dt
VISALIA, CALIFORNIA, WEDNESDAY EVENING, AUGUST 8, 18%
O. Carathiéts was placed on the stand
«| aad be testified that he took the body of
deceased from the Earope hotel to hie
aadertaking establehment in Tulare
and prepared the body —— Wy
afterwards interfed it. "55 >
Baptista Ribo wis then recall xd “and
his examination was continued by-Mr.
Power. Witness said he first saw How-
ard on the 16th of June at 2 o’clock p. m.
“land De La Nina was with him. It was
“lim my dining room; De La Nina asked
; Fatal Shooting.
- At 3:30 yesterday court reconveaed
and the bearing of testimony in the
Howard case was resumed. * Soin
Mary Ribo, a girl 9 vears of age, was
placed on the stand. She said she lived
at the Earops hotel in Tulare. She said
ehe was in « bedroom drinking some
broth and heard the shot when Nina was
killed. Was sick in bed, but was sitting
ep. Llooked up when I heard the sho!,
saw the flasn of the pistol and saw Nina
be fall down. ide
father, Battglio and Mun. Baitaglio were
agralgtenr ap he An Italian boy, the
last witness on the stand, was outside
> mear the Dutch oven.* I could only see
3;
he lay
“on the ground.
a Frank Grifino, with T. Bacigslupi os
, was the next witness. He
- sald he kept s hous: in Tulare and Ribo
was his partner. He knew Martini De
Le Nina and was there when Nine was
killed ; + did mot see the shot, bat when I
‘beard it went outside and saw Nina on
the ground with one hand on his chest
and one hand on the ‘ground. He was
dead. There wers four or five people
-eut there when I got there. few no
arms or weapons on the dead man when
it get vo: whove the body 1s? “sa
Cross-exawination.—[. saw nobody
Sosah Mina after be was dead. Dell
Valle wiped the toad. frou hie face
“: @hen he retarned from Sore, Snare be
‘went lor an officer, > inne
‘Loole Battagiio wes the nest witness
“pad an Interpreter was needed for him
ae On the 16th of June the witness
said he lived et the Kurope hotel in Su
lare, feaw the defendant at the hotel
totweon IZand 3 o'clovk, in company
ot Vine amd the Iome rf the hana am
et
5 . Sierras: 2°54 | me if I would give Howard s drink, a8
The Dead Man Ciaimed the Defendant
“Mr. as Mis Priend Before the
he was one of his friends; we went to
the cellar and we all took a drink.
Howard then went oat by the Dutch
oven and out of sight. De La Nina re-
mained on the porch. I saw Howard
again at my house and he had « small
demijohn. Howard ssked me if I woald
give bim that fall of wine; 1 gave it to
him; I wenttothe cellar with Howard
and got the wine. De Ie Nina had just
gone oat, ‘After we left the collar
Howard went again out of the hones by
the Datch oven towards the Negro house.
Ning went to town. 1 saw Howard
again that evening jast about the time
the water works whistle blew; Le came
in the way he went oat by the Dutch
oven; I was in the kitchen; he asked me
where Nina was; he had a demijobn in
his hand; he handed it to me and I pat
it down “on the floor. tloward ‘then
went to the dining room door; I coald
not see him; I coald not hear anything
he sald; cloward afterwards wanted me
to give him more wine and I would not
give it to him.= He then called Nina
again and motioned fur him tu come;
Howard and Nina came to where I was
and then waked off ‘the porch
down by the oven; they may have stood
there seven or eight minutes. [a the be-
ginning there was no one there but the
two and afterwards my toy went there.
On the poarch there ‘vere several pruple;
I had been paying no attentlun. ‘A heard
a shot and saw a flash; 1 saw Nina just
as the shot was fred; I saw Nina move
fast before the abot was fired; he turned
round, I heard some one say ‘in a low
voice ‘‘s————b,'", just before. the shot
was fred. Nina hed started to make «
step, the shot was fired and he stegyered
and fell on his beck. { was atanding
right at the pamp end | went with others
to where Nina lay, Susan Del Goalia
was the Aret white person 10 gat tu the
body, Sbe cried and tore her alr. Pat
Conwey wan the first American. Wy got
there, Nina had ne weapon at any shore
E
meena ne
witness. ‘He wae an eyewitness. fo the
killing and he detailed the:diimumstandes
olthe affair sabstantially as ithe other
Nina say “You can't makeme shot my
mouth and Howard said yomcan’t make
me shot mine” and ‘them ioward took
out tito pistols and shoteiilina. Nina was
going from Howard whem the disfendant
fired. Iwas standing cle enough to
Nina to put my hand on liiim. oe
On crose-examination witness “eaid
Howard only abot with the pilstdl in the
right hand; the fash off the pistol al-
moet blinded me. He siiat ‘Nina with a
wig black pistol; the other masa smaller
pistot. 1 saw defendant: ggo around be-
hind the Negro house afiter the shot.
(Mr. Lamberson here reali fironz'the testl-
mony of thy witness at thexpreliminary ex- 2
amination where he testifiiedlithat Howard
went in {rout of the Negro tixouse, bat after
a few questions, the prosecution objected
to that sort, of examination and was
sustained by: ‘the coart.)). ‘The witness
was postive in bis statements ‘and, stoud
the ordes! of crose-examisattion weil. ae i
Peter Spears, a colored lnautblack trom
Tulare, who wears a high that mad holds
up hie left: hand to be seworn, testified
that he had lived in Tulmreeleven years
and has known defendant eight or nine
months; saw him the digy the shooting
want you to go and talil ‘there girs
bury that gan, and go quick.” I w
over and told the girls what he sald.
~ In the cross-examinatiion of this wit-
ness much amusementt was created by
his testimony relativy toltiis capacity to
drink and the court had tioaiimoniah the
audience to be quiet andi ilisten to the
evidence if they desired tio remain. “Ae
a mathematician Pete wan ont of aight,
In about seven weeks tiime he spent two
months in Tulare, two wesku_ in Boker:
Geld and fifteen days tx jell.” cat.
Pat Conway, the deputty constable who
arrested Howard, was tihe next witness,
Hea enid he heard a plattol shot about &
o''lock and in a fow iminntee Attillo
found him and told hiumdfithe dhooting,
He then went to thw Rurope hotel,
Witneaa deacribed the munition of the
dewi mun, hia earch for and capture of
Howard, the taking (ram ibim of a forty.
one calibre Colte pletok.and the delivery
of the peiaoner and pésttal to Conatable
fal
we
About 6 o'clock “Tuesday ev:
Lamberson & Middlecoff and H.C, Lil- ;
He, attorneys for John Howard, con-
victed of murder In the first degree, |
received a telegram. ‘announcing’ that |
the supreme court had affirmed the de- |
cision of Judge Gray in the People vs.
John Howard. This means that: How-
|crd must explate his crime of murder.
len the gallows at San Quentin, accord-
ing to the sentence. of the courti’’ /)
Howard shot. and killed am Italian |
ly the name of De la Nina, Im-the dls- |
reputable part of Tulare. om.the 16th_
i jot June, 1894. He was prosecuted by |
| M. E. Power, who was district attorney ,
;at that time, and his deputy, W. H.:
Alford, . Howare’ made: & strong. case
by his attorneys already named, claim-
ing that he shot in ‘self-defense. ~He
was found guilty In the August fol- |
|lowing the murder... = ee at ; i
Howard's attorneys ‘appealed the |
case, and this appeal has been ;pend-
ing many months... For over @ year a
special guard (W. E. Russel) ta watch |
Howard at night officiated at the’coun-
ty jail, by order of Judge Gray. The
guard was appointed after Howard |
had been sentenced to death, 22% H
Howard was apprised of the decision |
of the supreme court last etening. He |
wax removed from the fron @elia’ to an;
apartment in the second asters. and a!
guard will be kept, over him till ren-
tence Is again’ pronounced wpon hin;
and he js taken to San Quentin i
nes ——
‘THE BLUE FRONT.
- Riemann 2h: eo SACKLER a oon
és e
Duly ASI $96 Noowewra J
Mearns + ere ava SIEER 16uil BOD Bi
it will be stored the fruit sfter it ir
canned. ~ aia ca re
In a -bgfiding pn the north side of;
the warehouse is 42a cooking room.
where the frutt js coved and the cans
seldered, = © eA Cate
brought in yes-
and Land Company, 79 boxes
weight was about MN pet
Mae ee
Z
mee age ad
ari of Tularé, tried and
> the last Howard p
the killing was done in self-defense,
in spite of the fact that the murdered/ed from $9000 to $000.0 0° i
man was shot In the back of the head.{ - Levis, Sweet & Co—It was ordered
his arrival in prison,/that the assessment on the stock ¢
merchandise of Lovis, Sweet & Co. be]
reduced from $8500 to 34800. Supervis-}.
became} 3, Goldman & Co.—It-was mo’
2
behalf, ‘he
; haa proved stock
. poatheast quarter of ‘section “27,
south, range 2) east. Mis
18.1
ere William, A- Davis and,
a Taking of faiaoy's me
~ This Morning,
2 Preeet Indications Point to a
eeased Detailing Conversations
j aoe Mad With Defendant,
’. The case of the People vs. Howard
was called promptly at 10 o’clock thir
morning and ©. R. Berry, Geo. F
* Beales, L. D. Whitt and J. B. Weather
— An opening statement was made bs
Depaty District Attorney Alford, and
= De. J. B. Rosser was placed on the
stand, who testified to making a post
mortem examination of the deceased and
~~ =. described the coarse of the bullet that
> « egnsed death.
County Surveyor Patton was placed on
the stand and he explained to the jary »
map he had made of the premises where
the killing occurred.
Sesan Dei Gualia was the next witnesr,
. D. RB. Douglass acting as interpreter.
" __. She was placed on tbe stand to detail
conversations she hsd with the defend-
ant. She lives at Tulare and knows the
~ delendant. Saw him twice the day be
fore the killing at my house and bad »
talk with bim. The first talk was be
: tween 2 and 3 o'clock in the afternoon.
?~~ He asked me where Martini De La Nive
{ was and he told me he had been lovking
three nights;
2
%
v
for him two of
that he was » man be did
pot like; that be was no
account; that he was xJad to run him out
of town sad give bias trouble. He then
theew his coat back and showed bis eter
and said he was ali fixed and could do
all be wanted todo. Later lu the even-
jag Howard came to wy house egain; it
wae dark. He talked about Nina agaia ;
is wee about the same as ia the alter
poca. He sald he was going todo shat
" pe sald he was, vis: going to meke troe-
ble for bias. f eaw dolendent on Betas
>; dey morning coming from the house of
*- the Negro giris; bad a conversation with
* bem ot my hoese le the aflerncos; an
“ Italien named Atiilo aad Nina were af
; my howse; we wereon the porvhs be
J qpoke to me and then asked Nine lite
= game, Nie went out aad talked to
= Howerd and ofervarde Howard come
pest and eaid he wanted to lel to me,
He tout a paper ont of hie portet and
——~.
at my house last about 4 o’clock Satur-
» | day afternoon, and left with Nina. They
seemed to be friendly. Howard said be
thoaght Nina would help him. Don't
know that Nina ever promised to testify
wainst anyone to escape prosecutiun
himself. Don’t think Nina hed a pistol
the day he was killed; he had one ri-
lay, bat in the evening of thet day be
‘old me he bad left his pistol at the
BE-DIRECT EXAMIXATION.
I beard a conversation between Car-
lisle and Nina when Carlisle tried to get
Nina to act as a witness.
Counsel for defendant objected to the
witness detailing that conversation and
the objection was sustained. :
Dr. G. G. Shannon'was the next wit-
ness who told of the autopsy held on
Jeceased on the 17th of Jone.
Attilio Dull Valle, T. Bacigala pi acting
«a interpreter, was the vext witners:
( live at Pine Ride bat on the 16:h of
Jane was living at the Hotel Europe in
Calare city. Iknow the defendant and
snew Martini De La Nina; knew him
tom boyhood. Saw Nina on the 16th
lay of June, the day he was killed.
Saw him first on the 16th about 10 o’clock
a the morning. ,At Susan De] Gualia’s
souse. Nina went to the hote! and I
derwards went there. Saw Howard,
Nina and Reva going down to the cellar
snd Nina said they went for a glass of
@iue. When they came back Hoaard
went to the Negru house, but retarned in
five or ten minutes sith a half gallon
lemijohon and asked R:vsa for a half
aallun of wine. Reva gave him the wine.
Don’t know where Howard went with
the wine. Saw Howard again between
7 and 8 in the evening at the. dining
room. Nina and another man was with
we. Howard came in from the back
foor and called Nina. Nina went out
aith them and [ staved in the dining
eoom. Could not hear any conversation
oetween Howard and Nina. Nina came
beck alone but Howard soon came back
again, Nina eat down at the table and
drank a glass of wine with os. It was
about tuo minutes before Howan! came
cack and motioned for Nina to come vut.
dine went, I did not hear anything
asid by them as they went out. I started
© the closet and as 1 went out | heard
Nina oay, ‘1 haven't got anything and
van’t give youanything, for I baven't yot
anything tue myself.” Then Howard
rateed and said, ‘Take thie, then, you
o——t—— 1" Nine's bevk wae turned to
Howard at the time the shot was fred,
Aina foil with ble hued towards the vine,
Mina did mot try to @ rike Howant of do | ¥
anything tu him, He hal no pistol of
Guile, Aher he fell} wont for a pulwe-
man, Alter Honerd red the onan he
gent ia the Negro howe,
Pies 201i mae
-Jesaminetiion wf ihe tar
Stately Elms to Fall. 4
A stately row of elms at Cambridge,
which for many decades have formed a
picturesque border to the Harvard college
grounds, are to be cut down. Tyenty-
two in number, only twoor three show
any sign of decay. These trees are to fall
before the widening of Harvard street,
which is much too narrow for the street
cars and tracks which in great number
traverse it at all hours of the day. The
gives s @rip of land 10 feet wide on con-
dition that the college shall not be called
on to pay anything for betterments.—
Boston Commonwealth.
Giving Wine Away.
There is such a tremendous pissin,
of wine in Spain this year that they ab-
solutely do not know what to do with it.
Good red wines are being sold for 8
farthings a quart, and ¢\ en at that price
there are not enough purchasers to take
it all, and in many places the winegrow-
ers are simply throwing it away, because
they have no room to keep it and cannot
sell it. Near Liria, in Valencia, a vine-
yard proprietor put out on the highroad
a little cart, with a barrel of wine on the
top of it, bearing the lon, *““Wan-
derer, drink as much a8 you like, but do
act forget to tara of the tap. "—Loadon
Tit-Bits. ‘
Cittising Aimongheite wabebe”
Delicate tints prevail in the architeo-
tare of the California Midwinter fair,
and an effort has been made to eo dis-
tribute and arrange them that the pe
culiar effects of the climate
magnificent setting.
Much gold bas been used.—San Francie
co Argonant.
George Birkenhauer hes sold bia dried
peaches at 7 cents a pound.
A whole colony of witnesres in the
Howard murder trial are camped ia
room No. 3 of the enperior court.
Mes LARC To a het yy Ree
=A Pha ig Bee ie
he uguet 6, 2606,
RANDAL
to the w
ee SS Se
VISALIA, CALIFORNIA, TUESDAY. EVENING, AUGUST 7, 1894
e Is fs muainesining't
up for itself a
GAIN pte I
and the crumblin
system of ROBB
ner’s artillery is
F , | the hundred pé PS
Honest Deal
you
gather -round
quire the aid
Books for the Times).
AWM POVERTY,
pause of nduatrial de
Son'tp with tewreecs
are d at vunn ame Th WwW. YY Gee
cays) "Te thee wel y tro Aiea rede
Boer rat cecal tes
oom pel atten
pene OR VRE TAAHET Ae
Ae
wee
PANGURAS
iio
qeertiun BHM ce 5
-Arrington?”
Filkas pro-
heading for
he went to
guarding the
hurried into
hts was just
its tires
making his
2r went past
tse and took
e roof. They
‘d over, but
vaiting gun-
parapet and
ut here, too,
iadows and
, came the
would soon
earts, Ryan
n had made
nolders
the apart-
downtown
dapper and
vomen wept
‘y. “Do you
u two were
nes—is that
ington de-
ctable man.
’Neill here,
you think .
morning at
rs and re-
m. “That’s
re made a
for it.”
re of their
. “lve put
ington,” he
“You in a
ling about
2rman Cal-
shopkeeper
eill said.
tuy,” Con-
im to the
ed to the
ve a few
sick man,
ty entered.
id, spotting
the shoot-
it him to it
der loose.”
but Filkas
ind.
ened if he
omplained.
that store.”
jured man,
yards of
‘*, Krause?”
‘ou know
beginning
structible!”
there was
‘ss the en-
‘as he un-
ss Arring-
ton. But his greatest concern was for his
wife. He insisted she was telling the truth;
neither he nor his confederate had ever
taken the women into their confidence. -
“How’d you manage to get your wife to
fall for that gag about your being a
theatrical agent?” Filkas asked curiously.
O'Neill smiled humorlessly. “Why not?
I was in a lot of amateur theatricals. I
even tried to get into pictures. When you
get a little extra time,” he added with a
touch of irony, “I'll talk show business
with you.”
A check of the police records disclosed
the prisoner had done an 18-month stretch
at McNeil Island Federal pen for trans-
porting a stolen car across state lines. Con-
daffer ordered him booked in the county
jail'on murder and robbery charges, then
turned his attention to the two young
wives. Hours of questioning convinced
the captain they knew nothing of their
husbands’ activities.
“Tl believe those girls. They’ve been
taken for a sleighride. Release ’em.” He
turned to Davidson. “But I want ’em shad-
owed day and night. Arrington may try
to make contact.”
More than anything, Condaffer was irri-
tated that not one set of Arrington’s finger-
prints had turned up in the West Sixth
Street apartment. The impressions of
O’Neill and the women were everywhere,
but not Arrington’s. .
“Without those prints,” he said, “how
are we going to locate his mug in the
record bureau? I’m convinced he’s been
pinched before and we've got a file on him,
but under a different name. If we can get
a picture, we can plaster the country with
bulletins. I want you boys to work on that
angle.”
Condaffer knew it was a tough assign-
ment and the ensuing days confirmed it.
There were many suspects, but Elizabeth
Hood and other witnesses to the murder
and shooting looked the photos over and
shook their heads.
Filkas, Baggott and Ryan continued to
thumb through the criminal files. Finally
they found what they were after, a pic-
ture and description which tallied almost
in every detail with the fugitive. The
man’s name was listed as “William Fer-
guson” and even Krause himself agreed
#t was the dark-haired killer.
“We've hit the jackpot,” Ryan said. “Let’s
give O’Neill a gander and see how he
reacts.”
Whatever doubts might have existed that
William Ferguson was indeed the wanted
man were dispelled when O’Neill saw the
photograph. His reaction was immediate
and marked.
“How’d you uncover it?” he asked won-
deringly.
Baggott smiled. “You ought to know we
got ways.”
Ferguson’s record revealed he had been
reporting to the Los Angeles County pro-
bation department up until four weeks ago.
He had done a term for armed robbery.
The investigators visited the probation
bureau and promptly received a violent
shock. One of the probation officers swore
that Ferguson could not be the wanted
man because at 7 o’clock the night of the
murder Ferguson was a visitor at his
home!
Dismayed, the detectives picked up the
suspect and paraded him before Krause,
Miss Hood and several others. All agreed
he resembled the murderer, but was not
the man.
Ferguson was released and the investi-
gators went into a huddle. They were still
groggy from such a fantastic setback.
“T get it?” Filkas said. “It was O’Neill
who got us off on the wrong track. True,
Ferguson’s mug pnoto looks like Arring-
ton. But O’Neill’s an actor. Don’t forget
that. He deliberately led us to think Fer-
guson was the man. It didn’t matter to him
what we did, so long as we didn’t reach
his pal.”
Ryan nodded. “O’Neill doesn’t know it,
but he’s going to help us after all. If Fer-
guson’s picture looks like Arrington, we
can pretend the picture is Arrington. Any-
way, here’s the pitch. You: fellows re-
member the wives said their husbands
kept regular office hours. Well, where did:
they hang out? It had to be somewhere.
Maybe in a hotel. Let’s go ask some more
questions around town.”
In possession of Ferguson’s photo as
well as O’Neill’s, they began a canvass
of downtown Los Angeles hotels and
rooming houses. At a spot on South Fig-
ueroa Street, they got the answer they
wanted. The two men dad been living there
for more than a year. However, the man
with O’Neill was not named Ferguson, but
William Hudson.
The detectives returned to headquarters
and looked up the files on William Hudson.
This time they did not require O’Neill’s
help. William Hudson was Arrington. In-
stant confirmation came from Elizabeth
Hood, Henry Krause and more than a
dozen others. The records showed that
Hudson, or Arrington, had a long crime
record, including forgery, burglary and
assault.
Condaffer was immensely pleased. “I'll
paste this bird’s mug up in every city in
the United States.”
But it was not until the following
February 7, that the good news came.
Salt Lake City wired it had -Arrington,
alias “Henry Walters,” in custody.
Ryan departed to return the prisoner.
In the latter’s room he found the gun
which later was identified as the weapon
used against Henry Krause.
Arrington confessed everything but Ryan
was curious about two points.
What, he wanted to know, had caused
Arrington to, be suspicious after opening
his apartment door the night the officers
were there?
Arrington grinned. “If you fellows had
been a little more careful you’d have
realized there was a mirror opposite you.
When_I opened the door,.there you were.
I slantmed the door and ran.”
That brought up the second point. Ryan
thought he had run out the front apart-
ment door.
“No,” Arrington said. “I made a pass at
the front door, then I saw one of your
men coming out of the manager’s apart-
ment and I scooted upstairs to the roof.
You fellows didn’t realize it, but I was
only a few steps ahead of you. If you had
pressed me, I’d have shot you deader’n a
doornail.”
The prisoners went to trial late in
Spring before Superior Judge William Tell
Aggeler on a charge of murder in the
first degree. Henry Krause was in the
courtroom, almost completely recovered.
The trial was short, and the jury brought
in a verdict of guilty with no recom-
mendation for mercy.
On the morning of Friday, October 2,
1931, Arrington and O’Neill, their swagger
gone, mounted the 13 steps at Folsom
Prison and were hanged.
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Sixth Street apartment house, a five-story
structure, were locked for the night and
Davidson ruled against punching bells to
gain entrance; such procedure might tip
off the killers.
Instead, Ryan went around to the rear
and climbed the fire escape until he came
to an open window. Then he padded silent-
ly downstairs and admitted his waiting
colleagues. In a moment they were in con-
sultation with the sleepy-eyed manager.
No Time For Planning
Yes, the police officers were informed,
Mr. Arrington and Mr. O’Neill lived there
with their wives. The two couples oc-
cupied a big double apartment. However,
she had seen them go out three hours be-
fore and didn’t believe they had returned.
“Is there some way we can definitely
establish they’re not in without arousing
their suspicions?” Davidson asked.
“T’ll go back and knock,” she agreed. “If
someone answers, I’ll say there’s a com-
plaint about dishes rattling.”
She took a key from a rack and hur-
ried down the long, carpeted hall. The
single night light glowing far to the rear
shed virtually no illumination. The de-
tectives watched, tense hands fingering
shoulder holsters. They heard her hesitant
knock and then a rectangle of light leaped
out into the hallway as she let herself in.
She was back almost instantly.
“Nobody. They left a lamp turned on in
the living room.” She eyed the big men
in concern. “You don’t think there'll be
a disturbance? This is a peaceful, quiet
neighborhood. I can’t imagine what the
Arringtons and O’Neills might have done
“We can’t make any promises,” David-
son said. “Depends.on how your tenants
act when they get here.”
There was no time for extensive plan-
ning. The killers might arrive any instant.
Davidson, Baggott and Ryan planted them-
selves inside the apartment. Filkas stayed
behind in the manager’s quarters that
overlooked the street. The blueprint was
for Filkas to give the couples ample time
to enter their apartment, then to establish
himself in the hall as a barrier to escape.
The main halves of the big apartment.
were linked by a short arched passageway.
There was a second door leading into the
hall from the after portion of the double.
Both doors had se apap | springs. The
first door would be manned by Davidson
and Baggott. Ryan would take the other.
‘Silently and swiftly the detectives shook
down the apartment. There were no
weapons—nothing which indicated the
rooms to be the hideaway of a pair of
vicious killers. The visible evidence was
all to the contrary. Under the soft glow
from. the lamp the apartment stood out
neat and freshly scrubbed.
Twelve-fifteen .. . 12:30....
“Why in blazes don’t they .. .” Baggott’s
question went unfinished. A key turned in
the lock. Davidson and Baggott slipped
noiselessly toward it. The door opened per-
haps five inches, then was shut instantly.
Ryan, at the other door, lunged .out into
the hall, blinking in the half-darkness..A
tall blond man stood there, and beside
him two young women. Even in the shad-
ows Ryan knew the man was O'Neill.
“Get ’em up!” he ordered.
The women screamed and simultaneously
several shots exploded. The detective
ducked, but the shots had come from
Davidson and Baggott, blasting away at
the lock which had jammed, imprisoning
them. They joined Ryan in an instant and
i a came pounding up the carpeted
a. ‘~ .
“You get the other one—Arrington?”
Ryan demanded. .
“Nobody came past me,” Filkas pro-
tested.
“But I’m sure I saw him heading for
the door,” Ryan said. “Maybe he went to
the roof.”
With Davidson and Baggott guarding the
prisoners, Ryan and Filkas hurried into
the street. A car, without lights was just
lurching around <a corner, its tires
screeching.
“That could be Arrington making his
getaway,” Ryan said. “He...”
“But I tell you the guy never went past
me.
The men re-entered the house and took
the steps three at a time to the roof. They
moved across the top, hunched over, but
still perfect targets for any waiting gun-
man.
They made their way to the parapet and
leaped to an adjoining roof; but here, too,
there was nothing except shadows and
. quiet. From many directions, came the
crying of sirens; the police cars would soon
be converging. But in their hearts, Ryan
and Filkas knew that Arrington had made
his getaway.
Thought They Were Jobholders
Leaving one man behind in the apart-
ment, the investigators started downtown
with their prisoners. O’Neill, dapper and
calm, said nothing. The young women wept
constantly.
“Look,” Davidson said sharply. “Do you
think we’re going to believe you two were
ignorant of your husbands’ crimes—is that
the reason for the tears?”
“What crimes?” Mrs. Arrington de-
manded. “My husband’s a respectable man.
He’s an accountant. Bob, Mr. O’Neill here,
is a theatrical agent. What do you think ,
they’ve done?”
“I suppose they left each morning at
8:30, like respectable jobholders and re-
turned at 6,” Davidson said.
Mrs. O’Neill turned on him. “That’s
exactly what they did. You’ve made a
serious mistake and you'll pay for it.”
Condaffer, informed by phone of their
coming, met them unsmilingly. “I’ve put
out another broadcast on Arrington,” he
said, then turned to O’Neill. “You in a
mood to talk?”
“Naturally, you know nothing about
the murder of a man named Perman Cal-
derwood or the shooting of a shopkeeper
named Henry Krause?”
“Never heard of them,” O’Neill said.
“Mug and fingerprint this guy,” Con-
daffer ordered. “Then take him to the
Cedars of Lebanon. I’ve talked to the
doctor. He says we can have a few
minutes.”
Henry Krause, still a very sick man,
was sitting up when the party entered.
“Yep, that’s one of ’em,” he said, spotting
O’Neill. “The other fellow did the shoot-
ing but this one would have beat him to it
if I hadn’t knocked that cylinder loose.”
The prisoner lurched forward but Filkas
grabbed him and spun him around.
“Well, it wouldn’t have happened if he
had behaved himself,” O’Neill complained.
“He had to come running out of that store.”
Baggott stared down at the injured man,
little of him visible behind yards of
bandage. “How you coming along, Krause?”
The merchant grinned. “You know
something? Darned if I’m not beginning
to believe I’m practically indestructible!”
Returned to headquarters, there was
little for O’Neill to do but confess the en-
tire story. Only on one point was he un-
cooperative. He would not discuss Arring-
ton. But his g
wife. He insist:
neither he no
taken the wor
“How'd you
fall for that
theatrical age!
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even tried to
get a little e>
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at McNeil Is
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More than
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APPEALS .
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LAST WORDS
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‘he grounds \
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‘ping figures
| he investi-
ikets. Warn-
hts went on,
Dunlap, Jack
lissing,
> news was
stations put
Dispatcher
riff, Biscai-
os Angeles
through his
athern Cali-
’ New Mexi-
the escape
hways were
e cars. Will-
1 the loose
‘e years and.
\
(ide dik cca ae
es
along with him were two young killers
‘who had both already made starts that
might equal Dunlap’s record.
Jack Harris was picked up in San
Francisco early the next morning as he
tried to break into a restaurant. He said
Curts and Dunlap had deserted him. He
is back in prison completing his life
term, with whatever additional penalties
are meted him for escape.
Sheriff Biscailuz quickly made contact
with his chief lieutenants. Every officer
in the department believed Curts and
‘Dunlap would head for Los Angeles
where, a quarter-century before, Dunlap
had enjoyed winning his game of tag with
police so long.
A car stolen in San Francisco a few
hours after the escape was found aban-
doned near Crestline, in the vicinity of
the Williams killing. years before. Once
more the chase after Dunlap was on full
force. His prints, together with his
younger companion’s, literally covered
the ‘stolen car, That definitely placed
- them on the way to Los Angeles.. A
~ couple of days later a housewife in a
little village
between El Monte and
Puente, California, hysterically tele-
phoned police that the wanted men had
stopped at her house and demanded the
morning paper and a drink of water.
- They took the paper with them she said.
Harry Dunlap’s picture was plastered on
the front page and the woman recognized
* her visitor from this picture.
A woman living a few doors down the
street reported some clothes stolen from
her back room while she was at the store.
Police who investigated believe Dunlap
filched the clothes and disguised himself
as an old woman for his further flight
into the city of Los Angeles. At any rate
he evaded a dozen prowl cars that
searched the vicinity of El Monte.
It looked like the Los Angeles police
were in for another. headache from the
same Dunlap ailment, That same after-
.. noon a young man and an old baldheaded
_ fellow, drove up to the Security Bank at
39th and Western and while. the old
fellow, who was driving, kept the motor
going, the young fellow strode rapidly
into the bank and his coat bulged out
before the cashier's cage as a covered
hand stuck it forward and he told the
woman cashier, “Give me all the money.”
She didn’t demur. She told Sergeant Earl
Rombeau of Los Angeles police later that
she was afraid the gun would go off if
she even hesitated.
od Ibo young man ran out with about
one thousand five hundred dollars of
the bank’s money and got in the car and
the old fellow grinned at him and they
sped away. Bank employees identified both
Dunlap and Curts from the series of
photographs the officers thrust before
them.
It may be nice sometimes to know that
history repeats itself but it was far from
pleasant for Los Angeles police officers
to have Dunlap in their hair again and the
jails began to fill rapidly with sixty-year-
old, baldheaded, wizened old fellows with
pale blue eyes, and some with black eyes,
who looked like Harry Dunlap’s picture.
Some of these were accompanied by curly
redheaded young fellows whose only
claim to notoriety seemed to be that they
looked tough enough ‘to kill, or be killed.
In every case the fingerprint men placed
a final negative on such suspects and they
were released.
The cashier of the very ultra Casa
Blanca cafe out on Wilshire boulevard
was counting the six thousand dollars
cafe receipts about noon on August 3st.
She looked up from her task as she heard
a sound at the door and a nervous looking
young fellow with a gun in his hands
motioned to the money and a canvas sack
lying nearby, and said, “just put it all in
the sack.” Mrs. Margaret King knew
about guns, and moneymad young killers,
and she was an avid newspaper reader.
She saw the curly red hair about as soon
as she saw the gun. She put the money in
a sack and the man took it and grabbed
her telephone and yanked out the wires
and backed out and away.
Downstairs at the foot of the steps
a
ee we ee
aS ) Throne
from Mrs. King’s office an old fellow
had pushed back the straw hat from his
bald head and was watching the waiters
and bus boys clean up and arrange the
tables. They thought he was a transient
tray carrier out of work and waiting for,
a job interview so they. went on with
their work.
Then the old fellow. went out quickly
with a young man who came downstairs
carrying a sack, Then they heard some-
body scream, “Somebody call the police.
I’ve been robbed. My phone is torr’ out.”
The waiters called the police and since
it was getting to be a habit the police
took with them pictures of Dunlap and
his fellow escapee.
Besides a photograph identification of
the two wanted men they got a fine
thumbprint of Curts’ left hand off the
cashier’s table. The men were seen to
get in an old car not far from the cafe
and from there their trail disappeared.
Sunday morning, two days following,
two men held up the cashier of the
Central market on west 9th street and
escaped with two thousand dollars in
\ store receipts. They drove away in a
fairly new looking La Salle sedan.
Sergeant Rombeau detailed men_ to
check all dsed car sales. Pretty soon they
found a used car lot where a La Salle
sedan had been sold the day before to
two men answering Dunlap’s and Curts’
description. The car had been purchased
in the name of Harold Gordon and the old
man had paid cash. Gordon was the name
Dunlap used when he got married in
Kentucky in 1918 and again when he got
arrested in Detroit in 1924. Evidently
years in prison hadn’t shaken his faith
in this alias. The cash hadn’t been
banked yet, Sunday intervening, and a
queer looking one hundred dollar bill
was taken and shown to the Casa Blanca
cashier. “Yes,” she said immediately. “I
recognize that bill. It was part of our
receipts. While I was counting the money
I noticed that wine or something had been
spilt on it and then it had been burnt with
a cigarette. I couldn’t be mistaken.”
of i gaan continued robberies in which
the younger man seemed to have
taken the lead gave further credence to
prison guard reports that Dunlap had
never shown his customary assertiveness
when in the presence of Curts. This
might possibly mean that with the less
experienced man giving orders and
directing action that police would have
less difficulty in picking up the pair, be-
cause Dunlap’s former craftiness was
not so apparent. ° ;
Despite this possibility however the
pair remained at large. On September 4th
an old man in a straw hat was seen driv-
ing a La Salle through Pasadena.
curly red headed youth was beside him.
Pasadena was another hot spot for Dun-
lap but before the report of his supposed
presence there was widely circulated the
trail grew faint again, and was finally
lost.
It was thought by police at this time
that Dunlap again employed the disguise
of an old woman, which with his small,
tightest mouth, and slight stature and a
scarf wrapped around his bald pate, he
could readily use, and in this way avoided
detection.
Thousands of discharged war workers
were leaving California at this time, and
the escaping pair would have found it
easy to fill their car with migrants and
get through the not too rigid border in-
spections.
It was several weeks later before
further reports began filtering through
concerning the escaped killers. A report
of a roadside cafe holdup near Olathe,
Kansas roused belief that the pair was
in the middle west. This was strengthened
by a ‘saloon holdup in Kansas City,
Missouri by two men answering closely
to Dunlap’s and Curts’ wanted notices.
Being fugitives, this desperate pair
now had the FBI to avoid in addition to
all local police officers they might en-
counter anywhere. It was about October,
1945, when the FBI took active notice of
flight of the pair and some of the best
special agents in the middle west and in
the east were delegated to the task of
picking up the escapees.
The records showed that Dunlap had
65
ae
once made a beeline for the Canadian
border and had almost made it. He
might repeat. Criminals usually seem
very deficient in imagination and while
following what seems to them a devious
route actually employ the most obvious
means of flight. ;
A Chicago holdup again indicated this
eastward trend, Out on Halstead street
one of the big bars lost one thousand
eight hundred dollars. “Two men did the
job,” the bartender said. “The young
fellow with the gun looked mighty. mean
to me, but the old fellow had a gun in
his hand too, and he looked a lot meaner.
Sure, I give ’em the money. I’m not paid
to be a dead hero.” Outside the saloon an
eyewitness saw the departing pair en-
gage in an argument in the street. The
old man grabbed the money sack and got
in the car first, and the younger fellow
ran after him and got in as he drove away,
according to this witness. “I thought at
first the young fellow was going to shoot
him,” the witness continued. “But he
didn’t. He stuck his gun in his pocket and
grabbed the door handle just as thé other
fellow started out. No, I didn’t get the
license.” ;
FBI agents again took up the trail but
the other fingerprints might be in the
Fullerton police records, the officers
checked their own files thoroughly. But
evidently neither person had ever been
arrested locally. Jy
“McGaff and I,” said Chief Gregory,
“will go down town and check with the
taxi drivers. Some of them may have
moved him to the hotel. It isn’t likely he
carried the two heavy suitcases by him-
self.”
Officers Richardson and Moore were
detailed to search records at the Val Vita
cannery. They found the night manager
at once. “We’re looking for your em-
ployee named Holloway,” Richardson
told him, explaining why they were
there.
The manager searched the H_ files.
“No. No such person.”
“How about a man named Osborn?”
“I'll see. Yes, here it is. Roy F. Os-
born, age fifty-three.” Records showed
he had last worked Friday night, and_still
had twenty-four dollars coming.
“Show us his application for work,”
Richardson suggested. This was handed
to him, ‘‘Here’s his address,” he con-
tinued. “139 West Whiting Avenue. A
wife and two children.”
“Look at that,” broke in Moore, read-
ing. “Former occupation: small machine
repairman, That’s, how conte the ball-
peen hammer. And there’s a character
reference. Tom Cartbridge. over in La
Habra.”
The idea occurred to Richardson that
66
no findings were made public through the
weeks that followed.
One California police official, now re-
tired, followed the flight of the two men
closely and his opinion was listened to
carefully by fellow officials. , “I firmly
believe,” this authority stated, “that this
pair has come to the parting of the ways.
Iunlap has seen that he has been giving
too much leeway to the younger man.
That dispute.they had over the money
in Chicago is so utterly unlike Dunlap’s
conduct as reported by the Mendicino
guards.
“I think the old man has finally
realized he has a pretty tough proposi-
tion on his hands, It may come to them
separating, or it may come to one of them
killing the other, Whichever one strikes
first is anybody’s guess. They’re both
killers you know, and utterly vicious.”
A close watch on the checkup on all
unidentified dead fingerprints was under-
taken in the mammoth FBI files in Wash-
ington so that if either Curts or Dunlap
was killed in any manher and not iden-
tified and yet their. fingerprints turned
in, they could be classified and identified
through the FBI fingerprint identifica-
tion division, There was no possibility of
_ Riddle
they might as well talk to some of Os-
born’s co-workers. But when asked, each
one replied negatively. “He hardly talked
to anybody,” said one man. “I tried to
talk to ‘him once, but it was no use. He
was quiet, believe me.”
Osborn had neither made any friends
nor any enemies. No lead or clue could
be obtained from any of the employees.
Apparently they were sincere in their
statements.
“Might as well hit for Osborn’s home,”
observed Moore. “If there’s no lead for
us there, we can look up Cartbridge.”
A’ THE Whiting Avenue address they
found Mrs. Osborn at home. “No,”
she declared, “my husband’s gone—I
don’t know where.” The family was in a
destitute condition. The officers could
sense an air of relief that he was gone.
“There’s a possibility he’s been mur-
dered,” Moore broke the news.
“Murdered!” she echoed. “When?
Why?” Her surprise appeared genuine,
“That’s what we'd like to know. Has
he ever been in any trouble before, that
would lead to this ?”
“None I ever heard of. Where is he?”
“We'll take you to see if you. can
identify him,” Moore assured her. “Did
your husband ever speak of a man named
Holloway ?”
“No,” she said, trying to recall. “T
never heard the name before.”
The police matron, Mrs: Evans, was
summoned and all drove to the mortuary.
of the Slain Guest.
[Continued from page 33]
a mistake if the prints of either Dunlap ©
or Curts ever got to Washington as those:
of an unidentified dead person. :
Then on November 19th, 1945, Curts
found himself with a gun in his hands.
and his hands held firmly by two Colum,
bus, Ohio police officers who had seen
him leaving a rooming house and recog-
nized him from his picture. The trail of:
the young killer was ended, just three
months after his sensational escape from-
Mendicino with Harry Dunlap. ‘
Dunlap’s whereabouts, dead or alive,
remain a mystery, Nothing learned from
Curts has helped locate the older man, or
his body. Curts. was turned over to the
FBI, and‘was returned to Mendicino on
January 14, 1946, but no report of the
seizure of Will-o’-the-Wisp Dunlap has
been’ verified and until official notice to
put this man in the “Dead File,” is broad-
cast by the FBI, police departments
everywhere will still look to Harry, Dun-
lap’s picture as that of America’s. No, 1
Wanted Man.
Note: The names Rosa\Kripps, Henry Warton,
John W. Braze, Sidney P. Gurney, Mrs. Dorothy
Dampel, and Mrs. R. S. Bookes are fictitious to
prevent embarrassment to persons innocently in-
volved. ‘
e
Clasping her hands nervously, Mrs. Os-
born looked at the murdered man but,
strangely, she hesitated at identification.
She admitted it resembled her husband,
but the head and face were too horribly
lacerated for her to be sure.
“You can think of no reason why any-
one would kill him ?”
Again Mrs. Osborn shook her head
numbly.
“Why ‘did you separate?” Richardson
cut in, “Did you dislike him?”
Mrs. Osborn replied that it was true
they separated because he drank a great
deal. Not only that, he chased after other:
women. It was a bad example for their
two children, although he was extremely
fond of them. But she harbored no
grudge.
“Did you know he had a friend named
Cartbridge?” Moore continued.
“No. I never heard of him. I hardly
knew any of his friends.” ;
“When did he move out?”
This, she said, was on Saturday. He
had carried his suitcases out to a waiting
green sedan and was driven away. She
had no idea who the driver was.
Just then Coroner Abbey came in. He
was told of the doubt in Mrs, Osborn’s
mind that the victim was her husband,
“Did he have false teeth?” Abbey asked.
“And had he once had an operation for
appendicitis ? This man had both.” ,
“No!” she replied promptly. “Roy had
neither one.”
This could’ mean but one thing. Hol-
"anew al
f
loway was
ously van!
involved, i!
Mrs. Os)
officers «lr
time beiny
away, Ric!
ing aroun
angle we
The ti
‘station. ©
. and McG:
had met \
taxi drive
loway as
with the
located as
“There
sedan in
Gregory
money t
Still had »
He lig!
Holloway
I can’t fi
Yet, if C
he would
his wage
ICH
bori
was inv
cussion |
reasonal
In ca
of the ¢
sibility
entered
night, i
way is
posed |
“May
conclu”
scared
do ans
search
worms!
Me‘
print }
three
made
anyth’
and s¢
lobby
was kK
“Tl
Greg
Holl:
No
did ai
as &
tinu
it; 7
see a
the \
Ea
decid
A
in o1
The
Xai
Dre:
roon)
O:
over
pins
won
78
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HARVIN CO., (17 W. 48 St., Dept. 842, New York 19, N.Y
| them,
more assistance to a prosecuting attorney
than did Stacey. The City Gazette and
Advertiser for June 9th, 1788, gives this
account of Stacey’s efforts to free himself:
“Stacey made a long diffuse speech in
which he accused some of the witnesses of
giving improper testimony and_ uttered
dreadful curses on the heads ot two of
saying that in his latest moments
he should assert his innocence. That he
never had malice against the life of persons
he was not acquainted with, but that he
came to town with a determination to mur-
| der William Irons who had been familiar
with his wife. He produced the coat from
which the button was said to have been
wrenched and as it had all the buttons on
the breast he endeavored to make the Court
believe that Captain Davis had forsworn
himself.”
General Pinckney concluded the case for
the defense with a masterly appeal for
leniency, which was followed by the At-
torney General’s sum-up of the State’s
pleadings, “in such an animated, forcible
style of reasoning that a number of the
spectators clapped their hands.”
Following the Judge’s charge, the jury
retired to consider the evidence. They re-
turned in half an hour with a verdict of
murder against Robert Stacey, Josiah Jor-
dan, Thomas Smith, John George, Edward
Hatcher and Anne Connelley.
The case was concluded on Saturday and
when Judge Burke passed sentence of
death upon the convicted defendants, he
recommended “that they make the best of
the time they had to live, and assured them
the Court had it in contemplation to have
ordered their execution on Monday next, if
the public business would not thereby have
been interrupted.”
So Judge Burke postponed the execution
until Wednesday. in order to preside ove
the trial of a group of pirates, who were
also convicted and hanged along with
Stacey’s gang.
In those days hangings were widely pub-
licized spectacles, with a drum and bugle
corps and a troop of cavalry escorting the
condemned to the place of execution.
When a great crowd had assembled upon
the common, between the jail and magazine
in Charleston, to witness the hanging
Stacey and his cohorts, Edward Hatche:
startled the onlookers by asking to be al-
lowed to make a statement. Declaring that
“being about to leave the world in a few
minutes he could not be supposed to utte:
an untruth, he did most solemnly protest
that what he had before sworn and said
was untrue.”
Whereupon Anne Connelley and Stacey
then took him by the hand, telling him
“that although their sad fate was owing to
what he had done, yet now having done
them justice they freely forgave him.”
Newspaper accounts of the hanging con-
clude with this interesting statement:
“The sheriff asked Hatcher if he knew
anything more about Marston’s money.
which he owned having seen. After this
question the assertions about innocence on
the part of Hatcher and Stacey ceased and
they all appeared by fervent petitions to
be the Universal God of Nature, intent on
meriting His Mercy by an acknowledge-
ment of His Divine attributes.”
The executions were held on June 12th,
1788. The gravestone was probably placed
in St. Philip’s Churchyard on June 30th.
only nine days after New Hampshire's rati-
fication of the Constitution made these
United States a nation in fact.
LINE-UP
ROYAL GARFIELD HUNTER
(Continued from page 56) immediate use
in meeting the company cash dividends.
A week later he tendered another draft
for $2,000. Before Hunter could withdraw
the balance of $3,000, the swindled company
became aware of its loss and steps were
taken to impound the safety-deposit box.
But all that this cubicle held was a wad
of newspapers.
The Bristol, Rhode Island firm’s total loss
was $27,000.
GEORGE E. CLIFTON
(Continued from. page 56) The crime of
murder was now added to that of attempted
robbery.
Clifton and his accomplice didn’t get very
far before they were apprehended. Both
were swiftly brought to trial. Clifton was
found guilty of murder in the first degree
and was given a life sentence, while his
partner received a twenty-year term.
The two were sent to the Iowa State
Penitentiary where Clifton applied him-
self as a quiet, model prisoner. He fre-
quented the prison library during his free
periods and soon acquired a good educa-
tion. Because of his apparent interest in
learning, his services were utilized in one
of the prison offices and he became a trusty.
As such he was allowed a certain amount
of freedom.
During the early afternoon of May 18th,
1946, Clifton managed to escape and, al-
though an immediate search was instituted,
‘he has so far eluded capture.
HARRY DUNLAP
(Continued from page 57) they soon fell
into the hands of Dunlap, who worked in
the laundry. On the night of August 18th,
1945, the three criminals made their way
to the laundry, bent back the bars which
they had cut, and made their way over the
prison walls.
Dunlap and Curts made good their escape
but their accomplice was soon captured.
On the loose again, the experienced Dun-
lap led Curts through a series of holdups
which netted them thousands of dollars.
Three months after their break, Colum-
bus, Ohio, police arrested Curts in the act
of holding up a cigar store. Dunlap was
nowhere in sight at the scene of this rob-
bery.
With two of the three escapees captured,
a special effort is being made to locate
Dunlap.
JAMES JULIAN KYZER
(Continued from page 57) 12 U. S. Climax”
appeared. Printed on the “top shot wad.”
reading down, was the following: “DU-
PONT.” Under this was the numeral ‘3”
below the numeral was printed “1% - 7%".
and at the bottom “U. S.” with a star on
either side.
The above details are told in the hope
that readers or law enforcement officers
will report any persons with similar shells
in their possession.
Kyzer was linked with this crime be-
cause his description fitted that of the mean-
eyed killer. At the time of the murder of
Patrolman Shaw, Kyzer was sought for
the murder of William and Amos Fisher,
at Inwood, New York.
A $2,500 reward is offered by the Police
Officers’ & Patrolmen's Association for the
capture and conviction of the murderer of
Patrolman Shaw.
we want
He swur
edge of the
haven't be¢
“Who sai
At headq
denied ow:
pistol, or tha
killad
a pees sup
rant. and ti
home to visi
arrived ther
utes, then «
Main S
10:30, w}
Apo
point and
But there
murder wa:
Police ke;
ing to get a
who might
the heat wa
Sonny B
Chapman
knew of the
sort of trout
The main
cated the de:
geant Dyer
Osity as to bh
and his wife
of July 4th.
“Tt went of
, white, gassed CAS (Los Angeles) February 11, 1955
a sah MS Lier ee HS pete wie » OMR ic ROE RETR ARE et od lit
HARRY DUNLAP. Jailbreak and Robbery. Reward: Master DETECTIVE,
$100. Age, 60; height, 5 feet, 6 inches; weight, 126 pounds; eyes, blue; hair,
gray, bald on top. Has several gold teeth. If located, notify Sheriff E. W.
Biscailuz, Los Angeles, California.
F.P.C, ile R OI 13
27 IO 13
Sixty-ven-are Harry Dunlap is a notorious bandit and killer.
Before landing in the clutches of the law, he had run a lengthy and check-
ered career of crime. Impersonating a deputy sheriff, Dunlap robbed young
couples who had sought the secluded security of Los Angeles’ outskirts as a
petters’ rendezvous. He became known,as the “Badge Bandit.” He had a
penchant for coming upon spooning pairs and, flashing his phony badge,
threatening them in the name of the law. His crimes in this field included
criminal assault, robbery and murder.
ard: When the authorities finally landed him, Dunlap was sentenced to Folsom
Prison to serve two life sentences, plus two hundred and eighty years on
additional counts.
With a record as bad as his, Dunlap still had the audacity to apply for a
parole. His plans in that field were swiftly thwarted. He became unruly
upon receiving word of his parole denial and, as a result, was transferred
to the Mendocino State Prison hospital and locked in the maximum-safety
ward, from which escape was considered impossible.
1 } But Dunlap schemed to escape. He found a ready ear in young Richard
to Curts, a confirmed murderer.
he Early in 1945, another prisoner was transferred to Mendocino, This con-
vict broutht along tae tc hat wee neeaed, and (Continued on page 78)
JAMES JULIAN KYZER. Murder. Rewards: Master Detective, $100;
others, $2,500. Age, 38; height, 6 feet, 2 inches; weight, 197 pounds; eyes,
maroon; hair, black, kinky; complexion, light tan. Travels a great deal
ana through United States by riding freights, hitchhiking, etc. If located, notify
On | Stuyvesant A. Pinnell, Commanding Officer, Detective Bureau, Mineola, L. I.,
ice i N.Y ‘
vy had F.P.C. (19) 1 A! 9
d the 1 U IW 10 ;
na
Pons Praircinin Charles H. Shaw drove his police car parallel to an Oldsmo-
vith- bile sedan which was parked facing the opposite direction, and stopped.
vould It was early morning, and darkness shrouded the isolated section near
je 78) Woodmere Golf Club, Nassau, New York. ;
Sergeant Robert Kirk, who had been riding with Shaw, played his flash-
~ light on the interior of the sedan. A Negro was seated on the right side of
the front seat, and as the flashlight was focused on him, his face revealed an
_ unusually vicious expression of the eyes.
. im The officers left their car simultaneously. Sergeant Kirk went around the
ene rear of the police car and reached a position to the left of Shaw, who was
ar me- standing between the two cars. Suddenly there was a blast of gunfire from
ring the darkness. Patrolman Shaw fell, mortally wounded. The killer ran off
‘ into the surrounding gloom.
\"hen come upon by the two officers, the Negro had been trying to “jump”
the ignition wires of the stolen sedan.
Shaw was killed by a 12-gauge shotgun shell, loaded with three drams of
smokeless powder and 1% ounces of size 7% chilled shot. The shell had a
low brass base and on the face of it the notation, “No. (Continued on page 78)
1d old IDENTITY OF READERS WHO FURNISH INFORMATION LEADING TO CAPTURES WILL BE HELD CONFIDENTIAL
| THE LINE-UP IS A FREE PUBLIC SERVICE—Five dollars is paid for each photograph used in the Line-Up. ‘“‘Screen”’
a at photos, metal cuts, newspaper photos and police circular photos CANNOT be used. Send only original photo, or
ning copy of original. When sending in photo for the Lrng-UP, give fugitive’s name, aliases, type of crime charged with,
- rewards, occupation, complete description, including all distinguishing marks, personal characteristics, date photo
was taken, date and place of escape, fingerprint classification, criminal record, if any, and the name and address
T etic | of the officer who wants the fugitive, and brief history of the criminal and his crime. No photos will be used ex-
es | cept those authorized from official sources.
lid IMPORTANT NOTICE—Readers of Master Derective possessing authentic information concerning any fugitive pictured in our
lx - Line-Up are urgently requested to: FIRST—Communicate with their local police or the police of the city where the fugitive may
be located, SECOND—Advise us IMMEDIATELY upon identification of fugitive through the Line-Up.
Where authorities are notified by letter or wire, send copy of same to Line-Up Epitor, Master DETECTIVE, 205 East Forty-second
i Street, New York 17, N. Y. It is essential that this magazine be notified the moment that direct action is taken. Application for
epel reward must be postmarked within 24 hours after the hour the fugitive has been positively identified through the Line-Up
moN (Police officers who effect the capture of fugitives wanted by their own gepartment are not eligible for Line-Up rewards.)
ae, Master DeTective rewards are effective up to six months after publication of photo, and reward is payable to the person who first
identifies the fugitive, prior to his arrest, from the photograph of the wanted man appearing in the LinE-UP, and gives the tip which
leads to his capture.
Master DETECTIVE reserves the right of final decision in determining whether or not the evidence submitted by the claimant to
the reward is sufficiently clear and conclusive.
More than half a million persons will read this issue. Total rewards this month, $2,950.
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signed his chief investigators Captain
Harold English, to check up on the clue.
Then turning back to his broadcasts,
Feland added a description of the tall
young man to his requests for information
on Mrs. Fouts.
At the Chinese cafe, Captain English
hit a blank wall. Nobody else recalled
seeing the woman and her companion
there, and English could not pick up the
trail again.
Belief now grew stronger that Mrs.
Fouts and her companion had run into
tragedy somewhere around Santa Maria.
Accordingly, searching parties were or-
ganized, with Ross and members of the
Highway Patrol taking charge of the
posses,
HE Sierra Madre and San Rafael
Mountains lie close to Santa Maria on
the East, with the coast range to the west
forming an area of rugged terrain, Foot-
hills and the vast ranch country surround
the city, which is bisected by Highway
101, main route from Los Angeles to San
Francisco, A search in that area was a
monumental job, but it was undertaken
at once, Requests also went to San Fran-
cisco, Los Angeles, Sacramento, and
other cities, for any information. that
would clear up the mystery.
Feland checked the work of his de-
tectives. Trains and bus stations had been
canvassed, with no trace of the woman.
“And the only niysterious car reported,”
Captain English said, “is the truck stolen
from the Corbett Company the same night
Mrs, Fouts disappeared.”
“I'd better check it again,” Feland de-
cided, -
He immediately drove to the service
station where the truck had been stolen,
and questioned the attendant.
“When that truck was taken last. Wed-
nesday night, was the man alone?” Fe-
land asked. ue.
“No,” the attendant said, “I believe
there was a woman with him.” —-
Feland’s eyes narrowed sharply, “De-
scribe her,” he commanded.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” the man said. “She
didnt come into the light, and I only have
a vague impression of seeing her get into
the truck just before it drove off. Why?”
The Chief explained his new theory
that Mrs. Sue’ Fouts, untraced so far,
might have been the woman seen getting
into the truck. But the attendant could be
of no more help, and there was not an-
other witness in’the vicinity, t
Feland was disappointed. Without a
description of the woman, or some clue
to her identity, he might be barking up
the wrong tree. He could not give up the
theory that Sue Fouts’ disappearance tied
in with the theft of the truck, and-yet it
would take more than a theory to solve
the mystery.
Nevertheless, when he drove back to
headquarters, he renewed his requests
over statewide radio nets for information
on the missing truck stolen from the Cor-
bett Company.
The investigation was now largely in
the hands of the sheriff’s office, with
Undersheriff Ross and his men staying
hard on the job, The search had widened
into the surrounding foothills, and prac-
tically every person in the downtown area
had been questioned. Still the mystery
held. But efforts of the determined and
co-operative officers were bound to bring
results. Tips and rumors began to reach
headquarters. Every clue was run down,
and it had begun to seem as if there would
never be a break in the wall of silence
surrounding the woman’s disappearance,
when a cruising detective picked up what
appeared to be a good lead.
The owner of a tourist court on the
edge of town reported that one of his
guests had acted strangely on the night of
December Sth.
“He had rented Cottage No. 6 earlier
in the evening,” the witness explained.
“And it was right after midnight that he
woke me up, said he’d had car trouble
and wanted to know if I would help him
get his car in.”
“I got up and dressed,” the man went
on, “and went out to help him. When I
got him in the light, I noticed that his
tace was scratched, and he was all bloody.
He told me he got bruised up when
another car rammed him as he turned
onto Highway 101 from a cross street.
That was where he had left his car.”
\ The tourist camp man had pulled the
stalled car in, then helped his tenant re-
pair a blown-out tire. Then he went back
to bed—but not to sleep..
_ '“T noticed the light on in his cabin for
another half hour,” he related, “and there
was some awful quarreling going on. I
must have dropped off to sleep finally, but
about two o’clock I heard a car start up.
I looked out and discovered that this fel-
low was driving away, right there in the
middle of the night.” ;
He furnished police with the strange
guest’s name, and the license number of
his car, a Chrysler sedan.
It wasn’t long before the wires were
buzzing with a pickup order for the flee-
ing guest. The investigators grew more
interested in the lead when they checked
and found that the suspect had been seen
at various downtown bars; that he had
been drinking heavily all evening, and
that on one occasion the bartender had
noticed that he was accompanied by a
woman who refused to drink with him
and who seemed impatient to get away
from the place.
No wreck had been reported on High-
way 101 near town on the night of Mrs.
Fouts’ disappearance, which only added
more suspicion to the man’s strange ac-
tions,
But the day passed, and another day,
without the lead being cleared up. Re-
peated broadcasts brought no trace of the
escaping Chrysler sedan, and no more
local leads on the suspicious man.
It was Sunday, December 9th, that the
first break came. Chief Feland had mean-
time passed along his theory based on the
stolen truck and the unknown woman
seen with it, to the other investigators.
They had agreed that the theory was
reasonable, but as yet had been unable to
make any progress along that line of
search, Then on Sunday afternoon, Fe-
land received a telephone call from ‘the
sheriff’s office in Bakersfield.
“We'y
stolen fri
phone
there’s homicicl
“T was afrai
tersely. “Give 1
The truck,
Chevrolet, hac
dale district, :
field, on High
officer explain
bloodstained,
hatchet lyin®
Human hair
“No sign of
tensely.
“No. sign
search.” ‘
ELAND
promising ?
field at once. |
hundred and
Maria, now
Mrs. Fouts.
and Rollo Cr
sped to the S\
obtained sam}
from her cloth
Santa Maria.
over to Felan:
the trip to }
the Chief wa
English.
The road tr
field winds ali
counties — Sai
Obispo, and §
mountain ran
hairpin loops
Feland had
somewhere a!
the bac
no tim
In I
the abandone
numerous in
the stains ha
of the door.
Feland fi:
hair taken tr
the matted st:
stained hatc!
matched ex:
“We can't
laboratory t
the victim w:
my theory a
ance of the t
der.”
Studying t
that the heav
after it was }
bloodstains
ground,” he
did not occt
murdered ba
Bakersfield,
ing to be a
Feland als
far to go 1!
But at last hi
Back in
Ross suddet
amazing cli
around the c
a valuable’
seen the stol
.
d prac-
2 yn area
uystery
‘ned and
‘o bring
» reach
* 1 down,
e would
silence
arance,
ip what
on the
of his
night of
earlier
plained.
that he
trouble
elp him
in went
When I
that his
bloody.
when
turned
> street.
car.”
lled the
aot Pe
back
wil for
id there
zg on, I
lly, but
art up.
this fel-
e in the
strange
ber of
> were
he flee-
w more
~hecked
en seen
he had
ig, and
ler had
‘d by a
ith him
{ away
High-
of Mrs.
added
ge ac-
day,
ip. Re-
‘of the
) more
that the
| mean-
1 on the
woman
gators,
ry was
ahle to
e ot
Fe-
1 the
“We've just located that truck reported
stolen from Santa Maria,” the man on the
phone informed him. ‘And it looks like
there's homicide connected with it.”
“T was afraid of that,”’the chief said
tersely. “Give me the details.”
The truck, a-one and one-half ton
Chevrolet, had been found in the Rose-
dale district, nine miles north of Bakers-
field, on Highway 99. “When found,” the
officer explained, “the cab was heavily
‘bloodstained, and there’s a bloodstained
hatchet lying on the floor of the cab.
Human hair is clinging to the hatchet.”
“No sign of the driver ?” Feland asked
tensely.
“No sign at all. We're starting a
search.”
ELAND slammed up the receiver,
promising to make the trip to Bakers-
field at once. The find, approximately one
hundred and fifty miles from Santa
Maria, now intensified the search for
Mrs. Fouts. Captain Frank McCasland
and Rollo Cruse of the Highway Patrol
sped to the Swearingen home wheré they
obtained samples of Mrs. Fouts’ hair
from her clothing and hats. Then back to
Santa Maria, they turned this evidence
over to Feland, who was ready to start
the trip to Bakersfield. Accompanying
the Chief was his investigator, Captain
English.
The road from Santa Maria to Bakers-
field winds along the ragged edge of three
counties—Santa Barbara, San Luis
Obispo, and Kern—and traverses rough
mountain ranch country in a series of
hairpin loops and turns. As they drove,
Feland had the strange sensation that
somewhere along that tortuous route lay
the body of Mrs. Sue Fouts. But he had
no time now to stop for a search.
In Bakersfield he hurriedly inspected
the abandoned truck. Bloodstains were
numerous in the cab of the vehicle, and
the stains had trickled down the outside
of the door, onto the ground.
Feland first checked the samples of
hair taken from Mrs. Fouts’ clothing with
the matted strands clinging to the blood-
stained hatchet -in the truck. The hair
matched exactly.
“We can’t be too sure until we have a
laboratory test,” he said, ‘but I believe
the victim was Mrs. Sue Fouts. It’s been
my theory all along that the disappear-
ance of the truck tied in with the mur-
der.”
Studying the scene, Feland pointed out
that the heavy fog had settled on the truck
after it was parked. ‘The fog caused the
bloodstains to run and drip onto the
ground,” he reasoned. “But the murder
did not occur Kere. I believe she was
murdered back in the hills, on the way to
Bakersfield, and finding the body is go-
ing to be a tough assignment.”
Feland also realized that he still had
far to go in identifying the murderer.
But at last he Was due a break.
Back in Santa Maria, Undersheriff
Ross suddenly brought the case to an
amazing climax. Searching tirelessly
around the city for some clue, he located
a valuable witness who declared he had
seen the stolen truck. “The man driving
that truck was Thomas. Hilton,” he said.
“T’ve known him all my life; I didn’t know
the woman, but. from the description I
believe it was Mrs. Fouts. I saw them
about nine o’clock 6n, the, night she dis-
appeared.”
“Then Feland’s hunch was right,”
Ross said, “And Hilton, instead of going
home to Trona around dark, returned and -
lured the woman away to, her death.
Knowing he was a friend of her nephew,
she trusted him.” / i.
Ross broke off, and hurriedly got out
on the radio a message to Feland in
Bakersfield. “Thomas Hilton is the man
you want for questioning,” he announced.
“I'm going to get out a pickup order for
Hilton on a charge of grand theft,”’ he
said. “And when I get him, I’m pretty
sure we can add a charge of murder.”
Feland’s belief that the murder had not
occurred at the spot where the truck was
found, was soon borne out. A farmer was
located who passed the spot twice on his
way to and from town, “When I went in
to town at seven o’clock this morning, the
truck was-not there,” he told the officers.
“But when I came back at ten o’clock, I
saw it parked there by the highway.”
“That puts it well after daylight when
the murderer brought the truck here and
abandoned it,” Feland said. “And I’m
sure he didn’t murder the woman in broad
daylight. Furthermore, there’s no. sign
here of his having dragged the body
away.”
Pausing in Bakersfield only long
enough. to make the required moves to
have the truck, impounded and finger-
printed, and starting an all-points broad-
cast from there for the apprehension of
Hilton, Feland and English sped back to
Santa Maria. _
On the way they paused at every ranch
house to pass along word to watch out
for some sign of the murdered woman.
They also notified state forest rangers,
highway patrol outposts, and every
country store passed on,the wav. —
It was night when they reached Santa
Maria. Here Feland found that Ross and
his aides were still hard at work. But
they had nothing to report on their search
for the body, or the woman’s slayer.
Cy 5ee one thing had been cleared up.
The guest from the tourist court had
been located,’and explained his strange
actions on the night Mrs. Fouts disap-
peared. He was drunk at the time, and had
subsequently. quarreled with his wife over
the drinking. He wrecked his car when he
ran into a corner fence post, and decided
later to leave town before he got into
more trouble. There was nothing to con-
nect him with the tragedy of the missing
woman. :
Early next morning the search for the
body got under way, with officers deploy-
ing out into the rough country from
Santa Maria to Mariposa. Meanwhile,’
Chief Feland’s foresight in notifying
ranchers along the route of the expected
find, was bringing a swift conclusion to
the grim hunt.
Santa Maria city councilman, Dr.
Lloyd Clemens, owned a ranch in the
; : i
foothills east of town, on the route to
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ve to be
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Ww up a
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Marty
nd his
He looked back at me. “Ah, yes. Before
you go, Mrs. Starr, wasn’t there some-
thing else you wanted to ask me about ?”
I nodded, half afraid of my voice. “My
husband, George Starr, is serving a term
at the State Prison, you know, and-I’d
like to know if there is any possibility of
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Then the assistant district attorney
showed me the accumulated evidence that
proved George had been mixed up with
the Kinsella brothers and with Marty
Sosiek the man who had rescued me last
night and who was credited with being
“soup and torch man” of the gang,
I repeated to him what Marty had told
me about George’s having been turned
in by Art Kinsella himself. He was
thoughtful. ;
“It’s quite possible. I happen to know
that we got an anonymous tip that your
husband was in the building the night the
arrest was made.”
Months later, on the very same day that
I was coming out of one courtroom, I
bumped into Mr, Durkin as he was leav-
ing an adjoining courtroom. We shook
hands.
“Congratulate me,” he said smiling. “I
just won a case.”
“The Kinsella case?” I asked with sud-
den premonition. I had followed their ar-
rest in the papers, though I didn’t know
that Ralph Durkin was to prosecute
them.
“Yes. The Kinsella boys each got ten
years, and the third man, Campelli, was
sentenced to seven years. Sosiek hasn’t
been caught—yet.”
“Well,” I said with a little more gaiety
than I felt. “I just won one, too,—my
divorce case.”
Maniac at Large
The only thing I can think of,” he added,
“is that she got into a car with someone
she thought was her friend, and was mur-
dered or spirited away for some reason
we don’t know yet.”
“TI suggest that in addition to the broad-
casts, that we start a canvass of the town,”
Ross suggested. “Let's get a list of her
friends and acquaintances, and_ start
checking.”
“That’s a big order,” Feland grimaced.
“Sue Fouts lived in Santa Maria all her
life. This town is not so big but what
nearly everybody knows everybody else.
If we start questioning her friends, we
may as well take the census of the town.”
And yet, what else could they do?
They had to get a lead somewhere.
Before the day ended, the husband ar-
rived from Crockett to give what aid he
could. But he admitted to the officers that
he was more mystified than they. The dis-
appearance could not be explained through
any past action of the missing woman.
She had been a contented housewife, gay
and cheerful, She loved her familys and
she had never been friendly to strangers,
or gone out alone, or spent any time
in downtown places of entertainment.
“She'll drink a glass of beer with a
friend,” one relative said. “But she cer-
tainly never went into cocktail bars, or
spent any time around town, other than
for shopping.”
And yet, within an hour, the investi-
gators received a strange report.
John Garcia, a well-known and reliable
witness, told one of Feland’s investigators
that he had seen Mrs. Fouts on the night
of her disappearance. He was immedi-
ately rushed to the Chief's office to tell
his amazing story.
[Continued from. page 25]
“She was in the Chinese restaurant,
and there was a man with her,” he said.
“A man?” Feland exclaimed. “Did you
know him?”
“No, but I remember he was a young
man, in his twenties, I’d say. He was tall,
had dark wavy hair, and was well
dressed.”’
The Chief fired rapid questions at the
willing witness. But he learned little
more.
The strange companion of the woman
appeared to be sober, and the two were
talking in a confident, friendly way.
“They were certainly not quarreling,” he
said, ‘for I heard Mrs. Fouts laugh.”
“Did you see them leave the cafe?”
Feland asked.
“No,” the man said. “They were still
in the cafe when I left just before mid-
night.”
HIS lead completely reversed all
theories on the disappearance. In spite
of her family’s belief that she would not
go out with anyone, the woman had been
seen downtown, very late. And she had
given no hint of her intention when leav-
ing the home where she had acted as
nurse to her sick mother.
“There can be only one explanation,”
Feland summed it up. “That man was
known to her; probably an old friend.
From the witness’ description, he was
years younger than Mrs, Fouts. Either ~|-
something happened to the two of them,
and we have a double mystery to solve,
or else the young man was not the friend
she supposed him to be.”
Whatever answer was hidden in the
mysterious puzzle, Feland knew he had-
an important lead. He immediately as-
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Bakersfield. Among the people apprised
of the possible crime in the area was the
doctor’s foreman, Victor Withrow. And
on the night that Feland sped home from
Bakersfield, Withrow was. temporarily
stalled by rain and fog as he and a couple
of ranch hands drove a herd of cattle
toward the ranch. As the men inched their
way along the fog-shrouded road, near
Glines Summit, thirty miles east of Santa
Maria, their horses suddenly snorted in
fear and refused to pass a certain, spot. It
was eventually necessary to make a wide
detour, before the cattle could be driven
on,
Withrow knew that only two things
could make a horse act that way: The
smell of blood, or the presence of wild,
predatory animals,
Mentally he marked the location—ap-
proximately nine miles east of Pine
Canyon Ranger station, in the Los Padres
National Forest.
HE next day, December 11, Withrow
and two cowboys, saddled up and rode
back to the spot. The searching parties
were several miles away. But as they
rode, they abruptly met Allan Stewart,
nephew of the missing woman, who had
come out in his car to help. Withrow told
him the story of the horses fright, and
SteWwart instantly turned his car and
headed back toward the ‘location in-
dicated,
It was 3:30 p.m. when Allan Stewart
found his aunt’s body. It lay at the foot
of a hundred foot bank, near the road, and
was partially covered with drifting sand
and debris. The body was entirely nude,
battered almost beyond recognition, and
with an ugly gash across the throat. Un-
fortunately, prowling carnivorous ani-
mals—coyotes or wildcats—had found
the body first. After one look, the men
turned shudderingly away.
Ross and Captain Taylor, searching
only a few miles away, were the first of-
ficers to reach the scene. They were
quickly followed by Chief Feland and
others, including Deputy Coroner Clar-
ence P. Magner. '
Identification of the body as Mrs, Sue
Fouts was soon made, and Magner
ordered it returned to Santa Maria where
Dr. W. D. Sink and Dr. A. M. Bleecker
performed an autopsy. The. body was
badly bruised, and several knife wounds
showed on the torso, but death had been
due to a six inch gash across the throat,
which had severed the jugular vein.
Death had been almost instantaneous.
Finding of the body, and identification
of the victim brought a renewed hunt for
the missing murderer. R&ss had secured
Thomas Hilton’s fingerprints from San
Bernardino, where the suspect had once
served a six months’ jail sentence. These
prints matched the ones taken from the
‘abandoned truck in Bakersfield.
* In addition to the grand ‘theft charge
against Hilton, Assistant District At-
‘torney Thomas P. Weldon now filed a
murder charge, The renewed broadcasts
bore a complete description of the wanted
man. He was described as six feet, two
inches’ tall, weighing one hundred and
seventy pounds, dark brown hair, blue
‘.
eyes, and the middle fingers of his right
hand amputated.
Ross learned from questioning the sus-
pect’s friends in Santa Maria, that Hilton
often visited Burbank having a close
friend there. Ross phoned Deputy R. B.
Romero at headquarters in Santa Bar-
bara, and ordered him to contact Burbank
police and, if necessary, to go to that
town to complete the capture.
Romero phoned immediately, but the
result was not what he expected.
Hilton’s friend was at the police station
when the call came in. He had just
reported his automobile stolen, and sus-
pected Thomas Hilton of taking it. More-
over, he reported that the suspect had a
badly cut arm, which had necessitated
hospital treatment, and was under the
influence of liquor when last seen there.
Learning that Hilton had fled Burbank
in a stolen car, Ross instantly flashed an
appeal to another part of the state. Hil-
ton’s wife resided in Trona, in Death
Valley. The murderer might be trying to
reach, that locality.
But shortly after this try at capture,
the stolen Burbank car was reported
abandoned in Palmdale. This led to the
belief that Hilton was heading for
Nevada, which would mean taking the
highway up through Bishop—a route of
long, isolated stretches, and through
rugged mountains. Ross telephoned
Sheriff Charles P. Cline of Independence,
Inyo County, and asked him to be on the
lookout for the escaping criminal.
Cline acted instantly. He notified all
officers in his widely scattered jurisdic-
tion. No description of the suspect was
necessary, as he was known there,
The capture came almost at once. Two
of Cline’s deputies, Harry Mack and
Oscar Burchard, were patrolling the
Lone Pine region when they observed
a hitchhiker walking along the road. They
recognized Thomas Hilton instantly.
He made some show. of resistance
but was quickly overpowered. When
searched, he was found to be carrying a
long-bladed, bloodstained knife.
An hour later, the Santa Maria officers,
wearied from the week long hunt, were
elated to receive a telephone call from
District Attorney George Francis, of
Inyo County., Hilton had confessed !
HE statement, subsequently changed
in some minor details, was an amazing
account of blood lust and harbored re-
venge, and amazed even the experienced
investigators.
“Tt all started when I was in jail in
San Bernardino,” Hilton confessed. “T
had an obsession to kill my wife. I wanted
to commit suicide many times, and the
- only thing that kept me going was think-
ing I would get my wife. She was the only
person I had a grudge against. When I
finished my stretch in jail, I planned to
get away from booze, saye, up my money,
and get a gun, The idea was to shoot her,
‘then kill myself.
“So a week ago I told myself, ‘Here I
keep putting it off, putting it off. I should
be going to Trona and kill her.’”
Instead, the confessed killer said he
went to Santa Maria where he was well
known and ha
been sobi
that day
Thenlw
T'd knowa tars
Sue for the hi
even know he:
down town, an
liked her very
son.
“About nine
town and find
of this truck !
I could get it
way to get aFou
this thought :
seemed like 1!
my wife.”
Hilton cant
they drove ar
several bottle-
closed down
Chinese catt
time I had th:
“We drove <
said, ‘I will k
mountains an
laughed. So !
from town, to
out my knife
I don’t think
sisted that ! «
I stopped th
told her my
then I cut h
out of the tru
He contin
said. “But w
and I realiz:
borrow 4 &
couldn't fin:
there, put th
drove out 0)
carried her
the }
the |
and
of this ap{
this spot.
Further
problem 1
hastily ca
course ot
that Cond
necessary
meager ¢
would als
cars in t!
‘the neigh
man and
they wou
terview t
establish
murder.
Meanw
Henry v
upon loc
while Cl
*
42 True Detective Mysteries
“By George, I even remember Arrington's address!’ he
exclaimed. ‘It was the Sutherland Apartments. That's
where we delivered the radio,”
Another hot lead, which we proceeded to run down immedi-
ately. Inasmuch as Arrington had bought the radio less than
a month before, we were confident he would still be living at
the Sutherland. However, we had counted our chickens be-
fore they hatched. The landlady at the apartment house told
us that she had taken the place over only two weéks before
from a.Mrs. Estelle Turner, who now resided at 1324 Calumet
Street.
“Nobody named ‘Arrington’ lives in my house,” the startled
woman declared, ‘‘and there’s no young men here such as you
describe. You'd better see Mrs. Turner.’’:
We promptly acted upon this suggestion . . . only to learn
from Mrs. Turner that although two young men named Wil-
liam Arrington and Robert O’Neill, with their wives, had re-
sided at the Sutherland for a period of two weeks during the
time she was manager, they had moved on December 2nd to
an unknown destination!
She described Arrington as a man about twenty-five years
of age, probably six feet tall, of slender build, and with black
eyes. QO’Neill was younger, probably twenty-one or twenty-
two, about the same height and build, with light brown hair
and prominent teeth.
“Would you call him a blond?” [ asked.
‘Well, he’s a good deal lighter than Arrington. Some might
call him blond.”
“And you’ve no idea where these people went?” .
“No-o . .. I just know that they took their suitcases and
a radio away in a taxicab.”
“Taxicab! What kind of taxicab?” Inspector Davidson
demanded.
The information we received then was music to our ears,
for the manager of the cab company in
question could be depended
upon to codperate with us. We thanked Mrs. Turner warmly,
and took our leave. :
The net was tightening around our quarry. We refused to
consider thé possibility that Arrington and O’Neill might have
moved from the address to which the taxi driver had taken them
less than three weeks before
A half hour later we were talking with the driver who had
answered the call to the Sutherland Apartments on the night of
December 2nd.
“Sure, I remember that ‘jerk’,” he said. ‘“These fellows
had two women with ‘em, and a radio. I drove them to the——
Apartments on West Sixth Street, and carried the radio up to
Apartment Three on the first floor. Left the women there,
and then took the men to the Southern Pacific Depot. They
said they were going to ’Frisco.”’
N our way to the West Sixth Street apartment building, |
examined my gun, to be sure it was in proper working
order. I was taking no chances with this pair.
“They're wise to the racket, all right,” Filkas remarked.
‘Jumping around from one.place to the other every two or
three weeks. Probably move every time they pull a job.’’
Upon our arrival, we found the front door to the apartment-
house locked for the night. We went into a huddle concerning
our next move. If we rang the bell to arouse the manager, we
ran the risk of defeating our own purpose.
“PH take a look around back,”’ E said.
The back door was securely locked . . . but there was a fire-
escape! [ ascended the iron ladder to the third floor, entered
through an open window, walked down the rear stairway and
opened the front door to admit my three fellow-officers.
Tacked to the door of the first apartment on the right was
a white card with the word “Manager.”
Inspector Davidson knocked softly. A sleepy voice from
within inquired, “Who is it?”
‘Police officers,” said
The family of the victim. Left to right are William Calderwood, Jr.; Mrs. William Calderwood, and William Calder-
wood, Sr.—brother, mother and father of Perman.
Picture taken in front of the Calderwood residence
mul
as
er warmly,
refused to
ight have
ken them
who had
ie night of
xe fellows
0 the——
idio up to
‘en there,
ot. They
vuilding, [
r working
remarked.
ry two or
job.”
vartment-
oncerning
nager, we
vas a fire-
*, entered
rway and
Ts.
right was
ice from
o is it?’
”
vs,” said
Cupturing Los Angeles’ Black-Iatred Bandit 43
they had decided to “lam” again, they
would have a two-hour start on us.
“Are you certain they’ll be back?”
Baggott asked significantly.
An expression of dismay crossed
Mrs. Rogers’ face. She rose and
took a key from a desk.
“Pll just see whether or not
they took their things,” she
said with determination.
“They could easily have
sneaked their suitcases out
the back door without my
knowledge. They have a
friend who has a car,”
We followed close behind as
Davidson. After ashort wait, we Were adinitted to
the office-apartment by the manager and his
wife, Mr. and Mrs. Rogers.
We told them what we knew of the
stabbing and shooting affray earlier
in the evening, and asked whether
or not their tenants included
two young men named
Arrington and O'Neill,
and their wives.
“Yes, they’re here,”
Mrs. Rogers whis-
pered, her eyes wide
with excitement.
“They rented
Number Three, a
double apart-
ment. But I
don’t think
they’re in now,
because I saw all
four of them go
out about nine
o'clock, and [
haven’t heard
them come in.”
We looked at
each other in
consternation,
the same thought
uppermost in all
our minds. Could
it be possible
that they had
once more given
us the slip? It
was then almost
11 o'clock. If,
after committing
& murder—two
murders, as far
as they knew—
Mrs, Jack Travilla, née Ruth Calderwood, the
beautiful sister of
Mrs. Rogers marched
down the hallway to
Apartment Three. Re-
ceiving no response to
her knock, she un-
locked the door and
entered the apartment.
There was nothing to
indicate that its late
occupants did not in-
tend to return. Closets
were full of men’s and
women’s clothes, and a
portable radio sat on a
table next to a floor
lamp that had been
left burning,
‘No, they’ll be
back,” “Mrs. Rogers
said quietly. “Now,
what shall we do?”
We had to decide
quickly. Arrington and
O'Neill might return
(Continued
on page 91)
the victim, Perman Calderwood
who still mourns the loss of her big brother
t concourse of
him sympathy
lay. All in all,
iota.
‘3 necessary to
sm. its resting
nee burial. It
o previous oc-
d examination.
| to prove or
1ent that. the
‘rom. stricture.
nt of all, was
servation after
No trace of
yrgans were in
here ever had
vell claimed, it
a detected.
veeks. The’ en-
: action of the
case from the
.bout noon the
he fateful ver-
in the First
imself for the
rger, perjurer,
vainst him be-
murderer out-
‘ to murderers’
-:ecution—hang-
-moval to mur-
ond floor of the
nee of seeing
10 had kept up
secause of the
ne to see him
e false impres-
‘ere his friends
red to die
' and stay
until October
were granted.
ssouri Supreme
vas: denied on
vor and motion
by the United
nd Maxwell’s
Oth, 1888.
used to inter-
ment had re-
ated for it to
overnor stated
’ international
med!
Karly in the
curious people
sand thronged
‘+h Jed to the
uldren ganged
ng tickets to
stances young
‘hey could not
Vord that the
rvene traveled
irit of gloom
ndings. ~
passed a rest-
i watch. His
from England
it the day be-
re heartbroken
x Morehouse
ived the final
nich told him
of hope was
ver sealed, his
vith a death
‘h a horrible,
forth, like a
hia cell,
uled for 6:30
fore midnight
pictures and,
—noarest him.
said, “These are the last things I have
on earth to give away. I will distribute
them among my friends.” He requested
one each to be given to the jail officers.
Then he continued his endless pacing,
back and forth. :
He bitterly assailed the United States
Government as he believed he had been
discriminated against because he was a
British subject. “As I have always said, I
um innocent of the crime I am charged
with, but I am prepared to die.”
The Sheriff arrived sometime later and
was met by a force of deputies. Prepara-
tions for the execution were completed,
The hanging was to be a double one as
Henry Landgraff, convicted of killing his
sweetheart in a fit of jealousy, was to die
with Maxwell. ‘
A rumor had gained credence that the
hand of death was to be stayed. Sheriff
Harrington waited. Nothing developed
however and, at 8:45 sharp, the Sheriff
entered Maxwell’s cell, bearing in his hand
a_black-bordered sheet of paper, recog-
nizable at once as the death warrant. Two
deputies were in readiness with stout cords
with which they securely bound the arms
of the prisoner. The same was done with
Landgraff. Maxwell trembled as he
dropped his arms to his sides for the
deputies’ disposal. The procession to the
gallows was quickly formed, Sheriff Har-
rington walking in the lead, being fol-
lowed by the condemned men. A jailer
was on each side.
Both men bore up bravely during the
awful ordeal. Across the corridor and
through the jail hospital the solemn pro-
cession filed until the jail-vard was
Capturing Los Angeles’ Black-Haired Bandit
‘True DetectiveMysteries
reached. Even upon their arrival at the
double scaffold, neither prisoner broke
down. Maxwell shuddered violently how-
ever, while Landgraff had a wild, hunted
look on his face und the lips of both
moved in prayer, Everything was
wranged to prevent the slightest delay.
The ropes were in position. The black
caps were drawn on quickly. The deputies
udjusted the nooses at the same instant.
The legs of the two murderers were then
secured and the signal given. The trap
flew open and the unfortunate: men were
hurled into that black abyss.
HUS ended the famous Maxwell-Prel-
ler murder case, which will go down in
the records of criminal history as one of
the most ghastly of all time.’ The atten-
tion it attracted throughout the world was
unheard of. A display cabinet of the ma-
terial und evidence used in the case was
kept. by the St. Louis Police Department
and is in the poiice museum today. It was
on display at the World’s Fair in 1904
und drew bigger crowds than any other
similar display. And that was twenty
years after the tragedy. The St. Louis
Globe-Democrat had this comment to
make at the time: “No similar case per-
haps has ever attracted so much atten-
tion or presented so many curious and
interesting features as this one. Of Max-
well’s guilt there never was a shadow of
doubt after his trial and conviction, He
was found to be guilty in the eyes of
the public regardless of his confession to
McCullough, and that fact leaves no room
to question the result. Justice has been
rendered and the famous case is closed,”
(Continued from page 43)
any minute and we must be ready for them.
“Go back to Mrs. Rogers’ apartment
and wait there, Filkas,” Inspector David-
son ordered. “Keep a lookout, and when
you see them come in, give them plenty
of time to get back to their apartment.
We'll wait here for them.”
When the spring-lock door had closed
upon us, Davidson, Baggott and I took
stock of our surroundings. This double
apartment had two living-rooms with a
communicating ‘door. Entrance to: the
second room was through a small hall-
way. I tried the door to this room and
found it locked from the inside. After °
a few moments, I managed to “pick”
the lock, with the idea in mind that. we
might find it necessary to leave hurriedly
by that exit.
E sat down then to await the home-
coming of our hosts. For ninety min-
utes we waited, rigidly attentive at the
sound of every footstep in the outer hall.
Finally, at exactly 12:30, we heard muf-
fled voices outside ...a key fumbled in
the lock!
Inspector Davidson and Baggott leaped
from their chairs and stationed themselves
behind the door of Room 3, while I
rushed to the other door. Guns drawn,
we waited—every nerve tense. A second
later, the door opened—halfway—and
was promptly banged shut!
I rushed out through the door I had
previously unlocked. One man was run-
ning madly down the corridor. Another
stood uncertainly in the center of the
hallway ...‘There was a shot ...a
second shot ... Two young women raced
toward the front entrance, screaming as
they went.
I saw Filkas run out from the front
apartment and halt the two girls who
were trying to escape by the front door.
“Put vour hands behind you and turn
around,” I commanded the youth who
stood before me, mouth open and lower
jaw working ludicrously.
At that instant, Inspector Davidson and
Baggott emerged from the room in
which, due to a’ jammed door lock, they
had been imprisoned for a period of pos-
sibly thirty. seconds. It was they who
had fired the shots through the door,
When O’Neill, for I was sure it was he
whom I had captured, was firmly hand-
cuffed, I hurriedly turned him over to
Baggott to guard. Meanwhile, the two
girls had been given into the custody of
Inspector Davidson.
“Come on!” I yelled to Filkas. “Let’s
get the other guy. He went out the
front way.”
We ran to the strect ... in time to see
a taxicab, without lights, round the corner
on two wheels,
My remarks at that moment would not
look well in print, for I was convinced
that through a slip-up on someone’s part,
Arrington had made his getaway in that
taxicab, Let it suffice to say that after
a fruitless search of the immediate vi-
cinity, we returned to the apartment
house. :
“IT don’t believe he was in that cab,”
Filkas declared. “I was watching the
front door after they came in. I’d have
seen him if he’d gone out that way.”
However, I was of the secret opinion
that Arrington had escaped, during the
confusion. unobserved by Filkas, and in
exactly the manner I described. I was
wrong—but more about ‘that later.
While we stood in the hallway dis-
cussing the tough break that had pre-
vented us from capturing both of the
wanted men. a young couple entered the
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Capturing Los Angeles’ Black-Haired Bandit 41
“TI hear my boy’s been hurt,” he ex-
plained. “Someone phoned there’d been
a wreck.”
A scene of indescribable pathos took
place when William T. Calderwood bent
over the prostrate body and realized the
terrible truth: his eldest son had fallen
victim to a murderer’s knife. The be-
reaved man was so overcome by shock
and grief that it was necessary to remove
him almost bodily to a near-by drug store,
where restoratives were administered.
Meanwhile, the Coroner and Police
Photographer D. A. Munns had arrived.
The murder victim’s body was photo- ,
graphed from several angles, then ordered
removed to the County Morgue.
Inspector of Detectives D. A. David-
son, who, with Detectives Joe Filkas and
Bill Baggott had been sent from Central
Homicide Headquarters to the scene of
the crime, at once took command of the
investigation.
The hold-up men had left two ‘clues
vehind in their mad flight: the cylinder
of an old-style Iver-Johnson revolver,
and a worn billfold. In the latter was a
receipt issued by Goodan & Jenkins, a
local furniture concern, for a portable
radio sold to one William Arrington the
previous month. There was also a receipt
from the Furmbilt Clothing Store for a
enmrre wre.
yur Ermer avers
DALE TR EO.
suit of clothes sold to Arrington, whose ad-
dress was given on the slip as 616 South Bixel Street.
“This doesn’t look like an amateur’s job to me,” Inspector
Davidson told us.. ‘The fact that these fellows would commit
murder rather than subnift to arrest, shows they couldn’t
stand a pinch. It’s my guess they’ve done time somewhere
before this. And from what all the witnesses say, they’re
plenty tough. If we happen to run across them, I don’t want
you beys to take any chances. Be ready for trouble.”
A few minutes later, the Inspector, Baggott, Filkas and I
were speeding to 616 South Bixel Street. Disappointment
awaited us; the landlord informed us that no one named
Arrington had resided there during his six years as manager.
Miss Sue Hammond, cashier at the Merry-Go-Round Cafe
on South Spring Street at the time it was held up by the
black-haired bandit and his companion, shortly before
the hold-up of the malt store and the slaying of the young
‘. police officer, Perman Calderwood
“A bad break,” Inspector Davidson commented, when we
were once morein the police car. “If those birds aren’t rounded
up tonight, we’ll have about one chance in a thousand of ever
finding them.”
We returned to Central Station to ascertain
whether or not the knife used to kill Calder-
The companion of the wood, the revolver cylinder, or the billfold
black-haired bandit who and its contents bore finger-prints by which
was struggling in the street we might “make” (identify) theirowner. But
with Henry Krause when Miss ; i
titenbetli Heed aneaha focuaed, the smudged prints found on these articles
only to be violently thrown aside
by the slayer of Perman
yielded no information.
Joe Taylor, our-chief of detectives, had
been notified of the tragedy and was at the
office when we arrived. He directed us to go
at once to the store of Goodan & Jenkins—our last hope. It
‘ was then almost 8 o’clock, and the place closed at six.
Detective Baggott contacted the furniture. concern and
interviewed the night watchman. A number that appeared
on the receipt for the portable radio proved to be that of the
salesman who had waited on ‘“‘Arrington”’.
Within a few minutes, Baggott was talking with the sales-
man in question. Fortunately for us, he possessed a retentive
memory. He recalled the sale and was able to give accurate
descriptions of the two young men—one fair, the other dark—
who had made the purchase.
JACKSON, Lewis, black, gassed CA (SF) October 5, 1945
ae foe z 1 Y “TNE 3S oa 7 ' 1
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N CE a 3 POLK (1) Scene of bus murder = |
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Winifred Cecil: This bus driver's last
run was only a short one—but it was long
enough to give a murderer time to kill her
AS the person lying in the
aisle drunk? Asleep? Or—
The match Julio Caselli
was holding went out and_he didn’t
bother to light another. He’just peered
into the darkness of the abandoned
bus, tried to make out the identity of
the black bulk lying just back of the
driver’s seat. It could be either a man
or woman, he thought. But he didn't
linger to find out.
Hurrying to the gravel company of-
fice, where he worked, Caselli put
through a call to the police.
The desk sergeant at the Southern
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES,
August, 1945
By Edward S. Sullivan
_ Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES
Police Station received the message a
few minutes before seven on that fog-
gy morning of January 4, 1945. After
hanging up, the sergeant turned to Of-
ficer Harry Lahey.
“That missing bus,” he said, “it's
been found at DeHaro and Division
Streets. Some fellow saw it on his way
to work, and what he tells me spells
trouble. He looked into it and saw
someone lying on the floor. You'd bet-
ter hurry down there.”
Lahey knew what the sergeant was
referring to.
Only a half hour before, Thomas
—_———4
been with in at winded to the bus.
Nobles anything bout her run. that
morning wh uld . suggest that she
‘oul n’ "t have picked up
any passenger én fhe’ way to the depot,
before she began*hef regular run,” Dis-
Lytich ‘told the officers. “It
mi against the rules—
reason’ foY it,’ nyway, for that short
distanee.” —.
“We'll have to“find out ‘about that.”
Inspector Husted frowned as he jotted
something into’ his notebook. ‘There's
always the possibility she might have
met some persona) friend on the street,
might have hadia date to.pick someone
up at @ corner #0 tall for a minute.”
HINAfAS there any ‘réason, ” Captain
McDaniell. asked, “for her to
detour over to DeHaro Street? It’s
about a block and a half out of the
Straight line she should’have followed.”
“No.” Lynch shook; his head. “All
the drivers always shoot straight up
Seventh Stréet'to the depot,”
To reach the deserted’spat where the
bus now stood, she must-have turned
off Seventh Street‘, couplé of blocks
above the storage: 1b.
across railroad ~ trac! “and a@ rough,
graveled tract: The'spot had: nothing to
recommetid: it tae sits, y emaiviaes noth.
ing being-there-but a‘brush-covered lot
surrounded by industrial buildings
and piles of gravel.
“That makes it Jook as though she
was either forced: to turn off ‘and stop
there,” Inspector «Husted said, “or
turned off deliberately in order to stop
10
Re gna ae st oe ata
raqatb erft cho.
and talk to some one in privacy.”
Skid marks indicated the big bus
had been brought to an abrupt stop.
Examination of the bus and the
scene by the Homicide men yielded no
worthwhile clews. Some dark smudges
-were discovered on the bench beside
the driver’s seat, hut they were uniden-
tifiable.
The slain girl was fully clad. Her
heavy jacket was buttoned to the neck.
The scarf about her neck was not dis-
arranged. Her driving gloves were still
on her hands.
The only evidences of a struggle
were the slashes—made by a razor or
a knife—in her slacks, and one shoe
nad fallen from her foot and was in the
aisle.
As the coroner's men lifted the body
to take it away, smudges of dirt and
dust were discernible on the slain girl’s
coat and blue slacks where she had
lain on the floor.
“It looks from these marks,” Husted
commented, ‘as though she’d been
dragged back along the aisle. These
lengthwise smudges couldn’t have
come from just falling there. Looks as
though she was pulled out of the seat
and dragged backwards by her feet.”
HEN questioned, Caselli—the man
who had found the bus—could tell
the officers little that they didn’t know.
He always crossed this vacant lot on
his way to work. He’d‘seen the bus and,
out of curiosity, had examined it. That
was all.
And that was all, too, that the Homi-
cide men were able to determine in the
gray dawn out by the gravel piles
where Winifred Cecil’s two years of
.
Sergeant William Albrecht:
A gun fight with the slain
girl's murderer almost cost
this heroic officer his life
David Kuhach with shen the
dog that was wounded as he
attacked the bandit who
had come to rob his master
war work had come to a shocking end.
The officers shivered and huddled in
their coats as the body was taken
away.
ied routine alarm for suspicious
characters went out, and as the
preliminary reports were filed and sift-
ed at the department’s Bureau of In-
spectors,. the highly efficient ma-
chinery of the Homicide Detail swung
into motion.
Chief of Police Charles Dullea took
personal charge of the case. He ordered
Captain McDaniell and the Homicide
men to spare no effort, to ask for any
extra officers they needed, to clear the
case up as swiftly as possible—before
the terrcr of a killer on the loose should
‘spread through the Southern District,
with its vital war industries, where
thousands of women are employed.
Husted and his men swiftly contact-
ed the slain girl’s friends and relatives,
put together a picture of her life.
They soon saw that nothing in her
background would shed any light on
her death. Miss Cecil had attended
high school and junior college in Visa-
lia before coming to San Francisco
early in 1943 to take her wartime job
with the Pacific Greyhound Lines. It
was almost her first job, and she had
been enthusiastic about it.
Her brother was a lieutenant in the
Army, stationed somewhere in Eng-
land. Brother and sister had always
been close, and when he went into the
The lot where Miss Cecil began the fatal trip. The
killer was lurking in the bus as she drove out this gate
Why Should This California Woman
Bus Driver Actually Take Her Killer
To a Spot That Was Just Perfect
For Her Murder,
Lynch, dispatching supervisor for
Navy contract operations at the Pacific
Greyhound bus depot, located at Sev-
enth and Mission Streets in downtown
San Francisco, California, had report-
ed that one of the company’s Navy
buses apparently had disappeared and
now—
WITHIN ten minutes, Lahey parked
his patrol car beside the dark and
silent bus. Opening the bus door, he
sent his flashlight beam into the black
interior. The beam wavered and stead-
ied again and then he let out a gasp.
A pool of blood gleamed in the light!
The driver—a girl—was lying in the
aisle, just as Caselli had reported; but
she wasn’t asleep or drunk. Blood mat-
ted the right side of her uniform, and
her open eyes were glazed in death.
Her cap had fallen off and her dark
hair lay tumbled in the pool of blood
that had spread toward the front of
the bus. :
Lahey’s alarm brought Captain Alex
McDaniell and other officers from
Southern Station. A few minutes later,
Inspectors Harry Husted and Frank
Ahern of the Homicide Detail were on
the job.
A half-hour of telephoning and
rounding up of witnesses pieced to-
gether the few ascertainable facts as
and After This—
os began to break out of the black
og. :
The slain girl was 25-year-old Wini-
fred Cecil. A quick examination indi-
cated she had been shot under the right
armpit. The bullet apparently had
lodged near her heart. :
She was lying face down in the aisle
with her head forward.
The dark blue slacks of her uniform
were slashed, apparently with a knife.
Her pockets were turned inside out,
and a wallet, which fellow employes
said she always had carried, was gone.
Miss Cecil, who roomed at a house
in the Eight Hundreds on Twenty-Sec-
ond Street, had been driving Grey-
hound buses for two years on the Navy
contract run to Mare Island.
ON THIS foggy morning, a fellow-
driver, Francis Nobles, had picked
her up at home and driven her to work.
He dropped her off at the entrance to
the big wire-enclosed Greyhound stor-
age lot at Seventh and Irwin Streets,
and drove on inside to park his car.
This was at 5:40 a. m. Miss Cecil went
into the little office beside the gate,
signed in for both herself and Nobles,
exchanged a, few pleasantries with the
checker and was assigned her bus for
the day.
She was to drive a big, gray Navy
Malata Drake: She was fortunate enough in’béing able:
to escape the man who killed her fellow bus drives, -
bus that stood not far from the en-
trance, and take it straight up Seventh
Street to the downtown depot on Sev-
enth and Mission Streets. She was to
have checked in at the depot, taken on
her passengers and driven on the run
to Mare Island Navy Yard, across the
bay, at 6:05 a. m,
About five-forty-five, she waved
goodbye to the checker, buttoned her
heavy coat and stepped out into the fog.
’ That was the last time anyone had
‘ 2 sR ADRS
f
May t
seen her alive—except the murderer.
When she did not show up at the
depot downtown by 6:30—more than
half an hour after she should have
rolled in—Lynch, the dispatcher, had
sent out the alarm.
Ne. ONE had seen her drive the bus
out of the storage lot: but the
checker had heard the bus go by and
turn up Seventh Street. He and several
drivers were positive that no one had
9
ceca aI IN CN iN tees ei ney nas
Officers David Dillon, left, and
Jules Zimmerlin worked as a
team in their intensive hunt
for the ‘one man crime wave’
Army, Winifred had determined to do
as much as possible for the war ef-
fort herself, which she felt she was do-
ing in driving the servicemen and
workers to and from the Mare Island
Navy Yard. The Greyhound Lines were
short on men drivers. and such girls
as Miss Cecil were needed urgently.
Miss Cecil, despite her youth, was
Greyhound’s second oldest woman
driver in point of seniority. And tragi-
cally enough, she had happened to go
on duty at that hour of the morning
only because she had just taken over
the run of her senior driver, who was
on vacation.
POLICE contacted Eleanor Dolan,
Winifred’s roommate at the Twen-
\ty-Second Street address. Miss Dolan
usually drove Winifred to work; but
several times lately, Nobles, who lived
in the neighborhood, had volunteered
to pick her up when their hours coin-
cided.
Once in awhile, too, Winifred Cecil
had been in the habit of walking to
work, one mile in the pre-dawn dark-
ness. She was afraid of nothing, and
had scoffed at her roommate’s warn-
ings that a woman might not be safe
walking through those’ deserted
streets.
Miss Dolan, in tears, could tell the
police nothing to aid them in the mur-
der-hunt.
“Winifred was popular with every-
one,” she said. “All the passengers and
drivers liked her. She laughed and
joked a lot. She didn’t drink or smoke.
I can truthfully say—and I knew her
as well as anyone—that she didn’t have
an enemy in the world.”
Under close questioning, Miss Dolan
insisted that the slain girl had acted
perfectly normal in every way on the
morning of her death and the night
before.
Miss Dolan confirmed the fact that
Winifred always had carried a large
leather wallet in the left hip pocket of
her slacks. In it were all her identifica-
tion papers and usually a sizeable sum
of money. This pocket, like the others,
had been turned inside out.
The murdered girl, Miss Dolan said,
had been engaged to be married to
Chief of Police Charles Dullea:
He took personal charge of the
investigation in this slaying
The scene of the tavern holdup
which led to Sergeant Albrecht's
being wounded by the murderer
bre baal
Howard Kuykendall,‘ “fellow bus
driver and discharged a vy veteran,
who lived at, Vacaville.
Inspector -Ahern, ‘after ‘some delay,
succeeded in getting.,young Kuyken-
dall on the telephone. Broken up by
the tragedy, the.slain girl’s, fiance had
a hard time getting himself. ynder con-
trol; but he was able, to.say that he
knew nothing at. all. to. ‘clear up the
murder. He confirmed: all, that Eleanor
Dolan had said about Winifred Cecil.
He himself had.not seen her for sev-
eral days.
Kuykendall added one bit of sig-
nificant information of which Ahern
made careful note for future reference.
“A few weeks ago,” the young bus
driver said, -“I-gavey “Winifred my Navy
dog-tag to wéar ‘aS«a' sort of keepsake.
As far as I know, she always wore it
around her neck. It had my name and
serial number on it, of course.”
ABEREN called Eleanor Dolan again,
confirmed the’ fact that ‘Winifred
had always worn the ‘metal dog-tag on
its chain around ‘her neck.
It had not been’ on her when her
body was found, although the upper
part of her’ clothing was not disar-
ranged.
Ahern checked with: the officers who
were searching the,’slain girl’s room.
They had. found nothing among her
persona! effects’ or, correspondence to
help them in the ‘investigation; not
even the dog-tag.. The Officers were
certain that the killer had taken it.
“That little dog-tag may. .pin the
murder on the killer when—and if—we
locate him,” Ahern: told Husted. ‘The
wallet or other things,might be hard to
identify. But when we find that tag
with Kuykendall’s’ name on it we'll
know we have our man—+or* woman!”
He purposely “had’eniphasized the
word “woman.” He was ignoring no
possible angle.
While the Homicide men interview-
ed the slain girl’s friends, the autopsy
surgeon, Doctor Horton Gifford, made
his preliminary examination of the
body. He reported that the bullet. after
entering under Miss Cecil’s right arm-
‘Continued on Page 48)
11
ation, where
p.M. Eight
iia Highway
ick 737 Pon-
way 99 near
m the Sand-
car to the
with guns
an who was
ced individ-
plaid shirt
short, wiry
r, a jutting
rey eyes. He
trolmen and
hn Richard
Tujunga.
stwatch was
In the car
ind the ma-
which had
irrency. Also
y fired shot-
k sawed off
een hammer.
“T did it.”
hammer. He
id rum away.
pea ae i ise naa a i
It had been an “impulse” that had
caused him to commit the crime, he
said. And if he hadn’t stopped to bury
Piper’s clothing, he’d have been far
from the scene and “You never would
have got me.”
This, Jensen’s admission, presumably
might have been the end of the case,
save for routine trial and conviction.
But a check of sheriff’s records dis-
closed that John Richard Jensen had
spent virtually half his life in mental
institutions after killing a childhood
playmate in one of the most revolting
crimes in the state’s history—and that
he was even now “on leave” from one
of those institutions.
This put a new light on. the Piper
affair.
HE resulting investigation exploded
like a time bomb, for it revealed
that: the crime against the young ma-
rine, rather than a crime of “impulse,”
was part of a deliberate, diabolically
contrived plan to murder him and may-
be, after him, others.
The questions that arose after the
investigation was made public were:
how was it possible for a psychopathic
slayer to have been released from cus-
tody with a murder indictment still
hanging over his head? And who was
the official who was responsible for
that release?
They were questions which, judging
from the angry editorials and the
stunned queries of citizens, were to
have far-reaching effect upon the
state’s entire system of institutional
handling of psychopathic cases.
Jensen rigged car as execution chamber. Rifle was
tied with ropes, bolts to fire through back of seat.
Were there other victims? Sergeant Piper questions Jensen about la-
borer whose murder closely resembled attack on hitchhiking marine.
At the moment, the case of John
Richard Jensen was the shame of Cali-
fornia.
Jensen’s story began, as far as the
authorities were concerned, in. 1931.
He was then a tousle-haired, freckle-
faced, good-looking kid of- six. His
parents called him Richard.
At six, he launched a career of
stealing and, as his mother was to
testify later, he was already a stubborn
and convincing liar. It wasn’t long be-
fore stores in his home town of La
Crescenta were being looted by a kid
who, in each instance, left behind a
note in which he wrote: “Thanks for
the stuff.” The notes were signed:
“The Hare.”
Richard had a great time playing
hare, but (Continued on page 6)
Girlfriend weeps at bedside of marine fighting to sur-
vive ambush more devilish than any he faced in Korea.
Bes
34
BOY INTO BEAST continued
almost never used, snaked along 70
miles north of Los Angeles.
The last car the young marine had
seen was the one which had stopped
for him and somehow he knew now
that he would have to make it down
there, to the light, under his own
waning power, that another car would
not come along.
Only a little while ago he’d been
standing on that: road, dressed in his
best uniform, trying to hitch a ride
to Bakersfield where he was going to
spend a weekend leave with his best
girl and her family.
And things had come his way too,
or so he thought, when some good
Joe picked him up just outside the
town of San Fernando, 20 miles out of
L. A. But the good Joe had turned out
to be some kind of devil.
Piper stumbled on.
“T gotta make it,” he groaned over
and over. “God I gotta do it. . . .”
The light was half a mile away now.
Then a quarter of a mile. Then 200
feet. He crawled the last 50 feet on
his hands and knees, and then, the
ordeal was over.
,
“Billy got what was coming to him,” the boy told officers.
“I don’t care what happens. Let ’em burn me or hang me.”
Piper beat with his palm, weakly,
against a door. It was the door of the
old Sandberg Lodge, a famed land-
mark in the days before the main high-
way between Los Angeles and San
Francisco was moved several miles
westward. The lodge was now occupied
by Mr. and Mrs. Walter Stevens.
Mrs. Stevens was the first to hear
the faint pounding. She went to the
door and opened it and, stifling a
scream, she reached out to help the
marine.
FEW minutes later, Marion Piper
was lying on a cot, warmly wrapped
in heavy wool blankets. Mr. Stevens
had phoned the Los Angeles county
sheriff’s man, Deputy Frank DeBernar-
di, at Gorman. DeBernardi in turn put
in a call to the Newhall Hospital, re-
questing an ambulance for the wounded
man. Then he sped out to the Stevens’
place and talked to Piper, who was
nearly unconscious now. The marine
gasped out a description of the at-
tacker and his car, a black Pontiac
sedan, late ’30 model. DeBernardi lost
no time relaying the information to
the Newhall sheriff’s substation, where
it was put on the air.
This happened at 9:43 p.m. Eight
minutes later two California Highway
Patrol officers spotted a black ’37 Pon-
tiac headed south on Highway 99 near
Castaic, some 30 miles from the Sand-
berg Lodge.
The officers forced the car to the
side of the road and then, with guns
drawn, ordered out the man who was
driving it.
The man was a dour-faced individ-
ual who wore a checked plaid shirt
and nondescript slacks; a short, wiry
man with crinkly red hair, a jutting
chin and contemptuous grey eyes. He
stared sullenly at the patrolmen and
identified himself as John Richard
Jensen, 28, of surburban Tujunga.
Piper’s bloodstained wristwatch was
found in Jensen’s pocket. In the car
itself the patrolmen found the ma-
rine’s dogtags and wallet, which had
contained six dollars in currency. Also
in the car were a recently fired shot-
gun, a rifle with its stock sawed off
and a blood-stained ballpeen hammer.
“Yeah,” Jensen said. “I did it.”
te, : {
Jensen boy shows how he beat Billy with hammer. He
planned to rob gas ‘station afterwards ‘and run away.
TTR BS oe
Sew
\
JENSEN, Richard, white, gassed CA@ (Los Angeles) February 11, 1955.
At 14 he was judged
insane and sent away for
one of the most
revolting murders
in California’s history.
Fourteen years later
he was set free to
| Pa Male : " id try it all over again
a poeta YS :
He was “too vicious to risk his ever being freed again.”
BOY I
| by BERT MURRAY
SANDBERG, CAL., OCTOBER 16, 1953 was half dead—but he had to make it to the light
@ Stark naked, shivering and bleeding, the marine He remembered Korea ten months earlier and that
staggered toward the distant light on the black Cali- night on the hill and the big white flashes from the
fornia mountain road, refusing to die. Blood, oozing big guns and then the hot bite of shrapnel tearing
from severe head wounds, coursed down into his eyes, into his body. That had been bad. That had hurt
blinding him. In his chest was a gaping bullet hole. bad... . But this! He went on towards the light.
Sergeant Marion L. Piper, 21, stationed at the It was a few minutes after 8 P.M., Saturday.
marine base at San Diego, gritted his teeth, moaning October 3, 1953, and the night was black and cold
with pain, and told himself he had to make it to that here on the mountainside where the old Ridge Route
: light. It was a mile away, maybe even more, and he highway. now full of chuck holes, crumbling and
continued on page 34
Bteiackhe ke Wel
: SE.
—» a5
|
” Judge scribbled on
Jensen, at 28, was released, having made “adequate adjustment. record, “béars watching, in my opinion.”
lved
aay for
ers
history.
later
to
igain
{
e ligh
nd that
Oo! the
n ,
sed on page 34
preteen eee
“*
Seldom
will an officer
meet a man
as evil as
Susan Fouts’ murderer.
Stranger still,
Chief Feland
discovered,
was his motive
BY SEYMOUR ETTMAN
6
STARTLING DETECTIVE, August, 1947
Rehearsal
Macabre
i OM FELAND paused beneath the
arched portico of the Santa Barbara
County Jail. He dropped his cigaret
stub on the concrete pavement and entered, Sheriff
Jack Ross came out of the district attorney’s office
and waved to him.
“He’s waiting for you,” Ross said. “I just left
him,”
Feland took off his gr
district attorney’s door,
“Come in,” Weldon called.
Tom Feland shifted his hat to the hand that held
the manila envelope, and turned the door knob.
The man at the desk nodded. “I’m Weldon,” he
said. “Won’t you sit down?”
“T’ve got some papers,” Feland began. He eased
himself into the chair and indicated the manila
envélope. “‘I’ll need your signature on some of
them,”
The district attorney looked at the envelope. “Oh,
yes,” he said. “You're Chief of Police Feland from
Santa Maria. Ross told me you turned over the
prisoner.”
Feland smiled grimly, “He’s all yours,’
“but he’s a strange fellow.
pushing a conviction,”
Weldon pressed his fingertips together
back in his chair, “Why ?”
doubt that he did it ?”
The police chief opened the envelope. “‘No doubt
at all,” he said. “But if he pleads not guilty by
reason of insanity, you may have trouble.”
“Do you think he’s crazy?” Weldon asked.
Feland shrugged. “No,” he said. “He’s sane all
right. I’d say he was maladjusted, maybe, but he’s
Sane.”
ay hat and knocked on the
’ he said,
You may have trouble
and leaned
he asked.’ “‘There’s no
STARTLING
He took
velope. Ar
mug shots
graphs ac
“Here’s
1944,” he
hooked 4
County or
The othe
December
after Mrs
Weldor
“He didn
“Yes h
“That’s v
case. Int
chip on h
going tol
murder e
anything
so he cou
picture s]
ure. And
failure be
off.”
The d
ened. He
“Just :
you meat
There’s |
Felan
a cigare
didn’t cc
only inte
Weld
wife ?”
Mrs. Fo
The
“That,”
ing mat
It’s the
He...
“Chie
got to |t
You we
would h
what hi:
Chief
Cal., st
cigaret.
began
TW.
to t
looking
ferent 1
it. You
delay i:
accider
dreame
past G!
look fe
But
about
you've
didn’t
days o
Bitter
less) i
extrerr
jacket:
standi
DETI
his right
» 7 the sus-
at Hilton
a close
ity R. B.
uta Bar-
Burbank
to that
but the
{
‘e station
had just
and sus-
it. More-
tt had a
essitated
ider the
en there.
Burbank
ashed an
ate. Hil-
Death
trying to
capture,
reported
‘o the
. for
g the
route of
through
lephoned
endence,
e on the
i.
tified all
jurisdic-
ect was
ce. Two
ack and
ling the
»bserved
id. They
ntly. °
esistance
When
rrying a
yfficers,
nt, were
ull from
ncis, of
sed!
hanged
umazing
ored re-
erienced
} 0 jail in
« ossed, “T
{ wanted
and the
» 3s think-
the only
When I
nned to
1oney,
vt her,
Here I
[ should
said he
vas well
TN
known and had a good reputation. “I'd
been sober three days,” he went on, “But
that day it was raining. I got to drinking.
Then I went out to Allan Stewart's home.
I'd known him all my life. I met his Aunt
Sue for the first time that day. I don’t
even know her last name. Allan went
down town, and she and I had dinner. I
liked her very much—I mean as a per-
son.
“A bout nine p.m. we decided to go down
town and find Al. On the way I thought
of this truck I’d been driving and knew
I could get it. I figured that was the best
way to get around town and find Al. Then
this thought came to me: Kill her! It
seemed like then I wouldn’t have to kill
my wife.”
Hilton continued his story by saying
they drove around town, and he drank
several bottles of beer, until all the bars
closed down. Then they visited the
Chinese cafe and ate supper. ‘All the
time I had this on my mind,” he went on.
“We drove out of Santa Maria, and I
said, ‘I will kill you—take you out in the
mountains and cut your throat.’ She just
laughed. So I drove out a mile and a half
from town, to the Rosemary farm, and got
out my knife and opened the long blade.
I don’t think she was afraid, but she in-
sisted that I take her back home. Instead
I stopped the truck, and we talked. I
told her my troubles with my wife, and
then I cut her throat, pushed the body
out of the truck, and drove back to town.”
He continued driving for some time, he
said. “But when the numbness wore off,
and I realized’ what I’d done, I tried to
borrow a gun to end my own life. I
couldn’t find a gun, so I drove back out
there, put the body back in the truck and
drove out on the Porter Springs trail. I
carried her and half dragged her down
the hill, about three hundred yards from
the car. Then I took off all her clothes
and left the body there. I threw the clothes
in the Cuyama River, from the bridge,
and got into Bakersfield about daylight.”
Hilton denied that he had used the
hatchet to strike the woman, but eventu-
ally admitted that he may have struck her
with the knife “two or three times.” He
explained his bandaged arm, by saying he
had ttied to commit suicide by slashing
his wrist.
Deputy R. B. Romero and Constable
John Gauld were immediately sent to
Independence to bring the prisoner back
to Santa Barbara, where he was lodged in
the county jail. At the same time, Deputy
Harry Looney, with Highway Patrol-
men, recovered the woman’s garments
from the Cuyama River.
An immediate hearing was called be-
fore Justice of the Peace Marion Smith,
with Deputy District. Attorney Weldon
handling the questioning.
Oo’ JANUARY 9, 1946, Hilton
pleaded not guilty, and not guilty by
reason of insanity. Alienists Were ap-
pointed by Superior Judge Atwell W.
Westwick, of Santa Barbara, to examine
the sanity of the prisoner, and the trial
was set for February 18th. ~
But before the sanity examination :
could be held, Hilton withdrew his plea
of not guilty by reason of insanity, and
told his counsel that he was ready to pay
the ‘extreme penalty. “I’m just awful
sorry it was her,” he said. “T wanted to
kill my wife.” :
The twenty-eight-year-old slayer still
maintained this attitude when on
February 20th, he was found guilty by a
jury in Judge Westwick’s court, and the
death sentence was imposed. “It’s just
what'I wanted,” he said gloomily, as he
heard Judge Westwick sentence him to
death in San Quentin’s gas chamber.
It was the first time since 1905 that the
death penalty had been decreed in Santa
Barbara County.
BA Pair of Bullets
of this appointment, or else tailed them to
this spot.”
Further conjecture about the baffling
problem was cut short when the officers
hastily called a conference to plan their
course of action. It was agreed upon
that Condaffer and Ryan would make the
necessary arrangements to broadcast the
meager description of the bandit. They
would also see to it that the radio patrol
cars in the vicinity would cruise about
the neighborhood in search of the gun-
man and his companion. This completed,
they would hasten to the hospital to -in-
terview the two men, hoping thereby to
establish some motive for the attempted.
murder.
Meanwhile, Detectives Slajer and
Henry would concentrate their efforts
upon locating the elusive Art Gilbert,
while Clark and Olivas, who had arrived
[Continued from page 29)
at the scene shortly after the shooting
took place, would remain in the neighbor-
hood and continue with the investigation
there, All three teams would keep in
constant touch with Captain E. R. Cato,
chief of the Central Homicide Bureau.
When officers Ryan and Condaffer ar-
rived at the Georgia Street Receiving
Hospital, they were advised that Robert
Leslie had died within a few moments of
his arrival. Realizing that he had only
a short time to live, he had tried des-
perately to divulge some information to
Detectives W. M. Baggott and R. B.
Steed of the Hospital Detail. Unfortu-
nately, the stricken man died of his
wounds before he revealed anything.
They had, however, found a few personal
papers in his possession. They turned
them over to Ryan.
One of these items proved to be a union
‘ | ‘fertile’ periods,
the TRUTH about MARRIAGE
RELATIONS is frankly discussed
Ar LAST an eminent doctor tells
all the baffling, long obscured facts, in frank, easy-
to-understand language! There is no longer any
need for ignorant guessing about the magnificent
instinct that is your birthright. No more prudish
evasions, no more veiled generalities in these 576
pages of TRUTHFUL, straightforward FACTS!
ve is the most cherished privilege in the world
today. Everything you should know is openly dis-
cussed in language that tyou will easily understand.
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Mismating Holding Your Husband
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93
sal
bre
d beneath the
Santa Barbara
ped his cigaret
id entered. Sheriff
ct attorney’s office
said. “I just left
ad knocked on the
the hand that held
he door knob,
‘I’m Weldon,” he
!
| began. He eased
cated the manila
“ure on some of
he envelope. “Oh,
lice Feland from
turned over the
| yours,” he said,
nay have trouble
sether and leaned
<ed.''‘There’s no
elope. “No doubt
ls not guilty by
trouble.”
lon asked,
!. “He’s sane all
maybe, but he’s
STARTLING
He took some papers out of the en-
velope. Among them were two sets of
mug shots. Feland pushed the photo-
graphs across the clesk.
“Here’s what he looked like in
1944,” he said, “when we had him
hooked down in San Bernardino
County on a charge of simple assault.
The other pictures were made on
December 11, 1945, exactly six days
after Mrs. Fouts was murdered.”
Weldon examined the photographs.
“He didn’t change much,” he offered.
“Ves he did,” Feland contradicted.
“That’s what’s so strange about this
case. In those first pictures, he had a
chip on his shoulder. He knew he was
going to bea killer. He was plotting to
murder even then: and all that meant
anything to him was to get out of jail
so he could kill a woman. The second
picture shows you a man who’s a fail-
ure. And he knows he’s going to die a
failure because his murder never came
off.”
The district attorney's eyes wid-
ened, He leaned forward.
“Just a second,” he said, “What do
you mean, the ‘murder didn’t come off ?’
There’s been a murder, hasn’t there?”
Feland reached into his pocket for
a cigaret. “Sure, but that murder
didn’t count with this fellow. He was
only interested in killing his wife.”
Weldon was astounded. “His
wife?” he echoed. “But what about
Mrs. Fouts ? Why did he kill her ?”
The police chief lit his cigaret.
“That,” he said, waving out the flam-
ing match, “that’s a peculiar thing.
It’s the weirdest motive I ever heard.
Hew...”
“Chief,” Weldon interrupted, “I’ve
got to build a case against this man.
You were in it from the beginning. It
would help me a lot if you told me just
what happened.”
Chief Tom Feland of Santa Maria,
Cal., stared at the glowing end of his
cigaret. Then he nodded slowly and
began his story:
T WAS the crows that finally led us
to the body, he began. We were
looking for her, and even that was dif-
ferent from the way the killer figured
it. You see, he took her clothes off to
delay identification in case somebody
accidentally found the body. He never
dreamed that we'd be backtracking
past Glines Summit, knowing what.to
look for all the way.
But first, you’ve got to understand
about this fellow. And to do that,
you've got to know a few facts that we
didn’t even suspect for the first three
days of the investigation.
Bitter over his failure, the killer (hat-
less) is turned over to Sheriff Ross,
extreme left. Chief Feland (in leather
jacket) and Undersheriff Taylor are
standing at their prisoner’s left.
DETECTIVE
We didn’t knoW that Allan Stewart,
nephew of Mrs. Susan Fouts, met this
man on the afternoon of December 5.
Stewart and his mother live with his
grandmother, Mrs. Lela Swearingen,
in Santa Maria. Mrs. Fouts had come
from her home in Corcoran to help
care for her mother, Mrs. Swearingen,
who was ill.
On the afternoon of the 5th, Stewart
happened to strike up a conversation
with this young fellow in a_ bar.
Stewart soon saw that the man had
been drinking too much.
“Took, Bud,” he said, “why don’t
you let the stuff alone for a while? Get
some food inside of you. Come home
with ine, and I’ll get my aunt to give
us sonething to eat.”
That’s what happened. Stewart took
his new friend home. The aunt made
black coffee, and was sympathetic.
After supper, Stewart remembered he
had a date downtown. So at about 8
p.m., he and this man went to the
door.
Stewart left the house while the
friencl stayed a few minutes more to
say thank you and goodbye. There was
nobody else in the house except for the
sick Mrs. Swearingen, who was up-
stairs, in bed. :
A lot happened between then and the
next morning, when I came into
the picture. I was sitting in my office,
the next day when Stewart and his
mother came in to report that Mrs.
Fouts had been missing since the night
before.
“Were you home when she left?” I
asked them.
“No,” Stewart answered. “Both my
mother and I were out. Nobody was
home but my grandmother, and she
was upstairs sick.”
Before I could ask him another
question, he showed me a telegram.
“It's from Mrs. Fouts’ husband,” he
explained. “We wired him in Cor-
coran to find vut if she returned home
suddenly.”
Mrs. Stewart broke into the conver-
sation. ‘“We didn’t think that was very
likely, anyway, as she didn’t take her
pocketbook.”
“Maybe she got a ride,” I suggested.
The two of them looked at each
other. The thought hadn’t occurred to
them.
“No,” Stewart said at length. “No
matter how she went, she would have
been home by now. And this wire says
she hasn’t arrived in Corcoran.”
I thought for a mjnute or two. “How
old is she?” I asked.
“Forty-one.”
“Married?”
“Very happily,”
answered.
Mrs. Stewart
I TOOK down a description of the
missing woman and issued an all-
station call on her. My men looked
around town and asked some questions
about her while checking on routine
calls;'a couple of fights and a truck
stolen from a service station where it
had been left for repairs.
It seems that some man came into
this service station the night before.
He claimed the truck belonged to his
boss, and that he had been sent to pick
it up.
I checked with the Corbett Com-
pany, which owned the truck. They
told me that it was a surplus army
vehicle and usually was driven by a
man named Hilton, who was employed
by the firm.
“Did you ask him about it?” I
wanted to know.
“He didn’t show up today,” they
told me. “And we can’t reach him at
his home.”
“He’s probably your man,” I said.
“Does his description tally with
[Continued on page 61]
First I fixed myself an
te it. About 12:15 I left »
sister's house on Wash-
1e wasn't home. I went
cery, bought some stuff
I’d heard he was sick
went to his house. He
were there. You saw
! you stay at your sis-
inutes. I went in. She
I left.”
de, had moved silently
th’s bedroom. He took
t from his pocket and
's single clothes closet.
across two faded coats,
> green. On a half-shelf
tter of hats, old boxes
» junk.
up, pulled away the
an exploring beam be-
> was a flash of color—
ashka. He reached for
away in his hand some-
, the shelf and dropped
ashed his light down on
liber bullet. Whistling
’ a more careful search
found another similar
len behind the hanging
y purple sweater, hand
articles into the other
ward.
iked, extending the
in each hand.
» Mandich replied.
e gun for these?” Cash
the sweater and dis-
"d palmed.
ed. She looked quickly
ective to another, “T
” she said. “They...
een lying around here
rd her answer. He was
: a small, partly healed
left wrist.
cut your wrist?” he
igeline jerked her arm
sight. “I broke a milk
w and hit there!”
ard exchanged signifi-
vard heaved himself to
he said, “I think you
with us.”
2s expected any help
th, they were due for
Ince in headquarters,
‘efiant silence.
got this thing figured
sh told Captain Billick
sut we've got to prove
be easy.
7 because she couldn’t
through the courts,
about noon. She got
1 old key. She threw
ngs together in one of
vhen he came up, she
tried to lock him out.
{ to get the door com-
like started toward it,
1 from her purse and
e time his hand went
the door glass.
t the back way and
«-’- house. She knew
At the sister’s she
re babushka and
{ hat and coat—
Martha’s—and came
throw us off the trail.
too.”
“We've got to find that gun,” Captain
Billick mused. “We've got to tie it to her.
Right now our case isn’t worth two cents.
We have two vague witnesses, both far
away. There’s a court record of a legal
fight between Angeline and Mike. To
save his house, she loaned him $1,000 of
the insurance money she got when her
husband died. Apparently he hadn't re-
paid it. But that doesn’t mean she killed
him, We've got to dig up more evidence.”
Next morning Detectives Howard and
Cash led-a crew of expert searchers to
Angeline’s house. They went over it mi-
nutely—but found no gun. The search
did turn up one empty .38 cartridge hid-
den in a fern atop the radio.
With Martha Ulemek’s permission, the
searchers next went through her bigger,
two-flat house on the chance the gun had
been hidden there. Every inch of the
house was searched, including the case-
ment, the furnace, pipes and crannies.
The officers wearily shifted a huge pile
of coal in the basement. Still they found
no gun.
It was the following morning, Decem-
ber 15, that Chief Matovina, Captain Bil-
lick, Sergeant Curley and Detectives Cash
and Howard met for their council of war.
The case was falling apart and Mrs. Man-
dich, still silent, had an attorney rushing
through a writ of habeas corpus.
And it was then that Curley’s idea sent
Cash and Howard out.to hunt a purse and
a piece of glass.
At Mrs. Mandich’s apartment, Cash
and Howard found one green purse,
empty, and one light brown purse con-
taining only a few handkerchiefs. They
called headquarters.
“We'll keep looking,” Howard. said.
“Better send someone to Martha Ulem-
ek’s house. Maybe she left the purse
there when she changed her costume be-
fore returning to Ulemek’s house,”
Detectives Ray O. Sine and Herold
Swain hurried to Martha's flat and
knocked.
\When Angeline’s sister opened the
door, Sine said, “Angeline wants her
purse—the big black one. She needs the
things in it’ ‘
“Surely,” Mrs. Ulemek said. She went
into the house. The two officers waited
a long five minutes before she reappeared,
carrying a large black leather purse. “I
had trouble finding it,” she said. “It was
way back in the corner of the closet.”
‘ive minutes later the purse was on
Captain Billick’s desk. Sergeant Curley
was there, smiling. “Open it,” he sug-
gested. “The suspense is hard on my
nerves,”
BILLICK opened the big leather bag
~ and withdrew all loose articles. Then
he turned it upside down and shook it
over his desk blotter. A light rain of dust
fell out-~and two fragments of glass, one
a half-inch long and quarter-inch wide, the
other slightly smaller. Billick looked up
at the others and grinned broadly.
From the property clerk, the glass
fragments found at the murder scene
were quickly obtained. The officers
peered closely and compared with sharp
eyes. The glass seemed identical.
The same night the glass bits, carefully
labeled and identified, were airmailed to
the FBI laboratory at Washington for
precise comparative analysis.
There was one more necessary step.
The purse had to be tied to Angeline be-
yond doubt. Billick did it shrewdly. Leav-
ing the refilled purse on his desk, he
summoned Mrs. Mandich and questioned
her again about the murder. She remained
defiant. As she was about to be led
out, Billick halted her. He picked up the
purse.
“My wife wants a purse like this,” he
said. “How much did you pay for it?”
“Five dollars,’ Mrs. Mandich grunted.
“Where did you get it?”
“At Goldblatt’s. hey got more like it.”
“Will you need it here?”
Angeline shrugged. “I might as well
take it.” She accepted it and went back
to her cell. Sergeant Curley and Detec-
tives Sine and Swaim, who saw and heard,
grinned at her back.
In a few days a report came back to
Gary from Washington’s FBI lab. It was
clear-cut. There was only two one-
thousandths of an inch difference in
thickness of the glass. The refractive in-
dex was identical—1.522. Inorganic con-
stituents of both samples were precisely
the same, ° :
And it was the quiet, scientific testi-
mony of B. G. White, FBI laboratory ex-
pert who made the glass tests, which
clinched the case for the state the fol-
lowing June when Angeline Mandich
went on trial for murder in Lake County
Criminal Court at Crown Point. She stiil
refused to discuss the slaying of Mike
Ulemek except to deny it. And though
the police had continued to search for it,
they never did find the death gun.
At 11 p. m. the night of June 26, 1944,
the jury retired. At 6 a. m. the following
morning it reported:
“Guilty of murder in the second de-
gree.”
Judge William Murray thereupon sen-
tenced Angeline Mandich to life in the
Indiana Women’s Prison, a sentence the
Indiana Supreme Court subsequently af-
firmed. She is there today, trapped lit-
erally by the man she killed, the man
whose hand sent two damning bits of
glass flying into her purse!
(The name Petrie M. olefsky is fictitious to protect
the identity of a person innocently involved in the
investigation.—The Editor.)
REHEARSAL
MACABRE
[Continued from page 7]
that of the fellow who came for the
truck?”
They had no idea about that. The
service station man who had released the
truck the night before was of no help
when it came to remembering who took it.
“Well,” I said, “we'll look for it.”
In the meantime, my men reported
back on the search for Mrs. Fouts. No-
body had seen her. Nobody knew any-
thing about her.
I called up the neighborhood towns. I
spoke with Sheriff Jack Ross, here at
Santa Barbara; Charlie Taylor at the
sub-station; and Roy Oxford, too, and
gave her description to Viv Bailey of the
highway patrol. Capt. Harold English of
our force, Officer Hugh Flake and I
talked the thing out. None of us had a
lead, but talking about it got us started
in the right direction.
The first clue came December 7 during
a conference with Allan Stewart. He was
talking about his aunt; how she was one
of the nicest persons he’d ever known.
“Never a cross word out of her,” he
said. “She was good to everybody. And
she mixed well with people. If she “was
with smokers, she'd smoke. If anyone
took a drink, she'd take a glass of heer,
too, just to be sociable.”
I made a mental note to check the bars
in town, when he said that. Our first clue
came about in that way.
A bartender on Main Street recalled,
upon questioning, that he had served Mrs.
Fouts on the night of the fifth.
“Anybody with her?” I asked.
The answer surprised me.
“Yes. A young man, under 30 anyway.”
I called in Harold English on that one.
It couldn’t have been young Stewart for
we already had checked with his date of
that evening. Perhaps he might have an
idea as to his aunt’s companion in the bar.
When we questioned him along those
lines, Stewart was silent for a few min-
utes. He was thinking hard.
“Hey!” he said suddenly. The blood
drained out of his face. “I’ll bet that
fellow made her go out with him!”
“What fellow?” I asked.
He rubbed his temples with his finger-
tips. “I don’t know who he is,” Stewart
said hoarsely, “I never really caught his
naine. I brought him home for black
coffee. My aunt gave him supper.”
“Black coffee?” English asked.
“He’d been drinking,” Stewart ex-
plained. “But it couldn’t have been him,
He was just about to leave, when I left
to-keep my date.” | ‘
“I looked at him in amazement. “And
you never told us this before? How come
your mother never mentioned it? Didn’t
either of you think of it?”
Stewart stared at me. “My mother was
out, like I told you,” he said. “She never
saw him. Only my aunt and I were with
him. When I lett. I figured he was only a
couple of minutes behind me.”
I sighed deeply. “Where'd you meet
him?” I asked. ‘How did you happen to
take a total stranger home?”
Stewart spoke rapidly now. “It was in
the Shamrock Tavern. Before supper. [
had a beer. This fellow was at the bar. We
got to talking. He bought me a couple of
drinks. So I invited him home for coffee.”
“Jim Merril, the bartender you spoke
of, he saw you?”
“Sure,” Stewart said. “He called the
man Lefty. But he didn’t know his real
name. He asked whether ,I knew him
when I came back to the bar that
night.”
Lefty. I thought about that. I filed it
away in my mind as Stewart departed.
Flake was out checking on bars for
further information on Mrs. Fouts and
her mysterious companion. While await-
ing his report, I turned to the investiga-
tion of the missing truck.
A complete description of the driver,
who hadn't shown up, had been provided
by the truck’s owners. Thomas Hilton,
the driver’s name was. I looked him up
in the file.
He’d been arrested a dozen times, for
nearly every crime on the books. I looked
up the last entry on his card. He was
listed as San Bernardino County prisoner,
No. 59709; 424 East Mill Street, Santa
Maria; dark brown hair; weight 170
pounds; right index and middle fingers
amputated.
I figured that he’d stolen the truck, all
right. And I was confident that he
couldn’t get far.
I went down to the squad room and met
Officer Flake as he came in from his
round of questioning. This time, he really
61
we 6:30 P.M. TRAFFIC was heavy at 4
Oth and Vermont Streets in Los An-
geles that December day. Workers
office employes were hurrying home
in an endless stream of automobiles.
Festive shoppers—it was just three days
before Christmas—jammed the clang-
ing street cars and crowded into the
safety zones.
At 876 South Vermont, one door
from the corner, Henry Krause’s malt
and bottle supply store was empty.
Krause himself stood behind the coun-
ter mentally checking his Christmas gift
list to make sure he had not missed any-
one. He did not hear the two young
men enter the front door.
“Stay where you are,” a voice snarled
at him, and he jooked up into the mean-
est pair of eyes he had ever seen. The
eyes belonged to a dark haired young
man who wore a deep blue hat. Even
then he knew he would never forget
those eyes.
Before he could protest, the” second
who was* shorter and
oked his hand,
ove the coun-
plain,
young man,
darker-complexioned, p
still in his coat pocket, ab
ter. The outline of a gun was
almost mild in ealm
Wudson (photo at
job.”’
Wiandsome,
moments, Wm.
left) ‘‘was sure mean on a
Revolver shown at left
was dropped by a kill-
er in a petty holdup.
But this knife was the
weapon that sent twe
criminals to scaffold.
al
in
aa su Ain nc AN is at gh
ae reeanes
92
hallway. Questioning revealed that they
had come to call, at that late hour, upon
Mr.'and Mrs. O'Neill! They gave their
names as Gideon. Radford and Marie
Moore.
The two girls already in custody stated
they were Sophia: Pfaff, a “girl friend” of
Arrington’s, and Mrs. Robert O'Neill.
The three: young women, with O’Neill
and Radford, were then escorted to Cen-
tral. Detective Bureau, where statements
were taken from all of them. :
‘It became apparent that neither Mrs.
O'Neill nor the Pfaff girl knew anything
about. the robbery and murder. They
stated that “Bob” and “Bill” had left
the apartment about 6 o’clock, returned
shortly before eight, bathed, dressed—
and had then taken them to a Holly-
wood dance hall, where they had spent
an enjoyable evening dancing! .
Gideon Radford and his girl companion
were found to have no connection with
our case. They were released after they
had given satisfactory explanations for
their presence in the apartment house.
Robert O’Neill admitted his identity,
but denied all knowledge of, or com-
plicity in, the murder of Perman Calder-
wood, and the shooting of Henry Krause.
T the suggestion of Captain Condaffer
of the Homicide Squad, I took
O'Neill to the Cedars of Lebanon Hos-
pital, where Krause had been removed fol-
lowing emergency treatment at the Re-
ceiving Hospital. The wounded man
identified O’Neill without a second’s hesi-
tancy.
“That’s one of them,” he declared. “He
tried to kill me, but I think it was the
dark one that shot me.” Incidentally,
Krause’s wound proved to be superficial,
and one from which he speedily recovered.
As we were leaving the hospital, I
asked O’Neill how the situation looked to
him now.
“Pretty tough,” he said morosely,
“pretty tough.”
Upon our return to the station, I told
Inspector Davidson in O’Neill’s presence
that. Krause had positively identified him
as one of the men who had robbed him
and with whom he had fought.
“Ts that correct?” the Inspector put the
‘question to O’Neill.
“Oh, I guess I’m hooked all right,” the
suspect replied.
Police Stenographer F. J. Sullivan was
then called, and O’Neill began his ac-
count of the night’s happenings.
Inspector Davidson, Filkas, Baggott,
Clark and I all took part in the ques-
tioning.
O’Neill gave his age as twenty-one,
and his address as Baas igre I can hang
my hat.” He admitte having gone with
Arrington, in a stolen Ford, to the Bear
Malt Supply et? on Vermont Avenue
with a view to holding up the place.
“Byverything would have been all right
if that guy Krause hadn’t been such a
damn fool” he said. “We’d: got the
money and left the place when here
comes this guy after us! He jumped on
Bill’s back, and I pulled the, gun out of
my pocket and started to. hit him with
it, but he knocked it out of my hand and
.the damn cylinder fell out. I picked the
gun up and started to run then. but he
came right after me. I turned around to
shoot at him, but the gun wouldn’t work.
Then he hit me with his fist, but it felt
like a rock. I fell down and he jumped
on me and we were scuffling. Then Bill
came along and made this guy Krause get
off me. As soon as I got loose from him,
T beat it as fast as I could,”
“Then, Bill Arrington is the one who
shot Krause?” ;
“T don’t know whether he did or not.
I never heard a shot myself,” he re-
“I wouldn’t tell you.
True Detective Mysteries
lied. “But I know I didn’t shoot: him,
ecause my gun was broke. I tried to
fire at him, but it wouldn't work.”
“Where did Bill get that knife?”
“Search me. I didn’t know the knife
existed.”
“All right, go on. What else?”
“Well, when I got loose from that guy
I ran for the car and Bill got there about
the same time I did. We.drove away
from there:”
“What did Bill say when you were driv-
ing away?” |
‘Nothin’. Never said a word.”
“Didn’t he say he’d croaked somebody,
or something like that?”
“T never heard anything like that.”
“What did he say then?” Filkas in-
sisted. ,
“Well, I couldn’t tell you. What’s more,
What the hell!
Give me credit for a little sense.”
“How much money did you get?” In-
spector Davidson aaked.
“T got twelve dollars for my cut. Bill
said he lost all the silver during the fight,
and there was only twenty-four bucks in
paper money when we got home.”
“How long have you been married?”
“Since October, nincteen twenty-eight.
But my wife and I have been separated
for a year and a half. Just went back to-
gether a couple months ago.”
“Does she know about this hold-up to-
night?” Baggott asked.
“No. I never tell her nothing. If I
did, she wouldn’t stay with me. She
comes from respectable folks.” 2
“And this other girl?”
“Just a friend of Bill’s. I don’t know
much about her, except that Bill never
tells her his business.”
I then asked O’Neill where he thought
Arrington had gone, although I knew the
question to be a futile one.
“How should I know?”
"D® you want to take the rap for this
job by yourself?”
“What difference does it make? Be-
sides, I don’t know where Bill’s gone.
Only, I'll bet that he gets as far away
from Los Angeles as possible.”
“On twelve dollars?” I suggested.
“Twelve dollars will take some guys a
long way,” he said meaningly.
It was then 3:30 A.M., so we decided to
call it a day.
O'Neill was locked in a cell, and charged
with Robbery and Suspicion of Murder.
His wife and Sophia Pfaff were lodged in
the county jail as material witnesses. Two
days later, when it was learned that they
either could not. or would not give any
information concerning the case, these
women were released.
Then began the search for William Ar-
rington. We spent hours poring over the
files in the Identification Bureau for rec-
ords under the names of Arrington, Er-
rington and Harrington. There were
many such names, but none whose de-
scription answered that of our suspect.
T was convinced that the man I wanted
had a criminal record, and made up my
mind that I would ferret out the desired
information if it took years to do so. I
hounded Captain S. J. McCaleb of the
Robbery Detail into lending me the books
containing gallery mugs of all arrested
hold-up men. These books I carried to
the homes of various witnesses to the
Calderwood: murder . . . and at last, one
of them identified a picture of a young
man, then on probation for a minor of-
fense, as strongly resembling the man
Arrington, I would rather, not give his
name as he is not a professional criminal.
T showed this picture to Miss Elizabeth
Hood and to Mrs. Estelle Turner. Both
agreed that it “looked like” Arrington.
Probation office records revealed this
man’s address. He had failed to submit
his regular probation report for the month
of December!
Confident that we' were now on the
right track, Captain Condaffer and I
drove to the place where he was em-
ployed and interviewed him:
He, was not over five feet eight inches
tall, and his face was disappointingly
lacking in vicious characteristics. I knew
before we had been with him five minutes
that the trail was cold. He proved by a
dozen employees where he had been on
the evening the murder was committed,
and it was nowhere near the scene of the
crime. Condaffer and I offered apologies
...and returned to Los Angeles.
Now, however, we had something upon
which to work. I would search those gal-
lery mugs until I found a somewhat taller
man who resembled this young man we
had questioned. It was on January 22nd
—a month to the day since Calderwood’s
life had been snuffed out—that I came
upon the picture of one William Hudson,
aged twenty-five, five feet eleven inches
in height, that was a dead ringer for the
young man we had mistaken for Ar-
rington.
I rushed from house to house with
Hudson’s photograph, and every one of
my witnesses positively and unquestion-
ingly identified it as that of the man
known as Bill Arrington, who had stabbed
Perman Calderwood!
Our police bulletin of January 26th.
1931, carried the suspect’s photograph.
description and copies of his finger-prints.
These bulletins were mailed to the
sheriffs’ offices and police departments of
all large cities’ in the country, after which
T sat back and calmly awaited word that
Hudson alias Arrington had been arrested.
On February 7th, Chief of Police
R. E. Steckel received a telegram from
J. Edgar Hoover, Director, United States
Department of Justice, Bureau of Investi-
gation, Washington, D. C., in which we
were informed that William Arrington
alias Hudson had bcen arrested under the
name of Henry Walters by Salt Lake
City Police on January 81st, 1931, on a
charge of vagrancy!
This was not the first time we had had
occasion to be grateful to Mr. Hoover for
the splendid codperation rendered by him
through his efficient Bureau of Criminal
Identification, but never had news been
more welcome or more opportune.
HAT same day we wired Salt Lake
City that we wanted “Henry Walters”
for murder. And before night, we received
a reply stating that “Walters” had been
re-arrested and was being held for our
officers!
I was given the privilege of returning
the young man to Los Angeles for trial.
and to insure my bringing him safely
back, I traveled to the Utah city with a
thirty-pound “Oregon Boot” reposing in
my suitcase. -
Hudson protested to no avail against
having to wear the heavy leg-iron, but I
was taking no chances with a desperado
of his type. ‘
In our compartment on the train, Hud-
son’s first remark was to the effect that
it would be useless for me to question
him, inasmuch as he was not the “blab-
bing” kind, and had no intention of dis-
cussing the charges against him.
I took my cue from his attitude of
braggadocio, and pretended to look at
him admiringly. I knew he was a story-
book hero in his own estimation, so it
was up to me to play up that belief.
“You are tough; aren’t you?” I mar-
veled. “I’d hate to run up against you in
a rumpus, myself.”
> = SaaS Sena:
94
Ruth, the youngest of the family,. told
me it was almost. impossible for her to
realize Perinan was dead, for the reason
that ‘he lives each night in her dreams.
“Tt is something we will never get
over,” Mr. Calderwood said, “but I’m
proud of my boy for dying like the good
soldier he was.”
It was pathetic to witness the efforts
of the bereaved family to control their
grief over the tragic passing of the “big
brother” who, when within a-block of his
home, had leaped from a street car with-
out any thought of personal danger, and
gone to his death in an attempt to aid a
fellow-man in’ distress.
O’Neill and Hudson went .to trial for
the murder of Calderwood on May 4th
in’ Department 26 of «the Superior
The Tragic Story of the Dunbar
defectives in the metropolitan area. For
more than a year he hid out in this man-
ner, while authorities scouted western
cities for him.
But, in a New York City hospital, he
was almost tripped up in February by an-
other reader of Trugs Detective Mys-
TERIES, this time a woman, who saw Dun-
bar’s picture in Tue Ling-Up. This woman
has requested us to withhold her name,
also the name of the hospital referred to,
for a particular reason.
He had been there for months and, on
February 15th, when this woman purchased
her regular copy of T. D. M. and turned
to the Line-Up pages before going to
work, she spotted him at once as an
orderly in a hospital which she visited
often in pursuit of her duties. He had
been working there she knew for five
months under the name, Dick Dunbar.
low full of wild tales of his. varied ex-
periences. He had told of living in the
Philippines and she knew that he spoke
and wrote German and Spanish.
Often, too, he had come around to the
headquarters of the organization for which
she worked. There he had said that he
had been training as a male nurse and
had been just about ready to try for his
diploma, when a_ serious heart affair
robbed him of the initiative to take his
tests.
The woman who had spotted Dunbar
acted cautiously. She wrote Warden
Roach immediately and then went to the
hospital to keep her quarry under observa-
tion. She asked the head nurse if the
“orderly-suspect” had any tattoo marks
on his arms. The head nurse was unable
to tell her, for she had never scen Dunbar
with his sleeves rolled up. ;
Anyone familiar with the duties of an
orderly at a hospital knows that it is
most unusual for such a person not, at
some time, to roll up his sleeves. Often
the work is such that it is necessary to
avoid soiling and ruining the shirt.
Yet Dunbar, -on one occasion, had per-
formed a particularly messy duty until
both sleeves of his shirt had been—since
they were not rolled up—stained with
blood. Still, he did not roll up his sleeves.
He merely discarded the soiled shirt when
he was through and put on a fresh one.
For five days the woman reader of Trur
Detective Mysteries kept a careful check.
on her suspect. Then, on the morning of
February 20th, she went to the policeman
on the corner and asked him to arrest
Dunbar. The policeman instructed her to
take her information to the Detective
Bureau of a precinct station near by. The
woman complied and a detective was as-
AS she remembered him, ‘he was a fel-
True Detective Mysteries
Court, Judge William T. Aggeler presiding,
Four days later, after only one hour's
deliberation, a jury brought in a verdict
of Guilty of Murder in the First Degrce
against both defendants, with no recom-
mendation for leniency.
On May llth, in a gloomy morning
light that illumined sheering grins on the
faces of the two men before him, Judge
Aggeler imposed judgment of death on
O’Neill and Hudson.
O’Neill laughed aloud when asked by
the court whether or not he used liquor.
“What do you want to know for?” he
countered. “I won't be using it long,
anyway.”
Both quieted momentarily while Judge
Aggeler solemnly addressed) them with
the fateful words:
(Continued from page 57)
signed to investigate. That night, Dunbar
hurriedly left. the hospital,
Sometime later he was scen in New
York City by one of the attaches of the
hospital. He said that some day she was
coming back to “get the person who had
tipped off the police.’ Then he vanished
completely’and all that could be ascer-
tained was that the references he had
given when he obtained his position at the
New York City hospital were forgeries.
He was even clever enough not to call
back at the hospital for money due him.
Without a job and low in funds, Dun-
bar drifted upstate to Middletown where,
as we have seen, he obtained a position
ag attendant at the State Homeopathic
Hospital. There he was recognized by
Clemmer and Sprague and captured by
police. In an effort to conceal his identity,
Dunbar had_ practically obliterated the
initials “D. F, D.” which were tattooed
on his arm by the super-imposition of
other tattoo marks.
For nearly three months the fugitive
worked at the hospital, assigned to a
night shift. He was genial in his relations
with other employees and none suspected
that a criminal, wanted for jail-break, was
in their midst. He acquired the reputa-
tion of a regular fellow, and on various
occasions loaned small amounts of money
to friendly employees, among whom were
Clemmer and Sprague.
Secure in his supposed safety, Dunbar
was startled when arrested by Officer
Davis, From sources unknown ‘to police
he learned he had been identified as the
Rawlins fugitive through a photograph in
the March Line-Up, in True DETECTIVE
Mysteries, From other sources he learned
that Percy Sprague and David Clemmer,
his companions on the night shift, had
been his identifiers.
Wey taken to the city jail, however, ,
Dunbar gave no indication that he
entertained animosity toward anyone. No
one who had anything to do with Dun-
bar in Middletown ever suspected the
possibility of the frightful tragedy that
was soon_ to follow from this’ man’s
actions, He immediately impressed police
as a model prisoner because of his friend-
ly, winning attitude and excellent conduct.
Concealing any display of criminal traits
he might have had, Dunbar apparently re-
signed himself to fate in a good-humored
manner. Escape or revenge appeared to
be far removed from his mind.
Eseape, indeed, would have been a very
difficult problem for Dunbar or any other
prisoner confined to the city jail. Middle-
town’s municipal lock-up is a modern steel
prison built. in the hasement of the City
Hall building which also houses the police
“You are to be delivered to the warden
of Holsom Prison, there to be put to
death by him in the manner prescribed
by law.” .
Friday, August 7th, was the date orig-
inally set for the double hanging, but on
August 5th, Governor James Rolph, Jr.,
granted the two men a reprieve until
October 2nd, on the grounds that their
attorneys had failed to appeal the cases,
as promised. However,‘a letter from the
attorneys to the Governor said no appeal
would be made, and asked that arrange-
ments be made for them to witness the
execulions!
On Friday, October 2nd, 1931, William
Hudson and Robert O'Neill were hanged
at Folsom Prison for the slaying of Per-
man C,. Calderwood,
Capture
department. Access to the jail proper
may be had only through police head-
quarters, Prisoners are housed in indi-
vidual cells of the conventional prison
type.
Shortly after Dunbar was incarcerated,
Chief Bennett and City Judge Howard M.
Starr conferred on the disposition. of their
prisoner. He would be on their hands
four or five days pending arrival of
Wyoming authorities.
, Chatting with Judge Starr, Dunbar will-
ingly admitted his escape from the Wyom-
ing Penifentiary. He said he would waive
extradition on the return case. Someone
asked him whether he would prefer con-
finement in the city jail, or in the county
Jail at Goshen, cight miles away, where
dangerous prisoners are ordinarily com-
mitted,
“T’d sooner stay here,” Dunbar replied.
A= & consultation between Judge
Starr and Chief Bennett, Dunbar was
permitted to remain in the municipal lock-
up. That was the first error in a series of
unfortunate circumstances that eventually
culminated in the shocking tragedy that .
was soon to follow.
_ Members of the police force took a lik-
ing to the prisoner and gave him the run
of headquarters during the day, and dur-
ing a good part of the night. Well dressed
and neat in appearance, he mingled with
patrolmen in their locker room, chatted
with lawyers and desk sergeants, and
played at solitaire when company was
scarce,
According to a statement made later
by Chief Bennett:
“Dunbar was locked up every night so
far as I know. During the day he had
the freedom, at times, of Police Head-
quarters; that is, he spent most of the
time in the men’s room in the rear, where
lieutenants are on duty at the desk.”
During his stay at the city jail, Dunbar
was scen frequently on the strects with
patrolmen as they took him to restaurants
near by for meals. Friday night, May
twentieth, several hours before his. escape,
Dunbar made two restaurant trips in cuss
tody of Patrolman Thomas BE, Terwilliger,
here was nothing unusual in this, so
far as treatment of Dunbar was concerned,
for he had gone out on other occasions,
even as other prisoners, for meals,
On his street trips the prisoner was not
manacled. He was permitted to walk be-
side the patrolman much in the manner
of a casual acquaintance. No one would
have suspected he was a prisoner, At all
times his behavior was excellent, and the
police, entirely’ disarmed by the man’s
genial manner, grew lax. They accepted
him as a good fellow trving to outlive
ice records revealed this
He had failed to submit
ition report for the month
it we were now on the
iptain Condaffer and I
lace where he was em-
rviewed him;
ver five feet eight inches
face was disappointingly
us characteristics. I knew
cen with him five minutes
as cold. He proved by a
3s where he had been on
» murder was committed,
here near the scene of the
er and I offered apologies
4 to Los Angeles.
, we had something upon
I would search those gal-
I found a somewhat taller
ibled this young man we
It was on January 22nd
he ‘day since Calderwood’s
snuffed out—that I came
e of one William Hudson,
e, five feet eleven inches
was a dead ringer for the
> had mistaken for Ar-
m house to house with
graph, and every one of .
ositively and unquestion-
it as that of the man
vtrington, who had stabbed
wood!
vulletin of January 26th.
‘he suspect’s photograph.
copies of his finger-prints.
3s were mailed to the
und police departments of
n the country, after which
calmly awaited word that
rrington had been arrested.
7th, Chief of Police
received a telegram from
irector, United States
‘e, Bureau of Investi-
“we, D. C., in which we
that Willkiam Arrington
| been arrested under the
/ Walters by Salt Lake
January 31st, 1931, on a
ney! 4
the first time we had had
rateful to Mr. Hoover for
‘peration rendered by him
‘ient Bureau of Criminal
vut never had news been
1 more opportune.
day we wired Salt Lake
wanted “Henry Walters”
| before night, we received
that “Walters” had been
was being held for our
he privilege of returning
to Los Angeles for trial,
my bringing him safely
to the Utah city with a
‘regon Boot” reposing in
sted to no avail against
the heavy leg-iron, but I
chances with a desperado
tment on the train, Hud-
k was to the effect that
less for me to question
is he was not the “blab-
had no intention of dis-
rges against him.
ue from his attitude of
1 pretended to look at
I knew he was a story-
is own estimation, so it
) play up that belief.
ith, aren’t you?” I mar-
- to run up against you in
1f?
“Yeah?” he answered sneeringly.
“Yeah! And I guess there’s plenty
more like me, Take that pretty little girl,
Miss Sue Hammond, that was cashiering
in that café on Spring Street when you
und O’Neill held it up last month: you
certainly had her seared silly. She told
me that the other guy with you did all
the talking, but that you were the one
she was afraid of, just because of the way
you looked at her!”
“She’s a smart kid,” Hudson com-
mented. “Knows her onions,”
“And then that girl at the drug store
out near Westlake Park ... Miss Me-
Donald, I think her name was. Remem-
ber her at the cashier’s desk?”
“Sure, sure. What'd she say?”
“She said she had hysterics for an hour
after you left; that she never saw such a
mean-looking man in her life!”
Hudson leaned back in his scat and
threw out his chest.
“When I go into a place, goddam it, I
‘let ‘em know I mean business!”
“You sure do. But this fellow Krause,
he didn’t seem to scare very easy. Had
plenty of nerve, didn’t he?”
“Nerve, hell! He was a plain damn
fool. When he first broke out of that
rest room, I come damn near letting him
have it then.”
“Did you know you lost your billfold?”
“Sure, I knew it, but I didn’t know
where I lost it. If I’d known I dropped
it there in front of the malt shop, I'd
never have gone back to that’ apartment,
D’you know, I had a kind of funny hunch
that night, that some of you bulls might
be there waiting for us.’ The minute I
looked through the crack and saw you
guys standing there inside, I was on ‘my
way.”
“And where the devil did you go?” I
asked interestedly. “Did you get away
in that taxi?”
“Taxi, nothing! I was up that stair-
way before you had a chance to know
what was coming off. Ran up to the
third floor, and up another little stairway
to the roof. I saw you and another dick
standing down there below me in the
areaway between the two buildings. If
I'd had my gun, I coulda put the heat on
you, easy as pie.”
“But we looked all around upstairs,” I
put in.
“N7EAH, but the bird had flown. As
soon as you got out of sight, I
jumped from the roof of that apartment
house to the one right next to it. It’s
about six feet between the houses, I guess.
Got caught on a clothes-line on the way
over and damn near fell through. I bai-
anced on the edge of the roof for u second,
but made it all right. Went down the
fire escape to the floor below, climbed in
through a window and walked down to
the lobby, where I waited till I heard
your car leave. The only time I was
scared was when I come out of that
lobby and into the strect. Thought sure
some of you guys would still be hanging
uround waiting for me.”
Restraining an impulse to kick myself,
IT asked him where he’d gone after leav-
ing the apartment house.
“Oh, I walked east on Sixth Strect. till
I got downtown. Got a room in x hotel
that night and Jeft for ’Friseo next day.
My next stop was Sult Lake City, where
I got picked up for vag. I was given a
floater out of town, but when they didn’t
make me by my finger-prints, I figured it
was safe to stay, so I stuck. Damn good
thing I didn’t have a chance to get my
yun when those Salt Lake coppers came
for me in the hotel.”
“IT guess it is.’ I agreed. “Say, what
was the idea in bumping Calderwood off?
True Detective Mysteries
Did you figure you'd be any better off?”
“Him? What did he expcet. me to do?
When I suw my chance, I let him have
it. And if it hadn't been for that
—— billfold, you’d be looking for Bob
and me yet!”
I told him then that Calderwood had
been considered a pretty fine fellow.
“Maybe so,” he agrecd, “but was I
going to stand there and get pinched?”
“Well... what did you think of Miss
Hood—that girl who got in your way
there just after you shot Krause?”
“At first, I thought sure I’d have to
turn the heat on her, but when I gave
her a shove she stayed there, so I guess
it’s just as well I didn’t.”
Y prisoner, who was “not the blab-
bing kind”, then announced that he was
sleepy. “Say,” he said, “did anyone ever
get away with an Oregon Boot on?”
“Yes,” I lied, “four or five years ago a
man ur in Idaho got away with a boot
on. They didn’t find it until three years
later.”
“How did he get the boot off?” Hudson
wanted to know.
“He didn’t. It was still locked around
the skeleton of his leg.”
* * *
Police records revealed that Robert
O'Neill had served fifteen months in
MeNeil Island Federal Prison for auto-
mobile theft.
UDSON had been arrested four times
for violation of the Wright Act (state
liquor law), once for suspicion of Burg-
lary, and in 1929 was convicted of Forg-
ery, is a result of which he served a year
on the County Road Camp. At the time
of his arrest. he was on three years’ pro-
bation for that same offense.
While O’Neill and Hudson were await-
ing trial, I had occasion to become per-
sonally acquainted with the family of
Perman Calderwood. '
William T. Calderwood, the father—an
early California pioneer and a member of
one of Cualifornia’s oldest families—was
born in Sacramento, when that now bus-
tling city consisted of a few one-story
buildings. Up to the time he retired,
Mr. Calderwood took an active part in
civic affairs in Los Angeles, where he has
resided for thirty years.
Mrs. Calderwood, formerly Emma Me-
Clure of Virginia, is a direct descendant
of Robert E. Lee.
. Besides the parents, there are left to
mourn the untimely death of Perman
Calderwood, “Bill”, Junior, a young man
in his twenties; George, now with the
United States Navy in China; and a
pretty married sister, Mrs. Ruth Travilla.
Perman would have been thirty-five
Years of age on his next birthday, and at
the time of his death was engaged to be
married to a beautiful Hollywood girl.
He was attached to the Twenty-first In-
fantry during the World War, and was a
member of American Legion Post 278.
He was particularly proud of his member-
ship in the Order of “Native Sons of the
Golden West, Ramona Parlor 109”,
For the past three years he had been
employed as Deputy-Marshal by the
County of Los Angcles.
“It was just like Perman to believe that
terrible man when he said he was un-
armed,” Mrs. Calderwood declared tear-
fully. “He was the kindest-hearted boy
in the world, and never harmed anyone in
his life.”
“Yeah,” put in Bill, Junior, huskily,
“and he was good to Ruth and me, too.
Used to let us drive his car... and he
was always buying something for the
house. He gave Mother that radio just,
a few weeks ago.”
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Address ...... 0.0... cece cess
[aE cons eat seve. State...... wee
made much definite headway, but at
least we’ve eliminated a big field. We
know all about the girl’s life now, and.
I'm positive from what these people
say, that the murder wasn’t the re-
sult of any personal quarrel or jeal-
ousy. We don’t have to look into that
angle any further, and that’s a big
step forward in itself!”
Just about this time—it was now
about noon—Captain McDaniell’s men
from Southern Station brought in the
first definite lead: A clew that tied
right in with Chief Dullea’s belief that
the key to the murder lay in the dark
alieys of the industrial district.
we been talking to Francis Nobles,
the bus driver who drove Miss Cecil
to work,” Captain McDaniell telephon-
ed Captain McDonald at the Bureau.
“He’s told me something that links
right up with the murder. It seems
that just a couple of days ago one of
the girls was taking a bus out when she
looked in the mirror and saw a man
hiding in the back seat. She jumped
out and screamed for help. The man
ran away as Nobles and some other
drivers ran up!
“The girl’s name is Maleta Drake.
She lives up at Rodeo. She’s off today
—you can contact her at home there.”
Rodeo is up by the Mare Island Navy
Yard. Captain McDonald put in a
call for Miss Drake at once, and con-
tacted her after some delay. At his -
urgent request, she hurried to San
Francisco and shortly was closeted
with the Homicide men.
Her story was brief but it contained
many important facts for the officers.
“I got into my bus at the storage
lot just about a quarter to six on the
morning of New Year’s Day,” she
related. “I started up, and just as
I was backing out of the parking stall
I happened to look into the mirror
and I saw a man’s figure in the back.
I didn’t wait to investigate. I just
threw the door open, jumped out and
screamed for help.
“Mr. Nobles and a couple of other
men came running up. The fellow
had jumped out of the door right after
me and disappeared in the fog—it was
a black morning, just like today.”
“Did you get a good look at him?”
The young woman driver shook her
head. “No. But he was a big man,
six feet or so, and very heavy. He was
about forty or so. I couldn’t see how
he was dressed or anything. I had the
impression he was a Negro, but I
’ couldn’t be sure. It was pretty dark.”
The girl shuddered in reminiscence.
Inspector Husted shook his head.
“You were lucky, Miss Drake. It looks
as though you just happened to escape
the killer who finally caught up with
Miss Cecil!”
HIS information caused Chief Dul-
lea to redouble the house-to-house
hunt in the Southern Police district;
it was also a very large man, possibly
a Negro, who had attacked the fifteen-
year-old girl. And it seemed signifi-
cant, as a link, that the three occur-
rences—the hiding in the bus, the at-
tack and the murder—had all taken
place at about the same pre-dawn
hour.
“There seems to be a pattern here,”
Chief Dullea told the Homicide men.
“It looks as though there’s a killer on
the loose who commits his crimes, or
attempts to commit them, on his way
to or from work at that hour of the
morning.”
Chief Dullea conferred with Cap-
tain McDonald, Captain McDaniell
and Inspector Husted.
“It’s beginning to clear up,” he said.
“We've already eliminated any person-
al friend or personal quarrel. The kill-
er was a stranger. I’m sure of that.
He just happened to pick on Miss Cecil
by accident.
“Undoubtedly, he sneaked into the
parking lot—that would be easy in the
fog—and hid in the back of the bus.
He had learned this through his prev-
ious experience. He got down in the
back out of sight. Miss Cecil drove
out and started up Seventh Street.
“Then he crept forward and pulled
his gun on her, forced her to turn off
and park at that lonely spot.”
“Yes,” and Captain McDaniell shook
his head, “it is pretty clear. The girl
had to follow his instructions and drive
where he wanted her to go.” He paused
for a moment. “It’s just as if she
asked him, ‘Where do you want to go
to murder me?’”
“That’s about it,” Chief Dullea re-
plied. “And when his motive evidently
became apparent, she put up a struggle
or started to, and he shot her. Then
he was frightened and contented him-
self with robbing her.
“I’m convinced a lot of recent crimes
and attempted crimes tie in together.
I’ve been looking over all the reports
and the pattern is definite.
“We'll look for a large man, around
forty years old or so. We'll throw
every available officer into the district,
keep watch on the spots where he
might strike again.” He stopped for
a moment. Then, forcefully: ‘“Let’s
get to work!”
Careful plans were made for aug-
mented police details to tour the
neighborhood after midnight and post
themselves at strategic points.
HE Greyhound officials arranged for
special police officers to stand duty
at the gateway to the open-air parking
lot, and to examine the interior of all
buses before they went out.
And soon an air of tenseness and
expectancy hovered over everything.
Somewhere a killer was lurking, ready
to lash out again. No one was safe.
No one was free from danger. And
though no one mentioned it, the
thought in everyone’s mind was—Who
is to die next?
Night came—another night of black
fog. But,.although every alley of the
Southern District was patrolled, and
detectives kept a watch on vacant lots
and other likely lurking-places of the
killer, he eluded the dragnet. The pre-
dawn hours came and went without
the emergency radio call for which
huntreds of officers were waiting.
None but the usual run of vagrants
fell into the dragnet. A number of
suspicious characters were held for
further questioning at the Bureau, but
released when they proved alibis or
nothing was found to link them defi-.
nitely with the crime.
The police, through the newspapers,
requested information that might lead
them to the killer, and they were del-
uged with hundreds of tips. All of
these were followed up, but none of
them produced results.
Days passed and Chief Dullea and
his men settled down to a grim game
of waiting. It seemed as though the
only way they could catch the killer
would be when and if he should at-
tempt to strike again.
Special police details were kept on
duty nightly throughout the Southern
District. Officers Dillon and Zimmer-
lin, as they went about their routine
work of rounding up vagrants in the
alleys of the waterfront and the indus-
trial area, always had uppermost in
their minds the phantom killer—who
might be anyone among the human
derelicts they brought into the station
nightly.
At THE coroner’s inquest, Inspector
Husted admitted that the only
definite clew in the hands of the police
was the copper-jacketed bullet—of a
type not generally obtainable in the
San Francisco area.
On the night of January 17, the
police got a lead that added new zest
to the investigation. A man, Joseph
Kelly, was arrested a short time after
he hailed a taxi and then, at knife
point, forced the woman cabbie to
drive him around the Southern Dis-
trict. He robbed her of $10 before slip-
ping out of the cab.
Brought to Headquarters, police
confronting Kelly realized that he fit,
in many ways, the description of the
man they were looking for. Although
the fifteen-year-old assault victim was
unable to identify him, the officials
knew that she had been frightened at
the time and that she hadn’t gotten a
good look at the man. Therefore the
fact that she didn’t recognize Kelly
didn’t put him in the clear.
Many things about Kelly suggested
that. he might be the killer. But the
officers had no proof.
He was held for trial in connection
with the cab robbery, and during that
time police worked desperately to find
some clew that might tie him in with
Winifred Cecil’s murder.
January passed, and February: and
the police were getting no where on
the Kelly angle or on any other angle
that they investigated.
UT at Southern Station vigilance
wasn’t relaxed. Captain McDaniell
and Lieutenant Edward Pootel studied
all the arrest records daily for anything
that might give them the slightest
clew. Officers Dillon and Zimmerlin
had the bus murder constantly in mind
as they made their rounds of the flop-
houses and gin-mills. Chief Dullea
often dropped into Southern Station
at night,. to urge that patrolmen
throughout those lonely streets never
forget for a moment that a killer was
still on the loose and might strike
again at any time.
The police waited. Each day that
passed was like a giant heart-beat
sounding throughout the district.
Something was going to break. Some-
thing. But what? The officers looked at
each other and: wondered and kept on
waiting because they could do little
else. And then—
About 10 p. m. on the night of March
14, a call came into Southern Station.
Send some men down to a tavern at
Seventeenth and Vermont Streets!
Hurry, please! A shooting.
Seventeenth and Vermont Streets.
That was only about seven blocks from
the scene of the bus murder.
Officers inspected revolvers, hopped
into squad cars.
At the tavern they found David Ku-
hach, the proprietor, bent down on one
knee, gently patting the head of a
beautiful collie-shepherd dog. The
dog’s chest was covered with blood.
Kuhach looked up at the officers, bit-
terly.
“He shot Shep,” he said and his voice
sounded broken. “Shep went after him
and he shot him.”
“Who? Who shot your dog?”
While Shep, still alive, was hurried
to a veterinary—who said the dog
would live—Kuhach told the officers
what happened. A man had come into
the tavern and had held him up at the
point of a gun. Shep had leaped at him
and the gunman had fired. Then he’d
scooped the money from the _ till—
about $80—and fled.
K UHACH was able to give the police
a fairly good description of the
gunman—about 50 years old, six feet
tall, 200 pounds or more. And the offi-
cers thought immediately of the mur-
derer—and the man whom Maleta
Drake had seen in the back of her bus.
And their suspicions became even deep-
er when they dug out of the wall the
bullet that had passed through the
dog’s chest and shoulder. It was a cop-
per-jacketed .38.
The trail, then, was still hot; the
killer was still haunting the Southern
District. Chief Dullea’s men pressed
the hunt with redoubled energy. The
Robbery Detail under Lieutenant Dan-
iel McKlem now entered the picture,
adding its resources to those of the
Homicide men.
But the gun-wielder had escaped
and the officers began to despair of
ever finding him.
Three nights later—on Saturday,
March 17—Adam Heibges was getting
ready to close up his tavern under
the Metropolitan Hotel at No. 973 Har-
rison Street—a few customers were
preparing to leave—when a powerful-
ly-built man burst in with a gun in his
hand.
He lined the customers against the
wall, their hands in the air. After
taking about $100 from them, and
getting an additional thirteen dollars
from the till, he turned and ran out.
As Adam Heibges reached for the
telephone, a customer, Fred Matzen,
peered out the door and saw the gun-
man running south down Morris
Street, a narrow alley. Matzen leaped
into his car, which was parked in
front of the tavern, and started to
drive around the block, thinking to
intercept the robber and trail him un-
til the police came.
It took him a few. moments to start
his car, and he. was. barely. away from
the curb before, he saw the bandit run-
ning out of the next: alley;and head
down Harrison, Street again. The man
apparently was following a zig-zag
course to elude pursuit—but he had
outsmarted . himself by doubling back
too soon.
Matzen,, in _Jow, gear and. ‘with his
lights out, followed. the,running figure
down the block to Fifth..Street. then
around the corner toward. Bryant.
Sirens moaned, ‘drawing swiftly
closer, and ‘the red Spotlights of two
police cars. flashed around .the corner.
The ‘fleéing man. ducked, , across. the
street, into. the bushes at the entrance
plaza of the San Prancisco- Oakland
Bay Bridge.
Matzen waved frantically at one of
the police cars, cried out: “There
he is—hiding over there in the, bushes.”
The Police car squealed. to a stop,
and Sergeant William - Albrecht. and
Officers |,Cornelius -Harrington and
John Liezynski leaped, out with drawn
guns." AS Matzen shouted directions,
they spread out and closed in: around
the shrubbery.
Cars were stopping on the bridge
ramp. Another police car.-came up:
other officers Piled out. It seemed im-
possible that’ the’ gunman could get
away.
“All right!” , Sergeant . Al brecht
shouted, “I séé you! Come gut of there
with your hands up!” .-...
A gun roared from’ the bushes. Ser-
geant Albrecht clawed at.his face and
crumbled to the ground. ..
The other officers emptied their re-
volvers into the bushes. jbut it was
dark and they couldn’t aim well and
the gunman had all the advantages.
The police tore into the bushes, but
they had to hold their fire for fear of
hitting one another, of shooting down
an innocent person; and“t this time
the bandit, creeping.“ crawii g. making
use of every obstatle,' disappeared into
the night.
As an ambulance rushed Sergeant
Albrecht to a hospital, Lieutenant Poo-
tel spread a cordon of, men: around the
area, stopped all cars,.searched every
alley and possiblé hiding. place. But it
was too late. Phantom-like, their
quarry had vanished. “f
At the hospital, the. ‘doctors reported
that Sergeant Albrecht had. escaped
death by almost. a miracle. The bullet
had passed through his ear and out
through his nose. A fraction.of an inch
more and it Would’ have lodged in his
brain. The doctors | ‘Said the. officer
would live. <
Relieved “now. ‘that. ‘Albrecht would
recover, the officers ‘from Southern
Station compared notes... ,
EVERYTHING” pointed to the fact
that Winifred Cecil’s killer was the
same man who had held up Kuhach’s
tavern, who had shot Albrecht. But
could they be Sure? Wasn't it possible,
they wondered, that Joseph Kelly who
had robbed the woman. Cabbie could be
the killer and that''soméone else had
committed these’ other: crimes? But
they had no evidence, other than sus-
picion, against Kelly—and that wasn't
enough. So all the officers could do at
this time was to work on the theory
that the killer was the man who had
pulled the tavern stickups.
While they were discussing. the case.
Officer Zimmerlin suddenly, turned to
his partner, Dillon. ee
“Say,” he told, him, ‘the “description
of this holdup guy : fits “that. fellow
Jackson—remember the one we heard
about this afternoon .. .
Dillon remembered. Once more the
officers had resorted- to, newspaper
publicity for information, leading to
their man, had dippéd into. the under-
world to find some clew. They had
pulled in all their underworld strings
—the informers and all. shades and
types of criminal flotsam. And it was
in this way that only a-few hours be-
fore, Dillon and Zimmerlin had spoken
to an informer who handed them a
dog-eared prison photograph and said
through tight lips: ‘““You ought to pick
this fellow up. He’s an ex-con with a
long record, and I got a tip that he’s
wanted somewhere for impersonating a
49
Both men had been working at top
speed since the alarm, and the strain
began to tell on them. Both were be-
ginning to get discouraged, although
they wouldn’t admit it.
The police car drew up at the curb
along the ‘we vf. Eighth Street
South. : mo
“Might as we: here,” Olsen said
as he opened’ the; door.
At a house;“on: the Four Hundred
block on West: Eighth Street South,
the detectives talked to Mrs. Margaret
Campbell. Olsen asked questions in a
dull monotone; but his interest rose the
moment Mrs.’ Campbell told: him that
a brunet was livirigy just-a few doors
east of her‘own; homes. 0 *
“She ‘cames in here to use my tele-
phone,” the‘woman*tald officers.
“Do you ;kxiow her’ name?” Olsen
asked. ab ‘ 6 evrnats :
“No, 3 iS 4 “he
“Has she *beeft, in to use the phone
lately?” 6° Sa 0Gs 8, aes
“Why, yes. She: was in hereon Satur-
day afternoon. Called one of the Emér-
ald Stores and:.asked to speak io.a Mr.
Booth... I was"busy cleaning up in the
hall and overheard what she seidc!
ACCORDING to Mrs. Campbell, the
girl told. the men that she met
“that guy again this afternoon” end
had made a tentative date tc meet him
on the corner of Third, West and
Eighth’ Street South, at sight-thirty
that evening. She said he wes going
to bring, her a lovely dress to wear to
the dance. ;
“I don’t know whether to pull that
dirty trick on him or not,” the girl had
said.’ “‘I.,wish you’d come over.”
“I had seen the girl again later,”
Mrs. Campbell toid the officers. “She
returned ‘to make another cali to her
friend, who, from their conversation,
had left the store.”
Elated, but still puzzled, the officers
left Mrs. Campbell. ‘What was the
“dirty trick” the. girl had ‘mentioned?
Did it have anything to do with the
slaying? \
No one was home at the brunet’s
place on West Bighth Street South, so
the detectives drove to the main offices
of the Emerald Stores where they
learned that a Gilchrist Booth worked
as a butcher, in their place on South
State Street. ‘Beoth had left for home
before the investigators arrived. He
was a part-time employe. The store
manager gave the officers his home
address—in the Four Hundreds on
East Seventh’ Street South,. where he
lived with his’ widowed ‘mother and a
brother whom he helped to support.
He was an excellent worker and his
reputation for ‘Honesty was above re-
proach, the manager claimed. -
Hastening to ‘the address; Olsen's
face registered disappointment as he
looked at a tall)’ tousle-haired, blue-
eyed youth who said-he was Gilchrist
Booth. He looked’ like anything but a
killer. Baas.
In reply
to: Olsen’s questions, Booth
"Where Do
pit, penetrated both lungs and nicked
the heart, killing her instantly. The
bullet. was a copper-jackéted .38. The -
Homicide men preserved it carefully—
for copper-jacketed. bullets are not
very common these days. That fact
was important. -..
Doctor Gifford ‘said the girl had not
been assaulted. Scratches on her body
were apparently inflicted in the un-
explained slashing of her slacks.
The angle of the bujlet’s entry indi-
cated that she had been shot while sit-
ting in the driver's ‘seat, slumped for-
ward, and then had been dragged back
in the aisle by her feet. Her pockets
had been torn out and: the slashes in-
fiicted as ‘she lay there.
Meanwhite: officers’ under Chief
Dullea and Captain of Inspectors Ber-
nard McDonald'were scouring the city
for possible suspects, picking up va-
grants, checking the whereabouts of
men recently released. from San Quen-
48
said that he had gone directly from the
store to see his girl, Pearl Medley, at
her home in West Eighth Street South
on Saturday evening. She was not
there, but he learned that she had gone
to keep a date with a George Kirby, a
man she had met the previous Thurs-
day afternoon, at the Victory Theater.
Olsen referred to his notebook,
nodded. Asson told them that Halvor-
sen met a girl at the Victory Theater.
Halvorsen then must have been
masquerading under an alias—unless
George Kirby was another man.
“Where is Pearl now?” Olsen asked.
“She’s on her way home now,” Booth
answered, ‘‘unless she had gone uptown
i ae a dress she had been talking
about.”
poe the second time that day the of-
ficers had just missed the girl.
Young Booth was sure, however, that
he could find her either at home or up-
town, and volunteered to accompany
the detectives on their search for her.
Detective Daley and Gilchrist Booth
left to look for Pearl Medley, while Ol-
sen remained at the Booth home to
question Mrs. Booth about her son.
“I know Gilchrist wouldn’t hurt any-
one,” the mother told Olsen. “He is
such a good boy.”
Daley returned presently with Booth
and the girl, who had been located at
an uptown department store. Olsen
studied her carefully. She was about
seventeen or eighteen. Her hair, from
a distance, could have been mistaken
for blond, but, on closer inspection,
and in the shadows, it was quite dark.
Detective Olsen confronted her with
the stories told by Mrs. Campbell and
young Booth. She flatly denied both
statements regarding her actions of the
previous Saturday afternoon and eve-
ning. She had, she said, spent the en-
tire day and evening, except for a walk
around the block, at home with her
brother Joseph and her niece, Ruby,
who lived at the Medley home.
“One of you is lying!” Olsen told
Pearl and Booth suddenly.
# Gilchrist Booth stared at the detec-
jive, . @
“T can’t answer for Pearl,” he said
quietly. “I was telling the truth.”
The girl flashed him a swift look,
then suddenly admitted part of his
story, still denying that she had kept
her date with “Kirby.”
Hoping to startle a look of recogni-
tion into her dark sullen eyes, Detec-
tive Olsen handed her the photograph
of John Halvorsen.
“Do you know that man?” he asked
sharply.
The girl stared at it for a few sec-
onds, then handed it back.
“No, I never saw him before.”
Olsen replaced the picture in his
pocket and told Pearl and Booth that
he would have to take them to Po-
lice Headquarters for further ques-
tioning.
In the police car, however, he softly
directed Daley to drive to the home of
Mrs. Margaret Campbell, with the in-
tention of having Pearl Medley identi-
fied as the girl who had been with John
Halvorsen on Saturday afternoon, be-
fore turning the pair over to Chief
Payne for questioning.
Both Mrs. Campbell and her daugh-
ter positively identified Pearl Medley
as the girl who had made the phone
calls on Saturday. The two detectives
drove with Pearl and Booth to South
State Street. Here, Mrs. Loveman was
emphatic in her identification of the
girl as the one who had been with Hal-
vorsen when he collected her insurance
premium. Olsen was satisfied, though
Pearl continued to deny that she had
seen the man on Saturday evening. At
Headquarters, she was turned over to
Chief Payne for questioning, while
Gilchrist Booth was taken by Olsen to
a@ separate room for the same purpose.
Detective Olsen spoke to the boy
quietly, reviewing everything Booth
had told him before. Then he asked
the youth if he had anything further
to add to his first story.
Booth, who had been staring at the
floor, raised his head.
And in that moment Olsen knew that
the youth was going to tell him some-
thing. Something important. But
what? Olsen had the feeling that this
was the climax of the case, that some-
thing terrific would break. The crime
had been such a wild, eerie one, the in-
vestigation had been so complex and
difficult, that Olsen didn’t know what
to expect next.
Booth spoke quietly. But his words
had the effect of a bomb bursting.
“T killed him.”
“Son, do you realize what you’re say-
ing?” Olsen asked in surprise.
“Yes, I know. I killed him because
‘he got fresh with Pearl.”
Boots went on to say that he killed.
Halvorsen during a fight which fol-
lowed the salesman’s attempt to make
advances to the girl. Pearl, when ques-
tioned, would add nothing to Booth’s
confession to which she and Booth
signed their names.. Apparently the
case was solved—or so the officers
thought.
They were totally unprepared for
ig happened on the following morn-
g.
At about 8 a. m. Thursday, the aged
father of Pearl Medley appeared at
Police Headquarters, leading his eight-
year-old granddaughter, Ruby, by the
hand. Ruby, he said, had told him
something after Pearl’s arrest which he
thought the officers ought to know in
connection with the case.
Wondering what was coming next in
the amazing murder mystery, the in-
vestigators sat tight-lipped while Chief
eae questioned the bright-eyed little
girl.
On Friday night, Ruby told him, she
had heard Pear] and Gilchrist plotting
to rob Pearl’s new friend, Mr. Kirby,
who was supposed to be a wealthy
lawyer. Pearl told the boy she knew
Kirby always carried a lot of money,
and Booth said he would get a gun to
help rob him, and Pear] could put him
on the spot for the robbery.
Booth had failed to get a gun, how-
ever, and brought, instead, a ten-inch
butcher knife.
Ruby threatened to tell on them
if they should rob the man. They told
her if she said anything they would
beat her up. She had been afraid to
speak as long as Booth and Pearl] were
free, she told Payne.
Saturday night, when Pear! returned
home, the child had asked her if they
had robbed Mr. Kirby. Pearl told her
to shut up, that they hadn’t even seen
the man and she wasn’t to mention the
subject again.
The child’s story put a new aspect
on the case and changed it from one of
self-defense to one of premeditated
robbery and murder.
(C OPSRONT ED with the new evi-
dence, Booth still denied every-
thing.
“Don’t lie,” Olsen told him. “I can:
just guess what you said to Pearl. Some-
thing like ‘If that guy can buy you
fancy gifts, then he must have plenty
of money.’ Yes, I can just tell what
went on in your mind.”
And then Booth and Pearl Medley
admitted the plan to rob the man, but
they denied that they had intended to
murder him. Only after he put up so
fierce a defense had the knife been
used, and it was Gilchrist Booth who
had struck the fatal blow.
The entire sum of the robbery, fif-
teen dollars, had been turned over to
Pearl Medley with the exception of a
small sum which they had used to buy
liquor and cigarettes on Sunday.
On February 24, 1932, Pearl went on
trial before Judge David W. Moffat
in Salt Lake City’s Third District
Court. Pearl entered a plea of guilty
aS an accessory before and after the
fact and she was sentenced to the
State Industrial School at Ogden,
Utah.
Gilchrist Booth alone stood charged
with first-degree murder,
charge was dismissed when his plea of
guilty to second-degree murder was ac-
cepted by the court, in view of his
hitherto stainless reputation. On April
11, he was sentenced to serve 25 years
in the State Prison, which is only four
miles across down-town Salt Lake City,
from the spot to which they had lured
the handsome insurance salesman.
Pearl Medley was released from the
Industrial School when she reached
the age of 21, her debt to society paid.
Howard Asson, Murrel Worth, Mr.
Parks, Clifford Hartshorn, Lee Dizon,
Mrs. Ruby Loveman and Mrs. Mar-
garet Campbell are pseudonyms to
protect innocent people. The name of
the Emerald Stores is also fictitious.
You Want to Murder Me?" (Continued from Page 11)
tin and Folsom Prisons. :
An alarm on the State-wide police
teletype put officials of neighboring
communities on the alert for sus-
picious-acting vagrants.
But the focus of the man-hunt was
the Southern Police District, covering
the industrial area south from Market
Street to Channel Street, and from the
docks on San Francisco Bay to the
hills of the Potrero District. This is ‘a
congested area of factories, foundries,
ship-works, oil refineries, mills and
storage yards—most of them now
humming with war work.
|X THE absence of any definite leads
pointing elsewhere, Chief Dullea,
from his long experience in battling
metropolitan crime, felt that the mur-
der had its roots in this area and that
here the killer was hiding out. In recent
weeks, a crime wave had been sweeping
the industrial area—holdups, sluggings
—and only a few days before, at a sim-
ilar early hour in the pre-dawn black-
ness, a fifteen-year-old girl had been
assaulted by a heavy-set man who
beat her young brother unconscious
with a gun-barrel when the boy at-
tempted to rescue her. The man hid his
face and fied in the darkness from the
scene, which was at Fifteenth and
Carolina Streets, not far from where
Winifred Cecil was found slain.
Was there any connection between
the crimes? The officers didn’t know,
but since they had no other lead, they
worked in that direction.
So, while the machinery of the law
amassed all possible evidence, the
crucial hunt centered about the rail-
road tracks and vacant lots of the
industrial area. :
Key men in this center of activity
were Officers David Dillon and Jules
Zimmerlin, of the Vagrancy Detail of
Southern Station. They led a posse
that went over the neighborhood block
by block, accosting and questioning
suspicious characters, checking room-
ing-houses and saloons. And so far
they got nowhere.
OWARD KUYKENDALL came
down from Vacaville in order to
help out the Homicide men. Both he
and Eleanor Dolan were positive that
Winifred Cecil had not been keeping
company with anyone else. Her life had
been an open one; she was not the
sort to keep secrets or to have a boy
friend whom she met clandestinely.
And Kuykendall earnestly dispelled
any notion the police may have had,
based on the disappearance of the
dog-tag, of a jealous rejected suitor
in the background.
“Well,” said Inspector Husted, after
talking to the bus driver and the slain
girl’s roommate for several hours, and
checking their stories, “we haven't
deputy sheriff. I’ve heard him brag,
Myself, about having been a cop in
Los Angeles—and I don’t believe he
ever was one.
“His name’s Jackson — Lewis Lee
Jackson. He lives in a hotel on Fourth
Street.”
Dillon and Zimmerlin had meant to
look vackson up as soon as they found
tume—this being only one of scores of
such information they had dug up.
But now Jackson, through his descrip-
uon, loomed “aS"'a “possible suspect in
the shooting’ of: the Sergeant.
They showed’ the photo to the hold-
up victims. These people thought
Jackson might'be the'man, but weren’t
sure. o SLs
AN? now Dillon and Zimmerlin, with
Sergeant James Murray, drove to
the Fourth Street address—which was
only three blocks down‘ the street from
Southern ‘Station. ©
Jackson was*not in his room, and a
cursory search ‘ofthe place disclosed
nothing suspicious. Jackson, they
learned from the clerk, was a teamster
who was'‘currently out of a job. :
“Well,’ there’s no use missing _ any
bets,” Dillon: told the other officers.
“Let's leave a detail here and pick him
up when he comes in.”
Sergeant’Murray called the station
and detailed Officers Eugene Clancy
and William Bard to wait at the hotel
while he‘and the other officers went
off on ‘a hunt for further suspects.
An hour later, Clancy and Bard had
Picked up Jackson at the hotel and had
brought him into the station. Although
he fit the ‘description of the man
wanted for the bus murder and the
other crimes, he carried no gun. Nor
was anything among his possessions
which would ‘point him out as being
guilty. :
Dillon and Zimmerlin recognized
Jackson as’ man they had questioned
perfunctorily on several occasions. And
the desk sergeant at Southern, when he
Saw Jackson, disclosed that shortly
after the shooting of Albrecht, Jack-
son had come into the station and in-
quired how’ the wounded sergeant was
getting along! |: -
“Why'd you’ do’ that?” Dillon asked
4 lp ert
tanks are never sold. Instead, the com-
pany rents them out to customers. A
check of the ‘firm’s records failed to
disclose that ‘any such equipment was
missing. i
“But the tank must have been stolen
from one of ‘their customers,” Goet-
zinger said to Doctor Dalton after.
hanging up. “Ill check our records
here.”
He went at the laborious job and,
after an hour’s search, found that in the
State Crime Bureau records, as of June,
1942, an Air-Reduction.tank was stolen
at Long Lake, Minnesota, and never
recovered, Fj
“TN bet a new hat that’s the tank
used in the Shakopee job,” Goetzinger
said.
Do°cToR DALTON, who had been
working ory the electric detonators
and lead wires-picked up in the Shako-
pee treasurer’s office, was studying one
of the detonators under the microscope.
At last he called Goetzinger.
“They used Hercules detonators,”
Doctor Dalton said. “See the letter
‘B’ on the side here. That's the Her-
cules trademark.”
Just then Photographer Schreiber
brought in his finished pictures taken
at the scene. One of them was of the
heel-print in the dust. |
“Doc, get a good look at this print,
will you,” Goetzinger said. “I’d like
you to examine the heels of all men
brought into your jail in the next few
days. Maybe'we can spot ’em through
this” é
Dalton éxdmined the photograph
closely, and said, “It’s an old-style heel.
Not much in uSe ‘now. “Haven’t been
for two or three years, in fact. Most
50
him. “How come you were so inter-
ested?”
“Well,” Jackson replied, “I read all
about the Sergeant being shot and I
sort of knew him, since I’d been in the
Station before, and I was kind of in-
terested and .. .”
“Yeah,” Dillon said,
else?”’
ACKSON stared at the floor. “I had
an idea that these three guys I knew
had something to do with the shooting
and I wanted to know if the Sarge died
or what.”
The officers took Jackson on a tour
of the Fillmore district, but he was un-
able to locate his friends.
“I don’t know much about them,”
he explained. ‘‘They’re funny guys who
don’t talk much—like they’ve been in
stir—and they don’t trust no one.”
The officers—realizing that they had
nothing on Jackson and _ the holdup
victims had been uncertain about his
identity when they had seen his picture
—decided that their best move was
to release him and have him shadowed.
Before he left the station, he promised
that he would report to the Police the
first time any of his friends contacted
him.
The police didn’t know where to turn
now. Not only were they without a
clew but they were without a sus-
pect. Could it be, they asked them-
Selves, that they were going in the
wrong direction to find Winifred Ce-
cil’s killer? Was it possible, after all,
that her slaying was connected with
something in her life—revenge, jeal-
ousy?
But this theory vanished the next
morning when the officers found
clinching evidence to link the shooting
of Albrecht with the bus murder. The
bullet that had passed through the
officer’s head was dug out of a bill-
board at Fifth and Bryant—and it was
& copper-jacketed .38.
But that still didn’t mark the killer;
still didn’t keep him from eluding the
police and murdering again.
Late Sunday afternoon a call came
into Southern Station that couldn’
have caused greater excitement than
if a stick of dynamite had exploded.
“and what
likely our man got them at some shoe-
repair shop that still has this type in
stock.”
Goetzinger reported his findings to
Chief Rowe and Assistant Chief Boer-
ger.
“I'd better check with Clint Hackert
and Charlie Tierney,” Rowe said, after
Goetzinger had finished speaking.
Rowe's object was to confer with the
late Clinton Hackert, then Police
Chief, and Charles Tierney, now Police
Chief but then Captain of Detectives,
and go over their felon register. St. Paul
has a city ordinance whereby all per-
sons convicted of a felony must reg-
ister with the police department upon
release from prison and return to St.
Paul. Failure to do so js punishable
by a jail term.
“Any safe-cracker .men on your
list?” Rowe asked the two men.
Tierney scanned the register closely,
found a couple “possibles.”
“You know, Elden, even though we
enforce this felon register closely, some
fish get by without putting their names
on our list,” Tierney explained. “How-
ever, I’ve got some stoolies working on
this. I told them to find out if any
crib-crackers or strange hoods are in
town. ‘Should hear something in a
few days.” :
Meanwhile, the list of wedding
guests had been checked closely, but
this examination failed to yield even
one clew.
Then came word from underworld
sources that an ex-convict by the name
of Tony Serpa had been seen in town.
Chief Rowe and Mike McGinnis, an-
other Crime Bureau investigator, heard
this news just ten days after the Shako-
“Listen,” a hoarse voice said, “if
you want the man who killed Winifred
Cecil and shot Sergeant Albrecht, he’s
in the Peerless Theater right now!”
Another false tip? More wasted time
and effort?
The officers didn’t stop to speculate.
Quickly, a posse headed by Inspect-
ors Ahern and Frank McCann sur-
rounded the Peerless, a theater located
at No. 148 Third Street. Then Ahern
and McCann entered the movie house.
Less than a minute after they ordered
the lights turned on, a man greeted
the officers in the lobby.
It was Lewis Jackson.
“I phoned you,” he said. “The man
you want is in here. His name is Ray
Lewis.”
McCann and Ahern were joined by
two officers who had been detailed to
shadow Jackson ever since he had been
released from custody. These men had
trailed him into the theater and had
been sitting a few rows in back of him.
The officials searched the theater,
but they could not find the mysterious
Ray Lewis.
THE officers took Jackson to Southern
Station. Then they went into an-
other room to discuss their next move.
The officials felt now that Jackson was
their man, that he was just trying to
throw the blame on someone else. They
were certain of this when a check of
prison records a few hours later re-
vealed that Ray Lewis—a man Jackson
actually knew—was in San Quentin at
the moment.
“By trying to play it smart,” one of
the officers told the others, “he ac-
tually has played into our hands. He
must have known he was under sus-
Picion even after he was released. And
maybe he even knew he was being
tailed. So he called us up and tried to
put us on the wrong trail, meanwhile
making us think he was helping us.”
He paused for a moment. “He lost the
cunning that enabled him to escape us
all this time and in desperation he re-
sorted to amateur tricks.”
It took ten hours of questioning, di-
rected by Chief Dullea and Captain
McDonald, before Jackson broke down
and confessed.
pee job had been pulled.
Rowe reached for his telephone and
called Tierney. :
“What do you know about Tony
Serpa, Charlie?”
Tierney checked the St. Paul rec-
ords, found that Serpa had a long
criminal record.
“Do you know where he lives?” Rowe
asked Tierney.
But Serpa wasn’t in the felon regis-
ter. He was one of those “fish” whom
Tierney said sometimes escaped regis-
tration, -
“Let me have one of your detectives
to work with Mike McGinnis,” Rowe
told Tierney. “We'll dig into a couple
of ‘hood’ joints in St. Paul and Min-
neapolis. See if we can spot Serpa.”
For several nights, Detectives Art
Courtney and McGinnis scoured sus-
pected underworld hangouts in Min-
neapolis and St. Paul, but they found
no trace of Serpa.
MEANWHILE, in the Federal Build-
ing offices of the Surplus Market-
ing Administration investigators, the
chief agent was becoming more uneasy.
No news had been received from Des
Moines on the “marked” stamps,
The chief agent was opening his mail
on the morning of November 17, 1942,
his mind more on the burglary than
on what was on the papers before him,
when suddenly he began to grin.
In his hands was a letter from the
assistant chief of the regional fiscal]
division at Des Moines. The blue X-
ray light, wrote the assistant chief,
had come through, detecting 23 stamps
bearing the secret code number, MN-
70. The stamps had come in on Novem-
ber 10 from the Alessi Grocery located
“I’m the man you want,” he said.
“I hid in the bus and killed that gir]
and stole her wallet. I shot her because
she fought with me. I’m the one that
scared the other girl, too.”
Then he went on to admit the two
tavern holdups, the shooting of Ser-
geant Albrecht and assaulting the fif-
teen-year-old girl. In addition, he ad-
mitted another robbery in the South-
ern District.
HE DIRECTED police to the room of
a friend, where they found the 38.
And at the bottom of a trunk in Jack-
Son’s room, in a place undetected by
police in their previous Search, Inspec-
tor Ahern discovered the most conclu-
sive evidence: Howard Kuykendall’s
Navy dogtag, stolen from the body of
Winifred Cecil.
Jackson was swiftly bound over to
the Superior Court on a first-degree
murder charge. While he awaited trial,
a dozen other burglaries and robberies
were traced to him. District Attorney
dmund G. Brown characterized him
as ‘‘a one-man crime wave.”
On March 30, 1945, Jackson pleaded
guilty to the murder charge. On April
3, Superior Judge Edward P. Murphy
sentenced him to die in San Quentin’s
gas chamber. Jackson remarked to the
court: “All I have to say, gentlemen,
is, you win, I lose.”
A few days later, Jackson snatched
a razor from a county jail barber and
slashed his throat and wrist. Jailers
Overpowered him before he could kill
himself.
As OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
goes to press, Jackson is in Condemned
Row at San Quentin, awaiting the re-
sult of the automatic appeal to the
State Supreme Court which is manda-
tory in death Penalty cases.
Joseph Kelly, the man who had held
up the woman cab driver, was found
guilty of robbery and kidnaping and
was sentenced to indeterminate terms
in San Quentin—the terms to run con-
currently,
—. Kelly and Ray Lewis, al-
though guilty of crimes, are pseudo-
nyms for men who were not impli-
cated in this murder.
"Send the X-Ray After the County Loot!" (continued from Page 33)
in the Five Hundred block on East
Minnehaha Avenue, St. Paul, and they
were certified by Louise Alessi.
The special agent took the news
soberly, once he had read the informa-
tion. After all, he reasoned, it was
quite possible that whoever stole the
stamps presented them at this grocery
Store in regular course without the
owner becoming suspicious.
Chief Rowe. and Tierney were noti-
fied. Orders went out to keep close
watch on the grocery store, but not to
make any arrests—unless Tony Serpa
showed up.
FIVE days later Des Moines reported
again. This time 36 stamps, also from
the Alessi Grocery and again bearing
the certification signature of Louise
Alessi, had been uncovered. Orders
still were to hold up any pinches.
Nearly two weeks went by without.
any further word from Des Moines.
The chief agent was almost certain the
stamps had been passed in‘ the usual
course of business. He was getting set
to make a friendly call on the Alessi
Grocery when, on December 3, 1942,
Des Moines reported again.
Whoever was shoving the stolen
stamps was getting bolder. On Novem-
ber 23 he had passed 66 MN-70’s, worth
$16.50, at the Alessi Grocery. Again
Louise Alessi certified them. Then, in
quick succession, came four more re-
ports from Des Moines.
December 8, it was reported, 27
stamps had been sent in by Alessi Gro-
cery; December 9, 61 stamps: Decem-
ber 10, 75 stamps: December 11, 40
stamps, then ten stamps and 48 stamps.
All were from Alessi Grocery. In addi-
tion, twenty of the stolen stamps had
28
ILLUSTRATION BY C. REITER.
In the half-light of a January morning, as a heavy fog
covered the Bay area of San Francisco, she waved a gay
goodbye to the dispatcher and drove off—into tragedy
By KENNETH BARSAMIAN
HE DESK SERGEANT at San Fran-
cisco’s Southern Police Station lifted
the telephone receiver and answered
perfunctorily.
“This is Thomas Lynch,” the. caller
said. “I’m the dispatching supervisor of
the Greyhound Lines at Mission and Sev-
enth. One of our Navy buses has failed
to show up.”
The Sergeant straightened, grabbed a
pencil, asked a question. or two.
“The bus was due here at the terminal
at 6:05,” Lynch told him. “It’s after
6:30 now and there’s still no sign of it.”
“We'll check it,” the, officer assured
him, jotting down the information.
“Keep in touch with us.”
Before he had time to hand the assign-
ment to. Officer Lahey, who was standing
_beside the desk, the phone rang again.
He answered it, listened intently, made
a few notes. As he turned from the in-
strument, a brief smile crossed his face.
“That’s what I call service,” he ob-
served to Lahey. Then, completely se-
rious again, he gave the officer the gist
of the first report, following it with de-
tails of the second call. ‘This was a
fellow named Julio Casselli,” he said.
“He says he saw a Navy Greyhound bus
standing idle at DeHaro and Division—
that’s about three blocks away from the
Mission Terminal. Chances are it’s the
one Lynch reported missing.”
Lahey was struggling into his coat as
he listened to the Sergeant.
; ci LANLSORT MCW CTE ETE CO
24 op
“Casselli says he was on his way to
qyork at a gravel plant near there when
he saw the bus. The door was open and
he looked in—he says he thinks there is
a drunk on the floor, a few feet back of |
the driver’s seat, but he didn’t bother to
call us until he got to where he works. |
Then he got to thinking and decided he’d |
better report it.”
Lahey climbed into a patrol car and |
drove to the intersection of DeHaro and |
Division Streets, a section of brush-cov-
ered lots, a few industrial plants, and
some low, gravel-filled hills. It still
wasn’t fully light-on this midwinter
morning—it was January 4th, 1945—and
the fog that had enveloped the Bay area
for the last few days didn’t help any.
The bus was there, just as Casselli had
reported. Lahey noted that the door was
still open. His flashlight illumined the
dark interior of the big coach. The
driver’s seat was empty, but on a near-
by seat was a Greyhound uniform cap.
In the aisle, stretched out on the floor |
with its head toward the front of the |
car, was the figure Casselli had seen and,
in the s:
a drunk.
The o
the dist:
viously 1
driver, a
the unif
along th
to mat i
Lahey
light, an
from the
minutes
with se
wasn’t
Ahern
job.
Exam
apparen
a bullet
the righ
with the
hey hac
while tt
the blue
was stil
Inspe
TRUE DE Tec TIVE
Lb
“FA
<
at an address on Twenty-second Street.
The young woman, bus company
workers assured the officers, was pop-
ular with her fellow employees. Ques-
tioning developed that she was one of
the company’s most trusted drivers.
From Francis Nobles, another driver,
officers learned of events immediately
preceding the tragedy. Nobles stated
that: he stopped for the girl at her home
about 5:30 a.m. and drove her to the
big wire-enclosed bus storage lot at Sev-
enth and Irwin Streets. He let her out
at the gate and she went into the dis-
patching office to check in for herself and
. Nobles, while he drove on inside to park
his car,
Company officials reported that Miss
- Cecil had been assigned to her bus for
f ‘the day, and that she waved goodbye to
the checker and drove out with it shortly
after she arrived at the lot. She was due
. to check in with Dispatcher Lynch at
6:05 a.m.
There was nothing to indicate why she
had left Seventh Street, unless there had
been someone in the bus who had forced
her to detour from the direct and usual
route. Questioned on that point, the
checker at the storage lot insisted that
as far as he knew Winnefred was alone.
"The girl, he added, was in high spirits
30
_ © as she reported that morning and started
“ out at the wheel of the big coach,
Lynch, at the scene of the tragedy,
assured the officers that he was certain
Miss Cecil would not have picked up
anyone on the run. “It’s against the
rules,” he said. “Besides, it’s only a
short distance and there would be no
“, reason for it.”
“As the police photographers completed
their work, Inspector Husted nodded
agreement with the dispatcher’s state-
ent. “Either. she deliberately broke
e rules and picked someone up, or
irned off her usual route to talk with
meone, or she was forced into coming
ere,” he observed. “In view of what
we’ve learned about the girl, I’m in-
‘clined to think the latter is the more
likely explanation.”
Police Chief Charles W. Dullea, vet-
eran San Francisco law-enforcement
officer, promptly assigned Captain Mc-
Daniell to head the investigation. He
emphasized the importance of a prompt
solution of the case. “We cannot afford
to be lax,” he said, recalling several
other crimes that had been committed
in the past few days and which still
plagued the department. “If you need
extra help, ask for it. There are thou-
sands of women working in the Southern
District war plants, and their safety is
- our responsibility. With a killer on the
loose, any one of them could be the next
victim.”
Under the Homicide Captain’s direc-
tion, Inspector Husted. got busy on the
background of the slain driver. He
learned that Winnefred Cecil had had
two reasons for seeking employment as
a bus driver: she felt that she would be
aiding the war effort, and she wanted to
earn money with which to help develop
her father’s walnut nursery business at
Visalia. ’
“I didn’t want her to work up there,”
her: father, Olen Cecil, said. “I asked
bisa
her, when she was down for Christmas,
why she wanted to keep on with it, and
she said she was going to stick it out
until the war was over. She was en-
gaged to Howard Kuykendall, but their
plans for the wedding weren’t definite.”
Mr. Cecil said that his daughter had
always written cheerful letters and at
no time had given any indication that
she was in danger. She had been home
for five days during the holidays.
Husted learned, too, that Winnefred
had graduated from Visalia Union High
School in 1937 and had attended the
Junior College for one semester. She
had been good in athletics and generally
popular
with fellow students. Her
oun by : Ff
ee!
Police Chief Charles W. Dullea di-
rected search for mysterious killer
brother, Wayne, was serving some-
where in England as a lieutenant in the
Army. It was after he entered the serv-
ice that his sister had determined to do
her bit for the war effort by driving
servicemen and war workers to and from
the Mare Island Yard.
From Miss Eleanor Dolan, the slain
girl’s roommate, the officers learned that
she usually drove Winnefred to work.
For the last few days, however, Nobles
had volunteered to pick her up when
their hours coincided, Occasionally, she
said, her friend walked the mile or so to
the bus yard, scoffing at protests that it
was not safe for a woman to be out alone
on those streets during the hours of
darkness.
Miss Dolan told them that Winnefred,
when in uniform, always carried a large
leather wallet in her left hip pocket. In
it were her identification Papers and
whatever personal money she had with
her. There was no such wallet on the
body when it was found.
Meanwhile, Inspector Ahern had tel-
ephoned the slain girl’s fiancé, Howard-
Kuykendall, in Vacaville, less than fifty
miles northeast of San Francisco. News
Police cars and ambulance rushed to
spot where Greyhound coach stood idle
of the tragedy had left the youth
broken-hearted, but he supplied what
information he could. Perhaps the most
important fact he mentioned to the In-
spector was that he had given Winnefred
his Navy dog tag—he was a recently dis-
charged veteran—and, he added, she had
worn it around her neck.
Ahern’s next move was to call Eleanor
Dolan again. She confirmed Kuyken-
dall’s statement about the dog tag, which
bore his name and serial number, and
stated that Winnefred had never been
without it since Howard gave it to her.
Obviously, then, the slayer had removed
it, as it had not been around her neck.
‘Tf we find that tag,” Ahern told In-
spector Husted, “‘there’s a pretty good
chance that we’ll have the murderer.
The wallet might be hard to identify,
but if we can locate the tag with Kuy-
kendall’s name on it, we’ll know we have
our man—or woman.”
That afternoon Dr. Haughton Gifford,
autopsy surgeon, reported that Winne-
fred Cecil had died instantly. The fatal
bullet, he said, had entered below thc
right armpit and penetrated both lungs
and heart valve. There was nothing to
indicate that she had been criminally
attacked.
Dr. Gifford further revealed that the
death bullet was a -38-caliber slug and
that it was jacketed with copper.
Within a short time after discovery
of the murder, scores of officers under
Chief Dullea and Captain of Inspectors
Bernard McDonald were covering the
area on the chance that their haul of
vagrants, drunks and known former con-
victs might net a likely suspect. But it
did not prove a profitable search and by
the end of the day Chief Dullea frankly
admitted to his men that they were with-
out a single definite clue to the identity
of the slayer.
The routine manhunt went on, Extra
details of police, both in and out of uni-
form, were directed to scrutinize every
corner of the Southern District. Grey-
hound employees and residents of the
areas adjacent to the crime scene were
questioned at length. Every fragment
of physical evidence was subjected to
the clogest examination. As a result of
their attivities, four suspicious charac-
on his way to
near there when
r was open and
» thinks there is
few feet back of
- didn’t bother to
where he works.
and decided he’d
1 patrol car and
. of DeHaro and
» of brush-cov-
trial plants, and
Aillsee tt still
this midwinter
ry 4th, 1945—and
sped the Bay area
in’t help any.
ist as Casselli had
that the door was
ght illumined the
ig coach. The
v, but on a near-
und uniform cap.
out on the floor
the front of the
selli had seen and,
in the semi-darkness, had thought was
a drunk.
The officer knew better. Clothed in
the distinctive Greyhound uniform, ob-
viously the. body was that of the woman
driver, and she was dead. Blood stained
the uniform and, where it had spread
along the floor of the bus, was beginning
to mat in her dark-brown hair.
Lahey backed out, snapped off his
light, and radioed Headquarters for help
from the homicide detail. Within a few
minutes Captain Alexander McDaniell,
with several men, relieved him. It
wasn’t long until Inspectors Frank
Ahern and Harry Husted were on the
job.
Examination revealed that the victim
apparently had been shot from the back,
a bullet having entered her body under
the right armpit. She was fully clothed
with the exception of the cap which La-
hey had noted on one of the seats, and
while there. was some disarrangement of
the blue uniform trousers, the girl’s scarf
was still around her neck.
Inspection of the bus itself failed to
disclose any worthwhile clue. Smudges
on the paneling beside the driver’s seat
were studied for fingerprints but with-
out results. On the pavement outside,
long skid marks, trailing behind the big
gray coach, indicated that, in stopping,
brakes had been applied with sudden
force. The reason for that, of course,
could only be surmised.
By the time Coroner John J. Kingston
arrived, the homicide men had covered
the scene thoroughly, but they were
obliged to admit that they had not
learned anything of particular value.
When the body was lifted out, streaks cf
dirt and dust were visible on the uni-
form. These, together with the position
of the corpse, led Inspector Husted to
remark that the victim apparently had
been shot while seated at the wheel, and
then dragged, feet first, along the aisle
toward the rear of the coach.
As the victim was given a preliminary
examination it seemed possible that rob-
bery might have been the motive, inas-
much as the slain girl’s pockets were
turned out and there was no money, wal-
(In circle) Identification badge of Win-
nefred Cecil, slain wartime bus driver
let or identification papers on her person.
But, thinking about it further, the of-
ficers could not see the logic in holding
up a driver who had not yet gone on duty
and who could not have been expected
to have any sizable sum of money in her
possession.
While the investigators were still busy
at the scene, other officers were fanning
out to check on details which, they
hoped, might provide a more complete
picture of the tragedy, including the rea-
son for the wanton killing.
Officials of Greyhound Lines promptly
identified the slain driver as Winnefred
Cecil, whose home was at Visalia, county
seat of Tulare County, some two hun-
dred miles south of San Francisco. For
two years the attractive, twenty-six-
year-old brunette had been driving
Greyhound buses on the Navy-contract
run between the ferminal at Mission and
Seventh Streets and the Mare Island
Naval Yard at Vallejo, across the bay
from San Francisco.
Since taking the job she had lived
with another girl and the girl’s mother
(ESR AT ED
left the youth
supplied what
Perhaps the most
tioned to the In-
given Winnefred
as a recently dis-
ie added, she had
is to call Eleanor
itirmed Kuyken-
1e dog tag, which
ial number, and
had never been
d gave it to her.
yer had removed
sund her neck.
’ Ahern told In-
a pretty good
e the murderer.
hard to identify,
> tag with Kuy-
‘ll Know we have
{aughton Gifford,
ted that Winne-
antly. The fatal
tered below thc
ated both lungs
was nothing to
been criminally
evealed that the
‘aliber slug and
th copper.
after discovery
! officers under
in of Inspectors
re covering the
at their haul of
»wn former con-
suspect® But it
le search and by
Dullea frankly
they were with-
to the identity
venton. Extra
and out of uni-
scrutinize every
District. Grey-
residents of the
ne scene were
mvery fragment
as subjected to
As a result of
picious charac-
Winnefred Cecil and
her fiance, Howard
Kuykendall, a_ dis-
charged Navy veteran
sam ong rate
ters were held for further investigation. Two were
released presently when nothing definite could be
pinned on them, and the others were held on vagrancy
charges.
A statewide alarm alerted authorities in other com-
munities, and Chief Dullea was assured of official
cooperation throughout the area.
The following day, Howard Kuykendall arrived
from Vacaville to assist the homicide officers in any
way he could. Discussing the case with the inves-
tigators, he promptly discounted any theories they
might have had that the murder was the work of a
jealous, rejected suitor. And his statements were
backed up by Miss Dolan, who declared that Win-
nefred never was evasive or secretive about her
activities, and that she had not gone out with anyone
but Howard.
Several days later Captain McDaniell telephoned
Captain McDonald. “I have some news for you,” he
said. “Remember Francis Nobles, the bus driver who
took Winnefred Cecil to work the morning she was
killed?
right up with this case.
“He said he was talking with a girl by the name
of Maleta Drake—she’s another bus driver—and she
told him that a few mornings before the murder she
was taking a bus out of the storage lot. She happened
to glance into the overhead mirror and caught a
glimpse of a man. Naturally she was alarmed. She
stopped the bus, got out and ran to summon help.
While she was gone the man escaped.
“T thought you’d want to check with her. She lives
up at Rodeo. This is her day off and I think you’ll
find her at home.”
McDonald set out at once for Rodeo. He found Miss
Drake at home, and she was glad to tell him about
her experience. It was the morning of New Year’s
Day, she told him. She had warmed up the engine
of her bus and was preparing to drive out of the lot
when she looked into the rear-view mirror and saw
a man sitting in one of the rear seats.
“T didn’t wait to investigate,” she told the Captain.
“T just jumped out the door and screamed for help.
Francis Nobles and a few of the other boys answered,
but by the time they came the man had jumped out
and disappeared. It was so dark and foggy that we
didn’t try to follow him.”
She described the man as more than six feet tall,
quite heavy, and with a blotchy complexion. She
thought he was about forty years old. In her excite-
ment she had not even noticed how he was dressed.
Chief Dullea, upon learning of this new informa-
tion, assigned more men to duty in the Southern
District and promised the homicide detail even more
support if they needed it.
.‘There is something worthwhile in Miss Drake’s
report,” he told McDonald, McDaniell and Husted,
as they discussed the case. ‘She described a tall,
heavy-set man. The man who attacked that fifteen-
year-old girl the other morning fitted that description
perfectly. It could have been the same man in both
cases, I think it was the same man—and I think the
same fellow murdered Miss Cecil. We can’t afford
to overlook the similarity in time in these three cases
—all of these crimes were committed at about the
same hour in the morning, as if they might have been
done by someone on his way to or from work.
“I’m convinced that Miss Cecil was not killed by
anyone she knew,” the Chief went on. “If that is
true, the victim might have been any of the other
drivers—it just happened to be Miss Cecil who was
assigned to the bus in which the murderer lay hidden.
He probably waited until the bus was under way,
then raised up and, ordered the girl to do as he
directed.”
“He must have forced her to drive to that spot on
DeHaro,” Captain McDaniell broke in. “Then, when
he attempted to attack-her, she put up a struggle and
he shot her. That frightened him and he beat it after
robbing her.” (Continued on page 104)
SUERTE err rnenrne nme:
He has told me something that seems to link
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(Continued from page 31)
“That sounds logical,” Chief Dullea ©
agreed, “and I’m convinced that a lot of the
recent troublemaking in this district ties
into this. We're looking for a tall, heavy-
set man of about forty. We'll furnish this
and all other available information to other
cities in the State, and we’ll order every
man we can spare into Southern District
to keep watch on spots where the killer
might be hanging out.”
One of the first moves to guard against a
repetition of the Cecil tragedy was made
by officials of the bus line. when they ar-
ranged for special policemen to be on guard
at the storage lot and examine the interior
of every coach before it went into service.
The city police patrolled every street and
alley in the four square miles of the South-
ern District. Hundreds of citizens in the
fog-bound area attempted to do their bit
toward solution of the mystery by reporting
any suspicious incident or character they
observed as they went about their daily
work, But these tips, like the activities of
the police themselves, didn’t seem to lead
anywhere.
Officers David Dillon and Jules Zimmer-
lin, spearheading the operations of the
vagrancy detail, rounded up every vagrant,
bum and drunk they found in that wide
area between Market and Channel Streets,
and from the docks to the Potrero District
hills. They and the men who worked with
them knew that. any one of the suspects
they picked up might turn out to be the
wanted man, and they did their work
thoroughly, ;
Meanwhile, similar searches were going
on in other cities. In Sacramento, author-
ities -picked up one Adam Buxton, aged
thirty, as answering the description of the
man who had attacked the fifteen-year-
old San Francisco girl. When taken into
custody, Buxton was carrying a jacket sim-
ilar to those worn by Navy bus drivers, He
was held at Chief Dullea’s request until he
proved conclusively that he had been at
work in Port Chicago at the time the crime
was committed.
In Redding, Shasta County, another sus-
pect was picked up by. police. He gave
his name as Charles Sullivan, said he was
thirty-one, and admitted having been in
the vicinity of San Francisco about the time
Miss Cecil was slain. When investigators
discovered that Sullivan’s clothing bore
bloodstains, the future didn’t look too bright
for him—until police confirmed his asser-
tion that he received the stains in an alter-
cation with a cellmate in the Sacramento
jail the night before the murder. He was
released.
As the search went on, the body of Win-
nefred Cecil was returned to Visalia for
burial. Six uniformed girl bus drivers
went down to the San Joaquin ‘Valley city
to act as pallbearers.
On January 8th, Officers Dillon and Zim-
merlin thought they had struck a promis-
ing lead when, following a tip from an
unidentified telephone informant, they went
to the dumps at the foot of Seventh Street
—only a few blocks from the bus storage
lot at Seventh and Irwin—and found a man
who identified himself as Ralph Bender,
aged twenty-eight. He was Stirring the
fragments of a burning coat which, the of-
ficers’ informant had said, was stained with
blood.
Unburned bits of the garment were res-
‘cued and sent to Dr. Jesse Carr, city
pathologist, for analysis, and Bender was
turned over to Inspector Husted for ques-
tioning, He readily admitted ownership
of the coat, declared that he had bought it
only a few days before, but seemed com-
pletely stumped when asked why he was
burning a piece of clothing so recently
purchased.
The Inspector was quick to realize that
Bender answered, in a general way, the
composite description of the man seen by
Miss Drake, and the attacker of the fifteen-
year-old girl, But it was difficult to be
sure. The suspect was held and, on the
following day, was viewed by the youth-
ful attack victim who failed to identify him
as her assailant.
Detained for further investigation, Ben-
der, who had received a medical discharge
from the Army two months before, finally
told authorities that he had bought the coat
in question with money he earned selling
materials salvaged from the city dump.
That was all he would tell them. They,
decided to confront him with the victims
of three other recent attacks, but finally
had to admit that Bender wasn’t their man.
He was released.
Meanwhile, in Fresno, city police picked
up Jack Harding, aged twenty-one, on a
vagrancy charge. While he denied having
knowledge of the San Francisco murder,
authorities soon learned that he had de-
serted from the Navy and he was held.
Fresno Detective Sergeant A.B. McCreary,
checking into the youth’s past, learned that
he originally was from Chicago. He car-
ried no means of identification, had only the
clothing he was wearing. McCreary learned
further that Harding had been within a
few miles of Winnefred Cecil’s girlhood
home. But that was as far as he could get
with the matter. A few days later the
vagrancy charges were dismissed and the
youth was turned over to Navy authorities.
N January 17th, almost two weeks after
0 the Cecil murder, Mrs. Frances Elder, a
cab driver, informed police that a nervous
youth had forced her, at the point of a
knife, to drive him about the city. Upon
leaving her cab, at a spot in the Southern
District, he had robbed her of ten dollars.
Almost immediately the authorities picked
up a man who identified himself as Clar-
ence Taylor, a war worker. He said he was
twenty-three years old.
Taken to Headquarters, Taylor was ques-
tioned at some length. In several respects
he seemed to fit the description of the man
sought for rape and murder. He was about
the same general size and had a blotchy
complexion. Besides, he was arrested not
far from ‘the scene of the earlier crimes.
But, hope as they might that their mystery
was solved, the authorities were doomed
to disappointment again. The youthful at-
tack victim, when she saw Taylor the fol-
lowing day, failed to identify him as her
assailant. The officers booked him on
charges of robbing and kidnapping Mrs.
Elder, and went back to their manhunt.
The weeks passed, one day pretty much
like another as far as progress in the case
was concerned, Then, about 10 o’clock on
the night of March 14th, more than two
months after the murder of Miss Cecil, a
jittery informant telephoned Southern Dis-
trict Station. “There’s been a shooting!”
he exclaimed breathlessly. “Down at
Kuhach’s Tavern—at Seventeenth and
Vermont. Come quick!”
In a few minutes, officers were leaping
from patrol cars and approaching the tav-
ern, They found David Kuhach, the pro-
prietor, nursing an injured collie dog,
Blood streaked across the animal’s white
chest.
“He shot Shep,” Kuhach told them bit-
ey “Shep went after him and he shot
im,”
Some of the men removed the dog to the
establishment
geon for tre:
to the other
up to the sh
“A man car
around a litt
soon he he!
leaped at hin
scooped the
eighty dollars
which way h«
Kuhach dex
about fifty y«
weighed abo
officers looke
the difference
holdup man,
enough to tha
to warrant a
overlook the
seven blocks
fred Cecil met
to their convic
trail when on
from the wal
through the ¢
was a .38-calit
As a result
robbery detai
McKlem, join«
details and th
Three nights
Heigbes, owne
Street, telephc«
“T was just
said, “when a
a gun. He
customers up
through their
till!”
Once more
detectives qué
learned that p
almost a hun
thirteen dolla:
cashglrawer
“Fred Matz
chased the ro
ern owner told
up Harrison.’
They hasten¢
man had fled «
with his car
down the bloc
section. The :
and the figure
only when he
dimly illumina
its engine idlir
behind when t}
Fifth to reach
into the bushe«
the San Fran
Matzen stoppe
ment when t
screaming and
up with him.
the dark area
darted.
Three men,
Albrecht, drew
Section of shr
movement tha:
of their quar:
radio commun
brought reenfo
of armed polic«
Suddenly A
Pierce the dar
men beside
lunged forwar<
see you! Put y
1 BART
oemAT, Nance
“hpr
i] Federation to fake: the following a
byeroral'et of the “boy
.| screening
jfrom farms by tbeal ‘pélective serv-
1
ee rey Ss apes “sa
rele,
2 1981-—PAGE ic pias F aie
: eS
oy é
t
x
t="
ad
a
“Mourse R ukson
tet a OSS aly He
f eee ds ¥. Bet: a
: ces fb Sutin Pas:
are a hee
> 2
3
Farm Bureau
Emergency Mect
Problems of war manpower sup-
ply and who is going to work the
farms were discussed at
the Tulare County Farm Bureau
war emergency board meeting in
Visalia.? ..
a four-point resolution calling for
direct and immediate congression-
pic eyeantee le! yt =o Pant
problem. ; in
The resolution, ‘as ‘formed by
farm bureau board members calls!
for the American Farm Bureau
“1. Request Congress to Geked leg-|\
islature placing properly-qualified
agricultural representatives on all
selective service boards and ——
of appeal,
2. Request Congress to D extabtiah
procedures. and. regulations for
all ntial _ draftees
boards, exempting such draftees
from military service on the basis’
of a deferred catégorical occupa-|
® selection because of tion necessary to national defense.
fine attitude and con- Hoc
Ars
ility.
3. Request Congress to provide
al selective service boards with
=<fauthority to screen and defer cur-
nan and Everett Wea rent reservists on farms from be-
“on a recent Fresno ing recalled into military service
tb meeting and an-|on the ground that such reservists
s for a statewide con-
‘held at Hobergs this es.
. Halstead One:
in india
Of Meeling
India and its women
play in the world of
| be discusscd by Miss
Perry at the Tulare
vutives Club dinner
Thursday at the Vi-
Hall, .
ect, “Women Today—
" she discusses this
and frankly
wpoint of ,a modern,
Hindu woman. It will
° menaber of the cid
are needed on the farms and ranch-
oe Request ‘Congress to reactivate
and establish war advisory boards
in the respective counties whose
duties and responsibilities would
..j be to review and advise on the es-
=| sentiality of farm draftees and re-
servists to the war effort in the
_| production of food and fibre.
hk hee
And Tells
Ack Jou ba Macao
“Ju three shert words, Joe Gar-
ela, deputy county road com-
missioner, whose duty it is te at-
back, atid hit Mr.
Pn Pann aettinen Khe
Tha honed canancel Gene at é
‘INDUSTRIAL CH AIR MAN—
\Monte Shepherd, local automo-~
bile dealer, heads the industrial
division committee for the Amer-
ican Red Cross: fund campaign
now underway. Assisting Mr.
Shepherd in canvassing employes
of some 40 Visaliaindustrial
firms are Sart Shaw gut tend
Renew cee ie
In alin Day
Seeking a goal of $18,000 in the
Visalia chapter area, the American
Red Cross fund campaign aeeres
its second day today. © (<0.
John’ Fredericks, fund fasive
‘chairman, reported that the Wood-
lake division under Mrs. Lilla
Kress, which was attempting to go
over its quota of $2,160 in one day,
had encountered stiff opposition
from yesterday’s weather and so-
Licitors turned in only $1,600. But
with nicer weather in’ p
4 rospect,
»} Mrs. Kress predicted that Wood-
lake would be “over. the top” by
the week’s end. “"o* " é
Twenty members of. the business
Kets od
| district solicitation committee,. un-
der Chairman* Carl _ Swearingen,
started their canvass of local busi-
“|ness establishments this morning
after a “duten treat” kickoff break-
fast in the Mirror Room of the Ho-
tel Johnson. ‘The group heard
talks by Gene Stump, execut
secretary of the Tulare County
berculosis and Health Associaiton,
and J. Thomas Crowe, yeceuness
Visalia attorney. © <*
® Division ‘ea
Swearingen who were present at
this morning’s breakfast are Jack
McKee, Harold Sponsler, Ed Moul-
ton, Ray Doyle and John Raybourn.
~—Atso underway this morning was
the industrial solicitation commit-
tee under Monte Shepherd. Help-
ing Me Shanherd in eentacting am.
For Murder Of
A Despite a last minute attempt
~ Quentin prison’s gas chamber to-
‘alias of “Bill Moore.” was ex-
etter: the, datdan, det he Man's.
gttacent. .. .- = ie
Jackson Dies
Pe 2
Alvin B. Holt “
os: ae Sees 3
te stay his exechtion, Monroe
agher Jackson, a “five-time los-
age of 34, died_in San
. oy tee le
Jecksen, alae town ended the
ecuted for the shotgun slaying of
an attempted holdup. He fted
~Jackson’s aiterney, c. n ‘Cart-
wright of Sacramente, appealed
to the state supreme court in an
attempt te get the execution de-
layed,—
His appeal declared there “is
nothing in the evidence of the
‘ trial, except Jackson’s purported |
confession to the slaying, ‘on
which a first degree charge of
murder can be based.”
The attorney also declared in |
his appeal that “there ts no evi-
dence in the trial records that 2
corpus delecti ever was establish-
ed. In other words, there ig no
evidence that Holt is dead.” i
‘scope of regular activity to the
in which they reside was
by the board of supervisors
“Imay shift with <q
der the present regulation the ead :
charge of a certain area to patzol.
another neighborhood.%) = a
The d voted to* allow the
‘any one ep
The appeal asked that Jack- |" "
gon’s sentence be reduced te life
imprisonment, , Risihe eee dee fei
Nhahewy Pelition.
Acted On ByB Board .
the county zoning ordinance ‘to ex-
iy it 4
Declaration of tateat Be i to ave
ye
Home Care OF! Sick ae Ge: Aw
Course Offered At cos’: mah
Visalia housewives will fg a
opportunity to study~ Red Cross
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The following morning, Sunday, March
18th, officers made a thorough search of
the Fifth and Bryant area where the pur-
suit of the Heigbes bandit had ended and
where Sergeant Albrecht had been wound-
ed. They came up with one important bit
of evidence which they dug from a bill-
board—a_ .38-caliber slug with a copper
jacket. But they didn’t have the killer,
About 4 o’clock that afternoon, the Desk
Sergeant at Southern Station took a call.
An excited man was on the other end of
the line. “Police!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got
the man for you—the man who killed Win-
nefred Cecil and shot the Sarge. He's in
the Peer‘less Theatre right now. Hurry!”
Inspectors Frank McCann and Frank
Ahern got several men together and sped
to the theatre on Third Street. The play-
house was thronged with the matinee
crowd and, as they entered the lobby, the
officers were somewhat baffled as to the
identity of the telephone tipster. But they
were not in doubt long. A few moments
after they asked the manager to turn on
the lights, they were approached by a
heavy-set figure. It was Jackson.
“I called you,” he told them. “The man
you want is right in there. His name is
Chester Watson,”
The Inspectors nodded to the two officers
who had been shadowing Jackson. They
had followed him into the theatre and
taken seats a few rows behind where he
had been sitting. When he ‘got: up they
had trailed him into the lobby. ,
Overlooking no bets, the ‘investigators
made a seat-by-seat search of the theatre
in an effort to find Chester Watson. Then,
when it became apparent that no such
person was in the house, they turned to
Jackson. “You'd better come along with
us to Headquarters,” they told him.
Ahern and McCann, well informed on
local police matters, thought they had
heard of Watson, and a check of the files
.at Headquarters confirmed their suspi-
cions—the man was serving a sentence in
San Quentin.
Chief Dullea and Inspector McDonald
took the lead in questioning Jackson who,
by trying to direct suspicion to someone
else, had succeeded only in drawing it to
himself. For ten long hours the grilling
continued, with little or no headway being
made. It was brought out that Jackson had
a prison record, that he had been paroled
from San Quentin in 1942 after serving a
term for burglary committed in Riverside
County: in 1938. The suspect admitted all-
this and, at the end of the ten-hour session,
signed a confession in which he also ad-
mitted the murder of Winnefred Cecil, the
two tavern holdups, the shooting of Ser-
geant Albrecht, the criminal attack on the
fifteen-year-old girl whose description of
her assailant had helped authorities in
their hunt for the Cecil slayer, and attacks
on two middle-aged women.
He admitted, too, that he had hidden in
another bus, presumably Miss Drake’s, a
couple of days before the Cecil shooting,
but fled when the driver saw him and
screamed for help.
As a final clinching bit of proof in the
case against the fifty-three-year-old for-
mer convict, Inspector Ahern led a detail
to Jackson’s hotel room and, after a pains-
-taking search, found a Navy dog tag bearing
the name of Howard Kuykendall, the slain
girl’s fiance.”
Further investigation revealed that the
revolver used by Jackson, who was
described by District Attorney Edmund
Brown of San Francisco County as a “one-
man crime wave,” had been stolen from a
concern for which he had worked.
Clarence Taylor, arrested for robbing the
woman cab driver and for a time suspected
in the Cecil case, was tried in San Fran-
cisco County Superior Court and, on Feb-
ruary 12th, 1945, was convicted of robbery
and kidnapping and sentenced to indeter-
minate terms, to run concurrently, in San
Quentin.
On March 30th, in the same court, Louis
Lee Jackson eaded guilty to murder.
After hearing the evidence, on April 3rd,
Judge Edward P. Murphy sentenced him
to death in the gas chamber at San Quentin.
A few days later, in a dramatic struggle,
Jackson overpowered a county jail barber,
snatched a razor and slashed his own
wrists and throat. But if death had been
his aim, his plan was thwarted by the jail
guards. Thereafter, until he was trans-
ferred to San Quentin, he was under close
surveillance at all times.
His automatic appeal having been denied
by the State Supreme Court, Jackson was
a resident of San Quentin’s Death Row un-
til the morning of October 5th, 1945, when
grim guards escorted him to the prison gas
chamber. A few minutes later, San -Fran-
cisco’s one-man crime wave was dead.
Norte; The names Adam Buxton, Charles
Sullivan, Ralph Bender, Jack Harding, and
Chester Watson, as used in this story, are
not the real names of the persons concerned.
These persons have been given fictitious
names to protect their identity. =
‘ *
DON‘T MISS MOTION PICTURES’ NEWEST SENSATION
THE CRIME NEWSREEL
with Lewis J. Valentine
Formerly New York Police Commissioner
Produced ‘in cooperation with the editors
, of True Detective magazine
See a New Edition of this Entirely New
Type Newsreel at Your Local Theatre
Every Four Weeks
Released through Film Classics
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establishment of a near-by veterinary sur-
geon for treatment, while Kuhach related
to the other officers circumstances leading
up to the shooting. ;
“A man came into the tavern and horsed
around a_ little while,” he ‘said. “Pretty
soon he held me up with a gun. Shep
leaped at him and the man shot. Then he
scooped the money from the till—about
eighty dollars—and beat it. I don’t know
which way he went.”
Kuhach declared that the gunman was
about fifty years old, over six feet tall, and
weighed about two hundred pounds. The
officers looked at each other. Aside from
the difference in the estimated age of the
holdup man, the description was close
enough to that of the Cecil murder suspect
to warrant attention. And they did not
overlook the fact that the tavern is only
seven blocks from the spot where Winne-
fred Cecil met death. Strength was added
to their conviction that they were on a hot
trail when one of the men dug a pullet
from the wall—it apparently had passed
through the dog’s chest and shoulder. It
was a .38-caliber slug with a copper jacket.
As a result of the Kuhach stickup, the
robbery detail, under Lieutenant Daniel
McKlem, joined the homicide and vagraRncy
details and the manhunt went on.
Three nights later, on March 17th, Adam
Heigbes, owner of a tavern at 973 Harrison
Street, telephoned Headquarters.
“I was just getting ready to lock up,” he
said, “when a man entered and pulled out
a gun. He lined the half-dozen or .so
customers up against the wall and went
through their pockets. Then he robbed my
till!”
Once more the patrol cars sped out and
detectives questioned the victims. They
learned that patrons of the tavern had lost
almost a hundred dollars and that about
thirteen dollars had been taken from the
cash drawer.
“Fred Matzen, one of my customers,
chased the robber with his car,” the tav-
ern owner,told the policemen. “He headed
up Harrison.’
They hastened to Matzen’s aid. The gun-
man had fled on foot and his lone pursuer,
with his car lights off, was trailing him
down the block to the Fifth Street inter-
section. The night seemed unusually dark
and the figure of the fugitive could be seen
only when he passed a street light or a
dimly illuminated store front. Matzen’s car,
its engine idling, was only a short distance
behind when the fleeing man turned left on
Fifth to reach Bryant Street, then ducked
into the bushes at the entrance plaza to
the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge.
Matzen stopped and was out on the pave-
ment when the two patrol cars, sirens
screaming and red lights glowing, caught
up with him. He directed the officers to
the dark area into which the gunman had
darted.
Three men, led by Sergeant William
Albrecht, drew their guns and covered the
section of shrubbery, alert to detect any
movement that might reveal the location
of their quarry. Within a few minutes
radio communication with Headquarters
brought reenforcements and nearly a score
of armed policemen converged on the area.
Suddenly Albrecht, eyes straining to
pierce the darkness, motioned to the two
men beside him, leveled his gun, and
lunged forward. “All right!” he shouted. “I
see you! Put your hands up and come out!”
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED AT $2
“MURDER AMONG FRIENDS”
by Lange Lewis 25¢
There was the sharp crack of a gun in
the darkness.” For a moment it appeared
that Albrecht had fired—but he hadn't.
Instead, hidden by the darkness, ' the fugi-
tive stickup man had pressed the trigger
of his weapon with near-deadly accuracy.
Sergeant Albrecht fell, his hands clutching
his bloodstained face.
While he was taken back to the cafe for
first aid treatment, the other officers fired
a volley of shots into the shrubbery, then
closed in. But their maneuver was un-
successful. The wanted man had vanished
like a phantom in the darkness.
Sergeant Albrecht, taken to a hospital,
was reported in serious condition, put doc-
tors expressed the belief that he would live.
The bullet had entered through his left ear
and emerged through his nose, missing the
prain by a margin of only half an inch.
HE following day, as Zimmerlin and Dil-
lon were comparing notes on the hap-
penings of the night before, the former |
turned to his partner. “Say, Dave,” he
said suddenly, recalling an incident that
had occurred a few hours earlier, “do you
remember when that tight-lipped guy
walked in this morning and gave us this
picture?” He handed a dog-eared snap-
shop to Dillon. “There may be something
in what he told us.”
Dillon, studying the photo, nodded as he
recalled how the stranger had said: “I just
got a tip this guy’s wanted for imperson-
atin’ a deputy sheriff. He’s bragged all
over my neighborhood about how he was a
cop in Los Angeles, but no one believes
him. His name’s J ackson—Louis Lee J ack-
son. I think he still lives in a hotel on
Fourth Street. Works as a truck driver
when he ain’t loafin’.”
Despite the fact that the girls who had
seen the picture were not sure this man had
been their assailant, the officers decided to
call on the husky looking fellow. Sergeant
James Murray drove them to the Fourth
Street address, which is only’ three blocks |.
from the Station. Jackson wasn’t at home
—the hotel clerk said he probably was out
looking for a job, as he had quit his last
one several days before—and Dillon and
Zimmerlin went through his room without
turning up anything that seemed suspi-
cious. They still wanted to talk to Jackson
so they got Officers Eugene Clancy and
William Bard to wait at the hotel. An hour
later they picked him up and turned him
over to the Zimmerlin-Dillon team for
questioning.
The Desk Sergeant exclaimed as he
caught a glimpse’ of the suspect. “This
fellow came into the Station shortly after
Albrecht was shot,” he told Dillon. “He
asked how ‘the Sarge’ was getting along.”
“Why did you do that?” Dillon demanded
of Jackson, “What was it to you?”
The man hesitated, swallowed, shook his
half-bald head as if to clear it. “Well, it
was this way,” he drawled. “I saw in the
papers that the Sarge had been shot. I
knew him and it kinda interested me.”
Dillon wasn’t impressed. “What else did
you come for, Jackson?” he asked. .
The big fellow fidgeted, seemed at a loss
for words. “There are three guys I know
who know the Sarge,” he said finally.
“They were interested so I got kind of in-
terested, too. I don’t know much about
these boys—they’re funny, don’t let any se-
crets out.”
He indicated that the men he mentioned
lived in the Fillmore District—but the of-
ficers failed to find them. They asked
Jackson a lot more questions when they
got back to Headquarters, but they didn’t
seem to get anywhere. At last they told
him he could go but asked him to contact
them he should meet any of the three
men he had mentioned. He agreed and
left, a grin twisting his wrinkled face.
When he went out two officers trailed him.
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| EXECUTION.
a Kattlesnake
y 1936, Angelenos had already
seen their fair share of captivat-
ing criminal acts such as the
Tiger Woman and Winnie Ruth Judd—
monstrous murderers who kept the
public enthralled. Yet few held the
sinister intrigue of Rattlesnake James,
who earned his living and his nickname
by marrying, insuring and murdering
women.
His real name was Major Raymond
Lisemba, but he called himself Robert
S. James. He captured the nation’s
attention on his fifth marriage, when he
put his wife’s leg into a box with two
rattlesnakes then drowned her in the
bathtub when she didn’t die fast
: enough to suit him.
This was the case that sent James
into the dock, and eventually to Death
Row. But during his trial, details of his
other four marriages emerged in court,
and the newspapers headlines took to
calling him a “genuine lady-killer”
whose greased-back red hair and
suave, pleading Southern drawl women
found hard to resist.
Born in 1895, the Alabama share-
cropper’s son was rescued from the
cotton fields by his sister’s husband-and
sent to barber school. In 1921, he
married Maud Duncan, but she soon
filed for divorce, accusing him of kinky,
sadistic sex.
He moved to Kansas and married
wife No. 2, but she divorced him after
the father of a pregnant young woman
ran James out of town.
He ran as far as North Dakota, and
changed his surname to James.
When his mother died and left her
life insurance to him, a new world of
possibilities opened up: life insurance
fraud. He bought a life insurance policy
for his nephew, then, two weeks later,
tampered with the steering in his car,
lent it to his nephew and immediately
sent his sister a telegram announcing
her son’s death—before it occurred.
In 1932, he opened his own barber
shop and married wife No. 3, a beautiful
blonde named Winona Wallace, whom
he persuaded to buy a life insurance
policy worth $14,000, making him the
sole beneficiary.
On their Colorado honeymoon, he hit
his wife on the head with a hammer,
then sent her down a cliff in their car.
Amazingly, she lived—but fortunately
for James, she had no memory of the
incident.
James, growing annoyed at her in-
creasing good health, picked her out of
her bed and drowned her in the
bathtub. The death was judged acci-
dental and James collected the insur-
Los Angeles Times
Witness Charies Hope lies on tabie during 1936 trial as prosecutor Russell Parsons thrusts Hope’s foot into a box to
demonstrate how murder defendant Robert James, right, put his wife’s foot into contact with two rattlesnakes.
anee money.
With his pockets full, he headed
home to Alabama to show off his
dapper new clothes and Piercée- Arrow
convertible, his old car having been
trashed when he sent it off that cliff
with his wife inside.
No sooner had he arrived home than
he seduced his 18-year-old niece—the
daughter of the man who had set him
up in barber school. James ana his
niece left her angry family behind and
headed for Los Angeles, where he set
up a barber shop at 8th and Olive
streets.
Convinced that he could pull off
another scam, he married again and
kept his niece on the side. But when he
sought to take out an insurance policy
on wife No. 4, the woman refused the
required physical examination—she
didn’t like doctors—so James had the
marriage annulied.
Even before the annulment, James
had hired a 25-vear-oid strawberry-
blonde manicurist named Mary Busch.
After he talked Busch into a $10,000
life insurance policy, he paid a wino $50
to impersonate a minister. Weeks later,
when the annulment from wife No. 4
came through, he marched wife No. 5
before a real minister.
The couple moved into a new home
in La Canada. Within months, James
came home from work with two friends
and found his pregnant wife dead in the
fishpond, face down in six inches of
water.
James confidentiy tried to redeem
the insurance policy Mary Busch had
signed. But when an insurance investi-
gator stumbled upon the fact that the
barber had been married five times,
and that James’ third wife had also died
by drowning, he tipped the police.
Police had James’ house bugged.
After a month of listening to James
having ‘sex with numerous women—
most ofien his niece—James was
caught in the act with his her and
booked for incest.
The newspapers began to delve into
the untimely deaths of his wives. The
day the incest headlines hit, police
learned that a fry cook knew more
about James than even the newspaper
stories hinted.
Charles Hope, the cook, told police
that James had given him $100 for two
rattlesnakes named Lethal and Light-
ning.
James had persuaded his wife to
have an abortion but because the
procedure was illegal, he told her he
must tape her mouth and eyes shut to
protect the doctor’s identity. As an
anesthetic, she chugged a pint of |
whiskey.
Once James had strapped his wife to
the kitchen table, Hope came in with
Lethal and Lightning in a box. James |
lifted his trusting wife’s leg and thrust
it into the box. The snakes bit her three —
times.
As her leg began to swell, she
writhed in agony—but she wasn’t dy-
ing fast enough for James. As he had
done to a previous wife, he drowned
her in the bathtub, then carried her off
to the fishpond to make it appear that
she had tripped and plunged in head-
first.
During the five-week murder trial
that followed James’ incest conviction,
Lethal the snake reappeared as evi-
dence, and caused a panic when he
slithered free during the iunch hour.
Columnist Walter Winchell dropped of
by the courtroom; so did actor Peter
Lorre, who studied James’ impassive
face and beady eyes for one of those
psychotic killer roles he often played.
James, who was found guilty of Mary
Busch’s murder, kept himself alive for
several years on Death Row with
appeals. His luck ran out in 1942, when
he became the last man to be hanged in ©
California, which thereafter adopted
the gas chamber.
MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 1995
B3
METRO NEWS
Alady-Killer
gent to barber school. In 1921, he
- married Maud Duncan, but she soon
- filed for divorce, accusing him of kinky,
a Rattlesnake
Bs 1936, Angelenos had already
- seen their fair share of captivat-
ing criminal acts such as the
Tiger Woman and Winnie Ruth Judd—
monstrous murderers who kept the
public enthralled. Yet few held the
sinister intrigue of Rattlesnake James,
- who earned his living and his nickname
by marrying, insuring and murdering
women..
His: real name was Major Raymond
- Lisemba, but he called himself Robert
S. James. He captured the nation’s
- attention on his fifth marriage, when he
put his wife’s leg into a box with two
rattlesnakes then drowned her in the
bathtub when she didn’t die fast
enough to suit him.
_ This was the case that sent James
into the dock, and eventually to Death
Row. But during his trial, details of his
other four marriages emerged in court,
and the newspapers: headlines took. to
calling him a “genuine lady-killer”
whose greased-back red hair and
suave, pleading Southern drawl women
_ found hard to resist.
Born in 1895, the Alabama share-
- eropper’s son was rescued from the
cotton fields by his sister’s husband and
sadistic sex.
-* He moved to Kansas and married
-_ wife No. 2, but she divorced him after:
the father of a pregnant young woman
- ran James out of town.
_ He ran as' far as North Dakota, and
i changed his surname to James.
‘When his mother died and left her
life insurance to. him, a new world of
possibilities opened up: life insurance
fraud. He bought a life insurance policy
for his nephew, then, two weeks later,
tampered with the steering in his car,
oy G-/F- 9S
Los Angeles Times
Witness Charles Hope lles on table during 1936 trial as prosecutor Russell Parsons thrusts Hope’s foot into a box to
demonstrate how murder defendant Robert James, sight, put his wife’s foot into contact with two rattlesnakes.
ance money.
With his pockets full, he headed
home to Alabama to show off his
dapper new clothes and Pierce- Arrow
convertible, his old car having been
trashed when he sent it off that cliff
with his wife inside.
No sooner had he arrived home than
he seduced his 18-year-old niece—the
daughter of the man who had set him
up in barber school. James and his
niece left her angry family behind and
headed for Los Angeles, where he set
in La Canada. Within months, James
came home from work with two friends
and found his pregnant wife dead in the
fishpond, face down in six inches of
water.
James confidently tried to redeem .
the insurance policy Mary Busch had
signed. But when an insurance investi-
gator stumbled upon the fact that the
barber had been married five times,
and that James’ third wife had also died
by drowning, he tipped the police.
Police had James’ house bugged.
anesthetic, she chugged a pint of .
whiskey.
Once James had strapped his wife to
the kitchen table, Hope came in with
Lethal and Lightning in a box. James
lifted his trusting wife’s leg and thrust
it into the box. The snakes bit her three
times.
As her leg began to swell, she
writhed in agony—but she wasn’t dy-
ing fast enough for James. As he had
done to a previous wife, he drowned |
her in the bathtub, then carried her off
a eGs MPH cs es er re tr
oe dee cee
a ‘their Los Angeles home.
‘phones. ‘th
». resulted in a 8-. to: eae yest sentence’
\. State’s evidence.
- re-enacted the poisoning’ scene, lying
en a table with his foot in a box while
into a panic—buzzed nearby. .
pe 15
just. have bh had one: ‘of ‘her spells.”
x 6 During’ ‘the. five-week - trial, ‘which
ended « egret , James’ seiscibing Ja last
me erittee oy do.” “When ‘he. tired’ f
fa he lived with other’ ‘women, ‘sade
vhis niece, Last week a’ Los Angeles
’ jury promised 39-year-old Robert.
rarer his final embrace—a rope.”
_A year ago, James insured his msi
“how seventh wife, Mary Busch. sane
for $10,700—double indemnity
day in August: he got Mary pS fc 4
tied her to.a breakfast+nook table.. That
he brought in ‘a box of rattlesnakes and.
shoved her foot into. them. ‘She. couldn’t
scream because adhesive sare cane
her mouth, .
The: pay ‘venom failed to work: has
James drowned Mary in the. ‘bath tub.
Next day neighbors found her. fa
downward in the backyard lily, pool «
“James” we
and collected, insurance money. i f
_. Charles S. Hope, a drunken‘ ex-
‘who bought snakes for. James and
_ watched. the. breakfast-room * pau
developed insomnia and finally babbled
to bartenders, Police investigated.’
They found James living ‘with his 2:
year-old niece, Lois Wright, whom he
employed as a manicurist. By dicta-
‘obtained evidence which:
‘definite. location,” :
tke. the Bea, is” incapable of private
on incest charges. . ets
Later police Acca. oth berber’ ‘and’
- ex-sailor of murder. Hope — pleaded
= guilty to first-degree murder.and turned.
SAL: James’s: trial, A ‘3
‘because their “Colonel,” ‘Harvey Davis,
. shoot a Negro.” After telling how they
‘lured Coleman from Detroit to a May,
rattlesnakes—oné of which made atem- them already under arrest for the mur- |
-porary escape and threw the courte
i f Be anid ite seen started. th Black Legion | inquiry. The ,
| Other witnesses testified ‘Tames ‘hea:
» his fifth wife over the head with a ham
mer in Colorado, then drowned her in
'a bathtub when she, recovered; ’ that.
es time © ‘he collected» $21,000 insurance,
ae ‘When James and a a iad oe awe
d later released in the Poole killing, ©
ti. confirmation to any of.
g bu 1 ook no part in ~
Lew etered and iit
a A Rattleanel a
t nake. on a
estreme Hight)
hiy Phones iid, “Poor ‘girl, |
sky has Bo |
ustice: ‘Bert E, Haney, “and
ownership, | .The -owner of, land ‘owns —
as much’of t the air above him as he uses, _
a a > tengo i eee tt ‘All that”
‘Atwanted to: know what; it felt like to”
935, ‘houseparty that “needed excite-.
ent,” Dean named five men, three of ‘
¢ of Charlés’ Poole, whose death.
; _ thing to say.
fifth, James Roy. Lorance, questioned i
- circumstances.
‘saw the [Coles
‘State's Witness (on Table) and Robert s, “Jains
iden ui Out a Murder Scene for a Los ange es Jury
would ‘be dangerous for me’.” The
other four, confronted with Dean’s
statement, protested: “The guy’s crazy
and he gets crazier every time he opens
~his mouth.” Nevertheless, they were
held for the Coleman murder as well
as for the Poole killing, for which they
are to go on trial Aug. 3.
DECIDED: By Federal District Judge
Elisha H. Brewster of Boston, that the
Agricultural Adjustment Act’s market-
-ing-agreement provisions are unconsti-
_ tutional. Two years ago Judge Brews-
- ter delivered the first AAA opinion in
‘the Hoosac Mills case, which later be-
came the Supreme Court test that out-
“awed processing taxes. That Supreme
' Court decision, Judge Brewster decided
last week, had also outlawed market-
- ing agreements, because such pacts
“were as much a part as processing
“taxes of Congress’s unconstitutional at-
_ temp t to regulate agriculture.
» Last» April Federal District Judge
StF ~ Leon R. Yankwich of Los Angeles, rul-
{ng on a fruit-marketing agreement,
~ ealled the pact provisions a separable
‘and constitutional part of AAA. Judge
Brewster’s differing decision, given in
a group of milk-marketing cases, is
considered more important: it . gives
impetus to other dairymen to challenge
their milk control pacts, which com-
_ prise half of AAA's 40 marketing
. agreements,
sLegion ‘trigger, ‘man, that ‘a group of | a Ra
legionaires - murdered Silas Coleman, .
SENTENCED: By Federal Judge M. M.
_ Joyce of St. Paul, Alvin (Old Creepy)
Karpis, to life imprisonment for kidnap-
ing William Hamm, Jr. The former
‘public enemy pleaded guilty a fortnight
ago. Sentence was deferred until after
the trial of Jack Peifer, convicted last
“Saturday of being the Hamm finger
man... Karpis was asked if he had any-
“Jack Peifer,’”’ he replied,
“is absolutely not guilty ...I know the
He had nothing to do
‘ with the kidnaping.”
_Karpis was taken to the Federal Pen-
-itentiary at Leavenworth, Kansas. From
‘there he will probably go to Alcatraz.
INTERNATIONAL
- —-
fq id 14a
[executed ] ROBERT S. JAMES (MAJOR LISEMBA) (California)
"Girls liked his red hair and green eyes. They stocky little
barber liked cash. Seven times he stood before ministers and jus-
tices of the peace to mutter, 'I do.' When he tired of wives he
lived with other women, including his niece. last week a Los An-
geles jury promised 39-year-old Robert S. James his final embrace «
a rope,
"A year ago, James insured his brand-new seventh wife, Mary
Busch James, for $10,700 = double indemnity. One day in August
he XXHH got Mary drunk and tied her to a breakfast-nook table.
Then he brought in a box of rattlesnakes and shoved her fobt inte
them. She couldn't scream because adhesive tape covered her mouth,
"The snake venom failed to work, so “ames drowned Mary in the
bathtub. Next day neighbors found her face downward in the backe
yard lily pool of their Los “ngeles home. ,ames wept and collected
his insurance, |
"Charles S. Hope, a drunken ex-sailer who bought snakes for
James and Wwetched KXH the breakfabt-room episode, developed insome-
nia and finally babbled to bartenders. Police investigated. They
found James living with his 2l-year-old néece, Lois Wright, whom he
employed as a manicurist. By dictaphones they obtained evidence
which resulted to a 3- to 150-year sentence on incest charges.
"Later police accused both barber and ex=sailor of murder,
Hope pleaded guilty to first-degree murder and turned State's evi-e
dence, At James's brial, he re-enacted the poisoning scene, lying
on a table with his foot in a box while rattlesnakes - one of which
made a temporary escape and threw the courtroom into panic - buzzed
nearby.
"Other witnesses testified James beat his fifth wife over the
head with a hammer in Colorado, then drowned her in a bathtub when
she recovereds; that time he collected $21,000 insurance. When James
and a grocery boy discovered=her body James daid: ‘Poor girl, she
must have had one of her spells,'!
"During the five-week trial, which ended with Yames's convice
tion last week, a deposition describing James's Alabama family
said: 'Linne was never very pert mentally. Ed had pellagra at
one time, but everybody thought he finally got over it. John is
not a half-wit, but Ed - well, we don't knw about him."
NEWSWEEK, Augus.t 1, 1936 Page 15.
A shortage of Brooklyn settle-
ment houses created "The Mid-
night Roamers Cellar Club."
fear. She opened her mouth to
speak but no words issued. Finally
she pointed a shaking finger to the
dugout playroom under her house.
“Under there—hurry up and see.”
With difficulty Billy’s mother
crawled into the playroom. For a
minute she was blinded by dark-
ness; then she looked again and
screamed in horror.
Her son lay on the damp ground.
a ghastly confusion of pulpy flesh
and blood. His head was battered
and bleeding, his chest was a mass
of lacerations. Around his neck was
twisted a piece of copper wire.
He was still breathing, but un-
conscious.
The two women pulled him out of
the narrow dugout and brought
him into the house. Mrs. Williams
busied herself untwisting the cruel
wire from Billy’s neck while Mrs. .
Jensen prepared hot water and
bandages to staunch the’ terrible
bleeding.
25
eo:
te
JENSEN, Richard, white, gassed CASP (Los Angeles) February 11, 1955.
t
WHAT MAKES
boys “bad” while
they are still in their
"teens? How can
“wildness” be ex-
plained in a young-
ster coming from a
happy, ‘average
American home, and
: endowed with all
the opportunities that good parents can
offer? What causes a healthy boy to go
out and steal—and finally, for no real
reason, to take human life?
Psychiatrists’ have puzzled over these
questions for years, but never have they
been presented with a more baffling case
than that of Richard Jensen.
About eighteen months ago, house-
‘holders in a certain quarter of Los An-
geles, California, began to suffer from
the depredations of a small-time thief.
They missed articles off their back porches
and out of their garages. Sometimes the
mysterious sneak even ventured inside
their homes to take valueless trinkets,
Detectives, called in by the ‘nervous
householders, readily surmised that the
thefts were the work of some boy in the
neighborhood. For one thing, the loot
would not be sufficient to make an adult
risk imprisonment. Secondly, after many
of his depredations, the marauder. left
scrawled notes which read:
“Thanks for the stuff—(Signed) The
Hare.”
Only a highly imaginative youngster
would leave such messages behind him,
the police reasoned.
“Yes,” said one of the officers, “and I’ll
bet it’s a boy who’s been reading too
much cheap fiction. If he read the facts
about actual crimes, he wouldn’t go in
for this sort of thing, because he’d know
he would be sure to be punished, But
some of those fiction writers persist in
glorifying criminals, making ’em heroes,”
Within a short time, the police hunt
narrowed down to Richard Jensen, a
curly-haired boy of fourteen, who had a
penchant for reading fanciful cops-and-
robbers tales.
He admitted—boasted, in fact—that he
was “The Hare.” The judge sentenced
him to serve a thirteen-month term in the
reformatory at Whittier, California’
The reformatory did not seem to re-
form Richard Jensen. He did not lose
his streak of “wildness,” and his thoughts
dwelt upon the exploits of super-crooks
spawned in the half-baked minds of the
writers of cheap fiction. When he was
released last June he still was a “bad
boy,” defiant atid headstrong. ;
‘One day in ‘August, Richard’s mother
heard him playing in a dugout room
under the house with a neighbor boy, 13-
year-old Billy Williams. The sound of
someone moaning came suddenly to her
ears. She ran outside and cried, “What’s
going on under there, Richard?”
. “Don’t come under here, Ma,” the boy
replied. “I’ve just-killed Billy Williams!”
Billy’s body was ‘found with the head
bruised by hammer blows, a wire twisted
around the throat, and two stab wounds
near the heart.
Richard, meanwhile, had escaped on his
bicycle, Captured miles away in the town
of Venice, he said:
“TI killed him because he called me an .
ex-convict.”
“‘It’s easy in the reform.
You'll meet some swell
guys there. If anybody
asks you, say, sure you’re
reformed. Tell them the
joint did alot for you. Keep
your nose clean and you'll
be out on parole innotime!’’
HE judge looked down at the
youngster standing in front of
him.
“How old are you, Richard?”
“Twelve,” came the low
answer.
“Hm ...and did you write this?”
The jurist held out a piece of paper
on which were the words: “Thanks
for the stuff. The Hare.”
The boy didn’t even need to look
“Yes.
every time I pulled a job.”
A murmur rippled through the
courtroom. One uniformed police-
man leaned over and whispered to
at it. I left a note like that
another: “That kid’s a born crim-
inal. Two to one we'll be looking
for him again before he’s fifteen.
Been a delinquent since he was six
years old, and already served time
in the reformatory.”
A silence fell over the court as
the judge pronounced sentence:
thirteen months at Whittier Re-
formatory.
At the end of thirteen months—
- and then they get a guy to
case the joint. He gets to the watch-
man. If the watchman is smart,
okay. If he’s a cluck, they give it to
him...” Richard Jensen shrugged
24
“
and added, “It’s easy to pull a job.”
The other boy looked at him with
admiration. “Would you do any-
thing like that?”
Fourteen-year-old Richard swag-
gered. “Sure, I would. I’m tough.”
He looked down at the younger boy.
“But you wouldn’t, I bet. You're a
sissy.” .
“Sissy—I am not! Just because I
wasn’t in reform school like—”
“Don’t you say that, sissy,”
Richard said clenching his fists. “I’ll
kill you if you do.”
Billy was frightened, but to show
it now would give him a reputation
as a “fraid-cat” for all time. “You
were in reform school, you were so,
you’re an ex-con,” he taunted.
MRS: FRANCES JENSEN was
busy in the kitchen, intent on
her housework. Now and then she
stopped to gulp another glass of cool
water. It was hot and her head
ached and the bdys were making
such a racket... .
She opened the door. “Richard,
what’s going on? What’s the dog
growling about?”
“It’s nothing, mother. Billy’s dog
swallowed a tack and we’re getting
it out, that’s all,” a voice answered.
“Well, you boys better not fool
with him if he swallowed a tack.
Tell Mrs. Williams and she’ll take
him to a vet.” ;
She banged the kitchen door and
went back inside. For a few min-
utes it was quiet, then the noise
started all over again. It sounded
suspiciously like a cat yowling. She
stuck her head out:
“Billy, Dickie—what is that
racket? Are you two torturing a
cat?”
There was no answer. Mrs.
Jensen felt a peculiar sensation of
fear in her heart. She called again.
“Dick—come out this minute or I’m
coming after you!”
She saw her boy crawl from
under the house where he and his
friend had been playing. His face
was deathly white.
“Don’t go under there, ma. I’ve
just killed Billy Williams!”
The thunderstruck woman stood
stunned as her son raced to the
garage for his bicycle. He was
already down the road, pedaling
madly, when she started to scream.
“Mrs. Williams—Mrs. Williams—
come quick! Our boys have done
something terrible.”
A woman came running from the
house ‘next door. “What—what’s
happened—something terrible?”
Mrs. Jensen stood trembling with
ROLERT JAMES (Calffopnia)
"Oldest member of the (Sirhan, assassin of Sene Robert Kennedy )
Sirhan defense team, at 73, (Russell Ee) Parsons won his law degree
at the University of Sotthern Californiae In 1935, he defended a
wurderer named ‘Rattlesnake! James, who tried to kill his wife by
holding her foot in a box full of rattlesnakes. To play it safe,
KXXXKKK James dispatched her by drowninge Parsons managed to keep
his client alive for seven years after conviction bn @ day when
appeals were hard to come bye As for his defense of Sirhan: *It
won't be the first time I've defended someone free,' he sayse ‘There
a poor devil in trouble, and that's enough for mee? *
TIME MAGAZINE, Jan. 175 1969 Page 206
panne oe) aie
m not sorry. He got what was coming to him,” Dickie
said, reenacting slaying of Billy Williams, 13 (below)
1 away.”
So A ee Sees
- Gasping for breath, he identified himself as Marion L.
Piper, 21, a United States Marine sergeant stationed at the
San Diego Marine Recruit Depot.
“I hitched a ride north with this fellow—I was going to
see my girl friend in Bakersfield. Suddenly he slugged me.
For no reason, he slugged me over the head, shot and
robbed me and took my clothes. Left me down the road
here. I guess he thought I was dead. But we Marines—”
a proud smile twisted ‘his blood-flecked lips.
“What did he look like? What kind of car did he drive?”
DeBernardi asked.
The young Marine’s eyes closed. He said faintly, “Red
hair—about 25 or 35. Drove an old black Pontiac sedan—
about a ’37 or ’39 model.”
. “How long ago did this happen?” the deputy asked.
“About an hour, I think. I crawled—saw these lights—”
While Sanders readied the wounded man for the rough
mountain ride, DeBernardi phoned the information to the
sheriff’s substation at Newhall. It was 9:43 p.m. when the
alarm crackled over the sheriff’s radio. It was picked up
by State Highway Patrolmen Emmanuel Staudinger and
Robert H. Moir, cruising along U.S. 99 near Castaic, not far
from Newhall.
» Seven minutes later, at 9:51, they spotted a dusty black
1939 Pontiac heading south near The Oaks, just north of
‘+ the Newhall Ranch crossroads. They overhauled the car,
» Signaled it to stop. Approaching with guns drawn, they
ordered the driver to get out with his hands up.
He was burly, red-haired, young. Hatless, he wore an
orange. and brown checked sport shirt. “What do you
want?” he asked, smiling nervously.
Without answering, they searched him. He carried no
weapon. Staudinger flashed his torch into the littered
back seat of the Pontiac. There was a loaded 12-gauge
shotgun. It smelled of recent firing. The tense-faced
driver identified himself as John Richard Jensen, 28, a
mechanic. He said he lived in Tujunga and that he had
been hunting. : ‘
Moir studied him. “Where did you get all that blood on
your pants? Your hands are bloody, too.”
é “Why, I guess that must be from a rabbit I killed,” Jen-
_sen said. “TI skinned it.” ..
“And all this blood in the back seat. Where’s the rab-
bit?”
. “I threw it away.”
Moir pulled a steel wrist watch from the prisoner’s pocket.
There was blood on the leather band. “This belong to the
Tabbit?” he demanded. ;
Jensen smiled crookedly. “Okay, fellows, I guess I’m
the man you want. How did you get me so quick?”
The state officers took Jensen to the Newhall Community
hospital, showed him to the wounded Marine
“You realize. you’re badly hurt and may die,” Highway
Patrol Sergeant ‘N.C. Barkalow told Piper gravely. “Now
- take a good look. Is this the man who shot you?” .
_ ‘Piper stared painfully at the sullen-faced redhead. “I
think.so, Yes, I believe it is.” His head fell back and he
closed his eyes with a spasm of agony.
However, there could be no doubt of the identification.
Piper’s wallet and Marine dog tags were found in the Pon-
tiac. ‘And Jensen freely admitted attacking and robbing
. the young sergeant before leaving him for dead beside the
road a mile south of Sandberg’s.
: But even, the hardened officers were taken back by their
~. prisoner’s next admission. “You know, I’ve been in this
sort of trouble before,” Jensen said calmly. “I killed a kid
. when I was fourteen. - You'll find it in the records, They
said there was ‘something wrong with me and put me >
Detective Chief J. Gordon Bowers of the sheriff’s force
greeted the news of Jensen’s arrest with skepticism. “Jen-
sen? Dickie Jensen? Why it can’t be! He’s still up in the
‘state hospital’at Mendocino.”
‘But it was Dickie, all right. Bowers’ mind harked back
to the vivid details of the grim case he had handled 14
d his head
on his lips.
carried the
blood, his
os Angeles
down the
rim story.
awson, 18-
ditch near
: had been
for a mur-
1 for dead
1ell moved
hat unless
»€ sure to
n, a highs
and Dan-
‘d at Gor-
roadhouse
a a couch,
i swathed
g shotgun
the heart,
about the
eding. It
0 survive.
IVAN Judge’s description of Dickie, “Most callous killer I’ve seen in thirty-five years,” was confirmed 14 years later
HOMICIDAL MANIAC
——6 .
ee ee eet
rugged Tehachapi Mountains of northern Los Angeles
County, was a popular resort and way-station on the
busy Ridge Route, U. S. Highway 99, the main road between
Los Angeles and San Francisco. But with re-routing of
the modern highway a few miles to the west, the old road
was abandoned. The historic log-built castle among the
oaks and pines became a nostalgic and seldom visited land-
mark of the backwoods. In recent years it has been a pot-
tery factory and private residence.
Saturday night used to be:a big night at Sandberg’s in
the old days, but now it is no different from other nights.
With nothing but the wind in the trees and the nocturnal
cries of screech-owls, foxes and coyotes, few visitors come
to Sandberg’s any more and hardly anyone ventures on the
rutted old mountain road after dark.
Shortly after 9 p.m. Saturday, October 3rd, 1953, Mr. and
Mrs. Walter Stevens, latest residents of the old lodge, were
getting ready for bed. Stevens heard a noise outside.
They listened. The noise came again.
“Sounds like someone in the tool house,” Mrs. Stevens
said. ““You’d better go out and look.”
Her husband opened the door, stared into the night.
A muffied cry, not clearly human nor animal, came from
the direction of the tool house. Stevens picked up his
flashlight, went out into the night. Before he had gone a
dozen step’, a young man staggered into the yellow circle
([oessses YEARS AGO Sandberg’s Lodge, high in the
of his flashlight. He was naked, his body covered with |
blood. Stevens stopped short, gasped with surprise. The
man stumbled forward, tottered, and collapsed at his feet.
Blood poured from his chest. Gashes covered his head
and his heavy breathing formed a bloody froth on his lips.
Stevens called his wife. Between them they carried the
heavy figure into the warm house. ’
While Stevens sought to stanch the flow of blood, his
wife telephoned Sergeant John Parnell at the Los Angeles
_ Sheriff’s sub-station at Newhall, 35 miles south, down the
Ridge Route.
Parnell was not surprised by Mrs. Stevens’ grim story.
Four days before, the body of Roger Raymond Lawson, 18-
year-old transient laborer, had been found in a ditch near
Moorpark down in the San Fernando Valley. He had been
murdered. This morning an alarm had gone out for a mur-
derous hitchhiker who shot a man and left him for dead
beside the highway near Sante Fe Springs. Parnell moved
into action, knowing that a maniac was loose, that unless
he was caught speedily more murders would be sure to
follow.
Deputy Sheriff Frank DeBernardi from Gorman, a high:
way junction town a few miles from Sandberg’s, and Dan-
ny Sanders, who drove the ambulance Maintained at Gor-
man for traffic accidents, arrived at the former roadhouse
in a matter of minutes. The wounded man lay on a couch,
covered with already bloodstained blankets and swathed
in hastily improvised bandages.
Sanders examined him swiftly, found a gaping shotgun
wound in the chest that must have barely missed the heart,
and evidence that he had been savagely beaten about the
head. His hands and feet were torn and bleeding. It
seemed a miracle that the victim had been able to survive.
4 he was a killer
At 26 ke was set |roe-
to Ril again
by EDWARD S. SULLIVAN
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in At The Finish
Vowing he was “ready to go to God!” —
and “If I could live right now I would not
want to,” Gerald Gallego, 26-year-old cop
killer, initiated the new lethal gas chamber
at the Parchman, Miss., State Penitentiary.
Gallego killed policeman Ernest Beauguez
while the officer begged for his life, (Before
He Kills Someone, September FRONT PAGE,
1954). He was sentenced to death and then
escaped from a supposedly escapetproof
jail at Jackson, Miss., along with Minor
Sorber, leaving the jailer, J. C. Landrum,
mortally bludgeoned (Loose The Dogs,
December rInsipE, 1954). As Gallego began
his short walk to the death house, four
Negroes, also under sentence of death,
chanted a spiritual. Gallego, who had shown
a recent interest in religion and who had
just made a last-minute confession, asked
the singers to repeat it. Inside the steel-
encased chamber, Gallego clutched a picture
of Christ in one hand, told the attending
minister, “Christ is with me in this hand
ep
and my mother and you are in the other
and going with me all the way.” As the door
slammed shut, Gallego whispered the
Twenty-third Psalm to himself, and died
six minutes later. Said Minor Sorber, Gal-
lego’s partner in the murder of the jailer,
and also under the sentence of death:
“Gallego has changed from the lowest form
‘of life to the highest.”
Baby-faced Richard Jensen, 30, who
turned killer before he was old enough to
shave, died in the lethal gas chamber at
San Quentin, Cal., prison for the kidnap-
ing and attempted murder of Marine Ser-
eant Marion Piper. (Boy Into Beast,
nuary INSIDE, 1955.) At the age of 13,
Jensen had a long record of petty theft
and had been in and out of reform school.
At 14, he stabbed and bludgeoned to death
\
a playmate who teased him about being an
ex-con. At the time he told police, “He had
what was coming to him . . . I don’t care
what happens to me. Let ’em hang me...
Let ’em burn me, I’m not afraid to die.”
Judged insane, Jensen was committed to a
mental hospital for the criminally insane
where, except for a few brief periods of
escape, he remained for the next 12 years.
Pronounced cured in 1951, Jensen took a
job as a garage mechanic. In 1953, he
bought a car, rigged a shotgun in the back
seat so that he could shoot anyone sit-
ting next to him. The first victim was Ser-
geant Piper, who was hitchhiking when
Jensen gave him a ride. Jensen shot him,
beat him over the head with a hammer, shot
him again, then partially buried him alive.
But Piper still lived, crawled over a mile
to get help, was on hand as the principal
‘ witness at Jensen’s trial when he was con-
victed and sentenced to die.
‘With a warning that bloody riots may
develop if prison reforms are not' carried
out, Jerome J. Waters, Jr., has resigned
from his post as the warden of the Okla-
homa State Penitentiary. The resignation
came a few weeks after the murder of an
inmate who burned to death in his cell
after being ignited with lighter fluid and
naptha (Keep Him Caged, April 1NsIDE,
1955); and the escape of another inmate,
Julius Bohannon (Big Bo’s Out, May FRONT
PAGE, 1955). Waters, a retired army gen-
eral, is credited with bringing many reforms
to the Oklahoma prison system, including
mental and physical tests for prison guards.
In his letter of resignation, Waters recom-
mended many more—such: as a_ prison
farm system and the enactment of an in-
determinate sentence law. These measures
are designed for better prisoner rehabili-
tation.
Carnival operator Carl J. Folk, 62, died
in the Arizona State Prison gas chamber
for the brutal torture-murder of 22-year-
old Betty Faye Allen (Everybody Knows
Crazy Carl, March tnsipeE, 1954). Enroute
to California with her husband and ten-
month-old son, Mrs. Allen was murdered
in their house trailer when they parked for
the night on Route 66 near Holbrook,
Ariz. After a six-hour orgy of torture and
rape, Folk strangled Mrs. Allen while her
husband lay bound and gagged within ear-
shot of his wife’s screams.
Connecticut’s phantom burglar, Gilbert
Mead, 48, who turned killer and murdered
his wife and her lover in a Fort Lauderdale,
Fla., hideaway, has been found guilty on
both counts of ‘murder and sentenced to die
in the electric chair (Don’t Cheat on The
Phantom, March INsivE, 1955.) The son of
a wealthy Connecticut family, Mead was
given the death sentence for the murder of
his wife to whom he had been married five
months. But for the slaying of Dominick
Albonizio, 49, the jury brought back a rec-
ommendation of mercy. Mead had testi-
fied that Albonizio was “one of those lovers
who kept coming back to see my wife while
T was at work.”
—_
vu}
had ‘something, but I didn’t appreciate
its importance at first.
Susan Fouts and her escort had stopped
in at the Chew. Cafe at about midnight
" December 5. Mrs. Fouts ate some food
while the man drank beer.
“Did you get a description of the
fellow?” I asked. Stewart had been too
vague to do us much good, and I needed
every scrap of detail I could get. .
“Kind of a tall man,” Flake told me.
“The waiter said he was wearing old
army clothes. He had brown hair,
plastered back flat. And it seems he kept’
his right hand in his pocket, all the
time.”
“Anything else?” .
_ “Nothing much,” Flake answered.
“They were talking and laughing, accord-
ing to the waiter. And they said soime-
thing about driving somewhere.”
I thought about that for a minute. | was
_trying to recall whether Stewart ‘had
‘mentioned a car.-I got up to see him later,
and I asked him.
“He didn’t have a car when he was with
me,” the boy said.
I turned to go. A word kept going
through my mind. Lefty. Lefty. That's
what the bartender had called him. 1
looked at Stewart again. “This fellow was
left handed?”. I asked. “He did things
with his left hand?”
Stewart wrinkled his forehead in
thought. “I don’t really remember,” he
replied. “It seems to me, though, that he
kept his right hand in his pocket.”
Tt still didn’t register. Two men had said
the same thing. It should have come to
me in a flash. But I guess I always do
things the hard way.
I WENT back to the office and prepared
a description of the man who had been
seen with Mrs. Fouts. I got Sgt. Joe Bitt-
ner to put it out over the wire, and then I
went back to my desk again.
The Hilton file was still there. I looked
over the record again. Brown hair, six
feet tall, right index and middle fingers
amputated.
“Brown hair!” I said suddenly. Hugh
Flake had mentioned brown hair. And he
mentioned, too, that Mrs. Fouts’ escort
was tall. “Six feet!”” I whispered excitedly,
“And he kept his right hand in his pocket
because it was mutilated!’’
Right then and there, | knew the
identity of Mrs. Fouts’ escort! He was
Thomas C. Hilton, a twelve-time jail bird,
with a record of every crime on the hooks
except murder! ‘
I got the force together immediately.
At least we knew for whom we were look-
ing. Hilton had probably stolen his em-
ployer'’s truck to take Mrs. Fouts for a
drive. They could have had an accident
or he could be holding her .a prisoner or,
Heed all we knew, he could have murdered
er.
We notified every station in California
to look for. that old army truck. This time
the alt-state call was complete with in-
formation about 41-year-old Susan Fouts,
and Thomas Hilton, her 29-year-old
escort... .
California's a big state. There's a lot of
territory to cover. Besides, Hilton and
Mrs. Fouts had nearly a three-day head-
start on us.
While we waited for word, we checked
the highways leading out of Santa Maria.
Stewart and varioiis bartenders around
town identified the man of mystery from
police photographs of Hilton.
We were particularly interested in
checking Highway 166. It was the route
over which Hilton usually drove. We
visited service stations, figuring that Hil-
ton and Mrs. Fouts thight have stopped
for gas. . j
I began to dig into Vilton'’s back-
ground. He’d been a resident of Santa
Maria for a long time. His wife divorced
him after causing him to be locked up
more than ten times. She had called in the
police every time he got out of line.
I tried to figure out what Hilton was
really like. He seemed steady enough,
when he wasn’f drinking. Fact is, he
stayed off the stuff and on the wagon for
months on end, And then he'd fall off with
a boom. His personality was a strange
one. Either he was gay as a good-time
Charlie or he was morbid as Solomon
Grundy. It.was either one ¢xtreme or the
other.
There was absolute'y no lead on Hil-
ton’s ex-wife. She had diopped out of”
sight right after the divorce.
The days began to drag, and still there
was no news. Hilton and Mrs. Fouts had
disappeared without a trace,
We talked to a flock of people. Mrs.
Fouts’ husband came from Corcoran, but
he couldn’t tell us anything that we didn’t
know. We were stalemated until we could
find that former army truck.
It turned up, finally. [t was on Decem-
ber 9 that we got the call. The Bakers-
field sheriff's office phoned to say that
they had found the truck near Rosedale,
on a side road off the main highway.
“Anybody in it?’ [I asked quickly.
“No,” came the answer. “But there’s
blood all over the cab, and there’s a small
hand ax with hair adhering to it.”
That meant one thing definitely.. We
‘had a murder on our hands! ‘
“Any idea where the driver could have
gone?” I asked.
“Not a trace of him. We've had two
days of rain up here. [t his washed out
any tracks.”
We drove the 150 miles to Bakersfield
in record time, and pretty soon we were
at the abandoned truck.
The local sheriff's office had done a
thorough job of cataloguing what there
was to find, They even sent Capt. Frank
McCasland of the highway patrol back to
Santa Maria with the hatchet. There, the
lab was able:to compare the hair found
on the axe with simples taken from
Susan Fouts’ clothing at her mother's
home. They proved to be the same.
I went over the truck pretty carefully.
I looked over the sheriff's report on blood-
stains and fingerprints on the cab. But I
was thinking more o/ the rugged country
we had just driven through. A man could
hide in those mountain ranyves for the rest
of his. life, if he was smart. And he could
hide a body so well that nobody on earth
could ever findl it.
I looked at the was ¢iuge. It registered
empty. I figured tha! ‘{ilton had realized
he would eventually run out of gas. So he
had dumped the body some place and
had then driven along ui the gauge reg-
istered a point or two above zero. That’s
when he turned aff the main highway,
leaving the truck on the little used side
road,
It seemed to me, then, that the body
must be somewhere along the main'road
through the hills. At last we had the truck,
but Hilton could be any piace. And Susan
Fouts’ body was certainly some place
else, probably hidden just off Highway
166.
The logical thing io do was to keep
hunting for Hilton. ‘Phe body, even if we
did find it, couldn't tell us where to pick
up the killer. But Hilton, if we were lucky
enough to catch up with him, could tell
us where to find the corpse.
I kept thinking about Hilton's ex-wife.
Maybe she might knew where we could
find him. But there weren't any leads on
her, either, Back in Santa Maria, English
and I went to the concern for which
Hilton drove. Surely, somebody there
must have been friendly with Hilton and
could give us a lead on the wife.
1 suppose I must have talked to a half
dozen men before anybody came up with
a thing. He was an old truck driver who
doubled as a dispatcher when he wasn't
behind the wheel. He said that Hilton
used to confide in him occasionally.
“Did he ever tell you where his ex-wife
was?” J asked him.
The old man looked at me kind of funn
and thought for a moment. Then he said,
“IT think she lives down in Trona. Tom
used to say that she lived in Death Val-
ley, and that he was going to make sure
she died in Death Valley.”
I stared at him. The words could have
meant anything.
“He hated her,” the old man explained.
“He kept talking about wanting to kill
her.” 7
“The wife?”
“Yes. He blamed her for all of his
troubles. Claimed she used to get hin
locked up whenever she felt like it.”
“You mean he actually threatened to
kill her?” I asked him.
He nodded. “I think he really wanted
to," he said. “It's just that he didn't have
enough nerve. That's what worried him.
He wanted to kill her, but he was afraid
he didn’t have the courage to do it.”
My blood ran cold. I guess I sensed the
real story even then. I knew then that
Hilton was either planning to commit, or
already committed another murder!
GRABBED Harold English and we
hurried back to the office. I got on the
wire and called Trona right away.
’ “Put a guard around Hilton's wife, if
you can find her,” I told the police chief
there, after I'd explained the story. “That
Hilton fellow has a grudge against her,
and he’s finally cooked up enough nerve to
do something about it. If he gets to her,
she’s a goner, He’s learned haw to kill,
His murder of Mrs. Fouts was a rehearsal
macabre.”
Meanwhile, our.all-state alarm brought
a tip that Hilton might have visited a pal
in Burbank. On being notified of this, the
Burbank police called back with some in-
teresting information. e
Hilton had been seen there! What's
more, he had tried to borrow a gun from
a friend of his. That failing, he had stolen
the friend's car.
That's when I wished I could be in
two places at once, I wanted to help look
for Mrs. Fouts’ body. I also wanted to be
in Trona, waiting with Hilton's ex-wife
for the three-fingered murderer who hated
her; who was driving closer and closer to
Death Valley in a stolen car.
3ut I stayed in Santa Maria to help the
posses look for Mrs. Fouts’ body. We
searched the woodland on both sides of
the highway, while the State Police
watched the roads of Eastern California
for Hilton in the stolen automobile.
\Ve made our find, first—on the Clem-
mens’ ranch, less than 30 miles out of
town.
Allan Stewart was the one to discover
his aunt’s body. He and Ranch Foreman
Vic Withrow were scouting the’ range
near Glines Summit when a flock of
crows rose from a thicket. Stewart rode
in to investigate and found the corpse of
Susan Fouts.
Coroner Clarence Magner supervised
the loading of the body, and I drove back
with him to Santa Maria:
“How'd she die?" I asked.
“Stabbed
times,” Ma;
is banged u
“The hat«
My killer
on ice, ther
murder vic
that Hiltor
minute dri
and with ar
Make no
slaying was
tered to H
found thec
Soon, ar
that the st
abandoned
We figur:
far away. |
Cline of I:
probably o1
began to s
up less thar
where in th
stalking his
blood on h
heart.”
Cline .imr
his force tc
of an hour,
Hilton on
Pine.
They bro
with a knif
hibit “A,”
nessed b
County dis
Hilton w
had slashec
suicide. Ai
hospital, h«
confession.
Story.
T STAR
Swearin
December
on his +-+-
with 7
Inst
heart Gus.
ex-wife, an
all the tim:
“Forget
“Don’t thir
“Forget
He held ur
and middle
this?” he a:
it. She hat
times. Nov
her just as
Mrs. Fo
“Cut it ou
things. Jus
her at all.”
Hilton s
was quiet.
drink on it
The wo:
it. Hilton
swer. Sh«
mother, bi
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with him.
After vi
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former ar:
where it I
he drove 1
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ex-wife. T
he could t
Preset
_ BY LAWRENCE GORDON ROBERTS
Wwe was the first gangster to take a fellow “rat” for a one-way ride?
How many city policemen are there in the U. S.? Has an innocent
person ever been executed for murder? For the answers to these and other
questions you may have, Ask The Crime Expert, Send in your questions and
watch for the answers in STARTLING DETECTIVE
Q. Who was the first gangster to take
a fellow hoodlum for a “ride ?"—George
Burns, New York City.
A. .Hymie Weiss, Chicago gunman,
was responsible for this (nnovation early
in the Terrible Twenties. The first time
an automobile was used in ambushing a
victim was on July 16, 1921, when Her-
man Rosenthal, New York City gambler,
‘was slain. The occupants of the car—
Lefty Louie, Dago Frank Whitey Lewis
and Gyp the Blood—were electrocuted.
|
Q. Just how do police dust a room for
fingerprints? Is photography used ?—
Alfred Watt, San Francisco, Cal.
A. The technique of dusting for finger-
prints calls for sprinkling a light-colored
fine powder over dark surfaces and dark-
colored powder over light surfaces and
then brushing off the powder gently with
a camel’s hair brush. Before the prints
thus brought out are lifted with an ad-
hesive, they are photographed along with
the identification expert’s notations of
date, time and place.
Q. We were arguing the other night
about how much the state ought to pay a
man sent to prison on a bum rap, and the
case about that New Yorker, Campbell,
_came up. Just how much did he get and
how long was he behind bars ?—Hannah
Crawley, Roanoke, Va. ©
A, The New-York Court of Claims
awarded Bertram Campbell $115,000—
$75,000 to cover his “humiliation and loss
of liberty” and $40,000 to reimburse him
for earnings lost. Campbell spent three
years and four months in prison. His
whole unfortunate experience, however,
from the day of his arrest to his final
justification, covered a period of seven |
years. Wrongly convicted of forgery and
sent to Sing Sing in 1942 at the age of 55,
Campbell was pardoned in '45, re-
imbursed in '46 and died later the same
year of cerebral hemorrhage.
. Q. How many policemen are there in
U. S. cities today ? Helen Munson, Lub-
bock, Tex.
A. Police officers on active duty in
‘ American cities now total some 115,000.
. Q. Can you tell me what “yen shee”
is? I know it is some kind of drug.
s exclusive depariment,
—(Name withheld upon request), Balti-
more, Md, ne *
A. Yen shee is the ash of used opium.
The addict either resmokes these dregs
mixed with a fresh “deck” or concocts a
drink of the residue in wine or water.
Q. I know the police can do wonders
in laboratory tests with fresh bloodstains
but what can they do about old ones?
—Mrs. D. R., Albany, N.Y.
A. Serologists can determine whether
old bloodstains are of human origin by
microscopic examination of the hemin
crystals in the hemoglobin. Human crys-
tals have a characteristic shape. With old
stains, however, it is no longer possible
to determine whether the specimen came
from an individual of blood type AB, A,
B or O.
Q. Is it true or not that anyone was
ever executed for a murder he never com-
mitted ?—J. A. Thomas, Charleston,
Si: Ge '
A. Yes. There are several such cases
on record. Two are fairly recent. Stephen
Tomka was hanged in Hungary in 1923
only to be proven innocent four years
later. Stephen Jakubowski was executed
in Germany in 1926, His innocence was
established three years later.
Q. Has anyone figured out the gran
total of government wartime contracts
carried out by convict production in this
country ?—I, Brodbeck, Fall River,
Mass.
A. Federal and state penal institution
were responsible for goods and service
totaling $138,000,000 during World Wa
II.
Q. Please explain the difference be-
tween probation and parole—/e/cr
Schepkowski, McKeesport; Pa.
A. Probation is a period of supervision
under the guidance of a trained offecr.
The aim is to set an offender's foot on the
straight and narrow without the stigma
of a jail sentence. Parole is a system of
releasing a. prisoner before the end of
his sentence. ‘The offender is responsible
to a parole officer for the remainder of
his original sentence. It’s’ up to the
parolee to make good in the outside
world: If not, back he goes to complete
his term in an institution,
SiS,
a
don’t want to kill anybody. Turn the
truck around and take me home. Forget
your ex-wife. You don't want to kill her
any more than you want to kill me.”
Hilton looked at her when shé said
that. He looked at her and wheels started
turning over in his mind.
“T could kill you,” he said strangely. “I
could cut your throat and never even
think about it.”
The woman laughed uneasily.
“Rubbish,” she said. “What would you
want to kill me for?”
Hilton was thinking fast, now. Fast,
but clear. “To prove [ could do it,” he
gritted. “To prove I could kill my ,
wife.”
He was quiet for a minute. “Look,” he
said finally. “You drive for a bit. I’ll stop
the tru€k and let you take over.”
He brought the truck to a halt, got out
and walked around to the other side of
the cab. Mrs. Fouts opened the door for
him and he jumped inside.
There was a knife in his mangled right
hand, Hilton brought-it up fast, twisting
the blade as it plunged into Mrs. Fouts’
throat. Again and again, Hilton stabbed
with the knife.
“[ can do it!” he shrieked. “I can do it.
I've got enough nerve to do it.”
Mrs. Fouts fell forward on the floor of
the cab. According to Hilton, that’s when
she must have banged her head on the
hatchet. He declared he never hit her with
it.
Hilton began to drive. He felt no re-
morse for what he had done. With the
body still in the truck, he drove through
the mountains, heading toward Trona,
and his hated ex-wife. At the widest point
of the road, he stopped, took the body
from the truck, and dragged it down the
side of a hill, 300 feet fromthe highway.
Then he continued on his way.
What we didn't know until then was
that Hilton actually arrived in Trona two
days before we realized he was heading
for there. He went so far as to burglarize
a couple of homes in that city, searching
for a gun with which to kill his wife.
H E LIVED with that double obsession
4 4 in his mind. He had to finda gun, and
he had to find his wife. Those were the
only things that mattered. Fortunately,
he found neither of them, Guns were
scarce, and his wife was out of town, on
a visit.
Hilton then hitchhiked out of Trona,
bound for Burbank, thinking to pick up a
gun there. He assaulted one man who
eave him a ride, striking him on the head
with a bar of metal.
The rest of the story we know. He
didn't get a gun and he didn’t find his
ex-wife, That's why he slashed his wrist.
He tried to commit suicide when he real-
ized that he had failed.
Pr
Chief of Police Tom Feland paused
after his long narrative. He lit a cigaret
and watched the smoke curl upwards for
a moment.
“That’s the man I've just turned over
to Sheriff Ross,” he told District Attor-
ney Weldon. “I sure hope you get your
conviction.”
The case was speedily prepared for
trial, The defendant was brought to court
ou February 18, 1946. He was found
guilty of first degree murder and sen-
tenced to the extreme penalty on Feb-
ruary 20,
He was received at San Quentin Peni-
tentiary on February 22, 1946, but it
wasn't until February 26, 1947, that
‘Thomas C. Hilton paid with his life for
his rehearsal macabre.
"A TOT LONG AGO,
Treasury stud
The figures revealed
of U. S. Savings Bo:
Bond Redemptions.
But to the Secreta:
that, and Mr. Snyde
“If you give them
depend on the «
ment of the Ame
**The last few mon
' of that,
“After the Victor.
went down—red
natural and hum
*It,was natural an
For suppose this
this period of rec:
had decided not
$40 billion which
F & G Savings B
up is not a pretty
“But the trend dic
How about YOU? 7
cans have realized th
earth to get the things
Bonds regularly.
They are the safest
34 for every $3 at the
automatically, almost
plans:
Save the e
Contributed by t
\
Bee | PES
ates ee Yate OMe ERNE AOR maa
weren't any ltads on
Santa Maria, English
2 concern for which
ely, somebody there
ndly with Hilton and
on the wife.
have talked to a half
nybody came up with
old truck driver who
‘cher when he wasn't
He said that Hilton
im occasionally.
you where his ex-wife
ed at me kind of funny
roment. Then he said,
down in Trona. Tom
e lived in Death Val-
$s going to make sure
Jalley.”
The words could have
he old man explained.
ibout wanting to kill
ed her for all of his
she used to get hiin
- she felt like it.”
ictually threatened to
iim.
iink he really wanted
ist that he didn't have
t’s what worried him.
her, but he was afraid
‘ourage to do it.”
d. I guess I sensed the
en. I knew then that
anning to commit, or
another murder!
irold English and we
the office. I got on the
ona right away.
ound Hilton's wife, if
I told the police chief
lained the story. “That
a grudge against her,
xed up enough nerve to
it it. If he gets to her,
s learned haw to kill.
. Fouts was a rehearsal
ill-state alarm brought
ight have visited a pal
ing notified of this, the
led back with some in-
on, e
1 seen there! What's
to borrow a gun from
it failing, he had stolen
wished I could be in
I wanted to help look
dy. I also wanted to be
with Hilton's ex-wife
ed murderer who hated
ng closer and closer to
stolen car.
santa Maria to help the
(rs. Fouts’ body. We
{land on both sides of
ile the State Police
. of Eastern California
tolen automobile.
nd, first—on the Clem-—
than 30 miles out of
vas the one to discover
e and Ranch Foreman
re scouting the range
mit when a flock of
1 thicket. Stewart rode
nd found the corpse of
ce Magner supervised
body, and I drove back
Maria.
>" T asked.
nt canteen
“Stabbed in the throat half a dozen
times,” Magner told me. “And her head
is banged up, too.”
“The hatchet we found in the truck?” I
wanted to know.
“That and some kind of knife,” said
Magner. “Your killer did a thorough
on ice, then. Riding into town with one
murder victim was a terrible reminder
that Hilton was probably at that very
minute driving to Trona in a stolen car
and with another killing on his mind.
Make no mistake about it. The Fonts’
slaying was just for practice. What mat-
tered to Hilton was that he finally had
found the courage to murder his wife.
Soon, a report came in from Palmdale
that the stolen car had been picked up,
abandoned like the truck.
We figured that Hilton wouldn’t be too
far away. I notified Sheriff Charles P.
Cline of Inyo County that Hilton was
probably on his beat. And then I really
began to sweat, for the car was picked
up less than 40 miles out of Trona. Some-
where in that 40-mile stretch Hilton was
stalking his former wife. And there was
blood on his hands, and murder in his
heart.”
Cline immediately put every deputy on
his force to work. Within three quarters
of an hour, two of his men caught up with
Hilton on the highway out of Lone
Pine.
They brought him back to us that night,
with a knife in a paper sack, marked ex-
hibit “A,” and a signed confession wit-
nessed by George Francis, the Inyo
County district attorney.
Hilton was a sad looking customer, He
had slashed his left wrist in an attempt at
suicide. After being patched up at the
hospital, he enlarged on the details of his
confession. It certainly wasn't a pretty
story. ;
I‘. STARTED where we began, in the
Swearingen home on the evening of
December 5. Allan Stewart had gone out
on his date, leaving his aunt at the door
with Thomas Hilton.
Instead of leaving, Hilton talked his
heart out. He told Mrs. Fouts about his
ex-wife, and how he brooded about her
all the time.
“Forget her,’ Mrs. Fouts advised.
“Don’t think about her.”
“Forget her?” the fellow said hoarsely.
He held up his right hand with the index
and middle fingers missing. “Can I forget
this?” he asked. “She used to make fun of
it. She hated me. She had me jailed ten
times. Now I hate her! I'm going to kill
her just as sure as I’m born!”
Mrs, Fouts patted Hilton’s shoulder.
“Cut it out,” she said. “Don't say such
things. Just forget her. Don't think about
her at all.” ;
Hilton sobbed for a second. Then he
was quiet. “Okay,” he said. “Let'’“have a
drink on it. I’ll forget her.”
_ The woman tried to argue him out of
it. Hilton wouldn’t take no for an an-
swer. She explained about her sick
mother, but he still kept urging her. Fi-
nally, to humor him, she went downtown
with him.
After visiting bars and taverns in the
downtown area, Hilton picked up the
former army truck at the service station
where it had been left for repairs. Then
he drove the protesting Mrs. Fouts into
the country, all the time talking about his
ex-wife. The obsession to kill her was all
he could think about.
“Look,” Mrs. Fouts told him, “you
[Continued on page 64}
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Finally he was convicted for compulsory prostitution and after serving
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HE CUT HIS WRISTS IN A VAIN ATTEMPT TO
KILL HIMSELF. BUT HE HAD CUT IN THE WRONG
_ PLACE AND ONLY WEAKENED HIMSELF.
AGAIN HE TRIED TO KILL HIMSELF BY JUMPING
_ IN FRONT OF SPEEDING CARS. BUT HE ONLY
GOT A BAWLING OUT FROM THE DRIVERS.....
WORRIED LOOK clouded the face of Mrs. Nora Stewart
A as she took the receiver from her ear. She hung the in-
strument back on the telephone at the side of the door and
stood looking thoughtfully at her son. Then she lifted the re-
ceiver again, dialed, listened to it ring for a long moment,
but before she got an answer she hung up.
“Allan,” she said to her son, who seated at the oil-cloth
covered kitchen table watching her, “I’m worried about Aunt
Sue.” ‘
“Uh huh,” replied the son, “it isn’t like her to stay out all
night.”
You're right,” returned his mother, “and I’m going to
do something about it.” She walked into the front part of the
house and in a moment returned to the kitchen slipping into
a light coat.
“Where you going?” asked the son.
“To the police.”
Sheriff's Capt. Charles Tyler of the Santa Barbara County
sheriff's office was examining his morning mail when the two
36° Seva aaa Ss ae Tee
ta ake ee 2 is § “i
FEDERAL DETECTIVE BUREAU
October, 1950.
Stewarts were ushered into his Santa Maria, Califorria sub-
station office. He could tell with a single glance of worry
etched. on her face that she had spent a sleepless night.
She introduced herself and her son and they were waved
to chairs by Taylor. :
“T want to report my sister missing,” said the woman un-
easily. “She left our house on East Stowelll Road last night
and she hasn’t returned. I’ve called several friends in town
but they haven’e seen her.”
“Have you tried the hospitals?” asked Taylor.
“Yes,” nodded Mrs. Stewart. “That’s why I’m afraid
something terrible has happened to her. It isn’t like Sue to
Stay out all ight. And here it is nearly noon and she hasn’t
even phoned.”
Taylor began to. share the woman’s apprehension. He
reached for: a- Missing Persons form and began filling it out.
The sister, Sue Fouts, said Mrs. Stewart, had left their house
at sometime after 8:30 p..m. on Wednesday, December 5,
1945. She described the sister'as being five feet, six inches
a
,
by William Munroe
tall, 35 years «
Was wearing a fi
coat, black shoe
,. Faylor broke
‘that far. “Mrs.
have to’ ask qu
- you won’t take .
Nora Stewart
Taylor contin
“Yes,” answe
Fouts. Has been
and she came do
while our mothe
“Since coming
interested in othe
Mrs. Stewart
-have a sociable d
not interested in
re
LOS ANGELES’
HAIRED BANDIT
By Detective
“Nothing . . .” he said, moving away from the scene of
the conflict. “Just a little argument, officer. Look at all
R ANK y AN those people watching us. Put your gun up, for -God’s sake.
: e I’m not armed, see!”—holding out his hands—“f won’t run
away.” eit
i His vigilance relaxed for a second, Calderwood transferred
Los Angeles Police Dep artment his gun from right to left hand and reached for his handcuffs.
But that single instant off guard cost Perman Calderwood his
As t Oo ld t O life, for with the swiftness of a coiled rattlesnake, the youth
jerked a long-bladed knife from his pocket and struck savagely
; at his captor! The first thrust penetrated the officer’s heart;
then, as Calderwood turned and slowly crumpled to his knees,
are the killer withdrew the dagger, and drove it up to the hilt
eo ae
between the mortally wounded man’s shoulder blades.
jE ANID ony , [Pan the assassin’s knife still protruded from his back.
The disheveled youth brushed his black hair back from his
Calderwood fell face downward, one foot up against the brick
cornice of the confectionery store on the corner. The hilt of
"hs yaaa d one i \ “Help me... helpme.. .” the dying man’s voice trailed
oe trig: ESE RIO (oo off. He shuddered, and lay still.
ie WERK : ' The murderer stood staring down with bloodshot eyes at
his lifeless victim. After a moment, he turned and started
back to where his partner still fought with Krause. As he
reached the struggling pair, he calmly drew a revolver. from
his pocket.
“Look out!’ he warned: the blond youth ... and fired
Miss Elizabeth Hood, the courageous girl who
sprang to the aid of Henry Krause, immediately
after a crowd had watched the assassination of
Calderwood without lifting a hand to interfere
Street. The bandits, though younger than Krause
by several years, were unable to out-distance him.
Within a few seconds, the three men were down on
the sidewalk again, fighting wildly. Silver coins flew
in every direction.
Then Krause suddenly screamed in agony, as one of
the bandits sunk his teeth in his finger.
At that moment, Perman Calderwood, a young deputy-
marshal assigned to the municipal courts, observed the
commotion from where he stood on the rear platform of a
street car. He leaped from the car while it was still in motion,
and at sight of the gun and money strewn about on the
sidewalk, drew his own police positive.
He rushed to the spot where Krause was obviously getting
the worst of the struggle with the two young ruffians, and
jerked one of the latter to his feet.
“What's coming off here?” he demanded. “T’m an officer-———”
39
-
a
40 True Detective Mysteries
POOR! ym |
pointblank at Krause who was unaware of this new danger,
Incredible as it Seems, a crowd of some fifty or sixty gaping
men and women had witnessed the callous murder of Perman
Calderwood and the shooting of Henry Krause without lifting
a hand to interfere. They stood now as if transfixed with
horror at the tragedy that had been enacted before their eyes
until, out of their midst a eautiful young girl elbowed her way.
Arms full of Christmas packages, blue eyes blazing with
wrath, the girl—later identified as Elizabeth Hood—ran to-
ward the spot where Krause lay groaning. As she neared his
side, the dark-haired bandit-killer seized her, and with a vicious
shove, sent her reeling backward against a sign board.
“eee out of the way, you——!” he snarled, “or I'll let
you have it, too!”’ .
Both gunmen then started running east on Ninth Street.
A moment later they had sped around the corner on West-
moreland, and were lost to sight. .
Within five minutes, a police car swung to the curb and came
to a halt. Detective-Lieutenant Jerry Hickey and Officer
W. J. Clark Sprang out and ran to where
Calderwood’s body lay in a widening pool of The black-haired ban-
crimson, 4 dit who, by a cowardly
It was purely by chance that I happened ‘ruse, killed Perman Cal-
to arrive on the scene a few moments later. | derwood, and stirred the city
of Los Angeles to the point
where there was no let-up in the
{ was on my way home from work, and at
sight of the milling crowd of people on the manhunt until
View of Ninth and Vermont Avenue, with arrow indicating the
malt supply house where the robbery was staged. Calderwood was
slain on the sidewalk between the two telegraph poles at the corner
the assassin was
corner of ‘Ninth and Vermont, parked my car in the get
and went to investigate what I supposed had
”
‘‘T saw the whole thing,” she declared, “I heard that young
fellow tell the officer to put his gun away .. . and that he
was not armed. It was downright murder, I tell you!”
Vor the next few minutes I was kept busy jotting down the
names and addresses of witnesses to the crimes that had just
been committed. Among these was Elizabeth Hood, who,
despite her almost hysterical condition, gave fairly good de-
anywhere! [’ll never forget those terrible eyes of his. He
looked like a madman!”
Someone phoned for an ambulance, and the wounded shop-
keeper was rushed to the Receiving Hospital. ‘
Hickey, Clark and several uniformed patrolmen vainly
tried to keep a cleared space around the dead man’s body,
for, as usual in such cases, a mob of morbidly curious spec-
tators stampeded in an effort to catch a glimpse of the un-
fortunate victim.
There was a sudden silence as a middle-aged man, of fine
features, determinedly pushed his way to the fore.
suit «
dress
ag Bi
Davi.
murd
stanc
befor:
plent:
vou |
Af
were
await:
Arrin:
9 ' NE : ’ hange
HUDSON, William, and O'NEILL, Robert, whites, g
ee
d Folsom, Prison
(LA Gounty) on 10/2/1931...
~
Ces eemar -
A startling story of robbery under
arms, of callous murder and of
a persistent manhunt that
‘Was appeased only when two
desperadoes dangled from. a
noose in Folsom Prison
Perman Calderwood, popular young deputy-marshal
who was slain in one of the most cold-blooded killings in
the history of Los Angeles. He fell a Martyr to his kind- °
liness and trust of his fellow-meni ~
ENRY KRAUSE, proprietor of the Bear Malt &
Bottle Supply House, stood in the doorway of his
small shop at $76 South Vermont Avenue, Los Angeles,
on the night of December 22nd, 1930, idly watching
the traffic go by. It was 7 o’clock. In another hour, he would
take off his blue srhock, lock up and go home.
As he turned to reénter his shop, two young men—one
blond, the other dark complexioned—followed close on his The Bear Malt and Bottle Supply House at 876 South
heels. Almost before he was aware of their presence in the Vermont Avenue, Los Angeles, where the robbery took
store, Krause felt a sharp prod between his shoulder blades place that resulted in the killing of Perman Calderwood
‘Don’t make no noise, Ikey,” a hard voice behind him com- Detective Frank Ryan, co-author of this story, is seen
manded. “We want your dough. Where d’you keep it?” looking at the cash register that was rifled
Krause knew one paralyzing moment of deadly fear before
he slowly lifted his hands above his head. and once more, Krause lunged through the doorway of the
“I-—TI haven’t got any money!” he said. “Tt’s been a bad — stuffy room.
day——---"’ Shouting ‘Police!’ Krause caught up with the robbers as
But the beady eyes of the black-haired bandit had caught they were walking nonchalantly south on Vermont Avenue.
the gleam of a cash register behind a counter. He made a flying tackle at the legs of the black-haired gunman
“There it is,” he said to his blond companion. “You get and brought him down neatly. Instantly, the blond youth
the jack. I'll take care of this guy.” whipped a revolver from his pocket and attempted to club
Krause, protesting and resisting, was then forced to walk Krause over the head with the barrel. The plucky shop-
to the rear of his establishment and into a small washroom, keeper ducked the blow, struck at the weapon and sent it
He heard his captor fumbling with the knob from the outside. flying to the sidewalk.
Knowing the door could be locked only from the inside, Freed of Krause’s bulldog-like grip, the first bandit scrambled
Krause at once threw his weight against it and freed himself. to his feet. “Come on!’ he yelled to his blond companion,
A violent shove sent him sprawling backward into the wash- and started to run. ;
room again. (Undaunted by the odds against him, Krause again took up
“You stay in there, you-—-, or [ll blow your head off!” the chase. The two gunmen, with their enraged victim in hot
Che threat was followed by the sound of running footsteps, pursuit, raced madly around the corner and east on Ninth
458
ao Ses
Miss
spran
after
Calde
Street. ‘J
by severa
Within a ;
the sidew:
in every «
Then Kk
the bandit
At that:
marshal a:
commotion
street car.
and at sig]
sidewalk, ¢
He rush:
the worst
Jerked one
“What's:
o
L. IX. No. 124.
VISALIA, CALIFORNIA, SATURDAY EVE
FIrTy
m™
NING, JULY 18, 1896.
E CANNERY.
ry Started Up This
Afternoon.
ranging Peaches Next Tues:
day Morning.
bout the Latest Enterprise for
City—Capacity of the
Plant.
c
/
| three weeks ago actual
2 Visalia cannery was be.
8 afternoon the machinery
up, and it worked like a
fitchell, W. H. Hammond,
anty, a “Times” reporter
er of other gentlemen were
ee how everything work-
* ea
Portion of the Pioneer
he brick part) will be used
use, and {fs an ideal place
pose. It has been thor-
ed ov >and will hold an
tmber of cases of fruit.
of the warehouse -Wll he
P, and in it four hundred
rk comfortably. Benches
© welghing cans are plac-
~~" ¥ and stools for the
8 are there. A large
guaranteed to re-
‘ every fifteen minutes,
> place healthful.
will be received in the
d will be pealed, cut and
can. From this room it
to the adjoining house
uck or car, where it will
This latter is done au-
nd the machinery takes
outs them under the cap-
where they are soldered.
is left in the top of the
~are afterwards placed in
for probably two min-
y are placed on a stand
soldered up. From this
a’ Placed in boiling vats
e they remain for prob-
nutes, owing to the con-
tracter of the peacftes.
are tak¢n to the ware-
ted away. /
n for 400 hands in the
om( and the capacity
forty thousand cans per
‘urs. There are three
ins on the track, con-
‘Cans each, and a large
var is on hand.
Proposes to begin ope-
lay morning. The runs
tvy the first week, so
may get accustomed
*fore the rush comes,
lays will Probably be
' of all as it takes a
® accustomed to
entley, however,
—--Ads stay out the
Will be glad to stay
f the season.
PO Oe
EQUALIZATION.
foun
Supervisor Gilliam that such
ment be reduced to $4, Amendm
and duly carried.
Application No. 6—Ordered thkt the
“assessment on all of section 27-19-27
be reduced from $4 to $2.50 per acre.
Application No. 7—For reduction on
south half of south half of section 28-
19-27 denied.
Application No. 8—Ordered that the
assessment on west half of section 20-
20-23 be reduced from $18.50 to $12 per
acre, Supervisor Twaddle voting no.
Application No. 9—Ordered that ap-
Plication for reduction on section 29-
20-23 be denied on the following vote:
Ayes, Henderson, Ellis and Grimsley;
noes, Twaddle and Gilliam.
Application No. 10—For reduction on
northeast quarter of section 30-20-23 de-
nied. ;
Application No. 1l—Ordered that the
assessment on section 31-20-23 be re-
duced from $22.50 to $20 Per acre.
Application No. 12—Ordereq that the
20-23, be reduced from $22.50 to $20 per
assessment on north half of section 22.
acre,
Application No. 1
south half of secti
following vote:
liam and Ellis;
Henderson.
Application No. 14—Ordered that the
assessment on southeast quarter of
southwest quarter, southwest quarter
of southeast quarter and northeast
quarter of southeast quarter of sec-
tlon~13-20-24 be reduced from $15 to $10
per acre. ;
Application No. 15—Ordered that the
assessment on south half of southwest
quarter of southwest quarter of section
21-20-24 be reduced from $15 to $12.50
per acre,
Application No. 16—For reduction
on west half of southwest quarter of
sdction 25-20-25 dented.
Application No. 17—Ordered that the
assessment on north half of north-
west quarter of section 36-20-25 east
be reduced from $9 to $5 per acre.
Application No, 18—Ordered that
assessment on northeast quarter
Section 4-21-23 be reduced from $15
$12 per acre. " ‘
Application No. 19—Movead and sec-
onded that application for reduction
in assessment on east half of south-
west quarter of section 6-21-23 be de-
t put
8—For reduction on
On 32-20-23 denied on
Ayes, Grimsley, Gil-
noes, Twaddle and
the
of
to
nied. Motion lost on following vote:
Ayes, Gillam and Ellis; noes, Twaddle,
Grimsley and Henderson, and on o-
tion it is ordered that said asses
ment be reduced from $15 to $12.50 per
acre. :
J. D. Hyde—Ordered that the appli-
cation of J. D. Hyde for reduction on
southwest quarter of section 14-20-26
be and the same is denied on the
ground that the board has no jurisdic-
tion. Chairman Henderson voted no.
Application No. 20—For reduction in
assessment on section 7-21-23 denied.
Application No. 21—For reduction on
east half of southwest quarter of sec-
tion 8-21-23 denied.
Application No. 22—For reduction on
section 19-22-26 denied. :
Application No. 23—Withdrawn.. :
Application No. 24—Ordered that the
assessment on northeast quarter of
section 3-23-26 be reduced from $10 to
$8 per acre. iS
Saturday, July 18, 1896.
San Francisco Savings Union—It is
ordered that the assessment on south
half of section 32-20-23 be reduced from
rably be Completed This |
dday’s Proceedings.
22.50 to $20 per acre.
A DEATH WARRANT.
Warden Aull Certifies That He Carried Out
Instructions in the Howard Case.
The county clerk this morning re-
ceived a return on the death warrant
of John E. Howard from Captain Aull,
warden o som prison. Deep black
lines surround the return. It reads
as follows: f
“The People of the State of Califor-
nia, plaintiff, vs. John E. Howard, de-
fendant. Return on death warrant.
“To the honorable, the superior
court, of the state of California.
“I, Charles Aull, warden of the
California state prison at Folsom, do
certify that I received the annexed
death warrant on the 5th day of May,
one thousand eight hundred and nine-
ty-six (1896), and that at the same
time the body of John E. Howard was
delivered into my custody by the sher-
iff of Tulare county, California.
I further certify that, pursuant to
law, I invited a physician in good
standing, the attorney-general of the
State, and more than twelve reputable
citizens of California, to be present
and witness said execution, and that
I permitted a minister of the gospel
and such friends of the defendant,
designated by him, not exceeding ‘five,
to be present at, and witness sald
execution, together with such peace
officers as I deemed expedient.
“I further certify that, on the 17th
day of July, one thousand eight hun-
dred and ninety-six (1896), at 10 o’clock
a.m. of that day, the annexed war-
rant was duly executed within the
walls of the state prison at Folsom,
as designated by the court in which
judgment was rendered, by hanging
the Said defendant, John RE. Howard,
by the neck until he was dead.
“The names of the physicians and
twelve reputable citizens present. are
hereto attached and made part of this
return, as witnesses of said execution.
“And I further certify that no other
persons than those mentioned in sec-
tfon 1129 of the Penal Code were pres-
ent at said execution.
“Respectfully submitted this 17th day
of July, A. D. one thousand eight hun-
dred and ninety-six (1896). ;
(Seal) “CHARLES AULL,
“Warden California State Prison at
Folsom.”’
Then follows.a Hst of fifteen names
of persons who witnessed the execu;
tion.”
ADS.
Marsden Mansen Talks to a Smail Audience
this Afternoon.
Marsden Manson, a member of the
good roads commission, arrived here
last Wednesday, and since then has
thoroughly examined the roadways in
and around Visalia, also securing sta-
tistics of cost of Same and money ex-
pended each year.
A meeting was to have been held
this afternoon in one of the superior
court: rooms, but it was thought best
to change it to the Good Templars’
hall, and present it before the mem-
bers of the grange. Only a handful
of that body was on hand to listen to
Mr. Mansen’s views, That gentleman
showed that he was thoroughly posted
on the subject, and referred to the
fact that before the locomotive, we
were a nation of road builders. He re-
ferred to the national turnpike road
San Francisco Savings
Meaera AAA ERS 8k
Union—
Thamnann Re ease
and the Erie canal. When the Iaen-
‘\California Silvel
DO THE PEOPLE OF CALIFORNIA FAVOR FRE]
16 TO1? ,
This is the great issue of the coming campaign. In
every reader of the Times is asked to fill out the acco
tothe Timxs office before July 25, 1896.
Se
CALIFORNIA SILVER
coinage of silver by th:
On the question of the free
bs ree
Make across (X) after ‘‘Yes” if
you favor fr
*"No’’ if you oppose it. ;
ee od ee ee]
ee
(This bellot should be used only by a person legally
elections; only one ballot should be cast by cach voter.)
Similar ballots are being cast all over the State, blar
in one paper in each county and in the San Francisco *
votes are counted the Trugs will announce authoritativel:
the silver question.
Me Hane Stored Cur Ghat CARAT
We have CUT Everything in the Line
A GENUINE SACRII
Lawns reduced to 3¢{Tasser Silk
Dimitys reduced to ........ 8c! Brilliants r
Linens reduced to .........121%4¢ Ducks redt
Wool Challies reduced to 12%¢| White Goo
The GREATEST BARGAINS EVER OFFEF
The Newest Styles, Best Makes, and ev
Cr Me Sag offer is up to date.
If you desire to profit by this Great Sale
get your pick of bargains before they are a
THE WHITE H(
WILZINSKI BI
: . VISALIA.
IG tol
Means that there are 16 chances to
and will always find us the leaders i
Confectionery, Fruits, Cigars, ‘Tob
Instruments. : :
LEVY BROS, , Jacsb £
ee ry
> reached
or escape
Only a string of daring robberies marked the trail of two
escaped killers who continued to slip through police nets
THREE frantic calls came into the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department
that morning about the brutal killing at Montrose, California, August
2nd, 1939. None of the telephoning informants seemed to know quite
what. had happened. :
One woman called up and said: “I think someone is being killed. I
heard shrill screams and cries and sounds of a fierce fight, and just now
Isaw someone running down the street but couldn’t tell who it was.”
Aman telephoning the Sheriff’s Head-
quarters in Los Angeles said that while
driving down a side street in Montrose
he had seen one young man clubbing an-
other, After his-first brief glimpse of the
fight, the man said, he had driven on
without stopping, but had finally become
worried and had telephoned in so the
matter could be investigated. “Maybe
itwas just two young fellows scuffling,”
the man ended, “but it did look like it
might really be a serious matter.”
About half an hour later a woman giv-
ing her name as Mrs. Frances Jensen
called up the Sheriff’s sub-station at
Montrose and sobbed hysterically into
the deputy’s ear: “Come at once. There’s |
abody under my front porch. It’s a boy
from this neighborhood. He’s dead. He’s
been killed!” She gave the address as
06 Altura Street, Montrose.
Teletype reports from the two Ridge
Route sub-stations at Montrose and
Newhall clicked into Los Angeles Head-
quarters and, correlated with the passing ~
motorist’s phone call, quickly added up
toakilling. Deputy Sheriff Lloyd Smith,
RED CURLS
ILD BALD PATE
By
PHILIP SHELDON
KQBV dispatcher for Sheriff Biscailuz,
immediately put the calls on the air. In-
spector William Penprase and Captain
William Bright of the Sheriff’s homicide
detail were notified.
Minutes later Altura Street in Mon-
trose was cram-full of police cars. An
ambulance was drawn up to the curb
before the house at 3006, and parked
askew, and men with a stretcher were
standing by the porch watching a doctor
and a deputy working under the porch.
A woman had crawled urder the floor
with the officers and they were all gath-
ered over the body of a boy.
He had been beaten and cut in several
places and there was a wire tight about
his neck. B. M. McDonald, ambulance
driver, and a deputy sheriff, could feel
«no pulse, yet he thought the boy might
still have a chance for life. The body
was lifted tenderly and carried out to
the ambulance and rushed to _ the
Montrose hospital. Dr. J. N. Redpath
examined the boy immediately and pro-
nounced him dead.
The woman who had been under the
Bald Harry Dunlap (above) has evaded
capture since his 1945 prison break
aeons
a ee OE =
porch with the officers showed deep
grief. She was Mrs. Helen Williams.
The dead boy was her son William,
affectionately called “Billy” by everyone:
in the neighborhood.
- Inspector Penprase and Captain Bright
began informal questioning at once and
ordered deputies on searching jobs near
the house at 3006 and in the immediate
-neighborhood. Under the house, Deputy
Sheriff McDonald found a bloody pair of
heavy, sharp sheep shears, and not far
away a razor blade, also bloodstained.
Near by was a carpenter’s hammer and
its condition indicated it had been used
as a weapon. All these articles‘ of evi-
dence were turned over to experts from
the Sheriff’s crime laboratory for ex-
amination, i ‘
Captain Bright went into the house at
3006 to question Mrs. Jensen who had
telephoned when she found the body. He
asked her if she knew anything about the
corner of a ten-dollar bill, found torn and
clutched in the victim’s fist. She said,
“No,” quickly, but admitted at once to
Captain Bright that her son Richard was
involved in the matter. “Two hours or
so before the body was found,” Mrs. Jen-
‘sen said, “Richard came into the, house
and asked for money. I told himI didn’t
have any just then but he could have it
later. Then, hours later, Richard came
back and told me he had had a fight with
Billy. ‘I think he’s hurt, Mamma, pretty
bad,’ Richard said, anc told me Billy
had crawled under our porch. .
“IT took a look and it was Billy Wil-
liams. I rushed down and got Mrs,
Williams. When I returned to the house
Richard was gone.” The son’s bicycle
was gone too, deputies learned, and a
PAS SS
.
Reform school graduates cut short
George Hess's educational career.
girls who go to reform schools—
correctional institutions—and come
out wise and hardened criminals?
Where and how do they pick up the
thousand and one angles and tricks
that make the criminal element in
this country the most vicious in the
world?
Every year they are released.
Boys and girls who slipped once
and are now ready to become decent
and upright citizens. But over sev-
enty per cent of these ostensibly
rehabilitated children will return to
prison before they reach the age of
majority!
ONA, at fifteen had a record, and
was a fugitive. She had escaped
from a reformatory. But Harry
Delfina didn’t know that when she
and her friend, Mary Primavera,
hailed him and asked for a lift.
“Sure, hop in,” Delfina said. He
drove a while before it occurred to
him to ask:
“How far you two girls going?”
“Right here,” Mona snapped. At
the same moment Delfina found
himself looking into the muzzle of
a revolver.
“What—what
Delfina.
“You know what,” bit off Mona
between closed teeth. “A stick-up,
sweetheart. And don’t hold out!”
The frightened Delfina sat still.
Mona kept him covered while Mary
went through his pockets. “A lousy
four bucks.” Mary shoved the
money to the other girl.
The two left him—after first
ripping the wiring out of his car so
he couldn’t follow them. Delfina
last saw his pickups walking down
the road, laughing hilariously at the
dumb cluck who had given them a
lift.
“Let’s lam to New York,” Mona
suggested, surveying Brooklyn
sneeringly.
“That’s a swell idea. With the
four bucks we just lifted—”
Mona interrupted her with a
wave. “Don’t worry about money,
kid. As long as you hang around
with me, there’ll always be plenty
of dough.” A blaze of electric lights
caught her eye. “Say, ain’t that
where we catch the train?”
It was, but the train wasn’t due
for twenty minutes.
“We might as well catch a little
drink while we’re waiting,” Mona
said, leading the way to the bar-
room next door.
One drink led to another. It was
after ten when they finally went
back to the station. The two girls
reeled in, laughing and shouting ob-
scenities at the top of their lungs.
The other passengers waiting for
the Manhattan express looked up in
surprise. One of them began to
laugh.
Mona turned on him in a fury and
snapped, “So we're funny, huh?
Well, see if this is funny too!” She
whipped out her gun and pulled the
stammered
Three "Roamers" show how they mur-
dered George Hess in his candy store.
trigger. The bullet hit John O’-
Neill’s wrist.
He screamed with the sudden
pain. Pandemonium followed.
Benches were overturned, people
began to run and scream hysteri-
cally, newsstands hit the floor as
everybody tried to get out of the
way of the liquor-crazed girl.
Mona watched them in delight.
“Say, if they run like that for one
bullet, what do you think they’ll
do for this?”
Without bothering to take aim,
she held the gun up and began
splattering the whole waiting room
with gunfire. Glass crashed, wood
splintered, women shrieked—and
the two girls laughed uproariously.
They were still laughing when
Sergeant Myron Watts walked in.
“Drop it! Drop the gun!” he said,
his voice cutting the sudden silence
like a knife.
Mona stared at him for a minute.
“Oh, you want some too, huh? Well,
here goes, copper!”
She still had her finger on the
trigger when a bullet whizzed over
her head, missing her by a scant two
inches. Mona _ stood as though
turned to stone. Then she fell down
—in a faint.
: oe two girls were thoroughly in-
vestigated. Mary Primavera,
who had furnished the gun—it was
her father’s—had no record. But
she’d taken up with Mona.
And Mona was someone to know.
She was husky and she knew her
way around with the boys. There
wasn’t anything she could learn
from them—and she taught them a
few things, too. She drank, she
dripped profanity, she had a repu-
tation as a tough baby. What she
hadn’t known before, about the
tough side of life, she’d picked
up at the reformatory.
Mona was sentenced to Westfield
Farms. But before she went there
she was taken to Bellevue Hospital
for treatment. Her body was rotten
with disease.
Mona will probably spend the
rest of her life in and out of jails.
She already has two strikes against
her, and in the reformatory she will
meet other Monas—only a little
older, a little harder—and a lot
wiser.
EEZ, we oughta get some heat in
this joint. It’s gettin’ pretty
cold in here,” one of boys said.
“What’s the matter—you a flower
or somethin’, you gotta be warm?
Sure it’s cold. Whaddyuh expect
in a cellar?” growled Freddie Mor-
reale.
“You guys gimmee a pain. Al-
ways squawkin’. If you want some-
thin’ to beef about, why don’t one
of you guys go out and case a joint
sO we can pay the rent?’ The
speaker was “Good Nerves” Fran-
cese, acknowledged tough boy of
the mob.
His words were greeted with re-
spect by the other members of the
Midnight Roamers Social Club. The
need for cash was one thing on
which the members never had any
disagreement.
“Maybe we could throw a party
and raise some dough like that,”
one of the younger boys suggested.
Tappy Soviero turned smoulder-
ing brown eyes in his direction.
Tappy was only fifteen, but wise
and sophisticated in a sure, alley-
cat fashion that lent weight to his
words.
“Yeah, sure. Have a party. That’s
easy, ain’t it, especially after them
two schoolgirls went to the cops and
hollered rape last week. A lot of
dames we’d get to come to our
party, huh.”
He paused for a minute to let his
words sink in. “You guys need a
brain. What for a party? We got
money before, ain’t we? Without no
parties! When we throw a party,
it’s for fun, not dough!”
Tommy Stabile eyed Tappy
thoughtfully. “Say, I bet it’s gonna
be pretty (Continued on page 41)
ied
er >
Mrs. Williams, whose son Billy was
viciously murdered by Richard Jensen.
27
—?
For a few minutes they worked
swiftly and silently. Then Mrs.
Williams shook her head. ‘“We’ve
got to get him to a doctor. I’ carry
him out to the car.”
Billy died in the doctor’s office.
HEY picked Richard up the next
morning in Venice, California,
fifteen miles from home. A police-
man was just about to step into the
restaurant when he noticed the
handsome youngster coming out.
“Good looking kid,” he thought
idly. “Probably bright as a whip.”
He started to walk away when
he stopped short and eyed the boy
again.
“You’re Richard Jensen, aren’t
you?”
Richard hesitated a moment.
“Yes, Iam.” He paused a moment,
then added defiantly, “I did it. I
killed him.”
The policeman looked at him with
pity in his eyes. “Yes, I know you
did. But aren’t you afraid?”
“Who, me—afraid? Naw. I’m
not afraid of anything!” The four-
teen-year-old murderer swaggered.
“l’m not even worried!”
At headquarters, Richard told the
psychiatrist: “I killed him because he
called me a convict. I was going to
do the job right. I could’ve gotten
away with it, too, only my mother
interrupted me before I got through.
“I was going to cut him up in
little pieces, like a kid in the re-
formatory told me about, and then
bury him. But mother heard him
cry when I hit him with the ham-
mer, and she came out to see what
it was all about.”
Wherever Richard picked up his
knowledge of how to commit a mur-
der, he did a thorough job on his
friend Billy. The report read:
“Head crushed with blunt instru-
ment, probably hammer; stabbed
twice in chest with butcher knife
and sheep shears; heavy wire
Elizabeth Hess saw her
brother brutally shot by
“The Midnight Roamers."
twisted around neck.”
Judge Ben B. Lindsey, noted for
his remarkable work with juveniles,
calls Richard the “most calloused
and cold blooded individual I have
ever seen in thirty-five years of
courtroom experience.”
Richard’s story is that he mur-
dered Billy Williams because he
called him a convict. But Mrs.
Helen Williams told Judge Lindsey
her son did not know the boy had
been in a reformatory.
“You believe there is a sex angle
to this?” asked Judge Lindsey.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Williams.
On the surface, it sounds ridicu-
lous. A fourteen-year-old boy and
a sex angle. But—
Richard has twice served terms
in the reformatory. And psychia-
trists and police alike agree that
there is no worse prison problem
than the homosexual.
Richard is only fourteen years
old. When he comes to trial, the
chances are he’ll be sent to another
reformatory. And the odds are
better than ten to one that inside
of two years after he is freed he
will be back in jail again.
That’s not a guess—those are
statistics.
For some reason or other—bad
companions, an imagination in-
flamed by moving pictures, any one
of a dozen things—Richard landed
in the reformatory. When he was
released, it was on the understand-
ing that he had been corrected.
But only a few short months
later, Richard Jensen, at fourteen a
two-time loser with the law, com-
mitted murder!
What happens to these boys and
=
4 recs.
ome
JENSEN, Richard,
TRUE DETECTI VE,
if
white, asphyx. Calif. (LA) 2/11/1955...
July, 1946,
Sentenced to life imprisonment at the
age of eighteen, the red-haired slayer
Says good-bye to his “mother (above)
As soon as this teen-age killer reached
prison, he began to lay plans for, escape
Only
escap
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his contempt for the law and for any person in authority.
But their worship was colored with fear rather than re-
spect and most of the other children were afraid of him and
stayed away from him. This was all right with Dickie,
who still preferred to play the lone wolf. He had no close
pals and seemed to hold all children as well as all adults in
contempt.
But the hot, sweltering summer afternoon of. August
22nd, 1939, was to prove a tragic exception to Dickie’s habit
of solitude. It had been a long summer vacation and may-
be even he had become lonesome. .
In the morning, Billy Williams had played Chinese
checkers at home with a neighbor girl. After lunch he
weeded the garden at his mother’s request. Looking out
the window, Mrs. Williams saw Dickie Jensen, barefoot,
clad in a tight-yellow knit sleeveless sweater and blue
jeans, come across the hillside street twice and speak brief-
ly to Billy. Apparently he wanted him to go somewhere,
but Billy told him he had to finish his work in the garden.
Finally, when the weeding was done, Dickie, came over
again and the two boys walked off together toward the Jen-
sen home. :
About 2 p.m. Mrs. Jensen was taking a bath when she,
heard the sound of scuffling beneath the house, in a play-
room den which Dickie had scooped out of the hillside soil.
Then there was the sound of growling, like a dog. Mrs.
Jensen called to Dickie, asked him what was the matter.
He replied that the dog had gotten a tack in its mouth.
“Well, try to get it out, Dickie. Don’t hurt him.”
“TI won’t, Mother,” he replied. :
The growling stopped, but in a few minutes there came
another strange noise, like the muffled yowling of a cat.
Mrs. Jensen called to Dickie again, but there was no reply.
The yowling stopped, followed by dead silence.
Still getting no answer and thinking the sudden silence
odd, Frances Jensen finished dressing and went out into the
yard. Dickie was standing by the opening under the house,
flushed and panting, with what his mother later described
as “a funny, wild look” in his usually emotionless gray eyes:
“Where’s the dog?” Mrs. Jensen wanted to know, stoop-
ing to peer into the improvised cavern.
“Don’t go in there, Mother,” Dickie warned her sharply.
You can’t kill a Marine,” Piper tells Betty Adams, whom
he was on way to visit when he thumbed the tragic ride
She stared at him. “Why not? I’m going to look in.”
“Well, don’t!”
Then as she turned again toward the opening, looking
for the dog, the red-haired boy blurted, “I’ve just killed
Billy Williams!”
_ His mother thought it was a joke. But as she peered into
the darkness under the house, she was appalled to see a
twisted foot, a crumpled still form in the shadows, a white
face streaked with blood.
As in a nightmare she reached in and tugged at the foot.
Billy’s body was a dead weight and, as she turned him
partly over, she saw that his mud-caked clothing was ripped
and slashed almost away, exposing dark stab wounds. A
bloody knife gleamed on the earth beside him.
She turned to Dickie and saw that he had run to the gar-
age barefoot and was getting his bicycle. She screamed at
him to stop, but he pedaled off down the street without
looking back.
Mrs. Jensen ran into the house and telephoned the
sheriff’s substation at nearby Montrose. Somehow she
forced herself to put the horror into words. Then she hur-
ried across the street and called Mrs. Williams.
“Come with me!” she gasped. “Our boys have done
something terrible!”
More puzzled than frightened, Ellen Williams came out
Wiping her hands on her kitchen apron, she followed her
near-hysterical neighbor to the Jensen yard, where Frances
Jensen pointed to the black hole under the house.
Mrs. Williams bent down to peer inside. ‘What -on
earth—! Why, it’s Billy!” She clawed her way inside and
crouched over the silent form, covered with blood and mud.
“He’s dead! No—he’s trying to breathe—there’s a wire
around his throat, choking him!”
Fumbling in the semi-darkness, she succeeded in un-
winding the cruel garrote of thin copper wire, wrapped
three times around Billy’s slim throat with such savage
force that it had cut into the skin. With Mrs. Jensen’s help
she dragged the unconscious boy out onto the grass, where
the sunlight exposed the full horror of his multiple
wounds.
“He can’t breathe with all that mud on his face! Get
some water for me—quick,” the agonized mother gasped.
Believing Marine dead, Jensen (I.) had hidden uniform to
conceal his victim’s identity, helps police uncover it
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Reik was murdered was your night off.
The bloodstained knife in your room is
just the right size.”
Leon clutched his head. Half-crying he
declared, “I didn’t do it! I didn’t do it! I
don’t think I did—”
It was the first break in a solid front.
After an hour’s persuasion, Leon mut-
tered, “It seems like a dream—”
It was 6 a.m., October 3rd, the time when
Leon normally would have been serving
coffee to sustain flagging energies, but
there was no time now for coffee. After the
“dream” remark, the detectives were in a
hurry to confront Leon with reality. They
took him to the crime scene and Memory
Park. He was shaking like a leaf.
Detective Duncombe jolted him with a
tricky question. “Is there any question in
your mind that you did not kill the girl?”
“No, there is not,” the man admitted.
Leon Livingston followed this up with a
detailed confession. He said he had known
Reik only from seeing her on the bus a
couple of times. “That night I went to her
house, just to window peep. I think she
turned when my pants legs brushed against
the bushes. She screamed and I rammed
the knife into her. I only fully understood
what I had done next morning when the
alarm clock went off and woke me up.”
He sighed. “I’m glad I was picked up. A
week after the murder I was walking
around when a funny feeling came over
me. I know that I would have killed
again. I didn’t want to kill another girl.”
Leon’s confession, which came 86 days
after the slaying, eliminated from the case
the ghosts of such suspects as Joe, the New
York salesman, and the driver seen by the
sandpile. The guilt was all Leon’s and this
time the follow-up inquiries made the case
against him stick.
On October 26th, 1953, Leon Livingston
appeared before City Judge Arthur J.
Mays. At the end of the three-hour hearing
he was charged with first-degree murder
and bound over for trial in the Third Dis-
trict Court at an early date.
Salt Lake City’s back yard clotheslines
again blossom forth with dainty finery
and girls walk home alone at night nowa-
days, without fear. rx x
EpitTor’s Note:
The names, Stella Jones and Mrs.
Ardy Jones, as used in the foregoing
story, are not the real names of the per-
sons concerned. These persons have
been given fictitious names to protect
their identities.
Case History of a
Homicidal Maniac
(Continued from page 43)
“Find out what’s wrong with this boy,”
he ordered. “He’s the most calloused and
cold-blooded killer I’ve seen in thirty-five
years of courtroom experience!”
While Dickie was under study in the hos-
pital, the county grand jury indicted him
for murder at the request of the district at-
torney, who explained that he wanted the
formal murder charge on record, whatever
might be the outcome of the current hear-
ing, to block possible future moves for
release of the young killer on technicalities.
“This boy is too dangerous and vicious
for us to take the risk of his ever being
freed again,” Deputy District Attorney Ed-
win Myers told the grand jurors.
On September 18th, 1939, the psychia-
trists rendered their report to Judge Lind-
sey. Dickie Jensen, the majority report said,
appeared to be suffering from a dementia
praecox type of psychosis, now usually
called schizophrenia.
Cause of this tragic condition, the medi-
cos felt, might be traced to an attack of
whooping cough Dickie suffered when he
was ten days old, with convulsions and
other signs of cerebral involvement, Of the
murder itself, the doctors said, “The crime
committed was either of sadistic nature, or
the result of a dementia praecox temper
outburst.”
Declaring that the chances were very
favorable for improvement in such cases
of mental aberration stemming from a
physiological basis, they recommended the
newly developed shock treatment, to be
followed by a program of injections to
regulate the functioning of the glands.
Because the doctors were not fully in
agreement, Judge Lindsey refrained from
formally adjudging Dickie insane. He com-
promised by committing him to the new
Camarillo State Hospital near Ventura for
prolonged observation and treatment.
Judge Fox, at the same time, issued an
order suspending prosecution on the mur-
der indictment, with the provisio that if
and when Dickie was pronounced sane he
should be returned to Los Angeles for trial.
So justice was satisfied, and he was taken
off to Camarillo, to be a human guinea pig
for new treatments aimed at curing his
murderous impulses by shocks and injec-
tions.
The case of John Richard Jensen dropped
out of the newspaper headlines, but re-
mained a large and active file in half a
dozen state and county offices. When Dickie
remained surly and uncooperative, necessi-
tating constant supervision and precau-
tions after a year of treatment, he was
transferred to the maximum security Men-
docino State Hospital for the Criminally
Insane.
The busy Mendocino doctors didn’t fool
around. In February, 1941, Dr. Walter Rap-
paport, medical supervisor, advised Los
Angeles authorities that Dickie was not
suffering from schizophrenia at all, and
never had been. Though plainly a psycho-
pathic personality and a problem, Dickie
definitely was not insane under either
medical or legal definitions, Dr. Rappaport
stated. He knew right from wrong, but
simply preferred the wrong. He was crazy
like a fox.
So, after some correspondence, Dr. Rap-
paport certified Dickie Jensen back to the
Superior Court, and the healthy and husky
young redhead, now proudly displaying a
downy stubble of beard, was returned to
the Los Angeles County Jail and booked
on the old murder warrant. With a sly grin
he told newspapermen that he remembered
nothing about the murder of Billy Wil-
liams, knew only what he had been told
about it, and was conscious of no wrong-
doing.
The authorities now were in a dilemma.
Since Dickie was not insane, he no longer
could be confined under the original com-
mitment. But if he were brought to trial,
his youth and the short memory of the
public made it almost certain that a good
lawyer would get him off, on the plea that
he had been insane at the time of the crime
and had since been cured. The original
psychiatric testimony, based on incomplete
study, would be quoted. Though still a po-
tential menace to society, he might go scot-
free.
A solution presented itself in a newly
adopted section of the Welfare Institutions
Code, whereby a “psychopathic delinquent”
could be confined in an institution for as
long as might be deemed advisable—for
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93
Marion L.
red at the
$s going to
ugged me.
shot and
the road
‘arines—”
ie drive?”
tly, “Red
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sked.
lights—”
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“Jen-
in the
‘d back
lled 14
years ago, when he was a deputy attached 'to the homicide
detail. It was in La Crescenta, at the foot of the San Ga-
briel Mountains, near the Tujunga address Dickie Jensen
had given as his present residence.’
Dickie, 14, and Billy Williams, 13, who lived across. thes
street from each other, could ‘not have ‘been More ‘different
if they had been chosen deliberately to play out their tragic
roles.
Frail, gentle, smiling, handsome Billy was the model boy |
of the neighborhood, a prize student at junior high school,
quiet and obedient to his parents, never involved in a whis-
per of trouble.
Brawny, freckle-faced Dickie, who habitually wore a
scowl under his mop of tousled curly red hair, was the bad
boy, the tough guy. There was a stack of official records
to prove it.
At the age of 11, Dickie had been arrested for entering a
house in Venice and stealing two purses. His total loot had
been a dollar. He had been sent home on probation. A
year later he ran away from home and was gone for several
days, financing himself for this brief fling by rifling the
desks of several teachers at school, crawling through the
bathroom window of a neighbor’s house and stealing $1.75
from a piggy bank, and snatching 25 cents from the cash-
ier’s desk in a drugstore.
Social workers made a detailed study of Dickie Jetibeni's
case, noting that he was of normal intelligence and physical
development. Despite an excellent home environment and
the fact that his parents gave him everything he needed and
there was no reason for him to steal, Dickie was becoming
CNS r
ied NG MEE, Ste 1 CRT
Gent oy ak
a
“more and more of a lone wolf operator, without fear, re-
morse, scruples or'normal childhood loyalties. It was recom-
mended that he be taken away from home for a while and
kept under light supervision.
Dickie ‘was ‘sent to Pacific Lodge, an institution resem-
bling’ ‘a'ranch, which was operated by the Protestant Wel-
fare Association in the San Fernando Valley. Here minor
delinquents were taught farming, animal husbandry and
. dairying, and given an extensive athletic and recreational
program...
It was as unlike a public institution as its operators could
make it and it had an excellent record for rehabilitating
wayward youngsters, but it clearly wasn’t for Dickie Jen-
sen.: One night he broke into the administration offices
looking for money, then took off. The police picked him
up soon after, wandering the streets of Bakersfield. .
This time the law was tougher and less patient. In
March, 1938, Dickie was sent to the reform school at Whit-
tier.
School authorities there considered him untruthful and
untrustworthy. He tried several times to run away, but as
time went on apparently he learned that he got along bet-
ter and kept out of trouble by at least giving the illusion of
cooperating. In June, 1939, he was released and returned
to his parents. :
Dickie Jensen’s bad record gave him an aura of legendary
prowess in, the eyes of the neighborhood children. There
were some, as always, who attached a misplaced hero wor-
ship to the boy who had stolen things, who had been in re-
form school, and who demonstrated at every opportunity
Weird device used to shoot Piper from the rear seat while killer drove car, proved he had planned murder attempt
oe aa
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ectessie.
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ook in.”
looking
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ered into
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ame out
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Frances
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iform to
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Ellen Williams collapsed as the deputy sheriffs and an
ambulance crew arrived. It was evident at once that the
viciously mutilated boy was dying. They rushed him to the
nearest doctor, Dr. Harold Sanborn, in Montrose, but Billy
died on the table as the physician was starting his examina- .
tion.
His skull had been fractured in several places. by blows
from a heavy instrument. His body bore a dozen stab
wounds. The twisted wire had almost severed his jugular
vein.
. To Gordon Bowers: and the other deputies, the muddy
hole under the Jensen house told its own mute story. Dickie
Jensen had left his tools of murder behind him. They
were a heavy machinist’s hammer, a butcher knife with an
eight-inch blade, a pair of rusty garden shears. and the
copper wire—the latter apparently used to strangle Billy’s
cries during the torture-killing.
A scooped-out hole in the mud, coupled with the con-
dition of Billy’s shredded clothing, indicated that Dickie
had been attempting to bury his victim alive when he
heard his mother come into the yard.
Officers visited neighborhood hangouts, including an
abandoned granite mine, searching for the monstrous young ©
redhead. Police along the Ridge Route and on U. S. 99
north to Fresno were alerted, because it was thought that
Dickie might try to hitchhike to Fresno, where the Jensens
formerly had lived ‘and -where he had friends. He could
have coasted on his bicycle down the. flood control channel
to the Los Angeles River, giving him. access to major
highways.in all directions.
Then the hunt swung to the Venice area along the.
ocean, some 30 miles from La Crescenta, when an aunt of —
Dickie’s who lived there reported she. had come home ©
that night to find the house broken into and some food:
‘and a blanket stolen. Civilian volunteers joined deputies
in. the hunt for the barefoot redhead in the yellow sweater
and blue jeans. The search went on throughout the night,
with Dickie’s distraught father, Alfred Jensen, aiding the
officers.
The food Dickie had obtained at his aunt’s was not
much, and it was hunger that finally flushed him from
cover. When he appeared early the following morning at
In glare of spotlights, Jensen shows Sergeants Virgil
Piper (I.) and Richard Dailey site of attempted murder
a cafe on Lincoln Boulevard in Venice, where he gulped
coffee and doughnuts, paying for them.with pennies, the
proprietress, Mrs. Edna Marshall, spotted him from the
’ newspaper description and called the police. They arrived
just as he was mounting his bicycle and collared him
after a brief, but furious struggle.
Snarling defiance and expressing neither regret nor fear
_of the consequences, Dickie readily admitted his crime,
signing a statement for Sheriff’s Inspector William J. Pen-
prase and Lieutenant E. W. Graeb. He said that he had
killed Billy because the model boy had poked fun at him
for being a “jailbird.”
' “I’m not sorry!” the juvenile killer boasted. “Billy got
; what was coming to him. I don’t care what happens to me.
‘Let ’em hang me or gas me or burn me, or whatever they
like: I’m not afraid to die.””’ He scowled darkly and said
nothing when they explained that, under California law,
a killer under the age of 18 cannot be put to death, but
that one of 14 or over may be incarcerated for life.
Dickie revealed that he had pedaled all the way to Venice
on his bike. He had spent the night in a half-finished house
across the street from the police station, watching the cars
go out to hunt for him. “I picked that place because I
figured the cops would be too durnb to look for me there,”
he sneered. .
He said he had planned to pilfer a service station for
money to get to Fresno, where he hoped ‘to find a hideout.
_ Superior Judge W. Turney Fox of the Juvenile Court
ordered the sullen boy sent to the hospital for psycho-
pathic observation, while juvenile and homicide officers
. Studied his lengthy record for a clue to the murder of the
_ little Williams boy.
Although Dickie never had been told this, he and his
“brother, who was two years older, were Alfred Jensen’s
stepchildren, their mother having been divorced from
their father soon after Dickie was born. Dickie also had a
half-brother, seven years younger.
‘The other two boys were normal, well-behaved, but from.
his very earliest days Dickie had been a problem child. As
soon as he could talk he developed traits of lying, of
defying his parents. Then he began to steal; first, toys from
his playmates, then candy from neighborhood stores, and
finally small sums of money. When he learned to read,
he concentrated on stories of outlaws and desperadoes, the
only sort of men he seemed to admire. All the while he
was getting into scrapes, and his worry-ridden father and
mother never knew when he was going to be escorted home
by a policeman or juvenile officer.
That was the surly redhead’s short life history. The
newspapers made a field day of it, editorializing on the
“criminally loose system” that set such a boy free to com-
_ mit -wanton murder. But the harassed juvenile and pro-
bation authorities pointed out that there was no previous
viciousness or violence in his record, that his earlier de-
linquency had been confined solely to petty stealing. The
policy which pays off in the vast majority of such juvenile
cases is one of understanding and rehabilitation, rather than
confinement for an. arbitrary term. Dickie Jensen just
happened to be an -unpredictable exception, and no one
was to blame.
But Billy Williams was dead, hortibly murdered, and in
. view of the circumstances and the record and hardened
attitude of the young killer, District Attorney Buron Fitts
prepared to ask that Dickie be certified to Superior Court
to be handled as an adult rather than a juvenile, and to be
put away away for life.
The judges wanted to explore the shocking case
thoroughly, and a combined juvenile and sanity hearing
was set, at which Judge Fox shared the bench with Judge
Ben B. Lindsey, famed exponent of advanced humanitarian
concepts of justice. When a psychiatrist testified that he
thought the taciturn young killer might be suffering from
dementia praecox, Judge Lindsey continued the hearing
and appointed four doctors to make a complete psychiatric
study of Dickie Jensen. (Continued on page 93)
LSPA nope Sar PALE T SOR RIN
PEOPLE y. HILTON Cal. 11 1
‘ Cite as 174 P.2d5 ‘ |
The jurors should have been told in sub- er the killing was done with deliberation
stance that “Neither the statute nor the and premeditation, or in the decision of
ea, 10 Cal. 174 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
Been CARTER, Justice. further instruction placing at least equal
I dissent. It is an unwarranted invasion emphasis on the true meaning of the terms
See ees
ee of the province of the jury to hold that de-
fendant was not prejudiced by the errone-
ous charge merely because, in the opinion
of a majority of this court, the evidence
“leaves no doubt whatever that the murder
’ committed by defendant was murder of the
first degree.” The fact that concededly the
evidence “was sufficient to sustain a verdict
of murder in the first degree” is beside the
point. Whether upon that evidence de-
fendant should have been adjudged guilty
of first degree murder or of a lesser crime,
or acquitted, was for the jury and the jury
alone to say. It is not within the power of
a trial court, even upon uncontradicted evi-
dence, to direct a verdict of guilty in a
criminal case, nor is it within the power of
an appellate court to direct such a verdict
by indirection. Yet the majority opinion
does just that in its conclusion that “As
we view the uncontradicted evidence pre-
sented, the jury could not properly have ar-
rived at any verdict other than a verdict
finding defendant guilty of murder of the
first degree, and the only real question pre-
sented for the jury’s determination was
that of the penalty to be imposed. We
therefore conclude that the error in the
challenged instructions, dealing with the
subject of the degrees of the murder, may
not be treated as prejudicial.”
Defendant’s uncontradicted account of
the manner in which the killing occurred
left for determination by the jury but one
real issue (other than punishment), and it
was upon that issue, deliberation and pre-
meditation, that the utterly confusing and
erroneous instructions had bearing. The
effect of the erroneous charge was there-
fore to take from the jurors the one matter
to be determined by them. In other words,
the undisputed facts showed that defend-
ant’s crime was murder of the first degree,
if his specific intent to kill the deceased was
carried out with ‘deliberation and premedi-
tation. Whether these latter elements were
present was the vital question for the jury
under proper instructions. If the jurors
were to be instructed in a vein which em-
deliberation and premeditation. As stated
in People v. Bender, 27 Cal.2d 164, 185, 163
P.2d 8, 20: “* * * While the jury
may be told that the brain can function rap-
idly they must not be misled into thinking
that an act can at the same time be hasty,
hurried, and deliberate or impulsive, un-
studied, and premeditated. The extent of
the reflection in every case, if it is to pass
the test, must fairly and reasonably meet
the ordinary and unquestioned significa-
tions of the test words. It is irrefragable
that (in cases of the type now before us)
the statutes of California purport to au-
thorize putting a person to his death only
where his act of killing was truly deliberate
and premeditated; i. e., was murder of the
first degree.”
From defendant’s confession and the ab-
sence of any other evidence of motive it
would seem that the murder was the result
of his confused association of his rancor
against his ex-wife with all women, so that
in giving vent to his intense desire to kill his
ex-wife, he stabbed Mrs. Fouts. There
was apparently nothing to break this con-
fused conception during defendant’s pro-
longed spree of brooding, drinking, and vis- .
iting with Mrs. Fouts. It is true that the
evidence, if submitted to the jury under
proper instructions, would have supported
a verdict of murder of the first degree, but
under that evidence it would also have been
possible for the jury to conclude that the
murder was of a lesser degree in that, since
defendant had seen and been introduced to
Mrs. Fouts for the first time only a few
hours before the killing, apparently the in-
tent to substitute her as a victim in place
of the ex-wife, was not arrived at as the
result of a dispassionate, cool, and deliber-
ate premeditation, but was the result of an
impulse engendered during the short period
the two were together. In short, had the
jurors been properly instructed, they might
or might not have concluded that the killing
was “willful, deliberate, and premeditated,”
as those terms are used in the statute de-
fining murder of the first degree (Pen.Code,
court undertakes to measure in units of
time the length of the period during which
the thought must be pondered before it can
ripen into an intent which is truly deliber-
ate and premeditated. The time would
vary with different individuals and under
differing circumstances. The true test is
not the duration of time as much as it is the
extent of the reflection. Thoughts may
follow each other with great rapidity and
cold, calculated judgment may be arrived
at quickly, but the express requirement for
a concurrence of deliberation and premedi-
tation excludes from murder of the first de-
gree those homicides (not specifically
enumerated in the statute) which are the
result of mere unconsidered or rash im-
pulse hastily executed.” People v. Bender,
supra, 27 Cal.2d 184, 185, 163 P.2d 8, 20;
People v, Thomas, 25 Cal.2d 880, 900, 156
P.2d 7.
It marks no innovation in the law to
state that even where there is undisputed
evidence of first degree murder, convincing
in the eyes of an appellate court, erroneous
instructions which bear vitally upon the
proper definition of the crime, must be
deemed to have been prejudicial. Such has
always been the law of this state. Thus it
is said in People v. Valencia, 1872, 43 Cal.
552, at page 556: “We are not justified in
saying that the error [an instruction omit-
ting from the definition of murder in the
first degree the essential qualities of delib-
eration and premeditation] was productive
of no injury to the defendants, because we
may be satisfied that the jury ought to have
found from the evidence, as they did, that
the defendants are guilty of murder in the
first degree. The question as to the delib-
eration and premeditation of the defend-
ants is one which is peculiarly the province
of the jury to determine; and should we
Sustain the charge of the Court, because of
the apparently satisfactory character of the
evidence, that question would virtually be
withdrawn from the jury.”
Again it was said in People v. Chew Sing
Wing, 1891, 88 Cal. 268, at page 270, 25 P.
which so much is necessarily left to the
sound sense, discretion, and experience of
the jury, who, under the constitution, are
made the exclusive triers of that issue. In
People v. Ah Lee, 60 Cal. 85, 86, this court
said: ‘And we think it to be well settled
in this state that it was error to instruct the
jury that there were no circumstances in
the case to reduce the offense below that
of murder in the first degree. The question
whether the killing was perpetrated with
the deliberation and premeditation neces-
sary to constitute it murder in the first
degree was one which it was “peculiarly the
province of the jury to determine.”’
* * * [Nor can this court] weigh the
testimony for the purpose of determining
whether the verdict of the jury is not right
upon the evidence [quoting from People v.
Valencia, supra].”
Here the court did not submit to the jury
any issue of fact whatsoever on the ques-
tion of degree; not even in the erroneous
instructions as to what would constitute
premeditation and deliberation were the
jurors permitted to determine any issue of
fact. They were told that if there existed
in the mind of the defendant at the time
of the slaying “the specific intent to take
life’ then the offense “would of course
be murder of the first degree.” Defendant,
by his own admission, conceded the ex-
istence of such specific intent. That fact
never was questioned by the defendant.
Hence the instruction that if that specific
intent existed the offense “would of course
be murder of the first degree,” left the jury
no possible alternative, unless they directly
disobeyed that instruction, but to return
a verdict of murder of the first degree.
In this case, therefore, there was not
merely error in instructions, but a total
failure, in effect, to accord the defendant a
trial by jury.
For the foregoing reasons I would re-
verse the judgment.
SCHAUER, J., concurs.
See cat
Sa Shaeste wren umeepon heron Laue:
<4
1 GEG Bm 5 y a
set
at
= phasized the rapidity with which thoughts § 189). A lesser verdict returned by them , 1099, ES 1100: “There is no question oo Justice. ais
3 may follow each other, fairness required a could not have been disturbed. arising in a trial for murder more peculiar- _I dissent. I do not agree that “the jury
ly or purely one of fact than the one wheth- could not properly have arrived at any ver-
La *
ae
et
172 PACIFIC (2nd) 698.
HONEYCUTT, John Thomas, white, asphyxiated California (Los Angeles) 1-7-1917.
"van Nuys, Calif., Nov. 1h. = (AP) = John T. Honeycutt, 32-year-old mechanic, was held
in jail today, hooked on suspicion of murdering his estranged wife with a butcher knife
as her horrorestricken and ill mother looked on. Police found the mutilated body of
Mrs. Florence Honeycutt, 37, Monday night in the cottage where she had been living with
her mother and stepfather, Mr, and Mrs, Fank A. Harris, Detective Lieut. Ernie John-
#KAK ston said Honeycutt told him: 'I had been intending to kill her for weeks, I did
a good job, don't you think?! Johnston said the Honeycutts separated in San Francisco
last August after a brief marriage and the husband, trying to effect a reconciliation,
followed her here. Mr, and Mrs, Harris told police that when Honeycutt was denied
admittance to their home to see his wife he smashed a window and climbed into the
living room, Harris, 63, said he grappled with Honeycutt and broke free to leave the
house and call police, Mrs, Harris, confined to bed witn an illness, said she tried S38
to intercede. The detective said Mrs, Honeycutt had been slashed repeatedly with a
butcher knife and beaten with a meat grinder. Honeycutt will be arraigned in Municipa
Court tomorrow,"
AMERICAN, Hattiesburg, Miss., Novel, 1945 (9/1&2)
12 Cal.
dict other than a verdict finding defendant
guilty of murder of the first degree.” In
my opinion the jury could properly have
arrived at a different verdict and it is not
improbable that it would have done so had
it been correctly instructed with respect to
premeditation. The jury might reasonably
have concluded that because of the confused
state of defendant’s mind he did not act
with premeditation,
W
© E Key NUMBER SYSTEM
0
PEOPLE v. VAN HORN.
Cr. 496.
District Court of Appeal, Fourth District,
California.
Nov. 8, 1946,
Hearing Denied Dec. 5, 1946
1. Commerce €>10
Provision of the Motor Carrier Trans-
portation Agent Law that the law should
apply to and regulate motor transportation
agents in so far as their acts affect the
carrying of passengers in interstate com-
merce in absence of action on part of Con-
gress or Interstate Commerce Commission
means that the law shall not apply where
such federal action has been taken, irre-
spective of the extent to which the federal
legislation is complete or efficient. Gen.
Laws, Act £130c, § 1 et seq.
‘2. Commerce ¢=8(12)
One engaged in arranging transporta-
tion for compensation for persons desiring
to travel by automobile outside the state
was not subject to Motor Carrier Trans-
portation Agent Law and therefore not
guilty of acting without a license, in view
of regulation of such agents by the Inter-
state Commerce Commission though no li-
cense was required of them by commission.
Interstate Commerce Act, § 203(b) (7a)
(9), 49 ULS.C.A. § 303(b) (7a) (9); Gen.
Laws, Act 5130c, § 1 et seq.
174 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
Appeal from Superior Court, San Diego
County; Gordon Thompson, Judge.
Thomas C. Van Horn was found guilty
of violating the Motor Carrier Transporta-
tion Agent Law by acting as an agent with-
out a license. Thereafter an order was
entered granting the defendant’s motion in
arrest of judgment, and the People of the
State of California appeal.
Order affirmed.
Robert W. Kenny, Atty. Gen., John F.
Hassler, Deputy Atty. Gen., Thomas Whel-
an, Dist. Atty., of San Diego, and A. D.
Orme, Deputy Dist. Atty., of Pasadena, for
appellant,
F, W. Turcotte, of Los Angeles, John T.
Holt and William H. Macomber, both of
San Diego, for respondent.
Ray L. Chesebro, City Atty., Donald M.
Redwine, Asst. City Atty., and John L.
Bland, Deputy City Atty., all of Los An-
geles, amicus curie in behalf of appellant.
BARNARD, Presiding Justice,
The defendant was charged with violat-
ing the Motor Carrier Transportation
Agent Law, Stats.1933, p. 1011, amended,
by Stats.1941, p. 1861, Deering’s Gen.Laws,
Act 5130c, by acting as such an agent with-
out a license. The case was tried on stipu-
lated facts and the defendant was found
guilty. Thereafter, a motion in arrest of
judgment was granted and the plaintiff has
appealed from the order granting this mo-
tion.
The facts are not disputed and it is con-
ceded that in May, 1945, the defendant was
engaged in the business of arranging, pro-
curing and furnishing transportation, for
compensation, to persons desiring to travel
between San Diego and points outside Cali-
fornia by means of private automobiles
operated in interstate commerce, for com-
pensation, by casual, occasional and recip-
rocal car operators who were not engaged
in such transportation as a regular occupa-
tion or business; that these motor vehicle
operators, with whom the defendant ar-
ranged for interstate transportation of pro-
spective passengers, traveled over highways
of this state from San Diego to the line
PEOPLE vy. VAN HORN Cal. 13
- Cite as 174 P.2d 12
of an adjoining state as a part of an inter-
state trip; that the defendant had not ap-
plied for or received from the Railroad
Commission of this state any license au-
thorizing him to act as a motor carrier
transportation agent; that he had not ap-
plied to the Interstate Commerce Commis-
sion for a license to operate as broker
or agent; and that the private automobile
operators with whom the defendant ar-
ranged for such transportation held no cer-
tificate or permit either from the State
Railroad Commission or the Interstate
Commerce Commission, nor was the de-
fendant an agent for any carrier holding
such a certificate.
The appellant argues that the sole ques-
tion presented is whether Act 5130c is con-
stitutional or whether it is invalid as be-
ing in conflict with federal regulations :n
the field of interstate commerce. On the
other hand, the respondent contends that
the sole question presented is whether his
admitted acts constituted a violation of Act
5130c, at the time in question.
Section 1 of Act 5130c declares the pub-
lic policy of regulating and controlling per-
sons who offér to act as intermediaries be-
tween the public and such motor carriers
of. passengers for compensation as are not
Tequired to obtain, or have not obtained,
a certificate from the Railroad Commission.
Section 2 first defines a motor carrier trans-
portation agent as one who sells or offers
to sell or arrange for transportation over
public highways which is to be furnished by
a motor carrier as defined in this act. A
Motor carrier is then defined, in brief, as
any one transporting or offering to trans-
port passengers for compensation without
holding a valid certificate or permit issued
by either the Railroad Commission or the
Interstate Commerce Commission. It is
further provided that the act shall not apply
to certain enumerated forms of transporta-
tion. It is then provided that, in the ab-
sence of action on the part of Congress
or the Interstate Commerce Commission
Tegulating or requiring licenses of motor
Carrier transportation agents (as defined in
the act), acting as such agents for motor
carriers carrying passengers in interstate
commerce, this act shall apply to and reg-
ulate such agents. Section 3 makes it un-
lawful for any person to act as such motor
carrier transportation agent without first
obtaining a license, and other sections of
the act then provide for the issuance of
such licenses on certain conditions, includ-
ing the furnishing of a bond, for prosecu-
tion of violations of the act, and for penal-
ties for operating without a license.
The validity of Act 5130c was upheld by
the United States Supreme Court in People
of State of California v. Thompson, 313
U.S. 109, 61 S.Ct. 930, 85 L.Ed. 1219. In
that case, the court pointed out that the
commerce clause of the Constitution did
not wholly withdraw from the states the
power to regulate matters of local concern,
with respect to which Congress has not
acted, even though the regulation has an
incidental effect upon interstate commerce
and held that, in any event, until Congress
undertook to regulate the matter in ques-
tion there was nothing to prevent action by
the state.
At that time there was no federal statute
or regulation affecting the factual situation
covered by Act 5130c, and with which we
are here concerned. Part II of the Inter-
state Commerce Act relating to motor car-
riers was in effect, having been adopted in
1935. By the terms of section 303(b) (7a)
of that act, as found in Title 49 U.S.C.A.,
the provisions of the act were made inap-
plicable to such transportation matters as
those here in question “unless and to the
extent that the Commission (the Interstate
Commerce Commission) shall from time to
time find that such application is necessary
to carry out the national transportation pol-
icy declared in the Interstate Commerce
Act.”
Pursuant to the authority given by the
clause of the act just quoted, the Interstate
Commerce Commission, on March 21, 1942,
made and entered its decision and order in
Ex Parte No. MC-35 (33 Motor Carrier
Cases 69, 3 Fed.Carrier Cases 202) by
which it found and provided that the ex-
emption of casual, occasional or reciprocal
transportation of passengers by motor
vehicle in interstate commerce for compen-
sation, as contained in section 303(b) (9)
of the act, should be removed “to the ex-
FEBRUARY. 11, 1949
oe
Lilly Calbert,
shot to death. ee
| An intensive manhunt is under
way today for Henry
ning of Mrs. Liliy Calbert.
- Mrs. Calbert, the mother of three,
was killed by two shotgun blasts in
her three room apartment at the
rear of 1017 Fourth Street. - ao
Her two youngest zons, Bob,. 11,
and Early, 13, and Mrs, Samuel
ent and
sts Told T yo
_ The poli ad been
“going wit for some
time. H lives at 90914
to her apart-
times yesterday, Her
“son, sai ld him. repeat-
yedly not to come back, - Pave. got
‘|. Abbut 5 o'clock he returned and
{
q
le
¢
4 I ie aar
nding him
ind a dur-
to his feet
mt of the
ed on the
ted streets
Id-have a
less than
leisurely
ey reached
their pace
uld be lost
ings simul-
p! Police!”
egs of the
not have
tackle. It
gether and
in a flail-
‘or support
it did not
d a quick
move was
1. Many, it
a motion
Hollywood
e intersec-
“Some-
mynd swore,
oen with a
dit rose to
: ai the
er
grasp. The
ly, but the
ondering it
d had ex-
cramble of
us partner
the corner,
ed through
Deputy Perman Calderwood, shown here
in fiesta garb, tackled the two gunmen.
However, he failed to see a_ knife.
the more than five-score persons who
had gathered.
They had gone but a few steps when
the intrepid Krause was upon them
again. Once more the trio went down
in a struggling mass and this time the
bag of silver exploded, sending a foun-
tain of coins arching over the crowd.
Krause straddled the blond man, one
hand at the windpipe, the other cov-
ering the mouth. The hoodlum clamped
his teeth on the merchant’s right index
finger, almost severing it. Screaming in
pain, Krause tightened his strangle
hold and the finger was released. On
his knees ‘the second bandit gouged at
Krause’s eyes, but still the plucky little
storekeeper refused to quit. Still the
crowd refused to react, except for one
slender, red-haired young woman,
This killer's resemblance to an. ex-
con almost won him freedom. But a
probation officer's memory was good.
Elizabeth Hood, who had arrived on
the scene a moment before and realized
at once she was not witnessing a movie
shot.
Heedless of her safety, Miss Hood
pushed her way to the struggling men,
and flailed at the dark man with her
oversize purse.
The hoodlum snarled something un-
intelligible and, with a sweep of his
arm, sent the woman and her pack-
ages sprawling back into the crowd.
She got to her feet just as Deputy
Sheriff Perman Calderwood arrived.
The. officer, a handsome young man,
out of uniform and enroute home from
his duties downtown, scrambled from
his car and broke through the ring of on-
lookers. He didn’t need Krause’s pleas
to tell him this was no scene for a film.
One slayer had tried his hand at
acting. He never got any place, but
he almost fooled the investigators.
He flashed his snub-nosed Colt .45
and wrapped a powerful left hand
about the older hoodlum’s coat collar.
The latter came to his feet as though
lifted by a crane.
Calderwood had already spotted the
‘scattered silver. He spun the bandit
around, and glanced down at the other
thug spraddled by Krause.
“You birds resemble the Rattlesnake
Bandits. Not a bad Christmas present.
I’m putting the cuffs on you. You're
coming with me.”
With the Colt transferred to his left
hand, the deputy reached for the man-
acles hung at his belt. Tragically, Cal-
derwood had failed to notice the
long-bladed dagger his prisoner: held.
As his fingers touched the handcuffs,
the knife swung upward. Calderwood
didn’t have a chance. The blade cut
through his clothes as though they
were made of tissue and buried itself
in the heart. The deputy sank to his
knees as the knife was withdrawn. He
was already dead. With an epithet, the
killer sank the weapon in Calderwood’s
back, this time making no effort to
retrieve it. The force of the thrust
sent the lifeless body skidding toward
the corner of the building, face down-
ward, the left hand still clutching the
unfired Colt.
Several women screamed as_ the
spectators fell back in fast-spreading
panic. The killer strode toward his
confederate, aiming a _ kick which
caught Krause in the side of the head
and landed him flat on his back. The
blond staggered to his feet, gasping
for air.
“Let—let’s get out of here,” he
pleaded. .
“Not till I take care of this smart
guy first.” He (Continued on page 55)
Henry Krause lived after being shot
with this gun. But the man who came
to assist him was stabbed to death.
39
ike in Kitty?
Hey, not
sergeant was
Watshing the
utenant sang
nt nothing to
alter when
the eleventh
idina.
a condemned
he straps of
juice is on.
g up the re-
Provo had
was lighting
in and the
Lieutenant
ina did the
had jabbed
isoner fur-
is cell. Then
0 interview
ly, 39-year-
with Provo
18 months,”
ention until
ed. Then I
me, though
nd he said
e for me. I
e and tried
burst into
he n
wil
t, th
ft he said
lice.
st because
from his
> had been
nly spoof-
ameless in
n to Hyde
it, she was
u out of
ntion you.
rassment.”
u covered
ou killed
to marry
e a strong
about the
that the
1 trial for
men and
of Judge
his claim
lent. The
a cold--
tion, the
99 years
Ss law, he
66 years.
brter Pe-
ork. The
bd to the
Two for the Gallows
(Continued from page 39)
took a step toward the prostrate Krause,
but again Miss Hood intervened, throwing
herself at the killer.
Finally Gets I+
The gunman’s free hand caught the girl
under the chin. “I-ought to give it to you
too, babe!” For an instant the man’s re-
volver slanted ‘down at the horrified
woman, then swung in a bluish arc to-
ward the bleeding Krause.
“Okay, brave guy,” the gunman said.
“You asked for it and now you're getting
it... but good!”
The gun coughed and Henry Krause
rolled slowly over on his side, shot through
the stomach.
The squad cars arrived to find their
quarry gone and a milling crowd con-
fused about even the direction in which
the killer fled.
Captain Frank Condaffer, running the
night homicide trick downtown, received
the news by telephone. The Rattlesnake
Bandits were no novelty to him, but the
Calderwood slaying represented their de-
but into the big time. And if Krause didn’t
make it, as appeared likely, it would be a
bloody beginning indeed.
Condaffer, like every veteran crime bus-
ter, knew that once a man killed he was
doubly dangerous; a slayer could only be
hanged once.
Condaffer issued an all-points alarm,
sealing off every possible outlet from the
sprawling city. Appended to it was the
warning: At the least sign of resistance,
shoot to kill!
But the big job was at the scene of the
crime. Assigned that chore were four
top sleuths; Inspector of Detectives David
A. Davidson, subsequently to become Los
Angeles’ chief of police, and Detective
Lieutenants William Baggott, Joe P. Filkas
and Frank E. Ryan.
As was to be expected, witnesses to the
gunplay had differing accounts to tell, but
the investigators quickly put together a
fairly-accurate composite. Clues were few.
The cylinder had fallen from the blond
hoodlum’s revolver; the dagger, scheduled
to be removed from Calderwood’s back at
the morgue for examination by the crime
laboratory; the bullet in Krause’s middle,
for which surgeons at the emergency hos-
pital were even then probing.
It was pretty Elizabeth Hood, still suffer-
ing shock from her brush with the gun-
men, who again came forward to help.
Held gingerly in her hand between thumb
and forefinger was a brown, smooth-
grained leather billfold that had seen con-
siderable wear. The girl explained it had
fallen from the pocket of the dark bandit
as he fled down Ninth Street.
“Good girl,” Davidson said, regarding
her with approval. Carefully, lest he de-
stroy latent prints, the inspector went
. through the contents. There was a $5 bill,
which meant the holdup men were still in
possession of the $24 in currency taken
from Krause. There were several three-
cent stamps and a frayed snapshot of a
readily-recognizable Los Angeles cafe,
robbed less than a week before by the
Rattlesnake pair.
But what caught Davidson’s interest were
two folded receipts, each made out re-
cently to “William Arrington.” One car-
ried the name of a Los Angeles clothing
establishment which had sold Arrington
a suit. The buyer's address was legibly
written, a residence in the 700 block on
South Bixel Street. The second receipt,
that of an electrical firm, was for a small
radio. No address appeared here.
The billfold and revolver cylinder were
sent on to the crime lab, and Davidson,
with the three lieutenants, sped the rela-
tively short distance to Bixel Street. Their
hopes were promptly deflated. Arrington
was not known at the address—a large*
apartment house—nor did his description
mean anything.
“I was afraid of that,” Davidson ad-
mitted. “Probably the name is phony.”
“Now what?” Filkas asked. “The other
receipt has even less to goon.”
“Might as well follow it up. Hop in.”
The electrical appliance shop on Broad-
way was closed, but Davidson reached the
store owner by phone. His report was not
encouraging.
“We don’t always record a customer’s
address, especially if he takes the mer-
chandise with him,” the man said. “Who
made the sale?”
“How would I know that?”
“What is the number in the little box
at the top of the receipt?”
“Number four.”
“That would be Paul Warren. I’ll give
you his phone number. Maybe he can
help you.
Warren could not recall the transaction
until Davidson mentioned that Arrington
might have been accompanied by a tall
blond man.
“You're in luck,” the salesman said. “I
delivered that radio in person and I’ve got
the address here somewhere. It’s a room-
ing house.” Warren was soon back with a
number on Westlake Avenue, in the south-
west Los Angeles district. ;
A trifle more optimistic about their
chances, the quartet paid a visit to the
elderly rooming house manager, who con-
sulted her books and reported that Wil-
liam Arrington and his friend, Robert
O’Neill, had been roomers for a brief period
but had checked out with their wives on
December 2.
Neither couple had left a forwarding
address and the manager was uncertain
what type transportation they had used.
They possessed no automobile.
“They had no car and they move often,”
Davidson summed up for his men. “Prob-
ably travel plenty light. Let’s see if we
can find a hackie who moved these birds.”
It was shortly after 11 o’clock when a
canvass of th2 taxi companies turned up
a cabbie whose records of December 2
showed he had transported the two couples
and their belongings to an apartment house
on West Sixth Street.
Davidson phoned Condaffer and filled
him in. The latter expressed his approval,
adding that the murder knife, the gun
cylinder, the billfold and Krause’s store
had all failed to yield fingerprints.
Close In On Apartment
“In other words,” Condaffer continued,
“it’s up to you boys. Keep me posted; I’ll
stand by around the clock. And remember:
Play: it safe. They’re killers.”
“By the way,” Davidson inquired. “How’s
Krause doing?”
“That man’s got an iron constitution. He
should be dead but he’s the only one who
doesn’t know it. Darned if I don’t think
he'll pull through.”
Little was said by the four investigators
on the ride uptown. All shared the same
thought. Had the suspects copped an-
other sneak and checked into a new
hideout?
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38
couldn’t print what these L. A. flatfeet
are calling us. We’re driving ’em nuts.
Like I say, it’s all in playing it smart.
Case a spot good, time everything to
the second, then skip in a hot car. You
can’t beat that combination. Three
quarters of the birds in stir wouldn’t
be there if they had our kind of.
brains.”
As if to punctuate his statement, the
lights in the bottle shop winked out.
Playing the part of last-minute cus-
tomers, the bandits entered the estab-
lishment just as the slender, mild-
mannered merchant, eager to count up
the day’s take and head homeward,
turned to lock the doors.
Krause sensed. the truth instantly,
even before the pair of revolvers
Detective Lieutenant William Bag-
gott was one of four officers who
moved in on the desperate twosome.
"Nobody went past me," Detective
Lieutenant J. P. Filkas insisted
after one of the suspects fled.
This bottle supply house looked
like a cinch for the Rattlesnake
Bandits. But the owner was tough.
backed up familiar words: “This is a
stickup!”” Without being asked he
raised his arms high above him.
“Get those hands down before I plug
you, smart guy,” the. dark-haired
hoodlum barked. “Okay, into the back
and stay there. And don’t poke your
head out unless you want a hole in it.”
Krause hesitated nd the blond
struck him a vicious blow in the kid-
ney which sent the proprietor stagger-
ing.
The gunmen operated without waste
motion. The robbery was ticking off
on schedule; only a few seconds of
the brief minute they had allotted
themselves had been squandered on
preliminaries. While the blond stood
watch inside the front ‘entrance, the
other cleaned the register of $24 in
currency. Perhaps an additional $30 in
silver cascaded into a paper sack which
he shoved angrily into a pocket. Then
he went into the back room and
brought the butt end ,of his revolver
down heavily upon Krause’s head.
The hapless prisoner slipped to one
knee, but came up bleeding and reel-
ing.
Refuses To Quit
A murderous fury boiled-in the ban-
dit’s eyes. “You got exactly five sec-
onds to spill where you keep the rest
of the jack. Start talking . . .”
“But you took it all,” Krause insisted.
“That’s all there is. I can’t produce
something I don’t have, even if you
kill me.”
“Okay, Ill oblige you.” The lips
thinned in a long, vengeful line. “Mer-
ry Christmas, sap!”
But abruptly from the front of the
_store came the blond’s urgent voice. -
“Time’s up. Let’s get rolling. . . .”
Indecision gripped the man in the
back, but after a second he pocketed
the revolver. Then, deliberately, he
swung at the store owner, catching him
“ea tr pipe? am md rae
Wars, | FRO DELILE |< per Olinmunn, 4358 |
aiwecgiann HOPS
squarely in the mouth and sending him
sprawling.
Krause was a brave man and a dur-
able one. He pulled himself to his feet
and swayed toward the front of the
store just as the door closed on the
' bandits. Outside, in the lighted streets
among the crowds, he would have a
. better chance.
He saw the stickup men less than
five feet away, walking leisurely
toward Ninth Street. Once they reached
the corner, Krause knew, their pace
would quicken and they would be lost’
forever.
The shopkeeper did two things simul-
taneously. He shouted, “Help! Police!”
and flung himself at the legs of the
bandits.
A veteran fullback could not have
executed a more effective tackle. It
brought both men down together and
in an instant all three were in a flail-
ing, tangled heap.
' But if Krause had hoped for support
from the Christmas crowds, it did not
come. The shoppers formed a quick
circle about the men but no move was
made to lend Krause a hand. Many, it
was learned later, believed a motion
picture was being made. Hollywood
was less than a mile from the intersec-
tion:
- “Police!” Krause gasped.
body .. . get the police!”
‘Tll police. you,” the blond swore,
and laid the victim’s face open with a
swipe of his gun. The bandit rose to
one knee and took deliberate aim at the
sprawling storekeeper, but the latter
kicked the weapon out of his grasp. The
gunman retrieved it instantly, but the
cylinder had fallen free, rendering it
useless.
“Some-
Meanwhile the other hood had ex-~
tricated himself from the scramble of
legs and arms. He pulled his partner
erect they hurried toward the corner,
voicing threats as they pushed through
Krause’
storekee
crowd 1
slender,
x Sn |
HUDSON, William & @*NEILL, Rebert, whs, hanged Folsom (LA) Oct. 25919345
PE er A pe nemenertei were eee:
7 A plucky girl and «
BY BERT MURRAY
Christmas and every one of Los Angeles’ 400-odd
square miles was dressed for the occasion.
The traffic was heavier than usual and the package-
burdened shoppers moved slowly from store to store,
attracted by the familiar invitations spelled out in
tinsel and lights and bright trappings.
Unaffected by the display, two men loitered at the
corner of Ninth and Vermont, waiting for the precise
moment when the windows would go dark in the store
they had singled out. They had cased the place for
days and knew the pattern followed by Henry Krause,
the owner. A large sign over the windows read, “Bear
Malt & Bottle Supply House, We Buy Direct And Sell
For Less.” Bottles were much in demand this time of
year; Krause would be well heeled. :
They were tall men, hatless and neatly dressed, but
viewed closely there was too much to recommend
them. The dark-haired one was about 24, a loose-
[’ WAS THE twenty-second. Three more days until
(FRONT PAGE, Octeber 1949
jointed individual. with a jutting Adam’s apple and
a. cruel mouth. Plainly he was dangerous. His com-
panion was cut off the same piece of goods, but younger
by one or two years, with protruding eyes and teeth
and a severely pitted face. His hair was muddy blond.
Both wore their overcoat collars turned up against the
chill.
“Remember,” the older man warned. “The second
those lights fade, we move. The street’s loaded with
people and .if our timing’s off, we’re in trouble. One
minute is all we give ourselves inside the joint.”
The other nodded. “Ninth job this month. Not bad.”
“Yeah. We been doing okay. And no reason why we
don’t make it an even dozen before all that heavy
holiday sugar disappears.”
The blond approved. “I like the way the papers call
us the ‘Rattlesnake Bandits;’ never know where we'll
strike next.” .
The older one allowed himself a tight smile. “You
Wo lor the Gallows
robbery
stroit. He
jer, right,
for trial.
Angeles women
vut of sight com-
ain spot, like an
ing searcher gets
Dunlap and re-
ud sheriffs, from
-puties were ad-
iw and bring him
live, :
superior, Sheriff
nge his methods
; has become so
hanging over his
ra while. Maybe
ps downtown, or
-s in the outlying
Dunlap ‘is pretty. .
Brown. Reports»
te he made any
ke. He spends'a §~
t, and my idea is.
-—_
for gambling
on Dunlap’s -
part helped
the police in
tracing him.
he ‘will go out after bigger money than most couples might
provide in a holdup.”
This contention seemed reasonable and the idea was conveyed
to Los Angeles police. Both the sheriff and police redoubled
their officers in sections where a business or branch ‘bank or
sub-postoffice might nrake a holdup profitable.
Then to refute the idea the police were working on, Ray
Durke was held up and slugged just as he was getting into his
automodile and his cash and car were taken while Durke fell
insensible in the street from a wicked blow from a sap. Again
there was no trouble in identifying his assailant as Dunlap. .“I
gota good look at him when he flashed his badge,” Durke told
police. “That’s the man (indicating Dunlap’s picture). Then he
just hauled off and hit me and that’s all I know.” :
“Well, Dunlap evidently threw away the Brown murder gun
on his way here. He hasn’t had money to buy another one. That’s
why you weren't shot,” an officer told Durke. “Now he has a car
and money too, so we can look for anything.”
Halloween passed, and Thanksgiving Day, and just a few
weeks before Christmas, on December 1, 1923, away out in the
isolated West Adams district a dapper young man walked into
the Adams Branch Bank and walked boldly up to the cashier,
“Hand it over,” he said, indicating several piles of currency in
the cage, and he held a revolver steadily through the brass
grating, pointed directly at the cashier. “Why, you're
Harry...” the startled cashier began to shout when he saw the
man before him so closely resembled a killer’s picture he had
seen in his morning paper. But he didn’t get any further. “None
of that,” the robber said, and thrust the gun forward. “Keep
quiet and pass me the money,” and there was nothing the cashier,
whose half-cry had gone unnoticed, could do but comply with
the order.
The alarm was given as the man grabbed the money and
ran from the bank and jumped into a car at the curb and gassed
the running motor as he shifted into gear. Not far from the bank
half a dozen highways in various directions run to and from
' the beach towns of Venice and Ocean Park and the police search
of these thoroughfares that was instituted immediately failed of
result. The robber made a clean get-away. Little consolation
seemed to be gained from the fact that the bankrobber was
quickly identified as Harry J. Dunlap.
Now Dunlap had nearly two thousand dollars in cash to help
in his getaway, and if he chose to lay low and pay for silence
there seemed. little chance of his being caught until his money
was gone and he was again forced to rob. But Dunlap’s past
record revealed no dearth of action since the fake suicide episode
when he had left Southern, California for a short time. Vigilance
was not relaxed but the wanted man appeared to lead a charmed
life in another world for he was as hard to lay hands upon as a
wraith.
On January 4, 1924, police added another Dunlap identifica-
tion to their huge folio ‘of the one-man-crime-wave reports.
Milton Jacobson started to protest when a young man yanked
open the door of his car on Foothill boulevard in Pasadena, and
shoved a gun in his ribs, and said, “Give me your money and
get out.” The direct order was accompanied by a brutal
‘ thrust of the gun and when Jacobson resisted he was shot
dead. Another discarded wallet, found on the Ridge Route,
seventeen miles east of Pasadena, and clearly marked finger-
prints on Jacobson’s abandoned car, [Continued on page 63]
53
\
Dunlap gained was just a whit of dif-
ference in the close surveillance accorded
him, and he took advantage of that.
A few days before Thanksgiving, 1927,
a vicious mutiny broke out in Folsom
and for two entire days every part of the
prison was literally in a state of siege.
Only unusual preparedness and the great
efficiency of the guard and alarm system
prevented a wholesale prison break.
When the mutiny was quelled Dunlap
and five convicts who had shared in the
1925 L. A. County Jail break attempt
with him, were the last to surrender.
They were overpowered by the then
newly acquired tear gas, and all of them
including Dunlap, spent weeks in soli-
tary, manacled and chained, and lived
on the minimum of prison fare.
YP his release from solitary con-
finement Dunlap became a somewhat
subdued prisoner, but he was never given
any privileges. He became just a part of
the prison, like a steel cell, or the out-
side wall, or the machine gun emplace-
ments guards occupied.
He wasn’t considered as a human
being because his own acts had put him
beyond the pale.
In 1935 through Los Angeles attorneys
Dunlap made a serious effort to obtain
parole. Through the earnest efforts of
Eugene Biscailuz, by this time Los
* Angeles Sheriff, this parole was denied
in April 1935 and it was felt that Dun-
lap had ceased being: a menace,
Then, on January 2, 1942, this prisoner,
still considered one of the most .vicious
criminals ever confined in Folsom which
houses only the worst recidivists, was
transferred under extra heavy guard to
the Mendicino Prison Hospital where he
could be under even closer guard, and in
less crowded quarters than Folsom
afforded.
Police departments and sheriffs and
officials at Folsom felt some sense of
relief when Dunlap was safely confined
in Mendicino. There were relatively more
guards there, and only a comparatively
few inmates, and it seemed logical to
believe that Harry Dunlap wouldn’t leave
until bier bearers carried him out feet
first.
At Mendicino Harry Dunlap met a
callous young killer named Richard
Curts, Curts hadn’t used a gun. He had
used a hammer and a pair of sharp shears
and a wire garrote when he killed a
young boy named Billy Williams in
August 1939, not far from his home in
Montrose, California.
Young Curts, and Harry Dunlap, al-
most three times the youthful slayer’s
age, became friends and close compan-
ions, during every minute of the time
when it was possible for them to be
together.
Harry said to the boy, “Kid, I’m go-
ing to take you out with me when I go;
watch your step so you don’t get re-
stricted.”
“You mean escape?” Curts questioned
the old fellow eagerly but could get no
definite information, for old as he was,
and as long imprisoned, Dunlap still pos-
sessed a keen criminal mind and one of
64
; 43 want
N COL ORAD ) some years a
_& man was found dead in his 6
“Site had been : shot through the head
“with ‘a revolver. Upon first examina-
‘tion the police were inclined to be-' !
“lieve that this was an open. and shut, :
oh |
ae of suicide, |
This was borne ae by” ‘the testi
“mony of the only witness’ who’ oe
peared to have any knowledge of the ” a
affair. This witness explained to-the
‘police that the victim had been —
’ killed by a revolver which had fallen: i
‘from the position it occupied above
‘ «athe bed where the victim had slept.
But this story did not satisfy’ the.
“detective who had been assigned to ” i
handle the case. Carefully examining |
“all the evidence surrounding the vic
* tim’s death, he made some amazin
x deductions. sich,
— He first observed that the face of”
the dead man was pitted and tattooed ©
ith powder marks. This clearly inti)
cated that the ‘weapon had: been ~;
“in close proximity to the victim when. aio
& had been, discharged. 0. sag!
4. He'next made further note of hel
“peculiar. positions’ of the powder:
‘marks (,which were . concentrated:
saround. the! border of the forehead,
‘and the outsidé rim of the face, +i%
Na
These apparently trivial observa: M4
“tions *<nevertheless'_ raised sin’ the#
i detective’ 8 mind some pernliag ques="
(tions. hu3¥ es ioe eh
He asked inisell how it was ‘pos-
sible for the outside edge of the fa os
to be ‘thus ‘tattooed with’ ‘powder #
- stains while. the eyes and center of
‘the face were unmarked. He rea-
-soned that the central portion of the: teh
_dead man’s face was clean because it
‘chad been protected. It then naturally
followed that the face was protected
because: the murdered man had Pubs
up his hands to protect his face wh en)
he saw the murderer’ about: to’ ill. xv
him. If this’ assumption was ‘correct’? ie
then. the backs of: the dead: man’s: (
hands should bear the. powder. stains, on
_ which would have’ been on his face
This proved to be.the case, and th
~ man who had been: so glib in: ex-’
plaining the man’s death, was con
‘victed of his. murder,,, ean
ony WA
Ne Roe et nie
the first cautions of a crook i is, “Neyer bitte
trust nobody.”
Harry had the young fellow steal oara :
blankets to make dummy bed figures when
the escape time came. He had him keep
a careful check on which guards went
in and out of the clothes-and-laundry ‘
room where Harry worked. Even under
the watchful eyes of the guards these
two schemed and hoped and planned to
escape, but Curts never knew of any of
the details until the zero hour came, '
Jack Harris, alias Alfred Alvore, was
brought into Mendicino from Folsom,
where he had been a close companion of
Dunlap. He soon found opportunity to be
alone with the crafty, hardened old out-
law, and the first words Harry Dunlap
said were, “Did you bring ’em?”
“Sure I brought ’em. I told you I
would,” Harris replied.
“How did you get ’em in?”
“Jeez, you know damn well they strip
you naked coming from Folsom and they .
strip you naked coming in here.
brought ’em in, You don’t think I stuck
‘em up my nose, do you?”
“All right. All right, let’s have ’em
and I'll get to work. You and Red will
have to help me though.”
Harris retired for a few moments and
when: he, sidled into the clothes*.and
laundry room he handed Dunlap half a
dozen, fine, tool-steel hack saws, wrapped
in waxed paper, that he had brought into
prison with him concealed in his body.
With the three working separate
shifts, steadily, and an hour or so at a
time when no guards were around, it
did not take long to saw through half a
dozen stéel bars that were all that stood .
en these killers and the free. ‘out-
side
Their escape plans bore fruit quickly,
and their hopes were not in vain. Just
three days after the war ended, on the
night of August 18, 1945, when a let-
down from wartime tenseness had re-
laxed everyone in the prison, the three
killers softly made their way to the
laundry room, pulled aside the severed
bars, and quickly climbed out the window
and made their way across the sean \
and over the wall and were free!
T WAS not ‘until afterwards, that
the escape was discovered. ‘A> sus-
picious guard saw, or felt, something
wrong with three of the sleeping figures
under his charge and when he investi-
gated, found the dummy blankets. Warn- ~
ing bells rang and bright lights went on,
and a check showed Harry Dunlap, Jack... §
Harris and Richard Curts missing.
Instantly then the escape news was . ist
broadcast. Powerful radio stations put. >=.
the messages on the air. Dispatcher
Lloyd Smith, operating Sheriff Biscai- ;
luz’ station KQBV in Los Angeles
alerted a thousand cars through: his
station and his monitors, Southern Cali- <
fornia, Nevada, Arizona, and New Mexi- )
co quickly wakened to: the / ‘ escape . hy
broadcasts.
Northern California highways ‘were
crowded with speeding police cars. Will-
o’-the-Wisp Dunlap was on the loose
again after nearly twenty-five years and
along w
who ha
might e
Jack
Francis:
tried to
Curts a
is back
term, \
are mei
Shei
with hi
in the
‘Dunlar
where,
had en,
hours
doned
the \\
more |
force.
youn;
the st
them
coupl:
little
Puen
phon
stopp:
mort
The)
Harr
the fr
her v
A\
street
her b:
Polic:
filche:
as an
into t!
he &
searc!
It
wer
samc
* noon
fellow
39th
fello\
goin;
into
befor
hanc
won:
Shx
Ror
she °
she «
\
led down, then
ficate. The next
‘aul a load of
rave, and said
uly whole fam-'
He was gone
bt
‘right said that
a man of light
‘ and fifty-five
nve, :
‘Ss you, Slim,”
| drily. “Where
ce Friday ?”
e left the farm
vith a gun, and
0 go to Tobins-
boat and rowed’
here they met:
‘rs blindfolded
iutomobile. He
‘ht near Clover-
1é men warned
’ until Sunday . '
e spent Sunday
Cloverport, and ,
: boat and re-
ore. Then he
n he knew and
. Instead, this
‘nother, fellow 7 ~
the other ~
_.. in cahoots,
sttled and get
the hill,”
iff ejaculated,
Miss Martin.” :
for money ?”
‘that, too. He
EI railroad
v miles down
dlet contain-
bills. With
“he woman’s
hich she was
and-bull tale
y a moronic
‘re unable to
to the Van-
: Evansville,
killed Alice
the electric
omething I 4
is they took
‘vansville to
ier, Chief of
vergeant Al-
juizzed him
2 wild story
. Reasoning
e short on
se,
the truth,
-e identical
Miss Mar-
e,” Morris
“ming two
it if you
iad never seen : ~
“«
- y
were drunk at the time it might make a
difference to a jury.”
“Just answer me one question,” Felker
said, “‘Were you sober or were you drunk
when you did it?”
Wright took the bait. “I was drunk,”
he said,
The joker was that neither the club
nor the knife used in the killing had been
found, But it was anger over the unpaid
debt of $2.75 that had motivated the mur-
der, Wright admitted. Callously then,
without the saving grace of remorse, he
confessed.
“T had been drinking heavily for two
or three months. On the night of January
25 I went to her home, arriving at about
‘eight o’clock. I saw her coming from the
barn, carrying a lantern and a pail .of
milk; ;
“T had a club in my hand that I had
picked up; so I walked up to her and de-
manded my money. She put the lantern
on the ground. ‘Get to hell out of here or
‘ I'll shoot you,’ she told me.
~
“T batted her over the head with the ;
club and continued to bop her as she fell
to the ground. Then I took ‘out my pen-
knife and cut her throat. She didn’t make
a sound after I hit her. . .
clinched the identification against Dun-
lap. Dunlap became America’s No.
wanted man. Besides the one-thousand-
dollar Examiner reward, other rewards
‘ totaling a consjderable sum had been of-
fered by various police departments and
by relatives of some of Dunlap’s victims.
But out of Pasadena the trail grew cold
again. A man answering Dunlap’s de-
scription was seen in a cheap hotel in
. San Diego but he wasn’t there when po-
lice cAlled and they got no information of
value from the inmates of the place who
lived under the protection of an outside
sign that read, “No Girls Working
Here.” No intimate of Harry Dunlap
could be located, nor anyone who might
have helped him in the spending of his
murderously acquired wealth.
After the non-productive San Diego
tip a nebulous trail led eastward, slowly,
from town to town, and state to state, but
no one actually put the finger on Dunlap.
Early in July he was seen crossing
the International bridge from Juarez,
Mexico, into El Paso.
Immediately the news became known
to police a house-to-house search was in-
stituted, and in that labyrinth of streets
that divide and scatter throughout El
Paso beyond thé bridge no dwelling or
store or hotel or rooming house was left
unsearched, but Dunlap was not found.
Police however, from a Mexican rou-
lette dealer in Juarez, were furnished
with a lead that indicated Canada as a
possible objective for Dunlap. Dunlap
“I was pretty drunk, so I went into the
house to sober up. After a couple of hours
I went out again, got a shovel and -
grubbin’ hoe and dug a shallow grave
about two hundred yards from where I
killed her. Then I -half-dragged, half-
carried her there, -throwed the body in
and covered it with dirt,
“It was after midnight by then. I tried
to sleep, but didn’t sleep much. The next
morning I hauled a load of manure to the
grave to hide the fresh dirt. . . .”
Wright's statement, signed in the pres-
ence of officers, termed the story he had
told to the sheriff of Perry County a
“myth.” ’
While the killer was being questioned
at Evansville, more than five hundred
people were attending Miss Martin’s
funeral at Cannelton. She was buried by
the side of her father and mother in a
cemetery near Derby.
Wright was indicted for murder, and
his trial opened in the Perry County
Circuit Court, at Cannelton, on March
21, in a packed courtroom.
A jury of nine farmers, a school
teacher, a merchant, and a_ factory
worker, were selected to try the case. An
‘ able attorney from Rockport had been
was an inveterate gambler. This was
probably his chief reason for chancing
recognition by going to Juarez and then
having to undergo the U. S. Customs sur-
veillance upon his return. In California
many police tips leading toward Dunlap’s
capture had come from gambling house
habitues, and from the Juarez gambler
police learned that Dunlap had been lucky
at roulette and had presented the croupier
with a fifty-dollar bill from his winnings,
remarking, “Just wait till I hit some of
those joints in Montreal.”
It was a small, chance remark, but
might mean something.
July 8, 1924, the trail of the killer was
so hot that the ink was hardly dry on the
register at a Detroit hotel when three
burly detectives rapped on “Harry Gor-
don’s” door, and after a short wait were
told to “Come in,” They went in and they
held guns on Dunlap while one of them
handcuffed him.
* There wasn’t much drama in his arrest.
Just the ‘finish of a long, gruelling police
hunt that had never slackened for nearly
two years. Not much drama but they got
what they had been looking for. They
had Harry Dunlap.
Los Angeles officers were notified im-
mediately, Sheriff Traeger wired back a
full copy of the indictments against Dun-
lap. California’s governor signed the
necessary extradition papers and Under-
sheriff Biscailuz and Deputy Sheriff
Frank Deward went East by train to
bring Dunlap back. Representatives of
Will-o’-the-Wisp Dunlap
[Continued from page 53]
chosen by Judge Oscar C. Minor to de-
fend Wright. Nix and three deputy prose-
cutors were prepared for a court battle,
as they had learned that Wright intended -
to refute his confession and try to estab-
lish an alibi.
The prisoner was visibly upset when
the victim’s bloody clothing was ex-
hibited by Nix during his opening state-
ment. Later, Wright took the stand to
deny the murder charge and refute his
confession. He claimed that a showman
from the East, named “Jack,” committed
the crime,
On March 23, 1934, the jury found
Wright guilty of first degree murder,
after a short deliberation. Five days later
the judge sentenced him to life imprison-
ment in the Indiana State Prison, at
Michigan City.
“T’ve told several lies in this case, but
I didn’t kill Alice Martin,” Wright told
all who would listen.
Alice is dead. But there are those there
in Thunderland who say that even now,
when night mists cloak the valley and
winds sweep through the woodlands,
from that towering cliff a ghost voice can
still be heard raging as it did that cold
night in January twelve years ago.
the Los Angeles Examiner paid over the
promised reward and this was divided
among the several officers who had been
instrumental in capturing Dunlap.
On the 25th of August, 1924, Judge
Joe Crail sentenced Dunlap to two life
sentences to run consecutively, and to
two hundred and eighty years additional
time upon seven other counts for which
he received forty years each. The court’s
judgment that all sentences were to run
consecutively precluded any chance of
Dunlap’s release through legal means.
There were other means of release,
however, thought Dunlap, and in No-
vember, 1925, with appeals still pending,
he planned and partially executed a mob
escape from the Los Angeles county jail.
His plans however had not taken into
account the. bevy of undercover deputies
placed on duty by Undersheriff Biscailuz,
and this effort to effect his escape failed
dismally.
He was sent to Folsom penitentiary.
- He was tough and he was treated tough.
He sought escape by legal means. All
appeals were denied on January 8, 1926.
He asked for freedom again that year in
October on a writ of habeas corpus, but
an adamant court denied the plea.
Harry Dunlap lost his bravado and his
vader brutal spirit and became docile
and disciplined. That’s what his guards
thought, and the prison officials and
gradually restrictions over Dunlap were
lessened. Folsom hasn’t any “easy” spots,
nor “soft” jobs for convicts. ‘About all
63
Snyder said that her throat had been
cut after she was already dead, otherwise
her clothing would have been sprayed
with blood. The first of the blows had
caused death, he told officers.
I should say. The
body has kept well, due to freezing tem-
erature.”
Voges congratulated t
for their good work in find ng naph e body.
murderer and mentioned Wri
chief suspect.
as he thought he had seen the suspect,
whom he “knew slightly, walking in th
hills about two miles back of the cliff
home that morning.
“T doubt if he’s that close,” Voges said.
““But there are places in those hills where
he could hide in a two-acre patch and not
be found if we all combed it.”
iv APPEARED that the quarrel with
the woman over the wrecked wagon
had provided the motive for the mur-
der. She had ordered him off the farm at
the time and had given him a severe
tongue-lashing.
“You'll pay dear for this,’ so Miss
Martin had told a friend that Wright had
said at the time. Apparently it was no
idle threat.
The officers were kept busy Saturday
night, investigating rumors. One was
that a man answering Wright’s descrip-
tion had been seen on Poison Creek,
armed with a shotgun and headed toward
the scene of the murder.
Considerable uneasiness gripped the
countryside, and squirrel rifles and shot-
guns were kept loaded and near at hand.
Questioned again, Badger told the
sheriff that he became suspicious of
Wright when his step-brother started
selling Miss Martin’s chickens, and that
he left the ledge soon afterwards. The
sheriff said that he believed the boy in-
nocent, but continued to hold him as a
material witness.
The alarm went out by radio for the
arrest of Wright. It described him as:
‘“.. . Talland slender, six feet one
and weighing 155 or less. He is
light complexioned, with brown hair
and a rough appearance. When las
seen he was wearing a cap, overafs
and a sheepskin coat.”
Practically everything poyhted to
Wright as the killer. Howey€r, one re-
port appeared to lend credence to the
oft-repeated rumor thaf/ some enemy
from out of the womayr’s past had mur-
dered her.
A schoolteacher said that he had seen
an automobile bearing out-of-state license
plates traveling at high speed from
the. Martin farm neighborhood on Feb-
ruary 3,
Several reports came in that Wright
had been seen Sunday morning near
Tobinsport, twelve miles up the river
from Cannelton, and the sheriff detailed
62
six deputies to search the rugged wooded
hills around that riverport town and in
Kentucky around Cloverport.
Another step-brother of the suspect
lived at Tobinsport. He was not at home,
but the ferryman told the officers that
this man and two others whom he did not
know had crossed on the ferry from
Cloverport that morning, He had seen
the step-brother and one of the men
around later, but the other had dis-
appeared.
Then, early Monday morning, a
Tobinsport man whom Voges knew came
into the sheriff’s office, accompanied by
a tall, raw-boned man of thirty-two.
“This guy asked me to bring him in
here, Sheriff.”
“T heard you was lookin’ for me,” the
tall man said.
~ “You heard right, ‘Slim’,” Voges told
han. “Why did you kill Alice Martin?”
“didn’t,” Wright said. ““That’s what
1 wart to talk to you about.”
“T’ll wet the prosecutor,” the sheriff
said grinily; “then you can start talking,
and it had better be good.”
Wright told the officers that the killer |
I to prison’ for removing money ©
from a corpse was set frge when he*.,
appealed jhis case. the Georgia |
Supreme” Court: rule d that, ‘Since
pally ‘possess.
mot legally Be .
of Miss Margin intended to return and,
through a Aaked marriage certificate,
claim titlefto the woman’s one hundred
and fiftyAcre bottom farm.
\
“When he shows up, you can nab him.”
“Just who is this man?” Voges asked
skeptically.
ySome guy named ‘Jack’ ; he’s from the
ast.”
According to Wright, when he went
to the hill home on Tuesday, January 23,
he found the stranger there witlr Alice. -
On Thursday night, at about eight
o’clock, the man went to the barn with
her, to milk the cows.
“As they were coming back, I heard
them quarrelin’, and heard Miss Alice
swear and call the man a liar.”
‘Wright said that the stranger struck
the woman, and that when he went to
help her the man threatened him with a
gun. Then, while he looked on, the
stranger clubbed Miss Martin and
slashed her throat.
“What with ?” the sheriff asked.
“Probably my penknife,” Wright said;
“It’s been missin’ since that night, an’
he must have swiped it.”
Wright said that the man forced him
to dig a hole and bury the victim, holding
a gun on him all the time.
“He told me he intended to move the
body after everything cooled down, then
get a false marriage certificate. The next
morning he.made me haul a load of
manure and cover the grave, and said
that he would kill me and my whole fam-
ily if I snitched on him. He was gone
when I got back to the house.”
Sticking to‘his story, Wright said that
the mysterious slayer was a man of light
complexion, one hundred/and fifty-five
pounds, and about thirty/five.
“That about descrjbes you, Slim,”
the prosecutor commented drily, “Where
have you been hidipg since Friday?” .
Wright said thaf after he left the farm -
he met another stranger with a gun, and
that this man f@rced him to go to Tobins-
port, There,
to the Keyftucky side where they met .
another yian whom he had never seen :
before. The two strangers blindfolded
him afid put him in an automobile. He
ey stole a boat and rowed’
was feleased Saturday night near Clover- ~
porf, Ky., he said; but the men warned |
hj to stay in Kentucky ‘until Sunday
ight.
According to Wright, he spent Sunday
at the home of a friend in Cloverport, and ,
on Sunday night stole a boat and re-
turned to the Indiana shore. Then he ~ -
went to the home of a man he knew and
asked him to call the law. Instead; this
man passed him on to another fellow
early Monday morning, and the other
guy brought him in.
“T figured that they were all in calvoglie
and I wanted to get this settled and get
back to my farm there on the hill.”
“Your farm?” the sheriff ejaculated,
“Yeah. I bought it from Miss: Martin.”
‘And what did you use for money ?”
Nix snorted.
Wright had an answer for that, too. He
said that in July, at the C&EI railroad
yards at Evansville, Ind., fifty miles down
ae river, he had found a wallet contain-
.ing, twenty-four fifty-dollar bills.’ With
thisNnoney he had bought the woman’s
farm en the Thursday on which she was
slain,
It appeared to be a cock-and-bull tale
woven ouf\of whole-cloth by a moronic
murderer ; Dut the officers were unable to
get any othen\from him.
yy VGkT as removed to the Van-
derburg county jail, at Evansville,
for safekeeping.
“T’ll never admit\that I killed Alice
Martin. You can puf\me in the electric
chair, but I’ll never admit something I
didn’t do,” Wright vowed, as they took
him to the old city jail {n Evansville to
be mugged and printed.
Then Sheriff Clyde Hesmer, Chief of
Detectives Bert Morris and ergeant Al-
bert Felker, detective clerk, qiizzed him
for an hour, getting the same wild story
he had given the other officers. Reasoning
that their man was a little short on
brains, they decided upon a ruse.
“You might as well tell the truth,
Wright; your fingerprints are identical
to those on the club that killed Miss Mar-
tin, and fingerprints don’t lie,” Morris
told him, pretending to be examining two
sets of prints.
“Yeah,” the sheriff put in: “but if you
a
were dru
difference ~
“Just a
said, “We
when v
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viWill, Joseph, white, hanged San Jose, California, Novemb
—. 7
45.94 JostPH GEwE,
A Man of Mystery, Hung for Murder at San
Jose, Cal.
[With Portrait. ]
Joseph Jewell was executed at San Jose, Santa
Clara Co., Cal., on Nov. 30, 1883. The crime he was -
convicted of was the murder of William P. Re-
nowden,on Sunday, March 11, 1838, at a lonely hut
near Lexington. Archie Welntyre, a companion of
Renowden’s, was found dead at the same time. —
The murder was discovered the following morning
by neighbors, whose attention the night before had
been attracted by the burning of Renowden’s house.
Renowdeun’s hody was found neer the ruins, ly{mg on
the lft side, partly charred by fla:nes. Two wounds
apocared on the breast; either of which would have
caused death. In the ruins were found the remains of
MeIntyre, nearly consumed, all being gone but the
back part oftheskull. ..
The murder was a mystery for awhile, but the ex-
| citement oevasioned by it led toa rigid search tor the
murderers, and resulted in the arrest of Jewell, a
saloon-keeper named L. L. Majors, and John Shoivers,
The latter turned State's witness, and gave evidence
pointing directly to Jewell as the murderer. He told
a terribie tale of how Jewell planned with bim to gO
to the hut of Renowden and rob him. The victim was
known as the “Old Englishman,” and was supposed to
have from #15,000 to $20,000 buried somewhere about big
place. The ptan was to visit him unawares, and by
torturing bim extract from him a confession as to
where the wealth was secreted. The two confederates
went to the but, and met there Renowden and Mc-
Intyre, and, according to Showers, Jewell killed both
men.
Jewell was convicted and executed, but his career is
stilla mystery. He was evidently @ man of education,
but was only known in the section where the crime
was committed as @ stranger who had worked as a
painter, and was supposed to be a respectable citizen.
On the trial he acknowledged to having traveled ex-
tensively, but refused to give &Dy perticulars as to his —
birthplace or former assuciutions. The authorities
believe that he had been a noted criminal, and his
| Portrait is published in the hope that his identification
| may be broaght about by sume of the thousand read-
| ers of the PoLICE GAZETTE,
/ ; ee Cia, h JP
N Lear bhv pegtlla 2 ve oul | ok 13 1 oe
LL SEES
é
biieditedlis
es
idbaddigiddstbcessaita thdits Mal abbie
Srie9
eeTaty
6 Cal.
which were condemned in the recent cases
of People v. Thomas, 25 Cal.2d 880, 156
P.2d 7; People v. Bender, 27 Cal.2d 164,
163 P.2d 8; and People v. Valentine, 28
Cal.2d —, 169 P.2d 1. But here, con-
trary to the situation in the cited cases,
the evidence, including defendant’s con-
fession, stands uncontradicted and leaves
no doubt whatever that the murder com-
mitted by defendant was murder of the
first degree. Under these circumstances
. the verdict must be upheld pursuant to the
constitutional mandate requiring that a
judgment shall not be reversed because of
the jury’s misdirection “unless, after an
examination of the entire cause, including
the evidence, the court shall be of the
opinion that the error complained of has
resulted in a miscarriage of justice.” (Cal.
Const. art. VI, § 4%.)
Defendant, a native of Santa Maria, is
29 years of age. He is unmarried, having
been divorced from his former wife. He
is a high school graduate and a truck
driver by occupation.
Sue Fouts, the deceased victim, was a
happily married woman 41 years of age
and a resident of Corcoran in Kings Coun-
ty. She traveled to Santa Maria on De-
cember 2, 1945, for the purpose of caring
for her mother, Mrs. Swearingen, who
was 73 years of age and in ill health.
About 5:30 p. m. on December 5, Mrs.
Fouts’ nephew, Allan Stewart, brought
defendant to the Swearingen home for
dinner and introduced him to Mrs. Fouts.
Stewart and defendant had been together
in the afternoon and had had some drinks.
Following dinner in the Swearingen
home, Mrs. Fouts, Stewart and defendant
went downtown and each had a highball.
After they returned to the Swearingen
home, Stewart left, saying that he thought
he would go back downtown for a short
time. About 8 o’clock in the evening Mrs.
Fouts and defendant decided to return to
the downtown section of Santa Maria and
look for Stewart. When they arrived
downtown, defendant, without authority to
do so, secured the truck of his employer
from a service station where it had been
left for repairs. He and Mrs. Fouts rode
about town and had a few drinks. About
midnight they went to the Chew Cafe in
174 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
Santa Maria, where Mrs. Fouts had some
Chinese food and defendant drank some
beer.
The evidence as to what transpired be-
tween that time and the time of the murder
is found in defendant’s confession, made
on December 13 to the deputy district at-
torney. That confession was made in the
presence of, and was transcribed by, a
shorthand reporter who testified at the
trial. Defendant stated that after leaving
the Chinese cafe he drove Mrs. Fouts to
the Rosemary Farm on the outskirts of
Santa Maria. There they stopped and
talked about “juke box” records “and
things.” Then defendant drove on “a little
ways” and again turned off the highway
and stopped the truck. Previously he had
told Mrs. Fouts that she should drive, and
had said to her, “I ought to take you out
and cut your throat.” She had laughed,
thinking that he was joking. After stop-
ping the truck, defendant got out, walked
around the side, and told Mrs. Fouts to
move into the driver’s seat. As she started
to move over, defendant stabbed her in the
throat with his pocket knife. She gasped;
he stabbed “two or three times’; and
her body fell forward and_ partially out
of the truck.
Defendant said that he left the body lying
upon the ground and proceeded to walk
around the ranch for approximately half
an hour. Then he returned to the truck,
placed the body in it, and drove down the
road to the home of one Jack Siler. He
awoke Siler and requested the loan of a
shotgun for duck hunting. Siler said that
he did not have the gun. Defendant then
proceeded to the home of one Tapscott in
Santa Maria, with intent, so he stated,
of there securing a gun to kill his ex-wife.
Tapscott was not home. Defendant next
drove out what is known as the Cuyama-
Santa Maria Highway, a winding, narrow, °
mountainous road, which was familiar to
him. At the widest point on this road
he stopped, took the body from the truck,
and deposited it down the side of a hill
about 300 feet off the highway. He re-
turned to the truck, and then decided to go
back and disrobe the body so as to make
its identification “a little slower.” He pro-
ceeded to do this, and then drove on toward
Bakersfield. He stopped at the first river
smenpetapeinrs
PEOPLE yv, HILTON Cal. q
Cite as 174 P.2d 5
crossing, where he threw his victim’s
clothes off the bridge. Subsequently some
of the articles of clothing were recovered
from the river by a searching party from
the sheriff’s office.
Along the road defendant stopped at a
service station in McKittrick, where he
tried to clean his clothes. He then con-
tinued on to Bakersfield, where his truck
ran out of gasoline and he abandoned it
on a side road. It was discovered there
several days later by a deputy sheriff. The
cab on the inside was covered with ‘blood-
stains. On the floor there was a small hand
axe covered with bloodstains and traces of
hair like that of Mrs. Fouts were found ad-
hering to it. .
From Bakersfield defendant hitch-hiked
to Trona, where his ex-wife lived. His
prime purpose was to kill her. He stayed
around Trona for a few days and burglar-
ized several houses in an attempt to find
a gun with which to kill his ex-wife. He
did not succeed in securing one or in find-
ing her. He then hitch-hiked to Lone Pine.
He assaulted one man who gave him a ride,
striking the man’s head with a bar of
metal. He attempted to commit suicide,
using the same knife with which he had
killed Mrs. Fouts, but he slashed his wrists
too high to have a fatal effect. He was
arrested by a deputy sheriff at Lone Pine,
Inyo County.
Defendant said that he had no reason
to kill Mrs. Fouts, and he denied that there
had been any sexual relations between them
Or any advances on his part. Whether
there had been sexual relations could not
be proved because of the extended time
the body had remained exposed on the
mountainside before it was discovered.
Defendant stated that the liquor he drank
did not affect him. He further stated as
follows:
“Q. When did you make up your mind
to kill her? A. About a couple hours
before then.
“Q. While she was up at her house?
A. No, it was when we were coming down
town.
“Q. What caused you to decide to kill
her? A. Oh, I got to thinking,
“Q. Thinking about what? A. I don’t
know if this is all necessary on this case
or not.
“Q. Well, we would like to know if you
could tell us. A. I have it all in my other
confession.
“Q. You can go ahead and tell us that.
A. I had a lot of trouble with my wife;
she is my ex-wife, and she has been bother-
ing me for quite awhile.
“Q. Did you tell Sue Fouts about your
trouble with your wife? <A. Yes, quite
a bit of it.
“Q. What did Mrs. Fouts tell you? A.
She just more or less said it was trifling.
“Q. Did she tell you to go back to
your wife? A. No, just to forget it—she
told me not to let it bother me.
“Q. Did that cause you to get mad at
her? A. Oh, I been thinking for a
couple weeks—I been thinking for a year
of killing my wife.
“Q. Why were you mad at your wife?
A. She had had me arrested ten times.
“Q. For what? A. Five times on dis-
turbing the peace charges, one drunk, one
kidnapping, one rape, one insanity, and one
simple assault.
“Q. Where did this all happen? A. In
“rfona; 2) -*
“Q. Who did you commit this rape on?
A. I didn’t; I was acquitted of the charge.
She brought all these charges at different
intervals,
“Q. This insanity—what was that? A.
She tried to have me committed to Patton.
I was adjudged sane.
“Q. You were adjudged sane and they
turned you loose; is that true? A. Yes.
oe ee
“Q. Getting back to Mrs, Fouts, how
long had you known Mrs. Fouts? A.
Probably five or six hours.
“Q. Was Wednesday, the 5th of De-
cember, 1945, the first day you met her?
A. Yes.
“Q. That was the first time in your life
that you had ever seen her; is that true?
A. Yes.
“Q. When did you make up your mind
to kill her? A. Subconsciously maybe
when I was walking down from the house.
Sn a ee
a
BLOOD IN THE CAULIFLOWER PATCH
Continued from page 39
Before this phase of the investiga-
tion could be started. however, a stalt-
ling development occured. It came in a
phone call from Bakersfield. The entire
San Joaquin Valley was being plagued.
by strange occurrences and police were
under the impression that Thomas Hil-
ton was at the bottom of them.
First, on Friday a young couple had
come speeding into Lone Pine, a village
far to the north of Bakersfield, with
the report that a hitch-hiker had tried
to knock out the husband. They told
officers they had picked up a man who
was hitching his way into Bishop.
When they had nearly reached Lone
Pine, the rider suddenly struck the hus-
band over the head with a piece of pipe.
When the wife, who was driving, had
slowed the car and they both had
turned to grapple with the assailant, he
had opened a rear door and jumped out
onto the shoulder of the road.
Within minutes the sheriff’s depart-
ment and officers of the California
Highway Patrol had roared to the spot
where the couple said the man had
jumped. But after an hour’s search of
the area, they had returned to their
headquarters without an arrest. Ap-
parently the jumper had walked into
the brush and oblivion.
Then, a few hours after the strange
attack on the couple near Long Pine, a
report came in from Ridgecrest, an-
other valley community, that a man
had been throwing himself in front of
speeding cars, on the highway. But
again investigating officers returned
without a prisoner. Although they
found tourists in Ridgecrest who veri-
fied the stories of the would-be suicide,
they could not find the man.
And, in both instances, according to
the reports, the man fitted the descrip-
tion of Thomas Hilton.
On Sunday back in Santa Maria two
carloads of officers, among them Allan
Stewart) sped out of town. A few
miles north they swung on Highway
101 onto the Cuyama Road. Imme-
diately the men spread out over the
area adjacent to the road and the
. bunt through the desolate, uninhabited.
hills and valleys began.
All day long they pushed their way
torturously through the heavy chapar-
ral and scrub. oak. All day long they
fought over hills and across cut-bank
draws until when the sun began to go
down they were ready to drop from
exhaustion. But they had nothing to
show for their troubles.
40
Pye
arcane ee ee
It was dark when Ross and Taylor
called a halt to the search. “(We'd need
an army to really comb these hills,”
said the undersheriff wearily. “Suppose
we knock off and try again tomorrow.”
And just before Ross and Taylor
closed the office for the night, word
came in from the Twining Laboratories
in Fresno that the hair from the brush,
truck and the pool on the Rosemary
Farm all came from the same- person.
“This news isn’t much more than a
clincher at this stage in the game;” said
Ross wearily as he got into his car and_
prepared for a drive into his headquar-
ters in Santa Barbara.
But Sunday brought nothing to light
in other parts of the manhunt, which
by this time had spread over the entire
Southern California area.
The hunted Hilton had dropped from
sight, and apparently he had dropped
from circulation. But police were wor-
ried by the quiet. They had reason to
be too, for Thomas Hilton was unpre- .
dictable. Trona police, to forestall ner-
vousness on their part, posted a guard
over Hilton’s wife in their community.
An aunt of the suspect’s in Bakers-
field and another one in North Holly-
wood were contacted and quizzed. But
neither of them could help the police.
Road blocks were thrown across
various sections of San Joaquin Valley
highways. ‘Trains. and buses were
stopped going out of the state. But no
Hilton.
Santa Maria deputies were into the
Cuyama with the first rays of the-
day crews relieved night men at the
road blocks on the famed Ridge Route
running from Los Angeles to. Bakers-
field. But in Burbank, a surburb of
Los Angeles, the owner of a machine
shop was reporting the theft of his
automobile.
“You say the thief was a friend of
yours?” asked the Burbank police chief.
“Well, I don’t know. . . That is, I
didn’t see him take the car. But I
missed it only a couple of minutes after
he’d gone,” answered the shop owner,
Anderson Cummins.
“What was his name?” asked the of-
ficer. :
“Thomas Hilton.”
It was as though the man had
dropped a bombshell in the police sta-
tion.
“Thomas Hilton,” echoed the chief.
“Why man, don’t you read the papers?
We've been hunting that guy for fiearly
a week.”
“T’ve got a pretty good little business
down on San Fernando Road and I
work late at night. Don’t have much
time to read papers,”’ answered Cum-
mins. Then, as an afterthought, “But
I should have known there was some-
thing wrong when he came to the house
last night with his arms bandaged.”
“Arms bandaged? From what?”
asked the officer.
“He said he’d cut them on a broken
window. But the intern at the Glendale
Emergency Hospital kinda suspected
that he’d tried to cut his wrists. He
even told Hilton that he’d cut in the
wrong place to do any good.”
According to Cummins’ story, Hilton
had come to his house in upper Burb-
bank the night before, bleeding slightly
from the wounds on his wrists. He had
asked Cummins if he could stay over
night. Cummins: had agreed, but be-
fore they had gone to bed he had in-
sisted that something be done about
the wounds.
Next morning, after they had:eaten
breakfast and walked down to the shop,
Hilton had bid Cummins goodbye and
walked out of the plant.
“J had a salesman in there with me
at the time,” reported Cummins, “and
he said I should watch out for Hilton.
Said he didn’t have a good eye.”
“Well, after a couple of minutes we
went outside and the car was gone.”
Cummins told the police the car was
a 1936 Plymouth sedan with an old
brown paint job. ‘“‘And the engine’s just
been rebored,” he said, “so he won’t
drive it far if he don’t take it easy.”
_ Immediately a descripiton of the car
was broadcast to all law enforcement
officers in the state. Border were alerted.
The Ridge Route road blacks were
redoubled. But to’ no avail. For despite
the efforts Hilton continued to evade
the law.
Then, late Monday afternoon Bak-
ersfield police got a report from a far-
mer that a brown Plymouth sedan had
been abandoned at the side of the road
a few miles out of town. Quickly they
descended on the area. It was the stolen
car, left at the side of the road because.
it would run no farther. The engine ha
frozen with the hard usage given it by
the- suspect.
Almost simultaneously with the dis-
covery of the brown Plymouth near
Bakersfield, officers in the Cuyama
made another startling discovery. Two
men of the possee hunting through the
hills in the late afternoon found a bun-
Continued on page 64
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REYNOLDs v. STATE BOARD OF EQUAL-
IZATION.
Sac. 5765.
Supreme Court of California, in Bank.
Nov. 14, 1946.
Concurring and dissenting opinion on
denial of rehearing.
Prior opinion 173 P,.2d 551.
SHENK, Justice.
I favor a reconsideration of one impor-
tant phase of this case and will state my
reasons.
I am in accord with the application in
this and in the companion case of Covert
vy. State Board of Equalization, 29 Cal.2d
—, 173 P.2d 545, of our constitutional pro-
vision (section 22 of Article XX) which
. prohibits the consumption of intoxicating
liquors in any public saloon or public bar-
room, but provides that sales for consump-
tion on the premises may be made in bona
fide hotels, restaurants, or other public eat-
ing places. These provisions are not ca-
pable of misunderstanding and have been
known to all liquor dealers and enforce-
ment agencies and officers since 1934. A
declaration by this court of what the Con-
stitution plainly says in that regard is no
news to them or to any one familiar with
liquor control. That phase of the litigation
is obviously correctly decided.
But I see no necessity or justification for
reading into the Constitution a provision
which has the effect of relieving an admit-
ted violator of the law of the consequences
of his unlawful acts. A revocation of his
license should be compelled.
The same section of the Constitution
(section 22 of Article XX) which author-
izes the licensing and sale of intoxicating
liquors also vests the regulation of the
liquor traffic exclusively in the State Board
of Equalization. That section says that
that board shall have the power “to deny or
revoke” any specific liquor license. The
power to “suspend” is not included except
by the action of this court. By section 22
of Article I of the same Constitution it is
provided that “the provisions of this Con-
stitution are mandatory and prohibitory,
174 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
unless by express words they are declared
to be otherwise.” This means that when
the Constitution speaks in unmistakable
terms everyone subject to its mandate,
including the executive, legislative and ju-
dicial departments, must comply. People
v. City of San Buenaventura, 213 Cal. 637,
639, 640, 3 P.2d 3; People v. California
Fish Co., 166 Cal. 576, 587, 138 P. 79; Mat-
ter of Maguire, 57 Cal. 604, 609, 40 Am.
Rep. 125; McDonald v. Patterson, 54 Cal.
245, 247; Shay v. Roth, 64 Cal.App. 314,
316, 221 P. 967. Neither department may
add to nor take away anything from its
plain terms. There is no uncertainty or
ambiguity about the term “revoke.” Its
plain meaning is to cancel and annul. To
“suspend” plainly means to stop temporari-
ly, to hold in abeyance. Without any doubt
the framers of the constitutional provision
deliberately omitted the word “suspend”—
a word of common use in liquor regulations
and enforcement—and likewise deliberate-
ly used the sole word “revoke” in that con-
nection. When the term “suspend” was so
deliberately omitted the court is not justi-
fied in changing the Constitution to that
extent by inserting it.
If the language used in a constitutional
provision plainly and unequivocally shows
a certain and definite purpose to be accom-
plished thereby it is the duty of the courts
to carry it into effect. Boca Mill Co. v.
Curry, 154 Cal. 326, 97 P. 1117. It is as
much the duty of the court to see that the
plain provisions of the Constitution are not
evaded as it is to see that they are not di-
rectly violated. Parker v. Otis, 130 Cal.
322, 62 P. 571, 927, 92 Am.St.Rep. 56. In
the grant of power and the mode of its ex-
ercise there is an implied negation that
what is included excludes that which is in-
consistent, and that when a thing is to be
done in a particular way it shall not be
done otherwise. Martello v. Superior
Court, 202 Cal. 400, 261 P. 476,
Courts are no more at liberty to add pro-
visions to what is declared in the Constitu-
tion in definite language than they are to
disregard existing express provisions of the
Constitution. Ross v. City of Long Beach,
24 Cal.2d 258, 260, 148 P.2d 649; People
v. Campbell, 138 Cal. 11, 15, 70 P. 918.
PEOPLE v. HILTON Cal. 5
Cite as 174 P.2d 5
Since the same rule is binding on the
legislative department the Icgislature had
no more authority than the courts to in-
sert in the Constitution something which
is not there and was deliberately excluded.
This is especially true of the attempt of
the legislature to enlarge upon the powers
of the board by the insertion of the word
“suspend” in the Alcoholic Beverage Con-
trol Act of 1935 (Stats.1935, p. 1123, Gen.
Laws, Act 3796). Furthermore, the Liq-
uor Control Act of 1933 (Stats.1933, p.
1697) was not effective as a grant of pow-
er to “suspend” because the constitutional
amendment in 1934 adopted the 1933 act on-
ly insofar as its provisions were not in-
consistent with the constitutional section.
Since the power to suspend is obviously in-
consistent with the sole power to revoke,
the 1933 act was superseded by the Consti-
tution and became to that extent entirely
ineffective.
EDMONDS, J., concurs,
Che
PEOPLE v. HILTON.
Cr. 4725.
Supreme Court of California, in Bank.
Nov. 6, 1946.
1. Homicide ¢>22(2)
Mere intent to kill is not equivalent
of a “deliberate and premeditated intent”
to kill within statute requiring first degree
murder to be deliberate and premeditated.
Pen.Code, § 189.
See Words and Phrases, Permanent
Edition, for all other definitions of
“Deliberate and Premeditated Intent”.
2. Homicide ©22(2)
Under statute requiring first degree
murder to be deliberate and premeditated,
the word “deliberate” is an antonym of
hasty, impetuous, rash, impulsive, and no
act or intent can be premeditated unless it
has been the subject of actual deliberation
or forethought. Pen.Code, § 189.
Seo Words and Phrases, Permanent
Edition, for all other definitions of
“Deliberate”.
3. Criminal law @=1186(4)
Where evidence, including defend-
ant’s confession, left no doubt that murder
committed by defendant was murder of the
first degree, instructions defining degrees
of murder, their respective elements and
burden of proof thereon, though erroneous,
did not constitute prejudicial error. Pen.
Code, § 189; Const. art. 6, § 4%.
CARTER, SCHAUER, and TRAY-
NOR, JJ., dissenting.
—_>—_——.
Appeal from Superior Court, Santa
Barbara. County; Atwell Westwick, Judge.
Thomas Hilton was convicted of first
degree murder, and an appeal was auto-
matically taken in his behalf under Penal
Code under section 1239(b).
Affirmed.
George Finucane, of Santa Maria, and
Gene Harris, of Santa Barbara, for ap-
pellant.
Robert W. Kenny, Atty. Gen., Frank
Richards, Deputy Atty. Gen., Lawrence
M. Parma, Dist. Atty., David S. Licker,
Asst. Dist. Atty., both of Santa Barbara,
and Thomas P. Weldon, Deputy Dist. Atty.,
of Santa Maria, for respondent.
SPENCE, Justice.
Defendant was convicted of first degree
murder and was sentenced to pay the
extreme penalty. Prior to the trial, de-
fendant had withdrawn his plea of not
guilty by reason of insanity. This ap-
peal is automatic in pursuance of section
1239(b) of the Penal Code.
The commission of the murder was ad-
mitted by defendant. At the trial his con-
fession was introduced in evidence. He
did not take the witness stand in his own
behalf, and he offered no defense. How-
ever, defendant claims that he was preju-
diced by certain instructions given by the
trial court defining the degrees of murder,
their respective elements, and the burden
of proof thereon. The challenged instruc-
tions are substantially the same as those
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«Q) What caused you to get that idea in
your mind, that you wanted to kill her. A.
I always regretted I had not killed my
wife when I had the opportunity; I was
all mixed up. i
“Q. Mrs. Fouts never said anything or
did anything to you, and you had only met
her four or five hours before? A. Yes.
x oe OX
“Q. Did Mrs. Fouts say anything to you
when you stabbed her? A. She gasped.
* ok x
“Q, As a matter of fact, she didn’t
know you were going to stab her? A. No.
x Ok Ox
“Q. When ‘you left the Swearingen
house with Sue Fouts what did you tell her
you were going to do? A. I don’t know.
We were both feeling good and were going
to go down and look for Allan; he had left
early, e
“QO. When you left the house did you
intend at that time to kill her? A. Sub-
consciously; it might have been in the back
of my mind.
“QO. You definitely made up your mind
about 9:30 at one of these bars? A.
When I got the truck, yes.
“Q. Did you decide where you were go-
ing to kill her—at what place? A. Yes.
“Q. When you started driving out on
East Main Street to the Rosemary Farm
you definitely made up your mind you were
going to kill her. Is that true? A. Yes.
x ok OK
“Q,. Just how much did you have to
drink that night before you killed Sue
Fouts? A. I started drinking about nine
e’clock that day.
“Q. But you knew what you were doing
all the time? A. Yes.
“Q. You weren’t drunk? A. No.
“Q. And you weren’t drunk when you
killed her? A. No.
“Q. You knew what you were doing?
A. Yes,
“Q, What reason did you have? Just
tell us the reason, Mr. Hilton, why you
killed her. Just tell us in your own words
what the reason was. A. Like I said, I
knew for a year, I definitely planned to
kill my wife. I had it in my mind this Fall;
174 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
it was always in my mind, and it kept get-
ting later-and later and I kept thinking
about it; that’s all I know, and I know
that that day, why, it was on my mind all
the time.
“Q. It is true that when you start drink-
ing you get an inclination to kill some one?
A. No, it has always been my wife I
wanted to kill.
“QO. You do get that idea when drink-
ing? A. It’s worse when I drink.
* * * Thad been drinking all day, and
I was thinking I ought to get that gun, bor-
row one from Tap or some one on the pre-
text of going hunting.”
In view of the constitutional mandate
(art. VI, § 414), the foregoing uncontra-
dicted evidence must be borne in mind in
considering defendant’s sole contention on
this appeal, which is that “The trial court
erred to the prejudice of defendant in in-
structing the jury relative to the elements
of the two degrees of murder and the bur-
den of proof thereon.” It would serve no
useful purpose to set forth the challenged
instructions for, as above indicated, said in-
structions were substantially the same as
those which were discussed and were held
to be erroneous in People v. Thomas, 25
Cal.2d 880, 156 P.2d.7; People v. Bender,
27 Cal.2d 164, 163 P.2d 8; and People v.
Valentine, 28 Cal.2d —, 169 P.2d 1. It
therefore appears that the giving of the
challenged instructions constituted error,
and we turn to the question of whether the
error should be held to be prejudicial.
[1-3] Defendant concedes that “the
crime stood admitted and the malice afore-
thought was unchallenged” and he further
concedes that the evidence “was sufficient
to sustain a verdict of murder in the first
degree.” As we view the record, however,
there were many other facts which stood
admitted and unchallenged, which last men-
tioned facts pointed unerringly to and im-
pelled the conclusion that the murder was
murder of the first degree. Thus it appears
that it was some time after midnight on the
night in question that defendant committed
a brutal, unprovoked murder of a woman he
had known but a few hours. Despite some
drinking, defendant admitted that he was
not “drunk” and that he “knew what [he
PEOPLE v. HILTON , Cal. 9
Cite ag 174 P.2d5
was] doing all the time.” With respect to
the actual killing, the evidence is sum-
marized in defendant’s brief where it is
stated: “The accused herein admitted un-
contradictedly that he determined to kill the
decedent and walked around to her side of
the car with that specific intent.” It is
therefore clear that the uncontradicted evi-
dence showed that the killing was “willful”
as the stabbing was done with the specific
intent to kill the deceased. But in People
v. Bender, supra, 27 Cal.2d 164, at page 181,
163 P.2d 8, at page 18, this court pointed out
that “it is obvious that the mere intent to
kill is not the equivalent of a deliberate and
premeditated intent to kill”; and in People
y. Thomas, supra, 25 Cal.2d 880, at page 901,
156 P.2d 7, at page 18, it was stated that
“The word ‘deliberate’ is an antonym of
‘Hasty, impetuous, rash, impulsive’ (Web-
ster’s New. Int. Dict. (2d. ed.) ) and no act
or intent can truly be said to be ‘premedi-
tated’ unless it has been the subject of
actual deliberation or forethought (id.).”
The question therefore remains as to wheth-
er the uncontradicted evidence showed that
the murder was “deliberate and premedi-
tated” within the meaning of our statute
defining murder of the first degree (Pen.
Code, § 189). Here again the evidence is
clear and uncontradicted and leaves no
room for doubt. While the actual killing
occurred some time after midnight, defend-
ant admitted that he had “definitely made
up [his] mind about 9:30” to kill Mrs.
Fouts “when [he] got the truck”; and fur-
ther that “subconsciously” that intention
“might have been in the back of [his]
mind” when he and Mrs. Fouts left the
Swearingen home about 8 o’clock that even-
ing. He further admitted that before leav-
ing Santa Maria, he had determined upon
the place where he would carry out his ne-
farious plan and that he had thereafter
driven to that place. Manifestly, the killing
had been the subject of actual and pro-
longed deliberation and forethought by de-
fendant, the specific intent to kill the de-
ceased having been formed about three
hours before the actual killing and having
been adhered to throughout the intervening
time. Under these circumstances, the kill-
ing could not be regarded otherwise than as
174 P.2d—1%
an act that was “willful, deliberate, and pre-
meditated.” (Pen.Code, § 189.) As we
view the uncontradicted evidence presented,
the jury could not properly have arrived at
any verdict other than a verdict finding de-
fendant guilty of murder of the first degree,
and the only real question presented for the
jury’s determination was that of the penalty
to be imposed. We therefore conclude that
the error in the challenged instructions,
dealing with the subject of the degrees of
the murder, may not be treated as prejudi-
cial.
The foregoing conclusion is not in conflict
with the decisions in the Thomas, Bender,
and Valentine cases cited above and is in
line with our recent decision in People v.
Bernard, 28 Cal.2d —, 169 P.2d 636, where
substantially similar instructions were given
but were held not to have been prejudicial.
In that case it was shown without conflict
that the killing was committed in the per-
petration of a robbery and by means of ly-
ing in wait. There, as here, the undisputed
facts showed that the murder was murder
of the first degree (Pen. Code, § 189). It
therefore appears appropriate to conclude
here with the concluding language found in
the Bernard case at page 640 of 169 P.2d:
“«* * %* Where the facts impel a convic-
tion of murder of the first degree * * *
and do not admit upon any view of the evi-
dence of a finding other than of murder of
the first degree, there is no occasion whatso-
ever to give instructions as to the differ-
ences between the degrees of murder.
Hence, although the instructions as to such
differences were manifestly erroneous, the
errors cannot have prejudiced the appeal-
ing defendant.” See, also, People v. Peter-
son, Cal.Sup., 173 P.2d 11; People v. Hon-
eycutt, Cal.Sup., 172 P.2d 698; People v.
Dorman, 28 Cal.2d —, 172 P.2d 686,
The judgment is affirmed.
GIBSON, C. J., and SHENK, J., con-
cur.
EDMONDS, Justice.
As I read the record in this case, the
challenged instructions did not prejudice
the defendant and, for that reason, I con-
cur in the affrmance of the judgment.
“l
aad
REAL DETECTIVE
DETECTIVE
the hospital 10 report that Krause’s wound
was not fatal. Ile had given a fair de-
scription of the men, adding to what was
already known—that the taller one was
apparently the leader and had mean dark
eyes.
Ww SUFFICIENT FACTS now to work
with, Davidson swung things into
action. He ordered the descriptions broad-
cast and every available radio car to con-
centrate their patrols in the vicinity. Since
it was not known whether the two escaped
by car or not, it was possible they were
still afoot in the locality. He instructed
Hickey and Clark to take the death knife,
broken revolver and blue hat to the Crime
Lab for fingerprint dusting and analysis.
“Then you boys get over to the Record
Bureau and see if you can fix these de-
scriptions with any known stick-up guys,”
he added. “Check also with the robbery
squad, to see if they recognize the work on
this job with any in their files.”
Davidson, with Ryan, Baggott and Fil-
kas, started out to trace the billfold’s
owner. In two police cars they headed
for the Bixel Street address. The address
proved to be an apartment house, and the
officers entered the manager’s office hope-
fully.
“Never heard of anyone by the name of
Arrington,” the manager told them. Nor
could he recognize anyone by the descrip-
tion of either of the bandits.
Back in the police car, Davidson sighed.
“Guess it’s not a good break, after all,’ he
said.
“Since the address is obviously a phony,”
Ryan pointed out, “it at least indicates the
billfold does belong to one of them. The
name is probably phony also.”
Davidson agreed with him, “We still
can try these phone numbers. Let’s get
down to the bureau and start it, anyway.
In the meantime maybe the Crime Lab
will find some print on the gun or the
knife.”
However, the Crime Lab was soon to
dash this major hope. Only unidentifiable
smudges could be found on the weapons.
And as various officers tried the phone
numbers found jotted on the slips of paper,
they found themselves disappointed. Of
the partics who could be reached, none
admitted knowing a William Arrington.
“Some of them may be lying,” Davidson
concluded. “We can trace these numbers
and investigate everyone who might use
them.”
Ryan was rubbing his heavy jaw thought-
fully. “That will take time, inspector. Tf we
could only get a quick break on this! It’s
a good bet that these birds will fly, and
fly fast and far. What about trying the
clerks at this clothing store, or the radio
place? The radio was sold last month.
By a slim chance the clerks might recall
something.”
No sooner had the suggestion been made
than Davidson ordered action. The mur-
der was barely an hour old. The officers
had to work fast. Baggott and Filkas
were despatched to the two business estab-
lishments to contact the watchmen or
merchant patrols and find out who the own-
ers or clerks in them were and how they
could be found then. Ryan began checking
the commercial registers of business estab-
lishments for the same purpose. .
Within 20 minutes Baggott and Filkas
4 EAL CALIFORNIA’S ELUSIVE EVIL EYE
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 31)
were back to report they had the address
of the salesman of the radio place. All
four of the officers piled into cars and hur-
ried to it. :
“Yeah, sure I remember that sale,” the
clerk told them when they explained their
mission. “I remember the sales slip and
transaction, because I delivered the radio
after working hours. There were two
young men, one tall and dark.”
“Hope sprang into the inspector’s voice
again. “Where?”
“T took it to the Beavermore Apart-
ments on Southern Street, just off Sunset.”
But when they arrived at the Beaver-
more, another disappointment greeted them.
“No one by that name around here,” the
landlady assured them. “Not even any-
body answering those descriptions.”
“Has anyone like that ever lived here at
any time?” Ryan questioned. ‘How about
your records ?”
“That I can’t say. I’m new here since
the first of the month. Mrs. Estelle Tur-
be took the records with her when she
ert,
Obtaining Mrs. Turner’s address the four
officers hurried there and asked her the
same questions. “Well, now that you ask
me,” she said, “I do remember them. One
was Bill Arrington and the other was Rob-
ert O’Neill, and they had their wives with
them.”
“That’s who we’re looking for,’ David-
son told her. “Now tell us where they
went from your place.”
His smile faded as she replied: “They
didn’t leave any forwarding address. Where
they went, only the Lord knows. My books
show they paid up and left in December.
I remember it because I was watching
they didn’t get away without paying. But
they seemed .to have money and left in a
taxicab.”
“Taxicab?” Ryan exclaimed. “Do you
remember the cab company?”
When she named the company, Ryan
asked to use the phone immediately. The
superintendent of that company was a
friend of his and he was certain he could
depend upon his help. In another moment
he was talking to him and asking him to
come to his office immediately and check
the drivers of December 22nd who might
have served the Southern-Sunset area.
By good fortune it was shortly before
midnight that the cab driver was located,
after sorting him from a dozen others.
“Yeah, I remember them monkeys,” the
driver told them. “The tall one was a
hard-looking guy and they had a couple of
good-looking skirts with them.”
“Now tell us where you took them,”
Davidson urged.
“T took the girls to the La Salle Apart-
ments in the 1200 block on West Sixth
Street. But the guys had me wait. I took
them to the Union Station. If I remember
right, they was going to Frisco or some
place up north.”
The fact the men had left town, or at
least pretended to leave, jarred the hopes
of the officers. Although it was certain
they had returned to Los Angeles at some
time or other but had they gone back to
the La Salle Apartments?
HE APARTMENT HOUSE was totally dark
when the officers arrived, and the main
door was locked. Apparently each tenant
was given his own key to the front. “Very
convenient for anyone not wanting sud-
den visitors,” Davidson observed. “If we
have to wake up some one we might tip
them off.”
Deciding to look around first, Ryan and
Baggott skirted around the rear of the
building, which stood within a few feet of
another apartment building. In the rear
there was another door. Ryan tried it, and
a grin spread over his face as he found it
unlocked. Quietly he passed along the
dimly lighted hall and released the front-
door lock.
The tiny vestibule at the front led to the
central hallway. On its left was a stairway
to the next floor and on the right was a
door marked “Manager.” At Davidson’s
nod, Baggott pushed the bell button.
For a few seconds the officers waited.
Then a sleepy voice asked who was there.
In another moment the door opened and a
middle-aged man in a robe stared at the
four officers. He seemed rather startled.
Quickly reassuring the man, Davidson
told him why they were there. The man-
ager held the door open and asked them to
step: inside while he called his wife.
“Why, yes they are here,” she said.
“They have No. 3. It’s a double apart-
ment. But they’re not here now.”
“When was the last time you saw them?”
“Tt was about eight, I think. All four
of them went out, and they haven’t come
back yet. At least I haven’t heard them.”
The officers glanced at each other. Had
their wily prey moved again? “Would you
let us look in the apartment?” Davidson
asked.
The woman got her pass key and led the
officers down the first floor hallway. A few
stabs of a flashlight revealed that the apart-
ment was in order and there was nothing
to suggest that the tenants did not intend to
return,
“They'll be back, all right,” Davidson
decided. “And we'll be waiting for them.”
Realizing they must make their plans
quickly lest the party return any moment,
Filkas was detailed to wait in the man-
ager’s apartment, by the front door. There
were two doors leading to the hallway, one
from each end of the double apartment,
which had a sliding door in between so
that it could be used as two single apart-
ments if desired. Davidson and Baggott
decided to wait just inside the first door,
which had a spring lock and was the one
ordinarily used. Ryan took up a station
in the second half by the other door. This
door had an ordinary lock, and after a
second’s thought Ryan picked the lock, just
in case he had to get out fast.
For more than an hour the officers waited
in the blackness of the apartment, not dar-
ing to turn on a light, lest they warn their
suspects, and not daring to make a sound
for the same reason. At each tiny sound
from the outside they tensed, gripped ‘their
guns and waited.
Finally the break came. They heard
people coming in the front door and mov-
ing down the hallway. At the first door,
Davidson and Baggott waited. The door
opened and Baggott started to step for-
ward. Whether he made a sound or not
he never knew. But at the same moment
the door slammed shut and people began
to run in the hall.
At that moment Ryan’s foresight in pick-
ing the lock played an important part.
Realizing something had gone wrong, he
lunged thre
just in time
the front dc
take care ¢
to the two
Levelling
shouted: “F
’em up !”
“Don’t sh
and held hi:
likewise put
ing at the s:
In the da
had been dc
the first doc
reached the
appeared.
“He went
shouted as
“You cover
ell get t
As David
one man and
the hall to
out of the :
his post for
of water anc
in the front
out the front
cab turn th
Oaths crac
cursed their
been waiting
ACK IN
Baggott
cuffs on the
searched the:
and they her
ment.
The young
O’Niell. The
said, and th«
Arrington’s ¢
insisted no t
Ryan and Fi
of the neighb
rington had n
“T don’t kn
and murder,”
“Me and Bil!
Hollywood tc
ing.’””
In a caref
Ryan found
hidden in the
to admit it
girls both de
criminal acts
they did confc
from the apar
noon until sho
At the Ce
.32 was turne:
tory. Then
police car by
the other office
en. At the C
learned Kraus
Cedars of Le!
O’Niell there
covered enoug
_ When they
tim’s bedside,
Krause’s face.
declared. “I }
one shot me.
one—the one
Outside in
at O’Niell.
now? You're
going to chec
shot Krause.
on it.”
“Yeah, it lo
mitted.
Two hours
plete confessic
However, he
shred of infor:
“T don’t know
inting sud-
ed. “If we
e might tip
t, Ryan and
‘ear of the
few feet of
{n the rear
tried it, and
he found it
| along the
1 the front-
nt led to the
sa stairway
right was a
: Davidson’s
yutton.
cers waited.
o was there.
ypened and a
tared at the
rer startled.
in, Davidson
» The man-
sked them to
wife.
>,” she said.
louble apart-
now.”
a saw them ?”
ik. All four
haven’t come
heard them.”
h other. Had
“Would you
t?” Davidson
ey and led the
dlway. A few
that the apart-
2 was nothing
d not intend to
ht,” Davidson
ing for them.”
ce their plans
1 any moment,
t in the man-
at door. There
1e hallway, one
ble apartment,
in between so
o single apart-
1 and Baggott
the first door,
id was the one
k up a station
cher door. This
<, and after a
‘d the lock, just
ist.
» officers waited
tment, not dar-
they warn their
make a sound
‘ach tiny sound
d, gripped ‘their
They heard
door and mov-
: the first door,
ited. The door
-d to step for-
a sound or not
e same moment
id people began
oresight in pick-
important part.
gone wrong, he
—
lunged through the second door. He was
just in time to see a tall man racing toward
the front door. Praying that Filkas would
take care of him, he turned his attention
to the two women and the shorter man.
Levelling his gun at the shorter man, he
shouted: “Put up your hands! Fast! Put
’em up!” i
“Don’t shoot me!” the young man cried,
and held his hands high. The two women
likewise put their hands in the air scream-
ing at the same time.
In the darkness, Davidson and Baggott
had been delayed a brief second in getting
the first door unlocked. By the time they
reached the hallway the first man had dis-
appeared.
“He went through the front door,” Ryan
shouted as he advanced down the hall.
“You cover these people. Where’s Filkas?
We'll get the other one.”
As Davidson and Baggott covered the
one man and two women, Ryan raced down
the hall to be joined by Filkas plunging
out of the manager’s office. He had left
his post for a few seconds to get a drink
of water and had missed the party coming
in the front door. Both officers slammed
out the front way just in time to see a taxi
cab turn the corner of Sixth.
Oaths cracked in the night as the officers
cursed their luck. “That cab must have
been waiting outside,” Filkas said.
ACK IN THE HALLWAY, Davidson and
Baggott took no chance. They snapped
cuffs on the wrists of their prisoners and
searched them. None of them were armed
and they herded them back into the apart-
ment.
The young man admitted he was Robert
O’Nieli. The blonde girl was his wife, he
said, and the brunette was Sophia Pfaff,
Arrington’s girl friend. But when O’Niell
insisted no taxi cab had waited outside,
Ryan and Filkas made a thorough search
of the neighborhood—without results. Ar-
rington had made good his escape.
“T don’t know nothing about any holdup
and murder,” O’Niell retorted to questions.
“Me and Bill and the girls have been to
Hollywood to a dance. I don’t know noth-
ing.”
In a careful search of the apartment,
Ryan found a nickle-plated 32 carefully
hidden in the ice box. But O’Niell refused
to admit it was his or Arrington’s. The
girls both denied any knowledge of any
criminal acts by either of the men. But
they did confess that both had been absent
from the apartment since late in the after-
noon until shortly after seven o'clock.
At the Central Homicide Bureau the
32 was turned over to the Crime Labora-
tory. Then O’Niell was loaded into a
police car by Ryan and Baggott, while
the other officers cross-questioned the wom-
en. At the Georgia Street Hospital they
learned Krause had been transferred to the
Cedars of Lebanon Hospital. They took
O’Niell there and asked if Krause had re-
covered enough to be able to talk.
When they led O’Niell to the pale vic-
tim’s bedside, a new anger flashed in
Krause’s face. “That’s one of them!” he
declared. “I had him down when the other
one shot me. The other one is the bad
one—the one with the mean eyes.”
Outside in the police car, Ryan looked
at O’Niell. “How does it look to you
now? You're identified, and that gun is
going to check out to be the one which
shot Krause. I’ll bet a thousand to one
o4 9?
on it.
“Yeah, it looks bad for me,” O’Niell ad-
mitted.
Two hours later, O’Niell made a com-
plete confession of his part in the crime.
However, he refused to divulge a single
shred of information about his companion,
“T don’t know where Bill went,” he defied,
‘revealed that William
REAL DETECTIVE
“and if I did I wouldn't tell you. I'd see
you in hell first.”
The two women were booked as material
witnesses, while O’Niell was charged with
robbery and murder. The Record Bureau
revealed that he had served 15 months at
ae Island Federal Prison for auto
theit.
Feeling confident that Arrington, too,
had a record, thousands of files were
combed. Every file of every criminal who
was around six feet tall and in his early
twenties was pulled and the pictures shown
to Krause, Miss Hood and other witnesses.
For weeks, details of investigators worked
this one angle, but never did they find a
definite lead.
iw THE MEANTIME Ryan spent night and
day tracing every person who had ever
seen or known the mean-eyed bandit. But
nowhere could he find a lead as to where
he might have gone. With officers of the
Robbery Squad, he went over scores of un-
solved robberies. On the theory that Ar-
rington and O’Niell had worked together
for sometime, robbery victims were asked
to view O’Niell in nightly Police Show-
ups.
At one of these show-ups Miss Sue Ham-
mond, cashier of the No. 3 Merry-Go-
Round Café, picked O’Niell. “He’s one
of them,” she exclaimed. “But the other
was tall and he had the meanest eyes. He
scared me half to death.”
Again a Miss June Blakely, clerk at the
Lake Pharmacy, said much the same thing
when she identified O’Niell. “Oh, I'll never
forget that other one’s mean eyes,” she said.
It was late in January that the incessant
work of the detectives brought a break. In
questioning an ex-convict who had associ-
ated with Arrington the man confessed :
“Yeah, I know Bill. He’s tough—plenty
tough. Didn’t you guys get him on a
forgery rap once? nder the name of
Hudson?”
A check of the forgery files immediately
udson had served
a year in the County Jail on a forgery con-
viction. Ryan exploded a few well chosen
words when he showed Hudson’s picture
to witnesses and they each cried, “That's
him! See his mean eyes?”
“And we've had this mug’s picture all
the time!” Ryan said. “But somehow the
Record Bureau had him as 5 feet 4 inches
tall. We haven’t even considered this one
until now.”
Showing how vitally important accurate
records are, this error had cost the in-
vestigators weeks of work when they might
have had Hudson_ identified within hours
after the crime. Now he had more than
a month’s start on them.
A police bulletin with Hudson’s pictures
and fingerprints was immediately published
and sent throughout the United States. But
while the search for him went on, Deputy
District Attorney William R. McKay, who
was later to become Superior Judge, pro-
ceeded to bring O’Niell to trial. McKay
devoted his full time to assisting the police
in the hopes that he could bring both kill-
ers to trial at the same time.
It was on February 7th that the F. B. I.
wired that William Hudson, alias William
Arrington, had been arrested on January
31st in Salt Lake City for vagrancy! Once
again it was demonstrated the incalculable
value of co-ordinating police work through-
out the United States and the all important
role played by J. Edgar Hoover’s organiza-
tion.
Ryan rushed into McKay’s office to tell
him the break. “Great!” McKay exclaimed
as he reached for a phone, and within a few
minutes was talking to the Salt Lake chief
of detectives.
But the high hopes again fell when Salt
és)
Lake said they had released Hudson the
day before.
“Do everything you can to locate him,”
McKay urged. “We've got to have him.”
“We will; don’t worry about that,” Salt
Lake assured him.
Salt Lake City officers swarmed in the
jungle section of the city where Hudson,
then using the name Walters, had been ar-
rested. But the best they could do was to
learn that Hudson had left town on a
train half an hour before.
The detectives rushed to the depot to
see if they could find out to where he had
purchased a ticket. They were amazed to
find that Hudson was in the station. The
train was 45 minutes late. Again fate, as
in the case of the tottering billfold over
the sewer drain, had helped to trap a merci-
less killer.
Ww EXTRADITION PAPERS, Ryan hur-
ried to Salt Lake, And knowing
now the true character of his man, to took
no chances. He carried a 30 pound “Ore-
gon Boot” with him. He snapped the heavy
leg iron around Hudson’s ankle and as they
proceeded to the railroad station, he sealed
the key in an airmail envelope addressed
to Los Angeles. With Hudson watching,
he dropped the envelope into a mail box.
“That thing isn’t coming off until we get
to L. A.,” he told him.
On the train Hudson said: “You're wast-
ing your time asking me anything about it.
I'm telling you nothing.”
Ryan shrugged. He had handled thou-
sands of criminals. His long experience
made him a shrewd judge. “Okay by me.
Want to play some cards? Might as well
kill time on the way.”
Hudson kept considering the Oregon boot
as they played cards. “I can’t figure how
anyone could get out of one of these things,”
he said frankly. “Did anyone ever do it?”
Ryan shuffled the deck. “One guy got
away with one,” he replied. “Up in Wy-
oming, I think.”
Hudson’s face lighted. “He did? He
must have known his stuff. Ever get
him ?”
Ryan started dealing. “Yeah, but it took
four years.”
Hudson ignored his hand. “How'd he
get it off?”
Ryan picked up his cards. “He didn’t.
It was still on his skeleton when they
found it. It’s your play now.”
Suddenly Hudson had lost interest in
cards. He was deeply thoughtful, and
sensing his opportunity, Ryan said: “Boy,
you’re plenty tough. I’d hate to come
against you. That girl in the Merry-Go-
Round said you were the meanest man she
ever saw. And you scared that girl in the
Lake Pharmacy plenty, too.”
“When I went into a place I meant busi-
ness,” Hudson snapped. “Tf that damn fool
hadn’t started something, this never would
have happened. And that copper was dumb
as hell. Yeah, I’m tough when I’m on a
job all right.”
Ryan put the deck back in the package.
“How'd you get out of the apartment
house? That’s where you fooled me.”
Hudson grinned. ‘You're lucky, copper,
I didn’t have a gun, I went up the stairs
instead of out the door. Made the roof.
Jumped to the next building and waited. I
saw you looking for me. If I’d had my
gun I'd have killed you.”
Suddenly Hudson realized he was tallk-
ing too much. He stared at Ryan with
his dark mean eyes and Ryan knew that
he was indeed lucky that he too had not
been a victim of the incredible killer. But
at least Hudson had said enough to amount
to a confession of his guilt.
With Hudson’s indirect admissions, Mc-
Kay went to trial in Judge William Tell
I
wm. McKay
uted killers.
a tall, round-
ard. Word of
me had swept
ind William T.
from his home
that his eldest
med, as he saw
1e walk and sud-
ed. Bystanders
in before he fell
nearby drugstore
jered first aid.
red a fair picture
e murder, 4 burn-
cach of them.
ven ruthlessly cut
iminal, all because
decent in the pet-
. : ;
the sentiments ©
e muttered, “We'll
5 the last thing we
ficial photographer
he coroner's deputy-
Underneath it there
“That must oe
. 6 ls
Yavidson said. Ca
is on.”
on began to clean up
ip the scattered coins,
nickels, dimes an
ie point where Calder-
hey searched the spot
yd the second bandit
re was nothing at this
»rson turned along the
y his flashlight caught
sttering on the edge 0
>, Acareless foot or 2
ind would have cause
,e flowing drain.
Lieut. Frank Ryan is shown
here holding slayers’ guns
“Fate may be with us,” he said to
Davidson as he handed him the billfold
and explained where it was found.
Davidson glanced from one spot to
the other and back to the drainage grate.
Had one or the other of the bandits
dropped the billfold, or had it been lost
by some bystander? He flipped open
the billfold and saw that it was empty—
of money at least. But inside one of
the pockets were several folded pieces
of paper.
With Ryan, he stepped inside the
candy store to examine the pieces of
paper under a better light. Several of
the slips of paper contained the first
names of girls and telephone numbers,
indicating the owner apparently had a
long list of girl friends.
There was a checkroom stub from a
Hollywood dance garden and a receipt
made out to cash from the Goodan &
Jenkins furniture store for a portable
radio. Only one piece contained a full
name. It was a receipt from the Form-
bilt Clothing Store for a $22.50 purchase
made out to Wm. Arrington, 616 S.
Bixel, Los Angeles.
“If this belonged to one of them, we’re
in luck,” Ryan commented. “The only
thing that puzzles me is why a stick-up
guy out on a job would carry a billfold
with his name in it.”
“Seems odd,” Davidson conceded.
“And yet it’s a hundred to one that
these guys are professionals. Very like-
ly they’re hot, and couldn’t stand a pinch.
' That's why they killed to avoid arrest.
But this billfold is our best clue, so let’s
| not waste any time checking it until we
know for sure.”
Outside, Hickey had returned from
(Continued on page 74)
To escape
Corner of 9th and Vermont Streets, Los Angeles.
it was here (a few
feet from sign showing “Bear Grill’) that Calderwood was murdered.
pursuing officers, William Hudson, killer, made a short leap
from roof of apartment house, at left, to roof of the one at the right.
ba
76
Aggeler’s court demanding the death pen-
alty for both O’Niell and Hudson. And
on May 8, 1931, the jury of four women
and eight men took less than three hours
to return with a verdict of first degree mur-
der against both and made no recommen-
dations, thus making the death penalty
mandatory.
On May 12th, when Judge Aggeler start-
ed to pronounce sentence, Hudson glared
at him with his mean eyes and snarled
REAL DETECTIVE
unprintable oaths. He seemed to have a
dual personality. In calm moments he was
rather handsome. But when “on a job,”
as he said, or when anyone crossed him, he
was indeed “the man with the mean eyes.”
O’Niell was less bitter, but he refused
to say more than answer the routine
questions about his true name and age.
Attempts were made to have Governor
Rolph commute the sentences of the young
killers, but this was impossible without the
permission of the Supreme Court, since
both had prior felony convictions. After
upholding the jury verdict, the highest
court refused to allow the governor to
commute the sentences.
On October 2, 1931, William Hudson,
25, dropped from the scaffold at exactly
10:00 A.M. He was dead at 10.16 A.M.
At 10:27 the second noose was placed
‘around Robert O’Niell’s neck. At 10:41
the 21-year-old killer was dead.
CLUE OF THE SUBSTITUTE BOTTLE
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 61)
DETECTIVE
screaming. The first person they would
contact would be Lester. He had to get
rid of the capsule box. There were traces
of strychnine in it and he couldn’t risk
throwing it away because it had his finger-
prints.
He brought his car to a skidding stop
along the country road. He jumped out,
walked into the brush, and raked some dead
grass in a small pile. He placed the cap-
sule box on it and touched a match to the
grass. He fanned the fire with his hat and
watched the capsule box dissolve in the
flames.
Then he stomped the ground to erase
any ashes or marks of a fire. He walked
hurriedly back to his car and drove on to
4071%4 West Sixth Street in Mishawaka
where he lived. He ran into the house. He
expected to find the police waiting to notify
him that his brother was dead.
But when he walked into the house, it
was dark and silent. He went to his room.
The stillness grated on his nerves. He sat
down and then got up quickly. He paced
the floor. He knew that he was a mur-
derer! This thought didn’t terrify him.
It brought a cunning of mind he had not
known before. He was amazed at the calm
way in which he could recall all the
movements of his murder plan.
There had been no mistake. The police
might suspect him, but they could prove
nothing. He had drunk the same wine.
He had a good story. After he had left,
Elgey must have placed strychnine in the
wine and killed himself. He had brooded
over his domestic troubles. Suicide would
make no difference in payment of the insur-
ance policy. He had investigated that.
As Lester Slack paced the floor of his
room, Captain William Mathis sat at his
desk at the Elkhart Police Headquarters.
At 12:35 his phone rang. He picked it up,
wondering if another election complaint was
coming in, as the Presidential election
was being held that day.
An excited voice said: “A man is dying
over here at 731 Marion Street. This is
Adolph Reschke. I live at the rooming
house at that address.”
“Tl send a doctor right out,’ Captain
Mathis said and hung up.
Lieutenant Lee Hammond and Patrolman
Frank Quick jumped in a police car and
headed for Marion Street while Captain
Mathis called Doctor Richard B. Stout and
asked him to report to the Marion Street
rooming house.
Lieutenant Hammond and Patrolman
Quick walked into the house. A young
girl was in the hall. Her face was pale and
her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
“If you are doctors,” she said quietly,
“you are too late. Elgey Slack is dead.”
“We're officers,” Lieutenant Hammond
answered. “The doctor will be here any
minute. What was the trouble?”
Adolph Reschke came out of a room up-
stairs and walked down the stairs. His
face, too, was pale and he was visibly
upset.
“I can tell you what happened,” he said
to the officers. “I was asleep and there
was a knock on my door. When I opened
it, Elgey Slack stood there. He looked
terrible. He said he was sick and wanted
me to call a doctor. Elgey was quite a
joker and at first I thought it was one of
his jokes, but he fell to the floor and
kicked and screamed in pain. I knew he
was sick. I picked him up and carried him
to his room. He regained consciousness
and asked for Miss Violet Young. He
wanted her to pray for him.”
Reschke nodded toward the young woman
who had met the officers in the hall. Lieu-
tenant Hammond said to her, “Who are
you?”
“I ama minister in the Nazarene church,”
she explained. “I went in to pray for him.
He told me that he had drunk some wine
with his brother and that he got sick after
drinking the wine. The bottle is’ still in
his room.”
octor STouT ARRIVED and Lieutenant
Hammond motioned him to follow
him upstairs, Reschke took them to Elgey
Slack’s room. The brother lay on the bed,
twisted and distorted, his face, even in+
peas showing the ghastly pain he had suf-
ered.
“He hasn’t been dead more than ten min-
utes,” Doctor Stout said. “He died in a
terrible convulsion. You say he drank some
of that wine?”
Doctor Stout took the wine bottle, tasted
its contents and then spat. “Bitter as acid,”
he said. “It may be bad—or it may be...”
“I get you,” Lieutenant Hammond an-
swered, “If the brother drank some of
the wine with him, we may find another
dead body.” Then turning to Reschke,
Lieutenant Hammond asked, “Where does
this brother live?”
“Lester has a room at 407%4 West Sixth
Street in Mishawaka,” Reschke explained.’
“He just left here about an hour ago. He
and Elgey drank some wine together. Les-
ter is going to get married and I guess El-
gey was celebrating. The brothers are very
close.”
“What about it, Doc?” Lieutenant Ham-
mond asked.
“You better call the coroner,” Dr. Stout
answered. “This man could have died from
an attack of acute indigestion, brought on
by bad wine. That is a possibility, but I
suggest that you contact the brother at once
and see how he is feeling.”
In his room, Lester Slack had lain down
on the bed with his clothes on. He was too
nervous and jittery to sleep. At every sound
‘your brother ?”
in the house, his nerves would jump. He
was trying to perfect his story to tell the
police when they came. He repeated it to
himself over and over again.
Suddenly there was a knock on his door.
His body seemed to freeze. He tried to
move but couldn’t. There was a second
knock. He shook his head violently to clear
his brain. He got off the bed and walked
to the door and opened it.
Two officers stood there. One of them
said, “Are you Lester Slack?”
“That's my name,” Lester Slack an-
— “What in the world is the trou-
e?
“Were you over in Elkhart tonight with
Lieutenant Hammond
asked.
“Yes, I was -over there,” Lester replied.
“I just got back. Has... has... any-
thing happened to Elgey ?”
“You better come back with us,” Lieu-
tenant Hammond said.
, Lester Slack grabbed his coat and pulled
it on. He was surprised at how easy it all
was. The jittery feeling had passed. So
had the haunting fears, .
_ The body of Elgey still lay on the bed in
his room when Lester Slack and Lieutenant
Hammond and Patrolman Quick entered
the room. The distortion of the face and
body didn’t move Lester. The only thought
that kept pounding in his brain was that
now he would get the $1000.
Yet he knew he had to act his part. He
knew it couldn’t be over-acted. He walked
to the bed, stared down at his. brother, and
then turned to Lieutenant Hammond and
said: “How ... how did this happen? -I
just left Elgey and he was in good spirits
and perfectly well.”
“We don’t_know yet what happened,”
Lieutenant Hammond said. “We were
called and told a man was dying here.
When we got here, your brother was dead.”
Coroner Karl W. Vetters entered the
room. Lieutenant Hammond took Lester
Slack by the arm and the two walked out
in the hall.
Lester said: “I am afraid I can’t think .
very straight. God, I can’t believe that El-
gey is dead. He was like a father to me.”
“It’s tough,” Lieutenant Hammond was
sympathetic. “We’ll know more when the
coroner is finished. Did your brother have
stomach trouble?”
“If he did, I never heard of it,” Lester
answered. Then he hesitated a momient,
His next statement had to be phrased care-
fully. “There is only one thing,” he con-
tinued. “I can’t believe it, but I have wor-
ried about it. You know Elgey had do-
mestic trouble. His wife divorced him. He
never seemed to get over it. He had two
children. They are living with relatives at
Sturgis now. This trouble preyed on El-
gey’s mind. Could it be possible that he
simply ended
Lester did:
Lieutenant }
quickly, “I ¢:
a suicide,”
brother woke
€_ was sick,
going to die.
1s a preacher
im. A man «
those things,
drinking that
or a long :
he was going :
tenant Hamm.
sand pieces hi
der plan. He
ing anybody, |
die alone.
“That’s a re
would never ¢
had committed
_ Lieutenant F
little pale. I g
You better go
you if we learn
A wave of r
wanted to run
€ wanted to s
the back and t
of these things.
He nodded
great, but it wi
realize that
can wait until
funeral.”
He walked s!
of the house. I
gas and sent j
speed. And wh:
he sat down on
He felt good. 14
directed -at him.
perfectly,
was acting, he is
ever seen,” he
stunned by his |
“We have coll
about Lester Sla:
Manning said. “
him, he is shiftles
find anybody who
We did find a nv
gested that we in
His house burni
brought him mor.
now we find that
insurance polic
“One thing hy
Hammond sugges
gey Slack’s death.
“We'll know i:
Manning said. “D
Sisting with the ai
his report, but Dr.
wine contained sor
“Tt seems incre:
kill his brother,” C
the reports we havi
and Elgey Slack
always helped hir-
one friend.”
“If Elgey Slack
anning counterec
a chance to put t!
The fact that Leste
Same bottle isn’t a
poison his brother.’
7 But proving that
Lieutenant Hammc
son case at best is ;
this case would be a
Dunlap is thought
; Tica: that had been mounting
Be. denly intensified and. engulfed
i horror she suffered when the elusive
_.“baage bandit” who had evaded police of-
NLAP
ee rigs sire
to have eluded
a drag-net by disguising himself
as an old lady and fleeing over
the above bridge near Pasadena.
% steadily for more than a year sud-
Southern California residents the night
of April 8, 1923, when they learned of the
brutal attack upon pretty young Rosa
Kripps, of Inglewood, and the night of
ficers for fifteen months held up her com-
panion, Henry Warton, and abducted her.
Miss Kripps told police of her experi-
ence after Warton had reported the loss
of eighty-five dollars cash and a six hun-
dred dollar automobile, taken from him
at the point of a revolver, while‘he stood
helplessly bound with his own belt and
half-stunned by. a savage blow on the
side of his head that the bandit had administered shortly before
driving away with Miss Kripps.
“We were driving home from church,” Miss Kripps told the
investigating officers, “when suddenly, out of complete darkness,
a man with a revolver stepped out in front of the car, and mo-
tioned us to stop.”
_ Deputy Sheriff Frank Dewar interrupted, “Would you recog-
nize the man if you saw him?” “
“Yes, I certainly would. The car lights were on him and when
we slowed up he ordered us to stop. Then he came over to the
car and showed us a badge he held in his hand. It looked like a
policeman’s badge.
“He said, ‘I 0
argued with
that’s a stolen car. Get out.’ Mr. Warton
he slapped him with the gun and Henry
stumbled ay and the robber made him take his belt
-_ off, The: i Henry’s hands with it and took me away.
‘ “Then iicnry recovered from ‘the blow and freed his hands
from the belt and found me and we reported the trouble to
The pair of escaped felons
hid out in this cabin near
Crestline, Cal., where they
mapped out future crimes.
* By Phillip Barnes
Constable G. W. Reynolds whom we
found not far from Prairie and Commer-
cial streets.”
Constable Reynolds was not successful
in tracing the bandit who had driven
away rapidly in Warton’s car after the
attack, but his report to the Inglewood
police and to the sheriff’s sub-station put
scores of other officers on the alert.
Undersheriff Eugene W. Biscailuz had
sent out several photographs of criminals
with records of known attacks upon
women and out of this bunch Miss Kripps
immediately and positively identified that
of Harry Dunlap, paroled convict and
wanted again by police ever since Feb-
ruary 28, 1922, when the series of ‘‘pet-
ting party” robberies that had since
terrorized Los Angeles and vicinity
began.
John W. Braze and Sidney P. Gurney,
both accompanied by young women, were
held up at different times and in different
places the night of February 28th and all
of the victims of these robberies had posi-
tively identified photographs of Harry
— pe Dunlap as the man who had displayed a
‘policeman’s badge and then grinned at
them over the sights of a gun as he took
wii liberties both with their personal prop-
erty and with their women.
Although policg hada record of twenty-
nine such holdups and assaults in the year
just passed before Miss Kripps testified,
all but one of the other women involved
had asked that their names be withheld.
This one exception, Mrs. Dorothy Dam-
pel, of Los Angeles had declared upon
scanning) Dunlap’s police photograph :
“T’d face anything to see that man caught and convicted. The
abuses inflicted by his hands seemed not a whit worse than those
that poured obscenely from his mouth as he gloated over my
helplessness.”
It was not the lack of eyewitnesses to his crimes that pre-
vented prosecution of Harry Dunlap. It was his seeming ability
to evade police at will, and the futility with which the efforts of
hundreds of trained officers had been growned in following his
trail. Orders had gone out in every police precinct and in every
sheriff’s sub-station, “Get Harry Dunlap,” but the man was still
free and had succeeded in stepping safely out of every trap set
for him by the officers.
Police matrons accompanied by officers in plain clothes, had
driven hundreds of miles on lonely streets and had parked on
unfrequented side streets, hoping that the smooth-talking, ruth-
less-acting badge bandit would accost them and give them the
opportunity of making an arrest, or as one young officer put. it,
“T’'l] arrest him and bring him in. Maybe I’ll bring him in alive.
49
The enormous Drill Hall which
contains the fingerprint records
of the FBI in Washington, D. C.
Dunlap’s prints are among them.
‘But [’ll bring him in.” Police were keyed
up to shoot on sight when they saw Dun-
lap, whose short, sligh® figure, with its
high, half-bald forehead, ‘was by- now fa-
miliar to all from lifesize sketches that
had been made and from various motion
pictures that had been made . showing
Dunlap, impersonated by a character
actor, in various poses, walking and
standing and sitting.
In May, 1923, shortly after the Kripps
attack, Mrs. R. S. Bookes of Santa
Monica was held up and robbed and her
car stolen. Undersheriff Biscailuz sent
extra men to the Santa Monica sub-sta-
tion to aid in the search for the holdup
man. Mrs. Bookes could not identify
Dunlap from his photograph, “I was too
trightened,” she said, “that looks like
him, but.I.can’t be sure.” But a few hours
later identity was established when police
found the stolen car abandoned and Dun-
lap’s fingerprints in half a dozen places
on its surface.
Out at the end of the Santa Monica
pleasure pier they also found.a pile of
abandoned clothing. A tailor’s label in
50
* Detective Sgt. Earl Rombeau
probed a Los Angeles bank
robbery in which Dunlap and
Curts collected about $1500.
}
* the coat had in it a label with Harry J.
Dunlap still distinguishable in faded ink,
A Los Angeles policeman’s shield that
had been reported lost more than a year
previously was down in the bottom of the
breast pocket of the coat. A pencilled
postcard addressed to Harry Dunlap at
1811 Sixth street, Los Angeles, was in
the inside pocket.
It was then nearing the false dawn"
that precedes the real dawn after a black
night at sea and about fifty yards away
from the clothes a lone night fisherman’
; iat %
An expert compares an inked |
and a latent print, illustrating’ ’
how identifications are made,
1M
stood leaning over the pier rail. In answer’
to a question he replied, “Yes,.I did hear»
some kind of a splash that didn’t seem to
‘sound quite like the waves -hitting the.
piling. Sure, it might have been a. man
overboard, I didn’t see anyone, I didn’t
even notice the clothes until soft showed
them to me.” a
It was a lonely spot, and a dark; cold ©
night. “No other fishermen had been.
around at the.time, but officers decided
that it could have been a suicide, It could
have been Harry Dunlap, who, : with
thousand police hot on his trail, had taken
the easy way out to avoid capture and
imprisonment.
At the Sixth street address it was
learned that Dunlap had lived there about
three months before, but he had left sud-
denly and had not been seen since.
At the tailors who had made the coat
it was flatly denied that it had been made
for Harry Dunlap. The tailor said, “This
label has been worked on, The name has’
been changed to Dunlap. He probably
bought it second-hand, or stole it, and
printed his own name in later, We never
had a cus
tion, eith
clothes <
would he’
the suicic
For se.
notices
cast to po
citizens, .
give cred
lap slack:
Sudde:
“in that a
methods
lowed by
~ . San Fran
were sho\
The L:
reward f:
, Northwe
new sé!
through:
And tl
The ni
his girl t
aman st:
glare an
on some |
hand wa:
It was
Warton
“Get
Brown, *
can office:
motor ai
/gun saic
- Take th:
young \
her side
Involu
«wallet a:
9 leaned in
pe the leath
Brown c¢
push, Th
back clut:
and he s
the suicide theory gradually ceased.
ied : . For several months there was no word of Dunlap. Wanted
rm notices covering a dozen crimes had been printed and broad-
cast to police departments throughout the country. Los Angeles
ae citizens, as well as some police officials, were beginning to
- give credence to the suicide evidence and the watch for Dun-
ean slap slackened’ somewhat.
vay Suddenly from Seattle and from San Francisco reports came
were shown Dunlap’s picture.
new ‘series of wanted notices was
“throughout the entire United States and in Canada.
~ ., And then the smiling, sneering, badge bandit struck again.
t.
‘
“hand was a large revolver, pointed at the driver.
“Tt was a re-enactment of the Kripps-
Warton holdup of April 8th.
“Get out,” the bandit said to Harry
Brown, “I want to look this car over. I’m
- an officer.” Brown started to shut off the
‘motor and get out, but the man with the
gun ‘said, “Give me your money first.
d Take that watch off your wrist.” The
g “young woman with Brown cowered in
2. >... her side of the seat.
Involuntarily Brown reached for his
wallet: and held it out'as the other man
leaned inside the car window and grabbed
nsw the leather. “Hell, you’re not an officer,”
d hear Brown cried, and gave his assailant a
sem tO push, The gun exploded and Brown fell
ig the back clutching his shoulder. Another shot
a mag ~and he slumped over toward the wheel
didn’t “oe
howed
k, cold
| been
iecided
t could
with
d taken
ire and
it was
about
it sud-
he coat
n made
1, “This
une has
srobably “
it, and
ve never
ats
had a customer by that name or a man answering that descrip-
tion, either.” Further efforts to trace the first owner of the
~ . clothes: availed nothing and it was not believed that the lead
would help in the search for Dunlap, and activity to disprove
‘jn that a “badge bandit” was operating in that territory. The
‘methods of procedure were identical with those formerly fol-
slowed by Dunlap, and then in the Northwest territory and in
$ San Franciso police secured identificatioris from witnesses who
“The Los Angeles Examiner offered a one thousand dollar
reward for Dunlap’s, capture. Police activity along the Pacific »
‘Northwest coast and throughout California redoubled, and a
immediately broadcast
_jdentified a picture of Dunlap as her assailant.
‘) V'The night of September 20, 1923, Harry Brown was driving
\ his girl to her home in Sacramento when at 46th and K streets ©
“Sq man stepped out of the darkness and stood in the headlights’
glare and held up his hand for them to stop. The lights glittered
‘on some kind of metal badge he had in his hand, and in his other
: hundred yards from 46th and K streets, where Brown was killed.
and slid down on the floor between the wheel and his woman
companion.
Despite the shots which had sounded harsh and loud in the
night stillness the holdup man proceeded to molest the woman
and rob her and then fling her unconscious body on the ground
beside the car. He stopped a half moment to extract the currency
from the wallet he had taken and this too he flung down in the
street.
Sacramento police found the unconscious woman when prowl
cars tracked down the savage shots that had been heard. They
found Brown, and Brown was dead. And they found the dead
man’s wallet with three fine fingerprints on the celluloid inside
where the killer had held it while taking out the money. |
Inside of half an hour a cordon tightened around Sacramento,
but one of two major highways had remained unguarded for the
few minutes necessary for a fast car to get out of town. A little
later after the fingerprints had been classified and compared,
Sacramento police and every police station in California that
had a teletype machine knew that Harry Dunlap was now wanted
for murder. :
The fingerprints matched those of Dunlap on file and when
Brown’s companion was revived and rested she immediately
A Jordan playboy roadster was reported stolen that night in
Sacramento and the car was taken from a driveway hardly a
The car was reported stolen just about an hour after Brown
was shot and it had been sitting handily in the driveway at the
time of the murder, with the ignition key in it, the owner. ad-
wy
ore om
Investigation disclosed
that Dunlap, while on
a gambling spree, had
lived at the hotel, seen
above, at Juarez, Mex.
Dunlap was seen to
cross International
Bridge, shown at left, |
near Juarez, but the
ensuing search failed
to reveal his hideout.
51
mitted sheepishly. It was almost certain
that Dunlap had stolen the car to effect
his escape and telephone and teletype
niessages were quickly dispatched North
to San Francisco, and South along the
entire route to Los Angeles.
But police two-way, and three-way
radios were practically non-existent at
that time and the fast Jordan roadster
had always “just gone through about
twenty minutes ago,” when reported.
However, police did learn definitely that
the car was headed south and that its lone
occupant, a half-bald young fellow who
could easily answer Dunlap’s description,
was driving madly.
But again Dunlap got away. The only
trace found of him was the abandoned
roadster, located in an Eastside alley the
next morning behind a produce dealer’s
storage warehouse. The expected prints
of Dunlap were found in several places
on the car, but Dunlap had disappeared
and continuous search in the neighbor-
hood failed to uncover anyone at all who
had seen a man answering his description.
' After a trail of crime including rape, robbery
and murder, Dunlap was caught in Detroit. He
ig seen above, left with Sher. Traeger, right, the
after he was returned to California for trial. . m4
\ Du:
* aut
The killer who had mistreated so'many Los Angeles women ins
was back in town again but he seemed to bob out of sight com- the:
pletely every time police traced him to a certain spot, like an got
elusive jack-o’-lantern disappears when a questing searcher gets pol
too close. .” ; ; jus!
The Examiner displayed more pictures of Dunlap and re-_ .-
iterated the large reward and police officers and sheriffs, from on
inspectors down to patrolmen and rookie deputies were ad- wii.
monished to put a gun on every suspect they saw and bring him | ~ anc
in. No orders were issued to bring Dunlap in alive. +. ‘: }
Dunlap’s effort Undersheriff Biscailuz was talking to his superior, Sheriff dar we
to escape from William I, Traeger, “I think Dunlap will change his methods ae iso
a Los Angeles now that this ‘petting party’ holdup business has become so | the
jail was foiled hot. With that Brown killing in Sacramento hanging over his ~ - “Hi
by Sheriff E. head he is pretty liable to try something else for a while, Maybe - the
Biscailuz, left. he will hold up stores, or do some plain stickups downtown, or_ gra
even get some of the postoffices or branch banks.in the outlying. Ha:
sections.” Sheriff Traeger nodded, eas mai
“The way I figure it,” Biscailuz continued, “Dunlap ’is pretty seer
short of money. He got less than a hundred from Brown, Repo of t
from Seattle and San Francisco didn’t indicate he made-any .) quic
heavy hauls up that way. So he’s just-about broke, He spends ‘a’
\ lot of money the way he moves around so fast, and my idea is -
Bor
Vanderford and FBI Agent Zimmerman wait-
ed anxiously. by his bed. Several times the
critically wounded man’s eyelids fluttered, but
he appeared not to hear Allen’s questions.
“He won’t make it,” one doctor told the
officers, “but he should rally a few seconds
before he dies. He might be able to hear and
answer you then.”
It came with surprising quickness. Hall-
man’s eyes popped open in his waxen face and
he glanced in consternation around the room.
He saw the officers and his memory returned.
“Hallman!” the sheriff said, bending close.
“Did you kill Gunnells and Bagwell?”
No answer.
“Hallman! You're going to die! Tell us .
quick . . . did you shoot Gunnells and Bag-
well up on Kings Mountain last night?”
Hallman took a deep, shivering breath. His
voice was little more than a whisper.
“T heard . .. they were running .. .
with my wife.”
“But did you kill them?”
around
The eyes closed slowly, the dying man’s
body twisted in a new rack of pain.
“Hallman!” the sheriff said loudly.
But Hallman lay very still. There was a
deep sigh, which they thought would be his
last, then the pale lips moved very slowly.
“I. . . killed them,” he said, and died:
The officers turned to each other, weak
with relief. The double slayings were solved,
barely in time. But their investigation wasn’t
over yet.
During the next week, they learned that
Hallman had come up from Florida after a
friend wrote him that the two textile workers
were dating his wife, and there was other evi-
dence that a third man had been involved,
probably the one who refused to accompany
Hallman to “look over” the proposed bur-
glary job. By refusing, he had saved his life.
He, too, was supposed to have dated the
truck driver’s estranged mate. They learned
that Hallman had been a violently jealous
man. He had arrived in the area the week
Boy Into Beast
continued from page 29
It was pointed out that Richard Jensen had
no twin brother. Finally the boy confessed.
“Billy and I were making the toy boat to-
gether,” he said. “Billy called me a convict. He
was teasing me about spending time at Whit-
tier, and that made me mad. After I hit him a
couple of times with the hammer, everything
went black. I don’t remember anything after
that.”
Richard was handed over to the sheriff’s
men, who questioned him further. He still
maintained that “everything went black” after
he attacked his playmate with the hammer.
“T suppose I cut up Billy and put the wire
around his neck just because the knife and wire
happened to be there,” he said. “They were
the tools we were using on the boat. There
was a hole in the yard not far away. I was
going to bury him there when night came, but
my mother spoiled that by walking in.”
“Are you sorry?” he was asked.
“Naw, I ain’t sorry. I don’t know how I
feel. But he had it coming.”
Investigators had noted that there was no
sign of a toy boat being constructed in the
basement. It was hard to come by the truth
with this tale-telling youngster. He said he had
planned to rob a gas station for funds, then
flee to Fresno. His hard-as-nails attitude was
chilling, coming as it did from a good-looking
14-year-old who ought to be out playing base-
ball. Later, he grew angry at the questioning:
“I don’t care what happens to me,” he
shouted. “I hate everybody! Let ’em hang
me, let ’em burn me. I can take it. I’m not
afraid to die.”
Seasoned officers admitted that they did not
‘ know quite how to handle the boy. He was
turned over to the General Hospital psycho-
pathic ward for safekeeping while an inquest
jury considered the evidence. The coroner had
found a dozen stab wounds in Billy’s body.
The skull had been crushed by nine visible
hammer blows. The jury held the death to be
homicide and recommended prosecution. Then
Richard Jensen, his arms strapped to prevent
any outbreak, was taken to the court of Judge
Ben B. Lindsey, a jurist famed the world over
for his understanding of juvenile delinquents.
Judge Lindsey listened to Richard tell of his
experiences in the reformatory, how he broke
another inmate’s jaw, how he killed Billy
Williams. The judge ordered the boy to un-
dergo a thorough psychiatric examination.
“This boy,” Lindsey said, ‘is the most cal-
loused and cold-blooded individual I have
seen in 35 years of courtroom experience.”
D.A. Emest Roll obtained a grand jury
indictment, the prosecutor saying, “This boy
is too dangerous and vicious to risk his ever
being freed again.” It was the first time one
so young had ever been indicted for murder
in California. It was expected that young Jen-
sen would be confined in a mental institution,
and the indictment was intended primarily as
a safeguard to hold against him should he
ever be released.
OUR doctors who examined Richard for
several weeks found him to be suffering
from schizophrenia, with pronounced homo-
sexual tendencies. It was believed that the
cause might be traced back to an attack of
whooping cough he had when he was an infant.
The doctors felt that the chances for improve-
ment were good. Their report suggested gland
treatment and shock therapy, saying, “delin-
quency and mental health problems often stem
from a physiological basis.”
Richard Jensen was committed to Camarillo
State Hospital, with the murder indictment
pending against him in case of his ultimate
release. That was ‘the beginning of the State of
California’s second round of troubles with its
most perplexing and frightening charge.
Rebelling against discipline, he was soon in
hot water at Camarillo, He was transferred to
another institution at Sonoma, where he like-
wise defied the rules and tried to escape.
Finally he was sent to Mendocino State Hos-
pital—a prison, a maximum security institu-
tion for the criminally insane. Here he was
also a trouble-maker at first. But he was re-
ceiving constant therapy, and the officials at
\ :
~,
before and sought out Gunnells and Bagwell,
offering to cut them in on “a big job.” Friday
night was set up as the time to discuss the
details. Hallman apparently had gotten them
drunk enough to handle. The exact sequence
of events will now be impossible to follow,
but it seems from evidence found that Hall-
man beat them up and killed them somewhere
other than where their bodies were found,
then drove up lonely Kings Mountain to dis-
pose of the bodies.
The seat covers of his old <2r bad been
ripped off, and the floor-mats, front 2ad rear,
had been removed, probably to get rid of the
blood. A man was located who had identified
Gunnells and Bagwell for Haliman. A .45-cal-
iber pistol, the shotgun and a machinegun had
been found in the dead Hallman’s car.
“What was the significance of that ‘hands |
in the pocket’ thing?” a reporter 3ked Sheriff
Allen. . .
The sheriff shrugged. He didn’t xnow. And
there wasn’t any way to find out. a
Mendocino thought they noticed an improve-
ment—so much so that in 1941, when he was
16, they reported him cured.
This meant that he would be free—liberated
to face trial on the murder indictment. Los
Angeles County authorities, after a new study
of the case, decided that this was tie last
thing they wanted because he was almost sure
to be acquitted on the ground thai he Was in-
sane at the time of the crime. Jurors would be
likely to take one look at the curly-headed
youth and send him home. Young jensen, the
D.A.’s men were convinced, was stil! danger-
ous and to free him would be taking a risk.
They made use of a new statute enacted in
1939. On March 21, 1941, Juvenile Superior
Judge Robert H. Scott invoked this® statute
and declared Jensen a psychopathic. delinquent.
While this did not necessarily brand him in-
sane, it defined him as a warped personality,
too dangerous to liberate. More important,
it provided that he should be committed for
life, or until his cure was proved complete.
So Jensen stayed at Mendocino for four
more years. On August 18, 1945—now aged 20
—he escaped. With him over the wall went an
older inmate, balding Harry Dunlap, confined
after a career as a lovers’ lane bandit.
Following the escape came a series.of, hold-
ups in which the pair were believed ‘partici-
pants. One of them was at the Casahijanca
night club in Los Angeles, where a’ middle-
‘aged man served as lookout while a younger
man disguised as a milkman held up thé wom-
an bookkeeper at gunpoint and escaped with
$5000. Police later showed the woman a batch
of: mug photos. She quickly picked out that
of Jensen as the fake milkman. Circulars went
out on the pair, describing Jensen in particular
as “highly dangerous,” but they dropped from
sight after the lucrative Casablanca job.
Two months later, in Columbus, Ohio, a
mean-eyed man loaded with loot was nabbed
as he tried to sneak out of a department store
where he had hidden before it closed for the
night.
Identified as Jensen, he was returned to Cali-
fornia, where police questioned him.as to the
whereabouts of Harry Dunlap. He insisted that
they had separated in California and he had
no idea where Duplap was. But there was a
suspicion that Jensen might haye slain his pal,
buried him somewhere, and made off with the
Casablanca loot.
So Jensen was returned to Mendocino.
Twice again he escaped, each time being quick-
ly caught and brought back raging, declaring
he was perfectly sane and wanted only his
‘freedom. One of the things noticed by several
expert observers was that when Jensen was on
his good behavior he could be perfectly lucid,
speaking with such intelligence and even charm
that the listener was struck by the conviction
that here was a man who did not belong among
insane felons.
By now his parents were making legal ef-
forts to win him his release. They believed him
sane, felt that his continued imprisonment
among mentally disturbed criminals was doing
him irreparable harm, and were confident that
if released he would prove himself a responsi-
ble citizen. At length the then superintendent
of Mendocino, himself a psychiatric expert,
came around to the same belief.
Through the parents’ loyal efforts, a hearing
was finally held on August 18, 1950. The Men-
docino superintendent testified in favor of giv-
ing the prisoner his freedom.
“The boy is no longer a menace,” he said.
“He is not a boy any more. He is no longer
immature. He is a man now and he has got
to act like a man. He knows it and I believe
that he will.”
-
TRONGLY opposed was the county jail
physician, also a qualified psychiatrist. He
had examined Jensen at the court’s request,
and was not convinced that his sexual ab-
normalities had been curbed sufficiently for
safety. He described Jensen as “a definite haz-
ard if released,” saying, “Jensen does not
appear to have a complete understanding of
the enormity of the brutal murder he com-
mitted at the age of 14, although he recalls
in detail events surrounding that time.”
While the doctor agreed that Mendocino
was not an ideal place for Jensen, the state
did not then have an institution designed to
treat his particular form of disturbance. To
the doctor, the public safety was the first thing
. to consider.
“Tt is my opinion,” he said, “that regardless
of the inability of the hospital officials to
provide further treatment for him, the im-
portant requisite at this time is maximum
security detention which can be provided at
Mendocino.”
On the strength of this warning, the judge
denied the parents’ appeal.
But other physicians disagreed with the jail
doctor. Eight months later, because Mendocino
could give Jensen no further treatment, he
was transferred to Camarillo State Hospital,
where security was less rigid. Here he was
examined again, with results so reassuring
that he spent only 28 days there. On May 29,
~ 1951, Jensen was freed.
By now, in the space of 15 years, he had
spent time in five different corrective in-
stitutions, had appeared before numerous
judges, and his case had become complicated
enough to confuse anyone. Apparently there
was a paperwork error here. For he was still
under indictment for the Billy Williams mur-
der, and the court order demanding his de-
tention on that charge still held. After the
shooting of Marine Sergeant Piper, Los An-
geles authorities said angrily that they did not
even know that Jensen was at liberty or they
would have pressed the murder charge.
In any case, he was at liberty. He was
classified as “on leave,” which meant that
workers of the State Bureau of Social Service
were required to interview him every 90 days
to make sure of his rehabilitation. To get away
from his childhood surroundings where he was
known as a criminal and killer, Jensen took a
room in Tujunga, a Los Angeles suburb, and
got a job. He had been free for more than a
year in October, 1952, when a Camarillo of-
ficial wrote the judge that Jensen was making
“adequate adjustment.” -
The judge, remembering the jail physician’s
report, had misgivings. Something else that
brought worry was the recent case of William
Rupp, another psychopathic delinquent whose
career matched Jensen’s in many ways. At 14,
Rupp had attacked an Orange County house-
wife with a hammer, injuring her severely. He
had been sent to Camarillo and released after
three years. At 18 he was working as a hired
hand at a Yorba Linda ranch, where he spied a
pretty baby-sitter, 15-year-old Ruby Ann
Payne. When he made lustful advances, the
girl tried to escape. He bludgeoned her with a
hammer, raped her, then shot her dead. Young
Rupp was now awaiting execution at San
Quentin Prison.
The judge did not want this to happen in
the Jensen case. On the letter from Camarillo
he made a note, “Bears watching, in my opin-
ion,” and passed the letter along to the
superior judge then presiding in juvenile court.
This judge also had a vivid recollection of
the Rupp case. He wrote the Camarillo super-
intendent urging that Jensen be checked on
closely for at least another year by Social
Service Bureau workers before his final dis-
charge. If he were found unreliable, he could
then be recommitted.
This plan was followed. It was found that
Jensen seemed to be doing very well on his
own. Living in Tujunga, he worked at an auto
parts store in nearby Glendale. For almost an-
other year, so far as the interviewers knew, he
kept his nose clean.
But John Richard Jensen, always a con- ,
vincing liar, was far from rehabilitated. After
years of treatment, the old ruthlessness was
still there, waiting its opportunity.
He got this idea—the idea of an automatic
murder device—and it was too attractive to
resist. He spent nights at his garage, sawing off
the rifle stock, arranging the gun in the Pon-
tiac’s back seat with blocks and cords so it
would do the job. He even tested it, as he
later admitted, to make sure. He squeezed a
block of two-by-four between the gun’s muz-
zle and the front seat. Slipping behind the
wheel, he pulled the cord that activated the
trigger. There was an explosion, and he found
a neat hole drilled in the block of wood.
It was on the night of October 3, 1953, that
Jensen drove out of Tujunga to make prac-
tical use of his invention. This was just two
weeks before his probationary period would
be over and be would be free as a bird—
proof in itself that he was hardly a normal
citizen. It was a Saturday night. He knew that
there would be many service men hitchhiking
on weekend passes, carrying their pay and
other valuables. He had the gun-and-cord ar-
rangement covered with a blanket when he
picked up Sergeant Piper at San Fernando.
Afterward, when he stopped the car, saying
that he wanted to check the headlights, he
leaned over and pulled the cord. The gun fired
according to plan, But later investigation
showed that the bullet did not strike Piper.
The slug hit a coil spring in the upholstery,
which deflected it. But the hardened-steel
spring was driven forward with such force
that it struck Piper with bullet-like impact. It
was when he saw that the Marine was hurt
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HE ADVANCED FROM CHILD-KILLER 10 MONSTER,
ROAMING HIGHWAYS WITH AN INFERNAL MACHINE
HE'D DESIGNED TO SLAY INNOCENT HITCHHIKERS
by WILLIAM MONTE SWANN
m It was just past 7 P.M., dark and chilly, as Marine Ser-
geant Marion L. Piper, 21, waited on the highway outside
San Fernando, Cal., with his thumb ready. He had a week-
end pass from the base at San Diego. He was enroute to
visit his girl friend and her family in Bakersfield. Los
Angeles was a devil of a town for a hitchhiker to get
through, but now he was on its northern edge and with
a little luck it ought to be clear sailing. He was glad when
an old Pontiac sedan stopped and the driver called, “Hop in.”
Piper hopped in. The motorist was a lean, red-haired,
craggy-faced man, maybe 30, with a strange look around
his eyes. \
“Bakersfield?” he said. “You’re lucky. I’m going that way.”
His voice was harsh and his gaze had that peculiar hard-
ness, but a ride was a ride. In Korea, Piper had ridden on
manure-strewn carts drawn by oxen. Now as they headed
north on* broad Highway 99 he tried to make conversation,
but the taciturn stranger replied only with nods or grunts.
He didn’t say who he was, where he was from or where he
was going. Not until some time later, after they had passed
Caswell, did he utter a complete sentence—three of them.
“Got to make a little detour here,” he said. “Promised my
aunt I’d drop in on her on the way. Only be a few minutes.”
“Sure, sure,” Piper said. “Glad to wait for you.”
They turned onto desolate Highway 138, which snakes
eastward over the mountains toward the Mojave Desert.
Then, in a few miles, they turned again onto what seemed
“the world’s most lonesome trail—Old Ridge Road. Forest
blackness enveloped them. Suddenly the driver brought
the car to a stop.
“Something wrong with the headlights,” he muttered.
“[ll check.”
He reached down beside him. From then on nothing
seemed to make sense unless in terms of madness. There
was an explosion that seemed to come from the back seat.
Something struck Piper so cruelly in the back that he was
driven forward against the windshield. It seemed to him
that someone who must have been hiding in the back seat
had shot him. Utterly stupefied, he cried out in pain. Then,
before Piper could raise a hand to defend himself, the
hard-eyed driver came up with a hammer, swung it
viciously, beat him on the head again and again.
The sergeant collapsed in the seat, unconscious. The
next thing he knew, they were driving again. Dimly con-
scious, with blood streaming down his face and into his
eyes, he was too groggy to move a muscle. A robbery?
He had six bucks. .
N a little while they stopped in the inky darkness. The
driver pulled him roughly out of the car so that he hit
the road with a thud. The Marine, too weak to give battle,
feigned unconsciousness and hoped that the hammer-
swinging devil would leave him there. Then he became
aware that the man was cutting his shoelaces with a
knife and removing his shoes.
Piper aimed a kick at him, and missed. The man cursed.
“Ain't you dead yet?” he snarled.
He reached into the car, brought out a shotgun, aimed it
and fired. The charge, at pointblank range, tore a hole in
Piper’s chest and for a time he blacked out again. When he
next regained some vague sensibility, the man was stripping
him of his clothing. Then, in this parade of horror that must
be nothing but a nightmare, the fellow was plying a shovel,
digging a hole somewhere among the trees. Finally (and
what proved beyond all doubt that this was just a horrid
LE ie
dream) the man rolled Piper into the grave and started
to cover him up.
Piper was much too far gone to offer any resistance.
Unless he played dead, there would be the shotgun again.
He made no move, taking short, shallow breaths. Clods of
dirt and sand hit him, covered him, covered his face. It was
not the happiest choice—either being shot dead or buried
alive—but a man had to take what he got. Gasping for air,
he dimly heard the roar of the engine. The man must be gone.
With a vast effort, Piper flexed his legs and arms, pushing
dirt from him. Luckily, the grave was shallow. He staggered
to his feet, stark naked, the evening chill helping to clear
his head a little.
Somewhere far ahead on the mountain road he saw a
light. It must be a house—help. He made for it uncertainly,
impelled only by the instinct for survival. He fell down,
got up again, fell down once more, tormented by pain. Ten
months earlier, in Korea, shrapnel had torn into his body
and he thought that was bad! Now, covered only by blood
and dirt, a gaping wound in his chest, his bare feet torn
by gravel, he made his staggering way through the darkness.
UCH has been written about superhuman feats, but
Piper’s must rank with the greatest of them. Although
he should have been dead several times over, he struggled
more than half a mile along a road that repeatedly came
up and hit him. At the end he was crawling on his hands
and knees, not knowing that his knees were raw and bleed-
ing. Finally, after what seemed hours, he was pounding
feebly at a door.
The house was the old Sandberg Lodge, long a travelers’
landmark before the main Los Angeles-San Francisco, high-
way was moved to the west. Now it was the home of Mr.
and Mrs. Walter Stevens. Mrs. Stevens heard the sound,
opened the door and emitted a scream. Her husband came
running. Soon Sergeant Piper, a ghastly spectacle of blood
and nakedness, was being helped by gentle hands. He was
put on a cot, covered by warm blankets, and Stevens was
telephoning the Los Angeles County sheriff's station at
Gorman.
Deputy Frank DeBernardi took the message. He put in
a quick call to the Newhall Hospital for an ambulance for
the wounded man, then drove fast to the lodge. For a won-
der, Piper was still conscious enough to gasp out the bare
details of the story and to give a description.
“Short, wiry man,” he groaned. “Hard eyes . . . curly red
hair... plaid shirt . .. old black Pontiac sedan... real old.”
The story of the assault and burial was so fantastic that
DeBernardi could scarcely believe it. It sounded like the
delirious rambling of a man rendered hysterical by shock
and pain. Yet Piper’s condition proved that some savagery
had taken place. The deputy relayed the information to the
sheriff’s substation at Newhall, where it was put on the air.
Luck was with the law that night. Just before 10 P.m.,
two California Highway Patrol officers, about 30 miles
south, spotted a black 1937 Pontiac sedan on Highway 99
near Castaic. It was heading south toward Los Angeles. The
patrolmen gave it the siren and edged it to a stop. Sure
enough, the driver was a curly-haired redhead wearing a
plaid wool shirt and a scowl of bleakest hostility. There was
something about his gray eyes that was chilling.
“What's the beef?” he growled.
“Name?”
“Jensen, if it’s any of your damned- business.”
The car registration corroborated that he was John
> continued on next page
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T8* TT Arenzqeg uo (seTesuy sot)
hopes
Richard Jensen, 28, living at Tujunga, a Los Angeles suburb.
In the car was a shotgun, recently fired. Also a rifle with
its stock sawed off. Also a bloodstained mechanic’s hammer.
There was a strange arrangement of stout cords running
from the back seat cushion to the back of the front seat.
This did not immediately make sense, but there was no
doubt that Jensen was the wanted man. He was taken to
the substation at Newhall, where he and his car were
searched more thoroughly.
In the car were Sergeant Piper’s dog tags and his wallet,
no longer containing the six dollars. In Jensen’s pocket was
Piper’s bloodstained wrist watch. When these things were
pointed out to him, Jensen shrugged and stared contemptu-
ously at his questioners. Ez
“Yeah, I did it,” he said with that unblinking stare. “Might
as well get this over with.”
“Why did you do it?”
“Well, I don’t know exactly. It was a sudden impulse that
hit’ me. Looked to me like he might have some cash, so I
decided to get it. If I hadn't stopped back there to bury the
guy’s clothes, you never would have got me.” 7
“Where were you going when you picked him up?
“Just out for a ride, that’s all.”
Fishy as that sounded, he stuck to it. He also refused to
explain the meaning of those cords in the back seat, the .
strangely sawed-off rifle and several blocks of wood also
found in the tonneau. . ;
“You fellows are smart.. You figure it out,” he said.
“For a man just out for a drive, you were sure loaded
Marine Sgt. Piper (R.) who walked away from his own grave, examines gun with prosec
“.
utor at Jensen’s trial.
BOY
INTO
BEAST ......
for bear, weren’t you? A rifle, a shotgun and a hammer.”
“J always carry guns. Like to do a little hunting. The
hammer .. . well, it’s an old car and sometimes I have to
tinker with it.”
The officers let that pass for the moment. They finger-
printed him and made a routine check of the sheriff’s rec-
ords. What they found there fairly made their hair curl.
For John Richard Jensen was one of the most deformed
personalities who ever walked abroad. He was already a
criminal; a killer, a psychopath who had spent most of his
life in and out of state institutions. As a boy he had com-
mitted a murder that shocked the nation. Ever since then
he had been a problem, a living controversy. Even as he
assaulted the Marine and buried him alive he was “on leave”
from confinement as a defective and still had a murder in-
dictment hanging over him.
As the investigation progressed, it was learned that the
mayhem committed on Sergeant Piper was anything but
an impulse. Jensen was stir-wise. He knew that in the eyes
of the law a crime done on impulse was much less heinous
than one deliberately planned.
That odd arrangement of cords, the blocks of wood and
the sawed-off rifle aroused the detectives’ curiosity. There
was a bullet hole surrounded by powder burns in the back
of the front seat on the passenger’s side. Could those cords
and blocks have held the rifle in position in the back seat
so that it aimed at the passenger’s back?
Finally, after endless questioning, Jensen had to admit
that this was so. It was his own idea—pretty clever, wasn’t it?
The rifle had been held securely in place, ready to shoot
the unsuspecting passenger through the upholstery. A cord
was rigged from the trigger, running under the front seat so
that Jensen could pull it when so inclined.
A very cunning murder device—the invention of a fiendish
mind. ‘
And when the newspapers got hold of all this, there were
outcries of editorial indignation all over the state. How did
it happen that such a man was free, with his previous mur-
der indictment still uncleared? Who was responsible?
Jensen’s history was enough to make one shiver. He was
the son of a respected couple living in La Crescenta, walso a
Los Angeles suburb, where his stepfather was the super-
intendent of a local dairy. Young Richard, as he was called,
was a good-looking, freckle-faced boy, the kind strangers
like to stop and josh with. But he had occasional rages, was
a wonderfully convincing liar, and became a problem child
by the time he started school.
. iw 1931, when he was six, he began looting stores in La
Crescenta of candy and gimcracks, always leaving behind
a note reading, “Thanks for the stuff. —The Hare.” The
hounds caught up with the Hare, read him a stern lecture
and let him go. But as time went on there were too many
of these lectures and they seemed .to do no good. When he
was 11, Richard was sent to Pacific Lodge, a school for
incorrigibles.
He escaped a few months later. It wasn’t long before he
was caught in a burglary. This time he was sent to the
reform school at Whittier, where he was found unpredict-
able—sometimes well-behaved, sometimes uncontrollable,
once breaking another boy’s jaw in a fight. By the time he
was 14 he seemed much improved. In June, 1939, he was
released in the custody of his mother and stepfather. This
would give him the long summer vacation to adjust him-
self to normal life before he returned to the city school
in the fall.
His parents did their best to encourage him, to help him
break with the past and start out clean. They found him
hard to handle, subject to alternating moods, at times willful
and downright defiant. Richard had an older brother and
a younger half-brother, both of them promising, normal boys.
Richard wasn’t like them at all, but his parents hoped that
time would heal his resentments and bring him around.
As for the neighbors—well, they regarded him as a terror.
He could be as sweet as sugar when things went his way,
but when he was crossed he could sink into black rage.
Still, in his better moods he was so attractive that he
found occasional playmates. With 13-year-old William
“Billy” Williams, who lived in the same block, he some-
times got along well.
Two months after Richard’s release from the reformatory,
on August 22, 1939, his mother heard scuffling sounds com-
ing from the basement. She called down to ask what was the
matter. ‘
“It’s only the dog,” Richard replied from below. “He’s
got a tack in his mouth. I’m getting it out.”
Mrs. Jensen frowned. Although she hated to admit it even
to herself, she couldn’t quite trust the boy. It occurred to
her that he might be annoying the animal. She started down-
stairs. Richard came to meet her on the stairs. “Don’t go in
there, Ma,” he said plaintively.
She asked why not.
“Well . . . because I just killed Billy.”
He turned and raced to the garage, where he grabbed his
bicycle. She screamed at him to stop but he rode away. In
the basement the horrified mother indeed found Billy Wil-
liams lying bleeding on the floor. Beside him was a bloody
hammer, a knife and a pair of pruning shears, also bloody.
Thin copper wire had been twisted several times around
his neck so tightly that it sank deep into the flesh.
Almost fainting, she released the wire, then hurried to
the telephone. Young Billy was still faintly alive when the
ambulance arrived at the Jensen home, but he died before
reaching the hospital.
Sheriff's Captain James Burns arrived with Deputies
Larry Cormack and Virgil Gray, and once again the hunt
was on for the Hare. Richard’s brothers knew of an aban-
doned mine not far distant where the boy sometimes “hid
out,” but he was not there. The boy’s stepfather joined in
the fruitless search.
The fugitive’s description went out over the air. Next
morning, Officer P. C. Stebbins in Venfce, some 20 miles
away, saw a red-headed, barefooted boy riding his bicycle
along the seaside highway. Stebbins stopped him and took
him to headquarters, where he was questioned about the
slaying. «<
“Oh, you must mean my brother,” the boy said. “You
see, I got a twin brother who looks exactly like me. He must
be the one you want.”
“Hmmm,” Stebbins said. “Then where did you get that
blood on your shirt and pants?”
“Oh, that? I cut myself. I was working cutting out a toy
boat and my knife slipped.” (Continued on page 66)
Rigged for death, rear seat of thrill slayer’s car.
. but not badly wounded that Jensen attacked
him with the hammer, that he had kept handy
for just such an eventuality.
So that was the grim history of John
Richard Jensen, now 28—a story that aroused
the angry protests of newspaper editors and
civic groups demanding an overhaul of the.
state’s system of handling psychopaths.
There was strong suspicion in the sheriff’s
office that Jensen had not built his back-seat
murder machine for one use only. So much
care had gone into its preparation that it
seemed likely he had planned it for repeated
use—possibly a pickup every night, with the
muzzle aimed at the unsuspecting hitch-hiker’s
back until the satisfactorily lonely spot was
reached. Detective Sergeants Richard Dailey
‘and Virgil Piper (the latter not related to the
wounded Marine) looked into other unsolved
killings in the area.
On September 14, less than three weeks be-
fore the Piper case, the body of Roger Ray-
mond Lawson had been found in remote Happy
Gulch, some 25 miles west of San Fernando.
Lawson, an 18-year-old youth from Rhode
Island, had come west to see the country and
find work. He had been shot dead and, like
Piper, had been stripped naked.
Questioned about this, Jenson denied any
knowledge of it.
“Go ahead, blame me for everything,” he
snarled, “All I say is, prove it.”
Something near a miracle occurred when
Marine Sergeant Piper—now known ail over
the West.as the raan who climbed out of his
own grave—came through the crisis and took .
the slow road to recovery. Beaten savagely on
the head with a hammer, recipient of a shot-
gun blast in the chest, he had no business be-
ing alive but was saved by a rugged consti-
tution.
District Attorney Roll had no intention of
letting Piper’s recovery rescue Jensen from a
capital charge. Jensen was still under indict-_
ment for the 14-year-old Billy Williams mur-
der. Now he was charged with robbery, as-
sault to commit murder, and kidnaping, the
latter chat ge carrying a possible death penalty.
He was removed to the county jail in Los
Angeles, where detectives questioned him regu-
larly about the Roger Lawson murder. For
four months he steadfastly denied it. Then, on
February 9, 1954, he changed his mind.
“Ves, I killed Lawson,” he said without visi-
ble emotion. “I didn’t even know his name
then. He was hitch-hiking and I picked him
up. The gun was aimed at him from the back
seat and I shot him. Later I shot him again
to make sure. I took what money he had,
which wasn’t much.”
HE denied any twisted sex motive in the
crime—a denial which the officers, know-
ing his history, took with reservations.
“I guess there’s something wrong with me,
all right,” he went on calmly. “They couldn’t
do anything for me at the state hospital. I
suppose San Quentin is the best place for me.”
Jensen had been in and out of so many in-
stitutions that he seemed ‘to take it for granted
that his latest crime merely meant another
term in confinement. But when he went to
trial on March 1, 1954, the state tried him
under California’s “Little Lindbergh Law,”
which carries the death penalty for kidnaping
whether or not the victim survives. Sergeant
Piper, although still a patient at the Navy
Hospital at Corona, was able to appear in
court against him. Jensen was found sane in
legal sense, was convicted and sentenced to die.
His attorneys appealed the verdict, but the
plea was denied. Jensen was removed to death
row at San Quentin Prison, far up near San
Francisco. Here he occupied his time in com-
posing elaborate hand-written appeals to the
United States Circuit Court and to the United
States Supreme Court itself, both of them
fruitless. He. remained in San Quentin for al-
«
x
Slaughter on Dona Ana Road
continued from page 39
Randy, ill in the little trailer house he used
for his room just outside the back door of the
main house. Where were they ?
It was 12:30 when Chief Deputy A. Archu-
leta Jr., received Wooldridge’s call in the
sheriff’s office in Las Cruces. The father was
distraught and incoherent, but
made out a few words.
“There are bodies all over. .
house. . . .”
“Where are you? What is your name?”
Wooldridge gave his name and the address
on Dona Ana Road. Archuleta instructed him
to touch nothing, and advised him to call his
family physician. This would give the man
. all over my
something to do, perhaps calm him, while .
officers sped to the city limits and the mile
beyond. Wooldridge’s doctor could administer
a sedative if necessary.
Archuleta and Deputy John Walsh and their
superior, Sheriff Alfredo Garcia, investigated.
Both Garcia and Archuleta had a dozen years
of experience in the sheriff’s office, and that’s
what counts in a rural cotton farming county
like Dona Ana. They knew all of the roads
and the set of each house. But, mostly, they
~~
Archuleta -
knew the people, the white and the Spanish
and the type of transients drifting through for
part-time harvest work. It had been 14 years
since there was any sensational murder in
the area. As the sheriff’s car and ambulances
screamed northward on the narrow two-lane
surfaced road, cotton trucks pulled off on the
shoulders to make way. Workers, who’d
stopped picking cotton to eat their lunches,
heard the sirens from their white fields and
questioned each other with their eyes. They
answered in shrugs. Perhaps someone had a
heart attack from picking cotton under the
blazing sun.
John Wooldridge met the officers in front
of his house, and pointed toward the garage
without looking there. His face was the gray-
‘white color of cotton scraps that had- blown
from the vehicles and tumbled across the
ground to form a misty fog like carpet. While
one officer stayed with the father to calm him
and question him, the others stepped into the
open garage and looked down at the rug John
Wooldridge had partially unrolled.
Mrs. Ella Durfee and her daughter had been
shot repeatedly, like soldiers in the front line
‘must have been used to wipe blood from the ,
most a year, his execution being set for Feb-
ruary 11, 1955.
As the dread day approached, he dispatched
new letters asking for a stay of execution. No
one told him it was useless, because the letter- ==
writing seemed to comfort him. Now, with 7
death looming, Jensen was a docile prisoner but
a strange illusion came into his mind. He for- *
got entirely. that he had been condemned for’ *@
the kidnaping and assault on Sergeant Piper. 9%
He became convinced that he was doomed for
the slaying of Billy Williams 16 years earlier. | |
Warden Harley O. Teets, who talked with him, ~~
was struck by the odd tricks the prisoner’s =~
memory played on him. ce
“Jensen is living in the past,” Teets told ~
newsmen. “He seems to have writhdrawn into |
himself, as if trying to return to the mental |
hospital he was in before he committed his
last crime.” |
On the morning of February 11, the warden ~
went with guards to pick up Jensen and escort ©
him on his last walk. The prisoner, still be- —%
lieving that he was there for the Williams mur- —
der, looked up hopefully. &
“Any reply to my appeals?” he asked.
Warden Teets said there had been none.
Jensen nodded slowly. “I guess that was to
be expected,” he said. ;
Walking steadily, without protest, he ac-
companied Teets and the Protestant chaplain
to the gas chamber. He chatted amiably with
guards who. strapped him in the chair at ~~
10:04 a.m., and smiled as he said, “I’m ready.” ©
The door was locked, the gas fumes liberated. 1
A physician pronounced him dead at 10:14.
A statistic-minded reporter estimated that ~
in attorneys’ fees, the salaries of judges, law
officers, hospital attendants and social service |
workers, and the cost of medical treatments
and board and room, at least $100,000 had -
been spent in the effort to make a good citizen
of John Richard Jensen. In the end the gas
chamber was the only answer. a
of a battle charge. A coroner would have to -
count the total number of wounds. They had >
died quickly, and someone had wrapped them. — ss
together in the rug, tossing on the piece of ~~
white plastic as an afterthought, perhaps to -
conceal the rug. Drag marks showed that they ~
were in the rug when it was pulled out of the ~~
house through the connecting door between . —
garage and living room. Wooldridge said he'd’ —3e
found this door locked... Sih
The officers backtracked the drag marks
through the door, across the living room, and
into the kitchen. The rags in the wastebasket
kitcheh floor. The two Durfee women were.
probably killed here. - ze
In the bathroom, they found a handful of f
empty .22 shells scattered on the floor near
the grandmother’s body. Possibly the elderly Re
woman had fled there, trying to escape the —_
killer. She could have abandoned her wheel-
chair in the adjoining bathroom and pulled
herself through the narrow doorway. But she
didn’t have time to get in and lock the door ~~
behind her. The pool of blood indicated she
was slain in the bathroom where she fell.
There was no weapon in sight. ae
“My son,” Wooldridge groaned to the sher- Sas
iff’s officers. “I can’t find him. He was sick
Spee,
Baer es
when I left for work this morning. He useS .~
the house trailer for his room, but it’s empty ~~
now.”
Maybe John Randolph, Wooldridge Tee
Her husband
ad had
e she hz
I
wouldn’t notify
Ouse wearing
even take her
ut before ac-
1 suggestion,
ves. Perhaps
LT1Y
if she went
recall seeing
Shown above, second from right, is the slayer. A short prison term filled him with an
obsession to murder his wife, but he put it off and slew Mrs. Sue Fouts instead.
for the keys to the truck, then disappeared in the machine, No
trace of it had been found since. Feland was still worrying over
this problem when a telephone call brought him back to the
more serious problem of the missing woman. A phone call to
Crockett had brought the information that she had not been
home at all.
The Chief realized now that he had a possible crime on his
hands. The situation was filled with grim possibilities.
He immediately made a trip to the Swearingen home and
talked for an hour with the anxious relatives. “Tell me what
happened the day she disappeared,” he commanded.
The story was simple. Mrs. Fouts and her nephew had spent
most of the day taking care of the invalid. And only$one person,
the nephew’s friend, had come in during the day.
“Who is this friend ?” the Chief asked.
“Thomas Hilton,’ Allan Stewart answered. ‘He's a young
fellow. I’ve known him all my life.”
“Have you checked with him on the possibility he knows
something about your aunt’s disappearance?” Feland asked.
“No,” Stewart said. “He left about dark, and was going back
to his home in Trona. He grew up here, but moved over to
Trona. He couldn’t possibly know anything about Aunt Sue’s
whereabouts.”
Mrs. Fouts, the relatives explained, was not the sort of person
to do anything mysterious. She was quiet, steady, and beloved
by her family for her cheerful outlook and the courage she
showed in times of crisis.
“Then the only explanation I can think of is that she stepped
out of the house on some errand,” Chief Feland said. “It was
raining, and perhaps somebody offered her a ride. We've got to
try and trace any suspicious automobile seen in this vicinity, for
she must have left in some vehicle.”’
As he got up to go, he tried to reassure the anxious relatives.
“Don't worry too much. Remember, a lot of people disappear
mysteriously, but nine times out of ten they show up upharmed,
But we'll keep looking, and if you hear anything contact me
at once.”
As Feland drove back to his office, he did a lot of thinking.
The theory he had advanced that the woman was picked up by
some criminal who offered her a ride out of the rain was the
only possible answer he could find. And he knew that he must
try and trace the criminal through locating the suspicious car.
Within an hour after he reached headquarters, the search
for Mrs. Sue Fouts was in full swing. Feland renewed his all-
points bulletin for the missing woman, then ordered his staff
of detectives to comb the town. “Pay particular attention to any
reports of mysterious cars, or people driving recklessly on the
highways,” he said. ‘That may be our only chance to get a line
on the disappearance.”
This done, the chief telephoned the sheriff's office in Santa
Barbara, seventy-five miles away, and talked with Undersherift
Jack Ross. Ross promised immediate help, and Feland then
called the local office of the State Highway Patrol.
His office was soon buzzing. Captain Charles Taylor, head
of the sheriff’s sub-station in Santa Maria, rushed immediately
to the police station to confer with the Chief. Soon afterward,
Undersheriff Ross and Deputy Roy Oxford arrived from Santa
Barbara, Victor N. Bailey, state highway patrolman assigned
to the case, also hurried over to sit in on the conference.
But they got nowhere. There wasn’t even enough evidence
to warrant concrete theories on the case. The woman had simply
disappeared into thin air. There was no known motive, no hint
of an explanation. And there were no suspects to support the
growing fear that the woman had been abducted, or possibly
murdered.
“I can’t even fasten on a theory to support the belief in foul
play,” Feland said. “Though from her pictures Mrs. Fouts is an
attractive woman, she’s not the type to pick up some prowling
sex fiend. She was plainly dressed and carried no purse. So she
wouldn't have attracted a robber. [Continued on page 89}
25
ae eld bualis 5
oe ik
Caliform4 in a Bf
home Stowe Road, where
\\, the day seem d particularly ark at é ,
some peneht yn the me, )™ airal
whe sick ¥ ra an Stewarts Feland motioned 2
to Wot chat (ay: nstead 1 wve, “Get out a {-points
, the House where his aunt. Mrs. Sue Fouts, k vgand get$ sme men © tight awé
\ the she S Captain Taylor tO notify
rhe e young mat § friends his jepartment-
and ple id, But with This order given Feland turned
A\lan decid be all right, hen,” 5 encouraged:
?” he sat \ Ina few auinutes Ne knew the gull story of the gisappeatane®
rse, § an of Mrs: Sue Fouts:
ele Stewart re The forty-two? ear-old woman had only bee? in town two
th mother days “Per home is 1 Crockett” the young man explained.
in woman «She came o help Ys care {OF grandmotl er who is
. seriously il. I 4 jderstand her wal ng awa ike th
e isn't i her.
don wast t here “fas she peen ii centl 2" Feland asked. oPlas she had
ess $0 vent out any kin \ of shock that might ynduce amnesia a
“y dont think so?’ the young woman gaid eChe seemen
well and 11 ood spirits, other that her concern about het
But b™ mother She has had several atacks ‘stan fact tt ats
or
s
-
~«
why they moved from Santa Maria to Crockett. Her husband
thought it might help the asthma. | thought m
an attack, and went home. But it’s str
”y
me,
“Is her luggage gone?” Feland asked
“No. That’s the strange part. She leit the house wearing
only a cotton house dress and light coat. She didn’t even take her
purse.”
Feland admitted there was cause for worry. But before ac-
cepting the grim possibilities in full, he made a suggestion.
“Suppose you call her home, and your other relatives. Perhaps
there is an explanation, after all.”
“T’ll do that,” the young woman agreed. “But if she went
home, I think she would have let us know.”
Feland didn’t wait for further checkup. He immediately got
out a Missing Persons broadcast, then ordered his detectives to
scour the town for trace of the missing woman,
Mrs. Fouts, he knew, was well acquainted in the
lived there most of her life. Even if the worst prc
she was the victim of foul play—somebody w
her.
aybe she had had
ange she wouldn't notify
town, having
oved true—if
ould recall seeing
Te day passed and there was no news of Mrs. Fouts. After
seeing that a description of her was broadcast, and ordering
his detectives to keep searching, the chief knew he must wait
word from the relatives before proceeding further. Meantime,
he had another pressing duty.
No trace had been found of the stolen truck, and, in the quiet
town of Santa Maria, this also loomed as a major crime. Feland
already knew details. The truck—a rebought army truck—had
been taken around eight-thirty Wednesday evening from a serv-
ice station where the Corbett trucks were parked when off duty.
Feland’s report from the Proprietor indicated that a man, repre-
senting himself to be an employee of the company, had asked
eee
ob Se ea
Crock
most ¢
the nep
Whe
op}
fellow
“} 1a\
somet}
“No,
to his
Trona
where
Mrs
to do a:
by her
showe
“Ther
out of t
raining
try and!
she must
As he
“Dont
mysteri
————— 3
HILTON, Thomas C., white, gassed CASP (Santa Barbara)
on February 26, 1947.
y people
looking for him,” Pickering said. ©
“= * Police Are Alerted =
All ‘police departments, sheriff's
offices and state police in the coun-,
_ try have been alerted to be on the
flookout for Hooper, who shot and
killed Mra, Calbert with a shotgun
mat her apartment at 1017 Fourth
Street Thursday cvening. 99 7-
Pickertny sata he arrived at the!
scene about four minutes - after
the murder, after a phone call from
Early Calbert,, Mrs. Calbert’s (13
year old son and one of the three
eye witnesses to the killing. | 55
4
Apparently Changed Clothes -
The chief believes Hooper fled
“down the alley between Third and
Fourth Street to his home at 908%
~\Fourth Street. changed his clothes
hurriedly and fled. He may have
had an accomplice who
jthe getaway. i eas ee ae
». Pickering said the Negro popula-
tion has cooperated with the police.
in their attempts to locate Hooper.
‘He said Mrs. Calbert apparently |
was a much respected woman.
Early and another-son, Bob, 11,
fre being cared for by Rev. and’
_{(Continued On Page 6, Col. 1) |
Search Continues For
Man Sought In Murder _
Of Modesto Woman
“(Continued From Page 1)
‘Mra, Samuel Perry, who. live ‘at
1024 Fourth Street. Both boys and
Mrs, Perry were in the apartment
when the murder occurred. 9 =>
Pickering said he believes Hooper
was angered because Mrs. Calbert(.
refused. to see him, would not re-F2
urn a radio he had given her and |,
had called the police when he went|
to her apartment earlier in the ev
aided in-
*
Jead bowed in praver, Henry
Modesto died in the
itin Prison gas chamber
ay for the murder of his sweet-
heart F ,. 1949, 22]
Hooper, 46, shot and _ killed
Mrs. Lillie Calbert with a shot-
gun after the pair had quarreled.
He surrendered to Merced po-
lice after a nine. day manhunt.
Hooper first pieadeu not guilly
} a } Woe
iia. NOr guilty DY reason of in-
sanity to the charges, but later
sleaded guilty.
Superior Judge B. C. Hawkins
pronounced the death sentence,
cac upheld by the state su-
reme court on an automatic ap-
sne Caliea tne’ police, Wwnen tne
officers arrived he told them he
did not-want to hurt Mrs. Calbert
and would go away,
Mrs. Papry said the officers left,
after warning Hooper not to cause
any more trouble. Mrs, Perry had
been with Mrs. Calvert most of the |
afternoon. She is the wife of the
astor of the African Zion Method- |
Tet just across the street, and owns
the apartment house where Mrs.
Calbert lived.
Knocked Out Dpor Panels
Hooper returned to the rear door
of the apartment at about 6:30 PM.
{The door was locked and he ham-!
mered on it.. Finally he put his ;
shoulder against it and knocked -
out the upper panel.
opening. Bob, who is a student at
the Franklin School, grabbed the |
gun barrel. The first shot wounded |
'jMrs. Calbert in the left arm. Hoop-
er left. Bob said he ran and hid |
under a table. - |
Mrs, Calbert told the boys to stay
in the back room while she went
to the living room to pull down the
shades. Bob said she wanted to pro-
tect him and his brother.
When Mrs. Calbert was, just a
few feet from the living room win-
dow, Hooper — shoved his ~ gun
through the glass window and fired
again. The blast hit. her on the
side Just under the left arm.,:
Son Telephones Police ©.
While Early, a seventh grade stu-
dent at Washington School, was ]*
telephoning the Police he heard the
=, Shot and ran to the front room. He
Si/found his mcther on her knees,
bent over a chair.
3} Early said he took her in his]
g arms. “She smiled at me and then
[closed her eyes,” he said.
Mrs._Calbert’s body was sent to
ithe Shannon Chapel after exam-
at
|
ination by Coroner J. K. Ransom.
No trace of. Hooper has been
found. The. police are combing the
‘City and have sent out an all points
{bulletin for his arrest.
| Hooper was convicted of second
esree murder in New Mexico in
1942, and was sentenced to 13 to
40 years in the state penitentiary
at- Santa Fe. He was released in
October, 1945, on the condition he
report in writing once a month for
a vear. :
The New Mexico murder was
committed in 1937 and Hooper was
sia fugitive for four years.
He also served a term in a Texas
penitentiary at. Huntsville on a
forgery conviction.
On August 25, 1948, Hooper was
sm See ten. sine
(Continued on Page 8, Col. 7)
<2 :
(Continued From Page 1)
925 by Judge Leslie K. Floyd
for assaulting a woman. named
Mary Butler at her home on Sixth
Street in Modesto,
Hooper is five feet, nine inches
tall, and weighs 154 pounds. He wag
employed 43 @ janitor ata Modesto
a
Mrs, Caibert’s son by a previous
p|Mmarriage, Homer Prosher, 27, 110
{Lake Street, Salinaa, came to’ Mo-
Gesto this Morning.
Mrs, Perry said Mrs, Calbert and
er younger sons cam
siin 1945 from A ‘kansas, They lived
year, when they moy
Street, re id / eS wha as
He shoved a shotgun through the!
‘ pouse, and with it went to a disrepatable
kept by two Negro women close
T
i
FF
ef
F
;
t
}
H
t
way, who bad Howard under arrest.
It seome that as soon as Howard fired
- {the fatal shot be ran towards the busi-
iF
Lf
$
3
i
Ei
bE
for the murderer,
and commanded bim to throw up his
Ft
E
:
;
i
z
fT
f
:
it
had been angry.
the dead man’s
Coroner arrived at 9:15 and
hood that he did anything to make him
fear the bullet that ended his life.
An inquest was held on the remains
yesterday afternoon and the jury charged
Howard with murder. Four of the jur-
ors, however, dissented from the verdict.
Howard was brought to the jail in
Visalia by Constable Murray yesterday.
He was seen this morning by a Tiuxs
reporter but was not inclined to he com-
manicative. His preliminary examina-
tion is set for tomorrow and will take
place in Tulare.
Howard’s friends claim that when the
trial takes place that he will lave a good
defense. He was a deputy of Marshal
Carlisle and was detailed to work up
cases against the tough element in Tu-
lare, and was engaged in that service
when the shooting took place.
stantly, for there was nu sign of bis bav-
ing tried to rise or change his position.
* | Ome hand was across his breast, and his| |.
dog was laying by him with his bead oa
Neat Diplomas.
of them.
The diplomas granted by the county
board of edacation to the graduates from
the grammar schools this spring are neat
affairs. There are some fifty ot them
and they will be ready for mailing this
week. The bright children who receive
these diplomas have reasons to be proud|/ _
Aside from their evidence of ||.
scholarship they are mementoes of school |. -
days that will be cherished through life. |'
The engrossing on these diplomas was |
done by J. 8ub Johnson, who did the
work at spere moments in bis office.
Last year when there were only a couple
dozen diplomas granted Superintendent ||:
Orookshanks paid for the engrossing
himeelf but this time Mr. Johnson kindly
volunteered to do the lettering on the
filty diplomas free of all charge.
As goon as therush of work in his
office Ia over Mr. Orookehanka will mail]
the diplomas to thelr owners, ;
0 @o-
Court Notes,
CIVIL,
walved by both sides,
Derartwant No, 1.—Caroas, J,
A. CG, Weishon vs. Gi, 8, Rerry—Trial
dot for Monday, July , IH, Jury}.
—
pt
feta
est for Moaday,
waived by both sides.
Christy & Wise vs. A. F. Thanes & Co.
—Trial set for Friday, Jane 29. Jery
allowed to answer.
E. F. Denton filed petition in ineol-
veacy. Liabilities $10,139.22. Re
$7866.75. Homestead #4115.72.
to have a very strong dis-
mf city jail and gources
siapil
«+ T weWhat' do you want me to do with
you,” asked Marray. “You have killed
‘to be locked in there.”
“Want me to sit up all night with you,
“find some other place for me”
it
Hii
black, gen San Quentin (Alameda) ¢ eee 16, 191183 and
(Alameda) 1-7-2199.
San Quentin Prison gas
‘Se ble pacs ix the woreenott
“Willingham, “who” was b¢
THe S eee PE bed Ce Outs Cod AIRE,
and finally changed trot her to Nettle, the one
wWhirorn tie Killed. fle did not lead oa very
rezular liftein Washington. He went on sprees
and Was once or twice arrested for small
offenses, Once he was imprisoned for sixty
days, Finally Nettie threw offon him and he
went to sea, shipping on a man-ot-war, After
he had gone Nettie married a man named
Simms. Butshe had not forgotten Hutchings,
and after her husband died, leaving her with
two children, she began writing all over the
world to Hutchings. At last a letter reached
him. He was on the Wauchusetts, at
Mare Island,- seventy-five dallars worse off
than nothing. He wrote to Nettie that he was
in debt and did not have acent to his name,
but ifshe wanted to cometo him to come along.
Soshe and her mother came out to San Fran-
ee:
aN
S\lwe
\\\ee
FRANK E, HvTcHINGs,
THE WOMAN STRANGLER, HANGED AT SAN
FRANCISCO, CAL., SEPT, 12,
cisco, Hutchings’ term of service shortly ex-
pired and, after two months of idleness, he Se-
cured work. While he was waiting for work
the three livell on $150 the mother brought out.
They got along all right until Hutchings intro-
duced a man named Montague to his wife's
mother and the two were married. Mrs. Peck
Wasa prudent and saving woman and could
imake a dollar goa Jong distance, Atter Nettle
was separated from her mother she got wild and
extravagant. Hutchirgs got mad. and was
drunk for eighteen days. He was under the
influence of liquor the night he killed her,
HUTCHINGS, Frank, white, hanged San Francisco, California,
CP nie
a
12-1884
a Be a ec ence dowel dies ree
———
ee le .
Frank BE. Hu Kae Minch ese eR a ee
K tehings. Street, There were no Witnesse
: Hesses of the deed,
Frank ernest Tui 3 cond , and little nolse was Inade in the brief » :
hings, who suffered the i between the Mitrrderer and his vi i tiny
i “ A ? Cllin, utch-
extreme penalty « > law . , . .
Cue on eck nadine rere lla San Francisco, INES Was able to leave the house unobserv¢
Phoebe Jeanette Peck-Si . - oo and might possibly have escaped, if he ay Hi
crime on the evening a cominltted the sired, but he walked to th Ce al =e
§ Of the lbth of July last, in| Hotel, On Fourth street ‘Ger ee i Seatel
’ € be had been
her rvooi » Brow
mn at the Brown House, on Howard | staying, dnd told the cleric ChEY GE had icifed
: . chlor
:
~ a — phe
woman and was going to give himself up, He
then went out, found Officer Videau, and tak-
i ing him by the arm, said:
“I have murdered a woman.’’*
Gazette, New York, _ The officer thought it hardly possible that
‘a man who had just committed such a
October 1l, 1884 p12 crime could be so apparently unconcerned
+
about it, and, doubting his statement, he
asked : ,
“Who was the woman ?”
“Oh, my woman, and I hope to God she is
dead.” .
Officer Videau took Hutchings to the police
station, and then, accompanied by Sergeant.
Cullen, went by direction of the murdercr to
the Brown House, room 23, where they found
the murdered woman lying on the floor, her
head resting on a pillow, a wet towel lying over
her forehead and asilk handkerchief twisted
lightly around her neck and tied in a double
knot. She was dead.: .
The prisoner showed the utmost coolness dur-
ing his imprisonment and trial, and met his
fate with stoical indifference, The night before
his execution he had along interview with a
San ‘Francisco reporter in which he told the
story of his life.
He said his father was lost at sea before he
was born and his mother died in nine orten|
months after he was born, He was adopted by |
somebody at Portsmouth, New Hampshire,
where he was. born, and finally went to Sea,
Later on he lived at Washington, There he met
the Peck family, mother and two daughters,
bk Mii gral a earns oo PTE. SUT es PENSE TSE
— > oe
eT
Pees aE
EN amnsieomananeenndl
WORDS AND PHRASES
TRAP,
Flick v. Ducey
TRESPASSERS,
Flick v. Ducey
TRIAL,
Breakstone v. G
Mursener v. Redding,
UNDISTRIBUTED,
In re Baldwin’s Estate, Cal. Ap’
UNDUE INFLUENCE,
In re Lobb’s Will, Or., 160 P.2d 295, 304.
UNWRITTEN LAW,
People v. Young,
& Attwood Rock Co., Cal.App., 160 P.2d 569, 573.
& Attwood Rock Co., Cal.App., 160 P.2d 569, 573.
iannini, Cal.App., 160 P.2d 887, 891.
Or., 160 P.2d 307, 313.
p., 160 P.2d 124, 127.
Cal.App., 160 P.2d 132, 186.
VALUE, :
Grupe v. Glick, Cal., 160 P.2d 832, 837.
JE
ks eee e Ins. Co. of Hartford, Conn., Kan., 160 P.2d 664, 671.
Marett v. World Fire & Marin
WILLFUL NEGLECT, ;
Blache v. Blache, Cal.App., 160 P.2d 186, 142.
WORTH TO PLAINTIFF,
Grupe y. Glick, Cal., 160 P.2d 882, 837.
‘co. © KEY NUMBER SYSTEM,
anmse
160 P.2d
PACIFIC REPORTER ©
VOL. 160, SECOND SERIES
PEOPLE v. JACKSON.
Cr. 4642.
Supreme Court of California.
June 27, 1945.
Homicide €253(1)
Evidence supported conviction of first
degree murder and imposition of death
penalty.
_———_——————
In Bank.
Appeal from Superior Court, City and
County of San Francisco; Edward P.
Murphy, Judge.
Louie Jackson was convicted of first
degree murder, and an automatic appeal was
taken under statute,
Affirmed.
Gerald Kenny, Public Defender, and
Stephen M. White, Asst. Public Defender,
both of San Francisco, for appellant.
Robert W. Kenny, Atty. Gen., and Ed-
mund G. Brown, Dist. Atty., and Thomas C.
Lynch, Asst. Dist. Atty., both of San Fran-
cisco, for respondent.
PER CURIAM.
This is an automatic appeal from a judg-
ment of conviction of first-degree murder
imposing the death penalty on the defend-
ant. See Pen.Code, § 1239.
On January 4, 1945, defendant, a Negro,
53 years of age, shot and killed Winifred
Cecil. The victim, a young woman, was
shot in a bus which she operated for the
Pacific Greyhound Lines. The evidence re-
veals that she entered the bus in a parking
lot at Seventh and Irwin Streets, San Fran-
cisco, at approximately 5:40 a.m. on the day
of the homicide, preparatory to driving it
on its regular run to the Mare Island Navy
Yard. Defendant followed her into the bus
with drawn gun and ordered her to drive
out of the parking lot. After she had done
160 P.2d—1
MNIIVERSITY OF ALABAMA
so, defendant drove the bus to a point
several blocks away and shot the deceased.
Her body was found shortly thereafter in
the aisle of the bus. The lower front por-
tion of her uniform and undergarments
were torn and disarranged and_ there
was medical evidence indicating a sexual
attack. Approximately two and one-half
months later defendant was taken into
custody. In a statement made to repre-
sentatives of the district attorney’s office
and to members of the police department, he
freely and voluntarily narrated the circum-
stances surrounding the commission of the -
homicide and admitted shooting the de-
ceased. An information was filed charging
him with murder and upon his arraignment
he pleaded guilty. : |
The statement made by defendant was
corroborated by evidence that personal
property belonging to the deceased was
found in defendant’s hotel room and by the’
testimony of a ballistics expert that the
bullet taken from her: body had been fired
from a gun found in defendant’s room.
Two alicnists testified that defendant was
sane.
The foregoing evidence supports the
judgment.
Judgment affirmed.
w ‘
© E KEY HUMBER SYSTEN,
T
SMITH et al. v. BEAR VALLEY MILLING
& LUMBER CO. et al.
L. A. 18820.
Supreme Court of California,
June 26, 1945.
1. Dismissal and nonsult @=60(6)
A stipulation, made in writing in com-
pliance with statute, to extend the time of
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“Our
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women are afraid. Soldiers are everywhere
and our villages are armed camps. These men. -
must be found so our villages can return
to peace.”. 4 ;
We will keep looking for guns and ques-
tioning those who have them until we find the
murderers,” Tapia said.
He and his men confiscated 1000 pistols
and shotguns. In a sugar cane worker’s hut
near Izucar de Matamoros they found a
loaded single-barreled shotgun and questioned
its owner. His name was Homobono Olavarria,
a 27-year-old illiterate peon.
“Where were you at noon on October 3?”
His beetle brow wrinkled in a scowl. “I’m
trying to remember,” he grunted. “But I
don’t know what day that was.”
Detéctives questioned his employer. ‘He
didn’t work that day. He’d been gone for
two days and stayed gone one more day
after the murder. Probably drunk.”
General Tapia grilled Olavarria and got
only denials..Then he tried flattery.
BD bis friends say you are a great drink-.
he said.
The peon grinned. “It is true.”-
' "You have big strong shoulders, and the
field work has made your hands tough, I see.
I bet you can handle yourself in a bad situa-
tion,”
Homobono stared at his gnarled hands and
took a deep breath that swelled his chest.
The general kept flattering him, and Ola-
varria leaned back in his chair and enjoyed
it. This was nice. Not like hard work in the
sugar fields. Two hours later the officer asked
the question.
“Tell me, have you ever killed a man?”
Homobono’s lip peeled up on his white
teeth, smiling broadly, his eyes glittering, full
of trust for Tapia. ‘Sure, you’re right, Gen-
eral. I pulled the trigger with the gun pointed ©
in the American’s face. I was, drunk.”
“That makes no difference to the law. You
murdered a man. Drunk or. sober, it’s murder.”
The peon’s lower jaw fell. “But'I was just
drunk. I didn’t mean him. any harm. I -
‘-wouldn’t have done it, but we were on a tre-
mendous drunk.”
Tapia no longer smiled. “Tt' was your. idea
to try a holdup and you killed a man. “You
know what that means, don’t you?”
-Homobono’s hands felt numb now. He
twisted his rough fingers together and mut-
tered, “No. No. It wasn’t my idea. He
gave us the guns and told us to hold up the
first car that came along.”
“Who gave you the guns?” —
“Manuel Sanchez. .It' was his idea. The
gun just went off in my hands.”
Sanchez, the black- frocked peace justice of
San Isidro!
Tapia’s eyes narrowed. “Who else ”
“My cousin, Maurilio Moctezuma, : he’s in
the sugar field. And my friend, Camilo Her-.
nandez.”
Officers arrested 32-year-old Moctezuma
and 47-year-old Sanchez.. Moctezuma admit-
ted his part in the holdup. “But it was Sefior
Sanchez’ idea.”
Justice Sanchez denied any part in the
crime. Governor Camacho himself talked to
the little peace justice.
“This is very bad for the reputation of Mex-
’ the governor said. “If you love your
country, tell what you know. Only then will
the soldiers go away and the villages live in
peace again.”
The little justice pulled off his spectacles and
wept. “Yes, I was there. But I merely wit-
nessed the shooting. Homobono forced me
to witness it.”
Olavarria, Moctezuma and Sanchez were
charged with murder and locked in the. tiny
jail in the village of Izucar de Matamoros.
The fourth suspect, implicated by them, was
_ another field worker, Camilio Hernandez, 36.
The mountains had swallowed him up, and
he was still at large.
Two words began to be whispered in the
villages: “Ley Fuga.” Puebla law outlaws
capital punishment, but it was whispered that
authorities would apply “Ley Fuga”—shoot
down the suspects as they “tried to escape.” -
On the. sunny morning of October 13, sol-
diers with fixed bayonets led the three men
from the crackerbox jail. They paled, almost
fainting from fear. Peace Justice Sanchez’
knees sagged and two soldiers led him by his
arms, supporting him between them. His at-
.torneys tried to assure him that he would not
be harmed.
The suspects were taken to the scene for
a re-enactment of the crime. Weeping. fam-
ilies of the suspects followed. Hundreds of
soldiers and officials witnessed it. An uniden-
tified: American tourist couple happened to
- pass by, stopped and began snapping pictures.
Homobono recovered a little from his nerv-
ousness and readily’ demonstrated with an
unloaded shotgun exactly how he shot and
killed unarmed Doctor. Swain.. He frowned
hard and poked the gun barrel into the car
window. A dozen heavily-armed soldiers sur-
rounded him, and the mob pressed as close as
it could.
HOMoB0No was enjoying it. This was not
like sweating all day in the sugar fields,
not like that at all.
It looked like the hills and villages would
be silent again, once the last of the four sus-
pects was found.. The maximum sentences
the killers could receive would be thirty years
each. But Homobono was very pale, and
there were whispers in the villages that the
police might apply Ley Fuga with relish.
Eprror’s Note: The names Pablo Martinez
and Don Cortez are not the actual names of
the persons who were in’ fact participants in
the events described in this article. The names
were used to avoid embarrassment to these
persons.
s
Boy Into Beast
continued from page 35
finally, when he was 11, he was sent to Pacific
‘ Lodge, a school for incorrigibles. He escaped
a few months later.
Seven times he was nabbed as a burglar and
finally he wound up, to nobody’s surprise, at
a full-fledged state reform school. ~
In June of 1939 he was released in the cus-
tody of his mother and his stepfather, the
industrious, respected superintendent of a local
dairy. The couple didn’t know what to do.
with the hard-bitten, swaggering boy of 14
who’d come back to them from the reform-;
atory.
They pleaded with him to mend his ways
-and hoped for the best. He had a-brother two
years his senior, and a half-brother who was
seven, but there the relationship appeared to
end. The other two were fine, normal young-
sters; only Richard was the problem child.
On the afternoon of August 22, 1939, ‘two
months after his release from reform school,
Mrs. Jensen was upstairs, in her room, when
she heard curious noises coming from a play-
room in the cellar. She called down to ask if
anything was wrong. Richard answered. “Just
a dog with a tack in its mouth, Mom,” he
shouted. “I’m trying to get it out.”
Mrs. Jensen wasn’t so sure. In fact—she
didn’t want to think this, but she thought it—
Richard, as far as she knew, could be down
there torturing the poor animal, not helping it.
She hurried downstairs. Richard ran to-meet
her, begging her not to enter the playroom.
When she insisted, he stood back and told her
she would find a body in there, the body of
Billy Williams, a 13-year-old boy who lived in
the same: block, Richard’s pal. -
Richard turned and ran while Mrs. Jensen
entered the playroom. ‘She saw Billy; on the
floor, and beside him, blood-smeared pruning
shears, an eight-inch butcher knife and a claw
hammer. Around the boy’s throat was a
copper wire, looped three times, cutting deep
into the flesh.
Billy wasn’t dead and Mrs. Jensen rushed
to the phone. But, ten minutes later, in a
nearby doctor’s office the boy closed his eyes
and then stopped breathing.
Billy’s body bore a dozen stab’ wounds and
his skull had been crushed in from nine distinct
hammer blows. There were indications in the
‘playroom that Richard had attempted to bury
the boy alive in the earthern floor.
Newspapers headlined the sadistic crime and‘
the entire Pacific slope was put on the alert for
Richard.
He was caught early the next morning when
hunger drove him into a cafe at Venice, on
the ocean front. He was barefooted and
bitter. —
He readily admitted the attack on Billy and
said he planned to rob a gas station and flee
to Fresno. “I hate everybody! I hate the
whole world!” he shouted.
Later, at headquarters, young Jensen said
he’d done what he’d done because Billy had
asked him: “How’s it feel to be an ex-con?”
“Billy got what was coming to him,” he
went on, his grey eyes smoldering. “I don’t
care what happens to me. Let ’em hang me,
let ’em burn me. I’m tough... I’m not afraid
to die!”
Through endless questioning the boy re-
mained hard and sneering. Officers didn’t know
quité how to cope with him. They’d never
come across anything like this before—a 14-
year-old boy, callous, unbending, with a heart
of rock. , .
Superior Judge W. Turney Fox, sitting in
Juvenile Court, ordered the boy turned over
to General Hospital psychopathic ward.
69
Casablanca,
n, an oldish
other man,
entered the
~* ~ynpoint
nd over
ug photo of
ied that the
is’ and for
would mad
nabbed with
cet out of a
in which he
d its doors.
{ police con-
ad slain his
ae unmarked
irnia and to
ional escapes
mes he was
t, apparently
conducting a
vuth’s release,
vay from the
stitutions he
. stable and
y contended
o society and
rit of habeas
, 1950, before
rother of the
rd Jensen for
Mendocino, a
its’ plea. “The
1 menace,” he
oy. He is no
»w and he has
ows it and I
vehiatrist and
1 Richard
mted op-
wi prisoner
upon any free
ary
s time appear
dedi
es
be.
ore
Paerer seers
to have a complete understanding of the enor-
mity of the brutal murder he committed at
the age.of 14, although he recalls-in detail
events surrounding that time,” Dr. Crahan
testified.
“While it is untenable to place such a person
with the criminally insane until such time as
a state institution is provided for maximum
security, there seems to. be no alternative.
“Tt is my opinion that regardless of the
inability of the hospital officials to provide
further treatment for him, the important
requisite at this time is maximum security
detention. which can be provided at Men-
docino.”
At the conclusion of this testimony, Judge
Scott denied the writ and sent Richard Jensen
back to Mendocino.
Eight months later strange things began to
happen. Jensen was transferred from Men-
docino to the lesser security of Camarillo State
Hospital. “We could provide no further treat-
ment for him,” one doctor subsequently
reported. .
Then, on May 29, 1951—only 28 days
later—Jensen was. given his freedom. His
release was classified as “on leave”
Camarillo, a classification which placed him
under theoretical supervision of the State
Bureau of Social Service, whose workers were
to report on Jensen’s progress every 90 days.
Jensen said later that the social service workers
visited him only five times in all and that
“they just chatted sociably and never asked
me if I had any firearms or if I’d been drink-
ing.”
More to the point, Jensen had been released
in complete disregard of the “hold for arrest,”
and the “hold for murder indictment,” and of
the courts in general. As an angry district
attorney was to point out after the shooting
of Marine Sergeant Marion Piper, there was
no record that any of these holds had ever
been amended, modified or rescinded!
However, Richard Jensen was set free in
May, 1951, and in October of 1952 the assistant
superintendent of Camarillo wrote Judge A. A. °
Scott that Jensen was making
adjustment.”
But Judge Scott was full of misgivings.
Fresh in his mind were the events of just two
months ago, events involving an 18-year-old
named Billy Rupp, another psychopathic de-
linquent. On August 8, Rupp had shot a girl
“adequate
from °
to death—Ruby Ann Payne,’15, a baby sitter
employed at a Yorba Linda ranch where he
worked as a beekeeper and hired -hand. Covet-
ing ‘the beautiful girl, Rupp had bludgeoned
her with a hammer, then, shot her as she tried
to run away from him. '
As in the case of Jensen, young Rupp had
also been in trouble as a boy. He was 14 when
he attacked an Orange County housewife with
a hammer and rifle butt.
Rupp, too, had been sent to Camarillo and’
subsequently released—only to see his freedom
melt away in. murder. He was now in San
Quentin’s condemned row, awaiting execution.
Would Richard Jensen’s career follow the
same pattern? -
Judge. Scott scribbled a comment on’ the
Camarillo letter, “bears watching, in my opin-
ion,” then passed it on to Superior Court
Judge William B. McKesson, who now pre-
sided in juvenile court. ’
Judge. McKesson, in turn, wrote, to the
Camarillo superintendent, urging that Jensen
be required to serve at least another year “on
leave” before formal and final discharge. The
purpose of the request was to insure recom-
mittal of Jensen should he prove himself
unworthy of trust.
Jensen, meanwhile, had gotten a job in a
Glendale auto parts store and appeared well
on the way to complete rehabilitation. But
behind those unblinking grey eyes and the ex-
pressionless face,
forming.
They were thoughts dealing with robbery,
even murder.
e
ONE day Jensen hit on a fantastic plan and -
from that instant he tossed away all the
restraints ‘that had been drummed into him
during his 14 long years in state institutions.
Jensen worked late at night in his garage,
behind locked doors, away from prying eyes.
He sawed the stock from a 22-caliber rifle
and then, using wooden chocks, and ropes as
slings, he mounted the weapon in the rear
of his Pontiac sedan so that the muzzle
pressed against the front ‘seat. :
The gun was so pginted that anyone seated
beside the driver would have a gun at his back.
Then Jensen attached a length of dark fish-
line to the trigger, running the line along the
floor to the left of the driver’s seat.
The following day he drove into the country
forbidden thoughts were
and, reassembling the contrivance, squeezed a
Piece of 2x4 between muzzle and passenger
seat. Then he slipped behind the wheel,
reached down and jerked the fishline taut.
The explosion and the resulting hole in the
2x4 told him he had perfected a contraption
as clever as it was deadly. Now he was ready
for robbery—or anything! ;
On the night of October 3, 1953, just two
weeks from the time his “on leave” status was
due to expire, Richard Jensen went prowling.
He toured the streets of San Fernando,
aware that on a Saturday night there would
be many servicemen hitchhikers and that they
would be loaded with money.
. The mounted rifle, covered with a blanket,
was assembled in the rear and the fishline lay
beside him within reach of his fingers. He was
set for action.
On San Fernando Road he found a pros-
‘pective victim. It was Marine Sergeant Piper.
“Hop in,” Jensen directed. “Heading north?”
“Yeah, Bakersfield. Thanks, mister. Sure
appreciate the lift.”
Piper talked. Jensen nodded and grunted
and bided his time, wondering what the fellow
would say if he knew about the rifle aimed
squarely between his shoulder blades.
_ Jensen turned off Highway 99 onto desolate
138 which wandered away over the mountains
toward the Mojave Desert.
“Gotta make this detour, but we’ll only be
a few minutes,” Jensen lied. “Promised my
aunt I’d drop in on her.on my way north.”
“Sure, sure. Go right ahead.”
Three miles along the Old Ridge Route
Jensen applied the brake.
“Something wrong with the headlights. I'll
check.”
Then Jensen reached down and his groping
fingers found the fishline. He gave it a yank
and there was an explosion and the marine
‘was flung forward against the windshield.
But something had gone wrong; the marine
had not been shot, as Jensen had planned.
As he discovered later, the rifle slug had struck
a spring in the- front seat and been deflected.
But the spring itself had slammed forward so
hard that it had flung the passenger into the
windshield.
But Piper, unaware of the gun at his back,
was under the impression he had been struck
by someone hiding in the rear of the car. He
called to Jensen for help, crying out with pain.
71
Jensen ‘grabbed a ballpeen hammer and
brought it down on the stunned. serviceman’s
head a half dozen times. Piper fell against the
door and it came open and he tumbled out
onto the road shoulder.
Jensen was on him like a cat after a mouse,
dragging him, bleeding and half conscious, back
into the car. Jensen slipped the vehicle into
gear and drove seven more miles.
Too weak to protect himself, the young
sergeant feigned unconsciousness as the driver
hauled him from the car.. Piper reasoned hazily
that the other planned to rob him and then
it came to him that the man was slashing his
laces with a knife and removing his shoes.
The marine directed a sudden kick at his
assailant’s face, and missed. The latter cursed
him, then reached into the car for his 12-gauge
shotgun. He aimed it pointblank at the pros-
trate man’s body. and squeezed the trigger; oe
charge tore a hole in Piper’s chest.
But still the marine fought for consciousness.
He remembered vaguely being stripped naked
and dragged into the brush at the side of the
road. Then, in horror, he spied the glint of
a shovel and felt earth and sand falling on
him, and realized he was being buried alive.
Marion Piper played dead; his life depended
on it. He took only short, shallow breaths.
The earth covered him over and he gasped for
air and there was a sing-song ringing in his
ears. Then he heard the roar of a car and
knew that his Would-be murderer had fled.
Piper’s strength was waning fast, but he
‘fought’ his way out of the mound that was
to have been-his tomb. And then he began his
struggle to reach the distant light.
That was the story of.a psychopathic killer
released from a mental institution to strike
again, .At first Jensen insisted on his “impulse”
motive, then, after endless questioning, he
confessed the truth ‘and reassembled the rifle ©
contraption which he’d: dismantled at the time
he’d buried his victim's oe
We Marion Piper gave indications pf
making a slow and painful recovery, in-
vestigators’ sought to tie Richard Jensen to
_ other unsolved killings.. But the 28-year-old
prisoner sneered and dared them to show
proof.
One slaying pointed strongly to Jensen, in
the opinion of Sheriff’s Detective Sergeants
Richard Dailey and Virgil Piper (the latter no
relation to the wounded marine). It was the
gunshot death of Roger Raymond Lawson, 18,
-an itinerant laborer from Rhode Island whose
- naked body had been found a few days before
in an isolated canyon near Moorpark, a few
miles west of San Fernando.
While the sheriff’s men plugged away at the
investigation, Jensen was charged with rob-
bery, assault with intent to commit murder,
and kidnaping, the latter count carrying the
death penalty or life imprisonment without
possibility of parole.
the old indictment: for the Williams murder.
On October 7, the prisoner was arraigned
on the charges of robbery ‘and assault with
intent to murder and bail set at $25,000.
On October 16,~ District Attorney Ernest
Roll received a mass of official records dealing
with Jensen’s 14 years of confinement and his
release. Roll was determined to learn who had
let the deadly psychopath loose, if only to
“fix responsibility.”
“People of the type of Jensen should be
permanently removed from society,” the D. A.
said. “And maudlin sympathy or medical
‘mumbo-jumbp for them should not be allowed
to influence their aplenge. td
continued from page 41
The Lie that ‘Lived 22 Years
come running down here,” he advised Sheriff
Moore. “One of my prisoners keeps hinting he
knows who killed Showalter.”
The prisoner was Richard Conrad, nick-
named Curly, a shifty-eyed tough of 21, serv-
ing the eleventh month of a one-year-to-life
term for the rape ofa 13-year-old girl. At the
time of the Showalter murder, almost three
years before, he had lived. in Mt. Carmel.
He was in solitary confinement now. “He’s
our most unruly prisoner,” the warden ex-
plained. “He broke out once, but we recaptured
him nine days later, and he’s tried..to escape
twice since.’
. Sheriff Moore managed to have Conmesl
transferred to the Wabash County Jail in Mt.
Carmel. Rumor that a break was imminent '
in the Showalter mystery began to make the
rounds almost immediately.. Crowds gathered _
outside the jail. The sheriff threw up his arms
and parried all questions.
About this time, William Grise, a barber,
warned a local man named Jesse Lucas that
he faced arrest for the Showalter murder. “A
turnkey told his wife,” said Grise, “and she
told it to somebody else.”
Lucas laughed. “They must be suspecting
everybody!” he said. © :
Three weeks later, Pene Adams, Lucas’
closest friend, sidled up to him at a party
aboard a houseboat. ‘Jesse, I’m worried,”
Adams whispered. “I’ve heard from three,
different people that you’re being framed “for.
that killing.”
Lucas couldn’t help it. He laughed: again,
“The sheriff wouldn’t arrest: me,” he said. “I
voted for him.”
Three days later, he and his mother were
arrested and booked for murder,
Their friends were sure that a mistake, a
_ terrible mistake, had been made. Sheriff Moore,
however, thought differently. “No mistake,” he
said smugly. “My witnesses—Curly» Conrad
and three women—have nominated Mr, Jesse, ,
Lucas for the noose. He killed Shomelier for .
the $1400 he thought he was carrying. And his
mother was an accessory to_the crime.”
The Lucases were held. in jail for seven.
months until their trial opened on April 20
before Judge Prince Albert Pearce in the Cir-
cuit Court at Mt. Carmel. . {
Pale, ‘tired, stunned looking, the ‘defendants
entered’ pleas of not guilty, A newly-elected
state’s attorney handled the prosecution. He
had not taken office until after the arrests and
did not explore the case -himself, but relied
upon the sheriff for the evidence.;
The first person, to »take’ the stand was
Curly Conrad. He smirked when it was
brought out that he was a convicted rapist.
Then he testified that he and a woman named
Frieda Aspen had witnessed the murder as
they made love behind a lumber pile 300 feet
from, the Lucas home. When was this? At
10:30 P.. on the day Showalter disappeared.
“I heard a yell, looked over the lumber pile
and saw Showalter dash out of the Lucas
house with Jesse chasing him,” Conrad said.
“On. the porch Lucas brained him with a base-
ball bat. j
“After Showalter fell, Lucas went through
his. pockets and took something from’ them.
Mrs. Lucas, the mother, came out and helped
Jesse carry Showalter down to the river and
put the’ body ina ‘oat. esata
He Besdtours, testified that on the following day
he informed Lucas that he’ had witnessed
the incident. “Lucas,” he said, “almost fainted
-and_gave-me--$35 to: keep quiet. After, that I
collected -money--from ; him: every. now and
then until I was arrested and sent to jail.”
The defense made much of the fact that
Conrad. had waited almost three years before
telling . authorities his ‘story. »
Frieda Aspen followed eel a the’ ‘stand.
Nervously wringing her bands, she, gave es-
sentially the same account...
Defense Attorney ‘James Pritchett ‘grilled
her,’ a he:
“Dark night.
. night.”
“Was the moon shining?”
“No.”
“Was it raining?”
“Yes, a drizzling rain.”
“D? YOU pretend you could see him through
a drizzling rain and darkness a hundred
yards away and see . Bima rifle this man’s
. pockets?”
“Ves, »
Jesse Lucas leaned forward in his chair. For
the first time since the trial began, he felt
hopeful. On a cloudy, rainy night, it was so
black on the waterfront that even a cat found
its way with difficulty. The 12 men on the
jury had spent most of their lives along the .
Wabash. They should know how impossible
it would be. to. see everything the witnesses
claimed théy’d seen on such an-evening from
-a distance of 300 feet.’
Next on the stand was Jacob McCullop, 20,
a small, sharp-faced man. He revealed that he
had married Frieda Aspen six weeks earlier in _
the county jail where she had been held for
seven months as a material witness. At the
time of the wedding, he was serving a term
for ‘stealing a wooden Indian from the front
‘of a cigar store.
McCullop went on to testify ‘that Lucas
had visited Curly Conrad at the jail. “I over-
heard._their conversation,’ he said. “Lucas
told Conrad, ‘By God, Curly, don’t give me
away.’”
After Conrad finished testifying, an, attrac-
tive. brunette, poised and smartly dressed,
swept into the courtroom. She seated herself
on the witness stand and crossed her legs. She ~
was 20-year-old Mrs. ‘Ruby Mangan, former
cashier in one of the town’s.hotels. .
On the night of the slaying, she testified, she
visited Mrs. Lucas. “Clyde Showalter was
there,” she continued. “He asked me to step
- into the next room; hé said he had’ something
Jensen also still faced.
It was real dark out that
to tell m
Dp.
st
L a
Showalter
and wres!
scream, ‘]
a dull th
was mot
warned 1
same.’ ”
Lucas’
happened
pened to
up there
one of -th
known. \
he asked
A bold
and a tig!
She wave:
jury. Th
know her
She wa:
traction <
vice, whic
Replying :
said that
ville, Ind.
On the
was lying
paper-bac}
without m
window. |]
They wer:
the river.”
N TH!
Mrs.
commotior
you'll get
other peo;
“Did an:
night of th
nq
lou
luctantly ;
come in be
a broad-br
had walke:
around. Sh
“Why d
you said $
“T don’t
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“Must |
everything
“Are you
“T don’t
before or
cheap skate
The fol!
arose abou
behind wh
Panion sai
Three defe
lumber had
ing would
home.
Others, i:
the lumber
“There a
witnesses ir
Lucas’ attc
I heard of
far enough
_ before have
STRAY
BULLET
m@ A 19-year-old fugitive being held for
illegal possession of gun, shot his way
out of a Chicago police station, wounded
Policeman James Quinlan (1) in the leg
and continued a wild exchange of bullets
that mowed down little Daniel DeCero,
11, at station entrance (2). Danny’s fa-
ther, Alfred, rushed to hospital to com-
fort his son, broke down (3) when told
his boy was dead, victim of the- stray
bullet. Senseless killing set off one. of
Chicago’s major manhunts.
An inquest jury held Billy’s death to be a
homicide and recommended prosecution. Arms.
strapped, Richard Jensen was brought into: the
psychopathic court of Judge Ben hate for a
sanity hearing.
Richard told how he had broken the jaw of
an inmate at reform school. He told a lot of
stories. And finally Judge Lindsey, a. world-
wide authority on juvenile behavior, an-
nounced to the court: “This boy is the most
calloused .and cold-blooded individual I have
seen in 35 years.”
Four doctors were appointed to study Jensen.
Meanwhile, the district attorney’s office ob-
tained a grand jury murder indictment, the ,
were -justified. The boy was intractable and
at constant odds with Camarillo officials and
institutional rules. He was’ transferred to
another. institution, .the Sonoma ‘Home, and
finally, in ‘desperation, to Mendocino State
‘ Hospital, a maximum security hospital for the
criminally insane. ;
. Young Jensen continued. to be a. trouble
maker.
In 1941—he was 16 then-—the sipcintibliak ;
of Mendocino reported that Jensen, after
exténsive: therapy and peychopathic study, had’
been cured. »
‘But Los Angeles authorities, after making
‘their own’ study, were frankly skeptical of the
prosecutor pointing out that “this boy is too © wisdom of bringing the boy to tfial for murder
dangerous and vicious to risk his ever being
freed again.”
The indictment was planned ax a “hold”. -
should Jensen ever attempt to seek his release
from custody.
The sanity hearing was resumed in Judge
Lindsey’s court on September 18 and the four
doctors presented their findings. . One of the
doctors believed that the boy suffered from
dementia praecox, the split personality now
commonly called schizophrenia.. He. testified
that an “assay of ‘sex glands” disclosed that
Jensen was “a pronounced homosexual, with
four times the normal amount of female hor-:
mones and only one-tenth the normal male's.” .
at this time. ‘Whatever cure he had ‘undergone;
“they felt he was ‘still dangerous and a menace
to the. ‘community, © They ‘were no less. con-
vinced that’ a trial would result in a verdict
of acquittal on’.the ground oF sgemcts at the
“time ‘of the‘crime.
They Smply. coulda) med having him set ©
free.
NEW: legal” Shiceay ‘was set’ in auk
and on March 21; 1941, Juvenile Superior
Judge Robert, H, Scott invoked a statute en-
‘acted in 1939 ‘and. declared. Jensen a nyse ‘
pathic delinquent...
This did not ‘mean: that: Yeisen’ was insane
“Young Jensen suffers dementia praecox with. .~ but that he ‘was. a. ‘twisted’ personality, an
homosexuality,” the report went on, adding
that the cause might be traced to an attack
of whooping cough suffered ten days after
birth. :
As to the crime against Billy Williams, this
was decreed to be “either of sadistic nature or ~
the result of a dementia praecox ;temper out-: .
burst or an epileptic equivalent.”
The report concluded that,
favorable for improvement” ‘and: suggested”
shock therapy*and gland treatment because ~
“delinquency and mental health problems neh
stem from a: physiological basis.” -
Jensen was ordered: confined at’ Cainaitig |
state hospital. A judge issued a corollary order —
placing a hold on’the youth: Richard was to_
be tried for murder if he was ever released
'_ from the hospital.
Neither law enforcement agenties nor hos- :
pital authorities had any’ illusions about. hard-:
boiled Richard Jensen, ‘They hoped. for. the —
70 best and feared, the worst, a their fears
“prognosis is”
he oF
individual without ° conscience.
‘The effect. off the. statute’ was’ far-reaching,
for it provided for. _committal for » life—or
- until -all queries of homicidal . ~mania was
resolved. i
In. addition to: ‘the: confinement onde the
court ‘placed -another . hold on the youth, re-
questing state ‘hospital ‘authorities to: notify
the Los: Angeles’ “county ‘sheriff’s office in the .
: ‘tevent Jensen was ever cured and released.. -
\ The purpose of the hold was to make certain
‘that Jensen’ “would be brought to: justice on the
“still open ‘murder. indictment,
. On August. 18; 1945, now a bitter, hard-taceds:
“man. of 20; Richard . Jensen escaped - from
_Mendocino. ‘Accompanying . «him in the ‘crash-.
“out was: Harry Dunlap, a ywizened, balding,
' ashen-featured ‘crook: who'd ‘been sent up for
a long. stretch. for his role’ as a lovers’ lane.
bandit. .The ‘escape was followed by a series,
“oF armed. sun, in: which both men were
_Teported to Bt
One of the stickups was at the Casablanca,
a Los Angeles nightclub. One man, an oldish
-man, served as lookout. The other man,
younger, disguised aS a milkman, entered the
“place at 10 a.m. on August 30 and at gunpoint
forced the bookkeeper, a woman, to hand over
club receipts amounting to $5000.
‘The woman later identified a:mug photo of
Jensen as the phony milkman. .
Broadcast police: bulletins: warned that. the
two men were “highly dangerous” and for~
officers to regard them. as they would mad
dogs on the loose.
Two months later Jensen was nabbed with
a bag of loot as he sought. to get out of a
Columbus, O., department store ‘in which he
“had hidden “before it had locked its doors. :
- There was no sign of Dunlap, and police con-
_¢luded that Jensen probably ° had slain his
‘accomplice and buried him in some unmarked
~ grave.:
_~ Jensen was returned to. California and to
Mendocino. He made two additional escapes
from the hospital and. both: times he was .
brought back, a snarling, defiant, apparently
hopelessly maladjusted man.
His parents meanwhile were conducting a
stubborn legal struggle for the youth’s release,
in ‘the ‘sincere belief that once. away from the
“atmosphere of state mental institutions he
would quickly prove himself a stable and
“worthy. citizen: ~-
Through . their attoziey, ‘they. contended
Jensen was no longer ‘a menace to society and
asked for his freedom on a ‘writ of habeas
corpus.
2 > A hearing was ‘held August 18, 1950, before
_ Superior Judge A. A. Scott, a brother of. the
jurist who had committed. Richard Jensen for
» life as a’ psychopathic ‘delinquent.
..The then superintendent’ of ‘Mendocino, a
ated doctor, supported the parents’ plea, “The
~ boy at the present’ time is not a. menace,” he
. testified. “He is no longer a boy. He is no
longer immature. He is a man now and he has’
“got to act like a man. He knows it and I
“believe that he ‘will.’ ©
But Dr. Marcus Crahan, psychiatrist and
. county jail physician who’d examined Richard
‘Jensen at the court’s request, presented op-
paposite, testimony, characterizing the prisoner
“as “a definite hazard df. released ‘upon any free
_community.
hi
; Jensen does x Rot | even at this time appear 2
to have a cor
mity of the
the age of 1
events surrot
testified.
“While it is
with the crin
a state instit:
security, ther«
“It is my
inability of t
further treat)
requisite at t
detention. wh
docino.”
At the conc
Scott denied t
back to Mend
Eight
happen.
docino
Hospital. “We
ment for hi:
reported.
Then, on ?
later—Jensen
release was
Camarillo, a «
under theoreti
Bureau of Soci
to report on J
Jensen said lat:
visited him or
“they just cha
me if I’had an
ing.”
More to the
in complete dis
and the “hold |
the courts in
attorney was t:
of Marine Serg
no record that
been amended,
However, Ri
May, 1951, and
superintendent «
Scott that Je
adjustment.”
But Judge ¢
Fresh in his mir
months ago, ev
named Billy Rt
linquent. On At
a a an a
ae eee
1
of her age is uabaly too responsible to remain away over-
night without comacting her family.”
Due to the factsthat no one had seen Mrs. Fouts leave the
Stewart home, it became rent that the deputies were go-
ing to have to look elsewhere for a lead in the case. And after
a conference with Undersheriff John D. Ross in Santa Bar-
bara, some 75 miles down the coast and the county seat,
Capt. Taylor contacted the Santa Maria city police and a
check was started on all hotels, restaurants, cocktail lounges
and night clubs.
“Mrs. Fouts may have left alone for a drink and been
picked up in some bar or restaurant,” said Taylor, going
over the case with Police Chief W. T. Feland.
When he had finished, Taylor returned to his sub-station
where he put through a long distance call to Charles Fouts in
Corcoran. But the husband knew nothing of his wife’s where-
abouts. As he was hanging up the receiver, Taylor was joined
by Undersheriff Ross.
Together the veteran lawmen ordered a state-wide missing
rsons broadcast and then left to check the bus stations and
the railroad depot. But no woman answering the description
of Sue Fouts had bought a ticket out of the city the night
before. A check with the air line services at the Santa Maria
Air Base also ruled out that means of leaving the city.
Following this the two officers made a complete checkup
of all the cabs in Santa Maria, but Sue Fouts had not been a
nger in any of them.
By nightfall Capt. Taylor’s initial routine moves fol-
lowed in every missing persons case, were completed. But
they only served to heighten the mystery, because not a
trace of the missing woman could be found.
It was a perplexed group of officers who disbanded in the
sub-station that evening.
“We've tried all the usual channels,” mused the Under-
sheriff, “Except one—the newspapers. I'll give them the
story for an early morning release. It might bring us a lead.”
Ross’ hunch proved correct. For shortly after the first edi-
tions of the Santa Maria Times had hit the street next morn-
ing an overalled man, who said he was Jake Barlow, resident
manager of the Rosemary Farm, entered the sub-station office.
“T found a puddle of blood out on my road,” he said with-
out ceremony. “I thought maybe you men would be inter-
ested in it.” Rate
“We are,” answered Taylor. “But how do you know it’s
blood?”
The man grinned. “I’ve. done enough butchering in my
time not to let a little thing like that fool me.”
The deputy returned the smile and held the door to the
sheriff's car open for the tall farmer. “You ride out with us
and show us where it is,” he said. 3
Out on the Rosemary Farm, a large cauliflower enterprise
about three miles from Santa Maria, the deputies were di-
rected to a spot off the highway,on the road to the farm
houses. The manager warned them where to stop and when
they had all gotten from the car, he took them a little farther
up the road and pointed dramatically to a blackened pool of
blood off to one side.
Taylor scrutinized the pool. Marks around it indicated a
scuffle. For there was a maze of footprints surrounding the
1 and also marks which indicated that someone or some-
thing had been dragged from the pool back to the road. At
the road the. drag marks stopped. But off to one side, going
into one of the cauliflower fields, the deputies found where a
large truck had turned around.
Immediately Taylor ordered casts made of the footprints
38
and the truck tire tracks. Then, back at the blood pool, he
was able to carefully pull several long hairs from the hard-
ened splotch. They apparently were from the victim who
had lost blood in the field. we
Before they left the scene Taylor had his men photograph
the field from every angle.
Back in Santa Maria the officers paid a visit to the Stew-
art home and without arousing too much suspicion on the
part of the family, who didn’t want to worry the ill grand-
mother, Taylor quietly took several hairs from a brush be-
longing to the, ort Sue Fouts.
By the time they fhad returned to their office, the deputies
found the only thing city police had to report was the theft
of a truck. They admitted they were not sure that the truck
tied in with the disappearance of Sue Fouts, yet it was a
rmethod of leaving the city without using the buses, trains or
planes. :
Almost simultaneously from the sheriff's office in Santa
Barbara came the report that, police in Bakersfield, a San
Joaquin Valley community approximately 100 miles to the
east of Santa Maria, had found the stolen truck in their town.
But more than just a stolen truck, Bakesfield officers reported
the cab of the vehicle was covered with blood.
Within five minutes Undersheriff Ross: had. a deputy on
his way to Bakersfield with the casts of the tire tracks taken
at the Rosemary Farm. The deputy also carried the hairs
taken from the pool of blood and from the brush belonging
‘to Sue Fouts. He had instructions to go over the truck thor-
oughly in an effort to dig out any hair and then send the lot
of them to the Twining Laboratories in Fresno.
With the information that the truck had been found in
Bakersfield covered with blood, Ross and Taylor left imme-
diately for the Stewart house and another talk with the sis-
ter and the nephew. But the only thing new they could re-
port was the theft of $3 from a pitcher in the kitchen cup-
board.
Taking the pitcher with them so they could have it checked
for fingerprints, the two officers returned to the Santa Maria
sub-station. Inside the phone had just started to ring. Taylor
picked up the receiver and after several mumbled replies into
the mouthpiece, he turned to Ross with a smile.
“Tt looks like we’ve got a lead,” he said when he had again
replaced the phone. “Feland says Sue Fouts ate some .Chi-
nese food at Chew’s the night she disappeared.
Minutes later they pulled to a stop in front of the Chew
Cafe and went inside to question the witnesses who were still
being quizzed by city police. But it was.a fruitless job. The
proprietor and one of the waitresses in the cafe said Sue
Fouts had been with a man. Two other waitresses denied
having seen the man. But all of them agreed that if there had
been a man with the woman they hadn’t paid enough atten-
tion to him to be able to give the police a description, How-
ever, Henry Chew, the proprietor, said he would be able to
identify the man if he ever saw him again.
Thanking Chew and the waitresses, Ross and Taylor left
to pay a visit to the construction firm that had lost the truck.
Inside they were confronted with the usual office girl. But
it took only a moment to convince her their business was of
the utmost importance and they were ushered into the office
of. the manager. .
Here again they got little help. Aside from telling them that
the truck had apparently been stolen from the service sta-
tion where it was stored during the night, the manager was
too much concerned with the fact the vehicle was covered
with blood. . ; $y
has,” said |
“What
asked Ta
“We ar
“The stat
_Was misse
over the \
then take
time he wv
By the
it was alm
station.
The att
into his gr
into the s
their ignit
drove into
But th:
pared for
from hun
connectio!
smiled at
he told |
been aboi
the police
“But th
truck is tl
night,” he
keys over
for them.
“Was t
him?” Ta
“Why,
Quickly
the vital
scription
from Mrs
“That's
what’s up
“She’s 1
into their
getting th
Luckily
manager }
they had |
opened th:
the record
the daytin
The file
a short wh
and the d
emp!oyme
truck had
the Santa
“But tt
“Charlie, \
see what }
T'll go see
A short
little infor)
seen nothii
tell the un
ert commt
Leaving
check wit!
“Hilton’
BLOOD IN THE
CAULIFLOWER PATCH
Continued from page 40
dle of blood-stained clothing in a ravine
about 35 miles from Santa Maria.
Walking with their bundle a few
yards to a bridge which crossed the
draw, the two. men showed the clothes
to Allan Stewart. He quickly identified
the garments as belonging to his aunt,
Sue Fouts.
There was little doubt in the officials’
minds that Sue Fouts was dead. The
discovery of her blood-stained clothing-
was mute, if not conclusive evidence of
this fact. But little could be done until
the woman’s body was found. And now
the deputies faced a new problem. Was
she disrobed and thrown from the
truck before it reached the bridge on
the Cuyama Road? Or was she dis-
robed and the clothing hurled from the
truck while the killer carried her to some
distant part of the wild country befor
tossing her out? |
Next morning the search in the Cuy-
ama continued, with every man avail-
able being pressed into the hunt.
Through the long hours of the morning
and well into the afternoon the search-
ers, singly and in pairs, scoured through
the hills in the tiresome hunt for the .
missing woman’s body.
Then, as the sun was beginning to go
down Allan Stewart, the nephew, found
the nude body of his aunt about 400
yards off the Cuyama Road where the
kiler’ had rudely tossed her to the
ground.
She was not a pretty sight after six
days and nights in the woods. And one
of her legs had been badly chewed by
animals during the time.
Sue Fouts, they found upon close
examination, had had her throat cut.
Aside from this and the animal-muti-
lated leg, there were no other marks of
violence upon her. It was impossible at
this time to tell if the woman had been
criminally assaulted, and when the am-
bulance arrived Ross ordered her re-
moved while he and his deputies closely
scouted the area between where the
body had been found and the road.
But they could find nothing more.
Word came from Santa Barbara
headquarters... that the search was
at an end. Thomas Hilton had been
captured by Bakersfield deputies as he
was hitch-hiking a ride into Lone Pine,
far up in the High Sierras.
64
ee
. Later Bakersfield reports revealed
that the fellow had offered no resist-
ance, but had come almost with relief
as the deputies ordered him from the
back seat of a car stopped at one of
their road-blocks. How he managed to
get as far as he did and avoid the road-
blocks which were literally covering the
road, is something that to this day po-
lice are unable to answer. .
According to his confession, he had
come to Santa Maria a few months be-
Yore, smarting from having served a
short sentence on charges of his own
wife in Trona. He had vowed at the
time that he would get his hands on a
gun and return to Trona and kill her.
In Santa Maria he had run into his
old friend Allan Stewart. Then, on that
fateful December 5, Stewart had. in-
vited him to his house on East Stowell
Road for supper. After doing the dishes
hé and Sue Fouts had set off downtown.
On the way they had stopped at several
bars and had several drinks. Then they
went to the service station and Hilton
got the truck he drove during the day.
After that they had ridden around
Santa Maria for what seemed like hours.
Around midnight, Hilton related,
they had gone to the Chew Cafe and
eaten some Chinese food. Immediately
after that he had driven the women tu
the Rosemary Farm where he had cut
her throat. ‘
' “Why?” interrupted Ross.
“T don’t know,” answered the killer.
“Something inside forced me to kil]
her. I got out of the truck and walked
around to her side. I opened my knife,
the one you took from me, and opened
her door, She was smiling; didn't have
any fear. Then I reached up with the
knife and jabbed her in the throat, two,
three ... I don’t know how many times.
“After I'd killed her I knew I would
have to hurry if I was going to kill my
wife. I tried to borrow a gun, but I
couldn’t find one. Then I went to the
Stewart house and took $3 out of a
pitcher in the kitchen. By this time it
was getting late and I knew I’d have to
get out of Santa Maria.”
Hilton said he drove along the Cuy-
ama Road until he found a good spot
and carried the body off the road so it
wouldn’t be seen. About halfway back
to the truck he suddenly remembered
her clothes. He said he didn’t want any
laundry tags left, so he went back to
the body and cut her clothes off her and
threw them over the bridge farther
down the road, * me
“How about the blood at the Rose-
mary Farm?” asked Ross.
“I dragged her from the truck after
I’d stabbed her,” said the killer. “Then
I stretched her on the.ground while I
walked through the fields trying to de-
cide what to do. When I came back I
felt. her pulse to see if she was dead.
She was, so I loaded her back in the
truck.” :
From Bakersfield, the killer con-
fessed, he went on into Trona where he
broke into several houses in an attempt .
to get a gun to kill his wife. But the
only weapon he could find was an ice-
' pick. Knowing that he would need more
than this to kill her, he left Trona and
hitch-hiked up into the San Joaquin
Valley where he struck a man over the
head after the fellow and his wife had
picked him up on the road. After jump-
ing from the auto when the husband
wanted to fight, Hilton said he had gone
into the brush and cut his wrists in a
vain attempt to kill himself. But he
had cut in the wrong place and failed to
do more than make. himself weak.
_ Then he had hitch-hiked do wn to
Ridgecrest where he again tried to kill
himself by throwing. himself in front
of speeding cars. But here again he
failed. “One of the drivers stopped and
bawled me out,” he said. “Then he gave
me a ride into Los Angeles.” :
Next he. related about stealing th
car of his Burbank friend. “And after
it froze up I was nearly into Lone Pine
when they got me.”
Arraigned before Justice of the Peace
Marion A. Smith in Santa Maria on
December 13, 1945, Hilton entered a
plea of not guilty by reason of insan-
ity. His trial was set for February 18,
1946. Then in a surprise move on
February 14, the killer withdrew his
plea of not guilty.
‘In a record short trial, Hilton was
convicted of first degree murder. And
on February 20, the day of his convic-
tion, he waived the statutory time and
requested. that sentence be pronounced
immediately. Judge Atwell Westwick .
sentenced him to death. —
’ On December 6, 1946, the State-Su-:
preme Court affirmed the sentence of
the Canta Barbara court and on Febru-
ary 26,1947, tiny cyanide pellets were
dropped below the chair in San Quen-
. tin’s gas chamber. Thomas Hilton died
a few minutes later for the murder of
.a:woman he had known only five hours.
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‘lance of worry
less night.
iey were waved
the woman un-
Road last night
friends in town,
ylor.
vhy I’m afraid
isn’t like Sue to
and she hasn’t
prehension. He
an filling it out.
| left their house
ry, December 5,
- feet, six inches
tall, 35 years old and weighing around 135 pounds. “She
was wearing a flowered, cotton housedress and a light summer
coat, black shoes and no stockings.” :
Taylor broke into her description when she had gotten
‘that far. “Mrs. Stewart, in all- missing persons reports we
have to’ ask qusetions that might be embarrassing. I hope
you won’t take any offense.”
Nora Stewart shook her head.
Taylor continued. “Is Sue Fouts married?” ;
“Yes,” answered the sister. “Sue is married to. Charles
Fouts. Has been for about 17 years. They live in Corcoran
and she came down here a couple of days ago to be with me
while our mother is sick.”
“Since coming here ,” questioned Taylor, “has she become
interested in other men?”
Mrs. Stewart flushed. “No,” she said firmly. “She. might
-have a sociable drink with an old friend, but shé certainly is
not interested in anyone.”
AE
“Where was she going when she left the house last night?”
questioned the deputy.
“That’s what we don’t know,” replied Mrs. Stewart. “My
son, Allan, here,” she nodded to the fellow, “had gone out
and I was asleep when she left.”
Preliminary inquiries by sheriff's deputies established that
Sue Fouts had done just about as Mrs. Stewart said. She
lived in Corcoran with her husband and came to Santa Maria
only four short days before to be with her sister during the
illness of their mother, Mrs. Lela Swearingen.
Investigation at the Stewart home on East Stowell Road
revealed that Mrs. Fouts had taken no clothing with her. All
articles of wearing apparel that she had brought with her
from Corcoran were still hanging in the closet of her room
at the house, or folded neatly away in her still partially-
packed suitcase.
“If she were some kid I wouldn’t be inclined to worry
about her for another 24°hours,” said Taylor to one of the
other deputies as they left the Stewart house. “But a woman
37
ood pool, he
m the hard-
victim who
1 photograph
to the Stew-
jicion on the
he ill grand-
a brush be-
the deputies
was the theft
hat the truck
yet it was a
ses, trains or
ice in Santa
‘sheld, a San
miles to the
in their town.
icers reported
a deputy on
tracks taken
ied the hairs
ish belonging
e truck thor-
1 send the lot
10.
een found in
or left imme-
with the sis-
ney could re-
kitchen cup-
ive it checked
Santa Maria
) ring. Taylor
-d replies into
| he had again
te some .Chi-
of the Chew
who were still
less job. The
cafe said Sue
resses denied
it if there had
onough atten-
‘iption. How-
ld be able to
d Taylor left
ost the truck.
ffice girl. But
siness was of
into the office
ing them that
2 service sta-
manager was
was covered
has,” said the deputy when the undersheriff entered the office.
hee
asked Taylor.
“We are not sure what happened,” answered the manager.
“The station attendant who was on duty the night the truck
_ was missed won’t be back until tonight. He works long hours
over the weekend and during the first part of the week and
then takes all his time off at the end of the week. And this
time he went hunting.”
By the time the veteran lawmen left the construction office
it was almost dark and they drove immediately to the service
station.
The attendant, little more than a boy, was just stepping
into his greasy coveralls when the two sheriff’s officers pulled
into the station. And they had little more than turned off
their ignition when Chief Feland and a squad of city police
drove into the pump area, obviously bent on the same mission.
But the young attendant, Marvin Arthur, was all pre-
pared for them. His mother had told him when he got home
from hunting that the police had been looking for him in
connection. with the truck. He
smiled at Ross and Taylor when
he told how worried she ‘had
been about the appearance of J
the police at their home. :
“But the boy that drives the
truck is the one who took it that
night,” he said. “I turned the
keys over to him when he asked
for them. Nobody had ever...”
“Was there a women with
him?” Taylor_ interrupted.
“Why, yes, there was.”
Quickly Ross and Taylor gave
the vital points about her de-
scription that they had learned
from Mrs. Stewart.
“That's the one,” said the young man breathlessly, “but
what’s up?”
““She’s missing,” shouted Taylor as he and Ross got back
into their car. And then to Chief Feland, “Do you mind
getting the details from the kid?”
Luckily they got back to the construction firm before the
manager had left for the night. When they told him what
they had learned from the attendant at the station, he quickly
opened the personal files and the three of them went through
the records of Thomas Hilton, who the manager said was
the daytime driver of the truck.
The file showed Hilton had been working for the firm only
a short while. His birthplace was given as Sonora, Texas and
and the date was January 5, 1904. His previous places of
emp‘oyment were all in the San Joaquin Valley where the
truck had been found. The only other thing on the card was
the Santa Maria address of his mothéf.
“But this doesn’t mean he stole the truck,” said Ross.
“Charlie, you stay here and check over the work records and
see what Hilton has been doing for the past couple of days.
I'll go see his mother.”
A short visit with his mother, however, gave Ross very
little information. She was a school teacher, she said, and had
seen nothing of her son for a number of years. But she did
tell the undersheriff that he had a wife in Trona, a tiny des-
ert community on the edge of Death Valley.
Leaving the mother, Ross returned to the sub-station to
check with Taylor.
“Hilton’s been missing from work just as long as the truck
610
®
“What do you mean ‘apparently stolen’ from the station?”
I’ve already broadcast a hold order for him.”
Saturday. morning found the Santa Barbara deputies on
the job at an early hour. But Sue Fouts had vanished as
completely as writing rubbed off a blackboard. It was logical
to assume that she had been murdered, but if so, why and
where was her body? Had some ingenious method been de-
vised to conceal it forever?
Before interviewing the Stewarts with their latest informa-
tion, Ross put through a telephone call to Trona police.
“They’re so far away from civilization up there,” remarked
Ross “that it is just possible Hilton has gone home to his
wife.”
Trona police were able to give the Santa Maria deputies
quite a little on Thomas Hilton. His wife still lived there,
they said, but she and the hunted man were separated. Fur-
ther than that, they said, Hilton had been in and out of the
courts and jails of San Bernardino County a number of times
on various charges ranging from assault to wife beating.
_ When he had finished, Ross thanked the Trona officer for
information and asked him to be
on the lookout for the suspect.
Then Ross and Taylor again
made a trip to the Stewart home
on East Stowell Road.
“Do you know a man named
Thomas Hilton?” asked Ross
when the two had entered the
house and confronted Nora
(nN Ti fe Stewart.
“Sure,” replied the woman.
CAULIFLOWER FaTcH. DoH
Taylor quickly told her and
her son Allan the story of the
- stolen truck and the attendant’s
charges that he turned the truck
over to Hilton and a woman.
“He was here to dinner that night,” said Mrs. Stewart ex-
citedly, “but I thought he left with you.” She turned to look
at her son.
“He didn’t go with me,” answered her son. “But I don’t
think he had anything to do with Aunt Sue being gone.”’
“Why didn’t you tell me he had been here for dinner?”
asked Taylor, more than a little put out. :
“We didn’t think to,” answered the son. “Why, we’ve
known Tom Hilton since he was a little boy. I used to play
cops and robbers with him down in Texas.”
Then, at the request of the officers, the Stewarts detailed
the happenings of the night Sue Fouts disappeared.
Hilton had come to dinner. They had laughed and joked
all during the meal, Aunt Sue entering into the frivolity. Af-
ter the meal Sue Fouts and Hilton had cleaned up the dishes.
Nora Stewart had put her ill mother to bed and had stretched
out on a couch when she finished. She had gone to sleep.
Allan Stewart had gone up town, leaving Hilton and his aunt
in the house. alone.
When Nora Stewart awoke next morning to find her sister
had not slept in her bed, she had no way of knowing that
Hilton hadn’t left with her son. And the son had no reason
to be suspicious of his life-long friend.
As they returned to their car Ross spoke. “I think we’d
better get a posse together and take a look through the Cuy-
ama.” He named a wild, oil-rich territory between Santa
Maria and Bakersfield. “The truck was driven from here to
Bakersfield. Blood was found on the Rosemary Farm, which
is on the Cuyama Road and the truck was covered with
-blood.”
39
vas heavy at
sin Los An-
-y. Workers
wrying home
automobiles.
ist three days
1 the clang-
ded intd the
at, one door
Krause’s malt
was empty.
ind the coun-
Christmas gift
ot missed any-
he two young
a voice snarled
into the mean-
“ver seen. The
; haired young
ylue hat. Even
d never forget
test, the second
5° shorter and
oked his hand,
above the coun-
gun was plain,
mild in calm
ison (photo “
‘an On a job.
ee
this knife was the
von that sent tw
tinals to seaffo
id.
“We'll get those killers,” was
vow of Inspector Davidson, shown
above. And he made his vow good.
and a sickening fear shook Krause.
_ “Open up the register,” he ordered, and
the taller man leaped around the coun-
ter.
Krause obeyed with trembling hands.
Quickly, the first man scooped the bills
and coins into his pockets. Then he
glanced about the store. “Where’ll we
put this monkey ?” he asked his partner.
“Wash room?”
“Okay,” the other agreed. “And let’s
hurry.”
Suddenly there was a flashing knife
in the hand of the dark-haired bandit.
“Get back there,” he commanded, and a
cruel grin played around his full lips
as he saw Krause tremble.
But the grin changed when he saw
that the washroom could not be locked.
There was not time to improvise a lock,
He gripped the knife and held its keen
edge to Krause’s throat. “Feel that?”
he snapped. “I'll cut your lousy throat
if you make one move out of here.” He
gave him a violent shove into a corner.
“Stay there for ten minutes.”
Somehow the vicious attitude of the
bandit suddenly changed Krause’s fear
into burning anger. No one could treat
him that way, not even if there were
two of them and they did have guns
and knives. Heedless of the danger, he
slammed out of the washroom and raced
to the front door.
The pair of bandits were just pass-
ing in front of the candy shop on the
corner. Without hesitation, Krause
sprang for them. His blue smock
stretched out behind him as he made a
flying tackle at the taller one—the one
who had kicked him.
“Help! Police! Robbers!” Krause
yelled as he struck the bandit and they
both went sprawling along the sidewalk.
Mrs. Margaret Bugg, owner of the
candy shop, heard Krause’s frantic calls
for help and rushed from the back of
her store. William Gilson, newsman,
turned from the evening papers he was
hawking only a few fect away. He saw
small coins scatter across the walk as
the two rolled over. And a.small bluc-
steel revolver bounced from the pocket
of the bandit, striking the sidewalk so
hard that the cylinder was knocked from
the frame and loaded cartridges zig-
zagged along the curb’s edge.
At the same moment, both north-
bound and southbound street cars were
stopping on Vermont Avenue. From
Deputy City Marshal Calderwood |
(photo above) got death because
he was a considerate officer.
the northbound car, attractive Eliza-
beth Hood, a secretary at the Fox Film
Corporation, stepped into the safety
zone to see Krause scramble to his feet
and start after a man turning along
Ninth Street. From the southbound
car, Perman Calderwood, popular young
deputy city marshal, who was on his
way to his home a couple of blocks
away, heard the cries. He leaped down
27
e, rushed to
, and nearly
n doing SO0-
listened. Then
of the car just
cart racing after
je first was tY-
had knocked the
after the shorter
‘elp! Stop him! Ff
d again he made
ng down the sec-
round the busy in-
ed in their tracks
irly darkness of the
began halting their
an to jam. But 0
were witnessing the
ly Miss Hood ha
aind to respond to
iis for help. She cut
sne and rushed up to
‘uggling to hold the pf
ee panted, “Call the
rted toward the candy
Bt
J
i Calderwood 4
pe a gt He paused |
street Cat..
-ying to focus on what
as
All that he knew was }o
unusual was taking place ;
led out
. the street to
, the man
“Ym an
just as he
officer,”
up.
“What goes of here
7 LM
d across the tall mans {2
Henry Krause is shown above at
the counter of store where the
heist occurred. He was shot.
as he saw Calderwood’s gun, But al-
most as quickly, the fearful look dis-
appeared and he grinned innocently at
the officer.’ He pushed a mop of dark
hair from his face.
“Nothing, Officer,” he said. “Just a
little argument.”
The crowd at the corner was increas-
ing and Calderwood tried to see what
was going on around on Ninth. “Put
your gun away, Officer,” the smiling
youth said. “I’ve done nothing. Don’t
attract a crowd. I haven’t anything on
me. See?” He held out his two empty
hands..
In the confusion and dim light of the
street, Calderwood had not noticed the
coins scattered on the walk, or the gun.
Around the corner, Krause was still
yelling desperately for help. And in the
gloom, the trusting officer could not see
the unholy glint in the young man’s
dark eyes.
“Okay,” he said and tucked his gun
back into its holster.
In the same second that Calderwood’s
hand was dropping his revolver back
into its holster, a ferocious gleam flashed
in the night. With unbelievable quick-
ness, the young man’s hand whipped up-
ward and Mrs. Bugg saw the gleam of
polished steel as the blade of a knife
drove savagely downward into the neck
and shoulder of Calderwood.
There was a gurgling gasp from Cal-
derwood as his body twisted from the
impact and started to fall. The power-
ful hand came up again, blood streaming
from the knife. The blade swooped
down again as the dying man crashed to
the sidewalk.
This photo of Robert O’Niell wa
who staked out in his rooms
s taken after he was captured by police
and trapped him when he returned.
29
Fate kept this billfold from falling into a sewer and address on
the slip of paper furnished ecager detectives with their first clue,
This time the blade drove into Cal-
derwood’s spine, between the shoulders.
The killer tugged at the weapon for a
brief second and then dashed around the
corner, leaving the knife sticking in the
body of the officer who had trusted him
for one fatal moment.
Miss Hood, at that moment, was run-
ning toward the candy shop. The man’s
left arm caught her and slammed her
against a signboard. “Get back there!”
he commanded, and leaped onward to
help his partner struggling with
Krause.
Miss Hood saw him scoop up from
the sidewalk a gun which had fallen
from the pocket of the second bandit.
With almost a single movement, he lev-
elled the gun at Krause’s flouncing form
and pulled the trigger.
“My God!” Krause gasped, as he
clutched his side and rolled off the ban-
dit. In another second the two bandits
were fleeing down Ninth Street toward
Westmoreland Avenue, while Calder-
wood’s life blood was spreading across
the walk and Krause writhed in agony.
D. K. Hill and his brother, A. M.
Tlill, were the only others at the scene
who had presence of mind to spring into
action. One raced into one store and
one into another to telephone the po-
lice. Within five minutes, Radio Of-
ficers Peterson and Farnum responded,
and behind came the Georgia Street Re-
ceiving Hospital’s ambulance.
Da: Lieutenants Jerry Hickey
and William J. Clark, of the Cen-
tral Homicide Bureau, were the first
homicide officers to reach the corner.
Almost at the same time, Detective Lieu-
tenant Frank E. Ryan, homicide ace,
sO
who was on his way home, pushed his
way through the milling crowd to ask
what had happened. A few minutes
later, Inspector David A. Davidson and
Detectives Joe Fikas and William Bag-
got arrived and the inspector took
charge of the investigation.
The doctor from the ambulance pro-
nounced Calderwood dead. The first
stab of the knife had torn through the.
arteries of the neck and he had died
within seconds. The death weapon had
been driven into the spine with such
force that Clark had to use a pair of
heavy plier to remove it.
Krause had reccived a slug through
his left side. The doctor rushed him
into the ambulance and to the hospital,
leaving Calderwood’s body for the at-
tention of the coroner. Hickey was de-
tailed to accompany the victim and ob-
tain a statement and description.
Working as rapidly as possible un-
der the confusing conditions, the offi-
cers took down the names and addresses
of the various witnesses and brief notes
on what they had seen. Although at
least 50 people had seen or heard some-
thing, none of them could give a good
description of the bandit killers. Out
of the maze of statements the officers
could only be sure that one was dark-
haired and about six feet tall while the
other was somewhat shorter.
Near the body Clark picked up the
blue steel revolver, its broken cylinder
and the six loaded shells. Holding them
in a handkerchief, he handed them to
the inspector.
“A 32,” Davidson said as he in-
spected it, “and a very cheap one, at
that. No wonder it fell apart. Let’s
hope it holds some fingerprints.”
Deputy District Atty Wm. McKay
(mow a judge) prosecuted killers.
Through the crowd a tall, round-
faced man pushed forward. Word of
mouth reports of the crime had swept
over the neighborhood and William T.
Calderwood had hurried from his home
to see if it were true that his eldest
son had been hurt.
“My boy!” he exclaimed, as he saw
the gruesome sight on the walk and sud-
denly his knees buckled. Bystanders
caught the bereaved man before he fell
and carried him into a nearby drugstore
where the druggist rendered first aid.
As the officers gathered a fair picture
of the almost incredible murder, a burn-
ing rage stirred in cach of them. A
fellow officer had been ruthlessly cut
down by a fiendish criminal, all because
he was trying to be decent in the per-
formance of his duty.
Davidson voiced the sentiments of
each of them when he muttered, “We'll
get these birds if it’s the last thing we
ever do!”
As soon as the official photographer
made his pictures, the coroner’s deputy.
removed the body. Underneath it there
was a dark-blue hat. “That must belong’
to the murderer,” Davidson said. ‘“Cal-
derwood still has his on.”
Clark and Peterson began to clean up
the scene, picking up the scattered coins,
which were mostly nickels, dimes and
quarters. From the point where Calder-
wood had fallen they searched the spot
where Krause and the second bandit
had fought. There was nothing at this
place, but as Peterson turned along the
curb at the corner his flashlight caught
a black billfold tottering on the edge of
the sewer grating. A careless foot or a
slight gust of wind would have caused
it to fall inside the flowing drain.
Lieut,
here h.
“Fate ;
Davidson
and expla
Davidso
the other 2
lad one
dropped th.
Vv some }
the billfold |
of money a
the, Pockets
of paper,
With Ry.
candy store
Paper under
the slips of
names of gi;
Indicating th
long list of g
There Was
Hollywood di
made out to
Jenkins furpj
radio, Only
name. It was
bilt Clothing s
made out to
Bixel, Los An
; “Tf this belo:
in luck,” Ryan
thing that puzz
Suy out on a jc
with his name ;
- “Seems odd,
And yet it’s ;
these 8uys are p;
ly they’re hot, an
That’s why they
But this billfold ;
not waste any tin
know for sure.”
Outside, Hicke
(Contin,
We reseMiibin
RRR RE RS AIST
Dorothy O°Niell, wife of one of th
Sophia Pfaff, second killer’s friend.
28
fit.
e killers (she is is shown at left) and
They had no part in the crime.
‘one along Ninth.
Elizabeth Hood, above, rushed to
help gunmen’s victim, and nearly
lost her own life in doing so.
from the car, tensed and listened. Then
he ran around the back of the car just
in time to see Krause start racing after
the second man while the first was try-
ing to get to his feet.
Krause, believing he had knocked the
first man out, lunged after the shorter
“Help! Stop him!
Police!” he yelled, and again he made
a flying tackle, bringing down the sec-
ond bandit.
Qos OF PEOPLE around the busy in-
tersection stopped in their tracks
and gaped into the early darkness of the
evening. Motorists began halting their
cars and traffic began to jam. But of
all the people who were witnessing the
strange drama, only Miss Hood had
the presence of mind to respond to
Krause’s frantic calls for help. She cut
out of the safety zone and rushed up to
where he was struggling to hold the
second bandit down.
“Quick!” Krause panted, “Call the
police!”
Miss Hood started toward the cand;
shop.
As this was happening, Calderwoo
came around the street car.. He pause
a split second trying to focus on wh
was happening. All that he knew we
that something unusual was taking plac
and someone was yelling for help. H
saw the first man just getting to hi
feet. He pulled out his gun as b
plunged across the street toward him.
He reached the man just as }
straightened up. “I’m an officer,” |
said quickly. “What goes on here?”
Fear flashed across the tall man’s fa
Henry ]
the cou
heist o.
as he say
most as ¢
appeared .
the officer.
hair from
_ “Nothin;
little argun
_ The crov
ing and C:
was going
your gun .
youth said,
attract a cr,
me. See?”
hands..
In the co:
Street, Cald
coins scatter
Around the
yelling despx
gloom, the t:
the unholy
dark eyes,
“Okay,” hy
back into its
In the sam:
hand was dr
into its holste:
in the night.
ness, the youn
ward and Mr:
Polished stee|
drove savagely
and shoulder ¢
There was a
derwood as hi
impact and 5
ful hand a .
from the knife
Own again as
the sidewalk, ‘
| by
alty
(hday, and
that time,
snalty was
ird’s strict
out he had
.ed to him
Juring his
other pris-
nfinement
vital. Here
thed ban-
-old killer
life sen-
ity years
as trans-
no Janu-
as locked
1m which
le,
nlap had
tempt to
oril 26th,
1 fighting
‘nied be-
igene W.
legal re-
al would
18 RN Ae gc gy
prove a blot on California’s entire law-
enforcement program. Dunlap had be-
come so unruly after this parole denial
that he had been removed from Folsom
& Mendocino, along with similar recalci-
trants. ‘
The old man and the younger one be-
came prison pals and even under the
watchful eyes of their guards they found
opportunity to plan and scheme. This
went on for months with the aid of the
prison grapevine system.
Early in 1945, Jack Harris, alias Alfred
Alvore, a former cellmate of Dunlap, was
transferred from Folsom to Mendocino.
Concealed on his body he carried with
him a number of small, very fine tool-
steel saws, wrapped in oiled paper, and
he quickly found an opportunity to pass
these saws over to young Curts who im-
mediately delivered them to Dunlap.
Dunlap had a work detail in the clothes
toom and it was easy to keep the saws
concealed among the soiled laundry and
clothes. ;
The sharp, hard steel saws bit through
the iron prison bars of the laundry room
and after patient work the way to the
outside was open, needing only the bend-
ing back of the sawed bars to let the men
out, ‘
On the night of August 18th, 1945,
while the whole world was still in an
uproar over the war’s end three days
before, and a feeling of vast relief
seemed to have penetrated even inside
prison walls, the secret plans of Curts
and the two other convicts came to frui-
tion. Crafty old Harry Dunlap waited
until long after lights -1ad gone out in the
cells, «|
Only one guard was on duty at the
corridor’s end.
‘Curts and Jack Harris and Dunlap
silently made their way to the laundry
tom and it took them only moments to
out and over the wall and make their
escape,
There was no sign of their going until
the guard made his next rounds and
found the three empty beds. Lights went
on immediately and a search was insti-
tuted and the way of escape was quickly
discovered,
A state-wide teletype report of the
scape was issued, and immediately
police radio stations .
throughout California
broadcast the escape
report. North into
Oregon and Washing-
ton went the warn-
ings, and South,
across the border into
Mexico. Thousands of
oficers and sheriffs
were quickly ap-
rised of the escape
“the three murder-
=s, and all along the
-2@ prowl cars were
nerted,
In Los Angeles,
-eputy Sheriff Lloyd
snith was again on
sty at KQBV, the
untry’s largest sher-
“3 station. Sheriff
-scailuz ordered Los
sath to follow the
Angeles
thwarted Harry Duntap’s parole
eer een emrcie
. Officers through his
force the weakened bars aside and climb.
Sheriff Biscailuz
escapees as closely
as possible by air.
“This fellow Dunlap
is a bad actor,” the —
Sheriff told Smith.
“He is vicious and
crafty, but young
Curts is worse. He is
a natural killer and I
have an idea he will
head for Los Ange-
les without delay if
he can get through
the Northern Cali-
fornia police net.”
Smith agreed and
sent careful instruc-
tions to listening
microphone.
It must be re-
membered that at
this time there was a
tremendous migration of war workers
and their families in all parts of Califor-
nia. Thousands of released workers and
other people with newly acquired gaso-
line were putting an unheard-of burden
.upon California highways, and every-
where in all directions motor traffic had
reached record heights. ;
Several hours after the original tele-
type escape broadcasts, San Francisco re-
ported picking up Alfred Alvore, who
had apparently been deserted by his
companions. Alvore was apprehended
in the act of breaking and entering a
small restaurant on Eddy Street, near
Market, San Francisco’s main downtown
thoroughfare. 4 1K
Deputy Smith, a rabid sports fan,
shouted into the broadcast transmitter:
“Boys, it’s one down and two to go!”
August 20th, 1945, a theft report on a
stolen automobile filtered in to Los
Angeles from San Francisco. The car
was found abandoned on the Ridge
Route, near Grapevine, about halfway
between Bakersfield and Los Angeles
and hundreds of miles south of San Fran-
cisco. ‘
Fingerprints found on the steering
wheel, both front doors, and the rear-
vision mirror, definitely established that
Curts and Dunlap had been in the car.
Police in the vicinity of Los Angeles were
again put on the alert and especial
emphasis was put up-
on the bright red,
curly hair of Curts,
and the shiny, peaked,
bald pate of Dunlap,
two distinguishing
items that might
cause them to stand
out even among thou-
sands. of migratory
motorists.
Just two days later,
Mrs. Lily Kephart, of
117. South Second
Avenue, Bassett, a
small village between
El Monte and Puente,
California, telephoned
the Sheriff’s office
that she had seen the
two escapees. “It was
the two men whose
pictures are in this
morning’s paper,” she
Sergeant Earl Rombeau investi-
gated the Los Angeles robberies
reported. “They
knocked on my. door
and asked me for a
drink of water and
gave them what they
asked for, shut the
door and ran out back
to a telephone. They
haven’t been gone
long.” f
Sheriff’s cars rushed
through El Monte,
only a few miles from
Los Angeles. Mrs.
Kephart .was ques-
tioned further. Roads
were searched. Sus-
Ppicious appearing cars
were stopped and in-
vestigated. The two
killers were not
found.
That’ same afternoon a young man
walked into the Security-First National
branch bank at 38th and Western Ave-
nues, Los Angeles, and simulating a gun
under his coat relieved the girl cashier
‘of more than $1,500 in currency. He
turned quickly and left after grabbing
the money, and as the young woman
turned from her window to give the
alarm he jumped into an open touring
car outside the bank and: was driven
rapidly away by. the bald-headed old
man who was at the wheel. This old
fellow was Harry Dunlap, according to
bank employees who recognized his pic-
ture, and the holdup man was Richard
Curts. “Oh, I couldn’t be mistaken. No
one could miss those bright red curls,”
the cashier said when she saw Richard’s
picture and the officers told her about
his red hair.
She admitted she never actually saw
a gun in his hand, but the way his coat
' Was pushed out she thought he had been
concealing a weapon under it. ;
Police search for the men grew to such
intensity that many officers were on duty
_close to twenty-four hours at a stretch.
Detective Sergeant Earl Rombeau, of the
Los Angeles robbery squad, was espe-
cially active under orders from his
superior, Captain J. H. Donohoe, who
has since been promoted to Chief of the
homicide squad. From the thousands of
crimes being reported weekly in a city-
wide wave, Rombeau was responsible
for identifying the eseaping pair with
several Los Angeles robberies that week.
About noon on August 31st, Mrs. Mar-
garet King, cashier of the Casa Blanca
Café at Wilshire Boulevard and Fairfax
Avenue, was counting her bank deposit
when a young man walked through the
empty café and up to Mrs. King’s up-
stairs office where she had more than
$6,000 in currency spread on the table.
before her.
Her visitor carried a gun and he idly
pointed it at the startled woman as he
smiled and said in a low voice, “I’ll take
that money, lady.” ‘He motioned to a
heavy canvas bag lying on the table and
the cashier began stuffing bills and silver
into this sack until all the money was
inside and the bag was full. Mrs. King
could not take her eyes from his thick,
red curls.
Downstairs, (Continued on page 74)
the morning paper. I .
T
dD
ees Pe
sc
(Continued from page 53)
waiters were busily arranging tables and
chairs and getting ready for an expected
rush of business. An old man in a straw hat,
with his hands in his pockets, stood at the
bottom of the staircase watching the wait-
ers’ every move. They thought he was a
transient waiter out of a job, awaiting a
chance to. go upstairs for an interview.
In a moment or two a younger man came
hurriedly downstairs and the two rushed
out of the café together. . Waiters and
sweepers looked up as a scream sounded
from above and Mrs. King rushed to the
head of the steps and cried, “Somebody
telephone the police. The robber pulled
out the cord up here. Get the police. I’ve
been robbed!” ;
Sergeant Rombeau hadn’t been to bed
since the day before but he answered the:
call and once again from police pictures
Curts and Dunlap were quickly identified
as the holdup men. A thumbprint on the
cashier’s glossy-topped table cinched the
‘identification concerning Curts, and Harry
Dunlap’s wide, golden-toothed smile and
the shiny baldness of his head showing
where his hat was pushed back, couldn’t
be mistaken. Both. men seemed utterly
careless when it'came to revealing their
identity.
They pulled a bold robbery in the Cen-
tral Market on West Ninth Street, two
days later. On Sunday morning, September
2nd, they took a sack containing more than
$2,000 from the store manager who was
depositing the money in the store safe in
a back room. 4 é
This time they were seen to escape in a
La Salle sedan, undoubtedly newly pur-
chased by them with some of the proceeds
of the Casa Blanca robbery. A day or two
later, in checking on sales of latest model
~used automobiles, a-city detective found a
~~ marked ‘$100 bill in a used car dealer’s
possession. ‘Mrs. King identified this as part
‘of the Casa Blanca money taken from her.
: “One of our customers,” Mrs. King said,
“had undoubtedly spilled wine on this bill
and later had snuffed out a cigarette on its
-. wet surface, making a mess that I noticed
particularly. when I was sorting our re-
ceipts.”" > - A deb ded OR :
It appeared unbelievable to police and
Sheriff’s men that two such marked crimi-
nals could evade the net spread for them.
But in that twenty-four-hour post-wartime
activity of Los Angeles, with two million
people driving or walking about at all
hours, they were swallowed completely.
Detectives were watching the’ Montrose ©
district ‘where Curts had formerly lived
and committed murder. It was thought he
might attempt to contact former a¢quain-
tances or his: mother and foster father.
oe ee ee
The famous philosopher, :
FRIEDRICH WILHELM NIETZSCHE, said:
"The broad effects which can be obtained by pun-
ishment in man and beast, are the increase of fear,
the sharpening of the sense of cunning, the mastery
of the desires; so it is that punishment tames man,
' but does not make him ‘better,'"
* *
Then on September 4th, two days after
the market robbery, Dunlap was seen driv-
ing a La Salle car through Pasadena. The
man riding with him, witnesses declared,
was Curts, answering in every way the de-
scriptions of the curly red-haired killer.
The roads from Pasadena lead up toward
the Ridge Route to La Crescenta and Mont-
rose and the net in this vicinity was further
tightened. Deputy Smith had spread his
radio network to half a hundred listening
stations in other States. Highways into
Arizona and Nevada were guarded. The
- mountain passes leading into Ventura from
Los Angeles County were closely watched.
From the Santa Monica sub-station a Sher-
iff’s radio car came up over the mountains
to Lakeside Park to investigate a report of
two men who had just rented a cabin. These
proved to be an elderly pald-headed man
and his son, who quickly proved _ their
identity, and fears of Lakeside residents
that the men were Curts and Dunlap were
dispelled. ,
No further identifications concerning the
. wanted men came in and after several
weeks California officers definitely decided
that Curts and his companion had evaded
their net and escaped the State. But on
September 27th, Hasting’s Roadside Café,
near. Olathe, Kansas, was held up and
robbed and the report of two men answer-
ing the escapees descriptions rapidly cir-
culated back to Los Angeles. It became a
nationwide search for the wanted killers.
Since the men had fled California to escape —
prosecution they now were Federal fugi-
tives and came under the jurisdiction of
the FBI. -
Kansas City and St. Louis regional offi-
ces of the FBI were alerted. Investiga-
tion shortly after a saloon holdup at 5th and
Walnut Streets, Kansas City, indicated that
-Curts and Dunlap were in that vicinity.
They apparently were heading eastward.
Clear on to the East Coast police began
a closer watch of suspicious characters even
faintly resembling the two killers.
A Halsted Street bar in Chicago suffered
an $1,800 loss of currency and the bartender |
declared, “Sure, I gave ’em the money.
That young fellow looked bad! With a
gun on me and that old bald-headed fellow
grinning at me, they had me sold without
saying a word.” ‘
Investigators decided a few hours later
that Dunlap and Curts may have separated .
at this point. One eyewitness stated, “Yes,
they got in a big car together, but they
had a fight before they did get in. The
old man grabbed the money sack from the
other fellow and started driving away and
then the young man ran and climbed in the
back seat and the car disappeared. I didn’t
take the license. I didn’t know what had
‘happened inside (the saloon).”
The ever-eastward trend of the escapees
until they hit Chicago was carefully noted
. by police and théir. further possible routes
after the Chicago robbery were considered.
Even the possibility of the pair splitting up
and going their separate ways had to be
borne in mind at all times. One police offi-
cial, since retired, declared, “Almost any
* *
tach i aii
ag ke sat,
time now we may find either Curts, or
Dunlap, dead. It may be only a question
of which one strikes first. We know that
both are armed. They are both killers. I
personally think the young fellow will get
Harry Dunlap. Harry has spent twenty-
five years in prison. He is over sixty. He
never killed except when cornered. I think
he might desert Curts and take the money
with him, but I still think Curts may be a
step ahead of Dunlap in decision.”
Whatever the final results were to be,
this officer’s statements led to comparison
of all unidentified dead body fingerprints
with those of Curts and Dunlap. There was
no possibility that such identification could
be missed in the FBI’s Identification Divi-
sion’s files at’ Washington where nearly
100,000,000 fingerprints are recorded.
Along the Canadian border above Chi-
cago, Dominion police watched incoming
visitors closely, many of the northern offi- ©
cers having Los Angeles police bulletins
tacked up on their wanted boards and the
photographs of the missing pair ever be-
fore them. All around Chicago, and to the
East and back into the Northwest, the con-
tinuous nationwide search was kept up to
uncover the killers’ trail.
Neither Curts nor his fellow criminal
were reported in the next two months.
Rumors were investigated, as happens in
all escape cases, but weary police every-
where had matters of more immediate
necessity confronting them in a crime ram-
page that was sweeping the country, and
direct mention of the wanted murderers
was lacking. .
Then, on November 19th, 1945, alert city
police of Columbus, Ohio, closed in on a
young man they had had undet sur-
veillance for several hours. Suspicion
turned to certainty that morning when an
officer followed the man into a pawnshop
after his departure and found that he had
purchased a revolver. The officer rushed
out and with his companion started after
the gun buyer who was already a couple
of blocks down the street. As they closed in
he turned into a rooming-house entrance,
apparently unaware that he was being fol-.
lowed. But he went right on through the
hall and out the back entrance and the
officers lost a few moments questioning
the rooming-house landlady.
The - policemen hurriedly followed
through the back. On the next street, less
than a block away, the suspect was just
‘ holding up a cigar-store clerk. He appar-
ently had such confidence in himself that —
he had laid his gun on the glass counter
to reach with both hands for the money
the clerk was, passing over to him!
.| Under the officers’. guns he surrendered.
‘At the police station he was quickly printed
and definitely identified as Richard Curts,
after the officers had already: convinced
themselves of his identity from a picture
on a wanted bulletin from California.
‘| Curts was broke. None of the many
thousands of dollars of stolen money. the
pair had taken remained in his possession,
which raised the possibility that Dunlap
had taken all the loot and deserted him.
‘Hours of questioning failed to reveal any
information: concerning the whereabouts
of Harry Dunlap and at this writing the
notorious bandit is still at large, or pos- .
sibly he is among the many unidentified .
dead whose fingerprints have for one rea-
son or another not yet reached the FBI
for comparison. —
Facing his original life sentence, another
life sentence for. assault and escape, and a
possible trial for murder with the death
penalty attached, Curts also faced Federal
charges and after a conference between
officers, he*was given into custody of the
FBI. He was received back at Mendocino
January 14th, 1946, and is now serving one
of his life sentences. The other life sen-
tences won’t matter.
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The body of Billy Williams (above)
was found under the Jensen porch
pickup notice for Richard Jensen, “prob-
ably riding a bicycle,” was immediately
‘broadcast. :
Captain Bright searched Dick Jensen’s
room for fingerprints. He was look-
ing at a hairbrush and a small mirror.
“You don’t have to get Richard’s prints
that way, Captain,” Mrs. Jensen said. :
“He has been in trouble before. His
name is really Richard Curts, but he has
never been told of this. I was divorced
and later married Mr. Jensen. Richard
has been in the reformatory for burglary
and theft.” The mother unfolded a long
story of youthful crimes. All night long
police searched for the missing youth.
About 9 a.m., August 23rd, Mrs. Edna
Marshall, of Venice, California, keeper
of a lunch stand, was reading a morning
paper containing Dick Jensen’s picture
Despite his youth, the curly-headed murderer being questioned by
officers (above) faced two life terms and a possible death penalty
and a story about the torn ten-dollar bill.
She set another cup of coffee ‘before an
early morning customer, excused herself
and telephoned the Sheriff’s office. “I
think the young fellow you want for mur-
der is here in my restaurant. He paid for
his breakfast with a torn ten-dollar bill.”
“Keep him there, on any pretext,” she
was admonished and a few moments :
later Sheriff’s deputies from Venice had
gathered up Jensen and the money evi-
dence and were speeding to Headquar-
ters. : | eee
Deputy Sheriff Larry Cormack then
obtained a confession from the young
killer. He freely admitted all details of
the killing, and a few days later was in-
dicted for first-degree murder.)
Being under eighteen at the time of
the killing, Richard Curts could not suf-,
fer the death penalty in California. Judge
Ben B. Lindsey and Judge Turnéy Fox,
conferring together, ordered the neces-
sary legal observation period, and when
authorities found Richard entirely sane
he was sentenced on March 4th to life
imprisonment at Sonoma, California.
Curts still faced the possibility of another
trial after his twenty-first birthday, ani
a possible death sentence at that time
but any fear of this future penalty wa
not apparent to his guards.
By March 21st, 1941, Richard’s stri¢
confinement had not lessened but he hai
special clean-up duties assigned to him
and had a certain liberty. During his
rounds a series of fights with other pris.
oners finally resulted in his confinement
at Mendocino State Prison hospital. Her
he met the notorious gold-toothed ban
dit, Harry Dunlap, sixty-year-old kille
and robber, then serving two life sen
tences plus two hundred and eighty yean
on additional counts. Dunlap was. trans.
ferred from Folsom to Mendocino Janu
ary 2nd, 1942, and with Curts was locked
in the maximum safety ward, from which
escape was considered impossible.
Just a few years before, Dunlap hai
been defeated in his final attempt ts
gain his freedom when on April 26th
1935, a parole which he had been fighting
for for years was definitely denied be
cause of the efforts of Sheriff Eugene VW.
Biscailuz who proved that the legal re
lease of such a vicious criminal woul
4
Soe ME eer ht etre tt eee te emt te
ro
i
A daring prison
escape climaxed
an orgy of rape
and banditry by
Harry Dunlap; he
is still at large.
y -
CUR
~
i.
M_OS~-LS
's
Dunlap. was. joined in his jail: ;
break. by Richard. Curts who
is a conyicted: hammer-slayer,
_—_
i
LESTER REE I oe
just don’t know. Something seemed to come
over me. I thought I had this thing licked,
but I guess I haven't. You ought to put me
away for life.”
His victim hovered between life and
death, with shotgun pellets in his lung, and
then took a turn for the better after an
emergency operation. “It takes a lot more
than this to kill a Marine,” he assured his
weeping sweetheart, 19-year-old Betty
Adams of Bakersfield, when she rushed to
his side. He revealed that he had been
wounded in Korea and had returned to the
States only recently.
As soon as Piper was able to talk more
easily, he supplied the sheriff’s men with
details of his frightful experience—details
which cast doubt on Jensen’s story of a
sudden impulse.
He had been hitchhiking to Bakersfield
to see Betty, he said, when Jensen picked
him up on San Fernando Road about 6 P.M.
They drove up to U.S. 99, then the redhead
turned off on the Old Ridge Route at Gor-
man, saying he had to see someone a few
miles down the road.
“He stopped and got out to look at his
headlights,” Sergeant Piper related. “Sud-
denly something whacked me in the small
of the back. He must have had some kind of
gimmick rigged inside the seat. I was dazed,
half-paralyzed. Then he came over with-
out a word and slugged me on the head
with a hammer. He dumped me face down
in the back seat. I played unconscious, and
I didn’t have to play very hard. Then he
drove on a couple of miles—”
Piper said Jensen stopped again at a
lonely spot, lifted him out to the roadside
and started to pull off his shoes. When he
had trouble with one shoelace, he whipped
out a knife and slashed at it.
At this point the Marine came to life and
kicked out at his assailant with both feet.
Jensen toppled over, but regained his feet
with cat-like agility. Snatching the shot-
gun from the car, he blasted Piper in the
chest, point-blank.
Jensen proceeded to take off the half-
conscious victim’s clothes, pocketing his
valuables. Finally, Jensen dragged his vic-
tim, who he apparently thought now dying,
into the brush beside the road, where he
was hidden from view. Then he drove
away.
“I passed out, and came to lying face
down in the brush,” Piper said. “I knew I
had to get help or I was a goner. I crawled
out to the road, I'd get up and stagger a few
feet, then fall down and crawl again.” After
what seemed hours of nightmare, he saw
the lights of Sandberg’s Lodge, about a mile
from the attack scene. Somehow he mus-
tered enough strength to cover the final
yards.
Confronted with Piper’s story, the sullen
Jensen cleared up a point which had been
puzzling the detectives who had examined
his car: the significance of a hole torn
through the right front seat, thongs trailing
from bolts fixed around it. Picking up 4
dismounted .22 rifle barrel and action that
lay among the tools, Jensen demonstrated
how he had rigged it to rest on a block on
the back seat, the muzzle pressed against
the back of the front seat. A fishline led
from the trigger outside to the left side of
the dashboard. By yanking on this line, the
driver could shoot the person sitting beside
him! It was the .22 slug, fortunately slowed
by its passage through the seat cushion,
that had whacked Piper in the back.
Jensen had torn down the weird rig im-
mediately after the attack. Giving the le
to his tale of unpremeditated impulse, he
admitted that he had assembled the lethal
gadget several days before and had loaded
it ready for use. He was undoubtedly
prowling for a victim when he spotted the
hitchhiking Marine.
Jensen admitted everything. He insisted
that his motive had been robbery, empha-
sizing that he had taken Piper’s wallet con-
taining $5.70, and his wrist watch. He
showed officers where he had disposed of
the Marine’s uniform beside the old road
some miles south.
The questioners noted the deadly paral-
lel between the Piper attack and the kill-
ing of Billy Williams; the multiple weapons
and wounds, the leaving of the living victim
for dead in a hidden place.
Detective Sergeants Piper and Dailey
and Lieutenant Al Etzel questioned Jensen
about two other crimes—the murder of
Roger Raymond Lawson and the shooting
of Virgil D. McKibben by a hitchhiker who
robbed him and left him for dead near
Santa Fe Springs.
Lawson had been shot through the chest
with a small-caliber bullet, probably a 22,
which was missing. His body had been
dumped over an embankment beside a
lonely road. Jensen denied knowing him,
but admitted driving around the Moorpark
area, not far from his old stamping ground
at Camarillo, about the time Lawson was
killed.
And with a defiant grin he said an odd
thing, “You've got ballistics. You find the
slug, and I’ll talk,” The implication was that
he knew for sure that the bullet which
would match the rifle would not be found—
that he had disposed of it.
Lieutenant Etzel had a crew of county
jail trusties dig all around the spot where
the body was found, but they failed to turn
up the slug. Jensen, smiling smugly, would
say no more about it.
He was eliminated as a suspect in the
Santa Fe Springs shooting when Virgil Mc-
Kibben viewed him and said he wasn’t the
man.
Red also was quizzed about the fate of
his old pal, Harry Dunlap, the Badge Ban-
dit, who hadn’t been seen since their escape
in 1945. It wasn’t like the ferocious Dunlap
to cease his depredations and drop sud-
denly from sight. It seemed highly possible
that Jensen had done away with him. Red
insisted that he had left Dunlap alive and
well in Portland.
There was an Official furor over the
process by which Jensen, supposedly put
safely away as a dangerous psychopath, had
been released from Camarillo. District At-
torney S. Ernest Roll demanded a “full
statement” from the state hospital authori-
ties. Sheriff Eugene Biscailuz complained
that his office never had been notified of
the young killer’s release. Egged on by the
newspapers, the legal authorities spoke
darkly of “medical mumbo-jumbo,” and
the medical men equally darkly of “legal
mumbo-jumbo.” Facts remained facts..
Meanwhile Red Jensen, although still in-
capable of displaying any real remorse, said
he knew that he was a menace to society
and should be put away for life.
“[’m sane now, I think,” he told Dr. Cra-
han, “but I never can tell when I'll have
one of these seizures. Y’d be better off in
San Quentin.”
District Attorney Roll accommodated him
by filing formal charges of attempted mur-
der, robbery, and kidnaping with intent to
rob. The latter charge can carry a death
penalty or life imprisonment, under Cali-
fornia’s “Little Lindbergh Law.”
His preliminary hearing was delayed un-
til Sergeant Marion Piper, still in a grave
condition but on the mend, should be well
enough to testify against him.
How many others has the sadistic red-
head murdered? Lawson was doubtless one,
probably there were more.
Barring Jensen’s escape, it is unlikely
that he ever will be free to kill again. One
wonders, however, how many other Red
Jensens, having given ample proof of their
viciousness, will be turned out of our re-
formatories, prisons and hospitals by
lenient officials to prey once again upon an
unsuspecting public. oeo¢
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Ef a eee ‘dios Report of latest legal developments
x sone OM cases published by TD
Mrs. Nina Marie Bice
IT'S A THRILL TO KILL_A WOMAN
(TD August, 1952)
Evan Charles Thomas, 30, died in the
gas chamber at San Quentin January
28th, 1953, for the murder of Nina Marie
Bice, fatally shot as she. sat’ at an out-
door hot dog stand in Los Angeles on
August 29th, 1951. During that year
six other women in the Los Angeles area
had been shot at by the “phantom
sniper.” Three of them were severely
injured. :
When arrested, Thomas, a former air-
man, confessed. that all of the women
except one were unknown to him. “I
just picked out a girl at random,” he
said. “When-I shot a woman, it gave
me a kick.”
Thomas had pleaded guilty to one
count of murder. and five counts of as-
sault with a. deadly weapon. His final
appeal against the death sentence was
turned down by Judge Michael J. Roche.
"HE'S THERE AND HE'LL
SHOOT ME"
(TD March, 1954)
Young insurance adjuster Andrew
Kmiec, 32, left his Beverly Hills apart-
ment on Saturday afternoon, November
21st, 1953, to meet in Los Angeles a
prospective purchaser for his convertible.
He took along with him.a young friend,
Dolly McCormick. The middle-aged
man whom they picked up at the Bilt-
more Hotel asked Kmiec to drive to his
home in Whittier to show his wife the
car. Ona lonely road the man sudden-
ly drew a gun, told Kmiec, “I’ve been
tsp Lhe APL
-U. S. Highway 99. The car and the
‘driver, who proved to. be John Rich-
hired to kill you,” and fired three times.
Kmiec’s body was found in a clump of
bush by police led to the scene by the
terrified girl who had managed to escape
the killer. The young man had been
shot through the face, the shoulder and
the heart.
‘Detectives presently identified the
slayer as Anthony J. Zilbauer, 53, who.in
that same month had kidnaped, at-
tacked and robbed a woman who adver-
tised a fur coat for sale.
At this trial Zilbauer was found guilty
of the attack on-the woman. The jury
recommended -life- imprisonment. The
same jury, four men and eight women,
found Zilbauer guilty of first-degree
murder in the death of Andrew Kmiec,
with no recommendation of mercy. On
March 8th, 1954, Judge Clement Nye
sentenced him to die in the gas chamber.
CASE HISTORY OF A
HOMICIDAL MANIAC
(TD February, 1954)
On the night of October 3rd, 1953,
Marine Sergeant Marion L. Piper, 21,
crawled to the door of a lodge in the
Tehachapi Mountains north of Los An-
eles. He was naked, bleeding from
gashes in his head and a bullet wound
in his chest. He said he had hitched a
ride in a Pontiac car. going toward Bak-
ersfield. Suddenly the driver slugged,
shot, robbed him and took his clothes.
Seven minutes later two State High-
way, patrolmen stopped a Pontiac on.
ard Jensen, 28, were stained with blood.
When Piper’s wallet, watch and dog tags
were found in the car, Jensen admitted
the murderous assault. |
From the age of 11 Dickie Jensen had.
a record of arrests and ternis in Juve-.
nile institutions. On August 22nd, 1939,
when he was 14, he stabbed to death
13-year-old Billy Williams. After ex-
tensive ‘examination Dickie was ad-
judged a psychopathic delinquent and
ordered confined in a state hospital.
In May, 1951, released as rehabili-
tated, Jensen returned to his family
home, got a job with an automobile
parts firm. Apparently, however, his
murderous impulses persisted: After his
arrest for the attack on Sergeant Piper,
Jensen confessed to killing another
hitchhiker, Roger Lawson, in Ventura
County, September 13th, 1953.
Convicted of kidnaping and nearly
murdering Sergeant Piper, who still is
in the hospital, John Richard Jensen
was sentenced on March 17th, under
California’s “Little Lindbergh Law,” to
die in the gas chamber.
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CHARLES ATLAS, DEPT. 267G
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Dear Charles Atlas: Lt
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Pty 1954
NAME.....cecceeceuces YT ee AGE
(please print or write plainly)
ADDRESS,........4% Boo ets ecesersccecs
CITY........... yee STATE
nerchant-
suspect in the
admitted that
into his car by
er trick-or-treat
ad slipped and
t meant to
vy to a general
is ordered com-
te Hospital tor
4E PLACE"
1954, the Yacht
tory brick and
Street, Haver-
ed in a fire that
The fire
neendiary
hose family
the building,
irson and man-
Essex County
» Horace T.
nd 7 women ex-
Sth, 1954, How-
att mechanic
-old child, went
tan Beach. Ab-
unaware of
ping up on him
nly one of them
with a length of
iim with his own
vy him into the
murs of July 6th
3, a Philadelphia
anion. Richard P.
th in the car they
ander, were ar-
ted and attempted
. Riverside Drive,
police details of
ei was granted a
yromise to testify
» state. Still blood-
which the ftisher-
yas tound in the
is found on July
from Manhattan
of a fishing boat
showed that the
east a dozen
Parts of his
fore Judge Sam-
uel S. Leibowitz in Kings County Court
Connors revealed that the pair had gone
to Coney Island “to pick pockets.” Having
no luck, they strolled along the water-
front, spotted Englander and decided to
attack him. Edwards, Connors declared,
said, “I’m going to get this guy Virginia
style.” He also quoted Edwards as saying,
“The dirty cheap skate,’ when he found
only $1 in Englander’s wallet.
An all-male blue-ribbon grand jury
returned a verdict of first-degree mur-
der against Ernest Lee Edwards, with no
recommendation for mercy, thus making
the death sentence mandatory.
THE PHONY COWBOY
FROM CONNECTICUT
(TD March, 1955)
On Sunday afternoon, November 7th,
1954, the body of a young woman was
found in a shallow grave in the woods
near New Canaan, Connecticut. She had
been shot in the head with a .22 caliber
bullet.
Identified as Mrs. Margaret Ford
George, 26, of Waterbury, Connecticut,
police began to search for her former
husband, Stanley Zdonick, 37, of Nauga-
tuck, whom she had divorced in 1949.
He was said to drive a pale blue con-
vertible with scarlet fenders, and he was
missing from his home and from the
plant where he worked in Naugatuck.
Friends disclosed that he had often
spoken of returning to the Southwest and
becoming a cowboy.
On December 2nd, 1954, two El Paso,
Texas, patrolmen observed a man in an
elaborate cowboy costume loitering on a
street near the Rio Grande. One of the
officers commented, “A phony cowboy, if
I ever saw one.” They took him to head-
quarters for questioning.
He admitted that he was Zdonick, and
that he and Margaret had had some
drinks together on the night of Novem-
ber Ist. He had passed out, he declared.
When he came to, he found Margaret
dead in his car. Assuming that she had
committed suicide, he said, he had driven
toward New Canaan and left her body in
the woods. However, he also admitted
that they had quarreled because she re-
fused to divorce her second husband and
remarry him.
At his trial, in Waterbury, a jury
found him guilty of second-degree mur-
der in the death of Mrs. George. And on
January 13th, 1955, Judge J. Howard
Roberts sentenced Stanley Zdonick to life
imprisonment.
WHEN SUICIDE IS HOMICIDE
(TD November, 1954)
In the early 1920s D. C. Stephenson,
former King Kleagle of the Ku Klux
Klan, was a powerful figure in Indiana
politics. He was fond of boasting, “I am
the law in Indiana.”
On the night of March 15th, 1925, he
lured Madge Oberholtzer to his home on
a business pretext. Madge, then 28, was
one of the most attractive girls in In-
dianapolis, Indiana. She was manager of
a state welfare agency and lived at home
with her parents. Her father was a post
office inspector.
Stephenson and two of his henchmen
forced Madge into his car and drove her
to Hammond, Indiana. In a hotel suite
there he viciously attacked and raped
her. The next morning he permitted her,
guarded by one of his men, to go to a
drugstore. There she surreptitiously
bought a poison, which she swallowed as
soon as she was brought back to the
hotel. t
Alarmed at her condition, Stephenson
had her taken home. On April 14th
Madge died, after dictating before wit-
nesses a statement revealing all that had
happened to her.
Stephenson was tried and sentenced to
life imprisonment, when Madge’s doc-
tors testified that she could not have sur-
vived the wounds suffered in the vicious
sex attack.
Paroled in 1950, he violated his parole
and was returned to prison. On December
22nd, 1954, the state prison parole board
voted in a 3-to-2 split decision to give
Stephenson his freedom, on the condition
that he submit a parole program showing
a sponsor and a job, and have it ap-
proved,
THE ANONYMOUS CORPSE
(TD August, 1954)
When a foot locker, abandoned on a
station platform in Sharon Hill, a suburb
of Philadelphia, was opened by the po-
lice, it was found to contain dismem-
bered parts of a human body wrapped in
plastic and covered with lime. The head
was in a pasteboard box. On the box was
penciled the name, ‘“‘Ballem.”
Search of directories revealed one
Francis X. Ballem living in Bywood,
near Upper Darby. Officers went to the
house. In an unfinished attic room they
found Ballem. Beside him lay a pistol
and a suitcase. In the suitcase were two
human legs wrapped in plastic.
Ballem at once admitted killing a man
he knew only as John, whom he said he
had met in a bar and had taken to his
home. He declared that he had shot John
in self-defense.
The victim was presently identified as
John Diporak, 30, a merchant seaman,
formerly in the air force. His family
lived in Chester, Pennsylvania.
Arrested and arraigned on May 4th,
1954, on a charge of murder, Ballem ap-
peared unperturbed. He was still impas-
sive and apparently indifferent when he
was, brought into the courtroom at Media
to hear the verdict, after a trial which
had lasted 16 days.
The jury, after deliberating for six
and one-half hours, convicted Francis X.
Ballem of first-degree murder and recom-
mended death in the electric chair.
CASE HISTORY OF A
HOMICIDAL MANIAC
(TD February, 1954)
/ On the night of October 3rd, 1953,
Marine Sergeant Marion L. Piper, 21,
crawled to the door of a lodge in the
Tehachapi Mountains north of Los An-
geles. He was naked, bleeding from
gashes in his head and a bullet wound
in his chest. He said he had hitched a
ride in a Pontiac car going toward Bak-
ersfield. Suddenly the driver slugged,
shot, robbed him and took his clothes.
Seven minutes later two State High-
way patrolmen stopped a Pontiac on
U. S. Highway 99. The car and the
driver, who proved to be John Rich-
ard Jensen, 28, were stained with blood.
When Piper’s wallet, watch and dog tags
were found in the car, Jensen admitted
the murderous assault.
From the age of 11 Dickie Jensen had
a record of arrests and terms in Juve-
nile institutions. On August 22nd, 1939,
when he was 14, he stabbec to death
13-year-old Billy Williams. After ex-
tensive examination Dickie was ad-
judged a psychopathic delinquent and
ordered confined in a state hospital.
In May, 1951, released as rehabili-
tated, Jensen returned to his family
home, got a job with an automobile
parts firm. Apparently, however. his
murderous impulses persisted. After his
arrest for the attack on Sergeant Piper,
Jensen confessed to killing another
hitchhiker, Roger Lawson, in Ventura
County, September 13th, 1953.
Convicted of kidnaping under Califor-
nia’s “Little Lindbergh Law,” on March
17th, 1954, John Richard Jensen died in
San Quentin’s lethal gas chamber on
February 11th, 1955.
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lite, if necessary. While the term “psycho-
pathic delinquent” is a catch-all, including
many types of maladjusted personalities,
it seemed clearly to include Dickie Jen-
sen. The new law was designed to keep
just such potentially dangerous persons
where they could do no harm.
On March 21st, 1941, Superior Judge Rob-
ert H. Scott in Juvenile Court declared
Dickie a psychopathic delinquent and or-
dered him confined to a state hospital. He
was taken to the Sonoma Home for De-
linquents. There the state authorities looked
at his record and sent him back to Men-
docino for maximum security.
Thus matters rested for several years.
Dickie Jensen remained quiet—dangerously
quiet, as it turned out.
On the night of August 18th, 1945—an-
other hot summer night—an ominous flash
went out over the statewide police teletype:
Harry J. Dunlap, notorious Los Angeles
“Badge Bandit” of the 1920s, and one of the
most vicious and depraved criminals in
California history, had escaped from Men-
docino—in company with none other than
young John Richard Jensen.
Officers who had all but forgotten the in-
famous Badge Bandit plunged grimly into
a day-and-night hunt, ready to shoot on
sight, for Harry Dunlap on the loose was
hell on wheels. He got his nickname from
his favorite technique of approaching a
parked car in a lonely lovers’ lane at night,
flashing a badge and light and pretending
to be an officer. Then he slugged and robbed
the man and raped the girl. For two years
he terrorized Southern California with
scores of such attacks. Several of his vic-
tims almost died, others were permanently
injured, and he was suspected of killing two
men near Sacramento.
Dunlap, now aged 60, and Jensen, 20, had
each been lone wolves. Now they had
teamed their murderous forces and were
believed to be headed south.
Soon they were spotted in the Los An-
geles area. Then, while the manhunt was
at its height, Red Jensen—no longer the ju-
venile Dickie but a burly and businesslike
young gunman—held up the Casablanca
night club on Wilshire Boulevard while
Dunlap watched outside. The pair escaped
with $5,000.
Police went on 24-hour duty, but the
hunted pair played it smart and didn’t re-
peat. They were not seen again in Los
Angeles. Three months later, on November
20th, Red Jensen was nabbed by police in
Columbus, Ohio, as he climbed out of a
store window at night with a sack of loot.
In short order he was back in a cell at Men-
docino. He said he and Dunlap had split up
in Portland, Oregon, shortly after the
night club holdup. He had no idea where
the Badge Bandit had gone, he said.
In January, 1946, Dr. Rappaport again
attempted to have Jensen removed from
Mendocino, feeling that he belonged in
prison rather than in the hospital. Rappa-
port’s request was denied.
In December of that same year Red Jen-
sen escaped from Mendocino again, but was
shortly recaptured. The episode was repeat-
ed a third time a few years later.
Early in 1950, the new superintendent of
Mendocino reported that Red apparently
had settled down as he grew older and
that further confinement would be of no
benefit. Judge Scott ordered a Juvenile
Court hearing, since Jensen, though no
longer a minor, was still technically under
that jurisdiction.
Brought back to Los Angeles once more,
the taciturn redhead was examined by Dr.
Marcus E. Crahan, veteran county jail phy-
sician and psychiatrist. Recording his opin-
ion, Crahan said, “Jensen does not even at
this time appear to have a complete under-
standing of the enormity of the brutal mur-
der he committed, although he recalls in
detail events surrounding that time. It is
my opinion that, considering the inability
of the hospital officials to provide further
treatment for him, the important requisite
at this time is maximum security detention,
which can be provided at Mendocino.”
On August 18th, 1950, Judge Scott re-
fused the petition for Jensen’s immediate
release and referred the case back to the
State Department of Mental Hygiene for
study and disposition. Officials of that de-
partment indicated they would ‘gradually
relax” controls on Jensen, keeping him
under observation, until such future time
as he could safely be released to his par-
ents.
Returned to Mendocino, the unwanted
patient didn’t stay long. On May Ist, 1951,
he was transferred again to minimum se-
curity Camarillo, when the Mendocino doc-
tors reported again that they could “pro-
vide no further treatment for him.” It was
deemed best to move him closer to his par-
ents, so that they could visit him regularly,
looking toward his eventual release.
The release, the records show, wasn’t so
eventual. On May 29th, 1951, after only 28
days at Camarillo and without further court
action or publicity, Red Jensen, now aged
26, was set free on a “prolonged leave”
basis and moved in with his mother and
stepfather at their new home on Hillhaven
Avenue in Tujunga, a short distance from
the scene of the Billy Williams murder.
JUVENILE JESSE JAMES
A misguided young man made off
with the entire contents of a bank in
Harlan, Kentucky, Caught and taken to
court, the miscreant gave his age as II.
The bank he had pilfered was strictly of
the piggy type. An understanding judge
released the lad in custody of his mother.
—Charles Strauss
He secured a job with an automobile
parts firm in Glendale and seemed to be
making a real effort to rehabilitate himself.
A worker from the Department of Social
Service checked on him every month or
so, and the 90-day reports to Camarillo
were all favorable. Jensen started studying
at night school, and his parents were de-
lighted at his progress. He even made visits
to a private psychiatrist.
On October 6th, 1952, Judge Scott re-
ceived a letter from Louis R. Nash, assist-
ant superintendent at Camarijllo, reporting
that Jensen was making “adequate adjust-
ment.” Judge Scott forwarded the letter to
Judge William B. McKesson, who had taken
over the Juvenile Court duties, with a note
that the Jensen case “bears watching, in
my opinion.”
The apparently happy adjustment con-
tinued. Richard remained taciturn, making
few friends and no close ones. But he had
an avid interest in automobiles and tools.
He proved an able and dependable me-
chanic and an assiduous student. The Jen-
sens were not especially worried when he
occasionally went for long drives alone in
the battered old Pontiac sedan he had
bought with his earnings.
Red-haired Richard, the come-back kid,
had less than two weeks to go before his
complete discharge from supervision when,
on the night of last October 3rd, up on
the Old Ridge Route, he put an effective
end to the arguments of the psychiatrists,
judges and lawyers with his murderous
assault on the young Marine sergeant, Mar-
ion L. Piper.
Questioned by Sheriff’s Captain Floyd
Rosenberg and Homicide Sergeants Virgil
Piper—no relation to the victim—and
Richard Dailey, Jensen said he had slugged
and shot the Marine sergeant on a sudden
impulse.
“I don’t know why I did it,” he said. “I
just don’t know. S
over me. I thoug!
but I guess I hav: |
away for life.”
His victi ~
death, with
then took
emergency _.
than this to kill
weeping sweeth
Adams of Baker:
his side. He re‘
wounded in Kor«
States only rece!
As soon as Pi;
easily, he suppli
details of his fr
which cast dou!
sudden impulse.
He had been
to see Betty, he
him up on San I
They drove up t
turned off on th
man, saying he
miles down the
“He stopped
headlights,” Sez
denly somethin
of the back. He
gimmick rigged
half-paralyzed.
out a word an
with a hammer!
in the back sea
I didn’t have '
drove on a cou
Piper said
lonely spot, lif
and started to
had trouble wi
out a knife and
At this point
kicked out at
Jensen topplex
with cat-like
gun from the
chest, point-b!
Jensen proc
conscious vict
valuables. Fin
tim, who he a}
into the hrus
was hid
away.
“I pas
down in tne !
had to get he!
out to the roa:
feet, then fall
what seemed
the lights of S
from the att
tered enoug!
yards.
Confronted
Jensen clear«
puzzling the
his car: the
through the !
from bolts {
dismounted
lay among t!
how he had
the back see
the back of
from the tri:
the dashboar
driver could
him! It was t
by its passa
that had wh:
Jensen hac
mediately a!
to his tale «
admitted th
gadget seve!
it ready fc
prowling fo:
hitchhiking
Jensen ad
that his mo’
