Ohio, P, 1890-1952, Undated

field had
* because
ness, and
sely. She
ia single

30 A.M.,
sre operat-
‘e his life.
yur hours.
‘+ husband
Poor soul,
his condi-
arding her
re intense.
elatives in
come to
wm, North
4 daughter,
within two

vere at the
few minutes
Jxamination
3 disclosed
4 eaten cakes
the guninan
two books
titles were
” an
was to
e was &

. being Mrs. Bethel’s observation

The Clue of the Old Shoes—Cincinnati’s Twin Slayings 27

BEART Se ie to ea ; that if the slayer was a novice, his ner-
Ce Prana i Magee gates eagle vousness might give him away, and if he

had sought surcease in liquor he might

become loquacious while in his cups.

I don’t know how many men wearing new
black shoes were yanked from the arms of
their partners on dance floors and made to
take off their footwear. If they wore size
7}4D, the wearers had a tall lot of explaining
to do. If the size was larger or smaller,
apologies were in (Continued on page 106)

(Left) Morris Hockfield, second victim

of the brutal hold-up. (Below) Lee

Flaugher of the Homicide Squad, the

detective who brought back the killer
from San Francisco

harbinger of what was ahead of us. It was a long quest.

We located all five bullets. The only one that missed a
human target pierced the stovepipe of a small coal stove
and dropped into the fire. By sifting the ashes, we retrieved
that partly melted leaden pellet. The other four bullets had
caromed into the walls after passing through Mr. and Mrs.
Hockfield.

Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Bethel, 1706 Central Avenue, who
were conversing in front of the store when the gunman dashed
out, saw him run into an alley between Race and Elm Streets.
They, as well as the Negro watch-
man, were able to give only
meager descriptions, our best tip

that the fugitive wore brand‘
new shoes. ‘

WE picked up the old shoes
left behind, and observed
that they were black and size 7D.
Near-them was the empty box
from which Hockfield had fitted
his slayer with size 7}44D. From
then on, it was a tough night in
the neighborhood for men wear-
ing new black shoes of the latter
size,

Members of my squad and the
uniformed men spread out to
visit all the cafés and night clubs
in the Central Avenue—Vine
Street district. We had a hunch

Sree neienntorennsronn


Haepalactase ees eee

ee

entree eee

True Detective Mysteries

The Clue of the Old Shoes

order, with a polite explanation to the lady.

Before midnight, a round of the hotels
and rooming houses in the district that
catered to transients began. Sleepers were
routed from their beds, to sit on the edge
yawning in their pajamas while a flash-
light played on their shoes. Several ar-
rests were made, but nothing ever came
from them.

The officers worked carefully from street
to street, block to block, knowing they
were losing valuable time but utterly help-
less until they could pick up the trail.
Hours passed in. fruitless search, during
which another detail watched every rail-
road, interurban and bus station, and the
toll bridges across the Ohio River into
Kentucky.

And now it was daylight, and the mur-
derer had slipped through our net. The
old shoes left by the murderer intrigued
me. I picked them up again after Chief
Kirgan returned to his office, and reflected.
What manner of man had walked in them?
When and where did he have them half-
soled?. Where was he now in the stolen
shoes?

I couldn’t answer any of the questions,
so I turned to someone who might.
dialed the number of the United Shoe
Machinery Corporation, located in our
city, the largest manufacturer of cobblers’
supplies in the world. I asked for the
services of an expert on shoes.

Within a few minutes, Charles E.
Zanger walked into my office. I had never
met him before.

“Do these shoes tell you. anything, Mr.
Zanger?” I inquired, after relating the con-
ditions under which they were obtained.

Zanger produced a cobbler’s knife and
with deft strokes dissected one of the
shoes. As I watched him, I realized I was
in the presence of a master of his craft.
Zanger placed the uppers, lining and sole
under the glare of the powerful ultra vio-
let rays machine in our crime laboratory
and made some jottings on a pad. Then
he turned to me.

“Sergeant,” Zanger began, “the man you
seek is young. He is in straightened cir-
cumstances, but is not on relief in Cin-
cinnati. He is perhaps six feet tall and
weighs about 160 pounds. He is fond of
liquor. He has spent much of the time
during the past four months outside of
Ohio. He is a man of careless habits.
Those shoes were too small for him.”

EFORE I could recover from my sur-

prise, Detective Flaugher, who was.

sitting at my elbow, chimed in with.

“And can you tell whether he has a
dimple in his chin, or speaks with an ac-
cent?”

Zanger laughingly shook his head. Then
I began to fire questions at the shoe ex-
pert.

“How do you know he is young?”

“Because of his stride,” replied Zanger.
“It was elastic.”

“And why six feet tall?”

“Stride again,” answered my vis-a-vis.

“How do you know his weight?”

“Because these shoes are four months
old, and it would take that weight to re-
duce them to this condition in that
period.”

“How do you know he is hard up?”

“Because he wore this pair of shoes
every day,” returned Zanger. “If he had
another pair to change off to, or these
had been kept on shoe lasts, they would
now be in better shape. That man had
just this one pair.”

“And how do you know he wasn’t on
relief in Cincinnati?”

(Continued from page 27)

“This type shoe is not given out at our
relief stations.”

“What makes you think he was care-
less?” I continued.

“Because he got these shoes wet one
time, and when he put them near a hot
fire to dry out, they cracked. That’s why «
they had to be half-soled.”

“How do you know these shoes were
too small for the murderer?”

“They are size 7 D,” returned Zanger.
“He should wear a 7%. You can tell that
because the outside and inside lining of
the toe shows that the left large toe
rubbed across the nail. The second toe
rubbed across the first knuckle. The third
and fourth toes rubbed the nails. And, be-
cause it was too small for the wearer, it
split in places.”

Zanger was enjoying my questions. It
was easy to see that. And I was enjoying
the answers. I had saved two puzzlers for
the last.

“How do you know he was a drinker and
spent considerable time outside of Ohio
during the past four months?”

“THAT'S easy,” replied the expert, pick-

ing up the sole of the dissected shoe.
“As I told you, these shoes are four months
old. Between the heel and toe here are
markings made by brass, probably a foot-
rail on a bar. We have no brass rails on
Ohio bars since liquor came back. Our
law, you know, permits the serving of
drinks only to customers who are seated.
Therefore this fellow did some heavy
drinking in some other state.”

I seized Zanger’s hand and pumped it
with enthusiasm.

“Tf you ever get out of a job over there
at the factory, Mr. Zanger, I can find
you one here in our crime laboratory,”
I said, and I meant it. “Now what else
can you tell me from these shoes?”

Zanger consulted his pad.

“These shoes were made by the Gibern
Shoe Co., of Brockton, Mass.,” he re-
sumed. “The lining is No. 65017-8. This
faint number, brought out by the violet
rays, is 188. That’s the factory number.
The style is No. 8543.

“You will observe that this is a black
shoe, with a plain toe, and that there are
two brass last rivets in the instep sole. The

Charles E. Zanger, the ‘‘Shoe Detec-
tive’’ who helped Sergeant Schattle
break the sinister case

rubber heels were made hy Goodyear,
Wingficld brand. The label says ‘Made
in the U. S. A., x-7393.. Number 24 ap-
pears beneath the label.”

“Anything else?” I inquired.

“Yes,” replied the expert. “The repair
work was done by a poor shoemaker, on a
Landis double-stitcher. The cobbler tilted
the shoes, and allowed them to buckle
against the dull cutter, making a poor
trim.”

‘Zanger added that the cobbler employed
a cheap 7-cord thread and used it with hot
wax. He wet his leather before he worked
it and used a 4%-8 clinch nail.

“Do all Cincinnati cobblers use Landis
double-stitchers?” I inquired, feeling that
we Were getting somewhere at last.

“No,” replied Zanger, reaching for my
telephone “but I can find out in a jiffy
how many do.”

Was this man a shoe detective?

After a search of its records, Zanger’s
office telephoned back with the informa-
tion that seven Cincinnati cobblers used
Landis stitchers, and gave me their names
and addresses!

My four sleuths had their hats and
overcoats on before I had completed writ-
ing out the list.

“Divide these up, boys,” I said, “and
get busy. Take this whole shoe along
and see if one of these shops repaired it.”

After Detectives Burks, Hart, Flaugher
and Faragher had departed, I got the shoe
factory at Brockton on long distance. I
was told that Gibern shoes were jobbed
in our territory by The Perry-Norvell
Company, of Huntington, West Virginia.
A long distance call to this concern pro-
duced the information that the jobbers
had only one customer in our immediate
vicinity, the G. R. Kinney Company, oper-
ating two stores in Cincinnati, Ohio, and
one across the river in Newport, Kentucky.

I set great store on the Landis stitcher
clue, as Zanger assured me any cobbler
could recognize his: own work, especially
when the repairs were made less than
three weeks before, as in this case. But
none of the seven cobblers my men visited
had done the work. Some waxed indig-
nant at even being suspected of being
guilty of such a slipshod job.

AS the days sped on, my men became
more or less shoe experts themselves.
and they could tell a pair of new 7%
shoes at a glance. I don’t know how many
wearers of such shoes were picked up and
made to account for themselves on Mon-
day night between nine and ten o’clock.
For instance, we arrested a man at the
Hamilton County Transient Bureau wear-
ing new black oxfords of -that size, who
couldn’t recall where he was on Monday
night. He knew where he bought the
shoes, however, and after Detective Hart
accompanied him to a shoe store at 623
Central Avenue, the suspect was released.
Having gleaned from the shoes the ap-
proximate age, height and weight of the
murderer, and the fact that he was a
drinker, we now bent our efforts toward
tracing the sale of the discarded shoes
four months before when they were new.
Salesmen at the two Kinney stores in
Cincinnati, and the one in Newport, could
not remember the sale, so we checked with
‘other customers of the Huntington jobbers
located in Columbus, Marion and Hamil-
ton, Ohio, and New Albany, Indiana.
We got a thrill when the dealer at
Marion telegraphed he had made the sale,
and had the name and address of the
purchaser, but when Detective Faragher
arrived at Marion he discovered the dealer


26

merchant stretched the shoe again for him.

Hockfield did not know that the man was
stalling for time, waiting until two girl cus-
tomers in the store had departed with the
bundle Mrs. Hockfield was wrapping.

‘As soon as the girls left, the shoes seemed
satisfactory. The customer drew on _ the
other shoe over the old sock, laced it and its

mate.

‘W HAT are the damages?” inquired the
customer. Hockfield named a sum.
The man reached into his right hip pocket,
but instead of producing money, y ed out
a revolver.

“Stick them up!” snarled the customer.
His orbs were fixed—unflinching, immobile.

Mrs. Hockfield screamed something about
the police, and started on the run for the
rear room, A revolver spoke twice and cut
her down, two bullets in her back. Horrified,
the merchant started for the front door.
Came three more spurts of fire. The first
bullet clipped Hockfield’s left elbow. A
second went wild. A third ploughed through
the shoe dealer, and sent him sinking slowly

heard the shots.
west toward Central Parkway.

The street so quiet a few seconds before
became alive. People in amazing numbers,
for that hour of the night, dashed toward the
store. The crew of the first police cruiser
responding to the alarm telephoned to Head-
quarters by the colored watchman, found the
shoe dealer and his wife sitting on a bench
near the doorway, clasping hands. Bleeding
profusely, they were barely conscious.

So broken..was the English of
the Russian couple that our uni-
formed men could not understand
much of what they said as they
stammered and gesticulated in their
excitement. At the request of
Mrs. Hockfield, Rabbi E. Silver,
of Knseth Israel Synagogue, was
summoned to her bedside soon
after she and her husband arrived
at Cincinnati General Hospital in
a police ambulance. Through the
Rabbi as an interpreter, it was

True Detective Mysteries

(At top) Detective Ser-
geant George W. Schattle,
head of the Homicide
Squad, Cincinnati, Ohio,
co-author, whose clever
direction of the investi-
gation led to the arrest of
the slayer. (In circle)
‘Detective Phil Brester, who
picked up the trail of a
“shot” gun

(Left) Detective William
Burks, of the Homicide
Squad. He did important
work in running down
clues to the murderer

learned that Mrs. Hockfield had
sensed a possible robbery because
of the customer’s nervousness, and
watched the gunman closely. She
said he had not obtained a single

cent.

Hockfield died at 12:30 A.M.,
Tuesday, while surgeons were operat-
ing in an attempt to save his life.
His wife survived him four hours.
She never learned that her husband
preceded her in death. Poor soul,
she kept inquiring about his condi-
tion to the last, disregarding her
own sufferings, which were intense.

The victims had no relatives in
Cincinnati. They had come to
Cincinnati from Durham, North
Carolina, in 1922, with a daughter,
Dorothy, but she died within two
years after their arrival.

My four men and I were at the
shoe store within a very few minutes
after the shooting. Examination
of the living quarters disclosed
that the Hockfields had eaten cakes
and tea shortly before the gunman
entered. There were two books
on the icebox. The titles were
“American Mystery Stories” and
“A Long Quest.’ Later I was to
realize that the latter title was

a on


had made a mistake in the number.

Turning to the socks, we found that the
one sold by Hockfield, and left on the
floor by the slayer, was silver and black
with a double 3-4 inch stripe and design
down the ankle. The damp sock discarded
by the murderer was brown, with a white
block angle stripe. I threw the socks aside
in disgust upon learning they were manu-
factured in immense quantities, and could
be purchased at five and ten cent stores.

Next to the shoes, the bullets proved
the best clue. The lead in cartridges of
the caliber used most frequently by gun-
men—.32, 38 and 45—weighs 146, 158 and
200 grains, respectively. The lead loses
from four to eight grains upon penetrating
solid substances, but very little weight,
if any, in passing through the fleshy part
of a human body.

Th bullets which killed Mr. and Mrs.
Hockfield each weighed near enough to
158 grains to mark them as having been
fired in a .38 caliber pistol, and a ballis-
ties test in our laboratory showed they
had been fired from a Smith & Wesson
special.

While my men were searching pawn-
shops and hardware stores for sales of
such a gun, our laws requiring registra-
tion of all revolver sales, I was receiving
frequent calls on the telephone from a wo-
man who refused to give her name, but
each time said she had valuable informa-
tion to give about the murders, but was
afraid. Finally I calmed her fears, and
she came in.

She gave me the names of the two girls
who were in Hockfield’s store when the
customer first entered. The girls were
Helen Schroeder and Dolly Fitzgerald.
Each was eighteen, years of age.

Both girls had observed the man care-
fully because of his apparent nervousness
—how carefully, you can judge by this
description they gave:

Age thirty ; light reddish hair; thick eye-
brows; large, light blue piercing eyes;
ruddy complexion, blotched with pimples;
sharp nose; protruding ears, very thin lips;
slender build; light gray Alpine hat with
black band; dark zipper jacket with
pockets set at an angle. And the shoes
he was looking at were black low-cuts,
with pointed toe.

We felt certain the customer the girls
had observed was the murderer, both be-
cause of the time element and the fact
that he was young, as the shoe expert
had told us.

Working on the theory that the slayer
was familiar with the territory surround-
ing the shoe store because of the fact he

True Detective Mysteries

darted into a through alley, although there
were several blind alleys he might have
entered, my men visited scores of homes
whose back yards were tapped by the
alley, and finally struck pay dirt.

Mrs. Mary Dier, 1720 Pleasant Street,
said she was standing in the alley in the
rear of her home, when she heard the five
shots in quick succession. Presently, a
man dashed out of an intersecting alley
and almost knocked Mrs. Dier down as
he brushed past. It was so dark she could
not describe him.

The hunt had been on for about a
week when Detective Phil Brester, who
was born and raised in the neighborhood
of the murders, was summoned to a beer
parlor at 1703 Race Street.

“Phil, I’ve just heard about the search
for a 38 caliber Smith & Wesson revolver
in connection with the Hockfield shoot-
ing,” began the proprietor. “What I have
to tell you may or may not mean any-
thing.”

eee it,” said Detective Brester, eag-
erly.

“Well, about an hour or so before the
shooting that Monday night there was a
young fellow with curly hair in here,”
continued the informant. “He laid a
Smith & Wesson .38 on the bar and wanted
to sell it. I inquired if it was ‘hot.’ He
shook his head, and said he traded a radio
for it at a party the night before. He
asked $10 for the gun. When I offered
$8, he sneered, loaded the pistol from a
handful of loose shells, and said he would
go out and get some money with it.”

The beer parlor owner related that he
warned the youngster not to go out into
the street with a loaded revolver, as he
might get picked up, whereupon he
boasted, “If the law tries to stop me, Tl
let him have it,” and walked out.

|B blag BRESTER’S informant
said he knew the lad only as “Char-
ley,” ‘but felt sure he lived in the neigh-
borhood, as he often bought beer there.

This tip swung us into a search for a
party among young folks on Sunday night
February 3rd, at which a radio was traded
for a revolver. Figuring there might have
been refreshments for such a party, we
checked beer deliveries in the vicinity for
that night.

And we found what we wanted! The
party was held at the residence of Miss
Stella Bradshaw, 145 East Clifton Ave-
nue. A. guest addressed by some as
Charlie Ross, and by others as Norman
Peacock, had come in, carrying a radio.
It was hooked up for dance music. As
Miss Bradshaw remembered it, the radio

Assistant Prosecuting Attorneys Carson Hoy (left) and Dudley M. Outcault who
presented the evidence

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L DETECTIVE STORIES

Making the Shoe Fit—Murder (Continued from Page 9) oeric, Readtt Eitst.it

Obtaining the address of the man
who had carried home Charlie’s radio,
the officers went there at once. Bill
Towne readily told them all he knew
about the deal. The gun, a Smith and
Wesson .38 caliber revolver had been
his. It had lain around. the’ house for
months and Towne had no use for it
and wanted to get rid of it. He’d car-
vied it to the party and shown it to
Peacock. Peacock offered to swap him
the radio for it. The deal had been
closed immediately. Towne showed the
radio to the officers.

“Have you seen Peacock since then,
Towne?”

“Yes, he came around the next night
about eleven or eleven-thirty and
tried to borrow five dollars from me.”

“Did he say what he wanted it for?”

“Well, I didn’t pay much attention
to what he said. I didn’t have the
money to loan him. I believe he did
say something about needing it for
carfare,” Towne answered.

Further questioning of Towne
brought out the fact that Peacock often
was out of Cincinnati; that he made
frequent trips to visit his father in
Peoria, Illinois, and that on several oc-
casions he had gone to the Coast to
visit his brother who lived in San
Francisco.

HE detectives hurried back to re-

port to their chief.

“Peacock?” Schattle mused. “I’ve
heard that name before. See what you
can dig up in the B of I, Brewster.”

Presently Brewster brought back a
folder and a photograph.

“You’re right; you’ve heard that
name before, Chief,” he said, showing
Lieutenant Schattle the photo. “This
is Peacock. We had him in for bur-
glary. Guess you’ll have to buy that
shoe expert, Zanger, a pair of shoes.
He sure hit the bull’s-eye with his de-
scription deduced from the shoes.”

“Yes, it looks as if those shoes are
going to trap a murderer. Maybe bring

meer the chair, Brewster,” Schattle
said.

Wanted circulars with Peacock’s
“mug” and finger-print classification
were immediately prepared-and rushed
to. police officials throughout the
United States.

“Sooner or latter, he’ll be picked up
somewhere,” Schattle said. “A crook
like that is bound to get crossways
with the law. Meanwhile we'll keep a
special watch on Peoria and Frisco.
You better check Peoria right away,”
he instructed Detective Flaugher who
was standing near by.

Detective Flaugher went to Peoria
the same day. He had no difficulty in
locating Peacock’s father, a respectable
— well thought of by his neigh-

ors.

But all the man could say was, “I
don’t know where Norm is. I had a
telegram from him from Crawfords-
ville recently. He wanted me to send
him money. That’s all he ever wanted
from me, money. I knew that he was
in trouble again. I refused to accept
the wire.”

Rushing to Crawfordsville, Detective
Flaugher went at once to the Western
Union office and showed Peacock’s pic-
ture to the operator.

“That’s the man who sent the wire
to Peoria that was refused,” the opera-
tor said. “I remember how he cursed
when we told him that his father re-
fused to answer and turned down the
collect charges on his message.”

Securing the assistance of Craw-
fordsville police, Flaugher’ made a
search of all places where it was likely
the thug might be “holed up.” They
were unable to find any further trace
of Peacock.

“He tried to raise money on his gun
in Cincy,” Flaugher mused. “He’s
dumb enough to have tried it here,
too.”

He asked local officers if there were
any stores dealing in second-hand fire-
arms.

Informed that the Hatfield Sporting
Goods Store sometimes took in used
firearms, Flaugher called there.

“I’m looking for a used Smith and
Wesson revolver in good condition. A
32 or .38 would do,” he told the pro-
prietor. : :

Hatfield showed him a Smith and
Wesson .38 caliber revolver and
Flaugher flashed his badge.

“TI believe this could be the gun used
to commit two murders with in Cincin-
nati,” he said. “Where did you get it?”

Hatfield, a businessman of good.
reputation and wide experience in the
firearms trade, brought out his record

book.

“I bought the gun on February 5,
that was a Tuesday,” he told Flaugher.
“I remember the fellow that sold it
well. Tall, curly-headed, young man
wearing a dark zipper jacket.”

“This look anything like him?”
Flaugher asked, showing a picture of
Peacock.

“That’s the man,” Hatfield said.

The revolver was taken back to Cin-
cinnati and tested in the ballistics lab-
oratory at Police Headquarters. When
bullets fired from it were compared
with slugs taken from the bodies of the
murdered storekeepers, they checked-
in every detail. The police now were
sure that they had the murder gun and
knew definitely who the killer was.
Capturing him was another matter.

Weeks passed while police through-
out the central, western and coastal
states kept an alert watch for the
suspect. .

On August 14 Chief of Detectives
Major Emmett D. Kirgan was notified
that San Francisco police had Norman
Peacock in custody. He had been
picked up drunk.

Detective Flaugher was assigned to
accompany Sheriff George A. Lutz
when the Hamilton County official
went to return the fugitive.

After extradition proceedings were
over the officers started back with their

prisoner. Night and day he was
shackled to one of his guards.

At first he was sullen and silent but
as time passed the sheer tedium of the
trip made him talk. He was nonchalant
and absolutely callous about the fate
that awaited him in Ohio. He was even
more cold blooded about his crimes.

“Why did you shoot that poor old
woman, Peacock?” Sheriff Lutz asked
him one day. “What good did it do?”

\yomean PEACOCK turned his cold,
pale-blue eyes on the Sheriff.

“Why shouldn’t I have shot her?” he
countered in a flat voice. “I gave them
their chance, didn’t I? I told them both
I’d shoot if they squawked. The old
lady was going to call the cops, so I
shot her. After that I had to kill the
old man, too. It was them or me.

“I didn’t get a dime from the dump.
I didn’t have time,” he said. “The guy
across the street saw me and then he
reached for the phone. I knew he
wasn’t making no date with his
sweetie. I knew it wouldn’t be but a
few minutes till I’d hear sirens if I
stuck around, so I lammed.”

Norman Peacock was lodged in the
Hamilton County Jail in Cincinnati on
September 2.

Later he pleaded guilty and waived
a jury trial. Under Ohio law this auto-
matically placed his case before a
three-judge tribunal.

Common Pleas Judges Dennis Ryan,
Nelson Schwab and Charles Bell took
the bench on September 23 to hear the
testimony.

A week later he was found guilty of
murder. On October 5 he was sen-
tenced to die in the electric chair.

On March 11, 1936, Norman Peacock
was electrocuted in the Ohio State
Penitentiary in Columbus.

To protect the identity of innocent
persons the names of Helen Pond, Lois
Jensen, Irma Wilson, Mrs. James
Franklin and Bill Towne as used in
this story are fictitious.

| Heroes of the Crime Laboratory (Continued from Page 16) OFFICIAL DETECIIVE STORIES

Appreciative of this attitude, the
Sheriff of Mobile County gave money
from his own pocket to provide equip-
ment for the laboratory when it first
was established in Mobile. Later the
county made an appropriation to pur-
chase more equipment and eventually
the Department of Toxicology was
financially able to make more con-
tributions. The Department now fi-
nances the laboratory and its personnel
entirely.

The laboratory at this moment is in

‘

from the light and this is shown by the
lack of lines which represent those
colors when seen in the final stage of
spectroscopic analysis.

His desire for speed and precision
is based on a definite need in police
work. Evidence has a habit of deteri-
orating in value with time. Converse-
ly the quick and accurate solution of a
crime is more positive assurance that
the criminal will be punished. The
Marcet case illustrates this well.

Mobile City Policeman Jules Marcet

cet’s story now. Go over there and tell
him that no officer in Mobile, including
Marcet, made the prints on this gun.
It’s Marcet’s gun, all right. Take Mrs.
Marcet’s prints while you are there
and rush back with them.”

Solicitor Bart B. Chamberlain al-
ways takes an integral part with the
other officers in every serious crime
investigation.

The information which Grubbs had
sent him aided him now in his ques-
tioning of Mrs. Mareet She annenred

and found no evidence of nitrates. He
considers this test to be specific only
when it is negative and is controlled.
He controls it by firing the same kind
of ammunition from the same gun and
testing his own hands. If the gun has
driven nitrates into his skin, he con-
cludes that it would have done the
same to the skin of a suspect.

If this suspect has not cleaned his
skin and there are no nitrates on it,
then obviously he has not fired the gun.

No nitrates ware an nithar af Man


ae

*9E6T- TINE (UO9RTTWeH) gS oTUuG “oe TS eq TUM 4 UsUaOHE

IM PENNY expected plenty of business as the
J unusually cold February night wore on, but
for the time being there was nothing more to
do than to sit waiting for it im the garage office.
Few persons were abroad in the bitter gale.
Two girls emerged from the shoe shop across the
street and were swept off down the sidewalk like
a pair of leaves. ;

Then the two sharp reports jarred Penny out
of his chair. They sounded like shots, but he
could not be sure. All evening the wind had
been banging signs and tearing the limbs from
trees with alarming noises.

But when three more explosions sounded, the
garageman no longer was in doubt. They came
from the Sample Shoe Store, and they were gun
blasts. Penny bolted for the door, yelling at the
top of his lungs for help.

He had barely gained the sidewalk when the

young man burst out of the shoe shop and
sprinted down the street with the wind at his
back.
. Penny hesitated an instant. He knew he was
outdistanced even before he could start in pur-
suit, and the runmer doubtless was armed, while
he was not. The garageman hurried back to the
telephone. .

Having notified police, he crossed to the shoe
store. His first vision was of the two bodies upon
the floor, and thereafter he noted nothing else.
He was awkwardly attempting first aid when the
police arrived.

Detective Lieutenant George Schattle was fol-
lowed into the place by half a dozen crack
sleuths of the Cincinnati homicide bureau.

A bespectacled, middle-aged man lay doubled
on his right side in the center of the storeroom,
amid a litter-of shoes and boxes. ~ :

“Morris Hochfield, the proprietor,” Penny ex- _

plained. “That’s his wife, Marie, over there.”
The woman was sprawled face down at the
rear of the store, where a door led to what
Schattle knew would be the living quarters of
the couple in the rear. He stepped into these
rooms, quickly observing that a table was set
for dinner, which was warming in pans and
kettles on the kitchen stove.

Both victims were still alive, but gravely
wounded and unconscious. Schattle rushed them
to the Cincinnati General Hospital, then mar-
shaled his men to search for clues and witnesses.

Penny sketched his story. The lieutenant
phoned headquarters to ask for a guard at trans-
portation terminals and the great bridges over

‘the Ohio River to be on the watch for a tall, thin

young man wearing a dark windbreaker, but no
overcoat.

“A guy without an overcoat would be con-
spicuous enough on a night like this,” Schattle
reminded Detective Phil Brewster. “Take some

BY MARTIN FISKE

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, November, 19h6.

of the boys out and make the nearby area. And .

be sure somebody stays with both Hochfield and
his wife at the hospital, in case either is able to
talk. We'll make this our headquarters for the
present. Bring anything you find to me here.”

Nothing in the store had been disturbed, despite
the activity therein. A photographer set up his
equipment after chalking out the precise positions
of the bodies as they had been found. Schattle
was interested +o see that the proprietor had fallen
among near]: a dozen open shoe boxes and their
contents, sc placed as to indicate that Hochfield
was waiting on a customer, or had just finished
fitting one, when he was struck down.

The new shoes on display in this collection were
men’s footgear, all of the same size—7D Then
from among the litter the sharp-eyed lieutenant
picked up another shoe, old, worn, and also a 7D.

He remembered that two girls had guitted the
store only a couple of minutes before the shoot-
ing. Schattle tabbed them as the last customers,
and a check of the cash register showed that a pair
of women’s shoes had been the final purchase

rung up.

“So,” he deduced, “the killer came in, found
the girls being served, and began trying on foot-
wear himself until they should leave and he’d have
a clear field to rob—or to murder—the Hochfields.

“He needed new shoes, all right.” The lieutenant
smiled wryly, inspecting the badly worn oxford he
still carried “My guess is that he was'‘a stickup
artist, and that he shot the couple when they
resisted or tried to give an alarm. If murder had
been his primary aim, he would have made a better
job of it, huddling his victims together and potting
them at close range, without hurrying. Perhaps
this old shoe will help to track him down.”

Both Victims Die

Nothing came of the search of the neighborhood
nor of the blockade of the area, the bridges and
the bus and rail terminals.

Hochfield died soon after reaching the hospital.
His wife also succumbed to her wounds three
hours later. The husband’s body bore three
wounds, Marie’s two. Apparently, Lieutenant
Schattle reasoned, she had been blasted down
while trying to gain the safety of her kitchen, and
Morris was shot in coming to her defense.

A careful search of the shoe shop revealed no
further clues. The worn-out footwear left behind

by the slayer provided the only lead to him—they *

and the fact that an empty shoebox told the
investigators the gunman had fled the place in a
pair of new black oxfords, size 7D.

The worn shoes bore the label of the United
Sho¢ Machinery Corporation. Schattle phoned the
factory and was told to bring the killer’s oxfords
out to the plant. There he was introduced to C. E.
Zanger, a research expert.

|

Whenever Norman
Peacock (right) need-
ed help, he wired his
dad. But the youth
sent one too many
elegrams collect.

Major Emmett Kirgan
of the Cincinnati de-
tective bureau (be-
low} was surprised by
information a leather
expert supplied.


After some minutes of study, Zanger
faced Lieutenant Schattle with a confi-
dent smile. “I tell you a number

e@ man who wore
these,” he said.

“Anything at all will be of help,”
Schattle conceded, not daring to hope
for much.

“All right. He is between 20 and
30 years old, weighs around 150 pounds

is somewhere between five feet
nine inches and six feet tall.”

“How can you be sure of that?”

“The relation between a man’s age,
height, weight and length of stride is
quite definite,” Zanger replied. “I’ve
made a long study of these factors, and
they are discernible by the practiced
eye in wear marks on the sole of a
shoe.”

He pointed out the points of wear on
the leather in question, explaining each
item as he went along.

“Our plant made these,” he added.
“The sales department could tell you
what retail stores handled the lot, but
that would not help you much. There

in the devil can you know this bird likes
his drinks too well?”

Zanger handed over the right shoe,
sole upward, and adjusted a magnifying
glass. “Look at the arch closely. What
do you see?”

The lieutenant examined the leather
under the glass. “Shiny flecks of some-
thing, that’s all,” he said. .

“Bits of brass,” Zanger explained.
“They have been ground into the
leather. Now the left shoe is all but
free of such particles. I simply deduced
that the slayer had spent ‘a lot of time
in the familiar attitude of a barfly—
right foot on the rail and elbow on
the mahogany. And there are no bars
in Cincinnati now. Does that satisfy

you?” :
It more than satisfied the homicide
officer. “You should have been a de-

tective,” he praised. “You’ve helped a
great deal. Thanks.”

At the hospital autopsy surgeons ex-
tracted all five slugs from the two
bodies. Firearms identification men in
the’ police department soon reported

Marie Hochfield near-
ly gained her living
quarters in the rear
of the shoe shop
before a slug hit her.

must be at least 50 shops in Cincin-
nati alone that sell our shoes, and I
believe the murderer came from out
of town.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Y'll explain later. First, let me tell
you that your killer doubtless is a
slovenly, ill-dressed man. And he is
not on relief.”

“Go ahead,” Schattle urged, more and
more amazed as Zanger added to his
store of information. “Tell me why.”

“Well, no relief agency handles these
shoes. Then, they have not been pol-
ished in a long time, indicating careless-
ness about his personal appearance.
He’s been hard up for some time too,
since he’s worn these shoes constantly,
probably having no other pair. Sloven-
liness and poverty—together they often
point toward laziness.

“And now as to the question of his
residence in Cincinnati. The man who
shot down the Hochfields is a heavy

er...
“Look,” Schattle bristled, “I’m willing

20 to be shown, but not to be kidded. How

Morris Hochfield tried
to intervene. He, too,
was shot by the bandit.
Both victims died with-
in a matter of hours.

“The killer needed shoes,”
reasoned Detective Lieuten-
ant George Schaitle
(above). But was that the
motive for the slayings?

they had been fired from a .38-caliber
Smith & Wesson revolver, but the de-
partment files had no bullets with
identical, markings, and therefore the
weapon had not figured in a crime in
which Cincinnati police previously had
been able to acquire a spent slug as
evidence.

Lieutenant Schattle assembled all the
data at hand for a direct report to
Major Emmett Kirgan, chief of Cin-
cinnati’s detectives. The major was no
less amazed than his aide at the in-
formation Zanger had been able to
give. It would, he agreed, be most
helpful in running the murderer down.

Girls Tell Their Story

The facts supplied by the shoe fac-
tory experts were enough, coupled with
the information gained from the bullets,
for the detective chief to issue a bulle-
tin for circularization among police all
over the Midwest.

Schattle left this liaison work to his
superior while he arrayed his own of-
ficers for the probe he hoped would

net the killer of the shopkeeper and
his wife.

Robbery was held to be the motive
for the crime, although the money in
the cash register had not been touched.
The police reasoned that the Hoch-
fields’ resistance and Penny’s yells had
forced the killer to flee without his
loot.

“As a result of which,” the lieutenant
reasoned, “he is still broke, if Zanger’s
estimates are correct. And he is either
lying low in Cincinnati, or has fled
town or hopes to get away.

“About his only source of revenue,
it would seem, is his gun. We'll have
to alert every patrolman, every prowl
team against a holdup man of our
description.”

At the same time he dispersed his
detectives on various missions. Brew-
ster headed one detail to comb the
neighborhood of the shooting in a
search for the two girls who had been
in the store just before the crime.
Other officers went out to scout through
poolhalls and similar hangouts. Siill
other detectives swept through pawn-
shops, second hand stores and the
quarters of gunsmiths, seeking, of
course, trace of the death gun.

These detectives kept at their weary-
‘ing tasks for a week, but without re-
sult. Then Brewster found the young
women who had been in the Hochfield
store on Monday evening, February 4.
They were Lettie Efferts and Miriam
Boskin.

“It was around 9 o’clock,” said Miss
Boskin. “Lettie had bought some shoes,
and was paying Mrs. Hochfield. I was
trying on a new pair when this young
man came in.

“He was rather tall, nearly six feet, I
should say. He was slim, but nicely

built. He wore a light gray hat, dark.

trousers and a windbreaker with a
zipper fastening down the front. He
needed a haircut and his eyes were a
cold blue.”

She remembered the youth, Miss
Boskin told Lieutenant Schattle, be-
cause he had paid very obvious atten-
tion to her. .

“He probably was less interested in
me than in how soon Lettie and I would
get out and leave him free with those
poor people,” the girl explained with
a faint blush. “There was real hostility
in his stare... .”

When she and her roommate walked
out of the store, the girl told the officers,
the young man was seated with Hoch-
field, having shoes fitted.

However, the only help Schattle’ was
able to derive from the girl customers
was the description of the man he
sought. Of course Miss Efferts and
Miss Boskin would be invaluable wit-
nesses when and if a suspect was ar-
rested. Both were certain they would
be able to identify the murderer if
they ever saw him again.

They had the opportunity, three days
later, when the first genuine suspect
in the case was nabbed. Police in
Columbus, the state capital, 150 miles
to the northeast, reported detention of
a youthful bandit who answered the
Cincinnati killer’s description. When
tagged shortly (Continued on page 46)

ee sees ee tah Ub en ee RN los a PERS SEOs otk

Questioned as members of Chicago's "Green
Car" gang, Anthony Kaspis, 7, (left) and Rich-
ard Schultz, 16, are alleged to have admitted 18
stickups and 28 auto thefts, while denying two
murders. A 100-officer manhunt netted the boys.

aia | pa

in tabloid |

get ey
5 PE, its asad

Principals in a lovers’ lane tragedy in Kickapoo
state park near Danville, JIl., were young Robert
Beatty and his sweetheart, Lois Nelson, 20. The
youthful farmhand, according to police, confessed
that he stabbed Lois to death after fight in car.

Under an old court ruling that any part of a day
is a day in jail, titian-tressed Linda Christian
of the films served a five-day term for speeding
by spending 50 hours on assorted days behind the
bars in Los Angeles. Freed at last, she smiled!

detective news

21

ee er eee ee


cb nse. iy I

ST ante a

dit AACA URE COL 5 PMN nan MNES

a la

se . a ™.
ie ae pean. - | 7 cated urgency for money and for clandes- , ® .-
A “ ANT INDUSTRY 4 . ; ia he 4 OY AAD tine disposal of the revolver. Menta O1Sont f Se
Po N INF MATURED Trigger-Happy = ¢ irae x The counterman’s description of Charley . =“)
jai SUDDENLY 4 ws = tallied with that supplied by the two girl ;
cs B dh d =< witnesses of the young man in the shoe Thoughts that Enslave Minds :
, PLAS pe eqanea shop, but the savern exaplaye had met pn
“4 © tag at eT BED . ° whether Charley worn new shoes rtured souls. Human beings. ~ :
wicbbiics:, is (Continued from page 20) . day after the crime. a: — whove scit-conthience ont peace
* . ere was, in addition, fact that of mind have orn to shreds
re Time Trainiag Can : cafe was located only about a mile and a by eretie: ore: apt aaa
fi YOU for High Pay Jeb — after a gas station stickup in the northern so . quarter from the Race Street shoe store, | hate and jealousy be projected
Qua My Pate 7 dow, Flere city, the young crook had been wearing - ° and finally the i indication that | through space from the mind of
 Segraaci maturity. ary wiicn war socced comparatively new shoes, size 7D. on et PP a ‘} Charley had been a rather heavy drinker. ssother? 0o Sete niotoe 2
sen in practically every branra of the “There's only one discrepancy,” Schattle . i: “He claimed to have gotten the gun at a the ethereal realms to
service, and American genius cereioped told his men. “The punk was using a 32 | MAN’S SOLID GOLD RING $ 5 a beer party where he was so up pe ta Seen victims? All of
ancrom Dew plastics snd 5 veut Durable tne automatic, not a Smith & Wesson 38. It 7 19 OFFERS BIG MONEY—INDEPENDENCE somebody talked him into a trade he didn’t | us, from day to day and Sour £
new doors of opportunity in many kinds of / may be he ditched the 38 around town with Flashing make ve If you are mechanteally inclined—can hold and particularly want to make,” Schaitle pct po hhiad fing ‘are pargibie
industry. somewhere in order to get money to leave GUARANTEED GENUINE DIAMOND po aaaedl Pisin wiring abbcapenione rane pointed out. “That may be the clue for | ‘victims of mental poisoning, un-
YOUR Time fo Start is NOW hale Pe me (Exactly os iMestreted) ment. ete, Work as many bours as you wish—the us to follow. Where was ‘this beer party? less we enleeene ity: natere,
You can prepare at home, in. spare time, to “We've covered + hockshops Where else can you get a ring as flashy as this at appliance repairman own many The detectives figured t it must have a % uiLe
Sie ewent Acide with © great cuture Our | S*2nes” one, detective pointed out HSS Soi 3 (ace pana of ence a Sather mcrae ere | | Loess Sone pene Maem, Tony sat wk | oe seated Book
ini can help you ere are other r *y lieut t permits us ae offer. er Ww * i
realize your ambitions and build your future | stated. “Taverns and poolrooms. Pistols with GUARANTEED GENUINE DIAMOND is easily NO PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE NEEDED One by one they checked with whole- a ren eeee tbe strangest of j
security; It can lead to a better Job at bigger | have a certain currency in strange places. 35.00 value. Words cannot do, this ring justice, rotuasiy suntrated our new course shows roa in sim. | | salers and other large distributors of beer. | ali, !aws in man's body? Man's
Let : : Cover the town.” today on our PREE TRIAL OFFER. If you are not Pastographs, how to make each Tepair on rerrigecators, They followed up every delivery of more | joyment of the things of life
AMERICAN SCHOOL, Dept. P811 The Columbus suspect was returned to 5 days Yor full fefund of purchase tice, Nose we Troon see see Explaine sai gives port wemes keer. | | than a case in the week ing Feb- | ‘iepend on. his understanding
ve. Mt, Seer ia: : abi 7 z knew’ . e hur
petal REE information cove sa epesieh Cc: ti He admitted ha s im } eAes Gan OD beets ee Gaitional} a erielty ; cools you need! and: bow to ruary 4, and at last came to the home of sor Tet ‘the Rosieructane
im subjects checked below. No obligation on my part. | the city a couple of weeks earlier, but When ¢. state ring sme. Remember, our | Tacit and hoop business coming 0 yo. Not a toocty Mazie ett, where six cases of lager had | cxpiain how you may acquire
PLASTICS cim veh ly denied guilt in the - double MONEY-BACK GUARANTEE protects you. Write on te cat ne be een Senn cs comma avon Foes been taken on February 3. an age-okl method for min’
Electrical Engineering, Radio CD Aviation murder at the B Street shoe shop. OEIETH ‘AVENUE JEWEL CO., Dept. 604-P of course is so low that the sxvings om your own Mrs. Arnett professed to know nothing dexclapiet ae oe viomes
EH 1 - S45 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK 17, N. Y. todsy tor. FREE literature. “Ceristy Sepp'y co. 2838 | | about a revolver, but admitted she had lf sincere, write
Drafting and Design Basiness Management 3.1805, Chicage. 34, itineie iB a powers. If .
for Men and Weenen High Scheel Course Tried To Sell Gun cA Porat na been hostess at a party to which one of | for Wwe: Scribe FEM
0 Diesel her r 3s, Norman _had brought | -Address:

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The Misses Boskin and Efferts looked
him over in the lineup. Both said he some-
what resembled the slayer, but Miss Bos-
kin was positive he was not the man. -

“It’s the hair,” she said. “The young
fellow I saw in the Hochfield store had
dark red curly hair.”

So the gunman was returned to the
jurisdiction of the state capital authorities,
cleared of the Cincinnati slayings. And
the hunt went on for the trigger-nervous
youth who haunted bars and didn’t have
enough money to afford two pairs of shoes.

It was Detective Brewster who turned
up the lead that seemed hot. A counter-
man in a tavern not far from the scene of
the two murders remembered that a
youthful patron recently had tried to sell
him a revolver, saying he needed a few
dollars in a hurry.

“He wanted ten bucks for this rod,” the
tavern employe said. “It was a 38 all
right. May have been a Smith & Wesson,
but I wouldn’t know about that.”

“You didn’t examine the weapon?”
Brewster queried.

“Not me. I don’t go for gats. I started
kidding Charley about having it, though.
I said he probably wanted to get rid of
the thing because it was hot. .: .”

“Charley? You knew him, then?”

“Only by his first name. Anyhow, he got
rink ae 2 the collar when I
j im about being a gunman. He
said he’d been a little high at a beer party
and let somebody talk him into trading his
portable radio for the gun, and he had no
use for it.” :

The counterman, fortunately, recalled the
date when the pistol had been presented
to him for possible purchase. He had paid
an important bill just before the kid
showed up, he said. And the date was
February 5—the day after the murders.

Of course, both Detective Brewster and

young man had tried to dispose of a re-
volver the day after such a weapon had
been used in a holdup killing, was not in
itself incriminating.

However, they were interested by other
facts which seemed to stretch coincidence
out of all probability of innocence.

The time of the incident naturally tended
to ally it with the Hochfield deaths. The
desire of the gun’s possessor to sell it for
a few dollars—less than the worth of a
good weapon in legitimate channels—indi-

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Brewster, “Charley left here a couple of
days later, and I know he did not have
his radio then. But I don’t know what

“Most of his friends just call him Char-
ley,” the landlady explained. “I don’t know
why. And I don’t know about that gun.
Maybe someone else who was here saw
it. I can give you all the names.” -

Fingerprints On Radio

Brewster went down the list of party
guests until he came to Jerry Melser, in
whose room the detective at once spied
a small radio set. :

Melser verified the story of the trade.
“T had that gun for about a year,” he said.
“It was a Smith & Wesson 38, and I had
no use for it. At the party Charley and I
got to talking about it, and he offered me
the radio for the pistol. I came home and
got it, and we swapped then and there.”

He verified the date as being February
3, and said he had seen Ross only once
— This was late the following
night. q

“Charley came here and asked to bor-
row some money. He said he had to get
home—someplace in Ilinois—right away,
and couldn’t wire his family for dough,
like he’d done so often before. But I
didn’t have any money. He said some-
thing about maybe he’d sell the gun, and
: told him he ought to get at least $15
‘or it.”

Melser had no additional information.
However, he had said enough, Brewster
believed, to label Norman “Chariey” Ross
as the No. 1 suspect in the case.

But how to find the youth? True, young
Melser had indicated that Ross lived in
Illinois, but that was little to go on.

A few acquaintances of the missing
Charley were located, but none had seen
him since the double murders. It was
established, however, that he was in his
early 20s, tall, with dark red curly hair,
and that he dressed carelessly and seldom

had wondered how he managed to exist
at all, but believed that he occasionally got

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A Correspondence institution 47
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The clerk at Frank's store (above) remembered the transaction
and proved to detectives that suspect was lying about purchase

peared to me that any considerable
struggle or outcry in one room should
have been heard in the next. I also rea-
soned that the occupants of Room 39,

on the third floor directly above Room

17, should have heard a struggle below.
The lath and plaster had been removed
from the ceiling of the bathroom in
Room 17 to permit a plumber to get at
the taps in Room 39, leaving only a thin
pine floor between the rooms.

There were thirty-five guest rooms in
the Park Central Hotel, and the register
showed that only seven had. been oc-
cupied Sunday night; five on the second
floor and two on the third. The register
told something else, too. Although the
murdered woman had occupied Room 17,
she had been assigned to Room 14.

I sought an explanation of this from
Manager ‘Arnold and his wife, whose
room was on the same floor, but at the
opposite end of the building.

“Haggar and the two women came in-
to the hotel about 8:30 o’clock Sunday
night,” said Arnold. “They asked for
adjoining rooms. I assigned Rooms 14
and 15. Haggar registered for himself
and wife in Room 15, and Mrs. Buck
signed her own name. When we got
upstairs, there was something the mat-
ter with the bath in Room 14, so I put
Mrs. Buck in Room 17 and forgot to
note the change on the register.”

Neither Arnold nor his wife had heard
anything unusual during the night, they
said. The other guests on the second
floor Sunday night, were Harry Dunn, in
Room 9, and Mrs. Alice O’Brien of Chi-
cago, a coffee demonstrator, who occu-
pied Room 16, directly opposite Room 17.

Dunn, a young chap who was still in
the hotel; said he had heard nothing
unusual. Mrs. O’Brien had checked out
after breakfast and had driven away.

She left as her
mail - forwarding
address the name
of a hotel at Iron-
ton, farther down
the Ohio River.

The  third-floor
guests were Mr.
and Mrs. E. T. Lip-
pincott, relatives
of the hotel pro-
prietor, in Room
39, and a man in
Room 38 who ar-
rived at midnight,
registered as E.
E. Cruswell, Mt.
Hope, West Vir-
ginia, and checked
out at 6 a. mM. The
Lippincotts, al-
though directly above Room 17, told me
they hadn’t heard any unusual sounds
in the room below during the night.

I was starting up the stairs to question
the Haggars when Dr. Bean came down.

“How’s Mrs. Haggar?” I inquired. The
physician’s face was blank.

“If you mean the woman in Room 15, -

she’s coming along nicely,” said Dr.
Bean. “The woman I attended is Mrs.
Ralph Kinkead, wife of a steamboat
captain. She told me the murdered wo-
man was her sister, Florence Buck.”

On questioning the couple in Room 15,
we learned the following:

Florence Buck, the slain woman, had
been the postmistress of a small town in
West Virginia at the time of her death.

On Saturday, the sisters had started
out to visit Mrs. Kinkead’s husband, who
was working on a steamboat in Hunt-
ington. They went from Grimms Land-
ing to Point Pleasant, where they spent
the night with an aunt.

(Above) Pros. Cherrington (/.) ar-
gued case before Judge White (r.)

Sunday morning
they met Haggar,
who had worked
as a road super-
visor when U. S.
Route 25 was be-
ing built past
Grimms Landing,
and invited him to
accompany them
to Huntington. The
women spent the
day with Kinkead,

while Haggar
busied himself
about town. At

dark they picked
up Haggar again,
and started back
for Grimms Land-
ing.

It began to rain, and they discussed
spending the night at Gallipolis. Mrs.
Buck protested, and wanted to con-
tinue the journey, but finally yielded to
her sister’s desires. They registered
between 8:30 and 9:00 o’clock, then
went out to dine at Vanden’s restau-
rant.

Returning to the hotel about 10:00
o’clock, Haggar stopped at the desk and
paid Arnold for his room and that of
Mrs. Buck, remarking that they were
going to arise early to continue their
journey. The three sat around a while
and chatted in Mrs. Buck’s room, and at
11:00 o’clock Haggar and Mrs. Kinkead
retired to Room 15. That was the last
time they saw Mrs. Buck alive.

“Didn’t you hear any scuffle in Room
17 during the night?” I inquired of the
couple, having in mind the thin partition
between the rooms.

“The only unusual sound I heard
sounded like a squeaking noise some-

where in the ne
dor,” said Hag
11:30 o’clock, j
sleep.”

AS I conclude
Homer W. Sov
police, arrived.

Chief Sowarc
the game than
hands from th«
two terms as s
and two terms
seing appointe:
my first term ¢

The fact th:
pushed out of
didn’t fool eith«
the room had
outside. There °
the window tc
were no marks
the ground, as
if a ladder had

So we conti:
in the hotel.
on duty at 2 a.
tired. He told
most’ of the ti
trips upstairs,
see that every
had heard no
and had seen r
the hotel. Hi
murder, he tol
Mrs. Kinkead
on the second f

On Tuesday.
came to Galli;
ward for the a:
and with him
man and Serge
West Virginia
Point Pleasant.
ginia resident
and Lowe vo


iSrinacermnar

Sunday morning
they met Haggar,
who had worked
as a road super-
visor when U. S.
Route 25 was be-
ing built past
Grimms Landing,
and invited him to
accompany them
to Huntington. The
women spent the
day with Kinkead,
while Haggar
busied himself
about town. At

dark they picked
) up Haggar again,
and started back
for Grimms Land-
ing.
rain, and they discussed
night at Gallipolis. Mrs.
1, and wanted to con-
ey, but finally yielded to
esires. They registered
and 9:00 o’clock, then
ine at Vanden’s restau-

» the hotel about 10:00
~ stopped at the desk and
or his room and that of
marking that they were
early to continue their
three sat around a while
Mrs. Buck’s room, and at
laggar and Mrs. Kinkead

m 15. That was the last

Mrs. Buck alive.

hear any scuffle in Room
night?” I inquired of the
in mind the thin partition
oms.

unusual sound I heard
1 squeaking noise some-

a iil NT

where in the next room, or in the corri-
dor,” said Haggar. “That was about
11:30 o’clock, just before I dropped to
sleep.”

AS I concluded the questioning, Chief
Homer W. Sowards, of the Gallipolis
police, arrived.

Chief Sowards was an older hand at
the game than I, so I put the case in his
hands from there on. He had served
two terms as sheriff of Gallia County,
and two terms as deputy sheriff before
veing appointed chief, while I was on
my first terrn as sheriff.

The fact that the screen had been
pushed out of the window in Room 17
didn’t fool either one of us into thinking
the room had been entered from the
outside. There was a sheer descent from
the window to the ground, and there
were no marks against the hotel or in
the ground, as there would have been
if a ladder had been used.

So we continued to question people
in the hotel. Eddie Peppers had come
on duty at 2 a. m., when the Arnolds re-
tired. He told us he was in the lobby
most of the time, making two or three
trips upstairs, according to custom, to
see that everything was all right. He
had heard no unusual sounds, he said
and had seen no suspicious person enter
the hotel. His first knowledge of the
murder, he told us was when he heard
Mrs. Kinkead screaming in the corridor
on the second floor.

On Tuesday, the father of the victim
came to Gallipolis to offer a $500 -re-
ward for the apprehension of the slayer,
and with him were Captain Floyd Lay-
man and Sergeant W. B. Lowe from the
West Virginia State Police barracks at
Point Pleasant. Inasmuch as a West Vir-
ginia resident was the victim, Layman
and Lowe volunteered their services,

TREE OT

When rainfall began, ill fate made woman agree to stop at Park

Central Hotel (/eft) instead of going to Grimms Landing (above)

which we were glad to accept. That
gave us five men on the case, as I had
called in my deputy, John H. Harrison,
to help.

In examining his daughter’s effects,
the grief-stricken parent found a ten-
dollar bill rolled up in a stocking. Both
Mrs. Buck’s father and sister stated that
that was all the money she had with her.
Thus if, in addition to criminal assault,
the motive had been robbery, the killer
had gained no money at all.

The West Virginia officers dug up the
information that the two girls and Hag-
gar had been on a
party with Charles
Garfield, of Point
Pleasant, on Sat-
urday night. Gar-
field boarded with
Mrs. Kinkead’s
aunt, with whom
the girls. stayed
that night.

When the man
on the ferry oper-
ating between
Point Pleasant and
Kanauga informed
us he had brought
Garfield over to
the Ohio side Sun-
day, the boarder
seemed a likely
suspect. It oc-
curred to us that
he might be the man who had regis-
tered Sunday night in Room 38 of the
Park Central Hotel under the name of
E. E. Cruswell.

While we were trying to trace Crus-
well, Garfield was picked up. at Point
Pleasant. Chief Sowards and Sergeant
Lowe took Arnold, the hotel manager,
over to see if Garfield was the man who

case to

-Cruswell and Mrs.

(Above) Sheriff Russell (/.) gave
Chief Sowards (r.)

had registered Sunday at midnight as
Cruswell. He was not. Garfield had a.
perfect alibi. Another ferryman had
taken him back to Point Pleasant long
before Mrs. Buck made her last appear-
ance in the hotel lobby. He was en-
tirely innocent and was released from
the charge.

We still had two guests to interview,
O’Brien. Chief
Sowards located the woman Wednesday
in an Ironton grocery store. Mrs
O’Brien said she had retired at 1 a. Mm
in her room across from that of Mrs.
Buck, and hadn’t
heard a thing un-
til the next morn-
ing. . It was day-
light when she
had been awak-
ened by a woman
sobbing in the
hall, and moaning,
“Oh, sweetheart!
Oh, sweetheart!
What shall I do!”

Next she had
heard a= man’s
voicesaying,‘‘Don’t
do that.”

Mrs,O’Brienhad
learned about the
murder’ before
checking out but,
not having any in-
formation to offer,
she had felt she would not be needed.

Now the only bet left was Cruswell.
We concentrated on this chap, and
finally located him in a little town be-
tween Charleston and Bluefield. He
proved to be a bonafide representative
of a Bluefield coal company, and bore
a good reputation. He said he hadn’t
even heard of (Continued on page 56)


STRANGLED BEAUTY IN ROOM 17

(Continued from page 25) the murder. It
was quickly proved that he was in no way
involved in the crime.

Up to this time, we had not paid much
attention to Eddie Peppers.

Our theory was that the murder had
occurred at 11:30, when Mrs. Kinkead
and Haggar had heard what they thought
was a squeaking noise outside their room.
That let Eddie out, as he hadn’t come on
duty until 2 a. mM. But with all the other
leads evaporating, we decided to search
Eddie’s room.

On finding an empty whisky bottle and
a stained suit of clothes, we took Peppers
over to jail and made him strip. He had
on a new suit of underwear.

“When did you get this, Eddie?” I asked
him.

He said he had purchased the under-
wear on Saturday, and he named the store.
We checked the store and found that
Peppers was lying. We kept on investi-
gating, and learned that the night clerk
had bought the underwear at Frank’s store

on Monday, the day after the murder. V.’

A. Tanner, the clerk remembered the
sale.

An five of us pitched in now and can-
vassed all the stores in Gallipolis. It was
Chief Sowards’ luck to have Henry Kearns’
pressing establishment in his quota.

“Eddie Peppers brought a pair of trous-
ers here Monday to be dry cleaned,” said
Miss Sidney Smeltzer, a clerk. “We don’t
do any cleaning here, so we sent it up the
river to Middleport.”

I rushed to the cleaning establishment,
the address of which I had obtained, and
talked to Clarence Pettit and William
Watson, the proprietors.

“Yes, we had a pair of cotton trousers
in here Tuesday, with Eddie Peppers’ name
on them,” they told me. “They were so
badly stained we had to scrub them vigor-
ously before cleaning. We couldn’t tell
what caused the stains. It might have been
blood.”

As soon as I got back to the jail, we
began to question Peppers.

The hotel clerk denied having entered
Mrs. Buck’s room.

“Mrs. O’Brien says she heard you com-
ing down the hall,” I shot at him.

“She couldn’t, she was snoring,” he
snapped back.

From the expression on our faces, Pep-
pers must have realized that his remark
had trapped him. We pictured to him
how it had happened: Mrs. Buck, tired
out from the long drive in the hot August
weather, had taken a bath and had
stretched out on the bed, forgetting to
lock her door. She had fallen asleep.
Peppers, coming along the hall and no-
ticing a light in Room 17, a room the
register showed to be unoccupied, had
pushed open the door to turn the light
out. Seeing the naked woman on the bed,
he had attacked her and, when she had
resisted, he had brutally strangled her to
death.

Our reconstruction of the crime struck
home, for Peppers broke down and prom-
ised to tell the story, if we would get
him out of the county to some other jail,
and keep his whereabouts unknown so
he wouldn’t be lynched. We promised to
take him away.

“I went on duty at 2 a. M.” he began.
“At about 3:00 or 3:30 I noticed from the
hotel lot that a light was burning in
Room 17. I went up there, and saw Mrs.
Buck in bed, sound asleep. The light was
burning in the bathroom, and I went in
there, turned out the light, and picked up

56

the wet towel. It was at this time that
Mrs. Buck awoke and screamed.

“I took the towel to the bed where she
was lying, the bed being about two and
one-half feet from the bathroom door,
and put the towel around her neck, twist-
ing it and choking her. She tried to get
up off the bed, and I pushed her back
and continued to twist the towel tighter
about her neck. She was lying on her
back on the bed and there was no clothing
on her body. when I left the room. In
order to hold her while I choked her, it was
necessary for me to lie across her breast
on top of her. She kept struggling to get
up, mumbling something which I did not
understand.

“I don’t remember whether I assaulted
her or not. After choking Mrs. Buck to
death, I left the room. I did not turn out

TO ALL
NEWSPAPERMEN
and Other Fact Writers

While you’re on the job
covering a murder case
for your newspaper, why
not keep in mind that
MASTER DETECTIVE
magazine pays well for
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detective stories,

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the light, but left the room immediately.
I went down stairs and sat down in front
of the fire and went to sleep. At 5:30
o’clock, the call clock rang and awakened
me.

“IT went up and called Mr. and Mrs.
Haggar, who occupied Room 15. I then
returned to the lobby, and about fifteen
minutes later heard someone screaming.
I rushed up and asked Mrs. Haggar what
was the matter. She said something ter-
rible had happened. She asked me where
the manager was, and I told her he hadn’t
gotten up. She ordered me to call him
immediately.

“Mrs. Haggar said the girl in Room 17
had been murdered. I accompanied Mr.
and Mrs. Haggar, looked in Room 17 and
saw Mrs. Buck lying there. I then went
back and called Mr. and Mrs. Arnold.
Mrs. Arnold told me to telephone you,
Sheriff Russell, and I did.”

W. kept our word about getting Peppers
out of Gallipolis. First, we awakened
Mayor A. J. Stormont, and Deputy Harri-
son signed a warrant charging first-degree
murder. Mayor Stormont held a hearing
at 2 a. M., Peppers pleaded guilty, and he
was bound over to the grand jury. Then
we rushed him by automobile to Chilli-
cothe, the county seat of Ross County, sixty
miles up state, and turned him over to
Sheriff Alfred Immell, Jr.

At Chillicothe, Prosecuting Attorney
Wilbur Mackenzie had his stenographer
reduce Peppers’ confession to writing and
the prisoner signed it in the presence of
Layman, Rowe, Deputy Harrison, Deputy
Arthur Crago of Ross County and myself.

Common Pleas Judge W. R. White re-
called the Gallia County grand jury on
August 25th, and on that same day it
indicted Eddie Peppers for murder. Judge
White appointed Judge H. W. Cherrington
and Hollis C. Johnson to defend the mur-
dering night clerk, and the victim’s family
retained Judge Garrett Claypool of Chil-
licothe, to assist Prosecutor Fred Cherring-
ton of our county. The case went to
trial November 2nd before Judge White
and a jury.

In the meanwhile, Eddie Peppers repu-
diated his confession.

However, after Judge White admitted
the signed confession, the defendant’s
lawyers acknowledged that he had signed
a document at Chillicothe, but said that
Peppers didn’t know what was in it.

Then a Ross County farmer, who was
in jail at Chillicothe with Peppers, was
brought to Gallipolis to testify that the
clerk had confessed the murder to him
there.

The jury took the case at 3:30 Pp. M,,
on November 8th, and fifty minutes later
filed into the courtroom with a verdict that
sent Eddie Peppers to the electric chair
as Gallia County’s first occupant of the
hot seat.

Attorneys Johnson and H. W. Cherring-
ton carried the case to Ohio Supreme
Court, which refused the appeal on March
14th, 1928. .

The next night, Eddie Peppers walked
his last mile.

Eprror’s NoTE
The names Mrs. Ralph Kinkead and
L. D. Haggar, as used in the foregoing
story, are not the real names of the
persons concerned. These innocent per-
sons have been given fictitious names

in order to protect their identities.

(Continued from
William Reagen,
Natick Box Cor
sachusetts.

“We made that
official after a cl
number we man
the Collins &
Boston.”

Captain Drisc
touch with the m
banks, a warm }
years, and, a very
the store.

Peter F. Hurst:
pany for more 1
willingly opened
captain.

From a hasty
he estimated that
had been shipped
1st, in addition ©
which had been
by customers in

“Do you knc
Walsh?” Captain
the executives.

“We know him.
of ours,” one 0:
however, we ha\
transaction with

“But wait a mi
tinued. He turn
over some record
mitted a few mir
a fur coat to Mr
boxes only a sho

WwW hile the abov

Medical Examine
ence with me at
located in Pembe
call for him inter
“You’re wante
tuary right away
Attorney Thomas
a girl who think
of the victim in
Within a few :
Inspector Denne:
were seated acrc
pretty young wo:
as Betty Landry.
us to arrive at th:
tification had bee
tween the shoul
girl’s back. “I knc
excitedly. “Her
Questioned fur
some pertinent fa
victim’s life. Sh
come friendly wi:
—who was just e
joined the loca
months previous;
confided to her,
“T'm in troubl:
“and I’ve got to
Miss Landry sa
she had shared \v
room in the Dor«
The girl was wo:
and finally told
to disappear for
pleaded with Edi
pray, but soon
young woman qu
her belongings
Warren Street, I
“She was onl
Landry; “not a
both of her pare
like it a bit whe:
to disappear. I p)
convinced her, b
didn’t pay any att
“Of course, I r


56

STRANGLED BEAUTY IN ROOM I7

(Continued from page 25) the murder. It
was quickly proved that he was in no way
involved in the crime.

Up to this time, we had not paid much
attention to Eddie Peppers.

Our theory was that the murder had
occurred at 11:30, when Mrs. Kinkead
and Haggar had heard what they thought
was a squeaking noise outside their room.
That let Eddie out, as he hadn’t come on
duty until 2 a. m. But with all the other
leads evaporating, we decided to search
Eddie’s room.

On finding an empty whisky bottle and
a stained suit of clothes, we took Peppers
over to jail and made him strip. He had
on a new suit of underwear.

“When did you get this, Eddie?” I asked
him.

He said he had purchased the under-
wear on Saturday, and he named the store.
We checked the store and found that
Peppers was lying. We kept on investi-
gating, and learned that the night clerk
had bought the underwear at Frank’s store
on Monday, the day after the murder. V.
A. Tanner, the clerk remembered the
sale.

Au five of us pitched in now and can-
vassed all the stores in Gallipolis. It was
Chief Sowards’ luck to have Henry Kearns’
pressing establishment in his quota.

“Eddie Peppers brought a pair of trous-
ers here Monday to be dry cleaned,” said
Miss Sidney Smeltzer, a clerk. “We don’t
do any cleaning here, so we sent it up the
river to Middleport.”

I rushed to the cleaning establishment,
the address of which I had obtained, and
talked to Clarence Pettit and William
Watson, the proprietors.

“Yes, we had a pair of cotton trousers
in here Tuesday, with Eddie Peppers’ name
on them,” they told me. “They were so
badly stained we had to scrub them vigor-
ously before cleaning. We couldn’t tell
what caused the stains. It might have been
blood.”

As soon as I got back to the jail, we
began to question Peppers.

The hotel clerk denied having entered
Mrs. Buck’s room.

“Mrs. O’Brien says she heard you com-
ing down the hall,” I shot at him.

“She couldn’t, she was snoring,” he
snapped back.

From the expression on our faces, Pep-
pers must have realized that his remark
had trapped him. We pictured to him
how it had happened: Mrs. Buck, tired
out from the long drive in the hot August
weather, had taken a bath and had
stretched out on the bed, forgetting to
lock her door. She had fallen asleep.
Peppers, coming along the hall and no-
ticing a light in Room 17, a room the
register showed to be unoccupied, had
pushed open the door to turn the light
out. Seeing the naked woman on the bed,
he had attacked her and, when she had
resisted, he had brutally strangled her to
death.

Our reconstruction of the crime struck
home, for Peppers broke down and prom-
ised to tell the story, if we would get
him out of the county to some other jail,
and keep his whereabouts unknown so
he wouldn’t be lynched. We promised to
take him away.

“I went on duty at 2 a. M.” he began.
“At about 3:00 or 3:30 I noticed from the
hotel lot that a light was burning in
Room 17. I went up there, and saw Mrs.
Buck in bed, sound asleep. The light was
burning in the bathroom, and I went in
there, turned out the light, and picked up

the wet towel. It was at this time that
Mrs. Buck awoke and screamed.

“I took the towel to the bed where she
was lying, the bed being about two and
one-half feet from the bathroom door,
and put the towel around her neck, twist-
ing it and choking her. She tried to get
up off the bed, and I pushed her back
and continued to twist the towel tighter
about her neck. She was lying on her
back on the bed and there was no clothing
on her body. when I left the room. In
order to hold her while I choked her, it was
necessary for me to lie across her breast
on top of her. She kept struggling to get
up, mumbling something which I did not
understand.

“I don’t remember whether I assaulted
her or not. After choking Mrs. Buck to
death, I left the room. I did not turn out

TO ALL
NEWSPAPERMEN
and Other Fact Writers

While you’re on the job
covering a murder case
for your newspaper, why
not keep in mind that
MASTER DETECTIVE
magazine pays well for
accurately presented fact
detective stories, with
additional payment for
photographs? In your in-
terviews with witnesses
and police officials, we
suggest that you set down
all the details from which
an intriguing story may
be written for this maga-
zine (also TRUE DETEC-
TIVE magazine). Or,
you may decide to write
up a case already closed
in the courts with convic-
tion secured some months
or years back.

Write for Hints Booklet
giving complete informa-
tion, sent free, postpaid.
Address: Editor, MAS-
TER DETECTIVE, 205
East 42nd Street, New
York 17, N. Y.

the light, but left the room immediately.
I went down stairs and sat down in front
of the fire and went to sleep. At 5:30
o’clock, the call clock rang and awakened
me.

“I went up and called Mr. and Mrs.
Haggar, who occupied Room 15. I then
returned to the lobby, and about fifteen
minutes later heard someone screaming.
I rushed up and asked Mrs. Haggar what
was the matter. She said something ter-
rible had happened. She asked me where
the manager was, and I told her he hadn’t
gotten up. She ordered me to call him
immediately.

“Mrs. Haggar said the girl in Room 17
had been murdered. I accompanied Mr.
and Mrs. Haggar, looked in Room 17 and
saw Mrs. Buck lying there. I then went
back and called Mr. and Mrs. Arnold.
Mrs. Arnold told me to telephone you,
Sheriff Russell, and I did.”

W. kept our word about getting Peppers
out of Gallipolis. First, we awakened
Mayor A. J. Stormont, and Deputy Harri-
son signed a warrant charging first-degree
murder. Mayor Stormont held a hearing
at 2 a. M., Peppers pleaded guilty, and he
was bound over to the grand jury. Then
we rushed him by automobile to Chilli-
cothe, the county seat of Ross County, sixty
miles up state, and turned him over to
Sheriff Alfred Immell, Jr.

At Chillicothe, Prosecuting Attorney
Wilbur Mackenzie had his stenographer
reduce Peppers’ confession to writing and
the prisoner signed it in the presence of
Layman, Rowe, Deputy Harrison, Deputy
Arthur Crago of Ross County and myself.

Common Pleas Judge W. R. White re-
called the Gallia County grand jury on
August 25th, and on that same day it
indicted Eddie Peppers for murder. Judge
White appointed Judge H. W. Cherrington
and Hollis C. Johnson to defend the mur-
dering night clerk, and the victim’s family
retained Judge Garrett Claypool of Chil-
licothe, to assist Prosecutor Fred Cherring-
ton of our county. The case went to
trial November 2nd before Judge White
and a jury.

In the meanwhile, Eddie Peppers repu-
diated his confession.

However, after Judge White admitted
the signed confession, the defendant’s
lawyers acknowledged that he had signed
a document at Chillicothe, but said that
Peppers didn’t know what was in it.

Then a Ross County farmer, who was
in jail at Chillicothe with Peppers, was
brought to Gallipolis to testify that the
clerk had confessed the murder to him
there.

The jury took the case at 3:30 Pp. M,,
on November 8th, and fifty minutes later
filed into the courtroom with a verdict that
sent Eddie Peppers to the electric chair
as Gallia County’s first occupant of the
hot seat.

Attorneys Johnson and H. W. Cherring-
ton carried the case to Ohio Supreme
Court, which refused the appeal on March
14th, 1928. :

The next night, Eddie Peppers walked
his last mile.

Eprror’s NoTE
The names Mrs. Ralph Kinkead and
L. D. Haggar, as used in the foregoing
story, are not the real names of the
persons concerned. These innocent per-
sons have been given fictitious names
in order to protect their identities.

(Continued from
William Reagen,
Natick Box Cor
sachusetts.

“We made that
official after a cl
number we man
the Collins &
Boston.”

Captain Driscc
touch with the m
banks, a warm |
years, and, a very
the store.

Peter F. Hurst
pany for more 1
willingly opened
captain.

From a hasty
he estimated that
had been shipped
1st, in addition
which had been
by customers in

‘Do you knc
Walsh?” Captain
the executives.

“We know him.
of ours,” one 0!
however, we ha\
transaction with

“But wait a mi
tinued. He turn
over some record
mitted a few mi
a fur coat to Mr
boxes only a sho

Write the abov

Medical Examine
ence with me at
located in Pembe
call for him inter
“You’re wantec
tuary right away
Attorney Thomas
a girl who think
of the victim in
Within a few
Inspector Denne:
were seated acrc
pretty young wo:
as Betty Landry.
us to arrive at th:
tification had bee
tween the shoul
girl’s back. “I knc
excitedly. “Her
Questioned fur
some pertinent fa
victim’s life. Sh
come friendly wi:
—who was just e
joined the loca
months previous;
confided to her,
“Tm in troubl:
“and I’ve got to
Miss Landry sa
she had shared \
room in the Dorc
The girl was wo)
and finally told
to disappear for
pleaded with Edi
pray, but soon
young woman qu
her belongings
Warren Street, I
“She was onl
Landry; “not a
both of her pare
like it a bit whe
to disappear. I p)
convinced her, b
didn’t pay any att
“Of course, I r


| Deputy Walter Evans in
ins, some of the boys are
hop basement.”

orcer of prison discipline,
s fists, and ran to the base-
: the doorway, seven auto-
vered him. He was easily
> Institution, since his job
* punishment. Harry Pier-
en who now had guns on
blood, for in 1931 he had
re false move and Evans
er keg. Joe Burns, fearing
ve noise of a shooting at
‘ling ring of guns. “We'll

The Great Indiana Prison Break 9

take Evans along to catch lead on the way out,” he said.

At that moment Dudley Triplett, foreman; and Floyd
Black, a prisoner not on the “in”, hove in sight. They were
trussed up with binding twine and lodged in the heat-
laden tunnel. Superintendent Stevens and Deputy Evans
were led to a post among some racks of shirting materials.
Evans was prodded with questions about his superior, First

Deputy Warden Howard D. Claudy, who alone held. the

keys to solitary. He had been twenty years with the prison,
and was in charge of inside discipline. The officers sensed
that Claudy would be killed-or forced to give up the keys,
and that Danny McGeoghegan and his bank-robbing pals,
who knew the hide-outs in Chicago, Detroit and New York,
would be freed. “If you lie about him being downtown,

we'll give you a one-way ticket to hell later,” Pierpont told
Evans.

The gun-men, it was learned, were awaiting the arrival
of Earl Northern, notorious bank robber, who had been
detained and did not arrive at the rendezvous on time.
They went into a huddle, to map the next move. One was
sent for Evans’ coat. Deitrich emerged from the grim
council of ‘war, to say:

“Stevens, we're taking you for a walk. You're going to
lead us out of this damned hole. Take this, and this,” he
said, filling the arms of all present with boxes of finished
shirts.

“You're to tell everybody that it’s a big order of shirts
going up front,” said Deitrich, putting Stevens to the fore

(Left) On the right is Matt C. Leach,

Captain of State Police, with Al G. Feeney,

Indiana Director of Safety, laying out plans
for the pursuit of the fugitives

(Below) The huge seventy-five-year-old
gates through which the convicts crashed
in their daring break. The keys for these
measure eight inches


basement. An_ up-tilt-
ing gun scar at the
corner of his left eye,
reminder of a 150 mile
fight with a posse, in
which four died, showed
livid with tenseness.
Deitrich was of the new
school of crime that
could use their heads
for plotting as well as
their hands for shoot-
ing. He was wanted in
Nebraska, bank robbery;
les Armand at Lafayette,
Angeles for other crimes;
or his connection with the

deep, brown eyes exuding
s downstairs who look like

ed his work and followed
f the basement. Suddenly,

high. We're going home.

(Above) State troopers and posse-men attempt to pick
up the trail of two shadowy forms which fled precipitately
from this freight train, which had been stopped for search-
(Right) Three Indiana State

ing near Walkerton.
troopers cover a suspected hide-out of the escaped convicts

~-.

vy

-

Ten desperate Indiana criminals
stage one of the most dramatic
escapes in prison history, and,
kidnapping hostages as they
flee, begin a reign of terror
throughout the Middle West


we ray

44

hw ne.

(Above) Through this archway, which they

had entered despondently, dashed the howl-

ing mob of liberty-drunk convicts, shooting
and slugging their way to freedom

(Right) Bullets whizzing from the gun of

John Dillinger during an eight-mile chase,

penetrated the windshield of this car, almost
killing three of the pursuers

You’re going to lead us out. Keep your trap shut and
there won't be any fireworks.”

Superintendent Stevens spun on his heels. He was gazing
into a .45 held tightly by three-fingered John (Oklahoma
Jack) Hamilton, a merciless, Canadian-born killer. In
Hamilton’s gray eyes, burned lust for women, quick money
and hot liquor.

Guns massaged Stevens’ midsection as he was shoved
into a small ventilating-system room, stifling hot. His fear-
bulged eyes made out the dim outlines of James Clark, sur-
vivor of a Denver, Colorado, mint truck robbery; Harry
Pierpont, cold-hearted killer, who had but eighteen months
to serve before being eligible for parole; Charles Makley,
a college man turned robber; John Burns, serving life for
murder; and others equally desperate.

8

Deitrich trotted up to Second Deputy Walter Evans in
the prison yard and said, “Evans, some of the boys are
beating Stevens up in the shirt shop basement.”

Rough and ready Evans, enforcer of prison discipline,
stripped off his coat, clenched his fists, and ran to the base-

-ment. When his bulk loomed in the doorway, seven auto-

matics, one held by Deitrich, covered him. He was easily
the most unpopular man in the institution, since his job
was to jerk men out of line for punishment. Harry Pier-
pont and Russell Clark, two men who now had guns on
him, especially thirsted for his blood, for in 1931 he had
foiled their plot to escape. One false move and Evans
would have touched off a powder keg. Joe Burns, fearing
neither devil nor man; only the noise of a shooting at
this time, shoved aside the circling ring of guns. “We'll

take Evans along to ca

At that moment Duc
Black, a prisoner not on
trussed up with bindir
laden tunnel. Superint:
were led to a post amo!
Evans was prodded wit’
Deputy Warden Howa’
keys to solitary. He ha
and was in charge of |
that Claudy would be |
and that Danny McGe
who knew the hide-outs
would be freed. “If ¥

Qe

ee

a4 EES

Ea SE eee
6 fame

aa RAT Ges


a ee

10

The Master

Eddie Shouse, Dillinger’s lieutenant, captured in a
gun fight at Paris, Illinois. (Below) The aban-
doned farmhouse near Valparaiso, Indiana, where
posse-men massed to trap some of the fugitives

Detective

and marshalling his fellow conspirators in line behind him.

Beneath innocent-looking shirt boxes, convict fingers
caressed triggers of murderous automatics. Seven had guns
and three had a heavy steel shaft to be used as a battering
ram. Evans brought up the rear. This little group of
desperate men, dog-trotted across six hundred yards of
open prison street, where there was considerable prisoner
traffic.

Frank M. Sawanson, three years as hall gate guard, fell
for the ruse and was shoved in line. Guy Burklow, inner
cage guard, five years on the job, surrendered when an om-
inous ring of pistols was poked through the bars. One
gate remained to crash.

‘H ALT,” challenged George Wellnitz, veteran outside

turnkey cage guard, as his alert eyes sensed some-
thing was wrong. He was pounced upon; beaten to the
floor by gun butts; and his eight-inch keys wrested from
him. The last seventy-five-year-old gate swung open, and
the convicts ran riot in the lobby.

“Where’s the Warden? Get the Warden. Get his secre-
tary,” yelled the milling mob, indicating that Louis E.
Kunkel, who had only lately taken over the administra-
tion of the prison, and his pretty secretary, Miss Dorothy
Taylor, were booked for a ride as hostages.

Gun butts smashed the inner prison telephone system.

“The gun-men staged a surprise attack, under guise of
normal routine, and made rapid progress,” said Lieutenant
Commander B. B. Stover of the 19th Fleet Naval Reserves,
who was an eye witness. Three-fingered Oklahoma Jack
Hamilton escorted Warden Kunkel into the clerk’s office
at gun point without recognizing him. Warden Kunkel
said:

“They beat Lawrence (Slim) Mutch, Superintendent of
Prison Jndustries, to the floor when he refused to give up

(Above) With Indiana
blocked by sandbags to <
side roads, State Troope:
(next to car) and Anth
and question all moto
State Policeman Lawrenc

right, and an Illinois

This map, credited to t
gang, and sketched on
newspaper, outlines a
kidnap Governor Paul V.
him to sign a

the keys to the arsenal
tion were stored. With
face and his hair ove
wreck. Two shots ran;
son, 65-year-old clerk,
He had been too slow
get to the clerk’s office.
hip and abdomen and

HOWARD CROSB\
newspaper man, g¢
topped desk and cal
alarm. At almost the s
fire alarm sounded insic
had slipped over unnot
“Knock off. Knock o!
trich, and the convicts
prepared for the final
seized and disarmed Sh
had just brought a pris:
“T saw what | thoug
a couple of prisoners
dragging bim out,” sai
At that moment Ev:
escaped between some


icson, Arizona, face the Law
Opal Long and Mary Kinder.
ndividual picture of Charles
at a local

the morning after their capture. (Left to right) Clark,
Chief of Police Wollard stands directly behind Clark.
Makley, who was arrested in the company of a torch singer
night club

pont, “trigger man’”’ for the
Tucson officers. (Below)
ecting the placing of guards

the Dillinger gang was

Dillinger outfit who was masquerading as a wealthy
Western deputies being lined up for duty. Sheriff John
around the Pima County Jail, at Tucson, Arizona, where
held pending extradition

she was released. She drops from the picture
here, having no more connection with the story,
but it will probably be some time before she
picks her companions as quickly as she did the
genial Mr. Davies, from Jacksonville.

With Makley safely in a cell in the county
jail, I turned my attention to the activities of
the squad which had, meanwhile, been sent
back to the residence on East Second Street.
Frank Eyman, Chet Sherman and Dallas Ford
were on that job.

I repeated my orders. No unnecessary risks
were to be run by the detail. Catching Makley
had been simplicity itself. But three other
members of the desperate gang, including the
chieftain, Dillinger, remained at large. And
we didn’t—because we had met success at the
start—feel it necessary to crowd our luck.

So my men followed instructions to the letter,
again surrounding the house and quietly check-
ing the occupants. Nothing happened.

Sherman, former traffic officer and now a
member of the plainclothes staff, began to get
restless. He tired of the waiting game. He
reasoned that, while I wanted them to be care-
ful, still I also wanted some action. So he ar-
ranged with Eyman and Ford a ruse which, he
hoped, might get him into the house.

His pians made, and with Ford and Eyman
covering him, Sherman walked down the street
toward the house. Unhurriedly he drew near,
taking a letter from his pocket and apparently
checking an address. As he came in front of
927, he again checked the number with the
letter. To a watcher, the small, dark-haired
man might have been a salesman, or a stranger
seeking an address new to him. He stepped up
on the porch and rang the bell. The door
Swung open and a woman asked what he
wanted.

Sherman half extended the letter, saying at
the same time that he wanted to see a “Mr.
Clark.” As the woman reached for the letter,
he drew it back, stepped (Continued on page 80)

13

aie sis ok td ee

The Studebaker continued on into the main
business district and there, in front of an elec-
trical store, was drawn up to the curb. Both
the man and woman left the car and entered
the store. As they walked across the side-
walk, it was noted that the man limped slightly.

The officers followed them in and Robbins
told the man he was under arrest as a fugitive
from justice. Startled by the abrupt accusa-
tion, the man protested that some mistake had
been made, that he was a Florida business man
visiting here for the winter. Robbins told him
that a trip to the police station was in order.
He could explain the matter to the chief.

Still insisting that a mistake had been made,
the man, who called himself J. C. Davies, and
the woman, a torch singer in a local night club,
accompanied the officers under great protest.

At the station, I had Makley brought into
the identification bureau for questioning.

“What's your name?” I asked.

“J. C. Davies,’ he replied promptly, and
added, ‘(Come up to my house. I can clear
this up in a minute. All of my papers are
there.’’

As I continued to question him, the man
repeated his plea that someone accompany
him to the house on East Second Street, where
the matter could be quickly adjusted.

“Why do you object, if you have nothing to
fear, to having your fingerprints taken?’’ I
asked him.

“T don’t think it necessary,’’ he replied.

“Well, Makley,”’ I told him, “‘we are going to
finger-print you whether you like it or not.”

When he saw that further protests. were
futile, he took refuge in silence. He was
quickly finger-printed and his identification was
complete. The first of the Dillinger gang was a
prisoner! Makley carried a bankroll of seven
hundred and seventy dollars.

The woman, who gave her name as Mary
Miller, was booked as a material witness, but
on the following morning, her story having
been checked and found to be fairly accurate,

12

Dillinger and his aides, in Tucson, Arizona, face the Law
Makley, Pierpont, Dillinger, Opal Long and Mary Kinder.
In the oval at right is an individual picture of Charles

at a local

In oval at left is Harry Pierpont, ‘trigger man’’ for the
tourist when captured by Tucson officers. (Below)
Belton, extreme right, is directing the placing of guards

the Dillinger gang was

the morning after
Chief of Police V
Makley, who was ¢
night club

Dillinger outfit «
Western deputies
around the Pima (
held pending extr


RAE, 2 AOU

(Left) Harry Pierpont,
wanted for the murder of
Sheriff Jess Sarber, of Lima,
Ohio, protests at being
photographed. At his left,
Captain Ben West. Right:
Motor Officer Frank Eyman
and Sheriff Belton

‘Below) Tucson citizens
jather at the station to
vatch officers take Clark,
Makley, and Pierpont, three
nembers of the notorious
Dillinger gang, aboard the
orivate car, when they were
ntrained for Ohio to face
murder charges

literally be throwing their lives away on such desperados.

I knew quite well the desperate character of the gang we
hoped to catch.

On September 26th, 1933, ten desperate convicts had made
a daring break from Indiana State Prison at Michigan City,
trussing up, beating and shooting guards.

One of those escaped convicts was Harry Pierpont, sent
up for from ten to twenty years for bank robbery.

Another was Russell Clark, serving twenty-five years ‘for
robbery.

The third was Charles Makley, college man turned robber,
Serving a ten-to-twenty-year term.

And the man who had engineered the escape, and smuggled
into Indiana State Prison the weapons with which it was
accomplished, was John Dillinger.

Such was the criminal background of the gang we were after.

Dillinger, himself, was arrested in Dayton, shortly after
the prison-break, and turned over to authorities at Lima,
Ohio. He was not imprisoned there long. One day a small
group of well-dressed men came into the office of Sheriff Jess
Sarber, shot and killed him and locked his wife and a deputy
in a cell. Dillinger, of course, was released and, with the
group, disappeared.

A reward of seven thousand dollars was placed on the heads
of Pierpont, Clark, Makley, and Dillinger, but no trace of.
the bandit-murderers was discovered by searching officers.

TOO BAD!
This Tucson fireman, William Benedict (right) did
his best. Benedict identified Russell Clark in Feb-
Tuary, 1934, TRUE DETECTIVE LINE-UP and
gave the tip to the county authorities at Tucson;
but before they could arrest Clark, the Tucson City
Police, under Chief Wollard, received a tip the samc
day from another source which Tesulted in the
round-up of not only Clark, but also Makley. Pier
pont and Dillinger

John Dillinger, the Mooresville farmer
boy who turned gangster after a prison
term that embittered him, later was
tentatively identified as the man who
shot down Patrolman O'Malley in East
Chicago. At thirty-one, he was listed
as one of the most dangerous criminals
at large.
A former member of Dillinger’s moh was
reported to have said that the Dillinger
gang was “kill crazy’’ and that most of
their venomous hatred was directed al
police officers.

“Policemen who have wives and children,”
he was quoted as saying, “should not engage
in the hunt, for they will get killed."’

It was because of this knowledge of how deadly
the Dillinger mob had been in other cases that ]
instructed my men to use utmost caution.

My men obeyed orders. They quietly took posts
where they could cover every entrance to the house

on Kast Second Street and awaited developments. A

new Studebaker sedan was parked near the house. Some-

one was in the residence and they did not have long to wait

A short stocky man, neatly dressed, came out, accompanied

by a woman. They stepped into the Studebaker and drove

off toward the downtown district. Well to the rear, until
away from the house, our police car followed.

1]

BSR Sy Gos tg


at a reputable hotel, and you can readily understand why

no suspicion would have been created by their visit.
Yet a check of photographs and descriptions in our

identification bureau convinced me that the “wealthy

party’ actually .was the tough Dillinger gang.

J. C. Davies answered the description of Charles

Makley. Art Long answered the description of

Russell Clark. James Taylor answered the de-
scription of Harry Pierpont, “trigger man’’ for
the gang. And Frank Sullivan answered
generally to the description of the ring-
leader of the entire outfit—John Dillinger,
listed by Chicago authorities as Public
Enemy Number 1.

Fresh from a bank robbery in East
Chicago, where a withering machine-gun
blast had mowed down Patrolman Wil-
liam O’Malley as he attempted to block
their escape from the bank they had
just robbed, the Dillinger gang, we
figured, was seeking a quiet place to
rest between raids while the hue and cry
in the Middle West settled down a bit,
and had picked Tucson as a likely haven.
They had settled in the Congress Hotel,
checked upon the local places of amuse-
ment, made the rounds of the night clubs
and generally relaxed. Tucson was ‘“cold”’
for the bandits, for they were not wanted
here, and they could forget, for the moment,
that the police of the Middle West were exert-
ing every effort to locate them.

This then, as we figured it, had been the situa-
tion when the fire which razed the Congress Hotel

literally had smoked out the gang.

My feelings, as I considered all of this, were
mixed. Out of a clear sky had come the astounding
revelation that one of the most wanted bands of crimi-
nals in the entire country was within reach of my de-
partment. Almost any police chief in the country would
have given his right hand for the chance to put the Dillinger

gang behind bars.

On the other hand, I realized the tremendous responsibility
that was mine. My men are loyal, eager, capable. Yet, if I
proceeded carelessly in mapping out a capture plan, I would

10

(Left) Harry Pierpont,
wanted for the murder of
Sheriff Jess Sarber, of Lima,

photographed.

Captain Ben West.

Motor Officer Frank Eyman
and Sheriff Belton

(Below) Tucson

watch officers take Clark,
Makley, and Pierpont, three
members of the notorious
Dillinger gang,
private car, when they were
entrained for Ohio to face
murder charges

¥
Pe. de

“%

EY

~)

UI citi

literally be throwing
I knew quite wel
hoped to catch
On September 26t)
a daring break fron
trussing up, beating
One of those esca
up for from ten to ty
Another was Rus:
robbery
The third was Ch:
serving a ten-to-twe
And the man who
into Indiana State
accomplished, was J
Such was the crim)
Dillinger, himself
the prison-break, a:
Ohio. He was not
group of well-dresse:
Sarber, shot and kil]
in @ cell. Dillinger
group, disappeared
A reward of seven
of Pierpont, Clark,
the bandit-murdere!

a PS Ribena * ~~ *"

t.


NNT

=

pees

A RIOT AND FIRE— :
in Ohio Penitentiary caused deaths of
fellow prisoners

many inmates. Here
dies of the men who perished.

remove bo


Serer

aa — a

_ Of the Ohio Pen for 22 years
was Warden Preston E, Thomas.

\

Locked once more in their cells, the cons shouted to
Filkowski, “You can’t beat the jinx. It’s got us all
licked before we make a move!”

Another of the jinx’s outstanding victims was Harry
Pierpont, the reputed brains of the Dillinger mob. Fol-
lowing his capture and extradition to Lima, O., where
with Carl Makeley and Russel Clarke he was convicted
of murdering Sheriff Jess Saber ‘(in liberating Dil-
linger), Pierpont vowed he would sit in no electric chair.
And a week later Dillinger escaped from the County Jail
in Crown Point, Ind.

Dillinger promptly sent word to Judge Emmett E.
Everett, the presiding judge, that should he sentence
his lieutenants he, the judge, would die a torturous
death. Unmoved, Judge Everett sentenced Pierpont and
Makeley to the electric chair and Clarke to life im-
prisonment.

The Death Row here consists of a series of cells on the
bottom range. Heavy wire screens welded close together
front the galley, thwarting any rescue attempts and per-
mitting our guards a closer watch of the condemned
men.

At the time, I was in complete charge of the Death
House on the morning trick. Harry Pierpont, I noticed,
‘paced his cell often. When he read it was always a

‘mechanical magazine, not thrilling love stories. His

partner, Makeley, two cells away, slept or talked most of
the time, while the third man, Clarke, stared stoically
at the bars. ;

A chance for escape? We placed it at one chance in
a thousand. Secret alarm buzzers, seven steel doors,

58


*

~

jinx. With four other convicts, while marching to the
bathhouse, Joe led the breaking of ranks, slugging’ of
two guards and the dash for the stonemason’s ladder
inside the stockade.

They sought to get possession of the ladder before the
wall guard could spot them. But a prisoner atop the
ladder, who was Patching the wall- coping, instead of
falling toward the escape-bent men, happened to fall
the other way—in full view of the guard tower. A-few
moments after the siren sounded we quickly rounded
the four convicts up and placed them in “L” Block,
solitary confinement. ‘ :

cell above them heard the squeak of the saw. The ear-

Smoke billowing from a cell attracted the wall guard.
A warning shot came crashing through the window
above the steel cutters. The riot Squad descended on

“L" Block. A short, bloody battle ensued and the
escapers were Overpowered.

RIOT SQUAD :
bullets ended Harry
Pierpont’s essay at
escape. He crumpled
up under the blast.


Lem at

the weird cordon around this gaol

two huge back gates, thick walls guarded by picked men
and a riot squad, had given our Death Row the reputa-
tion of being about as easy to beat as Uncle Sam’s
Alcatraz.

We were taking no chances and we were well pre-
pared to greet Dillinger should he attempt to liberate
his pals. Then came Dillinger’s capture, on July 22,
as he strode from a Chicago theatre. Our entire guard
force breathed a sigh of relief.

poo took to walking his cell more.. Every so
often he stopped to arrange pieces of a jigsaw puzzle
on his cot. He spoke less and less. It seemed to me that
he now had given up hope for escape.

On September 22, two days after the Supreme Court
had turned down his plea for a new trial, Guard Bark-
ley entered the narrow cage with the supper. Reaching
Pierpont’s cell he opened the door and handed his rations
to him, the usual procedure. Instead of taking the meal
Pierpont whipped a revolver from under his pillow.

“Give me that key,” he snarled, his eyes deadly slits.

Guard Barkley’s eyes popped. He had no time to won-
der how a snub-nosed, black barreled pistol had slipped
into Death Row. Pierpont slugged him cruelly, knock-
ing him unconscious. Then, leaping over Barkley, he
snatched the heavy iron key from the door, sped to
Makeley’s cell and released him. He, too, was armed
with a gun—a wicked, light calibre automatic.

The sound of the scuffling brought Guards Flanagin
and O’Rourke on the run.

aN

| aa


PEACOCK, Norman, white, elec. OHS (Hamilton) March 11, 1936

fF ws

_ CHIEF

\ X YE DO things on a big scale in

America. We have the biggest

buildings, the longest bridges,

the greatest government spenders—and

the most appalling murder rate in the
world.

Crime students have estimated that
there are 250,000 murderers at large in
the United States—that another 300,000
men and women will commit murder
before they die—that nearly 400,000 per-
sons now living will presently die by
violence.

This means that nearly a million U. S.
citizens are slayers, will be slayers or
murder victims. The figures are based
to a large extent upon our present rate
of more than 12,000 murders each year.
And what are we doing about it? The
records tell a graphic story.

In 1934 (the last figures available)
there were about 6,600 arrests for homi-
cide. This means that about half of our
murderers are never caught—that a
slayer stands a 50 per cent chance of
going free entirely. If he is apprehended
and goes to trial he has a 65 per cent
chance of avoiding a jail term. If he
goes to jail the average term is only
about five years. And less than 2 per
cent of our murderers pay for their
crimes with their lives.

Corrupt government, stupid police,
venal lawyers and soft-spined juries ac-
count for the greater part of the mur-
derer’s immunity. Truly America is a
land of opportunity for both the lawless
and the law abiding!

What we need today is some good,
old fashioned cracking down, not only
on criminals but on those who make it
possible for them to get away with crime!

Whimpering Killers—

NTORMAN PEACOCK, 22, decided
+‘ the world owed him a living. He
set out to collect it—with a gun.

at

oe

Speedy action by police of Revere, Mass., resulted in the capture of Lawrence

Johnson and Theodore Patenaude (left to right, in undershirts), following their

daring break from Salem jail. Patenaude is shown resisting officers in an effort
to dodge cameramen.

In February, 1935, he held up Morris
and Marie Hockfield, proprietors of a
small shoe store in Cincinnati, Ohio. In-
flamed with liquor, he shot down the
couple and escaped with his loot—a single
pair of shoes.

Both of the Hockfields died. Clever
detective work pinned the slaying on
Peacock and “wanted” fliers were circu-
lated charging him with the double mur-
der.

Six months later Peacock was picked
up in San Francisco, wanted at that time
for more than 50 robberies in addition
to the Cincinnati murders. Returned to
the scene of his crime he was found guilty
and sentenced to die.

He tried to maintain an air of bravado
to the last; but as he walked to the chair
at Columbus, Ohio, on March 11, 1936,

he whimpered, “It won’t hurt—will it?”

£

Peacock needn’t have worried. The
electric chair is comparatively painless.
The hurt is most keenly felt by those
who live afterward—the relatives who
must bear the stigma of a slayer’s guilt—
who must endure the shameful recollec-
tion of a youth who defied the law and
suffered its awful verdict.

Last Of The Touhys—

"THE death knell of the once powerful
Touhy gang was recently sounded
in Minneapolis federal court when a jury
found Tommy Touhy, last of the mob,
guilty on ten counts charging robbery
and conspiracy in connection with a
$78,000 mail robbery staged in 1933.
Once known as “Terrible” Tommy,
the last of the Touhys belied his name
[Continued on page 80]

4

STARTLING DETECTIVE ADVENTURES’ Anti-Crime Platform:

1. Stimulation of the full force of gow opinion against crime.
Establishment of a federal school for scientific training of law

Agreements between states for crime suppression.
4. Curbing of indiscriminate possession of firearms.
5. Curbing of activities of lawyer criminals.
6. Co-operation between federal and state law officers.

7. Orderly, lawful hods of dealing with ind ial conflicts
and racial antagonism.
Laws eliminating abuse of parole and pardon powers and
separating them from politics.
le position to undue dramatizing of crime or criminals in
any publication or motion pictures.
10. Adoption by states of uniform, model codes of criminal procedure.

6


108

departed under the arm of Robert Graves,
12 Mercer Street.

Graves was located, and brought to the
detective bureau. ©:

“Sure, IT traded a revolver for that
radio,” said Graves. “Peacock said he
wanted it for a relative down on the
farm.”

“What was the make and caliber?” I
inquired.

“Smith & Wesson .38,” came the answer.
Graves had had the weapon for a lon
time. Unfortunately, he had no record
of the factory number.

The net of circumstances surely was
tightening about this man Peacock, or
Ross. ,

One of the party guests knew where
Peacock lived, at 133 Elm Street. When
my men arrived there, they observed there
was a gate entrance to the yard from
an alley in the rear. It was the same
alley in which Mrs. Dier was almost
knocked down by a fleeing man just after
the five shots were fired that Monday
night. The gate into No. 133 had been
torn from its hinges. Inquiry developed
that this fact first was noticed by neigh-
bors on Tuesday morning.

Te occupant of the house at 133 Elm
Street was Mrs. Frances Schauder. Nor-
man Peacock was her son by a previous
marriage. His mother hadn’t seen him
since the night of the murders, probably
about 11 p. M. He walked into the house
at that hour, borrowed five dollars, and
walked out again. :

The woman told us her son spent Mon-
day afternoon wheeling in a load of coal
dumped at the curb. He had been drink-
ing moonshine whiskey for several days,
and had imbibed freely after the exertion.
Then he cleaned up and left the house
soon after dinner. :

Mrs. Schauder said she and Norman’s
father separated many years before while
living in San Francisco. He had gone to
Peoria, Illinois, while she came to Cin-
cinnati, where she remarried. She gave
us the address of her ex-husband in Peoria,
as well as that of another son, Loren Pea-
cock, at 214 Bonview Street, San Fran-
cisco.

Norman had recently returned from a
visit to his father and brother, so again
our shoe expert was right that the wearer

had spent much of his time in the last

four months outside of Ohio.

When Norman’s mother admitted he had
served twenty-five months in the Mans-
field, Ohio, reformatory for auto theft, we
rushed back to our Bertillon bureau and
dug up his picture and measurements.

Zanger, the shoe expert, had guessed
his age correctly, as he was only twenty-

two and his weight within seven pounds .

and his height almost to a T, and the two
girls in the store had given an amazingly
accurate description, except as to his age.

One by one, the witnesses to the mur-
derer’s escape came in at our request and
identified him from the Bertillon picture,
some with great positiveness, others with
hesitancy. We hurriedly issued circulars
bearing Peacock’s picture and identifica-
tion measurements, and shot them out all
over the country. Those sent to Peoria,
where his father lived, and San Francisco,
where his brother resided, were accom-
panied by special letters.

Within a very few hours, we knew that
Peacock was traveling West. A telegraph
office at Peoria had delivered a wire to
his father the morning after the murder,
requesting money, which was not sent.
The telegram was sent from Crawfords-
ville, Indiana.

I sent Detective Flaugher to’ Craw-
fordsville to see what he could dig up.
His visit to pawn-shops and other places
where guns are purchased was productive.

True Detective Mysteries

Norman Peacock (Jeft) with Criminal
Court Bailiff Charles Stagnaro

Stanley Hatfield,: proprietor of a sporting
goods store, identified Peacock from a
Bertillon picture as the man from whom
he purchased a Smith & Wesson 38 special
the day after the murders. Hatfield re-
called his customer had on new shoes
that squeaked. He paid five dollars for
the pistol.

Hatfield still had the weapon. Its fac-
tory number was 304,193. Flaugher
brought the revolver back with him, and
he gave it a test in our laboratory. Firing
bullets from the pistol into cotton waste,
and comparing the lead under a compari-
son microscope with the lethal bullets, we
determined definitely that Peacock’s re-
volver was used in the killing of Mr. and
Mrs. Hockfield.

Nw there was nothing left to do but
sit back and wait. It was over six
months after the tragedy—August 14th—
when we received a wire from Chief of
Police William J. Quinn at San Francisco
that Norman Peacock was under arrest
there. Picked up for drunkenness, Pea-
cock’s finger-prints were taken because he
packed a rod. They established his iden-
tity.

Detective Flaugher of my squad, ac-
compagied by Sheriff George A. Lutz of
Hamilton County, started West after the
prisoner, armed with a requisition issued
by Governor Martin L. Davey of Ohio.
Stopping at Sacramento to have the requi-
sition honored, Lutz and Flaugher landed
in San Francisco late in August.

Meanwhile, police of various states
pinned fifty-two robberies on Peacock, all
committed within a period of ten months.
Tn one he had attempted to take a life.

When ‘Lutz and Flaugher confronted

Detectives Walter Hart (left) and

Thomas Faragher, two of the clever

sleuths who helped in running down
the quarry

Peacock in California, he greeted them
with, “I know they’ll barbecue me back
in Ohio.” Peacock made it plain that
taking human life meant nothing to him.
Before boarding a Cincinnati-bound train,
he promised Lutz and Flaugher that he
would kill them both if he got the chance.

The prisoner made a long statement in
which it was clear the philosophy moti-
vating his actions was that the world
owed him a living, and he was out to get
it. He said:

“Although I am only twenty-two I have

just signed my own death warrant. I don’t
suppose anything I can say or write now
will make a lot of difference.
“ “Let me say right now that nothing I
can think of started me on the bum side
of the road. I don’t think by writing this
I can convince any young guy not to com-
mit crimes. If he goes out for it, no one
is going to be able to do anything about
it or is going to be able to stop him.

“Sure, I shot those folks in Cincinnati.
What else was I going to do? It was
either their lives or mine, and I know
darn well I didn’t want to die, although
I guess I am headed for the chair right
now.

“It is a cinch that I will burn in a hurry
if they send me back to that town. T
was told only a few minutes ago that was
just what is going to happen.

“I never would have killed that dame
and her old man if she hadn’t hollered
‘copper,’ but the moment she shouted I
let them have it. The gun I used in the
killing I got by trading an old radio set
which I had swiped. I had guns before
that one, but never used one. After I
left the store I went to Mother and she
gave me five dollars which I used to get
out of town in a hurry. I wasn’t scared,
but I thought it might get warm where I
was.

“I didn’t tell my mother anything about
the shooting. If she ever guessed I was
mixed up in it, she never said anything to
me. After I left Cincinnati, I started to
do a lot of heavy drinking. Of course,
the booze cost money and that meant I
had to pull jobs.

“The old man I shot in the cigar hold-
up in San Francisco was reaching for his
pocket when I blazed away at him. When
the cops took me out to his place, he was
sore as h— and even cussed me out. I
don’t know why he should be so scorched.
I didn’t kill him. ;

“It was a bum rap in a stolen car that
got me down first. I served a prison
sentence for it. I was arrested the first
time for stealing eighty dollars from a
church in Cincinnati, when I was only
nine. I beat that one, but could not get
out of the stolen car case.

. ELL, it is all over but the hot seat.

I figure I am just as well off, If I
had kept on sticking people up, I would
only kill a few more.

“I was able to give it, so I guess |
might as well be able to take it.”

The Hamilton County ‘grand jury had
indicted Peacock for first degree mur-
der before he reached Cincinnati on Sep-
tember 2nd, and when he learned drunk-
enness was no defense, he pleaded guilty
to a general charge of murder.

Peacock was brought to trial on Septem-
ber 23rd before Common Pleas Judges
Charles 8. Bell, Dennis Ryan and Nelson
Schwab, sitting en bane to determine the
degree of murder.

The evidence was presented in two days
through Assistant Prosecuting Attorneys
Dudley M. Outcault and Carson Hoy,
and Attorneys Allen C. Roudebush and
Peter J. McCarthy, Jr... who were ap-
pointed by the court to defend the con-
fessed murderer.

A demand by the defense that a second

TASS Met eee

25s


confession made in Cincinnati to us be
introduced proved a boomerang. The de-
fense thought it would show in the con-
fession that Peacock said he had been
drinking, but in it Peacock admitted he
had gone into the shoe store for the pur-
pose of robbery. That was the one thing
the defense had been denying.

As to the first confession, Peacock said
he was drunk at the time the statement
was made.

“I thought I was talking about some-
thing else,” he asserted, “and lots of my
answers were wrong.”

In line with the opening statements
made by his counsel, Peacock denied as-
serting he “was not sorry for what he had
done” or “under the same circumstances
I would do it again. It was either me or
them.” .

“wr WAS drunk when I went into the
store,” testified the prisoner. “I guess I
just got excited. I don’t know how many
times I shot at the lady or the man. He
was coming toward me when I shot.”

The defendant said he ran down an
alley to his mother’s home after the shoot-
ing, entering from the rear. Taking the
empty shells from his revolver, he hid
them and the weapon. He then went
out and bought a pint of whiskey, returned
home, reloaded the gun and threw away
the empty shells.

After borrowing five dollars from his
mother, Peacock boarded a_ bus for
Crawfordsville and wired his father for
money. When he received no response,
he sold the revolver and hopped a freight
to Peoria. From there he went to Amar-
illo, Texas, where he sold his zipper coat
at a pawn-shop. Then he hitch-hiked to
San Francisco and embarked on robbery.

While defense counsel pleaded for
mercy, Assistant Prosecutor Hoy de-
manded that “absolutely no mercy be
shown.”

The three-judge court began considera-

tion of the evidence on September 25th. .

Five days later, Peacock was summoned to
the criminal courtroom, surrounded on all
sides by deputy sheriffs and in the charge
of Criminal Court Bailiff Charles Stag-
naro. His demeanor, showing an utter
lack of anxiety, occasioned comment
among the spectators as Presiding Judge
Bell ordered Peacock to stand up and
began reading from an eight-page type-
written opinion.

Peacock lost a little of his composure,
however, when Judge Bell reached a par-

True Detective Mysteries

agraph which began to give an intima-
tion of the court’s conclusion:

“Tf the statute finding murder in the
first degree and imposing the death pen-
alty is to be applied in any case, it is
hard to conceive of a case wherein there
was a more wanton, vicious and unjustifi-
able killing of two human beings, than
there has been disclosed by the evidence
in this case.”

The prisoner now took on an appear-
ance of surliness, a frown settled upon his
face and he leaned forward slightly as
Judge Bell continued:

“We minutely have examined and con-
sidered all of the evidence, the surround-
ing circumstances, age, condition and pre-
vious record of the defendant, as shown by
the evidence, and we can find nothing in
this record upon which to justify a recom-
mendation of mercy.” ;

The court, brushed aside the claim of
defense counsel that Peacock could not be
found guilty of first degree murder be-
cause, in the first place, he had been drink-
ing and his brain was in such condition
that he could not premeditate the slaying,
as was charged in the first count of the
indictment.

As to the second and third counts, which
charged respectively that Peacock com-
mitted murder while in the perpetration
of a robbery and that he murdered in
the attempted perpetration, the defense
had argued that force and violence used
by Peacock was not concomitant with the
taking of a pair of shoes.

“MAAE court is unanimous in its conclu-

sion that neither of these contentions
should or can be sustained under the
facts in this case,” intoned Judge Bell.
“We are convinced, from the conduct of
the defendant, before, at the time of,
and after the shooting, that he was in full
possession of his faculties, and that the
dominant consideration in his mind was
his own safety and an absolute disregard
for the rights of all others.

“The Court finds the defendant guilty
of murder in the first degree as he stands
charged on the first and second counts of
the indictment.”

Peacock turned toward his counsel and
looked at the two lawyers with dumb in-
ertia. Then he shuffled toward the exit
between two rows of deputy sheriffs.

On October 5th, following over-ruling
of a motion for a new trial, Peacock was
sentenced to die in the electric chair at
Columbus on January 16th, 1936.

Maryland’s Startling Guilino Mystery

(Continued from page 31)

I had often passed the farm in the course
of my official duties, although I had had
no occasion to enter. It appeared to be
in good condition and produced crops
equally as bountiful as the average farm
of this section.

We traveled for a mile along the Elk-
ton-Glasgow highway, then only a gray,
eled road, instead of the main artery of
traffic to the north, as it now is. We
turned off into a dirt lane, the two-mile
entrance to the farmhouse. Despite the
intense heat, the road was a mass of ruts,
a condition which I suspected was due
as much to marsh land as to recent
storms.

I was glad that Tony was with me to
point out the way, for I doubt that I
could have found it alone in the gather-
ing darkness. A heavy mist arose from
the low meadows, turning the world into
a ghost-like maze of fog. I noticed a
number of small clumps of trees, lib-
crally interspersing the fields, and asked

him what they were. He explained that
they surrounded miniature lakes, not
deep but fairly wide.

I asked him then about his mother’s
death, about Blase, about his father, and,
of course, most of all about Vincent. °

“Vince has such a hot temper,” Tony
said wjth a despondent sigh. “He'll get
over it, I suppose, but he’s hard to get
along with. So headstrong and deter-
mined to have his own way. .He won't
mind Blase and he gives Dad a lot of
worry.”

‘“That’s his Italian blood, I guess,” I
commented with a chuckle. “You are
Italians, aren’t you?”

“Dad and Mother were both Calabrians.
That’s the province down in the heel of
Italy. They believe that it used to be a
part of Sicily.”

“That’s the place where the Mafia
comes from and where the brigands carry
on their vendettas? Seems to me I can

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‘

“They'll do,” the customer replied. ‘How much?”

Hochfield glanced at the selling code mark on the box.
“Three dollars, and they’re a bar

The words died on his lips. The young man had whipped
out a short, blue steel revolver from his coat pocket and held
it in Hochfield’s face.

“Just keep your mouth shut and walk slow towards the cash
register,” the robber ordered.

Marie Hochfield was just replacing boxes of shoes she had
shown her two customers. At the man’s low words she jumped
to her feet, eves wide with fear. She started at a stumbling run
for the sanctuary of her rooms at the rear of the store, her
voice rising in a strangled scream of terror,

Morris Hochfield leaped to get between his wife and the

threatening gun. The young thug felled him.with a brutal °

blow of the gun barrel against his face.

“Police, help!’ Marie screamed.

The gun crashed twice and the woman slumped in a twitch-
ing heap half through the door to the living rooms. Hochfield
scrambled to his feet and tottered towards the front door of the
store.

“T told you not to make a fuss,” the gunman snarled and
fired deliberately at the running man three times.

Hochfield threw his arms wide and crashed to the floor with
his gray head against the door,

Cursing, the bandit started back towards the cash register.
Then, at the sound of shouts from across the street, he turned
and plunged out through the door and ran down the dark
street, disappearing into the black mouth of an alley.

Across the street from the Hochfield store, Jim Penny, night
attendant at the garage was shouting into the telephone, “Po-
lice headquarters? Send help quick! There’s been a holdup
and shooting'at the Sample Shoe Store, 1700 block on Race
Street.”

His message acknowledged, Penny ran across the street and
burst into the shoe store, halting in sick dismay at the sight of
the sprawled bodies. He did what he could to stanch the bleed-

ing of the two wounded people until the wail of sirens an-

nounced the approach of police squad cars and the ambulance.
Detective Lieutenant George Schattle was accompanied by
his crack squad of homicide sleuths as he hurried towards
Penny, who had run into the street in front of the store.
“In there,” Penny cried. _

Detailing two of his men to comb the neighborhood, Schattle
and Detective Burke went inside. They found both victims un-
conscious and bleeding badly. Realizing that the first job was
to get the wounded man and woman to the hospital, the detec-
tives made no attempt to inspect the premises until they had
assisted the doctor and orderly place the Hochfields on
stretchers. 7, :

While Schattle stood with the worn shoe of the killer still in
his hand, one of the men he’d sent out ushered an excited

_ Negro into the store.

“This man’s the night watchman of the warehouse down the

street,” Detective Flaugher reported. “He heard the shooting

and ran out on the loading platform to see what was happen-
ing. He says there was a man ran into the alley across the
street. He was tall and thin.”

*“Yassuh,” the watchman cut in, “an’ he was wearing a pair
of brand new shoes, black ones. I seen the light from the
street lamp shine on them clear.”

“That’s our man all right,” Schattle remarked. “You and
Faragher check all the bars and eating. places around here.
Look for a man wearing a pair of brand new black oxfords,
size 7-D. Major Kirgan has already thrown a dragnet around
this area. Unless I’m: very much mistaken, these shoes are
going to land this gunman behind bars—or’ maybe in the

~ chair.”

Meanwhile, at Cincinnati General Hospital: surgeons had
done their best to save the lives of the couple. A detective
sat at the bedside of Morris Hochfield, and another beside
that of his wife, in the hope that they would make a helpful
statement.

But Hochfield, after groaning “Oi, weh’s mir,” took a deep,
sighing breath and died. Three hours later his wife joined
him in death. Neither had said a word that might help the

. detectives.

LL THROUGH the night the police worked with fever-

ish energy to capture the bandit. Every transportation
company ticket office was watched. Plain-clothes men patrolled
railroad stations and bus terminals. The bridges crossing the
Ohio River were placed under double guard. Instructed by
the code radio flash that had been sent out at Schattle’s
orders, every prowl car in the metropolitan district kept on’
the alert for the bandit in new, black shoes. The assistance

PEACOCK, Ngrman, white, electroctued Ohio (Hamilton ) on 3-11-1936.

T was cold and blustery on Cincinnati’s Race Street, with
the frigid February wind banging signs and howling in the
dark alleys, But inside the Sample Shoe Store it was bright

and cheerful. Morris Hochfield, the proprietor, smiled at his
wife’s gray head as she bent over the foot of a young woman
on whom she was fitting a shoe. The girl’s companion sat
beside her with the pair of shoes she had just bought in her lap.

Business had been good this evening in spite of the nasty
weather, Morris mused. As soon as: Marie was through with
the young lady, they would close the store and retire to their
rooms in the rear, to a late supper of knudeln and gedampfte
kalbfleisch that Marie was keeping hot on the back of the stove.
Morris picked up the alarm clock from beside the register and
began to wind it. He noticed that it was just two minutes
till 10. .

The front door swung open letting in a rush of cold, smoky
air as a slender, young man in dark zipper jacket entered.
Another customer! Morris rubbed his hands together and
hurried towards him with a smile of welcome. .

“A pair of black oxfords,” the young man said, his blue eyes
meeting Hochfield’s momentarily, then ‘sweeping’ around to
watch the two young women Marie was waiting on.

Hochfield removed the well-worn, black oxfords his cus-
tomer was wearing and glanced inside. “Hmmm, 7-D,” he
said and turned to pull down a selection of several boxes from
the racks. : ,

The young man was hard to suit, He insisted on trying pair
after pair. By the time the young women had completed their
purchases and left the store, there were a dozen pairs on the
floor around the fitting stand. Morris Hochfield looked up from
tying the laces of the last pair he had fitted,

“Seven and a half, that’s a better fit for you, sir,” he said.

INSIDE DETECTIVE, July, 193.

A WITNESS had seen the
fleeing killer tum into an
alley, as portrayed here fi
by a professional model. eu
“He was wearing new!
black shoes,” the witness
reported with conviction.


ae

“I used to have that gat for protec-

tion when I was delivering furs,” ,

Steese said. “Now I drive for a whole-
sale grocery firm, so I don’t need the
gun any more, , Well, I saw Norman at
this party and he was looking for a re-
volver—said jhe wanted it for target
practice. He didn’t have any cash, but

he had a nice little table radio, so I

we traded with him.”

»

- @ NORMAN ROSS had roomed at the

Hackett place for only about two
weeks, and had loafed all of that time.
“He once told me,” Steese went on,
“that whenever he got into a spot, all

he had to do was to wire his dad for

money. His folks live in Illinois some- |

where.”.

So Norman Ross was from Illinois—
but'sé were several million other peo-
ple. “Was that the last time you saw

~-Ross—at the party?” Brewster in-

quired.

“No, I saw him once after that, around
midnight the following night. He said
he wanted to get back home to Illinois
in a hurry, and wanted to borrow some
money. I didn’t have any to spare, so
he said he’d sell the revolver, which

was a’ good Smith and Wesson .38. He .

beat it and, nobody’s seen him since.”

Everything fitted like a hand in a
glove. At midnight on February 4—
about three hours after the murders—
Norman Ross had been badly in need
of money to get back to Illinois. Ross
was the man, all right, but the investi-
gators were still a long way from nab-
bing him. :

They borrowed the radio Steese had
gotten from Ross, and_ identification
men went over it for fingerprints. They
found plenty of Steese’s prints on it,’

. but they also found others. These were

checked with prints on record in the
“]” bureau. | Before very long, the
strange prints on the radio were proved
‘to be those of Norman Peacock, a man
who had been arrested in Cincinnati
three months earlier on a_ burglary
charge. Peacock had later been dis-
charged because there was not enough
evidence to convict him, but in the
meantime his picture had been taken
for insertion in the rogues’ gallery. ©
Peacock’s photograph was taken
from the file. Along with it was a
record card stating that Peacock’s home
-town was Peoria, Ill, where his parents

_ still lived, and that he hada brother

living in San Francisco. Messages were
sent to the police in these two -cities
asking that a special ‘watch be main-
tained for the wanted man.

The photograph was shown to the
Misses Sims and Grogan, who. recog-

- nized it as that of the young smart-

aleck they had seen in the Hochfield
shoe store. Henry Steese also-identi-
fied the photo as that of the young man

teat SE Fe RO rl ae ee

he had known as Norman Ross.
Remembering Steese’s statement that
Peacock had said he wanted to get back
to Illinois, Chief of Detectives Kirgan
decided to send Detective Brewster to
Peoria to spark the search there. Brew-
ster reached Peoria the next day,
checked in with the local police, then
went to Western Union headquarters.

He wasn’t forgetting Peacock’s pen; |

chant for wiring his father for money.

m THE MANAGER of the telegraph
office went through the records ahd
found that Norman Peacock had sent
is father a collect telegram, asking

for $50, on February 7, three days after

the double slaying. This wire had been
sent from Crawfordsville, Ind.

“The father refused to accept the
collect telegram,” the manager said. “I
recall now that he had previously hon-
ored quite a number of collect tele-
grams from his son, and wired him
money, but apparently he got a bellyful
of it.” ; ns

Brewster next interviewed Peacock’s

father, a middle-aged man of fine repu-

tation. -

“Pye done all I could to straighten
that boy out,” the father said sadly,
“but I guess it’s just no use. From
now on I'll send him no more money.
It’s hard for me to do it, but if I hear
from him I’ll let you know.”

Brewster took the next train to
Crawfordsville, where he looked up the
local telegraph company manager. This
man readily recognized the photo of
Norman Peacock, alias Ross, as that of
the youth who had sent the collect
telegram to Peoria.

“Boy, was that redhead raving mad
when his dad refused to accept the
collect wire,” the manager said, shak-
ing his head. “He cursed his fatKer up
and down, and then he began to work
on me. I finally told him I'd call the
police if he didn’t clear out, and he
vamoosed.”

So” young Peacock had learned he
was not welcome at home, and _ his
actions showed he must have been very
low on funds in Crawfordsville. De-
tective Brewster reasoned. it was pos-
sible that Peacock had still been carry-
ing the Smith & Wesson murder
weapon and that he had sold it in the
Indiana town to raise money.

Brewster began visiting local stores

where guns were bought and sold. At

Hatfield’s Sporting Goods shop, . the
owner immediately recognized the mug
photo of Peacock which © Brewster
showed him. . Bee

“That young man was here on Feb-
ruary. 7,” ‘Hatfield said, consulting his
records. “I remember him quite well.

He ‘was wearing new shoes that -

squeaked and seemed to hurt his feet.
He sold me a used Smith & Wesson 38

,

in good condition.”

“Have you still got that gun?” the
detective asked eagerly.

Hatfield still had it, and produced it.
Brewster appropriated the weapon and.
hurried back to Cincinnati. There,
ballistics tests soon established with-
out question that it was the revolver
used in the murder of Morris and
Marie Hochfield.

Lieutenant Schattle complimented

Brewster on his work. “Now we've
got evidence that will convince any
jury,” he said.
., “The only trouble is, we haven’t got
Peacock,” the detective replied. “Three
weeks have gone by since the murders,
and he hasn’t shown up at any of his
old haunts.”

“We'll hear from him again,” Schattle
predicted. “Unless I miss my guess,
he’s the sort who can’t stay out of
trouble very long.”

Chief of Detectives Kirgan assigned
Brewster to the job of keeping the hunt
for Norman Peacock alive. ’ Already,
several thousand wanted circulars
bearing the fugitive’s picture, descrip-
tion and fingerprints had been sent to
police authorities in all parts of the

-country. As time went on, suspects

were arrested in Ohio and other states,
but none of them turned out to be Pea-
cock. For his part, Brewster sought
out every one of the killer’s friends in
Cincinnati and requestioned them, hop-
ing to winnow some clue as to the mur-
derous redhead’s hideout. .But as more
weeks .passed, he began to be plagued

. by a sense of frustration..

Norman Peacock did not communi-
cate with any of his friends. He did
not show up at home, or at his brother’s
place in San Francisco. He was swal-
lowed up somewhere in the broad
reaches of the 48 states, and apparently
he intended to.stay swallowed up.

“He's obviously on - his guard,”
Schattle said to Brewster, “but I still
think he can’t stay that way forever.
Don’t forget, he’s a heavy drinker and
he’s apt to get careless when in his
cups.” , “

= IN SO SAYING, the lieutenant
turned out to be practically clairvoy-

ant. On August 14, six months after’

the double slaying, a red-haired young
man who gave his name as Oscar John-
son was arrested in San Francisco on a
drunk and disorderly charge. John-
son was fingerprinted as a matter of
routine, and his prints showed him to
be none other than Norman Peacock.
“Okay, I’m Peacock,” he admitted, “but
I don’t know from nothing about that
murder job back in Cincy. Hell, I left
Cincinnati February 3, the day before
the murders.”

Nobody argued with him about that.

In due time he was extradited back to.

the, Que
There, q
and Bre:
“You
boasted.
got to h:
“We'll
Detectiv
Norm:
vous w!
Misses £
ther chz
gered hi
‘ Peacock
was ide
whom |!
the Cr
actually
‘telegray
Crawfo


is
n
r.
1e
w

“Nice going,” the lieutenant ad-
mitted. “Anything else?”

Zanger nodded. “I think it’s safe to
say that the man who wore these shoes
is not a resident of Cincinnati. Also,
he’s a pretty heavy drinker—”

“Wait a minute!” Schattle said weak-
ly. “That’s a little too much. That
brand of shoes is sold all over the
country, so how can you say the wearer
doesn’t live here in town? And just
what relation is there between a man’s
shoes and his drinking habits?”

Zanger handed him the right shoe
and -the magnifying glass. “Look at
the sole right next to where it joins the
heel,” he suggested. “See anything?”

Schattle peered at the arch through
the glass. “There’s a shiny area there,”
he said. “It seems to be covered with
bright flakes of something like metal.”

“Right,” Zanger nodded. “You'll
notice that the arch of the left shoe has
no such peculiarities. Those metallic
flakes are brass. Your man was in the
habit of putting his foot on a bar, you
see—the kind of bar they have in
saloons. We have no saloons in Cin-
cinnati now. Hence my deduction that
the man is a heavy drinker but comes
from some other town.”

Schattle shook his head incredulously.
“Remarkable!” he exclaimed. “You’ve
told me a lot about that fellow, and it
may be of real help. Thanks!”

The shoe expert’s data‘on the killer
was combined with Penny’s descrip-
tion and circulars on the wanted man
were sent out to police all over the
Midwest. Meanwhile, the murder slugs
had been removed from the victims’
bodies and it was determined that’ they
had been fired from a .38 caliber Smith
& Wesson revolver.

§ DETECTIVES Brewster and A. J.
Flaugher were now: sent out to comb
the neighborhood of the shoe store in a
search for the two girls and the elderly

lady who: had been seen leaving the *

place shortly before the shooting. It
was felt that if these witnesses could
be found, even more descriptive details
about the slayer might be learned.
Other investigators .began canvassing
pool halls and eating places jn a hunt
for someone who might have known

the gunman. Pawnshops, second-hand:

stores and gunsmiths’ shops - were
visited in an effort to locate a trace of
the murder weapon and its buyer. —‘
It took Brewster and Flaugher six
days, but finally they found the two
firs they (Continued on page 78)

Lieutenant” George” Schattle"goF
@ surprising amount of informa
ition out of. a pair of old. shoes,

ILTor Emmis ™RUGON Repke Ia

imen working for’ months on. the
ieases They, bagged | their, man.


Aw

°.

err pore y

“Ever see this fellow before?” Brew-
ster asked. ,
“He’s shot pool around my place a
few times, but I don’t know his name.
I asked him where he got the gun. He

said he was at a beer party two nights

before—got himself pretty lit. Well,
another fellow at the party owned the

‘38 and offered “it to the redhead in

trade for the redhead’s table radio. So
they made the swap, but the redhead
told me he wouldn’t have traded if he’d
been sober.”

Brewster next tried questioning habi-
tues of the pool hall. The best he could
do was to locate one man who vaguely
recalled the redheaded youth and
thought his name was Norman. But
Norman was an uncommunicative sort
and the informant knew nothing more
about him—was not even certain, in.
fact, whether Norman was his first or
last name. At length Detective Brew-
ster consulted Lieutenant Schattle
about: this dilemma.

“Everything points to this Norman ~

fellow as our man,” Schattle said.
“There’s one’ other possibility you can
work on. Norman told the pool room
man that he made the trade for the gun
at a beer party two nights before Feb- .
ruary 5, or on February 3. Check the
breweries and beer dealers and find
who ordered large quantities of beer
on February 3 or a day or two before.”
Brewster and three’ other detectives
went to work on this unusual assign-
ment. After a day of checking with
distributors of the foaming brew, they
compiled a list of 29 persons who had
ordered beer by the case during that
three-day period. The investigators

then began the weary chore of check-

ing these 29 buyers. Eventually this
brought them to Mrs. Connie Hackett,
landlady of a rooming house on Maple
Street. ;

“Yes, we had a little party here the
night of February 3,” Mrs. Hackett
said. “Nothing wrong, is there?”

“Not at all,” Brewster assured her.
“We just want to know if one of your
guests was named Norman—a young
chap with curly red hair.”

_“Oh, you must mean Norman Ross,”
she said. “Sure, Norman was here—
he’s always handy when there’s some-
thing to drink. In fact, Norman roomed
at my place then, but he left suddenly a
few days after the party.” :

Mrs. Hackett did not know whether
Norman had swapped his radio for
another guest’s revolver, but she sup-
plied Brewster with a list of the persons
who had been there—no less than 14,
men and women. Brewster and his
colleagues began. calling. on the 14,
and struck pay dirt when they came to
a 25-year-old delivery worker named
Henry Steese.

(Continued on next page)

In La Canada, Cal., a nocturnal bandit

. forced Benton Jones and his wife to dress

and accompany him to the supermarket
Jones managed. Eight-year-old Jimmy.
Jones played possum until they left, then
phoned police, who were waiting for the
gunman ‘when he: arrived. Below is Hero

' Jimmy, at’ bottom is the wounded gunman,

James Rudolph, guarded by a policeman. ~

Sent oe ge


eo
c seam

fellow who promised him half the in-.
surance, and got up to ten years. He
was released from prison only last:
May.”

Kons was not one to take confine-
ment philosophically. Once, while being
returned to the prison from a work
farm with a truckload of convicts, he
had. slugged a. guard and made his
escape. A few weeks later he was
found at the farm of an uncle near
Stevens Point and returned to prison.

“Got his. picture: there?” Conley
asked. . :

The warden dug it out and handed
it to the two Minnesota investigators.
They looked at it, then gazed at each
other in triumph. °

“Well, well!” exclaimed Agent Con-
ley.

“This explains a lot of things,’

- Sheriff Olson. '

For.the picture showed that Arthur
Kons and Al Miller were one and the
same man! It was evident that Porky
Fensted, in describing Kons as. “tall,

, slim and light-haired,” had either suf-
fered a’ remarkable lapse of memory
or was doing his best to protect. his.
accomplice and gum up the investiga-
tion. oe

All up-to-date prisons make it a

point to keep comprehensive records
on inmates, their habits, hobbies,
aliases, friends and visitors—a practice
that often proves useful. From the
warden, Conley ard Olson got a com-
plete list of Arthur Kons’ relatives
and friends, including those who had
visited him most frequently when he
was confined. This list included people
in Milwaukee, West Allis, Almond and —

Stevens Point.
Sheriff Olson then headed back for

his headquarters at Red Wing, while

Agent Conley drove eastward to call

on these relatives and friends of the
suspect. A man fleeing from the law
has to hide somewhere, ‘and generally

he hides with someone‘he knows. .
In Red Wing, Sheriff Olson swore out

>

said

sought. They were Ellen Sims and
Bernice Grogan, beth in their early
twenties, who lived in adjacent houses ©
a half-mile from the murder scene.

“t yemember that young man,” Miss
Sims recalled. “He came in while
Bernice and I. were trying on shoes,
and he kept making fresh remarks. I
could tell Mr. Hochfield didn’t like it,
but there wasn’t anything he could do.
The young man was still there, the
only customer when we left.” ..

The Misses Sims and Grogan were

i able to add to the killer’s description,

* \

nc hh mi

a complaint charging Kons, alias Al he was in handcuffs. “Miller?” he said.
Miller, with first degree murder, and “That's npt my name. I’m Art Kons.”
obtained a warrant for his arrest. The “Same difference,” Conley nodded,
sheriff then went to Kons’ apartment in “although it kept us guessing for a

Cannon Falls and made a methodical while.”
search. Once more, the Dernbachs were

If there was any further doubt, it shocked to discover that Arthur Kon:
was quickly dissipated. For in the wasa hunted man. Conley and Sherifi
apartment, Olson found the clothing Krutza took Kons to the jail in Stevens
that had been stolen from the farm near Point, where Conley began question-
Barron, even including the wedding. ing him. Art Kons, who had been
certificate. questioned . by police officers many

times before and figured he knew all
w MEANWHILE, Agent Conley drove . the angles, had a firm belief that a man
to the home of some of Kons’ relatives ‘ cannot get into trouble for what he
in Milwaukee, but the suspect was not :does not say. He ¢lammed up resolute-

‘there. The agent had no bétter luck in ly for a while.

West Allis, a Milwaukee suburb. The At length, however, it became appar-
next place on the list was Stevens ‘ent even to Kons that although he
Point, where an uncle of Arthur Kons, Spoke nota word, plenty of other things
a man named Henry Dernbach, had a_ were talking about him. Odd _ things
farm, Conley recalled that a few years like a wedding certificate, for instance,
earlier, when Kons had’ escaped from or a phony name and address on a
the state prison, he had been picked draft registration card, or a trip to Park
‘up.at the Dernbach farm. The. Dern- Rapids with a young fellow named
bachs had been told by Kons that he Porky Fensted. Kons finally threw up
had served his sentence and were sur- the sponge and confessed the murder
prised and chagrined to learn that he of Martin Wangen.

was not a free man. _ “How much money. did you get when

In Stevens Point, Conley called at you killed him?” Conley inquired.

the office of Sheriff A. F. Krutza, who “Kleven dollars,” Kons said gloomily.
had assumed his post only two days

He spoke the words like a man who
earlier. Krutza knew: the Dernbachs. suddenly realizes there are easier and
“Fine people,” hé said. “T don’t know’ better ways to make $11. Perhaps in
whether they’ve got a fellow named that fleeting moment Arthur Kons was
Kons with them, but we'll drive out aware that crime can be a tough game
there right now and find out.” on the criminal as well as on his prey.
Ten minutes later they pulled up He was taken next day to Red Wing,
in the Dernbach farmyard. As they where he signed a formal confession in
climbed out of the car, a broad- the presence of Sheriff Olson, the dis-
shouldered young man clad in a plaid trict attorney, and others. On January
mackinaw strolled out of the barn 13, 1941, Kons pleaded guilty and was
carrying a pitchfork. ; sentenced to life imprisonment in the
As far as Conley knew, Arthur Kons Minnesota. state prison at Stillwater.
might have been -using that pitchfork He was a lucky fellow, in a way, be-
merely for the harmless task of forking cause Minnesota has no capital punish-
manure, but a pitchfork can also be a_ ment.
dangerous weapon. The agent got his
gun out.
“Up with ’em, Miller!” he snapped. -
The man obeyed, and a moment later

Enrror’s Nore: The name Porky Fen-
sted, as used in this narrative, is fic-
titious.

HE PUT HIS FOOT IN IT

(Continued from page 47)

notably that he was about 23 years old, man with curly red hair had come in
tall and had curly red hair. Most im- and tried to sell him.a .38 caliber re-
portant was the fact that both girls felt volver for five dollars.
sure they would recognize him if they
saw him again, which might come in said. “I can’t say whether it’ was a
handy later. Despite the detectives’ Smith & Wesson, but I know it was a
best efforts, however, the old lady who _ .38. The kid was plenty anxious to sell
bought overshoes that night was never it—said he needed a few bucks fast.”
located. ‘ That sounded like the killer, not only
Next day, Detective Brewster struck from the description but from the fact
another lead that seemed promising? A ~ that he was broke. Moreover, his will-
pool hall proprietor on the edge of the ingness to part with the weapon for a
shopping district said that on February paltry five dollars indicated despera-
5, the day after the murders, a young tion.

“J wasn’t interested in a gun,” he


PEPPERS, Eddie, black, elec. Ohio

na meee

A aa

| Wie  LMTECTIVE

(Below) The Kanawha River,
opposite Grimms Landing,
with railroad tracks: in the
foreground, where Florence
Buck became the expert swim-
mer who was known far and
wide for her aquatic prowess ©

By Sheriff ¢{ &
O. E. RUSSELLY «. ,

- Gallia County, Ohio 4]

As told to
FRANK H. WARD

AL five-thirty o’clock on Monday morning, August 15th,
1927, Eddie Peppers, twenty-one, Negro porter at the Park
Central Hotel in Gallipolis, Ohio, was aroused from a nap
in a chair in the lobby by the buzzing of the call clock. '

Eddie dabbed at his eyes with his knuckles, strolled to the desk and
saw by the indicator that Room 15 had left the call. The boy bounded
up the steps to the second floor, rapped sharply on the door of Room 15,
waited until he heard an indistinct “Thanks,”’ and returned to the lobby.

The couple in Room 15, registered as Mr. and Mrs. Ic. J. Costello, began
to stir about. Mrs. Costello entered the bathroom to dress. Costellé sat on the
side of the bed) lit a cigaret, and leisurely drew on his clothes. Being the first to com-
plete his toilet, Costello stepped into the corridor and knocked on the door of Room
17, occupied by Mrs. Florence Buck, thirty-six.

There was no answer at first, so Costello rapped again. This time the door yielded under
the pressure and swung slightly ajar. Around an “L”’ in the room, Costello could just see. the foot
of the bed, and a woman’s bare feet. He returned to Room 15.

“You'd better go in and awaken your sister,” said Costello to the woman registered as his wife, who was

42

V0 U., / 93s


ARK CENTRAL

(Left) Arrow points to |
Frank’s Store, where an ap- &
parently commonplace pur- '-
chase of underwear gave the
detectives an interesting break

.., in the baffling case. (Below,
| in circle) The Park Central, ©.

' this hotel at Gallipolis was *.)
the scene of the strange mid- °°"
night crime }

aapendl

att Be

& i -_
ee

7

ay

now fully dressed. Mrs. Costello went at once
to Room 17.
Mrs. Costello began to scream. Eddie Peppers,
the only hotel employe on duty at that hour, dashed
upstairs again. He found both Mr. and Mrs.
Costello standing in the hall outside Room 17.
“What has happened?’’ inquired Eddie.

“QOMETHING  terrible!’’ wailed the woman.
“Where is the manager?”’
Eddie replied that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Arnold had put
in appearance, not having retired until 2 a.m.
“The girl in Room 17 either is terribly sick or has been
murdered,” said Mrs. Costello. “‘Arouse the proprietor
at once!’’
Kddie pushed into the room to see for himself, and then dashed
down the corridor to Room 2 in the front part of the building,
facing the park.
“Oh, you must come right away!’’ Eddie shouted, as he hammered
at the door. “Something terrible has happened, and I’m quitting
at the end of the week.’’
When the Arnolds drew from Eddie news of the tragedy, they in-
structed him to notify me, and it was the voice of a badly frightened
Negro that poured over the wire when I lifted the receiver in the county
jail residence at 7 A.M. ;
I hustled over to the Park Central Hotel, which was on the next street. The
woman in Room 15 was having an attack of hysterics, so before entering the bed-
room of death, I telephoned Dr. Louis C. Bean to come over and attend her.

It was, without question, a case of murder. The victim was a slender woman in her carly
thirties, with light curly hair and blue eyes. I figured she weighed about 115 pounds. It
was easy to see that in life Mrs. Buck had possessed charm. There were red marks about the
neck and thighs, and a purple tongue protruded from the mouth. She had been strangled to death.
Mrs. Buck’s clothes were scattered about the room. Her pocketbook was on the floor, empty except for

43

eee ope” fl


~~,

.(Above) The little Post Office at Grimms Landing,

where the unfortunate Mrs. Buck was postmistress.

. (Right) Sheriff O. E. Russell, co-author. of the story,
who worked up the peculiar case

such things as a lip-stick, compact, eyebrow pencil, lash brush
and mirror. There was not @ single penny in the purse. By
the side of the bed was a wet bath towel, apparently the in-
strument of strangulation.

oe electric light in the room was burning brightly. The

screen in the open window, which faced a service alley in
the rear of the hotel, had been pushed out and was lying on
the ground beneath. A spindle had been broken off the bed.
This I picked up carefully, hoping it would yield finger-prints.
Then I sealed the room and sent for the coroner.

I observed that there was only a thin lath and plaster parti-
tion between Rooms 15 and 17, and it appeared to me that any
considerable struggle or outcry in one room should be heard in
the next. Also, occupants of Room 39, on the third floor
directly above Room 17, should have heard a struggle below.
The lath and plaster had been removed from the ceiling of the
bathroom in Room 17 to permit a plumber to get at the
taps in Room 39, leaving only a thin pine floor between the
rooms.

There were thirty-five guest rooms in the Park Central Hotel,
and the register showed that only seven had been occupied
Sunday night, five on the second floor and two on the third.
The register told something else, too. Although the murdered
woman occupied Room 17, she had been assigned to Room 14.

I sought an explanation of this from Manager Arnold and
his wife, whose room was on the same floor as the chamber
of death, but at the opposite end of the building.

“Costello and the two women came into the hotel about
eight-thirty o'clock Sunday night,” said Arnold. “They
asked for adjoining rooms. I assigned Rooms 14 and 15.
Costello registered for himself and wife in Room.15 and Mrs.
Buck signed her own name. When we got upstairs, there was

True Detective Mysteries

something the matter with the toilet in Room 14, so I put Mrs.
Buck in Room 17 and forgot to note the change on the regis-
ter.”

Neither Arnold nor his wife had heard anything unusual dur-
ing the night, they said. The other guests on the second floor
Sunday night were Harry Dunn, in Room 9, and Mrs. Alice
O’Brien of Chicago, a coffee demonstrator, who occupied
Room 16, directly opposite Room 17,

Dunn, a young chap who was still in the hotel, ‘said he had
heard nothing unusual. Mrs. O’Brien had checked out after
breakfast and driven away. She left as her mail forwarding
scene the name of a hotel at Ironton, farther down the Ohio
river.

The third floor guests were Mr. and Mrs. E. T. Lippincott,
relatives of the hotel proprietor, in Room 39, and a man in

if

Mrs.
regis-

| dur-
floor
Alice
ipied

: had
after
ding
Ohio

cott,
nin

The Murder At the Park Central’ ed

Koom 38 who arrived at midnight, registered as E. E. Cruswell,
Mt. Hope, West Virginia, and checked out at 6 A.M. The
Lippincotts, although directly above Room 17, told me thev
hadn’t heard any unusual sounds in the room below during
the night.

I was starting up the stairs to question the Costellos when
Dr, Bean came down.

“How’s Mrs. Costello?” I inquired. The physician’s face
was a blank.

“If you mean the woman in Room 15, she’s coming along
nicely,’ said Dr. Bean. ‘The woman I attended is Mrs.

loyal A. Wright, wife of a steamboat captain. She told me
the murdered woman was her sister.’’

The two girls were daughters of George Grimm, proprietor
of the genera] store at Grimms Landing, West Virginia, where

Arbuckle Creek empties into the Kanawha River. A Grimm
had been postmaster there for a hundred years, ever since
their great grandfather used to bring the mail up the river from
Charleston by canoe in summer and on skates over the ice in
winter.

LORENCE GRIMM BUCK, the slain woman, was post-

mistress at the time of her death. She was known far and
wide for her aquatic prowess. Her husband was William Buck.
a lumberman. On Saturday the sisters started out to visit
Mrs. Wright’s. husband, who was working on a steamboat
in Huntington. They went from Grimms Landing to Point
Pleasant, where they spent the night with an aunt, Mrs.
Elizabeth Wright.,

Sunday morning, they met Costello, who had worked as a
road supervisor when U. 8. Route 25’ was being built past
Grimms Landing, and invited him to accompany them to
Huntington. The women spent the day with Wright, while
Costello busied himself about town. At dark they picked up
Costello again, and started back for Grimms Landing.

It began to rain, and they discussed spending the night at
Gallipolis. Mrs. Buck protested, and wanted to continue the
journey, but finally yielded to her sister’s desires. They
registered * between eight-thirty and nine o’clock, then went
out to dine at Vanden’s restaurant.

Returning to the hotel about ten o’clock; Costello stopped at
the desk and paid Arnold for his room and that of Mrs. Buck,
remarking that they were going to arise early to continue their
journey. The three sat around a while and chatted in Mrs.
Buck's room, and at eleven o’clock Costello and Mrs. Wright
retired to Room 15. That was the last time they saw Mrs.
Buck alive. (Continued on page 119)

(Left) Chief Homer W. Sowards, of the Gallipolis Police

Department. He helped to solve the mystery. (Below)

The arrow points to Vanden’s Restaurant to which the
two sisters and their friend went for dinner

— A a At a in ne ei Relies satin

Wo etn ate

ree SNR nna

ass tildes. —agnaech sasne oes

SELDEN NRE As Siro aee


12 The

wae

Se «Emer «

Master

Detective

The house where a stolen car, abandoned by the convicts, was discovered. It is being cautiously surrounded
by possemen and State Police

heard them shooting to intercept Herbert Van Valkenberg,
of Oswego, Illinois, a motorist. They ejected his wife and
Mrs. Minnie Schultz, his 89-year-old mother-in-law, and
climbed in. They then ordered Van Valkenberg to drive
them down Road 12.”

A mile further on they threw Van Valkenberg out of the
car. A convict took the wheel, and the stolen automobile
roared away in the mist, in the wake of the car in which
Sheriff Neel was held captive.

WHiILe the convicts were thus making good their escape
a series of alarms shocked Michigan City into action.
Within three minutes after Clerk Crosby’s call, Detectives
Walter Will and Roosevelt Childers roared past the peni-
tentiary in hot pursuit. The city fire apparatus came up
and firemen were hastily supplied with guns to do guard
duty. Telephone operators sent out alarm calls to Chicago,
Illinois, East Chicago, Hammond, and Gary, Indiana, and
Michigan points. With white, drawn face, Warden Kunkel
telephoned Governor Paul V. McNutt, who, as colonel in a
field artillery reserve regiment, was accustomed to acting in
emergencies. Al Feeney, Director of Safety of Indiana, was
notified. Feeney, a former all-American Notre Dame foot-
ball star, was staging a courageous fight to modernize the
State Police force, take it out of politics, and establish a
police radio network throughout the state. At his elbow
sat Captain Matt Leach, who came from Gary to direct
the State Police force in the field.

Darkness and September rain settled down over the grim
prison, Externally, quiet reigned but within was tense
action, Carson, former Tipton choir leader, severely
wounded, was rushed to the St. Anthony’s Hospital.

Mutch, Burklow and Wellnitz, all wounded, were taken
home. With nervous fingers Warden Kunkel thumbed the

cards of those who had been recognized as taking part in
the escape, a crew of desperate murderers and long-term
men. Captain Leach, when he arrived, said they were the
leaders of the new school of Indiana bad men, who could
use their brains as well as guns. The official communique
listed the escaped as:

WALTER DEITRICH, dressed in for life from Ver-
million County, for bank robbery, had served two years of
his sentence.

HARRY PIERPONT, sent up for ten to twenty years,
from Howard County, for bank robbery, had but eighteen
months to serve before he might be paroled.

JOHN (OKLAHOMA JACK) HAMILTON, sent up for
twenty-five years, for bank robbery, from St. Joseph
County, had served three years.

ED SHOUSE, serving twenty-five years for robbery,
from Vigo County, had served three years.

JAMES CLARK, sent up for life, from Vermillion
County, for bank robbery, had served two years.

RUSSELL CLARK, twenty-five years for robbery, from
Allen County, had served six years.

CHARLES MAKLEY, ten to twenty years, for robbery,
from Adams County, had served five years.

JAMES JENKINS, sentenced to life imprisonment for
murder, Greene County, had served four years.

JOE FOX, sentenced to life, for robbery, from Franklin
County, had served three years.

JOE BURNS, sent up for life, for murder, Kosciusko
County, had served thirteen years.

Northern Indiana now became an armed camp. Two

thousand possemen and peace’ officers mobilized. House-
holders sat up all night nursing loaded shotguns. Seventy-

five State Police were '
suggestion of Sheriff J:
McNutt called out five
centrate at Deep Rive
reserves did gap guard
walls were locked in t!

As the hunt gained r
shotgun squads. Whe
from Chicago to Avor
Department of Justice
Gun” Kelly took up |
stealing to rape, was
Nebraska.

A radio chain put
pitched gun battle be
into Chesterton were
was staged at an emp!
upon a fake tip from
news of the carload «
Sheriff Neel, was a |
Mrs. J. D. Miller, 0!
ing prison clothes |
here,” she said. The
found bogged in the
road. The convicts
up a farmer and mac
They had escaped ag

“THEY got the S!
and | cannot se
him further. I fear
tied up and left to d
For four hours th:
victs held the famil
the mailman, as’ hi
then released them.
“The convicts we
and paid for wha’
manded clothes and
leave they first tal
man’s car, but took
Werner's abandon
jackets belonging
Eddie Shouse, as
found by Mrs. Ar
town, in a side ro:
east of Indianapolis
Alex Snyder drivin
in a gray sedan.
Captain Leach,
covered that this
of Werner's had
planted there as a
The fugitives had «
the car to Bedfo
pull a bank robber:
had found it “‘too
and had purpose!
the car with ident
jackets to shift th
south toward the
River bridges. —
wished to distract
tion from a “mo
portant job” in O!
Robert Hoove:
dianapolis News
reporter, found
Saffrel, a nerve-
young man, sitting
steps of a little
Saffrel told State

“Tam innoc


»:
y surrounded

ized as taking part in
rderers and long-term
ed, said they were the
1 bad men, who could
ie Official communique

in for life from Ver-
id served two years of

r ten to twenty years,
bery, had but eighteen
yaroled.

MILTON, sent up for
‘ty, from St. Joseph

ve years for robbery,
years.

life, from Vermillion
d two years.

ears for robbery, from

nty years, for robbery,
e years.

life imprisonment for
four years.

‘obbery, from Franklin
for murder, Kosciusko

in armed camp. Two
ers mobilized. House-
ed shotguns. Seventy-

92 83

+ . . i .
ne ts ot. Co
Po Si yy,

The

five State Police were riding hard to Tremont barracks. Upon the
suggestion of Sheriff Joseph Wolfe, of LaPorte County, Governor
McNutt called out five companies of the 113th Engineers to con-
centrate at Deep River and comb the sand dune region. Naval
reserves did gap guard duty at the prison. All convicts within the,

walls were locked in their cells.

As the hunt gained momentum, the American Legion volunteered
shotgun squads, When the convicts drove a stolen Chrysler car
from Chicago to Avon, Ind., in violation of the Dwyer act, crack
Department of Justice agents who had helped round up “Machine
Gun” Kelly took up the case. Every kind of crime, from chicken
stealing to rape, was attributed to the convicts as far west as

Nebraska.

A radio chain put on an alleged fake broadcast, picturing a
pitched gun battle between police and the convicts and all wires
into Chesterton were clogged with inquiries. A gigantic round-up
was staged at an empty house near the Shrine of the Seven Dolores,
upon a fake tip from a Gary, Indiana, police character. The last

news of the carload of convicts that carried
Sheriff Neel, was a telephone message from
Mrs. J. D. Miller, of Burdick. “Men wear-
ing prison clothes just drove away from
here,” she said. The Sheriff's car was soon
found bogged in the mud at the end of a
road. The convicts had immediately stuck
up a farmer and made him drive that group.
They had escaped again.

“HEY got the Sheriff’s gun and his car,
and I cannot see why they would need
him further. I fear he has been killed or
tied up and left to die,” said Captain Leach.
For four hours the second carload of con-
victs held the family of V. W. Werner and
the mailman, as‘ hostages near Valparaiso,
then released them. Werner said:

“The convicts were not particularly ugly
and paid for what they took. They de-
manded clothes and food. When starting to
leave they first talked of taking the mail-
man’s car, but took mine instead.”

Werner’s abandoned car, containing prison
jackets belonging to Charles Makley and
Eddie Shouse, as traced by numbers, was
found by Mrs. Anna Stewart, of Browns-
town, in a side road sixty-two miles south-
east of Indianapolis. The group was seen by
Alex Snyder driving away toward Seymour
in a gray sedan,

Captain Leach, in his investigation, dis-
covered that this car
of Werner’s had been
planted there as a ruse.
The fugitives had driven
the car to Bedford to
pull a bank robbery job;
had found it “too hot,”
and had purposely left
the car with identifying
jackets to shift the hunt
south toward the Ohio
River bridges. They
wished to distract atten-
tion from a “more im-
portant job” in Ohio.

Robert Hoover, In-
dianapolis News police
reporter, found Ralph
Saffrel, a nerve-racked
young man, sitting on the
steps of a little chapel.
Saffrel told State Police:

“lam innocent of

Great

Indiana Prison Break

Ruth Spencer. Attractive and well-educated,

she was one of the girl companions in

the car of Eddie Shouse when he was cap-

tured. She-waa cut with glass, shattered by
the fusillade of bullets


rators in line behind him.
t boxes, convict fingers
tomatics. Seven had guns
to be used as a battering
‘ar. This little group of
iss six hundred yards of
was considerable prisoner

ts as hall gate guard, fell
line. Guy Burklow, inner
surrendered when an om-

through the bars. One

Vellnitz, veteran outside
alert eyes sensed some-
ced upon; beaten to the
t-inch keys wrested from
ld gate swung open, and

2 Warden. Get his secre-
indicating that Louis E.
ken over the administra-
secretary, Miss Dorothy
hostages.
rison telephone system.
se attack, under guise of
yrogress,” said Lieutenant
th Fleet Naval Reserves,
-fingered Oklahoma Jack
‘el into the clerk’s office
g him. Warden Kunkel

Mutch, Superintendent of
en he refused to give up

(Above) With Indiana state highways
blocked by sandbags to drive fugitives into
side roads, State Troopers A. C. Davidson
(next to car) and Anthony Drahud halt
and question all motorists. Plainclothes
State Policeman Lawrence Miller stands to
right, and an Illinois Sheriff to left

This map, credited to the John Dillinger

gang, and sketched on an Indianapolis

newspaper, outlines a diabolical plot to

kidnap Governor Paul V. McNutt and force
him to sign a pardon

the keys to the arsenal where guns and ammuni-
tion were stored. With blood running down his
face and his hair over his eyes, he looked a
wreck. Two shots rang out. I saw. Finley Car-
son, 65-year-old clerk, slump down in his chair.
He had been too slow in obeying a command to
get to the clerk’s office. He was shot through the
hip and abdomen and his skull was fractured.”

HOWARD CROSBY, veteran chief clerk, a

newspaper man, got a French telephone under a high-
topped desk and called “992” putting in an outside
alarm. At almost the same instant the ominous clang of a
fire alarm sounded inside the prison. Forrest Seiss, a trusty,
had slipped over unnoticed and pushed a button.

“Knock off. Knock off. Let’s get out of here,” called Dei-
trich, and the convicts grabbed Deputy Evans again, and
prepared for the final dash. En route to the door they
seized and disarmed Sheriff Charles Neel, of Corydon, who
had just brought a prisoner to the penitentiary.

“IT saw what | thought was Deputy Evans bringing out
a couple of prisoners but it proved to be two prisoners
dragging bim out,” said Sheriff Neel later.

At that moment Evans broke loose and in a hail of fire
escaped between some cars. One convict stopped and de-

fiantly thumbed his nose at a signal tower, half hidden by
cherry trees. Others hoisted Sheriff Neel into the back seat
of his sedan. Dr. Lee B. Wolfe, of Corydon, objected to
the manhandling of Sheriff Neel and was told:

“Damn you, get to hell out of here. We won't hurt your
pard. If he pulls anything, though, it'll be curtains and
hell: for him.”

Sheriff Neel’s careening car, filled with cursing and

screaming convicts, and with others running alongside,

sped down the prison driveway. Some of the fugitives
threatened Joe Pawleski, World War veteran filling-station
attendant, with a gun and demanded the keys to his car.
When he jerked loose and ran, two shots grazed his head
and one cut through his coveralls near the shoulder.

“IT stopped in the middle of the road,” said Joe, “when |

1]


ee ee

" tte eee Hake, CLERC

(Upper left) This cleverly-worded note was
a ruse of the notorious John Dillinger to
get his pal, Harry Pierpont, out of prison
under guard long enough to enable Dil-
linger’s mob to effect a rescue

(Left) Warden Louis F. Kunkel is seen
giving the first report of the dramatic
Indiana prison break to the Governor’s
office at Indianapolis. Deputy Warden H.
D. Claudy stands behind him and Prison
Trustee Robert E. Grafton is at left

wrongfully harboring these convicts. But on
September 27th, the day following the prison
break, Mary Kinder, with whom I had been
keeping company, brought them to my home,
at 2:35 a.M. The party included Harry Pier-
pont, Charles Makley, Eddie Shouse and
others, They skulked in the corners with
guns,”

He then told how a woman, identified by
State Police as Pearl Elliott, of Kokomo,
soon to become the most hunted woman in
America, came to the house and gave the
convicts a large roll of bills. This money,
police said, was from John Dillinger, noto-
rious bank robber. Saffrel said one convict
and a woman took him downtown and made
him shop for sweaters and caps for them,
and when they left his home they threw a
ten-dollar bill on the floor and told him to
cut out the clown stuff and accept it. Saffrel
asked for a Bible to read and was locked in
jail, where he remained for months. He
blamed Mary Kinder, his Delilah, for his
misfortune,

State Police swarmed into the home of
Mary Kinder but she had fled. They re-
ported finding a diary which showed her ac-
quaintance with criminals, the telephone
number of John Dillinger, Public Enemy
No. | in Indiana, and a newspaper clipping

“s cyber’ ' -
; ie Ot
} akin he iw otk

vled

(Above) Militiamen of tt
armed and ready for in:
a patch of woods at Deep
of the escaped Indiana

discover:

(Right) Frances Colim, «
by flying glass when St
Indiana shot up Eddie

captured the esca:

describing a bank robb
women took part. Acrc
penned “It was her own
der’s sister, dubbed by St
Margaret” Behrens, bec:
talk, was lodged in jai
Both. women had husban
stitutions for bank robbe
of Earl Northern, who
break by a few minutes
With this development
for Pearl Elliott for mo’
in their efforts, and for !
sweetheart of Harry Pierp
desperate of the fugitiv:
predicted that, with Inc
possemen like hornets,
resort to some desperate «
and money and strengthe
- They struck with pre
Deitrich with Harry C
violator from Muncie ar
inger bank-robbing mot
West and Fred Kruger,
policemen, as they play:
ing the policemen in cel!
every gun in the police a
sub-machine gun that »
per second, high-powere
pistols, 1000 rounds of ar


ETT Oe

80

Clark!

forward and leaned against the door, fore-
ing it fully open. He got all the action
he wanted.

Clark was just inside!

The member of the bandit gang mas-
querading as Long was the biggest and
strongest of the mob. Sherman was,
perhaps, the smallest officer of the Tuc-
son Department, but he had made his
play, so he went through with it. Draw-
ing his pistol, he told the startled Clark
to throw up his hands. But instead, Clark
grabbed at the pistol, got a grip around
the cylinder and his thumb under the
rising hammer. It became a battle for
possession of the gun.

Sherman, because of Clark’s cylinder
grip on the gun, could not fire it, but he
dared not release his own grip for an in-
stant. The two men whirled each other
about the room, the woman grasping at
them, attempting to aid her companion,
Outside, Eyman and Ford, seeing Sher-
man enter the house, dashed for the door.

They arrived in the nick of time. Sher-
man, outweighed, but gamely hanging on
to his stronger opponent, had been thrust
and dragged into a bedroom opening off
the living room, where the fight had
started. Clark was trying to get near the
bed. Under a pillow, there, lay his own
38 automatic.

ACH twist and turn brought the strug-

gling pair nearer that bed. But Ford
and Eyman, suddenly sprang through the
doorway. Ford, pistol in hand, struck
quickly and accurately. The barrel of
his gun thudded against Clark’s head.
Again he struck, as Eyman grabbed the
struggling gangster by the shoulder and
pulled him away from Sherman. Clark,
dazed by the blows, reeled to one side
and dropped his grip on Sherman’s gun.
Sherman, unhurt, aided in handcuffing the
now subdued gangster and the woman.

“Mr. and Mrs. Art Long, of Jackson-
ville,” were loaded into the police car de-
spite their vehement protests of error and
hauled off to the station, where the finger-
print bureau once more settled the debate.
And thus, Art Long or, more accurately,
Russell Clark, the member of the gang
who had “talked too much” was sent on
his way to the county jail to be given a
cell near Makley. Opal Long was booked
us a material witness and sent to the
women’s ward.

When Makley and Clark had _ been
searched at the jail, they were found to
be carrying large sums of money in cur-
rency. Their clothing was a_ veritable
mint. Each had sums concealed about
their persons which were not found in
the first search, but which was disclosed
by later examination on the part of depu-
ties at the county jail. The total sum
found on Makley was $770; on Clark,
$1 288.70.

Search of the house at 927 East Second
Street was equally successful. Besides
money totalling $4,526.68, two Thompson
submachine guns, an automatic rifle of
351 caliber, with a remodeled forearm and
an extra long magazine and two steel
bullet-proof vests, were found. Two
pistols, in addition to the one Clark had
tried so hard to use on Sherman, likewise,
were located in a subsequent search.

Following the arrest of Clark and the
search of the gang’s temporary residence,
there was a lull in the activities of the
police while I checked up with my men
on just what had happened and what still
lav ahead of us.

It was at this time that “Mickey” Earl
Nolan entered the picture. The little

Makley!

True Detective Mysteries

Pierpont!
(Continued from page 18)

traffic officer came to me and reported an
incident which had occurred two days be-
fore and which now appeared to have
bearing on the current case. At the time
it had held no motive, since its possible
worth hinged on two seemingly insignifi-
cant clues—Florida license plates and
handsome, expensive luggage. Now that
the tip was out among my men to be on
the lookout for Dillinger mobsters known
to have come into town in expensive cars,
three of which had Florida tags, the case
assumed meaning.

Nolan told me that he and Milo
Walker, another member of the motor-
cycle squad, had been making a routine
tour of the southwestern portion of the
city at the time of the incident. They
stopped at a call-box to make their re-
port to the station and, as Walker was
talking over a phone, a new Buick sedan
with a Florida license pulled up along-
side the parked motorcycles and stopped.

Nolan stepped over at the driver's
signal and spoke with him. The man,
who said that he was a winter visitor
from Jacksonville, told the officer that
since he ‘had arrived in town a couple
of days previously, a strange car had been
following him. He was beginning to be
worried about it, he said,

At that moment, a Ford sedan came
down the street on the trail just used by
the Buick. The Florida man pointed it
out to Nolan as the car of which he had
spoken. Walker, whose motor was run-
ning, left Nolan chatting with the driver
of the Buick and rode after the Ford to
check it up. While Walker was gone,
Nolan talked with the driver of the Buick,
discussed his new car with him and was
shown its fine points by the affable gen-
tleman from the East coast. Nolan
agreed that it was a swell car, asked its
power and speed and inspected the con-
veniences located on the dashboard.

In doing this, he got a good look at the
car, its well dressed and friendly driver
and the luggage in the rear seat. The
heavy leather suitcases, Boston bag and
expensive blankets gave strength to the
driver’s statement that he was a visiting
motorist. Nolan was even told where the
driver was stopping. The address was a
South Sixth Avenue auto court.

ALKER returned to report the occu-

pants of the Ford as harmless and,
with a wave of his hand, the driver of the
Buick drove away, thanking the officers
for their courtesy to him. The incident,
just one of many in a day of checking
traffic, made scant impression on either
Nolan or Walker then. But it was to
come back with a rush later when the
association of the Jacksonville licenses of
Makley and Clark, their high class luggage
and the general descriptions of the Dil-
linger gang members caused the officer to
do some quick thinking.

And, now, he felt pretty sure that he
knew the whereabouts of one of them.
The friendly chap with the new Buick
fitted the picture perfectly.

I listened with interest to WNolan’s
story—and to his description of the man.
I respected his judgment and felt that the
lead he had supplied was well worth fol-
lowing out,

We had captured two members of the
gang, but our work was only half done.
Harry Pierpont, “trigger man” for the
gang—a man with a deadly reputation for
speed and accuracy with a gun—was still
at large. So, too, was Dillinger, the gang’s
leader. The description of the man in
the Buick fitted that of Pierpont.

Dillinger!

Captured

Would our luck hold? Would we catch
him, too, without loss of life? The chances
seemed pretty much against us.

Again emphasizing the necessity for ex-
treme caution, I assigned Jay Smith,
Frank Eyman and Mickey Nolan to find
and arrest the “Florida visitor.”

Just as they drove up to the court,
the Buick car was leaving. The gentle-
man from Florida, himself was at the
wheel. A good looking woman, smartly
clad, accompanied him. Drifting slowly
along behind, the officers discussed plans
for capturing their dangerous quarry.
They followed for several blocks.

Finally they outlined a plan whereby
Eyman, riding in the front seat of tlic
police car, with Jay Smith at the whecl.
was to speak to Pierpont and work the
pretense of a routine check of his license
and papers. Meanwhile, the others would
cover KEyman. That was as far as care-
fully laid plans could go. From that
point on, events would have to shape
themselves.

“Take it easy now and don’t crowd
things,” Smith cautioned as he drove up
alongside the Buick. Eyman motioned
for the driver to halt.

HE Buick pulled up to a stop and

Eyman, without haste, stepped down
from the patrol car. Smith, under cover
of the car door, clasped his cocked auto-
matic, ready at the first false move to
aid his brother officer. Nolan, in the
rear seat of the patrol car, kept his hand
close to his gun, but apparently had no
interest in the actions of Eyman. He
bore all the appearance of merely waiting
until a routine job was attended to he-
fore returning to the station or to other
duties.

Finally, Nolan stepped down to the
street, stretched and walked toward the
rear of the police car. He made no effort
to look into the Buick, leaving that to
Eyman, but he got far enough to one
side so that Eyman was no longer in the
line of possible fire between him and the
driver.

Eyman, one of the crack pistol shots
of the Tucson Police, had slid out of his
seat and walked over to the Buick. The
sturdy little ex-cavalryman tipped his hat
and informed the driver that he was sorry
to have to cause him delay, but that they
had received a routine call on a Florida
car and that the chief had asked that they
request cars of similar description to call
at the station for clearance of their
papers. Eyman explained that he re-
gretted the matter, but felt that the gen-
tleman would understand.

The driver of the Buick professed him-
self more than willing to do anything to
oblige. He assured the officer that it would
be no trouble and invited Eyman to step
in and ride with him and his woman com-
panion so that he could show them the
way to the police station. The traffic
officer accepted the invitation, seating
himself on a traveling case in the rear
of the Buick.

Not until! later was Eyman to learn
that that traveling case contained the
deadly Tommy guns with which Pierpont
was reputed to be so efficient. Nor did
he know, at the time, that the gangster,
all the while he was talking to Pierpont,
held a loaded automatic in his lap, cocked
and ready to fire if the patrolman had
opened the car door.

Smith and Nolan, tense and watchful,
had permitted no sign of their feelings to
show as they waited to see the result of
their ruse. If Eyman succeeded, well and

good. If sor
would mean onl:
in which Eyman
They had made
pont also would
occurred. They
lief as Eyman
to the station in
could follow. Sc
Eyman_stepp:
mingled feelings
success of the pl
dered how far h
He decided to gi
and quickly drev
between his knc
pont’s back. H
him in the rear
rolled along, but
face during the
_ The gangster’s
tion, Pierpont an
Eyman’s gun onc
The other office
car, also got ou
into the police
The plan whic
a pitched battk
working smooth]
officers had not +
they knew that
because they wa
down until they
ing it impossible
get into action.

HEY walked
office of the
office. The checl
made there, they
that beautifully.
willingly enough
And there it
The machine ¢
of Clark, and t
hands of officer
tipped him off i
pose of his call
ized for the first
—that his story
fallen flat and t!
all the way intc
the police statior
single move to d
_As the realizati
him, Pierpont’s s
like a cloak. H
of malice and c¢
-raised slightly to
I saw that ha
movement corre:
holster is an old
another old story
to use it quickly
down was at h
gauging his chan
his gun at the f
Too late, it se
spot in the nic
snared Pierpont,
department’s pe.
with an exhibitio
sibly, murder. 17]
not be helped,
turn into a cost
All of us in th
mosphere becam«
strain when, afte
questions, Pierpo
hidden shoulder.
line with my ch
it, I threw mys
back with my fis
arm with the o
I doubt if I’v
harder than I tw
wrenched it abi
pressed back agai
at that moment,
up, lined on Pic
“Drop that gu
Tl kill you!”


id we catch
Lhe chances
is.

sity for ex-
Jay Smith,
jan to find

the court,
The gentle-
was at the
wun, smartly
iting slowly
‘ussed plans
us quarry.
ycks.
ian whereby
seat of the
t the wheel.
id work the
{ his heense
thers would
far as Care-
From that
e to shape

don’t crowd
he drove up
in motioned

a stop and
tepped down
under cover

cocked auto-
ilse move to
olan, in the

sept his hand
ently had no
Eyman. He
verely waiting
ended to be-
a or to other

down to thie
1 toward the
nade no effort
aving that to
1ough to one
longer in the
1 him and the

k pistol shots
slid out of his
e Buick. The
tipped his hat
it he was sorry

but that they
1 on a Florida
isked that they
ription to call
ance of their
{ that he re-
» that the gen-

professed him-
lo anything to
yr that it would
Eyman to step
us woman com-
show them the
an. The traffic
itation, seating
ise in the rear

yman to learn
contained the
which Pierpont
cient. Nor did
it the gangster,
ng to Pierpont,
i his lap, cocked
patrolman had

> and watchful,
their feelings to
ee the result of
eeeded, well and

good. If something slipped——, it
would mean only one thing—a gun-battle
in which Eyman was almost certain to die.
They had made up their minds that Pier-
pont also would die—and quickly—if that
occurred. They drew long breaths of re-
lief as Eyman said that he would ride
to the station in the Buick and that they
could follow. So far, so good.

Eyman stepped into the Buick with
mingled feelings. He was elated over the
success of the plan to this point, but won-
dered how far his luck could be crowded.
He decided to give Lady Luck a little aid,
and quickly drew his pistol, holding it low
between his knees, but pointed at Pier-
pont’s back. He saw Pierpont watching
him in the rear view mirror as the car
rolled along, but was able to keep a poker
face during the trip.

The gangster’s car drew up to the sta-
tion, Pierpont and Eyman stepped out and
Eyman’s gun once more was in its holster.
The other officers, arriving in the patrol
car, also got out and the group walked
into the police station.

The plan which had thus far prevented
a pitched battle with the gunman was
working smoothly. Too smoothly! The
officers had not searched Pierpont, though
they knew that he probably was armed,
because they wanted to delay the show-
down until they could be assured of mak-
ing it impossible for the “trigger man” to
get into action.

HEY walked him right through the

office of the desk sergeant into my
office. The check of his papers was to be
made there, they told him. And he fell for
that beautifully. He entered my office
willingly enough.

And there it happened:

The machine guns taken in the capture
of Clark, and the other firearms in the
hands of officers just inside the door,
tipped him off instantly to the real pur-
pose of his call at the station. He real-
ized for the first time that he was known
—that his story of being a tourist had
fallen flat and that he had been brought
all the way into this little office inside
the police station without having made a
single move to defend himself.

As the realization of his predicament hit
him, Pierpont’s suavity dropped from him
like a cloak. His face became hard, full
of malice and cunning. His right hand

-raised slightly to toy with a vest button.

I saw that hand move, interpreted the
movement correctly. The clip shoulder
holster is an old story in the West and
another old story is the manner in which
to use it quickly. I knew that the show
down was at hand, that the gangster,
gauging his chances, intended to dive for
his gun at the first opening.

Too late, it seemed that the one weak
spot in the nicely laid trap that had
snared Pierpont, was about to mar the
department’s perfect record for the day
with an exhibition of bloodshed and, pos-
sibly, murder. That one weakness could
not be helped, but it seemed about to
turn into a costly weakness.

All of us in that room tensed. The at-
mosphere became fairly charged with the
strain when, after answering a couple of
questions, Pierpont’s hand snaked for the
hidden shoulder. He jerked his pistol into
line with my chest and, even as he did
it, I threw myself forward, smashed him
back with my fist and grabbed his pistol
arm with the other.

I doubt if I’ve ever twisted anything
harder than I twisted Pierpont’s arm.
wrenched it about until his gun was
pressed back against his own body. And,
at that moment, Eyman’s pistol flashed
up, lined on Pierpont’s head.

“Drop that gun,” Eyman snapped, “or
Vl kill you!”

True Detective Mysteries

Nolan, stepping in swiftly to one side
so that no steel vest could stop a bullet if
he fired, rammed a pistol barrel squarely
against Pierpont’s ribs. I used the time
in which all of this was happening to snap
a steel claw onto Pierpont’s wrist. Odds
were too great against Pierpont. He
dropped his gun.

Smith stepped in quickly to search the .

apparently cowed prisoner, but Pierpont
was not through yet. He reached again,
and this time a short “detective special”
type revolver appeared in his hand.

gave the steel claw a nice, vicious turn;
Tsyman and Nolan dug guns into him. He

HARRY PIERPONT

member of the notorious Dillinger

gang, hides his face from the inquir-

ing photographer as the prison car
arrives in Chicago from Tucson

winced as the second gun was grabbed
from his hand.

“You're treating me pretty rough, aren’t
you?” he sneered.

“What do you want us to do,” Eyman
retorted, “kiss you?”

Pierpont, now quiet enough, was effi-
ciently searched to be sure that he would
perform: no more gun magic. Death had
been close to us in that office in the few
short minutes the mobsman had been
there, but no closer to any than to Pier-
pont himself. Eyman and Nolan, whose
score at long ranges is very good, would
not possibly have missed had they shot
at him at such short range.

Pierpont, finger-printed and identified
by Robbins in the bureau, was taken the
way of Makley and Clark. His com-
panion, Mary Kinder, whose record was
also found in the files, was held as a ma-
terial witness.

The feelings of those of us who took
part in the dangerous capture of Pier-
pont were hard to define. We well knew
how close the decision had been, how

81

near we had come to facing the fate of
other officers who had met and lost to the
cold-eyed gunman. To quote one of my
men, we had all believed that if Pierpont
was taken at all, we would have to “take
him in the smoke!”

And now, Pierpont, stripped of his
weapons, was in a cell in the Pima County
Jail. Not a shot had been fired. Little
wonder we found it hard to believe. And
small wonder that Smith, not a deeply
religious man, said that he felt quite a
bit like praying.

We were elated, of course. And it was
natural that, having succeeded so far, we
should want to chalk up a hundred per
cent record; that we should want to cap-
ture the ring leader of the gang itself.
The man who had the former Al Capone’s
listing as Public Enemy Number 1 in
Chicago. The man who had recruited
under him a gang sufficiently tough and
daring to have built up in an incredibly
short time the reputation of being the
most deadly gang in the Middle West.
The man who had sworn that he would
meet death before he would ever be cap-
tured and returned to prison.

John Dillinger!

But where would we find him? I had,
frankly, no idea. But I did have a hunch.
It seemed logical to me that, if he had
not fled Tucson, Dillinger would turn up
at the house where Clark had been found.
I called in James Herron, plainclothes
man, and proceeded to play my hunch.
I instructed Herron to take a couple of
men with him and go to the house. Her-
ron selected Milo Walker and Kenneth
Mullaney, both members of the traffic
squad, which had already covered itself
with glory during the afternoon’s excite-
ment. Both young officers were more than
willing to go.

Bre ENS at the house, Herron sent
Walker and Mullaney inside while he
made arrangements to park his car across
the street and watch the outside himself.
He never finished arranging for the car
for, as he walked toward it, another ma-
chine swung around the corner and in
toward the curb at the house where Sher-
man had battled for his life.

In that shining new sedan were John
Dillinger and his woman companion, Ann
Martin!

The car drew up to the curb before the
darkened house and Dillinger stepped cut,
Jeaving the woman in the car as he started
up the walk toward the door.

Herron is a short and _ stockily built
Irishman. He was clad, that day, in civil-
jan clothes with a soft felt hat pulled
low over his forehead. In general build
and appearance in the twilight, he re-
sembled Charley Makley. That resemb-
lance may have saved his life.

As Dillinger started up the walk, Her-
ron moved forward to follow him.
Through the mind of the officer flashed
the memory of the steel vest that re-
putedly protected Dillinger from gunfire ;
nor was he unmindful of the gang chief-
tain’s record with a gun.

Herron was in no doubt about who had
left the sedan. The man walking ahea
of him answered the description of Dil-
linger, which he had studied carefully in
the past few hours. The officer quickly
weighed his chances and decided that the
closer he was to the gang leader when
the blow-off came, the better it would be
for him. There was the woman in the
ear to be considered, too, but he would
have to chance that. In fact he was sur-
prised that she remained silent as he fol-
lowed Dillinger quietly up the walk, step-
ping casually and unhurriedly.

Dillinger went to the edge of the porch,
raised one foot as though to place it on
the step, and looked down. He saw


The bungalow in Tucson, Arizona, that housed some members of the Dillinger mob at
the time of their sensational capture there

bloodstains on the steps, the marks left
after Clark’s arrest. He wheeled about
sharply, to return to his car.

Within five feet of him stood Herron!

His hands rammed deeply into his coat
pockets, the gang leader faced the chunky
Irishman. For an instant, no word was
spoken. Then Herron snapped out his
gun and stepped forward.

“Put up your hands!” he ordered.

He jammed the pistol barrel sharply
against Dillinger’s chest. Herron wanted
to know about this steel vest business
and took the quickest way of finding out.
When he felt the yielding flesh with the
muzzle of his gun, he withdrew slightly,
repeating his command.

“TTP with those hands,” he barked, “or
I'll bore you!”

The hands went up reluctantly.

“What’s this all about?” Dillinger asked.

At the first command of Herron,
Walker and Mullaney had slipped out
quickly through the front door.

“Cover the car!” Herron called as the
two men came down the porch steps on
the run. Mullaney swung wide, so as not
to blanket Walker’s fire, and the two faced
the Hudson sedan where Ann Martin,
from whom not a word had been heard,
sat watching the rapid sequence of events
on the walk before the porch.

Herron grasped Dillinger by the coat
and spun him around. The whole thing
had happened in the space of a few mo-
ments. As he started to search him, the
gang leader seemed to realize for the first
time just what was happening to him. He
made a sudden grab for a gun concealed
beneath his coat. The quick jolt of Her-
ron’s pistol in his back and the threaten-
ing muzzle of Walker’s riot gun changed
his mind and he ceased to struggle as Her-
ron dragged his hands behind him and
placed handcuffs on Dillinger’s wrists.

He was disarmed quickly and the offi-
cers turned their attention to the woman
in the car. Mullaney brought her up to
the other group and both prisoners were
taken up on the porch, Dillinger speaking
for the first time since Herron’s gun
muzzle had forced him to raise his hands.
He insisted that a mistake had been
made, that he was Frank Sullivan, of

Green Bay, Wisconsin, and that he could
easily prove his identity.

A doctor living across the street wit-
nessed the arrest. He asked Herron if
there was anything he could do to help
and on the officers’ request, he called the
squad car. The prisoners were quickly
moved to the police station.

His brown business suit and general
trim appearance made Dillinger appear
anything but the gangster as he stood,
slightly contemptuous, before the desk
awaiting the regular questioning as to
name, age and place of residence. His
entry to the office had been so quietly
accomplished that several men standing
about talking of the earlier captures of
Makley, Clark, and Pierpont paid little
attention to him and the name he gave
the booking sergeant. Frank Sullivan
meant nothing to them. They did not
know until later that they were watching
the arrival of the leader of the gang which
for months had left a trail of terror
through the Middle West.

ARRY FOLEY, patrolman in the

police department, and S. J. Enders
of the United States Department of Justice,
began the search of the prisoner's person.
A slight sneer swept across Dillinger’s
face, but the manacled gangster made no
resistance and an ever increasing pile of
currency in small bills and large, of silver
and some gold, accumulated on the desk
top. Enders, who had come to Tucson at
once to check serial numbers of the bank
notes taken from the gang, found East
Chicago notes on Dillinger’s person.

“What are you booking him for, Ser-
geant,” asked a reporter who entered the
room and saw the money, “gambling or
counterfeiting?”

The sergeant, who as yet did not know
himself, merely grinned and shook his
head as he watched the two officers piling
up the money they were taking from the
prisoner’s pockets.

The prisoner was again asked his name.

“Frank Sullivan,” he repeated, adding
that his residence was Green Bay, Wis-
consin. The license tags on the Hudson
were registered from the state and were
Number 270001.

In the meantime, Enders had counted

the money he and Foley had found on the
prisoner. It totalled $6,678. The gov-
ernment man had tabulated it on a slip of
paper and as he completed the count he
turned to the unperturbed gangster and
asked him if the sum were correct. His
answer was merely a nod.

“Can I see a lawyer?” Dillinger asked
Foley.

“You will have to see the Chief,” Foley
replied.

“Where is he?” Dillinger asked.

“He will be here in a minute,” the offi-
cer answered.

Almost as he said it, I came down the
ramp into the station in company with
some other officers.

“Can I see'a lawyer?” he asked me.

“We'll speak of that a little later,” I
answered and turned to Foley. “I want
him in there first,” I told Foley, indi-
cating the finger-print bureau where Chet
Sherman, the officer who had battled with
Clark, already was rapidly checking the
files and preparing the material for the
finger-printing of the gang chieftain.
Mark Robbins, going through the files with
Sherman, pulled Dillinger’s card from the
morgue.

While the prisoner was answering Sher-
man’s questions for the record, Sherman
made quick comparison with the features
of the picture and those of the hand-
cuffed man before him. He then leaned
over and compared the prints with those
Sherman had just taken. A quiet smile
of satisfaction lighted the officer’s face.
The two cards had told him what he
wanted to know. The newly completed
card, lacking only the picture, which
would be added later, was thrust before
the prisoner, whose handcuffs were now
removed.

“Sign this, John Dillinger,” Robbins
said, using the real name of the gang
leader for the first time since his arrest,
Availing himself of the top of a filing
cabinet as a desk, the prisoner signed the
card. The signature he had written read:

“John Dillinger.”

ILLINGER was told to remove his

coat. A further search of his clothing,
before he was placed on the police scales,
netted two hundred dollars more in cur-
rency. It appeared that every time some-
one shook down one of the gangsters he
literally rained money. The sum was added
to the list being kept by Enders.

As Dillinger stepped on the scales, he

handed his gold-rimmed glasses, used ob-
viously to disguise his features, to Frank
Eyman.

“Here’s a souvenir,’ he told the motor
patrolman. “I won’t need them now.”

Dillinger was quickly weighed. His
height was checked and the handcuffs re-
placed. With a guard of five officers, he
walked the one block to the county jail.

On arrival at the county jail, Dillinger
was received by Undersheriff C. S. Farrar
and Deputy Maurice Guiney—the latter,
but for a turn of fate, might have been
the man to have aided in his capture—
Jerry Martin and Gus Vasquez. The
deputies were becoming experienced in
penetrating the gangsters’ hiding places
and they gave Dillinger another going
over. Again it was with fruitful results,
for two thousand dollars more were found
in the form of four five-hundred-dollar
bills.

Each of the gangsters had a specially
made belt, in size and appearance the
duplicate of a leather belt which might be
worn by any business man. A close in-
spection of the inside surface of the belt
revealed a fine line, apparently a seam.
Actually, it was a minute zipper fastener
which, when opened, made the inside of
the belt a fine hiding place for bills of
large denomination. It was in this hiding

place that D
two thousan:
taken from 1
close to twe
_It was sai:
sion the be!
’ With money
a trusty and
The searc!}
way up the s
the gangster
near where |
were held.
that he was
and the steel
The notori
linger gang,
not a shot ha
by his captor
Ann Marti
after Dilling
booked and
She was adde
woman’s wari
was quiet dw
in the identifi
tions in a lo
ment on the
herself. Wel)
street wear, i
panied Dillin;
his wild swec
Middle West,
no show of b:

T was Ann

later, who 1
partment” of
cared for the
ammunition ¢

Having dis
companion fo:
their attention
steamer trunk
ing, another
Boston bag f
There were a
and an auton
chine guns w
guns were re:
rounds of am:
car under the
least, a very
puppy. The
at least one
to welcome th

The scene a
afternoon and
careful watchf
and Undersher
of the activiti
realize that
taken.

As they wer
prisoners react
ley accepted t!
cal manner.
still aching fro
Dallas Ford’s
sat on his bu
Pierpont, his
sure his ident:
fought the of
into the tank.
as the door c!)

Farrar, place
by Belton, pa
pont’s threats

“We've been
shouted Pierp
you ——,” he
locked the ste

Dillinger, le:
last and while
cers with him,
Farrar guided !
others. The
their cells w
other than tc
asked them.
port’s compan
“what happene


found on the
3. The gov-
it on a slip of
the count he
gangster and
correct. His

illinger asked
Chief,” Foley

asked.
ute,” the offi-

me down the
ompany with

asked me.
ittle later,” I
ley. “I want
Foley, indi-
u where Chet
{ battled with
checking the
verial for the
ng chieftain.
. the files with
‘ard from the

swering Sher-
ord, Sherman
1 the features
of the hand-
> then leaned
ts with those
\ quiet smile
officer’s face.
him what he
‘ly completed
icture, which
thrust before
ffs were now

ser,” Robbins
of the gang
ice his arrest.
p of a filing
ier signed the
written read:

o remove his
f his clothing,
police scales,
more in cur-
ry time some-
: gangsters he
sum was added
nders.

the scales, he
sses, used ob-
ires, to Frank

od the motor
hem now.”

weighed. His
handcuffs re-
ve officers, he
e county jail.
jail, Dillinger
f S. Farrar
»yv—the latter,
cht have been
his capture—
‘asquez. The
xperienced in
hiding places
another going
ruitful results,
re were found
hundred-dollar

ad a specially
ppearance the
vhich might be
A close in-
ce of the belt
‘ently a seam.
zipper fastener
the inside of
ce for bills of
in this hiding

place that Dillinger had concealed the last
two thousand dollars. The total amount
taken from the members of the gang was
close to twenty-six thousand dollars.

It was said that on one previous occa-
sion the belt had served Dillinger well.
With money concealed in it he had bribed
a trusty and made his way out of jail.

The search completed, Farrar led the
way up the stairs to the cell blocks. ‘There
the gangster leader was placed in a cell
near where his three companions already
were held. The guards were instructed
that he was to be held incommunicado

‘and the steel doors swung shut.

The notorious killer, leader of the Dil-
linger gang, was safely behind bars and
not a Big Be been fired in his defense or
by his captors!

Ann Martin, taken into the city jail
after Dillinger had left, was quickly
booked and held as a material witness.
She was added to the total of those in the
woman’s ward at the county building. She
was quiet during the entire time she was
in the identification room, answered ques-
tions in a low voice and made no com-
ment on the situation in which she found
herself. Well dressed, in brightly colored
street wear, the woman who had accom-

anied Dillinger on at least a portion of
iis wild sweep across the horizon of the
Middle West, marched off to her cell with
no show of broken nerve.

T was Ann Martin, the officers learned

later, who was really the “ordnance de-
partment” of the gang. It was she who
cared for the guns and saw to it that the
ammunition supply did not run low.

Having disposed of Dillinger and his
companion for the time, the police turned
their attention to the Hudson sedan.
steamer trunk, one grip: filled with cloth-
ing, another bulging with papers, and a
Boston bag full of currency were found.
There were also found two machine guns
and an automatic rifle. One of the ma-
chine guns was dismounted. The other
guns were ready for use. Five hundred
rounds of ammunition were found in the
car under the rear seat and last, but not
least, a very worried looking bull terrier
puppy. The pup, Dillinger’s property, was
at least one member of the party glad
to welcome the officers. He was lonesome.

The seene at the county jail during the
afternoon and evening had been one of
careful watchfulness. Sheriff John Belton
and Undersheriff Farrar had heard enough
of the activities of the Dillinger gang to
realize that every precaution should be
taken. : : i

As they were placed in their cells, the
prisoners reacted in various ways, Mak-
ley accepted the situation in a philosophi-
cal manner. Clark, his bandaged head
still aching from the rap he received from
Dallas Ford’s pistol, had little to say and
sat on his bunk, his head in his hands.
Pierpont, his suavity gone after he was
sure his identity was known, snarled and
fought the officers as they shoved him
into the tank. He cursed and threatened
as the door clanged shut.

Farrar, placed in charge of the prisoners
by Belton, paid small attention to Pier-
pont’s threats of revenge.

“We've been in before and crashed out,”
shouted Pierpont. “T’ll get you for this,

ou ——,” he added as the undersheriff
ocked the steel doors.

Dillinger, leader of the bandits, arrived
last and while he still sneered at the offi-
cers with him, he made no comment when
Farrar guided him to a cell apart from the
others. The women had been taken to
their cells without making statements
other than to answer a few questions
asked them. Later, Mary Kinder, Pier-
port’s companion, expressed worry over
“what happened to Harry.”

True Detective Mysteries

Farrar placed a special guard about the
jail. There was little to be seen by the
casual observer, but every approach to the
county building was i by either a
rifleman or machine gunner and in the
lobby of the sheriff’s office a visitor was
under the scrutiny of guards as soon as
he entered, although the guards were ‘out
of sight in the squad room. At the head
of the stairs into the tanks above, men
armed with riot guns covered the final ap-
proach to the cell blocks. An attempted
jail-break would have precipitated a
slaughter.

Farrar, after posting his guards, added
one bit of advice to his prisoners.

“Tf you have ay grapevine out to your
friends, you had better tell them to lay
off,” he advised pointblank. “These men
have orders that if anything starts down-
stairs they are to get you four first. You're
worth just as much to me dead as alive
and I don’t intend to get a bunch of good
men killed just to see you getaway. So
remember: If anything starts downstairs,
you'll be cold meat up here!”

With that. bed-time story, the under-
sheriff left. the cell block and the mobs-
men were permitted to think it over. It
was a very quiet night at the county jail.

In the offices of County Attorney
Clarence Houston, Sheriff John Belton
and his own office, it was parihinn but
quiet. Telegrams and telephone calls
poured in. The press wires were carrying
the story of the capture and congratula-
tions mixed with pleas for extradition be-
gan to accumulate at once. Police offi-
cers and state officials sought details con-
cerning the capture. Wisconsin, Indiana
and Ohio wanted to extradite at once.

The State Police of Indiana, under Cap-
tain Matt Leach, started for the West
immediately, seeking the men who had
flaunted them for months; the men they
wanted for numerous bank robberies as
well as for breaking out of the state peni-
tentiary there. East Chicago sought the
men for the killing of Patrolman William
O’Malley, while Lima, Ohio, wanted Pier-
pont, Makley and Clark for the killing of
Sheriff Jess Sarber.

The following day—the morning of
January 26th—the crowds began to gather
at the county building hoping for a chance
to see the notorious prisoners, The pris-
oners were to be arraigned before C. V.
Budlong, justice of the peace, as fugi-
tives from justice. Newshawks from the
various papers of the Middle West were
literally “flying in.” Every plane land-
ing at the airport carried its quota of
newspaper reporters and photographers.
Newsreel cameramen appeared as if by
magic. The country wanted to know the
details of the capture and the press was

wong

A +

Hea
fe

The store in Port Huron, Michig

an, where Herbert Youngblood, John Dillinger's

83

preparing to sce to it that it did know.
The police officers who took part in the
capture, tired and sleepy aftcr a long
night’s futile search for other members of
the gang, faced a-battery of flashlights
every time they turned around. The Dil-
linger arsenal was photographed in group
and in detail. The cars of the gangsters
received equal attention.

The Dillinger gang’s capture was front
page news the nation over!

At 10 o’clock in the morning, the gang-
sters, heavily manacled and guarded, were
brought into the justice court. Standing
room was at a premium, even in the halls
outside. Despite the outraged pleas of
their attorneys, the justice of the peace
calmly set their bails at a hundred thou-
sand each for the men and five thousand
each for the women. Flashlights boomed
again and again and the prisoners were
marched back to their cells.

HE battle for the extradition of the

gangsters really began with the arrival
of Matt Leach and the Indianans of his
State Police detail. The Indiana officer
was taken up to see the prisoners. While
three of them made no comment, they re-
fused to talk to Leach. Pierpont, how-
ever, did. He cursed the Indiana officer
bitterly, calling him vile names.

“The only mistake I made,” he thun-
dered, “was not going back to kill you!
Tl square things with you yet!”

The fight for extradition of the prisoners
was, for a short time. a bitter one between
the rival claimants. Each state where they
were wanted, wanted them badly.

Governor B. B.. Moeur of Arizona
signed extradition papers on John Dil-
linger for District Attorney Lutz of Lake
County, Indiana and, after a telephone
conversation with Governor McNutt. of
Indiana, in which McNutt promised
that the other three would be released to
Ohio to stand trial for the killing of
Sheriff Sarber, signed the extradition
papers on them.

An attempt at habeas corpus came too
late to delay the removal of Dillinger
whom Lutz took from Tucson ina specially
chartered plane. The gang leader when
Farrar went to his cell for him, prepara-
tory to starting the trip, fought and
screamed as he tried to avoid being hand-
cuffed. As he was overpowered und led
out, Pierpont shouted to him.

“They are not going to take you back,
Johnnie! They’re putting you on the
spot!”

Matt Leach and his State Police detail
took the other gangsters from Tucson in
a specially chartered and guarded car on
the Southern Pacific Railway. Mary
Kinder accompanied this party and the

may yey

* en Sete oe » i

partner in escape from the Crown Point Jail, was trapped by sheriff’s officers. Young-
blood died of bullet wounds received in the gun-battle at the time of his capture here


|
3

With Saunter and Barnes, Monk
next locked the entire Boiler House
force, among them 13 fellow convicts
and two civilian engineer assistants,
in an unused boiler pit. One of the
guards was forced to do Monk’s bid-
ding.

“We're going to White City cell
block,” Monk told Engineer Lane.
“Walk along natural. Understand?”

For safekeeping, all ladders were
chained against the White City cell
block wall, adjoining the guardroom.
During the entire trip, a good 400
yards, Monk and Barnes (Saunter
stood watch at the pit) not once were
stopped.

As they carried the hook ladder
past the Boiler House, Saunter joined
them, a large spotlight and a coil of
cable wire under his arms. The group
crossed the deserted ball field, skirted
the machine shop and went around
the furniture factory, stopping under
the southwest tower.

Monk yelled to the tower sentry,
“You're spotlight’s broken. We’re
coming up to fix it.”

Observing the officer with the three
convicts, the tower guard raised no
objection. Saunter and_ Barnes
crawled slowly up the ladder. Once
inside the spiral tower, they leaped
upon the unsuspecting officer, binding
him securely. With his 30-30 rifle,
they covered Engineer Lane, while
Monk climbed the ladder. Wearing
thick gloves, the three used the cable
wire to slide down on the avenue
side of the prison to freedom.

Meanwhile, one of the 13 convicts
risking his life (for which he was
later pardoned), sprang the alarm.

In Warden Preston E. Thomas’
office, meantime, paraded divisional
heads, guards, prisoners and others,
subjected to relentless questioning.
The: warden’s eyes were hard and
determined as he probed and ques-
tioned, seeking the answer to ‘How
did they obtain the gun?” ‘

In the midst of the severe grilling,
a deputy sheriff rushed into the office
with news of the fugitives. They had
been seen in the Lost Creek woods,
37 miles distant. Reinforcements
were rushed to Lost Creek.

Late the same night Warden
Thomas emerged grim lipped from
his office and announced the name of
the. civilian employee who had be-
trayed. the State’s trust. Monk,
through a sweetheart’s influence, had
paid the civilian $750 for the auto-
matic and two extra clips of bullets.

For 18 hours no more was heard of
the fugitives while we combed the
hills and Indian caves of Lost Creek.
Then it was a roving gamekeeper and
a youth who captured the convicts
when they came up on the escapees
resting in a small clearing.

Monk put up a fight. The game-
keeper pulled the trigger of his shot-
gun and a load of buckshot entered
Monk’s hip. It was necessary for us
to borrow a wheelborrow in which
we carried Monk to the nearest farm-
house.

Some few months before Monk’s

JINX ON THE WALLS

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 61

short leave of absence, the Red Shirt
company, comprising the segregated
group of the prison’s bad men in
First “K” cell block, was taking its
15-minute marching exercise. With
the city playing host to a convention,
many of the out-of-town visitors
were passing through the guardroom
gates.

As First “K” Company marched
closer to the guardroom building, one
of the convicts whistled sharply. In-
stantly the men broke ranks, whip-
ping knives from shirts and attacked
Guards Bennet, Callahan and Coch-
ran.

Twelve of the company, ruthlessly
knocking visitors aside, gained the
bull pen before the gates could close.
Amid the screams of women and the
buzz of alarms, the convicts broke
into the arsenal. Snatching pistols,
they shot their way to the street.
There they commandeered a sedan
and roared away.

Every available guard was thrown
in pursuit. Ten miles from the city,
bordering a tall cornfield, we dis-
covered the sedan, its front tire flat.
Rifles and submachine guns ready,
we spread fanwise and _ stalked
through the field.

Nine of the fugitives were cap-
tured, though not without bloodshed.
The remaining three, badly wounded,
were apprehended by State marshals
in nearby towns.

BID for freedom made with more
nerve than that of the combined
twelve Red Shirters, occurred during
the construction of the new chapel.
Towards the lunch. hour of a
scorching day, an empty truck pulled
over to the commissary building. The
driver and the guard crossed to the
construction office. They were gone
five minutes. Within those few min-
utes a slender, blond-haired prison
musician, Pete Keenan, slipped by a
flank of guards, donned a civilian cap
and boarded the truck.

The West Gate, through which all
vehicles entered the prison, was con-
structed at the time of heavy timber.
Besides the ground guards, two men
were assigned to the tower directly
over the big gate. One of these men,
each time a truck appeared, dropped
the gate key, fastened onto cord, to
the ground man to unlock the huge
gate. .

On this day, however, Guard Frank
Martin had just emerged from his
tower, rifle in the crook of his arm,
when a truck came hurtling at the
double doors. Before he could raise
his rifle the truck had smashed
through the formidable gate as if it
were so much papier-mache. In the
driveway outside the entrance, the
ponderous vehicle screeched to a stop,
almost crashing into an incoming
truck.

Guard Martin fired at the willowy
figure that leaped to the roadway and
was streaking up the busy thorough-
fare. Automobiles halted; horns
tooted. excitedly. Ground guards
poured through the shattered doors,

as a detail of guards in my command
sped through the front entrance.
« Ahead of us we could hear Guard
opper firing his police special. We
saw the racing figure suddenly tum-
ble ‘to the pavement. Reaching him
first, Guard Hopper held him at pistol
point.

“Get up!” he ordered just as we ar-
rived. It was then that we noticed
the purplish blotch staining the pris-
oner’s denim shirt.

At the hospital Doctors G. W. Keil
and A. J. Stedham performed a
speedy operation, saving Keenan’s
life. Removing the bullet which had
pierced the liver, they discovered it
had come not from the pistol but
from the rifle of the tower guard.

And thus it goes. Prisoners at the
Ohio Penitentiary make astonishing-
ly clever breaks for their liberty, from
applying psychology on the guards
to using saws on the cell bars; from
smashing gates, digging under cells,
to climbing over the cell blocks. All
of which should bring them their
freedom, were it not for the prison’s
“friend,” the jinx.

Then, during the ensuing years,
Floyd committed a string of robberies
and murders with Adam _ Richetti.
Both re-entered the State of Ohio.
On a backwoods road, Jacob Lans-
down, a farmer, recognized Pretty
Boy Floyd from a picture in a detec-
tive magazine.

“Where can we get something to
eat?” Pretty Boy asked him.

“Well,” said Lansdown, admirably
controlling his fear, “up a_ piece
you'll find a farmhouse. There’s a
right pert cook there, too.”

“Okay,” waved Floyd, and stepped
on the gas.

Within two hours Mrs. Lansdown
had notified G-man Melvin Purvis.
An airplane brought a squad of G-
men to Ohio, and a single, well placed
bullet fired by Puryis ended Floyd’s
crime career.

What was that “something” which
prompted Pretty Boy Floyd to make
the train break and then, four days
after Pierpont’s electrocution, lured
him to his death in Ohio? Pretty Boy
had money, underworld friends ga-
lore, and could organize a desperate
gang at moment’s notice. Yet, with
but one buddy, Adam Richetti, he re-
turned to the State of no successful
escape.

“You know,” Richetti told the two
deputy sheriffs to whom he was
handcuffed, “Pretty Boy came to Ohio
only for one purpose—and that was
to break what he called the jinx on
him. And me, like a chump, tagged
along.”

Right now, Adam Richetti, along
with many other prisoners, is sighing,
“Jinx, when will your reign end?”
And if the evil Floyd, if the brainy
Pierpont and the nervy Makely—if
all these were alive, they, too, would
be singing not with bullets, but along
with Filkowski, Russel Clarke, the
Spider and a host of other criminal
Bec” “Jinx, will your reign never
end?”


“Quick! Unlock this screen gate,” Pierpont gritted,
pointing the pistol at O’Rourke. Makeley stopped the
other guard, forcing him to face the outer wall.

“Hurry up!” snapped Pierpont, menacingly waving the
gun. ‘Open this gate!” ;

But what was it that prompted O’Rourke to duck
under Pierpont’s gun muzzle, dash to the iron stairs, and
jab the alarm buzzer? Even he himself later could give
us no logical explanation for his action, other than to
remark, “Maybe it was this jinx the prisoner’s talk
about that made me do it. I don’t know.”

The riot squad raced across the prison yard, through
a cell block corridor and burst into Death Row, pistols
blazing at the leveled guns in Pierpont’s and Makeley’s
hands. A bullet spun Makeley around and hurled him
against the heavy screen. Pierpont crumpled in a heap.

Not a returning shot had either fired. It was small
wonder for upon examining their ‘‘weapons” we found
them to be clever imitations made of soap and pieces
from a jigsaw puzzle.

Makeley died on the way to the prison hospital. Doc-
tors operated on Pierpont and saved his life. Several
weeks later, however, his photograph adorned the cream

colored walls behind the electric chair in the little red.

shack, mutely testifying to the world he had legally
atoned for the coldblooded murder of Sheriff Saber.

Into the large prison mess hall, at 7:30 a.m., Novem-
ber 5th, came the deputy warden’s runner bearing a
pass for Terry “Spider” McShane. Guard Bardon,
the Tag Shop officer, examined the slip and, noting
that it was to the Chaplain’s office, gave it to the
prisoner.

At 8:02, the deputy warden’s clerk phoned the Tag
Shop. “What are you doing with Number 34-828?”
the guard asked. ‘Hustle him over to the Chaplain’s
office at once.”

“Why, I sent him from the breakfast table,” was
Bardon’s quick rejoinder. “He must have got his
Chapels mixed.”

Spider McShane was to be found in neither Chapel,
nor at any of the various inside departments. We took
count, checked and rechecked and still no McShane.
With. the shops closed and the convicts locked in their
cells, we started from the East Wall searching each
mill and factory, poking through sewers, chimneys
and trash piles with no success.

“Find the secret tunnel,’ Warden Thomas crisply
ordered. “Find it, or we will have a wholesale escape
on our hands.”

We could locate no such tunnel.

Guard Evans dropped exhausted on the bench in the
deputy’s office. “Captain,” he told me, “if a human
being ever sprouted wings and flew over these walls,
I’m beginning to believe it was Spider McShane!”

Remembering that McShane was a gifted second-
story artist, Evans and myself scrutinized the walls
and cellblocks. And there we discovered Spider’s
mark on the rough, jutting corner stones of the old
Chapel building. He had nimbly climbed up to the
roof, edged along the eaves and slipped across the main
building and then down a waterspout to the street.
It was a wonder no one had spotted him.

Ten days after the escape, word flashed to our Ber-
tillon headquarters from West Virginia of Spider
McShane’s apprehension. He had been caught bur-
glarizing a beauty shop proprietor’s apartment. A
small girl had watched Spider climb up the corner
stones to the fourth story and slip through an open
window. Excitedly, she carried the news to her older
sister, who called police.

When our officers brought Spider back to finish his
Ohio term, he told Deputy Warden James C. Woodard,
“I sure feel mighty swell now. Every step I took I
felt the jinx’s fingers around my throat.”

,

VEN those with real guns in the Ohio Penitentiary
have found the jinx as active as ever. Barely a
month following the arrival of the three Dillinger
mobsters, and at a time when extra guards had been
hired, there occurred one of the slickest breaks in the
annals of the century old bastille.

John Monk, a lifer; Gerald Saunter and Ralph
Barnes, two long termers, all assigned to the Boiler
House detail, spent great pains on their clever bid
for freedom. They selected a Sunday afternoon, at
which time only a skeleton crew and a few inmate
runners would be out of their cells. At one o’clock,
when the prison brooded peacefully under an early
spring sun, Monk ambled into the engineer’s office.
Slipping a Colt .32 from his work blouse, he jammed
it against Engineer J. B. Lane’s ample side.

Monk didn’t say, ‘Stick ’em up!” or, ‘Don't make
a move!” Bending over the desk, in an ostensibly re-
spectful manner, he spoke softly. He promised the offi-


Sires

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rim at. Bowerston, about ¢t ilréy
miles farther down tho road, and were
running at a pretty

HIGH RATROF GPEED

to regain lost time. As tho train reach-
ed the carve the rails began to spread,
The train consiated of one baygage and
mail car, a smoker anda reghlar paz
senger coach. The engine and the first
two coaches passed in aafoty, bus Ae
third was derailed thirty feet west of
the trestle and ran on the ties for ne arly

8
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two hundred feat befora it took tha to oT

rible plunge. The rear car broke leoz
from the train, and clearing tho tract 't
and low vooden guarda “along the
side of th trestle, with
precior load of humanity,
ed to ground beak a

the ; dig-
tance of nearly & orty feet. Thora w ”
fourteen people in the ear and only on
sap ei uninjured. Two were inata; c
killed, three more died within a vory
hort time, and nine wera injored in
various degrees. To add to tha terrible
situation, when the cosch struck tha
ground, tho doa diy car-stove get fn it
dreadful Work end —
FIRB BTARTREI
in the debris. Fortunately the bridg
arpénters were at work oa-the tre: tle
nd with the aid of the one uninjured
paaecanen succeeded in putti ting ous the
RSE: with sno lager it
iple 23 passengers.
ophe wes discavére
loved Saakehe sens indg ar of the tr: a
ran the Siatee to the. depo
what the story was tok 1, and soon
whole villago waa on tho, scene
tho disaster, oach willing and
bo ae: tho

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or coach.
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the crash, The treat!
CONSIDERABLY EA! aay:
one bent being knocked entiz ely down,
about one } halt af suother down and a

third alls tered and thrown out of

spliz

lya, N. Y., have

reached tha |

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a ed toy aad friends ofthe ene 0 o |

murds

oin-law, was "oy ad fn they

3 Tooke jall at § ie moraiog.
veges was s donble
he death of Sheri? Webb, 2a a3
Tho sheriff Aarts ed a few
foro 9 and d '

disease fudae

Cuicaco, ac.
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ea & general edysuc
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tto gabe

¥ulsied 3

vauce amounte to five doliara per month,
and in smaller towng tha sdvancs haz
not been fixed, but will be somowhat
less.

Dery Goods and Carpet Store Closax *

Witerapanes, Ps., Ded. 19—{Special.]
—The dry goods and carpet etcro con.
ducted in the nama of F, I. Orr, Erao!
been made the s 8
ofclosure by the sheriff on jad;
in faver of Fredar fictor & 1e
lia, New York; in the sum of $270,600.

Carry Bus

D Ye 19, —Tho Fresman’ 3
Journal ediny sya Ey.
carry the } Kiikensy @ ai:
ing Parliament pi br election if the priests
will hold sloof,in the contes

$a

Sunday sehools at ud ¢
appropriate rat

Holdermaa,

pecial eale days aro very atirs
liday trad Shae

i orrow ig re
io and Cloak (Day. Prices wiilin

teacher

8 Oxford

Co have 2 completa lin
chil ? UN lerwear and
and children

¢ quallti i
; 18 3t.

nkeorohisfa!

rie
MvVTOR

4 Ye

Sweets tn Os Ea:
2cerchiafal

Zollars & Co, havo afallline of}

¥

nd kereniots froim 3c. to $1 Uaplece.

hese goods

‘B Special for ff aterday.

a and cloaks. Hole erman,

\
1ouw
at

books at Darbin' 8.

Hoadquartera for cigara by tho box
>

for Christma and fail line of pipe ea at | Der

G. A. Band Cigar Stora,
Dress  geeaga >

tomorrow. at
Coa,’ 8

toak Day
Holderman, Zollinger. &
Woliday g eedna dna eadleas

A chalice _ selecton

} thoy

erns}] vill |
rict in the com: |

ds beforeyou { Age Behe
18 &:3 ¢ ce

ill save money buying children’g | x

proper chalga
tn o figtra in the
sor 2 is uo way for 3
aVO @ how: trial in
| dea eeepecs to tha

ee *

» Bent toons of
“expresses the:

t
would be futile, The charge of the>

court was probably, erronecus, but haa

it been correc i, “nothing could hay

1 pp undertho testinony, wh

g and convincing,”” Ee
“Sauna E, Oampruns.!?.

Before the Fell,

tho con podem mon

tion Foor and”
oe death warrants, s

PLY
ig fi co

ad Po
lia

[Signed]

the Warden rea
Very little foalin,
he part of
e0on “hae meet ths eath,

at nt

sd &har} Key with hig hands’

WES GEator

Tenry Popp. 7

in his pocketa, When the crowd ens 4

“Boys,

ania,”

tered tho wardon
ROW Tread. éz¢

Wag

I will,
Popp’s
When
Pepp
ahs lthovgin
“hed Sodthe
gale inf ldidlerst ndivg the words, ag -
Were spoken in a low tong Ao

a0
3:8 oe

witt
45 pie
Shaitiay

Dla Not

3
cen.

Chany 39 iiia Attitad

tayed forvent ntly
sked that their sing
that they © ba:
judgment — ac
committed . om
é 4 especially for Popp’s _
2a of thig prayar thes

‘es ‘dead the Catholic nar.
Sharkey, whea this
wag ee drow t!

sked th

s$ hia body be 6Xs.

ona Pires,

r emoved tot

placed in tho one.

ob At just midnight--

Dyo a and tha sek returned to.

snd

wes savere

y-Gve poople were
Tho t three prison surgeons,
one, Parker end Ward took

lesa ¥than 68Veas

tio?
Lleu,

“
. Gore!

| thoir meee ander t th Regt The crowd —

SB8Lc epace directe

‘ where.
drop.

led oat.

to
wad

| Sccompanied by Father Logan. “He wea”
i more self-po:

od then was expected,
| but seemed aia, almostin a trance.

the + 3

ancea

Pe
> hesitating manner by th 19 Ware |

bo Warden to one=

ho death

oe


— S ee weer a . 7 ie ie tana a ee ee a ———<—_ waren ae a Pe ee ee

NAME

Lesage GanTin Weel bf thaa! |
|BL Cd yshe Kobo Linas Ge: |

& MEANS

RECORD

CRIME DATE OTHER

|
Wie sp Sea |
ViCTim AGE METHOD

eg

Aaao biitrhadibo

APPEALS

LAST WORDS

EXECUTION


ELOuries

_ THE GALLOWS.

;
Execation of Andrew Price at Ironton, Oble,
for tho Marder ‘ef Loula Unlgcnberg=Last
Il-urs ef the Condeviucd=His Dying ‘Cone

feaxton. . u
[lrouton, Lawrence county, Ohto, (April 2) corres-

pondence of the Oncanau Com vere at)
* This good, rugzert old county of iron end cualand
Nard-handed mea tas had its urst seasution mw tue
way of an execution to-vay,
THR MURDER, ;

On the night of Octub:r id last two giants of six
fevt and one inch dashed out the brains ‘aad cut the
throat of adwarf—an iMnocear, Hite, humbie eub-
bler, who could stand erect, with room to «pare.
wunder theirarmpiis, The aifair uccurre! tn 012 uf
the widest paris of tia wud country, on the Marivn
road, six miles from this place, at tuc small shop
and grocery of the victim, pany Louis Mugonoerg.
cAndrew spcerg. and Andrew Price wore the big,
sironz meu who did the horrible work. They had
an idea that he had hundreds of dollars stored poe:

, _ THB ARREST, aaa nad
Bat I havé a Sed. Alter thea two flontah
‘Fevelled ta hot bioow they searched iho shop, githered
together some Whiskey, olsara, oldthtis, buots, and.
hol as many cats as they had expeczed dotiara

ture, and when be Inid hla hand on Price's shoul ser
tn the daue TT)

fort wast !
but Go Or Uayos mfuaal, nos bein st abig td Bee

murdorer becanse the drst had eecans thn @
venlict of aiurder in the secoxd degree,” ary
|| DEMEANOR OF THE Pepe,
a Pacis be yng ot wie
vacy th # usu cven in Chico, \Nul over'a sterg |
‘or men wi + tf, and po-merd

make an ¢ifort.to Sowa whey thele: time.
Sais ttt ea ewcse te ect eas

y er i
the arde of the barn, be hid demanaed 9 earpet: sor.

= otticials and « few"
the night bofors gad bad @

a ee regret megti gle :

| PREPARATIONS FoR MACKS 10

~ about Rar ANATION tha Jai: reonel ad the
Sbherttf: _ went wt Presoner-rwd tary -
ecll to ;bind) hum. |Bheria Klewiex “aad Rover pen |

GBR. OXECUUGR, bat wa hel arranead: APOrF Abe y PoHeW”

Hkeacb, bus

PRICE, A ndrew, wh, 28, hanged Ironton, Ohio, 4-2-1869

PREPANATIONS FUR TEP BCE IO
About nalf-past tem tha Jall wasc.ca.e), and the t
Sheri and:deputy went wht the prisons? imate the
ocll to ‘bind: hid. |Bherif Kivwiok aad never stem
an haha ng bit nef
wonderiu }
combinanog of st aps and beckies,

around the Waist, and to which be bucktod ‘tus wir’
indie we say having tanen the oraaes

4 i:
binding prvcess, ey

to band over 30.n¢ branges and: tomonste
low prisongrs, re:darting:—“i wt] have no ase. |
tacse, and they will ta3.0 good to you." Paw”
cipients were burg! ‘Who looked very sertoza
day. ‘fhe sinall pay of witnesses had af
{novo the en¢iosute, jand tke prisoner: wae
tiem, ous tirougy wide yary, dows flr
feet, and then’upon tue scavolt. witol. w:
drop, with scarcely any piafirm. Down k ‘
the scamfe.d was, tue ginup of speetatora ;
Moony: loosing Place euongt, apd there was a
amy atmosphere an] ® misty Pause fading, >:
n tup soativld Price sppeared ts the, tuce- ae
On tup ula Price ep in “o¢.
all mea who ave only a few minutes to lve and.
now it, He bsd on % but guile \
clothing and cloth slow. .. Hit face was sallow,
and ciran shaven, With 8 promitont oat abd
oheek eee Le one wavering eyes, downesst
most of the Que. His Gerd Brow wate was peasy
‘combed anid behind. Ho anbosittad very.
etly to than y~P fiosdia tué bind. <
the legs anc artjusti the rope sronutd hus 5
When usced if he had anything to aay he ted to
the { Mr. Tho;vas, siamiing on the steps, -
who de2me iwsnuscript and from i re
what Wate wished should by knowa as his dring ’
worda 'Whup he read Price —e his eyes xed on F
a biack coitip on the ground ia frone: of aim, on f
weich were tis hat and aeerew driver. The words
were sunply those of repoatance and to 4.
men to take Waruing from the scaifold and g pope of
' furzivenesa, ‘Ho aitribuied hid bad end to Uguor as
the first cause and then bad assuctates, | Deen igs
Prayer wos: said sud tuen Price was asks} if he
haa anything more tosay, ile reptied t—“Nothings.
but let mi inen take warning by me, 3 would never
have been bere if it had nut buen for ‘higuor andthe |
Sp-ers facntys’* tas trie RA Rs «,
“Ltd old maa Speers have anything to do with the t
murder?’ avkea Onicer Morgan, from below, -
¢2S Prisoner shook his bead and eat, “Now °°.
Pe. you ever Kill any one elvof’ aald Mr.
ouias.' : : SEES 3
“SNoboiy, except whe-I was in the army, and I
did not. think anything Of tuat, yoa see. Uievor f
did, it was 13 my slecp.’ Pe
“Have you nothing etse to say? Coma, you ean
say snythiug fou weh. Is there nothing ty your }
heart that you have kept back?’ nage Se ee
Ts an shook his Acad and remained silent .. © |
npr as TAR LAST OF KART cece |
The Suerifl aloue stood on the drep with the
risoner pd encouraged him to say aiytbing he }
ad to say; bat the later tudicarsd that there was F
nothing more, whereupon tho Sheriff turned him. |
with his back to the people, carefully fitted the knot
clos to his lett ear, pul on the cap, and orn the
black giazed cloth down over bis face. W this 7
was being done the ministers gad a few others
joined singing eS
_- “Ob! happy day, that fixed my choiea,* ’ Spaaiis
at Price’a trembiing request, made in the mitet
f tho 4 Moans that issuéd from under the
ask. if the prisoner Petained hig sense of
ing the hyinn was in his ears when, at .five-
minutes of ele o'clock, the ‘Sherif the
lever and be drppped forty-one inches . with.

sf
Fae

at

to
<¢
&
>

4

EF

po apap seg Mer ye ne haa never seen. He

private, and the’ guards stationed sround the fall »
square in each direction, with ‘masketa to with

county had to care for his body, He oof peg :

was a man of low itfeant never bad any advan |.
tages of education oreociety, |= ts at
ta here Was much leas excitement here to-day than’

a ar

ok, AY

A S-1ILG C54)

bayonels, served to keep tho peopie away rom even f


\. ar
wu. OE

'Beaputy Warden
i268. airaps

for all I have injure d be sak m & { Governor bell Visited In Behait of }
tha kx County ilar.
monctonow 8 bee ron, pes ay : ae é the ‘
have injured m The hood was pushed} 459 report waa ecnrrent npoen i)
a Pe on, aad at atreets last vgscteas fh that Jodgo A. A.
12:G714 Sharkey dropped through the Thyer, of the law firm Thayer & Gil-}-
trap, Tho dr 5 was on feet and the | £0n, had visited the Governor on behalf | :
pe waganaid ono, wing served in | Oftho Stark County Bar, andin tho in- | each and every person, young and a ged, k
: y , : * erosts of Ey 3 1 £y % a ki a ‘ ries a 3 ' c
2 srocky Smith, Tenth terosts of H enry Por PP. A Repos MTORY anect & Ren atte ous atte ti anf tior 1 to alla
The noosa slipped jnat as | teporter called at the flrs office le ne ~
wed the lever and the} Sight and f found Judge Thayer in.
Tt wea act wos asked himif be ha
w me ie
hae j errand of mercy as wa age ~
La “PA wre ¢ ? $ 4 3 .
id the crowd | ported, and if so, what was the re- iat et JVM i >
; guik. iM! & viv if f i i
**Yea,’’ responded Jndge Thayer, oe Se Oe
“and the Gaver refused to, reopen
the casa Whilo J w 5 1) resent. ha re-
7 n 3 oe a 53, aa 7G! 2 r © . ,
ee ArthIy NOS | coived a tele; rom ® numsher of tha ‘et > pon “j Cp
the dyi ing - man "3 throat. leadiz ag ye! of Ciacinnath in the ates mor Sie ediuwe
po { matter. refased their petition } ee Se a etacaesaniarasee ee
' 2 y a” ~ =
arringso end hak waa kept up for | &lso. Ap » I TTD, +
sya minutese Every face was blanched |, Further than this Judge Thayer ro . GRAN HO] LIDAY DISP
va a. Every fac hibenateneletesting ft fered to ho interviewed.
ad strong men trembled a9 With | mcnssmsnnmncens ce
. - —— SERRE RRREEREREREDN eG } i ‘ ‘ p ota a ii aq }
malay. This lasted for five minute te ae fr A ; ‘ ts se eo,
shen it suddenly caased. Despite the : pe RA Oe PROS Mad NA’ LU
xd work done the man Hived bat four iehig : a TAPE TTR DD : :
half minutes. Tho bod fu RGUUS GPs Phos diy EV SRARAtE sy i * a “ } Ure Variety; Gre:
ison and one-half minates. Tho body very deed BU . treat oes rf re i for allin Tee a’ Reference Bibles, Pi
-aacat down and the dead house gang | (21859) Sfren, be peated A oka, Childrea’a Booka, Pina Pertumes,
f conyicta. entered and removed the} 845 si A Ath Ae oe 5 28, Bhaviog * sae &e.; Foantain and Ge
ody. l reed t ssrcccei wer: Sherr serre aa fagtio ods, iy 622 our ele
2ay. : Bett : Ohristens 4 Gifts. “Remer abe : tho right ertie—
price, for any one you may wish to select a present for

Yardan Dyer }

Popp's Tura.
Rope was immediately brong! ;
; = i ’ P 4 Ty tT T *
229s rope was Gxed. It had heen te: US) ‘rs 3} Ld. SCHT DAL OH, Druggistand
, ad -for fey hours a walght of 800 ert Ga DP Cabs ee | eae a ==)
n suspended at its end. z Pugind <; 3 RS ‘ei CARI Bri es

4 fe

~ a Ri we ' Me te = FT he A
crop Was int 3" a © i Ty Yer ? fx #

hia no vil PAS Sarg | |Maké House Co unections oe
Aa the
r9 betas feels the daputy war:
ad him ‘to. move a fow inches
ter of tho tran, Ha locked}
id, **All righs.”? Nhat a!
Depaty Portor eaid,

ee ve yon = anyt! & S Eiee Tees conta th tock bros Seabee fe pe eye ; 7
hed you mt cs 3 , 1 f mon tana sy niebo ’ Zs a ° Si 4 4 i, ij » Fe ’ nd Bath

ECTS ai Ge a,

ae

arene ts
FAR SECA. SD

= peo [aterm |. . BUY YOUR , GROCEE IES

& sed th bs Mepat Hi
nies ¢ht axean$ what ae y & i z a eg | te Sees ee be
iz; nothing. excapt what has | a et i C..3 WY

was the: low-sansken

. 2 ne : i - . AT ¢ “Ty FT ot Varnes
) hood was thrast over the head, # - j 4 4 FU LUUPER RE ba G73. ¥ pate

~ad. o eh ‘, / j r i { f i wx Tera : rie
nd a he re ‘bat ut ge As | fo. “A 1A 3 t¢ veo Tiong PMoapvat Clans ALL EIN!
hk was brok Om AD ha Se hoo ia oYik Patns Vilddo Livgs Ligkhy, Uo: ngecied.— LOW
Mig Aastaat. ' i : f edonhos . pe Be : :
eae the drop. é : } ([oF"Bastof attention wil] be givon you. Your patronage in

cay fora 2928 a ET oe aw IN — |

4 s

orfezs 2
At 12:36 Por nonrt chaste |
od 100, to. the ninnte ;- By ‘TOT TMHIOorN TAY am
thay. numberad ‘50 to tho min- | a ; y 4 : : ff Bass i IGHTH el te oT,
12:45 he.was atong dead. The | pies Sy }
t for sixtee a minntes alter the | Soy EES Eterm | AUGUAYters LOP heap bees All W
: waa ° -imamedi- t a, py ’ a
ae the tle a house ‘ 4B POL eet Qs Bari tt ne @ very Y aie est. Ove
= oe to Father Lo- }* : aa o rns 10 gees,

o.will hava it. Pe gtr pao

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PRIMMER, Elias, hanged Logan, Ohio, November 26, 1856.

CHARLES R. GOSLIN
414 BALDWIN DR.
LANCASTER, OHIO 43130

Mr. Watt Espy, Jr
Box 67
Headland, Ala. 3635

Dear Mr. Espy Jr:

Since my historical research has not been
prying into the personal lives of early Fair-
field countaians,' my records contain no infor-
mation as to hangings and murder court actions.

There is a bill in the Ohio Legislature to
prevent this type of research, so we must
be careful what information we gather from
the court records.

I have no record in my many notes that will
verify a hanging in Fairfield County. In the
November 1831 records of the Court of Common
Pleas of Fairfield County there is a record

of James Turner being indited for the murder

of his brother Samuel Turner. The jury verdict
was First Degree Murder. What happened to
James Turner is not recorded in my notes.

On page 5 of E. S. Cilborn's History of Perry
County published in 1883 there is a reference

to the hanging of David Work who was indicted and found guilty

for murder on September 16, 1836 and hanged on
the 1th of October of that year

There occured in the town of Logan Ohio the
county seat of Hocking County the legal hanging
of Elias Primmer on November 26, 1856. This was
for the murder of John Fox. Primmer is buried
n an unmarked grave.

This is all the information I have in my records
concerning murders and hangings. There is so much
good information comcering, the good people of Fair-
field County, that I have never entered this kind

of Investigation.

Sorry I cannot be of more help,

Sincerely, (O < whee

Chas. R. Goslin


PRICK, George Allen, black, hanged Cincinnati, Ohio,7/9/1880,

oS) an. ‘BEST.

a Neck-Tie that Proved a Tight Fit, and
Sent a Vicious Murderer Into the Here-
aaa ‘adents : :

twith Y Portraits. 1 nats
‘3 tt il: 13 o’clock in the forenoon of July oth, Gauss
Allen Price, the negro, was hanged in the yard of the
Hamilton county Jail, Cincinnati, for the murder of
Villie. Black. ° He atated. thet he was my ibe eke
toate,
On his way to the scaffold he called on & sat
and some little children in the jail yard, bede them
farewell and hoped a bettef life and death for them
than his. His interview: with his wife lasted two
hours after 8 in the morning. His only daughter did
- Mot visit him since the day previous. On the ecaffold he
was firmand con.poeed. To several persons in the.
crowd,. whom he recognized, he bid farewell, Just.
before the black cap was applied he sddressed the
 ‘ spectatore, saying: “ I've tried to live well, and I die ©
the best I can.” The noose was not drawn tight’~
; eneugh, and when the trap fell it slipped and failed”
“to ‘break the victim’s neck.: For ten-minutes the
““pulsé beat. The body, when cut down, was taken to
the crowded streets and exhibited.” By his request °
his-faneral: was private, ‘and rom his‘ widow’ a.

home on Sunday.:
Ss Pee CRIME, -

On the 30th day of. ‘April, 1879,-he suot snd-mar

city. ‘Ho was found guilty of murder in the first de-
gree, and sentenced to be hanged May 28th, thie year.
On representations that he wae insane,’ Governor
-Foster gave hima respite till July. 9th. “Price was col-

‘ ored, born.a slave ia Kentucky thirty-seven years

“ 8g0, was freed by the war, and came to Cincinnati,
“where he has since lived. Villie Black was a tobacco
- merchant, and for eight years, up to a ‘week before.
- pis*murder, kept Price in his employ. About a week
previous he caused the arrest of Price for atealing
tobacco from him, and ‘then, only a day before the

murder, bailed him: ont.’ Price went. to Bisck’sa

office, and demanded retraction of the charge of ©
larceny, which dol eshte epceane the murder
followed a


OF THE

OK OK KOK OK OK KK OK

XK KG

CKD

OK
DANA

Ka

a

OK KKK KK KK

"

The solution of two murders
lay in an old pair of shoes

ELLE EEL ELGG

EEE EEE GEL GEE EEE GE EG EE EE EGE GE EEE MEGEGGDS

BY JULIAN HARTT

66 HAT,” SIGHED THE young man,
“ds more like it!”
Morris Hockfield, proprietor
of the shoe store at 1716 Race
Street, Cincinnati, Ohio, also sighed—
in satisfaction. Three times, at the re-
quest of his young customer, he had
stretched the shoe. Not until now, as
his wife Maric, knotted the cord about
a package for two young women cus-
tomers, did the shoe fit.

“You like it?’ Ilockfield asked, hop-
ing the sale was closed. His voice was
heavy with the accent of his native
Russia.

“Sure I like it,” the man said. His
eyes darted after the two women, just
stepping through the doorway into Race
Street. Hockfield thought he was reach-
ing for his billfold. Instead, he jerked

CASE

ihacbibe

out a revolver. “This is a stickup!”

Marie Hockfield saw the play.

“Police!” she screamed. “I’ll call the
police !”

Behind the counter, she dashed for
the rear storeroom where the telephone
was located, in the Hockfield’s modest
living quarters.

The bandit’s mouth compressed into
a thin, straight line. The gun in his
fist bucked twice. The roaring slugs
smashed into Marie Tlockfield’s back.
She fell to the floor.

Morris Hockfield’s eyes popped in
horror. .He ran for the front door.
Three times more the revolver barked.

One slug seared through Hockfield’s
left elbow. The second plowed through
his body. The third missed—but Morris
Hockfield already was tumbling to the

Norman Peacock (below) ‘drank Mrs. Schrauder (below) the

too much and doomed himself.

mother of Peacock, talked freely.

‘Dewtre7T1 VU &
<IANIARY -19 92

floor, mortally wounded by the slugs |

Harry Vest, colored night watchman
at a nearby garage, saw the gunman

dash from the store and duck into af

nearby alley. Guessing the situation
from what he had seen and the five
shots he had heard, Vest raced to a
telephone and called police headquarters.

Within moments a squad car slammed
to a halt in front of the shoe store—

oe

and a more heartrending sight the two |

flycops had never seen.

Seated in the store’s doorway, cling-
ing to each other with their last remain-
ing strength, were Morris and Marie
Hockfield, obviously dying from their

‘wounds.

The pair was rushed to Cincinnati’s
General Hospital. Moments later an-
other official car—this one unmarked—
pulled up at 1716 Race Street.

It was the homicide squad. Detective
Sergeant George W. Schattle and his
four men tumbled out of the car, The
detectives with him were William Burks,
Thomas Faragher, Lee Flaugher and
Walter Hart.

Even as they listened to the report
of the uniformed men and the colored
watchman, the four detectives were be-

ginning their ¢
. “Apparently
tomer,” said TF!
pair of shoes h«
“Must be we:
Detective Flau;
empty box fron
—size 7Y% D,”
“That’s wor
clared Schattle
that Marie H
reach, and rel:
headquarters.
“This is fu
mused aloud.
sock. Just one
ly not new.
Sergeant Sc
detective. “S:
shoe store put
try on shoes,” |
This deduct:
scription of th:
was wearing ©
Then Serge:
with other ©
“Have they si
“Plenty !”
General Hosp
was so bad, |

SECOND-HAND C

Detective Sergeant George Schat-
tle (below, right) directed case.


led by the slugs.
d night watchman
saw the gunman
and duck into a
ing the situation
cen and the five
Vest raced to a
lice headquarters,
juad car slammed
the shoe store—
ug sight the two

doorway, cling-
their last remain-
orris and Marie

ying from their ~

| to Cincinnati’s
ments later an-
one unmarked—
' Street.
yuad. Detective-
ychattle and his
f the car. The
’ William Burks,
Mlaugher and
! to the report
ind the colored
ctives were be-

orge Schat-
‘ected case.

ginning their exploration of the store.

“Apparently he was the only cus-
tomer,” said Hart, “and here’s an old
pair of shoes he must have left behind.”

“Must be wearing new ones,” opined
Detective Flaugher. He picked up an
empty box from the floor nearby. “Black
—size 7% D,” he read from the label.

“That’s worth following up,” de-
dared Schattle. He found the telephone
that Marie Hockfield tried vainly to
teach, and relayed the information to
headquarters.

“This is funny!” Detective Burks
mused aloud. In his hand was a man’s
sock. Just one sock and it was obvious-
ly not new,

Sergeant Schattle took it from the
detective. ‘Sometimes customers in a
shoe store put on new socks when they
try on shoes,” he remarked.

This deduction was added to the de-
scription of the murderous gunman—he
was wearing one new and one old sock.

Then Sergeant Schattle got in touch
with other officers at the hospital.
“Have they said anything?” he asked.

“Plenty!” sighed the detective at
General. Hospital. “But their accent
was so bad, it was hard to tell what

they were talking about. Hockfield died
first, but we got a rabbi here to inter-
pret before Mrs. Hockfield died.”

“What did she say?”

“She said there were two young wom-
en in the shop when this guy came in
—apparently all the busi-
ness about stretching the
shoes was just stalling
for time until the girls
left. We did learn that
he had on the new shoes
and one new sock when
he left, after shooting: the
Hockfields.”

“How about a descrip-
tion ?”

“She died before we
could get one.”

| | oe MURDER and
no description of
the killer! That was the
situation confronting Ser-
geant Schattle and_ his
men that blustery night
of Monday, February 4,
1935. A check of the
cash register revealed
that the brutal killer had

Yi

A girl phoned Schat-
/ tle she had informa-
_ tion on the case but
that she was afraid |
to give it to police. |

ensinnee ane


Vol. 4, No. 21

THROUGH

in America

night of March 1, 1932, Charles

O*% THE
Augustus Lindbergh, Jr., was snatched
from his crib and slain, precipitating one 0

Hauptman'

the most sensational
manhunts in the history
of the world. On April
3, 1936, more than four
years later, BRUNO
RICHARD HAU PT-
MANN.) was executed
for the murder of the
Lindbergh baby. Eye-
witness details of that
execution, related by an
official who was in the
death chamber, will be
= found on page 20 of this
issue.

There were no delays in the hanging of

BARN

EY FLEMMING, negro wore

He set the date for his own execution.
when that date came he walked to the gal-
lows at Walla Walla, Wash., and took his

medicine.

For forty years Connecticut has employed

a hanging

machine in its legal executions.

Instead of dropping to death as on the gal-

lows, the convicted man is literally jerked to
eternity. JOHN SIEMBORSKI, cop killer,
was the last man to die on the machine, which
is to be replaced by an electric chair. The
contrivance of weights and pulleys which
once claimed the life of Gerald Chapman, no~

torious out
on_ Apr

MAN

as he walk

law, snapped Siemborski to death

“Tt won't hurt, will it?” asked NOR-

PEACOCK, convicted of slaying

an ayed Cincinnati couple for a pair of shues,

ed into the death chamber at Ohio

state prison and sat down in the chair. It

didn’t.

Calmly
approachi
tion with

GEORGE W. BAR-
RETT, Kentucky feud-
ist convicted of killing a
federal agent, expressed
interest in the exact pro-

cedure
lows.

A few
he was
eternity
yard a
Indiana.

4

discussing his
ng exec
the hangman,

on the gal-

hours later
dropped to
in the jail
t Indianapolis,

‘8 SS

George Barrett

June, 1936

THE MONTH’S BEST CASES
BOUND FOR CHINA’S VICE DENS. « . - «: Jack Heise 10

A startling: expose of the sinister se
white slavers, notorious dealers in human flesh.

NG ILLINOIS’ MAIL ORDER LOVE THIEF

Dee eee eee ogee Ray Brennan 16
The inside story of a letter writing Casanova who swindled
thousands of women while declaring undying love.

DID HAUPTMANN DIE IN THE CHAIR?...- ++ -s':
eee eee need Dr. Charles H. Mitchell 20

Straight from an official eye-witness comes this dramatic
account of what really went on in the Trenton death chamber.
CALIFORNIA’S GRIM DINNER OF DEATH. . . . Deputy
District Attorney Percy Hammon and Westley Hale 28
Death is an unseen guest at the dinner table as a middle-aged
Los Angeles couple meet a shocking fate.

SECRETS OF NEW YORK’S CRIMSON LOVE CRIME
Alfred Albelli 32

eee Ce ee

in the boudoir of another man’s wife!

MISSOURI’S RIDDLE OF THE DRACULA AND THE

NUDE BEAUTY. .... +: Lacles « Fe aes

... Sergeant Frank Howland and Lew Shepherd 34
A grimly disfigured corpse, devoid of clothing, sends investi-
gators on the trail of an elusive human vampire.

HOW LOVE LETTERS SOLVED FLORIDA’S MYS-

TERY OF THE MISSING MISTRESS....---°-°
.... Robert Barton 38

‘Sideovery of a corpse without ‘a fac
of a strange tangle of illicit love and violence.
THE REAL STORY OF TENNESSEE’S JEALOUS WIFE
TRAGEDY. ...--- °°: _.,...+Harold L, Zimmer 40
a young husband meets death in one of

Inveterate playboy,
jangle riddles of recent months.

most sensational tria

SHORT FEATURES

STRAIGHT FROM HEADQUARTERS ee gals ne aw eee 6
Taking a look at the crime picture with the editor.
THUNDER OVER SCOTTSBORO....--:- hee ey 8
Recent developments in a famous Alabama legal battle.
CRIME TAKES THE RAP....---:: Melvin C. Passolt 9
A Minnesota officer discusses the crime problem.
PHOTO FLASHES. os cucccscceey ce 26

Highlights of dramatic happenings in the news.
THE LOVE SLAYING THAT SHOCKED OHIO.....- 66
A short short story of a youthful passion.

pectoral

DARING DETECTIVE is published monthly b

the Act of March

d States and possessions; foreign subscriptions $1.50 a year.

offices: New York, 1501 Broadway; Chicago.

Reilly, 1014 Russ Bldg.; Los Angeles, Simps . Hill St.
MEMBER AUDIT B IREAU OF CIRCULATIONS

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Greenwich, Conn. Printed in U.S. A. Copyrightes
he third month preceding date of issue, A vertising

\


eo

Chief Kirgan (bottom) or-
dered Schattle and his men to
put aside all other work until
the murderer was captured.

The customer whipped out a
revolver. “This isa stickup,”’
he announced as Hockfield’s
eyes popped out in horror.

’

fled without taking a cent. Two mur-
ders—for nothing !

All night long the four homicide men :

scoured the neighborhood for clues. It
was dawn of Tuesday morning when
they reported their failure back to
Sergeant Schattle at downtown head-
quarters.

Throughout the long hours of dark-
ness, every man in Cincinnati wearing
new black shoes suddenly found him-
self in the arms of the law. If the’ size
matched those of the missing oxfords,
the suspect had a lot of explaining to
do—but all managed to prove unshak-
able alibis.

“And here’s more bad news,” Ser-
geant Schattle admitted to his men.
“T checked on‘those socks, or rather,
on the one new sock he was wearing.

That kind is on sale in nearly every dime
store in America!”

Then Detective Chief Emmett D. Kir-
gan, nationally famous Cincinnati officer,
told Sergeant Schattle and his men to
drop all other work until the Hockfield
murders were solved.

Sergeant Schattle tossed the old pair
of shoes on his desk. “There’s the only
clue we’ve got, Chief.”

“Then make ’em talk,” said Kirgan.

And Sergeant Schattle did just that.
He leafed through the Cincinnati tele-
phone directory. Soon he found the
number he sought, and moments later
he was talking to the head of the United
Shoe Machinery Company, a local con-
cern specializing in cobbler’s supplies.

Quickly he related the situation. “Can
you send me a man that can perform a

‘Shei
shoe-
o\)
pany
ger
A:
Zany
Sch:
old
Zan:
and
I
ox ti
|
Cin
viol
he
tur


est-bound
arranged

ito to pre-

n by Gov
. Ohio.

two Cin-

cell. He
1 er.

sl he

L___ at 2

» Ohio.
iarled.
and the
ations to
rge.
two offi-
atch over
ward, the
tion and
charging
farie and

ting him
1€ weary
hind iron

sa rather
, denying
as a mat-
i-blooded
t%
seasoned
Feeling
and non-
2 “would

to Major
» Cincin-

nati, that he went into Hockfield’s shoe
store to rob them. He reasoned that the
elderly pair would not put up a fight. That
when he leveled the revolver at them, they
would quietly turn over their cash rather
than risk their lives.

He had not reckoned with Mrs. Hock-
field’s determination to obtain help and
he callously explained, “It was them or
me. I was sure it wasn’t going to be me.”

He was deeply chagrined that he was
forced to flee after the shooting without
robbing the store but he realized that
the blasts from the five shots would bring
others to the scene in a hurry. He did
not secure a dime.

Peacock knew that he was seen as he
rushed from the shoe store. He increased
his speed, running up alleys until he had
arrived at the back door of his mother’s
home.

There, he concealed the gun in his
clothing, waited until he was no longer
panting, straightened his tie and jacket
before he sauntered indoors, as though
nothing out of the ordinary had trans-
pired.

“Mother, how about lending me five
bucks?” he had suggested casually.

She gave him the money and a short
time later he left the house unhurriedly,
explaining carelessly that “he’d be gone
a little while.” She never saw him again
until he was locked in the Hamilton
county jail by the Cincinnati officers.

He had gone directly to Crawfordsville,
where he had stopped at a telegraph office
to wire his father for money. When it
was evident that his father was going to
ignore his plea, he.took the death-gun to
Hatfield’s.

Since five dollars wouldn’t carry him
very far, he had hopped a freight train to
Peoria. From there he had moved cau-
tiously, bumming his way to his brother’s
place in San Francisco.

He was not long without a gun. He
acquired a new one as soon as possible
after selling the Smith & Wesson in
Crawfordsville and the chances are that
he might have escaped detection as Pea-
cock in California if he hadn’t been car-
rying a gun at the time of his arrest. A
charge of drunkenness, alone, would not
have been serious and the California au-
thorities might not have recognized him
as the hunted murder fugitive had they
not taken his fingerprints.

Hard as flint, the youth waived a jury
trial and pleaded guilty to a charge of
murder. As a consequence, Common

Pleas Judges Dennis Ryan, Nelson
Schwab and Charles Bell sat as a tri-
bunal, hearing the defense and prosecu-
tion, as the trial opened on Monday,
Sept. 23, with Attorneys Carson Hoy and
Dudley M. Outcalt appearing for the state
and Attorneys Peter McCarthy and A. C.
Roudebush for the defendant.

For two days the battle raged. Pea-
cock, taking the stand, proved a poor
witness in his own behalf.

Wednesday evening the tribunal an-
nounced they would ponder the evidence
and the testimony. Peacock was returned
to his cell to await the decision. He was
wholly indifferent, as callous about his
own destiny as he had been about his
victims.

On Monday, Sept. 30, however, when
a group of officers lined up in the hall
in front of his cell and he was taken to
the courtroom to hear the verdict read,
his ashen color belied his nonchalant at-
titude. In no other way, though, did he
betray even a faint interest in the pro-
ceedings.

He stood, without a tremor, before the
bench as the deep voice of one of the
judges began to read their lengthy find-
ings and decisions.

The voice went on, and then Peacock
heard the judge speak of the penalty of
death, declaring that, if ever it was justly
deserved for any crime, it was in his slay-
ing of the defenseless Hockfields. _

Peacock’s lips narrowed into a fine
white line, his eyes stared with hatred
into the faces of the judges, attorneys
and his captors as the judge declared:
“Tt is hard to conceive of a case wherein
there was a more wanton, vicious and
unjustifiable killing of two human beings,
than there has been disclosed by the evi-
dence in this case.”

Finally the judgment came:

“The court finds the defendant guilty
of murder in the first degree on both
counts of the indictment.”

Peacock tossed his head in defiance
and fell in step with the officers to re-
turn to the county jail.

The defense immediately filed a mo-
tion for a new trial but it was overruled.

On Saturday, Oct. 5, Norman Peacock
heard himself sentenced to death in the
electric chair. On Jan. 16, 1936, he was
executed.

(To protect innocent persons the names
Helen Brown and Richard Black used in this
story are not real but fictitious.—The Editor.)

Symphony of Death

[Continued from page 33]

“All right,” he said “we knew Rummell.
We were at his house tonight and we
saw him killed. But neither of us killed
him.”

“Who did kill him?” .

“Fellow named Corbett,” Harlow said.

“What’s his first name?”

“T don’t know. All I ever heard him
called is Corbett.”

“What did he kill Rummell for?”

“T don’t know that. Mr. Rummell liked
music and we felt sorry for him and went
over to play for him. Corbett was already
there. We'd seen him with Mr. Rummell
before. We played a lot of tunes and Mr.
Rummell was having a good time. He’d
laugh and slap his leg when we played
some oldtune. Then all of a sudden there
was a shot. ;

“I’d noticed Corbett ease up behind Mr.
Rummell. He just let him have it, then
he ran. We got scared and ran, too. We
were afraid of what might happen, so we
caught that freight. We were headed
for El Paso.”

That was about the weakest tale I’d
ever heard. But weak tales, told by men
suspected of crime, are often truer than
strong tales. This is because a killer
almost invariably builds up some sort of
a tale in advance to defend himself with
in the event of his arrest. This story cer-
tainly had not been prepared, but I
couldn’t believe one man deliberately had
shot another just for fun.

I said, “You mean Rummell and Cor-
bett hadn’t quarreled before the shot?”

“They hadn’t quarreled to my knowl-

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tins. ‘In addition, he contacted authori-
ties in San Francisco and Peoria, believ-
ing the youth might seek out his brother
or father.

Within a short while word was re-
ceived that Peacock had sent his father
a telegram from Crawfordsville, Ind.,
Tuesday, Feb. 5, the morning following
the double slaying.

Lieut. Schattle summoned Detective
Flaugher.

“T want you to leave at once for Craw-
fordsville, Indiana,” he told him. ‘“Pea-
cock wired his father for money from
there but his request was ignored. See
what you can uncover.”

Flaugher soon found -that Peacock
was no longer in the Hoosier city. Then,
armed with photographs, he made a round
of pawn shops but it was not until he
dropped in at Hatfield’s sporting goods
shop that he made headway.

Manager Hatfield took one look at the
“mug” photo and acknowledged that he
had purchased a .38 Smith & Wesson
revolver from Peacock. He turned it over
to Flaugher to return to Cincinnati, where
tests were later to prove conclusively that
it was the weapon used in snuffing out
the lives of Morris and Marie Hockfield.

“You are sure about the identity of the
man from whom you bought this gun?”
the detective asked.

“Positive. I’d know him anywhere if
I should meet him again,” Hatfield re-
sponded. “He came in here on Tuesday,
February 5th. We keep a record of all
firearms bought and sold, you know, and
he seemed pretty anxious to dispose of
the gun. I finally gave him five dollars
for it, although he wanted more.”

Hatfield gave a minute and accurate
description of the youth. It fitted the
Bertillon description of Peacock at head-

-qQuarters and the details of the slayer’s ap-

pearance as furnished by the two girls in
Cincinnati,

ACK in Cincinnati, experts proved
beyond a shadow of a doubt that the
pistol Peacock had acquired at the party,
tried to sell at the beer cafe and finally
disposed of in the Indiana town, had fired
the fatal shots into the Hockfields’ bodies.
Days and weeks passed and nothing
happened. Lieut. Schattle kept in touch
with police in Peoria, believing the youth
might slip into the home of a relative,
but the Illinois officers watched in vain.
Then Schattle transferred his interest to
the west coast, seeking the cooperation
of California authorities in a search for
Peacock.

“He may be working westward to visit
his brother,” he pointed out, “but, if he
is, he’s not taking any chances. He’s
traveling slowly and cautiously.”

Not for a moment did the Cincinnati
officers slacken their vigilance. They kept
close watch upon his mother’s home and
every known haunt of the youth, not
overlooking his close associates.

The weeks grew into months, however,
and no trace of Peacock was picked up.

Constant reports concerning Peacock
were being received almost daily, but not
pertaining to his whereabouts. Word of
more than 50 robberies was sent by offi-
cials of numerous states, all of whom
declared the youth to be the perpetrator.
It was apparent from the reports, too,
that he was quick to flash a gun on his
victims, always threatening, and firing
if crowded. ae

It was surprising, considering the pos-
itive accusations, that Peacock had not
committed murder during his constant

62

banditry since the night he stalked into
the meager shoe store on Race street.

The cold bleak winter faded into spring-
time and the hot, sultry days of July came
and went.

Major Kirgan was busy at his desk on
Wednesday morning, Aug. 14, when he
glanced up to find a uniformed messenger
at his elbow. He reached for the yellow
envelope, as he had hundreds of others
during the past few months, slipped out
the enclosed message and glanced at it
casually,

Then suddenly his broad shoulders
straightened. His strong, purposeful face
took on a look of grim gratification as
he arose and hurried into the adjoining
office.

“They’ve got him. They’ve picked up

Peacock at last,” he announced, reading
at a glance the satisfaction his words
brought to the detectives.
_ “Where?” Lieut. Schattle asked, ris-
ing.
“In San Francisco,” Major Kirgan re-
plied. “The wire is from Chief of Police
W. J. Quinn and advises that his men
picked up Peacock on a charge of drunk-
enness. When he was taken in, they
found a gun on him. They fingerprinted
him, comparing them with our circulars,
and it is Peacock, all right. Quinn says
there’s no doubt about it.”

Turning to Flaugher, Lieut. Schattle
said: “Get ready to leave for California
at once.”

In a surprisingly short time Flaugher
and George A. Lutz, sheriff of Ham-

‘cials kept their long wakeful watch over

ilton county, were aboard a west-bound
train. Extradition had to be arranged
and they went first to Sacramento to pre-
sent a requisition furnished them by Gov. ~
Martin L. Davey at Columbus, Ohio.
Police Chief Quinn led the two Cin-
cinnati officers to Peacock’s cell. He
looked up and his lips curled in a sneer.
His blue eyes glared venomously as he
promised Flaugher and Sheriff Lutz that
they would never return him to Ohio.
“ll kill you coppers,” he snarled.
For answer, the detective and the
sheriff made immediate preparations to
Start eastward with their charge.
They wired ahead and as the two offi-

the desperado, traveling Ohio-ward, the
grand jury swung into action and
promptly returned indictments charging
Peacock with the murder of Marie and
Morris Hockfield.

In two counts, it was awaiting him
when, on Monday, Sept. 2, the weary
et safely deposited him behind iron
ars,

On the train he had made a rather

boastful confession of his crime, denying

nothing but contending that it was a mat-
ter of self-preservation, his cold-blooded
slaying of the aged couple.

.A more deliberate killer the seasoned
investigators had seldom met. Feeling

against Peacock was mounting and non-
chalantly he prophesied that he “would
burn in the hot seat.”

He revealed, in his confession to Major
Kirgan following his return to Cincin-


¢

ee =

a Oy gs

UST an old pair of shoes, two socks that were not mates
and five leaden pellets. ey were our only clues.
ey lay on my desk in the crime detection laboratory
of the Cincinnati Police Department that Tuesday
morning of February 5th, 1935, following one of the most
brutal and uncalled for double murders in the history of our
city.
“It’s your baby, Sergeant,’? Chief of Detectives Emmet D.
irgan was saying, as he examined one of the black low-cut
oxfords. “I want you and your homicide squad to come

through. Drop every thing else and concentrate on this
case.’

“We'll do it, Sarge,”” they chorused.
_ Our Chief didn’t. know it, but we had been o

rea

SES neces poi aReies

“PROS Dsvseclis, fll 8 IEE
Mar CH, 19 Sb

ee enererhe htt ite eames cancatese ns. anrnse a
- re os

¥ rf :
2, Bebrccd £5.78

(Above) The shoe shop of Morris and Marie
Hockfield, at 1716 Race Street, Cincinnati,
Ohio, which was the scene of a sudden, mys-
terious double slaying. (Left) Mrs. Hockfield,
wife of the: proprietor and one of the victims

The customer proved quite particular. When
he complained that the shoe was too tight, Hock-
field suggested that his sock. was damp, and
recommended a new pair. The man put on one
fresh sock. The shoe still was too tight, so’
Hockfield stretched it. Now the customer com-
plained the shoe hurt in another place, 80 the

4

ants SMe 2a


- |the OLD SHOES

— Detective Sergeant |

GEORGE W. |
SCHATTLE

‘COMMANDING |
Police Homicide Squad

Cincinnati, Ohio
As told to.
FRANK H. WARD

Just an old pair of shoes left
behind by the sinister purchaser
of new ones, but how they talked
—to the shoe expert!


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funds from his parents and from a brother
in San Francisco.

Melser’s own, but there were several
strange prints, too.

Within a matter of a few hours the
identification bureau experts traced these.
They laid a card bearing a rogue’s gallery
photo and a record on the desk of Lieu-
tenant Schattle.

The prints taken from the radio set were
“those of Norman Peacock, arrested in Cin-
cinnati several months before on a bur-
glary charge. He had been subsequently
discharged for lack of evidence on which
to convict.

_ The Misses Boskin and Efferts, Mrs.
Arnett and Melser all viewed the photo.
The latter identified it as that of Norman
—or Charley—Ross. The two girls said

that Peacock was the man they’d seen in -

the Hochfield shoe store.

There was additional information on
the police record card. Peacock had
come from Peoria, Ill, where his family
still lived, with the exception of the brother
in San Francisco.

in .

Police in both Peoria and the Coast city

were asked to watch for the auburn-haired
youth. Two days later Schattle heard from
the Illinois town, and within an hour De-
tective Brewster was on his way there.
_ In the headquarters of Western Union
in that city the manager produced a tele-
gram addressed to young Peacock’s father.
It requested the parent to wire $50 at once
to the Western Union office in Crawfords-
ville, Ind. and was signed “Norman.”

However, the father had refused to ac-
‘cept the message, which had been sent
—— —_ ere. sompeny official in

eoria said many such begging telegrams
had been received from his ne’er-do-well
son by the elder Peacock in the past.

Mr. Peacock knew nothing more than
perm now fer aeding 7 Bon the little Indiana
city severa ys fore when he wired
for the $50.

“Tve done all I know how,” he said
earnestly when interviewed by Brewster,

to straighten Norman out. But he just
won't get on his own two feet and stay
there. Much as I hate to do it, if he comes
back home I'll let you know.”

Brewster reported by long distance
phone to Lieutenant Schattle and was or-
dered to go to Crawfordsville. There he
verified that it was Norman Peacock who
had sent the telegram. The Western Union
manager identified the youth from the

| photograph the Cincinnat? detective car-

“I’d not forget him,” he said. “When I
told him his dad wouldn’t pay for that
collect telegram, he about blew His top.

13-13 . . . The Lady Had a Jinx! |

He cursed me, his father, and everything
he could think of. I finally warned him
to or I'd call the police.”

Weapon Recovered

i

The
home of Wabash College, a small school
enrolling some three or four hundred male
students, Crawfordsville had many more
than its quota of auburn-haired youths,
but none was the fugitive.

- Brewster and the local authorities finally
agreed that their quarry had not lingered
long in town. But where would he go
from there, since his father’s action had
plainly indicated that he was not welcome
at home? The Cincinnati remem-
bered that Peacock had a brother in San

cisco. 5

However, the detective knew that travel-
ing required some money, even if Pea-
cock was crossing the country by hitching
rides. And Brewster felt certain the young
in to dis-

There were a number of places in which
he could have sold the revolver—Indianap-
olis, for example, or Richmond, or any
of several smaller places in the Hoosier
state. He might even have carried it as
far as Crawfordsville... . :

The Crawfordsville police knew of only
one local store that handled used guns,
Hatfield’s Sporting Goods house. Brewster
went there.

The proprietor recalled the purchase of

a .38-caliber Smith & Wesson revolver

some time before. He looked up his rec-
ords. “It was on February i

tall, slender, with
blue eyes and dark red hair. He wore a
gray zippered jacket, a gray hat, and had
on new shoes. These I recall particularly
because they squeaked.”

Hatfield produced the gun. Brewster
took it at once to Cincinnati for test firings
by the identification men. Within a short
time the report he expected was forth-
coming. The pistol used to kill Morris and
Marie Hochfield had been found.

Picking up Norman Peacock, however,
was another problem altogether. The po-
lice in San Francisco reported no trace of
him there. Authorities in half a dozen
large communities believed, in the follow-
ing months, _ _—— — the mur-

ler suspect, ly to when ‘erprints
were checked that they were ee

Apprehension of the fugitive was made
Detective Brewster's ial job, since he
had done a great deal of the work thus far
in tracking the killer. The untiring officer
followed up alarms in small towns deep in

13-13

Next month watch for a sensational Friday-the-
13th cover on your favorite detective maga-
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will be entitled “The Lady Had a Jinxi" It's
a tale of a murder in Detroit that was almost
Perfect." There will be many other thrillers
plus the usual features in—

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Kentucky and far out in the Southern Ohio
hills. He journeyed from place to place,
always carrying the photo of Norman
Peacock. to show to witnesses who be-
lieved they had seen him, but nowhere
was a hot trail picked up. -

Brewster fretted over his inability to
run down his quarry as the spring passed
and summer lengthened. “Be patient,’
Lieutenant Schattle counseled. “The Hoch-
field job was not his first; it will not be
his last. Eventually he will be caught, and
his record will certainly pin this murder
on him.”

In a part of his prediction Schattle was
correct. On August 14, seven months after
the senseless killings in the Race Street
shoe shop, a red-haired young man was
arrested in San Francisco on a and
disorderly charge. His fingerprints were
taken as a matter of routine, and a check
showed he was Norman Peacock.

The youth admitted his identity, but
denied all knowledge of the Hochfield
murders. He insisted he had left Cincin-
nati before they occurred. The West Coast
authorities did not question him exten-
sively, but instead held him until Ohio
officers could arrive.

Governor Martin Davey of Ohio issued
requisitions for extradition and Sheriff
George A. Lutz of Hamilton County, O.,
Detective Brewster and Detective A. J.
Flaugher went to California to return the
youth.

Peacock was placed aboard a transcon-
tinental train in shackles, and his irons
never were unlocked. The three officers
took turns at interrogating him, but he
would not confess. Nevertheless the ques-
tioning went on and on. Point after point
was driven home—stories of witnesses, the
gun, his telegram to his father placing him
in Crawfordsville on the day the weapon
was sold....

At last the auburn-haired killer’s resist-
ance broke.

“Sure, I killed them,” he admitted.
“The old woman was a fool. Wouldn’t
keep her yap shut when I asked for the
dough. She ran for the back screaming,
‘Police! Police!’ I let her have it.

“Then her husband came at me. I
slugged him with the gun, but he kept
clawing at me as he went down. There
wasn’t much I could do but plug him, too.
And just then this guy across the street
starts yammering. I didn’t have time to
grab the cash. I didn’t even think to
snatch up my old shoes. I just beat it,
wearing them damned new oxfords. God,
how they pinched the next day...”

Because he was without funds attorneys
were appointed by the court to défend the
youthful slayer. He pleaded guilty to a
murder charge, preferring to throw him-
self upon the mercy of a three-judge
tribunal rather than upon the judgment of
a jury.

Judges Dennis Ryan, Charles Bell and
Nelson Schwab heard the story of the
robbery-murders in November of 1935,
nearly ten months after the crime. Their
verdict was unanimous—“Guilty.” There
was no recommendation for mercy, which
meant, under the Ohio law, that Peacock
would go to the chair.

His lawyers sought an appeal, but it
was denied.

And so, on March 11, 1936, Norman
Peacock shuffled into the death chamber
of the Ohio penitentiary at Columbus, and
seven minutes later had given his own
misspent life in payment for the deaths
of the harmless couple in the Cincinnati
shoe store.

Eprror’s Note: To spare possible em-
barrassment to innocent persons the names
Lettie Efferts, Miriam Boskin, Mazie Ar-
nett and Jerry Melser, used in this story,
are fictitious.

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a er

té : Lec, O, (Hamilton), 3/11/1936,

Reema sy eninge or-a en teniacaprtinaiitin

eee He put it right ,
smack into | . ow
trouble when he ;
walked out with new
shoes and } we

blood on his hands! | liv

Norman Peacock—a wise guy, sure,
but he did almost everything wrong.


ecw

f

> the two girls.

a WHEN YOU'RE IN business, it seems, it’s either
a feast or a famine. You can wait behind the counter
for an hour without a customer showing up, and then
suddenly several will come at once, and naturally
they all want to be waited on without delay.

That’s the way it was at the Hochfield shoe store. on
Race Street in Cincinnati. On the freezing, wind-

swept night of February 4, 1935, Morris Hochfield

spent the time from 8 o'clock to 8:45 unprofitably
reading the evening newspaper while the. gale outside
swung his painted metal sign and made it creak for-
lonly. At 8:45, two.young women came in, both of
them interested in high-heeled shoes because of a
terribly important dance they were to attend the fol-
lowing week. Behind them came an elderly lady who
wanted some warm overshoes.

Hochfield called to’ his wife, Marie, who was in the
living quarters at the rear. Mrs. Hochfield came out
and waited on the old lady, while Hochfield himself
performed the agile trick of attending to the wants of
the two girls at the same time.

Then the door opened: and a tousle-haired young
man strode in. He was tall, hatless and wore a ‘zipper
jacket which seemed inadequate protection against
the winter night. He smoked a cigarette which he
never seemed to remove from his mouth. He sat down
in one of the upholstered chairs and watched Hoch-
field wait on the two girls.

Everybody knows how girls can dilly-dally over a
purchase of shoes or anything else. ~ Hochfield’s two
customers had better than a dozen pairs of fancy foot-
gear around them, and both of them had trouble mak-
ing up their minds. Hochfield didn’t want the young
man to give up and walk out.

“If you'll just wait for a minute,” he said, smiling
at the stranger and handing him the evening paper,

»."I will be right with you.”
= ‘That's all right, pal,” the man said breeaily.

“T got
~all night.. If you can get me the telephone numbers
* of them two babes, I'll be satisfied.”

He said this in a tone of voice perfectly audible to
Both of them blushed and one gave the

youth a chilling glance. Unperturbed, he at last took
the cigarette out of his mouth when it was on the
point of burning his lips. He ground it under his foot
on Morris Hochfield’s polished floor, though there was
an ashtray within easy reach. ~

A smart-aleck, Hochfield silently reflected. ‘A wise
guy. Buta customer was a customer and. he said
nothing.

Kitty-corner across the street, garage man Jim

-Penny thawed out a motorist’s frozen radiator and

sent him ‘on his way, then retired to the welcome
warmth of his office. He parked his feet on the desk
and gazed out the front window. He could see the’
lights of the Hochfield place across the way, though
he could not look into the shoe store. He knew the
Hochfields as a pleasant, hard-working couple who
had had their troubles in the depression from which °
the nation was just. beginning to emerge. For the -
moment, Penny was unoccupied so he just sat there
and took it easy.

A little before 9 o’clock he saw an elderly lady ¢ come
out of the shoe store and walk down the street, bent
against the wind, a cardboard box under her arm.
Hochfield, it seemed, was doing a little business.

About ten minutes later, two pretty girls sallied out,
likewise carrying packages. They walked off together ‘
in the opposite direction, their skirts whipping around

‘ their legs.

They had scarcely disappeared when Penny heard
two sharp, cracking reports.’ He brought his feet down
from the desk and.peered out in puzzlement. They:
sounded like shots, and they seemed .to come’ from the
shoe store.

At that moment, three more explosions aiunded in

‘quick succession, "A hatless young man came tearing

out of the shoe store, leaving the door ajar, and dashed
up the street like a sprinter. Jim Penny knew then
that it was a holdup. Instinctively he ran out in pur-
suit, then thought better of it. That young fellow was
armed, and there was no use inviting a bullet. Penny
hurried back inside, put in a call for the police, then
crossed to the shoe store.


A ry gre ep

Marie Hochfield—she fled in
terror until bullets whined.

Morris Hochfield was cut down
while trying to aid his wife.

Both Morris and Marie Hochfield lay
quietly on the floor, about ten - feet
apart. Penny could see blood on Hoch-
field’s white shirt front. The stricken
man moaned once, faintly, and that was
the last sound the garage man heard
from either of them. That fast-run-
ning young man, Penny knew, was a
killer and he began cudgeling his brain

_ to remember what he looked like.
m™ WHEN LIEUTENANT George.

Schattle reached the scene with a car-
load of detectives, he found Penny
trying to do what he could for the
wounded couple. Hochfield lay next
to a_try-on stool around which were

scattered a half-dozen pairs. of men’s
shoes. His wife had collapsed within
a few feet of the door leading to the
living quarters at the rear, :

“A holdup, no doubt about: if,”
Schattle nodded. “The gunman was.
trigger-happy, and the woman tried to
escape. He mowed them béth down.”

An ambulance rushed the wounded
pair to the Cincinnati General Hospital *
while the lieutenant listened to Penny’s
story and description of the fleeing
gunman, With the temperature 15 de-
grees below freezing, a hatless young
man clad in a lightweight windbreaker
ought to be fairly conspicuous. Schattle
immediately sent two of his men out
to scour the neighborhood, then tele-
phoned headquarters with a request
that cruiser and foot patrolmen be
alerted. Then, with Detective Phil
Brewster, he made a detailed examina-
tion of the store. ;

They looked at the collection of
men’s shoes around the try-on ‘stool.
All of them, they noted, were size 7D.

“I get it,” Brewster said. “The gun-
man came in and found three customers
here before him—the old lady and the
two girls Penny saw leaving the place.
So he sat down and tried on shoes until
the other customers had gone and the
coast was clear. Then he pulled his
gun.”

“Not only that,” Schattle agreed.
“He ran out of here wearing new shoes.
See—he left his old ones here.”

From the pile of footgear he lifted a.
pair of old and badly worn brown ox-
fords, also size 7D.

“So all he got out of the deal was a

- pair of new shoes,” Brewster com-

mented. “There’s about $35 in the

cash register. I figure he must have

shot the couple when they screamed
or resisted and beat it without taking
a cent.”

The old shoes, however, were the

‘only clue thé investigators were able

to find. Identification men found only
smudged fingerprints. Worse yet, the
search in the neighborhood’ drew a
blank, and the wider dragnet through-
out the city failed to turn up a suspect.
As the evening wore on, it became
apparent that the hatless young stick-
up man had at least temporarily made
his escape. :
Detectives had been sent to the hos-
pital to remain at the bedsides of the
wounded couple, in the hope that either
or both of them: might revive enough
to give help. But Hochfield, with three
bullets in him, died without saying a

word shortly after being admitted. His
wife, wounded twice,’ did not regain
consciousness and died two hours later,
The Cincinnati police were-now on the
trail of a double slayer who wore new
shoes. :

Reporting early the next morning to
the detective chief, Major Emmett Kir-
gan, Lieutenant Schattle showed him

the pair of beat-up brown oxfords the

‘killer had left. Ls,
“There’s a trademark faintly visible

-. inside,” Major Kirgan said, scrutiniz-

ing the shoes. “Yes—not much help
there. It’s a well-known, inexpensive
brand that must be handled by dozens
of dealers in Cincinnati alone. Still,

an expert might be able to tell some- |

thing from them. - It’s worth trying.”

Schattle took the shoes to the local
plant of the United Shoe Machinery
Corporation. There he was introduced
to C. E. Zanger, a research expert.

“I may be able to help you,” Zanger
said. “In. our researches, we have
tested thousands of pairs of shoes, worn
by men of different ages, weights and
heights. From these tests we have
learned, for example, that an old man
will wear out a shoe differently from a
young man. Let me see them.”

He took the shoes and examined
them under a magnifying ‘glass, turn-
ing them in his hand. He scrutinized
the soles, the heels, the uppers and the
insides. He even took careful measure-
ments to locate points of greatest wear
in relation to the toe or heel. He com-
pared these measurements with those
on a master chart made up as a result
of innumerable wear tests involving
men in all weight, age and height
classifications. co

“All right,” he said at last. “Judg-
ing from the points and amount of
wear, and the length of stride, I can
tell you that the man who wore these
shoes is young, certainly under 30, -He
is also above average height,. and
weighs in the neighborhood of. 150
pounds. He’s hard up, but not on re-
lief. And he is careless or lazy.”

Schattle’s eyebrows rose. “How can
you tell that?” he wanted to know.

“These shoes, while inexpensive, are
not the kind given out by relief agen—
cies. The owner wore them constantly,
indicating that they were the only pair
he had. These shoes have not been
polished for months, so the man who
wore them was pretty slovenly. It’s
been my observation that men who
neglect their shoes are also apt to be:
careless about their clothing.”


Common Pleas Judge W. R. White

“* “When did you get this, Eddie?” I asked

him.

He said he purchased it on Saturday,
and named the store. We checked the
store, and found Eddie was lying. We
kept on investigating, and learned that

_ Eddie had bought the underwear on Mon-

day, the day after the murder at Frank’s
store. V. A. Tanner, the clerk, remem-
bered the sale.

All five of us pitched in now and can-
vassed all the stores in Gallipolis. It was
Chief Soward’s luck to have Henry
Kearns’ pressing. establishment ‘in _ his
quota. :

“TADDIE brought a pair of trousers here

Monday to be dry cleaned,” said
Miss Sidney Smeltzer, a clerk. “We don’t
do any cleaning here, so we sent it up the
river to Middleport.”

I rushed up the river to the cleaning
establishment and talked to Clarence
Pettit and William Watson, the proprie-
tors:

“Yes, we had a pair of cotton trousers
in here Tuesday with Eddie Pepper's
name on them,” they told me. “They
were so badly stained we had to scrub
them vigorously before cleaning. We
couldn’t tell what caused the stains. It
might-have been ‘blood.”

As soon as I got back to the iail, we
began to put the screws on Eddie. We
started grilling him Friday night about
nine o’clock, Deputy Harrison, the West
Virginia officers and myself. He stub-
bornly denied having entered Mrs. Buck’s
room.

“Mrs, O’Brien says she heard you com-
ing down the hall,’ I shot at: him.

“She couldn’t, she was snoring,” he
snapped back.

As we gathered closer about Iddie, he
must have realized that that remark had
trapped him. We pictured to him how
it happened, that Mrs. Buck, tired out
from the long drive in the hot August
weather had taken a bath and stretched
out on the bed, forgetting to lock her
door, and fallen asleep. Eddie, coming
along the hall and noticing a light in
Room 17, a room the register showed to
be unoccupied, pushed open the door to
turn it out. Seeing the naked white wo-
man, Eddie, half-crazed with drink, at-
tacked her and, when she _ resisted,
strangled her to death.

Zrue Delective Mysteries

Finally Eddie broke down, and prom-
ixed to tell the story if we would. get
him out of the county to some other jail,
and keep his whereabouts unknown so he
wouldn't) be Ivnehed. We promised to
take him away.

“T went on duty at 2 4. Mw.” he began.
“At about three or three-thirty, I noticed

-from the hotel lot that a light was burn-

ing in Room 17. I went up there, and
saw Mrs. Buck in bed, sound asleep. The
light was burning in the bathroom, and I
went in there,-turned out the light, and
picked np the wet towel. It was at this
time that Mrs. Buek awoke and
screamed,

“T took the towel to the bed where
she was lving, the bed being about two
and one-half feet from the bathroom door,
and put the towel around her neck, twist-
ing it and choking her. She tried to get up
off the bed, and T pushed her baek and
continued to twist the towel tighter about
her neck. She was lving on her back on
the bed and there was no clothing on
her body when I left the room. In or-
der to hold her while I choked her, it was
necessary for me to lie across her breast on
top of her. She kept struggling to get
up, mumbling something which I did) not
understand,

“T HAD. been drinking moonshine that

night, purchased the day before. I
consumed almost a pint during the night
and the morning of August 15th. I was so
drunk I don’t remember whether I as-
saulted her or not. After choking Mrs.
Buck to death, I left the room. I did

The Point Pleasant Municipal Building

not turn out the ight, but left the reem
immediately. To went down. stairs and
sat down in front of the gas fire and went
to sleep. At five-thirty o’clock, the call
clock rang and awakened me.

“T went up and called Mr. and Mrs.
Costello, who occupied Room 15. I then
returned to the lobby, and about fifteen
minutes later heard someone erying. I
rushed up and asked Mrs. Costello what
was the matter. She did not tell me, but
said something terrible had happened.
They asked me where the manager was,
and I told them he hadn't gotten up.”
Thev said to call him.

“Mrs. Costello said the girl in Room 17
was either ‘bad sick’ or had been mur-
dered. I a¢companied Mr. and Mrs. Cos-
tello, looked in Room 17 and saw Mrs.
Buck lying there covered up. I then went.
back and called Mr. and Mrs. Arnold.
Mrs. Arnold told me to telephone you,
Sheriff Russell, and I did.”

We kept our word about getting Eddie
out of Gallipolis. First. we awakened
Mayor A. J. Stormont, and Deputy Harri-
son signed a warrant charging first degree
murder. Mayor Stormont held a_hear-
ing at 2 A. M., Eddie pleaded guilty, and
he was bound over to the grand jury.
Then we rushed him by automobile to
Chillicothe, the county seat of Ross Coun-
ty, sixty miles up state, and turned him
over to Sheriff Alfred Immell, Jr.

At Chillicothe, Prosecuting Attorney
Wilbur Mackenzie had his stenographer
reduce Eddie’s confession to writing, and
Kddie signed it in the presence of Lay-
man, Rowe, Deputy Harrison, Deputy
oe Crago of Ross County and my-
self,

Common Pleas Judge W. R. White re-
called the Gallia County grand jury on
August 25th, and on that same day it in-
dieted Eddie for murder. Judge White
appointed Judge H. W. Cherrington and
Hollis C. Johnson to defend Eddie and
the Grimm family retained Judge Garrett
Claypool of Chillicothe, to assist Prose-
cutor Fred Cherrington of our county.
The case went to trial November 2nd be-
fore Judge White and a jury.

Kiddie Peppers repudiated bis confession,

Claiming it was obtained under duress or
hy wearying process of superior minds on
the mind of a child. His counsel traced
his childhood, claiming he was the son
of an unwed mother, who died when he
was five years of age. He was reared in
the county children’s home, and farmed
out at a tender age, first as cook’s helper
on a steamboat, and then to a restaurant
hefore he came to the Park Central Ho-
tel two years before. Eddie’s lawyers ar-
gued that Eddie was asleep when arraigned
in mayor’s court and didn’t plead guilty
to the charge.
‘After Judge White admitted the signed
confession, Eddie’s lawyers acknowledged
he signed a document at Chillicothe, but
said the Negro didn’t know what was in
it. They declared it wasn’t in Eddie’s
language.

M. L. Snyder, forty, a Ross County
farmer who was in jail at Chillicothe with
Eddie, was brought to Gallipolis to testify
that Eddie had confessed to him the
murder there.

HE jury took the case at 3:30 P. M.,

on November 8th, and fifty minutes
later filed into the courtroom with a ver-
dict that sent Eddie Peppers to the elec-
tric chair as Gallia County’s first occupant
of the “hot seat.”

Attorneys Johnson and H. W. Cher-
rington carried the case to Ohio Supreme
court, which refused the appeal on March
Mth, 1928.. The next night Eddie Pep-
pers walked his last mile,

Eddie Peppers, night boy at the Park
Central


“a

The Murder at the Park Central

(Continued from page 45)

‘Didn’t you hear any scuffle in Room
17 during the night?” I inquired of the
couple, having in mind the thin partition
between the rooms.

“The only unusual sound I heard
sounded like the squealing of rats somic-
where in the next room, in the corridor
or in the partition,” said Costello, “That
was about eleven-thirty o’clock, just be-
fore I dropped to sleep.”

While I was questioning other folks,
the couple attempted to leave in their
car. Chief Homer W. Sowards, of the
Gallipolis police, intercepted them and
lodged them in the county jail on a statu-
tory charge arising from their own con-
fessions. He had been apprised of the
murder as soon as he arrived at the city
building from his home up the river,
near Kanauga. :

Chief Sowards was an older hand in
the game than I, so I put the case in his
hands from there on. He had served two
terms as Sheriff of Gallia County, and
two terms as deputy sheriff before being
appointed chief, while I was on my first
term as sheriff.

HE fact that the screen had been

pushed out of the window in Room 17
didn’t fool either one of us into thinking
the room had been entered from without.
There was a sheer descent from the win-
dow to the ground, and there were no
marks against the hotel or in the ground
as there would have been if a ladder had
been used. ;

So we continued to question people in
the hotel. Eddie Peppers had come on
duty at 2 a. M. when the Arnolds retired.
He told us he was in the lobby most
of the time, making two or three trips
upstairs according to custom, to see that
everything was all right. He had heard
no unusual sounds, he said, nor seen any
suspicions person enter the hotel. His
first’ knowledge of the murder, he told us,
was when he heard Mrs. Wright sobbing
and talking incoherently in the corridor
of the second floor.

Prosecuting Attorney Fred Cherring-
ton; he ably handled the case

True Detective Mysteries

On Tuesday, George Grimm, the father
of the vietitn, came to Gallipolis to. offer
a S500 reward for the apprehension of
the slaver, and with him were Captain
Floyd Lavinan and Sergeant W. B. Lowe
from the West Virginian State Police bar-
racks at) Point) Pleasant. Inasmuch as a
West Virginia resident was the victim,
Layman and Lowe volunteered their ser-
vices, which we were glad to accept. That
gave us five men on the case, as I had
called in my deputy, John H. Harrison,
to help. ‘

In examining his daughter’s effects,
Grimm found « ten-dollar bill rolled up
in a stocking, which seemed to remove
robbery as the motive, as both Mrs. Buck’s
father and sister said that was all the
money she had with her.’

The West Virginia officers dug up the
information that the two Grimm girls and
Costello had been on a party with Henry
Bolles, forty, of Point Pleasant, on Sat-
urday night. Bolles boarded with Mrs.
Wright’s aunt, Elizabeth Wright, with
whom the girls stopped at Point Pleasant
that night.

When the man on the ferry operating
between Point Pleasant and Kanauga in-
formed us he had brought Bolles over to
the Ohio side Sunday. Bolles looked like
a likely prospect. It occurred to us that
he might be the man who registered Sun-
day night in Room 88 of the Park Central
Hotel under the name of E. E. Cruswell.

While we were trying to trace Cruswell,
Bolles was picked up at Point Pleasant.
Chief Sowards and Sergeant Lowe took
Arnold, the hotel manager, over to see if
Bolles was the man who had registered
Sunday at midnight as Cruswell. He was
not. Bolles had a perfect alibi. Another
ferryman had taken him back to Point
Pleasant long before Mrs. Buck made her
last appearance in the hotel lobby. He
was entirely innocent and was released
from the charge.

We still had two guests to interview,
Cruswell and Mrs. O’Brien. Chief Sow-
ards located the woman Wednesday in
an Ironton grocery store. Mrs. O’Brien
said she retired at 1 a. M. in her room
across from that of Mrs. Buck, and didn’t

hear a thing until the next morning. It
was daylight when she was awakened by
a woman sobbing in the hall, and moan-
ing, “Oh, sweetheart! Oh, sweetheart!
What shall I do!”

EXT she heard a man’s voice saying,
“Don’t do that.” Mrs. O’Brien knew
about the murder before checking out
but, not having any information to offer,
went on her way.
Now the only bet left was Cruswell.
We concentrated on this chap, and finally
ran him down at a little town between
Charleston and Bluefield. He proved to
be a bonafide representative of a Blue-
field coal company, and bore a good repu-
tation. He said he hadn’t even heard of
the murder. He was in no way involved
in the crime.
Up to this time, we had not paid much
attention to Kddie Peppers. Our theory
was that the murder occurred at eleven-
thirty when Mrs. Wright and Costello
heard what they thought were rats
squealing, and that let Eddie out, as he
didn’t come on duty until 2 4. mM. But
with all the other leads evaporating, we
decided to search Eddie’s room. We
might find something there.
We found an empty whisky bottle and

a stained suit of clothes. We took Mddie

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over to jail and made him strip. He had
on a new suit of underwear.

ee ae


By Carl Hartley

Who Made a Special
Investigation of This Case

Wi SAW her eyes!” the woman said, and her
voice was high-pitched and shrill. “I saw
her eyes! It was horrible!”

She buried her face in her hands and her shoul-
ders shook.

Chief of Police Homer W. Sowards of Gallipolis,
Ohio, put his hand on one of those shoulders.

“Come on now!” he said. “Snap out of it! Tell
me what you saw. What happened?”

The woman jerked her head up again. Her face
was white and her eyes glassy, vacant with the
terror of the scene she was trying to reconstruct.

“Oh, I can’t!” she said. “Her eyes—her tongue
was hanging out—oh, don’t! Don’t!”

‘error

Gallipolis

This posed picture shows how
’ swift, horrible death struck at
Mrs. Florence Grimm Buck before
she could scream out for help

ere

Ais

Strangler

Everyone in This Ohio Hotel Had a
Perfect Alibi. Yet a Woman Was Killed
and the Murderer Was Still There

She sobbed and her whole body shook. Then she
screamed, a long, high, frantic scream, a scream
of fright and horror and agony that echoed and
re-echoed through the small lobby until finally she
stopped from lack of breath. And then, when an-
other heaving sob had filled her lungs once more,
she screamed again. And again.

The man who had been standing beside her took
her hands gently in his.

“There, there,” he said. “Don’t, Carrie.”

The screams broke and then the woman was sob-
bing again.

“Okay, okay,” said Chief Sowards. “We'll see
you two later.” He turned to Sheriff Oscar E.

[aUMATE DET.

TuLY [9#E

Russell. “C’mon upstairs. Maybe you can tell
what happened.”

The two officers left the lobby and walked
the narrow wooden staircase. Behind them
woman was sobbing in the chair. The man \
bending over her, trying to comfort her. An
frightened bellboy stood, ill at ease, in back of
small hotel desk.

“The body’s up here, isn’t it?” asked Cl
Sowards as the men reached the second floor.

“Room Seventeen,” said Sheriff Russell.

“Well, what’s it all about?” asked the Chief.

“P}] tell you,” said Russell. “About seven o’clo
half an hour ago, Eddie Peppers called me. He’s


bellboy downstairs, you know, who doubles as night
porter and clerk.

“He said the woman in Room Seventeen was
dead. So I came on over. She’s dead, all right.
Strangled to death.”

The men had reached the door to Room No.
Seventeen by that time. Sheriff Russell produced
a key from his pocket.

“Locked it right away,” he said. “Doc Bean’s on
his way over and he'll look at the body.”

Russell swung the door open and hesitated on
the threshold. Chief Sowards entered the room.

On the bed was a white sheet hunched up at
irregular intervals. Under that sheet, Chief Sowards
knew, was the body of a woman, a woman who
not so long before had been alive and attractive and
capable of movement and talk, even of resenting
this intrusion into her bedchamber. And now she
was dead, the victim of some strangler.

Soberly Chief Sowards drew back the sheet and
gazed into the face of the dead woman. She had
been good-looking in life, he noticed, but the
horror of sudden, violent death had left its marks.
Her eyes were protruding, her tongue extended be-
tween her teeth. The face was bluish—sure indi-
cation of the form of death.

HIEF SOWARDS looked at her throat. There
were reddish marks on both sides.

“We pot a tough proposition ahead of us,” said
the Sheriff. ‘Look here.”

He had walked over to the window across from
the bed. The window was open and there was no
screen, although it was early in August. But Sher-
iff Russell was leaning out of the window and look-
ing at something below.

Sowards joined him. There on the ground, where
it had fallen, was the screen. Someone had pushed
it out of the window.

The Chief and the Sheriff simultaneously turned
their attention to the window-sill and outside frame.
After a minute examination Russell shook his head.

“No ladder marks,” he said. “And look how
straight down this wall is. Whoever he was, the
killer didn’t come in or leave by this window.”

“Looks like it,” said Chief Sowards. “But we'll
check it for sure later.”

The men turned back to the room. It was a plain,
almost bare room, furnished as most rooms are in
small-town hotels. There was the ordinary four-
poster bed, the small dresser, the rough pine floors
with a hook rug. Opposite the bed was a bathroom.

On the dresser were the woman’s cosmetics, a
lipstick, compact, eyebrow pencil and mirror. A

td
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purse was there, too, open, and Chief Sowards
picked it up, looked in it, put it down again. It was
empty.

The woman’s clothes were on a chair.

Beside the bed lay a wet bathtowel. One of the
posters of the bed had been broken off and lay
on the floor. Russell picked both up carefully, for
possible finger-prints.

p esbibe agi pounded on the walls of the room
with his fist, then on the floor and the ceiling.

“Pretty thin,” he said. “If there was any kind of
a fight in here someone must have heard it.”

The two men were about to enter the bathroom
when the door of the room opened and a short,
dark man entered. It was Doctor Louis C. Bean.

“Say, Doc,” said Chief Sowards, “do something
for me first, before you examine the body, will you?
There’s a woman downstairs who’s so hysterical
she can’t talk. See if you can quiet her, will you?”

Doctor Bean said he would, and walked out.

Russell and Sowards entered the bathroom. It,
too, had a pine wood floor. Above, though, the
plaster and laths of the ceiling had been broken
away. Only the thin flooring separated it from the
room overhead.

“We'll have to question the people who stayed
up there last night,” said Russell. “They hardly
could have missed hearing what went on.”

Chief of Police Homer W. Sowards, above,
to Sheriff Oscar Russell,, left: “We've
got a tough proposition ahead of us"

Sowards looked thoughtful.

“Yes, if the room was occupied,” he said, “Well,
let’s see what we can find out downstairs.”

Softly Sheriff Russell closed the door of the
chamber of death behind them. Then he and Chief
Sowards walked downstairs. Behind them was the
victim of a murder. Ahead, perhaps even waiting
for them in that lobby, was the killer.

But who was that killer? And why should this
woman be killed? Here was a murder more diffi-
cult than the ordinary small-town killing, for these
people in the hotel were strangers, unknown to the
police and residents of Gallipolis. Why were they
in Gallipolis? Where had the murderer come
from?

Two more persons had joined the group in the
lobby when Sowards and Russell descended.
They were Mr. and Mrs, A. J. Arnold. Arnold was
manager of the hotel and he and his wife lived
there. Doctor Bean was there, too, administering
to the hysterical woman.

“Mrs. Wright will be able to answer your ques-
tions in a few minutes,” the Doctor said to Sowards.
“T’ll take a look at the body now.”

The Chief nodded. Then he said to Russell:

“Supposing you look around outside. I’ll talk to
these people.”

Russell left by the front door—the only door in
the hotel except for one in the kitchen. Sowards
turned then to Arnold.

“What do you know about it?” he asked.

two o’clock last night. I went to bed then and
didn’t wake up until Eddie Peppers knocked about
seven and said that the woman in Room Seventeen
was dead. I told Eddie to call the Sheriff and
then I dressed and came right down here.”

“Did you sleep all night?”

“Ves,”

“Hear any noises? Anything at all awaken you?”

“Not a thing,” said Arnold.

“How about you, Mrs. Arnold?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” Mrs. Arnold an-
swered,

“Now one more question, Arnold,” said the Chief.
“You say you were on duty until two o’clock. Did
any strangers come into the hotel while you were
here?”

“Strangers? What do you mean?”

“J mean anyone who wasn’t registered or who
didn’t register. Anyone who had no legitimate busi-
ness here.”

“No,” said Arnold emphatically. “No one.”

“Ig there any way someone could get in here
except through the front door?”

“No, there isn’t,” said Arnold.

“Nothing,” said Arnold. “I was on duty here until @

Captain Floyd Layman of the West Virginia
State Police: He looked in eight hotel
rooms for evidence hidden in the ninth room

“How about the back door?”

“That’s locked and bolted. I doubt if anyone
could break it down.”

“Have you opened it yet this morning?” asked
the Chief.

“I don’t believe so,” said Arnold. He turned to
Eddie Peppers, the night clerk. “Have you, Eddie?”

“No—no, not me, Mr. Arnold,” said Eddie. “I
ain’t touched nothin’, no, Sir.”

“Well, we’ll see,” said Sowards. “Now, how about
the register? Let me see it.”

At A word from Arnold, Eddie Peppers handed
over the large, black cloth-bound ledger used
as the hotel register. Chief Sowards put it down
on the desk and looked at it. Arnold peered over
his shoulder.

Then Sowards ran his finger down the list of
room numbers assigned to the guests who had been
in the hotel overnight. Room Seventeen, he noted,
biel pas given. Apparently it had been vacant that
night.

“How’s come?” Sowards asked the manager. “I
don’t see anyone assigned to Seventeen.”

Arnold pointed a heavy finger at the name regis-
tered opposite the number fourteen. The signature
read “Mrs. Florence Grimm Buck,” and she had


cleverly-worded hote was
rious John Dillinger to
Pierpont, out of prison
enough to enable Dil-
to effect a rescue

uis F, Kunkel is seen
eport of the dramatic
sak to the Governor’s
is. Deputy Warden H.
behind him and Prison
+. Grafton is at left

z these convicts. But on
day following the prison
with whom I[ had been
sught them to my home,
rty included Harry Pier-
ey, Eddie Shouse and
ed in the corners with

a woman, identified by
irl Elliott, of Kokomo,
most hunted woman in
he house and gave the
of bills. This money,
m John Dillinger, noto-
Saffrel said one convict
im downtown and made
ers and caps for them,
his home they threw a
e floor and told him to
‘ff and accept it. Saffrel
read and was locked in
ained for months. He
er, his Delilah, for his

med into the home of
he had fled. They re-
‘y which showed her ac-
iminals, the telephone
illinger, Public Enemy
d a newspaper clipping

Ee

(Above) Militiamen of the 113th Engineers,
armed and ready for instant action, comb
a patch of woods at Deep River where traces
of the escaped Indiana desperadoes were
discovered

(Right) Frances Colim, one of the girls cut .

by flying glass when State Troopers from

Indiana shot up Eddie Shouse’s car and
captured the escaped convict

describing a bank robbery in which two
women took part. Across the bottom was
penned “It was her own fault.” Mary Kin-
der’s sister, dubbed by State Police as “Silent
Margaret” Behrens, because she would not
talk, was lodged in jail for several days.
Both. women had husbands in the penal in-
stitutions for bank robbery, and were sisters
of Earl Northern, who missed the prison
break by a few minutes.

With this development, search was made
for Pearl Elliott for mothering the convicts
in their efforts, and for Mary Kinder as the
sweetheart of Harry Pierpont, one of the most
desperate of the fugitives. Captain Leach
predicted that, with Indiana buzzing with
possemen like hornets, the convicts would
resort to some desperate coup to obtain arms
and money and strengthen their position.

- They struck with precision. The daring
Deitrich with Harry Copeland, a_ parole
violator from Muncie and one of the Dill-
inger bank-robbing mob, surprised Henry
West and Fred Kruger, two Auburn night
policemen, as they played pinochle. Lock-
ing the policemen in cells the convicts stole
every gun in the police arsenal. They got a
sub-machine gun that would fire ten shots
per second, high-powered rifles, automatic
pistols, 1000 rounds of ammunition and three

bullet-proof vests. This raid was
almost duplicated at Peru, where
Night Patrolmen Eldon Chittum,
Ed Roberts and Merchant Police-
man Ambrose Clark were locked
in cells. Here they took police
badges, a gas gun, two sub-
machine guns, ten extra maga-
zines, three high-powered rifles, a
sawed-off shotgun, four pistols
and seven bullet-proof vests. An-
other raid, in which a similar
technique was followed, was made
on the South Bend militia armory
where rifle case locks were broken
and fifteen U. S. .45’s were seized.
When suspects were seen loitering
around Fort Benjamin Harrison,
orders went out to remove all
firing pins from U. S. guns stored
in the State.

The money drive came like a
bolt of lightning. The convicts
machine-gunned the Greencastle
National Savings and Trust Com-
pany in broad daylight and car-
ried (Continued on page 53)


SE

rs

» know. the

tel, the treas-
) their hands.
)0—the week-

away through
iles north.

o sixty-miles-
t-away.

p at the Palo
h into a com-

1 on page 79)

1omas

April, 1934

The Master Detective

The Great Indiana Prison Break

(Continued from page 15)

sack after sack of money to their
high-powered car purring at the curb.
So thorough were they, that they
hoisted $300 each from Hugh Ham-
mond, an oil agent, and Elmer Sellers,
a postal clerk, who stood in the de-
positors’ line. Miss Edith Browning,
secretary, with rare presence of mind,
escorted Miss Margaret Gilmore, a
patron, to the directors’ room and
calmed her, preventing her from jump-
ing out of a second-stor window. The
aged guard was stripped of his gun and
made to stand in a corner. The rob-
bers got out of town with the daring
Harry Copeland at_the wheel of their
car, carrying off $50,000 in cash and
$24,000 in bonds. They then made a
foray into St. Marys, Ohio, and robbed
a bank of $12,000, and another one
at Racine, Wis., of $50,000. Here they
took a policeman as hostage, after
wounding two others.

With the desperate hunt past the
posse stage, Captain Leach and his
operatives settled down to careful study
to discover how ten desperate convicts
could have obtained so many  auto-
matics within a week after a “show-
down” inspection. Undoubtedly, said
Captain Leach, there was a “master
mind” outside. The close friendship of
Pierpont and Jenkins with the notorious
John Dillinger, Indiana Public Enemy
No. 1, turned the light on Dillinger.
He had committed more than sixteen
bank robberies in Indiana, Illinois,
Michigan, and Ohio.

Dillinger, born in Mooresville, was a
prank-playing lad whose mother had
died when he was six. He had an _un-
happy marriage and lost his job in a
machine shop. He fell in with Eddie
Singleton, and, disregarding the advice
of his God-fearing father, John Dill-
inger, Sr., stuck up a groceryman.
Singleton carried the gun and ran when
resistance came. Upon advice of his
father, young Dillinger pleaded guilty
without the services of a lawyer, think-
ing he would get a suspended sentence.

he judge gave him the maximum,
twenty years, and fined him two hun-
dred dollars. Singleton, with money
and friends, got a parole in two years.
But Dillinger, the lesser figure in the
crime, stayed in six years. Embittered,
Dillinger threatened to kill those who
sent him up and he was transferred
from the Reformatory to the State
Prison. He got six punishments, a
reprimand and a braid. His aged
father obtained signatures of Judges
]. W. Williams and his successor, C. G.
Wernon, two prosecutors, the man he
robbed, and 186 prominent citizens to
a parole petition, The clemency board
concurred, as did the Governor, and
Dillinger was finally freed. But the
branding of him as a criminal turned
him into an outlaw. Dillinger never
used the argot of the underworld, but
rather the King’s English. He wrote
to his father:

Maybe some day I'll learn, Dad,

that you can’t win in this game.
I guess I did too much time. | went
in a care-free boy. I came out bit-
ter against all. Of course it was:
my fault. But. this would never
have happened had I not received
an unjust sentence for my first of-
fense.

The father said he was partly to
blame for recommending that his son
plead guilty, and that he shuddered to
think that his boy was being hunted
“like a rabbit.’ When Dillinger cast
aside his prison number 13-225 he pined
for his pals, dangerous Harry Pierpont
and James Jenkins. He had become
enmeshed in a love affair with Mary
Jenkins Longnecker, sister of his prison
pal, who lived in Dayton, Ohio.

Dillinger then organized a bank-
robbing gang, which included Harry
Copeland, crack shot and dauntless get-
away driver; Sammy Goldstein and
Homer VanMeter, wanted for parole
violators, and Clifford Mohler, sent up
for life for killing a Fort Wayne police-
man. Mohler drank a quantity of
shellac daily in prison until he was
paroled for sixty days to take the
eure” for tuberculosis. In those sixty
days, it is estimated that he helped

ull sixteen bank robberies, as one of

illinger’s pals. Dillinger had the one
set purpose—to amass enough money
to release Pierpont and Jenkins.

What happened was learned when
Mohler was killed. Dillinger called
Mohler and VanMeter together in a
cheap rooming house hide-out in East
Chicago. He leaned across the table
and said:

“Boys, we've got to spring Harry
Pierpont and Jimmy Jenkins out of the
‘big house’.”

pauls was awe-inspiring. VanMeter
said:

“What do you want them out for,
John?”

“Because,” said Dillinger, “I promised
Mary Jenkins that | would spring her
brother. I want Harry Pierpont in my
banking business. He's got more guts
than all of us put together. I’ve gone
over the job and the only way to do it
is to toss guns over the high walls.”

VanMeter and Mohler knew Dill-
inger loved Mary Jenkins Longnecker.
and that Pierpont was a fearless bank
bandit, willing to shoulder a major
share of danger in the precarious game
of bank robbing.

“It’s too hot for me, you'll have to
count me out,” said VanMeter. Dill-
inger scowled.

“V’'ll help you pitch ’em over the wall,
John,” said dare-devil Mohler. Three
days later he was killed and the gang
fled. Dillinger enlisted Harry Cope-
land to help him with the guns.

In the yard a trusty picked up four
automatics, and extra clips, wrapped in
cotton and papers to break the fall,
and nipped the plot. At first Warden
Kunkel thought a plane had dropped
them, but this theory was discarded,

53

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54

Dillinger set about plot number two
the day number one failed. A refined,
intelligent woman appeared In the State

Police headquarters in the Indiana
State Capital and handed Captain

Leach a neatly-penned slip of paper. :

She said:

“This was smuggled out of the prison
and it’s for you.”

Captain Leach read: “I understand
you want H. Copeland and J. Dill-
inger. If you want them badly enough
to meet my terms, | can locate them
for you through mutual friends where
they stop. Ask permission to take me
out of prison ten days and I'll find
them and make the set-up SO there
won't be any. fireworks in the pinch.
If you tell prison authorities, it 1s off.
The party who gave you this knows
nothing.” The note was unsigned.

“L can’t help this prisoner for | don’t
know his name. It is——?” said Cap-
tain Leach quizzically.

“MY. son, Harry Pierpont. 1 am
Laura Pierpont,” his mother said,
with tears welling in her eyes. Captain
Leach excused himself and told a plain-
clothes operative to follow her when
she left. He then told her he would
see what could be done. When _ she
had gone he opened his desk and took
out a neatly penned script in which

(Upper row) Charles Makley, John Dillinger. (Lower row) Russell Clark, Harry

The Master Detective

John Dillinger, in his own handwriting,
had “cased” a bank for robbery. The
handwriting on the prison note was the
same., John Dillinger had forged it as
plot number two to get Pierpont out-
side the walls where he could release
him by force.

The audacity with which Dillinger
was hatching delivery plots set State
Police on his trail with vigor. They
knew the woman and that was half
the game. Mary Jenkins Longnecker
was put under surveillance. Captain
Leach called Inspector S. E. Yendes, of
the Dayton force, and told him when
and where to surprise Dillinger at a
rooming house. “Go well armed,” said
Captain Leach, who never underesti-
mated Dillinger.

THE Dayton Police, bristling with
guns, captured Dillinger without fir-
ing a shot. They found on him $2,004 in
new currency, five revolvers and a suit-
case filled with ammunition. They
seized numerous letters and notes of
banks that had been “cased” in Ohio
and Indiana for future robbery. They
seized Miss Longnecker and on_ her
found a letter postmarked Michigan
City, where the Indiana State Prison
is located. This plot letter to Miss
Longnecker, full significance of which
was not learned until later, had a re-

gmake

Pierpont. The four who were caught in Tucson, Arizona

be rene

turn address to the house of Pearl
Elliott, at Indianapolis, the woman
long sought.

“in every city where there is a
prison,” said Captain Leach, “there is
planted an agent to get underworld
communications and uncensored letters
in and out. This espionage system
rivals in cunning the spy system of
wartime.”

This letter, which State Police said
was the third attempt of Dillinger to
release his pals in prison, was decoded
as follows:

“Advise John (John Dillinger)
Julius (believed to refer to Sammy
Goldstein, Dillinger gangster) has
orders to buy Johns, White & Co.,
in connection with Dales and
Monte Deals (Daleville and Mont-
pelier bank robberies) Go to Plant

_ City immediately. (Believed to
refer to city where loot was hid-
den.) Return Ray’s fee. He's in
crock. If possible send Blu I. A. C.

“Mary, the minute you get this
get it to John. Then get word to
your Bro. (James Jenkins who was
in prison.) In case message is not
understood, send someone here to
see one of us quick. No matter ~
when here last.”

When this plot was about, to be
sprung the officers went after Dillinger.
Armed with extradition papers signed
by Governor McNutt of Indiana and
Governor George White of Ohio, Cap-
tain Leach lost the Dayton court battle
to return Dillinger to answer a Marion
County (Indiana) indictment charging
robbery of the Massachusetts Avenue
State Bank of $24,000. Dillinger went
to Sheriff Jess Sarber, of Allen County,
Ohio, to answer a bank stick-up charge,
and was lodged in the Lima, Ohio, jail.

CAPTAIN LEACH expressed appre-
hension that the Lima jail was not
strong enough to hold Dillinger. “I am
convinced,” he said, “that had we got
custody of Dillinger his prison-breaking
pals would have tried to release him
at the Indiana-Ohio line and we were
ready for them.” A Pinkerton agent
at Indianapolis stated that one of
their men had overheard a plot to
spring Dillinger by getting him legally
moved to the smaller Lima jail.
Pinkerton’s wrote Sheriff Sarber to look
to his guards and guns. Captain Leach
also expressed disappointment that his
request for notes and letters of Dill-
inger pertaining to Indiana had not
been acted upon before the break. A
complete get-away map of the prison
area lay on the Dayton officer’s desk,
having been seized with other papers
of Dillinger.

Soon thereafter a grim little group
of well-dressed young men stalked into
the Lima jail at dark and faced Sheriff
Sarber, who was working on his books
alone.

“We have come to claim the custody
of John Dillinger,” the spokesman said.

Sheriff Sarber looked at them dubi-
ously and said: “Where are your cre-
dentials?”

One of the men shot his hand to a

April, 1934

coat pocket
him to the d
came ‘Up iitoe.+.--
sank to the floor a
at him again and ,
over the head. Att
ing Deputy Weilb«
Sarber rushed in.
and locked in-a ¢
was released and
hand. Cries from
free them went un
escaped.
Deputy Sheriff
up, freed his mot
hurried his father
fore dying, Sheri
accusing finger at
Copeland as_ the
Deputy and Mrs
Harry Pierpont
was sworn in as :
ward was put <
Shouse. Harry P
land, Russell Cl
Charles Makley 2
whirlwind search
gion failed to un

HIS ruse ind:
that the origi
delivery plot ha
first he wanted
Pierpont and Je:
rich, it was lear
that finally pro.
guns into the pr
in the plot. Th
escaped were ad
oath that they °
even if they had
out of the priso
those name? 7)
oath anc
Those wh
the killing peca
Officers retali
convicts ejectec
Haute from hi:
and started to |
another car be:
the radio: cra
armored car fr
help Indiana S
do battle on t!
Franklin broke
victs transfer
driven by |
armored car Cc
at the High S
vict Car swerve
post, the doc
amazement 01
leaped out of
limping and
in a corn fiel:
The limpins
up Victor Ls
him to Nash’
and there |
robbed of sx
Ray Hinkle |
all day in a!
flushed the
Georgetown.
Herbert McL
the arm. —

posseman, er
gun in the c
the office of
tain Leach

.

ise of Pearl
the: woman

there is a
ich, “there is
underworld
nsored letters
nage system
y system of

e Police said
Dillinger to
was decoded

Dillinger)
to Sammy
ngster) has
hite & Co.,
Dales and
and Mont-
Go to Plant
Believed to
it was hid-
ee. He’s in
Blu I. A. C.
ou get this
get word to
ins Who was
ssage is not
ne here to
No matter —

ut to be
Dillinger.
papers signed
Indiana and
»f Ohio, Cap-
n court battle
wer a Marion
ment charging
usetts Avenue
Dillinger went
\llen County,
ick-up charge,
ma, Ohio, jail.

yressed appre-
a jail was not
llinger. “I am
it had we got
rison-breaking
o release him
and we were
nkerton agent
that one of
rd a plot to
ng him legally
r Lima jail.
Sarber to look
Captain Leach
tment that his
etters of Dill-
liana had not
the break. A
of the prison
officer’s desk,
1 other papers

m little group
en stalked into
d faced Sheriff
gz on his books

im the custody
nakesman said.
chem dubi-
: your cre-

his hand to a

April, 1934

coat pocket and Sarber tried to beat
him to the draw. The gun-man’s hand
came up first and the brave Sheriff
sank to the floor as the gun-man fired
at him again and again and beat him
over the head. Attracted b: the shoot-
ing Deputy Weilbert Sharpe and Mrs.
Sarber rushed in. They were seized
and locked in a cell. hen Dillinger
was released and a .45 shoved into his
hand. Cries from other prisoners to
free them went unheeded, and the men
escaped.

Deputy Sheriff Don Sarber rushed
up, freed his mother and Sharpe and
hurried his father to a hospital. Be-
fore dying, Sheriff Sarber pointed an
accusing finger at a Bertillon of Harry
Copeland as the trigger man. The
Deputy and Mrs. Sarber said it was
Harry Pierpont who fired. Don Sarber
was sworn in as sheriff, and $7,000 re-
ward was put on the heads of Ed
Shouse, Harry Pierpont, Harry Cope-
land, Russell Clark, John Hamilton,
Charles Makley and John Dillinger. A
whirlwind search of the Big Miami re-
gion failed to uncover the killers.

Tals ruse indicated to State Police
that the original scope of Dillinger’s
delivery plot had been widened. At
first he wanted only his two cronies,
Pierpont and Jenkins, liberated. Deit-
rich, it was learned, hit upon the idea
that finally proved successful in getting
guns into the prison. He was included
in the plot. Then the others who had
escaped were admitted upon taking an
oath that they would release Dillinger
even if they had to kill to do so. When
out of the prison all of the ten, except
those named above, failed to keep this
oath and struck out for themselves.
Those who helped liberate Dillinger by
the killing became his bosom friends.

Officers retaliated with vigor. When
convicts ejected Len Ratcliff of Terre
Haute from his green Franklin sedan,
and started to Indianapolis in that and
another car bearing an Illinois license,
the radio: crackled a warning. An
armored car from Marion that came to
help Indiana State Police rolled out to
do battle on the National Road. The
Franklin broke down and all the con-
victs transferred to an Oldsmobile
driven by Harry Copeland. The
armored car clashed with the gun-men
at the High School road and the con-
vict car swerved and struck a telephone
post, the door flying open. To the
amazement of the officers a convict
leaped out of the speeding car, got up
limping and under a hail of fire ran
in a corn field. All got away.

The limping convict afterwards held
up Victor Lyle and made him drive
him to Nashville, 162 miles southeast,
and there Lyle escaped after being
robbed of seven dollars. Lieutenant
Ray Hinkle led eleven State Troopers
all day in a hunt. The returning posse
flushed the convict in an alley in
Georgetown. The fleeing man_ shot
Herbert McDonald, posseman, through
the arm. Then Benjamin Kanter, a
posseman, emptied a two-barreled shot-
gun in the convict’s face. He died in
the office of Dr. L. R. Crabtree. Cap-
tain Leach and Director of Safety

The Master

Feeney identified the slain man_ as
James Jenkins, brother of Mary Jen-
kins Longnecker, Dillinger’s sweet-
heart. .

John Jenkins, — sixty-nine-year-old
Pentecostal preacher, father of the slain
convict, prayed loudly at the funeral
that McDonald would recover, which
he finally did. Sheriff Neel, hostage,
had been mourned for days as dead by
his wife and two little daughters at
Corydon. One night a haggard, scare-
crow figure, with many days’ growth
of beard on his face, muddy shoes, and
briar-torn clothes, climbed into a shine

Detective

‘chair in a pool room in Gary. It was

Sheriff Neel. A little later, as the phone
of Captain Leach was ringing, Cory-
don newspapermen called and told him
that Sheriff Neel had telephoned his
wife he was safe and she had fainted.
Captain Leach rushed to Gary and lo-
cated Sheriff Neel, who told an evasive,
rambling, contradictory story of his
captivity.

As he was being questioned the tele-
phone rang and a report came from
Hammond, Indiana, that another con-
vict had been caught. Captain Leach
went there. A taxi driver, Vernon
Moats, had been approached by a fare
who wanted him to drive to Joliet, Ill.
Moats recognized the clothes the man
wore as of prison make and adroitly
told the man he would have to call his
office to get permission to take the cab
out of town.. He telephoned police in-
stead and drove the convict into the
trap. ,

Policeman Walter Mroz, of the Gary
force, and a squad with riot guns, sur-
rounded the convict, who surrendered.
It was James Clark, desperate gun-
man, who had succumbed to a stomach
disorder aggravated by drinking a pint
of whisky. Clark was too sick to care
whether or not he was captured.

“I couldn’t go further, so I left Deit-
rich, Burns, and Fox near the McCool
airport and cast my lot with Sheriff
Neel,” he said.

HE continued: “Dad (his name for

Sheriff Neel) was a swell egg. He
gave me this overcoat. We slept together
and hiked to Hobart. He paid my
trolley fare to Gary and bought me a
meal. He gave me five dollars and
shook hands when we parted. I bought
a pint of whisky.”

hen confronted by the convict
Sheriff Neel said that he had told a
contradictory story because the con-
victs told him if he gave any informa-
tion they would slip down to southern
Indiana and kill his family before he
could get there. Sheriff Neel spent a
night with Sheriff Neil Frye, of Por-
ter County, who had been in the fore-
front of the hunt for his fellow officer.
He then hied back to Harrison County
and the publicity he received resulted
in his being reunited with a brother at
Memphis, Tenn., for whom he had been
searching for fifteen years.

Harry Copeland, Dillinger car driver,
drank a pint of whisky in Chicago for
a cold, met with a traffic accident,
threatened a girl with a gun and was
arrested by a radio squad. Al Feeney,
Safety Director, recognized him as an

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about even
ng for a mo-
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tty and Mc-

me and gone

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rage held up
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told Young-
t and “watch
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, the bandit
‘edom in the
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Detective
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called’ into
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he forty men
to take part
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May, 1933,

stuck to-

ig Dillinger
s pistols to
1 prison,

they killed Sheriff Jess Sarber to get Dil-
linger out of the Lima, Ohio, Jail, while
outdoing the bands of Jesse James and
the old Daltons in raiding police stations
for guns and in robbing banks in three or
four states.

The Dillinger Detail was close to Dil-
linger and the others in the months that
followed. Its members grabbed Hilton
Couch, one of the mob, in Chicago, Cap-
tain Stege’s detail caught up with John
Hamilton, one of the toughest of the mob,
but Hamilton killed Sergeant William
Shanley in a Chicago garage, and escaped
from almost certain capture.

There are ways of getting information
about movements of even the “hottest”
and most careful criminals. Detectives
must know how to get information from
the underworld, to help toward success in
the other steps in the hunt.

So Captain Stege’s detail saw action. It
caught up with Dillinger one night when
he went to a Chicago doctor for treatment
of an old wound. But that young Hoosier
farmer is slippery and tough. He got out
of the doctor’s office and into a car with a
girl, sent some machine gun bullets at a
squad of police, and escaped.

Another night, officers were near him on
the North Side. The result that Captain
Stege and his men got into an apartment
which was a hide-out for criminals and
had to kill three of them—bank robbers—
but didn’t get Dillinger.

When police took up the hunt the sec-
ond time, after the Crown Point escape,
there seemed plenty of need for using
guns against Dillinger. He faced sure
death in the electric chair on a murder
rap, for he had been identified as having
used a machine gun to kill Policeman
William O’Malley of East Chicago when
the Dillinger mob raided a bank and
evaded nine policemen shortly before the
capture of the mob leaders at Tucson.

Authorities figured Dillinger surely would
come to Chicago that Saturday night of
March 3rd after escaping at Crown ‘Point.
They believed John Hamilton still was in
Chicago and that Dillinger would connect
up with him. And very soon they knew
Dillinger had come to Chicago to hide
out among its three million people.

Vyce> had gone out from Indiana to
hunt for a Ford V-8 car with license
number 679-925, the sheriff’s car. And hun-
dreds of police hunted that afternoon and
night for such a license number. That
night a passerby noticed a Ford V-8 in
front of 1057 Ardmore Avenue and noti-
fied police. The car had license tag
674-549, But it was quickly identified as
Sheriff Holley’s car, and the sheriff’s

istol was found in it. Dillinger was
back in his old haunts on the North Side!

An odd circumstance had helped Dil-
linger to evade police—Indiana officials
had given out the wrong number.

Chicago police squads were sent to the
vicinity in which the car was found, and
a long search was made. The only result
was a witness’ statement that a young
man carrying a heavy object had stepped
out of the car with a girl. Dillinger ob-
viously was a fast worker. He already
had made contact with friends.

Within the next few days there were
fast developments. In Indiana there were
charges that Dillinger had been aided to
escape, and that perhaps some of the per-
sons supposedly on the side of the law
at the scene of the escape had been on
Dillinger’s side, presumably for money,
and had only acted réles during the
escape. What truth there was in the
charges was to be determined by a Grand
Jury.

At Lima, Ohio, three of Dillinger’s pals
were facing trial for the murder of the
sheriff while freeing Dillinger there—Harry

SHERIFF OF LAKE COUNTY

Mrs. Lillian Holley, the Indiana official who had the custody of the notorious Dil-
linger. Her faithful dog shares the picture with her

Pierpont, Charley Makley and Russell
Clark.

Would Dillinger try to return the favor
by attempting to rescue his pals from the
jail at Lima? There seemed very good
reason for believing he would make such
an attempt at some time, for the mob
had shown a comradeship in trouble rare
among criminals, and had shown willing-
ness to battle heavy odds for one another.

So, at Lima, national guardsmen and
deputy-sherifis guarded the jail night and

ay.

In Chicago, Dillinger faced a tough
task in keeping under cover and in keep-
ing out of range of police bullets. He was
plenty “hot.” His picture had been dis-

Played in newspapers many times. His:

description was known to the public. The
government entered the search for him on
two charges: kidnapping of the deputy
and the mechanic and carrying them across
a state line; and interstate transportation
of a stolen automobile. And Captain
Stege’s detail of squads, ranging from
thirty to forty picked men, were working
night and day in the search.

A SUSTOMARY procedure for a fugi-
tive is to find a hideaway and stay
there, in an apartment or a room, with a
trusted friend to keep contact with the
outside. But police figured Dillinger
wouldn’t do that. He was young and
active. He liked women, and the mob
had numerous girl friends. There was no
doubt he had money, but he would need
plenty and probabiy would try to get
more by bank robberies. And he might try
to do something for his pals at Lima.
But authorities did get information from
sources they refused to reveal. There is
little honor and friendship in the under-

world, and one can find men and women
ready to talk. Police learned Dillinger
was on the move, apparently in Chicago
most of the time, and it seemed likely he
had used a favorite trick of his, renting
through friends numerous apartments in
which he might find temporary refuge.

One tip was that he was ready to rob
the National Builders’ Bank in downtown
Chicago. There was little doubt he was
reckless enough to try. Guards were placed
about the bank ready to kill the outlaw.
And Dillinger’s presence in the city caused
such worry that eighty banks employed
special guards.

OLs were right behind Dillinger in
the early days of their new search. Cap-
tain Stege’s first step was to raid homes
of paroled convicts, mostly from the In-
diana State Prison, known to have been
acquainted with Dillinger. The raids did
not uncover the outlaw, but did provide
some useful information about a lot of
ex-convicts.

Along with tips from reliable sources,
were received many from citizens who
reported seeing Dillinger. The result was
a number of raids in those first days, most-
ly on the North Side. And again police
were right behind Dillinger when they
raided a hotel in Rokeby Street, but too
late for action.

They next “hit” two North Side apart-
ments and were told that Dillinger, identi-
fied through his photographs, positively
had been occupying them.

A part of the Dillinger detail of squads
concentrated on a search for women of the
Dillinger mob, particularly for Elaine
Burton, who was with John Hamilton
when Hamilton killed Sergeant Shanley
and who had visited Dillinger at Crown


AAA

other two women, not wanted by any of
the authorities, were turned loose. _ De-
prived of all the funds of the gangsters,
which had been attached along with their
other personal property by the securities
companies holding insurance on the looted
banks, the women had only their clothing.

True Detective Mysteries

They received money from Eastern
friends and left town quickly.

The Boston terrier puppy, innocent
member of the gang, was, it seemed, the
only one destined to remain in Tucson.
Dillinger gave him to Mike McGuire, ex-
officio helper about the county jail. But

there was something phony about even
that, for Ann Martin, returning for a mo-
ment before she left~Tucson for good,
claimed the pup as her property and Mc-
Guire lost his dog.

The Dillinger gang had come and gone
—even to the dog.

The Crown Point Escape and Pursuit of Dillinger

N January 30th, John Dillinger was
lodged in the Lake County Jail at
Crown Point, Indiana, for trial as a killer
of a policeman. Due to the splendid work
of Chief of Police C. A. Wollard of the
Tucson, Arizona, Police, the notorious
bandit mobster-was safely behind bars.
He had been brought into Chicago by
plane. One of ‘the men who helped guard

Dillinger as the gang leader was dragged:

out of an airplane at the Municipal Air-

port in Chicago was ‘Sergeant Frank J.

Reynolds of the “Dillinger Detail” of the
Chicago: Police Department. Reynolds
breathed a sigh of relief when Dillinger
was taken from the Chicago Airport to
the county jail at Crown Point.

Dillinger had meant a lot of work to:

Reynolds. The Sergeant, one of thirty

to forty men detailed ‘to find the fugitive:

before word came that he had been cap-
tured in. Tucson, had put plenty of time
into a search ‘for ‘the.elusive gangster.

A month after Reynolds took Dillinger
from ‘the plane, he found himself -again
looking for the badman—America’s Public
Enemy Number 1.

For, on March 3rd, 1934, John Dillinger
had startled the nation by making a sen-
sational escape from the Crown Point
Jail. Once more Chicago’s “Dillinger De-
tail” swung into laborious action—and
Reynolds with them—under Supervising
Captain John F. Stege of the Fourth
Division.

On the day of the escape—March 3rd—
Dillinger was in the exercise room on the
second floor of the jail with fourteen other
prisoners. Deputy-Sheriff Ernest Blunk
entered to take finger-prints of a prisoner.
Dillinger sprang at him and jammed a
hard object against his
ribs.

“Get into the bull-
pen,” the outlaw com-
manded, “or I'll drill
you!”

Blunk obeyed quickly
for he saw what ap-
peared to be a blue-
steel pistol menacing
him.

Warden Lew Baker
entered the exercise
room and was forced
into the bull-pen. Then
Turnkey Sam Cahoon,
sixty-four years old,
and Win Bryan, a
vigilante, arrived, and
Dillinger went into ac-
tion again with his
weapon. ,

“Gimme the keys, if
you want to live.”

Dillinger grabbed Ca-
hoon’s keys—three of
them — passports to
freedom! He drove
and pushed the other
prisoners into the bull-
pen, slammed the door
shut and tried the keys
until he found one that
locked it. ‘

He ran in the corri-
dor, unlocked the outer
door, and hurried ‘to
the office of the woman
sheriff charged with his

By Robert Faherty

custody, Mrs: Lillian Holley. There was no
one in the office. Mrs: Holley was in
her home near the jail.

But there he found what he:wanted and
needed—machine guns. He had robbed
and killed with such weapons and he knew
their power. He seized:two from a’ wall
case and took handfuls of cartridges, filling
the guns’ drums. He took two: pistols.

He ran back’to the bull-pen and opened
the door and turned a machine gun on
Blunk. j ‘

“Come along,” he snapped; He. called
out Herbert’ Youngblood, Negro prisoner,
saying: “Help me and: I'll: ‘spring: you.”

He slammed the door shut again, then
he turned and grinned.

“You're'a bunch of saps. Afraid’ of this
thing!” He held his first weapon near
the bars. It was only a piece of wood,
shaped and blackened to look like a
pistol! He thrust it into his trousers
pocket.

Holding one machine gun under one
arm. and the other ready for action, Dil-
linger ran out of the corridor, forcing
Blunk and Youngblood before him. They
went through the jail kitchen into a rear
yard, climbed over a wall and went into
the sheriff’s garage. Two automobiles were
there. Dillinger seized a hammer, raised
the hoods and smashed the spark plugs
and the wiring of the cars.

They ran in an alley to a public garage
where Edward Saagers, a mechanic, was
working on a new eight-cylinder Ford car

The yard of the Lake
indicated by the arrow is one which Dilling

Lee

County Jail at Crown Point, Indiana. The path
er and his companion Herbert )
Youngblood took as they fled the place after locking all guards in a small room them in prison,

of Sheriff Holley. Dillinger turned the
gun on Saagers.

Four other men in the garage held up
their ‘hands at Dillinger’s commands.

“I want the fastest car in the place,”
he said. “This looks like it. You, get
in,’

He prodded Saagers with the gun and
forced him into the rear seat. He handed
a machine gun to the Negro, pushed him
into the rear seat and said: “Give it to
him if he moves.”

Dillinger commanded Blunk to drive.
The outlaw sat beside Blunk in the front
seat. The car sped out of the alley and
went through the business section of
Crown Point.

“No more jails for me,” said Dillinger.
“They won’t get me alive again.”

Under Dillinger’s commands, the ‘car.
was driven south and then west along
country roads, to the Illinois line. There
was a lonely section in which there were
no telephone poles. He ordered the car
stopped.

“This is all for you guys,” he said, and
ordered Blunk and Saagers to get out.

“You going to kill us?” Saager asked.

“What kind of a mug do you think I
am? Here’s some cigarettes and four
bucks to get you back to town.”

Dillinger took the wheel, told Young-
blood to stay in the rear seat and “watch
everything,” and waved to the other men.
The car sped away.

The terror of the Midwest, the bandit
and killer, was speeding to freedom in the
sheriff’s car and with the sheriff’s machine
guns!

Word was flashed immediately from
Crown Point to Police Commissioner All-
man and _ Detective
Chief Schoonmaker and
Captain Stege in Chi-
cago. The Dillinger
Detail was called’ into
action. Tough work
ahead for the forty men
who were to take part
in the search.

Though police of fifty
towns and cities, and
Indiana and Illinois
State Police and posses
hunted that afternoon,
Dillinger evaded them
—free.

ILLINGER and his

plenty of work and had
put police in tough
spots, since the day last
Fall when ten convicts
broke out of the Mich-
igan City, Indiana,
Prison and_ terrorized
the entire Midwest.

Most of those fugi-
tives were pals of Dil-
linger when he was in
that prison, until his
parole in May, 1983,
and they stuck  to-
gether.

Rewarding Dillinger
for getting pistols to

mob had caused’

they killed §
linger out o
outdoing thi
the old Dali
for guns and
four states.
The Dillir
linger and t!
followed. I
Couch, one «
tain Stege’s
Hamilton, o1
but Hamilt
Shanley in a
from almost
There are
about move:
and most c
must know }
the underwo)
the other st
So Captair
caught up w
he went to a
of an old wor
farmer is sliy
of the doctor
girl, sent so:
squad of po!
Another ni
the North Si:
Stege and hi
which was a
had to kill tl
but didn’t gx
When poli
ond time, af
there seemc
guns against
death in the
rap, for he }
used a mac
William O’M
the Dillinge
evaded nine
capture of tl
Authorities
come to Ch:
March 3rd a!
They believe
Chicago and
up with him
Dillinger ha:

out among 1

ORD h:
hunt for
number 679-9
dreds of polic
night for su
night a pass:
front of. 1057
fied police.
674-549. But
Sheriff Holl:
ary was
ack in his 0
An odd ci
linger to ev
had given ot
Chicago pc
vicinity in w
a long search
was a witne
man carrying
out of the c:
viously was
had made co
Within th
fast developn
charges that
escape, and t
sons suppose
at the scene
Dillinger’s sj
and had or
escape. Wh
charges was t
Jury.
At Lima, C
were facing
sheriff while {


ves for
Dillinger.
Dillinger
their aid,
ve them?
icials felt
ie =6would.
White of
placed un-
vy guard—
the mob-
ld kidnap

demand
nt’s and
freedom.
vas made a

nderground
f the Chi-
ice worked
ey gota tip
mysterious
nications
hio to a
North Clark
ided it and
lat a Wwo-
received a
m _Leipsic,
ir Lima, in
{ code, and
other calls
eipsic and
1e had been
man who
ording to a

in Ohio
the hotel:
is sick. We
king him
The money
) arranged.”

woman had
the hotel

after the
And a man
ng Dillinger
me to the
had talked
r there and
ved there for

had infor-
at that point
ir men with

guns, pos-
icluding Dil-
but almost
members of
»b, had left
» for Ohio by
Indianapolis.
mob was seen
anapolis, and
:ked for the
o northwest-
0.
en to prevent
luring transit
Solumbus and
arrived there,

and his mob
dom of taking
onicle of gun-
h, given more
haracter in re-
{ in the days
‘eak at Crown

the record a
Irechetti, re-
‘theart of Dil-
m Sparks, has
nm at Leaven-

pe, a Chicago
activities, was
<et,” collecting
to get freedom
er escaped the

Indiana Jail. Pope was trying to free
Sparks, or claimed he was.. One Daniel
Losee, long-time hoodlum, was tied up
with Pope. Perhaps significant, Losee was
known in some circles as an undercover
stool pigeon for the Indiana State Police,
who were hunting Dillinger.

Soon after Dillinger’s escape, Pope was
shot to death in a West Side hotel. A
few hours later Losee was found shot to
death in the street!

A curious coincidence—Dillinger was in
Chicago, apparently, when the two men
were slain, and when he had a double

. notive for wishing them to be put out of
the way. None can say now that Dillinger
or any of his pals had a part in those
killings, but such a theory found strong
support in the Chicago Police Department,

Then, days afterward, and after the
death sentence was given Pierpont, there
was another outbreak of gunfire which
made Dillinger indirectly responsible for
a new slaying of an officer of the law, and
the death of an accomplice.

T Port Huron, Michigan, north of De-

troit, Sheriff William Van Antwerp and

two deputies went to a store in a colored

section of that city to hunt a Nogro re-

ported to be armed and to have boasted
of escaping from jail.

They found a husky colored man in the
store and questioned him. One deputy
noticed the bulk of an apparent weapon
in his pocket and snatched a pistol from
the pocket. The Negro cursed and sprang
back, drawing an automatic.

The Negro fired pointblank on the in-
stant the three officers drew and fired. The
automatic streamed forth bullets as the
Negro darted for the door.

Deputy Charles Cavanaugh fell with
{wo bullets in the abdomen. A bullet
ripped into Deputy Howard Lohr’s chest,

True Detective Mysteries

Assistant Attorney-General Edward
Barce, of Indiana, shown examining
the washboard from which John Dil-
linger made the toy pistol, used in his
sensational escape from the Crown
Point Jail, at Crown Point, Indiana

another into the Sheriff’s left arm. Then
the Negro fell in the doorway, with three
wounds,

As the Sheriff sprang at him to seize
his gun, the Negro said:

“Y’m Herb Youngblood.”

Dillinger’s companion in the escape at
Crown Point! He had been free to kill
because Dillinger freed him.

Dying in a hospital, Youngblood con-
sented to talk.

“You police ain’t been able to catch
Johnny Dillinger,” he said. “He was up
here last night.”

87

Under questioning, the Negro said Dil-
linger had been in Port Huron for a very
short. period and had headed for Indiana
in a Ford coupé bearing an Indiana license.

Indiana officials then combed the state
on the chance Youngblood told the truth

- in those few minutes before he died. For,
despite the positive evidence Dillinger

. had been in Chicago, and indications that
he had gone to Ohio, it would have been
easy for him to cruise about the entire
area. And his record of months before
showed it was a habit for him and his pals
to keep on the move constantly in three
or four mid-west states.

JAN WEILE, police in Chicago kept
up a search there, believing Dillinger
surely was again in the city or would be,
seeking to remain unnoticed among her
three millions. They hunted his pals and
hs girl friends—all strangely on the move
fast in the city—confident they had a
strong chance of being the first officers to
put their hands on him or match their
guns with his. And the Dillinger Detail
of the Chicago Police Department has
machine guns that can shoot as fast as
those Dillinger carries about under his
overcoat.

The Dillinger Detail, in those days, felt
positive that the young desperado would
be brought to justice again, to death in
the electric chair, or to quicker death.

“WANTED: John Dillinger, 31 years
old, height 5 feet 7% inches, weight 153,
yellow slate eyes, medium chestnut hair,
medium complexion, scar on back of left
hand, scar on middle upper lip, brown
mole between eyes.”

The Dillinger Detail, as this is written,
is confident that soon that widely distrib-
uted bulletin will no longer be necessary.

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86

Point shortly before
his escape; Mary
Kinder, sweetheart
of Pierpont, seized
with him at Tucson;
Opal Long, sweet- °
heart of Russell
Clark; Frances Stev-
ens and Ruth Spen-
cer, seized when
Eddie Shouse, mem-
ber of the mob, bat-
tled police at Paris,
Illinois, and was cap-

True Detective Mysteries

tured. Police had
names of thirty
women known to be
friendly with the
gang; all possible
sources of important
information.

Then, on the night
of March 9th, a
dramatic incident
occurred which con-
firmed the theory
that Dillinger was
surely in Chicago
ind was moving
ibout in an effort to
leave no trails

HAUFFEUR

James Gaskin
was in the automo-
bile of his employer,
in front of 2440
Lake Shore Drive,
when two men ap-
proached. One asked
for a match. Gaskin
handed him one and
then recognized the
man from  news-
paper pictures as
Dillinger. Two other
men were in a grey
sedan near by from
which the pair had
come.

The two men got
into Gaskin’s car, a
Lincoln sedan. Dil-
linger drew a ma-
chine gun from
under his coat. The
other showed a
pistol. They ordered
Gaskin into the rear

ie od aah

mies
~ TUCSON
hae ae

Dillinger, America

seat. Dillinger sat in
front with the ma-
chine gun in his lap,
gripped : ready for
action, while the
other man _ drove.
The grey sedan fol-
lowed as the car
sped on. At Orchard
and Clark Streets the men took the
chauffeur’s cap and pushed him out. The
car sped on with the grey one following.

Twenty minutes later, Police Chief Ro-
bert Christian of Schiller Park, northwest
of Chicago, was cruising in River Road
when a Lincoln sedan and a grey sedan
raced past at seventy miles an_ hour.
Christian guessed the cars contained crim-
inals, probably, he thought, fleeing after a
stick-up. He gave chase.

Christian’s car was a fast one and crept

up on the other two. Then a machine
gun was thrust from a rear window of the
Lincoln and there was a rattle of shots.
Eleven bullets struck -Christian’s car,
smashing the windshield, puncturing tires,
and ending the chase.

Farther on, in Mannheim Road, the car
raced past Highway Policemen Topp and
Miller at eighty miles an hour, The police-
men had just received by radio a descrip-
tion of the stolen car, and they gave
chase. They fired on the cars and received

‘oads detect!

DILLINGER CAPTURE FEATURED IN PARIS NEWSPAPER

Photo of clipping sent to the T. D. M. office from the Foreign Bureau of the Chicago
Tribune, showing the Dillinger capture through TRUE DETECTIVE featured in

the Tribune’s Paris edition

a fusillade in return before the pursued
cars outdistanced the police automobile.

Evidently Dillinger had needed a new
and powerful car, and had formed a mob
that could use it to help him stay out of
the hands of police and likely for stick-
ups to keep him provided with cash. But
on that night of March 9th the slippery
fugitive and John Hamilton, too, were
certainly free despite all efforts. They had
defeated capture at the hands of Christian
by Dillinger’s usual method—a machine
gun.

Within two days new angles developed.
At Lima, Harry Pierpont, the burly six-
foot chief of the mob, was convicted of
killing Sheriff Sarber and was sentenced to
death after Eddie Shouse, member of the
mob, had been taken from the Indiana
prison to accuse Pierpont. Then Charles
Makley, second member of the trio, was
sentenced .to die for the murder. Russell
Clark was sentenced to life imprisonment.

Pierpont and Makley must pay with

_ Recogai age Him

“The tha trail ‘of blood, which ied’
thréngh murder, - jailbreaks ~ sand |
traight guerilla warfare, had ended
hen a little army.
cops, tipped off-by an ‘amateur who |

é ic

f hick-town,

their. lives for
freeing Dillinger.
Would Dillinger
come to their aid,
try to save them?
Ohio officials felt
certain he would.
Governor White of
Ohio was placed un-
der heavy guard—
for fear the mob-
sters would kidnap
him and demand
Pierpont’s and
Makley’s freedom.
The jail was made a

ms CAPTURED

system of the Chi-
cago Police worked
again. They got a tip
about mysterious
communications
from Ohio to a
hotel in North Clark
Street, raided it and
found that a wo-
man had received ¢

call from Leipsic,
Ohio, near Lima, in
a sort of code, and
several other calls

ce from Leipsic and
ae Crime Tales. Lima. One had been

from a man. who
said, according to a
check-up in Ohio
and at the hotel:
“Lester is sick. We
are taking him
home. The money
has been arranged.”

enemy, and his three. most. diy HE woman had
licutenants -are sitting in Pima

left the hotel

hurriedly after the
lee ; last call, And a man
resembling Dillinger
had come to the
hotel, had talked

& with her there and
had stayed there for
two days.

Police had _ infor-
mation at that point
that four men with
machine guns, pos-
sibly including Dil-
linger, but almost
surely members of
his mob, had left
Chicago for Ohio by
way of Indianapolis.
Such a mob was seen
in Indianapolis, and
had asked for the
route to northwest-
ern Ohio,

Preparations were made then to prevent
any effort to free Pierpont during transit
to the Ohio Penitentiary at Columbus and
to guard the prison, when he arrived there,
with added forces.

The history of Dillinger and his mob
leaves little doubt of the wisdom of taking
such precautions. It is a chronicle of gun-
fire and bloodshed and death, given more
startling emphasis of such character in re-
lated episodes that occurred in the days
following the desperado’s break at Crown
Point.

One of these brings into the record a
woman known as Evelyn Frechetti, re-
puted to have been a sweetheart of Dil-
linger. Her husband, Welton Sparks, has
been in the Federal Prison at Leaven-
worth, Kansas.

“West Side Frankie’ Pope, a Chicago
hoodlum of many devious activities, was
carrying on a “parole racket,” collecting
money for supposed efforts to get freedom
for convicts, when Dillinger escaped the

“pieked. off

Indiana Jail.
Sparks, or cela
Losee, long-ti
with Pope. Pe
known in son
stool pigeon fi
who were hun
Soon after J]
shot to death
jew hours late
death in the ;
A curious
Chicago, appa
were slain, al
motive for wis
the way. None
or any of his
killings, but s)
support in the |
Then, days
death sentence
Was another
made Dillinger
a new slaying ¢
the death of a

T Port Hur
troit, Sherit
two deputies w
section of that
ported to be ai
of escaping fro
They found a
store and ques
noticed the bul
in his pocket a
the pocket. Thi
back, drawing
The Neero fi
stant the three «
automatic sirea
Negro darted fc
Deputy Chai
two bullets in
ripped into Dey

I

AVE you ev
attempted ¢
ing, under compc¢
Or have you t
so easy to do, wa
some time when \
sudden, to the dis
If the latter c
choosing, you pri
Lawyers must. bi
must be draftsme:
our times, the eg
chicken,

It is seldom t}
Writer until he (¢
lor some time.
authors and writc
newspaper busines:
sity of writing—of
Which to write—d
insight, their bac
fidence as nothing

That is why the
America bases its
journalism—the tr
so many successful

Learn to w

EWSPAPER I];
on the New Y
It starts and keep
own home, on you
week you receive ;


SACOCK, Norman, white, electrocuted Ohio (Hamilton, County) on 3-11-1936,

SA gers tt

\

OIE BSAA A area grocop DARING
\ DARING DETECTIVE Magazine, March, 1939,

ot

Se


‘ends

shoes are: four months old, and that it
would take a 160-pound man to put them
in this condition in that time. ;

° “Also, the condition of the shoes
shows that he wore them every day—
which he wouldn’t do if he had another
pair. The conclusion that he was in

straightened circumstances is obvious.

And he isn’t on relief here because the

local agencies don’t give out this kind

of shoes.

“If, as you say, he’s now wearing
71% shoes, he’s got a better fit than he
had with these shoes,” Zanger grinned.

Sergeant Schattle realized that his
was the role of the good Dr. Watson.
“Fow’s that?” he asked. ;

“Tf you look at the inside of the toe-
cap of this shoe,” Zanger said, “you can
see easily where his toe joints rubbed
hard against the material. |More-
over. 7". |

“Yes,” prompted Sergeant Schattle,
not attempting to hide his admiration fy a. |
for the expert’s talent. Bo

“Moreover, he was careless—because
these shoes once got wet, and he put
them too close to the fire to dry them
out, They cracked.”

“But how about the drinking angle,
and the matter about his being out of
Ohio recently ?” demanded Schattle.

Again Zanger smiled.

“You know the law, Sergeant,” he
said. “Ohio prohibits standing in drink-
ing establishments. That means no
brass rails—and there are brass particles
in the! instep of these shoes. Where
else could the owner have gotten them
except at a bar with a brass rail, which
Ohio doesn’t allow yo

Sergeant Schattle accepted the con-
clusion, and noted down Zanger’s other
findings: that the shoes were made by a
Massachusetts company, that the lining
number was 65017-8, that the style num-
» ober was 8543 and that the shoes had
i been, half-soled by a slip-shod worker

ona Landis double-stitcher, There were

other more technical details of the re-
ants Vaso pair man’s work,

‘ It was but a matter of minutes before

‘Sherlock Holmes’ with an old pair of these shoes was young, six feet tall, Zanger was able to learn the names of

shoes?” he asked in conclusion. weighs 160 pounds, and is hard up. But the seven Cincinnati cobblers who used
“We sure can!” ( é

said the shoe com- he isn’t on relief here. He likes his Landis stitchers.

pany official. “Fis name is Fred Zan- liquor, and has been outside of Ohio the While the four detectives under Ser-

ger—and he'll be there right away !” past few months. These shoes didn’t. ‘geant Schattle bent their efforts to find-
As good as his employer’s word, Fred fit him well, either.”

eats act ane

“A fellow came In and pulled a gun
on me. After I put my hands up he
said he only wanted to sell the rod.”

we
t ee
‘ry

yevery dime ~

mett D. Kir-
innati officer,
| his men to

he Hockfield ing the man who had repaired the shoes,

: Zanger soon showed up at Sergeant It was too good to be true. Sergeant Schattle got in touch with the shoe
the old pair Schattle’s office. He was handed the Schattle said as much—admitted he manufacturer in Massachusetts. A check
re’s the only ol pair of shoes. Without a word, | would believe Zanger’' when Zanger of- of their records gave Schattle the name
a: , Zanger whipped out a cobbler’s knife fered substantiation for his deductions. of the wholesaler who had handled the
said Kirgan. and went to work on the shoes. Zanger grinned. He didn’t blame — shoes.
‘id just that. First he deftly autopsied one of the Sergeant Schattle for doubting him— Krom this firm, Schattle got the names
icinnati_tele- oxiords. but Sergeant Schattle didn’t know his . of the various retailers in Ohio, Ken-
found the Then he “borrowed” the use of the brogans. tucky and Indiana who might have sold
oments later - Cincinnati crime laboratory’s  ultra- “It’s like this,” Zanger said. “The that particular pair.

if the United violet ray machine. After lengthy study, angle of wear on the heels tells me this His hopes hit a new high when a re-
a local con- 1 he gathered together his notes and re- man’s stride was elastic, and that he was __tailer at Marion, Ohio, sent him a wire
s supplies. : a turned to Sergeant Schattle. therefore young. It also tells me, by its declaring the shoes had been sold there.
ituation. “Can . “Well, here it is,” said Zanger with Jength, that he was about six feet tall. But this hope dwindled when it was

(Continued on page 80)

an perform a utter confidence. “The man who wore “Any shoe man can tell you that these


REAL DETECTIVE

mReAL

learned the dealer had made a mistake in
the serial numbers.

b.  bprwlelegee THE FOUR detectives re-
ported back. Not only, had all the
Cincinnati repair men denied the work,
they had been indignant that the officers
suspected them of such amateurish work.

The bullets recovered from the shoe
store—all had passed through the bodies of
the two victims—scemed to furnish the
only other clues. Their weight indicated
they were of .38 caliber, and officers were
assigned to scour the vicinity for anyone
owning that size gun.

“IT can’t help but feel,” Sergeant Schattle
told his men, “that the answer to the riddle
lies right near the shoe store. Did you
notice,” he asked pointedly, “that nearly
every alley in that vicinity is a dead end
alley—that the killer ducked into almost
the only through alley around there? | He
must have been familiar with the neigh-
borhood.”

The sergeant shrugged his shoulders in
bewilderment. “If only. those girls who
were in the store just before the shooting
would turn up!”

Almost in answer to his wish, the tele-
phone on Sergeant Schattle’s desk rang.
The voice was that of a woman. She had
information to give, she said, but she was
afraid.

The woman called several times before
Sergeant Schattle was able to calm her

THE SECOND HAND CLUES

fears. Then she came to headquarters.

“The girls who were in Hockfields’ shoe
store that night were Helen Schroeder, 409
Findlay Street, and Dolly Fitzgerald, 1506
Race Street,” she volunteered at last.

Quickly Sergeant Schattle had the two
young women brought before him. They
remembered well the fatal night, and gave
him an exceptionally detailed description
of the young man.

“We noticed him particularly,” they said,
“because he seemed so nervous. He had
large blue eyes and heavy, dark eyebrows.
His ears were big and his nose was sharp.”

“How was he dressed?” Schattle de-
manded.

The girls thought a moment. “He wore
an Alpine hat—gray. And a zipper jacket
with pockets at an angle.”

“What about his hair? How old was

“hee”

“It was reddish,” said the girls. “And
his age was about 30.”

The detectives knew they were on the
right track, because the description sub-
stantiated so accurately that given them by
Zanger, the shoe expert.

But they still were without a name to
work on.

Sergeant Schattle went back to one of
his first hunches.

“Work your way up that alley,” he or-
dered. “Interview everyone in every house
that touches on it. See if you can’t find
someone who saw something out of the way

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 39)

Seventy-year-old Joseph Fritz (left, above) is shown after his ar-
rest at Hamburg, Penna., following the death of Titus Stump, 62,
from injuries received in a fight on Fritz’? farm. The battle is said
to have climaxed a long-smoldering quarrel between the men.

that night. That's all we can do just now’
At first, the work seemed as fruitless i

. everything else in the investigation. The

the detectives talked to Mrs. Mary Die
1720 Pleasant Street.

“T was standing in the alley that night’
she said. “I heard the shots. A momezt
later, a man rushed out of an intersectinz
alley, brushed past me, and nearly knocke:
me down.”

But it was dark there. Mrs. Dier was
unable to give any description of the fleeiz;
man.

Meanwhile, Detective Phil Brester, x:
every other man on the Cincinnati fore:
was pursuing diligently the angle of the 3
caliber gun.

“T don’t know what it amounts to,” th:
proprietor of a tavern at. 1703 Race Stree
told him, “but a couple of hours before t*
shooting, a young fellow came in here ar
pulled a gun on ime. After | put my han’
up, he laughed and said it was just a jos:
and that what he wanted was to sell tt
gun, It was a 38 Smith & Wesson r-
volver, He told me he'd swapped a rad
for it at a party the night before. EH:
wanted $10 and I offered him $8. He
passed it up, loaded the rod, and said some
thing about how he’d go out and get som:
money with it.”

‘Do you know him?” demanded Dete:-
tive Brester.

“Just by the name of Charlie,” said th
bartender. “But I think he lives aroun
here, because he often stopped in for i
beer.”

Detective Brester phoned the informatice
to Sergeant Schattle. The latter knew
was the hottest lead yet. But how to make
the best use of it? It was a monstrous
task to check every home in that sectice
of Cincinnati to discover where there had
been a party on Sunday night, February 3!

Then Schattle had a happy thought. Ii
there was a party, there must have been
beer !

He grabbed the phone book and begas
dialing the numbers of leading Cincinnat
beer distributors. Luck was with him.

“Sure,” reported one company.’ “We
delivered beer Sunday to the home of Miss
Stella Bradshaw in that neighborhood, at
145 East Clifton Street.”

And Miss Bradshaw remembered the
party well.

“Charlie Koss—he goes by the name
Norman Peacock, too—brought a radio. We
connected it and danced to the music. Bz:
Robert Graves took it home.”

“Where does Graves live?”

“At 12 Mercer Street.”

Soon youny Graves was closeted wit
Sergeant Schattle and his men at. heaé-
quarters,

“How does it happen that you took Ress
radio home from that party?” they aske
him.

“T traded him my .38 Smith & Wessce
for it,” he said. “His real name is Pea
cock, though. He lives at 133 Elm Stree
with his mother, Mrs. Frances Schrauder”

The sleuths hurried to that address. Be
fore they went to the door, however,
examined the premises. The house backed
onto the same alley in which Mrs, De
nearly was knocked down. ‘Then Detective
Faragher spotted the back gate.

“Look at this!” he exclaimed. The gate
was ripped off its hinges.

At neighboring houses, they learned tha
the condition of the gate had first be

noticed on the T
double murder 0!

“Somebody m
hurry.to get thr

of the murders.

“Let’s find out
for himself.”

But the bird }
“T haven't sec!
said Mrs. Schr:

“That would
ders,” said Sch:
see him then?”

“About 11 «

“He borrowed °

right away.” -
The detectiy
minutes after

caused Peacoct

ment, if he hac
“Had he be:
the woman wé
“No, he jus

visit with his |

said. “He live

Sergeant S«
another score
Schattle then
had been in t:

“Yes, he se:

Reformatory
After more
Schattle dash«
ried back to |
ter of minu!
tion bureau
fingerprints
Norman Pea
were amazed
Zanger, the s
ten pounds ©
height was

think so. |
cis. She «
Kentucky—
and I gue:
there. At
never said '
“How lo
one of the
“Oh, I'd
Green ans
Phoenix
rooming
first room:

Holton
knowing |!
officers hi:
was the r
Francis?”

“Just |
“Nothing
only 30 w
to be his

Green >
ton and \
lent. Tin
suddenly °

“T don't
this,” he

- reflection
heard a
night.

“T he
what he
‘You mu

“Did
asked.

“No,”


t now.”
iless as
Then

ity Dhier,

it night,”
moment
‘orsecting
knocked

Dier was
the Heeing

ester, like
ati force,
of the .38
s to,” the
ace Street
before the
i here and
my hands
ust a joke

to sell the

‘csson. re-
da radio
tore. He
$8... de
said some-
get some

d Detec-

’ said the
-s around
in for a

formation
knew it
y to make

‘Monstrous
at. section

there had
rruary 3!
ught. If
ave been

ve “We
of Miss
hood, at

ered the

name of

radio. We
isic. But

ted with

at head-

ik Ross’

‘y asked

Wesson
is Pea-
1 Street,
rauder.”
ss. Be-
er, they
backed
s. Dier
detective

ts

noticed on the Tuesday morning after the
double murder of the Hockfields.

“Somebody must have been in an awful
hurry.to get through that gate on the night
of the murders,” said Sergeant Schattle.
“Let’s find out what Peacock has to say
for himself.”

But the bird had flown.

“L haven't seen him since Monday night,”
said Mrs. Schrauder.

“That would be the night of the mur-
ders,” said Schattle. ‘What time did you
see him then?”

“About 11 o'clock,” said the mother.
“He borrowed $5 {rom me, and left again
right away.”

The detectives realized that was but
minutes after the shooting. What had
caused Peacock to disappear at that mo-
ment, if he hadn't been the killer ?

“Had he been staying with you long?”
the woman was asked,

“No, he just returned from a lengthy
visit with his father—my ex-husband,” she
said. “He lives in Peoria, Illinois.”

Sergeant Schattle mentally chalked up
another score for Zanger, the shoe expert.
Schattle then asked whether Peacock ever
had been in trouble.

“Yes, he served two years in Mansfield
Reformatory for auto theft,” she told them.

After more routine questioning, Sergeant
Schattle dashed for the squad car and hur-
ried back to headquarters. Within a mat-
ter of minutes, experts in the identifica-
tion bureau had located the photograph,
fingerprints and Bertillon measurements of
Norman Peacock. The Cincinnati officers
were amazed as they checked the details—
Zanger, the shoe expert, had been less than
ten pounds off on the man’s weight and the
height was correct!

REAL DETECTIVE

Sateen WERE FLOODED into the mails,
and virtually everyone on Race Street
that fatal night was called to headquarters.
And from the rogue’s gallery photo every
one identified Peacock as the fleeing gun-
man. ‘

“He only had five bucks,” said Sergeant
Schattle. “Probably he’d wire his family
or friends for more.” Ife turned to his
squad. “Check the telegraph companies !”

Soon the report was back. On the morn-
ing after the double murder, Peacock had
sent a wire to his father in Peoria asking
for money.

“Did his father send the money?” asked
Schattle.

“No,” was the answer. “The wire was
sent from Crawfordsville, Indiana.”

Schattle swung to Detective Lee
Flaugher. “It’s two to one he hocked the
gun when he ran out of dough. Get to
Crawfordsville and check the gun stores
and pawnshops!”

Detective Flaugher arrived in Craw-
fordsville later the same day and began his
round of the pawn shops and gun stores.
His quest ended when he approached Stan-
ley Hatfield, proprictor of a sporting goods
store.

“Yes, I bought a 38 Smith & Wesson
from a red-headed young fellow for $5 on
Tuesday,” Hatfield said.

Detective Flaugher whipped a copy of
the Bertillon photo from his pocket. “Is
this the man?”

Hatfield nodded. “That's him, all right.”
Then he went to a showcase. “And this is
the gun.”

Flaugher rushed back to Cincinnati. Bal-
listics tests soon proved that it was the
murder weapon.

From then until August 14, the Cincin-

Bl

nati officers could do little but wait, and
keep the mails full of wanted posters carry-
ing Peacock’s prints and picture.

On the latter date, a wire came in from
San Francisco. Veacock had been arrested
for drunkenness. His prints were taken
when it was discovered he was carrying a
gun. Subsequently, the FBI reported that
he was wanted for the Cincinnati double
murder,

“Pll kill you both if I get a chance,” Pea-
cock grinned malevolently at Detective
Flaugher and Hamilton County Sheriff
George A. Lutz as they boarded a train
headed back to the Buckeye State. “I know
they’re going to roast me in Ohio.”

eacock was half right.

He never got a chance to kill Flaugher
and Lutz, but Ohio took its vengeance.
Police connected him with some 52 rob-
beries between February and August, ex-
tending clear across the country.

On September 23 he came before Judges
Dennis Ryan, Nelson Schwab and Charles
S. Bell, whose only duty was to determine
the degree of guilt, since Peacock already
had pleaded guilty to a general charge of
murder.

On the first day of October, Presiding
Judge Bell read the verdict:

“The court finds the defendant guilty of
murder in the first degree, as charged.”

There was no mention of mercy.

Months later Norman Peacock shuffled
into the little drab room in the southeast
corner of Ohio’s ancient penitentiary. He
gat down in the rugged old chair and, a
moment later, 1,950 volts of electricity
slammed him into eternity.

The State of Ohio had claimed its
vengeance for the slaying of Morris and
Marie Hockfield.

EA

DETECTIVE

think so. I’ve heard ler mention Mr, Fran-
cis. She came here from somewhere in
Kentucky—Richmond, I believe it was—
and I puess the old) man) must be back
there. At least he never lived here. She
never said much about him.”

“How long had Tripoli been living here?”
one of the officers asked,

“Oh, I’d say about six or eight months,”
Green answered. “Mrs. Francis came to
Phoenix from Kentucky and started the
rooming house. ‘Tripoli was one of her
first roomers.”’

Holton cleared his throat, not quite
knowing how to put the question that both
officers had been pondering. “Just what
was the relationship between him and Stella
Francis?” he asked at last.

“Just friends,” Green said quickly.
“Nothing but good friends. Tripoli was
only 30 while Mrs. Francis was old enough
to be his mother. She was 49.”

Green shifted uneasily in his chair, Hol-
ton and Morris, noting his gesture, were si-

lent. Finally, the caddy, as though coming .

suddenly to a decision, faced the officers.

“TE don’t: know whether I should mention

this,” he said, “as | don’t want to cast any
- reflections on the dead. But I’m certain I
heard a man in Mrs. Francis’ room last
night.

“P heard his voice but T couldn’t catch
what he was saying. But 1 heard her say,
‘You must leave here—tonight!’”

“Did you recognize the voice?” Morris
asked.

“No,” Green said,

GREY GHOST OF PHOENIX

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 61)

“And Mrs. Francis never had men call-
ers?”

“Oh, no!”
“Never.”

“Let’s have another look in Stella Fran-
cis’ room,” Morris suggested.

Stepping gingerly around the dark stain
on the rug by the bed, Morris and Holton
entered the small room, Glancing over the
articles on the dressing table, they noted a
cigarette stub that had been crushed in a
small Indian dish of baked pottery such as
curio stores sell. The stub showed no trace
of lipstick and the dish, no indication. of
ever before having been used as an ash tray.

“Stella Francis didn’t smoke, did she?”
pes Holton. The golf caddy shook his

ead.

“The murderer sneaked into the house,”
theorized Holton, trying to reconstruct the
crime, “and calmly smoked a cigarette in
this room while waiting for Stella Francis.
That doesn’t sound, though, like a madman,
does it?”

Green was_ emphatic.

Ov EXAMINING the drawers, Morris came
across a blotter and a check book. Sev-
eral words—backwards, of course—were
plainly visible on the blotter which looked
as though it had been used only once. The
words had been penned in a bold, jerky
scrawl, Morris deciphered them while Hol-
ton jotted the phrases down ona pad. When
they finished, they found they had this:

“~., She is mad because ste——...
don't think ... can’t stand the thought—
letting her go... gum... need it now..."

The writing obviously was a man’s. The
notations in Stella Francis’ check book, in
contrast, were in a small, precise hand.
Holton cirefully pocketed the blotter.

All three men instinctively jumped when
the telephone rang noisily in the hall. Mor-
ris went to answer it.

“Hello,” he said and as he did so he
heard the click of a receiver going up at
the other end. He jiggled his own hook
several times and'got the operator.

“This is the police,” he said. “A call just
came in here. Will you trace it right

away?”
“That’s odd,” he said on his return to the
bedroom. “Looks as though someone

wanted to find out if we’d gone.”
Overlooking nothing, they came at last

to. the wastebasket. Out of the usual as-

sortment of discarded wrapping paper, tis-

sues and bills, they picked a torn, crumpled:

piece of newspaper, about seven by ten
inches. It was evident that something had
been wrapped in it. There was the nota-
tion, “WP”, in soft pencil marks that were
blurred. The writing was the same as that
on the blotter.

“Look at the type faces,” said Holton,
“It’s not part of a Phoenix paper. Nor of
any Arizona newspaper that I’ve seen.”

Morris turned to Green who had been
watching: them intently, his dark, curious
eyes taking in every move, “Hever seen this
before?’ asked Morris,

“No, sir,’ said Green. “Never did.”

“Did Stella Francis subscribe to a Ken-
tucky newspaper?”

a ee ee ee


didn’t see a gun. Norman Ross did bring
a little radio to the party so that we could
dance.”

“Think, Mrs. Glossop,” Brewster

pressed. “This is a murder investigation.
I don’t believe that you want to get into
trouble for concealing vital evidence.”

The woman’s face paled and her hands
began to tremble.

“Well, I did see Jack Ball showing
Charlie a gun—and Charlie went off
without his radio when he left,” she ad-
mitted reluctantly.

“Charlie?” Brewster exclaimed. “But
you just said that the radio belonged to
Norman. Ross.”

Mrs, Glossop’s worried expression
deepened to fear. ‘Norman Ross is
called Charlie by some of his friends,”

Dorrccrve Phil Brewster (right)
struck a hot lead when he heard
of a party at which a radio and
gun had been “swapped.” Be-
low are Assistant Prosecutor Car-
son Hoy (left) and Prosecutor
Dudley . Outcalt, who presented
the case against the. slayer.

she faltered. “I didn’t mean to hide any-
thing.”

“Is Ross his real name?” Brewster
asked sharply.

“No,” the woman admitted, “his real
name is Norman Peacock, He had some
trouble a while back and changed his
name.”

Mrs. Glossop furnished Brewster with
the address of Jack Ball who had
swapped the gun to Peacock for his
radio. The detective went to Ball’s home
at once.

“T’ve had the Smith and Wesson for
about a year,” Ball told Brewster when
he questioned him. “I don’t know why
I bought it in the first place. I never
shot it. I knew that Peacock was going
to the party and I’d heard: him mention

“within’ an hour.

that he was looking for a-gun. I carried
mine along to show him because I knew
that Norman was a great hand to swap.
I liked the radio he had and he liked my
gun, so we swapped.”

“You made ‘this swap on the night of
February 3? You are certain about

that ?” Brewster asked.

“Yes, Norm carried off the gun when
he left the party,” Ball declared, “and
there’s the radio.” He pointed out a
small instrument on the table.

Brewster examined it carefully in
the hope that it might show finger-
prints, but he saw that it had been re-
cently polished.

“Have you seen Peacock since the
party?” he asked.

“Yes. He came around to my house
late the next night. It was nearly 12
o’clock. -He wanted me to loan him some
money, but I didn’t have any to spare.
He told me that he had to make a quick
trip to see his father who lives in Peoria,
Illinois. Peacock was always traveling
somewhere. He’s made a couple of trips
to the Coast. His brother lives in
Frisco.” 8

Lieutenant Schattle heard Brewster’s
report with a frown wrinkling his fore-
head. ‘‘That name sounds familiar,” he
remarked. “I wish you would go to the
record room and see if you can find any-
thing on him, Brewster.”

When the detective returned to Schat-
tle’s office he carried a record card with
fingerprints and photograph.

“You were right, lieutenant,” he said.
“Norman Peacock was arrested and con-
victed for burglary. That’s why he
changed his name.”

Lieutenant Schattle scanned the de-
scription listed on the card and grinned
ruefully. “Yes, and if Peacock’s the lad

‘that left his shoes in the Hochfield store

—and this description certainly makes
that highly probable—I’ll have to buy
that shoe expert, Zanger, a pair of shoes.
Have the Bureau of Identification put
out a general wanted circular on Pea-
cock, Brewster. I’m going to wire direct
to the San Francisco and Peoria police
to make a special effort to locate him.
He may go straight to either of those
cities. He must know we’re after him
by this ‘time, the case has been played
up in the papers so much.”

"HE NEXT DAY Schattle received

a long distance call from the police
chiefin Peoria. He listened to the mes-
age, then said, “Thank you, chief. I’ll
send a man there at once.”

Detective Flaugher left for Peoria
When he arrived he
went at once to the Western Union tele-
graph office. There the manager showed
him a message addressed to Norman
Peacock’s father which read:

WIRE ME MIPTY DOLLARS.
URGENT.—NORMAN.

“Mr. Peacock refused to accept the
wire,’ the manager told the detective.
“T don’t blame him, either. Mr. Peacock
is a fine man and doesn’t deserve to have
such a no-good for a son. The only time
the boy ever communicated with his
father was when he wanted. money.
We've had lots of these ‘gimme’ wires
in the last: four years.”

Thanking the (Continued on page 46) -

of the police in Covington, Kentucky,
directly across the river, was asked. But
morning tound the police still searching
and the bandit. still uncaptured.,

The Hochfields were dead. Lieutenant
Schattle had dispatched the killer’s worn
shoes t6 the offices of the United Shoe
Machinery Corporation with the request
that their expert, C! E. Zanger, furnish
a report on any clues that the shoes
might furnish.

“Can you help us any, Mr. Zanger ?”
he asked eagerly when the shoe expert
was ushered into his office.

Zanger unwrapped the package he
carried and placed the shoes it con-
tained on Schattle’s desk.

“T can tell you a lot,” he said with a :

smile. “Your murderer is between 20
and 30 years of age. He’s between five
feet nine and six feet tall, and he weighs
around 150 pounds.”

Schattle stared. “How can you tell
that?” he demanded. “I had no idea that
you'd be able to do any more than give
me a lead as to where the shoes were
bought. I didn’t know you were a de-
tective.””

“These shoes were made at this fac-
tory,” Zanger continued, handing Schat-
tle a slip of paper on which an address
was written. “Their sales department
will tell you what stores handled that
particular lot, but I’m afraid that it
won’t help you much, Probably 50 stores
here in Cincinnati sell the model and
probably none of them have any records
of individual sales. I believe [ can tell

you a lot more about the man you are
looking for than any storekeeper could.”

and weight 2?”

;
“Id be glad ot any help you can give
ine,” Schattle said, “but this is a’ mur-

.der case and I can’t take chances on the-

orizing. How, for instance, did you ar-
rive at the man’s probable age, height

“Basily,” the shoe expert replied.
“There’s a. definite relation between a
man’s height, weight and age, and the
length and rhythm of his stride. I’ve
made a hobby of determining what the
wear of soles shows about.the wearer.
See how his shoe is worn here, and
there.” Zanger ran his finger over the
worn spots. “Those marks tell me the
approximate length of his stride and its
rhythm. The height and weight estimates
’ve worked out by measuring hundreds
of specimens,

“Dll make you a proposition, lieuten-
ant. If I’ve missed the killer’s measure-
ments by more than five percent, I’ll buy
you a pair of the finest custom-built
shoes. If you find that I’m right when
you catch your man, you buy me a pair.”

“It’s a deal,” Schattle said. “Now
what else can you read in those shoes ?”

Zanger grinned, “For one thing your
killer was a heavy drinker.”

“What!” Schattle cried incredulously.

Zanger whipped out a small compound
magnifier and held it over the instep.
“What do you see?” he asked.

The detective peered through the glass
and gave a whistle of surprise. “I think
I follow your reasoning,” he said. “The
sole of the shoe is worn smooth and
shiny under the instep and the leather
there is full of little bits of metal that
look like brass. The wearer of these

his head.

%

shoes had his foot on a bar-rail a lot.”

‘Correct, lieutenant,” the shoe expert
said. “Now, in addition to being a bar
fly, your man is broke most of the time,
yet he is not on relief. Also, he spends a
lot of his time outside the state of Ohio.”

Schattle’s brows knotted, then he shook
“I’m way out of my depth,”
he admitted. ‘How can you tell that ?’’.

“He’s slovenly, because these shoes
need shining. They haven’t seen polish
for months,” Zanger explained. “He’s
hard up because the condition of these
shoes indicates that they have been worn
constantly. Probably they are the only
pair he owned. The slovenliness would
be another indication that he’s hard up
because he’s lazy. I know he’s not on
relief because this particular shoe was
never issued by any relief agency.”

“I follow you so far,” the detective
agreed, “but what about his spending a
lot of time out of the state?” .

“Aren’t you forgetting that Ohio is
dry now and has no saloons, lieutenant ?”
Zanger asked. “He got that brassy bar
polish on his shoe instep in some State

‘where bars are legal.”

Lieutenant Schattle reported the re-
sults of Zanger’s report to Major Em-
mett Kirgan, chief of the detective
force.

"So we’re looking for a young man
that’s a bar fly and wears size 7-D black
oxfords?” Major Kirgan said. “Murder
walks in new shoes, eh? Well, Schattle,
you haven’t much to go on but I believe
you'll land him with that shoe clue. I’ve
given the papers the story and asked
them to play up the fact that we're
anxious to contact anyone who was in
the shoe store at the same time the
killer was.” a

Schattle called his squad into confer-
ence and told them about the picture
Zanger had given him of the bandit’s -
probable habits and appearance.

“I have an idea that he is probably a
local boy. I want you men to comb the
neighborhood around Race Street. Visit
every confectionery, tavern and pool-
room. Check on the rooming houses.
Ring doorbells and ask the neighbors ‘f
any of them buy their shoes at Hoch-
field’s, Try and find someone who was
in that store Monday night. There’s a
very good chance that we’ll pick up a
better description of our man that Way.”

Meanwhile the slugs taken from the
bodies had been examined in the well-
equipped laboratory of the department.
The ballistics expert was certain that
the marks left on the soft lead of the
bullets by the rifling lands of the pistol
barrel, indicated that the murder weapon
had been a .38 caliber Smith. and Wes-
son revolver, Every pawnshop in Cin-

‘cinnati was visited in the hope that such

a gun might have been recently redeemed
or newly pledged.
Schattle’s men came back after near-
ly a week of weary legwork to report
that the pawnshop, lead had proven a dud.
But the officers who had been ringing
doorbells had better luck. They brought
in Lois Jensen, who stated that she and
her friend Irma Wilson had bought shoes
in the Hochfield shop on ‘Monday eve-
ning, February 4. nor. See!
', “It was alittle before 10 o’clock,” Miss °
Jensen told: Schattle. “Irma bought a


pair of shoes and was waiting for me
while the woman fitted me. That’s when
that young man came in. I couldn’t help
noticing him because he stared at us so.”

“Describe him, please,” Schattle said.

“He was tall and had a nice build,”

‘Irma said. “Remember, Lois, how I
mentioned that his auburn hair was too
curly for a man?”

“Yes,” Miss Jensen agreed, “and he
needed a haircut, too. He had bold, blue
eyes, It made me mad to have him stare
the way he did.”

“Can you remember what he was
wearing ?”

“He had a light gray felt hat and dark
pants and a dark gray windbreaker with
a zipper,” Miss Wilson offered. “I re-
member the sound it made when he
zipped it open as we were leaving.”

HE POLICE now had a good de- -

scription of their quarry and the
hunt went on with vigor, but as days
lengthened into weeks no trace of the
murderer was found. Lieutenant Schat-
tle, a bulldog for persistence, urged his
men on constantly, “Keep after the
gun,” he told them. “If this punk is hard
up most of the time he’ll try hocking his
rod sooner. or later.” ,
: Detective Phil Brewster hit pay dirt
by doggedly making the rounds of the

-‘ taverns. He found a counterman who

was talkative and. began to spin him a
yarn about the various dodges that hard-
up bums resorted to to raise money for
food and beer.

-a gunman.

“You wouldn’t believe it, copper,” he
said, “the things they’ll try to sell us.”

Brewster pricked up his ears.

“I don’t suppose any of them ever
try to get rid of a gun?” he suggested.

“T’ll say they do,” the counterman re-
plied. “I was just going to tell you about
a young fellow that tried to get me to
give him ten bucks for a nice Smith and
Wesson .38 a couple of weeks ago, I

was afraid that it was hot or I’d have °

bought it.”

-“T wish you could tell me the exact
date he ‘offered it to you,” Brewster re-
marked.

“T can,” the counterman assured him.
“I’d just paid my insurance that after-
noon and the agent marked it on my
card, I’ll show you.” He reached under
the counter and brought forth a greasy
record card.

Brewster’s pulse quickened as_ the
man’s finger pointed out the date, Feb-
ruary 4.

“Happen to know what the fellow’s
name is?” he asked trying to keep ex-

citement out of his voice.

“The fellows around here called him

Charlie. He used to come around a lot,-

but I haven’t seen him since that night.
I don’t know what his real name is. I
nearly had a run-in with him over that
gun, I started to kid him about his being
The punk got sore right
away. Told me I’d better watch out
what I said. Then he went on and tried

, to make me believe he’d swapped. a radio

for the gun at a beer party he was at.”

A RADIO SET, a gun, a telegram—and his
shoes—combined to put police on the trail of
Norman Peacock, shown at left above with
bailiff. He was nabbed in San Francisco.

Detective Brewster walked thought-
fully out of the tavern. Had he stumbled
on the trail of the killer he was after?
Had the man tried to raise money on his
gun after the abortive holdup of the
Hochfield store? A check of the cash
register there had shown that no money
had been taken. The alarm raised by
Jim Penny had scared the bandit away
before he had time to clean out the cash.
- Of course, Brewster told himself, the
mere fact that a man had tried to sell a
gun on the night that the Hochfields had
been killed didn’t necessarily mean that
he was the killer, Still, the coincidence

-was too strong to be allowed to pass

without a careful check. Perhaps the
man had been telling the truth about the
beer party. Such a party meant that
a fairly large delivery of beer had been
made by some local distributor.

Brewster made the rounds of all deal-
ers within a ten-block radius of the
tavern where he had picked up the tip.
He found a store that had delivered an
order of six cases to the home of Mrs.
Hazel Glossop on February 3, 1935, the
night before the killing.

“I’m checking back on a gun which
we believe was in the possession of one
of your guests at the party you had the
night of February 3, Mrs. Glossop,” the
detective told the woman. “We under-
stand that one of your guests swapped
a radio for a gun. What do you know
about it?”

Mrs. Glossop hesitated. “Well...
I’m not sure about any swapping and I

these ten-dollar bills?”

(First of a series.)

* 4 MAN WHOSE WORK brings |
. into. frequent contact with
“criminals once observed: that if crooks -

him

» had a “‘college” yell, it would probably
80 something like this:
‘sace Hi,. yi, in Hi, yt, yil
s Hand ’em out an alibi,
An alibi the business does,
© © Proves you wasn't where you was,
~ Shows that you had took a nap and
i Didn’t even know tt happened,
~* Rah! Rah! Rah! Not guilty!
He knew whereof he spoke. Crim-
*inals dust off and use this ancient ex-
© planation on any and all occasions, even
"when they are caught red-handed.
sane I have personally heard and have also
been told by prison and police officials
of many amusing alibis sprung on them
by crooks. One of these, related to me
by Captain Wright, for many years
head of the Secret Service in Baltimore,
concerned a counterfeiter named Alibini,
whom Wright was fond of calling “Alibi
~ Alibini.”
. This gentleman, being unable to ac-
. cumulate as much of Uncle Sam’s green
: E roods as his tastes for high living re-
- quired, began to manufacture reason-
; able facsimiles thereof. It took Captain
_ Wright some time to catch up with him.
* Finally, however, he located his plant
~ and, with two local cops, swooped down
on him, catching him in the very act of
* running off a nice little batch of tens.
- To alibi a situation like this required

some explaining. But Alibini, although |

~ surprised,. was equal to the demands of
the moment.

“What can I do for, you, gentieaen ie

he inquired, in the suave manner of a
merchant greeting a customer.
“You can explain all about this
counterfeiting outfit,” Wright replied.
“Counterfeiting ?” "
~bini widened in surprise,

what you mean,’
Well, how about

“You don’t, eh?

“Oh, those,” Alibini replied. “Why,
those are just for advertising. You see,
I’m going into the shaving cream busi-
ness,
bills out with every circular.

k

“T don’t know

Of course,

» I’d mark each bill ‘Counterfeit,’ and I'd -

“-say in my sales letter: ‘You wouldn’t
take a counterfeit ten-dollar bill—so
“why take counterfeit. shaving cream
when
Clever idea, eh?”.

“Very clever, - Wright agreed. Then |

he turned to the grinning cops. “What
do you mean by crashing into a man’s
- place of business like this?
. him over to jail immediately and see
“that he © gets a complete ©

- spoley! ibe

Sot tt oe

The eyes of Ali- :

‘to Cincinnati with it.

T.was going to send one of these’

you can get the ‘real thing?’ -

You take ©
written :

vy —Joserx Fun.ine FISHMAN.

Murder Walks
in New Shoes

(Continued from page 32)

manager, Detective Flaugher went to the
home of Peacock’s father. Mr. Peacock
was a quiet, sad-faced man with gray hair.
He spoke regretfully of his wayward boy.

“I’m through,” he told the detective. “I’ve
done my best to help Norman go straight,
but it’s useless. What has he done now?”
- Told that his son was wanted for mur-
der, the father groaned and buried his face
in his hands.

Flaugher took the next bus for Craw-
fordsville, Indiana, the place from which
the begging telegram had been sent. The
manager of the telegraph office there re-
membered the case at once.

“That young fellow was a_ nasty cus-
tomer,’ he told Flaugher. ‘When I told
him that his fathet refused to accept the
wire he cursed so that my blood ran cold.
L'll never forget that cruel face of his.”

“Is this the man?” Flaugher asked,

producing a police photograph of Norman.

Peacock.

The manager looked at it carefully and
nodded.. “That’s the fellow.”

Believing that Peacock might still be
lurking in Crawfordsville, the Cincinnati
officer secured the assistance of the local
police in making a thorough search of the
rooming houses

“Peacock tried to sell his gun to raise
money in Cincinnati,’ Flaugher remarked.
“Since he was turned down in his appeal to
his father, it’s likely he would try to sell it
here. Are there any stores that buy guns?”

“Sure. MHatfield’s sporting. goods store
specializes in used guns,” the local officer
ue “Y’ll introduce you to Mr. Hat-

e a”

Hatfield, a reputable business man well
known for his interest in firearms, listened
to the detective tell that he suspected that
the murder gun, a .38 caliber Smith and
Wesson revolver, might have been offered
for sale in Crawfordsville.

“It happens that ;I bought a gun of that
description on February 5 and it is the only
.38 I have in stock,” Hatfield said. “Wait
until I get my record book and I'll show
you the entry. The man that sold it to
me had reddish hair and was wearing a
gray zipper windbreaker and new _ black
oxfords. I noticed them particularly be-
cause they squeaked so.”

Showed Peacock’s photograph, Hatfield
immediately identified it as that of the man
who had sold him the revolver.

Flaugher took the gun and hurried back
The ballistic experts
in the police laboratory fired test shots
from it into a catch box and then compared
the slugs with those taken from the bodies
of the Hochfields. The bullets were
identical.

“We have the murder gun and we know
who used it,” Schattle said. ‘Now the job
is to find him.”

Weeks lengthened into months, with the
police of a hundred far-away cities on the
alert for Peacock. On August 14, seven
months after the killings, the San Francisco
Police Department wired Chief of Detec-
tives Emmett Kirgan that they had Peacock
in custody. The young crook had been
picked up on a drunk and disorderly
charge. His fingerprints immediately gave
him away.

Sheriff George A. Lutz of Hamilton
County, accompanied by Detective Flaugher,
left for California as soon as requisition
papers for Peacock could be obtained. from
Ohio’s governor, Martin Davey. The

and second-rate hotels. —
- They found no trace of the killer.

prisoner refused to waive extradition, but
the California authorities honored Ohio’s
requisition after a hearing before the gov-
ernor. Throughout, Norman Peacock was
sullen and close-mouthed.

During the long transcontinental trip
back to the scene of his crimes, Peacock
was never left unshackled for a minute.
The officers took turns at being hand-
cuffed to him. The first three days of the
trip Peacock sat in the Pullman compart-
ment scowling and silent. He refused to
answer any questions or to enter into the -
conversation carried on by Lutz and
Flaugher. But finally sheer boredom broke
him down. ,

He listened to the damning case that the
clever work of the homicide sleuths had
built up against him and_ grinned sar-
donically. He knew it was useless to deny
the murders.

“Sure, I plugged the old woman,” he
said. “She wouldn’t keep her mouth shut.
She began to yell and then started to run
to call you coppers. It was her or me.
After I'd shot her I had to shoot the old
man because he’d seen me shoot his wife.
I just got a bad break. I shouldn’t .have
left my old shoes and walked off in those
new dogs. The shoes is all I got out of
the job, too. That guy across the street
was yelling his head off. I didn’t dare take
time to clean out. the register.”

Peacock paused and his eyes glowed
wickedly. “It’s a good thing for him he
didn’t run out in the street or I sure would
have got him too.”

OCKED UP in the Hamilton County
jail on September 2, 1935, Nor-
man Peacock, through the attorneys ap-
pointed by the court to defend him, waived
jury ‘trial and threw himself upon the
mercy of a _ three-judge tribunal. His
lawyers, Peter McCarthy and A. C. Ronde-
bush, did their best for their client. But
States’ Attorneys Carson Hoy and Dudiey
M. Out¢alt pounded home the convincing
evidence gathered by Schattle and his men.
The tribunal, consisting of Judges Dennis
Ryan, Nelson Schwab and Charles Bell,
handed down a unanimous decision of
“Guilty.” Under Ohio’s criminal code the
verdict made the death penalty mandatory.
‘Norman Peacock was sentenced to be exe-
cuted in the electric chair on October 5.
His attorneys took an immediate appeal for
a new trial, but it was denied.
Four months later, on March 11, 1936,
just a few days over a year from the time
his cowardly bullets snuffed out two inno-

‘cent lives, Norman Peacock’s own life was

burned away by the flashing surge of ‘high-
voltage electricity sent through his body
by the state executioner. And C. E. Zanger,
shoe. sleuth extraordinary, was wearing a
new pair of custom-built shoes bought for
him by Lieutenant Schattle.

The names “Lois Jensen,” “Irma Wilson,”
“Mrs. Hasel Glossop” and “Jack Ball,” as
used in this narrative, are not actual but
fictitious —Epitor.

STORY OF THE MONTH

In Seattle, 22-year-old Mrs. Isabelle
Hoag was taken to a hospital after she
had stabbed herself. Asked why she
did it. she explained that she had been
in the habit of nagging her husband,

~ Riley Hoag, a mechanic. She got so
tired of hearing herself nag him. she
said, that she finally decided to “do him
a favor and kill myself.”

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the. Queen City on the Ohio River.
There, questioned by Kirgan, Schattle
and Brewster, he put on a bold front.
“You guys got nothin’ on me,” he
boasted. “I know a little law. You
got to have proof, and you ain’t got it.”
“We'll see about that, young fellow,”
Detective Chief Kirgan said. ;
Norman Peacock looked a little ner-

yous when he was identified by the.

Misses Sims and Grogan, He was fur-
ther chastened when Henry Steese fin-

gered him as the buyer of Steese’s gun..

Peacock really began to sweat when he
was identified by the pool hall man to
whom he had tried to sell the gun, by
the Crawfordsville dealer who had
actually bought the gun, and by the
tlegraph company manager from
Crawfordsville. ‘

He threw in the sponge entirely
when he was shown ‘the ballistics re-
port affirming that his gun was used in
the slayings. ;

“All right,” he groaned. “I know

DARK, DASHING AND DELINQUENT

(Continued from page 59)

when La Fave,-as they sped southward,
began to tell his choicest collection of
dirty stories. °

= IT WAS ALMOST 8 o'clock when a
woman walked into the parking lot be-
hind the Bison to get her car, and found

Hoffman lying there. She called the

police, who came and took the man to
the hospital. His money and wallet
were gone, and when officers found his
empty wallet in the parking lot, they
began to get the picture. County Attor-
ney Bruce Brown went to the hospital,
where Hoffman was in critical condition
but revived enough to gasp out a few
words, :

From his almost incoherent story,
Brown got the impression that three
nen had followed him behind the cafe,
vhere they beat and robbed him. The
unty attorney was also able to learn
hat Hoffman had been gn the bus from
Helena. Police Chief Vern Handley at
mce sent men to question the bus
iriver, who recalled that Hoffman had
gotten into an argument with a man
passenger who got off before the bus
tached Miles City. _ ;

This looked like a hot lead, and it
ok a full day to locate the passenger,

"who speedily cleared himself. Chief

Handley and his men started from
xratch again. They began retracing
Hoffman’s movements after he got off
he bus in Miles City, and soon learned
hat he had gone to the Stockmen’s Bar,
iad. a few drinks, then entered the
Bison Cafe. Employes at the cafe re-
alled that ‘a man answering Hoffman’s

_ description had sat down at a table,
-where he was joined by a tough-looking

' the Navy.

-even take time to clean out the cash

when I’m licked. Sure, I killed "ein. ;

How could I help it? After those two
girls left, I pulled my gat and stuck up”
the shoe man and his wife, but they
didn’t take it sensible. The dame—she
starts to screech and runs for the back
door, so I let her have it. Then Hoch-
field came at me, and I shot him.” _~

“I got out of there so fast I didn’t

register. All I got was them new shoes,
and they pinched plenty.” rater

Peacock went to trial in November,
electing to have his case heard by a
three-judge tribunal rather than by a
jury. He was found guilty with no
stipulation of mercy, and on March 11,
1936, he went to his death in the elec-
tric chair at Columbus.

Eprror’s Note: To prevent embar-
rassment to innocent persons, the
names Ellen Sims, Bernice Grogan,
Connie Hackett and Henry Steese, as
used in this narrative, are fictitious.

young girl with dark auburn hair.

The description of the girl rang a bell
with Chief Handley. “It’s the-Wildcat,”
he said to County Attorney Brown. .
_ “That hard-boiled Williams girl!
Think she’s mixed up in this?”

“It looks very much that way. She
was seen with Hoffman around 7
o’clock. She went out with him, and he
must have been slugged and beaten
shortly after that. But the girl couldn’t
have done that to him alone even if he
was under the weather. She must have
had help.”

When Beatrice Yurka’s mother tele-
phoned to report that her daughter had
disappeared, Handley made some in-
quiries about that. He was told that
Beatrice and the Wildcat were. close
friends, which added up. The chief still
felt there must have been a man .in-

volved in the assault, but nothing |

further came:in on this point until the
following day, when Mrs. La Fave tele-
phoned to report that her boy Tommy
was tnissing. The Western Union office
had called her two days previously to
ask why Tommy had not shown up for
work. Mrs. La Fave, who had ten chil-
dren to worry about, hadn’t been im-
mediately alarmed because Tommy had
made some talk about going off to join

When it was learned that Tommy was
the Wildcat’s sweetheart, that also
added up. “Now we’re looking for three
of them,” Handley told the county at-.

torney. “La Fave and the two girls.

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annem cine

a He ,


sOCK on Monday morn-
i, Eddie Peppers, twenty-
‘k at the Park Central
olis, Ohio, was aroused
chair in the lobby by the
call clock.
ed at his eyes with his
ed to the desk and saw
r that Roorn 15 had left
young man bounded up
ae second floor, rapped
door of Room 15, waited
an indistinct “Thanks,”
the lobby.
1 Room 15, registered as
D. Haggar, began to stir
aggar entered the bath-
Haggar sat on the side
a cigaret, and leisurely
thes. Being the first to
let, Haggar stepped into
.d knocked on the door
cupied by Mrs. Florence

answer at first, so Hag-
in. This time the door
he pressure, and swung

L” in the room, Haggar

could just see the foot of the bed, and a woman’s bare
feet. He returned to Room 15.

‘You’d better go in and awaken your sister,” said
Haggar to the woman registered as his wife, who was
now fully dressed.

Mrs. Haggar went at once to Room 17. She was gone
but a few seconds before her screams were heard
throughout the small hotel.

Eddie Peppers, the only hotel enicannell on duty at
that hour, dashed upstairs again. He found both Mr.
and Mrs. Haggar standing in the hall outside Room 17.

“What has happened?” inquired the clerk.

“Something terrible! Where is the manager?”

Peppers replied that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Arnold had
put in an appearance, since they had not retired until
after 2 A. M.

“My sister, there in Room 17, has been murdered!”
said Mrs. Haggar. “Arouse the proprietor at once!”

Peppers pushed into the room to see for himself, and
then dashed down the corridor to Room 2 in the front
part of the building, facing the park.

When the Arnolds were told of the tragedy by the
night clerk, they instructed him to notify me, and it was
Peppers’ badly frightened voice that came over the wire
when I lifted the receiver in the county jail residence
at 7 A. M.

I hastened over to the Park Central Hotel, which was
on the next street. The woman in Room 15 was having
an attack of hysterics, so I telephoned Dr. Louis C.

Bean to come over and attend her. Then I headed for
the bedroom of death.

Mrs. Buck lay naked on the bed in the small room.
She was a slender woman in her early thirties, with
light curly hair and blue eyes. I judged that she
weighed about 115 pounds. It was easy to see that in
life she had possessed great physical charm.

A cursory examination proved that this was, without
question, a case of murder. There were red marks about
the neck and thighs, and her tongue protruded from the
mouth, Strangulation was the cause of her death.

The victim’s clothes were scattered about the room.
Her pocketbook was on the floor, empty except for such
things as a lipstick, compact, eyebrow pencil, lash brush
and mirror. There was not a single penny in the purse.
By. the side. of the bed was a wet bath towel, apparently
the instrument of strangulation.

The electric light in the room was burning brightly.
The screen of the open window, which faced a service
alley in the rear of the hotel, had been pushed out and
was lying on the ground beneath.

A spindle had been broken off the bed. This I picked
up carefully, hoping it would yield fingerprints. Then
I sent for the coroner.

His examination confirmed the belief that Mrs. Buck
had met death at the hands of a strangler. He also stated
that the woman had been criminally assaulted.

I had observed that there was only a thin lath and
plaster partition between Rooms 15 and 17, and it ap-

By O. E. RUSSELL, Former Sheriff, Gallia Co., Ohio,

as told to

FRANK H. WARD


- on their journey they were in a gay
nood, both looking forward to a highly
“enjoyable visit. Death was the furthest

5

thing from their minds...

Ar 5:30 O’CLOCK on Monday morn-
ing, August 15th, Eddie Peppers, twenty-
One, night clerk at the Park Central
Hotel in Gallipolis, Ohio, was aroused
from a nap in a chair in the lobby by the
buzzing of the call clock. :

Peppers dabbed at his eyes with his
knuckles, strolled to the desk and saw
by the indicator that Room 15 had left
the call. The young man bounded up
the steps to the second floor, rapped
sharply on the door of Room 15, waited
until he heard an indistinct “Thanks,”
and returned to the lobby.

The couple in Room 15, registered as
Mr. and Mrs. L. D. Haggar, began to stir
about. Mrs. Haggar entered the bath-
room to dress. Haggar sat on the side
of the bed, lit a cigaret, and leisurely
drew on his clothes. Being the first to
complete his toilet, Haggar stepped into
the corridor and knocked on the door
of Room 17, occupied by Mrs. Florence
Buck.

There was no answer at first, so Hag-
gar rapped again. This time the door
yielded under the pressure, and swung
slightly ajar.

Around an “L” in the room, Haggar

could just see the
feet. He returne:
“You’d better
Haggar to the w
now fully dressed
Mrs. Haggar we
but a few secor
throughout the sn
Eddie Peppers,
that hour, dashec
and Mrs. Haggar
“What has hap
“Something ter
Peppers replied
put in an appear
after 2 a. mM.
“My sister, the
said Mrs. Haggar.
Peppers pushed
then dashed dow
part of the buildir
When the Arnc
night clerk, they i
Peppers’ badly fri
when I lifted the
at 7a. M.
I hastened over
on the next street
an attack of hys


; uffiing

‘of the Park ape Hotel in

Gallipolis at: elevensthirty=g..

woman: murdered af tree’

What mappansa (8 the: in
ie

written “Grimms Landing, West Virginia,” after
her name. The writing was dainty, typically
feminine.

“We put her in Fourteen first,” Arnold said. “But
the plumbing was faulty there so I told her to
take Seventeen. I just didn’t bother to record the
change.”

Sowards examined the ledger more closely.
There were six rooms occupied by paying guests
the previous night, he noticed. E. J. Costello of
Point Pleasant, West Virginia, was in Room No.
Fifteen. Mr. and Mrs. E. T. Lippincott of Gallipolis
were in Room No, 39. The other guests were Harry
Dunn of Gallipolis, Room No. Nine; Mrs. Alice
O’Brien of Chicago, Room No. Sixteen; E. E. Crus-
well, Mount Hope, West Virginia, Room No. Twelve;
Mrs. Loyal Wright of Grimms Landing, Room No.
Eleven, and Mrs. Buck.

“Where are all these people?” asked Sowards.

“Well,” said Arnold, “there’s Mrs. Wright and
Costello over there.” He indicated the woman who
had been hysterical—now sitting in a chair on
the opposite side of the room with her eyes closed
—and the man, still hovering beside her..

“Wait a minute, ”” said Sowards. “You say that’s
Costello? You sure?”

“Sure,” said Arnold. “I signed them in. They
registered at the same time as Mrs. Buck and I
think they said something about being sisters.”

“Okay,” Sowards said. “About the others, now.
Where are they?”

“Dunn’s probably upstairs,” said Arnold. “But
the others have checked out. See?” He indicated
two small crosses placed after the name of Mrs.
Alice O’Brien and E. E. Cruswell. “That means
they paid up and left. Is that right, Eddie?”

“Yeah,” said Eddie Peppers. “That’s right. The
money’s in the drawer here.”

“What time did they leave?” asked the Chief.

“Mrs. O’Brien, she left about six-thirty,” said
Peppers. “And the fellow, what’s-his-name, he
went half an hour or so earlier, Six, I’d say. No,
maybe a little later.”

“Well, we’ll look them up later,” said the Chief.
“Now the Lippincotts.”

“That’s Ed and Martha,” said Arnold. “You

know them. My cousins. They’re still upstairs, I

ess.”

“Go get ’em,” said Sowards. “Get Dunn, too. I’ll
talk to Eddie.”

Arnold left the room and the Chief turned his
attention to the perspiring, nervous night clerk.

“What do you know about this, Eddie?” he asked.

“Me?” said Eddie. “Me? I don’t know nothin’,
Sir, nothin’ at all.”’

“You called the Sheriff, didn’t you? Well, tell
me about it.”

“Mrs. Wright, she said she was dead and I
should—”

“Start from the beginning, Eddie,” said the Chief.
“Maybe you can get it straight that way.”

um ELL, Mr. Costello, he left a call for five-

thirty this mornin’. I went up there and
knocked on the door of Fifteen—that’s where Cos-
tello was, see? He told me to wake up Mrs. Wright
in Eleven. And when I heard them movin’ around I
come back downstairs. Then this fellow, Cruswell,
he checks out and the coffee woman, she checks
out, too.”

“Who’s the coffee woman?”

“Mrs. O’Brien, I guess that’s her name,” said
Eddie. “She goes around givin’ parties and tryin’ to
get everybody to buy her coffee.”

“Go on,” said the Chief.

“Well, about quarter to seven I hears someone
screaming upstairs. I goes up there and it’s Mrs.
Wright. She says something’s happened to her
sister in Seventeen. I looks in Seventeen and some-
thing’s sure happened to her, all right.

“So I calls Mr. Arnold and he comes and looks
and says I should call the Sheriff.”

“Ts that all, Eddie?”

“That’s enough, ain’t it?” asked Eddie.

“What time did you go on duty last night?”

“Two o’clock.” i

“Did anyone come into the hotel while you were
here?”

“No, Sir,” said Eddie. “Nobody at all. They
couldn’t ’a ‘got in the front door, either, without me
knowin’ it.”

“Did anyone leave?”

“Just them two, Sir. That coffee woman and t
feller.”

“Okay, Eddie,” said the Chief. ‘You stay hc
till we get this thing straightened out.”

Sheriff Russell stepped into the doorway th:

“Come on out here a second, Homer,” he said

Outside, Russell pointed to a screened porch t!
extended along the entire front of the hotel.

“There’s absolutely no way anyone could get i
the hotel,” he said, “except through the door,
by climbing up on the porch roof here.

“And it was raining almost all night. If anyc
climbed in they would have to step through 1
mud to reach the porch. And there would be mai
on the posts, where he climbed, and marks a
mud on the roof of the porch.

“Well, there are no marks. I climbed up thc
myself. And all the windows there are locked fri
the inside, and none of them have been jimmie

“How about the back door?” asked Sowards

“That’s locked and bolted from the inside.”

“Well, ll be damned,” said Sowards. “T)
means one of the people inside the hotel killed h
One of them, or one of those who have checked
already.”

One of those people in the hotel—one of {
seven, or ten, counting Eddie Peppers and Ari
and his wife. But which one? And why? It help:
the Chief knew, to have most of his suspects
conveniently on hand. But how much would
help?

There were Costello and Mrs. Wright, Mr. i
Mrs. Arnold, Mr. and Mrs. Lippincott, Dunn, M
O’Brien, Cruswell, Eddie Peppers. The two offic:
knew most of them—all but Costello, Mrs. Wrig
Mrs. O’Brien and Cruswell. But in an investigat!
of this kind it made no difference whom they knc
with whom they were friendly. None of those |
people could be eliminated without a compl
check. Which one was a killer at heart? Which «
would have ai reason for strangslings: the pre
visitor from West Virginia?

Sowards and the Sheriff went back into 1
lobby. Doctor Bean was there waiting for them.

““Strangled,” said the Doctor. “By a person w
small but powerful (Continued on Page 42)

™

“See

Scrai ld a button in his hand.
Mg yw what that is?”

“Tt i ”

“P}] tell you something else about
it. It is a button from the slacks De-
lores was wearing. Do you know how
it got into the cuff of your pants?”

Tuason sat frozen, staring at the

button.

“T]] tell you that, too. It flew off
her slacks when you were tearing them
from her.

Terror

hands. It happened about four hours
ago.”

Doctor Bean nodded curtly again
and left. As he walked to the door he
passed the stricken woman.

“Feeling better, Mrs. Wright?” he
asked.

The woman opened her eyes, saw
the Doctor and n Sowards
watched, his brows narrowed.

Then, with a shrug, he turned to
Eddie Peppers.

“Eddie,” he said, “are you sure no~
body came into this hotel all night?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Eddie. “I know they
didn’t.”

“And did anybody leave it?”

“Just them two people I told you
about.”

“Look,” said the Chief to Russell.
“We got to act fast and get this guy
Cruswell back here.” He reached out
and took the register again. His finger
sought out the line where Cruswell
had signed, and followed the signature
across.

“Mount Hope, West Virginia,” he
read. “You hop over to the Western
Union office and see if you can get a
line on him.”

Rese left and Sowards turned to
Costello and Mrs. Wright.

“Okay now,” he said to the woman.
“Can you talk now?”

The woman nodded. Then, in a slow,
weak voice, she said:

“She was my sister. Flossie. She
didn’t want to stop here.”

“Okay, forget about that,” said
Sowards. “Tell me how you found her
this morning.”

“It was about seven,” the woman
said. “We were going home this morn-
ing so we wanted an early start. The
boy woke me up at five-thirty and I
went and knocked on Flossie’s door
right away.

“The door was part way open so I
thought that she probably was awake
anyway. I went back and finished
dressing. Then I sat around and wait-
ed for her. She didn’t come over. I
was nervous. I went over again. The
door still was open. I knocked. Then

Would teli him that 1 had tried to at-
tack her. When she laughed at me I
went crazy.”

“Then what happened?”

“We had been drinking beer. I got
up and went outside. I came back with
a rock. She wasn’t looking when I
came in. I hit her on the head. I
jumped on her and beat her with my
fists. She kept making a funny noise
in her throat, so I tied my handker-
chief around her neck. She still didn’t
die, so I took a knife and stabbed her.”

of the Gallipolis

I went in. She was lying on the
bed—”

Chief Sowards let her voice trail off.
He stood for a moment in silence.
Then he turned to the man beside her.

“Your name is Costello, isn’t it?”

“That’s right,” said the man.

“This woman’s Mrs. Wright?”

The man nodded without speaking.

“Okay,” said the Chief. “Suppose
you tell me how you happened to be
here in the hotel.”

Costello spoke hesitantly, as if he
were groping for words. But his story
was simple enough. He, Mrs. Wright
and Mrs. Buck, he said, had been visit-
ing relatives in Huntington and were
on their way back to Grimms Land-
ing, where, he said, the women lived,
when the rain began. It was a heavy
storm and they decided to stay for the
night in Gallipolis. Mrs. Buck, he de-
clared, was in favor of pushing on—
Grimms Landings was not far into
West Virginia, although it was in the
hills. But he and Mrs. Wright insisted
on stopping.

They registered at the hotel at 8:30,
then went to a near-by restaurant for
dinner and returned to the Park Cen-
tral. They sat around in the lobby.
At eleven they went to their rooms.
At 5:30 the bellboy awakened him. At
6:30 he heard Mrs. Wright screaming
and rushed in to see the body.

Sheriff Russell returned while Sow-
ards was talking to the pair. He joined
the group noiselessly.

“A” couple more things, Mr. Cos-
tello,” the Chief said, “and then I won't
bother you any more. Did you notice
any disturbance during the night?”

“No,” said Costello. “I don’t think
so. Except the rats.”

“Rats?”

“Why, yes. About eleven-thirty, just
after I went to bed, I heard the rats
running around out in the hall and
squeaking. But it didn’t last long.”

“Are you sure it was rats? Did you
see them?”

“Well, I didn’t see them, of course.
And it could have been something—
you don’t think—”

“J don’t think anything,” said the

room, we had to squeeze through be-
cause the door was up against the g*~"=
leg?”

Siemler nodded his head.

“Well, look here.” Scrafford sp
out the photographs and the drawinug>
on his desk. “See how the door opens.
See where the body is. See where that
table is—not the one by her head, but
the one by her feet that had the bottle
and glasses on it.”

Hemler followed Scrafford’s finger
across the photos and drawing.

second-degree murder and received a
-entence of life imprisonment in the
‘tate Penitentiary at Walla Walla. The
‘tate Board of Prison Terms and Pa-
oles fixed his minimum term at 40
years. He is behind the prison walls
now, paying for the love and the life
he stole from beautiful, blond Delores
Johnson.

The names Frank Martin, Redding
and Davis are fictitious to protect in-
nocent men.

Stran gler (Continued from Page 21)

Chief. “But this may be important.
Are you sure of the time?”

“1 couldn’t be positive,” said Cos-
tello. “It was sometime before mid-
night, I know, and it was after eleven-
thirty, because I turned the lights out
at eleven-thirty.”

“Okay, okay,” said Sowards. “You
take care of notifying the relatives,
will you please? Mrs. Buck was mar-
ried, wasn’t she?”

Costello nodded and the Chief
turned to the other guests still assem-
bled in the lobby and watching him
nervously and excitedly.

First he questioned the Lippincotts.
They had the room directly above the
one occupied by Mrs. Buck. And they
claimed that they hadn’t heard a thing
all night. Except—

“Apout half past eleven or a quarter
to twelve,” said Lippincott, “I heard
some scuffling downstairs. But it
sounded like it was out in the hall and
not in the room. I figured it was prob-
ably rats or mice.”

The scuffling noise at 11:30 again.
But Doctor Bean had said that the
woman was dead for four hours when
he examined her at 7:30. That would
place the time of death at 3:30 in the
morning. Was it possible that the
Doctor was wrong?

Harry Dunn declared that he had
gone to bed early, at 9:30, and had
slept until awakened by Mrs. Wright’s
screams the next morning.

“Okay,” said Sowards when he had
finished questioning everyone in the
hotel. “That’s all for now. But I want
all of you to stay here in the hotel and
not leave town. This is murder.”

He and Russell left then, for the
Chief’s office.

“We're going to do some telephon-
ing,” the Chief said. “What about
Cruswell?”

“He works for a coal company in
Bluefield,” said the Sheriff. “I wired
the company to tell me where his next
stop is.”

“Good,” said the Chief. In his office
he called the West Virginia State Po-
lice at Point Pleasant, nearest bar-
racks to Grimms Landing.

He talked to Captain Floyd Layman
there and told the Captain about the
crime. Layman promised to set out for
Gallipolis immediately.

“Mrs. Buck was postmistress at
Grimms Landing,” the Captain said.
“She’s pretty well known here. But
who did you say was with her?”

“Her sister, Mrs. Wright, and a fel-
low named Costello,” said Sowards.

“Costello . . . Costello . . .” said
Layman. “I don’t seem to recall any
Costello around here. If you think
we could help, we’ll be right over.”

“Sure,” Sowards said. “Glad to have
your help.”

Back in his car, Chief Sowards sud-
denly grabbed the Sheriff by the arm.

“Took!” he said. He pointed to an
automobile driving by. “Costello. And
Mrs. Wright. I told them to stay in
the hotel.”

He wheeled his car around and fol-
lowed the couple. They proceeded
through Gallipolis at a leisurely rate,
then out and onto the highway. There
the first car picked up speed. But
Chief Sowards soon overhauled them.

Costello pulled over to the side of
the road without a word when he saw
the Chief. The two officers climbed
out and walked over to their car.

“Trying to sneak away, huh?” said
Sowards.

Neither of them answered.

“Okay,” said Sowards. “Move over.
We're going back.”

T WAS a more complete story Mrs.

Wright told Sheriff Russell and Chief
Sowards when they again had reached
the sanctuary of the Park Central
Hotel. .

Her husband’s boat, she said, was
docked at Huntington, West Virginia.
The previous Saturday she and her
sister left their homes in Grimms
Landing to visit him.

They went first to Point Pleasant,
where they spent the night. It was in
Point Pleasant that they had met Cos-
tello, whom they had known before
when he was road supervisor on a
road being built through Grimms
Landing.

August Issue of INTIMATE DETECTIVE STORIES Will Go on

Sale Friday, July 5

42

U “We're trying to. What else can
we do?”

“You can answer m uestions,”
said the Chief. “Tell me soacything,
And you can stay here until I give you
permission to leave.”

“All right,” said Mrs. Wright.

“Now,” said the Chief, “we might
get somewhere. First, do you have
any idea who might profit by killing
your sister?”

Mrs. Wright shook her head.

. “No one who didn’t like her? No
enemies, no debts, no large insurance
policies?”

“She had very little insurance,” said
Mrs. Wright. “I don’t know how much
but it won’t be very much. And I’m
sure that she didn’t know anybody
who would—would do something like
that to her.”

“Was there anybody who knew you
were staying here in Gallipolis over-
night?”

“Nobody,” said Mrs. Wright. “No-
body at all. We didn’t know it our-
selves until just before we registered.”

“Just the same, somebody killed
her,” said the Chief. “Somebody
must have had a pretty good reason
to kill her. Who was it?”

Mrs. Wright shook her head.

“Did anyone follow you here?”

“Follow us here?” she said. “Why,
of course not.”

“Where did you meet Costello?” the
Chief shot at her suddenly.

“In Point Pleasant.”

“When?”

“Saturday evening.”

“What did you do Saturday eve-
ning—when you met him, I mean?”

“Why—why, we rode around. Then
we went to a friend’s house and stayed
there for a while. Then we went—my
sister and I went to my aunt’s house
and went to sleep.”

“Who went to the friend’s house?
Just you and Costello?”

“No. No, my sister went, too, and
Mr. Bolles.”

“Who’s Mr. Bolles?”

“He’s a gentleman we know in
Point Pleasant,” Mrs. Wright said.

“He went with Mrs. Buck, and you
went with Costello, is that what you
mean?” the Chief asked.

Mrs. Wright nodded, and_ flushed.

“How about this fellow Bolles?”

“He’s a very nice man,” said Mrs.
Wright.

“Did he pay much attention to your
sister?”

Mrs. Wright hesitated for a moment.

“Remember,” said the Chief, “we
ean’t get anywhere in this without
your full cooperation. If you want to
find out who killed your sister you'll
nave to answer these questions ¢om-
pletely.”

“He was—well, yes, he was very
attentive,” said Mrs. Wright. E

“Describe him,” said the Chief.

“Describe him? Why, surely you
jon’t think—”

“Describe him,” repeated Sowards.

“He’s about my height,” said Cos-

‘ello. “He’s a lot heavier, though—
sort of plump. Very jolly, always
smiles. He walks peculiarly, leaning

to one side all the time.”

iD—5

there,” ki

was standi

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asked Russ

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Real dark
all I remer

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OWARD
Arnold
turned to
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“That’s \
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Bolles here
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pointed at
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Early w
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“Looks ¢


Cos-
vefore
on a
‘imms

Sunday the women spent with
Wright in Huntington. Sunday eve-

~ ning they picked up Costello and set

out for Grimms Landing. But the
driving rain interrupted their progress
and they were forced to stop in
Gallipolis.

“Flossie didn’t want to stop,” said
Mrs. Wright, her voice faltering.

“Where did you stay in Point Pleas-
ant?” asked Chief Sowards.

“With an aunt of mine,” Mrs. Wright
said. “Mrs. Elizabeth Wright. You can
check that if you want to.”

“Okay,” said the Chief. “I will.”

“Now look here,” said Costello.
“We're not a pair of criminals. We
didn’t have anything to do with Flos-
sie’s death.”

Chief Sowards turned to him.

“I don’t know who killed Mrs.
Buck,” he said. “And until I find out,
I don’t know who didn’t kill her,
either. But I do know that you two
are not cooperating with me the way
you should.”

'tMUT we are,” said Mrs. Wright.
“We're trying to. What else can
we do?” ,

“You can answer my questions,”
said the Chief. “Tell me everything.
And you can stay here until I give you
permission to leave.”

“All right,” said Mrs. Wright.

“Now,” said the Chief, “we might
get somewhere. First, do you have
any idea who might profit by killing
your sister?”

Mrs. Wright shook her head.

- “No one who didn’t like her? No
enemies, no debts, no large insurance
policies?”

“She had very little insurance,” said
Mrs. Wright. “I don’t know how much
but it won’t be very much. And I’m
sure that she didn’t know anybody
who would—would do something like
that to her.”

“Was there anybody who knew you
were staying here in Gallipolis over-
night?”

“Nobody,” said Mrs. Wright. “No-
body at all. We didn’t know it our-
selves until just before we registered.”

“Just the same, somebody killed
her,” said the Chief. “Somebody
must have had a pretty good reason
to kill her. Who was it?”

Mrs. Wright shook her head.

“Did anyone follow you here?”

“Follow us here?” she said. “Why,
of course not.”

“Where did you meet Costello?” the
Chief shot at her suddenly.

“In Point Pleasant.”

“When?”

“Saturday evening.”

“What did you do Saturday eve-
ning—when you met him, I mean?”

“Why—why, we rode around. Then
we went to a friend’s house and stayed
there for a while. Then we went—my
sister and I went to my aunt’s house
and went to sleep.”

“Who went to the friend’s house?
Just you and Costello?”

“No. No, my sister went, too, and
Mr. Bolles.”

“Who’s Mr. Bolles?”

“He’s a gentleman we know in
Point Pleasant,” Mrs. Wright said.

“He went with Mrs. Buck, and you
went with Costello, is that what you
mean?” the Chief asked.

Mrs. Wright nodded, and flushed.

“How about this fellow Bolles?”

“He’s a very nice man,” said Mrs.
Wright. .

“Did he pay much attention to your
sister?”

Mrs. Wright hesitated for a moment.

“Remember,” said the Chief, “we
can’t get anywhere in this without
your full cooperation. If you want to
find out who killed your sister you'll
have to answer these questions com-
pletely.”

“He was—well, yes, he was very
attentive,” said Mrs. Wright.

“Describe him,” said the Chief.

“Describe him? Why, surely you
don’t think—”

“Describe him,” repeated Sowards.

“He’s about my height,” said Cos-
tello. “He’s a lot heavier, though—
sort of plump. Very jolly, always
smiles. He walks peculiarly, leaning
to one side all the time.”

D5

“But he couldn’t—” began Mrs.
Wright.

“Okay, okay,” said the Chief. “He
couldn’t. If he was in Point Pleasant
Sunday night he won’t have any trou-
ble proving it.”

For some time more Sowards ques-
tioned the couple. They repeated that
they had not left their rooms all night,
that they had heard no noise except
for the squealing they attributed to
rats at about 11:30. Again Mrs. Wright
insisted that her sister had no enemies.
The dead woman’s husband, she said,
was William Buck, a lumberman who
even then was in the West Virginia
hills on a tour of inspection. And that
was all they knew, they said.

While Sowards was talking to Cos-
tello and Mrs. Wright, Deputy Sheriff
John Harrison entered with a tele-
gram for Sheriff Russell.. The Sheriff
read it, handed it over to Sowards.
It was from the Bluefield Coal Com-
pany and stated that E. E. Cruswell,
the missing hotel guest, should be in
Charleston, West Virginia, that night.

“We'll see if we can pick him up
there,” Russell said. He turned to
Harrison and gave him instructions to
notify the police in Charleston.

“Description?” asked Harrison.

“Let’s get one,” said Russell. He,
Sowards and the deputy walked over
to the desk, where Manager Arnold
was standing.

“What did this Cruswell look like?”
asked Russell.

“Well,” said Arnold, “he was medi-
um height, kind of heavy and plump.
Real dark hair and eyebrows. That’s
all I remember about him, except, oh
yes, he walked funny, kind of on one
side.”

“How tall was he?” asked the Chief.

“Medium height,’ said Arnold.
“About as tall as Mr. Costello over
there.”

OWARDS and Russell abruptly left
Arnold behind the desk and re-
turned to Costello.

“Did you see this fellow Bolles last
night?” Sowards asked.

“It was Saturday night,” said Cos-
tello.

“No, last night,” said Sowards.

“Last night we were here, in Gal-
lipolis,’”’ said Costello.

“That’s what I mean,” said Sowards.
“Here, in Gallipolis. Did you _ see
Bolles here?”

“No,” said Costello. ‘No, he wasn’t
here.”

“Did you see this Cruswell, one of
the guests here at the hotel?”

“Cruswell?” asked Costello. Then,
‘T saw that fellow over there.” He
pointed at Arnold. “And the little
bellboy. And a short, blond fellow.”

“That’s Dunn,” said Sowards. “Any-
body else at all?”

“Nope,” said Costello.

“You?” the Chief asked Mrs. Wright:

She shook her head.

“What kind of work does Bolles
do?” he asked.

“TJ don’t know,” said Costello.

Mrs. Wright didn’t know either.

“We'll notify Charleston,” said Rus-
sell as he and the Chief walked away.
“Meanwhile, let’s check and see if this
Cruswell had any business in town.”

“Also,” said Sowards, “check in
Point Pleasant on Bolles.”

Early the next morning Sowards,
Harrison and Russell met in the Sher-
iff’s office. With them were Captain
Layman and Sergeant W. B. Lowe of
the West Virginia State Police.

“Not a thing on her background,”
Captain Layman was saying. ‘“‘There’s
no motive we could uncover in Grimms
Landing, and she’s lived there all her
life. Her husband’s in the clear; he’s
miles away from Grimms Landing.”

“How about Cruswell?” asked Sow-

ards.

“That’s a funny thing,” said Russell.
“The Charleston police tell me that
they haven’t been able to locate him.
He’s not in the Charleston office of his
company and he’s not in any of the
hotels there. What’s more, he didn’t
have any reason I could find for being
here in Gallipolis. He didn’t place any
orders or even try to place them.”

“Looks good,” said Captain Layman.

“But how about Bolles, too?” asked
Sowards.

“T called Point Pleasant last night,”
said Russell. “I told them to check
Bolles’ movements on Sunday night
without letting him know about it.
Think I’l] call again and see what
they’ve learned.”

He picked up his phone and in a
moment was talking to the police in
the West Virginia town. He whistled.

“Pick him up and hold him for us,
will you?” he asked. “Then see what
he has to say about it.”

The Sheriff put the phone down and
turned around.

“They found out that Bolles took a
ferry across the river last night,” he
said. “About nine o’clock. So far they
haven’t found any record of him com-
ing back, but he’s at his home now.”

“We'll take Arnold over there,” said
Sowards. “He can tell us if Cruswell
and Bolles are the same person or
not.”

Sergeant Lowe and Chief Sowards
picked up the hotel manager and left
for Point Pleasant. Meanwhile Cap-
tain Layman and the Sheriff sent out
other wires on the search for Cruswell,
on the possibility that Cruswell and
Bolles were not the same person. They
obtained the license number of his car
and wired West Virginia State Police
to watch for it.

That afternoon Sowards and Lowe
came back, empty-handed.

“No soap,” said the Chief. “Bolles
is not Cruswell. What’s more, Bolles
came back to Point Pleasant at about
ten o’clock and he was able to prove
that he hasn’t left the town since
then.”

“Well,” said Russell, “what does that
leave us with?”

What, indeed, did it leave them
with? Who had killed Mrs. Buck? And
why?

Still, every person who had been
registered in the hotel that night was
a suspect. None of them had been
able to produce unassailable alibis. Mr.
and Mrs. Lippincott, of course, could
verify each other’s statements that they
had not left their room all night. Mr.
and Mrs. Arnold, in addition could
provide alibis for each other. But the
rest of them—Dunn claimed he had
been asleep and had no verification of
that fact. Cruswell was missing. So,
for that matter, was Mrs. O’Brien, the
“coffee woman.”

“How about Eddie Peppers?’ asked
Russell suddenly. “Where was he at
eleven o’clock or eleven-thirty? He
didn’t report for work until two
o’clock, remember?”

“We'll sec,” said Sowards. Harrison
and Sergeant Lowe left to question
Peppers again.

Hardly had they left than a phone
call came in for Captain Layman from
the West Virginia State Police Bar-
racks in Charleston. Cruswell had
been picked up.

“He was driving into Charleston,”
said Layman after he had taken down
the message. “He says he knew noth-
ing about the murder, hadn’t even
heard about it. He’s willing to come
back here to Gallipolis.”

“Swell,” said Russell. “That gives
us all the people who were in the hotel
except this Mrs. O’Brien.”

ERGEANT LOWE and Deputy Har-

rison reported on Eddie Peppers.

“He’s scared to death,” said Lowe.
“But he’s in the clear. Claims he was
playing cards with some friends from
nine until after one. They verify it.
And neighbors even report seeing him
leave the friend’s house after one
o’clock.”

“Well,” said Sowards doggedly, “that
means one of these guests killed her,
It can’t be otherwise. We'll have to
check each and every one of them
thoroughly, look through their rooms
and their baggage and question them
all over again.”

“Let's go see the Coroner first,”
suggested Russell. “Might be some-
thing over there.”

At the Coroner’s office Doctor Bean
had finished an autopsy and was writ-
ing up a report. He read from it to
the officers.

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by that towel beside the bed,” he said.
“Then attacked. At about—”

“Attacked?” said Sowards, surprised.

“Yes, attacked,’ said Doctor Bean.
“Very definitely. She was killed ap-
proximately at three o’clock in the
morning.”

“Are you sure about that time, Doc-
tor?” asked the Sheriff.

“No, not definitely,’ said the Doc-
tor. “It’s impossible to state the time
within much less than an hour. But
approximately three o’clock is as close
as I can get it.”

“Tt couldn’t have been eleven-thirty
or thereabouts?”

“No,” said the Doctor. “It couldn’t
have been.”

“Look,” said Russell, “we got three
witnesses who heard scuffling at
eleven-thirty at night. We got good
reason to believe she was killed then.”

Doctor Bean took off his glasses and
looked up at the Sheriff.

“TI don’t care how many witnesses
you have,” he said. “At eleven-thirty
that woman was as alive as we are.
Approximately at three o’clock some-
— strangled her and then attacked

er.

“T’ll explain. When I first examined
the body rigor mortis was not quite
complete. Under conditions in which
I found that body, and allowing for
the muscular stress of the woman when
she died, rigor would have begun ap-
proximately two hours after death and
would have been completed two hours
later. Thus, I examined her at seven
o’clock in the morning, and the stage
of rigor mortis showed that she was
dead for four hours, or approximately
since three o’clock.

“If she had been killed at eleven-
thirty rigor mortis would have been
complete by seven o’clock the follow-
ing morning.

“Also I examined the contents of
her stomach after I learned that she
had eaten her last meal at nine-thirty.
If she was killed at eleven-thirty, two
hours later, that meal would not have
been digested completely when I ex-
amind the body. However, her stomach
when examined after death showed no
traces of a meal. Obviously, then, she
had been dead for more than three
hours.

“There is, of course, no fixed time
for these changes. They vary as much
as fifteen minutes or half an hour.
Allowing an hour’s variation either
way, she was killed sometime between
two and four. And from my expe-
rience I would say at three.

“In any case, it is definite that she
was alive at eleven-thirty, and for at
least two hours after that.

“J think, gentlemen, that if you
solve this case you will find that the
woman was killed pretty close to three
o'clock in the morning.”

Doctor Bean put his glasses back on,
turned his back to the officers and re-
turned to his task of writing out the
report. Wordlessly, the officers filed
out of the small office.

“Wow,” said Captain Layman.
That’s that.”

“Never. knew Doc Bean to be
wrong,” said Sowards. “If he says
she was killed at three o’clock, then
that’s good enough for me. She was
killed at three o’clock.”

“Doesn’t make much difference,”
said Russell. “These alibis we’ve got
are for the whole night, not just for
eleven-thirty. But how about that
rape angle?”

“That lets the women out,” said
Layman.

-“[’yve known Arnold and Lippincott
for years,’ said Sowards. “I’ve seen
Dunn around, too. They aren’t that
kind.”

“Which leaves Cruswell,” said Lay-
man. “We don’t know him.”

Cruswell was waiting for the men in
the lobby of the Park Central Hotel,
where he had been brought by a West
Virginia State Trooper. He declared
pt he knew nothing about the mur-
er.

“J checked out about six-thirty,” he
said. “I slept all night, from ten o’clock
on, and I didn’t hear a thing.”

He explained that he had gone to
Huntington to pick up an extra order,
instead of traveling direct to Charles-
ton, as he originally had planned. He
said, also, that the driving rain, the
same rain that had brought the mur-
der victim into the hotel, had caused
him to stop overnight in Gallipolis.

“Let’s see your baggage,” said So-
wards.

Cruswell obligingly went out to his
car and came back with a bag. Care-
fully Sowards and Layman went
through the clothes. They were look-
ing for bloodstains in particular—for
anything that might give them evi-
dence. But they found nothing.

“How about laundry?” asked Lay-
man. “Did you take any clothes to the
laundry since you left here—any suits
to be cleaned?”

Cruswell declared that he had left
a bundle of laundry at a shop in
Huntington.

“We'll check that,” said Sowards.
“Meanwhile, will you stay in Gallipolis
until we get somewhere in this in-
vestigation?”

Cruswell agreed.

“Well.” said Russell to Sowards,
“we’re back where we started from.
What now?”

“We'll go through the rooms of all
these people,’ declared Sowards. “I
hate to suspect any of them. but we’ve
got to.”

The search began under the direc-
tion of Sowards. Carefully, method-
ically, Harrison, Lowe, Layman, Rus-
sell and Sowards went over the rooms
occupied by the Lippincotts, by the
Arnolds, by Dunn, by Cruswell, Mrs.
O’Brien, Mrs. Wright, by Costello. And
they found nothing. Then they went
back to Room No. Seventeen, now
empty of the tragic body of the victim,
and went over the floors and walls
inch by inch. And again they came
out empty-handed.

Manager Arnold had accompanied
them on their tour. He stood aside as
they walked out of Room No. Seven-
teen, then held out another key to
Sowards.

“There’s another room,” he said.
“Eddie Peppers.”

“Peppers?” said Sowards, “But he
was—”

“Say, that’s right!” thundered Lay-
man. “His alibi was for eleven-thirty.
But this woman was killed at three.
Let’s go!”

“Eddie was on duty at three,” said
Arnold. ‘He wouldn’t do anything like
that.”

“We'll see,” said Sowards grimly.

But once again they were doomed to
failure. There was nothing incrim-
inating in Peppers’ room.

Until Sergeant Lowe opened a bu-
reau drawer and drew out an empty
bottle that obviously had contained
whisky.

Baw the bottle was a white shirt
stained with some dark substance.

“Blood!” said Layman.

“Maybe,” said Russell. “Maybe not.
And possibly it got on his shirt en-
tirely innocently. We'll have to test
1c"
In the closet the officers found a
vest for a suit of clothes. No coat or
trousers were in evidence.

“C’mon,” said Sowards. “We’ll talk
to Eddie.”

Peppers was stretched out on a cot
behind the desk, half asleep.

“Eddie,” said Russell without pre-

liminary, “where’s the coat and pants
to this?” He held up the vest.

“I sent ’em to the cleaners,” said
Eddie, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“How about these bloodstains, Ed-
die?” asked Layman thrusting the
shirt under his nose.

Eddie Peppers leaped to his feet, his
face pale.

“That’s—that’s—” He stopped and
looked from one to the other of
officers who had formed a_ ci
around him. ‘‘That’s iodine,” he fin-
ished weakly. “It ain’t blood.”

“No, it isn’t,’ said Layman quickly.
“It’s blood. You killed Mrs. Bucx.
Eddie.”

“I didn’t! 1 didn’t!”. said Eddie.
backing against the cot. “I didn’t have
nothin’ to do with it.”

“Yes, you did, Eddie,” said Sowards.
“We found Mrs. O’Brien and she says
she saw you going into Room Seven-
teen.”

re)

DDIE looked around again wildly,

frightened. Then suddenly the fright
vanished from his face and he
grinned.

“She couldn’t ’a,” he said. “Why,
she was snorin’.”

Eddie Peppers did not realize that
he had incriminated himself with that
statement. He refused to confess to
the horrible crime until, after hours
of questioning, Deputy Harrison pro-
duced the suit Peppers had sent to
the cleaners, still bloodstained. Then
Eddie broke down.

“I done it!” he said. “I done it! I
was drunk. I drunk that whisky an’
I didn’t know what I was doin’.

“I heard a noise upstairs,” he said.
“I went up an’ the door to Seventeen
was open. I peeked in an’ there she
was, all stretched out on her bed,
asleep. I—”

Later, in court, Eddie repudiated
his confession. But he had talked too
much while held for trial. A cell-
mate of his testified that Eddie had
admitted the attack and killing while
he was in jail.

He was found guilty before Judge
W. R. White and sentenced to die. The
sentence was carried out the following
Spring.

Long before the trial, the missing
guest of the Park Central hotel that
foreboding night, Mrs. O’Brien, was
located by Chief Sowards. She, too,
declared that she had known nothing
about the killing when she checked
out. And she indignantly denied that
she snored.

My Life with Winnie Ruth Judd (Continued from Page 18)

because you don’t know a thing about
me,” jeered Ann. “Who’s going to be-
lieve you?”

“Well, there’s one thing people won’t
find hard to believe,” retorted Ruth.
“You know what a lot of people think
about you and Sammy—”

“A nack of rotten lies!” Ann shout-

her and we fell to the floor. We both
fought for the gun and Sammy kept
saying that she would shoot me. At

last I got the gun... I went crazy.
I shot ... three times. Sammy lay
still., ..

“While Sammy and I were strug-
gling on the floor, Ann ran into the

Here Ruth paused, her head buried
in her hands. After a moment she
looked up.

“JT thought I should get to Los An-
geles,” she said. “The next morning
I called a baggage transfer man to
take the trunks to the station.”

“What?” I exclaimed. “Then how

trunks and started her ill-fated flight.

“T wrote all this to you in that let-
ter I tore up in the department store
. .. the one the police found when
they opened up the drain pipes,” she
concluded.

Memories of that damning letter
flooded back into my mind . + + Scraps

to carry to my grave. Doc
even tell you about it. I w
wounded and half-crazy
that letter and that’s the «
entioned that other th
nothing to do with Ann cr
Please, Doctor, “on’t ask me
you.”

“But you've got to,” I seid.
rou see? You must give
ion because as it stand

my. If they had recovered the ex-
tire letter it would have been di:-
ferent. Come, Ruth, you’ve got *o te.
me.”

$= refused. My entreaties and even
my threats in an angry voice
fused to budge her at first. But Anal»
I wore her down, and between ne.
bursts of weeping she told me of
past episode in her life that was ¢:
far the most fantastic thing I he:
heard yet. Her story was so incredib.-
that I did not believe it and I frank.»
told her so. I have no doubt that I
would have carried that disbelief +o
the end of my days if I had not been
able to verify it later. An exchanz=2
of telegrams with the authorities of 3
small town in the Mid-West and a lorz
talk with her parents, who at first
were just as reluctant to discuss the
affair as Ruth, finally convinced m=:
that Ruth’s story was the truth.

The story went back to the time
when Ruth was sixteen and attending
high school. She was going with 3
man ten years her senior. Ruth appar-
ently was wild about him and she wes
furious with rage and jealousy when
another girl, a classmate of Ruth's.
took him away from her.

“T’ll get even with her,” Ruth vowed
to herself. But apparently there wes
nothing she could do. Naturally sh
came in for a good deal of ribbinz
from some of her friends to say not=-
ing of the triumphant air with which
her successful rival conducted herself.
Finally Ruth realized that her ony
hope of humiliating this girl would
be to win the boy back again. But
that was not so simple. When all of
her youthful wiles had been exhausted
Ruth became desperate.

One cold October night she crept out
of her bedroom window, dressed ory
in her nightgown. She made her w
over the fields to a deserted farm.

It was more than 24 hours before
searchers aiding her frantic parents
found the girl. She was huddled in
the hayloft, completely unclothed end
partially tied up. She sobbed out a
story of abduction and attack—and of
impending motherhood. This boy was
the one, she said, who was responsible
for her condition and who had caused
her to be kidnaped.

Fortunately for the young man
Ruth’s hoax was bared when she was
examined by a doctor.

“This girl’s story has no founda-
tion,” the doctor declared.

Ruth broke down and confessed the
truth. She never forgot her grucze,
however, against the other girl. A year
so Ventenye thy . tet

eoveyrythy syd thre

y

o8

the wheel who was having difficulty
getting a .45 out from under his
leather jacket. As per instructions,
Lieutenant Chester Butler, a veteran
of the State force, opened fire. But
Teague in his eagerness, rushed to the
car of the gun-man, opened the door
and tried to drag him out bodily. He
stepped in the line of fire. The brave
officer sank to the pavement with a
bullet through the top of his head,
emerging at his mouth. Albert Stepp,
Paris officer, jerked the gun-man from
the seat and disarmed him. It was
Eddie Shouse, trusted lieutenant of
Dillinger, and an escaped convict.
Trooper Teague had been mortally
wounded, and died shortly afterwards.

Two screaming women in the front
seat, cut by flying glass in the gun-
fight, were arrested. They were Ruth
Spencer of San Diego, California, and
Kansas City, Missouri, and Frances
Colim, of Sterling, Illinois, and Fort
Wayne, Indiana, who said they had
been with Shouse for some three weeks,
and did not know his identity.

“yo rather have a bullet right in the
middle of my head than go back to
prison,” said Shouse, who had served
terms in a boys’ reform school, penal
farm, and then three years of a
twenty-five-year sentence. ;

Miss Spencer, a vivacious and witty
girl, blamed a broken mirror in her
purse for her ill luck. She went to
Shouse who was heavily ironed and
said: “Eddie, you’re a good fellow, but
you certainly got a tough break.” She
pinched his cheek and said, as she kissed
him good-bye, “I'll be seeing you.”
Then, only a matter-of hours after
capture, Shouse was back in solitary at
the prison.

Lieutenant Butler, sobbing, said he
believed he fired the shot that killed
his close friend, Trooper Teague. The
County Coroner said the bullet struck
the top of the car and ricochetted down.
As it was doubtful who shot him, he
returned an open verdict. After a time
in jail, Shouse’s girl friends were re-
leased.

With the killing of Sergeant Shanley
the hunt for Dillinger in Chicago be-
came intensified. Supervising Captain
John Stege was given twenty picked
men and these sharpshooters almost
took the far northwest side of Chicago
apart to find the Dillinger gang. Act-
ing on the tip of a woman informer,
who had been flirting with the Dillinger
crowd, Sergeant Frank Reynolds ran
the doorbell of an apartment at 1428
Farwell Avenue. It was slamméd in
his face and a young man in shirt
sleeves began shooting. Reynolds splin-
tered the door, shouting, “Surrender!
We are police.”

A fierce gun battle ensued in the
ornate apartment. Sergeant Reynolds
felled his foe with two shots in the
head. One gun-man, with automatics
blazing in each hand, barricaded him-
self and was killed. Sergeant John
Daly finished off another gun-blazing
foe in the kitchenette. Word went out
that Dillinger, Hamilton and Pierpont
were dead, but finger-prints of the slain
men told a different story.

a op N y a :

The Master Detective

They were identified as Louis Katze-
witz, twenty-eight, Charles Tattlebaum,
thirty, and Sam Ginsberg, thirty-three,
all paroled convicts, sought for a
Streator, Illinois, bank robbery, in
which the loot had been $28,000.
Sheriff Edmund Welter, of LaSalle
County, viewed them and said:

“Upon a tip of Al Brown, arrested,
Katzewitz and Tattlebaum were jailed
for the Streator robbery. They made
a bold delivery and lay in wait to kill
Brown. Policemen Elmer Ostling and
on Skopeck ran across them and were

oth brutally slain when they tried to
question the gun-men.”

They were wanted for the $100,000
St. Paul bank robbery and identified as
being on a number of other jobs, police
said. They belonged to the Touhy re-
cruits of Dillinger.

In the meantime Indiana State
Troopers, in plain clothes, went to Chi-
cago, established headquarters at the
Morrison Hotel, and withthe aid of
three young members of the Chicago
detective force, who were assigned
them, laid an elaborate plot to capture
Dillinger. They got a “tip-off man”
in with the Dillingers, the undercover
man sometimes eating in the same
restaurant with the much sought Public
Enemy. Through spies and_ tip-off
men Dillinger was traced to a number
of cities. The police sought to wait
until he got his pals together, with the
idea of wiping them all out. Dillinger
got jumpy and the trap was sprung.
He went to the office of Dr. Charles H.
Eye, in a building at the corner of
Irving Park Boulevard and Kessler
avenue, to have a. ringworm on his
cheek treated.

C HICAGO Detective Headquarters was

notified and said: “We'll eat him
up; we’re used to tough ones.” In’ the
street, headed toward the Dillinger car,
at the curb, were planted two Chicago
detective squad cars and back of them
an Indiana State Police car with State
Trooper Art Keller, John Ardery, the
Chicago detective under-cover man, and
Inspector Bernard Rooney of the Lima,
Ohio, department in it. Back of Dill-
inger’s car, just across the intersection,
was a Chicago squad car. The idea
was that when Dillinger pulled from
the curb the squad cars ahead, at a
signal from a spotlight, were to rush
out and block his path and a car was
to ram him from behind.

Dillinger came out. The girl he had
left in his car, saw the spotlight signal
maneuvered and yelled: “John, we're
hot! Squad cars ahead!” Dillinger
leaped into his car; but instead of
driving into the trap, backed quickly
around the corner and roared away on
Irving Boulevard at right angles to the
path of his expected flight. ‘“He’s not
even coming this way,” shouted one of
the occupants of the Indiana squad car.
The driver, Detective Ardery, shot be-
tween the Illinois squad cars and was
first on Dillinger’s trail. The squad
car behind Dillinger and nearest to him
in the pha was the last to get under
way. In the first five hundred feet Dill-
inger and his girl companion fired seven
shots which shattered the Indiana po-

lice car windshield and missed the
officers by inches. Art Keller, Indiana
trooper, got out on the running-board
and in the eight-mile chase put almost
fifty bullets into Dillinger’s car, as was
later disclosed when it was found. The
gun-man escaped.

Tip-off word came later that when
he got into his hide-out, Dillinger was
enraged. He threw down five hundred
dollars and said it was for the man who
would kill the man who had betrayed
him. Four of his escaped convict
henchmen each flopped down three hun-
dred dollars for the same purpose.
State Police said they had reason to
believe Dillinger knew who betrayed
him, having slept with the man; but
that he wouldn’t kill him himself, pre-
ferring the more lucrative business of
bank robbery, to murder for revenge.
Spied upon, flitting from place to place,
ra continued to do battle with
the law.

WH EN the prison break occurred Gov-

ernor McNutt had promised that
the investigation would not be a “white-
wash.” Parading witnesses appeared
before the Board of Trustees and told
what they knew. Warden Kunkel said
“bad gates and not bad guards” caused
the break. He recommended a mirror
system at the turnkey cage so that the
guard could see who wanted to come in
or out without being himself vulnerable
to. guns. He recommended an outside
prison receiving room for all products.
He complained of lack of co-operation
of some of the old-time guards.

Deputy Warden Claudy and Second
Deputy Evans spent four hours before
the Board of Inquisition. The drab
minutes were enlivened in places b
humor. Lifer Thomas, No, 12-453,
testified that Deitrich had found an un-
used room in the recesses of the shirt
shop basement and set up a “social
room.” The prison plumber had tapped
hot and cold water mains and made a
shower. Furniture was fashioned from
boxes. Talcum powder, a broken mir-
ror, and a home-made razor, were ob-
tained. Coffee was boiled. Soap was
used as exchange in the prison, two
bars being worth a cigarette. Deitrich
was store-keeper and a radio and piece
of rope had been smuggled in. The
social room smelled “like a woman’s
boudoir” when the convicts took a
shower and dusted with talcum powder,
Thomas said.

One fascinating question that had not
been answered, was how did the con-
victs get the automatics smuggled in,
through the incessant plotting of John
Dillinger. Shouse, when he was cap-

. tured in the Paris, IIl., gun battle, was

able to throw light upon this,
“With Deitrich acting as chief re-
ceiving clerk-in the shirt shop, the place

was wide open. If you had money you -

could get anything. We even talked
of machine guns but decided they
would attract too much attention as we
crossed the prison yard,” he said.
Deitrich got word through to Dill-
inger through an intermediary that
there was an easier way to get gats in
the institution than over the wall.
“With me: as receiving clerk, just

April, 1934
wrap them up
them to the s|
This suggest
the friendship of
diana Public Ene
tion as to the ;
caster, Maine, B
where, where ra\
pared for shippi
Dillinger then suj
money, police saic
crime, and dispa
these bases whe
materials and tw
were bought.

THE buttons w

the boxes we
automatics and ir
clips of cartridg
placed in the rol
and it was w
wrapping to that
the load on the »
the prison shirt
informed that al
then he was cai
Lima jail.

The package
prison and was t]
rich, who hid thi
basement, and th
found after the
number of plott
admit more men,
Dillinger.

Upon the bre:
ings, Governor
alacrity. He dis
Warden Claudy
bert Evans for
letting Deitrich ;
as receiving cler

—————
THE INSIv«

In the basement of :
and recent deaths, e
table of her sixty-tv
been administered;

that snuffed out the
skein,

Even in Chicago
There have been a:
strange and self-sac
room mansion; inde
conceive. But here
with such bewilderi:

What really hap;
Mysreries, Merlir
absorbing detective

Three pretty Port):
rominent—and me
th lurks in their
Oregonians. The r
were negative. But
lead to the killers a:
Claremont Tavern ;
of Portland’s twin }
Derective Mysrei

HO

“Death beckoned tc
backing into the ee:
the agent staggered
grips you with the s
the first word to the

This is the astonish
depredations; of the
story. There are th
you think of Roylar

Other unusual detec
Casement Tragedy;
Hi Case.” etc


* rout before
state drive.
was on
lieutenants
{bergh law
ig William
1 for $100,-
ted. They
xo to stand
(Jake the
ing $70,000

eir victim.

Courtney,
iepredations
as Illinois
vin H. Pur-
Division of
co-operated
-blic Enemy

to believe
securities to
protection,
vith at least
ints. These
ohn Klutas,
appers who
nsom, Basil
. leader, and
ynors,’ Mr.

eculiar hand.
icketeer nor
a Beau

ass deal-

ers, but
were Pier-
and Makley,
hip by keep-
im from the
sweethearts
omen upon
vats, automo-
s were useful
packing and
or’s gangsters
or three at
they got low
on the word

vetty stick-up
ed cars they
‘rom time to
o paid steal-
‘hicago police
tt and Mary
|” order, and
officer in the

m a Dillinger
iger gangsters
talk about is
tly they take
eparation for
carry sub-ma-
yuts and sleep
They seek to
to escape to
ren who have
ld not engage
get killed.”
Leach  dis-
with joining

apany’s rifling

yn New Year’s
their escape,
2d as hav-
festivities

x seriously

ren Lieutenant

April, 1934

Edward Weber and Sergeant James
Allegretti, Leach said: “These gun-men
shouted, ‘This is a hoist,’ the underworld
patois of a gangster for a hold-up. Dill-
inger, as far as | can find, never lapsed
into such lingo of the underworld. If
Dillinger had done the job he would
have said ‘This is just a plain, ordi-
nary cold-blooded hold-up.’ Dillinger
wouldn’t have referred to a machine-
gun as a ‘typewriter. To him it is
just an ordinary business-like machine-
gun. He wouldn’t have said ‘plugged
but that his victim was ‘fatally shot
by a well-aimed projectile from a fire-
arm.’ He doesn’t say ‘scram’ but
simply ‘get to hell out of here.’ The
man who used this underworld ver-
nacular in the raid on the Beverly Gar-
dens wasn’t Dillinger. A man with a
price on his head in three states like
Dillinger, doesn’t take long chances for
a few dollars. He joins with two or
three trusted lieutenants in a job
where the split is big,” said Captain
Leach.

A clash between the mobilized Chi-
cago police and Dillinger’s mob was
inevitable. The radio crackled out
from Chief of Detectives William Shoe-
maker’s office for Detective Sergeant
William T. Shanley’s mobile command
to go to 5320 Broadway and arrest a
party that had left a stolen car for
repairs. Detective Dan Healy had been
tracing this car since the Racine hold-
up of Dillinger. It had been taken to
Carl Blomberg’s north side shop for
repairs, and he had sent it to the
Tower Auto Rebuilders, tipping off po-
lice when he recognized its number.
Policeman Frank Hopkins, with Shan-
ley, had failed to suspect a well-dressed
couple who entered the garage. Neither
were forewarned of Dillinger.

SERGEANT SHANLEY, twice cited
‘7 for bravery in seventeen years on the
force, and the father of four small chil-
dren, approached the couple as they
stood by the car. “Take your hands out
of your pockets. I am a police officer
and you are under arrest,” he said as he
slapped the pockets of the strangers in
search for a weapon. Finding none he
had replaced his gun in the holster
when the stranger, with lightning draw,
snatched one from an arm holster and
shot Shanley through the chest and
head. Shanley fell mortally wounded.
He died in a hospital a short time later.

(Left to right) Homer VanMeter, Joseph Fox, Joe R. Burns, These three escaped ,

The Master Detective

Officer Hopkins rushed in and saw
a man dragging a woman through a
side door. He seized the woman and
the gun-man fled across a vacant lot.
She gave her name as Miss Elaine Kent
and said she knew her companion only
as “John Smith.” Allen Bixby, clerk
at the Chapman Hotel, when shown a
picture of some convicts by Chicago
detectives, pointed to three-fingered
Oklahoma Jack Hamilton, Canadian-
born Dillinger gangster, as the man
who more than fifty times visited Miss
Kent at the hotel. Others in the ga-
rage completed the identification.

“It was a surprise,” said Miss Kent
in jail, “for I thought this man was a
rich man’s son. He gave me coats and
a car and was the cleanest and politest
man I ever saw. He didn’t even say
damn.”

IN the meantime Captain Leach, act-
ing on a hot tip, found a Vigo County
man who identified a “Homer Ellis,”
the buyer of a car, as Eddie Shouse,
Dillinger gangster, from Bertillon
photos. Captain Leach, through un-
dercover men, traced this car through
three states and to Paris, Illinois, where
a bank was “cased” for robbery. A
man named Miller was taken in custody
at the France Hotel, in Paris, and ques-
tioned. Captain Leach and nineteen
Indiana State Troopers, chiefly in plain
clothes, swooped down on Paris and at
4 a.m. awakened local authorities. The
trap was laid. Each State Trooper had
his instructions. Marksmen were desig-
nated, and each was to hold his fire
until the man next ahead of him had
emptied his gun. To State Trooper
Eugene Teague, a brave officer, stand-
ing six feet four in height and weigh-
ing 200 pounds, went the tough assign-
ment of No. | man. His duty was to
suddenly crash his car into that of the
Dillinger gangster car head on.

“This trap has never failed to work
for me. The gun-man gets out to argue
about his damaged car and by the time
he finds he is talking to a police officer
in uniform he is out of luck,” Captain
Leach said.

At 11 a.m. the muscles of the crouch-
ing men, who had been on the job
thirty-eight hours, tensed. The suspect
car drove in front of the hotel. Trooper
Teague crashed his car headlong into
that of the suspect. He emptied his
pistol at the gun-man crouched under

aor ‘ e

convicts are still at large

57

Clean Out
Your Kidneys

5,

--. WIN BACK
YOUR PEP

Good Kidney Action Purifies Your
Blood—Often Removes the Real
Cause of Getting Up Nights,
Neuralgia and Rheumatic Pains—
Quiets Jumpy Nerves and Makes
You Feel 10 Years Younger.

A famous scientist and Kidney Special-
ist recently said: “60 per cent of men
and women past 85, and many far
younger, suffer from poorly function-
ing Kidneys, and this is often the real
cause of feeling tired, run-down, ner-
vous, Getting Up Nights, Rheumatic
pains and other troubles.”

If poor kidney and Bladder functions
cause you to suffer from any symptoms
such as Loss of Vitality, Getting up
Nights, Backache, Leg Pains, Ner-
vousness, Lumbago, Stiffness, Neural-
gia or Rheumatic Pains, Dizziness,
Dark Circles Under Eyes, Headaches,
Frequent Colds, Burning, Smarting or
Itching Acidity, you can’t afford to
waste a minute. You should start test-
ing the Doctor’s Prescription called
Cystex (pronounced Siss-tex) at once.

Cystex is probably the most reliable
and unfailingly successful prescription
for poor Kidney and Bladder functions.
It starts work in 15 minutes, but does
not contain any dopes, narcotics or
habit-forming drugs. It is a gentle aid
to the Kidneys in their work of cleaning
out Acids and poisonous waste matter,
and soothes and tones raw, sore, irri-
tated bladder and urinary membranes.

Because of its amazing and almost
world-wide success the Doctor’s pre-
scription known as Cystex (pronounced
Siss-tex) is offered to suffers from
poor Kidney and Bladder functions
under a fair-play guarantee to fix you
up to your complete satisfaction or
money back on return of
empty package. It’s only
3c a dose. So ask your
druggist for Cystex to-
day and see for your-
self how much younger,
stronger and better
you can feel by sim-

ly cleaning out your

idneys. Cystex
must do the work
or cost nothing.


56

(Upper row) Walter Deitrich,

Edward Shouse. (Lower row) Harry Copeland, Hil-

The Master Detective

ton F. Crouch. These four were captured singly

old opponent on_ the football field,
Feeney playing with the KFM_ inde-
pendents and Copeland with the Con-
gerville Tigers. Copeland was identified
as having participated in bank rob-
beries, admitted driving the car from
which Jenkins had jumped, and was
put in solitary to await extradition to
Ohio to stand trial for murdering
Sarber.

Hilton Crouch, whom Chicago police
say confessed robbing the Indianapolis
bank, with Dillinger, from which he got
a $8,300 split, was next taken into
custody. He had bought a Chicago
tavern and married a sixteen-year-old
girl.

wat the criminally-crazed mind of
Dillinger was next hatching soon
became apparent. “I have just sighted
Dillinger on the Cartersburg road,”
Sam Jordan, a farmer, near Danville,
telephoned Sheriff Lewis Pounds. Jor-
dan said Dillinger’s brother had mar-
ried his (Jordan’s) niece and he could
not be mistaken. Professor Leslie
Steinbach, of Danville Normal College,
sep eee in the road to fix a tire and
picked up a ony of an Indianapolis
newspaper that lay by the roadside.
Across the top was a streamer, “U. S.
AGENTs JOIN INDIANA MAN Hunt.” His
eye fell upon a penned diagram on_the
paper. It looked as though the Gov-

er

ernor had been “cased in” for kid-
napping, by the pen of Dillinger. A
circle was drawn around the words
“Governor's House here” and Fall Creek
was marked. There were notations of
a “get-away” as follows: “Capture and
compel to sign pardon. Kill if neces-
sary. Get the money. Meet at Junc-
tion of 52-31. Act Damn Quick.”

AROUSED at the daring of Dillinger,
the Hoosier authorities set up a new
offensive. With the aid of man-power
provided by Adjutant General E. J.
Straub, who had seen hard fighting in
France with the Rainbow Division, they
set up sand bag fortifications, known as
“road blocks”, on the principal high-
ways. Every car was stopped and its
occupants searched. A convict cap-
tured later, said:

“These road blocks held more terror
for us than dozens of police. They
drove us to the by-roads where we were
either under suspicion or lost.” The
U. S. Department of Justice, Homer S.
Cummings, Chief, asked for details of
the road blocks to use elsewhere in the
country.

With the search hot, Dillinger and
his mobsters moved to Chicago. They
were abetted, State Police said, by Mrs.
Pearl Elliott, who contacted former
Indiana convicts living there. Dillinger
arrived on the Chicago crime scene

with the racketeers on the rout before
a combined Federal and State drive.
The Roger Touhy gang was on
the spot. Roger and his lieutenants
stood trial under the Lindbergh law
in St. Paul for kidnapping William
Hamm, Jr., and holding him for $100,-
000 ransom and were acquitted. They
were then rushed to Chicago to stand
trial for kidnapping John (Jake the
Barber) Factor and collecting $70,000
ransom after torturing their victim.
They needed defense money.

State’s Attorney Thomas Courtney,
of Chicago, as Dillinger’s depredations
increased, moved him up as Illinois
Public Enemy No. |. Melvin H. Pur-
vis, chief of the Chicago Division of
the Department of Justice, co-operated
and moved him as U. S. Public Enemy
No. |. “We have reasons to believe
that Dillinger, exchanging securities to
be cashed, for hide-out protection,
formed a working liaison with at least
five powerful gang remnants. These
included such men as John Klutas,
head of the College Kidnappers who
had extracted $500,000 ransom, Basil
Banghart, a southwest gang leader, and
Charles (Ice Wagon) Connors,” Mr.
Courtney said.

BU Dillinger played a peculiar hand.
He was neither a racketeer nor
an organizer, but a leader of a Beau
Brummel robbery gang. Business deal-
ings he might have with others, but
his real business partners were Pier-
pont, Russell Clark, Shouse and Makley,
who had earned his friendship by keep-
ing their oath to liberate him from the
Ohio jail. These men had sweethearts
from the underworld, women upon
whom they lavished fur coats, automo-
biles and money. The girls were useful
in look-out work, and in packing and
moving for them. Dillinger’s gangsters
lived apart and met two or three at
a time to oe a job when they got low
on cash. They assembled on the word
of a contact man.

They didn’t touch any petty stick-up
stuff. When they wanted cars they
bought twenty or more from time to
time from middlemen who paid steal-
ers but $25 to get them. Chicago police
put Dillinger, Pearl Elliott and Mary
Kinder in a “shoot to kill” order, and
the list was sent to every officer in the
city.

Word came straight from a Dillinger
layout which said: “Dillinger gangsters
are kill-crazy. All they talk about is
killing an officer. Nightly they take
positions to drill, in preparation for
surprise attacks. They carry sub-ma-
chine guns, live in hide-outs and sleep
in bullet-proof vests. They seek to
amass $100,000 and then to escape to
South America. Policemen who have
wives and children should not engage
in the hunt, for they will get killed.”

State Police Captain Leach dis-
credited Dillinger’s men with joining
in the Unity Trust Company’s rifling
of deposit boxes. When, on New Year's
eve, four months after their escape,
they were tentatively identified as hav-
ing shot up Beverly Gardens festivities
in a hold-up, and with having seriously
wounded County Policemen Lieutenant

April, 1934

Edward Webe
Allegretti, Lea:

shouted, ‘This g
patois of a gi
inger, as far §

into such ling:
Dillinger had
have said ‘Th
nary cold-blo«
wouldn't have
gun as a ‘ty|
just an ordina
gun. He wou
but that his
by a well-aim
arm 22 he a
simply ‘get t
man who us
nacular in the
dens wasn’t L
price on his
Dillinger, doe
a few dollars
three trusted
where the sp
Leach.

A clash be’
cago police
inevitable.
from Chief of
maker's. offic:
William T. 5
to go to 532
party that !
repairs. Det
tracing this «
up. of Dilling
Carl Blomb:
repairs, and
Tower Auto
lice when }
Policeman |}
ley, had fail
couple who ¢
were forewa’

ERGEAJ
5 for bray
force, and tl
dren, appro
stood by the
of your poc
and you are
slapped the
search for ;
had replact
when the st
snatched on
shot Shank
head. Shar
He died in


missed the
ler, Indiana
nning-board
: put almost
car, as was
found. The

- that when
dillinger was
five hundred
he man who
ad betrayed
ped convict
'n three hun-
ne purpose.
d reason to
ho betrayed
ie man; but
himself, pre-
business of
for revenge.
lace to place,
battle with

ccurred Gov-
romised that
be a “white-
es appeared
ees and told
Kunkel said
ards” caused
a mirror
that the
come in
‘If vulnerable
d an outside
all products.
co-operation
iards.
and Second
hours before
The drab
n places by
No. 12-453,
found an un-
of the shirt
up a “social
r had tapped
and made a
shioned from
broken mir-
zor, were ob-
1. Soap was
prison, two
tte. Deitrich
dio and piece
led in. The
e a woman’s
victs took a
lcum powder,

1 that had not
did the con-
smuggled in,
tting of John
he was cap-
in battle, was
this.
as chief re-
hop, the place
id money you
» even talked
decided they
ttention as we
said.
to Dill-
ary that
O get gats in
- the wall.
ig clerk, just

April, 1934

wrap them up in a package and address
them to the shirt shop,” he said.

This suggestion brought Deitrich into
the friendship of Dillinger and the In-
diana Public Enemy No. | got informa-
tion as to the sources, such as Lan-
caster, Maine, Boise, Idaho, and else-
where, where raw materials were pre-
pared for shipping to the shirt shop.
Dillinger then supplied his friends with
money, police said, in reconstructing the
crime, and dispatched them to one of
these bases where a roll of shirting
materials and twelve boxes of buttons
were bought.

THE-buttons were dumped out and in
the boxes were placed seven new
automatics and in the other boxes extra
clips of cartridges. The boxes were
pladed in the roll of shirting materials
and it was wrapped with similar
wrapping to that used on packages in
the load on the platform consigned to
the prison shirt shop. Dillinger was
informed that all was then O. K. and
then he was caught and ‘put in the
Lima jail.

The package was speeded to_ the
prison and was there received by Deit-
rich, who hid the button boxes in the
basement, and these empty boxes were
found. after the break. The original
number of plotters: was increased to
admit more men, necessary to liberate
Dillinger.

Upon the break investigation find-
ings, Governor McNutt acted with
alacrity. He discharged First Deput
Warden Claudy and his assistant Ale
bert Evans for “gross negligence” in
letting Deitrich and Russell Clark act
as receiving clerks for raw material

The Master Detective

without proper supervision. There was
talk of green guards but Deputy
Claudy in his defense stated that War-
den Kunkel was responsible for inside
prison assignments. Guy Burklow,
inner gate guard, had a nervous break-
down and resigned. Lorenz C. Schmuhl,
for years manager of the prison shirt
shop, got Claudy’s job as First Deputy
Warden.

On January Ist, four months after
the sensational Indiana prison break,
Captain Leach, who. knew more of the
activities of the Dillinger gang than
any living officer, sat alone in his office.
The tally before him showed:

Convicts or. ASSOCIATES KILLED—
Jenkins, Katzewitz, Tattlebaum, and
Ginsberg.

Capturep— James Clark, Shouse,
Copeland and Crouch,

ince the above was written, John
Dillinger, Charles Makley, Russell
Clark, Harry Pierpont and Mary Kin-
der have been caught in Tucson, Ari-
zona, Their capture resulted from a
strange series of circumstances. Ob-
liged to leave their hotel rooms on ac-
count of a fire January 24th, certain
guests offered large rewards to firemen
if they would rescue their luggage. The
firemen saved the luggage and were
aid. The next day, one of the firemen,
ooking through True Detective Mys-
TERIES Magazine, came across pictures
of members of the Dillinger gang and
recognized one of them as the generous
hotel guest. Police were notified and so
the Indiana fugitives were captured.
Thirty thousand dollars and a minia-
tute arsenal were found in their pos-
session. Dillinger and his four com-
panions have been returned to Indiana.

r

skein.

Detective MysterizEs.

ips you
the first word to the last.

THE INSIDE STORY OF CHICAGO’S WEIRD WYNEKOOP MYSTERY

In the basement of a spooky mansion, filled with eerie shadows and ghostly memories of several strange
and recent deaths, attractive Rheta Wynekoop was found dead by the police. She lay on the operating
table of her sixty-two-year-old mother-in-law, disrobed as for a medical examination. Chloroform

been administered; she had been shot in the back; and the respective sequence of these two events,
that snuffed out the life of the unsuspecting girl, is not the least important strand of the tangled, scarlet

Even in Chicago where murder mysteries are mysteries this has proved one of the most bizarre.
There have been astounding charges and counter charges; confessions and recantations; stories of a
strange and self-sacrificing love; of extra-marital relations; of weird happenings in that ghostly fifteen-
room mansion; indeed, all the elements of the phantasmal type of story that the brain of a Poe could
conceive. But here the enigmatic and the mystifying spring right out of the lives of actual people, and
with such bewildering unexpectedness that the facts leave you stunned.

What really happened? That is the question thousands have asked. In May True Detective
Mysteries, Merlin Moore Taylor gives the inside st of the Wynekoop mystery, one of the most
absorbing detective cases we have had for some time, and one of the most startling. Don’t miss it.

THE CLUE OF THE BLACK-EYED SKULL

Three pretty Portland girls are having a dinner party at the popular Claremont Tavern with three
er me married—Oregonians. The gay gathering is interrupted by two masked two-gun men.
eath lurks in their eyes, and death follows their p
Oregonians. The motive? # Love or litical vengeance?. Robbery? 1
were negative. But the proprietor of a dive, a Japanese with a strange stick-pin in his tie, furnished the
lead to the killers and disclosed the motive. .No, the stick-pin was‘not stolen from any member of the
Claremont Tavern party. You'll have to be a better

of Portland’s twin killing. This mystifying puzzle is worked out for you in the May issue of True

HOW WE SOLVED THE “RISING SUN” MURDER

“Death beckoned to the agent from the darkness. .
backing into the eerie, underground boiler room. .

.. Gripping his weapon with his right hand, he began
.. A spurt of flame spat lividly from the darkness;
the agent staggered backward. .. .““Mystery and action in weird surroundings, and detective work that

i with the spirit of an eager man-hunter on the trail, make this a story that fascinates you from

“BRING THEM IN ALIVE”

This is the astonishing story of the activities of Utah’s Phantoms of the White Mist; of their startling
depredations; of their murder of the beautiful Roylance; andjof their capture. But this doesn’t end the
story. There are thrills that follow, and a gun-battle ending in a death that almost loverjoys you when
you think of Roylance and her tragic ride with de

Other unusual detective cases in the May True Derective are: “Behind the Scenes of the Great
Casement Tragedy;” “The Murder on the Night Limited; ‘What Really Happened in Los Angeles,
Hickman Case.” etc. The May True Derective Mysteries will be on all news stands April Sth.

ath at the side of her lover,

had

tom-like visit—the deaths of two of the prominent
No one could tell. And the clues

detective than that to solve the intricate problem

59

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This is & cardinal
The “take-off,”
t

ch he invited the
. the drawing-room

ctim.
\Iman cars, spotted
en, ingenuous face
iechanic” that here
one directed at Mr.
expensive luggage,
rything was perfect.
accepted the “me-
f how he went with
, “gin.” It will be

~
a”

Chat tops two pairs—as
story—how the ‘‘Duke

tually was trimmed.

vere over, Mr. Carew and the
“mechanic” went 10 search of

qli-in’” did his work. One of
3 to discover the victim’s des-
to time the job.
ily fall into,

i the

re

3

r.

”? Joitered in the Pullman.
ad (Continued on page 70) :

slayi arged with

ying Mme. Cor-
mon a_ wealth:

widow, Mlle. Marie

emoine, beauty

lor operator of

is led to a cell

guillotine for mur-

Gilman Helsi
Se
chairs and ta

about. He is porn
being removed to
Bellevue Hospital
New York, after
five policemen sub-

Discove

_ ;. red
ed and iu.
treated in tt
subcellar of a New

former  rum-

running gang await

by Federal a;
gent:
and police a

7—Michael Maggi

44, holding —
murdered his second
wife and a son by
an earlier marriage
when he s ts od
them in >a bed-

8—Lawrence C.
24, in a cell
at Mount Vernon

was found in y
fi an oil

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LD IN Ly ad te OY 9 bag

a rer usa baie

HARRY PIERPONT went to the chair for
the murder of Sheriff Sarber when he and
his pals freed Dillinger from an Ohio jail.

“Escape me never!” says Warden Hender-
son of Russell Clark, last of the Dillinger gang
now serving life sentence at Ohio prison. death at the hands of an alert prison guard,

°- == DILLINGERS |

CHARLES MACKLEY, Dillinger henchman
who cheated the electric chair only to meet

ROBBERY WAS THEIR RACKET... MURDER WAS THEIR MEAT—AND
IT TOOK THE ULTIMATE IN BRAINS AND BULLETS TO FINISH THESE

KILLERS. BUT ONLY ONE—HAS ESCAPED DEATH!

picture dramatizing the life of

John Dillinger plus insistent
rumors that remnants of the old
Capone mob are again operating
around Chicago, brings back many
colorful but distasteful memories of
an era when those arch-criminals,
Al and John, held this country in
a grip of terror.

Whatever one may think of
Capone and Dillinger, it must be
admitted that each represented an
entirely different type of criminal.
Al Capone, as king of the racke-
teers, personifies the crime baron
who sits in a luxurious, secluded
hotel suite and directs the activities
of his henchmen who do his bid-
ding. His was a career of extortion
and murder on a highly organized
basis—big business, as it were. I
doubt whether Al Capone ever
killed anyone personally. He didn’t
have the guts. He was yellow and’
paid others to snuff out the lives of
enemies who attempted to muscle-
in on his rackets.

John Dillinger, on the other hand,
was a cruel, heartless killer who

Toe recent release of a motion

personally led his band of despera-
does on their exploits, never shying
from an opportunity to shoot it out
with those who represented that
which he hated so thoroughly—the
law. Dillinger was the anti-social
type at its worst.

He despised any law enforcement
agent regardless of the circum-
stances. As I saw the movie de-
picting his adventurous career, I

‘could not help but think what a

commando he might have made if
his ill-directed bravery had been
used fighting the Germans or Japs.
No one admires Dillinger for what
he was or for what he did but he
never pretended to be anything but
a killer. But John Dillinger is dead.
The cowardly Capone is alive bask-
ing amidst the luxurious surround-
ings of his palatial Florida estate.
In a recent interview with Gen-
eral Frank D. Henderson, Warden
of Ohio Penitentiary, which was
shortly after I had seen the movie,
“Dillinger,” I asked about the fa-
mous escape plot of the notorious
mobster’s lieutenants in 1934 while

* they were awaiting electrocution. I

By DANA DESMOND

was surprised to learn that the mob
was not entirely wiped out with the
death of Dillinger but that one is
still alive serving a life sentence in
that institution.

“Yes, we have that last Dillinger
gangster as our permanent guest,”
asserted the Warden with a smile.

Gen. Henderson was referring to
Russell Clark, one of the original
Dillinger gang, who has been in
Ohio Penitentiary for over twelve
years.

Clark, born in a small Illinois
town in 1898, is rapidly approach-
ing fifty. The prison records show
that the first indication of delin-
quency dates back to 1919 when
Clark was dishonorably discharged
from the U. S. Army after having
served but a scant four months as

an enlisted man. A dishonorable.

discharge from the armed services
stigmatizes a man forever. It in-
variably precludes him from any
worth-while employment. .

His criminal activities next made
themselves evident in Evansville,
Indiana in 1926 where he was
charged (Continued on page 64)

7
Vi JIL vy, a


» away for
depressed
tld like to

like that, -

wouldn’t.
e she was

+ phatically
by every-

- that the

ied belief
t-mortem
not possi-
emendous

oured in

er-supply
seeking &
the body.
sal supply
del on the
e vicinity
ld give us
nan enter

W et i

Ps

LE,

elec. Ohio (allen) 10/17/1934.

1—Gang vengeance
claimed three re-
cently on deserted
New Jersey road.
Body of one victim
may be seen at left

viction at Buffalo,
N. Y., of the mur-
der of a policeman

was shot and killed
by police

mera study
of Harry Pierpont,
“brains”’ of the Dil-
linger mob,. who
died in Ohio Peni-
tentiary’s electric

chair last. October

6—“Bobby” Ed-

wards
“A

handcuff tiie” bok

lowing conviction of

murder, Edwards

is. sentenced to die
in chair

As

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NATIO NAL: [ ‘THE LAST OF THE

DETECTIVE ,

with armed robbery. He wriggled out
of this mess only to be arrested a year
later in Ft. Wayne for a similar crime.
This time he was convicted and sent
to Indiana State Prison where he be-
came acquainted with the men who
formed the nucleus of the infamous
Dillinger mob. :

There, together with Dillinger, Har-
ry Pierpont, Charles Makley and
others, he formulated an escape plot
which was successfully ¢éonsummated
in 1933 when ten of the worst criminals
this country has ever known made a
daring break with guns which had
been smuggled into the institution.
Under Dillinger’s direction they per-
petrated a series of robberies, kidnap-
pings and murders unsurpassed in the
annals of crime. At last, Al Capone,
had a rival for wholesale murder!

In October, 1933, Dillinger was cap- -

tured in Dayton, Ohio and brought to
Lima, Ohio to face charges in connec-
tion with a bank robbery.

On the evenihg of October 12, Sher-
iff Jess L. Sarber of Allen County was
sitting in his office at the jail with his
Deputy, Wilbert Sharpe. Suddenly,
three men walked in and asked to see
Dillinger, asserting they were Mich-
igan authorities.

Demanding their credentials, the
Sheriff was met by the exclamation of
one, “here they are,” and without hes-
itation, the stranger pulled a revolver
and fired instantly, mortally wound-
ing the sheriff,

Mrs. Sarber, attracted by the shots,
came running into the jail office from
the Sarber home which adjoined the
jail. The gunmen forced her to pro-
duce the 4 locked her and Sharpe
in a cell and freed Dillinger who, be-
fore their arrival, had been playing
cards with another prisoner in the

“bull pen” of the cell block. Without :

any attempt to free other prisoners,
the four men left the jail office. Sher-
iff Sarber died a few hours later but
not without identifying Harry Pier-
pont as the triggerman.

HE killers were traced to Tucson,

Arizona in a great man-hunt in
which both State and Federal author-
ities took part. There, on January 26,
1934, Dillinger, Pierpont, Makley and
Russell Clark were apprehended and
identified as the men who had staged
the freeing of the ang leader at Lima.
Dillinger was extradited to Indiana
where he again escaped from the
Crown Point Jail but the other three
mobsters were returned to Lima to
face first-degree murder charges for
the slaying of the sheriff. Pierpont
and Makley were tried, convicted and
sentenced to death in the electric chair

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(Continued from page 42)

DILLINGERS |
J

but for some unknown reason which
only juries can explain, Clark got off
with a life sentence.

While Makley and Pierpont were in
death-row awaiting electrocution at
Ohio Penitentiary, they made a key,

unlocked the cells of seven other pris- .

oners and attempted to escape. With
dummy guns fashioned from soap and
blackened with ink, the condemned
men assaulted their guards and fought
a losing battle within the cell block.
Makley was killed and Pierpont was
seriously wounded but he recovered in
time to be executed on October 17,
1934. The demise of his pals left Russ
Clark to face the long, dreary years

of a life behind prison walls alone. .<

And what have twelve years of in-
carceration done to Clark? Strangely
enough, Clark’s conduct record in
prison has been fair. He has had sev-
eral work assignments during his im-
prisonment and his work record has
been satisfactory. Russ, as he is known
to his associates, is quiet, unobtru-
sive and keeps to himself. But like
most notorious criminals who have
served time, he is “stir wise.” In

other words, he knows better than to .

indulge in fighting and open trouble-
making. He keeps his own counsel
and plans in silence. Clark is what
prison officials term an “escape type.”
They know his ilk never gives up hope
of escaping. He might launch an at-
tempt at any time and when he does,
he will go to any means to accomplish
his end even to the death of those who
might stand in his way. And why?
A lifer has little or nothing to lose.

Warden Henderson admits Clark
has never been involved in an actual
prison break. But the grapevine is al-
ways active and he has been suspected
numerous times of plotting—he is not
given the opportunity to make any
plot a reality. Clark must be held in
restricted custody. He must live ina
cell by himself. He cannot be given
the freedom of movement and action
by allowing him to work in the prison
shops. His cell is in “L,” Block where
“death row” is also located. He is
definitely anti-social and probably will
never be otherwise.

Under a recent law enacted in Ohio,
Russell Clark will become eligible for
hearing by the Pardon and Parole
Commission in April, 1954 for consid-
eration of recommendation for execu-
tive clemency. It is almost certain that
no Governor would pardon a Dillinger
gangster but if he did, the Indiana au-
thorities would be there at the prison
gate waiting to take him back to Indi-
ana State Prison to serve another life
sentence for his escape in 1933, The
jury which set him apart from his pals
—Pierpont and Makley—and gave him
a life instead of a death sentence did
him no favor, I fear. As far as the
world is concerned, Clark died moral-
ly when he entered Ohio Penitentiary
on March 27, 1934 and I- wonder if
Clark, himself, has not long since de-
cided that he, too, would have been
better off if the jury had given him the
“hot-seat” along with his murdering
companions instead of condemning
him to a veritable, living death.

OF CONGRESS
quarterly at Chic
State of New Y,
County of New ¥
Before me, a
having been duly
DETECTIVE CA
ownership, mana,
in the above capt:
secton 537, Post
1. That the +
Publisher, Unive:
Avenue, N.Y. (.
Siegel, 366 Madis
2. That the ov
thereunder the n-
stock, If not ¢’
owned by a firm
must be given.}
2. That the ov
thereunder the 1:
stock, If not, ow
owned by a firm
individual member
366 Madison Aver
. That the ki
total amount of bh.
Y at the t»
if any, contain no:
pany but also, in
or tn any other fic
also that the sa
circumstances anv
of the company i:
affiant has no tea
direct in the said
5. That the as
or otherwise, to 1)
is required from

Sworn to and s
(SEAL


: A few moments. later the telephone
_ operator at police headquarters answered
to hear the excited voice of a negro man.
“There’s been a big shooting out here
in the 1700 block of Race street,” he
shouted.
“Hold the line,” the operator advised,
ringing the phone in the office of Lieut.
‘George W. Schattle, chief of the homicide
squad.
“l’m the watchman at a garage out
-here. I heard some shots and looked out
to see a fellow running down the street
with a revolver in his hand. There’s been
an old couple shot,” the informant stam-
-mered, the words tumbling forth in his
agitation.

Lieut. Schattle questioned him tersely,
then summoned the squad car, meanwhile
corraling Detectives Hart, Faragher,
Burks and Flaugher.

; The five crack detectives soon pulled up

A ie before the modest shoe store. There they

found a crowd of curious spectators who,

i like the night watchman who gave the

Bh alarm, had been attracted by the volley

_ Of shots which had crashed into the still-
ness of the night.

| The officers pushed their way through

| the crowd, to find Morris Hockfield and

is

ae Major Emmett D. Kirgan,
oe above, chief of detectives at
L's Cincinnati, had charge of the
eet. investigation which quickly
. brought to a solution the brutal
double murder in the modest
shoe store shown at right.

Tk od

his wife propped up against the wall,
crimson rivulets streaming from their
. bullet-pierced bodies. -

The negro watchman and others who
had first reached the scene had lifted the
aged couple, trying to make them as com-
fortable as possible until medical aid and
the police arrived.

- .While waiting for the ambulance that
would bear them to General hospital,
Lieut. Schattle tried with little success to
question the pair. In a semi-conscious
condition, fighting off complete oblivion,
they struggled to describe their assailant.

Weakly their voices babbled, on the de-
tectives stooping to catch tlie sound of
unintelligible broken English and Rus-
sian words. They shrugged despairingly.
They could understand none of it and
the Hockfields were rushed to the hospi-
tal in an effort to prolong their lives.

a Dens shook their heads
gravely as they made a cursory ex-
amination of their wounds. They sent at
once for the Rabbi of the synagogue at-
tended by the couple. While Lieut. Schat-
tle and his men were covering every inch
of the shoe store to unearth some clue on
which to work, Morris Hockfield was
being wheeled into the operating room.

Less than three hours later he died.

His wife, fretting about his condition
during her conscious moments, never
was told that he had passed away.
Shortly after 4 a. m., Tuesday, Feb. 5
she joined him in death.

Maj. Emmett D. Kirgen, chief of
detectives, who has established a repu-
tation for working tirelessly and stick-
ing with each case until the criminal
was brought to justice, went into con-
ference with Lieut. Schattle, highly
incensed over the deliberate cruelty of
the murderer of the Hockfields.

- “What have you found?” he asked. '

’

e

_ “Very little. We were unable to learn
anything from the victim but we obtained
descriptions of the gunman from a couple
who happened to be standing close by
when the slayer ran out of the building,
and from the negro watchman,” Schattle.
replied. eee

“Any clues?” .~ ; coe

“Doubtful ones. The woman said the
gunman was wearing brand-new shoes.
A pair of old discarded ones, which we
found beside the chair where he probably
tried on the others, bears out her state-
ment. Altogether, we brought in the pair
of old shoes, one new sock and one old
one, strangely enough, and five bullets,
four of which passed through the victims’
bodies.”

Major Kirgan nodded grimly and the
lieutenant continued:

“Weight tests of the bullets indicate
that a revolver of .38 caliber was used.
The old shoes are size 7-D, but the box
from which the new ones were taken is
marked 7}4-D. Our men spent the night
rounding up fellows wearing new black
oxfords of that size but nothing has
grown out of the investigation. They’ve
all been able to satisfactorily account for
their activities last night.”

“What about the old shoes? Do they
tell you anything?” Major Kirgan ab-
ruptly inquired. . :

Lieut. Schattle lifted his shoulder in an
expressive shrug.

“Nothing,” he admitted. He then
added that the usual procedure of sta-
tioning officers at all depots, terminals
and bridges had been carried out, while
other detectives were combing the district
in which the slaying was committed, visit-
ing all cafes, inns, taverns, rooming
houses and hotels. In fact, they were
overlooking no spot where the fugitive
might have sought refuge from the
widening police dragnet. a

The detective chief arose. “There’s not


oe Store and t
suddenly ceas
Hockfield to “put on
“How muc

small Sample Sh
t in Cincinnati.
ight ¢ February 4th, instructe
ual, g the table “They'll do,” he said crisply.
e you
0 or past, the door
field went forward
ife sm the two OCKFIE starting to TeP y, fou imself
heen waiting on as Jooking into the muzzle of revolver and heard
pers back to the wrapping hi “eystomer”” nap ommand hand over is
etter to ight. money =
a pair of bla oxfords am Mrs. Hockfield, t rrified, cried out in alarm and
is customer, ut the youns started for their meaget living quartets in the rear.
“PH call the police,” she gasP
declat The gitls, waiting An ugly snect spread over the features of the gun-
d their change; watched with an. Deliberately he leveled the wea at th
gsured him that it was g half woman $ retreating form, took steady aim and fire
5 wearing: ice. Both bullets found theit
e man insisted. Hockfield, She pitched forward, with a st tled moan Her :
oxford nd reac ed for 4 pair dismayed husband qa dash for the street to seek
aid. Ti revolver parked again and again, and the
aged, defenseless fell face-downward, plood
from hi pody.

stream

cb ied Sa Ap bay


much to go on, but we've got to break
this case. Stick with it, Lieutenant, until
we do.”

Later, alone at his desk, Schattle sat
regarding the two well-worn black shoes.

Major Kirgan’s words returned to him.

“Do they tell you anything ?”

Was there a possibility of tracing their
owner by their purchase? Had those
oxfords been soled and heeled in a Cin-
cinnati shoe repair shop, he wondered.

For some time he pondered, then
reached suddenly for the telephone. | :

“Get me the United Shoe Machinery
corporation, here in Cincinnati,” he told
the operator. Presently he was explain-
ing his problem to the head of the large
manufacturing concern, who, in turn,
promised to send a shoe expert at once to
his office. -

C. E. Zanger hurried to the lieutenant’s
aid. |

“I want to know everything possible
about these shoes and their owner,”
Schattle told him. ‘‘Do they tell you any-
thing?”

Unconsciously, he had voiced the chief’s
question.

“Tt will be necessary to cut up one of
the shoes, but I think they will tell us
much,” Zanger replied.

'

“Go ahead,” Schattle eagerly instructed
him. ne ‘

% d a
In a few moments the various parts of

the dismembered oxford were ready for
subjection to the ultra-violet ray machine
in the crime laboratory. The shoe ex-
pert worked deftly and silently, studying
every particle of each section, while the
lieutenant and members of the homicide
squad looked on.

HE TURNED from the machine

finally and began to write his find-
ings, an astonishing and enlightening
report. It contended that the owner of
the shoes was young, perhaps six feet
tall, weighing about 160 pounds, and a
man of slack habits.

Lieut. Schattle showed undisguised
surprise, but Zanger had even more to
tell.

“T should say that the young man is
in economic straights, although not on
relief in the city. I am sure that he
drinks a great. deal and has spent

much time outside of the state recently,”

he added.

“But how can you tell those things?”
Schattle demanded.

“T am judging both his age and his

The slayer shields his face as
an officer takes him to the Court
of Common Pleas in Cincinnati
to face a charge of murder.

height by the stride evidenced ; his weight
by the condition of the shoes,” Zanger
explained. soe NORE

“Ves, I can see where that might be de-
termined; but about those other things,
his habits and the personal data. How
do you reach those conclusions ?” the
puzzled lieutenant insisted.

Zanger smiled. “You want to know the
trade secrets,” he accused jokingly, “but
that is just what I am going to reveal. It
is apparent that the man owned only these
shoes because they have seen steady wear.
They are not the kind, however, that are
given to those on relief.”

He paused to pick up the sole from
which the upper had been cut, and held
it toward Schattle. ’

“Do you see these indentures or mark-

ings on the bottom?” he asked.

The homicide chief nodded.

“Those were made by a brass rail, un-
doubtedly.” Zanger continued. “That’s
why I know the wearer is a drinker and
has been out of the state much of the time
recently.”

“T get it. Ohio did away with brass
rails when prohibition went into effect,”
Schattle cut in.

“That’s it exactly.”

[Continued on page 61}


vas flushed 2

he movie,”
‘z told me
Itold him [7

to Holly- / °F

br , Af

us

nack, who a.
mistaken :

to kill his

vert in the |

xo murder ,
idge said.
‘ica prison

>a brother
ed to act

es Ward,
lph Drew
1e tdentity

Zanger continued to make notations,
while the others watched with interest.
At last he handed a slip of paper to Lieut:
Schattle, bearing all manufacturing, fac-
tory and style numbers of the shoe, to-
gether with the name and address of the
company which manufactured them.

“Good. I’ll get in touch with the man-
ufacturer and find out where these shoes
are retailed. We may be able to trace their
purchase,” Schattle observed. At the
same time he rushed his four ace detec-
tives out to check pawn shops, hardware
stores and every available place where the
murder weapon might have been bought
or sold by the slayer.

He told them that ballistic tests had
proved that the bullets were fired from
a .38 caliber revolver and that the gun
was a Smith & Wesson special.

Detectives Flaugher, Faragher, Burks

and Hart, separating, began canvassing.

various districts of Cincinnati, while
Lieut. Schattle put in a call for the shoe
manufacturer in Brockton, Mass.

He was given the name of the jobber
in that vicinity, who, in turn, furnished
names.of all stores retailing that partic-
ular brand of shoe. Enthusiastically he
contacted all nearby retailers, gradually
extending his questioning to dealers in
adjoining states. He was doomed to dis-
appointment, however, for his attempt to
trace the purchase of the old shoes
proved futile.

Likewise, the investigation of the offi-
cers was fruitless. They exhausted the
list of pawn shops and other stores and
learned nothing about the gun.

The trail was cold. The clues gave little
promise.

Then, tnexpectedly, a woman called
the office of the detective chief, to dis-
close that she knew the two girls who had
bought slippers at Hockfield’s on the
night the aged couple was slain.

“They saw the fellow change his sock
and try on the new shoes,” she added.
“They had a good look at him, They
‘can tell you exactly how he looked.”

She was not exaggerating. Because of
his irascibleness, the girls had watched
him closely, amused at his behavior, lit-
tle dreaming that within a few minutes
after their departure he would bring death
to the aged pair.

They described the youth as wearing
a dark zipper jacket and gray hat.

“His hair was light, kind of red, his
eyes were blue and he was tall and slen-
der,” one of the young women divulged,
while the other declared that “his hair
was very curly.”

Both were positive that they could

identify the gunman instantly, should they
see him again.
_ Several days passed. Hotels, inns,
rooming houses, taverns, pawnshops and
endless other places had again been can-
vassed to no avail.

Schattle and his men, reviewing every
phase of the case, decided to comb the
Race street neighborhood once more.

Detective Philip Brester sauntered into
a beer cafe in the same block in which the
now forsaken shoe store stood and the
owner eagerly motioned him to one side.

“Is it true that you think Morris and
Marie Hockfield were killed with a .38
Smith & Wesson?” he asked.

Brester nodded guardedly. “Why?”

“Well, there was a fellow in here that
same night with one.”

; nn eee ee gee ee
Ohio’s Twin Slayer and the Shoes of Guilt Will You Give

[Continued from page 25]

“You mean the night of the murder?”

the detective interrupted.

“Sure. He wanted to sell it to me.
Said he had given a fellow a radio for it
at a party that Sunday night.”

“What did he look like?”
snapped. -

“He was pretty young. Had sandy,
curly hair.”

Detective Brester’s interest increased.
“Did he take the gun with him when he
left?”

“After he loaded it, he did. He wanted
me to give him ten dollars for it and
when I told him I wouldn't pay it, he
boasted that he could go out and collect
money with it and he said some other
threatening things, too.”

For a moment the cafe proprietor hes-
itated, then he leaned nearer the de-
tective. “I’ve seen the kid around here
before,” he confided. “Wouldn’t be sur-
prised if he lived close by somewhere.
They call him Charlie.”

Brester reported this conversation to
Lieut. Schattle without delay.

“The next move is to get a line on that
Sunday night party. You'd better begin
checking all beer deliveries in that neigh-
borhood at once,” Schattle instructed. A
short time later the detective went to the
home of Helen Brown on East Clifton
avenue to learn if she had given the party
in question.

“Did anyone bring a radio, or exchange
a radio during the evening?” he asked.

“Ves, Charlie brought one and fixed it
up for dancing, but later on he let Rich-
ard Black have it,” Miss Brown replied..
es who is this Charlie you speak
fe) rad .

“Some call him Charlie Ross. Others
call him Norman Peacock.”

Brester

FFICERS soon located Richard

Black. He revealed that he had
traded a .38 caliber Smith & Wesson re-
volver to the curly-haired youth, and the
detectives immediately turned to the home
of the mysterious Charlie.

His mother said the 22-year-old youth’s
name was really Norman Peacock.

“Where is he now?” Detective Burke
wanted to know.

“T can’t tell you. I don’t know.”

“When did you see him last?” he per-
sisted.

“Not since Monday night, February
4th, sometime after 11 o’clock,” the
woman answered without hesitation. “He
came in, borrowed five dollars from me
and left. I haven’t heard from him since.”

She added that she believed he might
have gone to Peoria, IIl., to visit his
father. |
_ “Norman went out to visit his brother
in San Francisco not long ago and
stopped to see his father in Illinois, too.
He hasn’t been back home long,” she said.

Detective Hart nodded knowingly, re-
membering the shoe expert’s statement
that the slayer had been out of Ohio for
some time.

Detective Burke, however, was remem-
bering a photograph and a record of fin-
gerprints and measurements back at head-
quarters. The name of Norman Peacock
was not new to him, for the boy had done
a stretch in the reformatory for theft.

Lieut. Schattle had Peacock’s previous
record brought to his desk and immedi-

ately prepared to send out arrest bulle-

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Mrs. Marie Hockfield: Because
she screamed at the wrong
time she was shot to death

suspect as he had heard it from Zanger.

The Lieutenant gave Detective Wil-
liam Burke the detailed information
he had on the shoes, including the
style number—A 4135—and the list of
retail stores handling the style worn
by the killer.

“Take your partner with you and
call on all these stores,” Schattle
ordered. “You may find that one of
them sold the killer the shoes and in
that way get a line on him.”

Os detectives were assigned the
job of checking restaurants and
taverns in the vicinity. .

“Tt’s entirely possible that the killer
hung around this neighborhood,”
Schattle pointed out. “And with the
description we have of him you might
come across his trail.”

With this part of the investigation
underway, the Lieutenant considered
another point—the death bullets. Bal-
listics tests indicated that they prob-
ably were fired from a .38 caliber
Smith and Wesson revolver.

There was a remote possibility that
the slayer had picked up his weapon
in a gun store or pawn-shop or sold
it after the crime to one of these
places. Schattle called in more detec-
tives and set them to work on this
checkup.

The canvass of the shoe stores failed
miserably. Over a dozen places had
handled the style of shoe worn by the

8

killer, but none of them could provide
a clew to the slayer.

Search of the pawn-shops in Cincin-
nati and Covington, just across the
Ohio River, failed to turn up any
Smith and Wesson revolvers.

Patiently and doggedly Schattle held
to his theory that the shoes were the
vital clew.

“We can’t trace him through sales
records of where he bought the shoes,”
Schattle admitted, “but I believe Zan-
ger has given us all we need to turn
him up if we just stick to it. Zanger
is positive the killer’s a bar-fly and
a floater. You boys keep pounding on
that angle. He hasn’t a regular job.
Punks like him never have. -That
means he’ll need money for his drinks.
He may try hocking his gun with some
bartender once he thinks the heat has
died down. Keep checking on that
angle, too.”

Schattle haunted the Race Street
neighborhood centering around Hock-
field’s store.

He had one clew he wanted to run
down himself—the two women who
had been in Hockfield’s store when
the killer entered.

Working with two of his men, Schat-
tle made a house-to-house canvass of
the entire neighborhood. They asked
the same questions hundreds of times.
“Did you shop for or buy a pair of
shoes on the night of February 4?
What: shop did you enter?”

Finally, their patient spade work
turned up what Schattle had been
looking for. Lois Jensen remembered
that she had bought a pair of shoes
that night while in the company of
her friend, Irma Wilson. The shoes
were purchased at Hockfield’s. She
called in Irma, then told detectives,
“We were in Hockfield’s about ten

Detective Phil Brewster at left
below: He found a killer’s
trail by locating a man who
swapped a gun for a radio

o’clock. The little old woman waited
on us. While she was showing us shoes
a young fellow came in.”

“I don’t suppose that you girls
noticed what he looked like, did you?”
Detective Hart suggested half jokingly.

Lois Jensen blushed.

“Well, I didn’t stare at him the way
he kept looking at me and Irma,” she
said. “I could see his reflection in the
mirror in front of us, a ‘fresh guy,’

-I told Irma. We went out right after
that.”

“But what did he look like?”

“He wasn’t a bad looking boy,” Irma
Wilson volunteered. “Tall and well
built, but he needed a hair cut. His
hair was curly and had a reddish
glint. It stuck out all around under
his felt hat.”

“Yes, I noticed his hair, too,” Lois
agreed. “He had blue eyes, too. Bold
eyes, the stare he gave me as we pass-
ed behind was just too fresh. He
turned right around in his seat. I
thought he was going to speak.”

PURINES questioning brought out
that the young man’s felt hat was
gray and that he wore a dark, zipper
wind-breaker jacket. This description
combined ‘with the information pre-
viously dug up by Schattle and his men
was broadcast immediately to all” po-
lice officers.

“Keep looking for a_bar-fly who
answers that description,” Schattle al-
.ways added to his daily instructions
to his squad, “and don’t forget the gun
angle.”

Weeks passed with .the police no
.closer to an arrest than they had been
the day after the shootings. Then, one
evening Detective Phil Brewster, nos-
ing around the taverns, found a bar-
tender in a talkative mood. Skilfully,

The killer, above, was described
from his shoes as “a heavy drinker
...» broke... yet not on relief and
he spends a lot of time out of Ohio”


o

Pair of Shoes Was the ‘Only Lead
the Killer Who Wantonly Shot This

Cincinnati Couple to Death. But How
“Could Detectives Make the Oxfords
"Talk" to Reveal a Murderer's Trail?

killer. He couldn’t get any lead from
them, but he knew of one man who
probably could.

Carefully he wrapped up the worn
oxfords and sped to the offices of the
United Shoe Machinery Corporation.
There he located Zanger, whose long
experience had made him proficient in
detecting the hidden stories every pair
of worn shoes will tell.

Hours after Schattle had left the ox-
fords’ with Zanger, the shoe expert
called upon the Lieutenant to, make his
report. He unwrapped a package and
displayed the parts of one shoe he had
dissected. The other one was still in-
tact.

“Did you learn anything?” Schattle
asked.

Zanger smiled and said, “Yes. A few
things. Your murderer’s young, be-
tween twenty and thirty. I’d call him
about six feet tall and say that he
weighs around one hundred fifty
pounds,”

Lieutenant Schattle looked surprised.

“I knew you were a shoe expert, but
all I expected you would tell me was
who made these shoes and where they
were sold.” :

Zanger grinned in appreciation.

“It’s easy, Lieutenant Schattle. See
how these soles are worn? Reading
soles is a hobby of mine. It’s surpris-
ing how much you can tell about a man
from his shoes. I say your killer was
young, tall and medium weight by the
apparent length of his stride as shown
by the way his soles are worn. That’s
more or less a guess. But when you
catch him I'll bet you a pair of new
shoes that I haven’t missed his height
and weight more than five percent.”
Zanger turned the shoes over thought-

OD—10

fully in his hands, then continued. “I
can tell you something more from these
shoes and it’s not a guess. The man
who committed the Hockfield killings
was a heavy drinker, he was careless
about his personal appearance, he was
broke most of the time, yet not on re-
lief, and he spends a lot of time out
of Ohio.”

“How do you figure those things?”
Schattle asked skeptically. “Remem-
ber, Mr. Zanger, this is a murder case.
I can’t go off on any wild tangents.”

[= shoe expert pointed out a round-
ed indentation in the sole of one of
the shoes,

“There’s my reason for saying he’s
a bar fly and a traveler,” he said. “Un-
der the microscope I found tiny flakes
of brass in that indentation. Where
would a man get a brassy indentation
under the arch of his shoe? Why, from
resting his foot a lot on a saloon rail
in front of a bar. So he’s a steady
drinker. Ohio outlawed saloon bars
with prohibition, That means he’s done
a lot of his drinking out of the State,
so he’s a floater.”

“I follow you there, all right,” Schate-
tle said. “But how do you know he
was untidy in his appearance, hard up
and yet not on relief?”

“That’s easier than the other deduc-
tion,” Zanger replied. “See how these
shoes need shining? It’s not that they
just need a shine now. They haven't
been shined for weeks. No man that
cares anything about his appearance
would let his shoes go unshined that
long, would he? It looks to me as if
he’d worn these shoes constantly, prob-
ably-the only pair he owned, so he’s
hard up. I know he’s not on relief be-

Morris Hockfield: He was

mur-

dered because he saw his wife fall,
the victim of a gunman’s deadly fire

cause this particular type of shoe has
never been issued to relief clients.”
Zanger handed the Lieutenant a slip
of paper. “That’ll give you the factory
and style number of the shoes your
murderer left when he ran out of the
store,” he finished,

Thanking the expert, Lieutenant
Schattle hurried in to report his find-
ings to Major E. D, Kirgan, Chief of
Cincinnati’s Detective Bureau.

“A young man, a heavy drinker, who
wears size seven or seven and a half

D, black oxfords,” the Major mused.
“Not much to go on, that, But get your
men to working on every possible
lead.”

Schattle wired the factory in Brock-
ton, Massachusetts, which had manu-
factured the slayer’s old shoes, for a
list of their jobbers and retailers in
the Cincinnati area who handled this
style.

When he had received an answer he
called his men in for a conference, told
them the description of the murder

7


>
*  (PAcecK, Nerkman-

By William H. Murray

Special Investigator for
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

ay

can give us a description of the
murderer?”

C. E. Zanger looked up at Lieutenant
George W. Schattle and nodded slowly.

“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure of it. I will
call you as soon as I have my report
ready.” .

Schattle, head of Cincinnati’s Homi-
cide Squad, sighed, said hopefully, “I
trust that you will find something for
us. We’ve got a tough case and we
need every possible lead we can dig
up.”

mT ca you think that these shoes

Schattle left Zanger. As the Homi-
cide Chief headed for the Detective
Bureau he reviewed what little the de-
tectives knew about the slayings of
Morris and Marie Hockfield and
thought grimly that to say the case was
a tough one was an understatement.

Hockfield and his wife had been
fatally wounded in their small shoe
store in the 1700 block on Race Street.

The shooting had’ been viciously
brutal.

Before he died the old man had
gasped out a few of the details. But he
had told little that would help. Late
the cold evening of February 4, 1935,
a young man had entered Hockfield’s
store and asked for a pair of black
oxfords.

He waited until two women custo-
mers had left the place, then decided
on a pair. After he had the shoes on
he drew his gun and demanded the
money from the cash-register.

Mrs. Hockfield screamed.

Without a word the gunman knocked
Hockfield to the floor then calmly fired
two bullets into the terrified woman,

She dropped. The bandit turned to
the old man and shot him down before
he could reach the door. Then the gun-
man fled without getting any money.

Across from Hockfield’s store in a
garage office Jim Penny sat half doz-
ing. He straightened with a jerk at the

6

SEFerc (Ae

Dec

sound of the shots, looked across the
street.

A man stood silhouetted against the
store lights. Then he stepped stealthily
out. Penny saw something gleam dully
in his hand. On the floor he could
make out a sprawling figure.

Penny called the police, then rushed -

across to Hockfield’s store.

A few minutes later a squad car
skidded to a stop in front of the place.
Lieutenant Schattle with his squad of
veteran Homicide Squad detectives,
Hart, Faragher, Burke and Flaugher,
piled out of the machine and hurried
into the shop.

The doctor who had arrived with an
ambulance from General Hospital said
the victims had no chance to live,

After he heard this Schattle obtained
from the dying Hockfield the few
meager facts on the shooting. But he
could get no description of the killer.
Hockfield and his wife both had lapsed
into unconsciousness.

“We've got to move fast,” he told his
men. “You fellows spread out and
take some of the uniform officers
with you and cover every place around
here. Maybe you'll get a line on some-
one who saw the killer.”

ITHIN an hour the investigators
found other witnesses who had
caught glimpses of the fleeing slayer.

Jim Flack, Negro night watchman
for a warehouse near by, had heard the
shots.

“Sound like someone clap his hands
quick, like this,” Flack said, illustrat-
ing. “Crack, crack, den a stop, den
quick, crack, crack, crack. I jes rung
my clock on the loading-platform. I
turn and seen a man run outer Hock-
field’s store and make quick for the
alley. No, Suh! Ah didn’t see no gun,
but his shoes shine like they was new,
That’s all I seen.”

Helen Pond, stenographer on her

Homicide Squad Chief Lieutenant George W. Schattle: “It
looks as if those shoes are going to trap the murderer”

way home after working late, nearly
had been knocked down by the killer
as he fled into the alley. She had been
one of the first to attempt to render
aid to the dying Hockfields.
. “I saw the man running toward me,”
Miss Pond told Schattle. “I was ter-
rified because I saw he had a gun in
his hand. I tried to get out of his
way but he bumped into me as he
whirled into the alley. He had on a
pair of new shoes. I could hear the
stiff soles clatter and saw them shine
in the light from a street lamp.”
That was all the description of the
killer that was immediately available
to the investigating officers. Immedi-
ately a police dragnet was thrown
around the entire area. Every young
man wearing new black oxfords was
held and investigated. But the night
passed without any positive progress.

DETECTIVE.
1G 4 |

Each of the “black oxfords” suspects
was able to prove that he had no con-
nection with the shooting.

Both of the victims died a few hours
later without regaining consciousness.
The fatal slugs were taken from their
bodies and were rushed to the police
ballistics laboratory for examination.

“They were shot from a thirty-eight
caliber revolver,” the technician re-
ported. “From the marks left on the
slugs by the rifling lands of the pistol
barrel, I’d say that the gun was a
Smith and Wesson.”

The investigators found a pair of
well-worn black oxfords, size seven
D, and dirty, worn socks on the floor
of the shop. Around them were piled
a dozen boxes of shoes. Mute testimony
of the killer’s careful selection of shoes,

Passing up no possibility Lieutenant
Schattle examined the shoes left by the

oD—10

Brewster led the conversation around
to the various dodges hard-up_ bar-
flies employed to get their drinks. The
barkeeper had a wealth of stories
which he was glad to tell.

“I suppose small-time crooks would
rather get rid of their stuff in a place
like this than try to hock it in a pawn-
shop,” Brewster mused. “We keep a
pretty close watch on the pawn-shops.
You haven’t had anyone try to raise
money on guns have-you?”

The bartender looked startled.

“Funny you asking me that,” he re-
plied. “I was just going to tell you
about a young fellow offering me a
revolver. He wanted ten bucks for it.
I turned him down, of course.”

“When was that?” Brewster asked.

OD—1l0a

Detective William Burke: He

hoped

to translate a_ serial

number into a killer’s name

“I can tell you in a minute,” the
bartender said. “I’d just paid my in-
surance installment before he came
to me.” He reached under the bar

and pulled out an insurance receipt .
”

book. “It was on February 4

“Remember what the fellow looked
like?” .

“Sure, he’s a young punk who’s been
in here quite often. The fellows called
him Charlie. Had curly hair, was tall
and rangy,” the bartender said. “I
started to kid him about being a stick-
up man when he showed me the gun
and he got sore. Told me he’d make
the rod pay for itself some how. Said
_ swapped for it at a beer party
the night before, gave a radio for it.
It all sounded phony to me.”

Brewster thanked his intormant and
ft.

Was the man who had tried to sell
the gun the killer?

The detective didn’t know. Simply
because the fellow had tried to get rid
of a revolver the night of the murder
didn’t necessarily mean he had com-
mitted the crime,

But Brewster wasn’t willing to take
chances and pass up what might prove
to be a real lead. He hurried to make
the rounds of liquor stores in the
neighborhood, seeking to find one
which had delivered or sold a quantity
of beer the night of the party—Feb-
ruary 3,

After a two-hour search he located
a dealer who had sold and delivered
six cases of beer to the home of Mrs,
James Franklin. Her home was in the
neighborhood of the slaying.

Perhaps it was only a coincidence
that she should buy beer on that night
when the man with the gun had at-
tended a beer party, Brewster and his
partner decided to look into it,

“We're sorry to bother you, Mrs,
Franklin,” Brewster said when the
woman admitted them, “but we're
checking up on a gun, We understand

When the murderer abandoned
these oxfords and socks he had
no idea that an expert could
cut one of them apart to un-
cover a vital story for police

you had a party the other night and
we suspect that one of your guests
Swapped a radio for a revolver in your
house the night of the party. Do you
remember that?”

Brewster’s question was a shot in
the dark but it worked. “Yes, I do,”
Mrs. Franklin admitted in a shaky
voice. “Bill Towne liked the little radio
Charlie Ross brought along so we
could get dance music. When Norm
went home he didn’t have the radio
with him...”

“Wait a minute,” Brewster cut in.
“You said Charlie Ross brought a radio
and now you say Norm went home
without it. Is this Charlie Ross Norm?
We're investigating a murder so you
better give us the truth.”

Mrs. Franklin’s face paled so that
her rouge looked like raw wounds
against her white cheeks,

u URDER!” she gasped. “I don’t

know what you’re talking about.”

“What’s Charlie Ross’ real name?”
Brewster asked insistently.

“Norman Peacock,” the woman fal-
tered. “He had some kind of trouble
once and changed his name.”

(Continued on Page 48)


on their journey they were in a gay
100d, both looking forward to a highly
‘ enjoyable visit. Death was the furthest

thing from their minds. . .

Ar 5:30 O’CLOCK on Monday morn-
ing, August 15th, Eddie Peppers, twenty-
one, night clerk at the Park Central
Hotel in Gallipolis, Ohio, was aroused
from a nap in a chair in the lobby by the
buzzing of the call clock. °

Peppers dabbed at his eyes with his
knuckles, strolled to the desk and saw
by the indicator that Room 15 had left
the call. The young man bounded up
the steps to the second floor, rapped
sharply on the door of Room 15, waited
until he heard an indistinct “Thanks,”
and returned to the lobby.

The couple in Room 15, registered as
Mr. and Mrs. L. D. Haggar, began to stir
about. Mrs. Haggar entered the bath-
room to dress. Haggar sat on the side
of the bed, lit a cigaret; and leisurely
drew on his clothes. Being the first to
complete his toilet, Haggar stepped into
the corridor and knocked on the door
of Room 17, occupied by Mrs. Florence
Buck.

There was no answer at first, so Hag-
gar rapped again. This time the door
yielded under the pressure, and swung
slightly ajar.

Around an “L” in the room, Haggar

could just see the
feet. He returne
*You’d better
Haggar to the w:
now fully dressed
Mrs. Haggar we
but a few secor
throughout the sn
Eddie Peppers,
that hour, dashec
and Mrs. Haggar
“What has hap
“Something ter
Peppers replied
put in an appear
after 2 a. M.
“My sister, the
said Mrs. Haggar.
Peppers pushed
then dashed dowr
part of the buildin
When the Arnc
night clerk, they i
Peppers’ badly fri
when I lifted the
at 7a. M.
I hastened over
on the next street
an attack of hys


sOCK on Monday morn-
1, Eddie Peppers, twenty-
*k at the Park Central
olis, Ohio, was aroused
chair in the lobby by the
call clock.

ved at his eyes with his
ed to the desk and saw
r that Room 15 had left
young man bounded up
ne second floor, rapped
door of Room 15, waited
an indistinct “Thanks,”
the lobby.

1 Room 15, registered as
D. Haggar, began to stir
aggar entered the bath-
Haggar sat on the side
a cigaret, and leisurely
thes. Being the first to
ilet, Haggar stepped into
id knocked on the door
cupied by Mrs. Florence

) answer at first, so Hag-
un. This time the door
the pressure, and swung

rt?

L” in the room, Haggar

could just see the foot of the bed, and a woman’s bare
feet. He returned to Room 15.

‘You’d better go in and awaken your sister,” said
Haggar to the woman registered as his wife, who was
now fully dressed.

Mrs. Haggar went at once to Room 17. She was gone
but a few seconds before her screams were heard
throughout the small hotel. ,

Eddie Peppers, the only hotel employee on duty at
that hour, dashed upstairs again. He found both Mr.
and Mrs. Haggar standing in the hall outside Room 17.

“What has happened?” inquired the clerk.

“Something terrible! Where is the manager?”

Peppers replied that neither Mr. nor Mrs. Arnold had
put in an appearance, since they had not retired until
after 2 a. M.

“My sister, there in Room 17, has been murdered!”
said Mrs. Haggar. “Arouse the proprietor at once!”

Peppers pushed into the room to see for himself, and
then dashed down the corridor to Room 2 in the front
part of the building, facing the park.

When the Arnolds were told of the tragedy by the
night clerk, they instructed him to notify me, and it was
Peppers’ badly frightened voice that came over the wire
when I lifted the receiver in the county jail residence
at 7 A. M.

I hastened over to the Park Central Hotel, which was
on the next street. The woman in Room 15 was having
an attack of hysterics, so I telephoned Dr. Louis C.

Bean to come over and attend her. Then I headed for
the bedroom of death.

Mrs. Buck lay naked on the bed in the small room.
She was a slender woman in her early thirties, with
light curly hair and blue eyes. I judged that she
weighed about 115 pounds. It was easy to see that in
life she had possessed great physical charm.

A cursory examination proved that this was, without
question, a case of murder. There were red marks about
the neck and thighs, and her tongue protruded from the
mouth. Strangulation was the cause of her death.

The victim’s clothes were scattered about the room.
Her pocketbook was on the floor, empty except for such
things as a lipstick, compact, eyebrow pencil, lash brush
and mirror. There was not a single penny in the purse.
By. the side. of the bed was a wet bath towel, apparently
the instrument of strangulation.

The electric light in the room was burning brightly.
The screen of the open window, which faced a service
alley in the rear of the hotel, had been pushed out and
was lying on the ground beneath.

A spindle had been broken off the bed. This I picked
up carefully, hoping it would yield fingerprints. Then
I sent for the coroner.

His examination confirmed the belief that Mrs. Buck
had met death at the hands of a strangler. He also stated
that the woman had been criminally assaulted.

I had observed that there was only a thin lath and
plaster partition between Rooms 15 and 17, and it ap-

By O. E. RUSSELL, Former Sheriff, Gallia Co., Ohio,

FRANK H. WARD

as told to

J after ¢ trip, “Mes.
: gratefal y athe’ bed, ....
“hotel - room...

to lock the


24

peared to me that any considerable
struggle or outcry in one room should
have been heard in the next. I also rea-
soned that the occupants of Room 39,
on the third floor directly above Room
17, should have heard a struggle below.
The lath and plaster had been removed
from the ceiling of the bathroom in
Room 17 to permit a plumber to get at
the taps in Room 39, leaving only a thin
pine floor between the rooms.

There were thirty-five guest rooms in
the Park Central Hotel, and the register
showed that only seven had been oc-
cupied Sunday night; five on the second
floor and two on the third. The register
told something else, too. Although the
murdered woman had occupied Room 17,
she had been assigned to Room 14.

I sought an explanation of this from
Manager ‘Arnold and his wife, whose
room was on the same floor, but at the
opposite end of the building.

“Haggar and the two women came in-
to the hotel about 8:30 o’clock Sunday
night,” said Arnold. “They asked for
adjoining rooms. I assigned Rooms 14
and 15. Haggar registered for himself
and wife in Room 15, and Mrs. Buck
signed her own name. When we got
upstairs, there was something the mat-
ter with the bath in Room 14, so I put
Mrs. Buck in Room 17 and forgot to
note the change on the register.”

Neither Arnold nor his wife had heard
anything unusual during the night, they
said. The other guests on the second
floor Sunday night, were Harry Dunn, in
Room 9, and Mrs. Alice O’Brien of Chi-
cago, a coffee demonstrator, who occu-
pied Room 16, directly opposite Room 17.

Dunn, a young chap who was still in
the hotel; said he had heard nothing
unusual. Mrs. O’Brien had checked out
after breakfast and had driven away.

3 ‘ate 4
sd an

—

The clerk at Frank's store (above) remembered the transaction
and proved to detectives that suspect was lying about purchase

She left as her
mail - forwarding
address the name
of a hotel at Iron-
ton, farther down
the Ohio River.

The  third-floor
guests were Mr.
and Mrs. E. T. Lip-
pincott, relatives
of the hotel pro-
prietor, in Room
39, and a man in
Room 38 who ar-
rived at midnight,
registered as E.
E. Cruswell, Mt.
Hope, West Vir-
ginia, and checked
out at 6 a. mM. The
Lippincotts, al-
though directly above Room 17, told me
they hadn’t heard any unusual sounds
in the room below during the night.

I was starting up the stairs to question
the’ Haggars when Dr. Bean came down.

“How’s Mrs. Haggar?” I inquired. The
physician’s face was blank.

“Tf you mean the woman in Room 15,
she’s coming along nicely,” said Dr.
Bean. “The woman I attended is Mrs.
Ralph Kinkead, wife of a steamboat
captain. She told me the murdered wo-
man was her sister, Florence Buck.”

On questioning the couple in Room 15,
we learned the following:

Florence Buck, the slain woman, had
been the postmistress of a small town in
West Virginia at the time of her death.

On Saturday, the sisters had started
out to visit Mrs. Kinkead’s husband, who
was working on a steamboat in Hunt-
ington. They went from Grimms Land-
ing to Point Pleasant, where they spent
the night with an aunt.

(Above) Pros. Cherrington (/.) ar-
gued case before Judge White (r.)

Sunday morning
they met Haggar,
who had worked
as a road super-
visor when JU. S.
Route 25 was be-
ing built past
Grimms Landing,
and invited him to
accompany them
to Huntington. The

day with Kinkead,

while Haggar
busied himself
about town. At

dark they picked
up Haggar again,
and started back
for Grimms Land-
ing.

It began to rain, and they discussed
spending the night at Gallipolis. Mrs.
Buck protested, and wanted to con-
tinue the journey, but finally yielded to
her sister’s desires. They registered
between 8:30 and 9:00 o’clock, then
went out to dine at Vanden’s restau-
rant.

Returning to the hotel about 10:00
o’clock, Haggar stopped at the desk and
paid Arnold for his room and that of
Mrs. Buck, remarking that they were
going to arise early to continue their
journey. The three sat around a while
and chatted in Mrs. Buck’s room, and at
11:00 o’clock Haggar and Mrs. Kinkead
retired to Room 15. That was the last
time they saw Mrs. Buck alive.

“Didn’t you hear any scuffle in Room
17 during the night?” I inquired of the
couple, having in mind the thin partition
between the rooms.

“The only unusual sound I heard
sounded like a squeaking noise some-

women spent the

where in the ne
dor,” said Hag
11:30 o’clock, j
sleep.”

AS I conclude
Homer W. Sov
police, arrived.

Chief Sowarc
the game than !
hands from thé
two terms as §s
and two terms
veing appointe:
my first term 4

The fact th:
pushed out of
didn’t fool eithe
the room had
outside. There °
the window tc
were no marks
the ground, as
if a ladder had

So we conti
in the hotel.
on duty at 2a.
tired. He told
most of the tir
trips upstairs,
see that every
had heard no
and had seen r
the hotel. Hi
murder, he tol
Mrs. Kinkead
on the second f

On Tuesday.
came to Galli;
ward for the a
and with him
man and Serge
West Virginia
Point Pleasant.
ginia resident
and Lowe vc


Sunday morning
they met Haggar,
who had worked
as a road super-
visor when U. S.
Route 25 was be-
ing built past
Grimms Landing,
and invited him to
accompany them
to Huntington. The

day with Kinkead,
while Haggar
busied himself
about town. At
dark they picked
) up Haggar again,
and started back
for Grimms Land-
ing.
rain, and they discussed
right at Gallipolis. Mrs.
i, and wanted to con-
ey, but finally yielded to
esires. They registered
and 9:00 o’clock, then
ine at Vanden’s restau-

» the hotel about 10:00
’ stopped at the desk and
xr his room and that of
marking that they were
early to continue their
three sat around a while
Mrs. Buck’s room, and at
faggar and Mrs. Kinkead
n 15. That was the last
Mrs. Buck alive.
hear any scuffle in Room
night?” I inquired of the
in mind the thin partition
oms.
unusual sound I heard
1 squeaking noise some-

women spent the

where in the next room, or in the corri-
dor,” said Haggar. “That was about
11:30 o’clock, just before I dropped to
sleep.”

AS I concluded the questioning, Chief
Homer W. Sowards, of the Gallipolis
police, arrived.

Chief Sowards was an older hand at
the game than I, so I put the case in his
hands from there on. He had served
two terms as sheriff of Gallia County,
and two terms as deputy sheriff before
veing appointed chief, while I was on
my first term as sheriff.

The fact that the screen had been
pushed out of the window in Room 17
didn’t fool either one of us into thinking
the room had been entered from the
outside. There was a sheer descent from
the window to the ground, and there
were no marks against the hotel or in
the ground, as there would have been
if a ladder had been used. :

So we continued to question people
in the hotel. Eddie Peppers had come
on duty at 2 a. M., when the Arnolds re-
tired. He told us he was in the lobby
most of the time, making two or three
trips upstairs, according to custom, to
see that everything was all right. He

had heard no unusual sounds, he said

and had seen no suspicious person enter
the hotel. His first knowledge of the
murder, he told us was when he heard
Mrs. Kinkead screaming in the corridor
on the second floor. :

On Tuesday, the father of the victim
came to Gallipolis to offer a $500 -re-
ward for the apprehension of the slayer,
and with him were Captain Floyd Lay-
man and Sergeant W. B. Lowe from the
West Virginia State Police barracks at
Point Pleasant. Inasmuch as a West Vir-
ginia resident was the victim, Layman
and Lowe volunteered their services,

When rainfall began, ill fate made woman agree to stop at Park
Central Hotel (/eft) instead of going to Grimms Landing (above)

which we were glad to accept. That
gave us five men on the case, as I had
called in my deputy, John H. Harrison,
to help. :

In examining his daughter’s effects,
the grief-stricken parent found a ten-
dollar bill rolled up in a stocking. Both
Mrs. Buck’s father and sister stated that
that was all the money she had with her.
Thus if, in addition to criminal assault,
the motive had been robbery, the killer
had gained no money at all.

The West Virginia officers dug up the
information that the two girls and Hag-
gar had been on a
party with Charles
Garfield, of Point
Pleasant, on Sat-
urday night. Gar-
field boarded with
Mrs. Kinkead’s
aunt, with whom
the girls. stayed
that night.

When the man
on the ferry oper-
ating between
Point Pleasant and
Kanauga informed
us he had brought
Garfield over to
the Ohio side Sun-
day, the boarder
seemed a_ likely
suspect. It oc-
curred to us that
he might be the man who had regis-
tered Sunday night in Room 38 of the
Park Central Hotel under the name of
E. E. Cruswell.

While we were trying to trace Crus-
well, Garfield was picked up. at Point
Pleasant. Chief Sowards and Sergeant
Lowe took Arnold, the hotel manager,
over to see if Garfield was the man who

case to

(Above) Sheriff Russell (/.) gave
Chief Sowards

had registered Sunday at midnight as
Cruswell. He was not. Garfield had a.
perfect alibi. Another ferryman had
taken him back to Point Pleasant long
before Mrs. Buck made her last appear-
ance in the hotel lobby. He was en-
tirely innocent and was released from

the charge.
We still had two guests to interview,
-Cruswell and Mrs. O’Brien. Chief

Sowards located the woman Wednesday
in an Ironton grocery store. Mrs.
O’Brien said she had retired at 1 Aa. mM.
in her room across from that of Mrs.
Buck, and hadn’t
heard a thing un-
til the next morn-
ing. . It was day-
light when she
had been awak-
ened by a woman
sobbing in the
hall, and moaning,
“Oh, sweetheart!
Oh, sweetheart!
What shall I do!”

Next she had

heard a= man’s
voicesaying,‘‘Don’t
do that.”

Mrs,O’Brienhad
learned about the
murder before

(r.) checking out but,
not having any in-
formation to offer,

she had felt she would not be needed.
Now the only bet left was Cruswell.
We concentrated on this chap, and
finally located him in a little town be-
tween Charleston and Bluefield. He
proved to be a bonafide representative
of a Bluefield coal company, and bore
a good reputation. He said he hadn’t
even heard of (Continued on page 56)

TMM oan

ros)

--#igh Seour! ty Bisk-Bseape.

- No. low

NAME Harry Pierpont Cause = 28-281 x
Alias Fr n
Sentenced 56-25 County Howard Judge LeSnead
Received 7-30-25 2 _Court Circuit. Pros. ReBeck
Crime Robbery _ “Plea Wot Guilty
Term _-_—*:10=21 Years Fine None — ~~» Costs $ 121.7)
Color White _ Age 23. Wt. 162 Occupation Hoistin ng Enge Marital Single
Parents Address :- Ht. 6,1 |

_FBI No. | oie: CRIMINAL HISTORY

GRADE { MERITS.

ae Se} PATE _Ne. Paroled 3-6-2h Indiana Refornatory,2-1) Years

2 oe pe

‘Assault & ‘Battery W/Intent to ‘Kill.
e Wanted= Mavi on Ind’. Bank Robbery

is ae Pinta

Sore Notice--Should be watched at all ei kscep Record
MAXIMUN-F @ € Pd, 5-6-5 _P.& C Not Pd. rT —————————e 3
oe er | <ement be | F. & C. Paid F. & C. Not F
5=3525 Making knife os DO. Sgt. Hunter e
-l2=-26 | Out of place +0°days Tricer Monroe
By 9-22-27| Argument with Officer,9. oe D.0.| Officer Ray
- © 12-28-27 Assaulting renee: pen nner, Binding him with rar patent edscape--
a ) Oays ae mp DDOE fate N elo at: ndef.Car ster
11-1). -26 writing ist ie for. quhia money, oschpe equipmenf “Le Days D.0.Lt.Evans.
Oe 12-25-28 } ~10 days cell time,Officer Sepasat
__ 91129 Cutting bars in cell hbuse window-htt. Eseape-6p days D.0.Lt.Evans
12-630} Cell door key in his ppssession--I,D.U. Indef Lt
Tonlt 31 unadee 38 mass esca ape ee, fays strip cp a eWobpte
Ro) 9=32 | Of fAcee. tp days I.D.U, Sgt. Craig) —
-6-32 | rer, ne Orers "dave Tak Lt.Evans_
3 Wounded civilian)
: on sWoundéd| of Strip Call read & water
Released GoveMcNutt: Order # B02 to

Executed--Columbus in

| Allen : County —

De


11014 Name HARRY PIERPONT

No.
Crime Robbery
County Howard Plea Not Guilty Age 23
Sentenced May 6, 1925 Received 5=7=25
Term 10-21 years Fine$ None Cost $13.00
Min. FCNP Max. FCNP 5=6=)15
Min. FCP 5-6=35 Max. FCP
Occupation Hoisting pneineer
Escaped through Front Gate Sept. 26, 19335

Released to Ohio Feb. 10, 193
Authorized Released
For Parole On Parole
Declared Returned from Tus sone f gc ky 2934
Delinquent Retur
P.V. Executed Ohio State Penitentiary c
Assessment Discharged

Form 1314

Serre

olla.

2p acs care

ee a

errata

be
LS

PONT, Harry, ex OF 1934

PIER

HILLED guards B
y

FRANK A. WHITE

Formerly of the
Indianapolis News

hugged machine

guns as_ sand-

toothed. winds
tore persistently at the
watch towers on the
Indiana State Prison
walls, at Michigan
City, on the afternoon
of Sept. 26th, 1933.

The grapevine ¢om-
munication system of
the grim, and ancient
State prison, quivered with word that a_ gigantic
break, that had been in the making for a long time, was
ready. Guards heard rumors, through stool pigeons, and
staged a “show down” inspection. They found no guns. It
will come sometime after October Ist, ‘they predicted.

A hardened little band of desperate souls, on the “in”
glanced furtively at the prison clock, as they operated the
looms and electric sewing machines in the Gordon shirt
shop. The hands of the clock climbed steadily to 1:15 P.M.
on that drab afternoon. .

Walter Deitrich, Lifer 14-351, casually left his post as
“chief receiving clerk of raw materials” in the shirt shop

6

(Escape from Indiana State Prison)
b> |

ngage

basement. An_ up-tilt-
ing gun scar at the
corner of his left eye,
reminder of a 150 mile
fight with a posse, in
which four died, showed
livid with tenseness.
Deitrich was of the new
school of crime that
could use their heads
for plotting as well as
their hands for shoot-
ing. He was wanted in
the two-million-dollar Lincoln, Nebraska, bank robbery;
for killing Police Captain Charles Armand at Lafayette,
Indiana, and as far west as Los Angeles for other crimes;
before being dressed in for life for his connection with the
Clinton, Indiana, bank robbery.

“Boss,” purred Deitrich, his deep, brown eyes exuding
perpetual hate, “a couple of guys downstairs who look like
officials want to buy shirts.”

Superintendent Stevens dropped his work and followed
Deitrich into the dim recesses of the basement. Suddenly,
a venomous voice snapped:

“Turn around, Steve. Reach high. We're going home.

MASTER DETECTIVE, April, 1934

(Above) State troopers
up the trail of two shad
from this freight train, v
ing near Walkerton.

troopers cover a suspect:


-

CK

Congress Hotel---a

adquarters of Tuc-

shaft, started the
Soon the building,
n a seething sheath

corridors, knocking
do warning, “Tire!”
em only partly clad
ng it calmly. They

The tragic finis to Charles Makley’s notorious criminal carcer

One of the greatest criminal capture
stories ever told; and the only inside
story given to the public on the trap-
ping of the country’s four worst
desperados

seemed more concerned with their baggage—expensive baggage—than with
their lives. Dressing, the seven began to get their baggage together, but were
taking their time about’ it.

On the hotel register, downstairs, these seven persons were entered as follows:
Mr. and Mrs. Frank Sullivan, Green Bay, Wisconsin; Mr. and Mrs. James
Taylor, Mr. and Mrs. Art Long and J. C. Davies, all of Jacksonville, Florida.

Finally, the four men and three women had all of the baggage ready to take
with them. They opened the doors of their rooms—and hastily slammed them
shut again. The briefest glimpses down the smoking corridor had been enough
to tell them the worst. Elevators and stairs--the only two means of escape
from the burning building—were aflame. They were trapped.


8

They were on the third floor. A
jump to the ground, from that
height, meant either death or cer-
tain injury. The situation seemed
hopeless.

At that moment, the aerial lad-
ders of the firemen swung up to
the window ledges of the third floor.
With the aid of members of the de-
partment, the four men and three
women descended the ladders to the
street. On the urgent request of
Davies, Firemen William Benedict
and Kenneth Pender, went back up
to the third-floor rooms and rescued
the luggage that had almost cost
the seven their lives. In carrying it
down, Benedict and Pender found
that several pieces were extremely
heavy.

DAs and Long, grateful for the
aid given them, gave the fire-
men twelve dollars in tips.

At 11 o’clock on the morning of
January 25th, three days later,
Benedict and Pender, finished with
their routine duties at the station,
were reading a copy of True Dz-
TectiveE Mysteries. On the page
devoted to the Linn-UP, they glanced
casually at the pictures of the wanted
men. One of those pictures—the
seventh—was strikingly familiar.

It was the picture of one Russell
Clark, an escape from Indiana State
Prison four months before, wanted

True Detective Mysteries

(Left) Detectives
Dallas Ford and Chet
Sherman, who cap-
tured Russell Clark,
exhibit submachine
guns and  bullet-
proof vest confiscated
at the gang hang-out.
Ford, left, is wearing
the vest

James Herron.

Tucson officers, that figured in the round-up of the Dilling
outlaw arsenal. Standing, left to right: Detectives Dall
TRUE DETECTIVE; Officers Harry Foley and Frank E
In front: Officers Milo Walker, Kenne :
Attorney-General Cummings praised the*ficiency.

for bank robbery. He was 8 member of the feared Dillinger
gang that had terrorized the Middle West.

And Russell Clark, the two firemen decided after careful
scrutiny of the picture, was none other than Mr. Art Long—
the man whose baggage they had rescued from the Congress
Hotel three days before.

Just as they were making this discovery, Deputy-Sheriff
Maurice Guiney, in charge of the Pima County finger-print
bureau, happened to pass the firehouse. Benedict called to
him and told him of what they had learned. Guiney hurried
back to his office—to find that he was the only one there.
His superior officers were out; his fellow deputies were away
on other business. He intended to act upon the information
he had received as soon as someone returned. But things
were destined to happen in another way.

PPSTROLMAN HARRY LESLY, a veteran officer of my de-
partment, was walking his beat that same morning when two
men, Jacob Rosen, of Los Angeles, and Irving L. Russalsaw, of
Olean, New York, stopped him. They had an interesting
tale to tell. It went back to the night preceding the hotel fire.

Art Long—the man who seemed a dead ringer for Russell
Clark; pictured in the Linz-Ur—had struck up on acquaint-
ance with Rosen and Russalsaw at the hotel.

On Sunday
night, Long and his party of three
men and three women, were hitting
up Tucson’s night spots. In one of
these, Long ran across his acquaint-
ances Rosen and Russalsaw. He
greeted them like long-lost friends.
He was a bit tight, and more than a
bit talkative.

His talk—and very convincing talk
it was—ran to easy money. And how
it could be made with a machine gun.

ang, photographed with fire
‘ord; Chief of Police C. A. '
an; Captain Jay Smith; an
ullaney, and Earl Nolan.

“Excellent work

The story of easy n
banks remained vivid 1:
who had seen Long and
night club. It was stil
twenty-fifth, when the
beat. They told him a
the members of Long's }
one significant fact:

Every male member

Patrolman Lesly, hal!
told about were in Tu
stepped to a near-by c:
asked for me. I was hi

Jay Smith, in charg:
Lesly told the story as
dress—927 East Secon:
fire, of a portion of the
him by his informant:

Jay Smith is all poli
he has found tips to be
bits of information big
so in this case. He did
me at my home, relay:
opinion that the tip \

I have confidence in
that Smith was not li
rumor. I abandoned
hurried at once to the
found Smith and sever
awaiting me.

To Smith and Frank
traffic squad and to D:
Sherman and Mark !
plainclothes detail, I a
of checking up on t


RnR

Clark!

wae we

od Sag oth ’
yer: ae yt

: : iling®22g, photographed with firearms found in the well-equipped
iy me pai : pean ord; Chief of Police C. A. Wollard, who gave this story to

fieers Harry Foley and Frank E
nt: Officers Milo Walker, Kenne

ey-General Cummings praised the

member of the feared Dillinger
Middle West.

» firemen decided after careful
ne other than Mr. Art Long—
had rescued from the Congress

this discovery, Deputy-Sheriff
the Pima County finger-print
firehouse. Benedict called to
‘had learned, Guiney hurried
it he was the only one there.
his fellow deputies were away
d to act upon the information
meone returned. But things
ther way.

LY, a veteran officer of my de-
it that same morning when two
es, and Irving L. Russalsaw, of
m. They had an interesting
‘night preceding the hotel fire.
ined a dead ringer for Russell
—had struck up on acquaint-
w at the hotel. On Sunday
ng and his party of three
three women, were hitting
n’s night spots. In one of
ng ran across his acquaint-
osen and Russalsaw. He
them like long-lost friends.
‘ bit tight, and more than a
tive.
k—and very convineing talk
an to easy money. And how
e made with a machine gun.

wore

an; Captain Jay Smith; and Detectives Chet Sherman and

ullaney, and Earl Nolan. From Washington, United States

ficiency. “Excellent work,” he said

The story of easy money and machine guns and robbed
banks remained vivid in the minds of Rosen and Russalsaw,
who had seen Long and his party spend money freely at the
night club. It was still in their minds, that morning of the

twenty-fifth, when they met Patrolman Lesly walking his.

beat. They told him all about it. They said they had met
the members of Long’s party at the night club and had noticed
one significant fact:

Every male member of that party was armed,

Patrolman Lesly, half convinced that the men he was being
told about were in Tucson bent on robbery of some sort,
stepped to a near-by call-box and rang for the station. He
asked for me. I was home, at the time, having lunch.

Jay Smith, in charge of the traffic squad, took the call.
Lesly told the story as he had heard it, giving Smith an ad-
dress—927 East Second Street—as the residence, since the
fire, of a portion of the party, according to the details given
him by his informants.

Jay Smith is all policeman. It is his career, Many times
he has found tips to be fakes, but he also knows that on small
bits of information big catches sometimes are made. It was
so in this case. He did not wait for me to return, but called
me at my home, relayed the information and expressed the
opinion that the tip was “smoking hot’.

I have confidence in my men and their judgment. I knew
that Smith was not likely to go half-cocked in a worthless
rumor. I abandoned my lunch and
hurried at once to the station where I :
found Smith and several other officers Mary Kinder shown
awaiting me. at the time she ‘was

To Smith and Frank Eyman of the ice af AG. Feenes
traffic squad and to Dallas Ford, Chet the State Safety Di.
Sherman and Mark Robbins of WHE peepee oe Indian-
plainclothes detail, I assigned the job '

L 1 J apolis, concerningsac-
of checking up on the information _ tivities of the gang

Makley! Pterpont!

Dillinger !

Captured 9

turned in by Lesly. The first step was to look
over the photo and finger-print files.

Robbins went through our files seeking pic-
tures and descriptions that might fit any of the
four men-—Art Long, Frank Sullivan, James
Taylor and J. C. Davies—who had been de-
scribed to Patrolman Lesly. We struck pay dirt
from the start.

Photograph and description on one of the
rogues’ gallery cards fitted perfectly the man
known as J. C. Davies. But that wasn’t his name
on the card. On the card, he was listed as Charles
Makley.

He was a fugitive from the Indiana State Peni-
tentiary, wanted for a long list of bank robberies.
He was a member of the notorious Dillinger gang.

Iknew, then, that we had a swell load of dyna-
mite on our hands,

UCSON, second largest city in Arizona, is

quiet compared to the bustling manufacturing
cities of the Middle West. A noted health center
and winter resort, it is a haven every winter for
hundreds of visitors from colder climes.

It was to our city, then, that four fast, modern
cars, piled high with expensive luggage and driven
by well dressed and quiet mannered men, had
come. Three of the men had been accompanied
by women, ostensibly their wives. Their arrival
had seemed natural enough. One of the men
had traveled alone. Three of the cars had borne
Florida license plates ; the fourth, a Wisconsin tag.

he impression of wealth had not been created by
any other display than the general excellence of
attire of both men and women and the complete-
ness of their luggage.

Add to this the fact that they had stopped


-Crark! Mantey! Pierront!

sis

ie | *

yy

a

i : 3
RUSSELL CLARK, CAPTURED GANGSTER

Ket ge
aS “el
5 ale
Sits. "ee
x

B
Cc. A. WOLLAR

PIERPONT, Harry} wh, elec. Ohio (Allen) October 17, 1934

Heart-broken Mary Kinder cheers her doomed lover, Harry Pierpont

/

- CHIEF OF POLICE

Tucson, Arizona

As told to J. F. WEADOCK

ARLY in the morning of January 22nd, 1934, the Congress Hotel—a

E highly rated commercial house and noted political headquarters of Tuc-

son, Arizona—caught fire.

An oil furnace in the basement, near the elevator shaft, started the
blaze. From that point, flames shot upward with rapidity.
of old style construction, was enveloped from top to bottom in as

of flames.

Firemen and policemen hurried along the smoke-filled corridors, knocking
on the doors of the rooms Guests, awakened by the shouted warning, ‘“‘Tire!’’,
rushed from their rooms and escaped to the street, many of them only partly clad.
Seven of the guests on an upper floor, however, were taking it calmly. They

Soon the building,
eething sheath

One of
stories |
story gi
ping oO

seemed more co!
their lives. Dress
taking their tin

On the hotel re¢
Mr. and Mrs. fF:
Taylor, Mr. and

Finally, the for
with them. The,
shut again. The
to tell them the
from the burning


3 193.

Ohie (Allen) UCt, 17

RR Peet renters wena

PIERPONT, Harry, white, elec

\, Release: of Dillinger; Who

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Secession ae ng eS as ee

a a!

{ern

- + . h- ~ ry ?
~ ‘ofthe Flats”. bucked the Pon's,
g invisible guardian—and failed, +;
ear he, Pe ;

a me os oa is Jorn

HY are there so few successful escapes from the

Ohio Penitentiary? Does a jinx haunt the big,

23-acre prison? Veteran law officers, prison offi-
cials and even the convicts wonder.

The prison, unlike New York’s Sing Sing, California’s

San Quentin, and Uncle Sam’s Alcatraz, does not

border water or spacious land, but lies in the heart

of a large city, its high walls fringed by broad,

busy thoroughfares. This, while it should seem

to facilitate escapes, in reality does just the

opposite.

Joseph Filkowski, Cleveland’s bad man of

the Flats, is the most recent victim to fall

under the purplish cloak of the crashout

“RIGHT PERT... “ i ; ‘ = e
cook,” Mrs. Lansdown ng af By Captain
helped brew a broth : : A ree

of death for Pretty Koes

Boy Floyd: by tipping a is
off Geman M. Purvis. : FORMER CAPT. OF THE GUARDS

OHIO STATE PRISON
as told to JAMES COURTNEY


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uunustill


PIERPONT,

Seta 2f Fort na,

“CONTINCED ON PAGE 25-2; OOL, TWH +

.

“=,

ig

oTEEaOT Refu:

es

Ee gpa ge el ote
See re

if =

s = to eae
rat carat the Dhio Penitentiary

ees

ses

I Can Seo? Ne Justifiable Tein lor Executive Inter
ote tily Says gee aint Ts * Guarded 1 to Prevent

Tos e

-clemency—to_the condemned man

ste atta for Af by i sobeted cho nas mera [=

"] Tuesday -morning, that he would oot: Tetend’ ‘executive “at

Sndpusd

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3 ps

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balk
wid +
eal.

rah

a

bee

Brano Richard Hauptmann from

habacsenchll

Leucape extention to ‘New Jersey,

sa

man carpenter - ‘showed neither il

ace P

R

{tke supreme court.

P iapachor yy wpe ge Meer yet
or the second day of his fight to

ere

ute efforts of gangsters to force | “a
executive action through: violence. {ger 3p ) bewwat |
- BSVes i Funeral arrangements - ~for ‘or_ Harry,

iu | Pierpont of Lakeville, Ind, whe;was. to
visited :

ruling | momenta after Tuesday midnight. 7
Pigrpont’s eapcution -wil) cut an-
CONTINUSH—ON--PAGE 6. COL TWO}

ae

ss |-ToAid Pierpont

de ben Hi tarsal Reon-visiting — _rights

Hercule i 3 Ghio’s electe. ae meg pein
ena rey OB ¢ ie chalr 2omc7 Sa:
popous been mt mere here. et :

TP]

| Paul, white Charies Makley, sen-|
$ten etude

: Mon ‘Atreaty Planned ae

Harryy white, elec. Ohio (Allen County) on Ocy. 17, 193h.

iGovernor Refuses

eee ee eee Ain ln gine Alanon ae

i OOSTINTED Ne pee eee
other “noich—m the record ..of ;
Lens egencies secking ts,
wipe eut the stain of Dillinger's}

my

re Dillin er, himself, was killed :

eee his Printipel machine gun-/j
ner, was clain by authorities in St.

is! ~ with their won, Toreday, |

~~ ratved.. ee oe

LETPSIC, OHIO, OCT. 16.—UP.— |)

+ ger odad “ton sc ansets

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