pis chitn eee te comnts
EEE RG LS ee ee
Tei diks Sr aed ”
| dats a
the Day. * ; r ee
| he Grand Army Poste of this city, |
the Spanish Wer Veterans, Woman's
Retet Gorps, Laties of the G, |
A. ond. other patriotic organi-
zations, attended services at the Fitts
Avenue .Baptiat Cpurch last nigh} and
({Mstene* a fing setinon by Rev. Dr.
Warren 4; Partridge. The choir, sa-
sisted by. the Stenday School Orchestes,
faved | fine: program of patriotic music.
i é& pleasing: feature’ of the service was
}the presentation to.each member of the
jotmanizations « Incainile of the G. A.
UR. . button, to Rich was attached a
finond flame
des, 4 late a je SR
ye eee one cee nme yom:
«apa eee ee
*
evening
the recent
Ciub,
For. the past forty ended at | fale | ;
i to-day, he month of May Ross was at the Troy jail when Daoley,
Amherst and escaped. Yours honor-
tnoreasing
on on Tuee-
ING.
h this morn-
tic and the
me low pressure
See Ce jof the disturbance. over
aya: Mia. =Showera and thunder-
w. stosme have been general within the las
<-twenty-féur hours in the Missouri \e
the upper Mississippi valleys, the morth-
’ etn Rocky Mountain districts, the Brit-
“Teh Northwest, and the Leake region, ¢x-
cept the southeast epg and light rain
hae fallen in Alabama. Géorgis, Soutt
o erolina, and on the Pacific slope, except
* soethern California. Temperatures are
generally hi this morning im the great
ventral Valleys, while im the” Plateau
hey are below ‘the seasonal
@vrerage. he eastward advance of. the
North Dakota-depression is favorable for
increasing cloudiness with showers in
thity late to-night or on Tuesday,
ot much change In temperature. —
ME MATTERS.
+ Clty Notes.
m.Day exercises will be held
nd Presbyterian Sunday
morning, °
- Commercial Travelers’
t night decided to have}
-day in August.
has settled for $160 the
, ¥. Fuller, who was tn-
(11, bya fall at Congress
inet
Raivtn acted as policeman Bat-
: 4 arrested two) Italians who
‘ghting in Ciurch Street.
eptate of. Willlam V. Baker sas
Batti
ts to $1,938 an@ the balance,
the widow, . Sarah - F.
ert
$47.47, goes to
of the speakers at the seventh an
S¢onvention of the German-Ameri-
e Supervisors’ Bullding and Gup--|'
ply Committee will, meet Friday to,
award contracts for printing the biti.
hook and for tee for the Court House
and State Armory. ©
W. W. Comverse, aootned of for
J M-'Henlon’s- sane tO,
$12 and parsing it on secret
the Rallrosd Young Man's \
phochation,. AS oe.
Bs
\ to-day... The. .eskabet
Ross was being held on a
breaking into the
station and, although sentence As atte -
pended in his case, he was
the jail delivery,
‘Ross was sen
He bony ih
De rerris said he w ving
o and was wait-
vent.to him, #0
Buffalo. | Ferris told
Buffalo and met
Under Sheriff Cottrell eaid to-day that
the roward ‘ar $100 offered for the appre-
hension of Ferris will ‘undoubtedly be
‘Nicol. Cunsoll, murderer of Policeman
Michael. McMahon of thie city. will pay
the penalty of big crime to-morrow
moming at Clinton Prison, when he
will be electrocuted ab Quickly after 6
ovelock as it-is possibleto carry out the
arr ments. But it is-understood tbat
he not go to the death chair denying
hig gulit, as he is said to have made @
fesaion to his spiritual adviser, Father
' who, with two attendants, Te-
sadn constantly by his. site.
Bie ae. “Meconctied te Fate.
-Cunsoli is reconciled to hie death, and
was alert and in good spirits to-day. He
ate heartily this morning, and conferred
with Father Belanger. It is said that he
has exonerated all others from the blame
“McMahon's | The
eecurred October 20, 1910,. and
Cunsoll was arrested at once. He was
ably defended*by John, P. Jw of this
, and the case was Sheriff
Snel) left. this. aft
‘ oon for Dan-
where he will be one ofthe. wit-
: t the execution to-morrow morn-
ERE
the
q “Rey. Dr Rintet ge gaia that_in
charges. sot, 4 . ey 5 SESS es OF - nt
Me eentieoke. ralirakd | ce tha mamaries of thee
held for afew 4
‘The latter recos>
7
thy ro show
, aod
. Oredit; to the Mem
The names of brave eommanders like
Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, Meade, Logan
and others are always in our minds, said
the preacher, but we should not forget
the brave private soldiers and sailors, for
what. could generals do without men of
iron nerve in the ranks? Theirs was an
important service to the country, and
their ‘reSponse to the call showed. the
jtrue pocmiotiam and Christian virtos.
Rev. Dr. Partridge spoke in commen-
datory terms of the men who went from
Troy to participate in the war, and in
concluding said we need such heroes ‘fto-
day. to fight the battles for civic right-
eousness, better citizenship, clean and
honorable politics, temperance, social
purity, business integrity, justice, right-
eousness and charity. At the conclusion
of the sermon Rev. Dr. Partridge made.
rate the graves of deceased soldiers.
Marking Graves.
@raves. ;
Eawurd Bolton of Second Avenue:
Lansingburgh, should be notified of all
unmarked veterans’ graves.
The Printers’ Memorial.
“The underlying principle and object
employed in the printing business,” said
M. F, Hemingway in bis address at the
annual memorial service: of ‘Troy Typo-
graphical Union in
yesterday morning.
he dead I Weve“kKnown to
praad. of
A omay. be per
‘associates who
z ¢ Ait raduc-
Christopher 207
Face.” The death rot tees
cluded Matthew Kennedy,
Thayer and Welter 5. Steen bers
President McKenna oalied the names
Mies Marion Ranney dropped a rose on
each mound,
annie lpptonlipneoniena
SS Gaae
When Ver sn
frank FP
wee
Yer Corpa Dey,
* Day
4 ety
an appeal for potted plants to help deco* *
The veterans spent yesterday marking :
}
AS
of your organization is the betiering vf |
the condition of the men and women j
Oakwood. Cemetery |
““T etapa bers to-day |
in the presence of the Hv and beside
: Avent |
i
your
paying. tributes
—“Presiient |
ite address |
opllar sh
Otaahion
wer eaby
nt. Ransom HK. Gillet of Compan ee
a Che raf fs >. VENGEANCE OF STATE. a rae EN a ere
4 ' MOD Tes, Ofeial & ore neeseis | Baarh.
ow ‘
( ni mer ara for Murd ai wie of Contract and Supply Dincuasaen | Mintertained King’s
TUESDAY AFT NO , olicemanTtalian Coes Whimprrisg Congress Street Operation-—-Bill f
\ESDAY AFVERNOGN, MAY 28, 1912. te the Chinir-A Comfession Joh Ph ee |
Ne ener any acumen rite eemar eee re ea as 2H Eg m HM. Gleason Held Up. Donated Contrib
; “6! Weel! w . ‘at CUn- : T
Weethéer yitteatiome. sapapita OW mt was .exeguted at CPi The Oongresa Street paving job wae Times Fresh Alr
, Yon Prison, Danuémora, at 6-50 ac (RRGIN discussed to-day by the Board of The Mor Ni
; .P ia redness mae 28.—Forecast til 8] m, to-day, under direction of Warden |Oontract and Supply “whe i Ez reli last ¢ cary ae th |
o , ] einesday: : , z a ner ’ wily 18T “VEU | f vening @ *
J. astern N ow York: Showers and Kaiser and Dr Ransom, the prion. Bros., the contractors, submitted a bill Wella on Ninth ee
inderstorms to-might (and. probably physician. Hin, Was the one hundreds for $87.17 interest « nA hal : pati ;
p ‘ reat on $1,200 held t » | dent
sdimeaday; cool to-night west. por: and atutiath alec r" ' ty aw the ibn aide + hel mack by dent, Mra Robe
AWW cooler Wedbewday,; Srisk aouth to xtieth electrocution. in ew York pt CIty. [ guess we have an account | President, Mra. A.
Bs ee wind apm state, the twenty-fifth in, Clinton Prison (against. the Evelines,". @aid Mayor } Secretary and Tr ;
\ Weatern New.York:,. Thunder showers » is Wataew 1 Bt ihe ‘ ; shes igo one ggg Pe
Oreo-night ahd Wednesday; cooler! brisk ene : ay hy’ tay unde” Ween eon seatlaggn phey il ‘be lucky to set any Be net * va lub as
‘so bigbssouth west fo northweat winds. Electrician Dayip was aselated by State ‘thing. A. letter wars read from the con- | z mes sh sh Air 4
: “Wik BUN Wiectriclan Currter of Maseachusetts; tramors decliring that they had relaid Dechteecolies ing the
% RuaN, i a “ ‘4 4 ERY , n 7 . Pas re wr . nrt of
Py Rises. Sete, | who executed Rev. Ciirenee VY oy eeeeeverion| with old blocks, according About forty me
avlenpe 4h Hes a Richeson at Chatlestown, Mass, the ibe kineincer, a" we ornare of the | Daughters of the
Mist. «eee aa ti WR <a 32 é } ot a eer, Syne here they yore | CRD 2 . .
at alee ‘ firet threa coptacts éonsisted of T3950 ready to relay iiate diiaet Tey 4 in |< hurch were plem |
SFRECIPITATION volts, and these tasted seven #ecOmhs, - @aligtaetory. The delay in Jaying . the | evening by Mra. Fa
For the §a8t: twenty-four hours ended at} when the current wae reduced to 30 jeurh, they declared was due to the hon- | home on Hawthorn)
con to-day, .0 inch; fot the month of May | volts for fifty-nine seéends, This extra arrival of crushed g a. The me bald Pe stems gesnton See
to nedn today, 3% Inches. hoavy voltage was applied because Nei tMe specifications « tn ie a eet Oe hed and ‘hina?
* TEMPERATURE. was a man of unuadal yitality. teas ‘hp cel concrete | Wood gave rep
%, Sa. ™m = 8. mH Noon 3 p> mM. imap ‘ies 1 “n #eply Mayor Burns said the pave- | hostesses were Mr
. i ay Se MRecrees & degrees SA Engrees <apiateiabiata mane > Pmert had never been es ept a by Pe r | Hage, Miss Hage
‘ Por the SSAiy-four he Soc ended at noon Cunsolt showed the most feeling ef., City Engineer Grimes and s brit ol ia ae : 4 ie via
4 oO-day RaassuM, S2 degrees; minimum, ? " { , A etter se sy ho) tel . ots re at A Mre father?
a 64 inchés; Tange, 18 degrees. » any criminal ever executed at Clintoa wheel Due, a bow : ag 3 to the COn- | wasegtio Theatre
y I + AL, FO! 7 Sy Prison. lle whimpered and clasped, a | the entire W en ty Lage which Ne Ba 1 | ¢ . ia ree ne . , o
ACAL FORECAST dem 4 a ss | Pay atte pein Mp deanieie gat t t irst three days
a For Troy and. vicinity—Showers and ni pe ins tiny ge eye atrap aD) sooty ae having been laid carelessly and istrated lectured
ia thund@erstorms to-night and Wednes- the chair, to Which he was accompaveta that he would never accept it. | nen tle.’ wee
day; cooler Wednesday by Chaplain Father Belanger, the pati Mayor Burns algo refused to honor 4 brig oatel yee
4 ep tor of the Catholic Church at.. Danne- Yof John H. Gleason for $2,700 interest mos gene ob Anerimg pl ¥
q WEATHBR_E DCA TIONS. mora. His guards were Howard Bates, drafts held by the city. amounting shes page Apia
E _ Barometric ress) FAS relatively hich} john Bigelow and Patrick Conroyatto $13,480.58 for public w Sty, Ao ¥ S| te rest i. int th
q pag roy, ye” Moa a ehihé a aern Among the witnesses were Sheriff Sneii/'| Gleason as far back as 1908, “He ur. | ca oo at paligts
: OR Sy t M4 ii P ase i iS | hoarding -noures
ef low pressuré-<% nds from Arizona Dr, J. 7. ecco a and George W: charging us atthe rate of six per cent i lead ¢t niquity-
northeastward ore fia Hntario, with the Franklin, of thie city. a } con ic executive, “while the city is | investigate bs
4 eentre of the distarbence in» Minnesota ; able borrow money at little more than hits a ee reef
Showers and thunderstorms have ‘been Wrote s better. three and one-half. | cent.’ The Mor gg hart mp
3 Tae ee central Valleys; ‘the A letter from the condemned man was Mayor said it were er to pay tne | through the street
r on, the St. Lawrenc r? BT 4 - ‘ ; ri ; th ; t 1 tHe 4 >
7, ae Dorihweaty Leek aaa agente sent to Rev. Dr. Driscoll, pastor of St. pekownng ag Brice and id interest | ;
: a aes hk ag was Tigh John's . Church, Plattsburgh... It, was rena Bape 1 aaah pp oboe rg Ss yge ta Sl H bi Winasadl
te neas Citg, st sonia, Alpene “ry m arn , - Ca CA ») pay Mr. Gieason : em:
a und, Winnipeg and yr irom written by Father Belanger. It aii: $13,480.58. Be ge 4 Mr ad
peratures have fallen in the Missouri and “Cyneoll appreciates very highly the The Commissioner of Public Works | vr. ane rs.
the upper Mississippt valleys and the } kindness of Rev. Dr. J. H. Driscoll, who, |weas directed to notify occupants of } liamstown, Mass,
Ne remwest, wo le in tha Ohio valley and} upon the invitation of Father Belanger, property taken by the city for the widen- | engagement oft |
b pap api : of the lake remicn | visited -him=twice during his confine- jing of Pawling Avenue to vacate at]! Clara Parsons, to
| gcd ue Be ment inthe condemned cell, giving him jonce. He was Ris Sedered CONOR POS Tee nage
for showers andj}, 2" opportunity to converse in his own Troy Gas Company to lay mains in Stow assistant Drolessgs
vieleity to-night | language with the doctor, who #speaks Avenue, Campbell’s Highway and Mill | i
eler “Wednesday. Italian fluently, and thus could minister Street, as these streets are about to be | Tola of W
te to the spiritual wants of the unfortu- improved by the city. “I want to im- was t
SLs, nate man to his best satiefaction,” aedhon ome Shields with the fact that Miss Stella Rell
os ‘ other Streets than Pawling Avenue, © | fourteen yee q
ERS. Breia Under Weight. Mill Hill. and "Srunsw ich eta 1 are descoquiner endian “a
; : : ; Bag gh cha ne age AY » | ticularly interest¢€
. we. The autopsy showed a normal condi- ses page ei this year,” said the Mayor a eager
oh eh ’ ¥ N ty Engineer Schultz reported that girls in that co
Shitty, Notes. aa power we pitches was slightly} oiployees of The United Traction Com sak aia ight ah
SAL) ih under wel . he auto was er- any who are repairing the pavement | Bp Se ‘
Benevolent. Association nder weight aeiited at wget ‘eva ty lege aM oper slay yg Mekal ee Baptist Church
io hav haric formed by Professor Stone of. the tnl- jon Second Avenue had been instr oh tweaks the
ee 20 PE es ot. pa- | versity of Vermont, assisted by doctors to take orders from the Engineer's fo. ‘hristian
Fade hthe city to-morrow night. from Plattsburgh, Burlington, Vt, ami jin the future. Plans for a sewer *hris
= —Pwéasty-five. members of the E. 8. | other places. E dpm tee we a presented
, waiver he Unite Yraction
rit Amsociation enjoyed a spread. last Cause of Crime, im Wr or ita right to pav ae
pight. Joseph Delakoff sang and Cunsoll mutdered Policeman MoMahon | its tracks on Pawling Avenue was for
Alderman Thomas v. Harrington @ntex- October 20, 1910. Cunsoli said he had ceived, t+ te
pained. been a member of the “black hand” in cere | en
arco Possig waived examination | Italy. He had been told before coming SECURED AUTO WITH ¢ HECK, fli 2
for the Grand Jury to-day on @ charge to America that he must kill a police- ed -
man before he could be @ ood , Black bel
pf attempting to pick the pocket of Jo- | Hander. A gpd atin est dle Re jp erica ——
eph Dembrosky in the Empire Theatro Tried te Commit Suleide. 7 aw 4
3 sah Plamber—Other Cases in Con
ay 2. Cunsoll tried to commit suicide recent- Lake George.
He climbed up the bars of his cell Charles H. Peddrick, fr. Pre
~The Citizens’ Line announces & Me-
rriorial Day excursion. to New York on
the palatial steamer Trojan at a nom-
inal coat. The tickets wilt be good g0-
ing Wednesday night and returning up
to end including Monday night, Jin. 3.
Thies is an attractive season 40 visit the
Ay’,
head,
the pHaon yard et
up to thi# noon none
Adath hovsee from
metropolis
Tis sasensment for the opening of
fwviiiia Street wae to-day onfirmed at
| ee Attorney George HK. Donnan,
prepres- og Dayton Watkine, filed «
ye Lee was not heeded Mr
‘atkine #0 he and taken for part of
the etree! the city, Dut «tl @wne
foere afjacent to tne wr eet,
The, senior members of the Troy
Noung Mens Christian Association will
nite with the RMallroad Yung Mens
Yeristian Association of thie clly apd the
jAlbeny Young Men's Chrtetian Ageocs
o for « basket peonto te Yndi
% Mes he Thy ey ii
a Lad
faken. He wee
tennad ta die November
te now im the Court pf Ape
{ pe-ttende oe
sALmOFr FT
Ades
&
and threw himself to the floor on
May Rest in Prison Yard.
Nicola Cunsoll’s remains may’ Test in
Chinton | Privoh, for f°
tad cininvedi Them.”
Noe Public Confession.
According to the Warden,
no formal cérifession left by Cunse
no statement. It was said that
had confessed to his spiritual
Another Inmate,
Wred Poulln, who killed Charles Teon
ard at Brodkview, near Rensselaer, Au-
gust 4, 911, 1s one of the inmates in the
which
oon teted
there
Ce
Consol
ee
Wy,
Aviser””
his
a
was
ett
2a
"
wes
pene
Case
oe 9
The Steel and Guaranty “<
Troy, was given a judgment
for $900 and Interest from July S31, 19)
against Patrick .H Spellman of Glens
Pails dy Justice Van Kirk in Supreme ;
=
Court at Lake George Spellman pur itu:
Chased ab “auto from rr tirick last Jul we wi bars Y
giving 4 Be hilt ick a. chec k AO% tax), There ; ip Re Mrs
> were ‘y unds. to meet the check, =) Li Mrs ALON
main 7 ne } - se of i piun nsx
extadl nen t 1 Clea Falla TO ATOR
The case f Emma raylor of Bot SA SS
ton Landing mn «Lak v2, {ted aot
The Glerne ali \ : : np ae,
to recover $15 - 4
when the plaint y
auto driven y } ~
plevee, on the (riens Pya
siute road yee ea wha
frial a aay
The CAR ' Helen a
Bake (feorgs ane ae ri Tt + A.
liver virean «of Ola < soe pes
$3,000 for in between j..
fh WARD f “ bith ww
et Al sto
?
—s
f Hwy
WV TUK 9
Other
Joe
sounds
George, white, elec. NY (Bronx) February 26, 1942,
THE WEAKER S
One murdered, one missing,
TWO HOURS before the U. S. destroyer Long was to sail
from San Diego en route to Hawaii, one of the officers found
23-year-old Shirley Dale (shown) hiding behind the diesel
_.
one stowaway, one
IN MIAMI, Mrs. Eleanor McCaul, registered nurse, sued
for divorce. In her suit she petitioned the court to restrain
her estranged husband, Thomas McCaul, from visiting her
dog (shown with her). Mrs. McCaul asserted that hubby
had never helped to support the dog, and therefore had no
Tight to see it. “Leave me, leave my dog.” is her motto.
dog-lover
kw ie me Ne
JUDAS WAS A HITCH-HIKER (Continued from page 26)
politan area, In addition, these
havens of rest were frequently visit-
ed by detectives. oe
The relentless man-hunt contin-
ued with ever-increasing vigor. On
February 24, twelve days after the
Philadelphia attack on Mrs. Her-
schel, the Necktie Bandit again
showed his utter inhumanity, this
time in Newark, New Jersey.
Two days before, Joseph Santone
had driven to Trenton on business.
.On his way home he had picked up
a hitch-hiker just outside the Tren-
ton city limits and had driven him
to Newark. Mr. Santone noted that
the young man’s scarred and pock-
marked face gave a sullen, surly look
but soon discovered that he was an
interesting conversationalist with a
wealth of information on various
subjects. The youth told Santone
that he was the Mayor of Father
Flanagan’s Boys Town in Nebraska,
the noted institution where hun-
dreds of wayward boys have been re-
habilitated and turned into useful
citizens. The young hitch-hiker said
that he was on a trip and had run
out of funds. When Mr. Santone
seemed reluctant to believe the
story, the “Mayor,” apparently to
convince the skeptic, suggested that
they stop so that he could mail some
cards, :
Accordingly a stop was made at
Elizabeth .and the man posted two
cards, both of which he showed to
Mr. Santone. One was addressed to
- Father Flanagan at Boys Town. Be-
fore leaving the man on the high-
way near Newark, Santone eave him
some money, along with his name
and address so that it could be re-
paid. ‘
The following day aman appeared
at the Santone home when Caroline,
the young wife, was alone. She re-
fused to let the stranger in despite
his story that he had come to repav
some money that her husband had
given him. That night Santone as-
sured his wife that he had. indeed,
loaned some money to a hitch-hiker
and expressed surprise that it would
be returned so soon.
The man appeared again the next
day and Mrs. Santone vermitted him
to enter the house. She telephoned
her husband, learned that he would
be home soon, and asked the stran-
ger to wait. The man was affable and
cordial to the comely young matron.
He told her that his name was
George Mitchell; he told her all
about the work he and Father Flan-
agan were doing at Boys Town: he
even helped her wash the dishes.
Suddenly he cast all nretense aside.
Grabbing her from behind, he thrust
a handkerchief into her mouth,
bound her hands with his necktie
and criminally assaulted her, He
left after stealing $3 from a pocket-
book.
When this new atrocity came to
~ Heht, Detective Mahon immediately
flew to Bovs Town, near Lincoln.
Nebraska. Father Flanagan handed
the detective several cards which
had been received from the myste-
rious “Mayor.” One was signed “Jer-
ry Mitchell,” others bore different
names but all were written by the
same hand.
The Necktie Bandit had a dozen
aliases, but his real name did not
matter now. Detective Mahon re-
turned to New York with this new
ammunition—good samples of the
killer’s handwriting and his latest’
name. From now on it would be a
matter of good, old-fashioned police
work and the shameless slayer
would be in custody. All the neces-
sary criminal identification work
had been done. The police had an
excellent description of the killer,
they had his fingerprint—the one
on the Pappas wineglass—they had
samples of his handwriting and they
knew his character and his habits.
All that was needed now was to
catch this killing vulture who preyed
on unsuspecting women. The drag-
net was out and was closing, slowly,
slowly but inexorably.
Then, on February 27, the mon-
ster left his last victim bound,
gagged and raped.
The story was the same as all the
rest. Mr. Henry Simmons, a build-
ing contractor of Passaic, New Jer-
sey, had befriended a hitch-hiker,
given him a lift and had loaned him
some money. Learning that Mr.
Simmons was interested in child.
welfare, the man had spoken volub-
ly of Boys Town, with which he
claimed to be connected. The builder
later told authorities that the man ¥
was a most convincing talker and
seemed to know the subject thor-
oughly, When his guest asked for his
name and address so that he could
pay back the loan, Mr. Simmons
gave it without question.
A few days later the man arrived
at the Simmons home during the
early forenoon. Mrs. Martha Sim-
mons, the 50 year old wife of the
contractor, refused to believe the in-
truder’s story and tried to close the
door in his face. He managed to get
one foot ih, grasped the woman's
wrist and began to choke her with
his other arm. She fought back furi-
ously but was no match for the
powerful youth. After pummelling
the wife of the man who had be-
friended him ‘into submission, he
tied her up and committed a crimi-
nal assault upon her. He fled after
looting the house of cash and jewel-
On March 1, Newark detectives
were making a routine check-up of
rooming houses, flop joints and the
cheaper hotels. At the Salvation Ar-
my Home they came upon the name
“J. E. Mitchell” signed on the regis-
ter. Comparison with handwriting
on the cards sent to Father Flana-
gan showed that both were written
by the same man. Unfortunately, he
had checked out two hours before.
The human: vulture had escaped
temporarily but police knew that he
was in the vicinity of New York City.
The drag-net was closing in on him
relentlessly but surely.
On March 3, ‘1941, one month to
a day after the murder of comely
Catherine Pappas, the drag-net
snapped shut with a bang that shook
the entire underworld. Tangled
hopelessly in its meshes was a re-
pulsive, foul-faced killer.
Along about nine o’clock that
night, Detectives Durant, Gillen and
Mahon went to the Mills Hotel at
36th Street and 7th Avenue in New
York City. Having interviewed many
of the Necktie Bandit’s victims, the
three sleuths knew exactly what the
murderer looked like. They knew his
many aliases and carried samples of
his handwriting.
For several days and nights the
officers had gone through the same
routine in cheap hotels and flop
houses all over the city. Tonight was
no different. With a greeting to the
desk clerk on duty, they hung up
their hats and coats in the office.
Durant, standing beside the clerk,
thumbed through the guest list.
Mahon sat down at a desk in the
office, apparently going through a
stack of mail. Actually, he was
watching the entrance door. Gillen,
his eyes on the lobby, appeared to
be examining other hotel records.
While looking for their quarry the
three detectives kept so busy that
anyone would think that they were
surely employees of the establish-
ment.
Curiously enough, guests of the
Mills Hotel do not sign the register.
Instead, they give their names and
addresses to the clerk, who fills out
a registration form in triplicate. Af-
ter paying in advance for his lodging
the guest takes one copy to a clerk
at another window and is handed his
room key.
Detective Durant was examining
the registration slips when he came
across the name “H. J. Mitchell.”
Without glancing up he said to the
room clerk beside him: “Who's this
Mitchell? What does he look like?”
“That’s not your man,” was the
disappointing reply. “This Mitchell
is about fifty years old. He’s an old
friend of ours.”
Detective Durant continued look-
ine through the registration slips
while the-other two officers watched
the door and lobby. Suddenly Ma-
hon’s eyes became riveted to the en-
trance. A man was coming up the
steps: there was no doubt of his
identity. Tall, husky, dressed in a
green overcoat and yellow shoes, his
pock-marked face bore a surly look.
A livid, bright red scar beamed
across his cheek above the mouth!
Without hesitation, the sour-vis-
aged man strode up to the clerk.
“Can I have Room 1266? That’s
the one I had last week,” he asked.
The clerk looked over his file. “No,
Y’m afraid that room is occupied,”
he answered. “Room 866 is vacant;
it’s exactly the same except that it’s
four floors lower down. Will that
do?”
“Sure; that’s all right. I'll take it,”
the man replied. :
“Name and address, please?” ask-
ed the clerk.
“J.B, Mitchell, Harrisburg, Penn-
sylvania,” was the rejoinder.
The clerk typed out the slips, gave
Mitchell a copy with the remark:
“The clerk at the next window will
give you your key.”
Mitchell paid the fifty cents for his
room but he never went to the key-
clerk’s window. Apparently * suspi-
cious, he went to the parcel room in
the basement, retrieved a brown
Boston bag he nad checked there
previously, and returned to the reg-
istration desk.
(Continued on page 28)
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JUDAS WAS A HITCH-HIKER (Continued from page 27)
“T’d like to check out,” he told the
clerk. “I just remembered that I
have to go to work at one in the
morning. There’s not much sense in
~ going to bed now.”
The clerk returned the deposit and
the man started for the front door.
As he was about to enter the revolv-
ing cubicle, the three detectives
pounced on him in unison.
“Not. so fast, young fellow,” said
Durant. “We've information to the
effect that you’re carrying a gun in
ee Oe eee ee we lee at
“Certainly you can look; there’s
no gun on me. You've got the wrong
‘man this time.”
The detectives were not disap-
pointed when they failed to find a
gun. 5
“I guess we made a mistake, al-
right,” said Durant in an apologetic
tone. “Before you go, do you mind
writing your name and address for
us. Just to cover us, you know.”
Probably under the impression
that he had succeeded in outwitting
the officers, the man gladly assented.
This was the moment for which the
three astute detectives had been
working and patiently waiting. They
had memorized every loop and curl
of the signature on the card which
had been sent to Father Flanagan.
Boldly and without trace of ner-
vousness, the man wrote “J. E.
Mitchell” on the back of Durant’s
card. There was no need to call in
the handwriting expert who later
compared the signature with that
on the Boys Town post-card. The
writings were identical even to the
casual observer. “J. E. Mitchell,” the
young man who stood before them
was the Necktie Bandit. He was the
loathsome beast who accepted the
friendship and gifts of highway
drivers and then raped their wives.
FREE ‘stcrecarmentron
He was the repugnant, inhuman
monster who had throttled the life-
i breath from the body of Catherine
STOMACH ULCERS} =:
Due to Gastric Hyperacidity’
At the Bathgate Avenue Station
in the Bronx, the suspect was sullen
ouble.}and refused to talk at first. Finally
he broke down and admitted fifteen
crimes of rape and burglary in the
Bronx, in Norwalk, Newark, Trenton
tjand Philadelphia. Steadfastly, he
denied that he knew anything about
the Pappas murder.
He stuck to his story until a fin-
gerprint expert showed him photo-
graphs of his middle finger and com-
pared them to the print found on
the wine glass. It was then that the
killer confessed, and a foul and sor-
did tale it is.
The slayer’s right name is George
Joseph Cvek and he comes from
Harrisburg, Pa. The 23-year-old son
of Austrian immigrant parents, he
has been in trouble since early boy-
hood. He started out at the age of
twelve when he was sent to the Phil-
adelphia Protectory for theft. Later
he was arrested for truancy but was
paroled in the custody of his par-
» ents. When he reached adolescence, ~
George Cvek was sent to the Hunt-
ington (Pa.) penitentiary for lar-
ceny. He was paroled before com-
pleting his sentence and promptly
returned for violating his’ parole.
Once more released by a lenient
prison board, he was again re-ar-
rested and sentenced to an addition-
al 22 months.
“How did you happen to pick out
the Pappas apartment to rob?” ask-
ed Prosecutor Foley after the young
murderer had confessed.
“One day I saw the name on a
billboard and used it as an alias in
the Anargyros robbery,” the prison-
er said. “On February 4th, I wan-
dered into the apartment house at
1035 Grand Concourse and saw the
same name on a mail-box in the
lobby. I just rang the bell and
walked upstairs.
“I spoke to the lady through the
peep-hole and told her I was a friend
of her husband’s. She let me in and
told me she had been making some
cookies for her husband's birthday.
She offered me some and we had
them with coffee and I smoked sev-
eral cigarettes. :
“She was on the sofa. I sat beside
her. I slipped my left arm ‘around
her neck and pulled her head back.
Then with my right hand I removed
my necktie and tied her hands be-
hind her back.
“J carried her to the, bedroom
and put her on the bed. Then I no-
ticed that she had stopped breath-
ing, so I picked up some cash and
some jewelry and left the place.”
George Joseph Cvek, a hulking,
pimply-faced killer, was indicted on
a charge of first-degree murder
three days later. If convicted with-
-out a recommendation of mercy, he ~
will be put to death in the electric-
chair. ; .
So it was that a killer was brought
to the bar of justice by means of
the “pattern file,” a means of iden-
tification half a century old.
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-|SEX MAD MONSTER AND THE GIRL WHO WALKED (Continued from page 15)
| responded the girl. “I know her
quite well. Virginia was in here last
night. I waited on them in that
booth over there.”
“Them?” Bamond snatched at the
; word. “Who was with her?”
“Well,” said Bonnie, “she came in
: of drinks, and talked for a while by
: themselves. Pretty soon a man got
rin fram one of the tables and went
“Oh, somewhere’s near two
o’clock.”
“what kind of a car was it?”
“T’m not sure. It was a small, light
ear. And I think it had yellow
wheels.”
The pretty waitress’s knowledge
seemed to be exhausted at this
point. Bamond and Stanley hurried:
back to Headquarters with the valu-
able information they had obtained.
at that hour, and most likely would
have seen them?” _
There was a moment of glum si-
~Jence around the group. Then Sier’s
face lighted; he snapped his fingers.
“Why, cab drivers, of course,” he
exclaimed. “And there’s a cab stand
right near that cafe.”
The Detective Captain, moreover,
had a couple of “spotters” among
the taxi drivers, civilians who had
y BRA Aananetmant an athar ar-
SEX MAD MONSTER /
to do, so we went into the
Street Cafe. We took a boch,
ordered a couple of drinks.
“We were sipping our dri-xs
listening to the music and ial
when a good-looking youn: f:
walked past our table. Every
was feeling happy and frie
Virginia waved at him ane c:
‘Hello, Shorty.’
“He just smiled at us and
on to the back of the cafe. /
minutes later, though, he came
and sat down in our booth on
ginia’s side. We talked and lis!
to the music, and after a whi
ordered us another drink”
“Did you know the man?” pr
Siers.
“No, not exactly. I'd seen
around before. Virginia inwro
him to me as Arnold—Fioyd An
“Then what? We must kno
erything that happened that
ning.”
“Well,” continued Made
“about twelve-thirty I told
that I had to go home. Mr. /
wanted to know if he couldn’
me home in his car. I haven”
him since.”
“Did he make any imprope
vances to you on the way hi
“No, he acted all right. And!
as soon as I got home.”
Further questioning of Ma
brought forth no additional
mation. The officers were con:
that she had told a frank an
cere story.
Siers picked up a city dir
and thumbed the pages. After
ute he said:
“Floyd Arnold. Fifty,. twer
Fifth Avenue, south.”
“Say!” ejaculated McPhail,
just seven blocks from the Se:
tracks. That guy could have |
about that early morning tr:
right!”
Detectives Nesbit, McPhail
Bradford and Deputy Saunde
out on the jump. ry
The house was in darknes
they got there. Nesbit motior
men to the rear, then knoc
the front door. A pretty youn:
an came to the door and s:
was Arnold’s wife. A few r
later. her husband was dress
OVW 9 George
Sea’
T WAS nearly noon on the morning of february 4,
1941, when a tall, dark young man stepped into the
warm lobby of the modernistic apartment house at
1035 Grand Concourse in The .Bronx, New York
City. He paused for a few moments, scanning the panel
of names, punched the bell beside one and started for
the elevator. At the third floor the young man stopped
before an apartment door.
The peephole in the door slid open and a woman’s
voice asked, “Who is it?”
“Mrs. Pappas?” the young man asked, smiling.
“Yes,” the woman replied hesitantly.
“I’m a friend of your husband’s,” the dark youth said.
“I just happened to be in the neighborhood and re-
membered that I hadn’t seen John for some time. Is
he home?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Pappas is at business.”
“Well, can’t I come in and wait for a while?” the
young man asked hopefully.
The door opened, revealing a pretty, dark-haired
young woman. “He won’t be home for some time,” she
said. “But won’t you come inside and wait for him?”
The man’s suave manner concealed his eagerness
as he responded to the invitation. He walked into the
apartment quickly. He smiled to himself as he heard
the door slam behind him.
“Come into the living room,” Mrs. Pappas called to her
husband’s friend. “You can sit here.” She tried to
make the visitor comfortable by setting up a tea table
before the couch and placing cups and saucers upon it.
“I’ve just baked some cookies for my husband’s birth-
day,” she said.’ “Perhaps you would like some with
coffee?” oe :
“That’s swell, Mrs. Pappas,” the stranger rejoined.
“But I’d appreciate it if you had something a little
stronger.” . He winked at her. “You know, it’s rather
cold outside.” :
Mrs. Pappas left the room for a few moments and
returned soon with a ‘glass. “Here, try some of this
wine,” she said, handing it to the man. In one gulp he
downed the dark liquid, turning his attention to the
cookies and coffee. ‘
(Bee
Police discovered Mrs. Pappas’ body awkwardly
: PEF aes bat ye Ee DEATH IN THE AFTERNOON *
| s ‘ ae sprawled on the bed, a towel around her neck.
Police head-
rs was ushered
vear-old Greek,
Zarvos. He was
<-convict from
sing, on parole.
‘everal hours of
ming, he was
ip for scrutiny
Negro” maid.
e failed to iden-
rvos as the man
1 seen leave the
flat on the
{ the murder.
case against
crumbled even
vhen they com-
his fingerprints
hose found on
ne glass. There
10 comparison
oever. Zarvos
2ared of all sus-
the same time,
‘aging reports
‘trickling in from
of the country.
vere no prints
h those taken
he Pappas flat.
us was, it told
s one thing—
ot have a well-
He might have
The Pappas apartment where GEORGE
JOSEPH CVEK repaid his hostess’ hospi-
tality by murderously assaulting her
committed mis-
demeanors, but
in such cases the
criminal’s prints
seldom are re-
corded in master
files.
The Pappas
case rapidly was
piling up against
the dreaded dead
end. Days passed
and still there
was no break in
the mystery.
A powerful
murderer had
struck during
broad daylight in
the teeming
Bronx and had
vanished com-
pletely. The only clue
he had left behind—
his fingerprint — was
thus far worthless.
He had committed murder with
apparently no other cause than rob-
bery, and he still was a free man—
free to prey on other unsuspecting
women.
The man must be caught. He must
be punished.
This demand throbbed in the
minds of Bronx police; it drove
them onward with greater energy,
made them determined to solve the
ugly crime despite the overwhelm-
ing obstacles.
Thus it was that Acting Chief In-
spector O’Connor summoned to a
“brain” session in his office two of
his ablest assistants, Acting Cap-
tain John Armstrong and Lieutenant
Edward Burns. a
“We've got to start from scratch,
men,” said the grim-faced O’Connor.
“We're going to have to outsmart
the man we want.”
“If you ask me, Chief,” remarked
Armstrong, “I think the killer is just
a common bum who makes a racket
out of calling on women while their
husbands are at work. He’s the dir-
tiest kind of rat.”
“Maybe so,” replied O’Connor,
“but how do you account for the
fact that Kitty Pappas admitted him
to her home and served. him coffee
and brandy?”
Lieutenant Burns spoke up. “I’d
say that he was a mighty clever
worker, the kind women would be-
lieve.”
The conversation was interrupted
when a _ desk sergeant entered
O’Connor’s office, holding before him
a police teletype dispatch. ‘Here’s
a report just come in from Phila-
delphia, Chief. Thought you might
want to look it over.”
O’Connor snatched the dispatch
and glanced through it. A Mrs.
Catherine (Continued on page 39)
Te
RO: “Taxpayers
-ct them by ap-
ad the law per-
release them.”
re, dumb hog-
re did you get
ney?” Il asked.
'.” he said, ‘‘so
_1 found it on
r of the rest
1 was gonna
ack to the guy
ce cops came in
»bed me. Hon-
rfaiion”®
ve it in your
nief; I didn’t
pocket.”
ar way out of
you were ar-
‘uu account for
and looked at
ced something
nts. “Have you
you?” I asked.
ief, and I got it
ather?”
said Franklin.
orks for, but IT
I said. Ona
1 remove his
pants and examined the fly. My hunch
was a good one. Along the fly he had
a specially made zipper—something
like a money belt—and in it was
$200.00 in ten and twenty-dollar bills.
“So you didn’t have any more
money?” I said. The expression on
his face was a study in amazement.
“So help me, Chief,” he stuttered,
“T never knew that was there. Honest,
Chief, I bought them pants in Boston
last month and the dough must of
been in them all the time. What do
you know about that!”
I have found that all criminals, from
the highest to the lowest, are liars
and Joe Franklin was no exception.
I had him returned to city’ jail and
the next thing I heard he was out on
bond, awaiting trial. In-other words,
the taxpayers employ police to appre-
hend criminals and the law permits
the bondsmen to release them. Mean-
time, Joe Franklin was practically
given carte blanche to work his racket
while on bond and must have cleaned
up quite a bit of money before he
finally jumped his bond and departed
elsewhere.
I understand that Joe Franklin was
one of the pioneers in the rest room
racket, if he was not actually the
creator. And I also believe that he
has a number of pupils. If he did not
actually teach his competitors, then
they must have guessed the methods
he used. I shall explain these methods
in a moment.
Two years passed before I encoun-
tered another rest room racketeer.
His name is Harry Wagner, alias
‘Eddie, and I am of the opinion that
Wagner is a pal of Franklin and,
therefore, a pupil. Of course, Wagner
would not admit this but the tech-
nique of the two is exactly the same.
Wagner came before me on Jan-
uary 28, 1941. This is the middle of
the Miami winter season and the
population is doubled at about this
time. And right here I should very
much like to explain that 90: per cent
of our criminals are not natives of
TAM AVZINIG)
Wagner, 20, of Philadelphia, had
been attacked on that day—February
12th—while her husband was at work.
The chief inspector rose. “This is the
sort of stuff we’re going to have to
check up on. Our man might have
struck in Philadelphia. Let’s get
going.” ;
VLE talking to the Philadelphia.
couple, the New York investiga-
tors again heard the description “tall,
thin and brown hair.” Wagner told
them that he had picked up a hitch-
hiker three days previously at Eliza-
beth, New Jersey.
The man had told Wagner he was
a musician temporarily out of a job.
Wagner gave him some money. Dur-
ing their conversation, Wagner said,
he told the hitch-hiker his address in
the event that the self-styled musi-
cian could pay back the loan when
’ more prosperous days came.
From Wagner’s description and that
given by his wife, it was deduced that
the hitch-hiker and her attacker was
the same man.
SVS GUINAS E
FROM AUTHENTIC POLICE RECORDS
Miami. We _ call them snowbirds.
Some come down via train and auto
but most of them hitch-hike. Con-
stant warning of the public not to
give rides to strangers on the high-
ways seems to be useless. The fact
that many are hijacked, and even
murdered, does not deter motorists
from taking chances.
When I called Harry Wagner before
me, he promptly and_= stubbornly
claimed he was innocent. In my 25
years as a police officer, I never met
a more contemptible liar. Not a clever
liar, but a cheap and stupid one. His
every other word was a falsehood. I
doubt if he knew he was lying—that
is the only way I can account for his
outrageous statements.
“How long have you been working
this gag?” I asked.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he
said.
“You were caught in the act,” I
said, ‘and yet you stand there and tell
me that you don’t know what I mean!”
“It was circumstantial evidence,”
was his bland reply. “I just happened
to be in the lavatory next to that fel-
low. I just came in when he yelled
that he had been robbed.”
“What do you do for a living?”
‘T’m a tourist,” he said. “Came
down for the climate, My health is
not so good. My doctor—”
“Listen,” I snapped, losing patience,
“you're a liar and you know it. Be-
sides the money this man’s watch was
also found on your person. What
about that?”
“I don’t know anything about it.
Besides, I want to see a lawyer.”
They always want to see a lawyer.
That means that they get out on bond
and the public is again subjected to
such pay thievery.
Well, Wagner got: out on bond and
awaited trial. What a farce that
“awaiting trial” is! It simply means
that the criminal has bought his free-
dom, and that’s all. But unlike Joe
Franklin, Harry Wagner did not stay
around Miami and ply his trade, while
PAPPA
Was he the Pappas murderer?
Were New York police following up
another crime by the man they so
desperately wanted?
Questions that still belonged to the
realm of mystery.
But in the event they were on the
right trail, the testimony by the
Philadelphia couple would prove
valuable. For police learned that the
man who attacked Mrs. Wagner was
about six feet tall, weighed between
180 and 190 pounds and bore a deep
scar on his right cheek. He had been
wearing a blue-green overcoat, blue
suit and bright’ yellow shoes. His
face was pimply.
This description was dispatched im-
mediately in a_ nine-state police
alarm. Investigators combed the
Philadelphia area especially.
On February 17th, a Washington,
D. C. bartender’s wife, Mrs. Ruth H.
Franco, was assaulted. New York po-
lice immediately took part in this
case, hoping that it might develop into
another milestone in their manhunt.
On February 24th, the presumed
E
ronnie I cay a
“awaiting trial.’””’ He jumped his bond
the moment he was released. '
OW to explain this rest room
racket.
You go into a men’s rest room, with
several booths. Along comes a Frank-
lin or a Wagner and enters the booth
adjoining. moment later a handful
of small change clatters to the floor.
Most of it rolls into your booth. That
is the come-on.
“Pardon me, brother,” says the
crook, “d’yer mind picking up that
money for me?”
“Certainly,” you naturally reply. It
is human and decent to help a fellow
man and you do not suspect any
trick.
“Thanks,” says the crook—and right
there you are robbed. As you lean
over and busy yourself picking up the
small change for him, the crook
leaps to the stool and, leaning over
the partition, goes for your coat
pocket.
Many men keep their pocketbooks
in their inside coat pocket. How-
ever; if the crook does not find the
money in the coat, which is hang-
ing on the hook, he goes for your
hip pocket. You sce, you are lean-
ing over, busy picking up the coins,
and that’s a pushover for the rest
room racketeer. ee
All this is done in a flash. You re-
turn the coins under the partition.
The crook thanks you and you feel
that you have done a man a favor.
However, a second later the crook is
out of the rest room. He goes out so
very quietly that you do not know he
has left. Quite simple, isn’t it?
You may be next. If so, I have a
suggestion. When the crook drops the
coins, you tell him that you will be
glad to get them for him. But you
don’t. Just stand up and, when the
crook makes his appearance, grab his
arm and hold on. A proper jerk across
the top of the partition will break his
wrist.
That is also quite simple.
4
trail again swung northward. Virginia
Barone, wife of Anthony Barone of
Newark, New Jersey, was assaulted:
Again the repeated description—a
tall, thin man with chestnut hair.
And again a hitch-hiker figured in
the case. Mr. Barone reported that
on the previous day he had-given the
stranger a lift in his car. The hitch-
hiker said he was Dominick Guveneli.
Barone made the same mistake Wag-
ner did: He gave the stranger his
address.
Back at headquarters in the Bronx,
police were studying each of the
cases reported. In the. chief inspec-
tor’s office, O’Connor was pouring
over a large map of highways along
the Eastern Seaboard. Captain Arm-
strong and Lieutenant Burns were
beside him.
“On the basis of these reports,”
O’Connor said, “our man is_ hitch-
hiking along U.S. Highway 1 and New
Jersey State Highway 25. The next
thing for us to do is to get men to
cover those roads from one end to
the other. They must interview as
39
each
» the
joors
‘lose.
man
‘itch-
ictice
hus-
yr rob
gators
ver a
Inited
scrip-
posite
; and
t him.
stiga-
f Dis-
, walked
veteran
singling
in nine
ie. Foley
footloose
1 out of
trained
a man’s
And
put the
n efforts
type of
the chief
7, O’Con-
were go-
haps the
id Foley,
in cheap
even
, rooming
dging, an
and then
another
o’Connor.
There are
aby
oley, “but
) trap this
y accurate
nt to spot
im on the
two high-
' past two
Nhat if we
f the cheap
hotels in the_ larger cities?”
“You mean plant men in the various
flophouses?”” asked Armstrong.
‘Precisely,” snapped Foley. “And
we'll begin right here in New York
City—in the Bronx, in the Bowery
and on the Lower East Side.”
Orders to watch the flophouses and
lower class hotels were dispatched at
once to Bronx investigators in Eastern
towns and _ cities. Simultaneously,
O’Connor ordered men to cover such
establishments in New York City.
Others posed as clerks, porters or
handy men in inexpensive hotels
around the city. Still others in plain-
clothes mingled with tramps an
derelicts on the Lower East Side,
chatted with them in honky tonks and
dime-a-dance hangouts.
For a_ week, members of New
York's “finest” became one with the
wanderers who paused momentarily
he man with a scarred and pimply
ace.
Another week passed and still no
luck.
At the Mills Hotel, 36th Street and
Seventh Avenue, Detectives Fred Du-
rant, Edward Gillon and Edward
Mahon complained about the tedious
routine. For two weeks they had been
moving from one hotel and flophouse
to another, hoping—along with sev-
eral hundred other detectives—to
catch sight of the elusive tramp.
“We could probably stick around
here till doomsday,” said Gillon, “and
still that guy wouldn’t walk in here.”
“Sure,” affirmed husky Fred Du-
rant, “but then again he may bob
in here the very next minute.”
“T figure,” said the third detective,
“that if this fellow is staying in ho-
tels we’re bound to catch up with
him sooner or later. Others in the de-
partment are watchin’ these spots all
up and down the coast, just like we're
doing.”
Gillon cocked his feet on a small
table behind the hotel desk. “Get
comfortable, men,” he suggested.
“We've put in some long nights to-
gether and it looks as though there’ll
be many more to come.”
The ancient clock on_ the wall
monotonously ticked off the minutes
all night long. Not one guest entered
the hotel between sundown and sun-
rise.
Gillon, Mahon and Durant took a
few hours off the following day—
Monday, March 3rd—and then re-
turned to the Mills Hotel to continue
their vigil.
Before 6 Pp. M. three men entered
the hotel, one at a time, and laid down
50 cents on the counter, demanding a
gave them room keys. The first. man
was tall, but elderly. The second was
of medium height and slightly pock-
marked in the face, while the third
HE big clock on the wall by the
desk ticked off three hours. Du-
rant, still in the character of a hotel
clerk, began to doze behind the desk.
Gillon and Mahon hovered nearby,
reading newspapers.
Suddenly a tall youth framed the
doorway. He carried a battered grip.
FROM AUTHENTIC POLICE RECORDS
casually. His body
led his tense-
Durant looked up
stiffened, but he concea
earing a blue-
hat and yellow
the doorway for a
the drab, empty
ked quickly to-
he desk. “Gimme ”
dropping a 50-cent
the counter.
The youth was W
overcoat, gre
He stood in
moment surv
ht over Durant cast
th’s face, re-
“Any par
Durant in his
“Gimme 1266.”
Durant glance
sheet. ‘Sorry,’
but you can ha
comfortable.”
gh the room
“that one iS
ve 866. It’s very
youth, taking the ke
and signing to the register.
s turned, the
d the signa-
handwriting
osteard mailed to
“Mitchell.”
his back wa
three detectives co
ture with a samp
re’ about to
eir positions
The youth growled
“Come on, gimme my 0
m getting out
Durant eyed
Mahon casually
the desk and stoo
“What’s your name,
coldly. Finally
walked from behind
d beside the youth.
buddy?” As he
Mahon fixed an
other’s arm.
me,” snarled
Koloksy. I’m
iron-like rif
“Take your
“My name’s
ant and Gillon had
the desk. Gillon
t hand. “Pretty
truck driver’s
headquarters,
had exhausted
break away
Attorney Foley,
Chief Insp
Captain Arms
and other officers
once. In the squa
headquarters they
oning of the
ce found a
card made out to
23, of Harrisb
was fingerprinte
Under quest
was tight-l
anything ab
trong, Lieutenant Burns
were summo
d room of Bronx
began an intensive
youth. Searching
draft registration
Joseph Cvek,
Pennsylvania.
d immediately.
d. He denied knowing
out the numerous attack
hich the tall, scar
youth in a blue-green overcoat was
left the room for a moment
cted an assistant to s
ly as many of the
as possible to identify George Cvek.
Returning to the squad room, Foley
turned on the silent, sullen man. “We
know you killed Kitty Pappas,” he
said, “so you’d better come clean and
admit it.”
“Never heard of her,” was the
mumbled reply.
Foley nodded to an officer who
stepped forward holding out a cheap
tic-—the one that had bound Kitty
Pappas. “Recognize this?” asked the
prosecutor. “You used it to tie the
woman you killed.”
“Never saw it before,” hissed
Cvek.
Thus the grilling continued hour
after hour. Midnight. One o’clock.
Two.
Foley and his men varied the ques-
tions—trying to obtain a statement
either on the Kitty Pappas slaying oF
on the numerous rape-robberies. The
prosecutor repeated over and over
again the names of victims: Catherine
Wagner, Virginia Barone, Ruth Fran-
Finally Cvek buried his head in his
hands. Foley’s voice was soft. “Are
you ready to talk?”
George Joseph Cvek nodded weakly. .
And while he mumbled in a jerky
statement. “I attacked the Wagner
girl, Mrs. Barone, Mrs. Franco. Yes.
did them all. I never thought you’d
catch me like this.”
Altogether, Cvek admitted rob-
beries and attacks on 15 ‘women in
New York, Newark, Philadelphia and
Washington during the previous three
months.
But what about Kitty Pappas?
Again the grilling resumed. The
early hours of Tuesday morning- ~~
dragged by. What about Kitty Pappas?
Three o’clock. Four. Five. Six.
Fingerprints were brought out—
- those found on the wine glass in the
Pappas apartment and the print taken
from Cvek’s fingers
The match was perfect.
Now what about Kitty Pappas? Did
you kill Kitty Pappas?
Nhe repeated questions drummed in
his ear. The evidence against him
was mounting. Finally his sobbin
voice gave the answer. “Yes, I kille
Kitty Pappas.” He rambled on, as
though afraid to stop talking. “I was
in the apa tent house looking for
someone I could rob. I saw the name,
John Pappas, on the door. I rang the
bell and told the woman I knew her
husband.”
talked some more, and suddenly:
“T slipped my left arm around her
neck and drew back her head until
she was senseless... Then I took off
my own tie and with my right hand
stuffed a handkerchief in her mouth
_,. I used a torn towel to tie her
hands and put them behind her back
_. I carried her into the bedroom
and laid her on the bed... and when
I saw she was dead... 1 robbed the
house.” :
The murder of comely and devout
Kitty Pappas was solved.
A ruthless killer had humbly con-
fessed to the brutal crime.
And there were other recent crimes
of a similar nature. Did George Jo-
seph Cvek commit them?
On the very day that he was cap-
tured, another Bronx woman—
lovely Mrs. Elizabeth Jensen—was
4\
many persons as possible. We must
locate all the motorists. we can who
have given this hitch-hiker tramp 4
lift.”
O’Connor’s order was a big one, but
it was carried out. Bronx police
fanned out along the two roads and
began an intensive questioning of all
motorists they met.
Back to headquarters filtered sig-
nificant reports. Other drivers had
given rides to a tall, pimply youth
wearing a blue-green overcoat and
yellow shoes. Several motorists re-
ported noticing a deep scar on his
right cheek.
n some instances the drivers had
learned the name of the man they
gave a ride to. But the names in-
variably were different: Gross, Mur-
tha, Mikos, Connor, Mitchell, Robert,
Carl, Blake, Marthaugh, Schaffner
and Clarke. Despite the difference in
names there was marked resemblance
in the descriptions each driver gave
of the hitch-hiker he picked up. Most
of them reported the scarred face,
the blue-green overcoat, the yellow
shoes and the man’s towering height.
A few motorists reported that the
man they ‘had picked up claimed_to
be the Mayor of Boystown. One
driver said he saw the stranger write
a postcard to Boystown, Nebraska,
and sign it “Mitchell.”
New York detectives hurried to the
Nebraska community where boys are
given a new start in life by being
permitted to run their own affairs.
They are watched over by elderly,
kindly Father Flanagan, founder of
Boystown.
No one there, however, answered
the description of the scar-faced hitch-
hiker. But detectives learned that
there had been a youth at Boystown
known as Jim Mitchell. He now was
supposed to be working on a farm
near Mound City, Missouri.
They also learned from youthful
officials at the red brick Boystown
postoffice that several postcards had
been received there during the past
few weeks from communities in
Maine and New Jersey. They bore
the incomplete signature, “Mitchell.”
As one of the clerks put it: “Those
cards didn’t mean anything to us, so
we just dropped them in the ‘dead
letter’ file.”
Was the Mound City farm boy the
wanted man? Had he been East re-
cently, carrying out those ruthless
crimes?
To find the answer, Bronx detec-
tives sped to Mound City. They
quickly located the farm on which
Mitchell worked. But at first sight of
him, the officers felt they were on the
wrong track. Jim Mitchell was a soft-
spoken youth, short and dark. No, he
hadn’t visited any eastern states re-
cently. “I’ve been right here on this
farm,” he said, “for several months.”
To make sure, the officers asked
him to sign his name. They compared
it with that on the postcards which
had been mailed to Boystown. There
was no comparison.
Another dead end.
ACK in New York, reports con-
tinued to reach police headquar-
ters about a tall, scar-faced hitch-
hiker who had said he was Mayor of
Boystown.
One motorist said, “He told me he
was in New Jersey to visit his sick
sister. I felt sorry for the poor fel-
low and gave him a dollar.”
Another reported, “He told me he
40
AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES
was visiting eastern states to raise
money for Boystown, Said he had
been lecturing at women’s clubs and
such places. He seemed like a, square
fellow. I gave him five dollars for the
Boystown Recreation Fund.”
In each instance, the hitch-hiker
in question ‘was described as tall,
pimply and scarfaced, wearing a blue-
green overcoat and yellow shoes.
Who was this elusive phantom of
the highway? Was he the slayer of
Kitty Pappas? Was he responsible
for the series of dastardly crimes that
had been committed in states all
along the Eastern Seaboard?
Police had no conclusive evidence.
They were driven on this course,
however, by the similarity in which
the crimes had been committed.
Mahl, of 163 East 178th Strect. In each
case the women refused to believe the
stranger’s story and shut their doors
in his face. ;
February was drawing to a close.
Police now were certain that the man
they wanted was a homeless, hitch-
hiking bum who made it a practice
to call on women while their hus-
bands were at work and either rob
them or attack them or both.
More than 200 Bronx investigators
by this time were scattered over a
wide area of the eastern United
States. Each had a detailed descrip-
tion of the wanted man—a composite
of what the various victims and
would-be victims had told about him.
Behind the widespread investiga-
tion was the directing genius of Dis-
The three New York detectives had a long, tedious wait before their quarry walked
into the trap they had set for him in the Mills Hotel.
District Attorney Foley phrased it
thusly: “This similarity may be our
strongest lead. Our man apparently
hasn’t an ounce of imagination.”
While the case was thus unfolding,
Bronx authorities kept the details of
the investigation from the press.
However, newspapers did carry re-
ports that police were looking for a
“tall, thin man” who won his way into
the confidence of unsuspecting women.
This brought several interesting re-
ports to headquarters.
Mrs. Mildred Bofard, of 255 East
176th Street, The Bronx, appeared
before Acting Chief Inspector O’Con-
nor. “I saw the man you want,” she
exclaimed, “the very day Kitty Pap-
pas was murdered.”
O’Connor leaned forward tensely.
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, sir,” the woman related,
“this tall, pimply faced man rang my
doorbell ’round noon-time. He said he
was John Mitchell and that he was
a relative of my husband’s from Con-
necticut. Now just as sure as my
name is Mildred I know that Mr. Bo-
fard hasn’t any relatives in Connecti-
cut. So I just said, ‘Get along with
you.’ And I slammed the. door in his
face.”
“You were very wise to do so,”
commented O’Connor.
Two other such reports came in. A
man answering the mysterious hitch-
hiker’s description called at the
homes of Mrs. Rose Offerman, of 255
East 176th Street, and Mrs. Lillian
‘trict Attorney Foley and his veteran
police officers. The task of singling
out this one man from many in_nine
or ten states was a gigantic one. Foley
put it this way: “He’s just a footloose
bum. We’ve got to pick him out of
millions.”
Veteran investigators are trained
in being able to determine a man’s
character with little to go on. And
the Bronx authorities now put the
best of their wits together in efforts
to place their finger on the type of
man they were seeking.
Again the scene shifted to the chief
inspector’s office where Foley, O’Con-
nor, Armstrong and Burns were go-
ing over the case for perhaps the
hundredth time.
“I’ve got a hunch,” said Foley,
“that this man hangs out in cheap
‘hotels. He probably hasn’t even
enough money to stay in a rooming
house. A cheap night’s lodging, an
attack on some housewife and then
he’s on his way again to another
city.”
“So what?” demanded O’Connor.
“Where does that get us? There are
a lot of cheap hotels in the East.”
“I know, John,” replied Foley, “but
we've got to find a way to trap this
man. We now have a pretty accurate
description of him, sufficient to spot
him if one of us saw him on the
street. We’ve been combing two high-
ways for him during the past two
weeks without any luck. What if we
narrow our search to all of the cheap
hotels
“You m
flophouse:
“Precis:
we'll beg:
City—in
and on th
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1
GA shoulders, UUsSuaiiy sai Qe diciice. A ahigyes
Code Signal X—Alarm 1654—Authority 7th D. D. February
6th, 1941, 9-State Broadcast. Make a careful check of files to
ascertain cases where a man gains entrance to apartment by
subterfuge, claiming to know husband, and after admittance
and gaining woman’s confidence mugs same by placing soiled
handkerchief from pocket in mouth, ties hands and feet with
necktie or other material from household, steals money and
jewelry.
As the foregoing sped over the wires to hundreds
of key points from Maine to Maryland, Captain
Armstrong sent a score of men in his own district
to question housewives in the neighborhood of the
Pappas murder as to any similar attempts to gain
entrance, hoping in this manner to get an accurate
account of the movements of the marauding
strangler. -
By nightfall, as the detectives came back from
their assignments, the Captain was able to piece
together the following chart:
February 4th, 1941—
11:30 A. M. Mrs. Mildred Bofford, 235 East 176 Street,
reports man answering description of suspect, giving name of
John Mitchell, claiming to be a relative of husband’s, sought
admittance. She said she had no relatives by that name, told
him to return when husband was at home.
11:45 A. M. Mrs. Rose Offerman, 255 East 176th Street. Man
sought entry to apartment. Fast talker. Said: ‘‘Hello, I’m a
friend of your husband. I just dropped in from Connecticut
for the day. I’d like to see him.” She refused entry. Remem-
bers that man wore brown necktie with yellow figures.
The addresses mentioned were but a few blocks
from the murder scene. With his jaw set in a grim
line, Captain Armstrong made another entry:
“February 4th—p. mM. Mrs. Catherine Pappas, 1035
Grand Concourse. Murder.”
“He must have convinced her that he was a friend
of her husband,” he told his men. ‘That explains
the wine and cakes, for the Greek people are famous
for their hospitality.”
To cover the new aspects of the case, Armstrong
once more shifted his forces, sent a detail to visit
the Municipal Lodging House, the Mills Hotels, and
other likely places where a footloose individual of
the suspect’s type might spend the night, ordered a
set of the prints from the stemmed glass sent to Army
and Navy headquarters and the Federal Bureau of
Investigation for comparison with their files, put
two men to work canvassing filling stations and
restaurants along U. S. Route No. 1 from the Holland
Tunnel to Trenton, and assigned a detective to the
exacting job of watching all new teletype alarms
for cases which appeared similar either in modus
operandi or description of the suspect.
Then he called Boys Town, Nebraska, on the long
distance telephone, to inquire of Father Edward J.
Flanagan and his associates whether they knew of
anyone named Mitchell who claimed to be a former
Mayor of the institution.
“We did have a boy named Paul Keith Mitchell,”
replied Reverend L. J. Demers, who took the call.
“But he’s been working in Mound City, Missouri, for
the past year and doesn’t answer the description of
your man. However, we’ve had similar inquiries
in the past and I believe we have a file of letters
on the subject. I’ll have a look at them right away
and _ will mail you whatever information we have.
Will that be satisfactory?”
“Fine,” said the Captain. “Anything you can do
will be appreciated.”
As a result, on the 9th of February, the following
letter was received from the Nebraska institution:
In reply to your inquiry concerning one John or Joe Mitchell,
we wish to inform you that we believe we have some informa-
tion about, this man.
On July 21st, 1940, Mr. W. W. Stadden, Bartonsville, Pennsyl-
vania, wired us that he had Gerald Mitchell, who stated that
he was from Boys Town and was on his way to Providence,
Rhode Island, and would be glad to help the man reach his
destination if we could verify his story.
On August 13th, 1940, we received a wire from Mr. J. Carter
Brooker, Montclair, New Jersey, asking if we had enrolled
Jerry Mitchell. He said that he had picked up this man at
Waterville, Maine, and took him to New York City, but shortly
after arriving there Mitchell disappeared.
On August 15th, 1940, Mr. Leonard Cohen, editorial name
“The Rambler” of the Brunswick Record, Brunswick, Maine, ©
wrote to us and sent us a story he had written on an interview
with Mitchell who claimed to be a former Mayor of Boys Town
and who said he had come to Maine in search of his sister.
As we have informed all of the above parties, we have no
record of ever having admitted this Mitchell man to our Home,
neither have we had a Mayor here by that name. Mitchell is
very evidently an impostor besides being a criminal, and we
trust that the above information regarding his contacts will
prove helpful in bringing about his apprehension.
™@ ENCLOSED IN the letter were two postcards
which the mystery man had sent to Boys Town.
Both were postmarked July 21st, 1940, Bartonsville,
Pennsylvania. One, addressed to Father Flanagan,
read as follows: a8
Dear Father Flannigan: : 3
Just a few lines to let you know that I am well and. hope you
and the rest of the boys are the same. Please don’t worry
about me, because I am being taken care of by the nicest people
dacaiiaiailien
I ever met. Am writing the details in a letter which will follow
this. So long.
Gerry.
The second, addressed to one Pat Quinn, who was
unknown at Boys Town, contained this message:
Hi Pat:
Well, well, what a small world, Who would think I would be
hitchhiking cross-country. I suppose Father Flannigan told yo
. about my unfortunate incident, but I think it’s doing me a lot
of good to find out about things like this now. I am just about
ready to go to church. I am staying with some very nice people
in the mts. Its a regular vacation place. I am actually swim-
ming in their pool. I'll be seeing you in a couple of weeks.
Gerry.
™@ CAPTAIN ARMSTRONG studied both efforts
carefully, noted that in each instance not only
had Father Flanagan’s name been mis-spelled, but
the writer had used peculiar v-shaped “r’s.”
That night, he was able to tell John Pappas. “We
have a good line on the man who killed your wife—
we have his description and specimens of his hand-
writing. Now we are going to spread a net for him
and see what develops.”
In line with this, the Captain, after a conference
with Inspector O’Connor, dispatched Detectives
Valentine Stewart and John Lawton to interview
Messrs. Brooker and Stadden who were mentioned
in the Boys Town letter, and sent Detective William
M. O’Brien northward to Maine to see what could be
developed in detail concerning the bogus Mayor
with a penchant for hitchhiking.
Montclair, New Jersey, being the closest to New
York, the first results reached Headquarters from
_ that point in the form of a long distance telephone
call from Detective Stewart.
“If you’ll put a stenographer on the wire,” he
said. “Ill dictate a statement I just got from Mr.
Brooker.”
“Okay,” said the Captain, signaling to Detective
Ford to cut in: ‘Shoot.’
Stewart began: “Brooker was vacationing through
New England in August, 1940, and on the 13th he
picked up a man at Waterville, Maine, who asked
him if he was going in the direction of Boys Town.
He said he was Gerry Mitchell and had lived at the
home for six years and was on a leave of absence.
Said he had been visiting his sister in a hospital at
is hte iinet nnatusnagns”
GWAILOaLad Gaur
morning to go to work. My wife said good-by to
me at the door and when I went to the elevator I
heard her turn the lock just as she did every morn-
ing. I was busy atthe store until ‘ten this evening.
It took me about a half-hour to come uptown in the
subway. As soon as I saw what had happened, I
called the Superintendent.”
“What about your wife—did she have many
friends?” .
He shook his head. “She was only in this country
a year and a half. Outside of my family and the
people she met at the church, she knew no one. She
was very shy and I am sure she would never have
let a stranger come in the house. Neither would
she give food or drink to anyone whom she didn’t
know.” .
The Inspector nodded. “By the look of things
there’s been a robbery here as well—suppose you
make a list of all your valuables and we'll check
off what’s missing.” .
Pappas toak a paper and pencil and while he was
engaged in his task, the Assistant Medical Examiner,
Charles H. Hochman, arrived with his confidential
stenographer, Irving A. Oppenheim. Going to the
bedroom, the Doctor studied the figure before him.
Then he began to dictate: “Female white adult...
rigor mortis complete ... white kitchen towel with
blue and red margin is tied around the neck .. . legs
tied together by strips of towel”’ Gently, he turned
the body on its side. “Hands tied behind the back
with a dark brown necktie containing a fancy
orange and white center design .. . “ead eight to
eighteen hours . .*. clad in blue housecoat, white
brassiere, white silk slip, blue panties, tan silk -
stockings. Cause of death—strangulation by liga-
ture . . . remove to Fordham Morgue for autopsy.”
™@ HE TURNED to Inspector O’Connor. “There are
some slight scratches on the neck and face and
a cut on the upper lip—but it doesn’t look as though
any criminal attack was attempted. I’ll try to save
those knots for you—one of your experts might want
to study them.”
“What time are you going to do the post mortem?”
asked the Inspector.
“Nine o’clock.”
|
“T’ll have somebody there.”
The preliminary examination completed, the body
was taken from the apartment. The Inspector now
looked at the list of valuables which Pappas handed
him, and a checkup showed that a diamond wedding
ring, a diamond crucifix, diamond. wrist-watch,
dinner ring, silver cigarette case, and fifty dollars
in cash were missing.
M@ WHILE DETECTIVES tabulated descriptions of
the jewelry in detail, Patrolmen John C. Bealler
and Emanuel Kerner arrived from the Technical
. Research Bureau and went over the apartment for
latent fingerprints, dusting their gray powder on
wall surfaces and all movable objects. The results
of their work looked as though a horde of youngsters
who had been playing in a coal pile had smeared
grimy hands on everything in sight.
Particular attention was paid to the overturned
lamp, the stemmed glasses on the coffee-table and
the aspirin bottle. Of these, the glasses proved the
most productive, one showing three complete groups
of clear, looped patterns.
Immediately the Inspector ordered everyone who
had entered the apartment to “
file a complete set of prints for
comparison purposes. Then
while the laboratory techni-
cians went on to test the bath-
room sink with a solution of
benzedrine to get a greenish
reaction indicating the pres-
ence of blood, Inspector
O’Connor held a conference
with Captain Armstrong and
the Homicide Squad detail
headed by Captain William
Rice and Lieutenant Edward
Byrnes. The subject of the dis-
cussion was the aspirin bottle
on the coffee-table.
“We’ve had two cases of
robbery and assault in the
Eighth District in the past few
months and in each instance
the man who did the job asked which
Police photo of Mrs. Pappas’ tightly bound wrists
for aspirin. This may be another case of the same
type. However, Pappas seems certain that his wife
would never have allowed a stranger to get past
the door. Since there is a peep-hole she must have
had a good look at the man before he entered.
Therefore we can’t spend too much time on theory,
but we'll have to explore all the possibilities and
develop each lead as it comes along.”
Thus when the detectives who had been search-
ing the building returned without having found
anything of value, Inspector O’Connor carefully
plotted his next moves along the lines of the follow-
ing plan:
1—Assign detectives to make a thorough search
of the apartment.
2—Cover pawnshops for the missing jewelry.
3—Round up witnesses and bring same to Head-
quarters 7th Detective District for questioning.
4—Call at city hospitals and check on anyone
requesting medical attention for human bites on
the body.
5—Check the previous assault cases in the 8th
District for similarities in the modus operandi.
When the assignments were given out, the party
a
illustrates how the necktie was knotted
for)
—]
Cae i nl ae
proceeded to the Morrisania Precinct where until
six-thirty the next morning, February 5th, the offi-
cers were busy going over various aspects of the
case with the husband of the dead woman. °
“No matter whom it hurts,” said Captain Arm-
strong, “we'll have to face the facts. Since there is
a peep-hole in the door we have to assume that
your wife admitted her assailant voluntarily. At
the same time, she was lightly clad. Now since you
are so positive that she would not allow a stranger
to enter, we’ll have to consider that it was a friend.
Have you any idea as to who it could be?”
Pappas shrugged. “She lived a sheltered life.
We never even had a delivery boy come to the apart-
ment. I sent the groceries home every week from
the store with my nephew, and the other things she
would carry home herself from the shops. — I never
introduced her to anyone outside of my family, and
the only people she would meet on her own account
would be those from the church.”
He gave their names, starting with Father George
Mastriodontis and his wife, and mentioning other
members of the congregation. Then, after agreeing .
to hold himself ready for further developments, he
went to the home of his brother to get what rest he
could.
Shortly after nine o’clock the police called for
Pappas and took him to Fordham Morgue to make
a formal identification of his wife’s body prior to
the autopsy. Before he left, Dr. Hochman cut the
necktie from the woman’s wrists. Pappas looked
at it and shook his head. ‘Not mine—I never saw it
before.”
Since it bore the label “National Shirt Shops,”
Captain Armstrong sent one of his men downtown
to the main office of the chain store to see if the
purchaser could be traced.
™ THE TORN towels, marked “Stevens Linen,”
Pappas was able to identify as having come from
his own kitchen. They had been looped in four
turns and tied in a “granny” knot. No visible im-
pression or, outline of fingers or hands could be
detected under a strong light and exhaustive tests
by laboratory technicians failed to bring out any
fingerprints. The only thing that was definitely
established that morning was
the fact that there had been
no criminal attack.
In the afternoon, however,
there was a flurry of excite-
ment when the records of Har-
lem Hospital showed that a
man had been treated the pre-
vious day for human bites of
the hand, lip and ear. Traced
to his residence at the U. S.
Army Base, he was found to
have been involved in an
altercation with his wife, and
no connection to the Pappas
crime could be established.
~ Meanwhile the church mem-
bers were being questioned,
but none could throw any light
on the slaying of the woman,
who, because of her beauty and
her former home, had been
- known to them as the “Egyptian Princess.” As
a precaution, however, all who were interviewed
were fingerprinted, but none of the patterns matched
thoge found on the stemmed glass.
As one by one the leads which pointed to a “friend
of the family” petered out, those in charge of the
investigation concentrated their attention on the
clue of the aspirin bottle and the modus operandi of
the two cases in the 8th Detective District which had
not been made public. The facts of these were as
follows:
CASE NO. 1.
On November 7th, 1940, Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jackson of the
Bronx, picked up a hitchhiker on the ramp near the Pulaski
Skyway, Newark. He gave the name of John Mitchell, said he
was on his way to see his sister in Maine and had lost his
money and clothing. He claimed to be a former Mayor of Boys
Town, Nebraska. He left the Jacksons’ car at Newark Airport,
after taking their address and promising to send them tickets
to “Men of Boys Town.” ese
On November 12th, at noon, Mitchell came to the Jackson
apartment, rang the bell. ‘Mrs. Jackson recognized him. He
said he was very hungry and needed some money. She offered
to give him something to eat, and admitted him to the house.
He walked to the kitchen, sat on a stool. It was raining and
his jacket was wet. She told him to take it off, and hang it
up to dry. - : ‘
Mrs. Jackson fried some eggs and asked him why he did not
go to the city authorities, as there was no need for anybody to
walk about hungry. He said that he had a job in Newark
Official photograph of the victim's ankles showing
how the killer bound them with a torn towel
. -
starting the following Saturday and just needed enough to tide
him over. He asked for some aspirin and when she brought
it, he asked her when her husband would be back. She told
him five o’clock.
He then got up, stood behind her, put his right arm around
her neck and dragged her to the hall between the living-room
and bedroom, tied her ankles and her wrists by tearing her
apron into strips. He asked where her husband’s neckties
were, but she did not answer. He then put his handkerchief
into her mouth and another around her face. He asked where’
her money was. She nodded toward the living-room and he
found an envelope containing $26. He then carried her to the
bedroom, put her on the bed. ... He then tied her ankles,
went to the closet and put on her husband’s size 44 suit, took
size 915 gloves, 714 hat, tan topcoat and left the apartment.
CASE NO. 2.
Mrs. Paul Benson, Bronx, reported that at 10:15 A. M. on
January 27th, 1941, she admitted a man who said he was Joe
Mitchell and asked for her husband, who was not at home.
He said that he had driven down from Boston and that his car
had broken down and was being repaired. Claimed to have
met Mr. Benson while hitchhiking and said he was from Boys
Town. He talked about dancing and sleigh riding, helped
her make the beds. Twice asked for aspirin. At 11:45 A. M.
he left- the apartment to see if his car was ready. He came
back at 12:15, said that it would not be finished until four
o’clock. He seemed interested in her furs. At 2 P. M. he
grabbed her around the neck, placed a handkerchief in her
mouth, tied her hands and feet with strips of dish towel from
the kitchen. Money, jewelry and a fur coat were stolen. No
criminal attack.
As he read the reports, Captain Armstrong com- :
piled a list on a scratch pad, as follows: Aspirin—
GVAILOGLAd GauL
A Police Department technician is shown in laboratory comparing finger-
prints of the suspect with those on goblet taken from the Pappas apartment
necktie—torn towels—handkerchief gag. “Every-
thing in the modus operandi checks with the
Pappas murder—it’s a hundred to one bet that he’s
our man.”
™@ THE CAPTAIN looked at the descriptions given
by Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Benson: “Age, 22-25.
Height, 5 feet 11 to 6 feet. Weight, 170-185 pounds.
Rough skin, pockmarked and pimpled with acne.
Broad shoulders, unusually large hands. Finger-
nails bitten and dirty. Hair dark brown, brushed
back with a part on the right side. Nose turned up
at the end, broad at the base with a cluster of
nodules at the bridge. Eyes, greenish yellow. Bumpy
forehead. Favors a blue green pin-stripe suit, bluish
green hat and overcoat to match, and tan shoes.”
Calling in Detective Robert Ford, in charge of
confidential communications for the district, the
Captain said: “Get this on the teletype—have all
concerned check for similar cases.”
Close-up of goblet which bore evidence of
the suspect's presence at the murder scene
rer im writing the details
in a letter which
will follow
‘apitdh
Newark, New Jersey, man was as-
saulted. Again the repeated description
—a tall, thin man with blond hair.
And again a hitch-hiker figured in
the case. This husband reported that on
the previous day he had given the
stranger a lift in his car. The hitch-hiker
said he was Dominick Guveneli. This
husband made the same mistake the
Philadelphia man did: He gave the
stranger his address.
Back at headquarters in the Bronx,
police were studying each of the cases
reported. In the chief inspector’s office,
O’Connor was pouring over a large map
of highways along the Eastern Seaboard.
Captain Armstrong and Lieutenant
Burns were beside him.
“On the basis of these reports,”
O’Connor said, “our man is hitch-hik-
ing along U.S. Highway 1 and New
Jersey State Highway 25. The next thing
for us to do is to get men to cover those
roads from one end to the other. They
must interview as many persons as pos-
sible. We must locate all the motorists
we can who have given this hitch-hiker
tramp a lift.”
O’Connor’s order was a big one, but
it was carried out. Bronx police fanned
out along the two roads and began an
intensive questioning of all motorists
they met.
Back to headquarters filtered signifi-
cant reports. Other drivers had given
rides to a tall, pimply youth wearing a
blue-green overcoat and yellow shoes.
Several motorists reported noticing a
deep scar on his right cheek.
In some instances the drivers had
learned the name of the man they gave
a ride to. But the names invariably were
different: Gross, Murtha, Mikos, Con-
nor, Mitchell, Robert, Carl, Blake, Mar-
thaugh, Schaffner and Clarke. Despite
the difference in names there was
marked resemblance in the descriptions
each driver gave of the hitch-hiker he
picked up. Most of them reported the
scarred face, the blue-green overcoat,
the yellow shoes and the man’s towering
height.
A few motorists reported that the
man they had picked up claimed to be
the Mayor of Boystown. One driver
said he saw the stranger write a post-
card to Boystown, Nebraska, and sign it
“Lane.”
New York detectives hurried to the _
Nebraska community where boys are ~
given a new start in life by being permit-
ted to run their own affairs.
No one there, however, answered the
description of the scar-faced hitch-hiker.
But detectives learned that there had
been a youth at Boystown known as
Bob Lane. He now was supposed to be
working on a farm in Missouri.
They also learned from youthful of-
ficials at the red brick Boystown post-
office that several postcards had been
received there during the past few weeks
from communities in Maine and New
Jersey. They bore the incomplete signa-
ture, “Lane.”
As one of the clerks put it: “Those
cards didn’t mean anything to us, so we
just dropped them in the ‘dead letter’
ie.”
Was the Missouri farm boy the
wanted man? Had he been East recently,
carrying out those ruthless crimes?
To find the answer, Bronx detectives
sped to Missouri. They quickly located
. the farm on which Lane worked. But at
first sight of him, the officers felt they
were on the wrong track. Bob Lane was
a soft-spoken youth, short and dark.
No, he hadn’t visited any eastern states
recently. “I’ve been right here on this
_ farm,” he said, “for several months.”
To make sure, the officers asked him
to sign his name. They compared it with
that on the postcards which had been
mailed to Boystown. There was no com-
parison.
Another dead end.
BA&« in New York, reports contin-
ued to reach police headquarters
about a tall, scar-faced hitch-hiker who
had said he was Mayor of Boystown.
One motorist said, “He told me he
was in New Jersey to visit his sick sister.
I felt sorry for the poor fellow and gave
him a dollar.”
Another reported, “He told me he
was visiting eastern states to raise money
for Boystown. Said he had been lectur-
ing at women’s clubs and such places.
He seemed like a square fellow. I gave
him five dollars for the Boystown Rec-
reation Fund.”
In each instance, the hitch-hiker in
question was described as tall, pimply
and scarfaced, wearing a blue-green
overcoat and yellow shoes.
Who was this elusive phantom of the
highway? Was he the slayer of Kitty
Pappas? Was he responsible for the
series of dastardly crimes that had been
committed in states all along the Eastern
Seaboard?
Police had no conclusive evidence.
They were driven on this course, how-
ever, by the similarity in which the
crimes had been committed.
District Attorney Foley phrased it
thusly: “This similarity may be our
strongest lead. Our man apparently
hasn’t an ounce of imagination.”
While the case was thus unfolding,
Bronx authorities kept the details of the
investigation from the press. However,
newspapers did carry reports that police
were looking for a “tall, thin man” who
won his way into the confidence of un-
suspecting women.
This brought several interesting re-
ports to headquarters.
A Bronx woman appeared before
Acting Chief Inspector O’Connor. “I
saw the man you want,” she exclaimed,
“the very day Kitty Pappas was mur-
dered.”
O’Connor leaned forward tensely.
“Tell me about it.”
“Well, sir,” the woman related, “this
tall, pimply faced man rang my door-
bell ’round noon-time. He said he was
Bob Lane and that he was a relative of
my husband’s from Connecticut. Now I
know that Mr. Bofard hasn’t any rela-
tives in Connecticut. So I just said, ‘Get
along with you.’ And I slammed the
door in his face.”
“You were very wise to do so,” com-
mented O’Connor.
February was drawing to a close. Pol-
ice now were certain that the man they
wanted was a homeless, hitch-hiking
bum who made it a practice to call on
women while their husbands were at
work and either rob them or attack them
or both.
More than 200 Bronx investigators
by this time were scattered over a wide
area of the eastern United States. Each
had a detailed description of the wanted
man—a composite of what the various .
victims and would-be victims had told
about him. ;
Behind the widespread investigation
was the directing genius of District At-
torney Foley and his veteran police of-
ficers. The task of singling out this one
man from many in nine or ten states
was a gigantic one. Foley put it this
way: “He’s just a footloose bum. We’ve
got to pick him out of millions.”
Veteran investigators are trained in
being able to determine a man’s char-
acter with little to go on. And the Bronx
authorities now put the best of their
wits together in efforts to place their
finger on the type of man they were
seeking.
Again the scene shifted to the chief
inspector’s office where Foley, O’Con-
nor, Armstrong and Burns were going
over the case for perhaps the hundredth
time.
“I’ve got a hunch,” said Foley, “that
this man hangs out in cheap hotels. He
probably hasn’t even enough money to
stay in a rooming house. A cheap night’s
lodging, an attack on some housewife
and then he’s on his way again to an-
other city.”
“So what?” demanded O’Connor.
“Where does that get us? There are a
lot of cheap hotels in the East.”
“I know, John,” replied Foley, “but
we've got to find a way to trap this man.
We now have a pretty accurate descrip-
tion of him, sufficient to spot him if one
of us saw him on the street. We’ve been
combing two highways for him during
the past two weeks without any luck.
What if we narrow our search to all of
the cheap hotels in the larger cities?”
“You mean plant men in the various
flophouses?” asked Armstrong.
“Precisely,” snapped Foley. “And
we'll begin right here in New York City
—in the Bronx, in the Bowery and on
the Lower East Side.”
Orders to watch the flophouses and
lower class hotels were dispatched at
once to Bronx investigators in Eastern
towns and_ cities. Simultaneously,
O’Connor ordered men to cover such
establishments in New York City.
Detectives donned ragged clothes and
visited the Bowery flophouses. Others
posed as clerks, porters or handy men in
inexpensive hotels around the city. Still
others in plainclothes mingled with
tramps and derelicts on the Lower East
Side, chatted with them in honky tonks
and dime-a-dance hangouts.
For a week, members of New York’s
“finest” became one with the wanderers
who paused momentarily beneath the
towering buildings in the metropolis.
The sleuths kept their eyes peeled for
sight of a tall. thin voune man with a
as stn itca
ile cts
scarred and pimply face.
Another week passed and still no
luck.
At the Mills Hotel, 36th Street and
Seventh Avenue, Detectives Fred Du-
rant, Edward Gillon and Edward Ma-
hon complained about the tedious rou-
tine. For two weeks they had been
moving from one hotel and flophouse
to another, hoping—along with several
hundred other detectives—to catch sight
of the elusive tramp.
“We could probably stick around here
till doomsday,” said Gillon, “and still
that guy wouldn’t walk in here.”
“Sure,” affirmed husky Fred Durant,
“but then again he may bob in here the
very next minute.”
“I figure,” said the third detective,
“that if this fellow is staying in hotels
we're bound to catch up with him
sooner or later. Others in the depart-
ment are watchin’ these spots all up and
down the coast, just like we’re doing.”
Gillon cocked his feet on a small
table behind the hotel desk. “Get com-
fortable, men,” he suggested. “We’ve
put in some long nights together and it
looks as though there'll be many more
to come.” ;
The ancient clock on the wall mono-
tonously ticked off the minutes all night
long. :
Gillon, Mahon and Durant took a
few hours off the following day—Mon-
day, March 3rd—and then returned to
the Mills Hotel to continue their vigil.
Before 6 p.m. three men entered the
hotel, one at a time, and laid down 50
cents on the counter, demanding a
room. Durant, acting as clerk, dropped
the money into the cash drawer and
gave them room keys. The first man was
tall, but elderly. The second was of
medium height and slightly pock-
marked in the face, while the third
guest was short and stocky. None an-
swered the description of the wanted
man.
I['HE big clock on the wall by the desk
ticked off three hours. Durant, still
in the character of a hotel clerk, began
to doze behind the desk. Gillon and
Mahon hovered nearby, reading news-
papers.
Suddenly a tall youth framed the
doorway. He carried a battered grip.
Durant looked up casually. His body
stiffened, but he concealed his tenseness.
The youth was wearing a blue-green
overcoat, green hat and yellow shoes.
He stood in the doorway for a moment
surveying the drab, empty lobby. Then
he walked quickly toward the desk.
“Gimme a room,” he ordered, dropping
a 50-cent piece on the counter.
The hanging light over Durant cast
a dull glow on the youth’s face, reveal-
ing a scar on his right cheek, an ugly
grouping of tiny warts between his eye-
brows and a pimply face.
“Any particular room?” asked Durant
‘in his best clerk manner.
“Yeah,” came the harsh reply. “Gim-
me 1266.”
Durant glanced through the room
sheet. “Sorry,” he said, “that one is
taken, but you can have 866. It’s very
comfortable.”
“Okay,” snapped the scar-faced
youth, taking the key from Durant and
signing his name to the register.
As soon as his back was turned, the
three detectives compared the signature
with a sample of the handwriting taken
from the postcard mailed to Boystown
by the man called “Lane.”
It matched perfectly.
The three officers were about to start
after the departing youth when suddenly
they heard him stop midway upstairs
and begin descending them. He ap-
peared before the desk. “I changed my
mind,” he said. “I want my 50 cents
back—just remembered I have to go to
work at one o’clock.” He glanced un-
easily from Durant to Gillon to Mahon,
all of whom remained calmly in their
positions behind the desk. The youth
growled angrily, “Come on, gimme my
50 cents. I’m getting out of here.”
Durant eyed him coldly. Finally
Mahon casually walked from behind the
desk and stood beside the youth.
“What’s your name, buddy?” As he
asked the question, Mahon fixed an
iron-like grip on the other’s arm.
“Take your hand off me,” snarled the
youth. “My name’s Koloksy. I’m a truck
driver’s helper. Come from Harrisburg.”
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By this time Durant and Gillon had
-_ stepped from behind the desk. Gillon
raised the youth’s right hand. “Pretty
soft hands for a truck driver’s helper.”
The detective grinned.
The captive suddenly tried to break
loose from Mahon’s grip, but in a flash-
ing second Durant clamped handcuffs
on him. He fought with them as they
led him out of the hotel, but by the time
the officers reached police headquarters,
the scar-faced captive had exhausted his
futile efforts to break away.
District Attorney Foley, Acting Chief
Inspector O’Connor, Acting Captain
Armstrong, Lieutenant Burns and other
officers were summoned at once. In the
squad room of Bronx headquarters they
began an intensive questioning of the
youth. Searching him, police found a
draft registration card made out to
George Joseph Cvek, 23, of Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania. He was fingerprinted im-
mediately.
Under questions by Foley, Cvek was
tight-lipped. He denied knowing any-
thing about the numerous attack cases
for which the tall, scar-faced youth in
a blue-green overcoat was blamed.
Foley left the room for a moment
and instructed an assistant to summon
immediately as many of the victims as
possible to identify George Cvek.
Returning to the squad room, Foley
turned on the silent, sullen man. “We
know you killed Kitty Pappas,” he said,
“so you’d better come clean and admit
i:
“Never heard of her,” was the mum-
bled reply.
Foley nodded to an officer who step-
| ped forward holding out a cheap tie—
the one that had bound Kitty Pappas.
“Recognize this?” asked the prosecutor.
' “Never saw it before,” hissed Cvek.
Thus the grilling continued hour after
hour. Midnight. One o’clock. Two.
Foley and his men varied the ques-
tions—trying to obtain a statement
either on the Kitty Pappas slaying or on
the numerous rape-robberies. The pro-
secutor repeated over and over again the
names of victims.
Finally Cvek buried his head in his
hands. Foley’s voice was soft. “Are you
ready to talk?”
George Joseph Cvek nodded weakly.
And while he mumbled in a jerky voice, .
a stenographer took down the statement.
“I attacked those women. Yes. I did
them all. I never thought you’d catch
me like this.”
Altogether, Cvek admitted robberies
and attacks on 15 women in New York,
Newark, Philadelphia and Washington
during the previous three months.
But what about Kitty Pappas?
Again the grilling resumed. The early
hours of Tuesday morning dragged by.
What about Kitty Pappas? Three
o’clock. Four. Five. Six.
Fingerprints were brought out—those
found on the wine glass in the Pappas
apartment and the print taken from
Cvek’s fingers.
The match was perfect.
Now what about Kitty Pappas?
The repeated questions drummed in
his ear. The evidence against him was
mounting. Finally his sobbing voice
gave the answer. “Yes, I killed Kitty
Pappas.” He rambled on, as though
afraid to stop talking. “I was in the
apartment house looking for someone I
could rob. I saw the name, John Pappas,
on the door. I rang the bell and told the
woman I knew her husband.”
Cvek related that he sat talking with
Mrs. Pappas for awhile. She served
him coffee, cookies she made for her
husband, and brandy. They talked some
more, and suddenly:
“I slipped my left arm around her
neck and drew back her head until she
was senseless . . . Then I took off my
own tie and with my right hand stuffed
a handkerchief in her mouth .. . I used
a torn towel to tie her hands and put
them behind her back . . . I carried her
into the bedroom and laid her on the
bed .. . and when I saw she was dead
. .. I robbed the house. ”
The murder of comely and devout
Kitty Pappas was solved.
A ruthless killer had humbly con-
fessed to the brutal crime.
And there were other recent crimes
of a similar nature. Did George Joseph
Cvek commit them?
On the very day that he was captured,
another Bronx woman—lovely Mrs.
Elizabeth Jensen—was strangled to
death.
George Cvek went to trial for murder
in the first degree and a jury found him
guilty. Judge James J. Barrett passed the
mandatory sentence—death in the elec-
tric chair.
A Magistrate had voiced the opinion
of all concerned when Cvek was first
arraigned. “If the warden at Sing Sing
is unable to find anyone to turn on the
switch,” he said, “I'll gladly act as ex-
cutioner.”
George Cvek was put to death at
Sing Sing on November 15th, 1942.
Editor’s Note: The names John
Zarvos and Bob Lane are fictitious.
EIGHT WIVES FOR ONE KILLER
(Continued from page 23)
initials in hearts.”
“About ten days after they arrived,”
Mr. Stone continued, “Perry approach-
ed me and told me that he and his wife
wanted to take a hike out in the woods
to see the big timber. He \asked if he
could borrow my .22 rifle to take some
practice shots out there. He also asked
my wife if she would lend her high-
topped boots to Mrs. Perry for the
walk. We both agreed and gave him
the things he asked for.
“Well, Perry came back alone early
that afternoon. When he handed me the
rifle I saw that one shot had been
fired. I asked where his wife was and
he said, ‘The damndest thing just hap-
pened. We’d just parked out on the
road by the woods and were about to
start walking when Cora Belle remem-
bered that today was the day an inter-
est payment was due on a mortgage on
some property she owns. She decided
to go straight to Chicago to settle it.
So I drove her to Minoqua and put her
42
on a train. I’m going to Chicago by car
right now.’
“Then Perry asked for his bill,” said
Mr. Stone, “and he left right away
saying his wife would send Mrs. Stone’s
boots back by parcel post as soon as
she could. They never did send those
boots back.”
“Remember, Jack,” Mrs. Stone put
in, “I always did think it was strange
the way Mrs. Perry left for Chicago
dressed the way she was.”
“Well, I didn’t think anything of it
til now,” said the husband. “In our
business we run into a lot of strange
things during the summer tourist sea-
son.”
“If you ask me,” said Mrs. Stone,
“I don’t think he killed her. He seemed
so much in love with her. They never
had any fights.”
“Perry could have had two motives,”
explained the sheriff. “One: robbery.
Don’t forget that she was wearing two
expensive diamond rings and had all
the cash. Two: She might have gotten
wise and threatened to expose him.”
R. Stone turned the rifle over to
McGregor for testing at the Mil-
waukee police ballistics lab. There it
was confirmed that the fatal bullet had
come from Stone’s rifle. By test firing
the gun at various distances from a
target and noting the results it was de-
termined that the bullet that killed Mrs.
Hackett was fired from a distance of 40
inches from the back of her skull.
By then the case was receiving wide-
spread publicity. In response to news-
paper articles a woman came forth
who had a very interesting story to tell.
The woman, who gave her name as
Mrs. Perry, was a resident of Milwau-
kee and the only legal wife of George
Perry. It seems the missing man was a
bigamist twice over and an unscrupu-
lous cad if ever there was one.
- The Milwaukee woman said that all
through the 18 years she had been mar-
ried to George “Jiggs” Perry he had
boasted that he was a ladies’ man. The
wife said she would have left him long
ago had it not been for their three chil- ~
dren. When he had finally left her it
was a relief, she said. Now she was
filing a warrant charging desertion
against her wandering husband. 4
“I’m afraid your warrant will have
to wait,” the sheriff said. “He’ll have
“POLICE FILES
by this master of assault, robbery
: 4 of him. If you’re a man, this is
lis 4 | leads from men he had tricked
by BUD MAXWELL
i
HE had a shy, polite smile, for one thing, and for
another he had red-flecked green eyes and a
twisted, contemptuous mouth. The first expression
was the one he used to ingratiate himself with
women and get their confidence or pity, and the
second he wore after they had opened their doors
to him, and he repaid their kindness with treachery
and brutality. ct ae
The names he used were as phoney as the first
expression. He was Mitchell, sometimes, and at
others he was Conovor, Clark, O’Connor, Larson,
Lawson, Gevanio, or Giovenetti. Anything but his
real name. The story he told was a fake, too. It
varied a little as he told. it around the country, but
the general theme was that he was an ex-Boys’ Town
boy, down on his luck, or fresh out of money while
hitchhiking to get a new job. Sometimes, he said
he was the former Mayor of Boys’ Town, or else
a special emissary of Father Flanagan’s. :
It was always a pitiable yarn he had to tell, though
he was a good enough actor to tell it bravely, not
CVEK, George,
22
‘white,
e, electrocued: Sing Sing” (Bronx) on Bebruary 26, TDA is
° ‘
It's the begitining of the end of the line for the necktie strangler. New York
police unload much-wanted cargo from paddy wagon at the station house. — ~
|
CONFIDENTIAL IETECTIVE CASE,S , December, 1958,
ay
If you’re a woman, you must learn the techniques used by
and murder — so that you’ll never be taken in by the likes - a
must reading for you, too — because this monster got all his
~
ve ‘ : ’ a
’ CONFIDENTIAL DETECTIVE CASES
lan I. Nicholl, the
it) Solly Cheese-
“quad ear siren gud-
“vestigation,
Silverstein mut-
ito bore down on
tne darkness,
‘ uniformed patrol-
the car and strode
hief and the Detee-
“A big black sedan crashed a few
minutes ago into the railroad wall half
a mile down the way, Chief,” he said
breathlessly. “Officer Riordan phoned
in that three men got out of the car and
ran into the woods. The desk lieuten-
ant told me to report this to you as
there might be a connection between that
and this shooting.”
“QOUNDS like it,” Atwell said. He
turned abruptly to two patrolmen.
“The ambulance can take the bodies now.
Until further orders you two will watch
this trolley and not allow any one with-
out authority to get on board.” With a
nod of emphasis, he made for the Head-
quarters prowl car, followed by Silver-
stein and Mattes.
A quick ride brought the Chief and his
companions to a dark, dismal spot be-
neath the New York Central System rail-
road trestle. There, with its sleek, ex-
pensive body crumpled and battered
against the. abutment, the late model
Cadillac stood—a mute sign of the
miracle that had saved its occupants
from a dreadful death.
Already a number of Headquarters
men had responded to the box call of
Patrolman Riordan, who witnessed the
crash. At this moment a fingerprint ex-
pert was spreading his “dust” over the
steering wheel.
“They got away, Chief,” Riordan said,
mopping his red face with a large hand-
kerchief.. “I was walking down this way
about twenty minutes ago to make my
regular box call, when ‘all of a sudden
this thing comes whizzing from out of
-9W Of the
grief-stricken
SPER DET BOTY yr
(Above) District Attorney Arthur
Rowland prosecuted the slayers
NOVEMBER, 1940
“Hand over every one of them bags!” was the bandit’s command to the
horrified collector, Jacob Schumacker, pictured (above) with his wife
nowhere and smacks right up against
the wall. I ran toward the car and
three guys hopped out and beat it like
the devil into the thicket. I shouted
after them, even shot my gun in the
air, but they got away.”
Long skid marks, revealed by the rays
of searchlights, clearly indicated the rea-
son for the crash. The street through
which the car had come was a dead-end
road, leading directly into the abutment
and a dense thicket. Apparently, the
occupants had no knowledge of this and
by the time they discovered it were un-
able to avoid the crash.
The identification officer soon com-
pleted his task and declared that he had
obtained a number of good prints.
Atwell and Silverstein climbed into the
wreckage and peered around carefully.
It, was the latter who made the signifi-
cant find a minute later on the rear
floor.
“These,” he said grimly, displaying two
revolvers, two hypodermic needles and
an empty heroin cartridge, “aren’t used
by angels. They belong to the killers,
all right.”
Examination of the gun barrels showed
that two bullets had been recently clis-
charged from one of them, a .45 caliber.
This, doubtless, was the weapon respon-
sible for the death of Nicholl and Schu-
macker. Ballistics experts would decide
conclusively.
“Those poor trolleymen never stood a
chance,” Silverstein muttered bitterly.
“The killers were so ‘hopped up’ that
they'd have shot it out even with the
militia. There’s no stopping crooks lke
19
(Above, left) David DeMaio, one of the slayers, was trapped when his home was watched.
motorman, tried to defend himself with the iron control handle,
but the gunman’s bullet felled him.
(Center) Raglan I. Nicholl, the
(Right) Solly Cheese-
cake, the man behind the crime, thought he had eluded investigating officers
near-by stop. There was an interruption.
“Okay, brother, stop it right here.”
The cold, menacing command swung
Nicholl and Schumacker around to face
two gleaming revolvers. The men who
held them were pale and rigid. Their
eyes burned with a reddish glow.
“Hand over every one of them bags,
Pop, if you want to keep on breathin’,
Be quick about it!” The words jerked
from the bloodless lips of the thin man
like speeding darts. His companion, fat-
faced and brawny, wedged himself into
’ position where his gun served to keep
the startled passengers in their seats.
“You can’t get away with a trick like
this,” Schumacker said, recovering from
his surprise.
“Darn right you ean’t!” came from
Nicholl. As he spoke, he yanked off the
iron control handle and started to hurl
it at the gunmen.
“Fool!” the thin man spat. His gun
punctuated the exclamation with a roar
of yellow-blue flame. The handle clat-
tered to the floor and Nicholl, with a
wheezing gasp, fell—dead.
“Good lord, you’ve killed him!” burst
from the horrified collector. “You've
killed him!”
“Shut your crazy mouth and hand
over those bags!” the thin man snapped.
His nostrils were quivering and his taut
jaws throbbing.
UT Jacob Schumacker’s sense of cau-
tion and personal gafety had disap-
peared. Instead of heeding the murder-
er’s order and the insane passion in his
restless eyes, he lunged forward to knock
the gun from his hand.
“You crazy fool!” the killer shouted,
And again the revolver spat fire and lead.
Schumacker pitched forward, dying.
The burly bandit stepped over the
bodies and grabbed up the money sacks
while the thin man shook his gun at the
thoroughly frightened passengers.
“Let one of you guys make a single
squawk, and we'll give you a dose of the
18
same medicine!” he snarled.
With those words the gunmen leaped
from the car and into a black Cadillac
sedan, which suddenly shot forward and
disappeared in a haze of blue exhaust.
Ten minutes later the gloomy darkness
of the scene was illuminated by the rays
of police cars and ambulance lights.
While Medical Examiner Amos J. Squire
was busy examining the bodies of the
motorman and the collector, Detective
Captain Michael J. Silverstein, Chief of
Police George Atwell and Captain Her-
man Mattes were questioning the two
startled witnesses and directing inquiries
among the fair-sized crowd that had
gathered in the meantime, not overlook-
ing the chance that some one in the
crowd might have witnessed the crime
or the getaway.
“Nothing to be done for these two,”
the Medical Examiner announced short-
ly. “The motorman died instantly. Bul-
let in the brain. The collector must’ve
died within a minute. He got it right in
the throat.”
The officers learned the following facts
from the shaking passengers: First, that
a number of money bags had been taken
by the bandits; second, that the killer
was thin, dark-haired, hatless and white-
faced, and that his companion was a
couple of: inches taller, about five feet
ten, with a blotchy complexion, long nose,
lurve ears, bulky frame and a low brow;
thir’ that both men had escaped in a
larce blaek Cadillae sedan, which must
have been following the trolley all the
while the bandits were on board.
Nothing so dastardly had occurred in
Mount Vernon, or, for that matter, in
all of Westchester County, in many years,
and the veteran officers made no attempt
to conceal their concern, What perturbed
them more was the fact that there was
virtually nothing beyond the witnesses’
information to go on. True, there were
the bullets in the bodies of the victims,
hut they were not of any immediate
value.
The screech of a. squad car siren sud-
denly interrupted the investigation.
“Something’s up,” Silverstein mut-
tered to Atwell, as the auto bore down on
the scene from out of the darkness.
A moment later a uniformed patrol-
man leaped out of the car and strode
hurriedly up to the Chief and the Detec-
tive Captain.
Mrs. R. I. Nicholl,
slain motorman, was
widow of the
grief-stricken
MASTER DETECTIVE
“A big bla:
minutes ago i
a omile down
breathlessly.
in that three n
ran into the
ant told me
there might be
and this s
“GOUNE:
turned a
“The ambulat
Until further
this trolley a
out authority
nod of emph:
quarters pro’
stem and Ma
A quick md
companions
neath the Ne
road. trestle.
pensive bod)
against the
Cadillac ste
miracle th:
from a dress
Nlready
men had res
Patrolman |
erash, At t!
pert Was sp!
steering wh:
“They gor
mopping his
kerehief. “!
about twent:
regular box
this thing «
(Above)
Rowlar
NOVEMBER,
nu
informa-
vitnesses,
‘t every
he crime
k Cadillae sedan?”
Yes, sir, she did,
‘ta month or two
A couple of times
iving It away and
ious times.”
names of any of
all about. their
me of the garage
' the ear when it
', sir.”
‘nail regularly ?”
every day there
sometimes post
"or two,”
» learned. Silver-
men to check
Betty Carter’s
ey then began
1¢ neighborhood,
i@ Woman would
1 casy walking
“Seventies, near
‘hani¢ instantly
its owner,
‘cur, and the
here now. She
“o months ago,
or parking and
she was moving
a. Didn't say
irey, fixing the
\STER DETECTIVE
man with his sharp gaze. “Who are the
men who frequently used Miss Carter’s
car?”
The mechanic blinked and for a mo-
ment remained silent. The detective’s in-
sistent stare made him fidget uncomfort-
ably and say, “I don’t know who they
are, honest. I don’t know a single thing
about them.”
“Then what the dickens makes you
look so uncomfortable?” Carey wanted
to know.
“It—it’s—” the mechanic took a deep
breath. ‘Well, it’s because those men
looked like gangsters through and
through, and I don’t want to get into any
trouble in case that’s what they are. I
got a wife and kids to think about.”
“Well, didn’t, Miss Carter ever iden-
tify those men for you, or any one else
here, so that there’d be no questions
about their right to the car?”
“She identified them, sure, but not by
any names. She came in with them one
night and said to us that any time these
men came in for her car we were to let
them have it. That was all. Outside of
mumbling a ‘hello,’ those guys never said
a word to anybody.”
Carey produced a mug shot of Dopey
Marino. “Take a good look at this man,
then tell me whether or not you’ve seen
him here.”
The mechanic’s eyes widened with rec-
ognition. “Yeah—veah, that’s one of
(Above) Near the end of
the line at Dunham Avenue
and Sandford Boulevard,
Mount Vernon, the trolley
bandits committed their crime
—then escaped. (Right) Cap-
tains Silverstein (left) and
Mattes (right) with Frank
Daley after the thug’s capture
KOVEMBER, 1940
_bered the Cadillac.
’em, all right. As a matter of fact, he
was the only one who came regularly for
the car. Hach time he had somebody
else, somebody different, with him.”
HE detectives returned to Mount
Vernon, where they learned that Mar-
tin and Donahue had reported by tele-
phone that Dopey Marino no longer lived
at the address listed in the police files.
Shortly after this message Silverstein’s
man reported that. Betty Carter’s new
address was on East 114th Street in
New York City.
Again Silverstein, Carey and Captain
Mattes returned to New York. ‘They
found that the woman did live at the
new address, but. for the last three or
four days she had not been home. Ques-
tions about the woman’s car brought out
the fact that she kept it in a garage a
few blocks away.
A grimy-faced garageman | remen=
He stated that early
the previous night two men had taken
it out and had not yet returned it. He
had not seen Betty Carter for several
days, but did expect her in for the car
within the next day or two. She had told
him early in the week, he explained, that
she was going to be away for several
days, and that if “the same man calls
for the car to let him have it.”
“Tg this the one who called for the
car?” Carey asked, showing him the pic-
ture of Marino.
A single glance at it caused the man
to say, “By golly, it’s him, all right! He’s
the guy, Mister.”
“Fine,” Carey replied. “Now, you said
two men called for the car early last
night. I want you to describe that other
man.”
“T don’t think T can do that so good.
You see, | was pretty busy, and I didn’t
give the other fellow much attention.
‘All L ean remember is that he's thin
guy, didn’t wear a hat and had on a
blue suit.”
Incomplete as it was, the description
did fit the killer himself.
“Took here,” Carey said, “we're going
to plant a couple of men in your office
within the next half-hour; and the min-
ute anybody—man or woman—comes in
here about that car you're to signal the
officers. Got it?”
Not waiting for the garageman’s stam-
mered reply, Carey went to a phone
booth, called Headquarters and requested
two precinct men to come at once to
the garage.
Meanwhile, in Westchester, the two
witnesses to the murders were being
shown Gallery photographs of gangsters
and drug addicts, among which was one
of Dopey Marino. To the chagrin of
the police neither witness recognized him
as one of the bandits. This did strength-
en the belief that Marino was the get-
away driver.
The District Attorney’s detectives, un-
der command of Rowland and Thomas
Underhill, head of the Bureau of Crimi-
nal Identification, were ordered to co-
operate with the police in keeping a
watch all over Harlem, wherever dope
might be sold. It stood to reason that
an addiet of Marino’s type could not
long be without his necessary rations. If
he were still in New York, he would prob-
ably make some attempt to get the drug.
And the same thing applied to: the un-
identified addict.
Early the next afternoon, which was
July 22nd, 1925, the Westchester County
authorities were notified that Betty Car-
ter had been (Continued on page 54)
that except by killing them.”
Atwell was confident that these clues
would one day avenge the unlucky vic-
tims. He was a little uncertain of the
importance of the auto and its license
plates because his experience had proved
that almost every major stickup or mur-
der of this sort involved a stolen geta-
way car. In this case, too, the chances
were that the plates would be traced to
some innocent person.
“T want every patrolman here to scour
this thicket and the woods beyond for
those men or any sign of them,” he said.
“Tl] have a detail of precinct men join
you within the next ten or fifteen min-
utes. If those killers didn’t know anything
about this being a dead-end road, it’s
probable that they’re strangers in this
territory. If that’s the case, they may
still be in the woods, all tangled up in
their directions.”
Gx patrolmen, soon joined by twenty
others, made their way into the
woods, slicing the darkness with power-
ful flashlights. A hbalf-hour’s search,
though it failed to uncover any one of the
ears oceupants, did result in the im-
portant discovery of Jacob Schumacker'’s
six money bags, two of which were empty.
A little over a thousand dollars had been
abandoned in the remaining bags. Com-
pany officials later estimated that the
bandits had kept nearly three hundred
dollars in bills.
By four o'clock Silverstein learned
from the Motor Vehicle Bureau in Al-
bany that the Cadillac was registered in
the name of Betty Carter of New York
City. Her age was twenty-five, and she
wax described as being five feet, four
inches tall, and weighing 122 pounds.
Almost immediately after receipt of
this information came word from the
New York City police that the prints
found on the wheel of the car belonged
to a small-fry crook named John
“Dopey” Marino, whose most recent ad-
dress was in Harlem.
20
Crumpled and battered
against this railroad wall
(right), the Cadillac sedan
was found. Three men were
seen to leap from the car
and dash into the woods
“We'll ask the New York police to
join us in the investigation,” District At-
torney Arthur Rowland commented,
“since this appears to be the crime of
New York hoodlums.”
“P’m wondering about the car and the
girl who owns it,” Silverstein said
thoughtfully. “What in the world would
a young woman of her size and weight
want with a big, powerful machine like
that, anyway? I wonder if it’s really
going to turn out to be a stolen car after
all.”
“Meaning what?” asked Atwell.
“Just this. If that car wasn’t stolen,
then it’s a safe bet this woman is the
heart interest of one of those three
bandits.”
Atwell said drily, “And a criminal is
always two-thirds sunk when he mixes
women with his work.”
When Silverstein and two of his men
made their appearance later that morn-°
ing at the Manhattan residence of the
ear’s owner, Captain Arthur Carey, New
York’s ace homicide sleuth, was with
them. Under the Captain’s orders, Detec-
tives Thomas Martin and Stephen Dona-
hue, also of the homicide bureau, were
already seeking Dopey Marino.
The name plates under each apart-
ment bell showed no Betty Carter. Sum-
moning the superintendent, the officer
learned that the young woman_ had
moved several months before. Where,
he did not know. To other questions he
replied that she had lived in the apart-
ment for less than a year. She had
shared her two rooms with no one; but
very often she had men and women
visitors, who frequently came at night.
(Left) Acting on informa-
tion given by the witnesses,
detectives reenact every
circumstance of the crime
“Did she own a black Cadillac sedan?”
Silverstein queried.
The man nodded. “Yes, sir, she did.
She got it, I guess, about a month or two
before she moved out. A couple of times
I saw different men driving it away and
bringing it back at various times.”
“Do you know the names of any of
those men?”
“No, sir, I don’t.”
“Know anything at all about their
business ?”
“No, sir.”
“Do you know the name of the garage
where Betty Carter kept the car when it
wasn’t in use?”
“J—I'm afraid I don’t, sir.”
“Did she receive any mail regularly?”
“Oh, yes, sir. Nearly every day there
was something for her—sometimes post
cards, sometimes a letter or two.”
Nothing more was to be learned. Silver-
stein directed one of his men to check
with the post office for Betty Carter’s
new address.
He and Captain Carey then began
a canvass of garages in the neighborhood,
on the assumption that the woman would
not have parked beyond easy walking
distance.
At a garage in the mid-Seventies, near
Lexington Avenue, a mechanic instantly
recalled the Cadillac and its owner.
“Sure, I remember the car, and the
dame, too.. But it ain’t here now. She
came in one day, almost two months ago,
I think, paid up her bill for parking and
some gas and oil and said she was moving
to another part of town. Didn’t say
whereabouts, though.”
“Tell us this,” said Carey, fixing the
MASTER DETECTIVE
man with his
men who tt
ear?
The mecha
ment reniune
sistent stare |
ably ands:
are, honest. —
about them
“Then wh
look so Unce
to know,
yt —its-
breath, UW
looked — hike
through, and
trouble in ¢
gota wife
“Well, div
tify those u
here, so th:
about their
“She iden’
any names.
might and +
men came !
them have
mumbling :
a word to
“Carey p!
Marino. °
then tell n
him heres
The me
ognition
re
we ee
NIAGARA FALLS GAZET
THIRTY-FOUR PAGES NIAGARA FALLS, N. Y., THURSDAY, MARCH 14. 1957 THIRTY. FOUR PAGES
ee
Youths Held In Slaying H
S ees Assembly
Okays SPA
cord Land Bill
ALBANY, 2.—The Assembly |
r I Voied today to permit the State |
poe Authority to take land for:
‘the Niagara power project by |
‘direct appropriation.
‘. The measure was passed withou rT
'dedaie, 13 303, and sent to the.
€-controlled House Senzie.
By CLIFF SPIE
Gazette Staff W
Sanda vouths
lssing of 62-,ear-ald Wir
Under tbe appropriation method C suid ihe = DCE
) tb ropriali nei ss - ;
1¢ Republican Niagara | ner aa ice liaise,
land may be taken immediately | SORIA nen ine $19 7
assles. UPON payment io the owner of me \ P
f° } hat the egenzy consider ,
"), chairman of the *h#i the zgency considers to be a
fair price. Owners may sue for
ednesday that “I have beter terms through the state!
dl that ll make every- court of cla:ms but must turn over!
he property meanwhile. |
(The authority was given similar |
y that the committee! power in mie land for the:
Nicholas Dan Jr., 40 Webster '
Robert W. Miller, 43 Ganon
State Park, Nizgera Eglls and :
‘ Si Jawaenee’ cout soe: . ; “ laimed solution of the slaving with
s such. The bill has: Authority Chairmrn Robert! NICHOLAS DAN JR. ROBERT W. MILLER cee lay me * th
and Jacob Kk. Javits,’ Moses has said no land would — eS ; eee when
songressman. be appropriated for the Niagara
‘project unti! the agenci
Kacgnt's C ¢d hod cn
; ; gency bas . ’ wk > e e e ¥*as) foun 4 Pond at ce
ATO SORIOL “TNE licensed. to: devel Op the project. Shirt-Sleei e€ r ine Loos ¢ Port Day nt
aod wel! Bi he es The authority currendy is em- W ] H hion / ] e CIZEC entrance bp ' C:- tt
he same as t EPUB” Kowered to acqu re land for the ilther . ~ ‘esters mente) = ona
Go if they were in con- Niagara pro:ect or, y ty negou eC f e€ ere; .
ey said. He added, | el arCNin er ena Ga
FOR
FROM
SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT
: NIAGARA COUNTY,
ib OC: } LOCKPORT, N. Y.
NAME DAN, Nicholas Jr,
A-95 SEX Male COLOR White
ALIASES
CRIME Murder lst
DATE OF ARREST’ 3/14/57
PLACE OF ARREST North Tonawanda, N.Y.
CRIME
COMMITTED IN Niegara COUNTY
(City, Village or Town)
~" ARRESTED BY North Tonawanda Police Dept.
NAMES OF ASSOCIATES Robert MILLER
AGE 18 DATE BORN 6/25/1938
HEIGHT Sfern WEIGHT 155
EYES Blue. HAIR Brown
COMPLEXION Light BUILD Wed.
PLACE OF BIRTH North Tonawanda ,NY
NATIONALITY American
CITIZEN USA
OCCUPATION Grocery Clerk
SCARS AND MARKS Small scar inside
left fore arm. Right handed.
DISPOSITION LUV A Doon prt hh vo line 9. jong State of New York
Niagara County Clerk’ S Office’ om
YO AK) VEU lie! wtt fe ot abet 22
PREVIOUS CRIMINAL HISTORY
(LE OS
TEREBY CERTIFY
by certify that Tae ee eae
ido hereby pean given to me by of
as County as the net pr
a.
ZJithoraw TRE
the the defendant named hereon- 5
- a od eke
PSHCGEAL: =
= Special Depaty Cer!
a
DAN, Nicholas, Jr., white, elec. NYSP (Niagara), July 3, X9¥ 1958
goleveh TCUSPM gxUM MBEIS2¢4 203~426~1748
83.—Form 1-8 ee » =
STATE OF NEW YORK—DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTION . 14-59-05 *
SING SING PRISON
| DUI No, O2t3226 =X gs
“Nuze Nicholas Dan Jr bees No. 424093 cony Niagara®
aliases none
Term EXECUTION Date Sentenced Ou elad5” Date Received 6221-57 |
Crime Verda Murder ist Judue John Marsh Cuwsre - Supreme ma |
Criminal act Struck Wan. Knight w/ a tire dron & threw his Beey. in Niagara River &
ropbed him of his money a
Transfer
Discharge _ soi < oS
Date : OAs be :
£ Crimes *@L2= 57 aad 18
wae # Date of Birth 6=25~38 |
Time ne __.,
weight 5 nBe3Ak 2 Apt piu 28
‘4 Colt. ys” “|
Welyot 153 tbe.” of eyas bine
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Slit ar
Detective Captain Charles Arm-
strong: A postcard gave him
a lead to Gerry’s identity
The man’s voice had been toneless,
almost cold.
“Is this where you usually keep the
picture—on! the chair?”
“No. It Was in the bedroom. My
wife must have brought it out here to
show the person who killed her.”
In response to further queries Papas
said that when he came home he had
expected to see his wife sitting in their
cheerful living-room but instead the
room was dark and from the light in
the public hall he could see the table-
lamp lying on the floor. His first
thought was robbery but when he saw
a light in the bedroom he changed his
mind.
“T knew then that something terrible
had happened,” he went on, his voice
rising a bit. “I ran into the bedroom.
There my wife lay, her feet tied to-
gether and something around her
throat. I leaned down and didn’t hear
her breathe and I knew someone had
killed her. I shook her. I called her.
I said maybe there is still life in her.
But she didn’t answer. Then I rushed
downstairs.”
D - eiacegy beg big stroked his chin. “Did
you try to untie the thing around
her throat?”
Papas stared. Presently he said
slowly: “I don’t know.. Maybe I did.”
There was a little pause.
Armstrong suggested: “Your wife
expected a visitor today, didn’t she?”
“She did not.- She was going to
make some cookies for my birthday.”
The officer’s eyes went to a plate of
cookies on the tea-table. He baited:
“So you don’t think robbery was the
motive?”
“No. She must have been slain by
one of her friends when she resisted
an assault on her body.”
“Couldn’t a robber have done that?”
never have opened the door to a
stranger no matter what story he told
her. She always looked through the
peep-hole in the door before she opened
it. She was afraid of American men.
From motion pictures she saw in Alex-
andria she got the impression that most
of them were gangsters. One of her
friends must have done it.”
Papas’ unfathomable eyes sought the
picture again and Armstrong regarded
him with skeptical wonder. Was the
man deliberately trying to channel
suspicion in one direction and one di-
rection only? If so, why?
“How do you know one of her rela-
tives’ wasn’t visiting with her today?”
Armstrong challenged’ quietly.
Papas’ eyes lifted, glinted briefly.
“My ‘wife had no relatives in this
country. And very few friends. She
was timid about making friends be-
cause she did not speak English very
well.”
Pressed for a list of her friends
Papas hesitated, however. It developed
that all were members of the congre-
gation of St. Pyridon’s Greek Orthodox
Church.
“My wife taught Sunday school
there,” said Papas. “It was her only
interest outside of her home.”
The fur piece in the window came
swiftly to Armstrong’s mind. He per-
sisted. “You sure she did not have
any other friends?”
“T would have known about it if she
had,” Papas replied evenly. “I knew
everything that she did. She told me.”
Armstrong fished a bank-book from
his pocket. One of the detectives had
found it in Mrs. Papas’ dresser. Hed
found something else, too—the gold-
mesh bracelet that had been reported
missing. But the other jewelry had
not been found and Armstrong had
admonished the officer to leave the
bracelet in the dresser and say noth-
ing until developments warranted it.
PENING the bank-book, Armstrong
handed it to Papas. It showed a
$900 credit to the account of the Sun-
day school. It wasn’t necessary to ask
Papas if he’d seen the bank-book be-
fore. The way his jaw dropped plainly
indicated that this was one item at
least in his wife’s life which she had
not confided in him.
Papas shook his head slowly, said:
“I don’t know what that’s doing here.
She didn’t keep the accounts of the
Sunday school.”
Armstrong’s hand swept toward the
tea-table. “Aren’t these your break-
fast dishes?”
“A robber couldn’t have got in here,”
Papas said coolly. “My wife would
The police wanted to know how the killer had gained entrance to
the Papas apartment in this building, indicated here by an arrow
6 . aD—2
the living-room. The murderer’s wrist
and forearm had clamped like a vice
around her throat, jerking her head
back, immobilizing it. Thus held, she
had been unable to scream and had
threshed about futilely until she lost
consciousness.
It was an ancient method of over-
coming resistance, the Captain knew,
and it did not require much strength.
A woman could do it.
But what woman? Whatman? And
why? Was it the guest she’d been
entertaining at the tea table? Or some-
one who had entered after the guest
had gone? The robbery might have
been an afterthought. Or a deliberate
ruse to mislead the police. A “perfect
maid” had attempted that trick after
bludgeoning her Bronx mistress to
death with a baseball bat only last
October and only a few miles from
here. It was still fresh in the minds
»f the officers. Leah Rubin had been
the victim in that case and the killer
had been Betty Klempa. (The story of
this case appeared in the January, 1941,
issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES.)
“One side, please.” It was the police
photographer’s voice.
Frowning thoughtfully, the detec-
tives stepped outside while pictures
were taken of Mrs. Papas’ body in the
position it had been found. Their
avenues of speculation varied with
their individual slants but traveled
mostly along the routes covering an
“inside job.” They still were ponder-
ing the problem when most of them
trooped back into the bedroom.
Then Doctor Hochman turned the
body.
There was a murmur of startled sur-
prise. The detectives crowded closer.
True, Mrs. Papas’ wrist-watch, brace-
let and diamond were gone. But it
wasn’t this that fascinated the officers.
It was the necktie: binding her wrists.
Borten' Sy! le, TD.
To every official there, the necktie
fingered the criminal.
“The Raping Aspirin Bandit!” ex-
claimed Captain Armstrong. ‘He’s
turned into a killer!”
There was a relaxed silence. The
necktie was the bandit’s trade-mark.
At least now they had a definite sus-
pect for whom to hunt, though they
did not know his identity. Twice dur-
ing the previous month, to the knowl-
edge of the officers, the bandit had
struck in the Bronx. How many other
local women had been his victims they
only could guess. That there had been
others they did not doubt, for such
cases seldom are reported to the police.
Pride and shame usually seal the lips
of violated women.
In the two cases that had been re-
ported, however, the bandit’s technique
had been the same. He’d gained en-
trance to the homes of his victims by
pretending to be a friend of their hus-
bands. In each case he then had
feigned a headache and asked for as-
pirin to get the unsuspecting house-
wife out of the room while he hastily
“cased” her apartment. On her return
the bandit had choked her with one
arm while he stripped off his necktie
with his free hand to bind her wrists
behind her. He then had raped and
robbed her.
“Bring Papas in here,” directed Cap-
tain Armstrong.
An officer went out and returned in
a minute with a gaunt, elderly looking,
little man with sunken cheeks and a
clipped, gray-streaked mustache. And
an air of stony impassivity. His hands
were in his overcoat pockets. A news-
paper and a magazine were tucked
under one of his arms as though he’d
just entered the apartment.
Armstrong’s lips twitched irritably.
To the officer he whispered: “I meant
her husband, man. Her husband—not
her husband’s father!”
“This is her husband,” the officer
insisted softly.
Armstrong’s eyes widened, then nar-
rowed. Aloud he said: “Is that your
necktie, Mr. Papas?”
Without any show of emotion the
husband bent and examined the neck-
tie binding his wife’s wrists.
“No. It’s a cheap tie. I never saw
it before.”
PAPAS spoke decisively without trace
of accent. And at Armstrong’s nod of
dismissal, he turned and strode out of
the room with the solid assurance of a
successful businessman. The officers
stared after him incredulously.
Armstrong said: “Did he phone us
himself when he found her body?”
“No, the doorman phoned,” a de-
tective explained. “There is no phone
in this apartment.”
Armstrong snorted. A queer thing
that. A businessman without a phone
in his home. Turning to his men he
issued a few curt instructions, made a
careful check of the bedroom and then
decided he’d better have a talk with
the doorman. He found him at his
post downstairs.
“What’s your name?”
“Dillard Addeck,” replied the door-
man.
“What time did you come on?”
“One o’clock.”
Who Was the Raping Aspirin Ban-
dit? How Could Hundreds of New
York Detectives Bring the Case to
Its Mid-April, 1941, Climax After
He Killed the "Egyptian Princess’?
By Juan Shane
Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES
John Papas: “I knew .
droned: “Her husband, John Papas,
about ten-thirty. Her maiden name
was Catherine Goumas. She is twenty-
nine and the daughter of a well-to-do
publisher in Egypt. Her parents are
of Greek ancestry. Papas married her
in Alexandria, Egypt, in April, 1939,
and brought her to this country. Papas
has been in this country, himself, for
almost thirty years. He’s in the whole-
sale coffee business with his brother,
Aristide—”
“Anything stolen?” Armstrong cut
in.
“Yes, a gold crucifix studded with
diamonds and about fifty dollars that
Papas says she had in her purse are
gone. Also a silver combination ciga-
rette lighter and case that was on the
dresser. We don’t know yet about her
other jewelry. Papas says she was
wearing a four hundred dollar dia-
mond engagement ring, a gold wrist-
watch and an Egyptian bracelet of
yellow-gold mesh when he left the
house this morning but the body hasn’t
been turned over yet...”
He went on detailing the other evi-
dence that had been compiled while
.. that something terrible had happened”
Armstrong watched the Medical Ex-
aminer. Doctor Hochman, apparently
indifferent to fate of the jewelry, was
examining the woman’s mouth and
throat with more than cursory interest.
“What is it, Doctor?” Armstrong
queried. ‘‘Wasn’t she strangled with
that towel?”
Doctor Hochman straightened,
shrugged. “Suffocation was the prob-
able cause of her death but I think she
was unconscious before that towel was
knotted around her neck. Look at her
facial expression. She must have been
choked first and then placed on this
bed and tied up. Look here.”
HE Medical Examiner pointed to
several small contusions on the in-
side of the hapless victim’s parted lips,
and then to a deep, semicircular mark
under her right jaw just above the top
strand of the towel.
“That looks like a thumb-nail mark,”
he said.
The Captain nodded in agreement.
The mechanics of the crime were quite
clear now. Mrs. Papas, tiny and trust-
ful, had been grabbed from behind in
3
“Who was on before that?”
“No one. Before one o’clock visitors
have to ring an apartment bell and
talk on a house phone if they want to
get in.”
“Did anyone go up to Mrs. Papas’
apartment while you were on duty?”
“No, Sir.”
Armstrong considered this. Accord-
ing to the Medical Examiner Mrs.
Papas had been strangled not later
than two o’clock in the afternoon. Ap-
parently the killer had gained access
to her apartment before Addeck took
up his post at the door.
“After you came on did you recog-
nize anyone leaving the building as one
of Mrs. Papas’ relatives or friends?”
DDECK frowned, said: “Friends?
No-o. They seldom have visitors. I
wouldn’t know who they are.”
“When did you first see Mr. Papas
today?”
“Tonight, when he came home. He
went upstairs and in a minute he came
down again. He said he wanted to
show me something.”
“Was he excited?” Armstrong prod-
ded.
“No. He still had his paper and
magazine under his arm. I didn’t think
there was anything wrong. I followed
him upstairs. He opened the door and,
“Well, what?”
“Well, he pushed me in first and I
stopped to look at the lamp on the
floor. He said, ‘Not that. In there.’ He
pointed to the bedroom. I went inside
and I saw Mrs. Papas.”
“Did you touch anything?”
AD—2
Passaic
Montclair
Newark
Elizabeth v
0
The investigation spread through-
out the East—to every town in
which the rapist had been seen
“No, Sir. I came right down and
sounded the alarm.”
Detectives were going from door to
door quizzing tenants as Captain Arm-
strong went back upstairs: He paid
little attention to them. He was lost
in a gloomy reflection stirred up by an
annoying, small doubt.
His attention snapped alive, how-
ever, when he again entered the apart-
ment of mysterious death and saw the
slain woman’s husband standing in the
middle of the living-room staring mo-
rosely at a framed picture propped up
on a chair near the tea-table.
HE magazine and newspaper were
still tucked under Papas’ arm as
though he were only a disinterested
visitor; he was paying no attention to
the officers as they moved about, dust-
ing for finger-prints, probing, examin-
ing, taking photographs, making nota-
tions.
Armstrong approached him, looked
down at the picture. It was a group
wedding photo of Papas and his bride
and their attendants. Armstrong said
gently: “How long did you know Her
before your marriage?”
“Three months. I met her when I
went to Europe two years ago. But I
knew her family a long time before
that. Her eldest sister married a
cousin of mine.”
Armstrong glanced at him sharply.
~:
os
Wot pee JO
after the sex killing, Bryan and An-
derson entered a little restaurant
near Broadway and Temple Streets
in downtown Los Angeles. The pro-
prietor, an elderly Greek, admitted he.
had advertised for a cook on Novem-
ber sixth. “A fellow came in the af-'
ternoon and I hired him. He’s in the
back room now.”
The two officers stepped around the
little counter into the kitchen. There
could be no mistake about it. The
heavily built, apelike man bending
over the stove was Ray Dunn.
At headquarters Dunn readily ad-
mitted his identity, but denied any
knowledge of the horrible act. “I was
drunk. don’t know. I don’t know
anything.”
Pete West and Lereda Cowger were
brought in to face him. They were
positive they had heard Ray Dunn’s
voice warning them to keep out of
the store room.
Then Edwards and Bryan and An-
derson began to question the suspect.
“You met Emily Mackenson about
ten o’clock on the morning of elec-
tion day, didn’t you?” Edwards asked.
“Yes, I did.”
“You’d been drinking and you gave
her a drink.”
“T offered her one, but she wouldn’t
take it. She said she was supposed
to meet some friends later in the
afternoon.”
CRIME
DETECTIVE
For a moment the gaunt, mask-like
face seemed on the point of breaking.
“If every man had as good a wife
as I,” he said, “there would be no
single men in the world.”
Later Father George Masdiontonis
of the Greek Catholic Church and
Mrs. Masdiontonis were questioned.
They revealed that the young matron
conducted a Sunday School class, was
in charge of two Sunday School sav-
ings accounts, and was absorbed in
many social activities for the church.
Aristedes Pappas, the victim’s
brother-in-law, corroborated his
brother’s story that he had not left
the store during the day, but was able
to supply authorities with little else.
EANWHILE, the autopsy per-
formed on the following day en-
abled police to set a more definite
time on the killing. It was deter-
mined that death had occurred a short
time after luncheon. Undigested food
was discovered in the stomach of the
slain woman. Death had been caused
by strangulation and several of the
neck bones had been broken. No
sexual assault had been committed.
Scientific examination of the ob-
jects found in the apartment after the
murder revealed several fingerprints.
Some were found on the overturned
lamp base, and on the wedding photo-
graph, but, in each case, they were
badly smudged. However, of the
prints found on the wine glass, one.
showed up perfectly.
The bent nail file found under one
of the cushions of the settee led In-
spector O’Connor to send out an alarm
to hospitals in and around the city in
CRIME DETECTIVE
“Then what did you do?” Anderson
asked.
“We went down to the cafe and I
opened the door. We sat around for
awhile and I had some more drinks.”
Dunn admitted he had suggested
they go in the back room together.
“And when you got back there,”
Edwards charged, “you murdered her,
didn’t you?”
Dunn shook his head, “I don’t know.
I was drunk. I can’t remember.”
By Dunn’s own admission he had
been in the back room with the wo-
man. Skillfully Captain Edwards re-
constructed the crime.
From the moment he met the at-
tractive victim there had been only
one thought in Dunn’s mind. Desire
had wiped away all restraint. He
had taken the woman to the restau-
rant because he knew they would be
alone there. He had lured her into
the storeroom because it was a por-
tion of the building seldom entered
by anyone but the cook.
Then something had. gone wrong.
From a drunken, lecherous suitor,
Dunn had been transformed into a
sex mad monster.
There was no way to explain how
he had prevented her from making
an outcry. Probably the attack had
been so sudden, its effect so crushing,
she had been unable to call for help.
Ray Dunn had told two people of
‘99
his intention to commit suicide.
Surely this indicated that even in his
drunken stupor his subconscious mind
held a recollection of the horrible
thing he had done. The evidence of
the Teomen bottle, and the discarded
underwear, which had been identified
as Dunn’s, was conclusive.
On November 19th Dunn was
brought before Judge William R. Mc-
Kay for preliminary hearing. Deputy
District Attorney Joseph Carr read
the report of the autopsy surgeon. De-
tective Bryan told of the police in-
vestigation. Pete West and Lereda
Cowger repeated their stories. And
Ray Dunn was held for Superior
Court.
As he was led to the courtroom,
Dunn still insisted, “I was drunk. I
was drunk.” He was as though in a
stupor—this time inspired by re-
morse rather than liquor. He mum-
bled time and again, as though
beseeching unseen witnesses for an
answer, “Did I do it?”
When the evidence was heard, and
both sides had summed up, the jury
was not quite as hard to convince as
Dunn. They assured him that he was
indeed the sadist of the cellar, and to
drive the point home they found him
guilty of second degree murder.
Sentenced to serve five years to
life, he got an opportunity to ponder
the gruesome matter further.
LUST STRANGLER
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 21
the belief that its use as a defense
weapon by Mrs. Pappas might have
resulted in an injury severe enough to
require medical attention. The bottle
of aspirin tablets made detectives
lean toward the theory that Mrs.
Pappas had been the victim of the
“aspirin bandit” who had harassed the
neighborhood on recent occasions.
His method, police had discovered,
was to obtain entrance to an apart-
ment through some ruse and while
there, profess to be afflicted with a
painful. headache. When the kindly
housewife left the room to procure
the aspirin, the bandit would search
the apartment for some loot. He
would then tie up his victim, place her
on the bed and ransack the apartment.
Three such cases had been reported,
-but in each case the victim had been
left unharmed.
Meanwhile other leads were being
, thoroughly investigated by scores of
detectives. The brown necktie which
bound Mrs. Pappas’ hands was taken
to,every manufacturer of neckwear in
and around New York City in an
effort to trace its course through the
retailer to the purchaser. The finger-
prints were checked against those on
file arid a set sent to the Federal Bu-
reau of Investigation in Washington.
After three days of unremitting in-
vestigation the authorities admitted
they had made little or no progress in
their relentless search for the killer
of Catherine Pappas.
“We’re up against a stone wall,”
Inspector O’Connor summed up. “We
don’t even know the motive. It may
or may not be robbery because there
are still several articles missing from
the apartment. It’s still. pretty much
of a mystery to all of us.”.
GEVERAL days later, acting Cap-
tain Patrick F. J. McVeigh, in
charge of the Seventh Detective Dis-
trict in the Bronx, was at head-
quarters checking the reports of the
detectives engaged on the case.
He stopped abruptly and looked up
from his desk. Some recollection crept
into his mind of a rape case that was
similar in several details to the Pappas
case. The necktie used to bind the
victim; the ransacking of the apart-
ment which followed; the aspirin
which the victim’s assailant had re-
quested. Each factor seemed to point
to the same criminal. Though the at-
tacker was still at large, the police
had been able to obtain a fair de-
scription of him.
He moved quickly to gather the
records on the case. It had occurred
on November 12, 1940 in the Park-
chester section of the Bronx. Perhaps
there were other attack cases per-
petrated by the same criminal. He
quickly relayed his discovery to In-
spector O’Connor.
O’Connor and his men, acting on
the hunch, made a check of every sta-
tion house blotter in New York City
and from them uncovered 15 attacks
in which the circumstances resembled
those in the Parkchester case,
The entire Bronx detective squad
was spurred into immediate action.
Men were dispatched to interview the
victim in each attack. From them, the
detectives pieced together an accurate
description of the attacker—and, they
believed, the murderer of Catherine
100
Pappas. He was a powerful, hulking
youth, about 25 years old. He had a
scowling, pimply face; dark, chestnut
hair; long, dangling arms.
From the victims’ husbands, the de-
tectives were able to obtain a perfect
account of the methods he employed
to choose his victims. He prowled the
highways, generally along U. S. Route
No. 1 and New Jersey State Route No.
25, thumbing rides from iceeeraus-
looking autoists. He invariably pro-
fessed to be a hard-working youth,
temporarily out of employment. Play-
ing upon the sympathy of the driver
he was usually successful in obtain-
ing a “loan” of 25 or 50 cents—but not
without first asking the name and ad-
dress of his benefactor on the pre-
tense that he intended to return the
money as soon as he was able.
He learned from the driver the type
of employment he was engaged in
and the hours spent at work, thus
providing himself with the name and
address of a potential victim and a
knowledge of the hours when .she
would be most likely to be alone.
Later, he would make the call, profes-
sing to be-an old acquaintance of the
husband. Once inside, it was com-
paratively easy for the powerful, lust-
mad appist to overpower his victim,
bind her—often using his necktie—
ransack the house, and leave her
trussed and gagged upon the bed.
One of the police informants was a
man interested in boys’ welfare. He
had given the sex-crazed youth.a lift,
and in the subsequent conversation,
the criminal boasted of his position as
“Mayor of Boys Town.” When the
man expressed skepticism, he offered
further evidence by addressing sev-
eral cards to Father Flanagan at Lin-
coln, Neb., signing them “The Mayor.”
Recognizing the significance of this
information, Inspector O’Connor im-
mediately sent one of his men to
Lincoln to retrieve the cards for a
specimen of the handwriting of the
suspected killer-rapist.
ortified with a tangible descrip-
tion of: the youthful murderer, his
methods and his handwriting, O’Con-
nor summoned his men together at
headquarters on February 18, just two
weeks after the discovery of the bru-
tal murder.
“We've got something real to work
with now,” he began, “but we still
haven’t got the killer. From now on
it’s going to be just plain, hard, dry
police work.”
He instructed each of his men to
learn every item of the description
and) every curl and flourish of the
‘handwriting on the postcards. He
then mapped out a thorough dragnet
that was to start in the Bronx, stretch
out to every borough of New York
City and to cities as’ far north as
Maine and south to Georgia.
More than 125 detectives were
thrown into the hunt. Nightly, the
checked every flop-house, small hotel,
Y. M. C. A., and Salvation Army post
in the belief that the killer, accus-
tomed to constant traveling from day
to day, would not pay the weekly ad-
vance rate required in the better
hotels.
The proprietors were provided with
a description of the suspected. killer
and warned to be on the lookout.
All in all 35 cities in 6 states and
the District of Columbia were to be
visited and already a detailed word-
picture of the murderer had gone out
on the wires to the police of nine
states,
On February 25, while the inten-
CRIME DETECTIVE
sive man-hunt was at its height, the
New York police were informed by
Newark authorities that a woman had
been attacked in that city under cir-
cumstances’ strangely familiar to
those in the Pappas murder and the
other Bronx attacks.
Detectives hastened to Newark
where they interviewed the victim,
a 23 year-old, attractive houseWife.
The woman, Mrs. Virginia Barone,
said that the man had first come to
her fourth-floor apartment at 21 Camp
stranger that it would be a few hours
before her husband could get home.
“T left him in the living room and
went into the kitchen to wash the
dishes,” she continued, her eyes fill-
ing with tears as she recounted her
fearful experience. “He followed me,
talking all the while in a very con-
genial manner as he picked up a
towel to help with the dishes. Then
suddenly he jumped at me and
grabbed my throat. He took his hand-
kerchief and two of mine and gagged
Everett Rhodes hysterically embraces his wife, Asta, after she
is killed by gun that went off accidentally in his hands. ‘The
bullet missed their two-year-old child, Terry, by two inches,
A coroner’s jury absolved Everett after police arrested him.
Street, at noon on Monday, February
24th. She pictured him to be about
26, 5 feet 11 inches tall, and weighing
170 pounds. The description the police
possessed, they noted, described the
criminal as 6 feet tall, 25 years old
and 155 pounds in weight.
“When I answered the door, he
smiled and asked if my husband was
at home, saying that he used to work
with him,” Mrs. Barone related.
“When I told him my husband was at
work, he said he’d try to see him later
on this evening, but he didn’t return.”
The stranger had returned on the
following day and when she again
told him that her husband was not in,
he asked if he could “wait around for
a few minutes.”
Mrs. Barone said that she then went
downstairs and telephoned her hus-
band at the bottling plant where he is
employed. When her husband asked
who the visitor was, she could only
say that he would not give his name,
that he worked in Baltimore and
wanted his visit to be a surprise.
When Barone told his wife he could
not get home that afternoon, she re-
turned to the apartment and told the
me. He started to choke me with his
hands and then tied my wrists with
his necktie.”
In a quivering voice, broken now
and then by sobs, Mrs. Barone went
on to say that the intruder hurled her
on a couch and attacked her. Threat-
ening to choke her to death, the ter-
rified woman related, he ransacked
the apartment, snatching $3, the only
money in the house. After he at-
tacked her again he dashed out of
the apartment, cautioning her to keep
quiet and she wouldn’t get hurt.
HORTLY after this most recent
attack, detectives searching the
flop houses and hotels of Newark
came within two hours of meeting
face to face with their quarry. At one
of the Salvation Army posts, workers
reported that a man who answered
the description in every detail had
left their quarters just two hours be-
fore the officers arrived.
In response to the alarm sent
throughout the east it was learned
that the attacker had operated suc-
cessfully in other cities. Terrified
housewives in New Haven, Philadei-
rs OSH
ee
“
10 Qt
bed PLO WM 4 SY
4
phia and Baltimore had reported at-
tacks, and in each case the circum-
stances bore a distinct resemblance
to the technique practiced by the
hunted criminal.
In New York City, detectives
checked and rechecked the seemingly
endless places where the wanted
rape-killer might have spent a night.
They posed as hotel clerks, porters
and handymen in an untiring effort
to unearth some telltale evidence that
would present a clue as to his where-
abouts.
On March 4, one month after Cath-
erine rhe red murder, Detectives Fred
Durant, Edward Gillon and Edward
Mahon were in the mid-town section
of New York City checking the hand-
writing in registers of the various
hotels of the neighborhood.
It was shortly after 9 p. m. that
they entered the Mills Hotel at 36th
Street and 7th Avenue. Durant took
off his hat and coat and went behind
the counter as if he were one of the
hotel’s clerks. Gillon,and Mahon be-
gan a check of the hotel records,
meanwhile watching closely all who
circulated about the hotel.
A short time later a tall, husky
youth entered. The detectives were
startled by his striking resemblance
to the man they were hunting. His
height, his powerful build, his pim-
pled skin, the green coat and the
yellow shoes he was wearing—all
tallied with the description they had
memorized so well.
“T’d like to have room 1266,” he said.
“T’m sorry, sir, but that room is
taken,” the clerk replied. “I can give
you 866.”
The man agreed and paid the 50
cents deposit. As he left the regis-
tration desk, the detectives followed
him. He noted their movements and,
instead of going to the room, he went
downstairs to a parcel room, got a
brown Boston bag he had left during
a previous stay, and returned to the
registration desk. He wanted to check
out, he told the clerk.
The clerk returned his deposit and
he started to leave when the detec-
tives approached him.
“Hold on there, buddy,” announced
Detective Gillon. “We have informa-
tion that you’re carrying a gun.”
The detectives went through his
bag and his clothing but found noth-
ing. Gillon then instructed him to
write his name on a piece of paper.
The man wrote “Jerry Mitchell.”
Meanwhile, searching his clothing for
the gun, the officer came across a
draft registration card in the name of
CRIME
DETECTIVE
port. I requested them to check their
records and let me know to whom they
had recently sold machine tools
stamped “B 1.”
It was only 30 or 40 minutes before
they called me back, but it seemed
like that many years. They told me
that the symbol had been used to
identify a lot of straight shank tap-
pers, which are. used for tapping or
cutting threads in metal nuts and
bolts. They had sold 40 of them since
CRIME DETECTIVE
George Cvek. They checked both
handwritings with the specimen they
carried. They proved to be the same
in every characteristic!
That was all they had to know. The
long, tedious search for the killer of
retty Mrs. Pappas and attacker of at
oer 15 other women seemed at an
end.
The detectives took Cvek to Bronx
headquarters and District Attorney
Foley, Deputy Chief Inspector O’Con-
nor, and various other high police
officials were called in to question the
suspect.
Cvek insisted that he knew nothing
of the killing, nor of any of the at-
tack cases. One after another of the
rape victims were brought to the sta-
tion-house and after each positively
identified him as their assailant, he
weakened and admitted the attacks.
However, he remained steadfast in
his denial of the Pappas killing.
Meanwhile, the man’s fingerprints
were taken and turned over to police
experts for comparison with those
found on the wine glass in the Pappas’
apartment. :
Shortly afterward, while the au-
thorities were trying to obtain a con-
fession, the east pant expert called
Chief Inspector O’Connor and ex-
claimed, “That’s your man!”
Confronted with the convincing evi-
dence of the fingerprints, the killer-
rapist made a complete confession of
the murder of Mrs. Pappas.
| GOT in by telling her I was a
friend of Mr. Pappas. She fell for
it and invited me in,” the sullen youth
began.
“We talked for a while. Then she-
got out something to drink, and we
talked some more. She told me she
had been making some cookies for
her husband’s birthday and offered
me some. We had the cookies with
some coffee and I smoked some cig-
arettes. She was: on the sofa. I sat
beside her and later on I slipped my
left arm around her neck and pulled
her head back.”
Cvek talked easily with no trace of
remorse or excitement as he _ re-
counted the sordid details of his crime.
“Then with my right hand I re-
moved my necktie and tied her hands
behind her back, She screamed once
before I could gag her and I had
bu grab her by the throat to quiet
er.”
He picked her up, carried her into
the bedroom and placed her on the
bed. Calmly, Cvek concluded his story
by saying that it was then he dis-
101
covered she had stopped breathing.
His crime netted him $43 in cash, a
diamond ring, a cigarette case and a
gold crucifix. He pawned the articles
in a Canal Street arcade and received
$25 for them.
When reports of the capture had
been circulated throughout the east,
several new and unreported attacks
perpetrated by the killer, were
brought to light. Edward Wagner, of
Philadelphia, told of an attack upon
his 20-year-old wife. Wagner was
one of those who identified the con-
fessed killer. He had given Cvek a
lift at Elizabeth, N. J., and later
bought him a meal. Unfortunately he
gave him the address of the Wagner
home in Philadelphia. Three days
later the attack occurred.
Examination of his previous record
revealed that he had been arrested
seven times before, serving peniten-
tiary terms in Pennsylvania, for lar-
ceny, parole violation and _ various
other comparatively minor offenses.
He was born and raised in Harris-
burg, Pa., and while still in the care
of his parents, was an_ incorrigible
thief, stealing small articles of all de-
scriptions until they were forced to
turn him over to the local police. The
23-year-old killer came to New York
in 1939 and it was then that he started
his reign of terror, hitch-hiking back
and forth throughout the east.
On the morning of March 3, about
12 hours before Cvek was captured,
another Bronx murder was discov-
ered. Mrs. Elizabeth Jensen, 34, was
found strangled in her basement
apartment at 507 E. 179th Street,
about one and one-half miles from the
scene of the Pappas killing. A man’s
necktie had been wound tightly about
her neck. This and several other as-
pects of the case seemed to link the
crime to Cvek, but, under preliminary
questioning, he merely waved his
hands and said: “At the proper time
I can eliminate myself from that.”
At the arraignment on March 7, in
Bronx Magistrates Court, half an hour
after the Bronx County Grand Jury
returned an indictment charging Cvek
with first degree murder, Magistrate.
Michael A. Ford turned to the pris-
oner and spoke directly to him.
The magistrate sternly said: “Well,
Mr. Cvek, you’ve started on your
way. And after District Attorney
Sam Foley gets through with you,
and you are transferred to Sing Sing,
just tell the warden that if he is
shorthanded and needs somebody to
pull the switch, to send for me and
T’ll gladly do it.”
DOUBLES IN HORROR
+ CONTINUED FROM PAGE 35
’
«
January, 1937, and supplied me with
a list of almost a score of factories in
and.around Northern New Jersey who
had purchased such tappers.
We began a thorough canvass of all
these plants. Our aim, of course, was
to find two men in one of those fac-
tories who (a) had access to the tap-
pers and (b) who answered the de-
scriptions obtained from their victims.
Simultaneously, we went through
our files for all known sex perverts
and had the latest victim examine all
mug shots, hoping she’d be able to
identify her assailants from among
them. Not a single one even remotely
resembled the boys who had attacked
her the night before.
Then, almost as if to taunt us with
our failure, they struck again! That
same Friday night they assaulted a
little 9-year-old girl in North Arling-
ton, a few miles east of Belleville.
Chief George Shippee of the North
Bea
rays down New York City’s
towering skyscrapers, seven
million people breathed the crisp
February air—prelude to the com-
ing Spring.
But for dark-eyed Kitty Pappas,
Spring would never come.
In her modest Bronx apartment,
on that fateful Tuesday of Febru-
ary 4, 1941, a strange scene was
unfolding.
Kitty Pappas, gentle, devout and
29, sat stiffly in her own easy chair
and smiled timidly. On her lap was
a cup of coffee. She was sipping it
nervously. She took a cookie from
the plate on the coffee table in front
of her.
“Another cup of coffee?” she
asked.
The young man seated on the sofa
across from her shook his head.
“Some brandy?” she said.
“Yes. I'll have some brandy.”
Kitty Pappas poured a glass for
her visitor and another for herself.
She nodded to him in a silent toast
as he lifted the tiny glass, his large
hand covering it completely.
“You were asking about my mar-
8
A the bright sun slanted warm
Y
ruined my life and violated my home.
Cvek talked readily, admitting at
least. 15 assaults on various women,
ay fessed to the strangle slaying
of ;, Catherine Pappas of New
Yor There he had made the mistake
of leaving his fingerprints on a wine
glass. Mrs. Pappas had been mur-
dered just six days before the assault
on me.
At the
certain he
resent time, officers are
as assaulted at least twice
CRIME CONFESSIONS
as many women as he has admitted.
They believe his attacks ranged along
the Atlantic Coast from Maine to
Georgia.
George Josenh_Cvgt will pay for
his numerous crimes. And I am thank-
ful now that Eddie had the courage
to face the police and .tell them of
our part in the terrible drama.
That, too, is the purpose of this
story. It isn’t easy to submit a sordid,
intimate happening to the scrutiny of
CONTINUE
the public. But if I can warn only
one woman or one man; if one daugh-
ter or young wife will be spared the
ordeal I endured, it will be well worth
while. :
Never again will Eddie “give a lift”
to a hitch-hiker. Never again will I
offer a “handout” to a bum at our
door. A six-inch chain bars the open-
ing now—and it is always locked. We
have learned our lesson, but at ter-
rible cost.
FROM PAGE
sentence. I braced up when he read
the verdict.
“One year to life,” he said. The
next day I was on my way to the
penitentiary.
It was in March, 1915, that I entered
Joliet as a common convict, a mur-
derer, they called me. And as I walked
handcuffed through the gate, I
thought of that morning when I'd
looked for a job in the Ohio prison.
And now I really was in such a prison
—maybe for life—for a crime I didn’t
commit.
I told my story to the prison chap-
lain one morning soon after they had
locked me up. He told me I should
do my best; that I should obey the
rules and live in hope. Right then I
decided that I would be a model pris-
oner. Perhaps some day I’d get a par-
don or a parole.
They put me to work in the prison
tailor shop. I tried not to see the bars
and walls. I tried to think of my-
selfsin some other shop, following my
tj earning my living. But what
re), mother? What would become
of ner?
I couldn’t bring myself to write to
her. What would she think of her son
in prison as a murderer? I wondered
how she’d live now without money
and the thought of her nearly drove
me mad. But it seemed better that
she should never know what had be-
come of me.
For four years I worked away in the
tailor shop. And then one day the
A
warden sent for me and said he was
doing me a favor. I had been a model ©
prisoner, he said, so I would be trans-
ferred to the prison farm.
That meant more liberty and I was
glad. Men on the farm were trusted.
Everyone likes to be trusted, even a
convict. There were times that we
weren’t even guarded.
I came to like the work. With it
went chances to earn a little money.
Prisoners expecting guests on Sun-
days paid me a little to press their
clothes. Soon, perhaps I could send
my mother something.
Months passed and then a year.
Time and again I asked for a parole.
They told me I had a chance, that I
deserved a break. But each time they
turned me down. It began to break
my spirit.
Then came Labor Day, 1920, the
turning point in my life. It was warm
and sunny. There were 50 of us work-
ing the prison farm—without a guard.
I glanced at the blue sky overhead.
Then my eyes caught sight of the road,
winding off into the distance. That
moment it came to me like a flash,
though I’d never thought of it before.
I dropped my hoe and ran! :
Over the hot, dusty road I sprinted,
looking back occasionally, dropping
into a clump of brush when I thought
I saw someone after me. But no one
followed. I was free again at last.
I came to a small town and I won-
dered what would happen there.
Would anyone recognize me as a fugi-
UNWRITTEN LAW
| Upheld by the unwritten law, R. L. Hawkins, seen with his mother,
weeps for joy as a jury in Los Angeles, Calif., acquits him of the
charge that he killed Clinton N. Thompson, 23, whom he trapped
in a bedroom of his Glendale home with his wife, Winnie Jean
Hawkins, also 23. The slaying climaxed his unexpected arrival.
WINS
* darted into a doorway.
tive? Had I been missed? Had the
prison sent out an alarm?
True, I was dressed in civilian
clothes. No one wgre the prison uni-
form on the farm® But the sight of
people made me shudder.
I tried to look unconcerned. I
walked leisurely, looking straight
ahead. Somehow, I thought everyone
was staring at me. It seemed as if
they were talking about me as I
passed.
And then again I was on the open
road. Machines drove by. Occasion-
ally I got a lift. I passed more towns;
then put up in one of them to spend
the night. I locked the door of my
little room and wedged a chair against
the doorknob.
What a night I spent. Footsteps
terrified me. I heard voices and my
blood ran cold. Time and again I was
sure they were at my door. Instinc-
tively, I pulled the covers over my
head and closed my eyes. But sleep
was impossible. that first night away
from Joliet.
I tried to think what was best to do.
I couldn’t disguise myself. I couldn’t
change my German accent. But at
least I could change my name.
The name of Strom flashed through
my mind. I’d be Herman Strom from
now on—a new name and a new life,
but for how long I didn’t know.
Morning came at last. I dressed and
went to breakfast. In the little res-
taurant I grabbed the newspaper, try-
ing not to show my nervousness. And
_ there it was—in the middle of the first
page—an account of Herman Spreit-
zer’s escape from prison. I could feel
my pulses pounding.
That night I reached Chicago. A
big city, I thought, would be safer
than the little towns. I could lose
myself in the crowds. People would
be too busy to think of one lone fugi-
tive in their midst. But I was more
terrified there than I’d been before.
I spotted a policeman on the cor-
ner. He dug his hand into his pocket.
Handcuffs for me, I thought, and
I took an
elevated car. The conductor stared
at me. I was sure he recognized a
prison breaker. People were reading
their evening papers. I wondered
whether they were reading about my
getaway.
How long could I go on like this? I
tried to think that time would over-
come it; that I’d forget. Had I known
then of the years to follow, that I’d
bear the cross for 20 years, perhaps I
might have considered turning back
or giving myself up to the law.
VE=t day I pulled myself together
and walked into a little tailor shop.
“I want a job,” I said, “and I’m not
afraid of work.”
“Who are you?” demanded the
tailor.
“Herman — Herman — Herman
Strom,” I’ stammered.
“What’re you afraid of?” he snapped.
I thought my time had come. But
he gave me a job. I worked there for
six weeks.
There were times when I could for-
get. At others I got the jitters. ‘SSome-
thing urged me to move on, where or
why I did not know.
41
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place in my mind. “That smell
Mrs. Ray’s room!” I exclaimed.
40
turned to my office from town, I no-
ticed that a faint smell of ammonia
still was in the room. It was a sickish
Something clicked
ose choking spells she had at
night—it was ammonia!”
Hatchett and Fudge stared at me.
“He couldn’t kill-her with ammonia!”
Hatchett exclaimed.
“Tl bet you he didn’t know that.
The stuff has a vile smell. He tried to
smother her to death with it when
she was asleep. That’s why she had
the choking spells. When she’d wake
up in the morning the smell would
still be in the room, but not strong
enough to be recognizable.”
Instead of getting my sleep that
night, I lay awake tossing and fret-
ting. I would have wagered my life
now that Molly Ray had been mur-
dered by her husband, but there were
several pieces of the puzzle missing.
Ever since we brought Hollis in,
deputies had been canvassing the
drugstores in an effort to learn where
he might have obtained poison. No
one was able to recall selling him
even ordinary rat poison.
Several times my mind came back
to the business of Hollis standing in
the thicket, signalling. Had he an
accomplice waiting for his signal that
the deed was done? Suppose that he
had not been waving. There were
other reasons why a man might lift
his arm. To strike— To throw some-
thing.... I could hardly wait for day-
light, so I could go speeding to the
Ray home. Hazel greeted me wor-
riedly, ““Where’s dad? Is he in town?”
“Yes.” I motioned toward the brush,
“Y want your wedding ring and your
diamond first,” he ordered. “I can
pawn them.”
Remorselessly, he jerked the rings
from my finger. The initials inside the
wedding ring displeased him. “But I
can file them off,” he decided. “And
now... .”
Tx hours later, numb and weak, I
scarcely realized what was happen-
ing when he grabbed the scarf I had
knitted for Eddie and tied my hands
tightly. Then he gagged me. Vaguely
I wondered what new torture he was
devising. I didn’t realize that the
ordeal was over, that I had escaped
with my life.
The apartment was ominously quiet
after awhile. I looked around. The
attacker was gone; I was alone.
I went to work on my bonds, then,
Fortunately, the scarf I had knitted
for Eddie was of wool and stretched
easily. Finally I managed to free my
hands and pull the hateful gag from
my mouth.
Staggering to the head of the steps
I called frantically for a neighbor boy
who often ran errands for me. His
.eyes widened as he glimpsed my di-
sheveled appearance and obvious dis-
tress. “Get Eddie,” I said faintly. “Tell
him to come home.” The boy was off
like a shot and I went back to the
apartment and locked the door.
Behind the securely locked panel I
began to regret my hasty action. Al-
ready I could picture the screaming
headlines, the salacious descriptions of
assault. I couldn’t stand it...I
dn’t!
mind worked furiously, seeking
a way out. No one dared know my
pitiful secret. Not even Eddie. He
would be worried when he received
my message but would attribute it to
my condition. I would tell him I
wasn't feeling good, and let it go at
that. I never felt more miserable in
my life.
CRIME CONFESSIONS
“Hazel, show me where your father
was standing that day when you
thought you saw him waving to some-
one.”
She took me to the spot.
For perhaps 30 minutes I combed
the ground inch by inch, and when I
found what I was looking for I was
elated but not particularly surprised.
A bottle, two-thirds full of liquid. A
hasty examination showed there was
enough strychnine in that bottle to
kill a half dozen people!
Now we were ready to tackle Hollis.
We decided to take him on a tour of
the surrounding towns with us as we
searched for the place where the
strychnine had been bought. Enroute,
we grilled him mercilessly. “You
killed Molly, Hollis. You were in-
fatuated with the girl in Carolina.
Made her think you were a big shot,
that’s why you used the bank station-
ery. Your wife kept complaining
about your frequent trips down there.
You wanted to go back there to stay,
but you were afraid that maybe
Molly would get suspicious. So you
began to plan to kill her. First you
tried to smother her with ammonia.
You were afraid to do anything that
would leave marks of violence. You
were desperate. You decided on
strychnine and you took out a burial
policy to save yourself expense. You
poisoned her, Hollis.”
“It was the sausage,” he said calihly.
“Likely it was tainted,” I said. “It
made you a little sick, too. You gavé
her the strychnine in the effervescent
you gave her to drink. A whooping
big dose, Hollis. You killed her. That’s
why you were willing to go off and
leave Hazel.. You were pretending
about the chicken thief.”
“You’re crazy as_ hell,”
calmly. “I didn’t kill her.”
ees day we travelled that part of
the state, stopping at every drug
store. At each store the answer was
the same. No one could remember
having sold him poison.
“You’re wasting your time,” Hollis
said doggedly. “I never bought any
poison,”
Our search finally ended in Hector,
a small town about 65 miles southwest
of Marshall. We walked into a little
drugstore and asked the druggist our
wearying question, “Ever see this man
before?”
“Sure, once.” His answer brought us
to rigid attention.
“What did he buy?”
“Strychnine, I think,” came the
reply. “I can look in my book and
make sure.”
“All right,” said Hollis calmly, “I
bought some strychnine here. I was
going to use it to kill rats with. When
Molly got sick and died, and all those
infernal rumors started going around,
I was afraid someone might blame me,
so I threw the bottle away.”
“Why did you drive 65 miles just to
buy rat poison?” 9
“I was passing through here and I
happened to think of it.”
That was all he would say. We took
him back to Marshall and put him in
jail. Then we began to make plans for
exhuming the body of Mrs. Ray. Sud-
denly Captain Hatchett snapped his
fingers. “I’ve got an idea! Have them
bring in Ray. I’ve got a hunch here’s
where we get our confession!”
They brought Hollis in. He looked
he. said
weary and dejected. “Now, what?
Can’t you let me get a little rest?” he
demanded.
“I’m afraid there won’t be any rest
for you,” the captain told him. “We’re
going out to the cemetery to dig up
the body of your wife, and we want
you to help us.”
Hollis Ray’s face was ghastly. “No!”
“Then come along.”
Suddenly Hollis collapsed into a
chair and put his hands over his face.
“All right,” he moaned. “I'll tell you.
I killed her.”
His confession was a sordid and re-
volting tale of a middle-aged man’s
infatuation with a woman many years
his junior, and his desire to be free
to go to her. We heard him tell how
he had despaired of killing gentle
Molly Ray by untraceable methods
and had seized upon the excuse of
giving her medicine for her stomach
pains. He related that he planned to
go to Carolina immediately after the
funeral, but the buzzing of the back-
woods grapevine had upset his plans.
Although Hazel Creakman had been
romantically involved with Hollis Ray,
she had known nothing of his mur-
derous plan, we learned.
Upon exhumation an autopsy re-
vealed traces of enough strychnine to
have killed Molly Ray instantly.
Hollis Ray went to trial in the fall
term Of district court, 1937. He was
convicted and sentenced to death in
the electric chair. Just a few hours
before the time set for his execution
‘his attorneys won a new trial for him.
Tried again, he was once more con-
victed, and in 1938 he was sentenced
to life imprisonment in the Arkansas
State Penitentiary. —
BEAST MAN'S VICTIM
Desperately, I patted my hair into
place and adjusted my clothing. My
fingers shook when I answered Eddie’s
frantic knock on the door. I was far
from composed, but maybe Eddie
wouldn’t notice. With fumbling hands -
I opened the door and fell into Eddie’s
arms.
“Kit, Kit!” he cried hoarsely. “What
happened? What's wrong?”
I slumped in a chair and sobbed
brokenly. “Oh, Eddie. I’m so glad you
came.”
Eddie dropped on his knees in front
of my chair. His face was white and
drawn. “Kit! Your eye! Why, it’s all
black!”
My secret was out now! I had for-
gotten about the blows that had stifled
all my resistance... There would be no
satisfactory explanation for those
bruises save’ the truth.
Eddie’s face was gray when I
. finished telling: him what had oc-
curred. Only his eyes blazed. “I'll kill
him,” he swore. ‘T’ll hunt him down
like a snake and smash the life out
of him!”
. “Eddie, wait!” I had to make him
listen now. Never could I face the
publicitv that awaited me if the story
were known.
“No one must know of this, Eddie.
Not the police or the doctor or any-
one. I—I couldn’t live, if anyone knew
what happened.”
For the first time since our mar-
riage, Eddie refused to grant me my
wish. “There’s a doctor on the way
over, Kit,” he explained evenly. “And
I telephoned for mother. I didn’t
know what had happened. The kid
was excited and crying when he came
for me and I thought maybe... .”
“That’s why we must keep our
secret,” I begged. “No one must ever
know.”
“You're wrong, Kit.” Eddie was a
man now. “There are other women
and girls in this world. We've got to
bring this thing out in the open—not
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 13
let it fester in the dark like an evil
sore. I have an idea you aren’t the
first victim of this fiend. The tech-
nique he used took practice. He’s got
to be stopped. I’m not ashamed of
what happened to you. If he had killed
you I think I would have wanted to
die. But I would be ashamed to live
with myself if we didn’t go to the
police and tell them what happened
here today.”
Eddie went to the police. When
they saw the bruises on my face and
heard our physician describe other
injuries I had sustained, they set to
work.
Reporters called at the house. They
were very kind. “We’re going to pub-
lish this story fully,” they promised.
“We want to keep the public aroused.
When this fellow is finally caught, we
. want him to get all that he deserves.”
Letters and cards of condolence
oured in with every mail. Father
lanagan, the originator of Boys’
Town, sent one of the first messages.
My attacker, he was certain, had
never been a member of his group.
But the police made sure. They
checked every possible angle. We
could help them but little. Eddie told
the story of our Sunday night drive.
But there were no fingerprints on the
car. Even the dishes he used when I
cooked his dinner had been washed
before he revealed his true purpose.
Only then did we realize how little we
had actually learned of our passen-
ger’s true identity. He had a sister
in Carolina, he had said. He knew
some people in Trenton. But he had
not told us his name.
N the third day after the attack, I
lost my baby.
Meanwhile, as the days passed,
every newspaper carried accounts of:
other women who had been similarly
deceived and violated. According to
the stories, my description of my as-
sailant tallied with that given by
other victims. In each case, the young
man gained the confidence of a wo-
man, and then savagely assaulted her.
A net was spread out over ten
states. Officers watched closely the
operations of the suspect. Each time
a new case came to light, the location
was carefully noted. The criminal
seemed to be following a fixed pat-
tern. All of the, crimes were com-
mitted within a few miles of National
Highway No. 1, leading from New
York to Florida. Apparently the
hitch-hiker plied his evil trade along
this road. ;
From the composite pattern formed
in this manner, officers felt sure they
could predict the approximate loca-
tion of the next assault. They: closed
in on Newark, N. J., confident their
man would be found in that vicinity.
They were too late, however. The
suspect struck and left—leaving an
peer eats ravished woman behind
1
m.
Through the long days of searching
police had managed to obtain samples
of his fingerprints. In addition, he
had a peculiar method of writing. No
one knew his name, but detectives
were set to the task of checking ho-
tels and flop-house registers in the
hope of running across a signature -
written in the same odd way.
The job was a tremendous one, It
is a tribute to the police of Phila-
delphia and New York, as well as the
various state police agencies, that the
chase finally ended some three weeks
rr on Monday night, March 3,
Le
George Joseph Cvek, 23, of Harris-
burg, Penn., was the much sought
criminal. He refused to answer any
questions, however, until detectives
brought Eddie to New York to
identify him. Then he broke down
and confessed. Only the fact that I
had been discharged from the hospital
a few days before spared me the or-
deal of facing the monster who had
GATLOGLA
a aoa
as TRANGE—there’s no answer.”
Twice, tall, hollow-cheeked John Pappas
~had rung the downstairs bell to Apartment
3C at 1035 Grand Concourse, New York City. It
was ten-thirty o’clock on the night of February
4th, 1941, and he waited for the automatic lock to.
~be released. : ees es? eaten.
“Maybe the buzzer is out of order,” suggested the
doorman, Dillard Addeck, as he let the 54-year-old
Greek-born grocery importer into the lobby with
his own key. ;
“Perhaps,” said the latter. He walked along the
thick pile carpet, past the colorful murals of the
city skyline to the elevator, and got out at the third
floor. It was his birthday and he was certain that
his wife would be waiting to have wine and cakes
with him, according to the custom of their people.
Pausing at the apartment, he rang the bell. This
-time he heard the deep-toned “bong” of the electric .
chime. Then all was still.
Frowning, he tried the doorknob. To his sur-
prise he found the door unlocked, and the apart-
ment in darkness. “Kitty!” he called.
__ A“Study in Criminality’—this man
~ whom veteran police officials
. Yregard as the most evil and
-, vicious killer of all time.
- By RICHARD
————.,
HIRSCH,
Suta Sute *oete feqytum feSr10en SyTAD
uo
[2
(* 2461/92
With lie after lie this man gained the confidence of his victims—
then struck. At left is knotted towel which bound Mrs. Pappas’ feet
SUSTOLOO
ted
There was no reply.
He ran his hand along the wall, found the switch.
As it clicked, the soft glow of floor and table lamps
spread over the living-room directly ahead of him.
For a moment he could scarcely comprehend what
he saw. In the middle of the floor, lying sideways
on the blue carpet, were his wife’s brown and white
sport shoes. Near them was an overturned lamp
from one of the end tables that stood to the right
of the couch. On the low coffee-table was a collec-
tion of dishes, partly filled wine-glasses, a platter
of half-eaten cakes and an aspirin bottle. An arm-
chair in the far corner of the room held the silver-
and-glass framed photograph of his wedding which
John Pappas and his wife had planned to
celebrate his birthday on that February
night. But when he returned home . .
~~ “bt tthe ViVbitiis—
a age then struck. At left is knotted towel which bouhd Mrs. Pappas’ feet
had taken place in Alexandria, Egypt, in 1939.
All of these things registered in a swift glance of
his dark eyes, but they did not make sense. It was
his birthday and the wine and cakes were meant
for him.
™ HE STEPPED farther into the room, saw a thin
line of light beneath the bedroom door. Entering,
his expression became grim.
Stretched out on the bed was his dark-haired
young wife. Her silk-stockinged feet were bound
tightly together with strips of a towel. Her once
soft white throat was now dark and swollen under
constricting bands of tight-drawn linen. In her
mouth was stuffed a man’s
soiled white handkerchief.
Shakily, Pappas ap-
proached the bed,
stretched out a finger,
touched her cheek, felt the
stony chill of death. He
stepped away, realizing
that the matter was one
for the police to act upon.
He hurried downstairs to
Superintendent Rudolph
latter, who was listening
to a news broadcast, won-
dered who his late-evening
caller might be. When
he saw Pappas’ parch-
ment-colored face, how-
ever, he knew that
something tragic was
afoot. “Come,” was all
that the bereaved husband
was able to say.
When Alberda reached
3C, he took one look at the
bedroom, went to the
house telephone and called
his daughter. “Get the po-
lice,” he told her. “There’s
been a murder.”
Pappas stood in the
Alberda’s apartment. The-
doorway, holding his hand over his eyes. “It’s a
shame,” he kept repeating. “A shame.” .
Within-three minutes after the call went in, a
radio patrol arrived at the scene, followed shortly
afterwards by an ambulance from Morrisania Hos-
Pital, whose Surgeon, Dr. James Allen, certified
the body as “dead on arrival.”
Then the detective squad cars started coming,
bringing Deputy Chief Inspector John J. O’Connor,
the Borough Commander, and Captain Charles J.
Armstrong, Commander of the 7th Detective Dis-
trict. As the latter officials took charge of the situa-
tion, the complex machinery attendant. upon a
homicide investigation was brought into action.
Of _particular_interest to the authorities “was the —=
condition of the bedroom, for the dresser drawers
were open, and the contents strewn about in dis-
order. A half dozen pocketbooks were scattered on
the floor and the bed. Some were open; some closed,
and one, of white kid, was stained with blood.
The bedroom window, which faced a fire-escape,
was quickly examined and found to be locked, as
were the other casement windows in the apartment.
However, in the dinette, between the Venetian blind
and window, a silver fox fur was found hanging
and the police wondered whether it had been put
there as a signal to someone in the street: PRR
Neither the doorman nor the superintendent had
any knowledge of a visitor to the apartment, but
a survey of the available means of entrance. and
exit showed that the service entrance, which led
from the side street to the automatic Passenger
elevator, had been open and unguarded from: seven
in the morning until seven-thirty at night: ~:
Mm “WHILE WE’RE waiting for the Medical Exam-
iner,” said Inspector O’Connor, “I want some of
you men to search the roof, fire-escape, areaway,
cellar and incinerator for clues. And notify the
Technical Research Bureau that we need = some
fingerprint specialists.” oe)
Then,- going to Pappas who was seated despair-
ingly in the living-room, the Inspector told him that
it would help matters along if he would give an ac-
count of his own movements for the day. 2 3% 2473
Pappas nodded. “I left the house at ‘nine. this
d the
rning
>» in-
1ation
idden,
that
t ued
on
glad
on if
iwire
ntclair,
rolled
ked up
took
after
ipove
aving
Mit-
ind we
garding
inging
) were
sent to
ent to
to Pat
1S un-
rd the
Who
thiking
Flan-
riunate
ee ee
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incident, but I think. it’s doing me a
lot of good to find out about things like
this now. Iam just about ready to go
to church. I am staying with some very
nice people in the mountains. It’s a
regular vacation place. I am actually
swimming in their pool, I'll be seeing
you in a couple of weeks.
Gerry.”
. Studying the two postcards, Armstrong
was quick to perceive that in both Father
Flanagan’s name’had been misspelled with
a double n and an i, and that Mitchell
fashioned his r’s in the shape of v’s. The
latter point was the officer's first tangible
clue, no matter how small and apparently
insignificant. Deciding to follow it up, he
sent Detective William O’Brien to Maine
to try to get a line on the bogus mayor
of, Boys Town. Then he dispatched De-
tective Valentine Stewart to contact
Brooker and Stadden, the two men who
had written to Father Flanagan.
Questioned by Stewart, Brooker remem-
bered Mitchell well. According to his
story, he had picked him up in Waterville,
Maine, on August 13, 1940. Mitchell had
told him that he was on leave from Boys
Town to visit his sister, who was recover-
ing from an automobile accident in a hos-
pital at Holton. He had said further that
he had lost his suitcase containing his
clothes ande money but was reluctant to
contact Father Flanagan for assistance.
Brooker had driven Mitchell to New
York, stopping’overnight at a tourist cabin
on Route 15, just over the Connecticut
line.
In New York, Mitchell had tried to
secure a ride from one of the drivers of
the Pyramid Trucking Company, located
at 12th and West Sts. but had been turned
down. Then, at Brooker’s insistence, he
had sent a wire to Boys Town from Penn
Station, asking for aid. Brooker had paid
for this message. They had waited to-
gether for three hours. but no answer
came. Then on some pretext Mitchell .had
slipped way and disappeared. That was
the last Brooker had seen of him.
Armstrong digested this report carefully.
It gave him three additional leads to work
on: The hospital in Holton, Maine; the
Connecticut tourist cabin; and the drivers
of the Pyramid Trucking Company. He
immediately assigned men to cover these
angles.
Stewart interviewéd Mr. Stadden on
February 11. Stadden also remembered
Mitchell well but had suspected from the
first that he was a phoney with his talk
about Boys Town.
Two things had struck him forcibly at
the time: Mitchell mended his own under-
wear and was excessively polite. “That
looked like institutional training to me,”
said Stadden.
Stewart nodded. “He’s probably a grad-
uate from a reform school.”
HE next day, February 12, Armstrong
T and his men were alerted by a flash
from the police in Philadelphia. The
strangler-rapist had struck again! This
time his: victim had been Alice Korn,
a young housewife.
Several days before, Mrs. Korn and her
husband had given Mitchell a. lift from
-Newayk to Trenton. During the trip, Mit-
thell had given them the same song-and-
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Foley, Armstrong laid it on the line to
his men. “He’s killed twice here in the
Bronx within a month, and Lord knows
when he’ll stop unless. we get him,” he
said. “I want every cheap hotel, rooming
house and dive in New York covered—
and I want them covered now. It’s cold,
and he’s got to hole up someplace. The
tunnels, ferries and bridges are all cov-
ered. He can’t slip through any of them.
All the bus terminals and railroad stations
are covered, too. He can’t escape that
way. He’s bottled up here in New York.
I know he’s one man in eight million, but
we've got to get him now. Get going.”
To detectives Fred Durant, Edward
Mahon and Edward Gillen fell the assign-
ment of covering the Mills Hotel at Sev-
enth Avenue and 36th Street, a hostelry
where men can get a night’s lodging for
fifty cents. They arrived there a little after
six o’clock. Even at that early hour the
lobby was crowded.
The officers were dressed in shabby
clothing and mixed freely with the men ;
without attracting attention; but they didn’t
spot their quarry. Then they contacted the
manager, identified themselves and scan-
ned the register. Of the 1600 men listed
there was no Mitchell. Nor did the hand-
writing of any of the signatures reveal the
peculiar ‘r’s made like v’s’ characteristic
of the wanted man’s penmanship. }
“It’s still early,” said Gillen to the man-
ager. “We’ll stick around a while.”
Unobtrusively the three officers took up
positions in the lobby from which they
could command unobstructed views of all
entrances, stairways and the elevators. The
hours dragged by — seven, eight, nine
o’clock. And then, a few minutes before
ten, the detectives tensed in their chairs.
Swinging in through the front door
came a strapping young fellow in a green,
pin-striped suit and tan shoes. He had
long powerful arms. His hands were big,
and his fingernails were cracked and dirty.
But more important, his nose bulged at
the base, and he was a dead ringer for
the fellow that Mrs. Case had sketched
several weeks before.
He moved straight for the desk, and
the officers drifted over after him: He had
just slipped a half a dollar on the counter
and signed the register, “G. Koslosky,”
when Gillen tapped him on the arm.
“Hiya, Gene,” said the officer. “I never
thought I’d run into you here.”
The suspect turned slowly, coolly took
in the three officers who had closed in on
him and shook his head. “You got me
wrong, buddy,” he said. “My name isn’t
Gene.”
“No? Then what is it?” asked Gillen.
“Cvek—George Cvek. I’m from Harris-
burg, Pennsylvania.” .
“But that’s not what you signed here,”
said Durant, studying the register.
“I never give my right name in a place
like this,” said the suspect.
Right name or not, there was no ques-
tion about the handwriting in which he
had scrawled it. The' penmanship exactly
matched the writing on the postcards that
“Mitchell” had sent to Boys Town.
Unable to believe their good luck, the
officers hustled ‘Cvek out of the hotel. He
was driven swiftly to Captain Armstrong’s
office in the Bronx. There his fingerprints
were taken, and the lab men went to work.
Ten minutes later they reported. “The
prints of this Cvek guy matched the prints
we lifted from the wine glass and aspirin
bottle,” the head of the lab told Arm-
strong.
Armstrong now issued a series of terse
orders. “Call the D.A.” he said to his
assistant. “And hustle out a squad to
round up witnesses here in the Bronx, in
Newark, Elizabeth and Passaic. And con-
tact Philadelphia and Washington.”
ITHIN a half hour the captain’s office
was crowded with an array of high
brass including District Attorney
Foley and his assistant, Edward Breslin.
Confronted with all these big shots, Cvek
tried to put on an act.
“What’s this all about?” he asked.
“A little matter of murder,” said Arm-
strong grimly. “We'll begin with the mur-
der of Catherine Pappas, here in the
Bronx.”
“You're nuts,” said Cvek: “I never
heard of the dame.”
“Whether you heard of her or not,”
said Armstrong, “you killed her, tied her
up with your tie and strangled her with a
towel. The fingerprints you left on the
wine glass tell us that.”
For three hours Cvek stubbornly denied
his guilt. But when the first of his robbery
and rape victims arrived from New Jersey
and identified him, he began to weaken.
All in all, over the next 12 hours, he was
identified as the elusive rapist by no fewer
than eight women.
“We've. got it all over you like a tent,”
said Armstrong. “Your fingerprints, your
handwriting, eight identifications—and we
haven’t heard from Washington or Phila-
delphia yet. Whether you talk or not,
you're going to burn. But if you’re smart
you'll come clean. It'll make it easier and
shorter.”
“Okay,” Cvek said calmly. “Give me
something to eat and then I'll talk.”
Coffee and sandwiches were brought to
him. Puffing on a cigarette, he began his
confession.
“IT hit the Pappas place: on the blind.
I rang the bell, she looks through the peep
hole and I gave her a fast line about
knowing her husband. Before I know it
I’m inside the house and she tells me it’s
her husband’s birthday—that’s why all
the sandwiches and wine.
“I.wanted to’get a look around the place
so I told her I had a headache and asked
her if she had an aspirin. She went and
got a bottle, and when she came back, I
put my arm around her neck. She went out
like a light, and then I tied her up and
gagged her. While I was carrying her
to the bedroom I realized that she was
dead. She went out just like that. I didn’t
mean to kill her.
“But she was dead, so I had plenty of
time to go over the apartment. I took
what I could find and then got out of
there.”
Cvek stated further that he had disposed
of his loot to a jeweler on the Bowery.
As to his past record, he admitted that
he was a reformatory school graduate but
stated that never before had he been seri-
ously involved in crime. .
Once he started talking, it was hard to
. Shut him off. He was. proud of his ex-
ploits and boasted of them in great detail.
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dance about being an ex-mayor of Boys
Town. He had been very polite, and on
leaving the car in Trenton he had asked
the couple’s address, promising to send
them a souvenir from Boys Town when
he returned there.
He had returned that morning to deliver
the souvenir in person. The souvenir was
an. ugly one — rape and robbery. Mrs.
Korn had been alone in the house at the
time. Recognizing Mitchell and suspect-
ing nothing, she had admitted him. Feel-
ing sorry for him she had fed him, given
him cigarettes. He repaid her kindness
by brutally striking her, gagging her with
a handkerchief, binding her hands behind
her back with one of her husband’s neck-
ties . . . then having his way with her.
Later he ransacked the house for valu-
ables and before leaving, stripped the wed-
ding and engagement rings from his vic-
tim’s limp hand.
Armstrong scowled as he read the de-
tails of this new crime. There was no
question at all but that it had been com-
mitted by the man who had killed Kitty
Pappas. Though the captain and his men
had been sweating’ for 24 hours a day
since the Bronx woman had been slain,
the elusive rapist was still riding high.
Stewart was now contacted and in-
structed to report to the Philadelphia po-
lice and ‘to cooperate with them in every
way on the Korn case. “If Philadelphia is
lucky enough to nab him,” said Arm-
strong grimly, “remember, we want him
up here in the Bronx for murder.”
An hour later, O’Brien called in from
Auburn, Maine. He had located a tourist
camp where the signature of Gerry Mit-
chell appeared on the register. As on the
card sent to Boys Town, the r’s were
formed like v’s.
“Good,” said Armstrong. “Keep work-
ing at your end. How about his sister in
the hospital?”
“No luck,” replied O’Brien. “No record
of her. The sick sister was just part of
his line.”
“Too bad. But keep on digging.”
Convinced that Mitchell was a drifter
who specialized in hitching rides from his
future victims, and considering the fact
that the Wagner crime had taken place
in Philadelphia, Armstrong now assigned
a dozen plainclothesmen with their wives
to patrol U.S. Highway 1 from Philadel-
phia to New York.
They were to cover this highway in
their private cars, drifting in and out of
PHILADELPHIA, PA.—Morley King, 50, is shown with Federal agents after he
was arrested in a Philadelphia.restaurant where he was employed as a cook.
He is ‘charged with slaying his wife in California, (See story on Page 14.)
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‘all filling stations ‘and eating places in
the hope that Mitchell fib ag approach
them for a ride.
The first result of this etal was a con-
tact with Mrs. Jack Case of Hightstown.
Several days before, she had given:a lift
to the bogus “mayor of Boys Town”.
Fortunately Mrs. Case. was an artist, and
she was able to draw a detailed sketch
of the elusive strangler that closely
matched the description already in the
hands of the police.
Armstrong had copies made. of this
sketch and distributed them to all his men.
“He should be easy to spot with that mug,”
he said. “And I’m convinced that he’s
somewhere between here and Philadelphia,
along Route one. Go get him before we
have another murder on the books.”
But it was easier said than done. And
during the next week Mitchell struck no
less than four times, first in Washington,
D.C., on February 17; then in Newark,
New Jersey, on February 24. In all cases
his method of operation was identical. He
had a routine that worked and he followed
it religiously.
His last victim was Mrs. Roberta Mur-
phy. When she had recovered sufficiently
from her ordeal she was taken to Newark
police headquarters. Here she methodi-.
cally went over the photographs in the
rogues gallery. After an hour she identi-
fied a picture of George Collier as the
man who had attacked her.
According to the police record Collier,
a local citizen, had been arrésted 11 times
and convicted on three occasions. The
police knew him well. He was imme-
diately picked up, placed in a police lineup
and again identified by Mrs. Murphy.
But Collier protested his innocence.
There was some mistake, he insisted. Since
his last release from prison he had gone
straight. More important, he had an alibi
for the time of the crime; and the alibi
stood up in every detail. He was released.
URING the next week Mitchell struck
three more times, with cunning ruth-
lessness — in Passaic, Elizabeth and
Jersey City. Never once did he vary his
technique. Grimly, in the Bronx, Arm-
strong studied the large. map on which
he had spotted with pins the locales of the
killer’s attacks. “He’s coming closer to
New York all the time,” he told his men.
“Put a double watch on the tunnels,
bridges and ferries. He'll strike in New
York next. We’ve got to get him before
he kills again.”
All along the line the dragnet was
tightened. But with devilish cunning Mit-
chell slipped through it.
For, on March. 3, Mrs. Elizabeth Jen-
sen was found dead in her apartment at
507 .East 179th Street, in the Bronx. She
had been murdered. A kitchen towel was
knotted tightly around her ankles. Her
hands were tied behind her back. And
around her throat a necktie had been
twisted so tightly that. the purple flesh
stood out in ridges,
Once more the bogus mayor of Boys
Town had left his trademark behind him.
Once more he had robbed, raped—and for
the second time within a month, had mur-
dered.
That afternoon, after a conference with
Inspector O’Connor and District Attorney
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of him, and had a sudden recollection
| of the way Lemieux would sit staring
at Pauline. He told Danes about it,
and when the chief checked he found
that Lemieux hadn’t shown up for
work that day. He wasn’t at his room-
ing house, either. When Danes ex-
amined Lemieux’s record and found
that he was an ex-con who’d served
time for a manslaughter rap that was
really a murder, he ordered every
available officer to join the search for
the missing couple. A frantic APB fol-
lowed, and Danes personally talked to
‘police officers in neighboring New
England states.
The police didn’t catch up with
them until two days later, on Decem-
ber 17th, and by that time, it was too
late. The car was discovered on a
lonely lovers lane near the Andover
Country Club, and the first thing the
police saw on looking inside was the
body of Joey Lemieux. He was on his
knees, his head on the seat, in the
front of the car, and there was a hose
connected to the exhaust pipe leading
through the floorboards into the car.
-had done its work. ;
The engine had long since stopped,
out of gas, but the carbon monoxide
fh 3. E
Vay 2 by : « f
ce ice ¥
> o ‘ *
ft ie “A <
La _
be +
Pais a
ays
fae Q ae 4
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But where was Pauline? There were
no footprints leading away from the
car, nor was there any indication that
she’d been inside the car. When they
opened the trunk, however, the police
found her. And on her throat were
the black and blue marks of the We
strangler.
O the police, this was the tip-off
that one more woman had rebuffed
Joey Lemieux. They figured that he’d
lured her out of the house on some
pretext, told her of his love for her,
and when she turned him down, he
killed her. This was only a conjecture
of course, a police theory.
But what wasn’t a conjecture was
that for Joey it was only a matter of
time before sudden death overtook
him. If he hadn’t arranged the details
himself, the police reckoned, it seemed
inevitable that either the state or some
irate husband would have gotten
around to doing it for him.
me -M AN: OF i :
» 100; CRIMES.
: (Gontinued: front pige:27 yes
He had stayed at Stadden’s house and
had left a sweater and underwear
there, and though ultra-violet tests re-
vealed initials on the shorts, the police
discounted them upon recalling that
part of Mitchell’s racket was to steal
clothes.
A WEEK after the Pappas killing,
in Philadelphia, Mitchell appeared
at the door of Mrs. Catherine Wagner,
of North Fifth Street, and asked
where Eddie, her husband, was. He
had been told to come to the house,
the man said, and wait for Eddie if he
hadn’t arrived yet. Mrs. Wagner let
him in. Once again, the same pattern.
Only this time, he subdued the woman
and tied her with two neckties he
found on back of the door, stuffing
a handkerchief into her mouth. As he
had with a number of his victims, he
tore the wedding and engagement
rings off Mrs. Wagner’s finger after
ransacking the house.
Now, after police talked to Mrs.
Wagner, Philadelphia police sent out
an alarm for the man who had given
her his name as John Mitchell. As
the “necktie killer” began to get more
publicity in the papers, a woman in
New Jersey reported that a youth
answering his description, but giving
his name as Eugene Connor, had
called at her house five times since
the previous Easter, sending post
cards to her when he was away. Po-
lice got hold of the cards, saw the
tell-tale r’s, and knew that Mitchell
and Connor were one and the same
i
man. The woman’s house was put
under surveillance by local police.
EW York detectives, meanwhile,
were not staying close to home in
their hunt for the Pappas killer. They
had five patrols roving U.S. Highway
No. 1, from Philadelphia to New
York, teams of detectives in un-
marked black cars looking for hitch- .
hikers, and stopping in at diners, fill-
ing stations and motels, to see if any-
one had seen this Mitchell guy.
No luck. And then, on February
17th, a pretty blonde matron opened
the door to a young man who told a
plausible story about having the same
unusual name as her husband. She
wound up tied in bed, after having
been criminally assaulted. As soon as
she reported to the police, they knew
that the necktie strangler had moved
south. The dragnet was seined wider.
Three days later, only a few blocks
from the blonde matron’s, he gained
admittance to another house on a
“friend of your husband’s” ruse, but
the woman was suspicious and went
to the phone to check. Meanwhile, the
intruder fied. f
On February 24th, he was in New-
ark where he told a young married
woman that he had come from her
husband’s “home office” to pick up
some reports. He said he would wait.
The woman’s husband, a salesman,
had recently gotten a new territory,
so the story rang true. But before
an hour had gone by, she became one
of the cases in the history of the
elusive attacker. In one of the Wash-
ington cases, and this Newark case, .
it might be mentioned, the pasty-faced
youth requested aspirin.
The latest victim went with police
to headquarters and went through the
Rogues Gallery, finally picking a pic-
ture which she identified as her at-
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vuut of the letter all that
s detect, the police solic-
letter a last microscopic
it might have held. An
pewriter Company, H. P.
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chine used.
r. Sutton reported on the
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said.
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typed by the fore-
finger process,’ Mr.
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ised the impressions
ire uniformly heavy
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pressions as to almost
perforate the paper. This
shows that the writer was
hesitant and deliberate.”
SKED outright if he
could identify the ma-
ine, the expert said that he
id. Hence, it was written
the official police pro-
ime: ‘Look out for the
riter!”’
st police developments in
arch for the kidnappers
vith the technical arrest of
instructors at the Harvard
here Robert was a student.
Itless composition of the
police said, did suggest
of an educated person and
unwilling to omit the
vervisors from their suspi-
istructors R. P. Williams
Mitchell, teachers of Eng -
taken to a nearby police
d questioned by Lieutenant
hey vigorously denied every
f guilt. At the same time,
“yy students implicated one
~"--~ed acts of perversion.
logical motive for the
‘tion of murder rather
he (Continued on page 110)
DALEY, Frank, wh, elec NY (Westchester) June
DeMAIO, David, wh, elec NY (Westchester)
May 19, 1926
1930
(TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES, August, 19x)
Interior view of the trolley car in which the bandits killed Inspector Jacob Schumacher and Motorman Raglan Nicoll with-
out giving them a fighting chance—the first two to die in this case in which for every $40 obtained by the gunmen a human
: life was sacrificed !
There is hardly a case in criminal history that shows more
forcibly than does this amazing case, the UTTER FUTILITY of
the criminal’s belief that he can beat the Law—to say nothing
of the APPALLING AMOUNT OF BITTERNESS AND SUFFER-
ING that follow his acts of violence!
By CAPTAIN MICHAEL I. SILVERSTEIN
Head of the Detective Bureau, Mt. Vernon, N. Y.
As told to GUY
Crack... Crack... two shots from an automatic sounded
above the rumbling notse of a trolley moving on an uneven track.
Two men, one of them the motorman, slumped to the floor of the front
platform. The passengers were horrified and sat motionless in the
spell of this dastardly deed.
The trolley came to a lurching stop. Three men leaped out into
the darkness. The roar of a powerful automobile motor was heard
outside the trolley. The sound died away in the distance. The rematn-
' ing passengers jumped up to run for aad.
The most cold-blooded murders ever known in the southern part
of famous Westchester County had been committed within a minute
ore the eyes of a few horror-stricken passengers and the murderers
had escaped.
About twenty minutes later a man-hunt began that would rival
fiction and which today, nearly five years after, has not ended. It was
| to be one of the toughest assignments on record but the Police of Mt.
Vernon, N. Y., are finally rewarded.
A. STEWART, JR.
TROLLEY of the Third Avenue Railway System with
A Motorman Raglan [. Nicoll, a World War veteran,
at the controls and accompanied by Jacob Schumacher,
kindly veteran inspector of the trolley company,
left the New Rochelle terminal promptly at 2:30 A.M. on
the morning of July 25th, 1925, bound for the terminus of the
Interborough subway at 24Ist Street and White Plains
Avenue at the northern end of the Bronx.
The trolley on this trip early every morning was known
as the “Owl.’’ On this particular trip the ‘‘Owl’”’ never com-
pleted its run. The murders of the motorman and inspector
prevented it. .
The two trolley men were killed without being given even a
fighting chance for their lives. The crime proved to be one
39
2h, 1926 &
Pens , wie GN tg. IN ot h ¥ y Bie bg
DALY, Frank, white, elec. NY (Westch ;
° ester) 6-2-1926; and DeMAIO
David, elec. NY (Westchester) 8-19-1926, Be: :
Lb ye te eet ROE Oe A EM
peor re ee)
Pica to, the Supreme Court to |
Stay the Execution to Ald
| DeMalo Falls.
Saye’ Daly's ‘Story That the Other
Condemned Man Was Innocent We
‘Teic be Delay His Scath.
ue bias
' B9ecial to The New York Times.
OSSINING, N. Y.,-Juse %.—Frank
Daly,: con ef the mupfer ef In-
specter Jacéb Schumacher and Motor-
man Raglan Nicolls of the Westches-
ter Electric Raliway and robbing them
of $1,000 In New Reohelle bet last,
was put to death at 11 o’ tanight
in the electric chair at Sing
Daly’s exectition followed an unsuo-
rag effort made earlier in the day
at ite Plains to secure in the 8u-
questioned in regard affidavit
he made on Ménday edmitting he shot
the two men, but asserting that David
De Maio, also convicted of the crime,
took no part in it.
Daly said in the effidavit that a
man named Dominick Tremarco took
the part attributed to De Maio, and
that De Maio’s attorneys sought a
stay of Dely's execution tn the “oes
that the questioning of Daly would
help them to obtain a new etal, al-
ready denied once, for their ciient.
Supreme Court Justice Tompkins re-
fused to grant the stay, holding that
De: Mato had been conclusively ved
guilty and that Daly's affidavit was
made to secure a postponement of his
Lown execution.
Daly, who was 23 years old, received
éalmly thé news that the stay had
been denied. He was visited by a
MY POTTO DEATH |
PORTROLLEYMURDER |.
JUSTICE REFUSES REQUEST:
reme Court a stay to a. him to
an
woman said to be Mary Mooney of 1635
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tacker. This man was Stanley Kos-
sakowski, a parolee, who was picked
| up, and bore a striking’ resemblance
to Mitchell according to a parade of
witnesses. But he was not Mitchell.
MORE reports of Mitchell’s depreda-
tions and assaults followed in the
next few days, and a number of peo-
ple claimed seeing him, but phoned
too late to get police action. He stayed
overnight at the home of George.
Holden on February 27th. Holden and
his wife had picked him up outside
Elizabeth, and felt sorry. for the
thinly-dressed man thumbing his way
this cold night. The next day, after
leaving in the morning, he returned to
the Holdens’ house and Mrs. Holden
let him in. Something he said aroused
her suspicions, and she went to phone
her husband. When she had finished
the call, telling him to hurry home,
she came back to the living room and
found that Mitchell had fled.
The fugitive was next heard from
in New York. There was no living
eyewitness, but there was the evidence
of the method of operations—a woman
lying tied on a bed, neckties binding
her hands and feet, a soiled handker-
chief in her mouth. But there was a
new touch in this case of Mrs. Eliza-:
beth Jensen of 179th Street, the
Bronx. There was a necktie tied tight
around her neck, arid she was dead.
I Soom killing served to incite many
timid, notoriety-shy women to re-
port assaults and robberies by a man
answering Mitchell’s description. He
had used the names of Gross, Roberts,
Larson, Schaffner and other aliases in
his career of cruelty. With the re-
ports, Captain Armstrong learned that
the fugitive had sometimes stayed at
certain mid-town hotels in New York
City, and as the net tightened around
the area of his latest operation, de-
tectives fanned out to cover hotels all
over the city, as well as asking all
listed hotels and rooming houses to
make reports, if they should happen
to see the man.
In addition, they pored over the
registers of hotels, looking for signa-
tures which contained the v-shaped
r’s. In a hotel, on Seventh Avenue in
Manhattan, Detective Fred Durant,
working with Detectives Edward Gil-
len and Edward Mahon, led a search
of the rooms of a hundred transients
whose signatures even faintly re-
sembled Mitchell’s. Nothing turned
up, but the weary detectives decided
to sit it out in the lobby and wait
for any residents, who had not been
in their rooms during the search, to
turn up.
ROUND eleven, Durant, watching
the door, suddenly came alive.
Through the door came a tall youth .
with a blue-green coat and suit on,
and he had a bulbous nose. He went
to the desk to check in. Durant waited
for him to sign his name, and then
went up alongside him, peering down
at the register. The handwriting,
\7
closely resembled that of the post
cards he had read time and time
again. The name he had signed was
“G. Koslosky.” °
Durant looked down at the bag the
youth carried, then put the arm on
him. “Koslosky” whirled, and asked
him what he wanted.
“Got a report you’re carrying a gun
in that bag,” Durant said, flashing his
badge. “Police.” The youth handed
the bag over, and Durant searched
quickly, then looked up. “What’s your
real name, Mac?”.He leaned over the
desk and pulled a registration card
toward them. “Sign it here.”
The youth wrote: “George Joseph
Cvek, Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.” And
when he finished, he said; ““That’s the
real one. I never sign my right name
in hotels.” He grinned. “You know
how it is.”
“Sure,” Durant said, and looked at
the card. There were r’s in that name
and address,* and they were all the
curious v-shaped. ones, characteristic
of the signature of Gerry Mitchell.
“You better come along with us
to headquarters,” Durant said. “The
captain’s got an awful lot of questions
to ask you.”
The captain did have, and Cvek
had very few satisfactory answers. He
had great rambling stories, however,
and it looked as though the technique
of the big lie was being applied. Dis-
trict Attorney Foley, and his as-
sistants, Edward Breslin, Arthur Car-
ney, Martin Frank, and_ Frank
O’Brien came to participate in the
questioning, and a large detective
squad was sent out to round up as
witnesses victims of the “necktie
strangler.” Others, who had traced
the jewelry of his thefts, went to
round up second-hand jewelers and
fences who had bought from him.
Placed in a police line-up, he was
pointed out by two-score witnesses
as the pathetic-sounding youth with
the huge hands who had attacked
them in one way or another, or who
had sold them jewels. Rarely have so
many witnesses appeared against a
killer.
And they all said the same thing,
both then,‘ and later in the court.
Cvek dropped his guise of the needy
‘Boys’ Town boy in search of a help-
ing hand and became an arrogant
hoodlum who ‘defied the police to
prove anything.
But everything was proved, and
when he went to trial, he was found , 2/9.
guilty of at least two murders, though |...
the scores of criminal assaults and
robberies were practically unmen-
tioned. Now, more than at any time,
he needed the aspirin which he had
so often requested. He was in for one
big headache.
It wouldn’t last long, however, be- : ig
cause the judge sentenced him to “a
death in the electric chair, and half
a year later the sentence was carried |
out at Sing Sing Prison.
4
Note:
John. Hedstrom are petites
The names Mr. and Mr. 4 a
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evil light, exclaimed to his partner.
“Hurry!” he snapped to the other, and
stepping over the prone body of the old
inspector, he scooped up the bags of
money and with his companion jumped
from the car into a Cadillac sedan which
had been trailing the trolley for several
miles.
With a roar the big automobile raced
away. Barely half a mile from the
scene of the double shooting the driver
saw in the rays of his headlights a sharp
turn ahead, attempted to slow down to
make it, failed and the machine crashed
into the support of a railroad bridge.
Patrolman Crosby, on duty nearby,
blew his whistle while he ran toward the
wreck. “Sweet mess,” he reflected.
“Lucky if it’s an ambulance those
drunken fools need and not the morgue
wagon !”
Before he could reach the heavy car
three men had forced a door, climbed
from the wreck and were running into
the night.
“Halt!” Crosby shouted.
Alarm Is Broadcast
AS THEY disappeared into the swamp
that fringed the railroad he shot
into the darkness. He was peering into
the wreck when the White Plains police
car arrived on the scene.
‘“What’s happened here?” the driver
demanded. “Know that old Schumacker’s
just been killed on the trolley? They
got the motorman, too, Ambulance ain't
there yet but he’s got a bullet in his head
and’s bleedin’ pretty bad. Looks dead
already.”
“Guess these were the ones who did it,
then. This car came from the trolley
line and was goin’ like blazes when it
crashed. Three men ran just before I
got here,” Crosby said.
A few minutes later, as a county-wide
alarm brought police of every town in
: Westchester county into the hunt,
George Atwell, White Plains chief of
police, and Detective Capt. Michael J.
Silverstein arrived and searched the car.
At once Atwell ordered police to keep
' away the growing crowd which was
» collecting even at this early hour of the
morning of July 20, 1925, He wanted
no fingerprints blurred... . .
_.. Half a mile away, at the trolley, Amos.
J. Squire, Westchester’s medical exam-
iner, was patiently questioning passen-.
gers, Frank Schlegel, a -baker on hi
‘He told a connected story. He said he
.was certain he would be able to identify
the “dark fellow” .who fired the two
fatal shots. . soe ;
State troopers were ordered to watch
roads and ferries. The early July sun- _
rise’ found a dozen employes of the
trolley’ company helping Police ‘Capt, °
Herman. Mattes and Policemen Charles
- Schultz and George Downing hunt”
_ through the swamp and nearby woods. —
Inspector Schumacker had been carry- —
ing nearly $1,500 in coins and bills. None —
of it had been found in the wrecked
death car. But police had discovered —
two pistols, one with ‘two bullets gone
way to work, seemed the least hysterical. ~~
from its clip, and two empty heroin
capsules and two hypodermic needles.
The bandit who killed Schumacker and
Nicholl had been in the throes of a heroin
slaughter lust. Like many addicts of that
drug, police said he wanted the thrill of
killing, of seeing and smelling human
blood.
Obviously the holdup men reaped
scant profit from the two murders. The
posse led by Captain Mattes picked up
the six bloodstained bags of coins which
the murderers had abandoned in the
swamp in their flight. They also found
a packet of transfers and a pocket knife.
The outlaws had retained only a roll of
bills containing less than $400. But the
three men, the two killers and the car
driver, had vanished..
“That Cadillac’s the best thing we've
got to go on,” District Attorney Arthur
Rowland decided at the conference he
held with the Westchester police officials
and Captain Arthur Carey of the New
York homicide squad. “At least we've
traced the license plates to a woman.”
“We have more than that,” Captain
Silverstein announced. “The woman is a
friend of one ‘Dopey’ Marino who has
a record a mile long. And Sergeant
O’Donnell has been comparing the pho-
tographs I took of the fingerprints on
the car. Two sets of them belong to
Marino.”
Dopey Marino was, the police soon
found, discreetly absent from his usual
poolroom hangout. And he failed to put
in an appearance at his apartment in
East 114th street:
Two Women Questioned
BU around 5 o’clock on the afternoon
of July 22, a garage attendant winked
at a plainclothesman who was waiting
inconspicuously at the office of the garage
in East 115th street where the bandit’s
car had been kept. Two jeweled, per-
fumed women were asking for the
wrecked Cadillac which had been in
police custody since the holdup murder.
“<The! two! women ‘were taken immedi-
“ately to Westchester county for ques-
tioning. One was the friend of Marino,
the other the friend of a bootlegger,
intimate friend of Frankie Daley, Harlem
gangster, - ee fm
~ The woman who owned the car ap-
peared far more moved by the fact that,
as she elegantly expressed it, “That.
_ bum's wrecked my car without even
telling me,” than by the fact two men
had been slain, She talked volubly,
Names—lItalian, English and Irish—of
Dopey’s companions flowed so quickly
that at times the stenographer had diffi-
culty keeping yp with her remarks about
the various individuals.’ In the course
of her harangye she named every man
who later was found connected with the
murders; she discussed half a dozen
others: But obviously Marino had not
kept her advised of either his plans or
his hideaways. He could not be found
at any of the places she suggested.
A man of his type could not, the police
knew, remain away from dope peddlers
more than a few days at a time. Close
watch was kept at certain corners through
the upper East Side and Harlem.
Five days after the murders, a touring
car which had been driving through the
crowded streets of Harlem slowed down
at a corner of East 136th street. A well
dressed, average appearing Néw York
Italian had stopped to buy a paper. He
was talking to the news stand proprietor.
The husky plainclothesman who pulled
him into a police car did not stop to listen
to the protests of his prisoner. Shortly
the car reached the Mount Vernon police
headquarters.
Brought into the Mount Vernon jail,
Dopey Marino was sick and sneezing, a
physical wreck. Deprived of the nar-
cotics he craved he was suffering the tor-
ture which the Chinese call “yin yen.”
“Tell about the murder, Marino,” the
trembling prisoner was told. “A woman
has identified your pistol and half the
passengers on the car picked out your
photograph, so you may as well talk.”
“But it wasn’t me! It was Frankie
Daley shot them!” the bandit screamed
shrilly. “We look alike and the gal is
only trying to cover her feller up. I wasn’t
even on the trolley, I tell you. I was
driving the car for them.”
“Who was with Daley on the trolley
then?” Silverstein asked.
“De Maio!”
A police surgeon spoke to Silverstein
who told the policeman curtly, “Give
him some milk and let him sleep; then
bring him back in four hours.”
“They'd better hold that man’s trial
pretty quick,” the surgeon remarked.
“Between his lungs and the dope I don’t
give him a year to live.”
“Don’t worry. We'll have the bunch
of them in the death house soon enough
to make the rest of these cheap crooks
think twice before they kill any more
decent people in this county,” Silverstein
said.
As the surgeon withdrew, Silverstein
and the New York policemen who had
David De Maio, one of the
assassins, was executed for
his part in: the brutal ‘crime.
.
aided i
“DeM:z
“Wh
low tha
throug!
claimec
though
Polic
David
figure
person’
An un:
associa
Cheese
NST
brow
ible, it
quarter
town it
disappc
Daley,
Robert:
chester
lyn.
Both
and re
and M:
But,
DeMai:
merely
home f
trolley
men ju
lowed 1
he dro
busines
split se
men ju
nized
had we
DeMai
he had
But
sisted,
be four
Annc
pes
bie
an
5
ff
?
:
oe .
Solving New York’s Riddle
of the DOUBLE KILLERS
The robbery of the Mount Vernon trolley car, in which two
men were slain, is re-enacted in the picture above. Jacob
Schumacker, at right. an inspector and collector for the
line, was one of the victims.
There was a sharp crack, a spurt of orange colored flame in
the dim light of the car. . Nicholl, still clutching the brake
wheel, still reaching in his pocket for a match, slumped to the
floor of the vestibule, dead, a bullet through his brain.
Schumacker, still dazed from the suddenness of the act, leaped
to his feet as the car stopped with a jerk. The few passengers
screamed in horror.
The killer with the gun eyed Schumacker with a contemp-
tuous sneer and with his free hand pushed him viciously back
on the seat.
“Sit down, fool!” he snarled.
But Schumacker, alive now to the fact the two passengers
were bandits and were after the money he carried in the canvas
bags, was back on his feet in an instant, grappling with the
gunman. :
“You killed Nicholl . . . why did you do that?” he shouted.
With a jerk the killer broke Schumacker’s hold and pushed
him away. Then he deliberately raised his revolver again,
aimed point-blank at the inspector and pulled the trigger.
For the second time within a minute the weapon spat death.
Schumacker collapsed on the floor of the car, his hands wildly
clutching at his throat from which there gushed: a crimson
5 stream.
“That'll learn ’em,” the gunman, his eyes flashing with an
DETECTIVE 9
VAMIC
ders through
irlem.
rs, a touring
through the
lowed down
reet. A well
New York
i paper. He
d proprietor.
1 who pulled
stop to listen
ier. Shortly
‘ernon police
Vernon jail,
| sneezing, a
of the nar-
ring the tor-
“yin yen.”
Marino,” the
. “A woman
ind half the
ed out your
well talk.”
was Frankie
lit screamed
d the gal is
rup. I wasn’t
you. I was
n the trolley
o Silverstein
urtly, “Give
1 sleep; then
irs.”
man’s trial
n remarked.
dope I don’t
ve the bunch
soon enough
cheap crooks
ill any more
,” Silverstein
’, Silverstein
ren who had
aided in the arrest looked at each other.
“DeMaio ... DeMaio.. .”
“Why, that’s Dave DeMaio the fel-
low that handles Solly Cheesecake’s stuff
through here!” Policeman Schultz ex-
claimed. ‘Never been in any rough stuff
though, just a small time bootlegger.”
Police records quickly disclosed that
David DeMaio, one of the gentry who
figure on police blotters as “suspicious
‘person” had been arrested often enough.
An unimportant bootlegger, he was the
associate of the better known Solly
Cheesecake.
Mobster Is Identified
[IN STANT search for the whole group
brought David DeMaio, fat and plaus-
ible, into Mount Vernon police head-
quarters. Solly Cheesecake, man-about-
town in Italiam Harlem, apparently had
disappeared into thin air. And Frankie
Daley, alias Frank Smith, alias Frank
Roberts, was not to be found in West-
ea Manhattan, the Bronx or Brook-
yn.
Both trying to turn state’s evidence
and receive short sentences, DeMaio
and Marino were willing to confess.
But, their stories were conflicting.
DeMaio, according to his own tale, was
merely driving his own car on the way
home from a delivery when he saw the
trolley stop. He said he watched two
men jump into a Cadillac which he fol-
lowed until it was wrecked. Whereupon
he drove on and attended to his own
business. But he was certain, in the
split second when he had seen the two
men jump into the auto, that he recog-
nized Marino and another man who once
had worked for him. The bandit’s car,
DeMaio said, was driven by someone
he had never seen.
But Frankie Daley who, Marino in-
sisted, was the actual killer, could not
be found.
Announcing they were satisfied they
; ) Instrum: ntal in breaking th
ee PT
bne of the
ecuted for
rutal ‘crime.
~a
—_
held all the murderers in custody the
Mount Vernon police released both the
women they had picked up.
Then one of them, always popular,
soon had her tapped telephone jingling
merrily. Wearily the police trailed this
visitor and that. And then a man, who
bore a startling resemblance to Marino,
went from the apartment to a farm near
Westport, Conn. Secretly arrangements
were made with the Connecticut authori-
ties.
On the night of August 16, Captain
Mattes of the Mount Vernon police,
Detectives Thomas Martin and Stephen
Donahue of the homicide squad, _and
several Connecticut state troopers raided
the kitchen of the Westport farmhouse.
While the astounded farmer and _ his
daughter watched, the men searched the
house. Upstairs, sprawled on his bed
where he had been reading a newspaper,
was the missing Daley. Surprised, he
surrendered without a battle.
Rages Over Woman
But on the drive to the city, Daley
worked himself up in a great rage
against the woman who, he felt certain,
had betrayed his hideout to the police.
“T told her I never paid no attention to
the gal here,” he said, “but she carried
on. I shouldn’t have told her where I
was stayin’ at all,”
Back in Westchester, Daley, like all
the rest of the gang, was willing to talk.
Questioned by Capt. Arthur Carey of
James Lippe, above, driver
of the car in which the ban-
dits escaped, failed to turn
the corner at the dead-end
street, at right, and the car
was wrecked. The killers
hid nearby while police
searched for them.
12
the homicide squad and Assistant Dis-
trict Attorney Feere, he admitted kill-
ing Schumacker.
“T shot him because I thought he was
going to draw a gun when he put his
hand out,” he said callously.
The slaying of the motorman brought
as easy, as glib an explanation. “I told
him to stop his car,” Daley said calmly,
“but he didn’t do it and I plugged him,
too.”
Bearing a startling resemblance to
his fellow murderer, Marino, his arms
as needle scarred from injections of
. drugs, 22-year-old Frankie Daley, the
police decided, had been the actual killer.
“Marino and DeMaio told all about it
already,” Capt. Carey told the young
bandit casually. “They said there was
to be no shooting but that you just wanted
to kill the men.”
Daley’s trigger quick temper exploded
precisely as Capt. Carey had expected.
“The dirty rats!” Daley shouted. “If
those guys squealed on me when I’ve
been careful not even to mention their
names, I'll fix ’em! I ain’t scared to
burn in the chair but they’ll burn with
me!”
With the three murderers industri-
ously engaged in making confessions im-
plicating each other, the Westchester
authorities busied themselves with put-
-ting the case in form for a quick trial.
From the disclosures of Marino, who
wished to turn state’s evidence and plead
guilty to second degree murder, the dis-
trict attorney was able to work out the
sequence of events.
The plan of the holdup had been con-
ceived, the killers said, by Solly Cheese-
cake who, however, did not actually
take part in it. He had learned of the
casual fashion in which the Mount Ver-
non-New Rochelle line inspectors, un-
armed and without bodyguard, trans-
ported from $1,500 to $2,000 in coin and
bills every night. Solly, who boasted
around Harlem that he could not wear
a suit costing less than $200, suggested
to DeMaio, his man in the locality, that
an easy way to pick up some extra money
would be to rob. the owl car on which
the day’s receipts always were carried.
Carefully James Lippe, one of Cheese-
cake’s thugs, trailed the street car, timing
the run. Unnoticed by police in the ex-
citement, Lippe had actually been driv-
ing his small car close behind the big
Cadillac on July 20, the night of the
holdup murder, ready to pick up the rob-
bers if anything should happen to the
larger auto.
At the wheel of the Cadillac sat Marino
who was unwilling to trust his friend’s
car to any stranger to drive. DeMaio
and Frankie Daley had ridden on the
street car, robbed and murdered the in-
spector, killed the motorman.
But while police worked on the case,
wild indignation was growing in West-
chester county. Bitterly the families of
the men involved denounced “third de-
gree confessions.” DeMaio, insisted he
had not been nearer the scéne than the
Cadillac.
On September 24 the Grand Jury re-
turned indictments for first degree mur-
der. An hour later Westchester county’s
District Attorney Arthur Rowland’s life
| threatened in an abusive telephone
call.
Had Long Record
U NDETERRED, Rowland set
Frankie Daley’s trial for October 12
before Supreme Court Justice Arthur S.
Tompkins. While friends of the de-
fendant shouted he could not get a fair
trial in Westchester, Judge Tompkins as-
signed Frederick E. Weeks, formerly
Westchester county district attorney, as
attorney for the Harlem gangster. Sullen
and repudiating his confession, Daley
glared his hatred of the pale “Dopey”
Marino who unctuously testified against
him.
Only 22 at the time of the murder,
Daley had a record of five convictions.
Always quick tempered, when under the
influence of the heroin which he had
taken for years, he was as dangerous as
a rattle-snake.
Conspicuous at his trial was a young
woman who wept copiously and tried
to have her picture taken with the pris-
oner. Still convinced that she had be-
trayed him, Daley snubbed her coldly.
Convicted, he was remanded for sen-
tence during the week of November 22.
DeMaio’s trial followed at once. Attor-
ney William L. Moran, assigned to the
plump bootlegger’s defense, provided
fireworks a plenty.
What excitement Moran did not offer
was freely supplied by several women.
[Continued on page 54]
DYNAMIC
will |
pemceenasicusotoinss
raped and robbed a woman on Wash-
ington Heights in Manhattan and
that he had told her his name was
Papas!
“What did he look like?” detectives,
rechecking the case, asked the woman
when they routed her out of bed early
in the morning.
“Why, he was a tall, dark-haired,
pleasant-mannered youth. He said he
knew my husband and he’d come
to pay him some money he owed him.
But my husband wasn’t home yet, so
he came in to wait for him. No, he
didn’t try to push his way in. I let
him come in and he asked for aspirin
for a headache he had from a cold.”
Detectives probing into Papas’ past
and checking on his movements the
previous day thickened the atmosphere
of mystery when they phoned reports
of their interviews with Papas’ friends,
business acquaintances and relatives.
The tenor of the reports was that a
strange change had come over John
Papas while he was away in Egypt
and those who had known him best
felt that they knew him no longer
and they sensed that the secret of it
lay in his love for the beautiful, awed
girl he’d brought back from Alexan-
dria as his bride, a girl young enough
to be his daughter.
It was in the Greek colony in Man-
hattan that the detectives heard the
tales of Papas’ gay, carefree life be-
fore he went to Egypt, of his love for
powerful motor cars, card games, deer
hunting and jovial parties and of how
he had spent money freely and how
he had helped others and made lavish
gifts to charity.
“He was a great fellow and one of
the best catches in the colony,” one
Greek businessman recalled. “But
then he went to Egypt and a strange
thing must have happened to him
there.” He shook his head sadly. “We
were waiting to meet the bride and all
that, but we never did. I knew him
for years, a close friend, and I never
saw her. He didn’t seem to want to
see his old friends any more.”
It was also told in the colony that
Papas had arranged his marriage with
the girl’s father before she ever saw
him and when the detectives put this
up to one of Papas’ relatives, the rela-
tive said:
“None of us knew he was going to
get married when he sailed. We were
all surprised when he cabled us. But
he never talked much about his wife
when he came back and she never
said anything. You know, Greek and
Egyptian women are different.”
To which others in the colony added:
“Arranged marriages happen often to
our Greek girls. They bloom like
flowers on the other side. They are
transplanted here and they die.”
And then one businessman said: “I
didn’t know Papas very well. But I
met him in a theater lobby once and
he introduced me to his ward. It was
several years ago. She was a very
lovely girl. She seemed to idolize
him a. .”
Ba interrogating detectives stiffened.
Papas had made no mention of
a lovely ward. Was it possible that
she held the key to the mystery? A
little thrill of excitement, as though
they were on the brink of a great dis-
covery, went through the Morrisania
Police Station when other reports
trickled in confirming the existence of
the girl and giving her the name of
Ruth Papas. But there the informa-
tion on her ended.
“We'll wait until after the funeral
to question Papas about his ward,”
Inspector O’Connor decided. “It'll be
only a couple more days. We’ve got
plenty to do anyway. How about his
movements yesterday?”
“They check,” replied Captain Arm-
strong wearily.
The phone rang. It was a woman,
Mrs. Catherine Smith of No. 3200 De-
eatur Avenue, the Bronx. Inspector
O’Connor wondered why the sergeant
on the switchboard had grooved her
call to him. He picked up the phone.
“IT don’t know if this means any-
thing, Inspector, but I was just read-
ing the newspaper stories: about the
AD—2
slaying of Mrs. Papas and I. thought
I’d better call you,” Mrs. Smith said.
“The day before yesterday a young
man tried to get into my apartment.
He said he was from Boys Town, that
famous place run by Father Flanagan
in Nebraska, and that my husband had
picked him up on the highway last
week and invited him to visit us.”
O’Connor’s grip on the phone tight-
ened. The Raping Aspirin Bandit had
given a similar patently phony. story
to one of his two Bronx victims. “Did
you let him in your apartment?”
“No. I knew he was lying. My
husband’s dead!”
“Was he wearing a green lumber-
jacket with a zipper in front?”
“No. He had on a greenish over-
coat. He was a tall youth with broad
shoulders. He would have been nice-
looking if it weren’t for his complex-
ion. His skin was pimply and pitted as
though he’d had small-pox. His eye-
brows were black and very heavy.”
“Did he give you his name?”
“Yes. He said it was Murtha or
Murtagh or something like that.”
An hour later detectives combing
the neighborhood discovered that the
youth, after being rebuffed by Mrs.
Smith, had attempted unsuccessfully
to enter the apartments of a half-
dozen other women within a few
blocks of Mrs. Smith’s home. In each
instance he’d used the “Boys Town
. .. friend of husband” routine but
had identified himself with various
names.
“He has a ragged scar on the right
side of his upper lip,” said one of the
women.
“It looks like it was made with an
ice-pick,” supplemented another.
All agreed that the youth had a pe-
culiar, shambling walk.
Passing the reports to District At-
torney Samuel J. Foley, Inspector
O’Connor commented: “That clinches
it. These women were talking to the
raping bandit. The woman he attacked
last week says she’ll never forget the
scar on his lip and we didn’t make
that clew public so these other women
didn’t imagine it.”
District Attorney Foley studied the
reports, said grimly: “This punk is
obviously an impostor, but he may
cause Boys Town trouble. I’ll notify
Father Flanagan at once.” Then,
hopefully, “Say, you didn’t find some-
thing — you’re not holding out, are
you?”
“No.” O’Connor shook his head rue-
fully. “We’ve found nothing new to
link this with the Papas murder. But
it’s certainly peculiar that he used the
name of Papas when he attacked that
Greek woman on Washington Heights.
It’s not a common name. He might
be one of Papas’ friends or—”
He was interrupted by the phone. A
detective reported on behalf of him-
self and his partner: “We were de-
tailed to check that Christmas-package
lead. Well, Papas has two nephews,
not one. One is out of town—he was
drafted. The other was with Papas all
day yesterday; they never left Papas’
office.”
O’Connor dropped the phone in its
cradle, slumped in his chair. “We’re
getting nowhere rapidly.”
The final blow fell on the authori-
ties later in the day when they learned
that Papas’ ward was a happily mar-
ried woman living in an adjoining
state and that she and her husband had
not seen Papas since his return from
Egypt. Papas stonily explained: “I
saw no reason to mention them.”
A baffling, insurmountable, blank
wall loomed across the path of the
investigators.
It was the Reverend Edward J.
Flanagan, founder of Boys Town,
famed regenerative community for
“tough” youths, near Lincoln, Nebras-
ka, and Papas’ niece in the Bronx who
blasted it wide open.
Answering District Attorney Foley’s
warning, Father Flanagan said he’d
been aware for six months of the exis-
tence of at least one impostor travers-
ing the highways along the Eastern
Coast of the United States represent-
ing himself as the “Mayor of Boys
Town.”
In July, 1940, Father Flanagan
wrote, he’d received a chatty but am-
biguous postcard from someone signing
himself “Gerry.” A good Samaritan,
who apparently had aided Gerry, had
added a postscript stating that Gerry
was a grand young man.
Thereafter, Father Flanagan con-
tinued, there had been a succession of
postcards addressed either to himself
or to nonexistent youths at Boys Town.
The cards bore postmarks of cities and
towns from Maine to Washington,
D. C., and were signed with various
names but all were in the handwrit-
ing of the mysterious Gerry.
“Once also there had been a tele-
gram from a motorist who stated that
he’d given Boys Town’s “Mayor” a lift.
Ws Gerry the Bronx rapist? Or
were they different persons?
A wire to Father Flanagan brought
the cards and the telegram in the next
mail. There was no mistake. Gerry’s
unskilled, juvenile handwriting was
on all the cards.
If nothing else, the consistent mis-
spelling of Father Flanagan’s name
and the constant use of the inverted
form of the letter “r’ in all writing
on the cards, except the postscript on
the first card, would have indicated
that Gerry had mailed all of them
no matter what name he signed.
But who was Gerry?
The first card offered the only
clews.
Dated July 21, 1940, and postmarked
Bartonsville, Pennsylvania, the card
read:
Dear Father Flannigan
Just a few lines to let you know
|! am well & hope you and the
rest of the boys are the same.
Please don’t worry about me,
because | am being taken care of
by the nicest people | ever met.
Am writing the details in a let-
ter which will follow this.
So long,
Gerry.
The postscript, obviously in a dif-
ferent hand and signed with the ini-
tials “R. W. S.,” began at the bottom
of the card and edged up one side.
It read:
Father: I'll take the responsi-
bility for his arrival safely at his
destination. A grand young man.
We like him. He should arrive in
Providence, R. |., July 27.
District Attorney Foley observed:
“Apparently this man who signs him-
self R. W. S. lives in or near Bartons-
ville. It doesn’t take six days to drive
from there to Providence. It’s a one-
day trip. He must have been enter-
taining this boy Gerry in his home
when this card was mailed. It shouldn’t
be hard to locate him. There can’t be
many persons living in Bartonsville
with the initials R. W. S.”
As expected, the detectives who
raced to Bartonsville had no trouble
in locating “R. W. S.”—R. W. Stod-
dard.
“I picked him up on the road,”
Stoddard said. “He told me that his
name was Gerry Mitchell and that he
was the Mayor of Boys Town. He said
he was on his way to Providence to
find his long-lost sister and that his
suitcase, along with one hundred sev-
enty-three dollars—all he had in the
world—had been stolen in a public
washroom. I was impressed by his
story, so I took him home for a few
days and gave him money to go to
Providence.”
Gerry Mitchell? Another odd coin-
cidence in names? The raping bandit
had identified himself as John Mitchell
to one of his victims and as Mr. Papas
to another. Lieutenant Byrnes said
casually: “Will you tell us what this
boy Gerry looks like?”
Stoddard described the Bronx rapist!
. Even to the scar on the right side of
the bandit’s lower lip, Stoddard’s de-
scription dovetailed with that given by
Bronx women!
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=OR more
thrills in
fact-detective
reading — for
more exciting,
intimate, true
stories—read:
imate
TECTIVE Seoies
atch for this cover—
and these stories:
»blem of the July Baby
dow did this South Carolina
‘ride's condition cause her
room's murder?
2e Cheng If You Want
atherine Back"
\ missing girl in Woburn,
Aass.—traced to a mysterious
Shinese doctor.
ou Can't Say THAT About
\y Mother!" |
dow could an Idaho sheriff
nake sense of a four-year-old
quarrel? .
Saw Two Womea..Mur-
ered" i ®
An eye-witness to double kill-
ng in Florida—and no one
selieved him.
id others, all of them
mulating, intriguing read-
j. with graphic illustra-
ons—in the June INTIMATE
:TECTIVE STORIES.
Henson positively identified Cane as
his passenger of the night of June 6,
but the bearded suspect would admit
nothing. Under persistent questioning
he stopped his babbling and assumed
a blank, trancelike expression from
which he could not be aroused.
“Leave him alone,” Grigsby ordered
at length. “We'll take him body-hunt-
ing fomorrow and see if he doesn’t lose
that dead pan.”
It was bitterly cold and a light snow
was falling as Tyler, Eads, Grigsby,
Agee, County Attorney Lewis Morris,
Adams and Cane set out at dawn.
The prisoner, shaved and outfitted in
a black hat and heavy coat paid little
attention as they headed out Highway
No 62. But as they slowed at the point
which Henson had described and
turned into a dirt road running south,
Cane began to fidget nervously.
“You might as well talk,” Morris
said bluntly. “If you don’t we’re going
to dig under every telegraph pole
along here.”
COANS began to sweat, but he said
nothing. The officers moved slowly
along, gauging their pace by Cane’s
growing agitation and stopping occa-
sionally to examine likely looking
spots.
The break came with unexpected
suddenness. As they neared a heavily
wooded section a half-mile from the
highway, Cane let out an unearthly
yell.
“That’s the place!’ he cried, point-
ing ahead. He stumbled from the car,
crashed through the underbrush bor-
dering the road and dropped to his
knees at the foot of a telegraph pole,
whimpering and moaning inhumanly.
The officers followed on the run.
Morris reached down and shook Cane
by the shoulder.
“Is this where you buried them?”
he asked sharply.
Cane nodded. Tears streamed down
his face as he rocked back and forth,
wringing his hands. “Oh, why did I
do it?” he wailed. “Why did I do it?”
Adams dragged him away and Eads
and Tyler fell to work with pick and
shovel. It was slow going in the frozen
earth, but after 20 minutes’ digging
Eads’ shovel turned up a woman’s
shoe.
At this, Cane, who had been watch-
ing in tearful fascination, broke away
from Adams and began to claw at the
earth like an animal.
Morris jerked him erect. ‘Did you
kill them?” he demanded.
“Yes!” Cane cried wildly. “Yes! I
killed them!” He began to tremble
violently, yet seemed strangely re-
lieved. “I killed them,” he repeated,
“but I didn’t know what I was doing.
I was walking along behind my wife
when something seemed to come over
me. I hit her with the spade, then I
ran the kids down, one by one. They
screamed and tried to get away, and
now I keep seeing them—the way they
were—the blood—”’ He writhed in
agony of remorse and began to sob.
Eads and Tyler turned back to their
digging in silence. Presently Tyler’s
pick struck metal and he pulled up
a battered shovel-blade, its handle
broken away.
“This must be the spade he borrowed
in Shawnee,” Tyler said, in a subdued
tone. “We're getting close.”
Working in grim silence the officers
soon uncovered the four decomposed
bodies. Cane had sunk a shaft four
feet deep, then tunneled it out in both
directions like an inverted “T”. Into
this tomb he had placed Gracia Cane
head first and then laid the children
one by one on top of her. A half-
rotted purse containing a key tagged
“Saratoga Hotel, Room No, 228,”
clinched their identification.
The bodies were taken to the Jack
Jones Funeral Home for routine exam-
ination, while Cane was returned to
his cell. Later in the day the con-
fessed slayer made a complete state-
ment, confirming in every detail the
story pieced out by the officers.
“My wife trifled on me,” Cane said,
in explaining why he had killed his
family in cold blood. “The first and
third child were not mine. I couldn’t
let them live in the sin of the world.”
At his preliminary hearing on
charges of murder, court-appointed at-
torneys J. L. Gowdy and Sid White
entered a plea of “‘Not guilty by reason
of insanity.” Cane, meanwhile, had
resumed his crazy antics. Since the
veteran seemed to be able to turn his
mental trouble on and off at will,
Morris had little patience with his in-
sanity plea and insisted that he be
committed to the Central State Hos-
pital for the Insane at Norman for
observation.
A month later Doctor Griffin, head
of the institution, sent for Morris and
Tyler.
“This man has too many symptoms,”
he said. “I want you to watch a little
experiment.”
A room was prepared with an oper-
ating-table flanked with a great assort-
ment of knives and other surgical in-.
struments. Then Cane was brought in
between two. strapping attendants.
Doctor Griffin was busy drawing on a
pair of rubber gloves.
“Cane,” he said, eying the patient
sternly, ‘“we’re going to sterilize you.
Get ready.”
The killer turned white. “H-hold on,
Doc,” he stammered. “Y-you don’t
need to do that. I believe I’m normal
again.”
That was the end of Cane’s feigned
insanity. Upon being returned to Okla-
homa City he entered a plea of guilty
and was sentenced to life imprison-
ment by District Judge Sam Hooker
for the murder of his wife. Further
charges based on the killing of his
children are being held in abeyance to
insure that he never obtains his free-
dom.
Wanted for Murder (Continued from Page 7)
no remorse, no self-reproach in_ his
eyes. Only amazing control or deliber-
ate purposefulness. Which?
Assistant District Attorney Frank
asked: “By the way, what does the
Aspirin Bandit look like?”
O’Connor said: “He seems to be a
bum. He was rather shabby-looking
and he fancies green clothes. He was
wearing a green slipover sweater and
a green lumber-jacket with zipper in
front and a pair of brown sport shoes.”
“What about his personal appear-
ance?”
Inspector O’Connor considered this.
“As I remember the alarm that was
sent out on January 27, he’s about six
feet tall, twenty-five years old, one-
fifty-five pounds, black hair combed
straight back, parted in the middle. He
has a fair complexion and he gave the
name of John Mitchell to the last
woman he robbed and raped.”
The Assistant Prosecutor turned to
Captain Armstrong. ‘Anyone answer-
ing that description been seen around
this building today?”
“No, but all the men aren’t back
yet,’ Armstrong said. “They’re still
questioning the tenants.”
They were silent a minute. It was
hard to picture the demure Sunday-
school teacher, with her dark hair and
pretty face, entertaining an uncouth
youth, a total stranger, and serving
him brandy, coffee and cakes. The
picture virtually vanished when the
detectives canvassing the building re-
turned with their reports.
For the reports showed that all the
neighbors had been intriguedj by and
often had“ wondered about dark
and gentle young woman with timid
and mysterious ways.
All her neighbors had‘tried to be
friendly with her but only two ever
got past the closely guarded door
of her apartment where she lived in
almost total seclusion with her middle-
aged husband. One of these told de-
tectives:
“She seemed afraid to talk, afraid
to look at you, afraid to be seen. I
asked her once to drop in and visit
me and she looked away and said,
‘No, I can’t.’ She hardly ever left her
apartment without her husband, not
even to shop in the neighborhood. She
did all her own housework and kept
her place spick and span and I used
to think it odd because her husband
has money and she could have had a
maid. He didn’t deny her things.”
The building superintendent, Ru-
dolph Alberde, in turn, had recalled:
“She lived here for six months before
she would even nod when I said good
morning.”
And there had been a strange order,
when the Papases moved into the
building—none of the attaches of the
building was to go to the Papas apart-
ment in the absence of the husband
without notifying him! :
The possibility that the slayer might
have been somebody with whom Mrs.
Papas was keeping a secret rendezvous
had been dismissed by all her neigh-
bors on the ground that in such a
neighborly building it would have
been impossible for her to have clan-
destine callers.
: WAS apparent from the reports
that if the young wife had felt other
than dutiful devotion to her elderly
husband she never had hinted at it to
her neighbors by any word or act. It
seemed equally apparent that the ‘.
vout girl’s slayer was . some she
knew and trusted despite’ ecret
fear that had been in her”eyes! ©***
But who, then? A rela’
friend? Or a tradesman? 9°" © .
Captain Armstrong summoned the
building superintendent, said: “Did you
personally deliver all the packages
that came to this building for Mr.
Papas or his wife?”
“I was supposed to hold them un-
til Mr. Papas came home if I could
not deliver them myself.''Mr. Papas
wF
did not want the other employes or
strangers going to his apartment in his
absence.”
“Any of them ever get by you?”
“Once in a while an errand boy from
some neighborhood store would slip
by. But I’m positive none got up here
today.”
“No one ever get by you from a
downtown store?”
“No, Sir. No one but Mr. Papas’
nephew.”
“His nephew, eh? Is he a boy?”
“No. He’s a_ tall, good-looking
young man with dark hair, combed
back. He was here just before Christ-
mas with a package for Mrs. Papas.
He delivered it himself. I think he
works for Mr. Papas.”
Armstrong’s eyebrows lifted. “Okay.
That’s all.” He turned to give his at-
tention to Lieutenant Byrnes.
“We found two clear prints,” Byrnes
said. “They’re on the glass and they’re
neither Mrs. Papas’ prints nor her
husband’s.” ,
“On the glass over the wedding pic-
ture, you mean?”
“No, the water glass on the tea-
table.” Byrnes smiled.
A surprised grunt escaped the Cap-
tain. Contrary to popular opinion,
clear, useful finger-prints seldom are
found at the scene of crimes and hard-
ly ever on anything round like a
drinking glass because a person pick-
ing up a glass does not do it ordi-
narily with the ball-tips of the fingers.
Captain Armstrong wasn’t surprised,
_ however, when the Bureau of.Criminal
Identification in Manhattan Police
Headquarters reported a few hours
later that the prints did not match
those of any criminal in its records,
and that prints were being sent on to
Washington for further checking.
Detectives detailed to the ‘Aspirin
Bandit” angle of the case wrought the
first startling development. They dis-
covered that a month before the slay-
ing of Mrs. Papas, the bandit had
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Keith Mitchell but no Gerry Mitchell
in Boys Town. Furthermore, Paul
Keith Mitchell lived in Mound City,
Missouri, and his description did not
tally with Gerry Mitchell’s.
Meanwhile the detectives who’d sped
to Waterville, Maine, were tracing the
telegram to a tourist camp. The man-
ager of the camp said: ‘No, Mr. Book-
er doesn’t live in Maine. I gathered
that he’s a publisher in New York
City. I don’t know his address. He
and another man drove in here with
a young fellow one evening. They
paid for the boy’s cabin and gave him
money and then they sent that tele-
gram. The next morning, when they
went to look for the boy, he was gone.
So they drove on. I remember it all
clearly. Look there!”
The manager opened the
register and pointed.
The same hand that had written the
cards to Father Flanagan had signed
the register: “Gerry Mitchell, Boys
Town, Nebraska.”
camp
It was then, back in New York, that
a girl stunned the officials pressing the
probe of Mrs. Papas’ death in the
Bronx. An alert, bright-eyed college
girl, she dismissed the impression the
authorities had of Mrs. Papas’ timidity
with a wan smile.
“You must have got that idea of her
from Uncle John,” she said simply.
The girl, one of Mr. Papas’ nieces,
went on to explain that she often had
snatched Mrs. Papas from her shel-
tered life and taken her shopping or
to a show.
“Uncle John was so afraid of some-
thing happening to her that she seldom
went out,” the girl explained. “She
was his whole life. Nothing else mat-
tered. He lost his sense of perspective
in regard to her.”
“Wasn’t she afraid of American
men?” pursued Inspector O’Connor.
“She wasn’t afraid of anyone. But
she was very shy.”
“Do you know if she ever heard of
Boys Town?”
“She saw the movie. It thrilled her
and won her interest in the marvelous
work Father Flanagan is doing.”
Inspector O’Connor took a deep
breath. One more question. The
wrong answer and his soaring hopes
would explode like a plane struck in
mid-air by a five-inch shell.
He said: “If a strange young man
called her on the house phone before
one o’clock in the afternoon and told
her that he was from Boys Town and
that he was one of her husband’s
friends, do you think she would have
admitted him to her apartment or
would she have been too timid?”
“She would have admitted him
quicker than I would,” responded the
girl without hesitation. “You must re-
member that she was not reared in
this country. Her husband’s wish was
her law. She would have felt bound
to entertain any friend of his even if
he were not from Boys Town. Greek
women are brought up to be very
hospitable.”
Inspector O’Connor relaxed. The
conclusion seemed inescapable.
HERE was one item that could re-
move the last shred of doubt—the
finger-prints found on the water glass.
Were they Gerry Mitchell’s?
Captain Armstrong growled: “If
they are Mitchell’s prints the FBI
should have a set in their files. This
punk has been in trouble some place
before—his work has. all the ear-
marks.”
But the FBI had no prints in its
files to match those found in the Papas
apartment. J. Edgar Hoover, chief of
the G-Men, wrote Prosecutor Foley:
“No identification could be effected.
Everything is negative.”
An incredible manhunt followed.
Working in utmost secrecy lest Mitch-
ell take warning and escape, 150
Bronx detectives swiftly combed police
blotters along the principal highways
between Maine and Washington, D. C.,
paying particular attention to those
places from which the bandit had
mailed postcards.
Evidence of Mitchell’s handiwork
fairly leaped at the officers from offi-
cial records and newspapers. In two
days they found 30 women victimized
and six robbed and raped during the
i! months preceding the Papas homi-
cide.
Following two criminal assaults,
veiled stories had been published in
local newspapers—one in New Jersey
and the other in Connecticut—warning
motorists of the “Boys Town im-
postor.”
But the records in various towns
showed that someone had managed to
travel casually along under a dozen
aliases victimizing one motorist after
another with the same story he’d
originally told Stoddard in Bartons-
ville, Pennsylvania. He had varied it
only in regard to his “long-lost sister.”
She was either in Maine or Florida,
according to the direction he was
hitching a ride. To impress his audi-
ence he would mail a card to Boys
Town. And a columnist on a small
Maine newspaper had been so taken in
by his act that he’d written a feature
story about the “Mayor’s” pathetic
search,
} ir women Mitchell had attempted
to victimize almost invariably were
the wives of men who had given him
a lift on the road, but occasionally he’d
made blind stabs. His novel and re-
volting criminal technique was plain-
ly written in the stories told to Bronx
detectives.
Thumbing a ride from a male mo-
torist, Mitchell would win not only the
motorist’s sympathy but also a small
handout with his Boys Town tale and
then deftly ferret out his benefactor’s
business and a general pattern of his
every-day life. On parting, Mitchell
would insist on the motorist’s home
address so he could return the “loan”
when he got back to Boys Town.
Fortified by a knowledge of his
benefactor’s appearance, habits and
business, Mitchell would appear a few
days later at the man’s home know-
ing that he was away at work and
would pose to the man’s wife as a
friend of her husband.
Despite his brutish, scowling ap-
pearance, Mitchell had a glib tongue
and an ingratiating manner and a cer-
tain mastery of small talk pleasing to
women. Once inside a home he would
make himself agreeable and offer to
do little things such as mind the baby
or make minor repairs to give him an
opportunity to “‘case” the home. Fail-
ing in this he would ask for aspirin
to get the woman out of the room for
a minute while he made sure no one
else was in the place.
His powerful physique made the at-
tack and robbery that inevitably fol-
lowed comparatively easy for him, He
would leave his victim bound with his
necktie and towels, and take one of
her husband’s ties.
Among others Gerry Mitchell had
used the names John Mitchell, Joseph
Mitchell, Robert Carl, Papas, Mur-
tha, Martaugh, Mercer, Schaffner,
Gross, Clark, Blake, Mikos, Connor,
Conover, O’Connor, Larson and Law-
son. And once when a motorist had
identified himself as Bryce Gray and
had asked Gerry for his name, Gerry
had answered immediately, “Bryce.”
“He’s cunning and shrewd but he
has no imagination,” observed Dis-
trict Attorney Foley as he handed the
reports back to Inspector O’Connor.
“He follows the same routine like a
puppet. When he’s caught unaware
he can’t think beyond the last thing
that impressed itself on his mind.”
O’Connor nodded. ‘“We’ll trap him
through his routine as soon as we pick
up a fresh trail. All the cases are too
old. Not a-lead in them to his iden-
tity. If we only knew whether his
right name is Mitchell and who his
people and friends are.”
The Raping Aspirin Bandit’s trail
was picked up the following night im
Philadelphia. His victim was an ex-
pectant mother, pretty Mrs. Catherine
Wagner. Bound with a necktie and
towels, gagged, raped and robbed, she
was found unconscious by her hus-
band on his return home from work
that evening. Mrs. Wagner was
rushed to a hospital; her child was
still-born ten days later.
Her husband, Edward, told the au-
thorities that he and his wife had
picked up a youth answering Gerry
Mitchell’s description in Elizabeth,
New Jersey, on February 9, five days
after Mrs. Papas was slain. Wagner
said the youth told them that he was
the leader of a band at Boys Town
and that he was on his way to Raleigh,
North Carolina, to visit his sick sister.
“He rode with us as far as Trenton,”
Wagner said. “I bought him a meal
there and gave him some money and
he insisted on having my address
so he could return the money to me.
He was wearing a greenish overcoat
and a bluish-green hat and my wife
recognized him instantly when he
knocked on our door this afternoon
and she didn’t hesitate to let him in.”
Quickly calculating the value of the
loot that the bandit had taken in’ his
robberies, Inspector O’Connor and
Captain Armstrong concluded that he
was short of funds and that he would
have to live in cheap lodgings until
his next foray.
“If he’s heading south, Wilmington
or Baltimore will be his next likely
stop,” O’Connor said.
Detectives Stewart, Shea, Connelly,
White, Lawton and Harrington were
instantly dispatched to keep watch,
with local aid, on low-priced hotels,
Salvation Army shelters and flop-
houses in those two cities.
But no one answering Gerry Mitch-
ell’s description appeared that night
or the next day in either Wilmington
or Baltimore lodgings of the cheaper
type. And the score of detectives
planted in Philadelphia found no trace
of him either.
Fearing that the bandit had back-
tracked, Inspector O’Coynor poured
100 more detectives into New Jersey
towns and cities to keep watch there
on low-priced lodgings. Still no sign
of Gerry, though his signature was
found in the old registers of a half-
dozen places.
Had Gerry slipped through the net?
Or had something alarmed him, caus-
ing him to drop his grisly trade? Was
he now on his way to his unknown
home, drawing a curtain over his iden-
tity forever?
Booker said: “A short while after
we returned to New York that boy
Gerry showed up at the home of my
friend, Alexander Lachland, in Man-
hattan. He borrowed two dollars from
Lachland and took Lachland’s dog for
a walk. The dog came home alone.
We were both taken in by Gerry’s lost
sister, lost luggage, lost money tale.”
On February 19, the bandit struck
again. And it would have gone un-
noticed had not Charlie Brodie, ex-
ecutive secretary to District Attorney
Foley, noticed a small item in a
Washington newspaper.
HE item simply stated that Mrs.
Ruth Frankau, wife of a Mayflower
Hotel bartender, had been robbed of a
coat in her home. A newspaperman
in earlier days, Brodie sensed that
there was more behind the story
and he pointed it out to the Bronx
Prosecutor.
Snatching a phone, Foley got the
Detective Bureau in Washington and
when the officer in charge of the
Frankau case answered, Foley iden-
tified himself and said:
“Were Mrs. Frankau’s hands bound
with a necktie by a six-foot youth
who has a pitted, pimply face and a
scarred lip and who was wearing a
greenish overcoat?”
“My gosh, how did you find that
out?” came the answer. “We didn’t
release the information,”
“Never mind, I’ll have my men in
your office in less than two hours,”
Foley replied. “They’ll tell you all
about it.”
One hundred Bronx detectives con-
verged around Washington’s hot trail.
But the trail cooled quickly. As in
Philadelphia, Gerry again vanished.
Inspector O’Connor drew his men
northward. Gerry’s routine indicated
it was his direction. There were now
202 Bronx detectives scattered in the
aD—2
District Attorney Samuel J. Foley, standing, astonished George Joseph Cvek by outlining the complete activity of Mrs. Catherine Papas’ killer
“Breakfast? No. We have one set
of dishes for ordinary use and one for
company use. These are company
dishes.”
A pack of Lucky Strikes and an ash-
tray containing the butts of four Ches-
terfield cigarettes were on the tea-
table beside the dishes.
APAS volunteered: “Those Lucky
Strikes are mine. My wife did not
smoke, so the friend she was entertain-
ing must have been smoking those
other cigarettes.”
Armstrong tightened inwardly. That
silent accusation again. The friend!
He parried: ‘“‘What time did you leave
the house today, Mr. Papas?”
“It was about nine o’clock. I went
straight to my office. I remained there
all day until about nine o’clock this
evening. It’s at 728 Ninth Avenue.”
Armstrong calculated mentally, Pap-
as’ office was down in Manhattan. It
would have taken him considerable
time to make a trip from his office to
his home and back again.
The Medical Examiner came out of
the bedroom. Armstrong went to him,
said: “Could Mrs. Papas have been
slain before nine o’clock this morning?”
Doctor Hochman nodded. “Certainly.
We can’t be very exact on setting the
moment of death. She could have
been killed as early as four o’clock
aD—3
in the morning. But not much later
than two o’clock in the afternoon.”
Armstrong’s lips tightened. He said:
“Things are getting complicated.”
The Doctor smiled wryly. “I’m
afraid I’m going to make them even
more involved for you.” He paused,
added: “At least it’s not going to help
your theory about the Raping Aspirin
Bandit.”
“How’s that?”
“Mrs. Papas was not raped!”
Armstrong drew a_ sharp breath.
The small doubt in his mind grew
rapidly. Were the aspirin bottle, left
so conspicuously on the dining table,
and the necktie, used to bind Mrs.
Papas’ hands, and the cigarette butts
merely plants to cast suspicion on the
Raping Bandit? Newspapers’ had
printed sensational stories about the
marauder the previous week when an
eight-state alarm had been sent out
for him after his second known assault
on a Bronx housewife. Had the stories
suggested a means of committing a
perfect crime?
“How about the bloodstains on her
stocking and on that settee?” Arm-
strong inquired.
Doctor Hochman shook his head.
“Not her blood. No lacerations on her
body.”
Detective Lieutenant Edward Byrnes
of the Homicide Squad came out of
the bathroom carrying a wet, blood-
stained-hand towel. He explained:
“We found this in the toilet trap.”
“Then Mrs. Papas must have se-
verely bitten or scratched her assail-
ant,” Armstrong concluded. His eyes
traveled to Papas’ face and hands.
They were unmarked. He added: “Or
she gave someone a bloody nose.”
“I thought you found a bent nail
file,” Doctor Hochman reminded him.
“We did, but she didn’t stab her
killer with that,” Armstrong said. “No
bloodstains on it. They must have
fallen on it during the struggle.”
E CALLED an officer to him and a
few minutes later police teletype
machines in all precincts in the metro-
politan area were pounding out this
message to the local commanders:
“Notify all hospitals and doctors’ of-
fices to be on the lookout for a man
or woman applying for treatment of
human bite on hand or other cuts or
scratches about face or hands. Wanted
for homicide.”
“You think a woman is mixed up
in this?” Doctor Hochman asked.
Armstrong shrugged. “It could be
anyone if Papas is giving us the right
dope. Someone out of his own past,
for that. matter. Or out of his wife’s
past. Papas knew her for only three
months before he married her so she
may have left a disappointed suitor
in Egypt. There’s something queer
about the whole thing anyway. Papas
is old enough to be her father. In fact
he looks older, but he says he is only
forty-nine.”
The public hall door opened. As-
sistant District Attorney Martin Frank
and Inspector John J. O’Connor, chief
of the entire Bronx County force,
strode in.
Armstrong joined them in a corner
of the room and recounted the known
details of the crime. Then all three
quietly regarded Papas as he puttered
about the apartment wrapped in in-
scrutable detachment.
“He seems pretty sure of himself,”
remarked Inspector O’Connor as Papas
disappeared into the kitchen at the far
end of the room. “You’d never think
it was his own wife in the next room.”
Papas reappeared, walked slowly
toward them, a note-book in his hand.
“My wife kept an account of her
expenditures in this book,’ he said.
“TI see there is an entry in it for forty-
six cents worth of groceries that she
purchased today.” He handed the
note-book to Captain Armstrong,
turned and walked casually away.
The three officials looked at each
other, astounded. There had been no
hint of inner agony in Papas’ voice,
(Continued on Page 50)
7
HE man was strong and when he
walked he moved with the lithe,
dangerous tread of a wild animal
recently uncaged.
Mrs. Catherine Papas noticed this
change in the manner of her suave guest.
Instinctively, she was afraid. She was
in danger for the first time since she had
come to New York City from far off
Egypt two years before, and she knew it.
Her fingers moved to the dark skin of
her soft, round throat. She wished she
were more conventionally attired. Cer-
tainly this flimsy dressing robe was not
the sort of....
Terror froze her thoughts. The man
had stopped his pacing, turned to face
her. His eyes fascinated, horrified her.
In that terrible instant the Grecian
beauty read the bestiality in his eyes and
knew that in a split second he would
spring. A scream ripped through her
lips, high-pitched but cut short by brutal
hands that throttled her.
Fear paralyzed her for an instant.
Should she submit and save her life? In-
Catherine Papas, left,
By HENRY BARTLETT
Found cruelly bound and strangled in her upper
New York City apartment only a short time after
she had served tea toa mysterious stranger, Mrs.
was the victim of a fiendish
assailant sought by police of eight states.
for You *
1 Gonvenicn’”
At the registration
desk of this low-
priced transient hotel,
when a man asked
for a room as indi-
cated in this posed
photo, police sprang
a carefully prepared
trap to catch a killer.
stinct answered for her and fury lent her
strength to kick and scratch and bite.
One instant she was free, flung to the
divan by her assailant whose rage blazed
from dagger points in his savage eyes.
Her hand closed upon a nail file. She
struck as he lunged at her and felt the
flimsy metal bend as the point dug futilely
into his hulking shoulder. :
She screamed again. An arm slipped
around her throat, closing the windpipe
1f4——F y Z
[Hee ive, fewer (7-5
and shutting off the carotid arteries car-
rying life blood to her brain.
Hot, hungry breath beat against her
helpless face. Her eyes pleaded for mercy
as strength drained from her limbs. But
there was no mercy in the beastly eyes
which glared savagely back at her. Then
she was dead.
Hours sped past on that cold, gray day
of Feb. 4, 1941. A chill night wind
swept down from the Hudson river valley
was different from those left by whoever
had tea there that afternoon.
Upon arrival of the police physician,
the officers, trailed by the husband, en-
tered the bedroom where the body of Mrs.
Papas lay on the smooth covers of the
bed. From beneath her scantily clad
figure trailed the crumpled and torn silk
of the dressing robe which had been all
but ripped from her bedy.
As the physician examined the body,
he murmured, “Rigor mortis. I’d say
she has been dead for several hours.” He
turned the body over. The woman's
hands were tied behind her back with a
cheap, brown tie.
“One of yours?” O’Connor asked,
turning to the husband.
The man shook his head. He had never
seen the tie.
The towel about the bride’s throat was
stained with spots of blood. The one
around her ankles was but a portion of
a towel, torn raggedly apart.
Dressing-table drawers had been
pulled out and the contents stirred as if
8
A New York detective,
above, is seen examining the
double loops of a towel used
to bind the ankles of the vic-
tim, and the single strip used
for her hands. At right is the
wine glass bearing the fin-
gerprints which sealed the
brutal killer’s doom.
hasty hands had searched for valuables.
Back in the living room, the detectives
surveyed the scene. A foyer between the
living room and the bedroom contained a
bookcase and a dresser.
Books had been tumbled onto the floor,
possibly knocked there in a struggle but
more likely taken out and shaken by one
searching for valuables between their
pages.
On the floor before the dresser in the
foyer was the dead woman’s bag, empty
now except for cosmetics and her keys.
The husband asked if there was money
in the purse.
A detective shook his head. ‘Should
there be some ?”
The man said there should be $100.
The mules, scattered on the living room
floor, seemed to point like an arrow to
the divan. A dark stain, moist still to the
touch, had been made by blood.
On the floor, almost out of sight, was
a fingernail file, its flimsy metal bent be-
tween its case-hardened teeth and_ its
slender handle.
Obviously this room had been the scene
of the death struggle, Deputy Chiet In-
spector O’Connor reasoned. The slayer
had then carried the lifeless form of the
olive-skined beauty into the bedroom, for
what purpose no one could tell, but the
neat appearance of the bed forbade the
theory that any act of violence had been
committed in that room.
Back in the dinette, one of the detec-
tives noticed a bottle of aspirin tablets.
He asked the husband if his wife had
been ill.
The husband looked at him dumbly.
Then he explained that he took aspirin
occasionally but had not done so that
morning. His wife never took the tablets.
Assistant District Attorney Frank and
O'Connor ordered the detectives to make
a thorough search of the apartment and,
with the help of the husband, determine
what. if anything, was missing. Mean-
while they called on the doorman and the
superintendent.
strangled to death. A cheap necktie
was drawn tightly about her throat. |
At present writing, Foley and his
men still were trying to determine
whether the brutal Cvek was respon-
sible for this crime.
At any rate, the hitch-hiking killer
from Harrisburg must face trial on
first degree murder charges for the
slaying of Kitty Pappas.
Cvek’s apprehension was termed by
AMAZING DETECTIVE CASES
Foley as “the smartest piece of de-
tective work I have ever seen 1n my
whole career.”
And for their splendid work in
capturing Cvek at the Mills Hotel,
Detectives Edward J. Mahon, Fred P.
Durant and Edward J. Gillon received
special tribute and promotion in rank,
with a raise in pay.
They nabbed the hitch-hiking, con-
fessed slayer who now is on the road
BLONDE PAWN
(Continued from page 7)
to the electric chair—a one-way road
on which there are no hitch-hikers.
“Tf the warden of the State’s prison
is unable to find anyone to turn on
the switch,” Magistrate Michael Ford
said, when Cvek was brought before
him, “I’ll gladly act as executioner.”
(John Zarvos is a fictitious name to
save an innocent person from embar-
rassment.)
i ; %
“How much do I get?” I asked.
“Twenty-five dollars for the night.”
“When do I start work?”
My first evening’s work was a red
letter day in my life. The date was
April 24th, 1938. I was seated in the
lobby of the large West side hotel at
precisely nine o'clock when Joel
Thomas walked in. Strangely enough
I wasn’t nervous at all. I was look-
ing forward to it as an adventure, He
seemed to feel a little foolish with
the white carnation stuck in the lapel
of his coat and with his chest) in-
flated to give the flower added promi-
nence. This was the way I was sup~
posed to recognize him. He looked
over my way, saw a pair of trim
ankles, blonde hair, and graceful
throat. I got up and smiled, walked
toward him.
“Hello, Richard,” I said.
“Hello, Agnes,” he responded.
These were our code names.
It would have been far simpler had
we met on the outside and come in
together. But Harry, who knew about
these things, ruled otherwise. He said
a lobby meeting was more ostenta-
tious. And the clerk of the hotel
would be more apt to remember the
incident if it happened this way.
Mr. Thomas slipped his hand under
my arm and together we walked to
the desk. The clerk in charge turned
the register about and pushed it for-
ward. Mr. Thomas wrote: “Mr. and
Mrs. Richard Smith, Albany, New
York.”
“That will be $8.50—in advance.”
Mr. Thomas opened his billfold and
paid. The clerk struck a bell in front
of him and called, ‘‘Front.”
A bellboy hurried over, secured the
key, grabbed up the valise and led
the way to the elevator.
Just before I turned my back, I
saw the clerk look up at me from un-
der heavy eyebrows in a meaningful
stare. It seemed to say, “Listen, lady,
I know you’re not Mr. and Mrs.
Smith.” He thought he had the set-
up figured out.
But for once in his career he was
wrong!
We got out on the cighth floor. The
bellboy opened the door, dropped the
valise’ just inside the room. Mr.
Thomas tipped him a quarter.
“Any ice water, sir?”
“No, we'll need nothing for the re-
mainder of the evening.”
The bellboy left the room. Mr.
Thomas opened his grip, lifted out a
pair of pajamas and tossed them on
the bed. Beneath the pajamas lay six
volumes of the Manhattan telephone
directory. :
I puta do-not-disturb sign outside
the door, then turned the key. Mr.
42
Thomas was nervously pacing the
floor. Now that we were nearing the
big moment I didn’t feel so calm’
either. My instructions were explicit.
“T guess we might as well make
ourselves comfortable,” I said, hoping
that there was no quaver in my voice.
I opened the small hand valise I car-
ried, pulled out a diaphanous night-
Own.
Mr. ‘Thomas .was_ a ventieman,
which is something I could not say
for many of the men who came later.
He turned his face to the wall as I
slid my dress over my head. My slip
swished to the floor and my night-
gown slipped over my head.
The room had a double bed. Mr.
Thomas dressed in the bathroom.
When he came out he didn’t know
what to do. He padded about the
room on his bare feet.
Pretty soon part of the embarrass-
ment was lifted and Mr. Thomas was
telling me snatches of his life. He
told me his wife was a’ woman who
demanded plenty of attention. He had
at first neither the time nor the
strength to fulfill her whims and,
later when her demands became un-
-reasonable, no _ inclination, either.
Since there were no other women in
his life, I became a_ necessity if he
were to be free from her, :
I found out later that this was the
exception to the rule. In most cases
the men already had mistresses, but
didn’t want to subject these ladies to
the annoyance of a raid, even though
it was a phony one.
With all its screwy set-ups, I don’t
think Hollywood ever had a screwier
one than this: I was the stand-in for
an adultress.
About an hour later there was a
sharp knock on the door.
Mr. Thomas jumped out of bed.
“Who is it?” he called.
A gruff voice answered. “There is
a telegram for you, Mr. Smith.”
I took off my nightgown quickly,
sat up in bed, held the bedspread in
front of me as a shield.
Mr. Thomas unlocked the door and
in trooped Mr. Thomas’ sister-in-
law, a process server and Harry Scott.
Harry drew himself up in an atti-
tude of righteousness. “Do you recog-
nize this man?” he asked.
“I certainly do,”’. the sister-in-law
responded acidly. “He is married to
my sister.”
“And do you recognize that wo-
man?” Harry pointed a scornful finger
at me.
I was supposed to register confu-
sion, sex and anger all in one. But
inside of me all I felt was a deep
sense of shame. I didn’t think it would
be so hard. After all, it was pretty
tough for a girl not used to this to
have to do a strip tease for such an
audience.
“T never saw her before in all my
life,” she snorted angrily.
“We've got the goods on them now.
That will be all,” Harry said.
The party went out. As though in
an after-thought, Harry .let himself
back into the room, handed me five
crisp five dollar bills. .
“Never mind what the sister-in-law
said.” He came over to the bed and
patted my arm. “She really thinks it’s
a legitimate raid. It’ll make her a bet-
ter witness in court.”
My work on this case was done. I
got dressed and went home.
~
ET me take you through to the
end of the Thomas case, even
though my part in it ended with that
night in the hotel.
Three months later, in the staid
Supreme Court, a black-robed jurist
sat behind the bench; this was uncon-
tested divorce day. Four cases were
called and disposed of within an hour.
The clerk of the court called:
“Thomas against Thomas.”
The plaintiff, who was Mrs. Thomas,
rose from her seat in the rear of the
courtroom and made her way for-
ward. She was a rather plump, nice-
looking though in a hard way, woman
whose figure was beginning to bulge.
A court officer held a Bible in front
of her. “Raise your right hand. Do
you solemnly swear to tell the truth,
the whole truth and nothing but the
truth, so help you God?”
ad | do.”
“Take the witness stand.”
Herz attorney stepped forward.
“Where do you live?”
“In New York.”
“How long have you been a resident
of this county?”
“For more than thirty days.”
“When and where were you mar-
ried?”
“I was married in New York City
on July 10th, 1932.”
“Do you have any children?”
“No, sir.”
“Was the adultery of your husband
committed with your consent,
knowledge or procurement?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Have five years elapsed since your
discovery of the commission of the
alleged adultery?”
“Tt has not.”
“Ig there any other decree of di-
vorce rendered in your favor against
your husband, or in favor of your
husband against you in any court of
this state, or of the United States, or
in any foreign court, or a court, in
any ‘territory of the United States?”
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along the Grand Concourse of the Bronx
in upper New York City.
Not until 10:15 p. m., did the husband
of the lovely Mrs. Papas return home
from his business to discover the ghastly
evidence of the crime. Like a man desper-
ately ill, he stumbled to the elevator, then
called frantically for the doorman.
Minutes later, screaming sirens an-
nounced the arrival of detectives and
Martin Frank, assistant district attorney
of the Bronx, assigned to homicides.
Assistant District Attorney Frank
shared leadership of the primary investi-
gation with Deputy Chief Inspector John
J. O’Connor. Helping the latter were
Acting Capt. John Armstrong and Lieut.
Edward Burns from the 48th precinct,
the Bronx. In supreme command was
District Attorney Samuel J. Foley of that
borough.
. RAVISHER and the
DOOMED HOUSEWIVES
Plunging immediately into the task,
the officers called for technicians from
the vast headquarters of Manhattan po-
lice on Centre street and the police phy-
sicians.
Plodding in the wake of the officers
was the grief-stricken husband. Officers
quickly noted dishes in the sink from
which breakfast had been served.
Other dishes on the table in the dinette
indicated they had been set for tea for
two. The dishes were from the best china
service. There were crystal goblets and
the silver decanter from which wine had
been poured. These things were saved
for very special occasions.
Ground into an ashtray were four
cigaret stubs. Mrs. Papas did not smoke.
Amid the ashes was a wad of gum. The
dead woman had never chewed gum. And
although the husband smoked, his brand
LPG L TUCO IO
el
Detective Lawrence Curtis, who had been assigned
to watch for cases involving the necktie strangler,
was tense. A moment later he was at the telephone,
calling Captain Armstrong. “Philadelphia is send-
ing out an alarm for Mitchell—evidently he’s just
done another job.” He read the message.
The Detective Captain’s face was hard. He and
his men had been working twenty hours a day since
the Kitty Pappas murder. Yet, despite their efforts,
the suspect had eluded them and had struck once
more. An hour later, when Detective Stewart
phoned in from New Jersey, he ordered him to con-
tact the Philadelphia authorities and cooperate with
them on their investigation. - ‘““We’re all in this
together,” he said. “The main thing is to get this
bird out of business before he does any more harm.”
Meanwhile, there were further leads to be run
down.
From Auburn, Maine, Detective O’Brien sent word
that he had located a tourist camp where ‘the signa-
ture of “Gerry Mitchell” appeared on the register,
signed with v-shaped “r’s.”
“They have 12,000 fingerprints of hitchhikers at
the Identification Bureau—the clerks have agreed to
work overtime to check their files against the latent
prints we took off the water glass.”
“Fine—anything else?” asked the Captain.
“I made inquiries at the hospital at Holton, they
had no girl auto injury victims in August. But the
editor of the Brunswick paper did a piece about this
fellow for his column. I’m air-mailing it to you.
It speaks for itself.” “
The clipping arrived the next day, February 14th.
It read in part:
We met the Mayor of Boys Town the other night—at least
that’s who he said he was. Whether he told the truth or not
we can’t yet say, but it was a good story. While we suspect
it might have. been phony, still it had the ring of authenticity.
But it’s just possible that the whole scheme was made up to
wangle money out of some sympathetic soul. If so, he should
have known better than to try a newspaper office. At any rate
our curiosity is still piqued and we hope sooner or later to
discover the truth of the matter.
“Amen,” said the Captain fervently, “and so do
we.”
By that time New York detectives were covering
U. S. No. 1 in five patrols on the following scheme:
Philadelphia to Trenton-—Detectives Holt and
Smith; Trenton to New Brunswick—Blackburn and
Reynolds; New Brunswick to Rahway—Austin and
Morrissey; Rahway to Newark—Gillen and Mahon;
Newark to Jersey City—Petrizzo and Cully.
Working in their personal cars, they kept up a
ceaseless watch on the out-of-state highways, stop-
ping at roadside filling stations and eating places,
where, on the pretext of seeking a missing person,
they described the bogus Mayor of Boys Town.
Occasionally they would find someone who had seen
him—but invariably it would turn out that this had
happened from one to six months previously.
Then at eight o’clock in the evening, Detective
Stewart called 7th District Headquarters from
Philadelphia: “No progress yet on the Wagner attack
—but we have another incident that might be pro-
ductive. Mrs. Helen Greff who. lives in Stratford,
New Jersey, reports that this Boys Town ‘Mayor’
I . fie: in
ncitasssianatichaal
(Left) Photo of postcard written by "Jerry Mitchell"
and (above) hotel
has called at her house five times since last Easter
and has sent them postal cards, under the name of
Eugene Connor. On the last visit he walked into
the house while she was telephoning. She said she
had a funny sensation and spoke over the phone:
‘Bob—hurry up,’ although she was talking to her
mother at the time. When she turned around Connor
was gone and they haven’t seen him in months.
Mrs. Greff is very attractive and they are afraid he -
might come back.”
@ “SOUNDS LIKE a strong possibility,” agreed the
Captain. “Ask the local police to watch her house
and I’ll put another car of our own on the Phila-
delphia-Stratford road to keep tabs on what goes
on.” :
While this additional trap for the roving strangler
was being prepared, Detectives Blackburn and Rey-
70 el nef
Sie, ead
registers which he signed
oL
GAILOGLAG anu
Holton, Maine, where she was recuperating from an
automobile accident. Claimed to have lost his suit-
case containing clothes and money. Brooker sug-
gested that he get in touch with Father Flanagan,
But Mitchell said he felt ashamed of himself and
would not like to take additional money from the
Treasury of the Home.
@ “AT ABOUT 10 Pp. M., on August 13th, on Route
15, just over the state line in Connecticut, Brooker
said that he hired a cabin and they stayed there
overnight. This is on the right hand side going
south, name unknown.
“They arrived in New York at 6 P. M. on the 14th.
In the vicinity of Twelfth and West Street, Mitchell
said he would try to get a hitch from one of the
trucks of the Monark or Pyramid Line, as he knew
the drivers. He was turned down and Brooker again
told him to get in touch with Boys Town. He was
reluctant to do this, but finally at seven o’clock he
sent a telegram from Penn Station which Brooker
paid for. Contents were as follows: No home. Am
stranded New York City. Kindly send money.
“They-waited at the station two hours for a reply.
Then they went for a walk and in the vicinity of
Broadway, Mitchell suddenly disappeared.
“Brooker reports that he talked a lot about his
honor and when he was kidded about girls replied
that he had never kissed one in his life. He said:
‘What chance did a fellow have to learn about girls
when he lived in Boys Town.’
“That’s about all from here. Lawton and I will
go on to see Mr. Stadden in Bartonsville,”’ said
Stewart, when he had finished the foregoing report.
When the call was completed, Captain Armstrong
found himself with three additional leads to be in-
vestigated—the hospital at Holton, Maine; the
Connecticut tourist cabin; and the truck drivers at
Twelfth and West Street. Additional men were sent
to cover these angles, and the following morning,
February 11th, Lawton and Stewart arrived at Bar-
tonsville and talked to Robert Stadden.
“Sure I remember Mitchell,” said the latter. “He
gave me quite a story about Boys Town and when
I wrote to Father Flanagan I.found that it was all
phony. Naturally I discount everything he said,
but two things about him struck me as unusual—one
was that he mended his own underwear and the
other was his excessive politeness. To my mind they
show evidence of institutional training.”
The detectives nodded. “Probably he’s a reform
school graduate.” eras: Ho
It so happened that the suspect had left a pair of
shorts and a sleeveless sweater at Stadden’s house,
and in the ‘hope of finding a laundry mark or some
other means of identification, the detectives took
the articles back to New York for processing by the
Technical Research Laboratory.
Here tests showed no markings of any kind on
the sweater, while ultra-violet light brought out
the initials “B. W.” on the shorts. However, since
it was a part of the man’s racket to steal clothing
from those whom he victimized, there was little
that could be learned from this clue. With a score
of irons in the fire, Inspector O’Connor and Captain
Armstrong awaited developments, most promising
of which concerned a pimple-faced hitchhiker in
Army uniform who had been recently seen in Rhode
Island.
* * *
The following morning, February 12th; nineteen-
year-old Mrs. Catherine Wagner of 5647 North Fifth
Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, was dusting the
living-room of the apartment when the doorbell
rang. Putting down the dustcloth, she went into the
hall. She walked slowly, for her baby was to be
born a few months hence. When she opened the
door, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered young man
who said: ‘“Where’s Eddie?”
“In the shop,” she replied.
“Where’s that?”
“Around the corner—517 West Olney.”
™@ “OKAY—I’LL look him up.” With that, the caller
left, and she went back to her housecleaning.
Three days before, she and her husband Edward
had given the same young man a lift from Newark
to Trenton. He had told them that he was from
Boys Town, that he had come East to visit his sick
sister in Maine, and that he was now headed for
South Carolina. Before he left he had asked them
for their address in order that he might send them
_ Salad and cake.
some souvenirs of his intended trip to the South.
He had been pleasant and very polite and the
Wagners had felt genuinely sorry for him. Thinking
little about the incident, the girl went about. her
tasks and at twelve o’clock, as she was about to
prepare some lunch for herself, the doorbell rang
once more.
It was the same smiling young man.
“Eddie wasn’t in,” he said softly. “I thought that
maybe you could give me something to eat.”
“Certainly—if you’re hungry.”
She busied herself at the stove while he sat at
the kitchen table. He talked about his travels and
the people he had met and how everybody had been
so kind to him. “They had a light lunch of soup, egg
“Boy, that’s great,” he said with
a sigh of contentment.
™@ THE GIRL smiled, got up to clear the table.
As she did so, her visitor spoke. .. , She looked
at him in amazement .. . saw his green eyes stare
back at her insolently.
Terrified, she backed away. He reached out a
long arm, seized her by the throat, dragged her to
the bedroom. She tried to fight him off, but he
punched her mercilessly about the head and shoul-
ders. Then with a swift movement he thrust a
handkerchief into her mouth, tied it in place with a
scarf which she had been knitting for her husband.
Pinning her to the bed with one hand, he rum-
maged with the other through the dresser drawers
until he found two neckties. With these he tied her
wrists behind her. “I don’t want to kill you,” he
said as he leaned over her. “So don’t try any funny
stuff.”
. Later he put on a pair of suede gloves,
methodically ransacked the dresser. Finding little
of value, he picked up the girl’s limp hand, tore her
wedding and engagement rings from her finger.
Then he left. .
Three times the bell on the teletype machine at
Bronx Police Headquarters sounded. Then the keys
began to hammer out the following: “‘TX—9 State
Alarm—Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Arrest John
Mitchell .. . assault, robbery and rape .. . hitch-
hiker. .. .”
Biere ave Lawn ence Curtis, who — been assigned
enlartover $9 reelrtie stranosler
Smith; Trenton to New Brunswick—Blackburn and
Revnolds: New BRriunewiek ta Roh r.-Awetin and
has called at her house five times since last Easter
ah . 1¢ thas rniest wees waevelis } .
PL
GAILOaLad anus
rrr nee nee none nema
nolds who were covering the route between New
Brunswick and Trenton, learned that Mr. and Mrs.
Harry Schorn of Hightstown had given a ride to
the bogus Mayor. As it happened, the woman was
an artist, and learning of the manhunt then in prog-
ress, she offered to draw a picture of the youth from
memory. “He had a rough face with high, square
cheekbones,” she said as she made the sketch. “His
nose has a peculiar bulge at the end and anyone who
keeps this in mind will be able to recognize him.”
Reynolds sent the drawing on to Captain Arm-
strong who had dozens of photostats made and
distributed to his investigators. Certain that their
man was to be found along Route No. 1, the search
was pressed from Philadelphia to Providence, Rhode
Island, over a 300-mile road net. But clues: to his
present whereabouts were sparse.
* * *
Five days passed. Then, on the afternoon of Febru-
ary 17th, in Washington, D. C., a young man who
wore a green hat and who carried a green overcoat
on his arm rang the bell to the apartment of Mrs.
Francis Somers. A good-looking girl inher early
twenties, she looked inquiringly at her caller.
“Is Al in?” he asked, giving the name of her hus-
band.
“No—he’s at the hotel—you can find him there.”
“Thanks,” he said. Then he hesitated for a mo-
ment, smiled. “My name is Somers, too.”
“Oh—are you one of our. relatives?” asked the
girl, who had only been married a short while.
@ HE LAUGHED. “Not unless it’s from way back
—there are about a million of us in the country.
I just thought I’d stop and see Al while my car was
being fixed.” :
“Well, if you want to wait here, you can,” she
said, wishing to show hospitality to a friend of her
husband’s.
“Don’t mind if I do,” was the reply. He walked
inside, took a seat in the parlor, explained that he
was an orchestra leader on his way to Florida for
the winter. He talked about his visits to New York
night spots, described the Stork Club and the famous
people whom he knew. They chatted for about an
hour. Then he got up, said that he wanted to see
how his car was getting along and would be back.
Not until an hour later did he return. “I just saw
Al,” he explained. “He was pretty busy and we
didn’t have much time to talk. My car will be ready
about half past seven.”
m AGAIN HE made himself comfortable, drank a
highball, smoked a half-dozen cigarettes, holding
the ashtray on his lap. He talked about his sister,
who was a cripple, and who knitted quilts for a
hobby. He promised’ not only to have her send
Mrs. Somers a quilt but said he would bring her to
Washington for a visit. Then he talked about his
mother, how she raised flowers in the basement of
their house after he had installed a piping system
for her. He explained that she had carnations in
full bloom and Mrs. Somers could expect a bouquet
within a week. Finally, as it grew dark, he asked:
“What time is it?”
There was a clock in the bedroom and the girl got
up to look at it. ‘“Seven-fifteen,” she replied.-
He yawned. “Well I guess I’ll have to run along.
Can I have my overcoat?”
“Surely—I’ll get it for you.” -
She turned her back to him, and he came up be-
hind her. “There’s something on your shoulder,”
he said.
Surprised, she gave a half-turn, found her neck
in the crook of his right elbow. At the same instant
a hand was clapped over her mouth to stifle her
scream. So great was the pressure on her throat
that breathing was impossible. Fearing that she
would be choked to death, she stamped her feet on
the floor, in a desperate effort to attract the atten-
tion of her neighbors. But no one was at home on
the floor below. :
The next thing she knew was being carried to
the bedroom. Here a handkerchief was stuffed into
her mouth, and her hands and ankles were tied with
strips of a torn undershirt. Then a pair of shorts
were thrown over her head.
Lying immobile, scarcely able to breathe, the girl
heard bureau drawers being opened and closed.
Then came the rattle of papers, and she knew that
the marauder had discovered her pocketbook. After
that she could hear the rattle of the penny bank,
“ which was tossed aside.
There was another bank
on the dresser—one that an insurance agent had
given to the couple for the accumulation of their
premium payments. It was almost full, and she
heard him pick it up.
“Where’s the key?” he demanded. Her mouth
was stuffed with the handkerchief and she couldn’t
answer. He came close to the bed, took out the gag,
fastened his fingers on her throat, close to the hinge
of her jaw.
“Raise your voice,’ he taunted. “I dare you.”
“My husband has the key,” she said.
“Are you sure?”’ To make certain that she was
not lying, he choked her until her brain reeled.
Then he relaxed his hold, thrust the gag back in
place, covered her head. She heard his footsteps trail
off to the kitchen. He returned a few moments later,
began to hammer at the bank. When he had demol-
ished it, he pocketed the coins, then seizing her left
hand, he stripped off her wedding and engagement
rings. She could feel his face close to her own, his
breath hot upon her cheeks. He was saying nothing,
but his fingers were unloosening the bonds that tied
her feet. . . . She tried to spring away. For her
Pains she received a stunning blow behind the ear
—then everything spun in circles.
When she came to, she saw him standing at the
foot of the bed. “It’s now eight o’clock,” he was
saying. “Don’t move until eight-fifteen.”
Too stunned to reply, she watched him put her
new fur coat intoa hatbox, pause in front of a mirror
to admire himself. Then he left.
For the sobbing young matron it was a fantastic
nightmare from which there was no awakening. Not
for twenty minutes was she able to free herself.
Working her hands loose, she reached for the tele-
phone.
@ WITHIN RECORD time Assistant Superintendent
Bernard W. Thompson, Commanding the District
of Columbia Detective Bureau, arrived at the scene
with his men. Hearing Mrs. Somers’ description
of her assailant, he shook his head. ‘The necktie
strangler,” he said. ‘We can’t let him slip through
our fingers this time—we’ll have to cover all the
roads.”
° When the alarm went a young man using the aliases of Joe, Gerald and
é over the teletype, Captain John Mitchell, were reported.
= Armstrong in New York Then, on February 21st, within three miles of
i. City was soon apprised of the attack on Mrs. Somers, a man using the name
har developments, ordered De- of Mitchell appeared at an apartment. He claimed
tective Stewart to proceed to be an artist. He had been speaking to the house-
from Philadelphia to Wash- wife for about five minutes, when a neighbor
ington. appeared. Apparently he was upset by the inter-
Somers himself was ques- ruption, for he left soon afterward, taking with
tioned at the hotel where him a photograph of the woman’s child, saying that
he was employed. However, he would tint it and return it.
he was completely at a loss Accordingly, a watch was put on the house—but
to explain how the marau- as had happened so often in this case, the results
der had come to learn about were negative. Road patrols were still active, how-
his home life. The descrip- ever, and the unending routine of checking pawn-
tion of the bumpy-fore- shops, cheap hotels and lodging houses continued
headed, broad-shouldered, until the police who were working on the search
pockmarked visitor meant could have spotted their man in a crowd of a thou-
nothing to him and he de- sand had they been able to lay their eyes on him.
nied ever having given a Three days later, on the afternoon of February
lift to a hitchhiker. 24th, 1941, 23-year-old Mrs. Charles Walters of
Newark, New Jersey, opened the door of her apart-
M TABULATION OF the ment to a tall, blunt-chinned young man who was
loot revealed that one wearing a pin-striped green suit. He said he was
gold ring set with thirteen a friend of her husband’s from the “home office” of
diamonds had been taken, the corporation where they both had worked. In-'
along with a plain gold ring asmuch as Walters had been transferred from the
and a fur coat. A special pa- main plant of the company the previous June, his
trol of six radio cars was wife sensed nothing strange in the visit. Although
detailed to watch for these she had never seen the man before, she told him
valuables, and in the suc- where her husband could be found and the caller
ceeding twenty-four hours left.
no less than 360 second- One hour later, he was back.
hand dealers were visited. “Did you see him?” she asked.
Grimly the manhunt went He shook his head. “I couldn’t get through the
on, with the police forces gate—I forgot my pass.”
of the whole Eastern Sea- Wishing to be helpful, she said she would tele-
board taking part, but no phone her husband to find out what time he would
civilians were aware of be home. Since there was no phone in the house,
what was transpiring. That she went to the corner grocery store and her visitor
the killer was somewhere in accompanied her.
Washington the authorities “He'll be back at six-thirty—do you want to
had little doubt, for within wait?” she said when she came out of the booth.
the next three days no less He thought for a moment. “Tell you what—I’ll
a Between Detective William O'Brien (/eft) and Detective than six attempts to gain try to get my girl friend—we’ll make it a double
Fred Durant (right) the killer is taken to Headquarters
ur. Lhen he got up, said that’ he wanted to see
be
2 444 UAOLUVEIE
that shé coul
d hear the ra
pocketbook. After
f the penny bank,
entrance to apartments, by
our fingers this time—we'll hive to cover all the
Toads.”
date.”
°
meee a
On coffee table were cups and brandy glasses. Wedding
picture was on a chair, as if Kitty had shown it to someone.
While police removed body of Mrs. Pappas to morgue an
alarm went out for man who opened doors by faking illness.
A WOMAN, A BRANDY AND AN ASPIRIN, PLEASE continued
place ransacked and his wife beaten, gagged and possibly raped.
The story was always the same.
A man had appeared at the door during the afternoon, ex-
plained to the woman that he was a friend of her husband's and
that he had borrowed some money from him. He would show
her the card on which her husband had written his name and
address.
“Tt wasn’t much, a few dollars.” the stranger would tell the
woman. “But it came at a time when it seemed like a fortune to
me. I want: to repay it.” He would pull a couple of rumpled
bills from his pocket, but before the transaction was completed,
he would stagger slightly and brace himself against the door
paneling. ‘‘I’m sorry. I haven’t been well,” he would say. “I
wonder if I could trouble you for an aspirin.” '
The housewife. certain she was dealing with a man who knew
her husband. would invite him in and go for a glass of water and
an aspirin. The bandit used this time to study the interior of the
house. When the woman returned, she was set upon, gagged.
tied hand and foot and beaten into silence. Then the bandit
picked up whatever articles he wanted, usually silver and what-
ever money he could find, and fled.
“We've had six reports on him.” the police commissioner told
the district attorney. “In three different sections of the city.
But the pattern’s exactly the same. The last two women have
been criminally assaulted.”
Samuel Foley, district attorney in the Bronx where the last
attack had occurred, nodded. “For every report we get. there’s
probably one we never hear about. Besides. if he’s prowling the
highways, he must have picked up rides outside ‘the state, too;
Jersey, Connecticut ... .”
“We've covered that,” the commissioner said. “We've got
flyers out in seven states. describing what we know of this man
and urging cooperation in nailing the bum. Aspirin Bandit—hell.
The name I’ve got for him couldn’t even be printed.”
Then, on the night of February 4, 1941, the wanted man added
one more title to his long list—Tea Party Bandit—and the label
police had most feared . . - killer. ;
It was 10:30 p.m. when John Pappas entered the lobby of the
apartment house where he lived at 1035 Grand Concourse in the
Bronx. Pappas was a moderately well-to-do coffee merchant, a
somber-faced, gentle mannered man of Greek extraction. He
had lived a narrowly circumscribed life that had allowed for
financial security but little pleasure. Now in his middle years he
considered himself the most fortunate man afoot. Just 18
months before it seemed that all of the Greek gods had con-
trived to bestow their special favors on this native son. They
had given him Kitty, a shy, delicate and most beautiful girl, 15
years his junior.
THE wedding had been big and gay and bright and noisy and
as different from the gentle Pappas and his quiet young bride
as the jam-packed avenues of the Bronx are from the rolling
hills of Greece. But John had wanted it that way and they had
climaxed this most gala event of their lives with a wedding pic-
ture that now hung in a fancy frame on the wall of their apart-
ment.
Pappas was whistling a little tune as he stepped into the
elevator that would take him to his apartment. He tapped the
pocket of his coat. The jar of olives was there, the black pun-
gent olives that he and Kitty liked so much. and the hard spicy
salami. .
He opened the door quietly. Kitty sometimes slept when he
was working late. He liked to find her asleep. She looked so
child-like and defenseless. ‘He liked to take her in his arms and
waken her with little kisses along her pale. smooth cheeks.
The room was dark when he entered. \ He smiled. She's
oo
Suspect, being fingerprinted, took the names of eople he
thumbed rides with, sent postcards to a man he'd oe met.
asleep, he thought. He walked to the door of the bedroom and
saw the outline of his wife on the bed. He moved to the side of
the bed and switched on the lamp. “Oh my God, oh, my God.”
he said. Then he was babbling in Greek, anything that came into
his head, violent curses and streams of prayer. This wes not
his beautiful Kitty. This was a swollen, lifeless body, a woman
bound with towels. clad only in undergarments. with a necktie
drawn so tightly around her throat that the flesh bulged out over
it and the face had turned a mottled purple.
Pappas was gripped with a violent shaking and ‘when this
passed he found he could not talk. He felt as dead as the body
that lay on the bed. Without looking again at the grotesque
caricature of his once lovely wife, he pulled the sheet over her
body and walked stiff-legged and numb to the other room.
He did not know how long he sat there before his eyes were
focusing again and the blood was starting through his veins.
Then he saw the coffee table. the low round table that he and
Kitty used for their informal late night snacks. On it were two
cups, two saucers and two cordial glasses. And on the seat of
the chair that had been drawn up was the wedding picture. as
though Kitty had taken it down from the wall to show it to
some one.
“Oh my baby, my poor little baby,’”’ he mumbled. “You trusted
someone. You let some one in. You...” Slowly, like a man
in a trance, he reached for the phone and called the police.
Within an hour. Chief Inspector John O’Connor and his men
thought they had sifted out all of the information that would be
of use to them—and it was miserably little. Dr. Charles Hoch-
man, assistant medical examiner, estimated that Kitty Pappas
had been dead about eight to ten hours. A shopping list with
most of the items ticked off was found and detectives were or-
dered to check early in the moming to find out when she was
last seen in the neighborhood. But it (Continned on page 59)
Lamp base and brandy glass were checked for finger-
prints. One on the glass matched hitchhike bandits.
Detective points to towels used to bind Mrs. P. :
. Pappas
“hands and feet before she was strangled with siecle.
Police checked every low-priced hotel in city, found
one where familiar list of names showed up in records.
37
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He showed absolutely no remorse.
On May 12, 1941, Cvek went on trial
for the murder of Catherine Pappas be-
fore Judge James J. Barrett in Bronx
County Court. After a short but dramatic
trial, in which the prisoner created a dozen
scenes in the courtroom by spitting con-
temptuously at every witness who ap-
peared against him, the jury retired. It
deliberated 27 minutes, then returning a
verdict of guilty as charged with no recom-
mendation for clemency.
Three months later, on a hot summer
night in August, Cvek stumbled to the
electric chair.
Eprtor’s Note: The names of all living
victims of the executed man are fictitious,
as is the name George Collier.
FINGERPRINTS
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 21
cruise liners—a fruit-line boat, I believe.”
“Who was this man?” Sullivan de-
manded. .
“I don’t know his name. She never
mentioned it. But she did say he was
dark and foreign-looking. As a matter
of fact, she didn’t have much at all to
do with men, but this was a_ business
proposition. I don’t even know where
she was to meet him. She drank her
coffee, put on her hat and left about
seven o’clock. She was carrying her purse
and wearing her rings.”
The officers were aware that a number
of steamship companies, both large and
small, operated freighters and cruise
liners to the tropics; and there must be
thousands of “dark, foreign-looking” men
connected with them. Nevertheless, Sul-
livan and Carey determined to find the
one who had promised Emma MacDonald
a job.
Returning to headquarters, they gave
orders to picked teams of detectives to
begin seeking such a suspect along the
miles of Brooklyn, Manhattan and North
Jersey waterfronts. The date was Ortober
23rd, 1919.
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went from office to office, from pier to
pier, from ship to ship and warehouse to
warehouse, but turned up absolutely noth-
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the third day after discovery of the
crime.
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Murphy, walking his beat at 98th Street
and Dumont Avenue, less than 500 yards
from the sandpit, saw two boys in their
teens playing with a_nickel-plated re-
volver. He recognized it as a .38-calibre
Smith & Wesson police model. The single
word “Spain” was etched into the butt.
“We found it in‘ a vacant lot down the
street,” one youth explained.
The weapon was rushed to the police
laboratory to be examined by firearms
identification experts. Test slugs were
fired from it and compared with those
removed from the body of Mrs. Mac-
Donald. The markings were identical,
proving the pistol to be the murder gun.
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To baffled cops he was a jumbo-
BY EARL J. ROWLAND
M HE OPERATED UNDER more names than a British king and in
just short of a year had collected almost as many titles. But to
the police of New York City he was known only as a seven let-
ter word and one that had better be gotten behind bars fast
before he added murder to a list of crimes that already included
mugging, rape and robbery. He was The Aspirin Bandit. the
Hitchhike Bandit and the Two-Bit Bandit and he was Blake,
Connor, Mitchell, Gross, Kosolsky and Crosby. With every day
that dawned. police knew he might also be Smith, Jones . . .
and killer.
He performed in a fashion unparalleled in a city where crime
is an established industry and criminals pride themselves on
their artistry and initiative. He prowled the highways. thumb-
He had many aliases,
some not printable.
Kitty Pappas’ caller hadn't forced his way into the apart-
ment. Police reasoned he had to be someone she knew.
Quiet, hard working John Pappas, successful coffee mer-
. chant, couldn't believe aspirin bandit had visited his home.
size backache. And no pain-killer could possibly cushion the jolt they had waiting for him
ing rides. Given a lift. he pumped the driver for as much infor-
mation as was seemly and, before the ride ended, he would ask
for a loan. not much—never more thari $5 and often as little as
25 cents. “Write your name and address down,” he would say,
Gshing the stub of a pencil and a postcard from the pocket of his
jacket. “I'll pay this back. I'm a man of honor, if not of
means.” :
The driver, more from amusement than because he expected
repayment, would oblige, and with a thanks and bob of his head,
the hitchhiker would be gone.
The motorist, as a rule, would: dismiss the incident from his
mind at once. But there would come a time, perhaps as much
as a week later, when he would return to his home to find the
foey ye
G."0eTo feqtum fe
Mw
continued on next page
* tectives called it now,
which job they meant. al _
stipped b since that tavern hold-up i
ane’ A Sebastian Weilandics and William place was —
Diskin, Jr.
jon detectives of the boy’s confession.
“Matse father was arrested in his home at 2
Monahan sat on his cell cot and picked
at the knees of his baexy overalls snd sttred
floor. “Yeah,” :
ag that, but somebody stole it outta
the car. I don’t know:
3 ight Mike was placed in a county
. ee home and his father was brought
~~ pack to Verona for more questioning.
z as the story hit the newspapers—
gathered in front of the tavern. i ¥
cae taines dal would look suspicious if
they didn’t mi i —— =
ter Seectives examine the bodies of the’ two
men. Then they strolled out of the bar, got
into the car and drove off. On their way
ver home, they tossed the gun into @ river.
bere be retracted his confession. “I only said
I did it because of Pop,” he said, BU Of ic
“ id he’d burn in
trembled. “Pop said nd out be bad done
; oo chair if anyone ever fo’
— So kage ae er =. i” He buried his face in his hands. “I gues
Sir =e = eee - ” y
er eee SARE me os of murder. T've let everyone down,” he sai
Escorted by detectives, Eugene Monahan, hatless, leaves scene eee dow away Srom me.”
Mike’s father was charged with first degree
der that night.
The following day Mike’s — — ped
permission to visit her husband peer
When ‘she learned arly one rules d
to visit only one of them, 7
sn “et'm sure that Mike needs me more,
she said, simply. .
. The prosecutor’s office, meanwhile, said en
murder charge against the bg fl — vor
“The law says the boy = ve to ‘
trial with his father,” a spokesman . am
When Mike’s father heard ~ =
heart melted. He broke down in =
wept. It was the first time he - wn
30 years, but he could have saved en
They were too late—too late to tae a
too late to help two guys who die -
barroom floor, and far too late for himsell.
° Ebert saw that Monahan wasn’t going to say
any more. He left. : ;
Forty-five minutes later he was talking >
Mike at police headquarters. Ebert put it to
i ight.
oMike.” he said sternly, “what do you
know about that Elizabeth job? “ok Ge
The kid’s eyes widened. “I di phy
you knew about that one,” he whispe a a
you want me to tell you: about it right now
i had con-
By Wednesday, teams of detectives h
Pond nearly 100 of the burglaries listed by
the father and son. Late that heiapeoerd
night, Union detectives were still busy _—
ing the list of loot hidden in the Mo = | .
house. Detective Don Ebert — up EPes? onic wie ee detectives i
es tee erry fr saat the room fell silent. The |
her pointed the ist of cont burg: aa diae rumen: he said. “Pop was
we ; id he and the old man got 0 ag?
as 9-taillim eter pistol from ee ben — tiprcanyltsres Te eis
that store job in Milburn two months ago. tread = retncagprol
‘ : ;
“We lip of illi- Mike had to report to his probation officer
i f milli
found the rifle and a clip
Nisin ak SS. Sp scsi Saito ne ad Saig
oi Sou ie arb se
Biaitieh, Besclt
3
A Woman, A Brandy
And An Aspirin, ~
Please
continued from page 37
.
was assumed she had been killed shortly after
Reon.
The necktie with which the girl had been
strangled did not belong to Pappas, but it was
a cheap tie of common design and could not
be easily traced. The only thing of value they
could find was a good clear print lifted from
one of the brandy glasses.
“She must have known her caller,” O’Connor
said gently, trying to drag some shred of a
clue from the grief-ridden Pappas. “She let
him into the apartment. She served him cof-
ioe... oe.”
“No,” Pappas said gruffly. Kitty had spoken
little English. She did not make friends easily.
The shopkeepers, yes, she knew them all.
They liked Kitty. But she was so shy . . . she
did not like to be alone with people. The
friends they had were John’s friends, people
he brought home. And they were not people
who had time for coffee in the afternoon,
or brandy. He gestured with one stiff hand
toward the table. “And they are not killers,”
“But, Mr. Pappas, this man did not force
his way in here. He did net .. .”
“It’s a trick, some horrible, terrible trick,”
Pappas said brokenly. “My Kitty would not
let a stranger in here . . . and a friend would
not kill her. No, I cannot help you.” He
buried his face in his hands and his shoulders
shook convulsively.
“Chief, Chief!” It was Acting Captain
Charles Armstrong. He stood in the doorway
of the bathroom and motioned to O’Connor.
“T think we've got the answer.”
O'Connor walked over to him.
Armstrong held up an aspirin bottle, empty.
“This was on the bow! here.”
The chief wrapped the bottle in his hand-
kerchief and dropped it in his pocket. The
Aspirin Bandit. “Mr. Pappas,” he said, walk-
ing back into the living room. “Do you own
a car?”
Pappas looked up. “No. I cannot drive.”
“Have you recently lent any money to
anyone? A stranger, a small sum?”
Pappas shook his head. “I do not borrow,
I do not lend.”
“Have you given out your name and ad-
dress to anyone, written it down? Given it to
a stranger?”
“What is this? I am not a fool. Strangers
have no right to my address. Bums, tramps,
busy-bodies. I have no time for them.”
ATIENTLY the inspector told him of the
Aspirin Bandit, of his way of operating and
of their suspicion now that the bottle had
been found. “We do not know who he is.
We have a dozen names for him, none of
them his own. But we will find him, Mr.
Pappas. Now we will find him.”
“Yes,” Pappas said bitterly, without looking
up. “Now you'll find him.”
For several days after the murder, O’Con-
nor’s promise seemed like a mockery. A crum-
pled tie, a fingerprint and more than a strong
suspicion that the Aspirin Bandit was the
killer was all the investigators had to go on.
The items stolen from the Pappas home failed Flanagan, Father Flanagan. He told me he | BYsS SUS Eeea Beas
to turn up in the pawn shops.
~~ O'Connor doubled the number of flyers that
went. out to neighboring states asking for in-
formation on the Aspirin Bandit, or Tea Party
Bandit as the newspapers chose to dub him
after the Pappas slaying. “Make a careful
search of files for man who gains entrance by
subterfuge, claiming to know husband,” the
fiyers read. “After gaining entrance and get-
ting woman’s confidence, he mugs her, then
ties hands and feet with necktie, dish towel
or other household material and steals money
and jewelry.” :
The inspector was stunned by the response
he received. Twenty-four cases were reported
from such cities as Washington, Philadelphia,
Trenton, and Newark, all ranging up and
down the eastern seaboard within a 100-mile
radius of New York City.
O’Connor pulled out a set of road maps,
ran a pencil from New York to every city
from which reports were received and found
that the bandit was working just two high-
ways, US 1 and New Jersey 25. His list of
aliases now read like a national draft list.
He had added new names from practically
every country in the world; Murtaugh, Clark,
Mikos, Larson.
s ANY boob who thinks he can pass himself
off as both a Greek and a Swede is bound
to come a cropper some time,” O’Connor said.
But the bandit’s croppers were discouragingly
well scattered and when, at the end of the
week, a young Bronx housewife was savagely
attacked in her home, such’ a howl of protest
went up that it wiped all war news from the
front page.
Detectives were staked out along both high-
ways the bandit worked, US 1 and New Jer-
sey 25, and instructed to talk with motorists,
gas station attendants and hitchers. There was
one detective who, on his own time with
nothing but a prayer and a C ration card,
toured up and down the roads, hoping the
bandit. would wag him down. He gave more
lifts than a $20 bra, but not one of them was
the borrowing bandit.
Other men were assigned to interview each
of the victims.
And the reports began to drift in: Medium
height, stocky build, sharp nose, dark hair.
Deep scar on right cheek, three acne nodules
above bridge of nose. Wears blue-green over-
coat and yellowish shoes. “A dozen
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and one pair of shoes,” Edward Burns, acting
lieutenant of the Bathgate Avenue station
said. “If he just sticks to those shoes and that
coat, we ought to get him.”
It was a trucker who remembered some-
thing.
“That son of a... ‘I gotta sick ester,’ he
says. ‘I’m broke and want to visit her.’ I
give him a quarter and rode him 20 miles in
my truck. He tells me he wants to return the
money. A quarter and he wants to return it.
I shoulda known then I was dealing with a
crackpot. I told him keep it. I told him
forget it. No, he says, gimme your name and
address. He even pulled out this here pencil. |
Same one he used writing that postcard to
some preacher.”
“What do you mean, postcard to a
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ner a Mh Lei
tt up and walked forward in
as they stepped down to the
trolley was shattered by the
ced up and then sat horrified
her slump to the floor. As
torman fell. The trolley’s
a sudden stop. The ‘‘dead
and prevented the trolley
rolling back down the hill.
the trolley stopped, two of
men who had just walked
rd in the car leaped out into
irkness. The third grabbed
hree leather bags, looked
into the car.for a second,
=> followed his companions.
last man jumped there
roar of the automobile
. second later the sound of
er shot pierced the night air
e automobile shot west on
Sixth Street, over the brow
hill, and disappeared. The
ts’ machine traveled at terri-
‘ed.
UTENANT ‘JOHN TIER-
EY, on duty on the desk at
fount Vernon Police Head-
ers received the first word of
id-up at 2:48 A.M. when an
wn person living in the
ty telephoned and said that
hing had just happened in a
- at Dunham Avenue and
Sixth Street. The person
1e had heard a shot fired and
ed someone had been hurt.
lieutenant dispatched an
lance with Detective William
to the scene. While en
another call came to head-
She said she believed
voice.
few minutes later Detective’
shooting. Lieutenant Tierney
man at headquarters.
me. Iwas acting head of
Chief George Atwell being
shen the officer told me what
1e seriousness of the hold-up
’ sounded on the city’s ‘fire
every policeman in the city
“\t the alarm sounded at 3:04
‘-- the hold-up took place.
uriving in any kind of a
a mile or more. The
g serious had happened as
Eight Lives for $300! 4]
the “7-7 call’’ has only been sounded about four times in the
history of Mount Vernon.
I went direct from my home to the scene of the crime. The
two dying trolleymen had already been sent to the hospital.
More than a dozen policemen were at the trolley when I
arrived.
A FEW minutes later, while questioning the passengers
that had been in the trolley, I was told that a large
automobile had just been wrecked at South Columbus and
South Third Avenues, crashing into the steel work of the
New York, Westchester and Boston Railway bridge at that
point.
Taking two officers with me I hurried to the railroad bridge
(Above) Crowds of the curious thronged the grounds around the Mount Vernon Police
Station :(indicatéd ‘by arrow). On the lawn is the expensive sedan used by the bandits
to overhaul their victims. (Right) Frankie Daley (wearing light suit), cold-blooded killer,
is being escorted behind the bars by the famous sleuth, Steve Donohue, of the New
York Police
just a little more than a mile from where the hold-up took
place. Due to the fact that but a few minutes had elapsed
between the time of the hold-up and the time the automobile
was wrecked I thought that it might be the bandits’ machine.
We found the automobile up against a steel pillar. It was
not badly wrecked. A front wheel ‘had been smashed. . Pa-
trolman Charles Schultz, whilé ringing a police box a few
blocks further south a few feet from the New York City-
Mount Vernon line, had heard the crash. This had occurred
at 2:50 A.M. as that was the time his ring was recorded at
headquarters.
The patrolman told me that he ran to the spot where the
crash occurred but found the automobile unattended. This
convinced me that the bandits had been using this car-and
had wrecked it in their hurry to get away.
A telephone call to headquarters brought more than a
dozen policemen, called by the special alarm, racing to the
scene for a manhunt. Without means of transportation the
bandits could not be very far away, I realized. By this time
about thirty-five minutes had elapsed since the hold-up.
I ordered the men to search through the adjacent woods
that surrounded the section. The manhunt was on. Within
a few. minutes a small canvas bag of small change was found.
This had been in one of the inspector’s leather bags. This
discovery indicated that the bandits had taken to the woods
as I had surmised
‘told us in detail of
Before dawn I was notified that Schumacher had died.
He regained consciousness just before he passed away,
I was told later, and said, ‘‘They didn’t give us a chance for
our lives.”
This spurred my men on. The hold-up had turned into a
murder. In the meantime the story of the hold-up was
broadcast to all adjacent communities including New York
City in an effott to apprehend the men.
The wrecked machine was a Cadillac. Its state license
number was 3Y1810. I doubted that this would aid us as
invariably thieves stole the automobile that they used just
to avoid capture through the license number.
Toward morning we were offered the use of Flott, an intelli-
gent German police dog owned by H: W. Miller, of 31 North
Columbus Avenue..
The dog was able to
trace the flight of at
least two of the ban-
dits through the dense
woods as she led my
men to several other
small but heavy can-
vas money bags that
had been dropped as
the men fled. The
trail was lost, however,
after awhile.
HILE the search
was still on Lieu-
tenant Herman
Mattes, my co-worker
on most cases, and |
returned to head-
quarters for a_con-
ference. We were now
certain that the ban-
dits had made good
their escape from
Mount Vernon. We
t
sat down to make
a quick analysis
of the case and see
if we had any
clues.
Statements had
been obtained
from three of the
passengers in the
trolley. These
men were asked to
come to head-
quarters. They
the ride and all
incidents they
could remember
on-the trip. There
had been nothing,
however, we soorr
learned, that had
led them to sus-
pect anything
was wrong and
(Continued
on page 89)
rand I was
ibers of the
1e matter in
as filled to
ed. Shortly
the Chair-
| | me to the
following
w Country-
Suey Sing
leeting, anc
re, in order
ind genuine
rks to make,
t with your
‘Unwritten
to be car-
m has here-
but gentle-
| dshed must
if indemm-
‘n thousand
t Jung Deo
plause burst
»plause sub-
Yee Tong,
. arose and
hose terms,
check
rel be-
‘or the
amazed to
the dispute
Society
tance to the
waiting my
in my hand
he directors’
le was “‘set-
re than sat-
h I had se-
Doo Hing.
iman, I had
d prevented
ive resulted
he expendi-
utive terms
Sing Tong,
President.
ortant posi-
le survivor
nor, which
seven men.
San Quen-
ew Fat paid
‘4th day of
as executed
in Ben died
> Soon and
ong War—
t, under the
ays when I
wr the cause
inism, I was
n. May the
me.
ii
Eight Lives for $300
(Continued from page 41)
none had taken particular notice of the
three bandits.
The bandits had not been sitting exactly
together. One had sat on the left-hand
side about half way down the car. Another
had sat on the same side near the rear
while the third had been seated on the right-
hand side about two thirds of the way to-
ward the rear. The men had been dressed
in clothes that did not attract attention, be-
ing neither gaudy or slovenly.
At this time we did not know how many
had taken part in the crime. There were
at least four; the three in the trolley and
the one that drove the automobile that car-
ricd them away.
While at headquarters Harold Johnson,
of 141 North Railroad Avenue, Mount
Vernon, walked into the police station. He
told us that he had been standing at the
top of the hill waiting for the trolley. He
had just come from a residence in the vi-
cinity.
As the bandits had passed him, he said,
one of them had fired a shot at him, Due
to the high speed of the lurching automo-
bile the bullet had gone wild. Johnson
had seen the flash from the revolver and
had heard the bullet whine past his head.
Johnson told us that there were at least
five men in the automobile. Two were in
the front seat and three were in the back.
The shot had been fired at him by one of
the men in the back seat, he said. Our in-
former said that the bandit’s machine had
swerved into South Columbus Avenue on
two wheels and had just missed being
wrecked at this point.
With five bandits accounted for, the
capture of the guilty appeared hard as we
well knew that the men would separate and
that the trail already undoubtedly led in
five different directions.
No clues were found in the death trol-
ley, my men reported. ‘There was little
but the wrecked automobile to work on. A
careful search of that revealed nothing. I
had ordered a search for fingerprints but
we had little hope of any, for this crime
appeared to be the work of hardened crim-
inals and that type, we well knew, had
cnough sense to keep gloves on their hands
even in July.
Lieutenant Mattes had the license num-
ber of the automobile looked up and we
found that the plates had been issued to a
"iss Edna Baltimore, at 210 East 114th
Street in New York City.
At about this juncture we decided to
enlist the aid o1 the New York police and
jurried to the headquarters of the detec-
tive bureau. Detectives Inomas J. Mar-
tin and Stephen Donohue, a famous pair,
were assigned to help us.
Our next move was to go to see the
owner of the automobile. Avsriving at the
house we met the owner. We were greeted
cordially and she was surprised to hear
that her automobile had been wrecked.
She said it must have been stolen or bor-
rowed from the garage where she kept it,
for she had not had it out for several days.
Believing that the woman knew nothing
of the crime we left and started for the
garage. Before we reached there Detec-
tive Martin suddenly said, fairly shout-
ing, “Why I know that woman. She is
the wife of John Marino. He’s done time.”
True Detective Mysteries 89
Travel On
Uncle Sams
Pay Roll
¥
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$1900 to $2700 a Year
Many Other U. S. Government Jobs Open to
Men and Women 18 Up
POSTOFFICE CLERKS CITY MAIL CARRIERS
RURAL CARRIERS GENERAL OFFICE CLERKS
INSPECTORS OF CUSTOMS IMMIGRATION INSPECTORS
These are steady positions. Strikes, poor business conditions, lockouts or
politics will not affect them. U.S. Government employees get their pay
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TIMES” in the U. S. Government Service.
RAILWAY POSTAL CLERKS
Railway Postal Clerks now get $1900 the first year regular, being paid on
the first and fifteenth of each month. $79.16 each pay day. Their pay is
quickly increased, the maximum being $2700 a year, $112.50 each pay day.
They get extra allowance for hotel expenses when away from home.
PAID VACATIONS
Railway Postal Clerks, like all Government employees, are given a yearly
vacation of 15 working days (about 18 days). On runs they usually work
three days and have three days off duty or in the same proportion. During
this off duty and vacation, their pay continues just as though they were
working When they grow old, they are retired with a pension. As
Railway Postal Clerks are continually traveling, they have an excellent
chance to see the country.
CITY MAIL CARRIERS—POST OFFICE CLERKS
Clerks and Carriers commence at $1700 a year and automatically increase
$100 a year to $2100 with further increase to $2300. They also have 15
days vacation. City residence is unnecessary.
GENERAL CLERKS—FILE CLERKS
(Open to men or women 18 to 50)
Salary $1260 and $1440 to $2500 a year. ‘Pleasant clerical work in the departments and
offices at Washington, D. C., and throughout the country.
WHAT WILL YOU EARN FIVE YEARS FROM NOW? 77> ~~
ia ; FRANKLIN
Compare these conditions with your present or INSTITUTE
your prospective condition, perhaps changing - Dept. L273
positions frequently, kicking around from Ps ROCHESTER, N.Y.
post to pillar, no chance in sight for PER-
MANENT employment; frequently out .# ,,Rysh to me, quire free
of a position and the year’s average 47 | tion of, the position che
salary very low. Do YOU EARN gf. beat g@h tee. goey: of lug
t
2 $1900 EVERY YEAR? HAVE av Pa im Positions and How to
YOU ANY ASSURANCE THAT A FEW YEARS (a uie‘position checked. ™* "YS 8
com NOW, YOUWILL R enstailih! misisadtiaile
E $2700 R MORE tS) Post Office Cler wae
pS Ble ee A YEAR, EVERY oR city Mail Carrier 2.
YEAR? Pe” General Clerk——File Clerk...
Inspector of Customs...-.-----------
($1900-$2700)
Fill out the coupon.
ace tonlipag — ra Immigration Inspector ..--.----------
DO IT NOW—This in-
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lord postag@'amp'mey Pg mmennnenerecneecensan ree eee
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Use This Coupon Betore You Mislay It—Write or Print Plainly
Ea slice iia eae
we
—
on
40 True Detective Mysteries
of the most tragic of this nature ever recorded anywhere in
this country, as before the final chapters were brought to as
near a close as possible eight persons had died and the bandits’
loot was but a little over $300. A person died for every $40
stolen.
As the trolley dispatcher at New Rochelle gave Motorman
Nicoll his signal to start, Inspector Schumacher climbed
aboard with three small leather bags. Two contained the
receipts of the day before “from all branches of the trolley
system that had a terminal in the Huguenot City. The
third bag contained all the cancelled transfers from the pre-
vious day’s runs.
Besides the company's employees there were seven passen-
gers on the car when it left on its fatal run. The passengers
were all men whose employment took them out early each
morning. They were going to work. At Drake’s Lane in
New Rochelle the trolley stopped to discharge two passengers
while three more boarded the car. A little further on, after
passing into Pelham Manor, another passenger left.
[NSPECTOR SCHUMACHER with his bags, which car-
ried between $1,600 and $1,800, stood on the forward plat-
form of the ‘‘one-man” car talking
with the motorman. ‘The money
bags were beside him on a seat that
ran along the left-hand floor on the
platform. Throughout their con-
versation the inspector was making
out his daily report. He would
soon be through for the day. He
was to turn over the money to an-
other inspector in Mount Vernon.
As the trolley turned into East
Sixth Street, now known as San-
ford Boulevard, near the Mount
Vernon-Pelham Manor line, it
passed a large black sedan parked
at the side of the road. Little did
the trolley men know, if they even
noticed the automobile, what it
was to cause within a few minutes.
The trolley swayed over the
uneven tracks along East Sixth
Street. The passengers, most of
them reading early morning news-
papers, swayed sideways, forward
and backward as the trolley
moved along.
Just as the trolley reached a
point a few yards before it started
up a grade at the center of which
Dunham ‘Avenue intersects the
(Above) Inspec-
tor Jacob Schu-
macher, murdered
by the bandits, is
shown with his
wife. (Top) Cap-
tain Michael Sil-
verstein (left) and
‘Lieutenant Her-
man Mattes, who
solved the case
and were highly
commended by
Justice Arthur
Tompkins of the
State Supreme
Court. (Left)
Raglan Nicoll,
second man _ to
die before the
bandits’ guns
street, three of the passengers got up and walked forward in
the car toward the exit. Almost as they stepped down to the
platform the rasping noise of the trolley was shattered by the
terrific din of a revolver shot.
The passengers still seated looked up and then sat horrified |
as they saw Inspector Schumacher slump to the floor. As
the second shot roared the motorman fell.
brakes set and the car came to a sudden stop. The ‘‘dead
man’s control’’ worked perfectly and prevented the trolley
from rolling back down the hill.
As the trolley stopped, two of
three men who had just walked
forward in the car leaped out into
the darkness. The third grabbed
the three leather bags, looked
back into the car.for a second,
and then followed his companions.
As the.last.man jumped there
another shot pierced the night air
East Sixth Street, over the brow
of the hill, and disappeared. The
fic speed.
IEUTENANT ‘JOHN TIER-
NEY, on duty on the desk at
the Mount Vernon Police Head-
quarters received the first word of
the hold-up at 2:48 A.M. when an
unknown person living in the
something had just happened in a
trolley at Dunham Avenue and
East Sixth Street. The person
The lieutenant dispatched an
ambulance with Detective William
Curls to the scene. While en
route ‘another call came to head-
quarters. This was a woman’s voice. She said she believed
a trolley had been held up. A few minutes later Detective’
Curls telephoned and told of the shooting. Lieutenant Tierney |
immediately sent every available man at headquarters.
He then called me at my home. I was acting head of
‘the department at the time, Chief George Atwell being
away on his annual vacation. When the officer told’ me what
had happened and I realized the seriousness of the hold-up
I ordered the special ‘'7-7. call’’ sounded on the city’s fire
vicinity telephoned and said that |
said he had heard a shot fired and |
believed someone had been hurt. |
alarm whistle which summoned every policeman in the city |
off duty to headquarters.
So fast did things happen that the alarm sounded at 3:04 |
A.M., just seventeen minutes after the hold-up took place.
The officers responded in fast time, arriving in any kind of a |
conveyance available. Several ran a mile or more. The
policemen. knew that something serious had happened as |
The trolley’s |
came the roar of the automobile |
and a second later the sound of |
as the automobile shot west on |
bandits’ machine traveled at terri- |
the “7-7 call*
history of M
I we
two dy
More |
arrived.
FEW m
that ha
automobile |
South Third
New York, '
point.
Taking tw
(Above
Station :(indic
to overhaul th:
is being escor
just a little :
place. Due
between the
was wrecked
We found
not badly wi
trolman Cha
blocks furth«
Mount Vern
at 2:50 A.M
headquarters
The patrol
crash occurre
convinced m:
had wrecked
A telephor
dozen police:
scene for a n
bandits could
about thirty-:
I ordered 1
that surrounc
a few. minute:
This had bee
discovery ind
as I had surm
SORE TT RL EEL FL TE a a a TET
STA ET
ME Tas
oo,
Faas
ST
90
HE thoughts in the detective’s mind
came fast. He said that Marino had
done time in Sing Sing for burglary and
was known to New York’s underworld as
“Johnnie the Dope” and “Little Johnnie.”
Forgetting the garage for the time be-
ing we headed back. toward the 114th
Street residence. The gangster’s wife was
still there. She had a visitor who had ar-
rived just after we left. The New York
detectives recognized her at once. She
was Marian Mooney, the wife of another
ex-convict and a sweetheart of one Frankie
Daley, also an ex-convict.
Both women denied any knowledge of
the crime. Marino’s wife admitted her real
identity and insisted that she had not seen
her husband for more than a week. The
other woman refused to admit that she was
a former convict’s wife and almost
screamed that she was ignorant of any
David De Maio, the “bootleg king”
of New Rochelle, who planned the
hold-up. The scene at De Maio’s
death was a pitiful one—especially
for his wife
crime. She said she had just come over
to see Miss Baltimore to talk to her about
some dress material.
Questioning for ten minutes failed to
bring any admission so I decided to place
both under arrest and hold them as ma-
terial witnesses. The fact that Mrs. Mar-
ino owned the bandits’ car was enough to
hold her for awhile and we felt that
Marian Mooney’s association with crim-
inals was sufficient to hold her. A visit so
early in the morning, it still being only
about 9:30 A.M., to talk about dress ma-
terial didn’t ring true, particularly in view
of the terrible crime that had been com-
mitted but a few hours before.
We brought both women here to Mount
Vernon and placed them in separate cells
far from each other so that they could
not talk. Later they were arraigned in the
local city court before City Judge Jacob
Bernstein and ordered held in $10,000 bail
each.
After being returned to their cells we
began:‘hours and hours of questioning. Ed-
na Baltimore did not waver from her
story that she had not seen her husband
for many days. She said he had keys to
her machine and often took it out, but in-
sisted that he had “gone straight” since his
last visit at Sing Sing and was working
somewhere in New York as a taxi driver,
True Detective Mysteries
Marian Mooney would not divulge a thing.
During the questioning we received
word from New York about the garage
that we had been heading for when Detec-
tive Martin remembered Marino’s wife. A
detective had been told that the machine
had been taken out on Sunday afternoon at
about four o’clock. The garage men could
not positively remember but thought that
Mr. Baltimore had taken the machine.
Different men often went to the garage
and took the automobile, so little attention
was paid to who took it. The driver al-
ways had the right keys, the detective had
been told.
Marino’s wife would say nothing more
than she said during our first talk and we
now. felt that she was not telling us every-
thing she knew. We again turned our
questions to Miss Mooney. She said, after
finally decided to talk, that her husband,
Joseph J. Ryan, a chauffeur and dance hall
instructor, positively knew nothing of the
hold-up or any other crime. She begged
“Don’t drag him into this mess.”
Once we got her to talk at all we de-
cided to keep at her. At last she admitted
that she knew Frankie Daley. She finally
admitted that she was more than a friend;
she was one of his sweethearts. She said
she had not seen Daley for about five days
and that so far as she knew he was going
straight as Marino’s wife insisted her hus-
band was. The woman said she had not
been living with Ryan, her real husband.
Nothing we could say would make the
woman change her story. We came to the
conclusion that she knew nothing of the
Joe Mazzo, member of the bandit -
gang who murdered Inspector Schu-
macher, and who escaped the police
net. He is now on the “wanted’’ list
hold-up before it occurred but we could not
convince ourselves that she did not learn
of it soon after and that the knowledge of
it had prompted her early morning visit
to her friend’s home. We continued to
question both women for the next few days
without results.
ei ohe the day following the hold-up
persons searching in the woods found
more and more of the missing money. In
all about $1,400 was located and turned
over to us. The bandits had apparently
kept dropping bags of the coins as they
fled because of their great weight.
The trolley company officials told us that
as near as they could determine the dead
inspector had had a little over $1,700 with
him. This left approximately $300 un-
found that the bandits had got away with.
On the second day after the hold-up the
trolley motorman died in the Mount Ver-
non Hospital. He passed away without be-
ing able to tell us anything about the
shooting. Little hope had been held for
his recovery but for about thirty-six hours
he had held his own. Then a relapse came
and he sank fast, dying without regaining
consciousness.
After more than a week had passed and
the solution of the crime was no nearer
than it had been since we arrested the two
women there were many who began to lose
hope and said that we would never catch
the murderers. Frankly, it began to look
that way.
We had not stopped our investigation,
however, and one day through the chan-
nels of the underworld that the police must
maintain to solve many of the crimes com-
mitted we learned that a woman named
Elsie Towne, known to be the sweetheart
of several underworld characters, was in
the Kings County Hospital being treated
for a serious disease.
Our informer told us that Elsie Towne
had been sent there by “Johnnie the Dope”
and that he had been keeping her in an
apartment prior to the time she became
ill.
Arrangements were made at once to go
to the hospital. When we arrived we were
told that no visitors were allowed. The
woman had been there several weeks, we
were told, and frequently received letters.
Wondering who these were from we made
arrangements to have them intercepted.
Two days later a letter addressed to
the woman was turned over to us. It was
signed “J.” The letter itself said little
other than to hope for a speedy recovery
and telling of a business trip to an un-
named destination. The letter was post-
marked at Cleveland, Ohio.
We obtained specimens of Marino’s
handwriting from his wife’s apartment. A
comparison of the two sent our hopes soar-
ing high. In many respects they were iden-
tical. We found a letter “J” that was ex-
actly the same as the one signed as a sig-
nature,
By this time I had prepared a circular
asking for the arrest of Marino that had
been given a wide circulation. We imme-
diately forwarded a number to Cleveland
and also sent the Cleveland police the in-
formation we had obtained from the post-
mark,
Almost praying that the police of the
lake city would be able to locate the fugi-
tive our hopes were given a rude shock
when another letter was intercepted at the
hospital from Marino, This, like the other,
was useless to us so far as its contents
was concerned. Marino just wrote to again
express his sorrow for his sweetheart’s
plight. The only value this letter had was
that it was postmarked at Toledo, Ohio.
These letters were resealed and then given
to the sick woman.
Marino was slowly moving further west.
We asked ourselves, “Could he have learned
that the chase was getting hot and that
(Continued on page 92)
Miss Mildred Robins
the apartment directly
where Cooley was at
important witness in t
WO wome
watched <
side of ‘‘Vic’’
during his fo
following the -
bachelor apar
Lee Howard,
In the hospit
sonal fortune
they became «
talented your
eyes as the do
wounded man
to the institr
Everett Merri
of one of the
received freqi
via Cooley’s
In TI
BLUNDERS T)
-—THE STRAP
HOMA’S POLI’
CRIME—PASA
TOM AND T
RIDDLE—SM/
FOCH—THE C
LAND’S CRI)
GIRL SPY IN 7
—THE ASTON
aldn’t
imed.
able.”
cation
nomen
ilisties
, Ger-
exca-
» came
legible
i these
cords,
turned
ug user
re,
rushed
Vernon,
killing
is. This
opinion,
| by the
ley. But
here the
It was
do him in
frankie’
was he?
<nowing,
van tap-
well for
s woman
jail, they
hattan
idence
1 been
he apart-
aken into
Jains, the
Daley at
thermore,
ral letters
. the Stin-
pair said,
treat, pont
hich they
chad gone
nay Out In
sew York
st Silver-
a canvass
hope of lo-
acking an
as in the
y hoped to
ne could be
19 they ar-
enlisted the
Police, who
irk while the
ts, using the
ieudquarters,
day exciting
fhe troopers
nbling Daley
- of a farmer
om town,
’ Silverstein
hasn’t flown
~'t,”” one of
‘
the troopers responded. “We've got men
watching the place on all four sides.”
The zero hour was set at that mid-
night, an hour when the farmhouse
would be in darkness and its occupants
asleep. The police knew the calibre of
the man they were secking, and hoped to
surprise him, to avoid bloodshed.
A dozen troopers were dispatched to
Westport to assist the detectives, an
shortly after 11 30 they set out for the
farm in four machines. The cars were
parked a quarter of a wile away, not far
from where one of the watching troopers
lay, According to him, only a gitl and an
elderly man had been seen at the farm.
“Tr DALEY'S still there, he’s probably
sticking close to his room,” Silver-
stein said. “I think we'll crash the kitchen
door,” he added, displaying @ warrant.
The troopers were deployed about the
house, to be handy in the event of a break
by Daley. Then the detectives crept si-
lently toward the dwelling.
There was no sign re light, or of
movement, aa
The four detectives drew their guns.
Silverstein raised the butt of his and
rapped sharply on the door. He waited
only fifteen seconds for an answering re-
sponse. None came.
: “ALL right,” he snapped, “lean against
The burly forms threw their combined
weight against the thin obstruction and
it crackled like tinder, then yielded. They
found themselves in the center of a
kitchen.
Suddenly a light went on. Huddled to-
gether on the stairs, the farmer and his
daughter looked down at them.
“Where is he?” Silverstein demanded.
The only answer was a sudden turning
of the eyes, The man and the girl looked
up the stairs together,
“Stand aside,” Silverstein said. “We're
going up.”
Four pairs of heavy fect pounded up
the stairs, A closed door confronted them,
Silverstein kicked this open and flashed
his torch inside, A young man was sitting
up in bed, amoking a cigarette.
‘The detectives recognized him immedi-
ately from his photographs. It was Daley,
and he seemed to be taking their intru-
sion as a huge joke.
“Hello, boys,” he quipped. “What's on
your minds ?”
They quickly manacled his wrists and
began searching the bedclothing for wea-
pons, finding none.
“You know why we're here, Daley,”
Silverstein said.
blew out some smoke. “Sure,”
he replied. “You want me for that trolley
job. O.K. I did it. Now I’m ready to fry.”
If the authorities thought Marino and
DeMaio were loquacious Daley ran them
into the ground. When he started talking,
there was no stopping him.
The youth said he had boarded the
trolley at New Rochelle after working
out the details of the holdup with DeMaio,
Marino and two others. While waiting in
the terminal for the car to start, he had
added something not in the original plans.
This was a shot of heroin in the arm.
Although it was intended to build up his
nerve, the drug gave him the exaggeratec
sense of bravado he usually experienced
after a shot.
“T went nuts,” he told the detectives.
“Ts that why you shot those two
men without warning ?” Silverstein de-
manded.
Daley shook his head. “No. The motor-
man was turning on me with his cran
handle. The fellow with the money bags
made a dive toward his pocket, as if he
was pulling a gun.”
This, the investigators knew, would be
contradicted by the six eye-witnesses, all
of whom had already testified that neither
of the victims had offered resistance.
Daley waived extradition and was fre-
moved to White Plains. There the com-
plete plot was unravelled by piecing to-
gether the confessions of three of the
principals.
The names of the others were obtained
from Daley. He identified “Jimmy Joe”
as Joe Mazzo and “Solly Cheesecake” as
Jim Lipse. The police began a search for
them, but before either could be appre-
hended the guns of the bootleg gangs
claimed them.
The Westchester County rand, jury
met on September 23 and returned
first degree murder indictments against
Daley, DeMaio, and Marino. The pair
first named were arraigned before Su-
preme Court Justice Arthur F. Tomp-
kins. They pleaded not guilty.
Daley went to trial first. The jury was
out only an hour and fifteen minutes, re-
turning with a yerdict of guilty and Jus-
tice Tompkins sentenced the killer to die
in the electric chair.
DeMaio, the man who said the state
couldn't touch him because he wasn't
there, found himsel€ convicted on No-
vember 27 after the jurors took only fif-
teen minutes to consider his fate and he,
too, was sentenced to die in the electric
chair.
On June 24, 1926, his appeals ex-
hausted, Frank Daley went to his death
with the same show of bravado that had
characterized his behavior throughout
the case.
But David DeMaio, when the chair
claimed him on August 19, 1926, practi-
cally had to be carried from his cell. The
chief plotter in the murders was in is
state bordering upon complete collapse.
LU. WAS then that John Marino, who
had turned state’s evidence and as-
sisted the prosecution at the trials of his
co-conspirators, had his day in court.
The man who drove the Cadillac to
and from the robbery scene—wrecking it,
incidentally, in the getaway—was Per-
mitted to plead guilty to a charge of
second degree murder. He was sentenced
on October 18, 1926, to five to ten years.
Marino, however, did his time mostly
in the prison infirmary, @ sufferer from
tuberculosis, and within two years after
his release, he died. Thus the last of the
quintet who conceived and executed one
of the most brutal crimes in Westchester
County’s history joined his four fellow
collaborators for the final reckoning.
Note: The names Dot Stinson and Joe Sincura
are fictitious for obvious reasons.
6
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94
of this man produced testimony that on
the night of the crime he had been seen
following a big Cadillac in his own car.
Back to Mount Vernon went the two
detectives. They consulted Chief Atwell,
who dispatched them to White Plains
with their information.
District Attorney Rowland listened in-
tently. Then he said, “DaMaio could
have been the brains behind the plot.
We'll spring that on Marino.”
The prisoner, heavily guarded, was
brought from his cell in the jail. “We've
got DeMaio,” Rowland told the prisoner.
“He's confessed to having been mixed up
in the murders and says you're the fel-
low who pulled the trigger. It looks as if
you're going to burn for it, Johnny.”
i WAS only a fishing expedition, but
Marino had no way of knowing it. He
went white, then a burning red, and
leaped up from his chair.
“Dave’s a liar!” he roared. “He knows
I was only the driver of the car. Sure, he
cooked up the whole business. Now he’s
only trying to save his own skin, Let me
see him. I'll throw the whole thing in his
teeth.”
The police were oly too glad to oblige
him. On August 17 they arrested
DeMaio, who lived at 299 Union Ave-
nue, New Rochelle. The suspected boot-
legger was given the Marino treatment
in reverse,
“You're here on a charge of murder,”
Rowland told him, “because Johnny
Marino has named you as the trigger man
in that trolley double murder.”
DeMaio jumped up. “You can't do any-
thing to me!” he snapped. “I told the boys
about how much money there was in that
car, but I wasn't in the Cadillac with
them. I drove behind in my own car but
left when the shooting started.”
Thus, in a burst of self-confidence,
DeMaio revealed his own connection
with the affair, Prompted by the belief
that he was untouchable because not an
active participant in the crime, the man .
laid bare the entire plot.
The proposition, he admitted in his
confession, was advanced by himself
about two weeks before the holdup and
discussed on several occasions with
Marino, “Frankie,” and two other under-
world characters known to him only as
“Jimmy Joe” and “Solly Cheesecake.”
These were the men, he said, who were
actually in on the murder, “Frankie”
having been the gunman in the trolley.
As in the case of Marino, DeMaio
couldn't give “Frankie’s” last name.
“But he’s a well-known New York gun-
man,” he said.
DeMaio’s confession was long, and,
without realizing it, completely impli-
cated himself, He was a very surprised
man when the police arraigned him on a
murder charge and the court held him
for action by the grand jury.
Now it was the turn of Martin, Dono-
hue, and Panevino to go to work on
DeMaio’s information about “Frankie.”
One of the first things they discovered
was that Marino had been frequently seen
with a younger man who looked enough
like him to be a brother.
.
“Hey, that’s why the witnesses couldn’t
agree on Marino!” Martin exclaimed,
“This Frankie must be almost a double.”
While they combed the identification
bureau files for photos of known gunmen
who looked like Marino, the ballistics
men began checking the .32 caliber Ger-
man automatic found in the sewer exca-
vation, It wasithese experts who came
up with the first lead.
The gun's last user had left legible
fingerprints on the butt, and when these
were compared-with the criminal records,
a card for one: Frank. Daley was turned
up! The man was a notorious drug user
who had twice been given the cure.
The New ‘York detectives rushed
Daley’s photograph to Mount Vernon,
where the six eye-witnesses to the killing
picked it out from among others. This
time there was no divergence of opinion.:
The authorities were stunned by the
likeness between Marino and Daley. But
the former was thirty-three, where the
latter was only twenty-two. It was
Daley's age which definitely fixed him in
the minds of the witnesses.
So Daley was the killer—the “Frankie”
wanted by the police. But where was he?
Marino and DeMaio denied knowing,
so the New York detectives began tap-
ping a source that had worked well for
them before—Dot Stinson,
Upon learning that the young woman
had been having visitors at the jail, they
followed the visitors to a Manhattan
apartment. There they found evidence
that a man resembling Daley had been
hiding out in the place.
Two women occupants of the apart-
ment—the jail visitors—were taken into
custody. Questioned at White Plains, the
pair admitted hiding Frankie Daley at
the request of Dot Stinson, Furthermore,
they confessed to mailing several letters
smuggled to them in the jail by the Stin-
son woman, These missives, the pair said,
went to a Westport, Connecticut, post
office box, the number of which they
couldn’t remember.
The police believed the letters had gone
to Daley and that he was hiding out in
the Connecticut town.
Martin and Donohue, the New York
officers, were assigned to assist Silver-
stein and Mattes, who planned a canvass
of the Westport area in the hope of lo-
cating the suspected killer, Lacking an
address, their expedition was in the
nature of a quick thrust. They hoped to
surprise their quarry before he could be
tipped off.
N THE night of August 19 they ar-
rived at Westport and enlisted the
help of the Connecticut State Police, who
undertook to do the spade work while the
four detectives awaited results, using the
Town Hall, site of police headquarters,
as their base,
By noon of the following day exciting
progress had been made. ‘The troopers
discovered that a man resembling Daley
was a paid guest at the home of a farmer
and his daughter, not far from town,
“We'll close in tonight,” Silverstein
said, “Let’s hope our bird hasn't flown
by that time.”
“If he’s there now, he won't,” one of
the trooper>
watching th:
The zero
night, iat
would be
asleep. T
the man thes
surprise hin
A dozen °
Westport ¢
shortly afte
farm in to
parked a qu
from where
lay. Accor
elderly ma’
ee DAI
stickin
stein said
door,” he «
The tro
house, to b
by Daley.
lently tow
There »
movement
The fo
Silverste:
rapped =!
only fifte
sponse. *
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found
kitchen.
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gether ©
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it
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up in}:
The
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and hi
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your |
The
began
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troll
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Mar:
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adde:
Ti
Alth
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bliged to
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five hun-
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it Baltzel,
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Itzel told
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iscovered
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vstery.
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claiming
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she was
isonment
t Marys-
prison,
id ina
if fetitious
uinocently
the pair said, the big machine had been
left in a garage on 114th Street. If any-
one had taken it, it was without their per-
mission.
The women were held and investi-
gated. One of them turned out to be a
relative of John “Dopey” Marino, alias
John Baltimore and John Reeves. The
other, it was revealed, was the man’s
sweetheart.
ARINO had a record, including ar-
rests for narcotic peddling, though
he was not known to be a user. However,
the fact that he dabbled in dope was
enough for the investigators. Marino
could have used the Cadillac, Or else he
might know who did.
The women were vague regarding the
man’s whereabouts, and it was noted that
they made contradictory statements.
They were taken to Mount Vernon, ar-
raigned as material witnesses, and held in
$10,000 bail each. ye
Marino's picture was shown to the six
trolley passengers. Two picked it out
from among others as a likeness of the
killer. Another pair said it looked “some-
thing like” the gunman. The others said
definitely he was not the man.
This divided opinion seemed to cast
doubt on his guilt, but the authorities
nevertheless broadcast an alarm for the
man, As this was done, Motorman Nicoll
died in the hospital. The police now had
a double murder on their hands. Rewards
totalling $7,100 were offered.
Two weeks went by, during which time
no trace of Marino was found. The police
were compelled to release Sincura and
the others being held on suspicion,
Silverstein and Mattes began studying
the reports, among them the statements
of Marino’s sweetheart, a young woman
who shall be called Dot Stinson in this
account. ‘They were inclined to believe
that she knew more than she was telling.
The New York detectives, who were co-
operating, shared this opinion,
Accordingly, Captain Silverstein
called on District Attorney Rowland.
“We feel that Dot Stinson might hold
the key to John Marino’s whereabouts,”
he said. “If she could be let out of jail,
it is our opinion it would pay dividends.”
Rowland was willing to take the
chance, since the case seemed to be go-
ing nowhere. Accordingly he authorized
a reduction in her bail to $1,000, and
when the court agreed to this, the young
woman went free in this amount.
The New York detectives shadowed
her constantly. Almost immediately they
discovered that she was trying to keep a
rendezvous with someone in the Bronx.
Almost daily she went to a certain cor-
ner at Southern Boulevard and 149th
Street, waiting for long periods, and then
left without making contact.
On August 13 their vigilance paid off.
“I'm
Ready to Fry
[Continued from page 45]
A slim, dark-haired man about thirty
came tentatively up to the intersection
and looked around. Apparently he didn’t
expect to meet Martin, Donohue, and
Panevino, and was greatly surprised
when they surrounded him with drawn
guns.
John Marino, it developed, had been
contacted at his hideout by Dot Stinson,
who planned to furnish fim with boat
fare out of the country. The woman was
re-arrested and her bail hiked.
Marino was questioned first in New
York and then at White Plains, the West-
chester County seat. The man admitted
that he had been near the scene of the
Monday morning shooting in Mount
Vernon but refused to talk further, A
doctor discovered he was not a dope user.
Supporting the man’s denials that he
was the trolley bandit was the testimony
of four of the eye-witnesses. They were
positive that Marino wasn’t the killer.
But the other two stated with equal posi-
tiveness that he was.
Though the suspect had been fingered
to this extent, the authorities themselves
weren’t quite sure, But they felt positive
that Marino either had been present
when the murders were committed or had
definite information about who had par-
ticipated in them.
On the following day, after relentless
questioning, Marino cracked, “All [ did
was drive the car,” he told Rowland and
the detectives. “It was Frankie who did
the shooting.”
“Who is Frankie?” the prosecutor de-
manded.
Marino shook his head, “I don’t know
his last name, A couple of fellows asked
me if I could get a car for a job. I told
them I could, and I drove it that night.”
Now the pressure was on, but Marino
revealed only one more item of signifi-
cance. The man said he and “Frankie”
had hidden almost all day following their
flight from the wrecked car in a sewer
excavation near Public School 14.
AW ELL led officers to the spot and
they found a black automatic pistol
of German manufacture with three dis-
charged cartridges in the clip. Tests
proved it to be the murder gun.
The detectives of Mount Vernon and
New York now began a thorough check
of Marino’s past. They were able to dis-
cover that he had been a frequent visitor
to New Rochelle, Silverstein and Mattes
went to the city adjoining Mount Ver-
non, from which both the trolley and
the Cadillac had started on the night
of the crime. It was conceivable to them
that the entire robbery plot had been
hatched there.
A man of Marino’s description, the
pair learned, had been seen frequently
around a dive run by one David DeMaio,
a suspected bootlegger. An investigation
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93
stein
inny
that
ilked
large
bout
inded
York,
vesti-
their
up of
‘ublic
d the
uck a
chine
heavier
bandits
sed that
money,
vught to
ere the
.ttempts
to follow first one trail and then another, but became so con-
fused that the hunt was called off. It was clear that the thugs
had made their escape into the Bronx. ;
Meanwhile Atwell, Silverstein and Mattes were going over
the Cadillac. They found a license plate and a number of finger-
prints, ‘Also in the car were two money bags, two cloth caps,
and two revolvers. Neither gun had been discharged.
The license number was broadcast, along with the informa-
tion that possibly five men were involved in the holdup, Mean-
while the round-up of Mount Vernon and New Rochelle drug
users netted some dozen men, including Sincura, and they
were viewed by the trolley passengers. The witnesses, how-
ever, could not single out any ofe of the suspects as the trolley
gunman. ca
In Brooklyn, the police had been trailing a band of five men
believed involved in a $10,000 jewelry store holdup. During .
the night of July 20, the date of the trolley robbery, they had
temporarily lost track of the mob.
When word came that five men were involved: in the Mount
The mobster who did the actual shooting
’~ §g shown above (center, nearest to grill);
he was the last of thé mob to be nabbed.
Vernon crime, the Brooklyn police figured that their jewelry
thieves might be the ones involved.
They staked out a couple of houses and waited for their
key suspects to show up, suspecting the gang might have
left town. But at eight o'clock Tuesday morning a be-
draggled hatless youth walked cagily toward one of the
. houses.» He was seized and hustled to the Brooklyn
headquarters. In a short while he named four other
Jacob Schumaker (above)
was fatally wounded in the
holdup. $1,600 that he had
collected for the streetcar
company was taken by the
gunmen who fled in a car.
youths, and within a few hours all five
were in custody.
Questioned separately, all denied having
been in Mount Vernon the night before.
But they did confess the $10,000 jewelry
job.
The police figured that they might, be
confessing this to avoid the higher pen-
alty in the murder, and they brought in
some of the trolley passengers to face
them. Once again a line-up of suspects
produced no results.
Meanwhile New York City detéctives
succeeded in tracing the ownership of the’
Cadillac. It was registered in the names of two women, resi-.
dents, ‘of East 114th Street and West 66th Street respectively.
Detectives Thomas Martin, Stephen Donohue and Joseph
Panevino brought the women to Manhattan police headquarters
where they were questioned by Captain Arthur Carey and two
Westchester, County prosecutors—District Attorney Arthur. ©
Rowland and Assistant District Attorney Walter A. Ferris.
The women admitted owning the Cadillac jointly. ei
“All right,” Carey snapped, “who had it last night?”
The women, both young, attractive and handsomely dressed,
looked blank. So far as they knew, [Continued on page 93]
45
Paar s!
2B aoa
-+A0 kano
=)
principal cities and towns from Wash-
ington to Maine checking signatures in
cheaper hotels and scanning faces in
flop-houses.
As the officers resumed their posts
the rapist loosed his terror once more.
It was February 25 in Newark, New
Jersey. His victim was Mrs. Virginia
Barone, No. 21 Camp Street. Her hus-
band, Anthony, had given Gerry a lift
and had been touched by his “sick
sister” tale. Later Gerry had posed to
Mrs. Barone as Dominick Guvenetti,
a friend of her husband’s. But two
hours after Mrs. Barone was found
gagged, her hands lashed behind her
with a necktie, the detectives found
Gerry’s signature—“Joseph Mitchell”
—at a Newark Salvation Army shel-
ter.
TY days later he attacked and
robbed a 50-year-old woman, Mrs.
Mary Snyder, in her home at No. 42
Lafayette Street, in Passaic, New Jer-
sey.
Abruptly the monster’s trail ended.
Four days slipped by while Jersey
swarmed with Bronx detectives. Then
on the afternoon of March 3, a Bronx
housewife was found strangled to
death by a necktie, one mile from
where Mrs. Papas had been murdered.
Her face contorted in terror, the
woman, Mrs. Elizabeth Jensen, 34,
was found lifeless on the couch of her
basement apartment at No. 507 East
179th Street.
She had not been robbed or raped,
but her position on the couch, and the
fact that her raging pet dog was locked
in another room, indicated that the
slayer had been frightened off before
following night when a husky, sullen
youth, with a deep pock-mark on the
right side of his upper lip, slouched
into the Mills Hotel at 36th Street and
Seventh Avenue, a low-priced hostelry
for men only.
As the slit-eyed, sharp-nosed youth
leaned his 190 pounds, draped with a
greenish overcoat, against the desk,
Detective Frederick P. Durant, posing
as a clerk behind the counter, flicked
a warning glance toward Detectives
Edward J. Mahon and Edward J. Gil-
lon, who were pretending to be house
attendants.
Mahon and Gillon eased up behind
the youth as he asked the regular
clerk for Room No, 1226, stating that
he had had that room over the week-
end and that he liked it. Informed by
the desk clerk that the room was oc-
cupied, he nonchalantly agreed to take
Room No. 866 and gave the name
“Kolosky,” which tne clerk wrote on a
card in the form of an order for a
Key to be claimed from the room
clerk.
Instead of claiming his key, Kolosky
went downstairs to a Parcel room,
where he picked up a brown Boston
handbag, and then returned to the
desk clerk and said he wanted to check
out.
The detectives had been sauntering
after him but there was no alarm in
his voice when he said:
“T just forgot I have to go to work
at one o’clock in the morning.” His
50-cent lodging fee was refunded and
he started for the door, but surren-
dered with an air of cool annoyance
when the three detectives closed in
flashing badges.
“Well, what do you want?” he said
irritably.
It was a delicate moment for the
detectives. The youth did not fully
match the description they had of
Gerry Mitchell. True, he was wear-
ing a greenish coat and he had pock-
marked skin, but there could be hun-
dreds of youths looking like that;
and this youth was heavier than
they had expected Gerry Mitchell to
be and he had sprung a new name or
alias on them.
The one thing they needed they did
not have—a specimen of Kolosky’s
handwriting and Detective Durant had
this in mind when he said: “We've
been informed that you have a gun
in that hand bag.”
“A gun? That’s silly. Take a look.”
The officers affected puzzled frowns
when they found no gun. “That’s
funny. Got one on you?” Before he
could object their hands had slid over
his entire body. The youth was un-
armed.
Durant shook his head apologeti-
cally. “Very strange. They must have
given us a bum steer, Buddy. Sorry.
What’s your name? Oh, Kolosky? You
say you’re a truck-driver from Penn-
sylvania? Well, I guess we got you all
wrong, Mr. Kolosky. Here, just write
your name and address and you can
go.”
Almost eagerly the youth took the
pen and pad. As he did it the officers
knew he had lied. His palm was face
up when he took the pad. It wasn’t
a truck-driver’s palm. No callouses
on it. It was a nice soft palm.
His handwriting further implicated
Kolosky. The detectives said it was
similar to that of Gerry Mitchell, the
Raping Aspirin Bandit! And later au-
thorities announced that his finger-
prints matched those on the water-
glass in Mrs.’ Papas’ apartment.
The true identity of Kolosky was re-
vealed by a Selective Service registra-
tion card found in his pocket.
He was 23-year-old George Joseph
Cvek of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania.
So incorrigible that he stole even
from his poverty-stricken mother, who
feared him and “didn’t care what hap-
pened to him,” Cvek had a record of
nine arrests in his own city and had
served almost three years behind bars,
Son of honest, hard-working immi-
grants, he had been haled into juve-
nile court when he was twelve years
old by his own father, now dead, and
thenceforth had been’ in and out of
jails and reformatories.
His prints were compared with those
in the Papas apartment at 10:30 p.m.
March 4, 1941—one month to the hour
from the moment the shy and pretty
Sunday-school teacher was found, half
nude, strangled to death.
“That’s him! That’s him! . ..”
Nine times through endless hours of
questioning that night Cvek heard
housewives accuse him of attacking
them. But he steadfastly denied ever
having been in the Papas apartment.
Cvek admitted six additional charges
of rape when evidence was produced
though the victims themselves were
not present to accuse him. But when
other evidence supposedly linking him
to the two Bronx slayings was spread
before him he bluntly denied all
knowledge of the crimes,
None of this annoyed the officials,
however. From the evidence they had
compiled they knew exactly how the
crime had been committed. By careful
repetition they tried to impress on
Cvek’s one-track mind that they had
plenty of evidence to convict him.
Assuming the role of a hard-boiled,
burning prosecutor, District Attorney
Foley verbally reconstructed the crime
in agonizing detail. And Cvek finally
confessed, according to the police,
In his confession Cvek reputedly
told how, stabbing blind, he’d at-
tempted to get into apartments in two
other buildings on March 4 and then,
on being rebuffed, had picked the
building housing the Papas apartment
by impulse.
Impulse also had directed his hand
to press the Papas bell. He had seen
the name on the side of a truck in
New Jersey and it had struck his
fancy, he said. Later he had offered
it as his own name to get into the
apartment of a woman on Washington
Heights.
According to the rest of his confes-
sion, Cvek supposedly told Mrs. Papas
over the house phone that he was from
Boys Town and that he was a friend
of her husband. She promptly offered
him the hospitality of her home. She
seemed very happy, he said.
The special table service. was
brought out. Two glasses of brandy
were served. Birthday cakes which
Mrs. Papas had prepared for her hus-
band were shared with him. She of-
fered him Lucky Strike cigarettes but
he had his own Chesterfields. She
played a series of phonograph records
that, she explained, were her hus-
band’s favorites. She described the
happiness that had surrounded her
brief married life and the joy she was
finding in pleasing her husband’s every
whim. She brought out the wedding
picture to illustrate her story of
her wedding and sat beside him on the
sofa to look at the photo.
Suddenly, Cvek allegedly said in his
confession, he slipped his left arm
around her neck and snapped her head
back, preventing an outcry. Spurred by
mingled terror and rage she fought
like a tiger, clawing, kicking, twisting,
while he was trying to strip off his
necktie with his right hand. Finally
he got her hands tied but when he
tried to stuff a handkerchief in her
mouth to prevent her screaming when
he released his grip, she sank her
teeth into one finger and mangled it
so thoroughly that it hadn’t yet healed
up. He tied a towel around her throat
just to stifle her cries but not to kill
her. Then he carried her into the
bedroom to rape her but he changed
his mind and tied up her feet to pre-
vent her moving until he finished rob-
bing the apartment and got clear of
the building.
Answering further queries, Cvek
said that he had been paroled from
Huntingdon Penitentiary at Christmas
time, 1939, and had become a bum,
drifting from Place to place. Six
months later, in the Summer of 1940,
another bum in Pittsburgh told him
about the movie called Boys Town and
explained how it was possible to mooch
money by pretending to be from Boys
Town. Cvek said he considered the
idea for several days and finally fig-
ured out a good story to tell strangers.
Queried about the slaying of Mrs.
Elizabeth Jensen one mile from the
Papas apartment, he surprised the au-
thorities by insisting that he had noth-
ing to do with it. He also was quizzed
about many other unsolved rape kill-
ings in several states and denied
knowledge of them.
On March 10, 1941, Cvek entered a
plea of not guilty to a first-degree
murder indictment returned by the
Bronx grand jury to County Judge
Lester Patterson.
CYEK then reputedly told Foley an
amazing story. He said: “You know,
Mr. Foley, I didn’t tell you the truth
in my confession. I was at Mrs. Papas’
apartment twice that day. I first went
there in the morning and I robbed
her. I took her jewelry downtown
and I sold it. Then I got to thinking
about how lovely Mrs, Papas was and
I went back to her apartment in the
afternoon and I tried to rape her.
That’s how I accidentally killed her.”
For a few minutes Foley couldn’
figure out what Cvek had in mind by
telling him such a silly thing. It de-
veloped that newspaper stories had
revealed to Cvek that he had been
tricked into his confession. He had
read in one paper that “any murder
committed during the commission of
a felony, such as robbery, is punish-
able by death.”
When Foley pointed out to Cvek that
rape itself is a felony, Cvek allegedly
withdrew this story. He was brought
to trial on Tuesday, April 15, 1941,
but a mistrial was declared on April
28, and a new trial was scheduled for
two weeks later.
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| Couldn't Know What I'd Cost Him (Continued from Page 23)
come back to me, cry on my shoulder
and ask for forgiveness.
But he didn’t, neither that day nor
the next.
Sad, empty weeks lagged by. I
plunged into work as though it was a
drug that could make me forget.
Then a time came when I didn’t cry
any more. But inside me remained a
vast emptiness which I thought would
never be filled again.
Almost a half a year had passed.
One evening I was called to the phone
at my Hollywood office. I answered
in a business-like manner.
A voice came over the wire.
“This is Bernard.”
It sounded gruff, bossy.
heart skipped a beat.
“Yes, Bernard.” I tried to sound as
calm as possible. “What do you want?
I’m busy right now.”
“Keep the jitterbugs waiting a
while. I want to ask you something.”
There was still the same strange
tone in his voice. Was he trying to
tease me?
“Go ahead,” I said.
“I want to know if you’re sorry.”
“Sorry? Me? Why should I be
sorry?”
“Okay, okay,” he said, laughing. “If
you're not sorry, I am. That’s what
I called to tell you. It was all my fault.
I love you, Janet, you know that, don’t
you?”
I laughed a short, little laugh, but
my eyes were teary.
“You win,” I said. “I’ve been miss-
ing you like the devil.”
“Win, how?”
“I’ve nothing to do after ten when
I’m through here. I feel like flirting
tonight with some nice young man.”
“You've got a date on your hands,
Baby.”
Later I began to wonder. Was it a
mistake to start all over? Wouldn’t I
have to go through the same heart-
aches and disappointments?
When Bernard arrived I received
him with a deliberate coolness.
“Let’s go to the Tropics,” he sug-
gested. “Remember, Darling, the first
time—”
“No,” I said flatly. “I just want to
get a coke at the corner drug store.”
A little while later we were seated
in a booth.
Bernard explained. “I called you,
Janet, because I have to tell you some-
thing very important.”
“You sound very solemn—”
He grasped my hand with trembling
fingers. “Janet,” he said hoarsely,
“don't be so flippant. You’re tearing
my heart out. You don’t know what
I've been through. I waited six months
before I called you. Six terrible, lone-
some, endless months. I wanted to see
if my love for you could change me. I
wanted to make sure what I cherished
more—you or my freedom. I’ve found
out.”
He dug into his pocket and pulled
out a tiny square box.
“This is for you,”
snapped the lid open.
A solitaire sparkled before my eyes.
“Bernard,” I cried, “it’s beautiful,
But you shouldn’t have done that.
Spent so much money—”
“For the future Mrs. Bernard Knight
the best isn’t good enough. And don’t
worry about money. Instead of going
to parties I worked hard, developed
some time-saving tricks for the firm
and got a honey of a raise.”
In the weeks that followed my whole
existence was again filled with the
happiness of love. I didn’t know
that dark clouds already were gather-
ing beyond. No grim, foreboding signs
warned me of the death and disaster
and wretchedness to come.
Then came the day when Bernard
called me up in my home.
“I must see you right away.”
voice sounded heavy, grave.
But my
he said as he
His
Worried, I asked him what the mat-
ter was.
“I don’t know how I’m going to
break this to you,” he said. “It’s pretty
awful. I think I’ll take an hour off
and come over, so we can talk.”
When he arrived he took me in his
arms and crushed his lips to mine in a
hard, desperate embrace.
We sat down on the glider in the
Patio. ;
“What is it, Bernie?” I begged.
He bowed his head and ran his fin-
gers through his thick black hair. “I’m
in trouble, Janet. I don’t know how
you’re going to take this. It’s about
our marriage.”
I asked him if he had changed his
mind.
“No, it’s not that I have changed my
mind—” He faltered.
“Bernie!” I cried. “I can take it.
my life on a lie. I know that a life
in sin never would make us happy.”
There’s no use trying to find ex-
cuses for my weakness. I gave in after
a few weeks of desperate arguing. I
was a grown, responsible woman, well
aware of the moral significance of my
decision. I just lost my head. I didn’t
have the strength to break with Ber-
nard. I loved him. And so I became
a phony Mrs. Bernard Knight. I based
my: life on a fraud. How I lived to
regret it!
But we had the pretty house in the
hills. Friends sent us congratulations
and wedding gifts. I even wrote my
parents that I had married again. And
I was happy but for the painful stir-
rings of my conscience.
Months of dreams and ecstasies flew
by and I began to believe in the lie
of my life. I would have been sur-
the Bleeding Ceiling.”
issue.
Up to the Minute
ON MAY 21, 1941, George Joseph Cvek, convicted of murder-
ing Mrs. Catherine Papas in her Bronx, New York, apart-
ment, was sentenced by County Judge James M. Barrett to die
in the electric chair during the week of July 7. The full details
of the investigation in this case appeared under the title, “Wanted
for Murder: The Man Who Called Himself ‘Mayor of Boys
Town’” in the June issue of AcruaL DETECTIVE STORIES.
Frank W. Turner, found guilty of slaying his wife, was sen-
tenced, May 24, 1941, by Judge Charles W. Hall of Chehalis,
Washington, to 50 years’ imprisonment. The history of this case
appeared in the April issue under the title, “Strange Case of
Mrs. Ida Aitkin, accused of slaying her neice, Bertha Lorene
Aitkin, was found guilty of second-degree murder on May 17,
1941, at Plattsburg, Missouri, and sentenced to 20 years’ imprison-
ment by Judge Marion D. Waltner of Jackson County Circuit
Court. The story of the detective work in this. case appeared
under the title, “Now the Six Daughters Are Five,” in the April
Up to the Minute is presented as a department in Actua
DETECTIVE Srories from time to time to enable readers to keep
up with the latest developments in cases previously described.
Tell me—did you lose your job? I’m
making good money—”
He shook his head. “No, it isn’t my
job. It’s my wife. She won’t give me
a divorce. I had a letter from my
lawyers this morning. They tell me it’s
pretty final.”
SAT there stunned, bewildered, de-
feated.
“What’s going to happen to us?” I
asked, sobbing.
“T don’t know. All I know is I can’t
live without you.” He paused for a
moment. “We love each other, Janet,
and we must try to make the best of
it. A few words spoken by a justice
of the peace won’t make us more mar-
ried.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we don’t need a scrap
of paper to be happy. I’m going to take
out a lease on a pretty house in the
hills, with a view over the city, trees
and flewers all around, and you’ll rule
over it as my little wife. To me and
the rest of the world you will be Mrs.
Bernard J. Knight.”
Indignation mingled with my unhap-
piness. “No, no,” I cried. “Never.
Nothing you can say will make it ap-
pear right to me. I don’t want to base
prised if anybody had called me by
a different name than Mrs. Knight.
Everywhere I was accepted as Ber-
nard’s. legitimate. wife, and I don’t
think the truth was ever suspected.
However, there was one concession,
I refused to give up my _ dancing
schools. My self-respect ‘demanded
that I remain independent. I didn’t
want to have the feeling of being a
kept woman.
Stubbornly I stuck to my work,
though it was hard to combine the
daily grind with the responsibilities of
a home. Bernard kept regular office
hours, while I had to be at my studios
from the early afternoon till the late
evening. The result was that we hard-
ly saw more of each other than in
the days when we led separate lives.
Often I came home nervous, ex-
hausted, my back aching. Bernard
was always wonderful. He kissed me
and scolded me gently.
“T feel like an old grouchy bachelor,
sitting home night after night, all by
myself.”
It must have been pretty dull. No
wonder he was irritable sometimes and
started quarrels. First they were about
little nothings. Later the little noth-
ings took on a more definite meaning.
“You want to stay away. You love
that rumba circus more than me, that’s
the whole trouble.”
“Silly,” I said. “You know better,
Bernie. My work and my love are two
different things. Or is it something
else? Are you jealous?”
“Do I have a reason to be jealous?”
He began to show up in the dancing
schools. At first only once in a while,
later more often, then almost regu-
larly. One night last January he blew
u
p.
“This has got to stop!” he cried.
“You’ll have to choose between me and
this. I’ve watched these leeches. The
way they stare at you! Mauling and
squeezing you with their filthy paws.”
He snorted scornfully. “Dancing les-
sons! I’ve another name for it!”
He was white with rage. I never
had seen him like that before, and I
was unable. to understand what had
prompted this outburst. Had he be-
come jealous of my independence?
Was it the fear of losing me, knowing
that we were not tied by the bonds
of matrimony? Had the moment come
when I had to pay the price of stolen
love?
| TRIED to calm him, but my words
only made him angrier.
“There it is,” he said, fuming. “You
want this kind of life. You love to
have these guys fawn all over you.
Well, this is the crossroads. You take
me—or your work.”
I knew I would have to choose, but
I still tried to argue with him.
“Together we make a lot of money
and are used to a very comfortable
living. If I give up my work I’ll be
a drain on you and we'll have to cut
corners. Don’t you think that’s silly?
Wouldn’t it be a shame to throw away
a business that I’ve built up in years
of struggle?”
Bernard had an answer for that, too.
“T have been offered a job with the
Department of Agriculture. I start
next week. My salary will be twice
as high as with the Challenge Butter
Company. I’ll be able to buy you
everything and anything you want.
The only career you’re going to have
is being Mrs. Knight.”
I loved Bernie and I thought he was
doing everything to make me happy.
I gave in. I had to give in. I didn’t
know then what price I would have to
pay for it. Nor did it occur to me that
it was strange that Bernard suddenly
should be earning so much money.
Something should have warned me,
made me suspicious. But I had heard
of rising wages, the scarcity of expe-
rienced chemists, and I felt a brilliant
boy like Bernie deserved a well-paid
job.
The only flaw was the working
hours. From 7 p.m. until midnight.
But even in this I failed to sense any-
thing wrong, as the defense boom
makes working hours go around the
clock.
The dancing schools were liquidated,
and now Bernie and I could be to-
gether all day. We went bowling, took
rides into the country, played golf. We
could do everything we wanted to. It
should have been Heaven, but it
wasn’t.
I expected Bernard to be happy. He
had me all to himself. There was
nothing and nobody to make him jeal-
ous. But all he did was brood. Day
by day I saw him grow more morose.
I didn’t know what it was. It just
seemed that he was haunted by some
mysterious fear. All I was certain of
was that it wasn’t I who was causing
him the strange worries.
At first I asked him, pleaded with
him to tell me why he was so unhappy.
But he only shrugged away my ques-
tions. It was clear he didn’t want me
to intrude. He didn’t want me to know.
Well, there was nothing I could do. I
September ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES Goes on Sale Wednesday, August 13
34
aD—i
CUSK, Yeager MV
standing in the warm foyer
of the apartment house, gazed
idly through the plate glass and
wrought iron door at the bleak, win-
try scene outside, The night was
dark; the circle of light cast by the
- arc-lamp on the corner shone a glit-
tering white on the snow-filled gusts
as they sped down New York’s Grand
Concourse, one of the world’s wid-
est boulevards.
The doorman’s idle thoughts re-
volved around pleasant, everyday
affairs; his mind knew nothing of
- the terror and grim tragedy that
: / was in the offing. Well trained to his
‘ . menial task, the doorman snapped
to attention when he saw a slight,
stoop-shouldered man approach the
entrance to the apartment house, el-
; , bowing his way. through the swirl-
ing snow. Dillard Addeck’s white-
. gloved hand hastily buttoned the
= open collar of his gaudy uniform
coat, then reached out-and opened
the heavy ornamental door to let the
tenant enter. The thin, stooped, lit-
D: ORMAN Dillard Addeck,
tle man: passed through with a
THE TRUE FACTS brusque “Good evening, Addeck,”
. and went on up the stairs.
ABOUT THE AMAZING “He’s a little late tonight,” the
F . doorman mused, “It must be almost
NEW YORK PAPPAS CASE half-past ten.”
When John Pappas, the tenant,
had disappeared around the upper
landing, Addeck opened the tight-
By fitting uniform collar and resumed
; his lonely vigil of the cold, bleak
CHRISTOPHER MACKEN Perle, ootalte,
A moment later, the doorman
heard his name called from the up-
per landing:
. . “Addeck! Addeck! Come here; I
want to show you something!”
It was the voice of John Pappas,
the tenant who had just,entered,
but it carried a strange, foreboding
tone.
i}
y
sf
y
t
4
A New York City crime laboratory technician examines articles taken from The interior of the room in the Pappas home, where the young Egyptian
the Pappas home for fingerprint clues. bride innocently entertained the killer.
nd
it’s so wonderful!”’ when I asked her
how she liked Broadway, and before
we parted I knew the general pattern
of her dreams. I knew that in her
mind’s eye she saw herself some day
in gleaming satin, aflame with flashing
gems, handsome youths paying homage
to her triumphs and murmuring soft-
ly of her beauty and charm, while she
waited for a dashing knight to mate-
rialize from nowhere and whirl her
away into the one consuming romance
of her life.
I thought of other show girls who
had dreamed similar dreams only to
wind up as mistresses of playboys,
tired businessmen or gangsters, or as
the wives of struggling drummers or
horn tooters in some band. And I
wondered what fate had in store for
Thais.
I recalled, too, how sick at heart I
became the night I saw a prominent
New Jersey politician, doing Broad-
way, pick up a mess of chop suey
with his bare hand and slap it into the
face of his paramour, a famed star
of the silent screen whom I once had |
adored. a
I thought, also, of my own diamonds,
furs and bank accounts—one-tenth of
what they might have been—and of
tination ultimately to be?
My salary was still the sam
weekly—whether I worked al
teamed up with a singing hoofeg such
as talented Billy Church, who\had
spent two seasons with me in and
of the clubs. And the ogling suckers
were still around, although not so
numerous as before the depression, and
they still thought their money, alone,
should entitle them to any enticing
little package of youth, beauty and
charm on which their eyes fastened.
Gradually, during the days that fol-
lowed, a great emptiness filled me as
I became aware that my life had set-
tled into a deadly routine, without
promise, without hope.
The night-clubs lost their fascina-
tion; their atmosphere of radiant mer-
riment was transmuted in my mind to
one of submerged criminality—traps
for the unwary, most of them operated
by racketeers.
The hotel suite that long before had
replaced the single room of my early
days in New York, ceased to be a
soothing refuge, and my personal maid,
who’d been with me for three years,
complained that I was “gadding about
too much; it ain’t gonna do you no
good, Miss DeForest.”
My agent, Bessie, warned: “You’ve
got to snap out of it, Dottie, or I won’t
be able to book you any place. Sup-
pose you team up again. It may re-
store your verve.”
“Phooey.” I said indifferently. ‘‘Let’s
get a cocktail.”
We went to Billy Mahr’s, sat at a
corner table near the piano, ignoring
those at the bar. When the drinks
were served I was humming absently.
Bessie groaned: ‘My Heavens, Dot-
tie, why are you singing that?”
“Hunh?” My mind came
y. “What was I singing?”
“Something about everybody’s play-
thing, nobody’s bride.” She paused,
said gently: ‘‘Are you in love, Dottie?”
LOOKED at her in scornful amaze-
ment. “In love? Holy—”
I got no farther. My eyes had trav-
eled past her and collided with eyes
that were warm and kind. A weird,
sweet shock went through me. He had
tousled hair and a shy, boyish smile.
He was in his late twenties. He was
standing at one end of the bar with
a friend.
“Play something, Bessie.” A small
happy feeling lifted me to my feet.
“Play, Let a Smile Be Your Umbrella.”
“Well!” Bessie’s lips pressed to-
gether in amused disapproval but she
went to the piano.
I hardly heard her when she finally
exulted: ‘‘You’re like your old self,
Dottie!” I was listening to the ap-
plause, particularly to that from the
end of the bar where there was an
insistency to it that carried a message.
46
back
I kept my eyes down. I was glowing
inwardly.
Bessie swung into Nobody’s Sweet-
heart and I didn’t have to turn to see
who it was when a pleasant tenor
joined in. My heart told me. ~*
Billy Mahr made the introductions.
He said: “This is Arthur Waring; we
call him Happy.”
I said to myself: “I’ll call him Ar-
thur. I’m tired of nicknames.”
I shall never forget the rest of that
day, nor what stemmed from it. Out-
side, the last snow of Winter was melt-
ing under a clear, afternoon sun, and
now the cold, hard thing that had filled
the void within me was dissipating
magically under Arthur’s slow smile.
He told me he was a truck-driver
and I noticed, for the first time, his
soft, gray shirt. Somehow, it caused
a feeling of tenderness, mixed with
happiness, to flow through me. Here,
at last, was a clean, honest, youn,
Rocco, he’d rechristened himself “Lit-
tle Caesar” after seeing a movie thus
titled and thereafter he’d aped the
leading character’s actions. It had be-
come a tradition to kid him and ordi-
narily I did clown with him. But now
I felt only rebellion at the thought
of being forced to’summon a gaiety I
did not feel to fend off his ridiculous
antics.
Fervently I hoped he’d not see me
at the corner table with Arthur, and
he did start toward the bar. Abruptly,
however, Little Caesar stopped in his
tracks, spun to face me, and stood
there, mouth open, astonishment writ-
ten in every rigid line of his body. I
stiffened, prepared for anything—ex-
cept for what happened.
“Happy!” Little Caesar’s joyous cry
rang through the speakeasy like a
knife, transfixing all motion, all other
sound. ‘‘Happy! i
}
the title, “Wanted for Murder:
Mayor of Boys Town.”
title,
Up to the Minute
c > MAY 19, 1941, George Joseph Cvek was found guilty of
murder in the first degree in connection with the slaying
of Mrs. Catherine Papas in New York. There was no recom-
mendation for mercy. The history of this homicide investigation
appeared in the June issue of AcruaL Detective STORIES under
Mrs. Emma S. Hepperman, charged with wilfully poisoning
her husband, Anthony, was convicted of first-degree murd
mn May 5, 1941, at Union, Mi: j nced
to life imp ~ oO is case appeared under the
“The Woman With Too Many
November, 1940, issue of AcruaL DETECTIVE STORIES.
Judge William F. Dannehower of the Montgomery County
Court in Norristown, Pennsylvania, sentenced William J. Earnest
to death in the electric chair on his murder conviction in connec-
tion with the slaying of Mrs. Ethel May Atkins.
the investigation of the case appeared in the December, 1940,
issue of AcTuAL DETECTIVE SToRIES under the title, “We Had to
Find Ethel Atkins’ Mutilation Slayer.”
Up to the Minute is presented as a department in AcTuaL
DETECTIVE Stories from time to time to enable readers to keep
up with the latest developments in cases previously described.
The Man Who Called Himself
Dead Husbands” in the
The story of
working man. No need to be on guard
against him. No need to question ‘his
motives.
I thought of him sitting at my side
some night between shows and the
vision brought an exquisite sense of
relief. Of a sudden I yearned to have
him say he’d come that very night.
‘I’m a singer at night-clubs,” I
prompted.
“Oh-h.” There was surprise in his
voice and he toyed with his glass for
a while. “I don’t go to night-clubs
myself,” he said slowly.
“Why?” A quick little fear sprang
up in me as I waited his reply. Did
he think I wanted to clip him? After
all, he’d seen the message in my eyes.
Or was he trying to give me a polite
brush-off because he believed all show
girls to be tramps?
Presently he said: ‘People can get
in trouble hanging around night-
clubs.” He said it shyly, apologetically.
I said: “Oh!” There it was, plain
enough. He thought I was a come-on
girl for a sucker trap.
In the strained silence that settled
between us, the door-buzzer sounded
startlingly clear, like an urgent sum-
mons. Still it didn’t hurry the bar-
tender. He ambled lazily to the peep-
hole, slid back the shield, peeped
through. Satisfied, he threw back the
bolt on the door.
It was “Little Caesar.”
I felt a twinge of annoyance and it
surprised me. Little Caesar was one
of the favorite chauffeurs of Broadway
show girls, a local character, as it were,
and more or less of a clown. %
At least that’s the way we thought
of him, though he took himself seri-
ously enough. Like other youths of
the time he idolized gangsters. Rather
he idolized the glamourous version of
them that he saw on the screen or
read in the papers. Christened Frank
The weighty silence became a living
thing. It grew and grew, and pressed
down unbearably. Everybody was
covertly or openly looking at either
Little Caesar or at Arthur and me. I
was particularly aware of Bessie turn-
ing very slowly from the piano to stare
at Arthur and me.
Then somebody laughed. It was a
short, dry laugh. It was the laugh of
a disillusioned person who has seen
bitter things. A self-mocking laugh
of one resigned to inevitable ironies
in life. It was Arthur.
He said quietly: “Today. Haven’t
had a chance yet to change my shirt.”
Motion and sound resumed in the
speak. Little Caesar approached, stam-
mered: “Ge-e-e, Happy, I—I didn’t
mean to—to—” His eyes shifted to
me. He was unable to go on.
Arthur waved him away: “Forget it,
Rocco. Go have a drink on me.”
“Thanks, Happy.” He hesitated,
said, “They .. . they call me Little
Caesar now.” At Arthur’s puzzled
frown, he explained: “You know, after
that gangster in the movie.”
He left us then and Arthur’s eyes
sought mine, pleading for understand-
ing. “I wanted to tell you,” he said
softly. “I was paroled from prison this
morning.” His eyes wavered. “I—I
suppose you won’t want to talk to me
now.”
“Then you’re not a truck-driver?” I
asked. “I mean—” The blighting feel-
ing had stopped growing inside. Con-
fusion was overwhelming me. “I mean
what you said about—”
“Yes. I’ve got a job driving a truck.
I start tomorrow.”
“No, not that. What you said about
night-clubs. You don’t think I’m a—”
“Oh, T’ll stay away from those
places, all right.” His voice was de-
termined. “I’m not going to be sent
back for violation of parole.” He
paused, smiled sheepishly. “I’d like to
catch your act just once, though.”
Violation of parole! So that was it.
I almost fell off my chair.
Arthur persisted: ‘You haven’t said
yet whether you mind talking to me
now that you know. I’ll go if you want
me to.”
“Oh, no!”
An eager look lit up his face.
I said gently: ‘I don’t care where
you came from, Arthur.”
He thanked me with his eyes and I
told him about myself. Then, wrapped
in the intimacy of mutual understand-
ing, we sat in silence for a long time.
I awoke the following day conscious
of a feeling of peace, and when Arthur
phoned me my heart leaped with un-
explainable delight. A curious sense
of lightness and freedom pervaded me
when he took me to visit his people a
GLoRIO LY happy, I prayed:
God, let this last.”
til the detectives came
in May that my old
fears stirred restlessly. There was
something frightening in their grim at-
Admitted by my maid, they
barged into the room where I was sit-
ting, and without preliminaries, their
leader demanfed: ‘“Where’s Waring?”
know.” A small cold
“T haven’t
him yet today.”
did you hear from him last?”
“I’m his fiancee!”
For a moment the officer eyed me
with hard suspicion. I stiffened, won-
dering what to expect. He said: “Know
he’s an ex-convict?” There was dis-
approval in his tone.
“Certainly!” I flamed. “Why do you
ask?”
I must have looked as enraged as I
really was, because when my racing
thoughts slowed I became aware that
the officers were grinning at me.
Kindness glowed in their leader’s
eyes. He said: “It’s all right, Miss.
If you love him I guess that’s all that
counts. Do you mind if we look around
a bit?”
I sat down limply, suddenly glad I
hadn’t put all my bitter reflections
into words.
“Go ahead, look at anything you
like.” I gave him a smile, anxious
to make amends.
He nodded his thanks and the other
officers deployed through the suite
with a curious weighty tread. My
smile died. They weren’t looking—
they were tearing the place apart.
I stared stupidly while they method-
ically emptied closets and dresser
drawers, and examined and _ studied
my clothes, my mail, all my intimate
things. What did it all mean?
“The captain will tell you,” said
the leader. “He wants to see you
at the station house.”
“Me?”
“Yes,”
In a fog of mystification and vague
fears I accompanied him without pro-
test. The captain’s blunt greeting was:
“Ever see this man before?” He
leaned forward, showed me a _ photo
of Arthur’s friend.
I said, puzzled: “Yes, but not in a
long time. I don’t know his name.”
“His name’s McCauley—John Mc-
Cauley. Ever hear Waring mention
that name?”
“Not that I remember.”
“You mean you don’t want to re-
member!” snorted the captain. ‘“War-
ing hates McCauley’s guts, doesn’t he?”
“Oh, no!” I-was on my feet. “No.
You don’t understand. They’re friends.
They were together when I first met
Arthur.”
“Some friend,” said the officer sar-
castically. “McCauley’s dead!”
“Dead?”
“Murdered! And Waring was seen
talking to him in a speakeasy a half-
hour before he was taken for a ride.
Now come clean, young lady, or you'll
find yourself in a jam.”
“No—No! It isn’t true. Arthur
AD—3
MRS. MARY SNYDER: She
fought off an attempted at-
fack by becting her ruth-
less assailant with a vase.
‘receiver of his ringing
telephone. He heard a
man’s strained and
shaken voice cry, “My
wife ... my wife is dead.
She has been murdered.”
It was a matter of min-
utes. before a police car
pulled up before the
Bronx apartment house.
The group of officers were
led by Acting Chief In-
spector John J. O’Connor,
in charge of Bronx detec-
tives. Assistant Medical
Examiner Charles M.
Hockman was with them.
When they entered the
, Pappas apartment, they
found the broken and Py
sobbing husband seated
on the sofa—the one on
which his wife, a few hours earlier,
had breathed her last. “She’s in
there,” he said, pointing toward
the bedroom. “Everything is just
as I found it. It’s horrible.”
Kitty Pappas lay sprawled awk-
wardly on the unruffled bed. There
was horror written on her face. A
torn towel bound her hands behind
her back. A handkerchief was
stuffed in her mouth. Her slim
ankles were tied together by a neck-
tie.
“Don’t know when I’ve ever seen
anything so brutal,” growled O’Con-
nor. ‘“‘Somebody’s going to pay
dearly for this.”
While O’Connor and the medical
officer were in the bedroom, District
Attorncy Samuel Foley and his as-
sistant, Martin Frank, arrived. Foley
10
JOHN PAPPAS, the grief-stricken husband, takes a
last look at his beautiful wife who was strangled to
death by the fiendish slayer.
quickly surveyed the scene of death |
and immediately began question-
ing Pappas. .
The husband informed Foley that
he was a wholesale grocer, his store
at 728 Ninth Avenue. Pappas had
gone to work at 9 o’clock that morn-
ing. He had remained in the store
all day, leaving at about 9:45 p.m.
and reaching his home at 10:30,
when he found the body of his wife.
“Do you have any idea who did
this?” Foley asked.
“T can’t understand it. I can’t
understand.” Pappas cried. ‘We
have no enemies. Catherine and I
were married in Egypt two years
ago, but I’m sure she had no enemies.
I can think of nobody who would
want to harm her. She was a gentle
and devout woman, Mr. Foley.”
“Then this might have been the eS
work of.a maniac or ‘house bandit.” ~~
“But that couldn’t be,” insisted
the grocer. ‘Catherine must have
been well acquainted with the per-
son ... the man who killed her.”
‘What makes you think that?”
Pappas pointed to the coffee table
with the two cups and wine glasses
and plate of cookies. ‘They had
something to eat together. Catherine
was too timid ever to let a stranger
into the house, to say nothing of
giving him food and wine.”’
Foley picked up a cigarette butt
from an ash tray on the coffee table
and examined it closely. Then, tak-
ing care not to smudge any possible
fingerprints, he showed it to Pappas.
“Do you ever smoke that brand?”
“No,” said Pappas, pulling a pack-
THR
TO
The
efficie:
there
is mis
“Th,
ours,”
to th
chair
ways
bedro
NO. 1 Taya)
EN NEW YORK’S FIN
... 70 THE EL
é
ST GAVE HIM A LIFT $
anes He
/MURDER
riage,” Mrs. Pappas remarked. ‘Would you like to see
our wedding picture?”
‘The man nodded.
As she darted into the adjoining bedroom, he took a
cigarette from his pocket and calmly lighted it.
“Here it is,” said the young wife, returning with a
large photograph in a heavy, brown frame. She pointed
to a sad-eyed, slim brunette. “There I am. And that’s
Mr. Pappas.” The serious figure beside the bride was
a small, thin, mustached man—20 years her senior.
Still holding the picture, Kitty Pappas sat on the sofa
beside her visitor. ‘The others standing around us are
relatives and friends. You see,” she added, smiling, “we
were married in Alexandria, Egypt, where I had lived
for a long time with my father. We had many friends.”
She laid the wedding picture on the chair by the coffee
stand and, while leaning back against the sofa, said
softly, “John and I are just as happy together now as
we were then.”
The backward movement of her
body was halted abruptly. Her head
dropped against the man’s left arm. MRS. CATHERINE
Suddenly, like the jaws of a power- WAGNER: When. she
ful trap, the arm locked around her gous ine poure 4g part
tender, white neck. An anguished ae ater: they new
cry broke from her throat, but it was that the Pappas .mur-
snuffed out with the closing of a derer had struck again.
rough hand over her mouth. In
tric. CHAIR =
The torn towels used by
‘GEORGE CVEK to tie the
hands of MRS. PAPPAS.
frantic desperation the
trapped woman sank her
teeth into the man’s thumb,
biting with all the strength
left in her choked body.
Finally the man felt the
stinging pressure on_ his
thumb relax; her struggle
was over. She lay limp in
his arms.
A few minutes later a tall
figure, his hat pulled down
over his eyes, stepped cau-
tiously down the steps of the
apartment house at 1035
Grand Concourse. He van-
ished into the teeming Bronx.
Shortly after 10:30 that
night a sergeant in Bronx
police headquarters lifted the
se bandit.”
”’ insisted
must have
th the per-
lled her.”
k that?”
2offee table
‘ine glasses
“They had
Catherine
a stranger
iothing of
crette butt
offee table
Then, tak-
iy possible
to Pappas.
brand?”
ng a pack-
» been the «
age of a different brand from his
pocket. “My wife didn’t smoke at
all,” he added.
There were three other butts in
the ash tray. Foley ordered a detec-
tive to place them in an envelope
for fingerprint examination.
And he said that about $50 in cash,
which had been left in the bureau
drawer, was gone.
When this routine police work
was completed, Foley resumed his
questioning of the unhappy widower
in an: effort to learn more about
through the room with the Rricker
basket containing the woman’s
body. Hockman, the medical officer,
followed them. Foley walked to:
the door with him, and asked, “What
do you make of it?”
“Well, Chief,” said ine quiet-
i?)
#1;
THREE SKILLFUL, HARD-WORKING DETECTIVES ADD FAME } ND LUSTRE
TO THE GLORIOUS RECORDS OF THE NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT.
Then turning back to Pappas, the
efficient district attorney said, “Is
there anything in the apartment that
is missing or misplaced?”
“There’s that wedding picture of
ours,” replied the husband, pointing
to the photograph that lay on a
chair in front of the sofa. ‘We al-
ways kept that on the dresser in the
bedroom.”
Among the
missing ob-
jects, Pappas
listed a
wrist- watch,
a bracelet,
ring, cigar-
ette case.
> sagan “ab Lx pyaar
¥ Reishee
fe Questioned by DIS-
TRICT. ATTORNEY
SAMUEL FOLEY, CVEK
was \,tight-lipped. He
denied, knowing. any-
thing about the numer-
ous attack. cases for
which he was blamed.
i)
she was dead . .
GEORGE JOSEPH
CVEK: “I carried her
into the bedroom and
laid her on the bed
. » « and when I saw
robbed the house."
Kitty Pappas and her relatives and
friends.
Pappas answered questions calm-
ly and in detail. He said that his
wife had been a Sunday School
teacher at St. Spyridon’s Hellenic
Orthodox Church, 179th Street and
Wadsworth Avenue. He reiterated
that she was of the retiring sort and
preferred a life of comparative soli-
tude. “She seldom had neighbors
in the house,” Pappas added, “even
when I was home. And one of her
best friends—the wife of a priest in
our church—hasn’t been here more
than a half dozen times this year.”
“Then,” said Foley, ‘you are con-
vinced that Mrs. Pappas had been
well acquainted with the person
who killed her?”
‘T’m positive,” snapped Pappas,
“but I can’t think of anyone she
knew who would do a thing like
this.”
Their conver-
sation was halt-
ed when two
men, clothed in
white,, passed
ek kot
genre
spoken Hockman, “unofficially, I'd
say she had been dead eight hours
or more.’
“She was strangled to death. Is
that right?”
Hockman nodded professionally.
“The only cause of death. I’m sure
of that. Several small bones in her
neck seem to be broken. Whatever
gripped her had the strength of a
gorilla.”
While the preliminary phase of
the investigation was thus unfold-
ing in the Pappas apartment, Acting
Chief Inspector O’Connor and_ his
men were busy elsewhere in the
building. Across the hall from the
scene of death, in another apart-
ment, O’Connor was talking to
Grace Smallwood, a Negro maid:
“He was tall and thin and blond,”
Miss Smallwood was saying. “I saw
meen
him come out of Mrs. Pappas’ flat
this very night.”
“*Bout what time did you see this
man?” O’Connor wanted to know.
The maid rolled her eyes back
thoughtfully. “Now let me see.”
she said. “I hid just finished doin:
the dishes and | was out in the hal!
with the garbage. That was 8
o’clock. Yes, sir. I’m sure of it.’
“Could you identify this man if
you saw him again?” asked the ijn-
vestigator
“Believe I could,” was the hesitan!
reply.
As Tuesday, February 4th, passed
on and became a significant date in
criminal history, New York news-
papers Wednesday morning head-
lined the bruta! killing of the devou'
Bronx housewife. Husbands were
uneasy as they kissed their wive:
farewell and went off to work. The
women-folk in the crowded, busy
area north of Manhattan kept their
doors locked and refused to speak
to peddlers who visited them.
Signs of sadness and mourning
appeared
in the im-
mediate
vicinity
CATHERINE
CKITTY) PAP-
PAS: Wrapped in
the warm securi-
ty of her happi-
ness, she had no
premonition of
the horror and
tragedy thot
stalked her path.
Seman
AEE GEORGE JOSEPH
apart- CVEK (right) fs
ment on handcuffed to a
t h e detective as | is
x led from police
Grand headquarters,
Con-
course,
for the
couple were well-known
and respected in the com-
munity, which was dom-
inated by Greek families.
John Pappas went into
seclusion at the home of
his brother, Aristides. But
he made it plain that he
would be available at any
time police wished his as-
sistance.
The only pieces of evi-
dence police had to go on
were the fingerprints
found on the wedding pic-
ture and the wine glass
and the vague statement
by Grace Smallwood, the
maid. Most of the prints
that were recorded were
smudged, but it was be-
lieved that at least one
would be of value.
So while these were be-
ing checked with Federal
for Your
The Mills Hotel in New York City where the untiring detectives nabbed
Catherine Pappas’ brutal murderer.
Bureau of Investigation files in
Washington and others throughout
the country, authorities concentrated
on tracking down the “tall, thin,
blond’’ man described by Miss
Smallwood.
What appeared to be a_ break
developed the following day.
(onvenience
There ts unther
| Mills Holel |
CGreemch Wage j
1GO Bleecker St i
pn 40
Restaura! Hue Tee ie
Into police head-
quarters was ushered
a 25-year-old Greek,
John Zarvos. He was
an ex-convict from
Sing Sing, on parole.
After several hours of
questioning, he was
lined up for scrutiny
by the Negro maid.
But she failed to iden-
tify Zarvos as the man
she had seen leave the
Pappas flat on the
night of the murder.
The case against
Zarvos crumbled even
more when they com-
pared his fingerprints
with those found on
the wine glass. There
was no comparison
whatsoever. Zarvos
was cleared of all sus-
picion.
At the same time,
discouraging _ reports
began trickling in from
police in other parts of the country.
There apparently were no prints
which would match those taken
from the glass in the Pappas flat.
Disheartening as this was, it told
Bronx investigators one thing—
that the killer did not have a well-
known police record. He might have
The Pappo
JOSEPH C
tality by
a a ea |
‘be ‘sure to get that job ‘you’ were
talking about.” >. 14 ay
“And all thanks
“you ‘can tome in,” I told him.:
‘Ym sure it will be all right.” .
“Thank you, Mrs. Wagner. I hate
“ bother about ’
that.” suis BPR ay
* t's no bother. How would bacon ©
© ask something like this, but I ‘and eggs be? I don’t have much ‘ swered politely... es
real that job.” . “>more on. hand until Eddie gets © He was hungry all right. I could
Ue perfectly all right,” I home.” o. 00 8 tell that by the way he ate. I poured ©
laugi@e, “The bathroom is right in. He grinned. “Bacon and eggs will. him.a cup of coffee and took the —
- plates to the sink to rinse them.
. He drank the coffee and stood up.
“Yd better go now.” . ..: é
I let hot water run’
Did “be swell.” ..:. sutra a) as
I could hear the water splashing
“fn the tub as I lighted the gas and
“cooked the meal. i w
here, and I’ll get Eddie’s razor.
you have any lunch yet?”._,
know how you make out.” ; .
He didn’t answer and
up, surprised. Then I saw his eyes.
He had changed somehow. The
young fellow down on his luck who
‘a new Mane oo ho Bou, a
-"' .. “Sit right down here,” I ordered.
* “All cleaned up and well fed, you'll.
1
‘I realized with sudden panic how
‘strong he really was. ~~
_“You’re beautiful,” he mut
| dashed for the door then. But
he was too quick. He raised his
fist and struck me on the temple.
Poe nea
“8
Get
att ‘i
ry Fea
Seni es t
2 ene
A,
*
a,
Cea
ne,
to you,” he an-—
“ward against him. His free hand
‘balled into a’ fist and struck me ...
I looked |
had pleaded for a break, was gone. .
” I edged imperceptibly toward the
* door. “There are lots of prett girls,”
-I said, forcing a smile. ‘ you
get your job you'll find a nice wife,
“Someone nicer than me.”
*. He shook his head. “They
come any nicer.”> ..%..... &. See aa ‘
I dashed for the door then, buthe ..> 5
was too quick. One arm _ went ae
around my neck pulling me back-
s
‘don’t hae
brutally over the temple. One blow ©
... two... three. I wasn’t uncon-
scious, but ‘all the strength seemed _
to have fled from my body. I was °
too weak to resist as he lifted me
in his arms. (Continued on page 40).
COMA,
ss AST your bread upon the wa-
ters . .. and it will return
unto you...”
Nice philosophy, isn’t it?
. Only it doesn’t always work.
bread will come back, all right
—and sometimes sooner than you
think. But it isn’t always good
bread. Mine was mouldy....
It wasn’t very nice weather to
drive in, the night Eddie and I came
back from New York. It was rain-
ing and cold, and the young man
who waved a frantic thumb at us
as we passed through Elizabeth,
N. J., on the night of February 9,
1941, was soaked and he was shiv-
ering. He hunched his shoulders
against the cold and watched hope-
fully as we approached.
It wasn’t easy to pass him by, but
I believe we would have done so
had we not been so happy. The car
we were driving wasn’t our own;
Eddie had borrowed it from an
uncle, for this trip—a special sort
of trip, if you will, to celebrate the
eighth month of our marriage.
Maybe it’s foolish to celebrate —
anything but yearly anniversaries.
But we were really only kids: I am
19 and Eddie is 23. And we just
couldn’t wait for a year to go by to
celebrate. Besides, there was a baby
on the way and soon I wouldn’t
have dared risk the trip. So Eddie
had borrowed the car and we set
out for a week end of carefree fun.
Now it was over, and we were
going home.
“Let’s pick him up, Eddie,” I sug-
gested. ‘He looks cold and it’s get-
ting late. We can give him a lift.”
“Okay, honey.” Eddie never ques-
tioned anything I asked him to do.
He put on the brakes and slowed
to a stop. The hitch-hiker came
running.
“I can’t tell you how grateful I
am to you folks,” he said breath-
lessly. “I thought I’d have to spend
the night in the rain.” He sat down
in the back seat of the car and
mopped at his face with a handker-
chief. I noticed it was clean.
‘helping
ge
Eddie looked him over a minute
and then started off. ‘‘We’re always
glad to help anyone out,” he said
easily.
I felt awfully proud of my hus-
band then. Eddie doesn’t have such
a very good job and he doesn’t make
all the money in the world. He
drives a delivery truck and does
clerical work for a poultry dealer in
Philadelphia. We live in a little
apartment a couple of blocks away
from his job. But this fellow we
had picked up didn’t know that. For
all he knew, Eddie was a big execu-
tive traveling somewhere on busi-
ness. Or maybe we were a young
couple going south for the win-
ter.
A silence had fallen between us
Victim of a conscienceless brute,
Mrs. Catherine Wagner, 19, gave a
man a lift, was repaid in anguish.
Worming his way into the lives of
a happy pair, this sinister young
man carried out his evil purpose.
but the youth in the back seat
seemed hungry for someone to talk
to. “I’ll be glad to get back to Caro-
lina,” he said fervently. .“‘The
weather down there isn’t anything
like this. Are you folks going far?”
“Not so far,” Eddie said matter-
of-factly. “I can take you as far as
Philadelphia.” :
“That’s swell. It won’t be hard to
get a ride out of there tomorrow.”
“What are you doing so far from
home?” Eddie asked. “Trying to
find a job?” a8
“That’s right. You see, I don’t have
a real home. I’ve traveled around the
country ever since I was a kid. But
Father Flanagan took me into his
‘Boys’ Town’ out in Nebraska and
made a man of me. I learned a trade
there and they made me mayor of
the place. The boys run it just as a
big city operates—mayor and police
and everything.”
‘Sounds nice,” I told him. “I
guess you're pretty grateful.”
The young fellow laughed.
“Grateful isn’t exactly the word,”
he assured me. “If there were more
people like him this world wouldn’t
be the way it is today. But I didn’ts
want to stay there after I learned
my trade, and, maybe, keep some
other fellow from having his chance.
Besides, I was sure I could find
a job.”
“What is your trade?” I asked.
“Radio work. I was in New York
trying to land a job but there
weren’t any vacancies anywhere.
Now I’m going to my sister’s home
in Carolina until I get on my feet.
I don’t have any money now but
some day, maybe, I’1l be able to pay
back some of the people who have
helped me. I won’t forget them.”
Eddie looked at me. I knew he
was thinking the same thing I was,
but hesitated to mention it. Finally
he said casually, so as to avoid em-
barrassing our passenger: ‘“How
about eats? If you’re hungry I could
stake you to a meal.” :
There was a long silence. I hoped
he wouldn’t be too proud to accept
Eddie’s offer. Finally I said timidly,
“Td like a sandwich myself. It
wouldn’t be any bother.”
T was dark in the car, so I didn’t
know what reaction my words had
caused. But when finally he spoke,
his voice was choked with emotion.
“You people are the finest young
couple I ever met. I'll let you buy
me a meal under one condition.”
“Name it,” Eddie said promptly.
“All right. Let me have your
name and address. Someday I want
to repay you.”
“You needn’t worry about paying
.us back, ever,” Eddie declared. “Kit
and I are really happy tonight. You
see, we were married just eight
months ago. We’d like to see every-
one happy. And if we can make
you feel better by giving you even
a little break when you’re down and
out, we’re the ones who are
grateful.”
Inside the little lunchroom where
we stopped, I watched our pas-
senger with interest. He was such
a fine: looking chap. Not over 23
or 24, I decided. He carried a small
overnight bag, was freshly shaved
and looked neat and clean. I
couldn’t help feeling sorry that
such a young fellow had to bum his
way about the country without a
’ home or any definite place to go.
We could help this wanderer, if
only in a small way. And he wanted
to repay us even for that. If we had
a son, I vowed, he should have his
chance in life. Even if Eddie and I
had to work our fingers to the bone,
11
SE a en
Seas neem alee SR
d have his: ch: ede
“We live in thexnorth,end , of
Philadelphia,” Eddie ‘said, briskly,
as we drove away from theares-,
Our: “but Pll take you wherevergg,
you want to go. There are several
nice places in town that will take a
fellow in overnight.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Eddie, but if
you don’t mind I’) get out at Tren-
ton. There are some people there I
know and I might stay a day or so.
Maybe I can find a job.”’
“It’s okay with me,” Eddie agreed.
“Trenton’s only a few miles from
here. You say the word when you
want to get out.”
He got out at the square—our
friend of less than two hours. We
shook hands all around before he
left the machine. It was like part-
ing from an old friend.
“I wish you would give me your
address, Eddie,” he pleaded. ‘Some
day I'll pay you back. Maybe sooner
than you expect.”
“Okay,” Eddie laughed. ‘“‘Turn on
the dome light, Kit. TN write it
down on a piece of paper.”
We watched him stride away into
the rain. There was a last wave of
his hand before he disappeared. ‘‘He
seemed such a nice fellow,” I mused.
“Wonder if we'll ever see him,
again.”
“Probably not,” Eddie seemed to
sense my mood. “But wherever he
is you have a friend, Kit. I don’t
suppose I’d have picked him up if
you hadn’t suggested it.”
“I’m glad we did, Eddie,” I said
softly. “You know the Bible says
‘Cast your bread upon the waters
., . and it will return unto you.’ ”
That was Sunday night, and Mon-
; day brought us. back to reality.
Eddie had his job to look after; I
had my housework. The housework
never took me long. A few min-
utes to straighten the room and
wash the dishes and I was through. ©
After that there wasn’t much else
to do, except wait for Eddie to come
home.
Monday drifted by. Tuesday
came and went. Wednesday, Lin-
coln’s Birthday, started out as a
repetition of the first two days.
I cooked Eddie’s breakfast and
saw him off to work. Then there
were the dishes to do and the bed to
make. After that I swept the apart-
ment and put the rooms in order.
I was through with my neces-
te. sary work now. But there was some-
a thing else I could do. Eddie’s work
was mostly out of doors, and this
elphia, I had no doubt but that my
caller was one of these... Instead, I
was. surprised to .see, our, hitch-
‘hiking friend of Sunday evening.
was gas h
.~ me to recognize
- remember ; me?’ he
4
“Th
The Wagners, Catherine and Eddy,
‘smile now, knowing a ruthless, sly
criminal -will pay for his. crimes.
_one hand.
,“Eddie’s working.
ome until evening.” ~
steps. Our apartment, is.
third floor and there is‘no.elevator.
What was he doing here? I-won
dered. Had he landed a job and:
come to tell us of his good fortune?
That must be it. I felt rather dis-
appointed that he wanted Eddie to
know about it before me.
I had eaten lunch and washed the
dishes before the second knock
sounded on the door. Again, it was
our hitch-hiking friend. He seemed
embarrassed this time, however,
and kept his eyes on the floor as
he talked.
“I didn’t get to see Eddie, Mrs.
Wagner,” he ventured hesitantly.
. “They told me he was out on a de-
livery and wouldn’t be back for
some time.”
I waited for him to finish. When
I failed to answer, he gestured with
“I hate to impose on you
people a second time,’ he said earn-
estly, “but you were so grand to
me and I didn’t know anyone else
in Philadelphia...”
‘What is it you want?” I asked.
He swept his eyes up to meet mine
frankly and disarmingly. ‘To tell
the truth, Mrs. Wagner, I have an
appointment with a man at two
o'clock this afternoon. There’s a
good chance that he can give me a
job. But I need a shave and ought
to be cleaned up a bit. I was going
to ask Eddie if he’d let me use his
razor and wash up a bit. If I can’t
make myself presentable I won't
get this job.”
I honestly didn’t know what to
say. I was alone in the house and,
after all, what did I know of this
boy? Then our conversation of Sun-
day evening came back to me.
Surely anyone from Father Flana-
gan’s Boys’ Town would be all right.
And if I should be the cause of him
losing a chance at a job simply be-
cause I was too narrow-minded to
-let him shave and clean up, I should
never forgive myself.
« Disappointment. was ‘evident in.
oor
\
AN
Leaving violation in his
wake, a hiker thumbs his
way over a path of crime
till he hits road’s end
an horror
ages
>- locked.
HEN the killer-rapist ?was finally
booked for murder, Judge Michael
Ford, the committing magistrate,
said: “If the warden at Sing Sing
is unable to find anyone to turn
on the switch, I’ll gladly act as execu-
tioner.”
That was near the end of a fantastic
trail of crime and lust, marked by no less
than two murders and 23 sexual assaults
on women. But the beginning of the trail
goes back to a certain November 12. On
that day Mrs. Arthur Collins was raped
and robbed in her apartment in the
Bronx, New York. The facts concerning
that crime are as follows:
On November 7, Mr. and Mrs. Collins
picked up a hitchhiker on the ramp lead-
ing up to the Pulaski Skyway in Newark,
New Jersey. He gave them the name of
John Mitchell, stating that he was on his
way to see his sister in Maine, who was in
a hospital there as the result of an auto-
mobile accident. Among other things,
he claimed that he was a former Mayor
of Boys Town, Nebraska.
Leaving the Collins car at Newark Air-
port, he requested the couple’s address,
stating that he would send them a souvenir
from Boys Town when he returned there.
At noon on November 12, Mitchell
rang the bell of the Collins apartment in
the Bronx. Mrs. Collins recognized him
and invited him in. He said that he was
hungry, and she prepared a meal for him.
He then complained of a headache and
asked for an aspirin. When this was given
him he asked Mrs. Collins when her hus-
band would be home, and, unsuspecting,
she told him that Mr. Collins would not
be back until five o’clock.
Mitchell then stepped behind Mrs. Col-
lins, put his right arm around her neck
and dragged her to the bedroom. He tied
her wrists by tearing her apron into
strips. He stuffed his handkerchief into
her mouth, bound it there with a necktie
and then criminally assaulted her.
After the assault he looted the apart-
ment and vanished.
Mitchell’s next job, according to the
records, took place on January 27. On
that day Mrs. Roger Burk, also of the
Bronx, reported to the police as follows:
At about 10:30 a.M. she had admitted
a man to her apartment who said he was
Joe Mitchell. He ‘asked for her husband
who was not at home, stating that he had
met Mr. Burk while hitchhiking. He said
that he had driven down from Boston but
that his car had broken down and was
now being repaired. He claimed also that
he was a former mayor of Boys Town.
He twice asked for aspirin.
Shortly after noon he grabbed her from
behind, placed a handkerchief in her
mouth, tied her hands with strips from a
_dish towel and carried her to the bedroom,
where he assaulted her.
Later he looted the apartment of
money, jewelry and a fur coat.
The detectives up in the Bronx worked
EXPERT—
Lab technician checks suspect's prints.
hard on both of these cases but were
unable to make an arrest.
Then, at 10:30 on the night of February
4, 1941, John Pappas a wealthy Greek
importer, entered his apartment at 1035
Grand Concourse and found his lovely
bride of a year dead. Worse than that,
she had been murdered.
A slight woman with glossy black hair,
she lay sprawled grotesquely on her bed,
a torn kitchen towel knotted tightly
around her throat. Her hands had been
forced to the small of her back and were
bound at the wrists with a florid necktie.
Her ankles were also bound, and in her
mouth a soiled white handkerchief had
been stuffed.
Shocked, bewildered, Pappas stumbled
to the telephone and called the police.
Ten minutes later his apartment was
overrun with high police brass. Heading
the contingent was Deputy Chief Inspector
John J. O'Connor, the borough com-
mander, and Captain Charles Armstrong,
commander of thé 7th Detective District.
The first thing that struck the officers
was the condition of the bedroom. The
drawers of the two dressers gaped open
and their contents were scattered in wild
array on the floor. A half a dozen
women’s purses lay open and scattered
across the bed. One was stained with a
tiny smear of blood.
All the windows in the apartment were
locked. But in the dinette Armstrong dis-
covered a curious thing. Hanging between
23
eel
the Venetian blind, which was drawn, and
the window itself, was a silver-fox fur.
Had it been a signal to someone in the
street below?
HE living room of the apartment also
T presented some interesting aspects. A
lamp had been knocked from the end
table that stood by the sofa and now lay
shattered on the floor.
Before the divan, on a low coffee table,
was an array of Greek delicacies, a de-
canter of red wine, two partly filled wine
‘glasses and, incongruously, a bottle of
aspirin tablets.
Since all the windows of the apartment
were locked.from the inside and the door
was guarded ‘not only by a spring lock
but by a peep hole as well, it was obvious
to the officers that Mrs. Pappas had her-
self admitted the killer to her home.
Captain Armstrong turned to the squad
men. “We can’t do anything with the
body till the M. E. gets here,” he began.
“In the meantime, I want you boys to
search the roof, fire escape and areaway
for clues. And give the cellar and in-
cinerator a going-over. Then check with
the doorman, elevator operator and su-
perintendent. See if you can get a line
on her visftors today.”
This routine” procedure underway, Arm-
strong now turngd to Pappas, who was
NcnESSRRNNERORIII eens _
sitting, a huddled, pathetic figure, in a
far corner. Gently he questioned the man.
CCORDING> to the importer’s story,
he had married his wife: Catherine a
year before in Alexandria, Egypt. She
was as shy as she was beautiful, and since
she did not know English very well, she
was exceedingly retiring. They had been
very happy together, and he had returned
home that night from his office expecting
to enjoy a quiet celebration with his wife;
it was his birthday.
“When did you last see her?” asked
Armstrong.
“This morning at -nine-thirty, when I
left the apartment. I heard her lock the
door behind me.” $ :
“Did she have many friends?”
“No. Almost. none at all. Only a few
people she met at the Greek Church.”
- Armstrong frowned. “I’m sorry to stress
this point, Mr. Pappas,” he said gently.
“But what you say doesn’t quite tie in
with conditions here.” He waved his arm
around the bedroom, and his eyes lingered
1a moment on the body on the bed. “You
see, all the windows are locked from the
inside, and the killer could only have got-
ten in through the door. Then there’s the
peep hole in the door. - Your wife must
have known’ who he. was — must have
known him well—otherwise she wouldn’t
oe a
#
have admitted him, dressed as she was in
that flimsy negligee.”
Pappas shook his head. “I don’t under-
‘stand it,” be muttered. “She had no
friends. She was shy, timid. She wouldn’t
even let the grocery boy into the apart-'
ment. I. brought in the food myself. 1
know she wouldn’t have admitted a man
into the apartment.” ©
Armstrong didn’t press the point. “From
the way things are lying about,” he said,
“it looks like robbery might have been the
motive for the crime. Suppose you look
the place over and make a list of what’s
missing. It will give you something to do.”
Pappas set about the task, and the men
who had been searching the building and
areaways began to report back. At every
point they had ‘drawn blanks, They had
been unable to uncover any tangible clues
to the crime and none of the help in the
building had any knowledge of a visitor
to the apartment that day. However, the
killer could have entered the building
through the unguarded service entrance on
the side street and mounted the stairs to
the third floor without having been ob-
served. ;
A moment later there was a flurry as
Assistant Medical Examiner Charles Hoch-
man hurried into the room. Accompanying
him was his confidential stenographer,
Irving Oppenheim. After a brief examina-
“
tion of the
“White adult
plete. Dead
death—strany
body to Ford
He turned
head at the
for you, in th
knots; They n
Armstrong
We need a c|
Then,- whi!
moved, he tu:
him he learn«
ring, a diamon
watch, a diam:
Case were a!
’ wife’s body o1
Officers Jo}
. Kerner, techn
- Bureau who
apartment for
to Armstrong.
thg three com;
patterned prin:
and one of the
Armstrong «
entered the ap
set of prints f
* BT THE Mor:
went into
es William Ric
d as she was in
‘| don’t under-
“She had .no
id. She wouldn’t
into the apart-'
food myself. I
dmitted a man
ye point. “From
about,” he said,
ht have been the
suppose you look
» a list of what’s
something to do.”
ask, and the men
the building and
t back. At every
lanks. They had
any tangible clues
f the help in the
edge of a visitor
cy. However, the
‘red the building
ervice entrance on
nted the stairs to
having been ob-
e was a flurry as
‘iner Charles Hoch-
om. Accompanying
\tial stenographer,
er a brief examina-
PSS ee
ve A
tion of the body, the doctor dictated:
“White adult female—rigor mortis com-
plete. Dead eight to ten hours. Cause of
death—strangulation by ligature. Remove
body to Fordham morgue for autopsy.”
He turned to Armstrong, jerked his
head at the body. “I’ll save those knots
for you, in the towels and necktie. Granny
knots: They might be a clue.”
Armstrong nodded glumly.
We need a clue.”
Then, while the body was. being re-
moved, he turned again to Pappas. From
him he learned that a diamond wedding
ring, a diamond-encrusted crucifix,:a wrist-
watch, a diamond ring and a gold cigarette
case were all missing, either from his
“Thanks.
; wife's body or from the apartment.
Officers John Bealler and. Emanuel
.Kerner, technicians from the Research
Bureau who had been. going over the
apartment for fingerprints, now reported
to Armstrong. They had succeeded in lift-
ing three complete groups of clear, loop-
patterned prints from the aspirin bottle
and one of the -wine glasses.
Armstrong ordered everyone who had
entered the apartment to file a complete
set of prints for comparison purposes.
-
' aT THE Morrisania precinct, Armstrong
went into conference with Captain
William Rice and Lieutenant Edward
Byrnes, the two homicide men_ assigned to
the case. :
“Within the pdst several months, here
in the Eighth Precinct,” began Armstrong,
“we've had two cases of fobbery and
rape twhere the man asked for aspirin.
The Collins case ‘and the Burk case. We
didn’t get to first base on those. Despite
what Pappas says about his wife not letting
anyone in the apartment, it looks like
this job was pulled by the same guy who
pulled the other two. Only this time he
went overboard and killed. The operation
was the same in al] three cases—aspirin,
necktie, torn towels, handkerchief gag. We
might have his prints on the aspirin bottle
and wine glass. First, check the prints
against the files. Then pull the apartment
apart, stick by stick. There might be a
clife about someplace—a button or some-
thing. The smashed lamp indicates a strug-
gle, and there was a smear of blood on
the pocketbooks.
“Then get the pawnshop detail making
the rounds. You’ve got a good description
of the jewels. After that, cover the neigh-
borhood. See if you can get a line on any-
one. Got all that?”
The two officers nodded.
“Okay. -While you’re at it, check the
hospitals. See if anyone came in for treat-
ment for human bites or anything like
that.” He slipped open the top drawer
>
of his desk and took out an official report.
“Here’s a description of the strangler as
given by Mrs. Collins. Better take notes.
This guy is a killer, and we’ve got to nab
him fast.”
Again the two officers nodded.
“About twenty-two, standing five foot-
eleven, weight about one-eighty. Rough
skin, pockmarked and pimpled. Long-
armed, with heavy hands. Fingernails bit-
ten and dirty. Brown hair with part on
right side.. Turned-up nose with a broad
base and thick bridge. Green eyes.” Arm-
strong tossed the paper aside. “That’s it,
boys. Now get going.”
When Rice and Burns had left to get
this routine machinery of the investigation
into motion, Armstrong sent out a nine-
staté alarm for the suspected killer, along
with his description.
Early the following morning,
was taken to the morgue to make an offi-
cial identification of the body before the
autopsy. Shown the tie that had bound his
wife’s wrists, he declared that it wasn’t his,
that he had never seen it before. The tie
bore the label of a nationally known shirt
store, and Armstrong sent one of his men
to the main office of the concern to see if
there was any way to trace the purchaser.
Unfortunately, ‘nothing came of this.
The towels that had bound the dead
woman’s ankles (Continued on page 54)
Pappas *
25
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could the officers find anyone in the city
who remembered anything about the man.
The garage, man barely remembered him.
Apparently, King had not remained in the
city for more than a few hours. Where he
had come from or where he had gone was
a mystery.
As the months crawled by there were
‘many reported sightings of King. Some of
them the officers felt were likely accurate,
others were extremely doubtful. But none
of the reports reached the officials in time
to do much about them. When they were
further checked, they ended in a dead-end
street.
But Hathway never allowed the case to
be forgotten. He continued to send out cir-
culars, often repeating where they had been
sent the year before. He continued to write
letters. The correspondence file on the case
became a foot thick, and then two feet
thick, and finally filled a whole filing-
cabinet drawer.
It was on November Ist, 1951, that the
FBI picked up the information that King
was working in a restaurant in Philadelphia.
Careful investigztions confirmed that the
man working as second chef was certainly
King.
Arthur Cornelius, Jr., Special Agent in
Charge of the Philadelphia Office, sent six
agents to the restaurant. King was opening
oysters in the kitchen when the agents
covered him. King dropped his knife and
meekly surrendered. Then he went with
the officers.
“T've been wondering when you'd catch
up with me,” he said calmly.
The management and other employes of
the restaurant knew King as William G.
Wilson, and were shocked to learn that he
was a killer and had-been one of the FBI’s
ten’ most-wanted men in the nation. “He
was always a perfect gentleman,” one
waitress remarked. “He was very likable,
very nice,” another said.
As this is written, Sheriff Hathway is
flying to Philadelphia to ‘return King to
California after his hearing before U. S.
Commissioner Henry P. Carr. Here he will
face the charge of murder in the Superior
Court of San Luis Obispo County.
STRANGLER AT LARGE
CONTINUED FROM PAGE 25
and that had strangled her came from
Pappas’ own kitchen and thus offered no
clue. The handkerchief that had been used
as a gag was something else again.: It did
not belong to the importer. It was of cheap
quality and extremely soiled. However,
exhaustive tests by the lab men failed to
bring out any latent fingerprints or laundry
marks,
The officers who had been checking into
Catherine Pappas’ background now report-
ed in. “All that her husband had said con-
cerning her shyness was true. She was
known by all to be extremely retiring and,
save for the few friends she had made
through her church, had virtually no ac-
quaintances, No man could be linked to
her life, and no one could offer any possi-
ble, let alone plausible, reason why she
had admitted the strangler to her apart-
ment.
As a precaution, however, all of her
known friends were fingerprinted and these
prints compared with those that had been
lifted from the aspirin bottle and wine
glass. None of them matched.
The killer apparently was a drifter,
someone who moved around by _hitch-
hiking rides. But he had to put up some-
where for an occasional night. So now
Armstrong shifted his forces and sent a
detail to check all the cheap hotels and
municipal lodging houses. Next he ordered
a set of prints taken from the wine glass
Sent to the F.B.I. in Washington. A second
detail. was ordered to canvass the filling
stations and restaurants along U.S. 1 from
the Holland tunnel to Trenton, in the hope
of picking up the strangler’s trail.
With this work under way, Armstrong
now called Father Flanagan at’ Boys
Town, Nebraska, and learned that the in-
stitution had never had a boy named
Mitchell; but curiously enough several in-
quiries had been received concerning him
in the past.
“We have some correspondence in our
files about him,” said Father Flanagan.
“Shall I send it on to you?”
“By all means,” said Armstrong. “It
may give us a lead.”
N February 9, Armstrong received the
0 following letter from Boys Town:
“In reply to your inquiry concerning
one John or Joe Mitchell, we wish to in-
form you that we have some information
about this man.
On July 21, 1940, Mr. W. W. Stadden,
Bartonsville, Pennsylvania, wired us that
he had met Gerald Mitchell, who stated
that he was from Boys Town and was on
his way to Providence, and would be glad
to help the man reach his destination if
we could verify his story.
On August 13, 1940, we received a wire
from Mr. J. Carter Brooker, Montclair,
New Jersey, asking if we had enrolled
Jerry Mitchell. He said that he picked up
this man at Waterville, Maine, and took
him to New York City, but shortly after
arriving there Mitchell disappeared,
We have informed both of the above
parties we have no record of ever having
admitted -this Mitchell to our home. Mit-
chell is very evidently an imposter and we
trust that the above information regarding
his contacts will prove helpful in bringing
about his apprehension.”
Accompanying this communication were
two postcards which Mitchell had sent to
Boys Town. The first had been sent to
Father Flanagan. The second one to Pat
Quinn who, curiously enough, was un-
known at the institution. On the card the
mysterious Mitchell had scrawled:
“Hi, Pat:
Well, well, what a small world. Who
would think I would be hitchhiking
cross-country. I suppose Father Flan-
nigan told you about my unfortunate
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94
The prisoner told us that he had re-
ceived a small sum of money from some
friends to allow him to make his get-away
and that he had immediately headed for
the middle west. This information bore
out the tip we had received about the time
Marino started sending letters to his sweet-
heart in the Kings County Hospital.
Marino told us that his funds had run
low and that he decided to take a chance
and come back to New York to raise some
more money with which to get out of the
country. He said he was arrested just as
he was trying to negotiate a loan so that
he could escape to Havana, Cuba.
FTER hearing the story we took Mari-
no to Mount Vernon for formal
arraignment. The news of his capture
leaked out and so fast did it spread that
when we reached police headquarters sev-
eral hundred people had assembled to get
a look at the man.
The crowd appeared disappointed when
they saw the diminutive bandit who didn’t
really look like the desperate character
they had seen pictured in the newspapers.
Our hearts sunk when we realized that
the news was out. We feared that all the
others would hide away so that it would be
impossible to find them. With only Marino
in custody our work was just starting, we
felt.
Marino was taken into court before
Judge Bernstein and ordered held without
bail on a charge of murder. He was de-
tained for the time being in the Mount
Vernon jail.
The great problem that confronted us
was the capture of the others, particularly
Daley, the killer. With more than three
weeks already passed the task of capturing
the men seemed almost impossible. Marino
insisted that he had no idea where the
others had gone as all had separated.
He said he had not seen Daley since they
parted in New York upon leaving the train.
He said he had not seen Lipso, Mazzo or
Mileto after the automobile was wrecked
and had not seen DeMaio since the night
before the hold-up.
That information was not much consola-
tion; yet, we at least had Marino and
usually after the first one is caught the
other captures come much easier. We
were now spurred on to keep up our search.
Our second big piece of luck came two*
days later on August 16th when New Ro-
chelle detectives after a watch of two days
at the home of DeMaio at 229 Union Ave-
nue in that city arrested him as he was
stepping into his automobile. DeMaio had
heard of Marino’s capture but did not think
he would squeal and had been in and around
New Rochelle as though nothing had hap-
pened.
He was dumbfounded when placed under
arrest and told he was wanted for the
murder of the two trolleymen. He pro-
tested his innocence and said that he had a
perfect alibi. DeMaio said that he could
easily prove he was nowhere near the
scene of the crime at the time it had hap-
pened.
This was true enough. He was some-
where between Harlem and Mount Vernon
when the shots had been fired, but with the
information given us by Marino, he might
just as well have been in Halifax. He was
as much a murderer in the eyes of the law
as though he had fired the fatal shots.
De Maio was taken before Judge
True Detective Mysteries
Bernstein and also ordered held with-
out bail on a murder charge. He was held
in the Mount Vernon jail, but not near
Marino, being kept on a different tier so
that they could not converse.
Within two days DeMaio confessed and
admitted his part in the murder. ‘While
Lieutenant Mattes and I were questioning
him he told us that he could have been
picked up easily a few minutes after the
hold-up if a policeman had only felt like
holding him.
DeMaio said he was nervous while wait-
ing in New York for the hold-up to take
place and at about 2:20 A. M. had left in
Framed testimonial presented to Cap-
tain Silverstein, highly commending
the Captain and Lieutenant Mattes
for their great work in solving the
“Owl Murders” case. This testimonial
is one of the valued possessions at
detective headquarters in New Ro-
chelle, and is a well-deserved tribute
on a tough case ;
his own automobile to come to Mount
Vernon and see if he could find his friends.
The prisoner said he drove up the Boston
Post Road and turned into South Colum-
bus Avenue. He said his heart almost
stopped. when he saw Marino’s machine
wrecked. DeMaio told us a _ policeman
was by the car. This was Patrolman
Charles Schultz who was ringing a police
box a short distance away when the ban-
dits’ car crashed.
The officer: had just reached the wrecked
car when DeMaio came along. DeMaio
had just missed, by about a minute, reach-
ing the scene in time to rescue his fellow
bandits. The officer called to DeMaio and
asked him to drive back to the police box
and summon assistance.
DeMaio went back to the box and re-
turned a few minutes later. He told the
officer that no one answered the telephone,
and then drove off. DeMaio told us he
had made no attempt to telephone, not de-
siring to get the police on the trail of his
friends or himself any sooner than the
natural course of events would bring
about.
The man could give us no information
concerning the whereabouts of the others.
He said he had not seen them since the
night before the hold-up.
Things moved fast for us, however, for
on the next morning I received word
through an underworld tip telling where
Daley might be found. I can’t disclose
where these tips came from because if it
ever got out there would be a few more
shootings. It’s enough to say that we
never get these tips from high society.
I called Lieutenant Mattes into my office
and said, “Herman, I think we'll take a
trip up into Connecticut this afternoon and
see if we can locate the place where Daley
is supposed to be staying.”
He called Detectives Donohue and Mar-
tin and asked them to be in Mount Vernon
at two o'clock and then made arrangements
with a friend of ours to get a high powered
automobile carrying New Jersey license
plates. There was every reason for using
all precautions to insure secrecy.
It would be to our advantage if none of
our movements were learned by anyone and
by using a machine with New Jersey
plates the chances of anyone seeing us
would be lessened. We planned to pose
as ordinary tourists.
Our New York detective friends arrived
on time and a few minutes later the four
of us left, heading south as though we
might be intending to go to New Jersey
where the license plates might indicate.
Once out of Mount Vernon we headed for
the Boston Post Road and then east for
Connecticut.
It took us a little more than an hour to
reach Westport, a small village near the
Sound between South Norwalk and Bridge-
port. We went to the nearby barracks of
the state police and explained our mission.
We asked assistance and Sergeant Walter
Linahan and three other officers were
assigned to help us.
Sergeant Linahan proved to be an ideal
man. He was well versed in police matters
and knew every inch of the country for
miles around. The place we sought was
about five miles out into the country to the
northeast in the unincorporated limits of
the township of Weston.
We would have undoubtedly searched
for hours without success if it had not
been for Sergeant Linahan, due to the
many miles of winding’ narrow country
dirt roads that forked off in all directions.
We got within a half mile of the farm
house where we hoped to find Daley and
then decided to talk matters over before
going any further. Night was fast ap-
proaching and unless we went to the
house at once we would have to work
in the dark which would be decidedly to
our disadvantage.
HE thought naturally ran through our
minds that Daley would undoubtedly be
continually looking for strangers and
might see us approaching the house. The
farm house, the police said, unfortunately
was back from the roadway and_ set
on a piece of ground that was higher
than the road. There were few trees near
the building, the sergeant said, which
offered little opportunity to sneak up on
the place unseen.
We talked over the idea of trying to
effect a capture at night. If this was tried
we realized that a gun fight would un-
doubtedly result in Daley having all the
advantages. Being a killer we well knew
he would fight and wouldn’t be at all
particular where his steel slugs went.
Besides, it would be rather easy for him
to get through the c
attempt to throw arou
Nearby toward th
wooded sections and
night the hunted man
them, would most lik
easily as only Serg
knew the surrounding
bating what procedu
came on rapidly and
it, night had arrived
to wait until morning
By waiting until m
able to possibly sur]
bed and get him witl
we concluded, he n
might be captured be
was taking place.
should get out of th
be able to see our m
It was a long nigh
in turns with alway:
just om general pr:
dragged like weeks.
not certain that Dal
house although I ki
that he had been ther:
LONG about fc
streaks of dawr
the horizon. By five
light. We again «
situation and decidec
never. We hurried
the entrance to the {
Two of us went tc
guns while the other
ing themselves close
sight of any window
could get out withou
I knocked on the i
no answer so I kno
peating this several :
ment inside and a fe
the door bolt being s
The door opened ;
with a shotgun in |
could say. anything I
down. We are polic
talk to you.”
I spoke in whisp
looking for a man
wanted for murder i)
The farmer said 1
who was asleep upst
wasn’t Daley. “He «
weeks ago with a f)
looking for a place
didn’t stay. He wen
he whispered.
We were now cer
sought was wpstairs
to point out the do:
and told him to ge
there might be so1
time the farmer’s v
although badly frig
our mission, pointed
Mattes and I cre]
way, making no no
from the stairs cou
ear to the door
faintly hear the sou
ing.
We did not know
locked or not and
the door knob nois
our weight against
down if it did not ¢
I turned the kn
squeek the door ope
our revolvers in o1
Been a Me eT al
SS
SEES PTE
ease
92
the police of Cleveland were searching
everywhere in that city for him?”
We hurriedly telegraphed to the police
of Toledo. We told them of our search
and gave them a description of the hunted
murderer, A printed description and pic-
ture followed immediately.
B* this time we° were wondering where
Marino would turn up next. Would it
be Detroit? Chicago? Or some other city
further west. Descriptions and pictures of
the man were sent to dozens of cities.
As we saw visions of capturing Marino,
the trolley company offered a $1,000 reward
for the arrest and conviction of the mur-
derers. A few days later a New York
newspaper offered another $1,000 and then
came an additional reward of $5,000 that
was offered by Westchester County for
the capture of the men.
Seven thousand dollars seemed a lucra-
tive reward for the apprehension of the
criminals outside the desire to bring to
justice the men who had committed the
most cold-blooded crime I had ever known
ot.
Everything, however, appeared to go
against us. We were seeking five men.
Only two of them were known to us and
we were not certain that they had com-
mitted the murders. We had no idea who
the other three men might be. We had
only a faint idea of where one man was
and he was keeping a jump ahead of us.
Should his letters stop coming to his sick
sweetheart, we realized, our trail would be
lost entirely,
We kept in constant touch with the police
of both Toledo and Cleveland but the
efforts of their best detectives brought no
further trace of Marino. Then came a
heart-breaking blow.
Through the same underworld connec-
tion that had led us to the hospital we
learned that a syndicate of gangsters had
supplied Marino with a large amount of
money with which to make his escape.
There was sufficient money, we were told,
to make it unnecessary for the man to
tackle a single job. All he had to do was
just to keep going. The underworld was
protecting its own.
One day passed and then another with-
out any results. All this time we and our
New York detective allies were doing
everything possible to get a line on either
Daley or the three unknown men.
We continued to question the two women
still in custody because they had been un-
able to raise the heavy bail. Their stories
never changed. We became convinced that
it was useless to hold them any longer.
We had come to the conclusion that pos-
sibly they would do us more good outside
jail than in,
Both were taken before the local court
and their bail was reduced to $500. Mrs.
Marino quickly obtained the money and
was released. Miss Mooney was held when
she failed to get a bondsman,
NOTHER week passed and things be-
gan to really look black. Another let-
ter was received from Marino in which he
said, “I’ll see you soon.”
Again our hopes soared. Was Marino
coming back? Would he dare to come back
to New York? This letter came from
Cleveland.
True Detective Mysteries
(Continued from page 90)
It was tough to have to wait while we
vainly tried to pick up a good clue out ‘of
many we received, most’of which proved
false and useless when finally traced down.
*-Our first good break in many. days came
on August 10th when I again received a tip
from my underworld connection, I was
told that Marino had been seen in New
York.
Our detective friends from that city were
told of this information, which if true,
was the most’ encouraging thing we had
heard since the day after the murders.
Could it be true, we asked ourselves, that
Marino, with a price om’ his head, had
come back as he had intimated in the last
letter to his sweetheart?
The next day Elsie Towne received an-
other letter. This was postmarked at a
post office in Washington Heights. It was
signed with the familiar “J.” In this let-
ter an address was mentioned. Marino had
become either careless or daring. He was
back in New York.
Two days later, after Mattes and I and
our New York detective friends had kept
a constant vigil for nearly forty-eight
hours in relays at the house mentioned in
the letter Marino was caught.
He was arrested as he stepped from the
heme of Joe Laturza at 767 East 149th
Street, in the Bronx. He readily admitted
his identity. No one had seen him go into
the house and for some time later we won-
dered if the man had ever really left New
York.
John Marino, who figured promi-
nently in the case, and was the first
of the gang to be captured
The bandit was taken to headquarters
and Lieutenant Mattes and I left at once
for New York. Marino said little for
about an hour, we were told, proving to be
very sullen.
Finally, after a severe grilling Marino
broke down. “I didn’t fire the shots, I
want to talk to the district attorney,” he
said.
We communicated with District Attor-
ney Arthur C. Rowland, of Yonkers, then
district attorney of Westchester County,
and he left for New York at once arriv-
ing within an hour. By this time Marino’s
attitude had changed and he was ready to |
talk.
“T'll tell you the whole thing,” he said
to the District Attorney, “if you promise
tc let me off easy. I didn’t fire the shots
that killed those fellows. I was driving
the car.”
The District Attorney thought for a mo-
ment and asked, “Marino, do you want to
turn State’s evidence and act as a witness
for the State?”
The bandit said he did and the District
Attorney then said, “All right, if I find
through the entire proceedings that you did
not fire the shots that resulted in these
murders I will do my best to see that you
are not prosecuted for murder in the first
degree, providing of course, that you aid
us in the capture and Prosecution of the
others,”
Marino then proceeded to tell us of the
entire affair. He said that David DeMaio,
of New Rochelle, known as the “bootleg
king” of that city, had been the tipster
and had told the gang of the large sums
of money carried every night on “The
Owl”. Being a resident of the city where
the trolley started its run early each morn-
ing the information came to him easily.
Ae first Marino said the gang met in
The Daylight Bakery at 2093 Third
Avenue in New York City. This place was
run by an Ernest Friedrieck. It was here
that DeMaio suggested the hold-up of the
paymaster of the Kelly Construction Com-
pany that at the time was constructing a
large addition to the Pelham Memorial
High School at’ Wolf’s Lane and East
Sixth Street in Pelham Manor.
It was about in front of this school that
the bandits’ automobile had been standing
when “The Owl” passed it on the fatal
ride.
The arrangements for the hold-up of the
paymaster were completed and the stick-
up was supposed to come off about five
weeks before the hold-up of “The Owl.”
The high school job was less than a half
mile from the scene of the crime.
The paymaster of the construction com-
pany failed to show up on schedule and the
bandits, becoming more and more nervous
as they waited, finally abandoned the hold-
up about five minutes before the pay-
master did arrive, we learned later.
After that failure, Marino told us, the
gang met again one night in the bakery
. and DeMaio told of the Owl’s morning
trip. He said that the trolley carried, on
the Mcaday morning trip after extra heavy
fares of Sunday from lines running to
beaches on Long Island Sound, about
$3,500. The gang felt that this would be
a. haul worth while and began to lay their
plans for the hold-up. ‘
It was decided that Frankie Daley, a
fearless gangster, was to board the trolley
somewhere in New Rochelle, accompanied
by Jimmie Lipso, another gangster and ex-
convict, and Joe Mazza, another denizen
of New York’s underworld and a man with
a long prison record.
Marino, accompanied by Salvatore
Mileto, a gangster known as Solly Cheese-
cake, were to be in the automobile, This
was to be parked on East Sixth Street,
near the high school, to wait for the trol-
ley.
When the car passed, the automobile
was to follow, and as soon thereafter as
possible the trio in the trolley were to hold
up the trolley men and then jump into the
waiting automo
DeMaio, becz
a resident of t]
to wait in Ne
where the spo:
gang was afra
someone might
Marino told us.
ARINO s
along on
passed, Daley g
nal to follow
None of the pa
we questioned,
automobile fou
feet in the rear
The gang h:
would be any
seconds after t
take had been :
Our prisoner w
the shot at J
waiting for the
Marino told 1
son was a poli
at him as a par
daring reckless:
Our prisoner
as Johnson hac
swung from E
Columbus Aver
as it grazed -
point, Marino
bile at from fif
until it was clo
wrecked.
He said he bi
because of the
chine was tra
miles an hour |
South Third A
on his brakes bi
chine from hitt
an abrupt stoj
was hit.
Marino said }
up but it woulc
first did not re:
smashed, All
the heavy mor
woods planning
rendezvous as s
Daley was w
had gone more
they were lost.
better hide unti’
A few minut
near East Sixt)
in the street th:
sewer. The tu
hole and stayed
the next mornir
They left on
calmly climbed
station on the ?
Boston where
York. Marino
covered with r
they thought t
stopped and q
he said and tt
short time late
Marino said
they had craw!
could hear sea
ing around ne
feet away. \
their position
feet and legs «
ever thought t
he said.
upromise
the shots
is driving
for a mo-
u want to
a witness
e District
if I find
at you did
| in these
e that you
n the first
it you aid
on of the
us of the
{ DeMaio,
> “bootleg
he tipster
arge sums
on “The
city where
ach morn-
easily.
ig met in
093 Third
place was
: was here
-up of the
tion Com-
tructing a
Memorial
and East
school that
n standing
the fatal
1-up of the
the stick-
about five
The Owl.”
han a half
1e.
ction com-
ule and the
re nervous
1 the hold-
the pay-
ter.
nid us, the
the bakery
$s morning
carried, on
‘xtra heavy
running to
ind, about
3 would be
o lay their
Daley, a
the trolley
ccompanied
ter and ex-
ier denizen
a man with
Salvatore
lly Cheese-
rbile. This
xth Street,
or the trol-
automobile
ereafter as
vere to hold
mp into the
waiting automobile and make their escape.
DeMaio, because of the fact that he was
a resident of this part of the county, was
to wait in New York for the other five
there the spoils were to be split. The
gang was afraid that with DeMaio along
someone might see him and recognize him,
Marino told us.
mA said that the trolley came
along on schedule and that as it
passed, Daley gave him and Mileto the sig-
nal to follow by raising his newspaper.
None of the passengers on the trolley, that
we questioned, had seen this move. The
automobile followed the trolley but a few
feet in the rear.
The gang had not expected that there
would be any killing and realized a few
seconds after the hold-up that a bad mis-
take had been made, according to Marino.
Our prisoner was asked about the firing of
the shot at Johnson who was standing
waiting for the trolley at the top of the hill.
Marino told us that Daley thought John-
son was a policeman and took a pot shot
at him as a parting shot and gesture of his
daring recklessness.
Our prisoner said that their automobile,
as Johnson had said, almost crashed as it
swung from East Sixth Street into South
Columbus Avenue, just missing a large tree
as it grazed the curbstone. From that
point, Marino said, he drove the automo-
bile at from fifty to seventy miles an hour
until it was close to the point where it was
wrecked.
He said he became confused at this point
because of the darkness and as the ma-
chine was traveling at about fifty-five
miles an hour decided to swing north into
South Third Avenue. He said he jammed
on his brakes but could not prevent the ma-
chine from hitting the curb and it came to
an abrupt stop as the steel bridgework
was hit.
Marino said he tried to back the machine
up but it would not move. The bandits at
first did not realize that a wheel had been
smashed. All five then grabbed a few of
the heavy money bags and took to the
woods planning to meet at their New York
rendezvous as soon as possible.
Daley was with Marino and before they
had gone more than a few feet realized
they were lost. Daley said that they had
better hide until morning.
A few minutes later at Roslyri Avenue,
near East Sixth Street, they found a hole
in the street that had been excavated for a
sewer. The two bandits crawled into the
hole and stayed there until about ten o’clock
the next morning.
They left one revolver in the hole and
calmly climbed out and walked to a nearby
station on the New York, Westchester and
Boston where they took a train for New
York. Marino said that their clothes were
covered with mud from the sewer hole and
they thought that certainly they would be
stopped and questioned. They were not,
he said and they arrived in New York a
short time later.
Marino said that for many hours after
they had crawled into the sewer hole they
could hear searchers from the posse mov-
ing around near them, often but a few
feet away. When daylight came, from
their position they could actually see the
feet and legs of the searchers, but no one
ever thought to look in their sewer hole,
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he said.
ver, for
1 word
where
disclose
ise if it
w more
hat we
ety.
iy office
take a
oon and
e Daley
id Mar-
Vernon
igements
powered
license
or using
none of
vone and
Jersey
eing us
to pose
3 arrived
the four
yugh we
v Jersey
indicate.
aded for
east for
hour to
near the
| Bridge-
‘racks of
mission.
t Walter
‘rs were
an ideal
e matters
intry for
ight was
ry to the
limits of
searched
had not
e to the
country
lirections.
the farm
Jaley and
er before
fast ap-
to the
to work
idedly to
‘ough our
ibtedly be
gers and
use. The
yrtunately
and set
as higher
trees near
id, which
ak up on
trying to
was tried
vould un-
ig all the
well knew
be at all
ugs went.
y for him
“
to get through the cordon that we might
attempt to throw around the farm house.
Nearby toward the rear there were
wooded sections and once into them at
night the hunted man, if he ever reached
them, would most likely make his escape
easily as only Sergeant Linahan really
knew the surrounding country. While de-
bating what procedure to follow, dusk
came on rapidly and before we realized
it, night had arrived. We then decided
to wait until morning.
By waiting until morning we would be
able to possibly surprise Daley while in
bed and get him without gun play. Also,
we concluded, he might be sleepy and
might be captured before he realized what
was taking place. Then, too, if Daley
should get out of the building we would
be able to see our man.
It was a long night. We took cat-naps
in turns with always one staying awake
just on general principles. The hours
dragged like weeks. You see we were
not certain that Daley was in the farm
house although I knew my tip had said
that he had been there a few days before.
LONG alfout four o'clock the first
streaks of dawn began to show over
the horizon. By five o'clock it was fairly
light. We again quickly discussed the
situation and decided that it was now or
never. We hurried up the road toward
the entrance to the farm.
Two of us went to the door with drawn
guns while the others waited outside post-
ing themselves close to the building out of
sight of any windows but so that no one
could get out without being seen at once.
I knocked on the front door. There was
no answer so I knocked again. After re-
peating this several times I heard a move-
ment inside and a few seconds later heard
the door bolt being slipped over.
The door opened and there stood a man
with a shotgun in his hands. Before he
could say. anything I spoke. “Put that gun
down. We are police officers and want to
talk to you.”
I spoke in whispered tones. “We are
looking for a man named Daley who is
wanted for murder in New York.”
The farmer said that he had a boarder
who was asleep upstairs but that his name
wasn’t Daley. “He came here a couple of
weeks ago with a friend and said he was
looking for a place to rest. His friend
didn’t stay. He went away the same day,”
he whispered.
We were now certain that the man we
sought was «pstairs. I asked the farmer
to point out the door to the man’s room
and told him to get out of the way as
there might be some shooting. By this
time the farmer’s wife had appeared and
although badly frightened when told of
our mission, pointed out the room.
Mattes and I crept upstairs to the door-
way, making no noise. Not even a creak
from the stairs could be heard. I put my
ear to the door and listened. I could
faintly hear the sound of a person breath-
ing.
We did not know whether the door was
locked or not and agreed to try to turn
the door knob noiselessly and then throw
our weight against the door .to break it
down if it did not give way readily.
I turned the knob and with a slight
squeek the door opened. Mattes and I with
our revolvers in our hands burst into the
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Mrs. Evers unexpected coup broke the
case wide open and the Bell brothers,
perhaps in the hope of escaping the chair,
talked as they had never talked before.
They explained to Lieutenant Clark, in
a long and horrible revelation, how they,
and their leader, had served a term to-
gether in Mansfield reformatory. Upon
release, Valore had determined to be-
come a big shot.
He gathered round him others of his ilk,
Johnny Richardson, Ross Babarotta and
the Bell brothers.
In September, 1929, the mob raided the
Three Mile Inn on Home avenue in Akron
and when one of the victims, Steve Pier-
son, made a run for it they shot and
killed him.
Richardson and three companions were
picked up in Cleveland a couple hours
later in a stolen car but Valore was not
with them.
While the others got away with life
Richardson was sentenced to the chair.
He was executed May 26, 1930.
Shortly before his death, the detective
who trapped him made a trip to the death
house to try to get a statement from
Richardson. When Valore heard of this
move he left Cleveland for parts unknown
but “Richey” had gone to his death with
lips sealed.
Richardson’s body had been brought to
a dingy funeral parlor on Cleveland's
lower Woodland avenue and there Ross
Valore had taken not only his newly re-
cruited gang but his wife as well.
As they stood around the rough box
that contained the mortal remains of the
electrocuted killer Valore made them
grasp hands across the body and pledge
loyalty to him.
“Ee was a man,” Valore told them. “He
died without squealing.” Valore made
them take an oath that was henceforth to
bind them together.
The following day he acquainted them
with his new plans, society jobs.
“Leave the gas station to the punks,”
he declared. “We're going for the big
stuff.”
The story of the Bell brothers put an
entirely new light_on the gang's subse-
“quent activities. Cecile Valore, they in-
sisted, was the brains of the mob.
“You're all yellow,’ she taunted. ‘If
you weren't you'd take that car. It be-
jongs to the silksox. Then she drove
alongside the limousine and out in front
ofit. We pulled the stickup. Afterwards
she put one of the rings on her finger and
said she was going to keep it. We only
got $23 out of the job.”
They described the preparations for the
attempted Dunham robbery.
“When we got to the place she told
Ross and Angelo what to do,” Mike Bell
explained. “She told me I was too young
to go inside. She stayed in the car while
the three of us went to holdup the Dun-
ham guests.
With this added information and her
admissions to Mrs, Evers, Cecile Valore
was indicted for the Wilkinson murder
on the same charge as the others, killing
in perpetration of a robbery.
In February, 1931, pleas of guilty were
entered by ail three. The sentence was
life imprisonment in each case.
After her pleas had been taken Mrs.
Valore told her story and in it she painted
her husband as a master criminal who had
forced her into a life of crime.
But the law took its inevitable course.
The three remaining members of the gang
were forced to pay for their criminal out-
rages by spending the rest of their years
behind cold, grim walls.
Dope Crazed!
[Continucd from page 12]
One was put out of the courtroom after
she sprang to her feet to call a witness a
liar. Another woman, after shouting at
Marino that he was a dirty rat lying
away good men’s lives, joined the others
outside the courtroom. Unimpressed by
this emotional display the jury brought in
a verdict of guilty.
On November 24, death sentences were
pronounced against both David DeMaio
and Frankie Daley. Marino was sen-
tenced to five years for manslaughter.
At once there was an outcry. Dr. George
W. Kirchwey, protesting against any-
thing more severe than a suspended sen-
tence for Marino, declared that the state’s
witness was just a “sentimental. fool,”
who good-naturedly gave his friends the
use of a friend’s car.
Then DeMaio’s son died. The authori-
ties refused to release the killer from the
Sing Sing death house to attend the
funeral. In the fierce denunciation of the
Westchester county authorities which
followed, the racketeer DeMaio was pic-
tured as a fine man, the victim of official
hatred.
Unmoved, the men who had solved the
crime and located and convicted the
killers, insisted that justice must take its
course. In June and August, 1926, about
a year after the murder of Schumacker
and Nicholl, first Daley, then De Maio
were executed at Sing Sing where their
accomplice, Marino, was already serving
his term.
As far as the public was concerned the
case now was over. But the Westchester
police still had three members of the
gang to find.
It was 1927 before Solly Cheesecake,
deciding that by gones were now by-
gones, ventured back to New York. To
that dapper bootlegger’s surprise he was
at once picked up, not on an easily handled
prohibition charge, but for murder. Al-
lowed to confess and plead guilty to a
lesser charge since he had not actually
been on the scene of the killing, “Solly
Cheesecake” whose real name was Salva-
tore Mileto, the almost forgotten name of
his youth, entered Sing Sing to begin a
sentence of from 20 years to life.
And in 1929, long after Dopey Marino
had followed the predictions of the police
surgeon and had died of tuberculosis, the
police at Solerno, Italy, arrested a “sus-
picious person without visible means of
support.” ;
When their prisoner proved to be
James Lippe, Assistant District Attorney
Frank H. Coyne made the trip to Italy to
prosecute, since the arrangement with
Italy specifies that Italian courts and
prisons will be utilized when an Italian
subject is arrested in Italy for a capital
crime committed in the United States.
sist ON THE ADVERTISED Branp!
—<—$ $$
most of Jaeger’s
his shoes had b
articles of clothin
bly in the fight
By this time t
that robbery was
assault. And w
that they could fi:
or a suspicious |
cials returned to
over the clues.
porters stood by
Cunningham beg
“Jaeger was i
10 o’clock when
the field. I say
was a strong m
and it is not prol
attempt to thra
tion from him.
“Jaeger had
light was. still
When the men |
hermit picked 1
the door. He
or he would ne
because he was
the door was op
cause no lock w
“This fact is °
the identity of h
never have opet
“Simultaneous
door, one of the
forward and st
the eye with h:
old man into a |
attempted to b:
the assailant gr
the tussle the
breech. This 2°
the gun |
"T sure wi
applic?
ee
$2
he 4
stiff-brim straw hat got up from the
rear seat and flicked’ his*cigarette
carelessly out the window. Then he
strode down the aisle of the little one-
man trolley which was rockipg its way
through the night between the cities of
New Rochelle and Mount Vernon, N. Y.
At the controls was Raglan I. Nicoll,
a veteran motorman for the Westchester
Electric Railroad, a subsidiary of the
Third Avenue Railway System of New
York City. In a cross seat near him sat
Inspector Jacob Schumaker, an elderly
collector, and at his feet lay ‘two bags
containing the week-end trolley receipts,
about $1,600. It was two o'clock of a
Monday morning. }
Six scattered passengers rode’ the owl
car besides the youth in the brown stit
and straw hat, and all but him were bound
for Mount Vernon and their night jobs,
‘The slim youth had nothing like honest
work on his mind. One could tell from the
heavy black gun he palmed.
we slim youth in a brown suit and
Schumaker looked up as the youth ad- .
vanced toward him, and fear widened his
eyes. Before he could intervene, or give
warning, the passenger pointed the gun
at Nicoll’s head and pulled the trigger.
The motorman slumped forward against
the control box, his hand falling away
from the dead man’s button. The trolley
began grinding to a stop.
The youth quickly swung around to
Schuniaker. As ‘the Inspector gasped
“Oh, my God!” the gunman fired a shot,
hitting the the collector in the chest. It
spun him around, and a second bullet
struck him in the back of the head.
As Schumaker fell, the youth turned
on the passengers, a maniacal gleam in.
his eye. Waving his pistol menacingly, he
reached down for the money bags.
By this time a big Cadillac touring car
had pulled alongside the stalled trolley.
The bandit lugged the heavier of the two
bags across the aisle, lifted it with diffi-
culty and finally dumped it out the win-
dow. As several hands reached for it, the
bag fell between the trolley and the auto.
One of the bandit’s confederates
jumped from the car and raised the bag
toward the tonneau where two men
seized it. Then the bandit in the trolley
tossed the lighter bag into the machine
43
and started to follow it. “Don't any of you guys move!” he or- |
dered the passengers.
He then vaulted through the window, into the Cadillac, and
shouted, “Step on it! Iet’s get out of here!” With that, the
Cadillac roared away, in the direction of Columbus Avenue;
Mount Vernon.
At 2:48 a.m, the Mount Vernon’ police received word of an.
“accident” on the trolley line. Four patrolmen and an ambu-
lance were dispatched. At 2:57 Police Chief George W. Atwell
was awakened at his home. “The New: Rochelle trolley’s been
held up and two men badly wounded,” he was informed. “A
big Cadillac car with a number of men is hegned toward Yonkers
and New York.”
Atwell ordered a “two-sevens” alarm over ghe fire system,
automatically summoning every Mount Vernon police officer to
duty, Among those reporting were Captain Michael Silverstein
and Lieutenant Herman Mattes, who rushed to the scene on
the outskirts of the city.
By the time they got there, Schumaker and Nicoll had been
removed to-the Mount Vernon Hospital.
There the Collector, after a brief interval |
of consciousness, succumbed to his
wounds. He was able to make but one
statement, which told the police little or
nothing. “He never gave me a chance,”
was all Schumaker said.
But there was no lack of identification
as to the ruthless gunman. The six pas-
sengers told Atwell, Silverstein and
Mattes he was dark-complexioned, ex-
ceptionally thin, natty, and about twenty
years old, They particularly noted the
condition of his eyes, which were wide
and staring,
The reason for this was discovered
_ almost immediately, Lieutenant Mattes
found a hypodermic needle lying along-
side the trolley roadbed, at the point
where the bandit had vaulted into the
auto,
“A hoppy !” he exclaimed. “That’ 3 why
he shot those two men without warning.”
ol aa dues top investigators went into
a quick huddle. Atwell suggested a
fast call to the New Rochelle police, ad-
vising them of the crime and asking for
a round-up of narcotic users. “We've
got a: few ourselves,” he added sig-
nificantly.
- “Yeah,” said Silverstein, ruminating.
“One of them—‘Little Joe’ Sincura—
seems to fit that gunman’s description.”
“That's right!” exclaimed Atwell, who
knew the “junkie” well. “Get after him.”
Silverstein and Mattes, aided by a
squad, surrounded Sincura’s home and
went in when a diminutive, dark-haired
woman in a nightgown opened the door
timidly. They found Joe Sincura quivering in bed, and lifted
him to his feet.
Silverstein shoved up the sleeves of his pajamas coat and
pee Hii his forearms. “Well!” he ejaculated, “A fresh punc-
ture
Sincura’s slack jaw started to form words. “W-what’s up?”
he asked, “I ain't got no stuff around here.”
Sincura and his wife were taken to headquarters and ques-
tioned separately. The drug user swore he was in bed at ten
o'clock the night before and hadn’t gotten up again. His wife
supported this statement.
44
“T got the impression you had just turned in,” Silverstein
told the man. “You had the shakes bad.”
Throughout the rest of the night they questioned the skinny
“Junkie” but couldn't get him to admit a thing. After that
they began to round up his known pals.
But at seven o’clock Patrolman Charles Schulz, who walked
a beat on Columbus Avenue, ‘came in and reported that a large
touring car ‘had raced past him at breakneck speed at about
2:15. A few seconds later he heard: something that sounded
like a crash, This came from the vicinity of the New York,
Westchester & Boston Railroad trestle. The officer had investi-
gated but found nothing.
Atwell, who was directing the banc
speeding machine had come to grief;The chief led a group of
searchers to a wood beyond the tréstle, near the new Public
School 14. There, among some dense: brush, they found the
Cadillac, disabled. The big machine had apparently struck a
curbing near the trestle, damaging a rear wheel so the machine
couldn’t be driven any distance.
4
Commissioner Wynne and Chief of Police
Atwell (1 to r) examine a money bag and
guns recovered from the fleeing gunmen.
About one thousand feet away the searchers found the heavier
’ of the two money bags intact. Because of its weight, the bandits
had to abandon it. A check by the railway officials disclosed that
$1,400 in coins was in the bag. The amount of missing money,
they reported, was ‘around $200.
Flott, & German police dog owned locally, was brought to
the scene. He led the posse to Kingsbridge Gardens, where the
single trail became three. The animal made several attempts
Ke
it hunt, wondered if their.
cme
to follow fi
fused that t
had made t!
Meanwhi:
the Cadillac
prints, ‘Als:
and two rev
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users nette:
were viewe
ever, could
gunman.
In Brook
believed in:
the night o°
temporarily
When wi
openers tape ee
a
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is 5
he >
Vernon cri:
thieves mig
They stai
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left town.
draggled |
houses. H
_ headquarter
ee
ey, ee "
a
room surprised the detectives some-
what. The drawers had been re-
moved from the two bureaus, their
contents piled in a pyramid on the
floor. One woman’s handbag, closed,
lay on the bed beside the body and
four others, open, were scattered
about the floor. Another opened
purse was discovered near the bath-
room door. All of them were empty.
The bed itself, however, was undis-
turbed. The neatly folded puff, the
silken bedspread on which the body
lay, even the well-smoothed pillows
were unwrinkled and unmarred.
There was only one answer. The
twenty-nine-year-old bride had
been strangled in the living room
and carried, unconscious, to the bed.
This theory was amply supported
when Dr. Hochman made his report.
“Aside from contusions around
the mouth, the body shows no marks
of violence,” the medical examiner
said. “It would appear that the kill-
er held her mouth and nose with a
powerful hand before tying the dish
towel around her neck. There are
no cuts or abrasions on the body
so it is safe to assume that the
bloodstains on the sofa and on the
bath towel came from the murderer
when Mrs. Pappas tried to defend
herself with the nail file. The loss
of so much blood would indicate that
he was severely slashed. The orig-
inal attack probably took place
while she was seated on the daven-
port. Death occurred at about 2:30
this afternoon and was caused by
strangulation. I find no evidence
that she had been raped.”
Questioning the neighbors only
served to complicate the mystery.
Typical was the comment of Mrs.
Fstelle Horowitz, the tenant in the
next apartment. “Ever since Mrs.
Pappas moved in a year ago last De-
cember, my daughter and I tried to
be friendly with her. Finally we had
to give up. She was so shy and gen-
tle; she seemed to be afraid of some-
thing. It looked as though she was
afraid to talk to anybody or even
to be seen by anybody. She never
had any visitors; in fact, I think
that my daughter and I were the
only people in the house who ever
saw the inside of her apartment.”
Dillard Addeck, the doorman, cor-
roborated the statement of Mrs.
Horowitz. “Mrs. Pappas never al-
lowed anyone up to her apartment,”
Addeck said. “I came on duty at 1
o’clock. Nobody went up to her
apartment after that time. Before
that, they. would have to call on the
house phone to get in the street
door; if they were admitted, there
is a peep-hole in every apartment
door through.which the tenants can
look over any callers. If Mrs. Pappas
let someone in, she must have known
him well.”
Further questioning of the neigh-
bors revealed that the slain bride
was a devout member of the’St. Pyr-
idon Greek, Orthodox Church on
nearby Wadsworth Avenue. She had
been extremely active in church af-
fairs and conducted a Sunday sch:
class there every week. :
Rev. George Masdiontonis, the
pastor of the Greek church, proved
to be a veritable fount of informa-
tion. “My wife knew the family
-well,” the priest told detectives.
“Mrs. Pappas was the daughter of a
wealthy Greek family who live in Al-
exandria, Egypt; that’s where she
was born. John Pappas met his bride
there in 1939 while he was on a
cruise. At that time she was 27 and
he was 47. The difference in their
ages didn’t seem to interfere with
their happiness. She had only two
loves—her husband and her church.
There was no other man in her life.”
John Pappas, the inscrutable hus-
band who seemed more stunned
than bereaved by the tragedy, un-
derwent a lengthy inquisition in the
office of District Attorney Samuel
J. Foley. Carefully and without hes-
itation, he traced his movements
throughout the entire day. He said
that he left his home at about nine
immediately to the grocery store in
downtown Manhattan which he and
his brother, Aristides, had kept for
the last twenty-five years, He re-
mained in the store all day, leaving
only for lunch and supper which he
ate in a restaurant around the cor-
ner, and did not return to his home
until ten-thirty at night. It was then
that he discovered the body of his
murdered wife. —
‘“Do you have any idea who might
have committed this crime?” Mr.
_ Foley asked.
“No, I: have no suspicious,” the
husband answered. “I am sure that
my wife would never open the door
to a stranger. Whoever did it must
have been well known to her.”
“Did you have breakfast in your
apartment before you went to work
this morning?” :
“No, I seldom do. The tea table was
not set when I left; besides, the two
coffee cups that we found on the ta-
“ple were part of my wife’s best china
set. She only uses them on special
occasions. The cookies that were
on the table she had baked her-
self. You see, today is my birthday;
we were to have a quiet little cele-
bration at home tonight.”
“How about the wedding picture
that was found on the chair near
the tea table,” said Mr. Foley.
“Where was it usually kept?”
“That picture was made in Alex-
andria the day we were married,”
the husband replied -sadly.. “My
wife always kept it on her dressing
table in the bedroom.”
“By the way, Mr. Pappas, what ,
kind of cigarettes do you smoke?”
asked the prosecutor.
The husband produced a package
of imported Egyptian cigarettes
from his pocket. “Nothing but
these,” he said. “My wife never
smoked at all.”
Mr. Foley then showed Pappas
‘the cheap brown necktie with which
the slain woman’s hands had been
bound. “Did you ever see this tie
before?” the prosecutor asked.
“Never,” was the reply. “It’s not
mine and I don’t remember ever
seeing one like it.”
“Just one more question,” said Mr.
Foley. “You told us there were sev-
eral things missing from your home.
Can you give us a list of them?”
“My wife had between fifty and a
hundred dollars in cash in one of her
hand-bags which we found empty.
Also missing are a diamond ring
worth about two hundred dollars, a
gold and diamond cross that cost al-
most a thousand dollars, a combi-
nation cigarette case and lighter
made of silver for which I paid sev-
enty dollars and an inexpensive gold
bracelet.”
Apparently, then, robbery had
been the motive for the appalling
crime. However, this theory did not
coincide with the supposition that
Mrs. Pappas had known her killer
well. Had the missing articles been
removed to make it look like burg-
lary? “
At six-thirty in the morning, af-
ter having been questioned more
in the morning and had proceeded ©
than eight hours, John Pappas was
taken to the home of his brother,
Aristides. He had satisfied the auth-
orities that he had no connection
with the crime.
“Mr. Pappas has been very help-
ful to the investigation,” Prosecu-
tor, Foley told reporters. “We are
not sure that robbery was the motive
for the murder. All the evidence
points to the assumption that Mrs.
Pappas knew her slayer; other than
that, we have no theories.”
Less than twelve hours after the
discovery of the crime, the report
came back from the police labora-
tory. The blood on the nail file, dav-
enport and bath towel were all Type
2; Mrs. Pappas’ blood was Type 4.
The cups had contained coffee, the
wine glasses brandy. One glass bore
the well-defined print of an unus-
ually large man’s middle finger. No
similar print was found in the New
York police file or those of the F.B.I.
in Washington. Two fingerprints on
the nail file were those of Mrs. Pap-
pas.
With this data before them, In-
spector O’Connor and men were
able to reconstruct the crime with
fairly obvious accuracy. It seemed
that the murdered bride had ‘admit-
ted a caller who must have been
known to her. She had made cof-
fee for him, given him brandy and
some of the cookies she had baked
for her husband’s birthday. The
victim and her murderer had talked
at great length, a fact indicated by
the numerous cigarette butts in the
ash tray. These must have belonged
to the slayer as Mrs, Pappas did not
smoke and her husband used an im-*
ported brand. Added evidence: that
the ungrateful guest was known to
the hostess lay in the presence of the
wedding photograph on the chair;
the man may have known Mrs. Pap- .
pas in Alexandria before she was
married to the well-to-do wholesale
grocer. He may have been acquaint-
ed with her husband,
Following a conversation lasting
at least two hours (the detectives
reasoned) the intruder had rudely
terminated the small talk by clap-
ping his hand over the victim’s
mouth and nose. She had fought
back bravely before losing con-
sciousness and had inflicted as least
' one severe gash on her attacker by
stabbing him with the nail file.
‘The inhuman fiend had then
bound his helpless victim securely,
using his own necktie to bind her
wrists and had. garroted her with
the dish towel. After carrying her
to the bedroom he had bathed his
wounds with the bath towel and
calmly looted the apartment. Then
he had vanished as completely and
silently as he had entered. —
Reconstruction of the wanton
crime from the physical evidence
was easy. Not so simple was the iden-
tification of the killer. No one had
seen ‘him enter the apartment, no
-one had seen him leave. Investiga-
tion of all acquaintances of John
Pappas and his bride failed to pro-
duce a single suspect. The young
Egyptian beauty had no relatives in
this country; her few friends had
been introduced to her by her mid-
dle-aged husband, or she had met
them at the Greek church. After
checking and eliminating all per-
sons who knew the couple, the New
York police were faced with a per-
plexing paradox: Mrs. Pappas must
have known her savege slayer to
have treated him as an honored
The doorman ran to the top of the
flight of stairs. Pappas was standing
in the hall beside’ his open apart-
ment door. His gaunt, swarthy face
was like a mask; his eyes stared
blankly through his gold-rimmed
spectacles. The man seemed stun-
ned.
“In there; in there!” he croaked
in a strained, hollow voice.
As Addeck stood aside to let the
tenant enter first, Pappas pushed
him through the foyer, into the ex-
pensively furnished living room.
Puzzled, the doorman stood there,
looking about the lighted room. A
table lamp was on the floor, its
parchment shade crushed and bro-
ken. Beside it was a woman’s slipper.
The doors of the bookcase were
standing open, some volumes were _
lying carelessly on the oriental rug
beneath it. That was all; everything
else was in its proper place.
“What is it, a robbery?” asked the
doorman,
“In there, in there!”
Pointing to the bedroom.
At first the doorman looked; then
he stared; transfixed, as the full im-
port of what he saw made an imprint
on his brain,
Lying on the bed, a dish towel
knotted tightly around her throat,
was the almost naked body of Mrs.
Catherine Pappas. Almost beautiful
in life, the black protruding tongue
and wide-open staring.eyes made
her a fearsome object to behold. If
the violently distorted features held
any expression at all, it was one of
utmost agony—the agony which had
preceded death.
As Addeck picked up the telephone
to call New York Police Headquar-
ters, his eyes met the combination
said Pappas,
m.
Aa
‘ace 7 ine
at the line-up room at
calendar and clock that rested on
the desk. The time was 10:37 P.M.;
the date, February 4, 1941.
Deputy Chief Inspector John J.
O’Connor was at his home when the
alarm was relayed to him from the
Bathgate Avenue Station in the
Bronx. Like all police reports, it was
terse and to the point:
“Mrs. Catherine Pappas, 29, mur-
dered in her apartment at 1035
Grand Concourse, the Bronx, corner
165th Street. Body found by hus-
band, John Pappas, 49, who conducts
wholesale grocery in Manhattan.”
Inspector O’Connor sped to the
scene. The first chapter in the story
of one of the finest pieces of detect-
ive work in all police history was
about to be written.
When the inspector arrived at the
apartment he found several detect-
ives from the local: precinct, the
Bathgate Avenue Station, awaiting
his arrival. Inspector O’Connor per-
sonally directed the search for tell-
tale clues. What he found would
have been of little help to a Sherlock
Holmes. However, it served at least
to reconstruct the crime. é
The three-room apartment con-
" sisted of a dinette and a kitchen in
front, then came the living room,
with the bedroom and bath in the
rear. Before the davenport in the
living room was a tea table set for
two. There were two cups and sau-
cers containing traces of coffee, a°
silver tray with several cookies, and
two wine glasses, one of which was
still half filled. An ash tray holding
seven butts and an open package of
a popular brand of cigarettes were
also on the table. A photograph of
a wedding group was lying on a
chair near the table. On the floor
tecti tured the confessed slayer of Mrs. Catherine Pap
Bagg ai mea an Poles fle ed 7 Yor! ap ahaws aoe, left to right: Commissioner Valentine
erick P. Durant, and Edward J. Mahon; Mayor LaGuardia, and District Attorney Samuel J.
under the davenport, detectives
found a blood-stained nail file, bent
over at the pointed end. Blood stains
-were also found on the back and seat
of the divan. The single slipper on
the floor and the overturned table
lamp with its broken parchment
shade were the only indications that
a struggle had taken place.
‘The nail file, cups, saucers and
wine glasses were sent to the police
laboratory after having been care-
fully wrapped and marked for iden-
tification. Detectives searching the
bathroom found a bloody towel
stuck in a drain pipe. This also went
to the laboratory for analysis.
The dinette seemed to be in order.
The only object which seemed out of
place was a bottle of aspirin tablets
standing conspicuously on the din-
ing table. Beside the bottle was an
empty water tumbler.
Inspector O’Connor and his men
next turned their attention to the
bedroom where Medical Examiner
Charles H. Hochman was going
about the grisly task of examining
the body of the murder victim.
The hardened officials winced as |
they looked upon the grotesque, mis-
shapen face of the young woman
who had been extremely attractive
in lifé. Clad only in silk negligee and
stockings, she was lying on her back.
A dish towel tied with terrific force
around her shapely neck and the
distended eyes and protruding
tongue mutely testified that death
had been caused by strangulation.
Another dish towel held her feet to-
gether at the ankles, while a cheap
brown necktie, tightly bound around
her wrists, firmly held her hands in
back.
The physical aspects of the bed-
ed
ate isha :
pas and attacker of dozens of
Catherine Pappas, the young Egyptian
bride who was foully murdered by a
sex mad Judas.
a:
other housewives, were promoted in ceremonies
(Police); Detectives Edward J. Gillen, Fred-
. Foley of the Bronx.
guest; on the other hand, all her
acquaintances having been cleared
of suspicion, she could not have
known him!
At this point it looked like a hope-
less case. Fingerprints, medical evi-
dence and other weapons of scienti-
fic crime detection had failed to aid
the harassed officials. The possibil-
. ity existed that some unknown
friend from out of the bride’s distant
past in Alexandria had suddenly ap-
peared to throttle out her life. Who-
ever he was, the killing phantom
had not been seen by any other than
his victim. How can any police force
apprehend a man whose descrip-
tion, let alone his name, is un-
known? :
There is a way, and in this case
when all seemed lost, the New York
police used it with telling effect and
almost startling efficiency. To des-
cribe this practically forgotten
method of criminal identification we
must go back to another generation.
About thirty years ago, Inspector
Faurot of the New York City police
startled the criminal world with the
announcement that Bertillon meas-
urements would be discarded by his
department in favor of the finger-
print system of criminal identifica-
tion. The ensuing controversy raged
for years before fingerprints were
generally accepted as a positive
means of identification.
While the storm of angry protests
and discussions was going on una-
bated, Faurot announced that he
had discovered still another method
of identification, based on the fact
that most criminals, especially bur-
glars, stick ‘to a definite technique
when committing their crimes.
Criminal “A” for instance, robs only
fur warehouses. He first slugs and
ete
binds the watchman, then steals on-
ly a certain type of fur. He smokes
only Havana cigars and is careless
with the stubs. He uses adhesive tape
to bind and gag the watchman, ap-
pears only on Sunday night and al-
ways locks the warehouse door be-
fore leaving. Criminal “B” special-
izes in second-story burglary. He en-
ters by climbing a porch pillar when
the occupants of the house are away.
He takes nothing but jewelry and
cash but always feeds himself from
the contents of the ice-box before
leaving. In all cases, the telephone
receiver is found off the hook and
the front door unlocked.
Working on.the assumption that
all crimes having similar details
are committed by the same man,
Inspector Faurot installed a “pat-
tern file” in New York headquarters
—a cross-indexed file that lists the
peculiar oddities in the commission
of all felonies. When a new case ap-
‘pears that shows the same distinct-
ive features as one found in the file,
the probability exists that both were
perpetrated by the same criminal.
The “pattern file,” found in few
cities outside New York, was the
means of identifying the Pappas
murderer. i
Consulting the cards that des-
cribed to the last detail the methods
used in past burglaries, the detec-
tives found several that were similar
to the Pappas case. One was that of
the assault on Mrs. Stella Anargyros,
a Greek housewife living in the
fashionable Washington Heights
section of New York. :
One morning three weeks prior to
the Pappas murder, a youth rang
the bell of the Anargyros apartment.
Strangely enough, he introduced
himself as “Mr. Pappas.”
His head bowed in grief, John Pappas takes a last look at his wife at funer-
al services in Greek church at 179th Street and Wadsworth Avenue, N.Y. City.
mA
This man being fingerprinted confessed to the murder of Mrs. Kitty Pappas
|
and to the raping of fifteen women.
The stranger told the unsuspect-
ing lady that he was a friend of her
husband and was admitted to the
apartment. The young man said
that he had come to talk over cer-
tain matters of interest to Mrs. An-
argyros and also mentioned the fact
that he had not eaten any breakfast.
Convinced that the man was indeed
a friend of her husband, the wife
cooked coffee and eggs for her guest
and conversed with him while he
ate.
As soon as the meal was over, the
ungrateful intruder threw one arm
around the neck of his hostess and
with his free hand pushed a hand-
kerchief into her mouth. He then
bound her harid and foot and tossed
her on a bed. He ransacked the
apartment, taking only cash and
jewelry. Mrs: Anargyros was badly
frightened but luckily was other-
wise unhurt; she was able.to give an
excellent description of her guest.
Most important was the fact that
the interloper had used his own
necktie—a cheap brown one—with
which to tie his victim’s hands!
An eight-state teletype alarm was
immediately.broadcast for the
“Necktie Bandit.” He was described
as “about six feet tall, 155 pounds,
25 years old, brown hair combed
straight back with a part in the
middle. Fair complexion with face
pimply and pock-marked.”
Did thé striking similarity in the
circumstances of the Anargyros and
Pappas crimes, including the use of
the name “Pappas,” indicate that
both were the nefarious work of the
same man? The detectives delved
further into the “pattern file.”
Soon another card depicting the
same general technique was brought
to light. This one told of the rape
and robbery of Mrs. Stephen Savage
who, with her husband, lived in the
Parkchester section of the Bronx,
not far from the Pappas home.
When detectives arrived at the
Savage home they found the woman
still suffering from the effects of the
brutal assualt. She corroborated all
the details on the case-card. At ten
in the morning, a young man had
apppeared at her door, explaining
that he had a headache and asked
for some aspirin. Mrs. Savage went
to the bathroom and procured the
medicine and a tumbler full of
water. After taking the tablets the
intruder, standing behind his victim,
reached around her neck and
clapped his massive paw over her
nose and mouth. Mercifully, the lady
fainted. When she revived a few
minutes later she found herself on
the bed, securely bound and gagged.
She had been criminally assaulted.
The apartment had been looted of
all cash and jewelry.
“What did this man look like, Mrs.
Savage?” a detective asked.
“He was at least six feet tall, had
brown hair combed straight back
and must have weighed at least 175
pounds, I noticed that his face was
pimply and pock-marked and he
wore yellow shoes.”- ’
Except for the weight, Mrs. Sav-
ape’s assailant bore practically the
same features as the man who had
robbed Mrs. Anargyros. The police
oflicials remembered the open bottle
of aspirin and the water tumbler
(Continued on page 26)
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JUDAS WAS A HITCH-HIKER (Cont. from page 7)
that stood on the table of the dinette
in the Pappas apartment. Could the
“Aspirin Burglar” and the “Necktie
Bandit” be the same man?
The search through the “pattern
file” continued. No less than fifteen
cases in all were found, each with
the same general plan of operation —
and all committed by a man answer-
ing the same general description. In
all these cases the burglar had first
gained the confidence of his intend-
ed victim by posing as an old friend
of the husband. Sometimes he had
enlisted the sympathy of the house-
wife by asking to be fed; sometimes
he asked for aspirin to cure a head-
ache. Aside from this minor differ-
ence, all other details of his crimes
followed the same pattern. He had
always bound and gagged his bene-
factress before looting the apart-
ment; in no less than ten cases he
had also committed rape.
There was no question now in the
minds of Inspector O’Connor and
his men, The.“Aspirin Burglar,” the
“Necktie Bandit” and the foul fiend
who murdered pretty Catherine ©
Pappas were one and the same man!
The task of locating one man out
of millions from a mere description
was one to test the stamina of any
group of crime investigators. To the
New York police it was just another
routine job. Should the man be
found, the clear-cut, single finger-
print on the wine glass in the Pap-
pas apartment would make his iden-
tification positive. But the killer had
to be located first.
A force of 125 detectives was as-
signed to keep a constant watch for
the murdering burglar. Detectives
Frederick P. Durant, Edward J. Gil-
len and Edward J. Mahon were re-
moved from all other duties and
given authority to travel anywhere
to get their man.
The.chase was on—a chase that
continued for a month and drove
the three detectives from Maine to
Missouri before the final capture.
The fitst real break came from
Norwalk, Conn. a week after the
Pappas murder. Mrs. Hazel Traf-
ford had been raped, her home ran-
sacked. Her assailant had gained
entrance to the apartment in his
customary manner—by posing as a
friend of her husband. He had given
his name as “Joseph Blake.” Mrs.
‘Trafford’s hands had been tied with
a brown necktie!
While Detectives Durant, Gillen
and Mahon were questioning Mrs.
Trafford in a Norwalk hospital
where she was recovering from the
criminal attack, a report came in to
New York police headquarters that
the Necktie Bandit had struck again,
this time in Philadelphia. /
Rushing to the City of Brotherly
Love, the three Bronx detectives
found a distressing situation in the
victim’s home—a situation that gave
further proof of the repulsive, ruth-
less character of this raping, robbing
monster.
Mrs, Henry Herschel was an ex-
pectant mother. On February 12,
last, a young man appeared at her
home. His name, he said, was Cono-
ver. He wanted to repay a small loan
that Mr. Herschel had been kind
enough to advance him. The un-
.
suspecting housewife allowed him to
enter the house, whéreupon the un-
invited guest bound, gagged and
raped the woman despite her deli-
cate condition. After completing
this colossal act of depravity, he ©
made off with all the cash and jew-
elry he could find. Three days later, -
Mrs. Herschel’s baby was born dead,
Henry Herschel, the husband, was
questioned closely by the three New
York detectives.
“Did you ever lend any money to
a stranger?” Detective Durant
asked.
“That's the strange thing about
this terrible crime,” Herschel re-
plied. “On February 9th I picked up
a hitch-hiker and drove him as far
as Trenton. We got to talking and I
happened to mention that my wife
and I like to go dancing where
there’s a good swing band. This fel-
low said that he was an orchestra,
leader and that his band was going
to open an engagement in Trenton;
he promised to send me some passes.
He said that he was practically
broke until pay-day so I bought him
his lunch and gave him some
change. I also gave him my name
and address as he insisted on pay-
ing me back and sending the passes.
He paid me back, all right!”
“What makes you think that the
hitch-hiker is the same man who
attacked your wife?” Durant asked.
“There’s no doubt about it,” came
the positive reply. “My wife de-
scribed him exactly, even to the scar —
on his face.”
“The scar? The man we're looking
for didn’t have any scar so far as
we know.”
“Well, this one did,” said Mr. Her-
schel, “It looked like a new one, very
‘deep, on the right side of his face
just over his mouth, ag
The three detectives were all
thinking the same thing. The bent
nail file, the bloodstains on the Pap-
pas sofa, the bloody towel in the
Pappas drain. So the dying Egyp-
tian bride left her trade-mark after
all! She had died; but if her last,
feeble, pitiful attempt to save her-
self had made the identification of
this devilish demon that much eas-
ier, if that livid scar should lead to
his arrest and save other women |
from a fate even worse than death,
then Catherine Pappas did not die
in vain,
Once again, the teletype descrip-
tion of the Necktie Bandit was am-
plified. Now it read: “Six feet tall,
180 pounds, chestnut brown hair
combed straight back with part in
middle, 25 years old, good talker,
sullen face pock-marked and pim-
ply, recent scar 3 inches long on
right side of face above mouth, Last
seen wearing yellow shoes, green
overcoat; usually wears brown neck-
tie. Probably hitch-hiking between
Philadelphia and Boston.” .
Police were now armed with an ex-
cellent description of their quarry.
Still, the problem was as difficult as
finding the needle in the haystack.
Undaunted by the terrific odds
against them, the New York pera
ities enlisted the cooperation of
lice in all the nearby states. Cireu-
lars were sent to hundereds of room-
ing houses and hotels in the metro-
was matched, was not made by the hus-
band, his two younger brothers, the em-
ployes of the store from which Mrs.
Papas usually bought her groceries, any
of the employes of the apartment house
nor anyone known to be acquainted with
the slain woman. The print, in this man-
ner, stood like a lighthouse in which no
light burns, potentially useful but inef-
fectual at the moment.
Prints were found on the overturned
lamp, but they were left by the dead
wonian and prints on a cigaret case were
those of the husband.
When this sifted and classified evidence
was placed before District Attorney
Foley, two things stuck in his mind: the
necktie and the aspirin bottle.
Several women in recent months had
reported attacks almost identical in their
pattern. A voung man would knock and
ask the woman who answered if her hus-
band was home.
When told that her husband was away,
the young man would express disappoint-
ment and ask that word be left that
“John” had dropped by to sav hello. Then,
almost as if it were an after-thought, the
caller would say he had a headache and
ask for an aspirin.
Under these circumstances it was diff-
cult for a housewife to refuse so simple a
request. Once inside, the intruder some-
times would pilfer things from the living
room as the woman went for the medi-
cine and, if caught stealing, would spring
to the attack.
As a rule he ravished the victims after
tying their hands with a necktie which he
carried in his pocket. Sometimes he
merely bound and gagged his victim, es-
pecially if they were elderly.
Never, however, had the “aspirin ban-
dit” been entertained in anything like
the fashion that Mrs. Papas had enter-
tained her unknown guest.
District Attorney Foley shook his head.
The aspirin bottle was a weak peg on
which to hang a case when everything
else indicated that Mrs. Papas was well
acquainted with her assailant.
Even as District Attorney Foley con-
sidered the case from this angle, the first
of three reports came in tending to con-
firm his theory.
IRST, a Bronx housewife living on
176th street said a tall young man with
pimples on his face had knocked at her
door about 10 a. m. Feb. 4, the day Mrs.
Papas died, and asked to see her husband.
“He told me he was John Mitchell of
Connecticut,” the housewife said, ‘and
claimed to be a cousin of my husband. I
slammed the door in his face since my
husband has no relatives in the East.”
Two other women of the same neigh-
borhood told similar stories. A tall young
man, they said, with pimples on his face,
had called, asked to see their husbands,
claimed to be a relative. In both cases
these women had slammed the door.
Checking on the time of the three calls
and the distance between these homes
and the Papas apartment, it was evident
that the same “voung man with pimples”
could have been Mrs. Papas’ killer.
Still, why the tea things, the apparent
intimacy between Mrs. Papas and the
killer ?
Checking back through records of at-
tacks reported by women along the East-
ern Seaboard, District Attorney Foley
discovered a deadly parallel. Obviously
a young rapist was on the prowl and
housewives were his victims.
On Nov. 12, 1940, a young housewife
in the Parkchester district of the Bronx
was attacked and robbed by a tall voung
man with pimples on his face.
The unfortunate young woman said
her assailant had asked for her husband,
saying he wished to return 50 cents he
had borrowed the previous week when
her husband had picked him up on the
highway, bought him a sandwich and lent
him money.
After the/woman had taken the 50
cents and thanked him, the youth com-
plained of a headache and asked for
aspirin. From there on the attack had fol-
lowed what now was becoming a familiar
and brutal pattern.
On Jan. 27, 1941, less than a week be-
fore Mrs. Papas was slain, an eight-state
alarm had gone out for a rapist who had
gained admittance to a Bronx home by
using a duplicate story. Again he had
returned a trifling sum he had borrowed
from a benefactor on the highway, asked
for aspirin, attacked the woman after
tying her hands with a brown necktie.
Commissioner Lewis Valentine, left, is
shown here with Detectives Edward J.
Gillen, Frederick P. Durant and Edward
J. Mahon, standing next to New York’s
Mayor LaGuardia, after the three officers
were promoted for their work in the case.
District Attorney Samuel J. Foley, right,
looks on approvingly.
APP NAR ISOLDE ATEN ALAN ARPS IEEE SRA ME NE A Lat
ism haces
-In an ominously — prophetic
“photo, the. multi-named sex-
murderer is seen here, center,
walking down a barred jail cor-
ridor between two detectives
after hard, relentless police work
solved the mystery of the
weird strangling death.
In this instance, among the things
stolen were a hat box and a number of
neckties.
As swiftly as the Bronx district at-
torney moved, the attack maniac moved
more swiftly. On Feb. 7 a report came
from Washington, D. C., that the aspirin
bandit had struck again. This time his
victim lived on Rhode Island avenue in
the Capital city.
Washington police swung into action.
The victim’s husband recalled giving a
ride on the highway to a tall young man
with pimples on his face. This young man
had told a story of being a musician down
on his luck, and claimed to be a former
“Mayor of Boystown,” the Lincoln, Neb.,
home for orphans operated so admirably
by Msgr. E. J. Flanagan.
On Feb. 8, another frantic housewife
in Washington called police and said a
[Continued on page 70}
1]
The doorman’s story was straight and
to the point. He had been on duty since
1 p. m. In that time, he had seen no
stranger enter the apartment house nor
had anyone asked if the Papas were at
home.
Of course it would be possible for
anyone familiar with the apartment house
to saunter in or out without attracting at-
tention. If a stranger had come he prob-
ably would have been noticed by the
doorman since he likely would have had
to ask how to manipulate the house phone.
No one had been on duty at the door
before 1 p. m., and if the deadly guest
of the slain bride had come before that
time, he probably would not have been
observed.
The superintendent’s story was more
mystifying. He told of the precautions
the victim’s husband had taken to pro-
tect his bride from intrusions, of how the
grocery boy had to leave the order in the
basement and of other precautions that
seemed to indicate that the man feared
someone might want to harm his wife,
either out of jealousy or for revenge.
Mrs. Papas was 20 years younger than
her husband. They had been married in
Alexandria, Egypt, in April 1939. It was
understood that the marriage had been
arranged by the girl’s father, a well-to-do
Greek publisher and John Papas, a more
than ordinarily successful New York
merchant.
It was possible that the girl had loved
another in Egypt and that a tempestuous
suitor, jilted in favor of the wealthy mer-
chant from America, had threatened re-
venge. Direct evidence supporting this
theory was lacking. Still there were the
wine glasses, the fine china set on even
finer linen, and the dead bride.
NEIGHBOR of the slain woman
next added her bit to the accumula-
tion of evidence and hearsay. The Grecian
bride had been very shy, almost to the
point of snobbishness. Because of her
haughty mien, neighbors sometimes re-
ferred to her as the “Egyptian Princess.”
She had rebuffed by simple silence efforts
of those living on the Grand Concourse
to become her friends. Never had she
been one to stop and chat, with or with-
out her husband present.
Most of the women of the apartment
house had never as much as heard the
dead bride’s voice. None had been inside
the apartment although on courtesy calls
several had stood and talked to her
through the crack allowed by the chain
lock on the door.
The only persons known to have as-
sociated with her on terms even approach-
ing intimacy were the Pastor of the Greek
Orthodox Church of St. Spiridan, and his
‘wife. The latter, in nearly two years,
had called on Mrs. Papas only seven times
although Mrs. Papas was a devout mem-
ber of the church, taught Sunday school
classes and was in charge of the Sunday
School bank account as well as active in
social welfare work.
Back in the Papas apartment, Inspec-
tor O’Connor and Assistant District
Attorney Frank were apprised of develop-
ments in their absence. A cigaret case
was missing, also a small gold cross, a
diamond ring for which the husband had
paid $200, and a fur jacket. An expensive
fur coat, a fur neckpiece and some other
articles of value either had been over-
looked or ignored by whoever ransacked
the apartment. The silver service, also
of obvious value, remained untouched.
As these items were summarized, a
cry came from the bathroom. A detective
had found a bloodstained cloth in the
water trap of the toilet. It matched the
portion of a towel with which Mrs. Papas’
ankles had been bound.
By this time the night was well ad-
vanced. Through the remaining hours of
darkness, the officers continued their
questioning of the grief-stricken husband,
seeking anything he could think of that
might have a bearing on the case.
At daybreak the investigation was post-
poned until late in the day when phy-
sicians would have the result of an
autopsy to report.
This report by Assistant Medical Ex-
aminer Charles M. Hockman was simple.
Death was caused by manual strangula-
tion. The fingernails of her assailant had
marked her throat.
The blood on the towels had come from
her attacker since no abrasion which
would have accounted for that amount of
blood was apparent on the bride’s body.
The physician’s examination also failed
to disclose evidence of a sexual assault.
The time of death was set tentatively
as eight hours prior to the discovery of
the body.
One other bit of evidence was then
added to the sum total. Fingerprint ex-
perts had discovered one good print on a
wine glass which had been on the dinette
table. A check through the New York
City file failed to disclose a matching
print.
Stern-faced officers carefully removed the
body of the slain beauty after detectives
completed a cursory examination of the
gruesome murder scene.
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Summing up the evidence at hand, the
detectives had these salient points:
The caller probably arrived before 1
p. m., first, because the doorman had not
noticed anyone who had ever before vis-
ited the Papas home and, second, she had
not as yet washed the breakfast dishes.
The caller probably came shortly be-
fore lunch time, or Mrs. Papas would
.not have had time to make the bed and
bake the cookies she had served at the
cozy tea party.
The attack had occurred about 2 p. m.,
since the medical report indicated the
body had been discovered at approxi-
mately 10:15 p. m., roughly eight hours
after death.
4 is motive of the attack might have
been robbery, since certain valuables
were missing, but this theory had to face
the fact that the apparent “friend” might
have taken those articles to create the ap-
pearance of a robbery motive.
The assailant had been injured sufh-
ciently to have bled considerably. The
bleeding probably was not from scratches
since no skin particles had been found
under the woman’s nails. The nail file
might have caused the wound but more
likely, thought Inspector O’Connor, the
blood came from a bite. He reasoned that
an assailant might have placed a hand
over the woman’s mouth as she fought
futilely for her life and might have been
severely bitten.
Such a jagged finger wound would
bleed freely, far more freely than a
scratch or a puncture caused by the point
of the fingernail file.
In the way of physical evidence the
detectives had, first, a brown necktie
which could have been bought at the five-
and-ten-cent store; second, four cigaret
stubs; third, a wad of gum; and fourth,
a fingerprint which could not be identi-
fied either in New York or the FBI files
in Washington.
The fingerprint, the one bit of evi-
dence which would be infallible once it
|
Prowling Ravisher and the Doomed Housewives
[Continued from page 11]
,
“tall young man with pimples on his face’
had tried to force his way into her home.
Within minutes, 15 squad cars sur-
rounded the district, but in those minutes
the young man had fled.
A few days later the terror struck
again, this time in Philadelphia. A young
truck driver and his bride of a few
months had picked up a “tall young man
with pimples.” They carried him into
Philadelphia from the vicinity of Eliza-
beth, N. J.
The young man said he was a former
“Mayor of Boystown” and a musician
down on his luck.
The young truck driver and his bride,
touched by the straightforward story,
lent the hitch-hiker $2 and, when he in-
sisted on getting their address so he
could repay the loan, told him where
they lived.
Two days after this incident, the wife
answered the doorbell and recognized
the young man. He held out $2, smiled
and said he was returning the money.
“And can you give me some aspirin? I
have a headache.”
THE smiling bride readily agreed. She
~ was pleased with the honesty of the
young man. But her pleasure turned to
horror when he stepped inside, grabbed
her by the throat, tied her hands and
attacked her.
This attack was particularly brutal for
the bride was an expectant mother, and
although she pleaded with the man, he
continued with his brutal assault.
Later, when he had ransacked the
home of his benefactor for the few
things of value that he could stuff into
his pockets, he attacked the girl again.
A few days later her child was born dead.
Reading of these assaults, a resident of
Bartonville, N.J., came to the Bronx
district attorney’s office with a letter
which had been given him by a young
hitch-hiker, “a tall young man with
pimples on his face.”
This letter was addressed to “Rev.
Father Flannigan, Boys Town, Nebr.,”
with obvious misspelling of the Mon-
signor’s name and the address, too. The
letter had been given the motorist when
he expressed doubt of the hitch-hiker’s
claim of being former mayor of Boys-
town.
To answer the critic, the young man
had given him this letter of introduction
which he had accepted and then for-
gotten until he heard of the brutal
attacks.
Other men who had picked up the
young thug had recalled his flamboyant
story. In several instances he had at-
tempted to dispel skepticism by address-
ing cards to Msgr. Flanagan in the
presence of his benefactors.
Foley considered this angle of the case
and dispatched two men to visit the
famous priest in Nebraska. The men
were Assistant District Attorney Ed-
ward Breslin and Lieut. Edward Byrnes
of the Bronx homicide squad.
While these men were en route to
Lincoln, other reports came in. The
rapist was on the prowl again and any
housewife who listened to his plea for
sympathy was doomed. The trail zig-
zagged up and down the Eastern Sea-
board with hectic speed.
The speed with which the rapist
70
struck and the sameness of his story
built up a description which was nearly
as good as a photograph of the fiendish
man.
Officers from Brunswick, Me., hearing
of the rapist who left his trail across New
York, New Jersey, Pennsylvania and into
the District of Columbia reported an-
other horror committed by the phony
mayor of Boystown.
The tall young man with pimples on
his face had assaulted an unsuspecting
housewife in Brunswick in August. The
assailant had been traced to an auto
camp where he had registered as “Jerry
Mitchell” of “Boys Town, Nebr.” But
the suspect had fled, leaving only his
signature for officers of the law.
Foley’s men came back from their
visit to Msgr. Flanagan late in February.
They brought numerous specimens of
the hitch-hiker bandit’s handwriting, for
in the correspondence file of the kindly
priest they had found letters and cards
addressed in the same bold scrawl yet
signed by different names.
One of the cards was air mailed from
Stroudsburg, Pa., timed out at 7:30 p. m.,
July 21, 1940. It was addressed as all
the others, to: “Rev. Father Flannigan,”
again with the misspelling of the priest’s
name.
The signatures on the cards and the
names supplied by gullible husbands of
the rapist’s victims built up a file of
aliases which included, “Gross, Schaffner,
Mitchell, Murta, Marthaug, Blake,
Mikos, Pappas, Connor, Conover, O’Con-
nor, Larsen, Lawson, Robert Carl,
Eugene Clarke and Dominick Govenitti.”
Obviously here was a man who could
pass as a descendant of several nationali-
ties, a glib young man who could make
“small talk and gain the confidence of an
honest man.
There was another feature, too, of his
crime pattern. He attacked out of lust
as much as in greed for loot. Conse-
quently, his income had been small.
Where would such a man _ reside?
Certainly, he must have some place to
spend the nights where he would not be
picked up on a vagrancy charge and
fingerprinted.
On Feb. 22, the rapist struck again.
This time he was back in the Bronx
where he attacked a housewife whose
husband had picked up the hitch-hiker
near Trenton, N.J., and lent him 25
cents,
The young man had taken the name of
the kindly motorist, and two days later
he had come to the address in the Bronx
and attacked and robbed the woman of
the house.
All routine leads in the investigation
of the Papas murder had faded. Every
possible angle had been ripped to shreds
without result. There was one big, un-
explained question: Why had Mrs,
Papas, an extremely careful woman, ad-
mitted and served tea to a man who was
to kill her?
Foley could not answer that question
yet. But, in studying the mounting re-
ports of the roaming ravisher, one thing
was clear in his own mind, at least.
Mrs. Papas, he felt convinced, had been
slain by the same fiend who had been
spreading terror through the country-
side and who brazenly was continuing
his assaults even while police of eight
states were hot on his trail.
-
“Get this hitch-hiking aspirin bandit,”
Foley said grimly, “and you'll have this
murderer. We can clear up the un-
answered questions when we get him.”
With that decision made, Foley set his
trap. He would spread a net of detectives
through the cheap hotels and flophouses
of the entire metropolitan district.
Sooner or later, these men, armed with
handwriting specimens and a clear de-
scription, would trap the man who in
mocking fashion flaunted his one-man
crime wave in their faces.
Foley acted quickly. More than 150
detectives were assigned to the case.
Working alone, in pairs or sometimes in
larger numbers, they spread quietly
though the cheap transient hotels,
searching registers, constantly on the
alert.
In Newark, across the river from New
York, two detectives armed with speci-
mens of the rapist’s handwriting were
poring over the registry of a Salvation
Army hotel.
With a startled exclamation, a detec-
tive pointed to a name. “It’s him,” he
shouted, “Mitchell, just like on the card,”
a photostatic copy of which he held in
hand.
But Mitchell had checked out, missing
by two hours the justice which he so
thoroughly deserved.
Even as the dragnet seemed to close in
upon him, the rapist went on the prowl
again, striking on Feb. 27 in Passaic, N. J.
But this time he attacked in vain. The
sturdy housewife fought him off, struck
him with a vase, screamed and threw a
chair at him.
AS THE search reached a fiery heat,
officers from other states dispatched
reports to District Attorney Foley, hop-
ing that in the man Foley sought they
would find the fiend who had attacked and
murdered such women as the Penn State
co-ed, Rachel Taylor, or Margaret
Martin of Kingston, Pa., who was
assaulted and murdered in December
1938.
Manhattan police also hoped to find
this fiend to question him in the rape
slaying of the pretty Cuban dancer,
Bernice Martinez, who was strangled in
her West 48th street apartment with a
stocking ripped from her shapely leg.
Now every flophouse and cheap hotel
in New York City, from the tip of South
street in Manhattan to the upper
reaches of the Bronx, was covered by de-
tectives, some of whom -posed as room
clerks while others cleaned spittoons or
mopped the floors so they could prowl
the corridors without suspicion.
At 9 p. m,, on: March 3, three Bronx
detectives were on duty at.a low priced
hotel on 36th’street in Manhattan. De-
tective Fred Durant had removed his. .
coat and was behind the registration .
desk as if he were’a clerk while De-
tectives Edward Gillon and Ed Mahon
made a pretense of checking records, yet
constantly watched the’ door to gain a |
good view of everyone who entered. _
All three noticed when a tall young
man camie in. His face was pimpled and a
slight scar marred one cheek. He was
dressed in a neatly fitted suit and wore
a green top coat and vellow shoes. .
Almost .as one the three detectives
knew this was their man.
eee
oi cits ad
TROL ‘wanoLoo
stunned and shaukel gill coulu wore *
ids and summon assistance. One of the neigh-
The caller hesitated. “Well— I have something
for him.” He put his hand into his pocket, walked
into the living-room. .
Irritated by the manner in which he had brushed
past her, the housewife demanded to know his
business.
Instead of answering, he fastened claw-like hands
on her throat, forced her to the settee. The woman
fought back, kicked him in the stomach. With a
gasp he slid into the coffee table. Taking advantage
of the turn of events, Mrs. Snyder made for the
back door, attempting to flee to the street. She got
as far as the kitchen when she felt a clutch at her
dress, and an instant later the remorseless grip
fastened on her throat.
Again she fought back, succeeded in breaking the
hold. She ran to the dining-room, when she saw
her assailant stop to pick up a handkerchief with
which he had tried to gag her. The nearest thing -
at hand was an expensive Chinese vase which
someone had sent her for an anniversary present.
Undaunted, she picked it up, hurled it through the
air. Her aim was true. A split second later it
smashed against the back of his head. Without
waiting any longer, the woman ran to the door,
cried for help. When her neighbors responded,
ri
Because of his resemblance to the real slayer (left)
Stanley Kossakowski (with hat) was mistakenly identified
ati ait ln = tc ll Ae os a tn ras A taal naa de
members of his comunana. BOR LU puss Gar
they found the back door wide open, with nothing
left in the kitchen save shattered fragments of
porcelain.
™ THE POLICE went over the apartment for finger-
prints, found nothing. But even without clues, the
description told them that the necktie strangler had
come to town. :
Not until ten-thirty that night was he seen again.
Then Miss Pauline Burns, a registered nurse, driving
from Passaic to New York, was stopped by- traffic
lights at the Ridgefield Park approach to the George
Washington Bridge. As she brought her car to a halt,
a husky, square-faced man with a complexion like
putty, darted from the curb, jumped to the running-
board. “Take me to New York,” he demanded,
grasping the door handle.
The nurse shook her head. With a curse, the
man tried to open the door, but it was locked se-
curely from the inside. “I said take me to New
York!” he shrilled.
Although the lights were still red, Miss Burns
stepped on the gas. Purposely she jerked the
clutch, and the abrupt bucking of the car threw
the unwelcome stranger to the ground. :
At the first police booth she reported the incident.
Once again the description was a fa-
miliar one, and on the map at 7th Dis-
trict Headquarters went another marker
as the police drag-net tightened all along
the line.
“Keep watching,” Captain Armstrong
cautioned his details. ‘““He’s coming closer
all the time.”
The night of February 27th turned out
to be one of the coldest of the winter.
Toward midnight George Holden and his
pretty blond wife were on the outskirts
of Elizabeth, New Jersey, driving along
Route No. 1 on their way home to New-
ark. At the side of the road was a for-
lorn figure, huddled in an overcoat,
thumbing a ride.
“How far do you want to go?” asked
Holden as he pulled up to a stop.
“Boston,” said the wayfarer.
“I’m only going to Newark.”
“Fair enough—maybe I’ll have better luck up the
line.” With that he got into the back seat. Blow-
ing on his hands, he explained that he was heading
north to see his sister who was seriously ill in a hos-
pital. He said his home was in Raleigh, North
Carolina, and added that his mother and father had
been burned to death in a fire, and that he was
having a great deal of difficulty in having the will
probated.
So convincing was his manner, that before long
Holden not only invited him to spend the night at
their house, but promised to get in touch with a
lawyer friend in Raleigh who might interest him-
self in the settlement of the estate. >
That night, the youth, who gave the name of
Eugene Blake, slept on a daybed in the Holden liv-
ing-room. The next morning the couple asked him
how he felt. “Not bad,” he replied, “but I was a
little frightened during the night when I woke up
and couldn’t remember where I was. I guess I’m
not used to sleeping in a strange place.”
Mrs. Holden served him breakfast and her hus-
band gave him a handful of bills to.tide him over
his difficulties.
“Nice young chap,” he said when he left. “I
hope he gets to see his sister. His heart seems
set on it.”
Nothing more was said about the matter and the
incident had all but passed from the Holdens’ mind,
when at eleven o’clock on the morning of March
2nd, the doorbell rang. Mrs. Holden answered.
“Why, Eugene,” she said in surprise. ‘What are
you doing back here?”
“I wanted to tell you about my new job,” he said,
stepping inside.
™@ “IF I HADN’T known you,” she said, “T wouldn’t
have let you past the door. I’ve been so fright-
ened ever since Mrs. Pappas was killed that I never
open the door for anyone.”
Eugene nodded. “I read about it,” he replied
slowly. “It certainly was a shame. But if you’re
busy I won’t take but a minute. I thought that
maybe your husband had some old socks or hand-
kerchiefs that he didn’t need.”
~w
ao
GAILOGLaAG gauL,
“T’ll look,” she said. As she turned to go to the
bedroom, she saw her visitor kick the front door
shut. It was an unnecessary gesture and at.once
she became suspicious of his motives. Remember-
ing that she had never been alone in the house with
him, a chill ran down her spine. Debating what
to do, she continued to the bedroom, while her
visitor began to follow.
He had closed the distance between them to three
paces when suddenly the doorbell rang. Immedi-
ately he stopped while Mrs. Holden said: ‘That must
be George—I’m expecting him any minute.”
Eugene said nothing, but his eyes were narrowed
to wary slits. The woman had no idea who her
visitor was, but any interruption was welcome. As
it happened it was the insurance collector. In all
the latter’s career he had never experienced so
warm a reception. While he was transacting his
business, Eugene slipped away. His luck had been
running poorly of late—what with the battle that
Mrs. Snyder had put up and the general tightening
of police lines about Route No. 1 and the vehicular
tunnels. Hitching his shoulders forward, he dug his
fists deeper into his green overcoat, bucked the
wintry blasts that roared along the Newark streets.
@ THE next day, March 3rd, Mrs. Mary Graff came
to.the six-story house at 507 East 179th Street,
in the Bronx, walked through the long alley on the
east side of the building to the Superintendent’s
apartment, to see her friend Elizabeth Jensen. The
door was open and she walked in, passed through
a hallway into the living-room. At this point she
stood stockstill, hardly daring to breathe.
Directly ahead of her was Mrs. Jensen. She was
lying on the. couch and there was a towel about her
feet. Across her neck, drawn so tight that purple
flesh bulged on either side, was a maroon necktie.
Listening, the woman could hear the watchdog
whining and scratching at the bathroom door. She
did not release it, however, for she knew that it
was prone to take aggressive action against stran-
gers. Instead, she hurried to the street to sum-
mon aid.
First to arrive was an ambulance from Fordham
Hospital. The surgeon, acting on the slim chance
Detectives responsible for the strangler's ccoture receive promotions. (Left to right): Commissioner Valentine;
Detectives E. J. Gillen, F. P. Durant «
that a spark of life might still be present, cut loose
the tie, administered stimulants and artificial res-
piration. His efforts were in vain, however, and
shortly after the detective squad cars drew up, he
signed the card “D.O.A.”—dead on arrival.
Inspector O’Connor and District Attorney Foley
were going over the scene when Assistant Medical
Examiner Dr. Louis L. Lefkowitz arrived. He found
that rigor mortis had only just begun, and he
:. J. Mahon; Mayor LaGuardia and District Attorney S. J. Foley
fixed the time of death at from three to five hours
previously.
There was no evidence of a struggle or disorder
and $179 in rent money lay undisturbed in a dresser
drawer,, yet the presence of the necktie and torn
towel set the authorities seeking a link to the chain
of murder, rape and robbery which had plagued
them for the past month.
When questioning of relatives and neighbors
ore oe
Sa aie.
UATOLIO
. TROT
62
Luspilai. dile SsulbSseoh, aclilg oh Lhe sll Chunce
failed to yield a single clue, and when the victim’s
husband returned home from work late in the after-
noon and was at a loss to explain why his wife
should have gone so far as to lock up the watchdog
before admitting her killer, it appeared as though
the necktie bandit was responsible for this second
Bronx murder within thirty days.
In conference with Inspector O’Connor and Mr.
Foley, Captain Armstrong pointed out that the
chart of the strangler’s movements was running
true to form. ‘We could tell he was heading this
way—but frankly I never thought he would have
the nerve to come right back to the Bronx. Evi-
dently he’s got a lot of self-assurance, and if he gets
over-confident, he’ll fall right into our hands.”
Talking matters over, the officials agreed to con-
centrate their forces on the city’s cheap hotels and
lodging houses.
New assignments were handed out shortly after
six o’clock, and among the groups leaving 7th Dis-
trict Headquarters was a threesome composed of
Detectives Fred Durant, Edward Gillen and Edward
Mahon. Their task was to cover the Mills Hotel at
Seventh Avenue and 36th Street.
They arrived at the twenty-story structure to
find the lobby crowded with the usual type of
patrons who were a bit down on their luck. The
detectives walked in separately. Their faces were
worn from the steady grind of activity and their
clothes were rumpled. Thus they attracted no at-
tention as they went into the Manager’s office,
identified themselves and explained that they
wanted to look at the register.
™@ UP TO date their suspect had used the aliases of
Gross, Schaffner, Mitchell, Murtha, Mercer, Mar-
taugh, Blake, Mikos, Conover, O’Connor, Larson,
Lawson, Roberts, Clark, Gevanio and Giovenetti.
When they went over the register they found that
out of 1600 names, 100 fell into the foregoing classi-
fication. A list of the rooms was then compiled and
the sleuths started to make the rounds. From top
floor to basement they covered the establishment,
scrutinizing the occupants, Passing up all as not
answering the description of the man whom they
had in mind.
that rigor mortis tua ol isl begui, aid he
When they returned to the lobby it was almost
nine o’clock. “We'll stay until midnight,” said
Gillen. “There’s still time for a lot more people
to check in.”
™@ THE OTHERS agreed and they settled thomselves
in the lobby, watching the doorway, reception
desk and elevators. They had been seated about fif-
teen minutes when Detective Durant saw a youth
dressed in a blue-green hat, green suit and yellow
shoes walk in from the street. He was six feet tall,
broad shouldered, and his nose bulged at the base.
Durant felt like pinching himself to make sure
he wasn’t dreaming. It seemed too good to be true.
But as the youth passed by, and he saw that his arms, _
which carried a zipper bag, were unusually long; his
fingernails caked with black and_ his forehead
bumpy, he hesitated no longer, signaled to his fellow
officers. The youth was at the desk, asking for
Room 1266 when the detectives closed in.
“Sorry,” the clerk was saying, “1266 is taken. I
can give you 866.”
“Okay,” was the reply. The detectives watched
him toss a fifty-cent piece on the counter, then sign
the registration card: “G. Koslosky.”
As he started to walk away, Durant came along-
side, said: “Just a minute, buddy—we’re from the
Police Department. We've got a report that you
have a gun in that bag. We’ll have to look at it.”
He stopped, turned a bland face to the detectives.
“Go ahead—I’m clean.”
Durant slid back the zipper, made a show of ex-
amining the inside. He seemed apologetic when he
found that it held nothing but shirts, socks and
underwear. “I guess you’re okay,” he admitted.
“But just so we can tell the Captain that we made
a checkup, would you mind signing your name and
address for us?”
With this they went back to the desk. The young
man’s manner was quiet and polite, and the detec-
tives were equally soft-voiced. This time the card
was signed: “George Joseph Cvek, Harrisburg,
Pennsylvania.” 7
Each of the detectives had photostats of the post-
cards which “Mitchell” had sent to Boys’. Town.
There was no need to consult them. The similarity
®
Wiel quesuoling of relatives and neighbors
in writing, especially the use of v-shaved “Y’s” was
obvious.
The -detectives exchanged glances. ‘Why,” said
Durant, in mock surprise,” that’s not the name you
signed before.” ;
“Oh I never use my right name in a place like
this,” was the reply.
Now the detectives were frowning. “I’m afraid
we'll have to take you uptown to Bronx Headquar-
ters,” explained Durant. “It will only take a half-
hour—we have our car outside and we'll give you
a quick ride and bring you right back. What do
you say?”
“Okay—but I’ve got to turn in early.”
The detectives pretended to take it all in. Mean-
while they maneuvered him to their car and were
soon speeding northward to Inspector O’Connor’s
office at Bathgate Avenue.
On arrival, the first thing that was done with the
Suspect was to fingerprint him. Then while Mahon
and Gillen chatted with him in a friendly fashion,
the ridges and whorls were checked against enlarge-
ments of the finger marks that had been discovered
on the stemmed glass in the Pappas apartment. Ten
minutes passed. A clerical Lieutenant went up-
Stairs, placed the prints on Inspector O’Connor’s
desk.
“The left index finger of this fellow Cvek is
identical,” he said.
™ THE INSPECTOR studied the cards for a moment,
nodded. “Get Captain Armstrong,” he said.
“Notify the District Attorney and have a squad start
to round up the witnesses in this city and Newark.
Wire Philadelphia and Washington. And send for
coffee—we’ll be here until dawn at least.”
District Attorney Foley and Assistant District At-
torneys Edward Breslin, Arthur Carney, Martin
Frank and Frank O’Brien were among the first to
arrive, followed shortly afterwards by Captain Arm-
strong and detectives from his office and the Homi-
cide Squad.
Brought before the array of officials, Cvek seemed
-dumfounded. ‘“What’s*this all about?” he asked.
They told him he was wanted for the murder of
Kitty Pappas. Continued on page 112
“That will be fine—we’ll be home this evening
~ anyhow.”
FOWL
PWALLOALAG
Not until noon of the following day did he return,
however. “Sorry I couldn’t make it last night,” he
said. “I just saw Charlie—he asked me to wait for
him here.”
" “Okay,” replied the girl.
fortable.”
“Make yourself com-
@ HE WENT into the living-room, put his hat on a
chair, hung his overcoat in the closet.. He picked
up the ashtray, held it in his lap and began to smoke
a chain of cigarettes. :
Mrs. Walters, preparing lunch for herself, asked
him if he wanted a plate of soup.
“No, I don’t feel so well, but I’ll take some aspirin
if you have it.”
“Surely.”
When she came back he took a few tablets. Then
he helped her clear the luncheon table, dried the
dishes while she washed them. She was reaching to
the closet shelf to put one of the plates away, when
he came up behind her. He caught her slender
throat in the crook of his arm, drew back. Her
mouth opened in an attempted scream, was immedi-
ately gagged with a handkerchief. Struggling, she
managed to kick his shins. He winced. ‘Tl kill
you if you try anything like that again,” he warned,
tightening his grip.
There was a roaring in her ears like a dozen
subway trains, and numbness in her arms and legs.
Aware that she was being slowly strangled, she
went suddenly limp. What followed matched in
every detail the previous crimes of the necktie ban-
dit. This time he used silk stockings to tie her arms
behind her. . . . Later he went about the apartment,
seeking what valuables he could lay his hands on.
- When he came back to the bedroom, he had a bot-
tle of Scotch. Sitting on the bench in front of the
vanity mirror, he took a long drink. Then, wiping
his hands across his mouth, he approached the bed.
Mrs. Walters tried to wriggle free of his embrace,
but her struggles were of no avail. ...
It was nearly four o’clock in the afternoon before
the stunned and shaken girl could work free of her
bonds and summon assistance. One of the neigh-
bors ran for the victim’s husband, while the police
sped to the scene.
The description was a° familiar one—from the
blue-green suit to the green eyes, bumpy forehead
and large hands with unkempt nails.
The Newark authorities took the customary police
action. They started a round-up of known law
violators answering to this description, and took
Mrs. Walters to the Rogues’ Gallery to look at the
file of photographs.
The woman had gone through a batch of fifty, and
was starting on a second round, when suddenly she
gasped: “This looks like the man.” The picture
that she held was that of a square-faced youth, with
brushed-back brown hair and skin which was pitted
with acne. “Stanley Kossakowski,” it said on the
bottom.
As a law violator with a record of eleven arrests
and three convictions, Kossakowski was well known
to the police. Within a half-hour, he was brought to
Headquarters, placed in a line-up. Again Mrs.
Walters picked him out.
The suspect looked puzzled. “What’s it all about???
he asked.
The police told him.
His mouth fell open in astonishment. “I’ve been
going straight,” he said, “you can’t hang this on me.”
He gave an account of his movements for the day
and the detectives went out to check his story. They
came back within a few hours, and it was their turn
to be puzzled. His story had stood up.
“T’ll be glad to help you out in any way I can,”
assured Kossakowski. “Evidently Mrs. Walters has
seen somebody who looks just like me.”
'As it happened he was right. How close the re-
semblance to the actual killer was, the reader can
judge for himself by consulting the pictures of the
two printed on page 77.
@ AT 7TH Detective District Headquarters, Captain
Armstrong was studying the pin-studded map
which kept a record of the strangler’s movements
and realized that once again his trail had turned
northward.
“He’s a creature of habit,” Armstrong warned the
members of his command. “He’s going to pass this
%: : aad
Mrs. Carl Jensen, the second Bronx
victim of the necktie strangler
way again—he'll be one individual out of seven mil-
lion—but we’ve got to get him.” He pointed to the
city map. ‘Twice he asked to be let off in the Penn.
Station neighborhood—I want you to pay particular
attention to the cheap hotels and rooming houses in
that area.”
—H WITH A consciousness that events were ap-
proaching a climax, the detectives renewed their
rounds. One by one the false leads had been elimi-
nated. They knew what their man looked like, they
had samples of his handwriting and a clear print of
one of his fingers—but his whereabouts remained
cloaked in mystery.
The 26th of February passed without any de-
velopment, but on the 27th there was another
flare-up, when Mrs. Mary Snyder of 42 Lafayette
Avenue, Passaic, was summoned to the front door
by a tall, broad-shouldered young man with a
square face and bushy eyebrows.
“Mr. Snyder home?” he asked.
“No—is there a message?”’
Youthful suspect had ready answers for the investigators,
POLICE FILES
Pappas.” The serious figure beside the bride was a small,
thin, mustached man—20 years her senior.
Still holding the picture, Kitty Pappas sat down on the
sofa beside her visitor. “The others standing around us are
relatives and friends. You see,” she added, smiling, “we
were married in Alexandria, Egypt, where I had lived a
long time with my father. We had many friends.”
She laid the wedding picture on the chair by the coffee
table and, while leaning back against the sofa, said softly,
“John and I are just as happy together now as we were then.”
The backward movement of her body was halted abruptly.
Her head dropped against the man’s left arm. Suddenly, like
the jaws of a powerful trap, the arm locked around her
tender, white neck. An anguished cry broke from her throat,
but it was snuffed out by the closing of a rough hand over
her mouth. In frantic desperation the trapped woman sank
her teeth into the man’s thumb, biting with all the strength
left in her choked body.
Finally the man felt the stinging pressure on his thumb
relax. Kitty Pappas’ struggle was over. She lay limp in his
arms.
A few minutes later a tall figure, his hat pulled down over
his eyes, stepped cautiously down the steps at the apartment
house at 1035 Grand Concourse. He vanished into the teem-
ing Bronx.
G HORTLY after 10:30 that night a sergeant in Bronx
Police Headquarters lifted the receiver of his ringing
telephone. He heard a man’s strained and shaken voice cry,
' “My wife . .°. my wife is dead. She has been murdered.”
POLICE FILES
Hotel in Manhattan was the scene of the apprehension of the suspect (center, above).
jo WE 0
POKER TNA
eae t Coe a
Ss,
It was a matter of minutes before a police car pulled up
before the Bronx apartment house. The group of officers
were led by Acting Chief Inspector John J. O'Connor, in
charge of Bronx detectives. Assistant Medical Examiner
Charles M. Hockman was with them.
When they entered the Pappas apartment, they found the
broken and sobbing husband seated on the sofa—the one on
which his wife, a few hours earlier, had breathed her last.
“She’s in there,” he said, pointing toward the bedroom.
“Everything is just as I found it. It’s horrible.” :
Kitty Pappas lay sprawled awkwardly on the unruffled
bed. There was horror written on her face. A torn towel
bound her hands behind her back. A handkerchief was
stuffed in her mouth. Her slim ankles were tied together
by a necktie.
“Don’t know when I’ve ever seen anything so brutal,”
growled O’Connor. “Somebody’s going to pay dearly for
this.”
While O’Connor and the medical officer were in the bed-
room, District Attorney Samuel Foley and his assistant,
Martin Frank, arrived. Foley quickly surveyed the scene of
death and immediately began questioning Pappas.
The husband informed Foley that he was a wholesale
grocer, his store at 728 Ninth Avenue. Pappas had gone to
work at 9 o’clock that morning. He had remained in the
store all day, leaving at about 9:45 p.m. and reaching his
home at 10:30, when he found the body of his wife trussed
and slain on the bed.
“Do you have any idea who did this?” Foley asked.
“I can’t understand it, I can’t (Continued on page 38)
S
wre the can sting Hehe Oe or goeee come under scrutiny. +The Bowery was up to : aS eee = -
| That night two of Captain Armstrong’s blanketed with detectives, men who switched 4 j ing, finally confessed : So
| ablest.men were on a plane to Lincoln, Nebr. their blue serEt for wrinkled work clothes and ES a that filtered through even to the 53 complaints that bad been loi ae cot
| home of Father Flanagan's famous Boys slouch felts and sat round the clock in the es K transients loitering by the door. him from four states. It took | — I need 500 M ,
| Town. “Yes,” the priest informed them when foul, tiled lobbies of the second and third a seochete felt it, too. He turned when he an admission from him that he ‘hed _ = P en
| the men arrived. “I’ve received a dozen cards. floor quarter-a-night flops, watching for a. se ek: the stairs and walked back to the the Pappas apartment, and when i been m To Wear and Show
| T never understood why. Most of them were scar-faced man in yellow shoes - i - 8 “Pa ite my “m na - was still not a confession it came it Made-to- su
signed Mitchell and as a rule they came from coat—a man who signed him: Murtqugh, aie : y “money = ” he said. “I “Yeah, yeah. . . ITS
| the East, New York, sometimes, Philadelphia Crosby, Gross, Mikos or ove of a dozen other : just remembered I got a job working tonight.” touch her. T ak oe ‘ay But I didn't Measure
once, a couple from New Jersey.” aliases that the detectiv’- had come :2 know 2 K Durant stepped out from behind his cage. “What made you go there in the fi ”
“You have the cards, Father?” as well as their own r.ames. ‘ = coe Aa something, started for the *F wan teying the place ie gee place?’ Pay No Money—
; It was a group of three detectives from the Youn : and Gillen each grabbed an arm. the doors to see if they was i ae — Send No Mone
‘¥ ES. I don’t know why I kept them, but Bathgate Avenue station, Durant, Ed Gillen <3] * “to. got a gun,” Durant said. “We'll have across this name Pappas hen — My values in made-to-measure y oe
| I do still have them. [ thought the writer and Ed Mahan, who found something. more : — “ used: it onion. Tt remembered I areso made-t yare suits Ss
| might turn up one day and explain why he than butt-filled spittoons and fly-specked reg- te - Durant wait hea Kosolsky snapped. On the same day that C <n all peter gt ab cr pe nemo =
| sent them. You see he doesn’t really know isters in the hotel to which they were as- “ ing him. K — the motions of search- in Magistrates Court on : eae arraigned your ows suit to wear ot pt a ae
| Sm Father Flanagan pulled out one of the signed. They had staked out the Mills Hotel, “Here.” in econ unarmed. degree murder, Detectives aller of first- ppt hae =
R E L A xX | drawers of his desk and handed the officers a one of several inexpensive hostelries in a chain, ‘ S at him.- “Write Mi ive said, shoving a card Mahan were publicly pcnae Gillen and carie ; ¢ Bab iper il nl efs
| packet of postcards. this one at Thirty-sixth Street and Seventh 3 Aa calMeinr ert Sp tarerl Fiorello H. LaGuardia for thei by Mayor ail anal ees peat ona s
ith ; | “How can you be so sure he doesn’t know Avenue. An examination of the hotel books a isn’t aehciell” Kosolsky shouted. “My name “The most intelligent “ eir fine work. R,\ suit, and make pally By mr *
with DELL S new | you, Father? You have a host of friends, revealed several of the names under which the | pape experience,” Di igent police activity in my y orders. Youneed no experience. You
as : ” : a “Write it,” Durant ordered. i .” District Attorney Foley said — dno money nowor any time. Just
| more than you could remember by name. wanted man worked. . a man up ci 3 shoving the It was a month later bef 4 si y epepich ac name and add:
KRI | “This man,” Flanagan explained, pointing “We'd like to see your register,” Durant <a Slowly ae to the counter. old killer was brought t as the 24-year- PLE RIT coctnnt and BIG SAM- 2
| out the address on one of the cards, “always told the proprietor. We want to check 3 prc 6 5 a obvious effort to dis- guilty. When he stood had tal GAe: Goanel samples. it’s FREE! Send $
| misspells my. name. He uses the double N.” these names against the handwriting on these 3 Mitchell. E writing, the man wrote out Barrett to hear senten ‘ore Judge James pete address TODAY!
| These samples of the suspected killer’s hand- cards.” = | ees ven a schoolboy could note the the customary “Ma ‘he — be ein Sat ha aetna are
; | writing gave the case new impetus. Added to The proprietor smiled apologetically. “We Baers te pa Poze res the name on the card your soul” be parte % ord have mercy on SteClcage7.m.
| it was a scrap of information from one of don’t keep what you'd call a register,” he said. 3 Fla signed to the one sent Father nouncement. rom the death pro- REVERSIBLE AUTO!
MAGAZINE! | the bandit’s earlier victims which confirmed “Some of our guests can’t write. And others . Seemingly emotionless duri . SEAT COVERS o
| the officers’ suspicion that the bandit and the .. . well, they couldn’t even decode it in = “¢XOME on.” : the sentence ‘that-cood uring the reading of nr exe
It's full of intriguing Kriss | murderer were one and the same. The Pappas Washington.” 4 ‘on, Gillen said. “We got a lot of tric chair, Cvek, aug him to the elec- Choice of: SNAKE. ZEB0A DESION ;
Krosses ranging from ones you'll | case was the only one in which the bandit “What kind of records do you have?” 4 a questions to ask you, but not here.” turned and spat f ‘* e left the courtroom, or LEOPARD-COWHIDE DESIGN Se
whiz right through, to some that | had resorted to murder and it was also the Durant asked. : Lee e was taken to police headquarters in the. and the distri in the Grection of the judge _ ORDER FROM MFR. AND SAVE ae
will really challenge you! | wate . . Bronx where Police Commissi i e district attorney. ; > Gelertel SNAKE AND ZEBRA BESGH
| only case in which the victim's husband had “The guests give their names to thé clerk, : entine, District A missioner Louis Val- On February 26, 1942, Cvek LEOPARD-COWNIDE DESIGN. Cor eaeia
Travel a lot? ... try the U.S. | not picked up the bandit alone the highway. He enters them on a card.” - on uke a ttorney Foley and all of the his cell in the death ces ier a mic ee
and world tour puzzles! | These two discrepancies led some officers to The detectives admitted the proprietor was ‘ Pures mand given weeks to solving the was strapped into the wierd ing Sing. . He wun Seite Ged ter usey wee Seer
|. doubt that the Aspirin Bandit was the killer. right, but they did not intend to be put off 2 “Py : erg waiting. 2000 volts of electricit: ae chair where br eiben iad pahsaloartsy Set 08 Eater
Radio-T¥ fan? .. . you should But in the third week of the investigation one the best trail that had- been picked up up-to- i ae a t know anything about it,” body. Two minutes sa tie ot through his 10 DAY MONEY BACK CUARANTET
be an expert on those air- of the women victims reported that the bandit date. “Five times we came across names this a But his fin: jo called himself Kosolsky: said. after he was seated, he delta sBette seconds Coke i © see CX GUARANTEE
waves puzzies! chad identified himself to her as Mr. Pappas: = guy uses,” Mahan pointed out. “Mitchell, i talent ans resi eae matched against those © Eyewitnesses reported aoe i jounced dead. $99 or rng iety one OF re ew
“Seems more than just coincidence,” Cap- Gross and Kosolsky three times. This is his “Robberies! ones niet glass, said he was lying. supported throughout the lo e had- to be 2 Sete oe See Sate tte Pome te
Know your sports? +++ prove | tain Armstrong said, when told of the inci- hangout, all right.” : i I'm — : — You fellows aré crazy. cell and that his mouth. ng walk from his _ MARDO SALES CORP. Dept DS-41
it on the football and base- | dent. “Maybe the bandit is related to Pappas; “Yeah,” Durant agreed. “And from now on 3 man.” B doen sesnpaeed herd got the wrong he could not speak lena ea dhirg fear 406 Lesindesaslive.. New Wok 13, Ho.
ball puzzles! | held a grudge. That might account for his it’s ours, too. Next time this joker comes in, 4 i" identity was revealed whose silve a y, the man
P stepping out of character in this one instance.” he’s going to find a new clerk ... Me!” — ¢ rad i. pany - George Cvek. from Bress- dozens of oe ae poonree in him into FALSE TEETH
Whatever your favorite—re- | But neither John Pappas nor his brother, “And a couple of new customers, too,” 3 the age of 12 who had been in trouble since venom had been spent i and whose | KLUTCH holds th .
member Kriss Kross Puzzles is | Aristides, knew of any one related to them who Gillen said. He looked around with distaste Identified by th ; tenced” him, spat at n men who sen- | KLUTCH forms a s yao tighter
your key to relaxation enjoy- | answered the description of the scar-faced at the circle of worn, scarred wooden chairs, women victi y the husbands of many of his five minutes on this apg during his last oe plates so pager cma holds
ment. hitchhiker. most of them filled with the evil-smelling, j ictims, Cvek, after five hours of grill- | would not have pase ame: 1000 aspirins per cnee ORE An aca greater com=
| Still, Armstrong refused to fluff off the sim- penniless bums. : : o e jolt he got. ost
| jlarity as meaningless. “Jt will fall into place,” The proprietor was more than willing to P
| he “counseled his men. “When we pick this cooperate and, by evening, Durant was estab- - E
| man up, it will fall into place. And we're lished behind the wicket of the clerk’s desk. Tease
| going to pick him up. This fellow is a buni. For four days he stood there, taking the
| He has little money, looks tacky and operates names of the shabby transients who shuffled continued from page 33
| within a well-defined area around New York. in off the streets, pushed their coins through
He’s got to sleep some place and my hunch the screen and received their room stubs. For b ee.
| Gs he’s not bedding down on park benches four days he studied gray faces and seedy aE that spiritualist woman in town who her and of how-he k
every night. Not in this weather.” coats and listened for the sound of a — ‘ fee ig “oa — nor himself this sitet ae her all to a
“Flophouses, hmm, captain?” Detective Fred name. And for four days Mahan and n gee: y and his mother would prob- th spring night. The frogs on EXPEN
| Durant said. stole glances irom behind their racing forms = come over with him and Phyllis didn’t —— oe louder and the noise Pos eey ee oe Gules!
‘Armstrong nodded. “Flophouses, rooming and morning tabloids at the shapeless shoes door . see them. They lived together next a cigaret x's ears. After awhile be lit | Details Meno womens bere cin paul
houses, cheap hotels.” He picked up the bun- that scuffed across the lobby floor. Buster’. ——. his wife and their baby and : ¥ . | INVENTOR “‘Oz,"* 2 ak Write.
dle of cards that had been brought back from It exec and his stepfather. AS PHYLLIS ee ——
Boys Town. “I’m going to parcel these out,” ATE on the afternoon of March 4, a guest a dark now, and Buster didn’t together on pew the family did get | H
| he said. “You men are to cover every possible walked up to the window, asked for room po is. He leaned against the front door, and talk about a, front porch that night | appy Is The Da
| place a down-at-the-heels transient might stay. 1266. Betty pinging evening air and listening to erend Mrs Leonia —. woman, Rev- | y
Check the registers against the handwriting Durant looked up, saw the three deep kitchen. H mother bustling around in the dained minister mph ryant, 72-year-old or- j When B k
on these cards. And look for the names this nodules above the bridge of the nose, saw the sad ach sae felt full of steaming coffee the Master ° e Universal Church of | ac ache
Be sure to look for these other bum uses most often: Murtaugh, Mitchell, scar on the right cheek and the top of a blue- wards. he'd the cooked for supper. After- The men drifted off af : |
i Kosolsky, Larson, Clark.” green overcoat. He saw Mahan and Gillen get Jr to ‘| rocked his eight-month-old Buster, down the street off after a while. going | oes Awa
Dell Puzzle: Magazines “He probably hits a different sack every uP from their chairs. The yellow shoes. ahi oiler arms could still feel the other men, but cape joints or to talk with | Nagging backach y eS 8
“Sorry,” Durant said. “That room’s taken. Betty ha ba ttle bedy. . ting in liaieiedt — talking, sit- | ochaseelt diduimeogatr coauaseciredetaelt head-
given bin touch tiene, bntely, talking about the pa en <¢hairs and | function. Doctors say good kidney y tuadobobapsgonend
~ ith. When some everyday con-
night,” Durant said.
“J. don't think so,” Armstrong replied. “My I can give you 866.” with the baby to care f dh
one flop he likes. He’s « food , ight,” man said. : Paras re for, and his mother an “y, - | diti
p Okay. Any .one’s all right,” the his stepfather around all the time. He <4 ‘ Yessir, Sister Bryant has mighty strange | <ition. such Ss stress and strain, causes this im-
. - ower.” one of them said. “She can f | nagging backs: jown, many folks suff
. can . n i ckache—feel i bal
feel some irritations due to cold ao eae er ee
OFFICIAL CROSSWORD PUZZLES
DELL CROSSWORD PUZZLES guess is he’s found
POCKET CR been safe in it so far. Hell stick with it.” “Nn: 2”
OSSWORD PUZZLES : : ; : Name?” “° - he membered when he and Betty 4: i i
The city was sectioned off like a checker Kosolsky.” He flipped 50 cents under t and had all their 3 y frst married thing terrible going to ha bef i
On sale at all newsstands board; there wasn’t a cheap public bed in all wicket, reached down for his grip and heated thought of her price rT together. He iit happens.” ppen even before | es A peidlcbe dyed frequent passages,
M failed for the stairs. Gi nd N n had mov . onde beauty, of hi olli . bothe: : ar kidneys if these ses
, of Manhattan and the Bronx that failed to tor the rs. Gillen and Maha hands clenching her short hair when he —- Fising sige shivered. “Let’s go inside.” | se you. Try Doan’s Pillsa mild Dares tone
. she said. “It’s getting too chilly ou! ie ing how m: over 50 years. It'sam:
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: POLICE FILES MAGAZINE, FEBRUARY, 196li. =
‘ | xe
i . ‘
bi Catherine Pappas (|.) trusted the wrong man. Interior of apartment (1) so
i : where the murder was done. 4
Be
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al He could charm ; Hite
Wd o or {tt
| his hands around ; tee
5 et
Hy a woman’s throat and es
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: silence her forever Hos
ite“
a 19
: by Richard Kling 5
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; aoe, Sate é 3 he Ri ban: Charm Boy”( above) had a ty
o eels afc ee =< winning way with the women. ©
ete ey SUR oD
| Se * we ¥ fe}
| This towel (1.) bound the 5
: feet of the pretty victim. ct
| =
°
} : . ! . . ‘ 3
} a “ ” Kitty P ked. She was ‘ i him in a silent toast as he lifted the tiny glass, his large hand covering it completely.
7 Racy hil pein : ei pass whe Yh , band; but Hy “You were asking about my marriage,” Mrs. Pappas remarked. “Would you like to nm
é trying to be nice to the young stranger who claimed to know her husband; bu see our wedding picture?” r)
: : there was something about him that didn’t seem right. I The man said he would. nO
The young man seated on the sofa across from her shook his head. i _ As she started into the adjoining room, he took a cigarette from his pocket and calmly ON
“Some brandy?” she said. — it. ” oo: . ‘ ‘ F $
I ! “Yes, I'll have some brandy.” { ere it is,” said the young wife, returning with a large photograph in a heavy,
Kitty Pappas poured a glass for her visitor.and another for herself. She nodded to a brown frame. She pointed to a sad-eyed, slim brunette. “There I am. And that’s Mr. =
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38
CASE OF HANDSOME RAPIST
(Continued from page 35)
understand.” Pappas cried. “We have
no enemies. Catherine and I were mar-
ried in Egypt two years ago, but I’m
sure she had no enemies. I can think
of nobody who would want to harm
her. She was a gentle and devout wo-
man, Mr. Foley.”
“Then this might have been the work
of a maniac or house bandit.”
“But that couldn’t be,” insisted the
grocer. “Catherine must have been well
acquainted with the person . . . the man
who killed her.”
“What makes you think that?”
Pappas pointed to the coffee table
with the two cups and wine glasses and
plate of cookies. “They had something
to eat together. Catherine was too timid
ever to let a stranger into the house, to
say nothing of giving him food and
wine.”
Foley picked up a cigarette butt from
an ash tray on the coffee table and ex-
amined it closely. Then, taking care not
to smudge any possible fingerprints, he
showed it to Pappas. “Do you ever
smoke that brand?”
“No,” said Pappas, pulling a package
of a different brand from his pocket.
“My wife didn’t smoke at all,” he added.
There were three other butts in the
ash tray. Foley ordered a detective to
place them in an envelope for finger-
print examination.
Then turning back to Pappas, the
efficient district attorney said, “Is there
anything in the apartment that is miss-
ing or misplaced?”
“There’s that wedding picture of
ours,” replied the husband, pointing to
the photograph that lay on a chair in
front of the sofa. “We always kept that
on the dresser in the bedroom.”
Among the missing objects, Pappas
listed a wrist-watch, a bracelet, ring,
cigarette case. And he said that about
$50 in cash, which had been left in the
bureau drawer, was gone.
WHEN this routine police work was
completed, Foley resumed his ques-
tioning of the unhappy widower in an
effort to learn more about Kitty Pappas
and her relatives and friends.
Pappas answered questions calmly
and in detail. He said that his wife had
been a Sunday School teacher at St.
Sypridon’s Hellenic Orthodox Church,
179th Street and Wadsworth Avenue.
He reiterated that she was of the retiring
sort and preferred a life of comparative
solitude. “She seldom had neighbors in
the house,” Pappas added, “even when
I was home. And one of her best friends
—the wife of a priest in our church—
hasn’t been here more than a half dozen
times this year.”
“Then,” said Foley, “you are con-
vinced that Mrs. Pappas had been well
acquainted with the person who killed
her?”
“I’m positive,” snapped Pappas, “but
I can’t think of anyone she knew who
would do a thing like this.”
\
Their conversation was halted when
two men, clothed in white, passed
through the room with the wicker basket
containing the woman’s -body. Hock-
man, the medical officer, followed them. |
Foley walked to the door with him, and
asked, “What do you make of it?”
“Well, Chief,” said the quiet-spoken
Hockman, “unofficially, I’d say she had
been dead eight hours or more.”
“She was strangled to death. Is that
right?”
Hockman nodded __ professionally.
“The only cause of death. I’m sure of
that. Several small bones in her neck
seem to be broken. Whatever gripped
her had the strength of a gorilla.”
While the preliminary phase of the
investigation was thus unfolding in the
Pappas apartment, Acting Chief Inspec-
tor O’Connor and his men were busy
elsewhere in the building. Across the
hall from the scene of death, in another
apartment, O’Connor was talking to a
maid. “He was tall and thin and blond,”
the maid was saying. “I saw him come
out of Mrs. Pappas’ flat this very night.”
“About what time did you see this
man?” O'Connor wanted to know,
The maid rolled her eyes back
thoughtfully. “Now let me think,” she
said. “I had just finished doing the
dishes and I was out in the hall with the
garbage. That was 8 o’clock. Yes, sir.
I’m sure about the time.”
“Could you identify this man if you
saw him again?” the investigator asked.
“TI believe I could,” was the hesitant
reply.
AS Tuesday, February 4th, passed on
and became a significant date in
criminal history, New York City news-
papers Wednesday morning headlined
the brutal killing of the Bronx house-
wife. Husbands were uneasy as they
kissed their wives farewell and went .
off to work. The women folk in the
crowded, busy area north of Manhattan
kept their doors locked and refused to
speak to peddlers who came to sell their
wares.
Signs of sadness and mourning ap-
peared in the immediate vicinity of the
Pappas apartment on the Grand Con-
course, for the couple were both well-
known and respected in the community,
which was dominated by Greek families.
John Pappas went into seclusion at
his brother’s home. But/not before mak-
ing it plain that he would be available
at any time he could help the police.
The only pieces of evidence the in-
vestigators had to go on were the finger-
prints found on the wedding picture
and the wine glass and the vague state-
ment by the maid. Most of the prints
that were recorded were smudged, but
it was believed at least one would be
of value.
So while these were being checked
with Federal Bureau of Investigation
files in Washington and others through-
out the country, authorities concentrated
on tracking down the “tall, thin, blond”
man described by the maid.
What appeared to be a break devel-
oped the following day.
Into police headquarters was ushered
POLICE FILES
——
a 25-year-old Greek, John Zarvos. He
was am ex-convict from Sing Sing, on
parole. After several hours of question-
ing, he was lined up for scrutiny by the
maid. But she failed to identify Zarvos
as the man she had seen leave the
Pappas flat on the night of the murder.
-The case against Zarvos crumbled
even more when they compared his
fingerprints with those found on the
wine glass. There was no comparison
whatsoever. Zarvos was cleared of all
suspicion. ;
At the same time, discouraging re-
ports began trickling in from police in
other parts of the country. There ap-
parently were no prints which would
match those taken from the glass in the
Pappas flat. Disheartening as this was, it
told Bronx investigators one thing—
that the killer did not have a well-known
police record. He might have committed
misdemeanors, but in such cases the
criminal’s prints seldom were recorded
in master files. '
The Pappas case rapidly was piling
up against the dreaded dead end. Days
passed and still there was no break in
the mystery.
A powerful murderer had struck dur-
ing broad daylight in the teeming Bronx
and had vanished completely. The only
clue he had left behind—his fingerprint
—was thus far worthless.
He had committed murder with ap-
parently no other cause than robbery,
and he still was a free man—free to
prey on other unsuspecting women.
The man must be caught. He must
be punished.
This demand throbbed in the minds
of Bronx police; it drove them onward
with greater energy, made them deter-
mined to solve the ugly crime despite
the overwhelming obstacles.
Thus it was that Acting Chief Inspec-
tor O’Connor summoned to a “brain”
session in his office two of his ablest
assistants, Acting Captain John Arm-
strong and Lieutenant Edward Burns.
“We’ve got to start from scratch,
men,” said the grim-faced O’Connor.
“We're going to have to outsmart the
man we want ”
“It you ask me, Chief,” remarked
Armstrong, “I think the killer is just a
common bum who makes a racket out
of calling on women while their hus-
bands are at work. He’s the dirtiest kind
of rat.”
“Maybe so,” replied O’Connor, “but
how do you account for the fact that
Kitty Pappas admitted him to her home
and served him coffee and brandy?”
Lieutenant Burns spoke up. “I’d say
that he was a mighty clever worker, the
kind women would believe.”
The conversation was interrupted
when a desk sergeant entered O’Con-
nor’s office, holding before him a police
teletype dispatch. “Here’s a report just
come in from Philadelphia, Chief.
Thought you might want to look it
over.”
O’Connor snatched the dispatch and
glanced through it. A Philadelphia wo-
man had been attacked on that day—
February 12th—while her husband was
at work. The chief inspector rose. “This
POLICE FILES
is the sort of stuff we’re going to have
fo check up on. Our man might have
struck in Philadelphia. Let’s get going.”
WHILE talking to the Philadelphia
couple, the New York investiga-
tors again heard the description “tall,
thin and blond.” The husband told them
that he had picked up a hitch-hiker
three days previously at Elizabeth, New
Jersey.
The man had told him he was a
musician temporarily out of a job. The
husband gave him some money. During
their conversation, he said, he told the
hitch-hiker his address in the event that
the self-styled musician could pay back
the loan when more prosperous days
came.
From the husband’s description and
that given by his wife, it was deduced
that the hitch-hiker and her attacker was
the same man.
Was he the Pappas murderer? Were
New York police following up another
crime by the man they so desperately
wanted?
Questions that still belonged to the
realm of mystery.
But in the event they were on the
right trail, the testimony by the Phil
adelphia couple would prove valuable.
For police learned that the man who
attacked the woman was about six feet
tall, weighed between 180 and 190
pounds and bore a deep scar on his right
cheek. He had been wearing a blue-
green overcoat, blue suit and bright
yellow shoes. His face was pimply.
This description was dispatched im-
mediately in a nine-state police alarm.
Investigators combed the Philadelphia
area especially.
On February 17th, a Washington,
D. C. bartender’s wife was assaulted.
New York police immediately took part
in this case, hoping that it might develop
into another milestone in their manhunt.
On February 24th, the presumed trail
again swung northward. The wife of a
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tragedies.
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ed them-
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itness. A
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oak door
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the death
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fair trial
DeMaio’s
one more
opportunity ; an appeal to Governor Alfred
E. Smith.
The Governor, DeMaio was told early
the next morning, had refused to com-
mute his sentence saying that he would not
interfere in the case as the Court of Ap-
peals had given the trial a thorough review.
A most pitiful scene was enacted during
the early afternoon when DeMaio’s wife
and their three oldest children came to
visit him for the last time. The husband
and wife talked in whispers between sobs.
The children were told that “father is go-
ing on a long journey.”
At last a guard came and told the heart-
broken wife that the time had come when
she must leave. The woman had to be
taken away by force. With her three
youngsters clinging to her she took one
last look at her husband and left—never
to see him again, alive.
A short time later the condemned man
was prepared for the execution. He was
terribly nervous and appeared ready to
completely break down at any minute. He
still had hopes that Governor Smith would
intervene.
At two minutes after eleven o'clock that
night DeMaio was told for the last time
that all hope was gone. He was taken
from his cell and held by two strong
guards. They guided him through the little
oak door to the death chamber. A Roman
Catholic priest, the Reverend Father James
J. McCaffrey, walked by the man offering
prayers for his soul. DeMaio kept his
eyes fixed on a crucifix held by the priest.
S he entered the room where the elec-
tric chair sat he cried, “J can’t see why
I have to die! Frank Daley said I was in-
nocent. That should have been enough.
At least I should have been given another
trial to prove I’m not guilty so I could
live for my wife and kids.” Then he broke
down.
DeMaio.was quickly strapped in the
chair; the black hood adjusted and the first
surge of current entered his body at 11 :08
P.M. The man, who thought so much of
his wife and children only after he had
planned a robbery that cost the lives of
two defenseless men, was’ pronounced dead
ten minutes later.
The State, while not satisfied, had taken
a life for a life; two murdered—two elec-
trocuted. Also, two others dead by sui-
cide.
The saddest part of DeMaio’s death was
the fact that he left a devoted wife
with six small children, and all for about
$300, of which he was to receive but ten
per cent or $30—and he never got that.
True Detective Mysteries
The next: part of the case was Marino’s
trial which: occurred several months later.
He stood trial before the same judge’ that
had presided over the trials of Daley and
DeMaio. It had been freely predicted that
Marino would escape the chair due to the
very valuable service he had given the
State.
HE man had been indicted for murder
in the first degree by the grand jury but
the fact that he had turned State’s evi-
dence led most of us to believe that a plea
of leniency would be heeded by Justice
Tompkins. I had not asked the district at-
torney, but heard that a plea of guilty of
murder in the second degree would be ac-
cepted thereby saving the State the cost of
an expensive trial.
Marino, accompariied by his ‘attorney,
Frank A. Saparito, of Mount Vernon, was
taken into court for the trial. When taken
before the bar the district attorney turned
to Marino and said, “You have been in-
dicted for murder in the first degree. How
do you plead?”
Before Marino could answer his attorney
spoke. “We plead not guilty to the charge,
but we offer to plead guilty to a charge of
manslaughter.”
Justice Tompkins looked at the district
attorney and the latter said, “That is ac-
ceptable to the State.”
The man was brought back for sentence
several days later. Standing before the
bar, Marino’s attorney addressed the court,
“Your honor, we have pleaded guilty to
manslaughter in the first degree. We have
saved the State the expense of a long trial.
My client deserves leniency. Were it not
for him the State could not have convicted
those who committed the murders. My
client should be rewarded. I ask the court
to reward him as he would a servant who
had given honest and faithful service.”
“The court, of course,” Justice Tomp-
kins said, “has taken into consideration the
very valuable service rendered by the de-
fendant in the prosecution of Daley and
DeMaio. They could not have been con-
victed without his testimony; indeed, they
probably would never have been appre-
hended except for the information given
by this man; and the sentence of the court
is that you be imprisoned in the state
prison at Sing Sing for a term of five
Mrs. Marino was in court. Several
times while the court was speaking she
shot encouraging glances at her husband.
Once Marino tried to smile but quickly
turned his head back and faced the court.
As the actual sentence was pronounced, the
defraud.
ORIGINAL and TRUE.
Plagiarism
Stories have been submitted to Macfadden Publications which are copies of
stories that have appeared in other magazines.‘
Anyone submitting a plagiarized story through the mail and receiving and ac-
cepting remuneration therefor, is guilty of a Federal offense in using the mails to
The publishers of True Detective Mysteries are anxious—as are all
reputable publishers—to stamp out this form of theft and piracy and are advising
all magazines from which such stories have been copied of such plagiarism, and are
offering to cooperate with the publishers thereof to punish the guilty persons.
Notice is hereby given to all who have submitted stories that the same must be
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96
room. As we did a man lying in a bed
awoke with a start. It was Daley.
He sat up and rubbed his eyes. “I guess
you know what we want you for Daley,
don’t you?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said, “you've got me. It hap-
pened just about a month ago.”
“Get up and get dressed. You are under
arrest and we are taking you back to
Mount Vernon,” I told him. Daley dressed
within a few minutes and made no gesture
or attempt to escape, submitting to our
orders without complaint.
We extended our sincerest apologies to
the farmer and his wife for our abrupt
entry into their home and pointed out that
under the circumstances we had to work
as we did to prevent Daley from learning
that we were there. A man such as Daley,
we pointed out, accused of killing two men
in cold blood was a desperate character.
Daley was handcuffed to Lieutenant
Mattes and we started for Westport. Dur-
ing the drive back to the village Daley
Salvatore Melito, alias “Solly Cheese-
cake.”” For two years he escaped the
police drag-net, then an innocent
eleven-year-old school girl had to die,
that this gangster might be captured—
an accident in the exchange of shots
did not show much inclination to talk. He
would not admit that he was responsible
for the deaths of the two trolley men.
Several times he said he had not fired
the shots but admitted he had been mixed
in the hold-up. Twice he asked how we
had learned of his whereabouts but we did
not tell him.
Back in Westport we ate breakfast and
once Daley had something to eat his atti-
tude changed. Without much coaxing he
agreed to waive extradition which saved us
considerable trouble. Had he insisted upon
this formality we might not have been able
to take our prisoner back into New York
state for several weeks.
During the ride back to Mount Vernon
Daley made a complete confession. He
talked of his own volition and told us of
his part in the affair from start to finish.
“After we passed the car I knew we
had to pull the job soon before we got
much further as we would soon be in the
center of Mount Vernon where there
would be plenty of cops around,” he said.
True Detective Mysteries
*
~|
Jimmie Lipso. He was captured by
the police in 1929, in Salerno, Italy,
where he had fled after the murders.
Due to the death of Marino, the State’s
principal witness, he was not prosecuted
“We walked to the front of the car
_just as it started up the hill. I poked my
gat in the old man’s ribs and told him to
stick ’°em up. He didn’t move at first and
I told him again. This time he started to
put his hands in his hip pocket. I thought
he was drawing a rod so I let him have
it,” the killer went on.
“The motorman didn’t seem to know
what it was all about. I pushed my gat
at him and told him to stop the car and
hurry up about it. He asks what for so I
let him have it, too.
“The car stopped and I grabbed the old
man’s three bags and we hopped out.
Dopey had the Caddy right along side and
we all jumped in and beat it. The whole
thing happened in less than a minute.”
T didn’t take us very long to reach
Mount Vernon. After we booked our
prisoner he was taken before Judge Bern-
stein and formally arraigned, charged with
murder in the first degree. He was taken
to jail and locked up under heavy guard.
Things had certainly broken fine for us.
But two weeks before our case. appeared
hopeless. We were getting all sorts of
false tips and leads that were discouraging
and for awhile it looked as though we
never would get on the right track. I al-
most admitted to myself several times that
it had begun to look as though the murders
would never stand trial.
Then, we started to have some luck and
within two weeks we had captured the
three most important characters involved
in the case. There were but three more
to get and if the luck kept running I felt
that we would also get them.
That afternoon Inspector Coughlin, of
the New York force came to Mount Ver-
non after word had reached him that Daley
had been captured. We talked over the
case as it now stood and as he was leav-
ing he turned to me and said, “Captain your
department is to be congratulated. You
now have the tipster, the man who drove
the car and the man who did the killing.
The rest of the gang can be caught. That
is splendid work. It is a fine record for
Mount Vernon. I congratulate you.”
ARINO and DeMaio had been taken
to the county jail in White Plains
and just before Daley was to go there I
was talking to him and I asked, “Sup-
pose any of the passengers had moved.
What would you have done?”
“I’d have shot them too,” he said, show-
ing his heartless nature.
“I guess you know what this means,” I
said.
“Sure I know. The chair. I’m not
afraid to face what others have faced,”
he answered with a sneer on his lips.
A few weeks later both Daley and De-
Maio were indicted by the Grand Jury
for murder in the first degree and speedy
trials were planned. About this time the
two murders led to further tragedies.
Marino’s parents were found dead in their
New York City home. They killed them-
selves by inhaling illuminating gas. The
disgrace of their son had been too much
to bear, friends said. 8
Daley was tried first before Supreme
Court Justice Arthur S. Tomkins. The
trial came to a hasty termination once the
jury had the case for deliberation. Marino
had been the State’s principal witness. A
verdict of guilty of murder in the first de-
gree was returned and the killer was a few
days later sentenced to death.
A short time later DeMaio went to trial.
His case was also rather quickly disposed
of with Marino again the State’s star wit-
ness. DeMaio believed he would get off
with a jail sentence as he had not been at
the scene. His wife and her small children
presented a pitiful sight, but the jury re-
turned the first degree murder verdict
sought by the State and DeMaio was sen-
tenced to death.
Marino’s trial was delayed. He was in-
dicted but no attempt was made to hurry
the trial. In the meantime we did not let
down in our efforts to locate the three un-
captured bandits.
Finally the time came for Daley’s death.
The Court of Appeals refused to interfere
and he was led through the little oak door
that shuts off the death chair room from
the rest of the death house at Sing Sing.
Daley went to his death without a pro-
test. In fact, he held his nerve to the very
end. He was only twenty-two years old.
A few months later the time neared for
the execution of the sentence on DeMaio.
He became very nervous and irritable. He
paced his cell by the hour mumbling to
himself. The vision of the death chair
just a few feet away played on his mind.
He presented a much different picture than
had Daley during his last days.
DeMaio seldom spoke to anyone. He
ran to the front of his cell each time he
heard a guard or keeper enter the death
house. “Is there any news?” he would
ask and then when told that there was
none would turn away without saying any-
thing more.
Finally the day before the death sen-
tence was to be carried out arrived. De-
Maio had but twenty-four hours to live.
The Court of Appeals had not yet handed
down its decision. The looked-for decision
came that day. The Court of Appeals
ruled, as it had done in Daley’s appeal,
that DeMaio had been given a fair trial
and upheld the conviction. DeMaio’s
great array of lawyérs had but one more
opportunity ; 4
E. Smith.
The Gover:
the next mor
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A most piti
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Notice :
ORIGINS
98
prisoner’s wife lost her false courage and
began to weep.
Justice Tompkins continued to speak,
“Now, I want to take advantage of this
opportunity to congratulate the District
Attorney and his assistants and also want
to commend the very excellent work of
Captain Silverstein of the Mount Vernon
force and Lieutenant Mattes of the Mount
Vernon force, also. It was their intelligent
and clever work that resulted in the arrest
of Marino and then from Marino they
got information that led to the arrest of
Daley and DeMaio and then their trial
and conviction and they both paid the pen-
alty of death for the murder of the two
trolleymen in Mount Vernon.”
The court went on to say, “The county
is to be congratulated on the splendid
work of these two officers, Captain Silver-
stein and Lieutenant Mattes, and they were
ably assisted by Detectives Martin and
Donohue of the New York force. I want
to make public acknowledgement to them
for their faithful and efficient work.”
Marino was led away after he and his
attorney had thanked the court, to await
his transfer to Sing Sing to serve his sen-
ence. The man was taken to the famous
prison on the Hudson the following day.
While Marino was serving the first year
of his short sentence, which he never com-
pleted because death overtook him, an-
other of the bandits was unexpectedly cap-
tured.
E had been unable to pick up the
trails of Lipso and Mazzo who Ma-
rino had said were in the trolley with Daley
or Mileto who had been in the automobile
with Marino. All three had completely
vanished. The search continued but after
awhile I received word that the trio had
made their escape from the country and at
least one was believed to be in Italy.
The capture of the fourth man, Mileto
or Solly Cheesecake, happened on August
18, 1927, more than two years after the
crime had been committed. The sorry part
of the capture was that an eleven-year-
old school girl died as it took place. She
became the eighth person to die as a
direct or indirect result of the murders on
“The Owl.”
Detective Dan Cavone, of the New York
police, was walking along Mulberry Street
True Detective Mysteries
on the morning Mileto was captured. He
had no thoughts of this case. He was
working on another matter that the New
York police were trying to clear up.
Mileto happened to come out of a house
about a hundred feet from where the de-
tective was walking. The gangster knew
tH. detective, having had dealings with
‘him before.
Mileto jumped back into the doorway.
He became panic stricken. Dozens of
questions shot through his mind. He be-
lieved that at last the police had got on
his trail. At last he was going to answer
for his part in the trolley murders.
The detective was but a few feet away.
There were a number of people on the
street and he had not seen the bandit before
he jumped back into the doorway. Just
as the detective came about even with the
door he apparently moved toward it. This
miovement was made as he stepped around
a small child on the sidewalk.
Mileto saw the move. He lost his head.
He leaped at the unsuspecting detective and
let go with both fists. The detective fell
to the sidewalk. For a second he was dazed
by the unexpected attack.
The gangster started running up the
street. Detective Cavone pulled his ser-
vice revolver and gave chase. As the de-
tective gained on his man he called to him
to halt. As an answer Mileto drew a gun
and fired. For a few seconds that followed
there was a running gun battle.
Suddenly Mileto stopped, stumbled and
fell. He had been hit in the leg. The de-
teciive pounced on his man a second later
and quickly subdued him.
Then it was discovered that a little girl,
Ruby Gianiettino, on her way to school,
was lying on the sidewalk. She was dead..
A stray bullet from the fight had gone
through her head.
The bandit was brought back here to
Westchester for trial. He was indicted
for murder in the first degree by the
grand jury in October and went to trial
the following month. He was convicted
of murder in the second degree and sen-
tenced to prison for from twenty years to
life.
During the trial it was brought out that
Mileto went over the ground the night be-
fore the hold-up and that he was to pull
the trolley pole from the overhead electric
feed wire in the event that the car did
not stop. Daley’s quickness with his gun
eliminated the necessity of Melito’s part in
the hold-up.
Shortly after he was taken away to start
his sentence we received word that Marino
was dying in prison. He was suffering
from hasty consumption, we learned.
OVERNOR SMITH was petitioned to
pardon the man and when the State’s
chief executive learned from prison phy-
sicians that the star witness in the case
had but a short time to live, he signed the
pardon. Marino was released and had
been out of Sing Sing but a few months
when the prediction of the physicians came
true. He died in New York.
From that point on until last Summer
the case closed. The terrible murders on
“The Owl” had resulted in eight deaths.
The bandits received about $300, as was
pointed out before, and eight persons died.
That means a death for each $40 or less.
Last Summer word was received from
Italy that Lipso had been arrested there
and was being held on our charge of mur-
der. Because of an Italian law a citizen of
Italy can not be extradited for a crime in
another country. It is possible, however,
to go there and prosecute the criminal in
the Italian courts.
At first we began to make preparations
for the trial. District Attorney Frank
Coyne, who has succeeded Arthur S. Row-
land, was to sail when the plans were sud-
denly changed and the trip abandoned. It
was realized that with Marino, the state’s
chief witness, dead, that it would be diff-
cult to obtain a conviction.
- The Italian authorities were informed
of the decision and the matter dropped.
We later learned that Lipso was tried on
a charge originating there that caused his
arrest and was sentenced to a long term
in prison which he is now serving. If he
ever gets out and should return to this
country the case may be reopened.
The sixth member of the bandit gang
has never been caught or even heard from
since the crime. It is believed that he too,
may be in some foreign country. This
man is Mazzo. We still hope to get him
and I feel that someday the arm of the law
will reach cut and bring this fugitive to
justice.
The Riddle of the Woman and the Butcher Boy
in his last moments with indifference.
Kelley soon adapted himself to prison
routine and rapidly became an unprotest-
ing cog in the great machine of peniten-
tiary life, known officially only by a num-
ber. But as the day for his scheduled end
drew near, he was removed to the death
cell. Other men also were sentenced to die
and, one by one, he watched them file past
his cell on their way to the thirteen steps.
One by one he called a “So long, old pal!”
to them and waited breathless, for word
of their passing. For tradition decrees
that no one on his way to the execution
chamber shall be told “Good-bye.” Noth-
ing shall be done or said to destroy the
faint hope that still lingers of a last-min-
ute change in the stern attitude of Fate,
which would snatch them from death.
(Continued from page 47)
ONDEMNED men, placed in one of
the death cells of condemned row and
left to a solitary meditation upon their ap-
proaching doom, are given everything pos-
sible to ameliorate the rigors of their sit-
uation. Food that no other set of convicts
enjoys is provided for them, phonographs
or other musical instruments are permitted
them, books, magazines and writing ma-
terials are furnished them—every privilege
possible is extended them.
Kelley entered upon his last stretch of
visible life with an outwardly brave spirit,
an affected unconcern, but the guards no-
ticed-that he spent much time in medita-
tion and that when they came upon him
unawares he frequently was found staring
into vacancy, his countenance wearing a
deeply troubled expression. The dread
specter of approaching doom darkened his
hcrizon more and more deeply.
Thirteen days before the time set for
his end the Supreme Court acted. As sud-
denly as the great tragedy that enveloped
him, he was saved from the frowning gib-
bet that stood grimly waiting for him.
The court declared the jury that tried
Kelley had erred in finding him guilty of
murder in the first degree, because there
had been no satisfactory showing of pre-
meditation or even of motive, and that he
should have been found guilty of man-
slaughter. It crdered that he be returned
to Los Angeles and resentenced, the lower
court being directed to impose on him the
penalty provided by law for manslaughter.
The punishment for that crime in Cali-
fornia is from one to ten years. All sen-
tences under the
minate, the trial j
convicted one im;
law.” When the |
served the minim
term of punishme:
slaughter charge «
board considers
the trial, the pri:
duct in the penit
nent facts and fix:
prisonment.
Within two we:
the scene of his
suddenly had turn
When he stood
justice to receive
leged offense, his
courtroom with a
“Your Honor,’
ask that this case |
pared to prove
have the evidenc:
large group of w
almost any one «
establish our clair
“Two of these
the slain woman.
have been for a |:
is not guilty of 1
has been fastenec
the privilege of
world and to this
the freedom that
him.”
Kelley by this +
a year in the s
Quentin. During
informed him, tl
dered woman, C
Lewis, together w
“Bill” Kelley, a
relentless war o
shrouded the case
less efforts, the <
to be spread befo
The court, Su
Aggeler, continue
arrival of certail
San Quentin and
the opportunity t
tion that had dev
a course of action
The defense co
intervening time.
had fifteen witne
the court and “r
The testimony of
serted, had been
trial as “too scan
They persuade:
office to question
who unhesitating
that Kelley had b
false swearing, w
nouncement cam
the investigation
ley’s trial, with
jury charges, wz
NE of the
Sullivan, to!
attorney that she
lus home the afte
hours before the
found stretched «
urious boudoir.
Mrs. Grace Br
slain woman, ap}
ney, Buron Fitts
for her life, ass
death threat.
é
nvitation was
wnation that
therefore un-
ination.of the
know who
The Malleys
erful and in-
iaven. James
w of Edward
pparently re-
perhaps the
and the own-
's store, from
tortune. His
live grounds,
ing fountains,
New Haven,
s of the uni-
on page 73)
in
on
th
i DETECTIVE
Wendul g Bene, wr » SLEC
IG-TIME jobs take nerve, an
that’s what you guys ain’t got.”
The big man’s lips curled su-
perciliously as he glared at the
two men before him. His inscrutable
black eyes were contemptuous of his visi-
tors’ whining deference. It gave him
perverse pleasure when men cringed be-
fore him.
“How do you think I got where I am
today?” he went on smugly. “Take a
good look around this apartment. Every-
thing high-class. What this furniture
alone cost me you mugs’ll never make
as long as you live. Why? Because
youre penny-ante guys, an’ guys like
that ain’t got no nerve. If you had, you’d
be climbing into the big-time. Take a
good look at this suit I’m wearing. Feel
it. Know how much I paid for it? A
hundred ’n’ seventy-five bucks! An’ the
shirt I got on—ten bucks!”
* The big man paused dramatically. His
fleshy lips remained curled as the two
men uttered envious sighs and mumbled
ejaculations of wonder and _ incred-
ulity.
“An’ I got a whole closet full of suits
an’ everything—-thousands of bucks’
worth,” he went on. “Why? Because I
quit being one of the small-fry a long
time ago. Now, in this part of Harlem
my word is liw. Every racket here is
mine.”
NTT - 2. j/ +
e WX ( eS t ) W/é ee /1 }
a " f C) AS
Lh g G LGW » O/ 1L9/ J =O
Au the while this man was speak-
ing, his listeners’ strangely pale faces
were twitching nervously; their shifty
eyes kept glancing about the room. The
big man knew the reason for it.
The younger and slimmer of the two
gestured with a trembling hand as he
mumbled in a thin, high-pitched voice,
“We got nerve like you say, Boss, if we
gotta chance.”
The speaker's companion, full-faced,
with a high, glistening forehead and s
delicate cleft| chin, nodded a vigorous
agreement to the argument.
“Listen,” the big man said at length,
“it’s okay by me if you think you really
got the nerve to go through with it. Do
it right, an’ you'll get away with at
least two grand. You'll need some-
body to help you who can keep his mouth
shut, so ll give vou a right guy. But—”
his voice dropped to a whisper—‘if you
ever open your traps that I gave you
this tip...”
* * *%
It was a minute past 2 a. M., and the
Mount Vernon, New York, trolley, near-
ing the end of the line, was gradually
getting rid of its passengers. An hour
before, the car had been almost full; now
only four passengers were left.
Raglan I. Nicholl, the motorman, was
whistling a popular tune. A smile bright-
ened his pleasant features as he saw at
the stop station ahead of him the familiar
stalwart figure of Jacob Schumacker, the
white-haired 62-year-old inspector and
collector on the Mount Vernon-New Ro-
chelle trolley line, a part of the West-
chester Electric Railroad = Company.
Every night at this time and place the
inspector would hop aboard with his
bags of coin and currency.
The trolley came to a creaking, squeal-
ing halt.
“How’re you taking the heat tonight,
Jake?” Nicholl greeted as the older man
swung aboard with his receipts.
“Fine, fine,” Schumacker replied, toss-
ing the half-dozen well filled bags onto a
bench beside the control box. “Only on
warm mights like this you begin to feel
the weight of these bags.”
The motorman laughed — good-hu-
moredly. ‘You must be getting old, then,
Jake. Never heard any one complain
about money being too heavy before, I
haven't.”
Neither man, with his back to the in-
side of the car, was aware of two darkly
clad figures striding deliberately to. the
cab. The two seated passengers, as-
suming the pair were getting off at the
next stop, gave them little or no atten-
tion,
As the man in the lead stepped down
into the eab, the motorman turned his
head and slowed the car down for the
oe > ~~ wal ie > Le ae
7); NE (2nd) 72.
DANIEL, Webster, black, electrocuted Sing Sing (New York County) on Aug. 21, 19))7.
"Two policemen were shot and wounded, one seriously, early yesterday by a holdup man
fleeing from a Harlem bar and grill where he had taken $9))9 from the owner. He was
captured later by a police captain who brought him down with a flying tackle,
Arraigned in felony court on charges of elonious assault, robbery and violation of
the Sullivan Law, the prisoner, Webster Daniel, 36...was held without bail for a
further hearing. Daniel, the police said, fired eight shots at the patrolman who
were chasing him in a radio car, Patrolman George Hunter, 33...was struck twice in
the shoulder, and once in the chest. He was taken to Knickerbocker Hospital in
serious condition, Patrolman Charles Anderson, ll, of 2378 Webster Avenue, the
Bronx, was shot in the right arm, treated..,and released, As the police reconstructe
the story, Daniel visited his estranged wife, Lorretta, 26, mother of two children,
at her homees,about one aemey and beat her with a blackjack. He left her home and
got a elS-caliber army automatic pistol, Police said he planned to return and kill
the wife. Daniel then entered Tom Farrell s Bar and Grille.ehad two drinks and
then after most of the customers had left,”announced it was a holdup, Daniel, the
police said, then struck Mr, Farrell on the head with the blackjack and grabbed a
canvas bag containing the $99 and fled on footedeThe two policemen saw Daniel flee-
ing and gave chases" TIMES, New York, 10-11-19))6 (2):2.)
1 foleby
ade.
;
t , a
Ce Ghae)s ube 38
rape ore
L, at the @e
qr
“#eary
“yhe Het to tine four Pididred ver
Lares QURoti Tee of brgat and yy het provespina @ate
tesele Pty tobe pugiata Ine, ats as” pong’ asthe |
Copier smooth give the ister. +
“Sal vd Woearer- Lio west, ff
srit on Qe boilers, dug the «
the graier-frrtaces
ren ga be git the "ae
soy shaw . er theta
ter febr Rowan the Som,
< on Otc ahile the:
oe able septa uy,
S.cumigh |
ne: .-Dhva, and How’ Byind’ evideatly ‘ve.
affogt mate aentions f
~ fot of4taean
hed wawed treet 4 ~
ar Ab wend
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efea. th
whe
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ae ry tiphit + i “4
The Chgtan
‘oy
By
it
thy
ite 4 <
‘fe prepared te beheld eo:
Altetation ip tis-appe prance. *
Ot. man, al" haidened and
d great an
Prom « s'cut, athletic. |
: severe. countenance, he had |
' grdey.to be liwe aire than a sheleton; wanted and }
: Lepisia, and witha vecgut’ am hortified edprod-
sou wv bie (dee! distressibg-t6 behold... Ic was evi. |
dant to bee. that the proper wad Unprepard te, j
meet hid Lale—pbysircally; we.
bed a bosror of d
¢ ur allay,’ Ete: entered: {reel
, Sith thoeg who
Calace'mbch ih Gnewer ta the numerous questions
which weie put wo him-..The.subtatades of hiv ye- |
masks was thar hie was guiliires of any istantion be °
of, take the life of be poor'wife, although he ed aived ’
7'tbatihe! lealimony Bgoiret him wae truly and faith--,
a SER | gen,
trial. ied
‘At con
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mya!
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+ ons faye
mt
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i
caneos wes the occ
P - yeme abered having had -
Wolds’ with his-wi'e—thet Ke bed gives ber
that she hed struggied Avith bie—that -
| yepe ated hus bratal ence again’ gad.
bé diclered:that he. ween master of bi
the tume, and knew not whet he was doing
were) employed. ty German colpsnour; spperently « ¢ery bomane
a toe. ted woithy mm -eniered’1ato eduvereation with the-
‘s boat left, and” princner af she dvur-of hie ceil, and exhorted hia |
these, Mowed “to betooe calm and give al) -hie-thooghts'to mis |
Jeske, with: God: - He enrtetded, ater a while, -im sutdurag
‘eboat- fang
{
« Made ber ap- pe
am the eter. © load
athe right had - *'*y
to their o@ a Age
“te port aad 69%
the aterbpant, hs
ly changed» '*™
te
a raft, Wan | bie fertings from therr. inte Beaty, and whee tahed
> from bis <6!) tuto the upp apertmon: of the jail, .
by phe
erm, Waa taben W the bow, and) 64:
querer of 2 be
prteong ® iverdd,
“ge bbs stots date she sky
te) eeseteded,
.
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aE RS
It, puseeed
wd ha fobuning fete wf Oa ms hel
se ‘ i tf free a3 ee
le jue before aad pl ae the gh Wend | pleas
ran lenid, | ptker thinge yaite anah.”
uv , naniong unge yaite ag ah..
ousd loyaof the . ond. boufid
weftee chen of ba Nesp” Woe ot
q
1. BErVIRG0, 80 Qone Witt en.
veiral)s mran—and thet he ! -
fing @bich no effort could shake |
ween At ine door of hie eel, and | Modest .
~-- EW wan
and tbat he had 4 fais am japaria! ar
3!
~
% sor privliegs
fur td enases af- Javan:
hat ‘you
Whow he had core toon f
ad, idefie,
ment | it your eebite ~~
Datied in wm somunon dodiery i pee
sWorene, -whirh i an 4 diljreiculated teen? |
Bindi -(Webhatriou pend awaken [hp atintracian and +”
grautade Uf your counjrymen, wi! Wud in’ a lead degree
ahaa ve Pepi let eote ber pring + osyit
+ Yew eng net have beta ire eunctopar
Pee the w hulg eryilizes ‘world ‘and $
wae worthy of mian’e highem embi_ien.. while tbe
Oded f6 YoOr ernie lew, 4t hewn: 4 he paed your teel-or. .-*
Gattied your mind , but Bas eniler inte Preveloe tha: rare .-
Wrecmbbepe of HUugMiegs thet oniun wif wept with
PY Fae and jaitg inant) whack. hove an-
bat buen wilt be (he awacd of yodr bw;
O84 wt ibe
mente @ilh
~ Bet you
dat yonranuchence
‘Syateyyaaa ha
Ptovlé of viber natjons, we; harvard nmthiag
f to a prided pe . 1
«you pare frmip rer steb- . ”
ne yom bear. bes no Yang
; Wad the same’ *
i he vai profex.
) tihghe«t Im di
-Peequcs,.
h Ine
iystory by
“%
ie vf
Hhaibes
©} gon have con —
A-oy overterniog
erpughi anes |
Dily of Autions. -: .
ike werld has.
iffiers of preje-.
tthiowt dbe Ging”
ar Viedom and
have pe. ege-
Seven ato the -
oo of which-
thae thai,m:..
+ de
dpopetreted the entrqnce
wily wf patios, the @qungeq
> welfare the wnicr ;>3
nding. Yurive se the flag of
durably Tuscsit
MONET aH oe rhe, Boater. 4 ie ie
‘tm eonclarton, perex pate wey that, pe none of your...
country mes eam mor fully Sppreciate the velpe of your
J aa wingerely
«941 fours -wejfare; eng to request
of © duiable menor of your visis
‘Mmeb) of ibe Herimetion fe which we
Rerviers ind private chasacter, 1:
=. 1 bo bte-g ‘you the highest seward what
thet ef 4-e dele nation's grainudd, .
-.* 5, We vemain, Bir, ydur ea
Signed by obi ae american Marcha
- Unerab Stirtes Fes
at Hore Kove, Bé
Mh te” tyne eibie “fur
CUM ccm ly Eupreceive. of my profon
Yer), Aattering praise which 500 19) 70
Bees nd gerorveity have besty aed ame ia your |
CoM MUniee oe of ike 4b inet . iehc &
Ig the @tectiion of my dace a6 « ande¢ eof the
pact Indie Syuacrue, and wiih sped reference tea the’
miseeRn-to Jegap. Sm Uncon-ewud of Baring diac
soe ben might have-deen erpecien off me ag: pales,
eficer. 2 * , rex
*. 2 ¥e too imunial of which you opeahiwill be received
WHR the Bighest ¢raificaiion and mb eotidrehn with be -
OMY med te treasare id Os @ memoriel of the févere
thes tesber hed received from hie felis reveatsymee bin
Cane: i Ss et a 45 pogo s
: Biya from chow with wade Ligve .°
-)OCr name upon tke Bistery of. the ‘ e
prodigg) hind.)
Je arperanng |
Wrev-en long and on agieeadiy
Beye (B+ O6 atoll meet ager im amr
Fy; and wih this pleedems aatidip:
GrvecM with every felng Of sincere |
yo» Your ebtiged nad most »
ALmost 4 Favat Joro—a |
the Petersburg. Bapreve common
ig. ender tne éa'e of Faraville
Gfirey cecerred in our lowe yoo .
terrect,.ebich, vbough resulting A the
died coveed mush m-rrimens
pis ‘
Pe
n 3 ° é eo ya “3
KIO nGballeage to moet (ong at tha tore of -
Mr. MA Huey, firing 30 escidce ppati4 as the
bens 7 Of engeting, and attaching
‘- the,note, The writers of the §
| Ube fact shat 9 dificult
bad
ly ignos
oe aa
particp, Garten,” wre!
ea ebéve menion
there is r ‘ ieee
teplied, >.
grt bp Wen nae a
betel | romarted :
eet
ve
ate
We'rhes had beep consul
meters
asst 40 beh fu
Acide nad pot bere ore to
NSS SNe % 1 Rxdqena..
SF
your miveroy -..0 56
C eoditry, you -hawe’ >... !::
John Pappas, right, husband of the garroted former Sunday
school teacher, found his wife dead and reported the crime to
the police. By the time the body was removed, below, investigat-
ing officers found themselves in possession of various odd clues,
among them the fact that an aspirin bottle had been set out on
the Pappas kitchen table. Did this mean that the murder was
the work of the “Aspirin Bandit,” a burglar who had gained
notoriety in the Bronx by asking his victims for aspirin before
he robbed them; or was it meaningless as, perhaps, the silver fox
fur found hanging between the bedroom window and the Vene-
tian blinds as if it were a signal? Jewels and cash had been
stolen, but police were not sure of a robbery motive.
ADVENTURES
jumbo got out a package from a cedar
chest and unwrapped it carefully.
“There!” he said at last, in a pride-
ful voice. “Now you can understand
why I wanted you to see this.”
I stared down at the small painting
in his hands. It looked like a Goya.
Automatically I asked, “A real
Goya, truly?”
Farnswolfe nodded. “I bought it
just last week,” he told me in almost
a whisper. “A Spanish refugee smug-
gled it in through Mexico.”
I SAT there, looking down at the
painting. For all I knew it might
have been genuine, but somehow I
had a feeling that it wasn’t. It just
didn’t reach out and do things to me,
the way a real Goya, or any honest
painting, will. Almost without think-
ing, I said:
“Then I don’t suppose you have any
papers for it?” .
Farnswolfe’s voice was almost
shocked as he answered, “Of course
not! This was stolen from one of the
museums during the Spanish civil
war. Naturally, I won’t ever be able
to exhibit it publicly, but it will afford
me a great deal of private pleasure.”
I nodded, thinking to myself that
the money he had paid out for it
would have kept a half-dozen Amer-
ican artists going for a year, probably.
Suddenly, I heard my own voice
saying:
“A relative of a friend of mine
brought in some paintings from
France the other day. I haven’t seen
them yet, but I understand he has a
couple of Degas and a Renoir. Only
he’s being very secretive about the
whole thing. Something about not
having government permission — to
bring them out, or whatever it is.”
Farnswolfe eyed me with sudden
interest that wasn’t physical. “That
means he can’t sell them through the
regular channels, to dealers or mu-
seums,” he told me in a businesslike
tone. “He’ll have to dispose of them
to private collectors like—like myself,
for example. Naturally, considering
the risk involved, the price would
have to be low.’ He stopped, and
eyed me thoughtfully for a long mo-
ment. Then he said, ‘Do you suppose
you could manage to get me in con-
tact with this man who has the paint-
ings?”
I shrugged. “Possibly. You know
how those people are. Suspicious of
everything and everyone. Tl try,
though.”
It was the next day that I went to
see Greg again in his studio. Almost
before he had had time to say “hello”
I told him:
“Tl think I have an order for you,
Greg.”
When he looked at me in surprise, 1°
hastened to explain. I told him about
the party the night before, and Farns-
wolfe and his Goya, and my own story
to him about a “friend” with paintings
brought out of France.
“It’s up to you to supply the Renoir
or Degas or whatever,” I finished at
last.
It was a long time before Greg
answered me, and then he said in a
weary voice, “You, too, Joan? Good
God, does everyone have to make a
prostitute out of art!” .
“Listen!” I snapped angrily. “I’ve
had plenty of time to think this over.
You, yourself, told me often enough
that most of the people who spend
terrific prices for paintings are greedy
fools caring nothing about art! Well,
| do care about art! I care enough to
'RIME
CRIME DETECTIVE
75
HIS LAST HITCH
George Cvek, the young hitchhiker who took so many innocent
women for a ride, loses some of his characteristic defiance as
he is placed on the road to the electric chair following his
conviction and sentence for the murder of Catherine Pappas.
be willing to do about any damned
thing to enable me to keep studying ~
. and painting!”
I paused, drew a long breath, and
then went on:
“I know you hate doing fake paint-
ings. But I hate parading my naked
‘body in front of a lot of strangers just
as much. You do forgeries of Old
Masters now, and get next to nothing
for them.’ Well, maybe between the
two of us, you painting them and me
selling them, we’ll be able to make
enough to really devote our time to
decent, honest work!”
It was a strange argument, I know.
But I was more interested in results
than in arguments.
Anyway, during the next week
Greg did a fake Renoir on doctored up
canvas; and I sold it to Farnswolfe for
about 25 per cent of what it would
really have cost had it been genuine.
It was the greedy way he chiseled
down on the price that stilled, once
and for all, any moral feeling I might
have had about cheating him.
DE TE en,
I explained, as I did later to all my
other customers, that the man who
had brought the painting into the
country didn’t dare to appear—that
he was still too nervous and sus-
picious.
» It was a story that went down
easily.
That sale to Farnswolfe was only
the beginning. The proceeds from it
were enough to enable me to give up
modelling at night. But I didn’t de-
vote that extra time to evening
classes.
I invested some of the money from
that first sale in clothes, a smart suit
for the day, and two or three good
evening dresses.
Then I started going out—going to
the kind of affairs where I could meet
the right type of sucker.
There were plenty of wealthy men
of Farnswolfe’s type around, if you
took the trouble to hunt them out.
And there were women, too, who were
just as greedy—and ignorant—when
it came to getting bargains in art.
< A-C-F By S_
tat A PAL
CVEK, George, white, electrocuted NYSP (Bronx)
ve
ee
New York police were confronted by one of the
most baffling crimes in local annals when
pretty, brunet Mrs. Kitty Pappas, 29, was found
in the bedroom of her fashionable Bronx apart-
ment, strangled with a necktie. She was clad
only in girdle and chemise. The detective at
right indicates the kitchen towels used to bind
the young matron’s hands and feet. Neighbors
said they had found the pretty victim uncom-
municative and had seldom seen friends enter
her apartment. Yet police found tea and cookies
set for two on a table in the living room and a
maid in a neighbor’s apartment told of seeing
a tall, thin man at the Pappas door shortly be-
fore the time set as the murder hour.
STARTLING DETECTIVE
(77 |.
a
|
NLY one light glowed in the
O darkened apartment and_ it
bathed the form of the partially
‘lothed “Egyptian Princess.” She lay
exposed on the bed’s silken counter-
pane like a lovely sacrifice in a weird
ritual.
A torn dish-towel was. knotted
around her satiny throat. Her gown
was pulled high in billowing folds.
Her hands were tucked under her
back, and her slim ankles were lashed
together with the other half of the
corded towel.
But her wistful face was not con-
torted in agony by the strangler’s
noose. It was'strangely peaceful. Ex-
pectant eagerness was hinted by her
parted lips. And it was emphasized
by the silver fox fur hanging like a
signal in the window. From where
she lay its blurred outline was barely
visible through the Venetian blind. A
summons to a waiting suitor, perhaps?
Or a warning?
Except where her body hollowed it,
the bed was as smooth as if it just had
been made. On the floor beside her
lay a man’s handkerchief, also her own
pocketbook, its contents strewn about.
The dresser drawers were open—some-
one had rummaged through them.
Hours later, when the police came,
evidence of a struggle was to be found
in the adjoining living-room—a lamp
knocked off an end-table, a small
bloodstain and a bent nail file on a
settee and the winsome victim’s white
mules kicked off on the carpeted floor
in the middle of the room.
Evidence also was to be found that
she’ had been entertaining a guest—
apparently an intimate friend or a
relative—before sudden and violent
death claimed her. Two cups that had
contained coffee, two brandy glasses
with an amber sediment in their bot-
toms and some cakes and a water glass
were on a tea-table near one of the
shoes. Oddly enough these things on
the table had not been disturbed by
the struggle
More important, the police were to
find a bottle of aspirin tablets on a
dining table in an alcove at one end
of the living-room.
UT now it was as dark as a tomb
in the living-room and these things
were not discernible. A heavy silence
hung on the apartment. Through it
ran the endless whir of motor cars on
the street three floors below.
Thousands of miles from her birth-
place—Alexandria, Egypt—the shy
and gentle girl was alone with death
under a dim light in the bedroom of
her Bronx apartment at No. 1032
Grand Concourse in New York City.
The date was February 4, 1941, and
it was almost eleven o’clock that night
before grim-faced detectives swarmed
7
a
weightily into the bedroom and looked
down at her loveliness.
“She’s been dead at least eight
hours,” said the Medical Examiner,
Doctor Charles Hochman, as he felt
her cold, rigid limbs. “She probably
died right here.” ;
His eyes traveled idly over her body,
then fixed suddenly on her right toe.
Pointing, he said: “Looks like a blood
smear on her stocking.”
The officers nodded silently.
Detective Captain Charles Arm-
strong eased through the circle as
Doctor Hochman turned back to his
meticulous examination. The solemn
officers looked at the Captain inquir-
ingly. Armstrong said quietly: “Who
found her?”
A detective produced his note-book,
Mrs. Catherine Pa-
pas: Her husband
insisted she’d nev-
er open the door
to a stranger
The lunch on the
tea-table and the
wedding picture
on the chair in the
Papas apartment
looked like hot
clews to the police
of the Il-fated beauty, |
“returned fro
Mrs. Pappas sat next to him as they drank the coffee.
While he smoked several cigarettes she showed him her
wedding picture and they chatted casually. His manner
was engaging and his conversation glib, but on occasion
the young matron could see that the man’s eyes had a
peculiar gleam, Uneasy, she began to move unobtru-
sively away from him on the settee. There was some-
thing frightening about him which she couldn’t fathom. | 3
She had begun to regret her impulsive invitation when «yi
she felt his arm about her neck. © ,
As she began to struggle to force him to relinquish —
his hold, she tried to scream. “Once, she managed a
shrill cry but the vise-like pressure about her neck was
tightening unbearably. She could see the man’s face,
leering and demoniac, in one breathless moment as sh :
struggled wildly. Then his other hand went around her.
throat and she felt herself sinking into darkness. As if in
a dream she felt her-.arms: being pinioned behind her:
back and she seemed to be drifting through the air. . .
For a man of 49, John Pappas walked spryly as he left '
the Eighth Avenue subway station to walk the few”
blocks to his home. re aS
It was always pleasant, he thought, to come home to:
Kittie, his beautiful young wife. He had many thing.
to be happy for. His wholesale coffee business which’ :
he had operated for 25 years was prospering. He led a
Nal pleasant existence, just the kind that any
THE CURIOUS——
and the fearful gather about
the police station where the
authorities took George Cvek
for questioning after arrest.
»
i
f
&
Px
him. He noticed one of '
: iddle-aged man would enjoy. :
A faint smile flickered on his
usually placid countenance as his
“thoughts traveled back to 1938 and
-his trip to Alexandria
As he softly opened the 4
dim light of the public hall f.
rilluminated the interior Sof 4
apartment. ‘His sharp ‘ey. “were
ckly attracted to an overturned
lamp on the floor of the living
toom. Excitedly he switch on,
the foyer light and glanced wild-
eyed over a scene of
@ confusion. A feeling o
prehension gripped
A
wife’s white shoes
near the door of the.
th the indelible ex-
ession of death. d Pap-
® pas walked haltin
a
sand rushed frantically
Sout’ of the apartmen
Rudolph Alberdo, the f
Superintendent of the ~~
Me
a Ar Rn
building, was notified of the horrible dis-
covery and he in turn called the police.
District Attorney Samuel Foley of the
Bronx, and Deputy Chief Inspector John J.
O’Connor in charge of Bronx detectives, ar-
rived shortly afterward. Assisted by several
of his men, Inspector O’Connor examined the
scene.
The woman’s body, O’Connor noted, was
clad only in chemise, girdle and silk stockings.
It lay awkwardly sprawled on the large
double bed, the head resting on one of the
pillows. A strip of kitchen towel was wound
tightly about her neck:and another piece of
the same towel bound her legs. Her hands
were knotted securely behind her back with
a man’s cheap, brown necktie. Mrs. Pappas’
pretty face bore several slight scratches and
on her throat were fingernail marks, evidence
of the brute force which pressed the life from
her body.
The condition of the living room gave rise
to scores of questions regarding the episode
that had been enacted before the crime. A
round, modernistic tea table contained a wine
glass, two used cups and saucers, and a plate
‘of cookies. On one of the cushioned chairs
in a corner stood the Pappas’ wedding photo,
its many smiling faces ironically out of place
in the presence of horrible tragedy. Two faint
blood splotches on the living room settee and
a small table lamp which lay broken on the
floor were the only indications that a struggle
had taken place.
Under one of the pillows of the living room
couch, detectives came across a bent nail file
which led them to believe that the woman
might have used it as a weapon against her
assailant. A minute search of the bathroom
uncovered a blood-stained towel found in the
trap of the toilet bowl.
The lock of the apartment door had not
been tampered with, it was determined, and
the windows of the apartment were com-
pletely shut. The discovery of six handbags
scattered throughout the rooms and obviously
pawed through, pointed convincingly to a
robbery as a motive for the horrible crime.
A further search revealed that an inexpensive
gold crucifix, about $50 in cash and a $200
diamond ring were missing.
One other clue which was later to prove of
great significance was found on the table in
the dinette. It was a Partly-filled aspirin
RAMPAGE OF THE
VALIANT——
housewife who repelled
murderous attack of a
fiend. Mrs. M. Snyder
fought and chased Cvek.
bottle and at first thought revealed nothing
more than that Mrs. Pappas had sought relief
from a painful headache.
Assistant Medical Examiner Charles M.
Hochman, in a. preliminary inspection of the
body, declared she had been dead from 8
to 18 hours. He could not definitely establish
whether she had been criminally attacked until
a complete autopsy was performed.
Photographs of thé three-and-one-half room
apartment were taken and the several articles
of importance,found in the rooms were re-
moved for further scientific investigation.
Inspector O’Connor turned his attention to
those persons familiar with the slain woman.
’ Taken to the Morrisania Station for ques-
tioning, the dark-haired Greck declared that
he had had his breakfast in the kitchen and
that the tea table had not been set up when he
left the apartment at nine o’clock that morning.
He had gone directly to his business at 728
Ninth Avenue, spent the entire day at work
and arrived home about ten o’clock that night.
Pappas told them of their marriage in Alex-
andria, Egypt, on April 30, 1939. A few weeks
later, he said, they came to the United States.
The middle aged merchant first came to this
country 30 years ago. Shortly after his ar-
rival he set up the wholesale coffee business
and, one year later, sent for his brother,
Aristedes, who joined him as a partner.
The lean, olive-skinned man spoke in a life-
less voice. Two sharp lines cut deep in either
cheek and extended from his dark mustache
to his eyes, making him look older than his
49 years.
“We've lived in this apartment three
months,” Pappas said. “I can’t understand how
anyone could have gotten into the house. My
wife always kept the door locked and never
let anyone in until she saw through the peep
hole who it was.”
“Please don’t misunderstand, Mr. Pappas,”
Deputy Chief O’Connor said, “but did you and
your wife have any arguments recently?”
Papas looked up. (Continued on page 99)
New York's Riddle of
the Strangled Housewife
‘re two teacups. And two
‘ookies,
John Pappas stared at them and
tned to ‘hink. Tried to figure out
What they might mean. But his mind
and heart were numb and useless.
He had found her only a few minutes
before—Witty, his young and_ lovely
bride. Dead. Her half-clad body on the bed,
pitifully grotesque in death, with the bit
of colored necktie around the throat, mute
evidence of e strangler’s work, dish-
towels bindin er hands and feet.
He saw th things. And he saw, on
the table, the teacups and cookies. She
had bee iking those cookies for him,
Continued on page 106)
A detective points
to the dish-towels
which bound the
déad woman’s
hands and feet
A study in trag-
edy and heart-
break is this pic-
ture of John
Pappas, taken as
he walked out of
the apartment
where, only a
Short time pre-
viously, he made
the dreadful dis-
covery of his
wife’s body
Sos
=
a7”
TUS Aa Bhs
February 4th. 1941, was his birthday.
Some one had come whom she knew,
Some one to whom she had served tea
and cakes.
Pappas turned and rushed from this
place of tragedy, down to the superin-
tendent of the apartment house in the
Bronx, N. Y. This man, as soon as Pappas
gasped out the story, called police.
HE police investigation yielded many
clues. Yet each of them served only to
deepen, rather than to solve, the mystery.
Mr. Pappas, in his report to the police,
said he left the apartment about nine in
the morning, going to the large wholesale
provision concern which he operates. He
did not return until 10:15 that night, when
he made the dreadful discovery. His wife,
he told them, was a Greek. Her father
had been editor of a leading newspaper
in the Egyptian capital. They had been
married in 1939, in Alexandria, and had
returned then to New York and set up
housekeeping.
Particularly important to police was the
fact that Mrs. Pappas had been greatly
the cause of death. An autopsy revealed
several interesting things. The head in-
Juries caused unconsciousness—not death.
Death, they decided, was due to asphyxia-
tion, induced by hanging, choking, or most
probable in this case, smothering or drown-
Ing,
In addition to this, the doctors discov-
ered that the child was suffering from a
serious internal disturbance. The con-
tents of the stomach were turned over to
Dr. McConnell. who was still working on
the case of the child’s father. m
Late that night, the toxicologist made-
her first report. “Our tests for every known
poison in the case of Detective Picuah.
\ lin and his dead daughter have proven neg-
ative. However, we are convinced that
there is some foreign substance in the
stomach contents. I shall complete these
jtests as quickly as possible.”
| At the same time that Dr. McConnell’s
/report was received, Captain Clark had
' brought Pearl O’Loughlin and her brother-
| in-law to Headquarters for further ques-
tioning. Mrs. O’Loughlin had wept con-
stantly since the finding of Leona’s body
and when Captain Clark tried to question
her, her only answers were: “Poor little
Leona ... poor baby’ :5”
After ten minutes of unsuccessful ques-
tioning, Pearl O’Loughlin fainted and Dr,
Culver was called to treat her, When she
revived, she was very apologetic,
“I’m so sorry. Captain,” she murmured.
erhaps later when I partly recover from
this shock——”
She seemed to hesitate a moment, and
then she said: “There is one thing I wanted
to tell you that might have some bearing,
on the case. The Friday before Leona
disappeared, we had salmon salad for sup-
per and all of us were sick afterwards. We
thought the fish was tainted. About the
same time my, husband told me he noticed
something strange about a tonic he was
taking. We thought it was our imagina-
tion—but now it looks as though it were
all deliberate.”
Frank O'Loughlin sat silently by while
his sister-in-law related this story. He re-
mained when she left with two detectives
escorting her to the home of her sister,
Mrs. Shannon. Then once again, Frank
106
“
er TN ihe bp ea a PE Lai
Tea Party Terror
(Continued from page 15)
affected by early motion pictures of Ameri-
can gangsters. She was afraid of stran-
gers. She wouldn’t have let an unknown
person in, certainly she wouldn’t have
served him tea.
Investigation of the apartment disclosed
that articles of jewelry, including a gold
crucifix, had been stolen. Many other.
valuable objects in the home had not been
touched. Adding to the mystery was the
wedding picture of the couple, found on a
chair in the living-room, though. why his
wife should have taken it out to ‘show toa
visitor, Mr. Pappas couldn’t say.
And—although there were no other
signs of struggle in the apartment—po-
a; found bloodstains on the living-room
sofa,
Many witnesses were questioned. Friends
told of Mrs. Pappas’ deeply religious na-
ture, of how she taught Sunday school.
But none could provide a tangible lead.
One possibility developed within a few
days of the crime. Several women in the
Bronx and near-by districts had reported
during the two weeks previous to the mur-
der, that a man had tried to gain entrance
Ground Glass Vixen
(Continued from page 29)
was asked to tell his story.
“There was no love lost between me and
Pearl,” he admitted. “We argued a lot
and I know that bothered Leo. I figured
it might make family trouble if I pulled
out altogether before my wife and family
got back from California, so I kept to my-
self. I bought my meals out and stayed
in my room when I was at the house.
Even then there was a fire in my clothes-
closet and I lost most of my good clothes.”
“How did the fire start?” Clark asked,
“IT don’t know,” Frank O’Loughlin said,
sharply.
Further questioning revealed nothing
new or important and Frank O’Loughlin
was dismissed. Shortly afterward the first
cheering news in days came to Captain
Clark’s desk: Leo O'Loughlin was very
much improved. But even that bright-
ness was clouded when the Captain re-
alized that O’Loughlin had not been told
of the grim fate of his little girl.
The next morning, Chief Investigator
umphreys was allowed to see Detective
O'Loughlin briefly, and was very careful
* esas any information about the
child.
“We'd like to go out and look your
place over,” Humphreys told him. “Your
wife is with her sister and we didn’t want
to go in without consent——”
“You have my consent,” O’Loughlin said,
weak in voice but firm in spirit, “you can
tear the place down if it will show you how
Pearl and I were poisoned—and what has
become of Leona.”
With District Attorney Wettengel,
Humphreys went to the O’Loughlin house
that morning, and made a search that
could only have been more thorough if
they actually had followed O’Loughlin’s
suggestion.
Mrs. O’Loughlin was certainly a fine
housekeeper. Everything was spotless and
in order. Even with the sickness and
tragedy of those last four days, Pearl
O’Loughlin still had managed to keep the
place immaculate.
Ray Humphreys, in the kitchen, opened
jars and boxes, sniffed and tasted and
hunted. Everything was normal, orderly,
right. Then back of the sink he found
the gray sticky substance. It was gritty to
to their homes by pretending to be a
“friend” of their husbands.
In one such case, a woman was bound
up in @ manner similar to that of Mrs.
Pappas, but she was not harmed, although
the apartment was ransacked and robbed.
COMECKING up, police found there
were several similarities between these
cases and the facts they had discovered
about the murder. Had the marauder con-
vinced Mrs. Pappas he was a friend of
her husband, she would have let him in
and—in accordance with Greek hospi-
tality—would offer him refreshments.
As this goes to press, police have ar-
rested a man giving the name of George
Joseph Cvek whom they accuse of the
murder. Police charge he gained entrance
by pretending to be a friend of Mr.
Pappas, then killed Mrs. Pappas while try-
ing to bind and gag her so that he could
rob the apartment. The man is now
awaiting trial.
Watch True Derecrive for develop-
ments in this crime riddle of “Tea for
Two” as the hewspaper reporters call it.
the touch and had no recognizable look,
smell or taste. It might possibly have been
an abrasive for cleaning pots, but to make
sure, Humphreys put it in an envelope
and took it along, to be sent to Dr. McCon-
nell for analysis.
On Sunday, Leo O’Loughlin was able to
sit up when his brother, Frank, called on
him. He told Leo that he had phoned
their father, Dennis O’Loughlin, a farmer
living at Fort Collins, sixty miles away,
and he would be in town next morning.
“T don’t see what good Pop could do,”
Leo said wearily.
“Well, he wanted to come—” Frank be-
gan,’ choked back the words, but his
brother was sitting up straight.
* “He wanted to come to her funeral,” Leo
said slowly, “They’ve found Leona’s
body.”
It was out then and there was no de-
nying it. When the first awful shock had
passed, Leo said: “I’m getting out of here.
I’m going after the guy who did it—and
I’m going to get him.”
“Now listen, Leo, you’ve been awful
sick. You have to take it easy.”
“Wirt my child murdered?” he de-
manded. “I’ll never take it easy
till I get the truth.”
His strength wasn’t equal to his determi-
nation that day. But the following morn-
ing when his father arrived, Leo left the
hospital. The old man was very much
shaken. He had already seen Frank that
morning.
“Captain Clark questioned him again
after he left the hospital last night.” Den-
nis O’Loughlin said. “Now you don’t be-
lieve your own brother would be mixed in
this?”
“T don’t know what to believe,” Leo said
fiercely, “but whoever is guilty will suffer.”
“I'd like to talk to Captain Clark my-
self,” Dennis O'Loughlin went on. “Do
you remember the Sunday in August when
you and Frank and Pearl and the children
came out to see me?”
Leo remembered it distinctly. “Pearl’s
sister was with us too,” he added.
The old man nodded. “After you’d gone
that night I went back to the kitchen and
had my usual dip of sugar.”
TRUE DETRCTIVE MYSTERIES
Leo ur
O’Loug}
habit o;
time, H
builder,
“The
tongue,”’
knew so
gritty. |]
and coul
m a cup
“What
“T don't
the cup w
ve kept
I'd known
“It look
get all of
that to Ca
While 1
down to }
Other dete,
Yard and
house. Peg
house and
dropped in
ence,
“TF the ch
be some
strange.”
_ “Yes, it’s
little thing,
piness. The)
—though |
nd then, }
made it han
“He didn't
“T wouldn
too quickly,
€ was impa
him. We re
when he told
he'd send he,
“T thought
out with him
earl’s eye.
with him a «&
on duty, but
Turner let
to his search
Zarage he ki:
looked rusty,
Quickly he sp)
and on it wer
that might hay
at such woun,
€ made for t}
In the mean
his father wer
The old man ;
story of the sie
begun when the
cologist’s assisty
“Dr. McConn:
Captain, and js
She has discove)
O'Loughlin fam}
“Now we're .
Chief of Detect,
placed the phor
again under his
etective Tun
the finding of th.
Pear! O'Loughlin
band facing him.
liver that bit of
Instructed Turne;
that moment, Dr
The three men \
this young, hands:
standing in her fi;
written report uy}
Clark gasped,
“Ground glass!”
“That’s what. it
gravely. “Ground ,
tiny hemorrhages
produce cancer,”
Detective O’Loy
continued. “Leona’
were affected, and
MAY, 1941
ee es
é
%
A
et 4
a
e
2 PRR
Detective Durant pushed a registration
card forward for the young man to sign.
Pen in hand, the youth asked for room
1266. Obviously he had been here before.
But that room was taken, and he was
given 866 instead.
As the young man turned to leave the
desk, the three detectives closed in on
him. He offered no resistance and
laughed as he was told only that he was
suspected of carrying a gun.
At police headquarters, the young
man’s aplomb deserted him. Eight rape
or robbery victims confronted him. One
by one, outraged women stepped forward,
pointed their fingers and stated bluntly,
“Yes, that’s the man.”
Throughout the night detectives and
members of the district attorney's office
played with the young man as a cat plays
with a mouse. Minute by minute he was
‘becoming more involved and little by
little helping to hang himself.
He admitted that his name was Joseph
Cvek, and that his age was 23. His home
had been in Harrisburg, Pa., until he
took to the open road.
He admitted that he had attacked some
of the women who accused him, robbed
the others. He admitted that he had
signed the cards and letters addressed to
“Flannigan” in Boystown.
But he was playing smart. He might as
well admit these crimes. The proof
against him was overwhelming. Once he
cringed as the husband of an outraged
woman made a lunge at him. This was the
husband who, with his wife, had taken
him into Philadelphia, fed him, lent him
money only to be repaid by a brutal
assault which had killed their unborn
child.
Steadily, however, Cvek denied that he
had any knowledge of the Papas slay-
ing, denied ever having seen the Grecian
beauty who had died a month before.
He felt certain that none of these
witnesses against him could tie him to
that murder. He had not been seen and
he knew he had left no specimen of his
handwriting in the apartment.
Then Foley played his trump—the
fingerprint on the wine glass.
Cvek’'s face blanched. That wine glass,
that crystal bauble which he could have
smashed beneath his heel, stood there
before him now, a sign post pointing to
the electric chair. He had no chance to
wriggle free, no more chance than he
had given the doomed housewives who
had crossed his brutal path.
When hope was lost he begged for
a mercy he had never shown. Words
tumbled from his lips as he pleaded for
his life, begged for life imprisonment in-
stead of the electric chair.
He babbled that he had tried to gain
admittance to three other apartments be-
fore he, by pure chance, knocked on the
Papas apartment door.
The gullible bride, soft hearted and un-
worldly, listened to his glib story of
Boystown, and of how the hulking youth
was working for the betterment of un-
fortunate boys.
She had expressed an immediate
sympathy for his aims since they so
closely paralleled her own Sunday School
and social service work.
She had invited him into the apartment
when he complained of a headache and
asked for aspirin and then, when he
commented on the fragrant smell of the
cookies she was at that moment baking
for her husband’s birthday, she offered
to serve him tea and cakes.
The glasses of wine, traditional in the
hospitality of her native land, had been
incidental. Yet, as if reaching: from. the
grave, one of them condemned, by the
fingerprints it bore, this brutal murderer
to the fate he so thoroughly deserved.
Cvek claimed the beauty of his hostess
drove him wild. When he could control
himself no longer, he reached for her,
read the terror in her eyes and as she
screamed his fingers closed about her
throat. She had fought like a wild thing
and torn herself from his strong grasp.
Then, when he got his arm around her
throat, clamping it over the marks left
by his fingernails, she still had fought
him savagely until she died.
After she lay still within his arms he
tied her hands and feet, tearing one
towel to use a portion of it to bandage
one of his fingers which had been bitten
so severely in the struggle that it had
bled for hours.
Once he thought he had heard her gasp.
That was when he tied the towel about
her throat and carried her into the bed-
room where he left her, realizing now
that she was actually dead.
The loot which Cvek had taken from
the apartment was sold toa man in Lower
Manhattan. Cvek obtained $50 for the
diamond ring, $24 for the fur jacket and
$12 for the cigaret case and gold cross.
Police quickly recovered these items and
thereby established a first degree murder
charge, since under New York law it is
unnecessary to prove premeditation if a
slaying occurs during the commission of
a felony.
As this is written, the confessed
murderer is awaiting trial. Police are
continuing work to clear up all details of
Cvek’s lurid criminal trail.
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~~
+1 this room of enig-
ss s, the victim enter-
tained the unknown
iller. Mute evidence,
hich the police have
been seeking to ex-
lain, are the teacups,
wedding picture, and
The light of hap-
piness is in eyes
of John Pappas
and his beautiful
wife. But this
photograph was
made long ago
Se 7,
oor j
nl
~~ §
off {Le
Vi, [9 4-/
meen
emery
“Tl tell the truth. I was afraid you
wouldn’t believe me. In the first place,
my name is Ralph DuBose Pekor, Wil-
liamson and I drove out to Puente, where
I was going to get him a job with a movie
company on location. We stopped along
the way. I had a .38 pistol I was going to
use in the movie. I picked it up and started
firing at a can lying on the ground. As
I was about to pull the trigger for the
last time, Williamson walked right into
my line of fire. He just crumpled up in
front of me. I knew he was dead. I got
into the car and scrammed. My one idea
was to get away.”
. Captain Penprase snapped out, “You’re
still lying, Pekor. - Just like when you kept
calling General Hospital’ about a Mrs.
Barker. who wasn’t your wife! Spill it!
Why did you murder William William-
son?”
M@ PEKOR HEARD the shrieking voice,
and was amazed that it was his. Why
should he be so: upset? He had prepared
for this moment. And yet his voice was
crying out, “Yes! I killed him! I shot him
down! 'I pulled out my gun and let him
have it! I killed him because I wanted ¢.
murder a man! I wanted to prove I coul::
murder—and get away. with it! And
would have—if I hadn’t gotten drunk! .. .
“What did you ‘do with the gun? We
never found it,” the Captain continued
inexorably.
.. “I tossed it out somewhere along the
way. What ‘difference does it make?
Continued from page 79—“Never heard
of her,” he replied. :
For four hours he stubbornly denied
that he had ever been near the Greek
wholesale grocer’s apartment. But at two
o’clock in. the morning one of the first of
his robbery and rape victims appeared,
looked at him and went pale with anger.
“That's the man,” -she. declared. .
Next came two husbands who identified
him .as. the. affable hitchhiker who had
told them that he was an ex-Mayor of
Boys Town. ; Saginh : ;
As the series of identifications mounted,
George Cvek - was becoming a very:
thoughtful young man. Taking advantage
of his uncertainty, the detectives showed
him -how. his ‘fingerprints matched. those.
taken from the glass, Ried
. “We've got you dead to rights in’ this
case,” said Inspector. O’Connor. “Talk or.
don’t talk—but don’t think for a moment
that you are going to get away with any-
thing... You’re.at the’ end of your rope.”
With that Cvek was questioned by
Lieutenant. Edward Byrnes .of.the Homi-
cide Squad, whose .earnest and pleasant
personality. had proven remarkably ef-
fective in obtaining confessions. from the
most hardened killers: ee :
“Well, George,” he said. “Are you going
to tell us about Mrs. Pappas or not?”
. Cvek seemed interested in a spot on the
floor. Then he carefully crossed his legs,
“Sure,” he said. “I'll tell you about. her,
I met her on a bus one day in January.
I told her that- I was an orphan from
Harrisburg and out of a job. I got off when
she did and she asked me-up to the house.
She said she was a Sunday School teacher.
and ‘that her husband was in the grocery
business. We sat around talking.” He then
added details which were obvious lies.
“Bunk,” said Lieutenant Byrnes. “Why
don’t you tell the truth? You know you
never saw the woman 'but once in your
life.” . wid
Cvek looked around the: room, glared
at the detectives and prosecution staff.
“What is this—a_ menagerie?” he snarled,
112
eee ates eR
You’ve got me! I’ve always been a failure!
I never could do anything right!”
He regained his composure hours later.
When he was brought to trial, he saw to
it that he received a jury composed mostly
of women. And on the witness stand, he
put on a good show. He pulled no punches
in disclosing how a confession had been
wrung from him by “torture.”
The women fell for it. After only a few
hours’ deliberation, the jury returned a
verdict holding him guilty of the minor
crime of manslaughter and of violation of
probation,
. He knew the law. The sentence could
only be one to ten years for manslaughter
and one to five on the other count. He
could do that standing on his ear. The
women on the jury clustered around him
and kissed him and told him that they
were sorry they couldn't free him alto-
gether.
On April 7th, 1938, he appeared before
Superior Judge A. A. Scott for sentence.
He heard the jurist scathingly denounce
the jury.
And as for you, Pekor,” Judge Scott
“I wish to point out that many times
ve heard the expression ‘getting away
‘) murder.’ But never more true has
‘n that expression than in this case. In
Opinion, you deliberately murdered
‘nat man in cold blood with malice afore-
thought.” i
Pekor lowered his head. He wished the
Judge would stop spouting.
The Judge was speaking again. “I sen-
Woman Stran«/er!
“Tl talk to Lieutenant Byrnes a!one.”
The office was cleared of all save the
Homicide Squad Lieutenant and the
prisoner. Cvek chewed on a sandwich,
swallowed some coffee. “You're right,” he
said. “I never met the dame but once.
I just hit the place on the blind. When she
looked through the peephole I gave her a
quick smile and motioned for her to open
up. ‘I’m a friend of your husband’s—!
want to see you,’ I said. The next thing
I knew I was inside, giving her a line about
myself. She filled up some glasses. .with
wine, and we had a drink. She said she
had been making some cookies for her
husband and she served them with some
coffee. I wanted to get a look around the
place’ so I told her that I had a headache
and she got some aspirin. Then I smoked
-a couple of cigarettes and sat down ‘beside
her,on.the.sofa.,:We Were.talking..and.she
was showing me the wedding picture when
I slipped my left arm around her neck an?
drew her head back. She faded fas
hardly a minute she stopped kicking
“Then I took off my tie with my ;
hand, and tied her up, stuffed my hana-
kerchief into. her mouth and ripped up a
towel for her neck. I carried her to her
bed. She had stopped breathing so I had
nothing to hurry for. I got the rings from
her finger and some other junk from the
dresser.”
“What did you do with them?”
“About three days later I peddled them
to a second-hand dealer in the Bowery
Arcade.”
At this point Byrnes notified District
Attorney Foley that Cvek had made a
statement and the samé story was then
repeated in the presence of witnesses and
a stenographer.
By six o’clock in the morning the
prisoner had been positively identified in
the Philadelphia and Wasnington attacks
and the authorities of the latter cities
lodged complaints against him in the un-
likely event that he should be released
from the Bronx jurisdiction.
Booked for murder at eight o’clock, he
tence you, Ralph DuBose Pekor,. to. serve
from one to ten years and one to five
years at Folsom Prison, the sentences to
run consecutively—”
“Thank you,” Pekor said, with a grin,
“Iam not through,” Judge Scott snapped.
“At conclusion of your Folsom term, you
will be returned, at the expense of the
State of California, to the State of Georgia,
where you are wanted to complete your
term there and to pay for your escape
from a chain gang. I am certain that you
will not be. at liberty to continue your
criminal depredations for a long, long time
to come.”
Pekor gasped. How had they found out
about the escape? | If they returned him
to Georgia, he would be kept. prisoner
forever. The State. of Georgia didn’t fool
around. When a man crashed out of a
chain gang, he paid for it through the
nose. : :
“But, your Honor——” he started to cry
out in protest.
“Take the prisoner away,” Judge Scott
said.
Ralph DuBose Pekor shuffled off. He
was a failure. He had failed in everything
he had applied his hand to. He couldn’t
even kill a man successfully. He wished
he had a drink, but he.realized forlornly
that he might never have a drink again,
for all the rest »‘ days.
It is needles: that the character
“Red Harper,” i only in Pekor’s
fertile imaginatio: )t this the authorities
were convinced,
was sent downtown to the line-up at Police
Headquarters. Under the glare of the
lights his face was puffy, and his voice
flat as he answered the questions of Cap-
tain Michael Ledden.
Asked if he had ever been arrested be-
fore, he said that he had been in the
custody of the Pennsylvania authorities
seven times, on charges ranging from
truancy to automobile theft, and had been
in and out of parental homes, protectories
and reformatories for the past seven
years. ’
Politeness in his case was but a veneer
he had acquired under duress. Although
he was but twenty-four years. old, he had
a snarling, savage nature which mani-
fested itself when he began.to curse at the
officers who were taking. him to the de-
tention pen.
M@ MEANWHILE, A squad: of detectives
had begun to trace the. stolen jewelry,
‘estioning the. second-hand dealers who
»qyuented the Canal-Arcade, Finally they
picked up the trail of Mrs. Pappas’ wed-
ding ring, traced it through three dealers
to the hands of its ultimate purchaser.
The stone was still intact in: its mounting,
and John Pappas..was able to make a
Positive ‘identification.. This..was impor-
tant, for it clinched the robbery charge
which would make Mrs. Pappas’ death a
first-degree murder since it had occurred
during the commission of a felony.
District. Attorney Foley was enthusi-
astic about the work of the police, praised
the capture as the “most-intelligent’ effort
in my experience, Cvek was. just a. foot-
loose bum and-had to be Picked out of
millions,”
As hundreds of telegrams of congratu-
lation poured in to Inspector O’Connor’s
office, Mayor F. H. LaGuardia announced
that Gillen, Durant and Mahon would be
promoted to higher detective ‘grades, while
in Magistrates Court where the prisoner
was arraigned, Magistrate Michael Ford
said: “If the warden of Sing Sing is unable
to find anyone to turn on the switch—I’ll
TRUE DETECTIVE
preca)
distur
inkwe
had }
couns:
nearb,
Cvek’s
his ha:
with ;
anothe
vision .
Each t}
doors \
At fir
from t}
acted a
Sneerin
tively
when th
_ When
torneys
him. T;
ocTonEn.
rl anata ss
.
where a man has to admit to a crime that
he didn’t do in order to save himself. And
it’s wonderful cooperation with the police
that Mr. Foley has when he says he ap-
prehended me as he:says he did, when fre
knows that he and all those witnesses are
damn liars.”
“IT won’t have any cursing in this Court,”
warned the Judge. “If you have anything
to say—say it like a gentleman. Ready for
sentence?”
“Yes—but leave out that business about
‘May God have mercy on your. soul.’ . If
there was a God he wouldn’t let such
things go on.”
Those: who know him realize what an
emotional strain Judge Barrett undergoes
when he has a death sentence to pro-
nounce, But in this instance his voice was
like that of a surgeon ordering the re-
moval of a cancerous growth.
Cvek tried to appear bored—but his
whole frame was tense. As the Judge said
“Amen,” the guards tapped the prisoner
on the shoulder. But the latter had not
finished his performance. In a last gesture
of defiance he spat at the District Attorney.
An hour later, the trip up the river was
begun. A protection belt was strapped
around his waist and his hands clamped
to his sides. He made no effort to resist.
“I’m all tired out,” he said. “I need a
rest.” Led away to his death house cell at
Sing Sing, he will remain there until the
Court of Appeals passes on the merits of
his case, for review of all first degree
murder convictions is mandatory in the
State of New York. By Fall, the decision
should be handed down—until that time
George Cvek will be alone with his
thoughts.
Although the murder of Elizabeth Jen-
sen is officially still an open matter, both
District Attorney Foley and high police
executives believe that Cvek may hold the
answer to that crime along with the others
to which he has confessed.
Note: Out of consideration. for the
actual persons concerned, the. fictitious
names of Mrs. Thomas Jackson, Mrs. Paul
Benson, Mrs. Francis Somers, Mrs. Charles
Walters and Mrs. George Holden have
been used in the foregoing story.—Eb.
The Pinkertons Meet Mr. Jekyll-Hyde
Continued from page 61—‘“Yes,” said Mrs.
Dodds, “but you couldn’t tell that to
Mildred.” ;
The two ladies were referring to an
individual who, had called himself Dr.
Nochard M. Campbell, a gray haired man
of about sixty, whom the widow Mowry
had married only eight months previously
after a somewhat unusual courtship. That
is to say, Mrs. Mowry, rapidly approaching
.the age when, she realized, chance of
new romance would be gone forever, '
advertised for a husband through a me
monal agency. The person calling h
self Dr. Campbell had answered. He h:
come to Greenville in July of the previous
year and Mrs. Mowry had proudly intro-
duced him to her friends, including Mr:
Dodds and Mrs. Straub, as her husban«'!
to-be. Many of the widow’s acquaintanc:
wondered how she had happened to me¢
such a charming and well-bred individuai
and it had been only after considerable
questioning on the part of these friends
that Mildred Mowry, with some embar-
rassment, explained.
@ FRIENDS HAD seen Mrs. Mowry and
“Dicky Boy,” as she had often referred
to the Doctor, much to his embarrassment,
off on a train one sweltering August day.
The couple had announced that they were
on their way to Elkton, Maryland’s
“Gretna Green,” to be married.
Less than two months later, Mrs. Camp-
bell had returned to Greenville. .She had
taken her old room at the house where
she had boarded so long and explained to
acquaintances that the Doctor had been
called away from his New York offices to
perform a series of major operations on
the Pacific Coast. “I couldn’t go with him,”
Mrs. Mowry had said, “because he will be
traveling a lot and working terribly hard.
He thought it would be better if I were
back ‘here among. my: friends where I
wouldn’t be so lonesome until he gets back
to New York.” ;
But Dr. Campbell had been quite some
time in returning. Then, on February Ist,
the. middle-aged bride had suddenly de-
parted: for New York, saying that the
Doctor had sent for her. Seventeen days
afterward she had written a letter to Mrs.
Dodds, who was holding it in her hand as
she talked this April day to Mrs. Straub.
“Mildred says very little in here, now
that I notice it,” said Mrs. Dodds. , “She
merely says that everything is going along
all right and that she is going to write
again in a few days. This doesn’t sound
like Mildred; she always has a lot to say.”
“Did you hear. from her after that, at
all?”
. “That’s just what worries me. She hasn’t
written for two months.” :
“What’s the return address on that
letter?”
. “Six Hundred and Seven Hudson Street,
114
SRST ic Be Salata aa cet dt es dR cL
New York.”
“They must have moved,” said Mrs.
Straub. “Didn’t I understand her to say
that the Doctor had offices on Park Avenue
and an apartment in the same building?”
“That’s what she said—but of course he
probably only told her that. There’s some-
think queer going on—and I’m going right
down and see what Chief Barber says.”
Chief of Police Harry Barber of Green-
ville listened in silence as the two ladies
Aivulged the facts as set forth just above.
Chen he reached into his desk and drew
out two circulars that had been left with
him a few weeks previously by a Pinker-
ton detective from ‘New York, named
Wagner. Chief Barber glanced quickly
through the circulars and asked, “Do you
know if your friend Mrs. Mowry wore heel
ind arch supports in her shoes?”
“Why, yes,” answered Mrs. Straub,
startled. “How did you know such a thing,
Chief?”
Ignoring the question, the police official
asked: “Do you know if she had any ex-
tensive dental work done in the past year
—and if so, what it was like?”
Mrs. Dodds quickly answered: “Yes,
she had a new bridge with four upper
right teeth put in shortly before she met
Dr. Camptell. She said she thought the
In custody, the slayer (right)
leaves Police Headquarters after
making his astounding confession
bridge improved her appearance because
it kept her cheek from falling in.”
“Did she wear ball earrings set with
rhinestones?” asked the Chief.
“Yes,” answered Mrs. Straub. “She went
in for a lot of flashy things about the time
she decided to get married.” — °
Chief Barber stared solemnly at his two
visitors and they were not surprised when
he said, in low, even tones, ‘Ladies, I re-
gret to inform you that your friend has
been murdered over in New Jersey.”
Chief Barber dispatched. a wire to the
Prosecutor's office in Elizabeth stating that
he believed the torch victim was Mildred
S. Mowry. “What did I tell you?” said
Wagner when Prosecutor David. showed
him the contents of the message. The
Pjnkerton detective picked up the phone
and put through a long distance call to
Greenville, Pennsylvania. When he got
the Chief he asked for pertinent details
and when informed that Mrs. Straub and
Mrs. Dodds had mentioned such impressive
items as the fact that Mrs. Mowry had
worn heel and arch supports, had mended
and altered her own clothing, and had
evinced a sudden interest in flashy costume
jewelry and cosmetics about the time
romance re-entered her life, Wagner knew
his deductions had been correct.
M@ HE REQUESTED that the two friends
who had supplied the vital information
proceed immediately to Elizabeth to effect
formal identification. Meanwhile, he in-
tended to look into the address—607 Hud-
son Street, New York City—from which
Mrs. Mowry had penned the last letter to
her friends two months earlier. In addi-
tion to this, Chief Barber was going to
search the room of the missing woman in
the house where she had boarded in
Greenville. .
The address on Hudson Street turned
out to be that of a Y.W.C.A.—Laura Spel-
man Hall. Fhe records there disclosed that
a Mrs. Richard M: Campbell, a guest whose
description dovetailed perfectly with that
of Mrs. ‘Mowry, had registered there on
February 2nd: This had been the day
after the woman was known to have left
Greenville. Mrs: Campbell had remained
until February 20th—three days before
the murder. The Y.W.C.A. attaches re-
called her distinctly because she had
seemed to be a worried and pathetic figure.
Although she had disclosed nothing about
her personal business, she had given the
impression that she was engaged in a
futile enterprise of some sort.
It was clear to Wagner that the ill-
starred woman had taken matters in her
own hands and come to New York to
hunt up her new husband. Certainly, had
everything been going all right between
the two she would hardly have been stay-
ing ata Y.W.C.A.
Chief Barber had informed the Pinker-
. TRUE DETECTIVE
&ladly act.as executioner.” oo
Basking in the limelight, Cvek insisted
on meeting the press.
“If I were your lawyer I wouldn’t advise
it,” said the District Attorney.
But.the necktie strangler was insistent
and at three o’clock on March 5th a little
knot of newspaper men gathered in Mr.
Foley’s chambers.
Cvek was seated ina chair facing his
interviewers. He was at ease, puffing a
cigarette, but his green eyes were crafty.
“This is.somewhat unusual,” explained
the County Prosecutor. “It's never hap-
pened here before. But this fellow has
asked me if he could speak to you men as
he says there are statements being printed
in the papers which are contrary to the
facts. Now,” he added, motioning to the
prisoner, “it’s up to you.”
Cvek twisted in his chair, jabbed the air
with his cigarette. “Those stories about
me attacking twenty-three women—who
made them up? You got me identified by
a Jot of dames I never saw before.”
Indignantly he denied being hit witha
vase and kicked by Mrs. Snyder. “I wasn’t
there—I was in the same place I was the
day of the Jensen murder.”
M@ THE NEWSPAPER men did not seem
at all impressed.
Questioned about how many women he
had robbed and attacked and about the
places he had visited prior to Mrs. Pappas’
murder, he shook his head. “I’m not tell-
ing you anything about that stuff. I just
wanted to put you guys straight.”
The reporters shrugged and the strange
interview was ended. Cvek was taken
back to his cell in the County Jail. He had
regained some of his former jauntiness
and in his bullying way. began to make life
miserable for the other inmates, “If any
of you fellows have any messages you
want to send outside, give them to me—
I'm beating this rap,” was his boast.
Soon he started trouble by complaining
that his breakfast was cold. Warden Matt
Dunn ordered the food warmed. This was
not satisfactory—for Cvek launched an
attack on the elderly guard, who was about
to retire on a pension.. Two other guards
Promptly came to the rescue and all fight
went out of the pimply-faced strangler
at the first blow to the solar plexus.
After that he would bite his lower lip,
to draw blood. He would rub his lip with
his hand and wipe it off on his shirt, ap-
parently trying to lay the basis for a claim
of brutal treatment. But when the jail
physician, Dr. Herman Raden, appeared,
he refused to be examined.
After.a false start in April, 1941, when a
mis-trial was declared because of publi-
cation of prejudicial newspaper articles,
Cvek was brought before Judge James J.
Barrett in the County Court on May 12th,
1941. I was at the press table, covering the
proceedings for True Detective. Unusual
precautions were taken to prevent any
disturbance. Everything movable, such as
inkwells, paper-weights, water tumblers,
had been removed not only from the
counsel table but from the clerk’s desk
nearby. Three husky guards were at
Cvek’s elbow, never lifting their eyes from
his hands.. The front row seats were lined
with detectives, while within the rail
another detail under the personal super-
vision of Inspector O’Connor was posted.
Each time the Court convened, the main
doors were locked from the outside.
At first, Cvek seemed to relish each trip
from the bull pen tothe counsel table,
acted as if it were a triumphal march.
Sneering at the spectators, he would fur-
tively thumb his nose at Judge Barrett
when the jurist was looking the other way.
When he wished - to speak to his at-
torneys he would kick the one nearest to
him. Taking. exception to some of the
ocTroBER, 1941
‘talesmen seated in the jury box, he said
in a stage whisper: “Throw them: bums
the hell out.” When the Judge cautioned
the defense counsel for asking certain
questions, Cvek was on his feet, snarling:
“Mind your own business!”
Each night he had a boast for anyone in
the County Jail who would listen to him.
“If I burn for this I’m going to take some-
one with me. I'm going to show them
something.”
As the trial continued and the story of
the efficient police work was put on the
record, Cvek’s cocky air began to wilt. He
still came into court smirking, looking like
a dressed-up bum with his silk handker-
chief flowing from his breast pocket. But
his face was a pasty white and he began
more and more frequently to lick his lips
as if his mouth was beginning to go dry.
The climax came when the State rested
and he was called to the stand as a witness
in his own behalf. He started off bravely
enough, explaining in his most polite way
that he had been arrested before for play-
ing hookey from school and other such
minor matters. He insisted that he had
met Mrs. Pappas many times and made
the usual claim of having been beaten by
the police to force a confession.
Then the cross-examination began.
There was nothing theatrical or exagger-
ated in Foley’s manner. His voice was
cool, never rising above conversational
level. But its effect was that of a needle
puncturing a balloon. :
As his story was taken apart step by
step, Cvek turned appealingly to the
Judge. “Must I answer those questions?”
Trapped by his own lies, he was a sight
to behold. His brain had been cunning
enough to carry him along the crime rou-
tine he had worked out, but he lacked the
imagination either to vary his modus
operandi or to lie consistently. Finally,
as he could no longer think, he sat in the
witness chair, exuding fear from every
pore. Licking his lips, halting for breath
after every few words, he said: “It’s no
use continuing . .. with those questions
... I refuse to answer any of them...
it’s only a-question .. . of first or second
degree ... I might as well go.”
M@ EVERYONE IN the courtroom, includ-
ing defense attorneys, was leaning for-
ward straining to catch the words. There
was no doubt that Cvek was terror
stricken.
That night a suicide watch was put over
his cell, and belt and shoelaces were taken
from him. No longer the bully of the jail,
he was now suffering from a severe case of
the jitters. And well he might—for’ on
Monday, May 9th, the jury took the case,
deliberated twenty-seven minutes and re-
turned a verdict of guilty, with no recom-
mendation for clemency.
Facing death in the electric chair, he
was brought into court on the 21st to hear
his doom pronounced. :
As he passed along the rail, it was ap-
parent that he was going to make the most
of his last public appearance. Once more
he had a self-satisfied look on his face and
his step was springy. What he had in
mind was soon revealed. Coming abreast
of Lieutenant Byrnes, he wheeled, spat at
him. Byrnes merely shrugged, shook his
head. ,
Standing before the bar, Cvek tapped
his foot impatiently, awaiting his chance
to make a speech. His attorneys made the
formal motions to set aside the verdict,
and when they were denied, the Judge
asked: “Ready for sentence?”
“Isn't it customary to ask the defendant
to say something?” snapped Cvek.
“Your lawyers will speak for you,” said
the Judge.
“I don’t need them. I just wanted to let
you know that this is a wonderful country
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ASTHMATIC ATTACKS
THE SEVERITY of those attacks of Bronchial
Asthma, intensified by pollen-laden air, may
be reduced at this season of the year...use
Dr. R. Schiffmann’s Asthmador just as thou-
sands have done for 70 years. The aromatic
fumes help make breathing easier...aid in
clearing the head...bring more restful
nights of sleeping. At druggists in powder,
cigarette or pipe-mixture form. Or you may
send for free supply of all three. Dept. M47,
R. SCHIFFMANN CO., Los “Angeles, Calif.
3
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mt le sn
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Sg ETE ENN Ct MERE E STE
v1
MURDER WEAPONS—
Towels. used to strangle housewife.
VICTIM—
Mrs. Kitty Pappas.
By THOMAS P, CAFFRE
New York police had the human horror
trapped, but women -of ‘all ages
still kept windows and doors. locked.
UNCENSORED DETECTIVE, February,
1952
on the
tioner.”
That w
trail of cr
than two
on women
goes back
that day M
and robbe
Bronx, Ne
that crime
On Nove
picked up a
ing up to th
New Jersey
John Mitct
way to see !
a hospital
mobile acc)
he claimed
of. Boys To
Leaving
port, he re
Stating that }
from Boys
At noon
rang the be!
the Bronx.
and invited
hungry, and
He then con
26
‘9 home a little after five,
be pebien ree
Soke:
"885e-
ey
£
tewe |
mms
Rane:
Robew
é
.
a
2
n
*
View behind clerk’s desk at hotel where the killer was caught. Right, top—Police obtained Maine tourist home
register, showing signature of “Jerry Mitchell, Boys Town, Nebraska.” Below, samples of suspect’s writing
“lm Jerry Mitchell,” he said, “don’t you remem-
ber me?” He grinned. “You told me to come see
you.’
Then she remembered, and apologized as she let
him in. He seemed pathetic, uncertain, down on his
luck. He followed her into the living room, and she
_aSked if she could fix him something to eat. He thank-
ed her, but asked for some aspirin first. He swallowed
these with a glass of water, while she went into the
kitchen to prepare some food. “My husband will be
” she called.
There was no answer, and suddenly she got a
crawly feeling and she whirled—to see him standing
right behind her, eyes slit, his huge hands moving
slowly toward her. She tried to scream but he was
‘too quick. He grasped her throat, pulling her to him
and squeezing the breath out. of her, until she almost
fainted.
ON’T make a sound,” he whispered. He let go
of ‘her throat. She didn’t scream because ‘she
knew he would kill her, but she slumped to the floor,
pretending to faint. He grabbed a towel from the
rack, then picked her up and carried her inside on
her bed. He ripped the towel into lengths and bound
her hands behind her and tied her feet. He stuffed
a handkerchief into her mouth so she couldn’t cry
out. Then he moved quickly around the room,
opening and shutting drawers, taking what he fancied,
smashing a piggy bank and picking up the coins,
emptying her purse and going through the pockets
- of her husband’s clothes. Then he went back into the
. living room and was gone a few minutes, presently
returning with a bottle of whiskey. He sat down and
had a few stiff drinks, then moved over to the bed.
He undid her bonds. She tried to pant free of him,
but it was no use. ...
A LOT of his assaults went unreported, though the
thefts were mentioned, and the menace of Jerry
_ which he furnished police after arrest. Peculiar characteristic of ‘‘r’s’’ in his handwriting clinched the case.
Mitchell was not recognized by the police who got
vague reports of an itinerant thief. But on the night
of February 4, 1941, Jerry went big-time when he
paid a call at the apartment of John Pappas, at 1035
Grand Concourse, the Bronx, New York.
Mrs. Pappas was home alone. She was. a stranger
to the ways of Americans, having only recently come
over from Greece to marry John Pappas. But Kitty
Pappas knew that the customs of the new country
were free and easy, and when the strange young man
appeared at the door and said that he had just been
to see her husband, and that. he had been told to
come here and wait for him, she accepted the casual
explanation with.a smile and invited him in.
. The old customs prevailed, however, and she gave
‘ him wine and cakes as he waited. She sat and chat-
ted, telling him about Greece, and when she went
into the bedroom to get some pictures to show him,
he followed her in.
WHEN John Pappas returned home that night, he
had a few extra delicacies with him to celebrate
his birthday. He and Kitty would have a few drinks,
and then go out for dinner and the evening. He
closed the door after him and called her,*‘but there
wasn’t any answer. The living room seemed oddly
untidy; he noticed the two glasses and plates. Kitty
wasn’t in the kitchen.
In the bedroom, of course, he found her. She was
lying on the bed, her feet bound by strips of towel,
a piece of sheet around her throat, and her hands
tied behind her back. Her face had the swollen,
anguished look of the strangled, and she was dead.
The husband’s despairing. phone call brought
police in a radio patrol car, and then an ambulance
from Morrisania Hospital. The surgeon pronounced
her dead on arrival. Soon police brass, alerted by
the patrolmen, arrived. There was Deputy Chief |
Inspector John J. O'Connor, of Borough Command,
and Captain Charles J. Armstrong, head of the 7th
f \
FARMEINETaAT!, 4, NOTSOT We COACH
<n
waiting to catch a glimpse of the sweet-talking lady killer.
Towels the killer used to tie up Kitty Pappas’ legs.
/
DResins ne d
\
as though he was looking for charity but for op-
portunity. People always fell for this line, and re-
‘sponded with charity as their hearts were tugged.
Had he been a more attractive personality, there’s
no telling how far he could have gone in his lar-
cenous career.
As it was, his complexion was bad, and he bit
his fingernails, which were dirty. He was. twenty-
three, with dark-brown hair parted on the right side
and he let it grow shaggy. His eyes were greenish-
yellow. His nose was bulbous at the end, but physic-
ally he was: well-built, with broad shoulders and a
six-foot stature. It didn’t help the unhealthy-looking
quality of his skin that he favored blue-green for
his suits, coats, and snap-brim hats, since the color
accentuated his pastiness.
People met him, generally, along some well-
traveled highway where he was thumbing a ride, or
outside a diner along the way. Sometimes he’d wait
near some small-town filling station where cars halted
to refuel, and he would flag the drivers as they got
slowly under way again.
QN August 13, 1940, for example, a man named J.
Carter Brooker picked him up at Waterville,
Maine, and drove him to New York City. On the
way, the hitchhiker talked rapturously about Boys’
Town, where he said he had spent his youth. His
name he gave as Jerry Mitchell, saying that he was
an orphan who had come to Maine in search of his
sister, whom he hadn’t seen since they were small
children. He got his meals, some spending money,
and Brooker’s address out of his benefactor before
they parted. ety wiles i
A week previous, in Brunswick, Maine, he’d
gotten a lift from Leonard Cohen, columnist of the
Brunswick Record, telling him quite a story about
being the Mayor of Boys’ Town. Cohen ran a story
Si irs nose Pe ~
CONFIDENTIAL. DETECTIVE CASES
A stranger to our shores, Kitty (above)
found Death’s heavy hand, rather than
hospitality’s open one, extended to her.
I
on him. The hitchhiker varied this orphan-boy pitch
with romantic stories about how he was on his way
to join the Royal Canadian Air Force. Canada was
at war in 1940, and he spoke glibly of his compul-
sion to fight the Nazi aggressors. He sounded much
like a modest hero.
It was always some soap-opera plot that Mitchell—
or whatever name occurred to him—aired as he rode
along with someone. It always worked, with vary-
ing degrees of success. The rides he liked best were
in. cars where a man and his wife were traveling
homeward. He’d tell a story no woman’s pity could
resist, and he would wind up being asked to spend
the night with the people and have a good rest be-
fore moving on. Mitchell would accept, and then
during the night, he’d loot the place and get away
with as much booty as he could carry before the
family awoke.
|; Sabi amagenm arabe was only part of his means of kill-
ing two birds with one stone. As soon as a couple
of complaints had been lodged against him in one
town, he moved on, gaining the confidence of the
people headed for the next one, as they drove him
there. Sometimes he would wait weeks before he paid
a visit to a contact who had suggested, “Look us 7”
when you get to town again .;.”
And it was best for the woman of the house to be
out when he did call. Picked up on the Pennsylvania
Turnpike one day in 1940, he told one of his sob-
stories to Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Hedstrom, who
suggested that he come see them when he got squared
away in Philadelphia. He didn’t call for ten days.
When he did come, it was early afternoon and, Mrs.
Hedstrom was home alone.
She was a young and pretty blonde, and when she
opened the door and saw the young man standing
there, she fastened the safety chain on the door.
CONEINENTIAT NErTrorTiwe FM acre
Living room of the Pappas home. Catherine was strangled on sofa, then
carried to the bedroom. Wedding picture is on the chair. Wine glasses
and coffee cups on coffee table. Wine goblet held incriminating clue.
\
Technician works on wine glass to bring up fingerprint
clue. Inset: Enlargement of photo shows pay-off finger-
print near the top of the glass. It matched suspect's.
s
thay es
iy
a
ns
=
=
#
a
_the cause of death as
adding that he saw no evidence that the woman had
been criminally assaulted.
fy
Detective District. Photographers and experts of all
sorts appeared and got to work, as did detectives.
Presently, Assistant Medical Examiner Charles H.
Hochman came to examine the body and pronounced
“strangulation by ligature,”
F interest to the detectives was the discovery of an
aspirin bottle alongside the wine glasses in the
living room. Pappas said his wife never used it, so
it was assumed the killer had. Pappas hadn’t touched
the glasses, either, and on one of them were three
clear, looped-pattern fingerprints, which were not
Mrs. Pappas’s. They were taken to be a clue to the
killer. se
Detectives of the 8th District, assigned to the
case, were most interested in the clue of the aspirin
bottle. A couple of recent cases of robbery and
assault had involved a crook who had requested
‘aspirin from his victims. One of these involved a
Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Jackson, of the Bronx, who
had picked up a hitchhiker near the Pulaski Skyway
in Newark, on November 7, 1940. Five days later,
the hitchhiker, who had given his name as Jerry
Mitchell, appeared at Mrs. Jackson’s door, saying
he was hungry. She fed him some bacon and eggs
after he had asked for some aspirin. ‘While she was
turned toward the stove, he jumped on her, got her
arm in a hammerlock and forced her onto her bed,
and tied her as he had Mrs. Pappas. She heard him
as he ransacked the apartment and then, after a
while, he left. ‘
Mrs. Paul Benson of the Bronx had a similar ex-
perience, on January 27, 1941, excepting that she
had never seen the man before. He came to the door,
said he was Joe Mitchell, and claimed he had once
been given her address by her husband, who had
picked him up while hitchhiking. She fell for the
story, asked him in. Mitchell asked for some aspirin,
swallowed them, and a few minutes later, as she
started to return them to the medicine cabinet, he
jumped her, tied her up and looted the apartment.
Neither of these women had been criminally as-
saulted.
But when the detectives had interviewed the two
women, they got a good picture of the man, as
described earlier in this report. A score of detectives
were sent around the neighborhood, interviewing
housewives, seeking knowledge of any unreported
attempts to gain entrance to their homes. Half-a-
dozen had turned away a tall, dark young man with
a pulpy nose who had told a transparent story about
knowing their husbands. \ ;
ELETYPE messages were sent out to police de-
partments in New England and other eastern states,
and reports came back telling of a Mitchell who was
dark and tall, and who had conned a couple of
people into believing his hard-luck story involving
Boys’ Town and running out of money under heart-
breaking circumstances.
Captain Armstrong checked with Father Flanagan
who replied that although no John, Joe or Jerry
‘Mitchell, of the police description, had ‘ever been
registered at Boys’ Town, he had some information
‘about him. Apparently, J. Carter Brooker had also
checked on him, telling Father Flanagan the hitch-
hike story, as had W: W. Stadden, of Bartonsville,
Pennsylvania, and Leonard Cohen, the aforemen-
tioned Maine newspaperman. No criminal act had
been involved in any of these meetings, but the men
denen eres se NETECTIVUE CASES
irae
f
af
warned Father Flanagan that they suspected some
“sort of con game.
The priest sent along two post cards, received from
“Gerry” Mitchell at Boys’ Town, and addressed to
one Pat Quinn, who was not’ known, not registered,
at Boys’ Town. From these post cards, Captain
Armstrong got a good sample of the wanted man’s
handwriting, the salient quirk of which. was his
peculiar v-shaped r’s. Armstrong decided to find out
a little more about the youth, or man, from someone
who had talked at length with him.
Accordingly, he sent Detectives Valentine Stewart
and John Lawton to interview Brooker and Stadden.
Brooker recounted the story of the trip from Maine
to New York with Mitchell, in which the youth
talked about Boys’ Town and had mentioned that
he had never kissed a girl in his life. Robert Stadden,
suspected the guy was phoney and had checked on
him, but in both cases Mitchell was successful in
borrowing money. “(Continued on page 70)
bid
hd
:
. ?
*.
ee
*
&
Twenty-three-year-old killer (arrow) listens grimly
Judge James Barrett sentences him to death in the chair.
as coe
pp
ceeete te
by EDITH LIGGETT
gathered momentum with each new lurch along the
ill-kept right of way. A moment before it had stopped
to pick up Jacob Schumaker, the 62-year-old inspector and
collector on the Mount Vernon-New Rochelle line that later
was to become famous as the inspiration for the “Toonerville
Trolley.”
Schumacker spoke pleasantly to the motorman, Raynard
I. Nicholl, as he tossed six canvas bags of nickels, dimes and
quarters on the end of the long seat ‘nearest the front of the
car. It was but a short run to the end of the line and the
terminal now where the inspector would turn in the cash,
make his report and be through for the night.
Most of the passengers had left the car and Nicholl opened
the controller wide, forcing the conveyance to its top speed.
It pitched and groaned-under pressure of the noisy motor.
Then the stop signal buzzed. As the motorman shut off
the power and wound the ancient hand brake, two men made
their way toward the front of the careening car. The brake
was grinding and the car was almost at a stop when one of
them nudged Nicholl. The veteran operator of the trolley
on the friendly little line, who knew nearly every passenger
who rode with him, might have thought the fellow wanted
a match. Still winding on the brake with his right hand
he reached with his left into a vest pocket.
It was the last act Motorman Nicholl was to perform.
Without warning and before Inspector Schumacker realized
what was transpiring, the passenger had drawn a revolver.
Test battered old trolley car creaked and rattled as it
Assassin's bullets
brought down two in-
nocent men when a
trolley car on the
Mount Vernon line was
held up at the scene in
the picture, at left, by
John Marino, below,
and his companions.
DYNAMIC
Sle,
G48
There
the di
wheel,
floor «
Sch
to his
screan
The
tuous
on the
“Sit
aimed
For
Schun
clutch
strean
“Th
DETE
ingly. he oflicer did not reach for his
gun, but merely clenched his right hand.
Oprescu halted, and faced his accuser de-
fiantly.
“You see, Livia finally broke down this
morning and confessed why she was trying
to throw herself off the cliff last night,”
the detective said slowly. “It seems her
mother was selling her to rich old Christea,
who already has a wife. The frightened
girl] told me, ‘I want to die. I’d rather
die than have that old man touch me?
HE also declared, “They'll murder me
next. They know that I suspect them.
That is why I’ve been so scared. I’m
sure they poisoned Father, and Miron was
threatening to tell that he had overheard
Oprescu and Mother talking about it.’”
The Sergeant paused, then added,
“There is no use in denying the murder
of Miron and his father. At this moment,
the body of my friend is being exhumed.
You see, I have not been satisfied that
Dimitru Savu died a natural death. He
was much too healthy a man to have suc-
cumbed to a sudden heart attack when no
one knew he had heart trouble. When
Miron died in more or less the same way,
1 became definitely suspicious. His sister’s
obvious fear added to my feeling, and I
decided to start an investigation. You
might. as well confess, for I’ve got the
frets.
Oprescu’s head sank forward, as he ad-
wrrested at the garage in Harlem and was
being hastened to Rowland’s office.
It was a slender dark-eyed, raven-haired
young woman, with olive complexion and
carmine lips, who presently was brought
face to face with the investigators. She
was stylishly dressed and her manner
expressed an arrogant defiance as she
was ushered into the District Attorney's
office.
“What is this all about?” she flared, her
eyes burning angrily. “You have no right
to do this to an innocent citizen, kidnaping
me this way!”
The District Attorney regarded her with
cold appraisal.
“Relax, Miss Carter,” he said. “You'll
know very soon what this is all about. You
were picked up at a garage in Harlem,
where you kept a Cadillac sedan, which is
registered in your name. That car, just
in case you really don’t know what this is
all about, is the getaway car used in the
robbery and murder of two trolleymen em-
ployed by the Westchester Electric Rail-
road Company. Three men, we know at
the moment, | participated in the crime.
One of them is a drug addict named John
‘Dopey’ Marino. We brought you in to
find out just how much you know about
this crime and those three men.’
At the sound of Marino’s name, the fire
suddenly disappeared from the woman’s
eyes and fear filled them instead.
“Oh, you’re just trying to frighten me!”
she blurted, almost. hysterically. “You
don’t mean John at all. He couldn’t have
done anything like that. He couldn’t!”
“You know John Marino?”
“Yes. He—he’s my husband.”
A satisfied gleam lit the Prosecutor's
steady eyes, and he rubbed his hands en-
thusiastically.
“Now, ” he said, re’ re getting some-
where.”
Questions, ceaseless in’ their rapid-fire
order, were shot at; the unnerved woman
by detectives as well as'by the ~Prosec
tor. They leamed that despite her mara:
54
mitted, “Yes, I killed them both, but
she helped.”
“You mean Madame Savu aided you in
killing her husband and son?”
“Well, she helped kill her husband. I
fed the poison to the boy. She didn’t
know about it until afterward.”
Later that morning, Oprescu and
Madame Savu faced Livia in the Ser-
geant’s office. The girl was white and
trembling as she kept a safe distance from
her mother. The woman added her con-
fession to that of Oprescu. She described
how she had fallen madly in love with
Oprescu, who told her he must have
mouey or he would have nothing to do
with her. He had persuaded her that he
would marry her if she killed her husband
and inherited the money they had saved.
She had loved Dimitru and been a good
wife and mother up to that time, but
she had let the lazy Oprescu persuade her
to poison her husband. He had then re-
fused to marry her, and kept threatening
to leave town and have nothing further
to do with her unless she provided him
with more and more money.
It was for that reason she was trying
to sell Livia to old Christea. She had
also seen that the man she loved had
switched his affections to her daughter
and, being jealous, wanted to get the girl
out of the’ house.
Ii, wax Oprescu, she insisted, who had
killed) Miron, but she had suspected it,
Shadows of the Slain
(Continued from page 21)
ringe to Marino the woman went under
her maiden name and did not see much of
her husband. She had found out that he
was addicted to heroin, but. never suspected
he was mixed up in any criminal activities.
Two days before the trolley murders she
had gone away for a visit to a New Jersey
resort with friends. Never, she swore, had
she an idea that the car was being used
by her husband for questionable purposes.
W here Marino was now, and who his com-
ee were, she insisted that she did not
know
Dazed and deathly pale, Betty Carter
heard the resonant voice of the District
Attorney say, “Until we’re absolutely cer-
tain of your innocence, young woman,
we're holding you as a material witness.”
“Well,” sighed Sily erstein after she had
been led away, “we ’ve got the car ques-
tion settled, but we’re still in the woods.”
The net over Italian Harlem was. tight-
ened. The authorities: were certain. that
none of the criminals had crossed the Ca-
nadian border because. police on both sides
had been warned in. time to investigate
every man attempting “to cross over.
Nearly thirty hours after Betty Carter’s
arrest, Martin and Donahue, who were
idling inconspicuously near a news stand in
East 136th Street, in the hot midday sun,
saw a man in a light gray suit leap from a
car and step swiftly to the stand. There
was a distinct impression of nervousness in
his movements. They saw him shove
something over the paper-laden counter
and receive a small package, which he im-
mediately thrust into his pocket. ‘He
started back to the car. Martin and Dona-
hue bounded forward and collared him just
as he was climbing into the driver’s seat.
“All right, Dopey Marino,” Martin said,
“this is the end of the line for you. You’re
under arrest for the Mount Vernon trolley
murders.”
A strangling noise. was all that issued.
from’ Marin6’s., chalky lips.*, He, struggled °
weakly for an instant; then fell back against
the seat, linn; exhausted. -
und he had finally admitted it to her.
The youth had overheard a conversation
between them, in which they had men-
tioned his father’s poisoning. Oprescu also
said he knew they would have to get him
out of the way before he came of age
and learned that his share of his father’ 8
estate had been spent.
Dimitru Savu’s body was found to con-
tain large amounts of arsenic, and the two
killers were charged with his murder, as
both admitted this crime. The reason for
the doctor’s fear now came to light. It
developed that Madame Savu, realizing he
might be suspicious at her son’s sudden
death, had insisted to the physician that
he had instructed her to give the medicine
all at one time, and this she had done.
The doctor had thought her stupid, but
had not been suspicious of ‘her until the
Sergeant came to call on him. He had
then feared that an overdose of medicine
was the cause of the death. Thus, he had
been relieved when he learned of* the
arsenic found in the body. °
In the fall of 1935, the two conspirators
went on trial and were speedily convicted
of the murder of Dimitru Savu. They
were given life sentences. An old couple
residing in Lugej took Livia to live with
them. She it was who had sent Paraschi-
vescu the anonymous note. She realized
he. was suspicious and’ wanted him to
solve her brother’s death. Christea was
in no way implicated in the crime
He was taken directly to Mount Vernon.
The tiny package of heroin he had just
purchased was taken from him. Without
its stimulation, the police knew, he was
without grit or stamina.
Marino’s attempt to withstand the grill-
ing was futile. His dope-starved body and
raw nerves failed him.’ He collapsed under’
the strain, his narrow eyes filled with fear.
Over. and over again he shouted and
wT that he had not been on the trol-
ey.
“I swear to you,” he sobbed, “that all I
did was drive the car. I never knew-there
. Was going to be any shooting. There
wasn’t supposed to be any. I never wanted
to hurt anybody.”
“TISTEN, Marino,” Silverstein said-grim-
ly. “Murder in this state means the
chair. Two innocent men were blasted to
death and robbed. Now if you didn’t do it,
who did? If you know what’s’good. for you,
you'll talk, and every word you utter will
be the truth.”
“All right! Jll—tell the truth. It was.
Frankie. Daley ,who shot them. I was
driving the car.”
“What about the other man?” a detec-
tive cut in. “There were two killers on
that trolley.”
For a long moment Dopey Marino re-
mained silent, his lips twitching and _ his
eyes rolling imploringly. It was apparent
to the shrewd eyes watching him that he
was afraid to say the name.
“The other fellow with Daley was—
DeMaio, Dave DeMaio.” The name went
_ out with a sigh of exhaustion.
“Where are Daley and DeMaio hiding?”
Silverstein demanded.
“T don’t know. I swear I don’t know!”
“Cut that out, Marino! You've started
with the truth, and youre going to finish
with it to the last detail. Where are
Daley and DeMaio hiding?”
“But I’m telling you. the truth, I swear
Iam! We broke-up.in'the woods. We
divided: whats.we' ‘kept- of the money. We
MASTER DETECTIVE
had to leave so
heavy to carry.
alone and_ laid
. Finally I had to +
stuff, and went ou
guy there peddl:
and DeMaio we:
them, but they -
split so there wi
aroused,”
The interrogiti
getting weaker ::
clared that the +
that he had it
maiden name, »
sisted that his »
aware of his pls
HERE did
brilliant id
ticular trolley Jin
know. “You guy
DeMaio, from \
records, never |i:
thing as big as :
But there wa-
Marino had fuin
An assistant 1
at the interroga!
dered him to x
rest.
* “Whatever thi:
be,” he munnure:
last to finish it.
Frank Daley,
records showed,
drug addict, wh«
gressed beyond 1)
and odd-time too
likewise, was a}
ter, who often c.
of Harlem’s rack:
‘ whose real name >
Almost coincid
came another in
NOVEMBER, 1940
i
I GE Ss
to her.
-ysation
{ men-
cu also
ret him
of age
father’s
to cOon-
he two
der, as
con for
whit. It
mang he
sudden
iam that
uedicine
cd done.
vid, but
intil the
He had
nedicine
he had
of the
=pirators
mvicted
They
{ couple
ive with
>araschi-
realized
him to
tea was
ne
Vernon.
had just
Without
he was
(hie yvrill-
ody and
«1 under’
vith fear.
red and
the trol-
iat all I
vow there
There
r wanted .
sid grim-
veans the
jasted to
(n’t do it,
\ for you,
utter will
1 It was
. I was
“\a detec-
killers on
Marino re-
iy and his
: apparent
im that he
ley was—
name went
» hiding?”
a't know!”
ve started
¢ to finish
\Vhere are
i, I swear
vods. We
voney. We
DETECLIVE
had to leave some, because it was too who stated he had observed a black sedan “~ don’t know. I] swear T don’t know.
heavy to carry. I got back to New York trailing the Cadillac up until the time of | He’d_ never tell anybody anything like
alone and laid low for a couple days. the shooting. | And when the machine — that:”
|
| Finally I had to give in on account of the dashed away in the darkness after the “Do you know where Lippe is hiding?”
| stuff, and went out to the news stand. The crime the sedan also sped away, right be- “No, I don’t.”
guy there peddles it on the sly. Daley hind it. Unfortunately, the witness had Silverstein stared at him searchingly. He
| and DeMaio were_ together when I left seen neither the driver nor the license spoke the next question carefully.
them,. but they said they were going to plates. “Prank Duley,” he said, “has girl
split so there wouldn’t be any suspicions That was the meaning of this trailing friends?”
1 aroused,” of the bandits? Who was the driver of the “Ponty,” Marino said, showing surprise.
| The interrogation advanced. His voice second car? “Any girl in particular?”
j getting weaker and weaker, Marino de- Aqually as disconcerting as these un- “Yes, A girl named Lucy Connors. She
| clared that the getaway car, was his but answered questions was the fact that Solly lives im an apartment hotel in West 66th
that he had it registered in his wife’s Cheesecake had disappeared. What was Street, she’s red-headed and works in a
| maiden name. Somewhat heatedly he in- _ his connection, if any, with the trolley beauty parlor somewhere around town.”
sisted that his wife was absolutely un- bandits? ; “We've got to try and locate Daley
aware of his plans or shady background. Again Marino was interrogated—this through this girl or any other one, since
5 : . time about the mystery sedan and Solly nothing else seems to do any good,” Sil-
: HERE did you three mugs get the Cheesecake. He looked sick when he heard verstein said later.
prilliant idea of holding up this par- _ the questions. He started to deny any As the Mount Vernon detectives were
ticular ‘trolley line?” Martin wanted to knowledge of the trailing sedan or Cheese- preparing, for this angle, New York Head-
know. “You guys, especially Daley and cake but suddenly stopped and, with a quarters telephoned.
DeMaio, from what we remember of your weary, shake of his head, admitted, “The “We've got Dave DeMaio. We're bring-
records, never had the nerve to pull any- man in that car was Jimmy Lippe. Solly ing him to Mount Vernon now.”
thing as big as that. What’s behind it?” made him trail us so that if anything went \Xnowing that DeMaio was a family man,
But there was no answer forthcoming. wrong with our machine, we could hop — the detectives assigned to locate him had
Marino had fainted away. in with him. But when we cracked up patiently kept his house under surveillance
‘An assistant medical examiner present against that wall, he must’ve seen the until he trapped himself by attempting to
at the interrogation revived him and or- cop and beat it without us, the yellow reach it.
dered him to a cell, with hot milk and a skunk!”
rest. ; “How,” Silverstein repeated, “does Solly Ht**: vicious looking, with beefy
* “Whatever that man’s sentence may Cheesecake fit in with this murder?” face and thick sensual lips, DeMaio,
be,” he murmured to Silverstein, “he won't “Hle’s the one who gave Us the idea. when brought to Mount Vernon, vehe-
last to finish it. His days are numbered.” Frankie and me went to him to ask him to mently denied his participation in the
Frank Daley, the New York police stake us to some stuff until we got some crime. But a blunt explanation that Mari-
records showed, was & fiery, ill-tempered dough to pay him back. We needed the no had confessed and implicated him broke
drug addict, who thus far had never pro- stuff bad, and he wouldn’t give it to us. his gibbering denials. Craftily, he realized
gressed beyond the range of petty thievery Said he wasn’t in business for charity, that to turn State’s evidence as Marino
and odd-time tool for bootleggers. DeMaio, When we started to leave, he said he could — had done would lessen his punishment.
likewise, was a rough-and-tumble charac- give us 2 tip on how to clean up some The man’s statement was a surprise. Con-
ter, who often carried :out certain orders big change if we had the nerve to do it. — frary to what the police had expected to
$ of Harlem’s racket lord, Solly Cheesecake, He said that if we did this job all right — hear, the prisoner stolidly declared that at
‘ whose real name was Salvatore Mileto. he’d give us tips to bigger ones. He called the time the murders were committed he
‘Almost coincidental with this discovery DeMaio in and told him to go with us.” had been riding past the trolley, alone 12
came another in the form of a witness, “And where is Solly Cheesecake now?” his ear, and saw two men Jeap from the
———
oo
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THAT "RINGS THE BELL!"
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urk, Inc., Boston, Mass. SM ncn, net Men tondy *
tt)
So.
*
-—~ ;
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{4
trolley into a Cadillac. The men were
Daley and Marino. He did not know the
driver of the gelaway, car. His conncc-
tion with the case, he insisted, was purely
that of a witness.
But Marino’s fingerprints on the steer-
ing wheel of the Cadillac and DeMuio’s
nervous surprise when asked about Lippe
told the authorities that his story was false.
“Get Frank Daley!”
Once more alarms went out. ;
Carey, Martin and Donahue, appreciat-
ing that information might be guine
through any one of Daley’s women friends,
went directly to the apartment of Lucy
Connors. A rap on her door brought a
slender, bronze-haired girl of about twenty-
two face to face with the callers. There
was no question but that she was pretty.
Her eyes were large, round and _ violet-
hued, and her figure was smart and sym-
metrical. *
“W HAT do you want?” she said. Her
voice was husky and a trifle sharp.
“You're Lucey Connors?” Carey coun-
tered.
“Yes,” a:
“We want to talk with you about your
boy friend.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously and she
said, “Yeah, which one?”
Carey’s foot pushed the door open all
the way and he stepped past her, followed
by Martin and Donahue. Behind them
sounded the indignant voice of the girl.
“You guys must be cops, I suppose. You
look like ’em—and act like ’em, too. But
what's the idea barging in here like this?
There’s no laws I’ve busted, nor any that
my friends have, either.”
Carey’s eyes stared sharply at her. .
“We want to know where Frank Daley is,
that’s all,” he said quietly.
“For goodness sakes, how should I know?
I haven’t seen him in months. No, and I
haven't heard from him, either.”
“You know that he’s wanted for the
Mount Vernon trolley murders?”
“No, I... Well, that is, only what I’ve
seen in the papers. And I don’t believe
everything I read.”
“T-90k here,” Carey said tartly. “Don’t
think we came here merely to ask you
aimless questions. Y'vank Daley has lots
of girl friends. You're not the only one
he’s fooling around with. Now we haven't
questioned a single one of those girls yet.
Why? Simply because we know that the
only girl he’s been in contact with since
the murders is you. Now in case you don’t
know the law, any knowledge of this
crime through association with Daley
makes you an accessory after the fact and
liable to a nice long stretch. Think that
over before you tell any more lies.”
Lucey Connors’ face was pale, but her
eyes blazed.
“Youre not scaring me,” she retorted. “I
know my rights, and I know darn well
you're trying ‘to trap me, because I haven’t
seen Daley at all, or been in touch with
him. Whoever told you that I’m mixed
up in this thing is all wet!” :
Carey smiled a curious smile and said,
“Tf that’s the case, we won't trouble you
any longer, Come on, boys.”
“Sweet little thing,” Martin murmured
ironically, when they had reached the
street. “And kind of sure of herself, too.”
« “Now, what?” Donahue wanted to know.
Carey sighed wearily. “We’ve got two
things to do. One of them is to get a com-
plete list of Daley’s lady friends from
Marino and DeMaio and have Silverstein’s
inen check every one of them. The other
will be for us to keep tabs on Miss Con-
nors. We'll keep a line on her phone calls.
Chances are whether she likes it or not that
Daley will contact her by phone.”
But Lucy Connors’ telephone record,
when traced to the point of every call, re-
56
vealed nothing incriminating. Other girls
were interviewed and, where the circum-
stances warranted it, investigated. Weeks
went by, and for all the detectives’ concen-
tration, not a single lead was uncovered.
Prank Daley, Solly Cheesecake and James
Lippe had vanished like vapor.
All this while, despite the seeming sin-
cerity of the bronze-haired Lucy Connors,
Captain Carey had ordered two plain-
clothesmen to keep tabs on her constantly.
Thus it was on August 20th, in the after-
noon, that the two officers watching her
apartment house saw her emerge and stride
resolutely to the subway station.
Alert to the possibility that if the two of
them trailed her some one might slip into
the apartment, the_officers promptly de-
cided to split up. One of them continue
to watch the house, while the other shad-
owed the girl.
At 38rd Strect, Lucy Connors got off
the train, walked one block to the Grey-
hound Bus Terminal. She bought a ticket,
waited near a newspaper stand for a few
minutes, then stepped outside to a Boston-
bound bus.
The detective stepped up to the ticket
agent, showed his badge and said, “What’s
the destination of your last customer, that
girl in the yellow dress?”
“Westport, Connecticut.”
“Tid she buy a one-way ticket?”
“No, a round-trip.”
“What time does she arrive there?”
THE agent said promptly, “Bus will ar-
rive at Westport at 4:46.”
The detective hurried to a telephone
booth and called Headquarters. His report
was received with the comment, “We'll
have the State Police at Westport make
a quiet check on her business there.”
At 5:30, the Westport authorities in-
formed New York that Lucy Connors had
paid a twenty-minute visit to a thin man
of about twenty-three on a little farm two
miles outside of Westport proper. The
farm was run by an elderly man and his
sons, who were under the impression that
their boarder was a business clerk in need
of rest and quiet.
The man, without doubt, was Frank ©
Daley.
Within two hours of the reccipt of this
information, Carey, Martin, Donahue, Sil-
verstein, Captain Mattes and several Con-
necticut. State Troopers closed in on the
farmhouse.
“Four of us will enter the house,” Carey
directed. “The rest will surround it.
caution every one of you to be on the
alert every single second. The man’s a
killer of the very worst sort. If he’s
hopped up, he’ll not give you the slightest
chance.” ,
Martin, Donahue, Carey and Mattes
rapped against the kitchen door, their re-
volvers drawn. An astonished farmer
opened the door and looked down at the
artillery. Before he could utter the ex-
clamation that seemed to be sticking in
his throat, Carey lifted a finger to his lips
and said softly, “Where’s that boarder of
yours—the one who had the girl visitor
this afternoon? He’s wanted for murder.”
The farmer turned pale and swallowed
with difficulty. Dtimbly, he pointed up-
wards and managed to say, “He’s—he’s up-
stairs in the bedroom.”
“You get back in your kitchen, Mister,”
Carey ordered, “and keep out of the way.
There may be bullets flying all over the
place.”
In single file the four officers mounted
the narrow staircase on tiptoe. To their
dismay every step they took evoked a
loud creak from the wooden stairs.
.. Hardly had they reached the top when
a door upstairs was yanked open and a
harsh voice said, “Whatta you want?” then
broke off with an oath and almost
screamed, “Coppers!”
In that second the sleuths caught sight
of Frank Daley’s evilly contorted face,
dark with hate and rage. They saw, too,
his hand fly to the inside of his jacket.
Donahue and Martin, simultaneously,
sprang forward, with their arms out-
stretched, as if they had been shot from a
springed box. Donahue’s hands_ found
their way to the gunman’s face just as
Daley’s gun was whipped into sight. At
the same time Martin’s hands grasped his
legs and all three went down.
The struggling bandit was quickly sub-
dued and handcuffed. His mouth twisted
as he raved and swore at the top of his
lungs.
At the barracks near by Daley was told
that Marino and DeMaio had declared him
to be the trolleymen’s murderer. So. great
was his rage that he grew purple in the
face and couldn’t speak.
When he had recovered his voice, he
shouted, “I’ll fix those, rats. Tl fix
them so they’ll never squeal on anybody
again! If I go to the chair for this, they
go with me. You wait and see!”
“Then you did kill those men?” Silver-
stein said. :
“Sure, I did! 1 told that motorman to
stop the car. He didn’t. Well, I gave it
to him. And the same with the old coot.
ie tried to play wise, so I plugged him,
00.
Daley waived extradition and was taken
back to Mount Vernon the next morning.
He confessed that Marino was the_get-
away driver and that he and DeMaio
boarded the trolley. Where Solly Cheese-
cake and James Lippe were he insisted that
he did not know.
Daley was first to go on trial on Octo= °
ber 12th, 1925, before Supreme Court Jus-
tice Arthur 8. Tompkins, with District At-,
torney Rowland prosecuting. His trial
was short and the jury declared him guilty
of first degree murder. DeMaio’s trial,
with no delay, began a couple of days
afterwards. As in the former trial, the
verdict also was “guilty” in the first degree,
And on November 24th Daley and DeMaio
were sentenced to the electric chair.
MARINO was sentenced to five years for
the crime of manslaughter, 1st degree.
He entered Sing Sing Prison on October
18th, 1926. Early in 1927 the prison physi-
cian reported that he was suffering from
tuberculosis to the extent that his condi-
tion was hopeless, Governor “Al” Smith
pardoned him on March Ist, 1927, and two
days later he left Sing Sing a completely
broken man.
It now remained for the capture of
Cheesecake and Lippe to bring the case to»
an official close.
One day in 1927, thinking the case had
been done with and forgetten, Solly
Cheesecake surreptitiously returned to
New York from his place of hiding. He
was quickly tried, found guilty and sen-
tenced to serve from twenty years to life
in Sing Sing.
Two years later word came from Saler-
no, Italy, that a man identified as James
Lippe was being held on a vagrancy charge,
and would the New York police say
whether or not he was wanted in the
United States for any crime. The charges
against him were transmitted to Italy. The
authorities there tried him, found him
guilty and sent him away to prison.
Marino’s wife, incidentally, was released
of any charges when investigation proved
that she was innocent of any knowledge
of her husband’s criminal activities. Also,
in the case of Lucy Connors, it was proved
that she was entirely innocent of any
complicity in the crime.
Nore: The real names of Lucy Connors
and Betty Carter have been withheld in
the foregoing story. —EDIToR :
MASTER DETECTIVE
broad-shouldered 1:
and fully clothed.
had anticipated t
“Ts your name \
after handcuffs lis
wrists.
“Veah,” came |
“What’s your |:
“Munjas.”
“Where do you
“At the Youn:
Company.”
E had $35 in
AL ly loaded int
to Headquarters.
by Jelliga. Mu
partner for putti:
new captive spo
pronounced fore:
that he was a Se)
in that nation’s
War, and was no\
Jelliga incidenta
and had lived in
Despite the lat:
captive stolidly «
about the doubl:
the Pansa farm.
he said wrathfu
Munjas signed
cers to take |
where he was vi:
latter screamed
the unshaved f
man who killed
then lapsed int:
Tho prisoner
noted that his k
juncture that
A,
-* near the love
Valley of Ne:
at Canajoho
how Beech-b
; made.:
NOVEMBER, 1!
er. Sa
LLS GAZETTE son,
Y., THURSDAY, MARCH 14. 1957 THIRTY-FOUR PAGES
PRICE
FIVE CENTS
RE Victim beaten,
mm Robbed of $10.
Hurled in River
By CLIFF SPIELER
Gasette Staff Writer
Two North Lonawanda youths today were charged with
the slaying of 62-year-old William. 1. Knight here Tuesday,
Police said the yous, both TX years Old. signed) stute-
Menly linking them with the STO robbery and killing of the
. ¢ldetly Navy veteran.
Charged with first degree murdec were:
Nicholas Dan Jey 4O Webster St . North Tonawanda.
Robert W, Miller, 43 Ganson St, North Tonawanda.
State Park, Niagara balls and North ‘Lonawanda police
claimed solution of the slaying within 24 hours Of its com-
. { °
ROBERT W. MILLER
ripen aielic sorsna cigtiee, MISS UE: “
Knight's Parvally clothed body, vation, Miller sant, he ‘topped the
° e: e 7 Was found Howtng ina pong wtiear. Miler said he way In the
»d r the Loop neat the Pou Davi front scul,
; ion Aide Seized entranve to the Hydraulic Canal, vy heard Nick Dan hit this man
: yesterday morning, Death was | While he was in the oar three lines,
altributed to asphyxiation due Or then Nick Dan ROU oUt OL the car
drowning It was belicved Mato nd bosaw him swing and hat him
*
On Bribery Charge (20h oi 2 eee
into the Niagara! Dan and © pulled this Man out of
River after Deng struck oon the the car,” Miller said,
!
WASHINGTON, (P.—James R. Hoffa, reputed to be/head fou times with » ATOM: Millet claimed ‘that he did not
!
the real power in the giant Teamsters Union, was arrested | Granted Adjournment pant 1o assist in dumping the body
. . : The two were Aliaigned jn) (to the Hiver. Dan, Miller said,
Wednesday night on a charge of trying to bribe a lawyer to Police Court today any wenn took ll Knight's trousers pricy ic
feed him secrets from the Senate investigation into labor} oranted adjouraments until March the sgl TY the ie
; ce 2 1 US/22 after innocent pleay were ent. | Ver. “Nic an took ornare
r ecring. | He quickly posted $25,000 bond and w “ red P land some change from thiy man
recused pending a hearing March 28, han yy | Mat we dumped into the water. I
Dan mn ater ei te i. by [ROU four dollars, but | didn't want
ed lo the scene af the Maving tg lake it.” Miller said.
where they were questioned | :
The pair started to return to
urther by officers. |
f rhe y officers ; North lonawanda, Miller con.
The two youths sald PR Mapas | tinued, then deemed whil ca
' ( ‘
Mutementy they netted $10 and * 6
. MUle in Bullalo woe...
. [change in the tobhbervalacien
Almost simultaneously the Ked-
cral Bureau of Investigation arrest-
ed Hyman I, bischbach, 47, a
Mian, Idla., lawyer, on related
charges of bribery. He made bond
on the spot at hiv Coral Gables
| home and a hearing was set for
Mise se
em
oe 5 a
‘ ’ | Ulageed bim from the car fF threw
jee ve ve He CUMMILLCE, Langley police, Willian Knight's body Into the
meet any) said. | Dan led police to a] umber City iriver because [ knew that he pos.
FOR) any! — Prodded by McClellan and restaurant on the roof of which | ‘bly could identity me ay the
; i Mundt for A more complete cx. %as found the pair of trousers Ne | person that tobheg him.”
ler other: planation Of what he meant hy ‘aid he ripped = from Knight's! Ihe pair agreed that, aftcr leave
cy More; “the setting” Langley saul he way body before MoWay throws MOving Niagara Falls, they returned to
ant? but! simply Quoting the language of | the rE ESS ; North lonawanda where they had
cho plan} the Supreme Court, | Notte tron, believed tobe thera drink at Cralassi’s Malian Village,
ae pbiceisee : 7 i slayin weapon, was found near iV& ayvne , :
cel | Purthermore, he said,“ ae | . rite wcatenies re . parte ‘Ave. Dan said he oe
Oo 4 Clalay, , .
and under indictment (in Oregon) on a f ‘ MEAES Cousens on the rear roa
1 Attest of the two SUSPOCCIN Was of the building before centering the
the tesult of a cooperative effort restaurant, He led pole to the
Of the thice police departments. (PONE later.
Joining forces were Niagara | Miller Picked Up
COMP ACY Charge.”
ts MeClellan’y Opening statement
put in: {fat the committee would meet any |
tchallen ent into the hearing rece!
plied to's ge w mia the hearing tec Frontier State Park Police Lt. Jos. '
work,” jord av part of an account of bad pe Mu c Sgt William! Dan had been In North Lona.
| . MTUSprave, JY UY , ‘
fall WIN, Count ing ang: £P iWanda Ine custody sin ¢ 10.0
4 - only |4 cBed spying, countey am me (O'Grady and Patralmen Joseph phys : :
HE BI trap which led to Hoffa's ar-
: AM. Vesterday and had been book.
. i - ’ i y
og sek. se apinian Burwed (rer — tT Smith aud Detective Tevhe Davis of hes Mesemaocuenie ee
| } bac : fhe chairman sald ne aie and North Ponawanda Police the Knight case alter tan’ ate
| UMON, | tee had received Information I ad. ¢ hief Patrik J Crrimalts, Deteg. texndents wand hey: saw’ huiits poling
hack | vance that “certain Clements would Hive Tt. Fini! Gizenkowsks and De. ate aca with Karght and another
peep 10 place some one on his tective Jerome Kalota.
he first! committee Staff to keep them yn-!
'
i mad ! ale-
ortland, formed. The off vain cal th ' ment, Chrel ¢ ale ae dal
° . . ' 4 Wel konto cu i. € ‘ we tliana acn ’
Old dis-| Jf suid the entire climax came ree ‘ : ‘ ; SER. anit oe
PVextigation into the earthy MOLOINg prekup order toy Miller. Detectives
‘Wednesday night under the eyes Teil da Roi | : aida
; . Hours, with the INGQUIEY CTimaved whale Scorching for the Vvouth. ny.
anywer] EBL agents Who? he said, saw COM: |
. by the retin Of Dan and Miller pounded the car Malley Was pac keaf
‘under! mittce Mvestigator John Cye Cheay-
Mo this city about 440 am UP by Capt Raber Nthen seer
[ly hand Hoffa documents wbstract.
; ‘ PH Coroner bo Papene Ingram sad Patrotnan John Rynbkaw shy in
wo wit-led from the committee's files
ce. He: Cheasty, the PAI announced, ov | Gena ! hull, t { MEE MW pon
leam- jtensibly took Hoffa's offer but ac. Statens of the skull, but no ee
ht tovtually informed the committee ang te He st thats marke on He tae Youthy were booked on
Port. |the EBL and cooperated fully with nABES Tees indicated tis pe ine HUM Gegiee murder seal ec tay:
in (th jad been Whagged to the railing, day after additional questhoning by
a an ner. ithe point where blood MAIN GLE Dist Vey, Willan Hh bal and
- | Other story on Page 18, [cated Knight was thrown into the Nest, Dist, Atty. Wallner LT. dune
cial | TENG, Ji
nash.
(To Lunch With Kine In their signed Statements, the Katght way Ieleased from brie
nestly ‘s ;yOUhY related their Parhictpation County Pemitenthary at Wende fast
‘Wan
Lacerations Ou Skull Atter Dan
showed fou, doep lac Webster Street near Groundry street
there. | COPENHAGEN ap Nato] j,, the crime as follows. Satuiday atter SCIVING four months
you" ommander Gen. Lauris Norstad, | Dan and Miller met ain front of ot avin Manih sentence for public
cre for talky with the chief of the Belmont Restaurant, 4S Goun- MEO AGO He way “tbeyied
NNW. IA TON North Region, planned diy St Milley Waty driving His twice an Lonawanda Satunday on
Bite | to lunch with Denmark's Ring brother-in-law 'y cat. Miller suit public intowcaton charges,
Frederik IX today, tS Dan told him net cn MitY Cashed VA Check .
dean He nt OF% wiker > mene ry; Knight cashed 4 check for $65
Store, next to the May fists Rew; nm, “Pisesdag aries Aiiherus
aurant, 8&8 Webster St. Knight had |’) 2 PM. Nate ite) salar
heen in the May fais Restaurant, 60 Webster St, North
: Biahdganae hoe j lonawanda police said. ‘The check
Pot Kalght Into Car wats a monthly disability payment
® a i
* omen Miller said he and Dan placed! from the Veterans Administration
P) oviding Knight in the rear of the car} for
4 non-service connected dis-
and Dan said they should take ability. North lonawandi police
| Knight “where he lives.” {said he suffered from a heart con-
Income Taxes “i: Tonk fetta tan ant nn
attested in Tonawanda
(Garage after Dan told him: . l last Saturday, Knight had given
Stale; by married couples, the maximum | “We will roll this Buy because] his address as- the Plaza Hotel,
. and ‘ feduction is $35, ‘he had a lot of five and 10-dollar | North Tonawanda, Police said,
| Those who use the short ee en on him.” however, that he had not registered
| (IT-200) should enter their normal Miller continued: al the hotel,
of the | tax On Line &, compute their re- “When we stopped at the city Knight was born in North Ton-
SITUC-/ duction on a separate sheet of | garage, Nick Dan said he wanted awanda Nov, 14, 1894. He was
Ment! paper and enter the! reduction on | something heavy to hit this man Matried to the former Sara Lynch,
What! Line 9A. The amount on Line 9A | with, that he didn't want 10 Use|} who died in 1953, He ser in
> de-ithen can be substracted from the this (Knight's) cane. Nick Dan took the Navy for a year during World
“ {amount on Line 8 to give the net; something out of the trunk, Hi War I,
filed | tax. ‘think it was a lug wrench.” Knight's body is at the Zajac
full) Those who use. the long form In his initial statement, Dan) Funeral Home here. He is sched- 4
r ree (IT-201) should enter the BrOss tan said that Miller took the tire ironjuled to be buried in the Veterans
i$ in}on line 18 of the first page, com- from the trunk when the car’ Plot of Oakwood Cemetery.
latices! pute the reduction and enter it On reached Niagara Falls. ‘uf Dan was represented at the ar-
Line 194: The amount on Line Dan took over driving of the | raignmen, by Arthur G. Bau:
hus-!194 then can be subtracted from vehicle for the resi of the trip to; meister, a Buffalo lawyer. Dan's
d In! th Bross figure on Line 18 to-give
| Niagara Falls, the Pair agreed. | mother, sister and aunt were in
turn net tax. | When they reached the state reser-| the courtroom.
pO atel, Sei "Ys ewn- 0
: ’
yen Tb oheard Nick Dan hat this man
| yesterday Morning. — Death. wars while he was i the eal three tines,
jattributed to aspPhysiahon due to Then Nick Dan gol out of
! the Car
j drowning It was believed Mt and: t saw him swing and hit him
|
. 3
n Briber Ch aroe Knight: was UNCON ION, When hejat least once More. Then Nick
/ . Cc ep, (Was dumped into
the Niagata | Dan and } pulled this Man oul of
(River atte bemg struck on the the car” Miller said.
WASHINGTON, (P—James R. Hoffa, reputed to be head four times with 4 Me ton, Miller claimed that he aid not
rel power in the piant Teamsters Union, was arrested , Granted Adjournment | WANE TO assist in dumping the body
. . tot Phe \ awor were atiaigned jn 'MlO the iver. Dan, Mille, said,
vy ig 3 F ‘horas PRN) ' ce", . .
es Menton a charge of trying to bribe a lawyer OO Bae Court today and were fk Off Knight's trousers prior to
hi ‘erets’ from the Senate investigation into labor ‘granted adjouramenty until March !¢ throwinng of the body into fhe
; ae ler ; , . er“ Nivk Dan took 10 dolla
: 4 5 j +9 _ tive rn in {¢ Ollars
‘heerine sS 25,000 bond and was!22 after mMnovent: pleay were ent
SCOCTING, He quickly pe ted $ ’ O P .4nd some change from this nan
i
; fered,
sed pending a hearing March 28. hat we dumped Into the water. |
. ~ " Dan and Maller were taken by . ‘
FOF fouc dollars, but | didn't want
Polive to the scene of the Saving ‘1, take ut. Miller said.
(Where they “CIC Questioned
; The puss Slarted lo return to
further ty Officers, R ;
North Lonawanda, Miller cone
The (so vouths Suid in signed
The vs ‘ 'B “i unued, then decided While cn
jMalementy they netted $19 and | ;
jieute in Buftalo avenue to turn
1
|
“Hound and look for Knight's
ichange in the robbery shaving
| Dan and Miller at PHL NE ey They returned to the loop
fo find the
each other of actually striking the Bit Dans was Saahile
blows which rendered Koight oun
Ost simultaneously the Fed.
Heatot Tnvestigauon arrest.
Hien To bas tibach, 47, a
Lola lawyer. og tclated
Sat bibers He miade bond
“Potoat his Coral CGrables
hob a hearing way set for
“UO pam. today
‘ods Silent Wallet, Miller sant. The paw then
hORON INTO Custody. at Ic. CONSCIOUS, Phen, an : ee iseturned to North Tonawanda, he
sas tlotta’s red haied J4- early MOTDINE Mave tox Ay, police Stated,
|
allowed the two to confront CCP | ene iin da”
other tor the first lime since their!
apprehension. | In his second statement, Dan
Shortly afterward, Dan signed | 44d he “uch Knight with the lire
a statement: that he struck the; "fon. He said he and Miller dis.
blows which reyulted Moa cerebral; SUed rolling Knight while® driv.
eoncussion (KR tO Niagara Pally, Dan said
; ; the suggestion was his,
Blood Stains jn Car |
(The stocky unemployed youth
Blood stains were found on the any officers: da
) f the tear seat io aay ; —_
grit rhe, pau sag ae tate |) AMEE suiking Williams Knight,
ment they wed to dre Kinght | OPeted the door of the car orn)
fiom North lonawand,s to titeged hin tron ide a th Hob
‘ ‘ ) Maller, To dhageed William Knight
doosceretary, Murs. Dorothy
‘eseu, held only ay a Ma-
‘iiness, She was held under.
bond: on a detaining order
wid there was a “likelihood
cht flee... to avoid testi-
tothe background — of
attest, Walla Langley,
nah County (Portland) dis.
Orney, today invoked the
‘Mmendment in refusing to
questions when he was JAMES R HO
‘clore the Senate SUEY ie sida’ | Niagara Pally The car, ow Ned lay the edge of the liver and threw
MIRATING Lackety, Phy Miller's brother ee, jhimoin the PUnty Of Wallnany
ference to the charge! “Do you mean to reflect on thony Monaco Jr af North Knight was taken off him while |
Hof hatiman MeClel- Unis setting?” Mec lellan pressed. | Ponawanda, wag impounded BY | devia hin from the ear. | throw
\rh) the Senate com- “Not on the committee,” | tigley police, Willing Kiaieht's bods Into the
> prepared to meet any) said, | Dan Ted Pole toa Lumber ( WV rive Devatie Eb hiev that he pos
1 interference from any Prodded by Atc¢ Ilan and festaurant on the beet ot which “bly could identity Me ay the
Mundt for x more complete ey.) 4s found the Pall Of trousers he Person that robbed hin.”
Probably encounter other planation of what he meant by; Sant he stripped from Koight ys! pie Pal agiced that, after leav-
ether difficulties more, “the seuling” Langley saul he way | body” before was thiown MOcing Niagara Pall, they returned to
ie” MeClellan said, “but | ‘imply quoting the language of! the ner, !North lonawanda where they had
Y assure those who plan! the Supreme Court. } A tie iton, believed te be. the ia drink Gitlassr's Ttalian Village,
sex that we'll meet them | Furthermore, he said," Y am| Ve) tbe =e, Was hound near Bide Payne Ave. Dan said he threw
mt the challenge and Seal | under Indictment (ia Oregon) on ap Poop Pond yesterday, j Knight's wousers on the rear roof
i accordingly.” conspiracy charge." hed of the (wo sateen the building belore entering the
1 Squad Methods McClellan's opening Siatement the result of a COOPelalive ¢ lori restiurant, He led polive to the
. Of the three polic departmenty, P Pont hater
Mundt (R-SD tin: | that the committee would meet any | a ee oh
iad SY) put inst . 1 Joming forces were Niagra! sitter Picked Up
| hods applied to/Shallenge went into the hearing rec- i , : J
Wad methods applied to; . ‘Frontier State | ath Police bt. Jos ' ; : .
. | kK. (Ord as part of an account of the Shanes i Dan had been in Notth ‘lona-
Senate will not work. ; : eph Muygrave, Set. Williaa Wi wand oie { 100
r Sanding - room ~ only i alleged SPYINg, countes SPyINg and (Wanda police Custody since
é "Sap |O'Grady and -Patrotmen Joseph | Paterds :
ched the big Senate church at (rap which led to Hoffa's ar-! rte, Nig. h ) Sesterday and had been book
rest. Pigigpbe i Ueda = Chiton St! 08 a charge ot Probation viola-
. . Rira Falls Detective ION rin North Tonawanda dete tives
. P was; Documents Turned Over oe ; es hi
4 Demoviat w ho = j {Smith agd Detective leslie Wavy) ig they began quesuioning him on
tie attorney with’ back- The chairman sald the COMM land = North Tonawanda Police
an ; pane. (the Knight vase after Ewin City
the Teamsters UMION, | tee had received iNformabon in ad- Chief Patuich b. Guimahdi, Detec- hesidenty sand they. saw hin getting
tommittee his back-| vance that “certain elements would live Lt. Emil Gizenkowshi and Ie. inte a eat with Knight and another
adily, jallempt lo place sOMe ONE ON this teclive Jerome Kalota, | :
haan,
“Noavked when he first ‘committee staff to hee them jn-| 2
. ihins Portland rie " 7 j Lacerutions On Skull . | Afler Dan made his fist state-
¥ me 4] riko ‘die. “He sata the entire climax faa The officers eontinued their ine ment, Chiel Grimaldr sent Out a
wid in ) : We (neidtay night Neder the eal of /YOURAION into the carly MOON pIchup order for Muller, Detectives,
CY situ! 4 Al ye
; Hhours, with the INGQUITY Climaved while Searching for the youth, im-
Stlully peftise to answer} FBI agents Who? he said, saw coms | ried f
. . : an; ler; ted the cur. Miller way picked
; 5 chia ; heay-| OY the return Of Dan and Miller) poun i Ws pick
pe uNeet My rights BE Cec’ Mette dsimtn ene 10 this city about 4:30 am, rep by Capt. Robert Athen wind
os een te it) it | f fr th pts ines’ fil Coroner &, bugene Ingiam said Patrolman doh RKynhowshi in
i. een ne her i he Chekety the ai Anbiaen se {AN AulOpsy showed fous deep lace Webster street Newt CGroundry strees
VV re commiltee, é "i a Uy, OS . ;
i . me , tavions of the skull, but no fae at P10 pin,
MalOry that some Team. lensibly took Hotfa's offer but ae re MOEN G . : .
‘ wi lite, He said that Mathy onl phe 4, (hy were be )
on S sought to tually informed the cOMMiIllee an! ate ahs ‘ _— mens Okt oaked on
ee i p the FBI and cooperated full with AMghes legs indicated his body the tinst veglee munder charpes to-
ees ts from. Port. | me -Caape y phad been dragged to the tailing, !day after additional questioning by
nd rackets and were in |them, the point where blood MAINS GN | ast. Ny. Willan PE Parl and
h Langley, | Other story on Page 18. cated Knight was thrown into the | Ayst, Dist. Atty, Willian 1. Hunt
48 Langley invoked the pi Da cic ei l hiver. Nh.
dment, MeClellan ash- ivy, ye re | tn their « I statements, the k a leased 7 I:
dat | Lune Wi " Ing Nn their signey Satements, Ne | night Way Teloaser tom. brie
ether: “if you honestly | l'o I um ich tl k Souths related their Participation: ¢ ounty Penitentiary at Wende last
1 : ; . : : : . !
wih Me the herd wire. . COPENHAGEN ad _ Nato} ip the crime ay follow ‘ Saturday alter serving four months
id teyneriminate yOu. | Commander Gen. Lauris Norstad, | Dan and Miller met in front of «7 . 0
Prodded Py ‘here for talks with the chier of), (7He
* @elting ede) nw ae
ROBERT W. MILLER
NICHOLAS DAN JR.
