden woods.

“T remember they seemed very nervous
when they came back,” the livery keeper
declared, “and the horse was all worked
out.”

Police now believed they had found
the place where Guldensuppe had been
murdered but they lacked any definite
theory as to the motive. The man was
a quiet sort who attended to his own busi-
ness and so far as they knew he had not
been mixed up in an affair with a woman.
Employes around the Turkish bath where
he had worked all liked him and no one
ever heard that he had any enemies.

A search for the mysterious “Mr. and
Mrs. Braun” who had rented the cottage
near the duck pond failed to locate them.
Since the day after the murder was dis-
covered the owner-had not observed them
going to or leaving the place.

EANWHILE the detectives who
had been assigned to interview

neighbors in the community where Gul-
densuppe had roomed learned that some
time previously he had been engaged in a
brawl in a saloon with a barber named
Martin Thorn. Thorn, they were told, had
encountered Guldensuppe one evening
and had acctsed him openly of being
friendly with a woman the barber was in-
terested in. After a quarrel during which
hot words were exchanged, Guldensuppe
had invited the barbér outside and had
given him a terrific beating. The two men,
who frequently visited the saloon, met
several times after that but had nothing to
say to each other although they had been
friends and had at one time both roomed
at Mrs. Nack’s house. But observers had
noted there continued to be “bad blood”
between them.

Detectives lost no time in inaugurating
a wide search for Thorn. But it was
fruitless. Friends of the barber told the
investigators he had disappeared several
days before and had said he was going
back to Germany. Instructions from
Superintendent Rickard led to a close
guard being placed over all out-going
steamers from New York and cables were
dispatched to European ports to be on
the lookout for a man of Thorn’s descrip-
tion,

Thorn now was a definite suspect but
he succeeded in eluding. capture,

Continuing their investigation among
neighbors detectives finally uncovered a
new and promising clue that they pressed
Vigorously,

roma family leaving near Mrs. Nack’s
rooming house they learned the woman,

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who long had been separated from her
husband, had at times appeared to be
very friendly with Guldensuppe after he
came to the house to live. Previous to
that, rumor said, she had engaged in an
“affair”? with Thorn. It was not long
afterward that Thorn had left the house
and gone elsewhere to live,

So they went back to question Mrs,
Nack again.

On arriving at the house they found
the heavy-set, black-haired, shrewd
woman making arrangements to move.
Furniture men were crating her house-
hold goods.

“Leaving?” Superintendent Rickard
asked quietly as he and Captain Hogan
pushed past the stolid German woman as
she opened the door. They walked into
the living room, almost stripped of furni-
ture, and looked around.

“Yes, I’m leaving,” said Mrs. Nack sor-
rowfully. “I have built up a good busi-
ness here, but I must leave it all and
return to Germany because I just got a
letter from my mother over there saying
she was very sick.”

“You just got a letter?” broke in a re-
porter. “Why there hasn’t been mail from
Germany for more than a week. I was

checking over the shipping schedules this ,

morning. That’s why I’m sure about it.”

Mrs. Nack flashed a malignant glance
at him from beneath her heavy brows.

“Anyway,” she maintained, “I got a
letter. It’s none of your business, I’m
leaving on the next boat.”

“Maybe,” Superintendent Rickard told
her, “but before you go, Mrs. Nack, there
are some things we want to ask you about
Willie Guldensuppe and Martin Thorn.”

HE woman glared at them through
blazing, anger-filled eyes.

“What is it you want to know about
them... they are nothing to me!”

After an hour’s questioning the woman
finally admitted the two men had quar-
reled in her house a few days before the
murder was discovered. She admitted
being friendly with both men but added
it was only in a “motherly way.”

“T don’t know what those fellows
wanted to fight about but Willie came
home one night and found Martin here.
He became enraged that the barber had
returned and they started to beat each
other. I finally had to put them both
out,” she said. “I haven’t seen Thorn
ince fatvet Willie went away a few days
ater,

‘Turning suddenly to Mrs. Nack, Super-
intendent Rickard said:

“We want you to go to the morgue
with us and see if you can identify the
body there as that of Guldensuppe.”

The woman agreed.

At the morgue she was led to the side
of a white slab. Then detectives dramati-
cally swept the sheet covering of the dis-
membered, headless corpse. Mrs, Nack
looked at it dispassionately.

“If you say that’s Willie, maybe it is,
but I wouldn’t know with the head miss-
ing that way.”

Police were frankly discouraged. They
had unearthed clues sufficient to point to
a murder. They had found a motive
if Thorn was the murderer that was shaky
at best. They did not believe Mrs. Nack
was the killer from any information they
had obtained but they felt she might know
more about it than she was telling.

Then a new clue came from Woodside
that revived their hopes of breaking the
case immediately. A detective had showed
the owner of the cottage a picture of a

80 Accept No Sunstrtures! Aways Insist on THE ADVERTISED Branp!
4
{
1 a
NN
‘

woman printed that day
newspaper. He also de-
ing Martin Thorn.

He studied the pictu:
listened attentively to th
drew a mental picture o
barber.

“That's them, all righ
man and woman who re:

The information was
police while Mrs. Nack v
with the detectives. As -
out a messenger steppe
tendent Rickard, and a
conversation, the detect:
woman.

“We're going to ‘lox
Nack!”

Superintendent Ricka
Hogan knew their case
plete but they took the
her. She protested low
stolidly under a renew:
the police station. Shet
new, admitted nothing
knew nothing of the n
reasons why Guldensu
should have quarreled ex
heard them argue over ;
said she did not know.

As Augusta Nack wa-
Superintendent Rickar:
Hogan held & conferens
too cheerful.

“Getting a convictio:
woman won't be easy,” s
take more than we have
down!”

Then detectives wo
Island, produced more «
gone again to the store
the red and gold oilclo:
and in which the parts
man’s corpse had been
time the storekeeper w
when he saw the printe:
Nack. He remembered
woman who bought th:
said she was accompanic
he described.

HE description fitte
tives had of Martin

With the midwife in j
gone back to the bath
suppe worked in the h«
more about him, He su
up a new bit of evidence
useful to the police. T!
he learned from. talking
ployes, had mentioned a
his disappearance that h:
some kind of a private bu
Long Island. He had 1»
and a woman-friend v
starting upa farm where
care of children,”

“That sounds like Mr-
remarked Detective Ca:
the information. “She
midwife and had consid
in caring for children of

“Yes,” admitted Capt.
only could find Martin
break this case wide op:
who would fit into the r:
We have just learned t
not worked steadily anc
had given him money +
know there was bad bl.
and Guldensuppe over «
the opinion the woman

Superintendent Rick
he had a satisfactory mo
Jealousy between the :
whom was receiving n
Nack, had, in his opini

wrated from her
appeared to be
nsuppe after he
e. Previous to
1 engaged in an
t was not long
d left the house
ve.

> question Mrs,

vuuse they found
dred, shrewd
ments to move,
ving her house-

tendent Rickard

Captain Hogan
erman woman as
‘hey walked into
stripped of furni-

d Mrs. Nack sor-
up a good busi-
leave it all and
vuse I just, got a
over there saying

>” broke in a re-
‘'t been mail from
ra week. T owas
ing schedules this
Vim sure about it.”
malignant glance
r heavy brows.
itained, “I got a
cur business. I’m
vat.”
dent Rickard told
. Mrs. Nack, there
t to ask you about
d Martin Thorn.”

1 at them through
| eyes.
nt to know about
ing to met”
tioning the woman
vo men had quar-
w days before the
d. She admitted
th men but added
rly way.”
at. those fellows
but Willie came
ound Martin here,
vat the barber had
crted to bat cach
to put them both
iven't seen Thorn
away a few days

Mrs. Nack, Super-

go to the morgue
mu can identify the
Guldensuppe.”

was led to the side
detectives dramati-
covering of the dis-
corpse. Mrs. Nack
nately.

Willie, maybe it is,
with the head miss-

- discouraged. They
sufficient to point to
ad found a motive
derer that was shaky
it believe Mrs. Nack
ny information they
- felt she might know
she was telling.

‘ame from Woodside
pes of breaking the
detective had showed
‘ttage a picture of a

at Ae ee

woman printed that day in a New York
newspaper. He also described the miss-
ing Martin Thorn.

He studied the picture a minute and
listened attentively to the detective as he
drew a mental picture of the mysterious
barber.

“That’s them, all right. They are the
man and woman who rented my cottage!”

The information was communicated to
police while Mrs. Nack was at the morgue
with the detectives. As she was being led
out a messenger stepped up to Superin-
tendent Rickard, and after a whispered
conversation, the detective turned to the
woman,

“We're going to lock you up, Mrs.
Nack!”

Superintendent Rickard and Captain
Hogan knew their case was far from com-
plete but they took the risk of arresting
her, She protested loudly and bore up
stolidly under a renewed questioning at
the police station. She told them nothing
new, admitted nothing and insisted she
knew nothing of the murder or of the
reasons why Guldensuppe and Thorn
should have quarreled except that she had
heard them argue over some woman she
said she did not know.

As Augusta Nack was placed in a cell,
Superintendent Rickard an d Captain
Hogan held a conference that was none
too cheerful,

“Getting a conviction against that
woman won't be easy,” said Rickard, “Tell
take more than we have now to break her
down!”

Then detectives working on. Long
Island, produced more clues, They had
gone again to the store in Astoria where
the red and gold oilcloth had been sold
and in which the parts of the murdered
man’s corpse had been wrapped. This
time the storekeeper was more helpful
when he saw the printed picture of Mrs.
Nack. He remembered she had been the
woman who bought the oilcloth and he
said she was accompanied by aman whom
he described,

IIE description fitted the one detec-
tives had of Martin Thorn perfectly.
With the midwife in jail a reporter had
gone back to the baths where Gulden-
suppe worked in the hope of finding out
more about him, Ele succeeded in turning.
up anew bit of evidence that now proved
useful to the police. The murder victim,
he learned from talking with other em-
ployes, had mentioned a few weeks before
his disappearance that he was considering
some kind of a private business venture on
Long Island. He had mentioned that he
and a woman-friend were thinking of
starting up a farm where they would “take
care of children.”

“That sounds like Mrs. Nack all right,”
remarked Detective Carey upon hearing
the information. “She was a practicing
midwife and had considerable experience
in caring for children of all ages.”

“Yes,” admitted Captain Hogan, ‘if we
only could find Martin Thorn, we could
break this case wide open. He’s the man
who would fit into the rest of the picture.
We have just learned that lately he has
not worked steadily and that Mrs. Nack
had given him money right along. We
know there was bad blood between him
and Guldensuppe over a woman, Dm of
the opinion the woman was Mrs. Nack.”

Superintendent Rickard also believed
he had a satisfactory motive for the crime.
Jealousy between the two men, one of
whom was receiving money from Mrs.
Nack, had, in his opinion led to the slay-

Wren ANSWERING

ing. In his mind the woman had entered
the picture when, after tossing aside
Thorn for Guldensuppe, she had found
the latter was paying attention to some
other woman. Angered, she had turned
again to Thorn and between them they
had engineered the murder.

With this imposing array of evidence
and a case which they now considered
open and shut, Superintendent Rickard
and other officers questioned Augusta
Nack again.

At first she was adamant. Confronted
with the story of witnesses that she had
purchased the red and gold oilcloth, that
she and Thorn had rented the cottage and
hired the livery rig, and with the circum-
stantial evidence of the reddish tinge in
Durfee’s duck pond she only shook her
head sullenly and uttered denials.

“What do you think Martin Thorn will
say to all this?” one inquisitor demanded,
“We have information he’s going ‘to give
himself up soon, If you talk first...

4 ie ruse worked. Mrs. Nack_half-
closed her shrewd black eyes and con-
sidered the proposition of pitting her life
against that of her paramour,

“Well,” she began hesitantly, “maybe
I did rent a place to start a baby farm....”

Gradually the story was spread on the
record and even the hardened veterans of
the force gasped at the coldblooded man-
ner in which Willie Guldensuppe met his
death.

“LT didn’t want to kill him,” Mrs. Nack
declared, “but Thorn forced me to lure
him out to Woodside. Then, while I stood
outside the house Thorn got him in the
bathroom and shot him through the head.
He forced me to help him cut up the
body.”

As detectives suspected the dismember-
ment had taken place in the tub, Thorn
had briefly studied medicine in Germany
and Mrs. Nack’s training as a midwife
stood her in good stead; hence the almost
professional butchery.

“Thorn forced me to help against my
will,” Mrs. Nack insisted, the words tum-
bling out of her thick lips as she sought to
evade all blame. “He made me buy the
oileloth, He made me buy plaster of
Paris, When the body was cut up, we
wrapped the packages, ‘Then we put a
heavy coating of plaster around the head,
Using the buggy we hired Thorn forced
me to go with him as we got rid of the
bundles. We dropped the head in the river
as we crossed to Ogden woods on the
ferry.”

As it turned out, Thorn had not fled to
Germany but had simply shaved off his
mustache and remained in hiding in New
York. But the mental strain of being a
hunted man was more than he could stand.
Shortly after Mrs. Nack told her story
he went to a friend and poured out his
own private confession. Upon the friend’s
advice he surrendered to the police.

Mrs. Nack, intent on saving her neck,
was a state witness when Thorn went on
trial in November, 1897.

Her testimony counted strongly with
the jury. Little Martin Thorn was con-
victed without recommendation for mercy
and the following summer he was exe-
cuted at Sing Sing prison.

Augusta Nack must have counted her-
self lucky when she heard of his electro-
cution. For upon pleading guilty to being
an accessory she drew the comparatively
mild punishment of a 15-year prison term.
Even in 1897, juries were not lacking in
gallantry.

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pre.

“Maybe that feels like a child!” he
cried, closing in to throw other blows
after the first.

Staggered by the force of the sudden
attack, Braun stalled as he struggled to
draw a revolver from his pocket. Mur-
der in his eyes, he leveled the weapon
at his adversary, took careful aim,
pulled the trigger.

The gun missed fire and, throwing it
to the floor, the barber squared off and
attempted to defend himself, But it was
a losing fight. Driven by a desperation
fanned by jealousy and the thrill of
delivering that first crushing blow,
Willie waded into him, his hands—
hands that were strong from hours of
Massage work—beating a _ merciless
tattoo on the face and body of his rival.

@ AT LAST, one eye blackened and his
usually smooth face cut and bruised,
Braun pleaded for mercy.

“Get out,” Guldensuppe ordered, his
tone cold, determined. “‘There’s no place
for you here.”

The barber, cowering from the man
who had beaten him, slunk out of the
door, to be followed shortly by a shower
of baggage and other personal belong-
ings that Willie threw after him,

“Tl get you for this,” Braun shouted
over his shoulder as he ran. “No man
can do this to me,”

Mrs. Nack, whb, for once, had kept
silent during the encounter, was im-
mediately solicitous.

“Has mein Willie hurt his hands?”
she asked, attempting to bathe them.

But her Willie was in no mood to
make peace so easily. Roughly he
pushed her aside, washed his hands at
the kitchen sink and, straightening his
tie, swaggered off to work.

That was on a Tuesday. Next day,
having nothing better to do, Gussie
Nack was passing the barber shop

Judge Maddox (above) heard amaz-
ing evidence when he presided at
the trial of the crafty slayer

46

where Braun was employed just as
Fred was going out for lunch. She ex-
pressed surprise that she should thus
happen to run into him, and he, covering
up his embarrassment at meeting her
so soon after she had seen his decisive
defeat at the hands of his rival, took
the opportunity to repeat his threats
against Guldensuppe.

“Something terrible should happen
to that Willie,” he said. “Nobody can do
that to me and get away with it.”

Mrs. Nack, as fickle in her affections
as she was steadfast in her interest in
mercenary things, sympathized with
him, assured him of her continued
interest in him, and expressed the belief
that something terrible probably would
happen to Willie—“He iss too jealous
and I can’t stand a jealous man.”

That was but the first of many
meetings between the midwife and the
former occupant of her hall bedroom,
Sometimes they met as if by accident,
sometimes they planned their ren-
dezvous. But always they were careful
to avoid further antagonizing “that
jealous Willie.”

And as winter waned and the warm
days of spring arrived, a plan began to
gain form in their conversations. Their
talk, while thickly interspersed with
words of mutual affection, always in-
cluded mention of Guldensuppe.

“T hate that man more every time I
think of him,” Braun said one April
day as they walked along upper Broad-
way. “Every time I think of that morn-
ing in your kitchen, I see red. I tell you,
Gussie, something terrible is going to
happen to him.”

And Gussie agreed that it was not
beyond the realm of possibility that
Willie, who still lived at her house,
might run afoul of some untoward cir-
cumstance.

At one such meeting, late in June,
Braun confided that he had been work-
ing on a plan.

“Monday I was out at Woodside,
Long Island,” he said. “I found a cot-
tage that you should see. If you were
to consider buying it, and ask Willie’s
advice and get him to go out with you
to look at it, something might happen
to him. Who can tell? I might at last
get even with him for the beating he
gave me and for the nasty, jealous way
he acted about us.”

Mrs. Nack was mildly interested. She
agreed to go out to look at the place
with Braun. As they inspected the
house, a two-story frame cottage at 346
Second Street, the man waxed more
and more enthusiastic about his plan.

“If something did happen to that
bum,” he said, employing his most per-
suasive tones, “you and I might have
a great deal of fun together—without
anyone to be poking around and having
anything to say about it.”

“Suppose I did get him out here and—
something happened to him. What
would become of me? With Willie’s
tips and the wages he makes, and what
I’m able to pick up, I haf been getting
along. But if anything happens to him,
it will be a hard row for me, mein
Freddie.”

“You'll have nothing to worry about,”
the dapper barber assured her. “lm

AA)
\ Yat

: WN)
\ Was “

y

\ IM W Z Y ie
AAR ese

S

This man was described as one of
the most cold-blooded killers in
the history of New York crime

working steady and making good
money, and what’s mine is yours. I’l]
take care of you, Gussie, and without
that no-good snooping around it will
be a pleasure.

“Now here’s what we’ll do. You get

Guldensuppe to come out to look at this
house—tell him you can buy it at a
bargain. I’ll come out ahead of you and
be hiding in the closet in the front room
upstairs. When you get here, excuse
yourself and tell him to go on in and
look around, and not to miss that closet.
Thea maybe something will happen to
him.”
. Mts. Nack agreed that the plan
sounded feasible. The truth of the mat-
ter was that she was rather tired of
Guldensuppe’s jealous outbursts. She
felt’that his almost constant surveillance
cramped her style.

“T’ll send you a telegram that will fix
everything up, just in case there’s any
trouble,” Braun told her. “There won’t
be, but it’s always a good idea to be on
the safe side.”

™@SO THE preparations progressed.
Gussie, intent upon bettering her-

self—as she considered it—both in a °<

financial and an amatory way, was very
sweet when she broached the house sub-
ject to Guldensuppe.

“You know, mein Willie,” she said,
“how much I haf wanted to get out of
the city and start a home for babies, the
little darlings. Well, yesterday I haf
found a house in Woodside—not a big
house, but enough, and with a good
yard—that iss just what I need. And so
cheap, already. But before I buy it, you
must see it and tell your little Gussie
what you think.”

Disarmed by the woman’s manner
and completely unsuspecting, the mas-
seur fell in with the idea.

“That sounds good to me, sweetheart.
It would be great to get out of town
after a hard day’s work, especially this

MASTER DETECTIVE

9 OS nm A

NH aeeg a


made a short affidavit accusing her of the
murder of William Guldensuppe. She was
ordered held and locked up in Jefferson
Market Jail. That was on July Ist.

At the same time, other members of the
Detective Buréau had been busy on other
leads. They learned that Braun, or Thorn,
had worked in several shops in midtown
New York and, through a painstaking
check on many of his acquaintances and
former associates, they were able to pick
up additional details of the man’s record,
most of which was incorporated in the
following general alarm, which was issued
from Headquarters on July 3rd:

WANTED—For the murder of William Gul-
densuppe, Martin Thorn, whose right name is
Martin Torczewski; born in Posen, Germany;
33 to 34 years old; about 5 feet, 8 inches in
height; weighs about 155 pounds; has blue-
gray eyes, brown hair, red cheeks, and light
brown mustache, thick and curled at the
ends. Speaks with a slight German accent.
Is an expert pinochle player and a first-class
barber.

@ WITH THIS alarm going to all law-en-

forcement agencies in the East, the State
Department at Washington was brought
into the manhunt and cabled all consuls
and consular agents in Europe to watch
steamships that had sailed from American
and Canadian ports since June 26th. Fhe
description of Thorn was included with the
request that he be held, if located, and
turned over to the police. s

Meanwhile, Chief O’Brien’s men weré
hard at work on the home front. From
Constantine Keehn, who had worked with
Thorn from February until May, they
learned that the missing barber had. had
a black eye when he first came to work
in Conrad Vogel’s shop where Keehn was
employed. The two men had become
friendly and Thorn soon confided some
of the details of his affairs.

“He told me he didn’t mind a little thing
like a black eye,” Keehn told the officers,
“because the woman over whom he got it
loved him better than any other man in
the world. He said she gave him money
whenever he needed it and that he’d
willingly give his life for her and ‘count it
well lost at that.’ Those were his exact
words.”

Up to this time the evidence against Mrs.
Nack was of a purely circumstantial na-
ture—although Captain O’Brien was be-
ginning to realize that, whatever her other
talents, the midwife had a strange power
over men.

But the Chief wasted no time in specu-
lation. He had the woman safe in jail and
his immediate problem was to locate the
missing barber.

As the search continued, police located
a copy of a telegram—which they prompt-
ly branded fictitious—that Mrs. Nack said
she had received on June 26th. Purporting
to have been signed by Guldensuppe, it
asked the landlady to notify Superin-
tendent Schellenberg of the Murray Hill
Baths that the masseur would not be able
to report for work that night.

Detectives presently determined that the
message had been sent from an office at
Sixth Avenue and Forty-sixth Street by
a man resembling Thorn. Notes known
to have been written by the missing sus-
pect, through a comparison of handwriting,
pointed to him as the sender of the
message.

As they followed other leads, O’Brien’s
men learned that on Friday afternoon,
June 25th, a woman whose description co-
incided with that of Mrs. Nack, rented a
horse and surrey from George Vockrath,
employee at the August Streuning livery
stable on Ninth Avenue, a few doors from
the Nack home. She told Vockrath that
aman would call for the rig at four o’clock
the next afternoon, which he did. The

MAY, 1942

hostler told detectives that the horse,
tired and dirty, was returned about five
hours later by a man who looked like
Martin Thorn.

When told this story, Gussie vociferous-
ly denied that she had been near the livery
stable or that she had engaged the horse
and surrey. Vockrath, face to face with
her in the presence of several officers, was
just as positive that it was she to whom
he had rented the rig.

The woman, too, could not give a satis-
factory account of her whereabouts from
three o’clock Friday afternoon until the
same hour Saturday, which was about the
time the first portion of her dismembered
roomer was found in the East River.

Through the statements of Edward Gor-
don, of 515 Third Avenue, the investi-
gators were able to fill in part of the lapse.
He said that shortly after noon on Sat-
urday he saw Mrs. Nack and a good-look-
ing young man, with a blond and curled
mustache, enter the ferry-house of the
Long Island Railroad, at Thirty-fourth
Street, and board a boat for Long Island.

“I noticed them particularly,” he said
with evident conviction, “because the man
was handsome and stylishly dressed, while
the woman was rather thick-set and had
eyes that seemed to look into each other.”
He described in detail the dress she wore.

While this was going on, other detec-
tives had been attempting to trace the
oileloth in which parts of the Gulden-
suppe body had been wrapped. They
were successful. The cloth, they learned,
had been purchased from Pauline Riger,
who operated a small store in the Dutch
Hills section of Long Island City. She
remembered the sale and gave officers a
description of the woman to whom she
made it—a description that fitted Mrs.
Nack perfectly. The dress worn by her
customer, as she described it, corresponded
in every detail with that worn by the
woman Gordon saw at the ferry-house.

mM PRESENTLY ANOTHER bizarre angle

was injected into the investigation when
police learned that a resident of Woodside,
Long Island, a man named Wahle, had re-
ported a mysterious illness among his
ducks. He investigated, found that they had
been drinking from a strangely crimson
pool of water in a ditch near his home, and
that their white feathers had taken on
reddish stains where they had splashed in
the ditch water.

Detectives Donohue, Barrett and Boyle
called on Wahle. He conducted them to
the ditch in question and they ascertained
that it served as a drain for a near-by
frame cottage. They located the caretaker,
obtained a key and wentin. On mounting
to the second floor they were hardly pre-
pared for the sight that met their eyes.

There were bloodstains all over the
place, on the floor, the walls, even a few
spots on the ceiling. It was evident that
a crime of particular violence had been
committed here.

By questioning the neighbors, detectives
learngd that a surrey had been driven up
to the house on Saturday afternoon. In
the vehicle was a stout woman, and a
young man who, as one of the neighbor-
hood women put it, “might have passed
for her son.”

Of special interest to the officers was
the fact that the two had been seen carry-
ing several heavy bundles out of the cot-
tage. They placed them in the surrey and
core off in the direction of Long Island

ity.

An interview with the owner of the
cottage, a Mrs. Baula who lived on West
Twenty-sixth Street, Manhattan, revealed
that she had rented the place to a young
man who said his name was Fred Braun.
She told detectives that he was accom-
panied by a “fat, cross-eyed woman”

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57

(Continued from page 47) patrolling near
by.

When, under the direction of the officer,
the package was unwrapped, part of a
human body was disclosed to the shocked
gaze of the little group. At the morgue,
to which the find was taken at once, it
was established that this lower portion of
a man’s trunk matched perfectly with the
upper torso found in the East River.

Nor was this the only discovery made
that day. When men at the Brooklyn
Navy Yard fished a parcel out of the water,
it was found to contain two human legs.
They were turned over to the Manhattan
police, together with the white oilcloth
and thin canvas duck in which they had
been wrapped.

M GRADUALLY, FROM widely sepa-

rated districts, the various segments of
this unidentified murder victim were being
assembled.

At the morgue, as men from the Detec-
tive Bureau and the Coroner’s office exam-
ined the grim exhibits, it was noted that
the dismemberment had been done with
a razor or extremely sharp knife. A saw
had been employed to sever the bones.
The job had been done so neatly that, as
one of the officers pointed out, if the body
had not given every indication of recently
having been alive it would. have been
logical to assume that medical students,
out for a lark, had scattered the several
parts of a cadaver to the four winds.

The investigators noted, too, that the
soles of the dead man’s feet seemed to
bear out Dr. O’Hanlon’s theory that the
victim had worked in a laundry or at some
other indoor job of like nature. For the
feet indicated that the unfortunate mys-
tery man had gone without shoes a great
deal—perhaps in a bakery or a Turkish
bath where the floors were hot.

A general alarm was sent out from Po-
lice Headquarters, and with the news-
papers carrying everything they could get
on the case it wasn’t long before bits of
information began to filter in.

On Sunday night, about thirty hours
after the first fragment of the nameless
body was found, a reporter, visiting the
Murray °Hill Turkish Baths, on Forty-
second Street, near Sixth Avenue, noticed
that the masseur who usually attended him
was absent.

“Where’s Billy?” he asked one of the
other attendants.

“He got a day off on Friday,” was the re-
ply. ‘Said he was going over to Long
Island with some woman. We haven’t
seen him since.”

The newspaperman considered this bit
of information. The headless body in
the morgue was believed to be that of a
man who had worked indoors, barefoot, in
some establishment where there was con-
siderable heat. A Turkish bath might be
the answer. And now, he discovered,
the masseur whom he knew only as Billy,
had been missing for two days—long
enough to go to Long Island, be murdered,
dismembered and his remains distributed
from Eleventh Street and East River to
High Bridge.

Police, under the direction of Captain
Stephen O’Brien, Chief of the New York
Detective Bureau, were at the same time
working on this angle of the mystery. On
the following morning they announced

that no less than nine persons had identi-

fied the mutilated body as that of William
Guldensuppe, a rubber in the Murray Hill
Baths,

Among those who were positive in their
identifications were the missing man’s em-
ployer, Manager Schellenberg, and Dr.
J. S. Cosby, of West Forty-fourth Street.

56

Etched in Crimson

The Doctor told police that a scar on the
victim’s left index fin,er was the result
of a felon, which he had treated for Gul-
densuppe.

August Lobis, a member of Battery L,
United States Artillery, stationed at Fort
Schuyler, also inspected the grim exhibit
at the morgue and stated positively that
the body was that of his friend, the missing
bath rubber. A few days prior to Billy’s
disappearance, he saw Guldensuppe and
a smaller man on the West Farms Road in
Westchester, he told police, and they were
quarreling. .

It remained for William Hockett, who
described himself as a close friend of the
slain masseur, to inject an angle that im-
mediately interested investigators. After
looking at the several pieces of the head-
less body, he confirmed the earlier identifi-
cations.

“I told Billy time after time that he’d
get in trouble if he continued to run
around with women,” he said soberly.
“But he wouldn’t listen. He seemed to be
surprised that anyone knew about his
affairs. He just laughed and said he
guessed he could take care of himself if
he ever got caught in a tight place.”

“What did he have there on his chest?”
an officer asked. “A tattoo?”

“Yes, it was the head and bust of a
woman. Billy was crazy about women.”

“If this chap chased women,” the Chief
told one of his men, “you know exactly
where to go from here. Find out where he
lived, the name of that fellow he quar-
reled with, who his associates were, the
names of any women to whom he may
have paid attention, welcome or otherwise.
You should be able to turn up something
worth while in short order.”

M@ THEY DID. The detectives learned that

for the past eighteen months, Gulden-
suppe had lived at the home of Mrs.
Augusta Nack, a midwife, at 439 Ninth
Avenue. They converged on the place to
question the landlady and met a reception
that was anything but warm.

“What you want?” she demanded, open-
ing the door on which the detectives had
been rapping lustily.

“Are you Mrs. Augusta Nack?”

“And what if I am?” Her tone had a
belligerent ring.

“Does William Guldensuppe live here?”

“Yes.”

“When did you last see him?”

“Thursday morning. He put on his best
suit and borrowed $50 from me before
he went out.”

“Did he say where he was going?”

“No. He said he had a deal where he
could double the money, so I let him
haf it.”

“Was he in the habit of staying away
two or three days at a time?”

“No, this iss the only time he has done
it.” Then, as if she felt that she should
show some concern for the fate of her
roomer, she added, “I am worried about
him.” .

The detectives turned to another angle.
“Where is your husband?” one of them
asked, eyeing the woman closely to catch
any change of expression that might sup-
ply a clue to the baffling situation.

“He iss not here,” she replied curtly.

“He lives here with you, doesn’t he?”

“No, he went away.”

“Why did he leave?”

“Because he iss a fool. He heard people
talking about me and Guldensuppe and
he got mad.”

“So you and Guldensuppe were being
talked about, eh? I guess you’d better
come down to Headquarters with us and
talk to Captain O’Brien.”

The woman grumbled, but went along.
As she sat in O’Brien’s office, the investi-
gators led her over the points already
covered, seeking to add to their somewhat
sketchy fund of information. Under the
Detective Chief’s expert questioning, they
learned that, for several months after Mrs.
Nack’s husband left, there was another
roomer in her house, a barber known as
Fred Braun.

As he as”ed the woman about her re-
lations w: . Guldensuppe and Braun,
Captain O’Brien, with the instinct of the
expert investigator, sensed a certain un-
easiness in her manner. Convinced that
he was on the right track, he pressed his
inquiries along this line.

“Braun and Guldensuppe didn’t get
along very well, did they?” he asked,
watching her narrowly. He noted with
Satisfaction that her glance, which had
been lowered, was raised suddenly to his
face. Without giving her a chance to an-
swer, he followed up the advantage.

“The boys both liked you, didn’t they,
Mrs. Nack?” It was more a statement
than a question. “They were jealous of
each other and each was trying to cut the
other out with you.” He paused to note
the effect of his words. .

And the woman, as if tired of sticking
to monosyllables, opened up.

“Ja, they were jealous. Why, one time
last winter Willie got mad and they
fought over me, and Fred pulled a gun,
but it wouldn’t go off. That was when
Willie beat him up good and threw him
out. Willie, he was laughing about it
Friday afternoon.”

Captain O’Brien thought he detected a
trace of feminine satisfaction in her de-
scription of how the two roomers had
battled over her. But, more important, he
caught a flaw in the woman’s story. Pre-
viously she had said that she had not seen
Guldensuppe since Thursday, which was
the day before he disappeared. Now she
spoke of having seen him Friday, the very
day on which he had vanished.

As thé questioning continued, the of-
ficers learned that Fred Braun actually
was. an alias, that the man’s real name was
Martin Torczewski, but that he was more
generally known as Martin Thorn. They
got the impression, too, that Gussie Nack
was rather definitely interested in the
dapper barber and that she was not en-
tirely happy about the drubbing that
Guldensuppe had given him. She insisted,
however, that she had not seen him for
a long time.

@ AS THE Chief was talking with her, an

officer brought a heavy bundle into the
office, put it down on a desk where the
midwife could see it, and nonchalantly
unfolded the wrappings to disclose a man’s
legs.

Mrs. Nack looked at the strange exhibit, -

but seemed entirely unperturbed. Asked
whether they resembled the legs of her
missing roomer, she was quite petulant.

“I could not tell whose legs they are,”
she said, “but I feel sure that Guldensuppe
iss not dead.”

During the course of the questioning
she had seemed so vague on some points
and so contradictory on others that Cap-
tain O’Brien ordered her locked up. No
charge was made against her, the move
being in the nature of a precaution to in-
sure her presence in case the officers
wished to question her further.

However, when an attorney appeared
and threatened to get a writ of habeas
corpus and thus force her release, Detec-
tive Donohue, one of O’Brien’s men, ap-
peared in Jefferson Market Police Court,
where the woman was arraigned, and

MASTER DETECTIVE

But
lation
his in
missi)

As
a cop:
ly bre
she hi
to ha
asked
tende
Baths
to rey

Det
messa
Sixth
a ma
to ha:
pect, t
pointe
messea

As
men
June
incide
horse
emplc
stable
the N
aman
the n

MAY,

ig

time of year when everything is.
fragrant and green in the country.
Tomorrow’s Friday—what say we go
then? J’ll get the day off and then I
won’t have to go back to work till
Saturday night. It will be quite a lark
for me. I haven’t been out of the city
in weeks.”

So the expedition was arranged. Gul-
densuppe explained to Mr. Schellen-
berg, manager of the Murray Hill
Baths, that a friend of his needed his

‘advice about buying a house and that

he wanted the day off to go out to
Woodside. His request was granted,
and on Friday morning he and Mrs.
Nack set out for Long Island.

They chatted all the way. Willie, who
said he always had fancied the sea, was
particularly gay during the ferry ride.
He laughed frequently, even uproar-
iously when a wheeling gull swooped
down and caught up a banana skin that
he threw overboard—only to drop it,
as if in disgust, upon discovering that
it was not a choice tidbit.

Presently they arrived at the house
on Second Street, Woodside, and paused
to look it over.

“Not bad,” Guldensuppe admitted,
tilting his head to get the effect from
every angle. “Of course, the place could
stand some paint, but the yard looks
nice. With a little more shrubbery anid
a few flowers it could be made” quite
pretty. Let’s go in and look around.”

He strode toward the door, but Gussie
held back.

“You go in, mein Willie,” she said.
“The woman promised to repair the
woodshed out back. While you look
around inside I will see if she has done
it. And when you get upstairs, be sure
to look at the fine big closet in the front
room. Such a roomy closet I haf never
seen.”

As she dodged around the corner of

Chiet of Detectives Stephen O'Brien's
keen insight into human nature came to
his aid when he questioned a suspect

MAY, 1942

the house, Willie stepped across the
threshold and began a leisurely in-
spection. Through the living-room he
walked, on into the small dining-room
and to the kitchen. He liked the com-
forts of a well-ordered home, and he
noted the cupboards, the condition of
the kitchen range, the corner where the
sink had rusted.

Then, hands in pockets and whistling
a jolly little tune that seemed to echo
eerily in the empty house, he mounted
the stairs and passed into the front. bed-

room. Mindful of Gussie’s description |

of the ample closet, he walked toward
it, reached out to take the knob. But
before he touched it, the door, slowly,
silently, swung open.

* * *

M@ “HEY! LOOKIT!” A boyish voice

shrilled across the oil-coated swells
of New York’s East River to where two
other bobbing juvenile heads marked
the location of his swimming com-
panions. “Help me push this thing to
the dock.”

The others, sensing possible adven-
ture as they caught sight of a strange
bundle, done up in red-printed oil-
cloth and bound around with heavy
cord, raced to his side. Together they
maneuvered the floating find to shore,
heaved it up on the dock and, keeping a
sharp lookout for policemen who might
object to the absence of correct bathing
attire, wriggled into their clothes with-
out the formality of drying themselves.
Then they fell upon the package, their
curiosity refusing to be put off further.

“What do you s’pose is in it?” one of
them asked wonderingly. Then, his
imagination getting the better of him,
“Do you s’pose it’s pirate treasure?”

“Course not,” another, more logical
member of the trio, answered. “Pirate
treasure’d be heavy—pieces o’ eight and
stuff like that. It’d sink quicker’n any-
thing.”

While they were talking, the third
member of the group was busily en-
gaged in slipping the heavy, water-
soaked cord from the package. When
the last loop of string had been pulled
off and the gay red oilcloth with its gold
tracings fell away to reveal the con-
tents, the speculative voices of the boys
were hushed. No longer were they
facing adventure—this was tragedy!
Eyes wide, they stood and stared at this
thing they had dragged from the swirl-
ing waters of the river.

There on the sun-drenched dock lay
the upper part of a man’s torso.

The boys weren’t thinking of evading
the police now. Instead, they raced up
the dock and along Eleventh Street
until they met a blue-coated patrolman.
Breathlessly they informed him of their
find. He notified Headquarters, and
within a short time officers, accom-
panied by Dr. Philip O’Hanlon, Cor-
oner’s physician, were at the scene.

Examination of the headless torso re-
vealed that the heart was intact and that
death probably had occurred within the
last twenty-four hours. Dr. O’Hanlon
determined that the lungs were filled

with air. He noted with considerable .

interest that, aside from the points at
which the head and lower trunk had
been severed, there was only one other

"That jealous Willie,” third angle of
this triangle tragedy, little suspected
how his trip to Woodside would end

mark on the body—an area in the
middle of the chest from which the skin
had been slashed. The size of the spot
was such that he could cover it with
one hand.

As he examined the mysterious find,
he saw that the hands were soft and
white, that there was a scar on the
index finger of the left hand.

“One thing sure,” he told the officers
who were grouped around him, “who-
ever this chap was, he didn’t do any
hard work. There isn’t a sign of a cal-
lous on those palms; neither is there
any sign of tan. If he worked it must
have been at some indoor job.”

The Doctor took another look at the
spot from which the skin had been
stripped. He pursed his lips, narrowed
his keen eyes as he considered the possi-
bilities.

“There’s only one reason why a body
would be mutilated like that,” he said
presently. “That’s to remove a tattoo.
It’s my guess that this fellow worked
somewhere—in a laundry perhaps—
where he didn’t wear a shirt. He had a
tattoo on his chest; something that might
serve to identify him. So whoever is
responsible for his death figured that
he would be just so much safer if he
removed the art work. Anybody have
any better ideas?”

No one had, so the poor fragment of
a man, nameless and apparently with
little chance of being identified, was
consigned to the morgue. Police went
on about their several tasks while, ever
on the alert, they awaited developments
that might help to solve the riddle of
the floating. package in red. As things
turned out, they did not have long to
wait.

Next day—Sunday, June 27th—berry
pickers came across a curious red-
wrapped parcel in the woods near High
Bridge. While one of them stood guard,
another sought a mounted policeman
who was (Continued on page 56)

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Patrolman Leo Michel, had completed
a canvass of Batavia haberdashers,
but failed to identify the gray cap.
Now Fogarty told of an _ incident
which, conceivably, might have ac-
counted for the cap’s loss. ‘

The operative had located a young
married couple who attended a party
Saturday night on Central Avenue.
This short, crooked thoroughfare be-
gan at Jackson Street, a block north of
where the cap was found, and joined
with Highland Park to run _ into
Liberty Street two blocks to the east.

The party the couple attended did
not break up until 1:30 in the morn-
ing. They left the home of their
host and had walked a few doors to-
ward Highland Park when they saw a”

man lying on the ground in someone’s

yard. At first they thought he was ill,
and the young husband asked if he
could be of any assistance.

The man sat up. He was dark,
stockily built, and wore a mustache.
His cap had fallen from his head, but
he fumbled on the ground beside him,
found it, and put it on. Simultaneously,
he raised a bottle and took a big swig.

The couple then knew the fellow
was drunk. They warned him that if
a policeman saw him he’d be picked
up.. The man got to his feet and
staggered off down Central Avenue.
The couple watched him and ob-
served him turn the corner and go
south down. Jackson.

O’Grady listened to the report at his
hotel, congratulated Fogerty on ye,
ing’ it in, and then hurried to head-
eres ii for another conference with

oon and Horsch... In his opinion, the
story explained two puzzling factors—
first, why, if the man who lost the
cap in Wilcox’s yard was the bare-
headed housebreaker, had so much
time je be between his depreda-
tions; and, second, why, if his motive
for ehtering houses, or trying to enter
houses, was burglary, he stole nothing
particularly at Schoenbergs’, where
money in the scrap dealer’s trousers

‘| was readily available. :

The detective asked for a street ma
of the section of Batavia involved.
Chief Horsch produced one and indi-
cated the homes molested. O’Grady
studied the map and then declared:
“That’s it precisely; the man we want
was drunk. . Look, he got up from his
snooze, on Central Avenue at one-.
thirty but didn’t try to break into his
first house, Mrs. Holton’s, until two-
‘forty-five, and Mrs, Holton lives only

three short blocks away. So where was

he meanwhile?’ Having another sleep
for. himself in the Wilcox yard—right
in his line of march—and that’s where
he lost) his cap. Similarly, it took

| him .an hour and.a-half to get from

Mrs. ‘Holton’s to the Schoenbergs’—
another three blocks, It wouldn’t sur-
prise me but what he had another
couple: of short naps and: when he
got up from one of them left his
ottle.” :

Drunkenness, too, the detective rea-
sqned, would explain why the house-
breaker bungled his jobs and awak-
ened his intended, victims. ‘But per-

s he .was soberer by the time he_
got to the Schoenbergs’, O’Grady con-
cluded. “Sober enough to get through
the window quietly, and ‘yet still too
drunk to’ find money once he was
inside.” ~ ‘ :

The theory fascinated District At-
torney Coon, and he agreed with it
heartily. . Further, ruminating over
the prpbabinstarine point of a.drunk
in the Liberty-Jackson sector during
the small ho the. nj :

reflections turned naturally to the
one saloon of the neighborhood, a dive
lying between Ellicott Street and the
tracks of the New York Central. The
place wag known in local police par-
lance as the “Bowl of Blood.”

The Bowl had earned its unsavory
appellation. through the many stab-
bing and cutting scrapes which ‘oc-
curred on its premises. It was a
gathering place for a worthwhile per-
centage of Batavia’s criminal scum,
particularly those with mid-European
antecedents, and here, if anywhere—
so the district attorney figured—a
murderous burglar, having drunk un-
til midnight closing time, might have
obtained an illegal, after-hours’ bot-
tle to take along with him and bolster
his courage on his Fyre leg forays.

O’Grady listene
to say. “Who runs the joint?” he
wanted to know. rd

“A Pole. And the bartender is
Polish, too. Neither has a criminal
record, and so we haven’t been able
to close them up, but certainly many
of their customers have played at
dodging the law.”

O’Grady and Coon got in the lat-
ter’s car and drove past the Bowl, siz-
ing it up from thout. “Tell you
what,” the detective said, finally. “I’ve
just the man for this—Polish Frank
behing And I’ve got an idea,
too. Suppose we take that gray cap
and give it to Frank and let him hang
out in the saloon—perhaps for a
couple of days? .I’ll tell him what to
do with the cap.”

yee ga for the aah of a cheap

crook, Jawezy. began fre-
quenting the Bowl of Blood the next
night, Thursday. An affable fellow,
he mingled easily with the motley
denizens of the saloon and quickly at-
tracted- friends, some of whom were
drawn to him as much by his readiness
to buy drinks as by the warmth of his
personality. At first he talked about
himself very little, but finally let it
be understood that he was on_the
lam. He’d pulled a big job in New
York City, he insinuated, and was
hiding out in Batavia until the heat
was off. :
This won him not only friends, but
confidants. After an eveni at the
bar Saturday, he reported to O’Grady

Coon and Horsch with information of -

considerable interest. The Bowl, he’d
learned, was a hangout for a gang of

‘freight-car/burglars, and the impene-

trability of his disguise had been paid
a great Leg ogre gaa been in-
vited to join the gang.

Remembering the man who’d shot
McCormack, the railroad detective,
just two months before, O'Grady lis-
tened to the Perore and nodded. “Good
work,” he told his operative, and then,
addressing Coon and Horsch, he add-
ed: “Getting somewhere now.”

On Monday night, Jawcezynski re-
turned to the Bowl. He carried the
gray cap, but it was tucked beneath
his sweater. As is often the case with
saloons, the first of the week drew few
customers, and for once the Bowl was
nearly empty. Nevertheless, the op-
erative remained until closing time
and became quite chatty with the
bartender.

- ' Jawezynski was, in fact, the last

patron in the place. Just \before he
got rea ly , he visited the men’s

to leave t
eturning, he carried the gray

to what Coon had .

=

“Sure, I kn
a girl who c
Bertha Par:
boy-friend’s
Agai :
O’Grad
Chief
With LA...
capacity. C
the 23-yea:
years befor:
tumbledow}
which she ¥
immoral cc
released, s
straight, a
had earnec
houseclean
ous Batav
sooner or |
old loose h
“House-c

to say.
she workec
erty and .
would’ve k
boy-friend’
The inv
dilapidated
day morni
day and |}
berg had
blue serge
suit of a si
—and ina
and socks.
- Question
mitted th:
with her
five month
John Galic
mustache—
shaved it 0
claimed tc
business, }t
be found <«

EAN\
had
serge suit.
teresting -
—tha‘ a4
was (
victs.
time? __
“I don’t
didn’t kn
John...’
The sli}
in Distric


naturally to ‘the
ighborhood, a dive
ott Street and the

York Central. The-_

1 local police par-
of Blood.”

rned its unsavory

the many stab-.

crapes which “oc-
mises. It was a
a worthwhile per-
’s criminal scum,

time, might have

after-hours’ bot-
th him and bolster
re-dawn forays.

to what Coon had .

1s the joint?” he

the bartender is
ar has a criminal
haven’t been able
ut certainly many
; have played at

on got in the lat-
past the Bowl, siz-
ithout. “Tell you
> said, finally. “I’ve
chis—Polish Frank
T-~ got an idea,
that gray cap

d let him hang
Jerhaps for a

ll tell him what to

1e ert of a. cheap
ynski began fre-
of Blood the next
An affable fellow,
with the motley
on and quickly at-
me of whom were
ich by his readiness
the warmth of his
st he talked about
, but finally let it
it he was on the
a big job in New
sinuated, and was
ivia until the heat

ot only friends, but
an sven’ at the
:ported to O’Grady,
vith information of
st. The Bowl, he’d
igout for a gang of
‘s, and the impene-
tuise had been paid
nt—he’d been in-
ing.
1e man who’d shot
railroad detective,
efore, O’Grady lis-
and nodded. “Good
operative, and then,
nd Horsch, he add-
where now.”
fnt, Jawezynski re-
,vl. He carried the
vas tucked beneath
often. the case with
the week drew few
* once the Bowl was
svertheless, the op-
until closing time
e chatty with the

i fact, the last
Just before he
he visited the men’s
he carried the gray
nd showed it-to the

”’ he said. “I found
ishroom.. _ Know who -

_ Valley., He was caught finally, rob-

Sure, I know. Have you ever seen

‘a girl who comes in here frequently—
' Bertha Parnak. Well, that’s her new

boy-friend’s cap.”
Again Jawczynski
O’Grady and the Batavia officials.
Chief Horsch was well acquainted
with Bertha Parnak—in his official
-eapacity. On more than one occasion
the 23-year-old girl, left an orphan

reported ‘to

’ -years before and possessed of only the

tumbledown shack on Creek Road in
which she lived, had been arrested for
immoral conduct. Each time, when
_released, she had promised to go
straight, and during these intervals
had earned a virtuous dollar doing
housecleaning and laundry for vari-
ous Batavia families, but always,
sooner or later, lapsed back into her

_old loose habits.

“House-cleaning,” O’Grady mused;

. when he’d heard what the- chief had

to say. “That fits in perfectly. If
she worked for those people on Lib-
erty and Jackson Streets, then she
would’ve been able to give her ‘new
boy-friend’ the lay of the land.”

The investigators raided Bertha’s
dilapidated cottage at 4 o’clock Sun-
day morning—exactly a week, to the
day and hour, after Jacob Schoen-
berg had been murdered. A man’s
blue serge suit hung in her closet—a
suit of a size to fit a short, stocky man
—and in a dresser drawer were shirts
and socks.

‘ Questioned, the frightened girl ad-

mitted that a man had been living
with her off and on for «the -past
five months. His name, she said, was
John Galicia. He was dark and hada
mustache—or rather had one until he
shaved it off a few.days before. Bertha
claimed to know nothing about his
business, his past, Or where he might
be found at the present time.

wee. Detective O’Grady
had been examining the blue
serge suit. Soon he discovered an in-
teresting fact concerning its tailoring
—that it had been prison-made and
was of a sort issued to released con-
victs. “Where’d i boy-friend serve
time?” he. asked Bertha suddenly.

“T don’t know,” was the reply. “I
didn’t know that Jan had—I mean
John...”

The slip struck a responsive chord
in District -Attorney Coon’s memory.
“Jan!” he repeated... “You’re talking
about Jan Trybus, aren’t you,
Bertha? Come clean, girl, I know this
man, don’t I?”

The girl nodded and hung her head.
“Yes, you do, Mr. Coon,” she admit-
ted. “You sent him up.”

Then the district attorney recalled
all the details of .a burglary case
which had occurred more than four
years before, in early 1911. Jaw Try-
bus was a native of Austria who had
come to this country when still in his
teens, around the turn of the century.
For a time he worked. industriously on
Great Lakes ‘barges. At best, how-
ever, this occupied him for only nine
months of the year, with the Lakes
icebound in winter, and he finally be-
gan employing his lay-off seasons in
not so honest a fashion.

‘He became, in short, a freight car
burglar—and a clever one. He head-
ed a gang of such burglars, preying on
the Erie, the Central and the Lehigh

bing a‘car loaded with tobacco and

~ liquor on a siding outside Batavia, but
’- it was ‘the district attorney’s feeling

at the time that he would: never have
“4 a railroad detec

ate ‘ be / , hee
tive named Romanski had not shot
him in the foot. sae in ee
_Coon ‘prosecuted him and he got
six years in Auburn. Figuring quickly,
Coon realized that with time off .for
ape behavior, Trybus might well
e out of prison. .~ we

“That's what happened; when he Bot
out in May, he took a new name—Jo’
Galicia,” B

absolve herself from any complicity in
her boy-friend’s latest crimes.

For crimes there. were, she declared
—more than. the killing of Jacob
Schoenberg. Since the spring, Trybus
had committed: innumerable freight-
car’ burglaries, in Buffalo and Attica
as well as in and near Batavia. And
it had been he who, in August, shot
and wounded Charles McCormack, the
railroad detective, when McCormack
surprised him in the act of casing a
freight-car job near the Creek Road
crossing. : ;

Prior to this, Trybus had been see-

_ ing Bertha only occasionally. But di-

rectly after the McCormack shooting
he hid in her house and had been
staying there off and on ever since.
At first she was fond of him, but then
she became afraid of him. He dis-

closed his true identity to her and.

threatened that if she ever squealed

on him he would give her a bullet.

more accurately placed than the one
he’d given McCormack.

When he learned of her familiarity
with the homes of Jackson and Lib-

‘erty Street residents, he was .in-

trigued, and terrorized her into ex-
oe the layout of her employers’
omes. Hence his drunken trail of

abortive robberies culminating in|”

Schoenberg’s murder.

“I was lying to you a minute ago,
Mr. Coon,” the Parnak: girl sobbed.
“Around four-thirty last Sunda

‘morning, Jan came to my house drun

—and bloody. There was blood on his
hands and he told me he was afraid
he’d killed a man and had to beat it.
I don’t know for certain where’ he’s
gone, but I’ve got some ideas...”

Through leads supplied by Trybus’
voluble mistress, the killer's capture
came five days later—on Friday, Oc-
tober 29. Deployed in various locali-
ties through Western New York, one
of O’Grady’s. operatives—William H.
Ross—awaited the fugitive’s arrival
at the home of a friend in the town
of Depew. When: Trybus walked
through the door, Ross stepped from
behind it and thrust a gun in his back.

Returned to Batavia, the murderer
was subjected to intensive questioning
but for a long time refused to talk.
Finally, however, O’Grady, with a
dramatic gesture, thrust in front of the
prisoner’s startled eyes photographs
of the. unidentifiable prints found at
the murder scene. ;

“It’s no use, Jan,” O’Grady bluffed.
“These are from Schoenberg’s win-
dow, and you know whose fingers they
match; don’t you?” '

For a moment Trybus faltered.
Then, aware that the prints were his,
but ignorant of their legal useless-
ness, confessed his crime. Two months
later, on December 17, a Genesee
County jury found him guilty of
murder in the first degree.

Trybus was electrocuted on Septem-
ber 1 of the following year.

Eprror’s Note: The girl-friend of
Trybus had absolutely nothing to do
with the murder; so in. the foregoing

mame, Bertha Parnak.

story she has been given the fictional

r ertha corroborated. The.
girl was eager to talk now, eager to |

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“Recently, there hasn’t been much of
anything in it—for us, at any rate.”

The youth’s concluding remarks in-
terested O’Grady, and he demanded
amplification. ever, Max _ replied
had. he known his father to have an
enemy until a few weeks ago. In late
August a German baker named Harry
Schwartz opened a shop on Elliott
Street—three blocks from where the
Schoenbergs lived—and this new-
comer deeply resented competition,
even that represented inthe small
amount of business done by Max and
his father.

Schwartz first tried to buy Schoen-
berg out, but as he offered only a pit-
tance, the tender was refused. Then
Schwartz began circulating a. false
rumor to the effect that Schoenberg
did not handle his bread in. a sani
tary fashion. Matters came to a head
between the two in early October, only
a few days before Schoenberg was
killed. Schwartz also drove a wagon,
and, on this occasion the two -vehicles
met.in a narrow street and Schwartz
refused to veer from the center of the
road. The German’s curses started
an affray and a fist fight ended it.
Schwartz quit with a bloody nose,
but not before threatening to “get
even” with Jacob Schoenberg.

“But, you don’t think this’ baker
was the man who killed your father,
do you?” O’Grady,asked Max Schoen-

. berg.

“No, sir. Schwartz is tall and thin
and middle-aged and he doesn’t have
a mustache. The man I saw—and I
got a pretty good look.at him in the
gaslight—couldn’t have been more
than a little past thirty.” _~

The detective inspected the cubicle
in which Schoenberg was _ attacked.
The head of the bed stood against the

window, he noticed, to make room for

a small iron’ safe which occupied:a
crowded Lyetlariem between the foot
of the bed and an inner wall. The
Schoenbergs explained that rarely was
money kept in the safe, only para
Jacob Schoenberg had come. by the
safe some years before when he made
a deal for a certain tonnage amount of
scrap, and the safe, mistakenly deemed
worthless; had just happened to be
included. On Saturday there was no
money in the safe and the only..cash
Jacob Schoenberg possessed, at the

-time: was .$15.60, later found intact’ in
‘a pocket of his trousers which, on re-

ry

posited his luggage, with :the. excep-

4

.the north, n

bi he had hung over a chair.
 O’Gr,

ady cleared up for himself the ‘

mystery of the removed window sash
when he examined the window frame.
Even for a man working on the out-
side, he saw, the job wouldn’t -have
been as difficult as he had at first
supposed. The sash had been held in
the window by rotting wooden stops,
requiring a: minimum of. effort and.
dexterity to pull out. ,

MOON, Horsch, and’ McCulley had -

é er with: the private ‘detec-:
tive at the Batavia Hotel, where the
detective obtained a room and de-

tion-of pne suitcase which contained
scientific crime-detection equipment.
After dinner, O’Grady took’ the .suit-
case to police headquarters and the
four sat in the chief’s office hashing
over what was known of the murder.

Captain McCulley volunteered to in- .

uire ‘into’ why bap he Gross, the
Np! ab expected: guest, ~ had
failed to show up. Saturday night. He
called: the police in: Medina, a town to’

a brief ‘bu oug :

‘Street.

ear Lake phthow 6 and had ~ he. ded],

ing conversation. The Medina officer
spoken with not only. knew Gross
well, but knew of his intention’ to
visit Batavia, and knew, too, why ‘the
young man had abandoned his trip.
Gross’ widowed mother, it seemed,
had been taken suddenly ill early
Saturday and her son had not left her
bedside since.

“Then that’s that,” O’Grady said,
when McCulley had hung up the re-
ceiver, “That makes the Schoenbergs’
sleeping arrangements for Saturday
night perfectly reasonable. The mur-
derer must have been an outsider.
Not that I’ve for one moment serious-
ly suspected otherwige, but in a case
like this every angle has to be

, checked.”

The detective examined the two ar-
ticles of evidence which the police
had seized—the bloodstained steel bar
and the window sash. Horsch and
Coon had already worked over both
in an attempt to bring out fingerprints,
and. now getton using his special
equipment, supplemented their ef-

forts. Even so, the results obtained,.

in the instance of the window. sash,
were of doubtful value, and in that of
the bar, hopeless. The detective or-
dered only the powdered impressions
on the sash photographed. “They
aren’t clear enough for classification,”
he admitted, “but pictures of them
may come in handy.” ag :

The Batavia authorities believed
that a good deal of under-cover op-
erating would have to be done to solve
this crime.’ “That’s why we got you
down here, Tom,” the district. attor-
ney ‘told the detective from Buffalo.
“Batavia has only a uniformed police
force and. every member is known to
all the shady characters in town. We
know you're equipped to supply op-
eratives who.can mingle anywhere
and with any nationality, and pick up
information. Get busy, boy, and’damn
the expense!”

O’Grady smiled and “got busy.” He
put in a midnight call to his office in
Buffalo’s Chamber of Commerce build-
ing, and the next morning a agen
crew drifted singly.into town, wit
orders not to report for instructions
at police headquarters but only to the
anonymous premises ,of their boss’
hotel room. ‘The crew consisted of
Tom Pome, an Irishman; Jake Men-
necci, Italian; . Frank Jawczynski,
called “Polish Frank”; and William
Ross, a native born American. Among
them, they could speak almost any
language and pass for nearly. any. na-
tionality. ;

1 Eyed ‘on Tuesday—some two and
a’ half days after the murder—
Tom Fogarty produced what looked
like first results. Though Fogarty

| was’ a man of mature years; he ap-

peared disarmingly adolescent, and
in’ the past had broken ‘many cases
with in f
ossession ‘a
man’s gray cloth cap, with the lining
torn out.: :

. Fogerty. learned ‘of the existence of
the cap from a group on Jackson
One of them, Billy: Wilcox
thé son of a railroad engineer, had
found the cap Sunday morning under
a maple tree in his front yard. The

was sure the cap hadn’t been ‘in the
yard Saturday, for he’d’spent all that
afternoon - -raki i
leaves.”

When, questioned’ by. Fogarty
ared: he: ‘would: have repo
“line h . ed 1%)

te le oi

pe

=

ormation secured‘ from young -
‘men, Now he had in his

Wilcoxes lived’ on Jackson between -
Wood Street and Highland Park. Billy -

ng and, burning~ fall. °.

any possible
berg’s murde
But it too
to see that.
to O’Grad
berg desc
headed, d
man we wa:
And this cap
sometime dt
murder—dro}
three or fou ;
murder took
The detect
lieved the «
that he turne
Horsch. In s
or lining, H
have a man
and haberda:
hope that it

AKE ME)
O’Grady
Wednesday n
story concer
the German |
Batavia, Sch
lived in Lima,
‘—so the story
year-old son,
robbery. This
tavia, but wl
necci’s inform
had been spo
maybe Schwe
berg,” Menne<
“But maybe
Schwartz to d
O’Grady rig
with a special
ing device, tk
placed in an
with Coon an
the receiving e
left the hot
Schwartz in h
Street, and i
come in with
Schwartz
O’Grady’s per
once the door
closed and ++-
alone, the
a -“proposi
this Schoel___
“How you wa:
Now,-I'm a pr
stand, and I’ll
highest bidder
chwartz w
ously denied.a
murder or kno:
responsible.
O’Grady. I w.
day night. Id
The detectiv
were home—bu
Oh, yes, I kno:
Lima. Now, as
body paid n
quiet...”
Schwartz tc
O’Grady _ watc
thumbed throu
then withdrew
Saturday, the
sheriff of Midd
ticut, and anno.
on October 15 h
tempting to hol
grocery store, |}
verely woundec
oner in the Mic
O’Grady,” said
kill Jake Schoe


edina officer
knew Gross
intention to
too, why ‘the
ied his trip.

it seemed,
ly ill early
{ not left her

’'Grady_ said,
g up the re-
Schoenbergs’
‘or Saturday
e. The mur-
an outsider.
nent serious-
sut in a case
has to be

i the two ar-
h the police
ned steel bar
Horsch and
ed over both
t fingerprints
g his special
od their ef-
ilts obtained,.
window. sash,
and in that of
detective or-
d impressions
shed. “They
classification,”
ures of them

believed
cover op-

» done to solve
y we got you
district attor-
from Buffalo.
iformed police
+r is known to
;in town. We
to supply op-
gle anywhere
y, and pick up
doy, and damn

‘sot busy.” He
to his office in
»mmerce build-
ning a motle

to town, wit

or instructions
but only to the
of their boss’
w consisted of
ian; Jake Men-
« Jawezynski,
- and William
1erican. Among
ak almost any
nearly any na-

-some two and
the murder—
.d what looked
hough Fogarty
» years; he ap-
adolescent, and
en many cases
red from young
his possession a
with the lining

the existence of
jup on Jackson
‘|, Billy Wilcox,
i engineer, had
morning under
--nt yard. The
son between

j Park. Billy
been in the

’d spent all that
id burning fall

mned by Fogarty,

d have reported

lieved. it to have...

1
)
4
q
Ft
5
a

. any

possible connection with Schoen-
berg’s murder. : ‘
‘But it took the operative himself

-to see that. Fogarty brought the cap

to O’Grady and. said: ‘Max Schoen-
berg described ‘the killer “as bare-
headed, didn’t he? Well, maybe the
man we want had a gap but lost it,
And this cap must have been dropped

. sometime during the night of the

murder—drop on a. lawn. only.
three or four blocks from where the
murder took place.” ,

The .detective-agency director be-
‘lieved the discovery so significant

that he turned the cap over to Chief
Horsch. In spite of its lack of label

-or lining, Horsch was requested to

have a man take it to every hatter.
and haberdasher in. Batavia in the
hope that it might be identified.

Py brave MENNECCI' was the next .

O’Grady operative to score. On
Wednesday morning he picked up a
story concerning, Harry Schwartz,
the German baker. A.newcomer to
Batavia, Schwartz had previously
lived in Lima, N. Y., but had left there
‘__so the story went—because his 25-
year-old son, Julian, was suspected of
robbery. This' son rarely visited Ba-
tavia, but when last seen by Men-
necci’s informants some weeks before,
had -been sporting a mustache. “So
maybe Schwartz didn’t kill Schoen-
berg,” Mennecci suggested to his chief.
“But maybe Schwartz got young
Schwartz to do the job for him.”

O’Grady rigged up his hotel room
with a special istening and transcrib-
ing device, the outlet for which he
placed in an adjoining room. Then,
with Coon and Horsch concealed at
the receiving end of the equipment, he
left the hotel, called on Harry
Schwartz in his bakeshop in Ellicott
Street, and invited the German to
come in with him.

Schwartz came — such was
O’Grady’s persuasive ability. Then,
once the door: of the hotel room was
closed and the two were presumably
alone, the detective made the baker
a “proposition.” “I know all about
this Schoenberg business,” he began.
“How you wanted to get rid of him.
Now,-I’m a private detective, under-
stand, and I’ll sell what I know to the
highest bidder .. .”

Schwartz went white, but vigor-
ously denied-.any connection with the
murder or knowledge of who might be
responsible. “You're wrong, Mr.
O’Grady. I was home in bed Satur-
day night. I don’t...”

The detective shut him up. “You
were home—but what about your son?
Oh, yes, I know about the trouble in
Lima. Now, as Iwas saying, if some-

body paid me enough to keep
quiet...”
Schwartz took out his walled.

O’Grady watched tensely as e
thumbed through -its contents. and
then withdrew a folded letter. Dated
Saturday, the missive was from the
sheriff of Middlesex County, Connec-
ticut, and announced to. the father that
on October 15 his son Julian, while at-
tempting to hold up an East Haddam
grocery store, had been shot and se-
verely wounded and was now a pris-
oner in the Middlesex jail. ‘No, Mr.
O’Grady,” said the baker, “T didn’t
kill Jake Schoenberg and neither did
my son—as you can see.”

‘When Schwartz had gone, and when
O’Grady, Coon and Horsch were to-
gether again, they mutually agreed
‘fo cross. off Schwartz as a‘ suspect.

“Maybe he’s hot-headed and a tough

LT ETT r ¥ p ¥ 4) ¥

aes |

business man,” O’Grady expressed it,
“but he’s not the sort to hire a guy to
kill a sleeping enemy. No, the fellow
has a strong emotional side. He was
broken up. about his son—and very’
much ashamed.” !

The trio returned to headquarters.
There ‘the detective brought up” a
new aspect of the case which had
been troubling him. If the Schoen-
berg murder had been connected with

- the prior attempts at housebreaking

—and now no other alternative seemed
plausible—indications were that ‘the

_ murderer had exhibited great famili-

pf with each of the premises vis-
ited. i

“Assuming burglary was the guy’s
motive,” O’Grady: pointed out, “he
certainly seemed to know just where
to break tm, or attempt to break in,
each house—just where he’d be most
likely to find loot, I mean. You’ re-
member that when I first got here
Rance I took the trouble of going
through all of those victimized resi-
dences on Jackson and Liberty Streets.
At Schoenberg’s the killer entered a
window near the safe; at Anusco’s he
broke a window next to a buffet con-
taining the family silver; at Justice
Cone’s he tried to remove a pane in
the justice’s study window, and it’s in
Cone’s study I noticed that he keeps
his strong-box. So it went all: down
the line.’ From this alone, ‘my guess
would be that the man we want is
someone who’s frequented all these
houses and who knows the layout... Is

there any carpenter, plumber, painter,
or tradesman in that section who ‘has
light-fingered tendencies?”

Coon and Horsch*shook their heads,
but both saw the feasibility of
O’Grady’s theory. Then the private
detective asked a second ‘question:
“Are there any other recent unsolved
crimes in that same part of town?”

Chief Horsch thought a moment,
glanced toward the district attorney,
and finally went to his files. Return-
ing, he handed O’Grady a case folder
concernnig a shooting two months be-
fore,-This occurred, he explained, near
the Creek Road crossing of the Lehigh
Valley Railroad. Creek ‘road was a
southerly continuation of South Jack-
son Street, and the crossing lay about

“a quarter of a mile below Jacob

Schoenberg’s., house. ‘

The victim of the shooting ,was a
railroad detective named Charles Mc-
Cormack. On the night of August 11,
McCormack, while patrolling his com-
pany’s line, saw a man slip from be-
tween two freight cars standing on a
siding, and head for the bushes. The
detective called out, but the fleeing
figure refused to stop. Then McCor-
mack took off in pursuit. The man
halted, turned, produced a pistol and
fired. Hit in the leg, the detective
could no longer. chase his quarry, but
he was able to reach a telephone and
summon help. :

“McCormack recovered?” O’Grady
asked.

“Oh, yes,’ Horsch replied.
the man who shot him was never iden-
tified—-undoubtedly a freight-car bur-

glar. Recently, both the Central and.

the Lehigh Valley have been plagued
with them.” ;

“Well, that might or might not have
some bearing,”. O’Grady - said.
“Schoenberg’s killer carried a. gun,
too, though he didn’t use it.” .

O*% WEDNESDAY; Operative Tom
Fogarty reported to his boss. with
another bit of information. In the

_ interim, one of Chief Horsch’s. men,

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——

go to his case and not let the case
come to him.

Doctor Curphey examined the body.
He clicked his tongue.

“Almost any one of these wounds
would have caused death,” he said.
“Without any further inspection I can
tell you that they are deep and prob-
ably were made with some thin, point-
ed blade.”

He rolled the body over gently so
that the face came into view of the
police lanterns.

It startled King, and those in the
crowd who could see it murmured
pityingly.

It was the face of a girl no older
than fifteen. .

A child almost. And stabbed to
death in this vicious manner. Why?

Not a mark was on her face nor
on her white arms. And her chest or
abdomen bore no knife wounds. King
noted this fact at once.

“That girl was lying prostrate when
she was killed,” he half whispered to
Culkin. “I suspect she was running
from the killer and fell. He leaped
on her and drove the knife home.”

-Culkin knelt and examined her red
slipners.

“Here it is, Inspector!” he called.
“See this scuff-mark? She tripped
over something.”

He pointed to the toe of the right
slipper, where a scuff was plainly vis-
ible. The dyed part of the leather had
been scraped away, exposing the
lighter underskin.

“I notice the curb’s a little uneven,”
King said. “Take a light and work
along there. See if you can find a
mark where she tripped.”

Culkin had moved only a few feet
when he spotted the mark. Bits of
red leather still: were visible on the
concrete.

“Here it is,” the detective said. “She

probably tripped right here but she
was moving pretty fast and her own
momentum carried her on a few feet
before she lost her balance.”

Inspector King stared up and down
the bleck. The girl could not have
come far, not in that attire. Yet she
was running.

Now, if she had been fleeing along
the sidewalk, he reasoned, and had
tripped, then the red-leather scrape
should have been on the sidewalk it-
self. But the mark was on the curb.
Therefore, she had been attempting
to run across the street, King reasoned.

Hé«* NOTICED the glare of lights from

the tavern on the other side of the
turnpike. “That was the only place
open around here where she might get
help,” he told Culkin. “She was head-
ing for that when she fell—and the
killer caught up with her.”

He examined the buildings on his
own side of the highway curiously. All
were business structures and all were
dark and silent. None resembled a
place from which a young girl might
emerge, fleeing for her life. Yet, he
reasoned, she must have come from
near by.

While Doctor Curphey prepared the
body for removal to the morgue, King
beckoned to Neary and Culkin.

“I believe that girl came from some-
place close by,” he declared. “A lot of
these stores have living quarters in the
rear. Let’s make some inquiries.”

He stood at the scuff-mark on the
curb, noted the position of the sprawled
body, then drew a line toward the
nearest store.

The place was that of a mattress and
bedding shop, and King walked over
to it.

He peered through the door into
darkness. But as he looked closely he
thought he saw another door at the

“rear partially open, and light stream-

ing through a crack.

The Inspector put his flash on the
door but he could find no bell. The
usual notification card in the window,
advising the police whom to call in
the event of trouble, was missing.
That seemed to indicate that the pro-
prietor lived on the premises.

So Inspector King knocked, and
about the fourth time that he pounded
on the door frame, the door swung
open.

Before proceeding farther, he told
Culkin to accompany him with his
partner, Detective William Vaughan,
who had been busy outside trying to
find witnesses. The two detectives,
King and Prosecutor Neary stepped
inside.

Their flashlights gave the interior of
the bedding shop a semblance of il-
lumination. Everything was deathly
silent. But ahead of them they saw
that rear door, and beneath it the tell-
tale crack of light.

King, pushed the rear door open.

He stopped so suddenly that Neary,
following, almost bumped into him.

Almost at his feet was the body of a
woman, the whole front of her dress
soaked with blood. Beyond her, in still
another room, bodies lay on the floor.
A little girl, her hands bloody ribbons,
and a middle-aged man! Both of these
still were breathing. The woman near-
er the door obviously was dead.

“Quick!” King snapped. “Get Doctor
Curphey and a couple of stretcher-
men back here!”

eo Skee SAL

Culkin hastened to obey and King
made a quick check-up. The man, he
presumed, was the proprietor of the
shop. The woman probably was his
wife, and the child, perhaps, was
theirs. But who was the girl found
dead at the curb? That she had come
from here now seemed obvious. An-
other daughter?

pe that could wait. The immediate

job was to keep the spark of life
burning in this man and the little girl,
both of whom were unconscious and
critically hurt.

King, Neary and Vaughan gave what
first aid they could.

The little girl stirred and moaned.

“Don’t,” she whimpered. “Don’t
hurt my...”

“Now, who is ‘my’?” King asked
himself. “My father? My mother?”

He shook his head. Who were any
of these people? Why had four of
them been struck down?

“We'll have to work,” he said to
Vaughan. “We won’t be able to get any
story out of these two for a long time,
if ever.”

The first job was to get the victims
identified. King walked outside and in-
quired in a loud voice if anybody in
the crowd knew the names of the
occupants.

Of course, a lot of the people did,
and from the various volunteers King
selected one who looked intelligent and
brought him inside.

The witness knew the family. The
man was Nicholas Seelig, about 42, and


HEN the telephone rang, In-

spector Harold R. King, chief

of detectives in Naseateounty.
New York, knew that trouble was
ahead.

The first day of 1943 had passed too
quietly. Even in war-time, things hap-
pen around New Year's.

This was the night of January 2,
and Inspector King had hoped to read
for a while and go to bed. He really
hadn’t expected to—because something

WAS BAING tA NAN Aha lena

a Ps

By Jack Fayer

Special Investigator for
: ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

allel with the curb, and the wounds
were all in her back, so many of them
that Inspector King did not even think
of counting. Doctor Theodore J. Cur-
phey, the medical examiner, would
attend to the grisly details.

The Inspector could see that the
body itself could tell him little. Who
was this girl? Who had killed her?

Why? :
Perhaps somebod, the crowd
would recognize the King hoped,


i

By Jack Fayer

Special Investigator for

ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

HEN the telephone rang, In-
spector Harold R. Re: chief
of detectives in Nassa ounty,

New York, knew that trouble was
ahead.

The first day of 1943 had passed too
quietly. Even in war-time, things hap-
pen around New Year's.

This was the night of January 2,
and Inspector King had hoped to read
for a while and go to bed. He really
hadn’t expected to—because something
was going to pop, he knew.

And at 11 o’clock it popped. The
telephone summoned him to action.

Police Headquarters in Mineola was
calling and the officer on the phone
relayed the message that a bartender
in a tavern on Jericho Turnpike in
Floral Park just had called in—some-
what incoherently—to report a girl
dead in the gutter across and somewhat
down the highway.

“He said she was ‘stabbed or some-
thing’,” the officer reported. “Every-
body’s being notified.”

King had struggled into his overcoat
when his driver arrived in a police car.
They hurried westward along the turn-
pike, shrouded in the dimout gloom,
their shiny siren muted because it
scunded too much like an air-raid
alarm.

Ten minutes after King received the
call he was bending over the body of a
young girl clad only in a filmy night-
gown and a pair of saucy red slippers.

The bartender said she had been
stabbed.

Stabbed? She was hacked to pieces.
Her gown was stained brown with
blood.

The girl lay face down, almost par-

allel with the curb, and the wounds
were all in her back, so many of them
that Inspector King did not even think
of counting. Doctor Theodore J. Cur-
phey, the medical examiner, would
attend to the grisly details.

The Inspector could see that the
body itself could tell him little. Who
was this girl? Who had killed her?
Why?

Perhaps somebody in the crowd
would recognize the girl, King hoped,
although only part of her face was
visible.

He motioned to Detective Joseph
Culkin. ‘‘Anybody shriek or faint when
they saw this?” he inquired.

“No, Chief,’’ Culkin answered. “No-
body in this crowd seems to know her.
But these people are mostly from the
tavern over there, so it isn’t likely
they would.”

The ring of spectators parted and
two men strode through.

One was Doctor Curphey and the
other was District Attorney Edward J.
Neary, who believes that a man should

A detective and Inspector Harold King,
with the flash, knew from the position
of Florentina Valle’s body that she had

fled in vain from a horrible death


52 NE -2nd- Memo
VALLE, Louis, white, 3, electrocuted Sing Sing (Nassau County) on 1-21-19).

"Louis Valle, l3-years-old, who killed two persons with a knife in Floral Park,
Long Island, early last year, was put to death in the electric chair at Sing ing
Prison tonight. Hecreceived the death penalty for the slaying of his daughter,
Florentina, 15, and twenty-years-to-life for the ddath of his sister-in-law, Mrs.
Olivia Seelig." TIMES, New York, NY, January 21, 194) (11/8.)

"A woman and a 15-year-old girl were stabbed to death and her husband and daughter
were critically wounded tonight by an assailant who apparently forced his way into
an upholstery shop, and police announced that a blood-stained fugitive had been
captured a short time later following a brief chase. (Man was Louis Valle, of
Richmond, Le Ie) Mrs. Nicholas Selig's body was found in the dwelling quarters of
the shop and the girl, identified as Flora Valle who police believed was the daughter
of the man held, was found dead beside a curb in front of the building, Police said
the girl apparently had been overtaken as she fled the assailant. Selig, who was
wounded, was found by passers-by leaning against a lamp post and calling for help.
In the shop was his daughter, Eleanor, 11, who had been stabbed repeatedly, but was
still living...Patrolmen found Valle hding in a clump of bushes a few blocks from
the scene of the crime, Police announced they were checking a report that Valle

a waiter, was Mrs. Selig's first husband," TIMES, New York, NY, Jan, 3, 193 (3h136)

Anna Mojica was prostrated by her husband’s death. It
‘came as a terrible blow. Far from being the rich widow
whom Carmelo envisioned, she found herself in difficult
straits. To continue meeting the mortgage payments on the
house, she was compelled to take a job as a kitchen worker
at Memorial Center for Cancer and Allied Diseases on 68th
Street.

Of course, Mrs. Mojica told herself, the great tragedy of
her husband’s passing was the fact that her children were in
their most difficult years and needed the steadying influence
of a watchful father. Richard at 15 was a slightly too serious
youngster devoted to his studies at Aviation Trades High
School. Lillian, at 16, naturally was developing an interest
in boys although her studies at Grace Dodge Vocational
High School in the Bronx consumed most of her time, choir
practice at Manor Community Church on West 26th Street
took what was left of it.

The brother and sister were both volatile and individual-
istic. Their bickering almost drove their poor mother to
distraction. :

“All right,” she would tell them plaintively. “A young
brother and sister sometimes quarrel. But not all the time.
What will the boarders think?”

The four boarders—Andrez Aponte, Lorenzo Acevedo,
Eduardo Riveri and Pablo Vargas—all of whom had worked
hard in the sugar fields of Salinas, [Continued on page 73]

BY BOB V

I The brother, in Eisenhower jacket, told police of finding the burned body in the cellar. Below, a relative examines it
the mattress the killer tossed over his victim and which served only to prevent flames from completing their work.

4

ne

fi Pr
J iy Aes (Pe (U7 ASSN,
yf Yi, i;
Ay /f,

H

ay
/ Hy 1}
tis) nih
i. 5 é
a


eee

BY SEYMOUR J. ETTMAN

After setting fire to his young victim, the

( 1. New York City between the lichen-scaled stone walls of Fort
Tryon Park and the monumental concrete abuttment of George Wash-
ington Bridge, the city planning commission engaged in a brief but
losing battle té beautify Washington Heights on the northern perimeter
of Manhattan. ;

_For almost half a century, the dynamic forces of expansion and
growth exerted their pressures on the rows of brownstone private
homes lining the side streets of this section. The houses crumbled
and fell into'a state of progressive decay. Some were replaced by
handsome modern apartments. Others clung to the musty mantle of
shabby gentility which was their one link with a more gracious past.
/ The efforts of the planning commission to supervise the gradual
reclamation of the area came to grief when an unexpected shift of
New York’s polyglot populations reduced the once fashionable dis-
trict to a slum area.

Now, in 1958, the flavor of Washington Heights is markedly Carib-
bean. On quaint cobbled streets which once clattered to the hooves
of high stepping matched teams, street vendors trundle pushcarts and
call their wares much the same as they do in San Juan. On saints’
days the sidewalks swirl with the kaleidoscopic color of a Puerto

’ Rican festival. Here flourishes a transplanted culture far from its West
Indian island home.

Carmelo Mojica, a bricklayer, brought his family to Washington
Heights shortly after World War II. Asa construction worker during
the post war building boom, the former resident of San Juan enjoyed
a prosperity which exceeded his wildest imaginings. After three years
of watching his bank balance grow, Carmelo discussed with his

Though she literally had no time for boys, raven haired
Lillian Mojica met death at hands of a lust-mad rapist.

Overcome
Fer home

accused '

wife, Ann

“T have
mother,”
well upor
house.”

Anna’s
“A housé¢

believe it

fantastic
Carme!
wishing t
said. If «
some pr
boarders
mortgag¢
pockets
“And,
If I were
Ricardc

The he

frame dw

the stree

found wi

towards

Certair

June 16
sickened

Police b
verify |


victim, the

valls of Fort
reorge Wash-
1 a brief but
21m perimeter

pansion and
stone private
es crumbled
replaced by
sty mantle of
zracious past.
the gradual
scted shift of
hionable dis-

-kedly Carib-
o the hooves
pushcarts and
an. On saints’

of a Puerto
from its West

> Washington
vorker during
Juan enjoyed
er three years
ssed with his

red
vist.

accused "waited around until the fire was going good"

wife, Anna, the prospect of buying a house for their family.

“T have approached this problem from every side, little
mother,” Carmelo said. “You may believe that I have thought
well upon this thing, and I say to myself, yes; we will buy a
house.”

Anna’s eyes misted behind her brand new rimless glasses.
“A house, Carmelo!” she murmured. “My mother would not
believe it. Your father would not believe it. Here in this
fantastic New York, we will be the owners of a fine house.”

Carmelo launched into an explanation of his reasons for
wishing to acquire a house. It would be an investment, he
said. If ever the house had to be sold, there might well be
some profit to be realized. Moreover, by renting rooms to
boarders, they could handle the carrying charges on the
mortgage and, perhaps, end up with extra money in their
pockets.

“And, who knows whether tomorrow for certain will dawn.
If I were to die, you would be a rich widow, and you, and
Ricardo, and little Lillian would lack nothing.”

The house was bought, in due course. It was a three story
frame dwelling at 663 West 187th Street almost directly across
the street from St. Elizabeth’s Church. Four boarders were
found whose weekly rent payments contributed handsomely
towards the mortgage and maintenance charges.

Certainly the Mojicas were happy for the few years before ,
June 16 of 1957, when, prophetically, Carmelo suddenly
sickened and died.

Police became suspicious of this man when they couldn’t
verify his account of having received a telephone call.

sR IEE

Overcome by grief and horror at the sight of her daughter’s corpse, the weeping mother is taken in a police car from
her home. There, only hours before, she had left the lovely teen

-ager ironing a blouse to wear to her school that day.


he man who was to
hat they have now
ibly to what we al-
> murder,” Parrish

he guests who, Par-
ard voluntarily to
ts, it was revealed
thing, including the
h she was strangled
nd seat covers of an
forwarded to the
hington for analysis.
R. (Bill) Donaldson
ieriff’s office arrived
irrish revealed that
in the investigation
o a lie-detector test
Jonaldson.
s man to submit to
graph, examination
of the questioning
airing in court in the
ith murder,” Parrish

ublic to learn the
roved fruitless. Fol-
sts that took place
e than 16 hours, it
State’s Attorney
hat a special session
iad been called for

of the Polk County
roughout February
lay. The only person
is Lieutenant Don-

the lie-detector
sion of the session,
taker announced in
a true bill charging
er had been found
baum!

led from their cham- |
‘onted by the slight, |

of the slain woman.

ind what has taken
” he said in a voice
y anyone.

proash cera haan

ig and informed him

action. “We began:

’ he told the hus-
started checking on
our movements im-
ing your wife gone

inet cca ante

There were dis- |

»unts of your move-
st went looking for
. took afterward, in
id you made to her

m’s arrest, the sher-
irst time that during
e had cited to Hoch-
man who had mur-
“blacking out.” And
vered: “My God, is
h a thing? Oh no, !
in’t have done it.”
‘ing his arrest, any
rder, Hochbaum ex:
been asked abou
lock in the morning
hours of continuou:

tment, bail for Hoch.
000, which later wa:
ling trial on a charg
irder. Vociferously
s guilt, he assertec
vho spent more thar
ting the crime, have
ice.
nd the others whi
ht rounding up anc
witnesses befori
jury are not talkin,

|

|

Torch Murder of Choir Girl

[Continued from page 46]

admired the studious youth for his ability
to talk about the scientific wonders of the
rocket age. They called him “the little
professor.” They also admired the boy’s
sister, Lillian, but for altogether different
reasons. Their name for her was “the little
beauty.”

Actually, they saw little enough of the
young girl. The Mojica menage rose early.
The majority of the household members
were off to work or school by 7 o’clock in
the morning. By eight there was usually
no one at home. In the late afternoon,
Richard returned from class and unlocked
the door with his key. Lillian usually re-
turned next, followed shortly thereafter by
her mother and the four lodgers.

On the morning of Thursday, February
13, 1958, Lillian was the first to rise. She
had some ironing to do before she left for
school. She put the board over the backs
of two kitchen chairs and carefully damp-
ened the frilly white blouse which she ex-
pected to press. She was suddenly seized
with a fit of coughing which awoke her
mother.

“Don’t you feel well?” Mrs. Mojica
asked her daughter as she came to the
kitchen in her bathrobe.

The beautiful young girl tested the iron
with a dampened forefinger. “Maybe I’m
getting a cold,” she said.

Her mother regarded her sternly. “Then
don’t stand there in your slip,” she said.
“What will the boarders think?”

Lillian started to press her blouse. “You
won’t hear them complain,” she said. Her
coughing suddenly started again.

“Maybe you should stay home, today,”
her mother said.

“Maybe I will,” the girl agreed.

Richard, fully dressed and carrying
his school books, came into the kitchen. It
was shortly before 7 o’clock. “So long,” he
said, buttoning his Eisenhower jacket.

One by one the boarders began to leave.
Mrs. Mojica, dressing hurriedly, downed
a quick breakfast and also left. Lillian,
who had not yet made up her mind
whether or not to attend class, was still in
the kitchen. Her mother, when she kissed
the girl good-bye, did not actually know
for certain that her daughter was all alone
in the house.

“Maybe the best thing is for you to jump
into bed,” she said. “This way it’s just a
cold. Tomorrow it might be the flu.”

Tomorrow never came for lovely, raven
haired Lillian Mojica. Shortly after 4 p.m.
that Thursday, 187th Street from Broad-
way to Wadsworth Avenue reverberated
to the screaming sirens of police cars and
Inspector Frederick Lussen, in charge of
Manhattan West detectives, rushed into
the Mojica home to view the hideously
mutilated remains of the girl who had
been called the little ‘beauty.

Richard, the girl’s 15-year-old. brother,
was led by the sorrowing neighbors to the
detective commander.

“I kept smelling this smoke drifting up
from the cellar,” Richard told Lussen and
Deputy Inspector Edward R. Carey. “I
went down the cellar to see if something
was burning, and then I saw this mattress

over near the pipes. She was under the

mattress.”

Screaming hysterically, Richard ran to
neighbors who quickly notified the au-
thorities.

Uniformed police officers led the inspec-
tor and his deputy downstairs to the base-
ment. The reek of smoke and scorched
flesh was overpowering. Under a striped

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30

le FR Re a hte

And though he does not add it, his meaning is implicit in
his manner—“for today. and tomorrow and the challenge
thereof.” ;

Sometimes that challenge to the man who is New York’s
Police. Commissioner can be almost unbearably hard.

Take, for example, one week end this past winter, only a

month after the East Harlem‘raid. Monaghari.had worked °

from 9:30 a.M. Friday far into the small hours of Saturday
morning. After he had finished his usual 10-hour trick at

- his desk without taking time out: for lunch, he had gone out
-. to one of. the city’s outlying precincts to straighten out a
_.-tangled- personnel and administrative problem.. Saturday, .
after a few hours inadequate sleep,-he was back at his desk; ,
doing a full-day’s work. : : re

The two days had merged almost into one from the pres-

ae. sure of constant work, and Monaghan went home that night

determined to do just one thing—sleep. At 9:30 he was

- undressing Yor bed when ‘the telephone rang. It was an

+ urgent call for the Commissioner. Monaghan recognized the
-- voice of George A. Loures, his Chief of Detectives.

“Arnold Schuster has just-been murdered,” Loures told. -

Schuster’ was the 24-year-old, handsome former Coast
Guardman whose keen eyes had épotted the nation’s No. 1

. bank robber, Willie (The Actor) Sutton, riding on a.

Brooklyn subway train only two weeks before. On this
night, March 8th, 1952, just 20 minutes before Loures’ call
‘to Monaghan, Schuster had been walking along a dark

Brooklyn street toward his home when he had been cut’

down by four bullets fired with. vengeful, deadly precision.

The murder of the, man-responsible for Sutton’s arrest .

“shocked all New York, but probably no one in the great

. city was so stunned as Monaghan. Standing there, holding

.the phone, -he felt as if he had been physically slugged.
The impact upon the Commissioner was greater than that
on the average citizen because ‘he personally had congratu-
personal liking for the young man.

Throughout his years in the District Attorney’s office,
Monaghan had become respected and feared by the under-
world—respected because he was known as a‘man of his
word, a man who would never forget a. witness who had
helped him; feared because he never gave up-in'a murder
case, ; 2
To such a man, the murder of Arnold Schuster, the most
prominent and publicized civic-minded citizen in a decade,
represented a crowning outrage that shrieked for vengeance,

lated Schuster at headquarters and had formed a warm,:

NE i RP a ane. Lit SS ROR i he sastage

With those six words from Chief Loures, sleep became the
forgotten ingredient in the Commissioner’s life, He dressed
hastily and hurried to Brooklyn. There he spent the night,
questioning witnesses, directing the first moves of detec-
tives in this most baffling of crimes—the hunt for a killer
no one-had seen, for a murderer who had left no clues.

“We will get him. We have to get him,” the Commissioner
told his top aides.

He threw all the resources of the Brooklyn precincts into
the hunt.. He reinforced them with crack detectives drawn
from other districts of the city, forming a special squad of
200 with orders to concentrate on just one task—the track-
ing and capture of the Schuster killer. . i
. ,Throughout the night, Monaghan worked on ‘the case, and
when, haggard and exhausted, he finally went home, it was
6:30 on Sunday morning and three days were beginning to

- merge into one from the pressure of constant work. . -

A user of forthright language, Monaghan declared bluntly
to the press, “Every cop in this city knows’ what his No. 1

job is today—to catch. the rats responsible for this out-~

rage.” ‘

‘In the weeks that followed, the Commissioner handled
the manifold details of his office without relaxing for a
single day his close, personal supervision of the Schuster
ease, He conferred with his top aides; he kept in direct
personal and telephone contact with every phase of the
investigation;:he rode herd on the investigation like a man
who had made it his personal fetish. -°

All of this is characteristic of Monaghan, a farm boy who
grew up on hard work and learned early in life to delight
in licking tasks that looked too tough to be licked. You

‘realize: how Monaghan’s personal determination makes the

toughest of odds an even bet when you examine his career
closely. »
. He was born in Canandaigua, in upstate New York, one
of twelve children. He attended a one-room:school for the
first six grades, and then rode eight miles .a day, by horse
and buggy, to finish grade school. When “he went to
Hamilton College, he waited on tables, tended furnaces and
did other odd jobs in winter, and in summer worked on the
county. road gangs, clearing brush and digging ditches.
After his graduation from Hamilton in 1922, he taught
school for two years to get enough money to make a start
in Fordham Law School. Here again he helped pay his way

ft by working as a recreation ‘supervisor, but he graduated as

the president of his class and the top man scholastically,
There followed ten years with a New York law firm. Then

(L. to r.) Dunn, Gentile and
Sheridan, convicted  slayers
of Anthony Hintz, headed for
Sing Sing. Gentile got life
imprisonment. The other two
died in the electric chair


ame the -
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“0g

George Monaghan's rare but greatest joy is to have a day with his wife and their
four children. (L. to r:) Danny, two; Mike, six; Ann, four; and (rear) Pat, eight

t

Monaghan was picked by District Attorney Thomas: E. Monaghan concludes another case, one of the biggest
Dewey, now Governor of New York, to become a member manhunts in -New York's history, with the capture of

Hugh Coughlin, 22, for ambush’ slaying of patrolman

of his rackets-busting staff. During his long stay in the
office under Dewey and District Attorney Frank S. Hogan,
Monaghan became head of the: Homicide Bureau and won
wide fame as a vigorous and successful prosecutor. :

Yet the man himself has none of the flamboyance you
normally associate with such a role. He dresses con-
servatively and speaks softly, except when some: criminal
lowbrow is the topic. Then his language can becpme
tough and salty. : ¥ :

Friends and visitors, however, rarely see this side of
Monaghan. The Police Commissioner is essentially a quiet,
family man. He married late in life, when he was.40, and
his bride was the former Helen A. Brady, also a native of
upstate New York, a graduate of Fordham Law School and
a successful lawyer. hg

The Monaghans now have four children, and the Com-
missioner, when he finds time to be with his family, de-.
lights in helping around the house. On a Saturday, you
will find him lugging the family wash down to. the base-
ment of the apartment house at 160 Cabrini Boulevard,
where the Monaghans live in a spacious apartment over-
looking the Hudson River. Mornings, he often gets break-
fast for the family while his wife is getting the children
dressed and ready for school. On those rare occasions when
he has a full day at home, he likes to putter around the
kitchen, using his not inconsiderable culinary skill to pre-
»are a flavorsome, full-course dinner (Continued on page 79)

entile and
od slayers
neaded for
e got life
other two
stric chair ©

31


T

80

Monaghan asked lor an early trial and
rot it. He marshalled his witnesses against
Thomas and made one of his most bitter
courtroom denunciations of the cop-killer.
The jury returned a verdict of guilty in
the first degree without any recommenda-
tion for mercy, and so on the night of
July 10th, 1947, Willie Thomas walked to
the electric chair in Sing Sing and paid
with his life for the shooting of the patrol-
man who, in kindness, had called him
“son.”

One of the earlier cases Monaghan is
proud of is his successful prosecution of the
will-o’-the-wisp jewel thief, Guddy Haber-
man. This was a case that was broken by
just one thing—Monaghan’s own name and
reputation as a square-shooter.

In the. late thirties, New York was
afflicted with a wave of jewel robberies.
June Knight, a musical comedy actress,
was trussed up in her apartment by two
men and robbed of her jewels. A necklace
once worn by Marie Antoinette, the prize
display of a Fifth Avenue shop, was taken
after two men had gagged and bound the
clerks. Losses in 60 jewel thefts mounted
until they reached the fantastic sum of
$2,000,000.

In some robberies, two advance-guard
thieves would walk in, bind and gag the
help, and lock them in a closet or lavatory.
Then a third man would enter, calmly
select the choicest pieces of jewelry from
the showcases and stroll out, accompanied
by his two helpers in larceny. In one
daring, daylight Fifth Avenue job, the
“third man” donned the black sleeves of the
jeweler and puttered around the cases as
if he owned them. At closing time, he
pulled down the shades, just as the pro-
prietor would have done,. and strolled out
with a fortune in loot weighing down his
pockets.

The pressure was on the police to halt
the wave of thefts, and one day in Febru-
ary, 1939, two detectives on the pawnshop
beat along Eighth Avenue near 50th Street
became intrigued by’ the activities of a
couple of agile men who kept ducking into
one shop after arfother. They stopped the
men, and Detective Thomas Burke reached
out and felt the pulse of one who was being
the most voluble about his innocence. The
pulse was jiving.

The detectives hauled the pair, who had
built-in clues in their own nervous systems,
off to the'precinct station, and there a num-
ber of clerks and jewelers positively iden-
tified them as the advance guard thugs who
had been so active in the wave of holdups.
Monaghan and the police wanted to know
who the third man was, who was the mys-
terious mastermind behind the far-flung
larcenies, but the prisoners, J oseph Schaef-
fer and Benjamin Markowitz, just scoffed
and sealed their lips.

The two were indicted for robbery and
grand larceny, and Monaghan sought a
quick trial. A high-priced attorney, ob-
viously hired by the elusive mastermind
behind the plot, appeared to defend the
pair. The attorney kicked up a verbal
smoke-screen, and Schaeffer and Marko-
witz advanced plausible alibis. Monaghan
hammered home to the jury the fact that
the pair had been positively identified by
the victims of several robberies, but the
jury became confused and wrangled hope-
lessly inside the jury room, as juries some-
times do. . Divided and unable to reach
a decision, the jury disagreed and was
dismissed.

Never a man to be satisfied with a draw,
Monaghan plunged right back into court
that very day, and with his bulldog tenac-
ity asked for a quick new trial and got it.
Schaeffer and Markowitz were told they
would have to face another jury the fol-
lowing week. ;

Monaghan’s favorite tactic of keeping
the heat on the opposition without respite

paid almost porieedaate aliwaehentebs The
pair of jewel thieves was ied back to the

‘Tombs, where they acted like anen whe
had been doomed insteap) of men who had
just won a reprieve. One reason for their

dejection was that Monaghan’s constant
pressure had deprived them of their
high-priced mouthpiece. The attorney told
Schaeffer and Markowitz he hadn't yet
been paid for handling their first trial, and
he washed his hands of them.

Word of the plight of the pair, who ap-
parently had been deserted by both their
lawyer and their hidden protector, spread
through the prison grapevine, as such word
always does, and it reached the ears of a
disbarred California lawyer who was
himself, temporarily, an inmate of the
Tombs. The lawyer hac heard about Mon-
aghah. He knew what Monaghan always
said and how he always acted when he
wanted the testimony of a defendant to
nail a more important criminal.

“I can’t promise you a thing,” Monaghan
always told the witness, “I’m not the guy
who will sentence you. The judge will do
that. But I promise I'll go to bat to get
leniency for you, if you play square with
me.’

The speech is a well-known refrain to
every crook, and it is worth only as

BIG BLOW

Safecrackers succeeded too well in
blowing open a safe in a filling station
southwest of Indianapolis.

State trooper Jack Larsen said they
used so much nitroglycerin that cur-
rency totaling $35 was destroyed.
Also, that nickels and dimes were
blown through a soft-drink yendor and
quarters were blown through walls and
30 feet down an alley.

What happened to the safecrackers?

They'd blown, too.

‘ —Charles L, Anderson

much as the word of the prosecutor who
makes it. The California ex-lawyer knew,
however, that Monaghan’s word was good,
and so he sought out the two deserted, un-
happy jewel thieves.

“You are making a serious mistake,” he
told them. “You should talk to Monaghan.
He always keeps his word. You should
tell him the name of the man who was
with you in this, and he will help you.” .

Schaeffer and Markowitz told him to
pipe down. They had been tempted by ex-
perts. Then they began to.think over his
advice. Finally, they sent for Monaghan.

The prosecutor visited them in the
Tombs, and there, acting on the advice
of a fellow jailbird, the pair told him that
the mastermind he wanted in the jewel
thefts was Morris (Guddy) Haberman.

Haberman was arrested, convicted and
sentenced to 30 to 60 years in prison.
Schaeffer and Markowitz, after. pleading
guilty to robbery, escaped with light prison
sentences. i

Such cases as this and the relentless
prosecution of Willie Thomas—a prosecu-

tiots Chat refarmeel bo de satisfied with a life
sentence or to be hoodwinked with oa
phony show of insanity were ehild’s plas
compared to the problem that faced Monag-
han in the Anthony Tlintz murder case.

Hintz was the boss stevedore on Pier 51
in the Greenwich Village area of lower
Manhattan. Traditionally, the waterfront
is the toughest section of any large port
city, and the Hudson River docks of New
York are no exception. Here is: the last
refuge of men with checkered vusts, the
one place where a man can get a job wit!
no questions asked and no references
needed. The result is that the waterfront
has become a law unto itself. It settles its
own disputes with fists, with knives, with
guns. And no one ever talks; no questions
are ever answered.

In late 1946, District Attorney Hogan and
Monaghan, his strong right arm in crimi-
nal prosecutions, heard that mobster ele-
ments were trying to muscle in on the
Greenwich Village piers. Mobsters wanted
to control the hiring. If they could do this,
they could shake down the men given
jobs and at the same time they could put
their own thugs in key spots on the piers,
simplifying the task of waterfront thiev-
ery. Authorities heard whispers of such
a plot, but they had no evidence.

Hintz, as boss stevedore on Pier 51, was
a key man. He supervised the morning
and afternoon shapeups at which dock
workers reported. He picked the men he
wanted to hire, rejected the others. A
stubborn and courageous man, Hintz re-
fused to listen to the mob’s suggestions. He
picked his own men, left theirs shuffling
their feet in the dust outside the piers.
Hintz was threatened, he was beaten up,
and still he refused to yield to the mob.

Then, on ‘the morning of January 8th,
1947, Hintz kissed his wife, Maisie, goodbye
in their apartment at 61 Grove Street and
walked out into the hallway and down
the stairs to go to work on the piers.

In the shadows of the second floor land-
ing, a man was waiting for him—a man
with a gun. The gun blazed six times,
and Hintz’ body jerked, then slumped
slackly forward as the slugs crashed into
his head, body and abdomen.

Hearing the gunfire, Mrs. Hintz screamed
and ran down the stairs to her fallen hus-
band. She cradled his head in her arms
and cried, “Who did it, Tony?”

Hintz was still conscious. His eyes flut-
tered open, and he whispered, “Dunn did
it. Johnny Dunn shot me.”

Hintz was rushed to St. Vincent’s Hos-
pital, and his wife passed his whispered
words on to the police. The name of
Johnny (Cockeye) Dunn was a familiar
one to them. Dunn was an ex-convict with
a record of nine arrests, including a con-
viction for beating up Hintz’ predecessor
as boss stevedore on Pier 51. Detectives
fanned through the Greenwich Village area,
and that same day picked up Dunn, who
sneered at them for their suspicions,

Monaghan questioned Dunn, but Dunn was
a true waterfront tough and wouldn’t talk.
In the hospital, Monaghan talked to Hintz.
But Hintz, perhaps feeling that he still had
a chance for life, adhered to the docks’
rigid code of silence. He clamped stub-
born lips; he insisted that he knew noth-
ing. He even told his wife, “Keep out of
this and forget what I said before.”

It became evident to Monaghan that he
was going to have to rely on those first
shocked, whispered words of Hintz—on
these and little bits and pieces of corrob-
orative evidence. Intensive questioning
of residents in the neighborhood linked
Dunn with two other hoods—Andy Sheri-
dan, a dockside tough who would kill as
casually as he would lick a postage stamp,
and Danny Gentile, a former prizefighter
who had been known in the ring as Danny
Brooks. Monaghan’s detectivgs even lo-


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No. 1 Man
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(Continued from page 31)

These are hardly the qualities you asso-
ciate with a dynamic prosecutor, and it is
easy to believe Monaghan when he says
that one of his hardest tasks in life was
to demand the life of a killer in a murder
trial. It was a duty that Monaghan never
shirked, however, and there were even
times when a sense of personal outrage
seemed to transform this mild-appearing,
family man into a merciless champion of
justice.

Anyone who wants to know the quality
of the man who is master-minding the na-
tionwide search for the Schuster killer
needs only to study the case of Willie James
Thomas. i

Thomas was a youth of 20, known as
“The Limp” because of a leg injury he had
suffered as a child. Young as he was, he
had killed two men, one of them a police-
man.

The first killing occurred during a
routine, early-morning restaurant stickup.
Three young men pulled the job in down-

._ town Manhattan, scooped $140 from the

till and herded help and customers into a
back washroom. The prisoners were ap-
propriately cowed and there was no reason
for shooting; but as the bandits left, Thomas
said, “I’m gonna fire one shot just to show
those guys we mean business.”

He fired a bullet through the washroom

- door, and the heavy slug killed one man,

wounded another.

The holdup-men escaped, and the police
search for them was futile. But a few
nights later, about 3 a.m. October 28th,
1945, two radio car patrolmen spotted five
suspicious-looking youths on the street.
One walked with a limp. The patrolmen
stopped their squad car, and one of them,
James E. Bussey, got out and called to the
man with the limp, “Come here, son, I
want to talk to you.”

The hoodlum snarled, “I don’t like
cops.” Then he drew a gun and ‘fired. The
bullet struck Patrolman Bussey between
the eyes, killing him instantly.

With the shooting, the five toughs sep-
arated, fleeing in different directions.
Thomas, despite his limp, managed to
escape, but two of his companions were
caught. They were questioned, decided to
talk, and identified the cop-killer as Willie
Thomas.

Thomas was captured, and Monaghan
decided to try him first for the senseless
and brutal restaurant murder. The jury
found Thomas guilty, but recommended life
imprisonment. The presiding judge fol-
lowed the recommendation. Thomas, who
had feared the electric chair, was as chip-
per and smiling as if he had received an
acquittal.

It was then that Monaghan showed the
stern stuff of which a quiet family man
can be made. No sooner had sentence been
imposed on Thomas than Monaghan walked
back into court and demanded that an
early trial be set on the second murder
indictment, resulting from the death of
Patrolman Bussey. For Thomas, he made
it clear, he would be satisfied with just one
verdict—the chair.

Willie Thomas was taken back to the
Tombs, shaking with fear. “Cop killers al-
ways get electrocuted,” he moaned.

Prison mates suggested an old dodge to
Thomas. If a guy goes crazy, he can’t be

prosecuted for murder. He’ll be sent to an
insane asylum, not a pleasant retreat, it
is true, but definitely preferable to the
chair. “Make believe you’re crazy. Start
breaking things up,” prison inmates ad-
vised Thomas.

He accepted the suggestion and put on an
act worthy of the Broadway stage. He
screamed that mice, hundreds of mice, were
running over his body. He tore his mattress
to shreds, broke up his bed and hammered
at the bars of his cell, shouting wildly.

Examined by psychiatrists, Thomas put
on such a performance that even these ex-
perts were fooled and agreed with Willie
that he was, indeed, crazy. They committed
him to Matteawan State Hospital. And there
again, for a second time, the entire case
might very well have rested.

Only Monaghan wasn’t impressed by
Willie Thomas’ convincing act.

“I think Thomas is faking,” he told his
aides. “I want to take my own psychiatrist
and visit him in the hospital.”

Arrangements were made at the hospital,
and Thomas was brought in to face Mona-
ghan and the psychiatrist.

“How do you like it here, Willie?” asked
the prosecutor.

“T like it fine,” said Willie.

Monaghan produced a quarter and a
dime and showed the coins to Thomas. The
psychiatrist asked Thomas what the coins
were. The man who had done such a con-
vincing job with the imaginary mice
studied the very real problem posed by
the quarter and dime, and then identi-
fied the quarter as a nickel and the dime as
a quarter. .

Monaghan laughed. “You're faking,
Willie,” he said. “We’ve arranged for you
to be alone for a while, to think it over.”

Thomas was placed in a bare room. There
was no bed, no chair, no table; there was
nothing but four bare walls and Willie.

For two days Thomas stayed alone in
the room with his thoughts. Then he was
examined again. The bare room had be-
come a thing of horror to him, worse than
the specter of the chair.

Monaghan read the story in Thomas’ de-
jected face, and he said, “I’m going to give
you a chance you wouldn’t give Jim Bussey.
Tll give you a chance before twelve
jurors. Now, will you come along quietly
with me?”

Thomas shrugged. It was the bare room
or trial. “Okay, I’ll come,” he said.

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Now you, can discuss baseball with the’

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CLUE OF ‘THE MISSING’ TATTOO |
(Continued from: page 29) : i

hte

other officers on the. difficult mystery.

Just a few hours after the Ogden Woods
discovery another bundle of death was
spotted in the water off the Brooklyn
Navy Yard. A police boat was sent out,
and the captain hauled it ashore and
turned it over to the Brooklyn police, who
sent it along to the <r

This package contai the lower legs
of the victim, encased in the same type
wrappings as the other parts of the corpse.

Even without the head—which, | inci-
dentally was never recovered—Coroner
Tuthill and his assisting medicos were
now able to make a thorough study of the
corpse and come up with several valuable
conclusions.

The dead man had been approximately
five feet nine inches in height and weighed
in the vicinity of 160 pounds.

- The arms and wrists were muscular and
well-developed, proving that the victim
had been engaged in some sort of work
requiring physical exertion. Yet, amazing-
ly, the hands were soft and white—defi-

nitely not the hands of.a ditch-digger, for

example. .
Another oddity was the fact that the
soles of the feet were heavily calloused,
a condition which could be caused only
if the man had gone barefoot a great deal.
Superintendent Rickard recalled the
patch of skin missing from the chest.
“If the killer went to so much trouble
to remove a tattoo,” he declared, “the de-
sign must have been one which could
have been recognized by a lot of people.
In that event, the victim must have gone
about naked or semi-naked much of the
time.” a

Captain Hogan agreed. “Only partly
clothed—and barefoot. A man who used
his muscles to make a living, yet one
whose hands were soft and white. Now
what in the world... .”

“A rubber in a Turkish bath!” Carey
exclaimed.

It seemed like the only possible answer
to the riddle. Yet a quick check on all
the Turkish baths in the city—made both
by. the police and by eager-beaver re-
porters for the World and the Journal—
failed to produce a single lead on an em-
ployee who had disappeared under mys-
terious circumstances.

Overnight the case became a sensation.
The rival newspapers outdid one another
in the size of the headlines and the num-
ber of columns of type devoted to the
murder. The Journal offered a $1,000
reward for information which would re-
sult in cracking the case. ‘i

With so many newshounds assigned to
the case it wasn’t surprising thateone of
them—John Mumford, a reporter for the
Journal—ultimately got a. break which
was of real assistance to the police.

Mumford made it a practice to hang
out every evening in taverns frequented
by Turkish bath workers. One night, less
than a week after the finding of the jig-
saw corpse, he happened to listen in on a
conversation between two. employees of
the Murray, Hill Turkish Baths.

“I wonder what happened to Willie?”
one of'them said. - -

“Probably got another job,” his com-
panion replied indifferently. “He hasn’t
been to work since last Friday.”

Mumford gulped the last of his beer
and hurried over to the Murray Hill
Baths to interview the proprietor.

“I'm Jooking for a fellow who works
here named Willie,” he said. “Can’t. re-
member his last name, but I do know he

,

has a fancy tattoo on his chest ”

The -proprietor nodded. “That’s Willie

: Guldensuppe, one of the best rubbers who
ever worked for me. But he isn’t hefé any
more. He left Friday, and the next day
his‘landlady came around with a message
that he wouldn’t be coming back.”

“ft must be the same/man, but just to
make sure, can you tell me what that tat-
too: was like?” ~ :

“Sure. A very pretty girl. Nude. My
“customers -kidded Willie. about. it .a. lot.”

‘ From: the proprietor’s déscription . of

Willie’s height, weight and age, the re-

porter felt ‘certain he had discovered the

identity of the jigsaw: corpse.

The reporter obtained. Willie’s . address
—439 Ninth Avenue—and hurried cross-
town.

The masseur’s domicile proved_to be a
flat. above a grocery store. Mumford
climbed the stairs and noted a sign on the
door which read: “Mrs. Augusta Nack—
Midwife.” In response to his knocking
the door was opened by a stout woman of
middle age dressed entirely in black.

“Your wife, she.is needing me tonight?”
she' asked, speaking with a heavy German
cone “Just one minute and I get my

ag.” ¢
She was about to turn away from the
door when the reporter informed her that
he wasn’t calling to secure her professional
services. “It’s about Willie Guldensuppe,”
he said. “I understand he has a room
here. I—TI think I have a job.for him.”

There was a fleeting look of alarm on
Mrs. Nack’s face, then her heavy features
resolved into a frown. “Oh, that no-good
Willie,” she said. “He’s not here any
more, ‘and I don’t care if I never see him
again.”

It didn’t take much urging from Mum-
ford to make her admit she and Gulden-
suppe had been “friends” for a year and
a half. The previous Friday, she said, he
had begged her: for’a loan of $50. She
went. to her bank, drew out the money
and gave it to him. Then he put on his
best suit of clothes and went to work.
He didn’t return that night.

Willie sent her a message asking her

to go to the Murray Hill Baths and
inform the boss he was quitting his job,
This struck the reporter as exceedingly
odd; why didn’t Willie send the note to
his employer direct, or why didn’t he go
to the proprietor in person?

“Then. ag yesterday,” she said, “he
came. back here long enough to get a
clean shirt. In the meantime I heard
‘stories about him fooling around with
other women, and I told him we were
through.”

The reporter eyed the woman narrowly.
He felt sure she was lying. If Willie had
called yesterday then he couldn’t be the
jigsaw corpse. He tried” to question the.
woman further but all at once Mrs. Nack
clammed up and the reporter took his
leave.

Mumford’s investigation gave the Jour-
nal. a scoop and the official investigators
lost no time in following his lead. Super-
‘ intendent Rickard established a stake-out
on Mrs, Nack’s’ flat early the next morn-
ing and several employees and the pro-
prietor of the Murray. Hill Baths were
summoned to the morgue to Aiew. the jig-
saw remains.

_. Without hesitation each ‘of the men
identified the corpse as.being that of their

Tw following day, ‘Mrs. Nack went on,

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rmed the

petri on Willie’s index’ ay and he -

made positive identification, after examin-
ing the scar.

Over on Ninth Avenue, the watching
officers saw a moving van pull up in front
of Mrs. Nack’s flat. Workmen went in-
side with materials for crating her furni-
ture. The detectives summoned Carey*
and Captain Hogan.

Mrs. Nack expressed vast surprise at
the arrival of the police. Why was she
moving so ‘suddenly? Why, she had just
received word, that her, mother was seri-
ously ill over in Germany, and she was
going to return to the old country.

m afraid you'll have to postpane
your trip,” Hogan told her. “We want
you to stay in New York for a while.”

With the midwife a virtual prisoner in.

her flat, but technically as yet not under
arrest, the detectives and the ever-present
newspaper reporters began delving into
her background.
. It developed she had no license to prac-
tice her profession, and she made a lot of
money “taking care” of babies whose
parents didn’t want them. Just how she
“took care” of them wasn’t clear, but the
officers suspected the worst.

Her husband, Herman Nack, a milk

truck. driver, was quickly located, and for
a time he looked like a prime suspect.
But then he was able to account for every
minute of his whereabouts on the day the
murder must have been committed.
' Nack declared he had moved out of
the Ninth Avenue flat when Guldensuppe
had moved in. He revealed, too, that his
wife had more than one extra-curricular
admirer. In particular, there was a bar-
ber named Martin Thorn.

“Augusta gave money to both Thorn
and Guldensuppe,” said Nack—which ex-

-plained how the woman so lacking in

hysical charm managed to attract her

‘lovers. “They fought over her many times.

Guldensuppe threw Thorn out of the flat,
but he always came back when Willie
was at work.”

Strongly suspecting Thorn had been an
accomplice in the crime, the police
launched a search for him, but it wasn’t
immediately successful. Meanwhile Su-
perintendent Rickard ordered Mrs. Nack’s
arrest, and she was taken down to Centre
Street headquarters,

By this time there was an imposing ar-
ray of circumstantial evidence against her.
It was established she had not made a
$50 withdrawal at her bank for a loan
to Willie. And a search of’her flat turned
up a pistol, a saw and a_bloodstained
knife in addition to several rolls of manila

a such as had been used on the death
undies.’

UT in spite of all this proof, Mrs. Nack
would confess nothing. Rickard and
his men couldn’t break her down even

when they forced her to look at the dis-
membered remains of her boy friend.

There were still plenty of loopholes in
the case. Martin Thorn had to be found:
And the locale of the murder had to be
established, as there were no signs the
crime had been committed in the nat on
Ninth Avenue.

The second problem was cleared is as
a result of a seemingly trivial incident on
the farm of Oscar Durfree at Woodside,
Long Island, not far from Astoria. Dur-
free had made a complaint to the local
authorities that some foreign substance
was seeping into his. duck pond, giving it
a reddish tinge and causing the ducks to.
become sick,

No investigation had been made at the
time, but the complaint came to the at-
tention of a reporter, who ee to ae
conclusion that the “fore:

Se ‘the: "seporter’s | story. a,
“Carey and other detectives journeyed to
the Long Island community. Near the
Durfree farm they found.a lonely cottage
which had been rented to a Mr. and Mrs.
Braun—whom they suspected of being
Thorn and Mrs. Nack. Oddly enough, the
place was unfurnished although the couple
had been seen visiting it several times.

There was a bullet hole in the wall
above the bathtub in the cottage, and a
meter showed that the amazingly large
amount of 40,000 gallons of water had
been. consumed on the premises since the
“Brauns” took possession. How else could
this have been used except in washing
away the blood after dissection of the

—orpse?

The ‘police and reporters put laundry
bluing in the tub to establish that water
passing down the drain seeped into Dur-
free’s duck pond. The pond took on an
indigo hue, and the test was satisfactory
to all concerned with the exception of the
ducks.

Carey found a Woodside livery stable
where the “Brauns” had rented a horse
and carriage shortly before the sections
of the corpse were found. “They must
have had a hard trip,” the owner said.
“The horse was plumb tuckered out when
they brought him back.”

The liveryman’s description of the

couple fitted that of Thorn and Mrs.

Nack. Without doubt their “hard trip”
had been made to dispose of the bundles
of death.

A short time after investigation of the
Woodside angle was completed the elu-
sive Martin Thorn turned up. A friend
to whom he appealed for aid tipped off the
police, and detectives nabbed him on an
East Side street corner.

Informed of the arrest—and told
further that Thorn was ready to confess—
Augusta Nack decided she would have a
better chance if she told her version of
the murder story first.

“It was all Martin’s idea,” she told
Rickard, Hogan, Carey and other officers.

“He'd wanted to kill Willie for a long |

time. He made me lure him out to
Woodside. Martin got Willie alone,
knocked him down and shot him through
the head while I waited outside the cot-
tage.”

Then, she admitted, she helped Thorn
dissect the corpse in the tub, washing the
blood down the drain. with a constant,
flow of water. They wrapped up the sec-
tions of the body and drove into the
Bronx and Manhattan to scatter them.

“What did you'do with the head?” Su-
perintendent Rickard wanted to know.

“We moulded a lot of plaster of Paris
around it and dropped it off a ferry
boat,” was the reply.

Thorn related, in substance, the same
tale as to disposal of the corpse. But he
contended the murder plot had originated
in the brain of Mrs. Nack and that she
had done the actual killing.

When Thorn was put on trial in No-
vember, 1897, Mrs. Nack was the chief
witness against him. The proceedings
were halted by the sudden illnes of one of.
the jurors, and a second trial was held a
few months later. This time there was

- no hitch. The jury foreman announced a
verdict of “guilty” in the first degree, and
the judge imposed the death sentence.

Because “of t her aid to the State, Mrs.
Nack got off amazingly easy. She was al-
lowed to plead guilty to a charge of being
an accessory to the crime and drew a
prison term of 15 years.

Martin Thorn—considered by many the
“fall guy” in the Willie Guldensuppe riddle
—died as scheduled in Sing Sing’s electric
chair. If Augusta Nack shed a tear for
him, it isn’t recorded. She served her

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to stand. If it wasn’t this Guldensuppe that

you’re makin’ a fool of yourself with, it’d be
somebody else. And you the mother of five children,
even though they’re dead, already.”

Herman Nack paused and sighed as he thought
of the unfortunate babies he had fathered. Then,
his blue eyes flashing, he went on, deftly cutting
short the flood of invective that was forming be-
hind his wife’s pursed lips and crooked, hate-filled
eyes.

“You do whatever you like, Gussie. I’m gettin’
out. I never want to see you again, and if I do
that’ll be my bad luck.”

With that he snatched up the bag in which he
had packed his few personal belongings, glowered
at the stout midwife, stalked out and slammed the
door.

“Pig! Dumbhead!” The shouted words echoed
in the little house. “Now you’re out, you stay out.
And good riddance!”

Presently, her anger spent in words that no one
was there to hear, Mrs. Augusta Nack went about
her household duties, her thoughts turning to the
time when handsome William Guldensuppe, her
roomer and sweetheart, would return home from
his work at the Murray Hill Turkish Baths. Now
there was a man who knew how to treat a woman,
a man whose thoughtfulness and solicitude, ten-
derness and fervor, made her look forward with an
almost girlish thrill of anticipation to the hours
that, now with her husband out of the way, they
could spend together. ”

Her thoughts of pleasure made the time pass
quickly. Almost before she realized her lover was
due, she heard a familiar step on the stairs. She
ran to open the door and, with an impetuousness
that belied her years, threw her arms about the
neck of the dark-haired, mustached man who
entered. °

“Ach, mein Willie,” she cried, “but I have won-
derful news for you! The old man, he iss become
mad with me because of you. He says I must gif
you up or he will leave. I tell him there iss nothing
between you and me.” She gave Guldensuppe a
playful poke in the ribs. “But he says he knows
better. He says he hears people talk. Then I tell

44

‘T* LEAVIN’, Gussie. I’ve stood all I’m goin’

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him he can get out. So he did.”

Her face twisted into a semblance of
a broad smile, Mrs. Nack fell away
from the man. Suddenly, realizing that
he had not spoken, she sobered.

“But, Willie, I am always talking,
talking, talking, and you are tired and
have not yet had your drink. There, sit
down, mein darling. I will get it for
you—and then we will talk.”

She busied herself at the cupboard,
then thrust a glass into his hand. As
he drew deeply on the cooling draught,
she spoke, this time of more mercenary
things.

“Were the tips good today, mein
Willie?” she asked expectantly.

He grunted, a formless sort of sound
that might have been either an affirma-
tive or a negative, and, digging into his
trousers pocket, tossed two crumpled
bills on the table. The woman, a greedy
glint lighting her eyes, snatched up the
money and tucked it into the top of an
ample cotton stocking.

“Tt iss wonderful that now we can
be alone, no?” she said presently, an
expression that was almost coy playing
over her face as she cocked her head
first on one side, then on the other, and
surveyed him. “No more will we haf
to wonder when Nack will come home;
no more will we haf to care what the

MAY, 1942

neighbors think. Just you and me,
Willie.” She paused, then started as if
struck by a sudden thought.

“But, no—there iss that hall bed-
room. We will get some nice roomer to
take it—the money will help out.”

“All right, if you say so, Gussie,” the
man agreed, breaking the silence that
he had maintained, except for mono-
syllabic replies, since he arrived.

Next day, following up her decision

of the night before, Mrs. Nack adver-
tised for a roomer. Two or three pros-
pective tenants called and she shortly
came to terms with a dapper, light-
haired, rather attractive young man of
medium size who said that his name
was Fred Braun:and that he was a
barber. He moved in immediately.
: Thereafter the three of them—the
midwife, the barber and the masseur—
lived in the old house at 439 Ninth
Avenue and, to all outward appear-
ances, got along very well, even though
there was an undercurrent of hostility
between the two men. F

The weather might have been blamed
for the first open break that marred
the even course of existence in the
Nack household. That winter was cold
in New York and the house was not
adequately heated. Braun complained.

“T’ll have to move if I can’t have a

A tragic drama,
treachery and
misplaced trust
—illicit romance,
and one of the
strangest crimes

ever to puzzle
New York City's
crack detectives

Augusta Nack, around whom
this tragedy revolved, points an
accusing finger in the courtroom

warmer room,” he told the landlady at
breakfast one morning in February,
after a particularly cold night. “That
hall bedroom is like a barn.”

Braun had been a good tenant, had
paid his rent promptly and regularly,
and Gussie Nack, always with an eye
for the material things of life, had no
intention of letting him go if it could
be avoided.

“Why don’t you sleep in the kitchen?”
she suggested. “The range keeps it
warm there and I am sure you will be
comfortable.”

“He'll be comfortable, all right,”
Willie mimicked her sugary tones. “But
I won’t have it, Gussie. I suppose it
hasn’t occurred to you—or to him,
either—that your bedroom opens off
the kitchen.”

“Why, Willie, iss it that you are
jealous of Fred?” she asked, as if to
tease him out of the black mood that
seemed suddenly to have settled upon
him.

“Call it anything you like, but I won’t
have him sleeping in the kitchen.”

“You have a nerve,” Braun put in.
“You’re acting like a child instead of a
grown man.”

Guldensuppe sprang across the floor,
lashing out with a fist that caught his
suspected rival flush on the jaw.

45


66 New York HIsTory

to parallel any rise in public hysteria. This was undoubtedly truc
in 1741 when Tom was tried.

One of the major obstacles to the understanding of the more
practical aspects of colonial law is that with the exception of a
“fow cases where public interest stimulated a running account of
proceedings . . . there is regrettably little to help us visualize the
courts at work.” Tom's case is then a rare, almost unique ex-
ample of early judicial process. It is a good illustration of the
value of the too often neglected judicial record—one of the major.
though largely untapped, sources for the study of American
history.

The manuscript—on microfilm in the Historical Documents
Collection, Queens College of the City University of New York—
is printed here in its original form with no changes in spelling,
punctuation, or other usages.

PROCEEDINGS OF THE WiDOW FREERS NEGRO TOM
WHO WAS EXECUTED Ist JuLty, 1741

At a Meeting of Justices at Kingston in the County of Ulster on
Fryday ye 19th day of June 1741

Coll. Gaasbeek

Maj. Hardenbergh

Jacob ten brook

Capt. Whitaker |
Present Capt. Sleght ?

Coll. Livingston

Dirck Wynkoop

John Lametre

Cornelis de Lametre

Edward Whitaker Jr.

Esqs. Justices

Arie Van Vliet haveing this day informed Mr. Livingston that his
daughter Anna had been assaulied beaten and grieviously Treated
last Evening about Sun Set and haveing obtained a warrent to ap-
prehend any negro whome he had reason to suspect and Mr.
Benjamin Sleght one of the Constables for Kingston brought a
negro man called Tom belonging to the widow of Jan Freer as
being Suspected, the S* negro on his examination Saith that yes-
terday about Sun Set he saw a negro man walk between the path
that leads from his mistresses house to [sack de bois & Charies
Brodhead with a Riddish Collered coat & a hat on hanging down,
and it appearing to the Justices that the said negro Tom had
gone to fetch ye cows just before the said Anna went home, and

12 Goebel and Naughton, pp. 573-641.

wv

Tom's Case 67

that by many circumstances it appearing to the Justices that there
was Reason to suspect the said negro man Tom and therefore
ordered him to be Committed to the Common Goal

Adjourned till tomorrow afternoone

Saterday afternone on ye 20th June 1741
before the Justices met there came a Report that Petrus van
Wagenen had this day before noone seen a negro drest as the
negroman Tom had discribed and near the same place wherefore
Several persons Immediatly went in Search of him but found none

At a Meeting of Justices at Kingston on monday
ye 22nd June 1741

Coll. Gaasbeek
Maj. Hardenbergh
Capt. Whitaker
Jacob ten Brook

Present - Cornelis de lametre
Capt. John Sleght
Coll. Livingston
Mr. Wm Burham
John Lametre

Esqs. Justices

atti alti

Petrus van Wagenen being Sworn declared that on Satterday last
about noone he comming from Petrus Smedyes mill he Saw a
negro man with an old torne Coat of a orange coller on Cross that
mill path and being asked if he knew any negro in that neighbour
hood with such a Collered coat answered that his Brother Garret
van Wagenen had a negro that had Such a Collered west Coat.
Abraham van Wagenen being sworn declared that the negro of
Garret van Wagenen had plowed last Thursday afternoon till
Evening. Greitie McKleen on oath declared that the prisoner
about a year agoe came in her house she iving on a bed on the
floor being much Indisposed after a miscaradge the door being
shut which he had opened & shut again and came to her & lifted
up her petticote & viewd her Secret parts. She on that waking
and much frightened bid him be gone he disired her not to Speak
of it & went a way and further saith not.
The Justices present appoint Solomon freer to be Cryer & Bil-
ringer of the Court of Genl Sessions & Common pleas for the
usual fees, and also appoint him to be messinger for the Justices
and he to keep an account of his services in attending the Justices
& Diliver his acct. to the Supervisors in order to be. paid for his
Services as the Supervisors Shall think Reasonable

iu NEW York HIsToryY

try the said negro Imediatly. The Justices appointed Henry Liv-
ingston Esq. to prosecute the said negroman Tom for attempting
to murther the said Anna Van Vliet.

The Justices met at the County house in Kingston The Consta-
ble Returning his warrent and that he has Summoned John ten
Brook, Adam Parson, Peter demond. Petrus Bogardus & Evert
Bogardus five principal freeholders to assist the Justices in Trying
of the Sd negroman Tom for attempting to try to murder the Sd
Anna Van Vliet. aforesaid. The freeholders being Sworne and the
prisoner brought to the barr.
and the accusation of Henry Livingston Esq. being Read, and de-
manded of him what he had to Say for him Selfe.

and the said Tom Contessed the accusation & pleads guilty.

The Justices & freeholders all adjudge the said negro Tom to
be hanged by the neck till he be dead. ordered the said negro
Tom be brought to Receive Sentence of Death,

the Said negro Tom being brought and Coll. Gaasbeek Cham-
bers pronounced Sentence of Death on him ac cordingly,

the Justices & freeholders prize the sd Negroman Tom at twenty
five pounds, current money of New York and that the said sum
be paid to the owner of said negro and that the charges of prose-

cuting & executing be also paid by the County according to the

act of assembly of this Colony.

Ordered that a writ of Execution be directed to the Sheriff to
cause [mmediat Execution be done according to the Sentence.
Which ts done accordingly.

ON ACCUSATION against a negro called Tom Widow Free

Ulster County. SS: Att A Meeting of Justices at the County
House in Kingston in the said County on Wednesday the first day
of July in the Fifteenth ear of the Reigne of our Sovereign Lord
George the Second by the Grace of God of Great Brittain, France
and Irland King Defender of the faith & etc. Present Abraham
Gaasbeek Chambers. Edward Whittaker. Johannis Hardenbergh.

Gilbert Livingston. John Sleght. John De Lametre, William Bur-_

ham, John Van Deusen & Dirck Wynkoop & Cornelis De Lametre
Esqs. Justices of Peace for said County five of them of the Quo-
rum Associated and Assisted by Johannis Ten Brook, Adam Per-
sen, Peter Du Mond, Petrus Bogardus & Evert Bogardus five free-
holders of said County to hear Try & Determine all & Every Negro
[Indian or Other Slave who Contrary to the Acts of the Generall
Assembly of this Colony Shall Murder or Otherwise Kill Unless
by Misadventure or in Execution of Justice or Conspire or At-
tempt the Death of Any cf his Majesties Leige People not being

Tom's Case aH

Slaves or Shall Comitt or Attempt any Rape on Any of the Said
Subjects or Shall Willfully Mutilate Maihem or Dismember any
of the Said Subjects not being Slaves as aforesaid or Shall Willfully
Murder any Negro Indian or Molatto Slave within this Colony.

Henry Livingston Esqr. Appointed by Said Justices & Freeholders
Above Named to Prosecute a Negro Man Called Tom Slave of
Rebecca Freer Widow of Jan Freer Deceased Preferreth An Ac-
cusation against the Said Tom being a Negro Man Slave for that
Whereas he the Said Tom on the Eighteenth day of June Now
Last Past on the foot path that leads from the Dwelling House of
Rebecca Freer to the Mill of Isaac DuBois in the Towne of Kings-
ton about half way Between the said House & Mill an Assauit
Did make on Anna Van Vliet Daughter of Arie Van Vliet of
Kingston aforesaid, and that the said Tom with his hand Did
Clasp the said Anna About her Neck .& her did Choak Till she
was Almost Dead and then & there did dragg her from the said
foot path downe the Hill in the Bushes about Thirty paces trom
the Said path & then & there left her the said Anna Van Vliet
Dead And so the said Tom did Attempt to Murther the said
Anna Van Vliet Against the peace of our Said Lord the King his
Crown & Dignity & etc and the said Laws of this Colony in Such
Cases Made & Provided & etc.

68 New YorK HISTORY

The prisoner being brought in & on his examination is found to
preverecate ordered to be returned to Gaol, it being thought nec-
essary that the said Anna van Vliet be Examined & she being yet
very full of the abuse she has Rec’d ordered that Coll. Gaasbeek
& Coll. Livingston goe to her in order to Examine her if the Doc-
ter thinks she will be in a State of health & memory fit to be Ex-
amined between this & next monday. the Justices adjourned till
Monday next at one of the Clock in the afternone.

Att a meeting of Justices at the Court house
at Kingston ye 29 day of June 1741

Coll Gaasbeek

Capt. Whitaker

Majr. Hardenburgh
Present Mr. Jacob Ten Brook

Mr. Cornelis De Lametre

Coll. Livingston

Capt. Sleght

Mr. Wm Burham

Esqs. Justices of the peace

Coll. Gaasbeek and Coll. Livingston Report that they had this day
been with Anna van Vliet & Examined her on oath & she Says
that She does not know what negroe it was that assaulted her but
that She Saw his hands & feet were black & further she Said not.
Coll. Gaasbeek acquainted the Justices that Albert Beem told him
that his daughters called Magdeleen and Maritie had heard the
prisoner threaten ye said Anna and that he ordered Albert Beem
to attend the Justices to day with his daughters and they not ap-
pearing ordered that a Constable fetch the said Magdeleen &
Maritie to attend here to morrow at twelfe of the Clock to give
their Evidence of the proceedings.
adjourned till one of the Clock to morrow afternoone

At a meeting of Justices at Kingston the thirtyth
of June 1741

Coll. Gaasbeek

Capt. Whitaker

Maj. Hardenbergh
Present Mr. Jacob ten Brook

Mr. Cornelis Lametre

Coll. Livingston

Capt. Sleght

Mr. Burham

Esqs. Justices

Fj
ow - . arene |
" * p cf; i M, ve BOG ar Me vn x dys pn wt ' L¥
in gig Sapa 4 a cd i Pea Gg PEE A ere ee a
: FO eS tar Awe Gee ee a: iN a aa A OP

ia aM th se
ite TROT 8 ib

Tom’s Case 69

Maritie Beem on oath Said that she heard her sister Magdaleen
Say that She desired the prisoner to fetch a pail of water and that
he answered in Dutch als gee myn will lata naize will th hut dorn.
Magdeleen Beem on oath said that She was at Gerret freers and
desired that the prisoner to fetch a pail of water and that he
answered her that if she would Let him (in Dutch worlvezt) hay
her then he would do it.

Ordered that the prisoner for the abuse done to Grietie Mac-
Kleen & for the Insolent answer to Magdeleen Beem Receive by
the Comon whipper at the Whiping post this day Seventy five
Lashes and tomorrow fifty Lashes and to morrow next day thirty
Lashes.

The Justices went in the County house and the prisoner being
brought before them, and then confessed that he had lain by the
foot path that leads from his mistresses house to Issack deboys
and he knew that Anna van Vliet was to pass there and she the
said Anna soon after came along that path and he then took hold
of her & pulled her down the hill, and when he left her she was |
not dead for she then yet filled breadth.

adjourned till to morrow morning at Eight of the Clock*®

Ulster SS: at a meeting of Justices at Kingston the first day of
July 1741

Coll. Gaasbeek

Capt. Whitaker

Maj. Hardenbergn

Mr. Jacob ten Brook

Coll. Livingston
Present Capt. Sleght

Mr. John Lametre

Mr. William Burham |

Mr. John van Deusen

Dirck Wynkoop

Cornelis d lametre

Esqs. Justices

The Justices being met order that a Summons be directed to
the Constable of Kingston to Summons, Johannis ten Brook,
Adam Parson, Peter demond, petrus Bogardus & Evert bogardus
freeholders of Kingston in conjunction with the Justices to try
the negro man slave called Tom belonging to Rebecca Freer
widow of Jan Freer on the compiaint of Arie Van Vliet on oath
for that the said Tom did attempt to murther Anna Van Vliet to

13 Everything up to this point was essentially in the form of a hearing
leading to the indictment (accusation).


Pee

a

TRYB

US,

CRIME DETECTIVE,
December, 1948

Jan, wh, elec. NYP (Genessee) September 1, 1916

ETECTIVE Tom O’Grady was assigned to the mur-
der more than 24 ‘hours late. Not infrequently it
happened that way, because for the past two years
O’Grady’s status had been an unofficial one, since

his retirement from the Buffalo police department with
an enviable record of long, astute, and valiant service,
and the rank of detective sergeant.

Now.O’Grady headed his own agency—one of the best
in Western New York—and a private detective, he’d dis-
covered, almost always entered a case late—after local
authorities confessed themselves stumped and after the
man who held a county’s or city’s moneybags had been

convinced that shelling out for private, expert help was

the only avenue open.

This, of course, was: prior to the establishment of the
New York State Police—in October, 1915. O’Grady got
into the matter at hand through three of his friends:
Anthony Horsch, Andrew McCulley, and William Coon.
All lived in Batavia, some 40 miles from Buffalo. Horsch
and McCulley were, respectively, chief and captain of
Batavia police, while Coon was district attorney of
Genesee County. It was Coon who phoned O’Grady on
the afternoon of Monday, October 18. “I guess you’ve
seen the papers,” he said. “Yes, that’s right—the Jacob
Schoenberg murder. Come on down. We need you—
bad!” ‘

O’Grady had seen the papers, but only the Buffalo
ones, and in these the out-of-town killing, though men-
tioned, had not yet been given much of a play. At the
railroad station, however, before taking a train, he was
fortunate in obtaining a copy of the Batavia News, and
en route to.that city he was able to brief himself more
fully on the work which lay ahead of him, for the local
paper embla#oned the story across two front-page col-
umns and continued it inside. p

Jacob Schoenberg, O’Grady read, had been a dealer
in scrap metal. Respectable, middle-aged and married,
he lived with his wife Rebecca, five daughters, and Max,

By
LEWIS
THOMPSON

his son of 16, in a home which he owned at 238 Liberty
Street, on Batavia’s south side. From this address, too,
Schoenberg conducted his business, and the News spoke
of his back yard as littered with untidy heaps of the
rusting relics in which he dealt.

It had been one of these pieces of scrap steel, in fact,
which accounted for Schoenberg’s death—a curved, 20-
pound bar some two to three inches wide and 30 inches
long, which had once served as a leaf in a truck or cart
spring. The unknown murderer had picked up this for-
midable weapon from his victim’s premises and had
used it. as a club. :

Schoenberg was attacked in his sleep around 4:15
Sunday morning. Curiously, though his house was siz-
able and boasted several bedrooms ‘on its upper floor, he
lay in bed with his son Max in a tiny downstairs cubicle
off the living room.

The chamber had only a single window. The-head of
the bed, pushed against the outer wall, covered more
than half of this aperture, but father and son protected
themselves from chill autumn drafts by sleeping with
the window shut.

Yet, according to the newspaper, it had been through
this narrow, closed space that the murderer entered. He

A masterly undercover job was done

“en

VICTIM’
Schoenb
ground-

hy a


2

NATIONAL |

their admissions to that of their co-
assassin in the hope of obtaining some
leniency from the court.

HEY RECEIVED none. On Janu-
ary 8, 1935, Tari, Radovics, and
Szepesi were convicted of murder and
sentenced to be hanged.
On April 9, 1935, they went to their
death on the gallows.
Gabrielle Horvot stuck to her lover

to the ‘last, visiting him every day
during his incarceration and attending
all sessions of the court at which he
was tried. But ‘the ordeal through
which she had gone left personality
scars which never healed. Her dancing
became more and more listless, her
beauty faded, and her admirers grad-
ually dropped away.

Within a year after Szepesi’s death,
she vanished from the city’s gay life.

(Continued from page 17)

|
MOBX

Ee SSS ieee!

emptied the till, and then lined up the
patrons and stripped them of cash and
valuables. They escaped cleanly.

The police knew only that the leader
was short, flat-faced, about 25 years
old. He packed two guns. His youth-
ful confederates were cool and worked
with mechanical proficiency. While

- they often left prints at the scenes of

their crimes, none could be matched
with the files at the B. C. I.

The usually reliable underworld
sources of information were barren on
Mob X. And unquestionably, Fred
Becker’s killing was the murdering
trio’s 49th job.

After more than an hour of interro-
gation, the six eye-witnesses to the
tavern owner's slaying were permitted
to return to their homes. Mullins re-
turned to Centre Street Headquarters
with his aides to co-ordinate the ex-
tensive manhunt.

Meanwhile, Detective Trainor and
Browne had discovered that the get-
away taxi was owned and operated by
Anthony Revere of the upper Bronx.
They sped to his home. It was a few
minutes past 3 a.m. when they arrived.

Axo WOMAN, sleepily rub-
bing her eyes, answered the door-
bell. She was Mrs. Revere. “My hus-
band won’t be home for at least sev-
eral hours,” she told the officers. “On
New Year’s night, he usually works
right through.”

Trainor and Browne were preparing
to settle down to a long wait, when
the street door opened and a husky,
dark-featured man ina grey cap. came
up the stairs. He stared at the two
visitors.

“We're the police,” Trainor told him.
“Captain Mullins wants to ask you
some questions downtown.”

The taxi driver shrugged and fol-
lowed the men without protest. Forty
minutes later, he was in Mullins’ office.
He readily admitted that he had
picked up three men outside the 88th
Street tavern a few minutes before
midnight.

“Why shouldn’t I pick ‘em up?” he

asked plaintively. “That’s why I drive

a hack.”

“You always pick up killers?” Mul-
lins demanded.

Revere turned slowly to stare at the
half-dozen grim-faced men watching
him. “You mean those three guys
were...”

“What do you know about Becker's
murder?” Mullins hammered away.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I was
just sitting in my cab...”

“A couple of feet from Becker's
tavern, with the motor running. at the

exact minute the killers were ready
to make their getaway. Yet you don't
know a thing about it,” Mullins fin-
ished sarcastically.

The taxi owner wiped his brow with
a soiled handkerchief. “You got me
all wrong,” he cried. “Look!” he
reached eagerly into one of the poc-
kets of his leather jacket and took out |
a much thumbed note book. “Here’s
my trip book,” he said. “It’s here in
black and white why I was in front of
that tavern when those guys tore out.
Two minutes before that, I dropped a
fare, a man and his wife and a kid,
right at the next house. I was gettin’
ready to shove off. My cab door flings
open, and three guys pile in. ‘Get
going,’ they tell me. I did. That's all
there was to it. I swear.”

Captain Mullins and Donovan ex-
amined the trip book. The entry was
there, all‘right. If it was authentic,
Anthony Revere’s story would stand
up. And the police would be right |
back where they had started from.

“Where’d the three men get off?”
Donovan asked.

“At the corner of Broadway and
50th Street.”

“Why didn’t you report this to the
police?”

_“I never even dreamed they were
tied up with that tavern job till right
here in this office.”

“You heard the shots,” Mullins ac-
cused,

“On New Year's you hear a lot of
things. I figured maybe some drunk
was celebratin’.”

After a lengthy and severe grilling,
Revere was allowed to go home.
Trainor and Browne were assigned the
task of checking his statement and
delving into his background. For the
moment at least, it appeared that the
taxi lead was a complete fizzle.

Three days passed. Every desperate
attempt to trap the murdering trio
failed. The much-prodded underworld
still could provide no clue to the iden-
tity of the three mobsters. The Vice
Squad, concentrating on the vanished
blonde, could find no trace of her, and
Tony Revere was found to be com-
pletely in the clear. With every detec-
tive and uniformed patrolman in the
city ordered to assist in the manhunt,
the slippery personnel of Mob X still
managed to evade the outstretched
fingers of the law.

Suddenly, Mob X struck again. With
an astonishing show of bravado, the
two-gun terrorist and his confederates
swooped down on a West 27th Street
tavern, emptied the cash _ register,
robbed the dozen frightened patrons, |
and escaped in a waiting, cream-col- |

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“Just in time for a drink on the
house!” boomed Becker. ~

The smaller of the two men
grinned. There wasn’t any humor
in it, only a twist of the thin lips.
“I guess we’re lucky, eh?” ie

“Just plain lucky,” said. his pal.

They drank down their whiskey,
straight. The small man’s eyes be-

gan‘to dart around sizing wu; Becker
and the customers. He turned side-
ways and nodded slightly to the man
at the door. His hands whipped sud-
denly out of his overcoat pockets.
A .45-caliber pistol was in one hand

and a .38 in the other. One gun
pointed at Becker, tHe second gun.

covered the astonished patrons.

“2

-
ee

DAR HA ely Boag ey

€

ae
~ pate

§, Sree

ae

=

Manhattan's famed Homicide Captain
Edward Mullins led his hand-picked squad

of outstanding sleuths in tracking down—
and finally smashing—the murderous mob.

“This is a stickup, guys!” he
said coolly. “Reach for the roof,
everybody!” ,

Becker seemed a little undecided.
Maybe this was a New Year’s gag.
He was slow in obeying the leader’s
command. .

““C’mon, ya dumb barkeep,” the
small man growled, “You heard...”

His arrogance stung Becker. He
spat squarely in the gunman’s face.

~ The leader moved with the speed
of lightning. He smashed the butt
of his gun against Becker’s nose.
The big man started to crumple, and
the gunman caught him again, on
the left eye. .

“Anybody else?” he snarled at
the terrified onlookers.

A bandit hurdled the bar and
scooped up the contents of the till.
He and the leader then lined up
the men and the blonde and began’
stripping them of cash and jewelry.
In three minutes, the job was
finished.

“Okay,” the man with the two
guns said, “let’s blow.”

They made for the door. Sudden-
ly, a whiskey bottle aimed at the
leader’s head hurtled through the
air. The courageous Becker had >”
‘thrown it with all the force he could
muster. The bottle hit the wall, a
foot wide of its mark. —

The leader whirled, his two guns
blazing simultaneously. One bullet
smashed the mirror above the bar.
The second tore into the bartender’s
chest.

The blonde screamed.

“Cut it!” the gunman snarled. He
leaped at her and smashed the butt

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éd ‘through the
thrown it with a

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15


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of his gun against her left cheek. It
was a glancing blow and didn’t fell
her, but it opened a bloody gash.

“You shouldn’t have hit me,” she
whimpered.

Becker was still on his feet, a
fact which seemed to infuriate the
two-gun bandit. He fired again at
Becker, and this time the big man

went down. He didn’t even groan. .

He was dead. »

With a final threatening flourish
of his weapons, the leader followed
his two bolting companions into the
street. The door slammed.

The spell broken, Jake stumbled -

to where Becker lay in a pool of
blood. “‘He’s dead,” he said, shaken.
Jake borrowed a nickel from.a man

_in a checkered cap and called the

police. In a few minutes, uniformed
patrolmen, detectives anda detail
from the Emergency Squad reached
the scene. Captain Edward Mullins
and Frank Trainor of the Homicide
Squad arrived with Detectives Pat
MacGuiness and Charles Browne of
the local precinct station.

Medical Examiner Thomas Arthur
Gonzales pronounced Fred Becker
dead. “One bullet is still in his
chest,” he told Captain Mullins. “Pll
recover it for you at the autopsy.”

The famed homicide captain led
the questioning of eye-witnesses to
the brutal murder. The killer was
described as two or three inches
under average height, pinch-faced
with flattened features and thin
lips. The confederate who had emp-
tied the cash register was _ tall,
blonde, carelessly dressed in a
frowzy brown suit and grey over-
coat.

The third bandit was about five
feet, five inches, dapper, sandy-
complexioned. He wore a blue‘serge
suit and a blue’overcoat. |

-All of the men were described as
being 25 years of age or under.

“The guy that killed Becker had
a funny look.in his eyes like he got
a kick out of what he was doing,”
related: Jake Denver. “And the way
he hit that poor woman, too, right
across...”

“Woman?” Mullins asked sharp-
ly. “What woman?”

Suddenly, they realized the
blonde was missing.

““T guess she must have slipped
out before the police got here,” a
man explained.

A heavy cordon of police had
been quickly thrown around the en-
tire broadway area in an attempt to
head off the fleeing murderers. Now,
a description of the vanished blonde
was flashed. Hospitals, physicians,
and druggists were asked to report
immediately any blonde woman
seeking first aid for a cut cheek.

A mug shot of Matthew Curley, bandit
brother of the cowed William, who was
captured in one of the most spectacular
and thrilling raids on record as he tried
to make good his escape via a window.

A tall, thin man tried to shove
his way past the guard of uniformed
policemen guarding the door. He
insisted that he had vital informa-
tion ‘for the officer in charge. He was
brought before Captain Mullins.

“Y’m an architect,” he told the
officer. “I was visiting a friend down

‘the street, and I ‘just happened to

pass this place while the shooting
was going on. The door was closed,
of course, and I couldn’t see any-
thing. I‘figured it was a brawl which
was none of my business, so I kept
on walking. But I glanced back.

Patroim«.

os ‘urvidy, Shown with William Curley, the bandit he felled as the
latter iried to muse a getaway. He was the first of "Mob X" to be captured.


aa

wales

William J. Turner, in custody of the law he detested and
flaunted, left, and, right, a closeup of the young killer
who said "Il planned every job myself. Pretty slick, eh!"

“All of a sudden, the tavern door
Swung open and three men came
running out. The man in the rear
had two guns in his hands. He
shoved them into his overcoat pock-
ets, and he and his pals sprinted to
the curb. A taxi was waiting there
with its motor running. They
jumped inside, and the cab raced
away. It headed north into traffic.”

“Who was in the taxi?”

“Only the driver.”

“You get the license number?”

The witness nodded and he gave
the police the cab license number.

Mullins showed his. satisfaction.
“Nice work,” he said.

The architect had glimpsed the
blonde when she ran out of the
tavern a minute or two behind the
gunmen.

“Which way did she go?” Mullins
asked.

“North. Same direction as the cab.
She was crying.”

Detectives Trainor and Browne
were detailed to check on the geta-
way taxi. They left immediately
for the License Bureau.

Inspector Joseph Donovan of the
Bureau of Criminal Identification,
who had arrived with the squad of
ballistics, fingerprint, and photog-

x

raphy experts, checked some of his
findings with Captain Mullins. “You
got this job tagged yet?” he asked.
~ Mullins nodded grimly.

“Mob X?”

“No doubt about it.”

The homicide ace was referring
to the trio of unidentified gunmen
who, for eight jittery months, had

_ been looting and terrorizing the

Broadway district.. Listed in the
modus operandi file at headquarters
merely as Mob X, the entire police
and detective force of New York
City had tried unsuccessfully to run
them down. : .

‘Bold, wily, cunningly led, they
had. struck 48 times. On one frantic
night a’ month earlier, Mob X had
held up five taverns in two hours,
cleaning out one place while the
police were still questioning the
victims of a tavern only a hundred ©
yards away! ©

Their plan of attack was always
the same. They picked a tavern in
the Broadway area, held it up at
gun’s point, (Continued on page 63)

Said the bloody bandit when brought be- :
fore Judge Cornelius Collins, left: "Go
ahead, Your Honor, throw the book at me.
I'm guilty.” And the killer was still cocky
when the jury agreed, sentenced him fo die,


be
-

iF HE SOUND of running foot-
4h steps came to Father Francis
.  &. Griffin as he prepared to
leave the sacristy. And from the
street outside he heard a shrill
}voice crying, “Someone call the
‘fire department! I’ll get the priest
‘—she may still be alive!” Quickly
-adjusting his vestments, the pas-
.tor of St. Elizabeth’s Church hur-
ried out to the street. There he
found an.excited group of women.
On the fringes of the group half a
‘dozen small children stood wide-
. eyed and silent. In their midst was

-remembered having seen about
» the neighborhood. The boy was
-erying hysterically and pointing
toward the shabby, three-story
} frame house directly across from
| the church. The front door of the
. shingled dwelling swung wide
open in the freezing north wind.
But Father Griffin could detect no
‘sign of smoke or flame.
: Walking calmly to the slight, dark-
f eyed youth in gray slacks and a brown
- Eisenhower jacket, the priest placed
* a comforting.arm about his shoulders
and asked, “What is it, my son? What
has happened?”
“My sister—something awful has
happened to her,” the boy sobbed.
Followed by the women and the
children, Father Griffin accompanied
4 the boy back across the empty resi-
dential thoroughfare. As they entered
the house on West 187th Street in the
Washington Heights section of New
York City he -detected an odor of
burned cloth. The women and chil-
dren huddled in a knot at the edge of
the rickety porch outside, quiet now
f that recognized authority had taken
over.
' The boy, 15-year-old Richard Mo-
jica, led Father Griffin to the head of
the stairway descending to the base-
ment from the kitchen at the back of
the house. There he stopped. He
shook his head when the priest sug-
gested with a gesture that he lead
the way to the darkened cellar. Read-
ing the fear and horror in his face,
Father Griffin went down alone.
The odor of burned cloth came more
_ Strongly as the priest reached the base-
ment. He fumbled about in the semi-
darkness for a moment, then struck
a match and found a light switch. A
naked bulb in the ceiling illuminated
a damp room strung with clotheslines
hung with drying linen and under-
garments. Father Griffin’s eyes went
to the ancient oil heater at the far
end of the chamber. No sign of a
fire there. Then he saw the light
mattress that lay on the cold cement

.a teenaged youth whom-the priest

Summoned by a priest, homicide detective went to examine grim discovery in cellar

floor beyond the heater, and the thin
human arm which protruded from be-
neath it. Above the clutching fingers
the arm was seared black. Now the
smell of charred flesh mingled with
the odor of burned clothing.

The priest stepped forward to in-
vestigate. He lifted the mattress, re-
vealing the nude, charred body of a
girl in her early teens. Then Father
Griffin hurriedly administered the
final rites of his church. As he looked
more closely at the body, he saw that
the girl was beyond the help of any
human agency. Slowly he turned and
ascended the stairs. A moment later

the instructed one of the grave-faced

women waiting outside the house to
telephone for the police. Then Father
Griffin returned to the house where
the boy still stood staring blankly at
the dark stairwell.

At 4:15 on that chill Thursday after-
noon, February 13th, 1958, Deputy In-

spector Frederick M. Lussen and a .-

squad of detectives from the Wads-

‘worth Avenue station house reached

the 7-room dwelling where Mrs. Anna
Mojica, a 50-year-old widow, had
lived with her son Richard and her
16-year-old daughter Lillian since the
death of her husband the year before.
The officers were: followed a few
minutes later by Dr. Francis Mathus,
an assistant medical examiner.
Lillian’s body was nude, except for
the charred remnants of a dark plaid
dress, a pair of red house slippers and

scorched bobbysox. Fire, which had
consumed her outer clothing, had
burned her face almost beyond recog-
nition and singed her shoulder-length
dark brown hair to: the roots. After
a quick examination of the body, Dr.
Mathus said death had occurred at
least six hours earlier. But he did not
believe that the fire was the cause of
death.

“There is a gaping hole in the top
of the head, and charred bits of rope
about the neck point to probable
strangulation,” the physician informed
Inspector Lussen. ‘This is a case for
homicide.”

While awaiting the arrival of Deputy
Inspector Edward F. Carey and other
members of the Manhattan West homi-
cide squad, the precinct officers ques-
tioned the dead girl’s 15-year-old
brother.

“T came straight home from my
classes at Aviation Trades High School
after being let out at 3:30,” the youth
told police. “I noticed the porch door
was ajar when I reached the house.
I hurried inside. I had planned to stop
for my Bible, before going on to the
cemetery to sit by my father’s grave,
where I usually spend a few minutes
each day after school.”

The boy explained that his father,
Carmello Mojica, a bricklayer, had
died the previous June. Soon after-
ward his. mother had rented the big
house on 187th Street so that the
family could take in boarders to

21

VARGAS, Pable, His, elec. NY (NY) May 12, 1960

She was only 16, alone and helpless

then tried to cremate her lifeless body

‘

20

TRUE DETECTIVE, May, 1958

mas = eee ed

against the brute who attacked and strangled her
>

SNOT REM BRT

BY HAL WHITE

THE CHOIR SINGER
AND THE BEAST

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a teenaged y

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toward the
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shingled du
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Journal crashed New York with _ its
headline, “BEIMBADED, CAST INTO
THis (UV Liisbane, even then,
could say much in a few words.

And on that peaceful Sunday after-
noon a hew sensatlon occurred,

The Meyer family lived at No. 374
West 127th Street. The father, Julius
and two sons—Herbert, thirteen, and
Edgar, eight—went out walking that
afternoon in the woods which then
clothed the bluff above the Harlem
River, near the present location of the
Polo Grounds. They were hunting for
berries and wild cherries.

The place was called Ogden’s Woods,
Sedgwick Avenue was the main thor-
oughfare along the bluffs; Undercliff
Street, much less traveled, ran paral-
lel above it, banked by a stone re-
taining wall. All between and around
was wooded land.

The boys had clambered down the
stone wall and were threshing their
way through the bushes along its base.
Herbert saw it first—a large-sized
package or bundle, evidently thrown
from Undercliff Street above, and
resting at the bottom of the wall. He
gave a yell:

“There’s something, Dad!”

But Edgar was nearer, and running
forward he seized the object and
grasped it in his arms. It was too
heavy for him to lift, and too large.
Mr. Meyer joined them, got his knife,
and proceeded to cut the bundle open.

Mr. Meyer had read the Journal
that morning. And the moment he cut
open that big bundle, and saw the oil-
cloth design, he knew. The opening of
that package went no farther. Herbert
was dispatched posthaste to find a
policeman, and returned with Officer
Brumer of the 31st Precinct.

The bundle—it weighed almost 100
pounds—was rushed to the morgue.
Yes, it was another and larger portion
of the missing blond stranger, found
nearly ten miles from the East River
point where the first had come to light.
And it confirmed the story already told
by the upper torso.

This second section consisted of the
lower torso, belly and hips, with six-
inch stumps of the legs. Not only did
the two pieces, when placed together,
fit perfectly, but also the same deduc-
tions as to the dead man’s age, blond-
ness of hair, athletic build and muscu-
lar virility were confirmed. Still
haunting was the mystery of that
singularly clean-washed, white skin.
And all thought of the dissections hav-
ing been the work of a medical stu-
dent was now abandoned. No question
but it was murder, with a vicious at-
tempt at body disposal. But who was
the murdered man? :

The body had been hacked through
above the waist in the crudest fashion,
and the vertebrae sawn. The large
femur bones of the upper legs had
been partly sawn, after the flesh had
been cut around as one slices a ham;
but the killer had evidently been in
a hurry, for after sawing these bones
partly through, he had_ used _ his

. Strength and snapped the rest off.

There were bruises in the flesh to
indicate that he had done this with
his foot against the rear of his vic-
tim’s upper leg; and the saw marks,
too, showed that the body had lain
face down.

But there were’ no more _ tattoo
marks, and no other signs of identifica-
tion except a good-sized mole or wart.
Apart from the dissection, no other
mutilation had occurred,

NE new detail was added which

refuted the yachtsman theory ‘and
added to the mystery of the man’s oc-
cupation. Around the waist red-dye
stains showed; in the 1890’s this wasn’t
rare. The man had worn an undershirt
of red flannel, and the dye had run.
Red flannel undershirts were the com-
monest of workingmen’s wear. Then—
if a workman, why those refined, soft,
strong but uncalloused hands?

Close study of those hands had re-
vealed a slight malformation of the
nail on the forefinger of the left hand.
It had been hit with a hammer, ap-
parently, long ago, and broken, but
had grown over.

ADS.

That day had seen another impor-
font development, Reporters Kemble
and Lioyd, Sunday though It was, had

made progress at tracing the oilcloth.’

They had started on Saturday, and by
Sunday had routed out a small whole=
saler or jobber, E. Fuernstein of No.
190 Stanton Street, who sold oilcloth
of the rough-edged grade, largely to
peddlers and small stores. They didn’t
find Fuernstein until they had ques-
tioned a good many more prominent
wholesalers, who didn’t recognize the
diamond-and-wildrose pattern in scar-
let and gold. It was a gaudy pattern.

But Fuernstein recognized it. He
handled it, or had done so in the past.
He hadn’t sold any for several months;
that particular pattern hadn’t gone
well, had never been popular. But he
told the reporters that an oilcloth fac-
tory at Montrose, New York, had pro-
duced that design the year before; its
New York agent had been A. F. Buch-
anan of No. 50 Leonard Street. H. B.
Claflin & Company had wholesaled it,
and Fuernstein had bought 500 yards,
the smallest lot that was sold. The
design was known in the trade as
No. 3220.

HE reporters, to their joy, learned

that Fuernstein kept a list of his
customers, with the designs each had
bought, Examination of these records
resulted in a list of fourteen retail
concerns, in Manhattan, Brooklyn and
Queens, who had bought oilcloth Pat-
tern No. 3220 from Fuernstein. Some
had bought large quantities, some
small. He still was stuck with a quan-
tity of the stuff, he complained—the
design hadn’t “gone,” somehow, and
no customer had ever come back for
more. It was a “dud” design.

The reporters printed that list in the
Journal, and proceeded to run down
each and every one of the fourteen
retailers, question them and make
them dig up their records. The quantity
of red oilcloth around the two seg-
ments of body amounted to eleven
yards. Since the head and legs were
still missing, it was a fair guess that
20 yards, at least, must have been
purchased. Surely such a purchase, of
that outlandish design, would be re-
membered!

But it wasn’t, Not that day, at least.
Sunday passed, Monday came, and all
New York was agog with the question:
Who was the murdered man?

And nothing developed Monday.
Editor Brisbane, to keep the story
alive, had his reporters out throwing
packages from the Brooklyn Bridge
and following them in boats to see
whether the tide carried.them to the
East Eleventh Street pier.

Also, that day, the Journal presented
the police with a document giving the
findings of the scientists, duly signed.
And Brisbane, the P. T. Barnum of
editors, thought up another stunt. He
hired the two best palmists in New
York, had them go to the morgue and
read the hands of the dead man!

Believe it or not, but these two
mystics, after studying the headless
mystery’s hands, reported that the man
had been “a slave to passion,” and that
“a jealous woman had caused the mur-
der, if not herself the murderer.” It is
there, in that yellowed old paper of
Tuesday morning, June 29, 1897, for
you to read today. :

But Tuesday passed with no more
startling developments than a brief
interview by Reporters Kemble and
Lloyd with a Mrs. Max Riger, keeper
of a drygoods store in Queens, who had
recently sold some of that oilcloth—a
highly important incident, as it later
proved, which went almost unnoticed
in the shuffle. For, on Wednesday
morning, the Journal blared forth a
great sensation; a clean scoop, and one
of the greatest scoops ever made in all
New York’s newspaper history. Al-
ready you’ve guessed what that scoop
was,

The murdered man had been iden-
tified—and by a Journal reporter!

George -Waugh Arnold was the
Journal reporter whose name was sent
ringing down in newspaper history for
that amazing scoop. He was a young
reporter at the time, though no cub;

ripe for stardom, though not previously
woafae, Tie new heenmme New York's
greatest hero, ‘his was how it hap-
pened:

Arnold was dead tired, On Satur
day he, with a half-dozen other re-
porters, had been out on the difficult
assignment of running down all pos-
sible information on a long list of
missing persons. He had had no sleep
Saturday night, none Sunday, had
stolen a brief nap after midnight Mon-
day, had interviewed people till he
was hoarse, had tramped endless miles
round the five boroughs. And he hadn’t
found a clew—none of the descriptions
tallied in the least with those two
portions of headless, muscular body
with the strangely soft, white hands.

Tuesday ended; Tuesday night came.
Arnold had exhausted his list, and
himself; and as Tuesday midnight
neared he wanted a drink. Several
drinks, in fact. His wearied system
shrieked for liquor.

So he stumbled, half dead, into a
saloon on 42nd Street. Reporters of
that day made a point of knowing all
the bartenders; Arnold was no stranger
in this place. Downing his first drink,
he noted that the men in the place
were talking about the great murder
mystery, and he pricked up his ears.

“They think it’s the fellow all right,”
one of the bar-flies was saying. “They
rd he hasn’t been around since Fri-

ay.”

“And a woman phoned him before
he left—did you hear that?”

“Yes; his woman. Seems the guy
was a ladies’ man. But he could fight,
too, They’re all cooked up about it,
down at the Turkish bath.”

“What bath?” George Arnold butted
into the conversation.

It was the bartender, George’s
friend, who answered. “Say, Arnold,
this might interest you. The boys here
have been saying that one of the rub-
bers down at the Murray Hill Turkish
Baths has disappeared. They think it’s
the murdered man—suits the descrip-
tion. Might pay you to go down there.”

Arnold yawned, elaborately, though
his heart leaped. A masseur in a Turk-
ish bath—that would account for the
white hands! To the gang he said:

“Sorry, boys, but it’s a bum tip—the
seventeenth I’ve received today. Matter
of fact, they’ve got the body identified.
I wouldn’t alarm anyone else about
this, if I were you. You’ll read the real
story in the Journal in the morning.”

And, forcing himself. to linger for
another drink, he presently sauntered
unobtrusively out.

The Murray Hill Turkish Baths
establishment was on Sixth Avenue
near 42nd Street. George Arnold made
the distance in nothing flat. He in-
quired for the proprietor, whose
name was Frank Varellenberg. He
spoke with a slight German accent.

“T hear one of your men is missing.”
Arnold came straight to the point. “I’m
from the Journal. I’d like to ask some
questions about his description.”

The proprietor called: “Max! Adam!
Michael! You come here.”

Three rubbers, clad only in tiny
trunks, responded and Arnold’s hopes
rose. If this missing man was a rub-
ber, his co-workers wouldn’t need his
head to identify him!

“Tell him about William,” the pro=
prietor directed.

A rubber named William Gulden-
suppe was missing. Guldensuppe had
worked for this steam-bath concern
four years, and this was the first oc-

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51


HARI Sigua iti ua pa,

wanted her to keep away from other
fellows.”

The apparent sincerity of his words
and actions made no small im-
pression on his questioners, and yet
they saw no other course than to hold
him at least for another day’s ques-
tioning while Smith should have an
opportunity to study the automobile
for possible further evidence.

Shortly before dawn broke Monday
morning he was taken to the County
jail at Stanton, finger-printed and
lodged in a cell,

After a few hours of sleep, Water-
man, Forst and Smith, armed with a
card bearing the suspected youth’s
prints, returned to Sheridan to find
that another discovery had been made
by Ray Collier, the young huntsman
who had stumbled across the body in
the car.

H Kare time the lad, who was found to

be a cousin of Jimmy Deacons,
discovered a hat, quickly identified as
Miss Carter’s, lying at a spot more than
a mile from the sink-hole.

A careful scrutiny of the surround-
ing area, however, failed to reveal any-
thing to point to the place where the
killing actually occurred. Drifting
snow, of course, had had ample time
to cover all visible signs. At the same
time, it was possible that the hat might
have fallen from the car at any time
along the route to its hiding-place
without bearing a direct relation to the
crime scene,

A further search for the death in-
strument was likewise unavailing, even
with daylight to guide them, and the
puzzled investigators turned disap-
pointedly back to Sheridan, where
Smith began his examination of the
car.

After a long and rigorous inspection,
both inside and out, his only discover-
ies of possible value were two finger-
prints that were sufficiently clear to
hold promise. One was on the left front
window ledge and the other was on
the flashlight lying on the back seat.
Others on the
different parts of the interior were so
badly smeared they were worthless.

When they were compared, the two
prints proved to be identical. But when
they were placed beside those of Lee
Bracey, it was evident at once they
were not his. Neither did they belong
to the slain school-teacher! °

“Well,” Waterman said in a tone
that bore a hint of relief, “that bright-
ens the picture for the boy. It’s almost
a cinch that as long as she didn’t make
them herself, they belong to the one
who killed her. Who else have you got
in mind, Forst, that we might try

them on?”

The Undersheriff stroked his chin
reflectively,

“Well, of course, there’s young

Deacons. We might bring him in and
print him. But he told a pretty straight
story yesterday and it may be no use.”

“Okay,” Waterman said. “We’ve got
to find someone to fit ’em and: we
might just as well start with Jimmy.”

A half-hour later Jimmy Deacons
watched in silent wonder through rest-

steering-wheel and .

less, lack-luster eyes, occasionally lick-
ing his lips nervously, as Smith per-
formed the routine task of rolling each
of the boy’s ten fingers on an ink pad
and transferring the impressions to the
proper spaces on a regulation card.

Deacons showed increasing nervous-
ness as he was told to sit down, while
Smith took the card and began a mi-
nute comparison of his prints with the
two found on Miss Carter’s automobile
and flashlight. He was chewing gum
furiously when Waterman walked
suddenly to him, placed a hand on his
shoulder and asked bluntly:

“Jimmy, what would you say if I
told you we had found the prints of
your left ring finger around the driver’s
side of Miss Carter’s car and on her
flashlight?”

The boy ceased chewing, his lips
‘quivered as his faded eyes stared back
in startled amazement. His gaze
dropped unconsciously for an instant
to the digit in question on his left
shand, then darted hurriedly back to
his accuser, 4

“No, no!” he cried fearfully. “You
must have made a mistake, Mister,
because I haven’t been near her car!”

“I thought you told the Undersherift
yesterday that she had taken you out
near your traps several times on her
way home.”

“Sure, I said that. But she hasn’t
done that for a long time—”

“Now, Jimmy, don’t forget that
Wayne. Peterson saw you in her car
Friday afternoon! And I'll tell you
something else—finger-prints don’t lie.
You were with her Friday after she
left the store and started out- to
Lindeman’s. Just tell us what hap-
pened.”

The youngster found his gum again
and began chewing rapidly to cover
his discomfort.

“All right then, I’ll tell you I was
with her—”

“Who drove the car, you or she?”

“She did, but she was all right when
T left her. I don’t know anything about
what happened after that.”

“Then, Jimmy, how did your finger-
print come to be on the left-hand side
of the car, over where the driver sits?
Come on, you might just as well tell
us why you choked her. Was she mean
to you in school?”

A spark of feverish, hopeful cunning
brightened the squirming boy’s eyes.
“Yes!” he cried. “She was mean to me
in school. I’ve hated her for three years
and she had it coming to her!”

“Now you’re doing the best thing
that is left for you,” Waterman en-
couraged him. “Get this all off your
chest and you'll feel better. Go ahead
and tell us in your own words just
how long you have known her, what
‘she did to you and all the rest of it,”

“Well, I'll tell you,” Jimmy Deacons
began. “I’ve known her ever since she
came here three years ago. I was in
the fifth grade then and one day she
caught me shooting paper wads. She
kept me in at recess and slapped me
and pulled my hair. I’ve had a grudge
against her ever since and made up my
mind that some day I’d get even.

“I hadn't thought much about it until

Friday, when it all came back to me,
and I said right then, ‘I’m going to get
even today,’”

“Now wait a minute, Jimmy,” Wat-
erman interrupted. “Do you mean to
say that you hadn’t thought of your
grudge for a couple of years and that
suddenly it came back for no reason
and you killed her?”

“No, sir.” The youth bit his lip un-
certainly. “I hadn’t thought so much
about it until she said something to me
Friday that I didn’t like. Then I got
awful mad.”

“All right, go ahead and tell us what
you planned to do.”

“I_ didn’t know what to do exactly,
but I figured if I could get her alone
in the car I could do something. So
after I’d started home after school I
came back and all the kids were gone.
I asked her if she’d take me out by
my traps and she said ‘Yes.’ I waited
for her to clean up her desk and then
got in the car with her. She stopped
at Cutler’s drug store and then at
Hoyt’s grocery. That’s where Wayne
Peterson saw me when he brought the
kerosene out,

“At last she said, ‘Well, I guess I’m
ready now,’ and started driving out
the Sidney Road. We didn’t say any-
thing more until we got to the’ place
where the old road used to turn off
and I told her I’d get out there. She
stopped and I made up my mind quick
and grabbed her by the throat and
started choking her. It was getting
pretty dark and I wasn’t afraid of any-
one seeing me any more, so I kept on
choking her while she grunted and
tried to fight back.

“But I had a good hold and when I
let loose she just lay there. I heard her
still breathing, though, and I knew I
couldn’t leave her like that, so I went
and found a jagged stone and pounded
her on the head. Then I thought may-
be I could make it look like a suicide
or something if I wrote a note, so I
used the flashlight and wrote on the
back of the card she had in her pocket
and left it.”

“Why didn’t you sign it, ‘Flossie’ to

make it sound better?” Waterman
asked.
“Because,” the boy admitted frankly,

“I couldn’t think how to spell ‘Flossie’.”

He declared he had gone to the
shore of a small lake near by, broken
the ice and washed his hands and
cleaned his clothes. Then he had
thrown the rock in the water and gone
home to his supper.

“Later in the evening,” he added, “I
went to the show, but I didn’t enjoy
it much.”

N°z until two days later, after he
had repeated his original confes-
sion several times before Prosecutor D.
Hale Brake, did the youth, hopelessly
entangled by obvious discrepancies be-
tween his account and certain definite
facts of evidence, finally admit the
‘bestial liberties he had taken with the
yet warm body of the teacher whom
he had declared he hated.
It soon developed that he had more
than a year before become possessed
of a secret and growing infatuation for

her that at last had equaled the
“grudge” in his emotions,

He had, he admitted, planned the
afternoon ride not for the purpose of
vengeance but to gain an ‘opportunity
to express his amorous desires. When
the surprised teacher spurned his at-
tempted caresses, he became enraged
with shame and with the fear that she
would report him to his parents and
school authorities,

“That’s when I started choking her,”
he said glumly.

He also cleared up several other
puzzling points when he admitted that
he had struck her with a hammer
picked up from the floor and later
thrown into the lake, and that the at-
tack had taken place nearly two miles
from where the body was found.

The boy’s sadly shocked parents re-
tained an attorney, Frank Miller, who
sought at once to have the youth sub-
mitted to a rigid sanity test. Many of
the town’s best citizens who had
known him expressed the belief that
something had happened to transform
him suddenly from a quiet, unassum-
ing lad to a frenzied killer-rapist.

It was shown through various
sources, including F. G. Slentz, super-
intendent of schools, that he had been
an entirely trustworthy, industrious
and sincere youngster, and an energetic
church worker. Furthermore, he had
always been known as girl-shy, his
own actions branding him as thor-
oughly disinterested in the opposite
sex,

A committee of physicians began
their examination for signs of a dis-
eased mind. At last they shook their
heads in solemn agreement. The youth
was weak—of unstable mental and
emotional powers—but for purposes of
the law, they decided, he was sane.

Arraigned next on a delinquency
charge before Probate Judge William

. Rasmussen at Stanton, he sat
calmly, displaying little interest in the
proceedings as, on the: motion of
Prosecutor Brake, the court waived its
jurisdiction and bound him over to
circuit court to face charges.

On December 19, he chewed his gum
with evident relish and unconcern as
Circuit Judge Royal H. Hawley com-
pleted his hearing and pronounced a
sentence of life imprisonment in the
State Penitentiary at Jackson.

“It’s a fine Christmas present I’ve
given Ma and Dad!” was his only com-
ment as he watched his heart-broken
parents depart from the emptying
courtroom,

But all was not sadness for the ap-
proaching Yuletide in the village of
Sheridan. In the Bracey home there
was rightful rejoicing, dimmed, it is
true, by Lee Bracey’s sorrow over the
violent death of Miss Carter. Unerring
police methods had served not only to
cage a guilty criminal but also to ex-
onerate Lee Bracey completely.

Then, as today, Lee Bracey’s stand-
ing in the community was excellent,
but the police had to do their duty in
holding the college youth for examina-
tion on account of the damning web
of circumstances which a strange fate
had woven about him.

Clew of the Bloody Duck (Continued from Page 29) :

of exercise had developed those splen-
did muscles was a question that baffled
everyone. What made this query
the more baffling was the condition
of the hands,

They were rather small hands, and
had no callouses. Oddly enough, the
skin of those hands was as soft, white
and clean as a woman’s. In fact, the
skin of the entire torso was strangely
white, clean and free of oil or grime.
This was in the era of Saturday night
baths, but one doctor declared that
this dead man must have bathed twice
a day.

And how could a man become so
muscular, athletic and well developed
without roughening—or as far as could
be told, even using—his hands? All
in all, the mysterious contradiction be-

tween those powerful shoulders and:

those white,
dainty hands
one’s brains,

50

strong but extremely
was a mystery to rack

There was one more point of in-
terest. This was the area on the left
breast, about four inches square, from
which the skin had been sliced off.
Why had this been done? Obviously,
to defeat identification. Then it must
have been a birthmark or a tattoo
mark, at least.

The torso had been in the water not
more than 48 hours, and probably less.

The man’s heart and lungs had been
in perfect condition. The lungs still
held air, explaining why the package
had been so buoyant. There was no
food clew, as this part of the body in-
cluded no digestive organs.

Where were the head, lower body
and lower limbs? And would they
come to light?

Who was the man?

In his Journal story that night,
Mumford speculated as to whether the
murdered man might not be a wealthy

yacht owner, seafaring enough to be
tattooed as sailors are, but not a work-
ing sailor, and perhaps a former
Princeton or Harvard athlete. But no
such character was known to have
disappeared.

The twine, the manila paper, and
especially the oilcloth, were obvious
clews. Two kinds of twine had been
used; a thin, strong cord inside around
the paper, and many feet of thick,
rough “raw grass rope” outside.

The oilcloth was the prime clew. It
was new. It showed not the least sign
of previous use. It was cheap, and
the gold design stamped on its red
surface was a pattern of diagonal
Squares, with smaller squares inside
them, and between the squares a pat-
tern of three petaled flowers, resem-
bling wild roses.

That night the Journal had a brand-
new feature which, it truly pro-
claimed, had never been done by any

newspaper before. It was a line draw-
ing of a section of this Oilcloth, show-
ing the exact pattern. It was the first
instance on record where the public
was asked to help solve a crime.
And the police? Chief Conlin was
doing his best. He put Acting Captain
Hogan of the Union Market Station in
charge, with Captain O’Brien of the
Detective Bureau, and assigned De-
tectives Curran, Carter, McCormack
and Joseph O’Donohue and Detective
Sergeant Sam Price on the case. They
‘did good work and so did the Journal,
with its staff of detective-reporters,
Editor Brisbane put smart Reporters
Kemble, Lloyd and others to tracing
the oilcloth. No less than eight re-
porters were sent out with the names
of missing persons, to see if they fit
the scientists’ reconstruction of the
murdered body. They would get no
sleep till the right one was found.
Sunday morning’s edition of the

AD4


ee

f “~ To y a
LMULN, MArTIN,

white, elec,

By Hugh McVickers

Special Investigator for
ACTYAL DETECTIVE STORIES

EAT records were being smashed
in New York City on that Sat-
urday of June 26, 1897. Tene-

ment dwellers were gasping on fire-
escapes. Boys were swimming, regard-
less of germs, in the filthy East River.
Three of them were disporting in the
water close to the Eleventh Street pier
on Manhattan’s East Side, Eddie Ker-
ley and Joe McKenna, kids of ten,
lived on Avenue C, while Jack Mc-.
Guire lived on East’ Twelfth Street,
near where the ferry came in from

Brooklyn. They swam far out in the

tidal. current, which was ebbing. Then
they turned and raced back. _ 7
Joe McKenna .was ‘a few strokes
ahead, Eddie and Jack were chasing
him. And suddenly McKenna’ swam
full tilt into a large floating bundle, or
package, bobbing up and down. It
seemed very buoyant, that package,
“Hey, fellas, I got somethin'!” Mc-
Kenna yelled, grasping the bundle with
his arms and treading water. He saw
that it was tied all around with new
twine, wound in every direction, and
was wrapped in new oilcloth under-
neath; the back of the cilcloth was

outside. These boys had salvaged in- .

teresting and reasonably valuable ar-
ticles from. the

onto the wharf.

“What you got? We go shares!”

“Shares nothin’! I found it. You
guys was ‘way
grabbed it.” And Joe ‘McKenna pro-
ceeded to unwrap his find. if:
. Off came-the tremendous length of
twine. Off came the oilcloth—it was
red inside, with a gold Pattern, bright
and new. Next was a quantity of ma-
nila paper wrapping. And. then the
boys gasped. he “

The paper was soaked with blood.

The next instant, shuddering, they:

had ripped it off and exposed to their
horrified view a adless, legless,
waistless. lump of suman flesh—the
chest, shoulders and arms of a dead
man! Puan a :

‘The chest. was covered with blond.

bal shen

back there when I.

L DETECTIVE slOnlie,

Women in Crime

~ This:man, Martin Thorn;
received his barber's
training abroad — which ;

»,made a world of differ-

ence In a murder- case

hair, except for one patch where the
skin had been cut or scraped off. The
arms and shoulders looked well-
formed and singularly powerful. The
neck had been shorn off just above the
collar-bone ‘and hardly a stump re-
mained. With the arms bent and
wrapped around the torso, it had made
a spherical bundle.

:  @ ts look was plenty. The boys

jumped into their —s ran along
the wharf into East Eleventh Street,
Near the entrance to the ferry-house
‘they encountered Policeman Mohr of
the Union Market Station and gasped
out the story’ of their find. :
Mohr, who had chased those same

NY SP

(queens

Mrs. Augusta Nack. de-
livered a telegram in Ger-
man dialect that had been
recelved from her Para-
mour, who was missing

boys often enough—boys were often.

“chased by a cop” for harmless pranks
in those days and they enjoyed the
excitement—was reluctant to believe
their tale. But their frenzied excite-
ment finally convinced him, and he
strode to the wharf. That was how the
murder mystery came to light—this

.murder mystery which still stands in

New York’s annals as the most bizarre
of crimes and as having some of the
most amazing of clews.

Policeman Mohr hustled to his sig-
nal box and notified Headquarters’... ,

In thé offices of two New York
newspapers, Hearst’s Morning Journal
and Pulitzer’s World, tempers were bad

s County) 8/1/1898...

that day. The old-fashioned “yellow
journalism,” forgotten today,. was then
at its height—a year later it was to be
a factor in causing the Spanish War.
These two newspapers were deadly
rivals. Every day they waged a news-
aper war, as bitter as the old wars

tween ‘railroads or “stock-market
kings. And on this sweltering after-

hoon, the barking editors and eager

reporters were stumped. They hadn’t
@ “sensation.” There was no news—
until word of the boys’ gruesome find
came through like a flash from
Heaven. | ;

The Journal city room came uickly
to life. “Here’s a big story at ) sore
headless torso found in the. East

. . ern om 1 T ATG were 7] C 4 s
UGU STSXXSSR OF WOMEN IN CRIME, AUG. 1935...
fe. WY


’ the city editor shouted. “Mum-

star reporter appeared. . : se

right -down to’ Police Head-
‘s and the morgue. We'll take
se away from the cops and solve

elves. We'll send doctors and :

ts to study that torso and re-
ct a full description of the dead
s they do with prehistoric ani-
mhen they find a. single bone.
ave an artist draw a full pic-
the man from their description,
‘easurements, We'll make the
look sick.’ © ‘
ve will be clews. The. twine,
cloth, the paper, besides the
self. Get a sketch of the design
oilcloth or a sample of it right
we'll reproduce it in the Jour-
mebody will recognize it and
2ntify the purchaser, :
send half the staff out to trace
cloth. The other half will go
3ureau of Missing Persons and
pon every man on the list.
ule, Mumford, you watch the -
And the police, I’ll send you
se speed! We'll make this the
crime smash the Journal has
d! I'll hold ten columns open
story. This is going to be a
case!” S mae
work, rapid planning, you'll
iat’s more, it was all new in
er work—no crime story had
en covered like this before.
editor on this occasion was
ier than the late great. Arthur
> himself, newly _ hired. by
to run the Journal, on that
contract by which ‘he got a
90-a-week salary, plus an addi-
ollar a week for every thou-
new circulation he put..on.
atract was to make him the
highest-salaried _ newspaper-
id this case was his start.

hotograph of William Gul-
pe, with a strong savor of
Gay Nineties,” shows the.
bulld of the ex-seaman

Mumford sped to the morgue. There
he found Superintendent Murphy and
his aides examining the grisly find and
discussing it. Two opinions .-had de-
veloped. Some thought it was murder,
while others insisted it was too’ gro-
tesque—it. must be a prank played by

. a medical. student who had been dis-
secting a body and wanted to have
some fun with the police, they argued.
But the work didn’t look like that of
a medical student. The neck had been
roughly hacked off and the bone of
the spinal column severed with a saw.
Similarly rough was the treatment of
the lower portion, the flesh below the
fifth rib hanging in strips, while again
the backbone had been-sawn. It was
crude even for a butcher.

' Coroner Tuthill and Doctors Power,
Robinson and Pomeroy of Bellevue
Hospital were summoned. And soon
four other doctors, including one who
was. an anthropologist, arrived—the
Journal had hired them for the recon-
struction stunt. They got to work, mak- °
ing careful measurements and study-
ing every inch of that torso through a
magnifying glass. ee!

TOLD much. The dead man had

been a blond with white, smooth
skin, and yellow hair. Stretched’ out,
the arms and hands gave a spread of
five feet ten inches from middle finger-
tip to middle fingertip; as scientists
know, the spread of a man’s arms is
nearly always his approximate height.

The general appearance of the skin:
and flesh suggested an adult man in
the prime: of life—35 to 40 years old.
An athletic, healthy, strong and active
man, splendidly muscled, with not an
ounce of fat. The arms and shoulders
were indeed striking; they were beau-
tifully formed; a sculptor might have
modeled them. They were the arms of
a fair-haired Adonis or, better yet, an
Achilles, ° -

But nothing about those arms sug- -
gested any special occupation. The.
muscles weren’t bulging or knotted, as
of. a laborer; they weren’t a prize-
fighter’s arms, or a rower’s. arms,
though strong enough to be. What form

(Continued on Page 50)


| 2.
Slave TOM, executed, New York, NY, March 13, 174

03-08-1742 NEW YORK On Tuesday last ‘Tom! a negro belonging to the widow

; Pratt of this ci:.. was convicted before a Court of
Justices and Freeholders of Wiiiuily putting fire to and burning
the house of Bassie Vandewater, to which article he pleaded guilty
and confessed the Same on several examinations by the justices

03-15-1742 NEW YORK Saturday last a negro man called 'Tom', (sometime
Since sentenced to be hanged for Setting fire to the
house of one Vandewater in this city), -was executed according to
the said sentence. HE had been twice reprieved in hopes he would
have made some discovery of his accomplices which he had offered

64 New YorK HISTORY

Preventing and Punishing the Conspiracy and Insurrection of
and other Slaves. . . .”” _ :
ss statute directed that upon bringing criminal ee
against a slave to any justice of the peace, a warrant wou :
issued to a constable to apprehend the accused. If after a a
ination, it appeared that the slave was guilty he was to be aati
oned while the justices summoned two other justices who mini
were to summon five freeholders. A public prosecutor yak sha
prefer an accusation in writing specifying Time Place oe eae
of Offense” was also provided for. Trial by Jury coul 2 is
quested by the slave’s owner whose condemned slave — na
valued by the Court at no more than twenty-five eae ‘om
sum to be paid to the slave owner upon conviction. i C _
tion provided for the death penalty in cases of murder, oh i
rape and mayhem, as well as attempts of conspiracy to ee
these crimes on free persons. Specifically set forth was the pe :
status of slaves, who were not to be “subjected in all cases =
inal to the Strict Rules or Laws of England. $ Colonial es
tism took precedence over any body of British law. Acts “are
these did not allay fears. In some ways they pa anne 7
since the colonist was made more cognizant of the threat o evo
News was received in 1739 of a revolt in Charleston. In oy
against the background of war, a robbery committed in Nw an
late in February by several Negro slaves was followed in Ma 2
by an accidental burning of part of Fort George. These —
were associated by a near hysterical populace as sure Pros a
Negro-Catholic plot “hatcht in the Cabinet of Hell be . bes
the white Protestant.* Against this background, the resu ries és 5
held in the summer became the be eg of all witchhunts
imi ; slaves” in colonial New York.°
oie aen diaing this period that in Kingston, New York er i
ceedings against Tom, a siave accused of attempted mur v5
gan and were concluded. Whatever the influence of outs ie
fairs, the act of 1730 was carefully followed. Slaves age often
accorded the usual indictment and trial process.* Such was the case

2 Colonial Laws, 1, 679-688; Edmund B. atees, on
iv Colonial History of the State o ew ; :
1887), © 008 Cherenkier referred to as Documents Relative).

Julius Goebel, Jr. and T. Raymond Naughton, Law Naeig chalet ie
Colonial New York (New York, 1944). pa 07. Now York (New York,
these trials see T. Valentine, History of the Cit) gy Fe baie

_ 275; Ethel King, “The New York Negro Plo 41,
tenes Catholic Historical Society, XX (New York, 1931), Pi en
“Negro Plot of 1741,” New York History, XXV (April, 1944), .

5 shton, p. 120. ;
iy snr peor Nonune to not agree with this evaluation and state at

Tom’s Case 65

in Tom’s affair, despite the threat of summary justice implied in
the 1730 law. Only the execution was in a sense summary. Cer-
tainly it was quick, denying appeal and keeping jail costs at a
minimum.

Had the case been heard at another time, it would seem that
the severe sentence would have been lessened. The curious bits of
evidence by women strangely silent until the trial would probably
have not been heard. Other litigation involving slaves often had
different results. Robin, slave of Albert Roosa, was brought be-
fore a Kingston meeting of justices in 1722 for fathering the bas-
tard child of Grietje Brass. No charges were preferred against him
on the promise and security given by his master that he wouid
take care of the child in the event the mother could not do so.’
In 1735, in Dutchess County the slave Quacko was sentenced to
receive thirty-nine lashes at Poughkeepsie and an additional forty-
eight at Rhinebeck for attempted rape. He was then to be trans-
ported out of the county.* In another case also tried under the
1730 slave law, held in New York City in 1738, the slave Jannean
was accused of rape. He was acquitted of that crime, but found
guilty of assault and sentenced to receive thirty-nine lashes to be
administered at three different times.® In 1755, in the case of King
v. Jack, the defendant slave was accused of abusive conduct. The
sentence resulted in a fine of four pounds.’® On the other hand,
the “negroe Jack” was burned alive in Ulster County in October,
1732 for “burning a barne and a Barrack of wheat.”

It seems fair to say that the treatment the slave received tended

page 418 of their volume that slaves though “sometimes accorded the
usual indictment process and trial available to freemen . . . the usual prac-
tice was to try them summarily.” A study of the cases in New York City,
however, reveals that the indictment process was used more often than
not. For instances of indictment for theft, see King v. Mingo, Manuscript
Minutes, New York Court of Quarter Sessions, 1694-1731/32, p. 3 (Nov.
6, 1694) in Criminal Courts Building, New York City (hereafter referred
to as NYCQS); King v. Frank, Davy, Wann and Peroe, ibid., p. 333 (Nov.
1697); King vs. Fortune, ibid., 40-41 (Aug. 2, 1698). Goebel and Naughton
cite as an example of summary justice the Matter of Tham, Manuscript
Minutes, Ulster County Sessions, 1693-1698, Jan. 7-8, 1695/96. They point
out that seven justices sat at special court. They neglect to mention, how-
ever, that fifteen jurors indicted Tham for murder, even though the trial was
held in a special court. Interestingly enough, though Tham was accused
of killing a Negro woman, he was accorded the usuai processes of law. A
microfilm copy of these minutes are in the Historical Documents Collec-
tion, Queens College of the City University of New York (hereafter re-
ferred to as HDC).

* Proceedings In Re Grietje Brass, May 12, 1722, Miscellaneous Manu-
scripts, Meetings of Justices, Ulster County Records, HDC.

® Goebel and Naughton, p. 627.
ma vy. Jannean, Manuscript Minutes, NYCQS, 1722-1742/3, pp. 348-

10 King v. Jack, Goebel and Naughton, p. 740.

11 Proceedings in Re Jack, Colonial Laws, Ml, 763.


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Aix

Tom’s Case: An Incident, 1741

By LEO HERSHKOWITZ

A transcript of the legal proceedings that led to the execution
of a Negro slave in Kingston, New York, in 1741 offers a rare
example of colonial judicial process, and provides a further
glimpse of the slaves’ lot in colonial New York. Leo Hershko-
witz is a member of the history department, Queens College of
the City University of New York.

1741 was a restless, disquieting time in New York. War be-
tween England, France and Spain was officially declared, capping
almost a century of imperial conflict. For the colonials these wars
had a special fright bringing to bear the menace of a French-
Catholic-Indian attack made more fearful by a parallel servile
insurrection. New Yorkers had previously experienced such “‘re-
volts,” that were, for the most part, figments of the popular
imagination. One occurred in the city in 1712. Such an event
heightened fear and also caused the passage of various enactments
meant to end slave importation. Failing in these efforts, the move-
ments of slaves were restricted and infractions severely punished.’
In 1730, the last major piece of legislation of this type was passed.
This act amended earlier laws, which were often contradictory,
thus providing a “plain rule to walk by” in the “more Effective

‘Since slavery tended to discourage the immigration from Europe of
skilled labor, colonists wanted the importation of slaves stopped. English
authority, however, reflecting, in part, demands of slave traders, refused to
permit the prohibition of the slave trade. Colonial Laws of New York (AL
bany, 1896), I, 484 (hereafter referred to as Colonial Laws); Leo Stock,
ed., Proceedings and Debates of the British Parliament Respecting North
America (Washington, 1937), IV, 133; Elmer B. Russell, The Review of
American Colonial Legislation by the King in Council (New York, 1915),
pp. 113-114. For examples of legislation regulating the conduct of slaves
see Colonial Laws, I, 597-598, 671, 714, 803, 899, 1012, 1484, 1519, 1521;
II, 523, 772, 876.

63

First page ef the transcript of Tom's case. C ourtesy of Queens College of
the City University of New York

Lp FP


XTHEMAEXXTX

TOBIN, Thomas, wh, elec. NYSP (NY) March 14, 1904

re ;

ll Price broke the
g the horrible tab-

he began in a tight,
need . .. the sheriff.
on and get him.”

-hoked monosyllable
rned his head away.
‘ith Lee Miller, and
shing through the
he galloping of the
al sped up the high-

‘on.
n hour, Price was |
d by Sheriff George }

sheriff Walter Roe, i, -
Juhadway, the cor-
Berry took one look
nd said to him:
better go home. Lee,
th you. I’ll be along
. little while.” :
|, and after he had
way, by the light of
oft by Marshall Price,
spoke to the sheriff : At
of death. It was the
ke instrument. How- ~
ow on the side of the ©
| and to prevent an
heen dead since

s underclothes.

like instrument.

_, or an attempted

n these circumstances.
her home. Is there a

. complexity of angles
y the lamp, spoke up.
“and I'hope I have.a
y the dead body of the

leclared, “and the law
» the law and no self-

5 corpse was borne to
| further expression of
countryside had learned
and a large crowd was
-ont of the Dean faxm- ,
yarted, to make way for
the corpse, a low, angry

vas placed on a kitchen N
ir. Duhadway was left 4
to complete his examina-
few minutes he walked
rlor, where Dean, the
eputy sheriff, Lee Miller
1 Price were keeping a
1.
the motive, all right,” the
ysician said crisply. “Sal-
4.”
{ spent the next half hour
mr Jacob Dean and the
nt what they knew of the
lating to Sallie’s move-
morning. She had ap-
the Miller home a few
“at had failed to pass
op, as was her cus-

/

This, in conjunction with Dr.’
Duhadway’s opinion concerning time
of death, clearly indicated she had
been set upon in the 8 to 8:30 interval,
at a spot on the road between the
Miller farm and the blacksmith shop.

“I don’t understand something,”
Lee Miller declared, during a momen-
tary silence. There was puzzlement in
his voice. “At the time you. say,
Sheriff, that Sallie must have been
attacked, I was working in the field
directly west of those woods. I don’t
suppose I was more than a couple of
hundred ‘yards from where we found
her, Then why didn’t I hear her
scream? Surely, she must have.”

Sheriff Berry looked at the ex-
teacher with a shade more than ordi-
nary interest, but his reply was
carefully. neutral.

“The doctor here says that Sallie
was knocked unconscious before she
was attacked and slashed. That would
explain why you heard nothing. But
did you see anything, or anybody?” »

“No,” Lee answered, “My view of
the road was blocked by the woods.”

The sheriff’s next question was ad-
dressed to the group at large:

“Ts there any man around here who
was trying to make up to Sallie—
somebody she didn’t ‘like, maybe?”

Marshall Price refocused attention
on Miller.

“Lee,” the blacksmith challenged,
“why don’t you tell the sheriff about
the words you had over Sallie at the
dance last night?”

Miller seemed to gather his
thoughts for a moment, then declared :
“Oh, you’re talking about Bob Hor-
tone...

The sheriff knew young Horton °
well. He came of a thoroughly re-
spectable family, whose farm lay to
the southeast of the Deans’, but
fronted on the cartroad that led to
the wharf on the Choptank. Bob had
been something of a scapegrace, and
once or twice Berry had had to deal
with him on matters concerning the
public peace. But he had not cast eyes
on the troublemaker for several
months past. Something of what
in had further to say explained
why.

“Bob showed up at the dance last |
night,”’ Lee continued. “I guess every-
body was surprised to see him, be-.
cause we knew he’d been off working
on a ship. He’d had a few too many,

and J guess that’s why he said what —

he did about Sallie, althougtY at tite
time I didn’t see too much harm in it.
“Anyway, at one point, while Sallie
was dancing, Horton lurched up to
me and said::‘Sallie’s a real looker,
isn’t she? I’d sure like to get to know
her better. I think I’ll ask her to take
a walk with me in the dark.’ Well, I
saw he was drunk, and I talked him
out of speaking to her right then. He
seemed to [Continued on page 67]

WEB
a

<

As the last hour approached, the
condemned man paced the cell floor
with slow, unfaltering steps. The
wind grew stronger outside, blowing
large dark storm clouds over the
bleak New York prison. Lightning
lashed its fiery tongues earthward,
and rain beat its rhythmic tattoo into
the earth.

Though he walked slowly, Tom.

Tobin’s mood matched those of the
stormy skies.. He was not at all
frightened of death, or of the method
of his death, but he was angry at the
circumstances which had led to this
moment.

Not too long before Tom Tobin’s
execution, New York State had
changed its method of capital punish-
ment. Hanging was thought to be an

inhuman punishment and was aban- |

doned throughout the state in fayor
of the more humane way of the elec-
tric chair. Two prisons had used this
method effectively, and soon plans
were made to install this device at
Sing Sing, the largest prison in the
state.

Prisoners were designated to help
build the deathhouse, and Tom Tobin
was one of those selected. Tobin was
serving a term for burglary; by trade
he was a mason with some knowl-
edge of architecture. This‘made him
very capable of helping to supervise
the construction of the deathhouse.

Tobin accepted the job eagerly as-

he had figured a way of escape from
the dreary prison life. He was a
model prisoner during the construc-
tion, and. prison officials hoped he
had realized the error of his ways,

and that good behavior would per-
haps diminish his term in prison.
Tom had his own ideas, however,
and he was soon putting them into
operation. Cleverly he built, and kept
hidden from the authorities, a small
passageway from the deathhouse to
a sewer which emptied into the Hud-
son River. He often boasted to his
cellmate that he would not serve his

‘full sentence, but beyond that he

would not explain.

The chance for escape was soon in
coming after the completion of the
deathhouse. Prison authorities were
to make an inspection tour of the
building, with Tom as their guide.
A few hours before the tour, Tom
asked permission‘of a guard for a last
check, as one of the doors had not
been functioning properly. The per-
mission was granted and Tom en-
tered the deathhouse alone. Once
inside it was a simple matter to make
his escape.

When Tom did not reappear as
quickly as he should have, the guard
started to investigate, but he could
not locate Tom, nor any visible
means of escape. After a more thor-
ough search the passageway was
found, but by then Tom had long
since disappeared.

Eighteen months later Tobin was
caught after he brutally murdered
and robbed a store owner. He was
sentenced to death in the electric
chair. This time there was no chance
for escape. Fate had arranged
that he pay for his crime in
the deathhouse he had helped to
build. —Charles Bejcek


(Above) The MacGowen speak-
easy on West 57th Street where
liquor and blood flowed unlaw-
fully in the last hectic days be- .
fore Repeal. Arrow points to
the peephole in wall through
which patrons were given the
“once-over” before admission

leaves no doubt in the minds of the on-lookers as

to the verve and feeling that it displays. And

New Year’s Eve was no exception to the rule.
Joyous throngs jostled good-naturedly through the tremendous
press of humanity that overflowed Broadway.

Ring out the old, ring in the new!

That was the theme of the crowd. As they whooped and
whistled for the arrival of the New Year, many were inevi-
tably forced to repair to one of the thousands of speakeasies
that dotted the city, before Repeal, to quench their thirst.

Fred Becker’s speakeasy in the ground floor apartment of a
brownstone house at 238 Hast Lighty-eighth Street did not,
however, have its full share of the merry-makers.

Becker, a red-headed, brawny man, sat dismally behind
the bar, contemplating the fact that his place was somewhat
off Broadway’s beaten path. There were only six patrons
in the speakeasy. The minutes on a clock at the side of ‘the
room ticked slowly toward twelve.

Becker shouted to the room in general. “Step right up,
gentlemen, only three minutes to go! We'll see the new
year in with a drink on the house.”’

Expertly he filled six glasses with rye, aii set them up.
The men shuffled to the bar to partake of his hospitality.
Eager hands gripped the glasses, eyes raised to the clock, to
await the signal.

Suddenly the door burst open, and three youths marched
in.

“Come on over and join us!’ Becker shouted.

The face of one of the newcomers broke into a hollow grin.

Ws New York City prepares a celebration, it

OADWAY SLAYERS —

He was of medium height, slim, with a face so sallow it al-
most defied description. He had a broad forehead, deep,
sunken eyes covered by a pair of dark, straight brows, high
cheekbones, and a thin straight mouth. His skin stretched
thin and taut over his face like yellow parchment. But for
the light of feverish intensity in his deep, dark eyes, he ap-
peared like a dead man.

Ignoring Becker’s invitation, he lifted a thin, bony arm in
the direction of a back room. “Get over there!” he ordered
his tall blond companion. The latter obeyed.

The newcomer sauntered over to the bar. Miraculously
two revolvers appeared in his hands. Ilis thin lips cracked
in a bitter smile. :

“Stick them up!” he croaked.

Seven men stared in amazement. Six pairs of arms swung
slowly upward. Only Becker stood still. One hairy paw
still gripped the neck of a rye bottle. So tight was his grip
that his knuckles showed white. There was a deep silence
in the room, broken only by the ominous tick of the clock.

The tall blond man returned from the back room. He
carried a gun in his hand. “O. I. back here,’ he called.
“The joint’s practically empty.”

The third member of the gang, a short sandy-haired indi-
vidual smartly dressed in a blue serge suit, walked around
the side of the bar. He pressed the “no sale’ key and the
cash register clanged open. As he scooped the cash into his
pocket, the two-gun member of the trio advanced slowly
toward the bartender.

Becker still kept his hands down; one gripped on the bottle
and the other on the rounded edge of the bar. ‘Two guns

55


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True Detective Mysteries

77

Trapping the Broadway Slayers

morning. Do you know anything about

“Not a thing,” he replied.

“Can you tell me what calls you had
from eleven o’clock last night to about
one?”

“Sure,” he replied. “At eleven I must
have been way up at Two Hundredth
Street. I had a call to there. Traveling
back I picked up a call to about One
Hundred and Fourth Street. This was
over on Broadway. A few blocks south
I picked up two men and drove them
down to Eighty-ninth or Ninetieth Street
and Third Avenue, This was Just about
midnight.”

“Did you see where they went after
they got out of your cab?”

“No, sir.”

“What did the men look like?”

Rubenstein scratched his chin. “I
couldn’t rightly say. You see, I had so
many calls they all look more or less
alike.

“Just a couple of minutes later,” he
continued “I was down at Eighty-eighth
and Third when I heard someone whistle.
I shot the cab around and picked up a
man. He was a short, hunch-backed guy.
I tured around and asked: ‘Where do
you want to go?’ He said: ‘Go ahead
down’ I drove down about half a block
when two other fellows started running
toward the cab. This fellow in the back
touches me on the shoulder and says:
‘Wait a minute! Pick those fellows up.’
They all piled in and this first guy says
to keep east; after I got to First Avenue,
they made me turn back to the west side
and I drove them to Broadway and Fif-
tieth Street.”

“Ry you hear any shots just before
you picked them up?”

“Sure, But I thought they were fire-
crackers going off.”

“Now, you tell me you heard shots.
Then three men come running to your
cab and have you drive all around town.
Didn’t that strike you as being suffi-
ciently peculiar to warrant your reporting
it to the police?” :

“Tt sure seemed funny,” he replied.
“When I turned the cab over to my day
man, I told him about it. He said: ‘For-
get about it. Just a couple of drunks
on New Year’s.’” :

I dismissed him and pondered over
what he had told me. side from the
descriptions, it might easily have been
the three bandits. He said that he
couldn’t recall the two who came running
up to the cab, but the first man was
hunch-backed.

Was he telling the truth? Or was he
throwing a smoke screen on what other-
wise seemed to be a coherent. picture?

I couldn’t be sure. I investigated his
background over a period of ten years
and found that his record was spotless.
This was a strong point in his favor.
Later it was found that Rubenstein had
no connection whatsoever with the affair
or any of the persons involved.

Meanwhile, the patrons in Red Becker’s
speakeasy were brought into the Bureau
of Identification and asked to examine
the photos in the Rogues Gallery. It
proved futile. There was nothing we
could do but continue the drag-net we
had spread in hopes that he would fall
into it. — ; '

We sat back and waited for his reap-
pearance. There was bound to be a time
when the sallow-faced slayer would slip.
We didn’t have long to wait. Three
days later he descended on a speakeasy

(Continued from page 57)

in West Twenty-seventh Street, robbed
the register, and fled. He was seen run-
ning toward the corner, and speeding
away in a cab. ;

No one ‘saw the license number.

On January fifth he struck once more.
With a gun in either fist, and flanked by
his two confederates he stuck up a cafe
in the heart of the theatrical district and
again made good his escape. Although
the loot in this robbery was small, the
affair stuck like a thorn in, the side of
the police officials. , :

Who was this daring killer? What
strange quirk in his make-up led him to
flaunt his disregard like a red cloth be-
fore the police?

The premises at 407 West Fifty-seventh
Street is a four-story brownstone building.
The basement apartment had been trans-
formed into a combination speakeasy-
restaurant. On the opposite side of the
same street is the swank Parc Vendome.

It was 1 a. M., the morning of January
seventh. Exactly a week had_ passed
since the death of Fred “Red” Becker.

A taxi pulled up to the curb on Fifty-
seventh Street near Ninth Avenue. Three
passengers alighted. With their coats
bundled closely about their bodies, they
made for the speakeasy in the center of
the street.

One of the members of the trio rang
the bell. There was a buzz and an iron-
grilled door swung open. The three men
stepped forward into a well-lighted vesti-
bule that was four feet square. In front
of them was a massive oak door imped-
ing their passage.

Inside the speakeasy Jack MacGowen,
florid-faced bartender and proprietor of
the cider stube, lifted a disc back from
the wall and peered through a peep-hole.
Before him stood three men. One was a
tight-lipped, pale fellow with cavernous
eyes and high cheek-bones. The other
two looked somewhat alike in their fea-
tures. They differed in height and color
of their hair.

“They're O. K.,” MacGowen called to
the door-keeper.

The door swung open and the trio
meuped inside. Immediately on the left
as they entered was the bar. Three men
stood against it, sipping drinks. At the
tables sat another half-dozen patrons.

“Something to warm you up?” Mac-
Gowen asked.

Te leader of the trio jerked two guns
from his coat pocket. “Reach for the
ceiling, lug!” he warned. His companions
acted automatically. One of them covered
the patrons with his gun and the second
hurried. around the side of the bar to
the cash register.

. MacGowen’s hands reached for the ceil-
ing.

“You're showing a little sense,” the
leader spoke derisively. “Now march
toward the back of the joint.”

MacGowen obeyed the command. As
he back-tracked, his eyes were peeled on
the gunman at the cash register.

There was one man in the room who
was astonished and also—vitally inter-
ested. He was Patrolman John A. Leon-
ard, shield number 15492, attached to the
Borough of Manhattan Headquarters
squad and assigned to plainclothes duty.

‘Ag the bartender backed away, he edged
toward a swinging door that set ed as a
rear exit. The sallow-faced guniaan, his
lips curled in an evil leer, watched the
movements of the man he covered.

Suddenly MacGowen leapt for the door.

There was a blinding flash as the sal-

low-faced killer’s gun roared. MacGowen
toppled against the wall, a bullet under
his heart. Instinctively his right hand
jerked up to the wound. Blood poured
through the fingers.

Again the killer fired. MacGowen fell
dead to the floor. The second shot
smashed the hand that covered the wound.

Slowly the killer swung about to the
others in the room. “Anybody else want
a dose of that medicine?”

For a moment there was a deathly
silence. The sandy-haired gunman hastily
scooped the money out of the register
and rejoined the killer. The blond-haired
gunman also back-tracked toward the
door.

Patrolman Leonard was the first to act.
With a quick kick of his foot he over-
turned a table. At the same moment
he dived for the ground. The killer's
gun barked. It missed by a fraction of
an inch. Leonard jerked his service re-
volver from his pocket, aimed quickly
and fired.

He thought he saw the gunman wince.
He leapt to his feet and fired three more
shots in rapid succession. But the killer
was waiting. Both guns blazed at once.
A shot struck Leonard over the heart
and he dropped to a knee. Again his gun
blazed fire. His shots went wide of the
mark. .

The killer’s companions had not been
idle. The patrons had all ducked behind
tables while the battle raged, their bodies
flattened to the ground. Each picked a
table, and peppered it with shots.

AS Leonard finished his clip of bullets,
he dived flat on his face behind an up-
turned table. The sallow-faced — killer
took advantage of the dull in’ firing. to
sweep open the door, and rush outside.
With the butt of his gun he smashed the
bright bulb in the vestibule, threw open
the iron-grilled door, and rushed into the
street.

Patrolman Joseph Turbidy of Traffic
D was walking west along Fifty-seventh
Stree when he heard the sounds of the
shots. He rushed toward the entrance
of the speakeasy. He was in time to see
the three thugs dash out.

The sallow-faced killer broke into a
run toward the waiting taxi, closely fol-
lowed by his short companion. The tall,
blond-haired gunman, however, spied the
bluecoat. He whirled about and aimed
his gun.

Like a panther Turbidy was on top of
him. His right hand shot out with
lightning speed and caught the gunman
flush on the eye. The killer recled back-
wards. His finger convulsively tightened
on the trigger and a bullet splattered
harmlessly on the sidewalk. Again Tur-
bidy lashed out with his fist. A blow
caught the fugitive squarely on the
mouth.

Warm blood spurted from a gashed
lip. Feebly the killer attempted to lift
his gun but the officer was too fast. He
grasped the gun arm in his fist and
twisted it behind the killer’s back. With
a cry of pain the latter dropped the gun.

“For heaven’s sake, Officer, let up!”
he begged.

Turbidy drew his service revolver.
Using the gunman as a shield, he hustled
him into the speakeasy.

Leonard, his revolver gripped in his
hand, rushed forward to meet him.

“Drop that gun!” Turbidy shouted at
Leonard.

Patrolman Leonard stopped in_ his
tracks. “I’m an officer!” he cried.

=o

56 True Detective Mysteries

(Above) Scene in the
MacGowen speakeasy im-
mediately after the fatal
fray. Officer Leonard
overturned the table at
the right with a kick
when he drew his re-
volver, using it as a
shield as he fired at the
gunman

were held on Becker, a foot from his chest.

“Get—those—hands—up!”’ The words came slowly, hate-
fully.

In reply, Becker suddenly grabbed up the whiskey bottle
and swung it savagely about. Overhead the clock boomed the
first stroke of midnight. The gunman didn’t bat an eyelash.
Both guns belched flame.

Beeker staggered backward. The bottle slipped from his
nerveless fingers and shattered on the floor. He clutched both
hands across his chest slowly, his knees buckled under him,
and he collapsed on his face.

TH sandy-haired bandit leapt lightly over the bar, and
together with his companions hurried out of the speak-
easy. So rapidly had the killing taken place that the clock
was still booming the last of its twelve strokes; leaving its
message of peace on earth; good will to men. i

Alexander Patterson of 450 East Eighty-ninth Street was
the first one to move. He rushed toward the front door and
out into the street. Eagerly he glanced down both sides of
the thoroughfare. There were many people on the street,
none of whom he could place as the bandits.

Suddenly he spied two men race across Third Avenue, hop
into a taxicab, and speed off toward the south. Patterson
hastily jotted the number on the back of an envelope. It was
a Paragon cab.

Patterson hurried back into the speakeasy. One patron
was jiggling the hook of the telephone, shouting wildly: “I
want an ambulance! I want a policeman!”

Three men were behind the bar. Fred Becker lay in a pool
of blood that mixed with the whiskey which had poured from
the broken bottle. The men lifted Becker to the bar. Patter-
son hastily jammed two tables together and carried the bar-
tender to them.

Five minutes later a radio car jerked to a halt before the
speakeasy. Detectives Charles J. Browne and Patrick Mac-

Guiness, their guns drawn, raced through the entrance.
‘‘Tt’s too late,” Patterson spoke bitterly. “They got away.”
Browne, a dark, husky officer, with a splendid record of

service, sheathed his gun and hurried to Becker’s side. The

almost imperceptible heave of his chest told the detective
that the victim still lived. He leaned forward and spoke with
his lips near Becker’s ear.

“Who did it?”

Becker stared vacantly at the ceiling, but did not speak.

“You’ve—been—shot,” Browne spoke slowly, distinctly.
“Do—you—know—who—the—man—is?”

Becker turned his head painfully toward Browne. “I’ve
I shot,” he mumbled slowly. “A man. I don’t know

im.”

His head rolled over and he lay still. Browne placed his
ear against Becker’s chest. He could detect no heart beat.
He stood up and nodded his head.

There is a dual hook-up between the Police Department
and the District Attorney’s office in New York City. Thus,
when the police received the flash on the shooting of Fred
Becker, the official stenographer was already on the tele-
phone reporting the tragedy to me.

A few minutes later I was picked up by a radio car and
sped to the scene of the murder. Deputy Medical Examiner
Thomas A. Gonzales was examining the body of the victim.
Browne and MacGuiness were searching all corners of the
speakeasy.

Six additional officers kept the witnesses herded into the
back room. I walked up to the Medical Examiner. I could
see the deep red stain on the victim’s white apron. The blood
had issued from a hole in the left chest. “Did you find the
bullet that killed him?”

Gonzales shook his head. ‘It’s not in the body,” he replied.

“The shot went in through the lower chest, down through the

diaphragm, ripped through the liver and: then passed out
through the back.”

Brow
hand he
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passed out

Trapping the Broadway Slayers 57

Browne came from behind the bar. In the palm of his
hand he carried two lead:slugs. One was a badly dented forty-
five caliber bullet; the other a thirty-two caliber. Browne
handed me the smaller one.

“This is the one that killed Becker,” he said.

I examined it carefully and saw small red stains adhering
to the lead. The second bullet was free from stains. This
checked with the fact that Becker had but one wound.

I walked into the rear room and took the statements of the
witnesses. For the most part, their stories were substantially
as has already been revealed. One fact in their recitals in-
trigued me. ‘That was the description of the two-gun killer.

Tt was a face that was not easy to forget. The hollow eye-
sockets; the high, pointed cheekbones; the taut, yellow skin.
Somewhere before I had come across the killer. I felt cer-
tain of this. But where and under what circumstances?

When Patterson gave me the license number of the taxi-
cab into which he had seen the men jump, I felt that by day-
light the case would be closed. The patrons of the speakeasy,
all respectable business men, I permitted to go home, under
their promise to be available when I should call them.

I drew Browne aside and gave him the information. “I
think the only thing for us to do is to telephone down to the
Hack Bureau and check on the ownership of the cab.” This
Bureau, located at Greenwich and Cortlandt Streets, keeps
on its file the record of every taxicab and driver in the city.

We got into Browne’s car and drove toward Centre Street.

“You know,” I told him, “I’ve come across that killer
somewhere.”

“You think you have,” Browne snorted. “But I know
you haven’t because I know who the killer is!”

“What?” I asked incredulously. ‘Who is he?”

“If you want to know what his name is, I’d give my right
arm to know the right answer,” he replied. “Do you know
the stick-ups we’ve had during the last few months? I mean
the speakeasy jobs? He is the one who held up five ‘joints’
on the same street within half an hour!”

Now I recalled the description. There was a bandit loose
on the streets of the city who operated with reckless abandon.
In the four months he had operated he had robbed, at the
neg of his two guns, more than forty illicit beer parlors.

is most famous exploit was the one Browne had mentioned.

He had gone into the first speakeasy with two confederates.
He held up the patrons, robbed the till, and fled in a taxi.
Driving down to the next street, he repeated the process.
By the time he had finished robbing the third place, police
were already on the scene of the first hold-up and detectives
were scouring the neighborhood.

Undaunted by this, he returned to another speakeasy one
hundred yards removed and stuck it up. As the police rushed
to investigate the new hold-up, the killer and his companions

were already robbing a fifth place!
‘As we reached Headquarters, I told Browne that I would

go up to the file room and inspect the D. D. (Detective Divi-

sion) Fours on the cases. These are forms made out by in-
vestigating officers on the original crime. All subsequent
reports are filed on D. D. Fives. These reports are then
filed under the various headings; detailing whether it is a
homicide, number of perpetrators, mode of operation, type
of building or victim, descriptions of bandits, and method
of escape.

When a new crime is committed, it is tabled with old ones
under the various listings. It was easy to trace the record
of the sallow-faced killer. In the thirty cards listed under
the speakeasy hold-up, all had been carried out in the same
fashion by a trio who answered the general description. The
Becker case differed in only one respect—it had ended in
murder.

Browne rejoined me in the Correspondence Room. “I
found thirty jobs for which our killer was responsible,” I
told him. “Figuring conservatively, I’d say he held up at
least fifty places. These under-cover saloons operate out-
side the law. As soon as a proprietor reports a loss, he knows
it invites police inspection. Many of them would make up
for a loss by patrons out of their own pockets, rather than
run the risk of being closed.”

Browne nodded his head. ‘“That’s the way | feel about it—
but it isn’t bringing us any closer to him.”

“What did you find on that taxi?”

BROWNE handed me a picture. It was of a dark, husky,
beetle-browed man named Alfred Rubenstein of 355
West Fifty-eighth Street. The report stated that Ruben-
stein owned and operated his own taxi.

We rushed up to the latter address. The driver’s wife,
startled out of her sleep, answered the door.

“No,” she replied in answer to my question. “Al is out
working yet. This is New Year’s Eve, so I guess he’ll stay
out until morning.” I left word with her to send him down
to my office as soon as he arrived.

Meanwhile word had gone out for a round-up of suspicious
characters. Throughout the night, local precinct stations
were crowded with suspects, none of whom answered the
descriptions of the men we sought.

a nine o’clock that morning Rubenstein walked into my
office.

“JT don’t want to appear fresh, Mr. Carney,” he said, “but
what is this all about? I’ve been hacking all night and I’d
like to go home and get a little sleep.” He twirled his chauf-
feur’s cap in his hands.

I motioned him into a seat. “A murder was committed
up at LKighty-cighth Street carly this (Continued on page 77)

(Below) Left to right: William Curley, William Turner and Matthew Curley, members of the daring gang that preyed on
secret liquor places in an amazing series of swift hold-ups on one street


VAN DYKE, Floyd, hanged at Canton, New York, Dec. 21, 1877.

"Canton, N. Ye, Dec. 21, 1877 - The murderer Van Dyke was hanged today...He protested his
innocences"' OBSERVER, Raleigh, N, Ce, Dece 21, 1877.

The following two are from old newspaper clippings, not dated, provided by Mrs, Mary He
Smallman, Lawrence County Historian, History Center, 33 East Main St., Canton, N. Y.¥
13617, on. DeCe 25 1981.

"..ePerhaps the most spectatularcrime for which a man was hung in this county was that in
which Floyd Van Dyke, aged 19, was convicted of killing the former Miss Mary Bartholomew
of Potsdam five days after he married her in 1877. Van Dyke was alleged to have married
the young lady to prevent her bringing a bastardy charge against his friend, John Claffy.
the case caused a sensation in the county, and was reported in detail by the Ogdensburg
Journal, which published an interview with Van Dyke after his conviction, The time fixed
by law for hangings was between 10 aeme and 2 pem. ‘he Yournal reported that Van Dyke
asked to be hanged as shortly as possible after 10 asm. 'that he might be in hell in time
for - early dinner.'n Van Dyke never admitted his guilt and was executed in Canton late
in 1577 eccee"

and

"..eThe first man to die ihn this year (1877) was a 19-year-old youth hamed Van Dyke who
made his home between Ogdensburg and Heuvelton, though he was in reality a tramp from off
the boats, He was convicted on circumstantial evidence for the murder of his wife. John
R, Brinkerhoff was the district attorney for the trial and apparently there was some uncer=
tainty in his mind as to the guilt of Van Dyke for he asked Sheriff Orison Wheeler just
before the execution 'Do you really think this man is guilty?! Sheriff Wheeler, who held
office from 1877 to 1879, was the father of Fred Wheeler, present commissioner of elections
and of Mrs, Henry Woods of Canton. Mrs. Woods lived at the jail as a young girl, and she
distinctly recalls many of the events leading up to the execution,

"In 1877 execution was by hanging, and a portable gallows owned by the state was hauled
from county to county as it was needed, The lugubrious machine was drawn by a team of
horses, and older residents can still recall seeing the scaffolding rolling through the
village. For the Van Dyke execution the gallows was brought all the way from Montgomery
County on a wagone It consisted of a platform mounted on four upright posts. There was

a high back and an arm to the machine, the whole machine was painted grey with baack ends.
The structure was about 15 feet high and had a 300 pound weight which hung by a rope at one
sides The rope passed over a pulley and one end was attached to the prisoner's neck, so tha
instead of being dropped through a trap, he was jerked violently upward in such a manner as
to break his neck,

"Van Dyke never believed he was to be executed right up until the morning he went to the
gallows in August, 1877. On the ceiling of his cell he drew an angel in blue chalk, This
drawing was left there for over a year after his death, Before his death Van Dyke asked to
see all the members of the sheriff s family and he thanked them all for their kindness to
him, .

"The execution of Van Dyke was the first to take place in the county in 12 years, and it
attracted much attention, Some 60 newspapermen were present to witness ite 4rse Woods
tells that she was somewhat frightened at this executionand went into the pantry of the
jail and pulled down the shad just as the execution was about to take place. the shade
snapped up, however, so she actually witnessed the man being jerked upward as her father
cut the rope from behind the scenes, The rope was not properly fixed about Van Dyke's
neck, and nearly half an hour elapsed before he was dead, Death was caused by strangula-
tion rather than by a broken necKke..e"

A further note from Mrs. Smallman says: ".,.,contemporary newspaper says 'Van Dyke had
married a girl (Mary Bartholomew) July 23, 1877, who a short time previous to their
marriage had commenced bastardy proceedings against one John Claffy. (He shot her six
days after their marriage, while staying at Catherine Daily's house near Ogdensbulkge"


VAN IYKE, Floyd, white, hanged at. Cantons

ee
fe eS:

ep te

From the Arizona 2 Min

_ young. Van Dyke,

.on the 2lst ie pecabes in
-Ogdensberg, New . York, th
murder of his wife. Van ‘Dyke ‘was.
19 years of age at the time of his :
~ execution, ‘and desired to be hung —
as near as possible to 11 a.m, so.

that he might be i in h—-] for din- |
ner.” He probably got his wish. .

Oe ye
a ote spore
Sal BYOS,


166 NE (2) 8313 163 NE (2) 23 161 NE (2) 7473 159 NE (2) 69h.
VARGAS, Pablo, white, 35, electrocuted, Sing Sing (New York) on 5-12-1960,

"Ossining, Ne Ye, May 12 = A 35-yeareold man, convicted of the rape-slaying of a l6-yéar-old |
high school girl in Manhattan two years ago, was executed tonight in Sing Sing's electric
chair, The prisoner, Pablo Vargas, had been found guilty of strangling Lillian Mojica

and then attempting to burn her body in the basement of the building in which each lived

at 663 West 187th Street. Six pickets who said they were students paraded outside the
prison gates, One of the signs they carried said: "Thou shall not kill,'

"It took eight gaurds to strap Vargas into the chair, Prison officials said it was the

first time in Sing Sing's history that a condemned prisoner had put up such a desperate
seésistance," TIMES, New York, 5-13-1960 (18/1. ) |

"a dapper hospital chef was charged last night with the murder of his whdowed land-lady's
l6eyear-old daughter, He told police that he had acted on an impulse when he saw the girl
making herself up before a mirror, The chef, Pablo Vargag, 33, had been held at the Wadse
worth Avenue police station since Thursday night, Detectives said he began to blurt out
bits of his confession shortly after noon yesterday, Police faspector Frederick M, Buss-
en said Vargas admitted throwing Lillian Mojica to the bathroom floor Thursday morning

and raping her after he found the girl readying herself for school, Vargas admitted that
he had dragged the girl's body to the cellar and set her clothes afire, The chef could
not remember whether he stranged the girl, Mr. Lussen added, An autopsy showed she had
died of strangulation, The girl's body was discovered by her brother, Richard, 15, when
he returned from school, Detectives said Vargas had told them that after the killing he
spent the day with his estranged wife, Justina, and their three children at her home at

76 Third Avenue, He was booked on a murder charge," TIMES, N ew York, NY, 9-15-1958 (18/6,)

Verges, Dable

4 on, elec. Sing Sing 7: York) -

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