ss souemiacaipetst eit ens NARA RATA ATONE LS ROO EF
This sectional view
shows how the
murder trunk was
nested within an-
other similar trunk
Wi HAT is troubling you this
morning?” asked Mrs. Ma-
tilda Hoffman of her 60-
year-old husband. “You are scowling
so. Why don’t you eat your breakfast,
Julius? Are you feeling sick?”
Julius, a heavy-set man with close-
cropped gray hair and a ruddy face,
looked up at his pink-faced wife, and
his forehead was wrinkled as though
he was trying hard to solve a weighty
problem. His eyes were expressive
with fear and worry.
eae | am not sick,” he said. “I am trou-
“Troubled? About what?”
“The new roomer.”
“You mean the man who brought
the big trunk?”
“Yes,”
“Why are you worried about him,
Julius?”
“I haven’t seen him since he rented
the room three days ago. Have you
seen him, Matilda?”
“No. His room has been locked for
three days. But it is nothing to worry
about. Come, eat your breakfast.”
“A terrible smell is coming from his
room,” answered Julius. “It is the
odor of a f
Mrs. Hoffman stiffened and gasped.
“Oh,” she exclaimed. “Do you think
he is dead, Julius?”
Julius stood up. His powerful-look-
ing hands were clenched. His jaw set
grimly. “Come,” he said. “We will find
what is wrong.”
He stepped out of the kitchen, and
strode through the long hallway, and
stopped before the door of the room—
the second from the front.
“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Hoffman again
as she stood beside her husband and
placed her hands over her face. “Eeulg
terrible, Julius! It smells like gas
leaking.”
“No, it is not gas,” answered Hoil-
man.
By David K. Gordon
Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES
of Women in Crime
Captain Frank J.
Harrold headed the
hunt for the cold-
blooded murderer
of Mrs. M. Schaaf
Mrs. Hoffman was tense as her hus-
band inserted the key into the door-
lock and turned it. Slowly he turned
the knob and opened the door. The
acrid odor, which seemed to have filled
the room, swept out into the hall, caus-
ing both of them to cough and place
handkerchiefs over their faces. Julius
stepped inside.
“The room is empty!” he said. “The
bed has not been touched. The man
hasn’t slept here since he took the
room!”
Mrs. Hoffman, gravely frightened
now, stepped into the room, as her
husband flung up the big window.
“Matilda,” he said, stepping buck to
the big trunk which was bound about
with rope, the sort usually used for
clothesline, “the smell is coming from
that trunk. There is something dead
inside it. It smells like a body decom-
posing.”
For a moment, both of them gazed
horrified at the huge tin-and-wooden
container, which was old and battered.
“It has two locks.” he said “We can-
not open it. It will be better, I think,
to call the police.’
“Oh, Julius, the poliee in our house!
It has never happened before."
Hoffman looked at his wife quizzi-
cally.
“But we must call them. This looks
very suspicious and mysterious, Ma-
tilda! Come.”
Determinedly, he stepped out of the
room, tollowed by his frightened wile,
locked the door again, and stepped to
the telephone.
HIS was 8 a.m., March 7, 19382, in
Philadelphia.
The Hoffman home at No. 824 North
Fifth Street was only eighteen blocks
from the Homicide Squad headquarters
in Philadelphia’s City Hall, and in Tess
than a half-hour Lieutenant of Detec-
tives Frank Choplinski and Detective
Why Should This Atlantic City Slayer Use Two Trunks
jin One Bundle to Hide the Body of the Woman He Killed?
AD1O
9
70
to the American Express Company, in
Philly for him. I wanted to accommodate
him as he said he couldn’t wait as he
wanted to make an early train. And to
think poor Mrs. Schaaf’s body was in it!”
The man leaned over and started weep-
ing. He kept moaning:
“Oh, it’s terrible, terrible. And I didn’t
even know it!”
The man’s actions had me in a quan-
dary. He was either a good actor, or in-
nocent? Which?
“Fine,” I finally asked him, “what sort
of a looking man is this Miller?”
FOE OF CRIME!
Captain Harry Heanley of the Phila-
delphia Detective Homicide Squad,
who aided materially in the solution of
the trunk atrocity
He hesitated a few minutes, and then
stammered:
“Why, he is a rather young fellow, but
he has a red beard and red hair. He is
a little taller than me, but not quite as
stout.”
“Would you know him again if you
saw him?”
“Would I know him?” Fine asked in
turn, “You ask me would I know him?
I sure would! I lived in the same house
with him ... the dirty scoundrel. If he
were here now I could strangle him with
my bare hands... .”
As he said this, Detective Juliano, who
had entered headquarters, knocked on the
door of my private office. I answered and
Juliano motioned to me to step out.
“Chief,” he said in a low tone, “we
caught another fellow sneaking into the
house a few minutes ago. I’ve got him.
He’s the other boarder, that fellow Weiss.”
“ HAT!” I ejaculated, ‘another
man? This thing is getting com-
plicated. Where is he?”
Juliano took me to a side room and
showed Weiss to me. I was dumfounded.
The man’s description answered that of
the mysterious Miller as given to me by
Fine.
The man had red hair, sported a red
beard, was just a little taller than Fine,
but not quite as stout. Fine’s description
of Miller kept repeating itself in my
mind.
Was it possible that this man Weiss
was also known as Miller?
Then I smiled.
“This is a break, Frank,” I said to Ju-
liano. “And what a break!”
Juliano, who of course didn’t know what
I was referring to, was puzzled by this ex-
pression. He started to ask me what I
anata I interrupted him, however, and
said:
True Detective Mysteries
“Never mind, Frank. In a few minutes,
though, I want you to take this fellow
into my office. Just give me enough time
to get back there. Then walk right in
with him.”
Juliano did as instructed. I had been
in my office only a few minutes and had
resumed questioning Fine when the de-
tective brought Weiss in.
Fine jumped as though some mysterious
hand had yanked him out of the chair. A
startled expression came over his face.
Then, recovering from his surprise, he
pointed a finger at Weiss and almost
screamed : ~
“That’s him! That’s Miller! There’s
the man you want for murdering Mrs.
Schaaf!”
I watched Weiss as Fine made this ac-
cusation. The man was plainly dum-
founded. Then, as he realized what had
happened, he smiled; grimly, I thought.
“Why that is ridiculous,” he said, “this
man... I don’t know what he is refer-
ring to. I’ve never been known as Miller
in my life. My name is Weiss. It al-
ways has been and always will be.”
I studied Weiss for a few seconds, and
then addressed Juliano.
“All right, Frank,” I said, “you can
take him out now.”
I turned to Fine. The man glared at
me.
“Why did you let him go?” he de-
manded, “I tell you he is Miller. He is
the murderer.”
“T didn’t let him go, Fine,” I replied
calmly. “I’m holding him as a suspect
in this case. You still insist you had noth-
ing to do with this murder? You still
claim it was Weiss who committed it?
All right, you don’t have to answer. May-
be you didn’t kill Mrs. Schaaf, but how
am I to know you weren’t in on it?”
% R. HARROLD,” Fine pleaded, “I
tell you I am innocent. Weiss, or
Miller—as I knew him—asked me to ship
the trunk for him. I tell you I was out at
the time Mrs. Schaaf was killed. Won’t you
believe me?”
“Fine,” I told him, “I am going to give
you every chance you deserve. But until
this is all cleared up, I am going to hold
you.”
Knowing I could not get any more in-
formation at the time, I had him taken
to police headquarters and placed in a cell.
When a detective walked out with him I
exclaimed to Choplinsky and Curran:
“Whew! What a fix we’re in now.
Which of these men is the murderer? Fine
blames it on Weiss who, he says, is Miller,
while Weiss laughs it off.”
It was true that all the information we
had gathered so far wove a tight net of
circumstantial evidence around Fine. But
there was still that element of doubt which
a clever lawyer could elaborate upon in
court and obtain a client’s acquittal. I
knew that before I could prove Fine was
the murderer, or that Weiss was, I would
have to clear one of them of suspicion.
It was perfectly obvious they had not con-
spired to kill the woman.
I turned to Curran and asked him to
call his headquarters in Philadelphia and
request that the Hoffmans, Weinstein and
Robinson be sent to Atlantic City to iden-
tify either Fine or Weiss as the myster-
ious “Mr. Miller.”
I then summoned my whole squad of
county detectives and instructed them to
visit every moving man in town to locate
the man or men who had taken the trunk
from the Schaaf home.
Less than two hours later, Detective
May reported he had found the moving
man who had visited the house. He was
James Gillespie, who lived in the Inlet
section. When May entered my office
with Gillespie, I sent for Fine. While
detectives were on their way to the police
cells to get him, the sergeant in charge
of the cell room called me by telephone
and reported that Fine had been seized
with a sudden heart attack and taken to
the Atlantic City Hospital.
This was a turn in the case I had not
anticipated.
I waited until all the witnesses were in
my office, and then took them to the hos-
pital. The physicians there told me that
Fine, though ill, was not seriously so.
They were inclined to believe he was
shamming.
But being physicians, they played safe
and would permit only one witness at a
time to enter Fine’s room. The Hoff-
mans were first. I entered the room with
Julius, the rooming-house owner. He took
one look and said he was certain Fine was
the Miller who rented the room from him.
He declared, however, he could tell bet-
ter if he saw the man with a hat on. A
nurse brought Fine’s hat. Placing it on
the man’s head, after he had been propped
up, I asked Hoffman to look at him again.
“FINHAT’S the man,” he said without
hesitation.
Fine didn't say a word. He merely kept
staring at the witnesses. The rest of the
witnesses entered. Each identified Fine
as the Miller who had negotiated with
them in the moving of the trunk.
Curran and I then entered the sick-
room, after I had held a conference with
the doctors. I had decided to play my
trump card in this grim game we were
playing.
I held Mrs. Schaaf’s will in my hand.
“Fine,” I said, “do you recognize this?”
The prisoner, who remained calm as
each witness had examined him, nearly
jumped out of the bed in his effort to
grab the paper. He was mighty spry for
a supposedly ill man. It was with diff-
The room in the Philadelphia lodging-
house where the mysterious Mr. Miller
left the trunks that held an awful
secret
culty that we forced him back into bed.
“Well, Fine,” I said, “what do you say
about this will?”
“Nothing,” he growled. “Nothing ex-
cept that Mrs. Schaaf was fond of me and
I of her. She said she wanted to leave
me her estate when she died.”
“Yes,” I interjected, “and you saw to
it that she was going to die so that you
could get your hands on her money.”
“Tt’s a lie!” the man screamed. You're
trying to railroad me to the electric
chair!”
Fine’s face had paled. He was fright-
ened—horribly frightened as I put the
next question to him.
“Fine,” I asked, “I want you to tell me
the truth about this. Didn’t you kill Mrs.
Schaaf so that you would inherit her
money?”
The prisoner, I felt, was weakening. I
thought
suddenly
could ca
dead fai
and mot
As we
knew th
Fine ha
He had :
his trans
a room
ping of
enabled
Arrivit
nesses 1c
He was «
tion in 1
After
with exc
Fine wa
the mur
tectives
had in ¢
the type
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married,
daughter
town. |
terious ¢
with a
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years aft
a forme:
as the 1
drugs. |
lars fron
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time, th
who had
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“story, at
but faile
motive «
struction
search f{¢
pearing
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of thoug
of this n
of my Ii:
called m
“What
body, Sh
“TORE!
remi
hold it :
“Have
“No,”
that her
came wi
papers gi
After ¢
to the c
sonal dé
benefit «
amined «
But mv
point ba
the life
the han
Anxio1
ble clues
observati
hurried t
had been
a blank.
ing off t}
cartridge
base a
for Fine. While
ir way to the police
sergeant in charge
i me by telephone
ie had been seized
ttack and taken to
‘pital.
the case I had not
e witnesses were in
1k them to the hos-
there told me that
not seriously so.
o believe he was
3, they played safe
y one witness at a
room. The Hoff-
ered the room with
ise owner. He took
‘as certain Fine was
the room from him.
he could tell bet-
with a hat on. A
iat. Placing it on
e had been propped
» look at him again.
’
he said without
‘d. He merely kept
s. The rest of the
ich identified Fine
id negotiated with
f the trunk.
entered the sick-
{a conference with
ecided to play my
‘im game we were
will in my hand.
ou recognize this?”
remained calm as
mined him, nearly
‘d in his effort to
as mighty spry for
It was with diffi-
adelphia lodging-
erious Mr. Miller
held an awful
t
m back into bed.
“what do you say
ed. “Nothing ex-
vas fond of me and
e wanted to leave
2 died.”
“and you saw to
to die so that you
a her money.”
1 screamed. You’re
e to the electric
d. He was fright-
ved as I put the
ant you to tell me
idn’t you kill Mrs.
would inherit her
was weakening. I
thought he was going to confess, when
suddenly he arose in fis bed. Before we
could catch him, he fell to the floor in a
dead faint. A doctor entered the room,
and motioned us to step out.
As we drove back to headquarters, I
knew that we had caught the murderer.
Fine had been trapped by his own alibi.
He had assumed the name of Miller in all
his transactions concerning the renting of
a room in Philadelphia, and in the ship-
ping of the trunk. And it was this that
enabled us: to trap him.
Arriving at headquarters, I had the wit-
nesses look at Weiss the second boarder.
He was quickly exonerated of all implica-
tion in the crime and released.
After this headquarters became agog
with excitement when it was learned that
Fine was wanted in New York state for
the murder of another woman there. De-
tectives had ascertained that the man we
had in custody was a veritable bluebeard,
the type of a fiend who preyed on women
for their money and then murdered them.
An investigation revealed that Fine had
married, while a yqung man in Russia, the
daughter of a wealthy family in his home
town. His wife there died under mys-
terious circumstances and he had escaped
with a small fortune. Arriving in New
York, he married a second time. Three
years after this marriage, his second wife,
a former Miss Tillie Furnstein, had died
as the result of an overdose of sleeping
drugs. Fine inherited fifty thousand dol-
lars from her and went to Philadelphia.
Arriving there, he married for a third
time, this time a Miss Bertha Abramson,
who had inherited a large fortune from
her father, a former Philadelphia mer-
chant. Fine, as shown elsewhere in this
‘story, attempted to do away with her,
but failed.
The Red Riddle
motive could there be for her cruel de-
struction? Upon whose hands must I
search for the blood of this innocent ap-
pearing stranger? As I stood in silent
contemplation—resolved in the soliloquy
of thought to track down the perpetrator
of this monstrous crime if it took the rest
of my life—an attendant of the mortuary
called me aside.
“What are your instructions about the
body, Sheriff?”
“T)REPARE it so that the features will
remain as natural as possible and
hold it for identification,” I requested.
“Have any idea who she is?”
“No,” I replied, “but it isn’t likely
that her disappearance from wherever she
came will go unnoticed after the news-
papers get this murder story.”
After going over the evidence presented
to the coroner, and taking a minute fer-
sonal description of the victim for the
benefit of immediate publication, I ex-
amined every article found on the body.
But my search brought forth no clue to
point back over the fateful pathway of
the life that had met ruthless defeat at
the hands of a phantom-like assailant.
Anxious to comb the ground for possi-
ble clues that might have escaped the
observation of those first at the scene, I
hurried to the spot from which the body
had been removed. But there, too, I drew
a blank. My search for auto tracks lead-
ing off the highway, a weapon, discharged
cartridges, or other objects upon which to
base a deduction proved fruitless. It
hx
et
True Detective Mysteries
After hearing all this, I went to the
Atlantic County Prosecutor’s office to pre-
pare the case against Fine. S. Cameron
Hinkle, Assistant Prosecutor, perused my
reports containing all the evidence we had
found against Fine. He declared:
“Captain, we have an ironclad case. The
fact that Fine has positively been identi-
fied by all witnesses concerned clearly in-
dicates and proves he is the murderer of
this unfortunate woman. Also the fact
that the will which you found was dated
and executed three days before the woman
was murdered, shows that the crime was
premeditated. I feel that you and your
men, as well as the Philadelphia author-
ities, have built enough evidence around
this scoundrel to warrant us holding and
trying him on a first-degree murder
charge.”
| esol recovered from his “heart” at-
tack. He was again back in a cell.
He scorned all visitors, and then started
giving guards the impression that he was
insane. A husky guard, Horace Johnson,
obtained from Fine what was considered
the most damaging evidence a man ever
gave against himself.
He was bemoaning his fate and con-
fiding in his cellmate, when he suddenly
blurted out:
“The old fool! I wanted her to give
me some money. Sure I gave it to her.
It was the only way I could get the
money.”
Johnson reported this to me as the
famous Jersey Justice oiled up its ma-
.chinery to speed Fine to trial.
He was indicted by the Atlantic County
Grand Jury for murder. On April 4th,
one month after Mrs. Schaaf had been
slain, he entered a plea of not guilty be-
fore Supreme Court Justice Ralph W. E.
Will-O’-The-Wisp
(Continued from page 53)
was the barren beginning of a baffling
case, i
One fact with which I was immediately
impressed was the nearness of the county
boundary. If the body had been found
only three hundred yards further south
the investigation would have fallen upon
the shoulders of the Sheriff of Crittenden
County. Was this location of the horror
spot shrewdly calculated by a scheming
murderer to ¢gonfuse ‘the jurisdiction in a
legal issue if it should reach such a final
stage?
The closest dwelling was a mile and a
quarter from where the murdered woman
was found, and the coroner’s physician,
Doctor Williams, had estimated that her
death occurred between midnight and 2
A. M. The chances, I figured, were about
a hundred to one that the killer had ac-
complished his dastardly deed in complete
seclusion of the night. But, on the off
chance, I called at the nearest houses and
inquired of the occupants to learn if they
had noted any disturbance the previous
night. The people of that immediate
vicinity reported the calm of the night
unbroken. But not many miles away—as
I was to learn later—the peaceful slumber
of a household had been rudely interrupted
and listening ears had caught ominous
sounds from the outer darkness.
As I was returning to Marked Tree, a
familiar voice hailed me on the outskirts
of town. It was getting dusk and the
visibility wasn’t very clear.
“That you, Sheriff?” There was a tone
of eagerness in the voice that caused me
71
Donges, in the Atlantic County Court, at
Mays Landing, New Jersey.
On June 6th, he went on trial for his
life. The trial lasted for four days and
Fine based his defense on insanity. Not
one bit of testimony was offered to show
he had not committed the crime. This
was practically admitted by the defense.
Then on June 10th, Fine’s fate was
placed in the hands of a jury. Within
two hours it returned a verdict of guilty
of first-degree murder without recom-
mendation for mercy.
Fine was doomed to die in the electric
chair. The verdict electrified the court-
room, for it was the first time in thirty
years that the death penalty had been
imposed in an Atlantic County Court. The
last time a murderer from Atlantic Coun-
ty had paid the supreme penalty was in
1902 when the slayer of a farmer had
been hanged at the old county prison.
The doomed man was taken to the State
Penitentiary at Trenton, where today he
is awaiting the moment when he will have
to walk to the little green door leading
to the chamber of death from which there
will be no escape.
Fine gambled for a fortune, it was re-
vealed, when an accounting of Mrs.
Schaaf’s estate was filed. She was worth
seven hundred thousand. dollars—all of
which would have gone to the murderer.
Instead of the life of luxury which he
craved, and for which he killed. Fine lin-
gers on in the penitentiary’s “death row”
awaiting the law’s vengeance for the most
horrible and brutal crime every inscribed
into the annals of Atlantic County’s police
history.
As this issue goes to press, Fine is sen-
tenced to be executed during the week of
April 10th, and will probably go to the
chair on Thursday, April 13th.
of Marked Tree—Arkansas’ Murdering
to clamp down on the brake and stop.
“Yes,” I answered, coming to a stop
near the cotton gin from which a man
came bounding up to my car. I saw that
it was Dave Fury the night watchman at
the cotton gin.
“Found out all about the murder?”
Dave wanted to know.
“Not much,” I replied, wondering if he
had stopped me through idle curiosity.
“Well, I know something,” Dave re-
marked, “that might give you a start...”
“Tell me now,” I broke in impatiently.
“There’s a house-boat down here below
the gin, on the Saint Francis River,” Dave
stated, “and last night I saw two strange
men and a woman goin’ on board. I got
a pretty good look at them, and I sure
believe that dead woman I saw them
bring in this evening is the same one I
saw goin’ on the houseboat.”
“Know any of the parties, Dave?”
“NEE, can’t say I do, Sheriff. But
there was some trouble on _ that
‘houseboat, and it sounded like they was
fighting down there along towards mid-
night! Ain’t seen none of ’em today,” he
concluded.
The night watchman’s sincerity was un-
questioned and the tip he volunteered was
the first tangible lead thus far presented.
If his observations and surmises were cor-
rect, it began to look as if I would have
a short cut to the core of the perplexing
riddle.
A few minutes after my conversation
“with Dave Fury, Chief of Police E. A.
A husky expressman complained that this trunk was very heavy, but he never suspected why
Meyer Zuckerman arrived. Zuckerman
was assigned to the case with Choplin-
ski, not only because he was an ace
detective but because he had lived
most of his life in the neighborhood in
which the Hoffman home was located.
Zuckerman knew most of the people
who lived around there. This knowl-
edge often aided him in the solution of
seeming unsolvable crimes.
Their ring of the Hoffman house bell
was answered by Julius, who immedi-
ately led them to the room in which
the trunk was located, and Choplinski’s
first observation as he stepped beside
the trunk and sniffed around it like a
huge bloodhound, was: “I think you
are right, Mr. Hoffman. It certainly
smells like something dead in there.”
MLYAVE you touched it at all?” asked
Zuckerman.
“No, sir. After the trunk was brought
in we never went into the room.”
“Look, Meyer,” said Choplinski.
“There’s two locks on it. This one here
—" pointing to a hinged lock beside
the regulation one on any trunk—“was
put on recently.”
“Two locks, tied with rope. Seems
to me the owner wanted to make pret-
ty sure it wouldn’t come open. Let’s
open it, Frank.”
“Right. Mr. Hoffman, do you have
a heavy screw-driver in the house?”
“Yes, sir. I will get it for you right
away,” Hoffman answered. He left the
room and in a few moments returned
with a heavy screw-driver.
“He handed it nervously to Choplin-
ski, who, with Zuckerman, had put on
kid gloves to prevent his own finger-
prints from marring any that might be
on the trunk. Zuckerman drew a large
jack-knife from his pocket and quick-
ly cut the ropes. Then Choplinski in-
serted the screw-driver under the locks
and pried both of them loose. Mrs.
Hoffman, pale and tense, was standing
in the hallway, looking fearfully at
the detectives.
16
The detectives threw back the big
lid. The nauseating odor again filled
the room. It hit the men like a blow.
They stepped back; then, placing hand-
kerchiefs over their faces, they re-
turned to the trunk and looked inside.
An expression of great amazement
Passed over their faces.
“Look, Meyer, there’s another trunk
inside this one!” eS
Meyer looked. “What do you know
about that?” he said. Then he added:
“It’s wrapped in oil-cloth, Frank.”
“Yes, this was a careful, deliberate
job of packing.” 5
Choplinski bent over and began pull-
ing out garments that were stuffed in
the spaces between the two trunks. He
drew out cotton nightgowns, several
black velvet dresses, stockings, wo-
men’s silk underwear, a black cloth
coat trimmed with silver-fox fur, and
an assortment of other ladies’ wearing
apparel. They scrutinized each garment
carefully for possible identification
marks, but found none.
“Mrs. Hoffman,” called Choplinski.
“Matilda!” repeated Julius.
|% A few seconds the frightened wo-
man stood in the doorway.. Cho-
plinski stepped close to her.
“Mrs. Hoffman, look at these clothes.
Would you say they belonged “to a
young woman or an old one.”
“Cotton nightgowns,” answered Mrs.
Hoffman with a smile, “are worn usu-
ally by elderly women of the older
generation.”
“And this coat and these dresses?”
“The same,” said Mrs. Hoffman.
“Just as I thought,” said Choplinski.
“The trunk, Frank,” said Meyer who
had been measuring the container, “is
four feet long, three feet deep, and
three feet wide—big enough for a body
folded up.”
“Meyer, get on the phone and have
the finger-print men out here. Also call
for a wagon. We'll take this to the
morgue and open the other trunk down
there.”
As Meyer left for the phone and
Choplinski returned the garments to
the trunk, he asked Hoffman, who
ee ee
Paul Burton-Mercur
N THE morning of March 7, 1932,
Julius Hoffman started to clean
out the first story bedrooms of his
rooming-house at 824 North 5th Street,
Philadelphia, Pa.
Finally he came to room No, 4 which
he had rented two days before to a con-
servative, prosperous-looking gentleman ' a ake 2 pp : ; See
who had brought along a heavy steamer fe ae hummer (Pas ef os parr i orgs
trunk, paid three weeks rent in advance, § pete ire. Rarer Mle ‘ thapless victim x ps
and then explained that he was going on ey ie i KF \ le’ cad reply at it 8
Washington and would return to occupy
the room within two or three days. The
man had identified himself as Henry Mil-
ler.
As Hoffman swept around the trunk
in the corner, he noticed a wet spot on the
floor which he thought was whisky from
a broken bottle in the bottom of the trunk.
He smiled as he brought the broom up
to his nose. The smile left his face when
he noticed that the straws of the broom
had red stains. :
Immediately he examined the wet spot
on the floor. It was red. He dropped the
broom and called his son, Harry. Both
agreed that the liquid oozing out of the
trunk was blood.
Assistant Superintendent of Police Jo-
seph LeStrange and Captain Harry
Heanley, Chief of the Philadelphia Homi-
cide Squad, arrived at the rooming-house
fifteen minutes after young Hoffman had
called them on the telephone.
They examined the stains and exterior
of the trunk, and then had it removed to
the city morgue in one of the police
wagons. With the help of Detective Lieu-
tenant Harry Choplinsky and Detective
Sergeant Martin Curran, LeStrange and
Heanley forced the trunk’s lid open.
This disclosed a smaller trunk inside
which was covered with a woman’s night
dress and two newspapers—The Allantic
City, New Jersey, Journal, dated March
4, 1932, and the Philadelphia Evening
Bulletin, of the same date, the latter a
newspaper which is also distributed in
Atlantic City.
The newspapers and the nightgown
were carefully folded for fingerprints,
and then the detectives forced open the
lid of the smaller trunk. A brown-haired
nude woman was doubled up inside of it!
- LeStrange turned to Sergeant Curran
and ordered him to call Dr. W. S. Wads-
worth, the well-known coroner’s exam-
iner, Dr. Wadsworth arrived in record
time and had the woman’s body taken to
his laboratory in the morgue. He imme-
diately performed an autopsy to deter-
mine the cause of her death.
an unexpected, short business trip to aM ee rs ea eS i
eaves: sg “f shipped to Philadelphia.
1a aa a net nde
XA ra Pact
In the
Choplinsk:
trunks tho
clues that
killers, but
When [
laboratory
“Well, |
Captain E
“Strang
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ody of the
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ladelphia,
In the interim, LeStrange, Heanley,
Choplinsky, and Curran inspected the’
trunks thoroughly in the hope of finding
clues that would lead them to the killer or
killers, but to no avail.
When Dr. Wadsworth came out of the
laboratory, the detectives were waiting.
“Well, Doc, what’s the verdict ?” asked
Captain Heanley.
“Strangled to death,” he announced
tersely, “with this.” He handed the offi-
cer a short length of rope of the clothes-
_ line variety. “It was around her neck, so
deeply embedded in the flesh, it was al-
most invisible.”
As the Captain opened his mouth, the
examiner stopped him with a short laugh.
“I know—I know,” he snapped. “The
first thing you cops always ask. Well, she
died about three days ago. That’s as
close as I can put it.”
Heanley, Choplinsky, and Curran, be-
Huge were the stakes that
were involved in the brutal
plot of the killer (right) but
wily police work foiled him.
ing good cops, knew that the logical place to start a murder in-
vestigation is at the scene of the murder. This time they didn’t
know where that was—yet. So they did the next best thing. They
returned to the spot where the body was found.
The Hoffmans were eager to help but didn’t have much ma-
terial to work with. The sinister lodger in Room 4 had been
about forty-five, heavy-set, of medium height, and clean shaven,
He had kept his dark, felt hat at a sharp angle over his eyes. He
had had good reason to keep his features concealed. As a rule,
men with stray corpses do not like to be remembered.
Two truckmen whom the Hoffmans had never seen before
and whom they could not identify, had delivered the macabre
cargo and put it in the spot designated by Miller, They had then
departed, and Miller had followed shortly after.
That was all the Hoffmans knew.
guy Miller didn’t kill the dame, he sure knows who did.
He’s the key to the riddle, and is probably the killer. In any event
the easiest way to trace hinris through the woman. So the first job
on the agenda is to identify the woman, We'll have to find those
truckmen and trace the trunk back to its shipping point.”
With the help of a dozen detectives, Heanley canvassed the
* neighborhood for the two truckmen.
Within two hours they founda Morris Weinstein of 840 North
Marshall Street, not far from the rooming house. The Captain
questioned him, and he readily admitted that he and his helper,
Charles Robinson, of 1014 Brown Street, had delivered the
trunk for a Henry Miller. They had picked it up on the platform
a of the American Express Company at 18th and Market Streets
S and then Miller had directed them to his room at the North 5th
Street address. Heanley thanked the truckman and then drove to
the express company with Choplinsky and Curran.
“We want to see the records of a trunk Morris Weinstein
picked up here two days ago,” said Heanley to a clerk behind the
desk.
HEANLEY began issuing instructions to his aides. “If this
The clerk looked through a bunch of papers in a basket and
then handed Heanley a delivery receipt signed by Morris Wein-
stein showing that the trunk had been shipped from Atlantic
City, N. J., March 4 at four p. m., by the Pennsylvania Railroad.
It was addressed to Henry Miller, care of American Railway
Express Co., Philadelphia, The sender was listed as Henry Mil-
ler of Atlantic City, N. J.
In less than two hours, Captain Frank ). Harrold, Chief of
Atlantic County Detectives, and crack Detective Frank Juliano,
arrived in Philadelphia in response to Captain Heanley’s urgent
call. But before leaving his city, Captain Harrold gave orders to
=F
7" See. er Pen
Officer Frank May (above)
investigated the furnace in
the victim’s basement and
found partly-burnt clothing.
A man who gave the name
of Henry Miller moved. this
trunk into a rooming house;
in it was the'victim’s body.
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urgent
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Detective Frank May to go to the American Railway Express
office at the Pennsylvania Depot and look for the records of a
trunk delivered there March 4. “And find out all you can on this .
Henry Miller.”
Harrold and Juliano walked into Detective Headquarters in
Philadelphia’s City Hall, and were met by Heanley and -Le-
Strange.
“Looks like you're going to have a tough one, Frank,” said
Heanley to the Atlantic City officer. “We're positive the murder
was committed in your city.”
Then Captain Heanley gave him all the information relative to
the discovery of the victim in the trunk.
At this point the telephone rang. It was Detective Frank May
calling from Atlantic City. He wanted to talk to his “Chief.”
“Here's what I found on that trunk,” he told Harrold. “It was
shipped from here on March 4. But this Miller guy had no return
address on the tags, and the depot has no record of his residence
here, nor of who delivered the trunk.”
“Okay, Frank, stay on it,” ordered Harrold.
He turned to Heanley. “How about a look-see at the body ?”
Heanley drove Harrold and Juliano to the morgue.
When the sheet covering the woman’s body was removed,
Juliano, who was known for his photographic memory, grunted.
The grunt was to express astonishment.
“T know her!” he exclaimed. “She lived in Atlantic City
somewhere on States or Connecticut Avenue. I’ve seen her often
on the boardwalk.”
“Are you sure, Frank?”
“Sure I’m sure !”’
This was the signal for Harrold and Juliano to make a bee
line for Atlantic City. Choplinsky and Curran of the Philadel-
phia Detective Bureau accompanied them. In Atlantic City. they
immediately instituted a house to house search of that section of
Connecticut Avenue where Juliano thought the murdered woman
had lived.
They finally reached an impressive home at 35 South Connect-
icut Avenue. A maid, Emma Middleton, answered the doorbell.
She explained that her mistress, Mrs. Mamie Schaaf, had left
four days ago for an undisclosed destination.
“Didn’t she tell you where she was going?” asked Captain
Harrold.
‘The pretentious residence of
' Mrs. Schaaf, scene of one of
the weirdest murder schemes
ever concocted by a criminal.
_ “T wasn’t here when Mrs. Schaaf left,” she replied. “You see,
on the morning of March 3, I got through with my work earlier
than usual as I had an important errand to do, and when I got
back here, Louis Fine, one of the two boarders, told me that Mrs.
Schaaf had left for a short trip and wouldn’t be back for a week
or so.”
“Ts Mrs. Schaaf in the habit of going away on short trips like
that?” questioned Juliano. :
“Yes. She goes away for three weeks, sometimes.”
Juliano told the maid that he believed something might have
happened to her mistress, and asked her if she would go with
them to Philadelphia to identify a woman’s body.
They arrived at the motgue in one hour and thirty-eight min-
utes.
The maid stood breathless as, Captain Harrold uncovered the
body of the murdered woman.
“Why, that’s—that’s Mrs. Schaaf!” [Continued on page 91]
. 9
ett aA I seat Blasi
TRUNKS —
NOT FOR
CORPSES
POLICE FILES MAGAZINE,
ARE
Faked heart attack delayed the completion of this murder Investigation.
The clue in the
lady’s will
proved that the
best laid plans of |
murder men
can go awry
by George Spanner
FEBRUARY, 196h.
% OPERATORS of rooming houses
“are much like hotel men. They don’t
care whether a tenant uses a room or
not as long as it’s paid for or there’s
sufficient security to guarantee the bill.
That's the way it was with room Num-
ber 4 on North Sth Street in Philadel-
phia, Pa. The occupant, a prosperous
looking gentleman, who had identified
himself as Henry Miller, had been there
only two days when he told the land-
lord he was going on a short trip to
Washington. It made no difference be-
cause Miller had paid three weeks’ rent
in advance; and there was a heavy
steamer trunk in the room for addi-
tional security.
Those thoughts were in the landlord’s
mind as he started to clean room Num-
ber 4 that morning of March 7th.
As he swept around the trunk in the . |
corner, he noticed a wet spot on the
floor which he thought was whiskey
from a broken bottle in the bottom of
the trunk. He smiled as he brought the
broom up to his nose. The smile left
his face when he noticed that the straws
of the broom had red stains.
Immediately he examined the wet
spot on the floor. It was red. He drop-
ped the broom and called his son. Both
agreed that the liquid oozing out of
the trunk was blood.
Assistant Superintendent of Police
Joseph LeStrange and Captain Harry
Heanley, Chief of the Philadelphia
Homicide Squad, arrived at the room-
ing-house fifteen minutes after the
young man had called them on the
telephone.
They examined the stains and ex-
terior of the trunk and then had it re-
moved to the city morgue in one of
the police wagons. With the help of
Detective Lieutenant Harry Choplin-
sky and Detective Sergeant Martin Cur-
ran, LeStrange and Heanley forced the
trunk’s lid open.
This disclosed a small trunk inside
which was covered with a woman’s light
dress and two newspapers — The Atlan-
POLICE FILES
tic City, New Jersey, Journal, dated
March 4th, and the Philadelphia Eve-
ning Bulletin, of the same date, the
latter a newspaper which is also dis-
tributed in Atlantic City.
The newspapers and the nightgown
were carefully folded for fingerprints,
and then the detectives forced open the
lid of the smaller trunk.
A brown-haired woman was doubled
up inside of it!
LaStrange turned to Sergeant Curran
and ordered him to call Dr. W. S.
- Wadsworth, the coroner’s examiner.
Dr. Wadsworth arrived in record time
and had the woman’s body taken to his
laboratory in the morgue. He immedi-
ately performed an autopsy to deter-
mine the cause of her death.
In the interim, LeStrange, Heanley,
Choplinsky, and Curran inspected the
trunks thoroughly in the hope of find-
ing clues that would lead them to the
killer or killers, but to no avail.
Dr. Wadsworth came out of the
laboratory.
“Well, Doc, what’s the verdict?” ask-
ed Captain Heanley.
“Strangled to death,” he announced
tersely. “With this.” He handed the
officer a short length of rope of the
clothesline variety. “It was around her .
neck, so deeply embedded in the flesh,
it was almost invisible. She died about
three days ago it appears.”
Heanley, Choplinsky, and Curran
returned to the spot where the body
was found.
The landlord was eager to help but
didn’t have much material to work with.
The lodger in room four had been
about 45, heavy-set, of medium height,
and clean shaven. He had kept his
dark, felt hat at a sharp angle over his
eyes.
Two truckmen whom they had never
seen before and whom they could not
identify, had delivered the macabre
cargo. They had then departed, and
Miller had followed shortly after.
That was all they knew.
Heanley began issuing instructions
to his aides. “If this guy Miller didn’t
do the killing, he sure knows who did.
He’s the key to the riddle, and prob-
bly the killer. In any event the easiest
way to trace him is through the woman.
So the first job on the agenda is to
identify the woman. We'll have to find
those truckmen and trace the trunk
back to its shipping point.”
antic’ rir)e
(can
:
ie
The curtain went up on the real-life drama in this house.
With the help of a dozen detectives,
Heanley canvassed the neighborhood
for the two truckmen.
ITHIN two hours they found a
resident of North Marshall Street,
not far from the rooming house, who
readily admitted that he and his helper
had delivered the trunk for a Henry
Miller. They had picked it up on the
platform of the American Express Com-
pany at 18th and Market Streets and
then Miller had directed them to his
room. at the North Sth Street address.
Heanley thanked the truckman and
then drove to the express company with
Choplinsky and Curran.
“We want to see the records of a
trunk picked up here two days ago,”
said Heanley to a clerk behind the
desk.
The clerk looked through a bunch
of papers in a basket and then handed
Heanley a delivery receipt showing that
the trunk had been shipped from Atlan-
tic City, New Jersey, March 4th at
four P.M., by the Pennsylvania Rail-
road. It was addressed to Henry Miller,
care of American Railway Express Co.,
Philadelphia. The sender was listed as
Henry Miller of Atlantic City, N. J.
In less than two hours, Captain Frank
J. Harrold, Chief of Atlantic County
Detectives, and Detective Frank Juli-
ano, arrived in Philadelphia in response
to Captain Heanley’s urgent call. But
before leaving his city, Captain Har-
rold gave orders to Detective Frank
May to go to the American Railway
Express office at the Pennsylvania De-
pot and look for the records of a trunk
delivered there March 4th, and to check
on Henry Miller.
Harroid and Juliano walked into De-
tective Headquarters in Philadelphia’s
City Hall, and were met by Heanley and
LeStrange.
“It looks like you’re going to have
a tough one, Frank,” said Heanley to
the Atlantic City officer. “We feel very
positive that the murder was committed
(Continued on page 60)
27
*ceét fZT eunp uo (Aqun0g ofqueT zy): Aasiep May peqgnoozyoete fog feqTym Sstnol ‘ant
nestled on the bottom. This was the last will
and testament of the late Mattie Schaaf. It ©
had been executed five days before her dis-
appearance and bequeathed her entire. estate
and fortune to her beloved friend, Louis Fine.
So at long last the cops had a motive.
Harrold had an idea. He called in two
trusted newspapermen. “Give out the news
that we have arrested the murderer of Mattie
Schaaf—that Joe Ray is guilty.”
As the reporters rushed out to file their.
stoties, he turned to one of his men and said,
“If that doesn’t bring Fine back to get his
will, I'll turn in my badge.”
The story broke that afternoon in every
newspaper between New York and Philadel-
phia. That night, Harrold stationed his men
from the basement to the attic of the murder
house. Detective Sergeant Martin Curran hid
in the closet in Fine’s bedroom.
Shortly after midnight, steps were heard on >
the. front walk. A key clicked in the front
door and a shadowy figure padded across the
hall and up the stairs to the second floor.
- The door to Fine’s room opened.
Curran waited as instructed. The bed mat-
tress flopped back and the springs squeaked
as the intruder fumbled in the dark for the
cashbox. Curran stepped out of the closet.
. Louis Fine stood silhouetted in the beam of
Curran’s flashlight.
Startled at first, he quickly regained his
poise. “I’m looking for a cashbox,” Fine said.
“I kept it under my mattress. Everything in
it is mine.”
“Including the letters addressed to Henry
Miller?” Captain Harrold asked.
Fine looked startled, Then he smiled. “No. °
Those belong to a friend of mine. I’m keep-
ing them for him.”
He denied knowledge of Mattie Schaaf’s
murder. “I’ve been on a trip to New York
and _ haven’t read the papers,” he said to
police.
When told that Mattie had been strangled
and shipped ‘to Philadelphia in a trunk, Fine
clapped his hands to his face and moaned.
“My God, Captain,” he said. “I . .
out that trunk myself. Henry Miller gave
me $25 to ship it for him. I had no idea... .”
Harrold didn’t believe a word of it. But
he let Fine play out his act.
He had been away on the fourth, the day
that Mattie disappeared, Fine said. And
when he returned, Miller told him that Mrs.
Schaaf had gone away and that he himself
was moving from the rooming house to Phila-
delphia. Since he wanted to catch an early
train there he asked Fine to ship his trunk
for him, Fine said.
IF the maid was telling the truth, Fine was
not. She had identified the trunk as the
property of Mrs. Schaaf. Harrold was fur-
ther convinced of Fine’s guilt when Fine pro-
ceeded to describe Henry Miller in terms
which made him an identical twin of Joe Ray.
He begged police’to find “Henry Miller.”
Publicity in the case brought forth a truck-
man from Atlantic City who identified Fine
as the man who hired him to cart the trunk
from the Schaaf basement to the railway ex-
press office, where Fine had _ registered as
Henry Miller.
“That’s another thing,” Captain Harrold
said, leveling a finger at Fine. ‘You can’t ex-
“Stop that man!”
. I sent.
plain what a trunk packed full of Miller’s
clothes would be doing in the basement. It
would naturally be in Méiller’s bedroom,
wouldn’t it?”
Fine passed this over, as he has all other
inconsistencies in his story. But he showed
signs of real nervousness when Harrold told
him, “I’ve sent to Philadelphia for the room-
ing-house keeper, and for the two truckmen.
We'll soon find out who played the role of
Henry Miller in Philadelphia.”
When the witnesses arrived by police car
two hours later, Harrold was told that Fine
had been seized with a heart attack and
rushed to the hospital.
Attending physicians scoffed at the serious-
ness of his illness. One said flatly, “He’s fak-
ing. He’s- petrified with fear and his pulse
is rapid—but there’s no heart attack.” Never-
theless, they thought it advisable not to allow
more than one’ witness at a time into Fine’s
room.
’ “T think I knew what’s got him scared,”
Harrold said dryly. “Well, we'll give him
something to really worry about. ” One at a
time, he escorted the three Philadelphia =
nesses into the sick room.
All studied Fine silently, turned and filed
wordlessly out of the room. Outside, all
of them, positively identified Fine as .the
Henry Miller who had picked up the ‘trunk
at the express office in Philadelphia and ridden
with the truckmen to the rooming house.
Without a doubt it clinched the case against:
Louis Fine. It also absolved Joe Ray, the
other boarder, who was exonerated of any
knowledge of the murder.
Back in the sick room, Harrold bluntly told
Fine that he had been identified. .
“It’s a lie,” he screamed, trying to leap
from his bed. “You're railroading me to the
electric chair.”
Captain Harrold turned the case over to
the Atlantic County Prosecutor’s office, con-
vinced that they had enough evidence against
Fine—although he hadn’t confessed—to con-
vict him of first-degree murder.
Fine, realizing that the heart-attack ruse
wasn’t working, quickly recovered and was
placed in a jail cell. ;
Horace Johnson, one of the guards, paid
special attention to Fine—partly because of
a fear he might try to commit suicide, partly
because the accused was now running through
a good imitation of a man going insane.
Late one night when Fine thought no one
was around, Johnson heard him blurt out to
his cellmate, “The old fool.- I wanted her to
give me some money. It was the only way
I could get the money.”
Johnson reported this to the head jailer and
it was readily confirmed by Fine’s cellmate.
It was held in reserve for testimony at the
impending trial.
The trial began on June 6, before Supreme
Court Justice Ralph W. E. Donges, in the
Atlantic County Court at Mays Landing.
Fine pleaded insanity. His defense counsel
offered virtually no defense against the charge
that he had committed murder. ;
Four days later, it was all over. The jury
Stayed out only two hours, returning a ver-
dict of guilty of first-degree murder. There
was no recommendation for mercy.
Fine was taken to the Death House at
Trenton while appeals were filed. They were
unanimously overruled and a year and three
days after his conviction, on June 12, 1933,
Louis Fine was hauled, screaming and fright-
ened, to the electric chair.
gr
g
atl seat and got the gun. I just wanted
are her. We were facing cach other, one
Ach side of the car trunk.
When, I said I ought to blow her brains out,
ae laughed at me and said, “You ain’t got
‘the guts.”
She started to. say something else and I shot
her in the eye.
I didn’t really aim the gun, just put it up
and pulled the trigger.
It hit her right eye, dead center, and tore
her face bad. She fell to the road and I re-
loaded the gun and put it up to my head and
started to pull the trigger. Then I lost my
nerve. I thought, “What is the use of killing
myself, because they’ll do it anyway ?”
When I got back in the car, I didn’t know
if Mabel was dead or not. I decided to head
for other country. I drove south 25 miles to
Last Chance, where I got gas. Then I turned
east and. drove to Cope, about 70 miles from
Gary. . -
I didn’t want to have to tell I’d shot her.
So I stopped at a cafe in Cope and went in
with the gun. Some red-headed guy handed
the money to me. I think it was about $20. I
got back in the car and took. off.
I didn’t take that money to get away. I just
wanted them to arrest me. I wanted to get
caught. If I’d wanted to escape I could have
gone all the way to Old Mexico. I know every
road south of Brush, and I doubt if a police
officer in the state could have taken me. I had
extra license plates hidden under the car heater,
a set I’d taken from a Brush auto dealer.
When T took the money, most of the dozen
people in the cafe didn’t even know there was
a holdup. But someone ran out and got Dep-
uty Sheriff Walt Madison: He chased me from
Cope eight miles to the town of Joes. I don’t
remember the drive, but they said he shoved
me off the road a couple of times.
I saw some men behind some trucks in an
alley at Joes and I stopped. I don’t know
why,, Guess I just wanted to talk to them. So
I walked up to the truck and was standing
there.
The sheriff walked up behind me and
grabbed me and took me out and laid me on
the ground and searched me. He then took me
back to Cope and held me in a service sta’
tion. I felt like a lion in a zoo with all the
people coming in and looking at me.
“Maybe I ought to charge 25¢ admission
for you just to look at me,” I said. But I guess
this was just wine talk.
I told Madison that Sheriff William L. Mc-
Donald in Fort Morgan wanted me worse than
he did, because I had killed my wife.
Some young boys had found her body and
at about that time Sheriff McDonald came in
and took me and the gun down to Akron and
put me in jail. They made me sit there with ©
handcuffs on and no cigarets and that made
me mad so I wouldn’t tell them nothing.
They asked me if I killed Mabel.
I laughed. “Sure I killed her,” I said, “and
i'd do it again after all she did to me.”
Maybe that was mad wine talk, too, They
kind of joked me into a good humor again,
gave me a smoke, and I gave them an un-
sworn statement. The officers said if they
hadn’t caught me I would have killed some
one else. Maybe so, but I don’t know why.
They took me back to the county jail at
Fort Morgan, arriving ‘about 3 a.M., Tuesday,
May 10. They charged me with bbiaiedée:
One of the prosecutors said I didn’t break
down when I gave them the statement be-
cause I got the idea I had to put on a big
front and thought I was a big wheel. Well,
‘’m not—and I just hope what I’ve told will
help someone else.
They wouldn’t let me go to my wife’s fu-
neral. They wouldn’t even let me go to the
funeral home to see her. I guess they have a
good reason. But after all, I am human and
she was my wife.
I don’t know how her people feel. I’m sorry
for what I did. They were awfully good to me.
I guess I had rather live with a broken heart
all my life than commit murder. It’s some-
thing I can’t live with. I just know that I
can’t live with this on my mind. I think I
ought to die.
I’m still not breaking down, but what I
did is not something to be proud of. I’m not
laughing now. I wouldn’t do it again, either.
She was a pretty good kid.
I Bequeath You, Mr. Fine .
continued from page 5]
they finally unearthed a Mr. Morris Weinstein
who, with his helper, Charles Robinson, re-
membered delivering the trunk to -Hoffman’s
rooming house for the mysterious Miller.
‘The truckmen’s description of Miller, though
more detailed than Hoffman’s, still would
have fitted ten thousand shippers of trunks,
and was of little use without the confirming
presence of the suspect himself. Far more en- -
lightening ‘were Weinstein’s and Robinson’s
statement that they had picked up the trunk
for Miller from the railway express platform
in Philadelphia. Obviously, it had ges shipped
from out of town.
Frustrating as was their attempt i identify
the corpses the police received gratifying con-
firmation that the trunk and lady contained
-had originated in Atlantic City, when express
company records revealed that the shipment
had left that town on March 4, on the 4 p.m.
train for Philadelphia. The shipper had been
Henry Miller, who had consigned the trunk
and its highly personal cargo to himself at the
other end.
Philadelphia’s Captain of the Homicide
_ Squad, Harry Heanley, gratefully passed the
78
ball to New Jersey’s Atlantic County Chief
of Detectives, Captain Frank J. Harrold, in
whose bailiwick the strangling apparently had
occurred.
Harrold sent. County Detective Frank Ju-
liano to Philadelphia for a look at the corpse,
while other county cops visited the local rail-
way express office for a look at the records.
There they learned that Henry Miller had left
no return address when shipping the trunk.
“Check, for ‘Henry Millers’ in the .phone
book and at the post. office,” Harrold told
%
them. “It’s a thin lead but an important one
at this point.” The chief himself contacted the
Missing Persons Bureau, but without result.
At the post office, police found that a man
named Henry Miller had rented a mail box.
Though he did not wish mail sent to his home
address, he had listed it as a house on South
Connecticut Avenue, Atlantic City.
Nobody could have been more surprised
that Captain Harrold. The house was a huge,
gabled, bay-windowed and _ ginger-breaded
hangover from an era when space and serv-
ants came a lot cheaper. It was occupied by
the wealthy and attractive Mrs. Mattie Schaaf,
a lady, unfortunately for herself, with ideas
far more modern than the style of her house.
MES. SCHAAF was not at home now, her
maid told Harrold. She had gone away
for a few days. The maid did not know where.
Nor had she ever heard of anyone named
Henry Miller, the maid said.
For a moment Harrold was stymied. Then
he asked, “Does anyone live here beside Mrs.
Schaaf?”
The maid replied that there were two board-
ers, both men. “It’s not that Mrs. Schaaf
needs to take in boarders,” she explained. “It’s
just that—well, she likes to have a man or
two around the house. She feels that they’re
such a protection, particularly at night.”
The boarders were Louis Fine and Joe Ray,
the maid said. Fine was a retired businessman,
financially independent in his own right. Ray
worked as a pitchman at a fast-spieling sales
concession on the boardwalk.
“Tsn’t it unusual for Mrs. Schaaf not to let
you know where she’s going?” Harrold asked.
The maid smiled.. “Not at all,” she said. “In
fact, she frequently makes sudden trips out
of town, without telling me. . . . This time, I
didn’t even see her go. She just told Mr. Ray
to tell me she’d be gone a few days. She left
on March 3.” ae
Captain Harrold was thoroughly aware that
that was the day before the trunk had been
shipped. He asked to talk with Fine and Ray.
“Mr. Ray is at work,” the -maid replied.
“Mr. Fine went out of town himself, the day
after Mrs. Schaaf left.”
That was the day the trunk had been
shipped to Philadelphia.
Harrold speculated whether Louis Fine, the
retired businessman, and Henry Miller, the
sinister shipper, were the same person. Had
Fine or Miller shipped the trunk, then skipped
for good?
But for the present the chief kept his
thoughts to himself. “What did Mr. Fine say
to you before he left?” he asked. “What was
his general manner ?”
“I didn’t even see him go,” the maid re-
plied.
The captain wondered whether Fine, too,
had taken a ride in a trunk. “How did you
know he had gone? Did Ray tell you?”
“No. Mr. Fine left a note for me in my bed-
room.”
The cozy familiarity of this act was not lost
upon Harrold, but he merely asked to see the
note.
The maid fished it from her wastebasket.
It read: “Dear Sally: I am going away for a
few weeks. When Mrs. Schaaf returns—that is,
if she gets here before me—tell her I have gone
away for a while. In the meantime I want you
to keep my room tidy. I'll see you when I get
back ... Lou.”
Captain Harrold pocketed the note. No use
wasting time trying to make a corpse out of
a gay widow who might merely be off on a
fling. He must identify the body first.
For the first time he told the maid the real
purpose of his questioning. Then he said;
“I want you to come to Philadelphia to try
to identify the corpse.”
The girl flung up her hands in horror.
“Gawd, I hope it’s not her.” But she reached
for her hat with what appeared to be un-
seemly anticipation.
The corpse proved indeed to be Mattie
Schaaf. The widow had gone off on one trip
too many—although this one, of course, had
not been strictly voluntary.
Where had she been murdered? In the house,
no doubt, since the maid identified the trunk
as Mattie’s.
A quick search of her room, and the others
in the huge house, revealed no bloodshed or
signs of struggle. But on the cellar floor, etched
in dust, were the exact dimensional outlines of
the trunk.
And overhead the police Officials found a
clothesline, severed at one end and matching
that which was wrapped so snugly around
Mattie’s neck. In the cellar ‘furnace were the
half-burned remnants of the dead woman’s .
. Clothes.
No doubt then that Mattie Schaaf had been
strangled in her own cellar, then been un-
dressed and folded neatly into her own trunk.
Obviously, too, the strangler had required help
to remove the trunk to the railway express
office.
To Captain Harrold, that meant the killer
was no sneak-thief but an occupant of the
house, able to work at his own leisure with-
out attracting suspicion. The officer wondered
whether Fine and Ray were in on this to-
gether, or whether the culprit was a loner
who had called in a truckman to cart away
the trunk. In that case, even the maid might
be guilty. :
Too, there was the question of motive.
Though Mattie Schaaf was acknowledged to
be wealthy, she had never been known to
keep valuable amounts of money or jewelry
in the house, and there was no ready-tailored
theory as to why she. was murdered. Her love
life, if any, was clouded by reticence. And even
the mysterious trips out of town gave off more
speculation than light.
The cops, certain that Fine or Ray might
know more about her, paid the latter a flying
visit at his pitchman’s stand on the board-
walk. Ray, a tough-talking, medium-sized in-
dividual, responded to the news of Mattie
Schaaf’s murder with a free-wheeling stream
of profanity. “It’s that so-and-so, no-good
Louie Fine,” he swore. “He’s been hanging
around Mattie for months, trying to latch
onto her money. But he wasn’t above making
a pass at the maid when he ymaent nobody
was looking.” —
“Of course, you wouldn’t re interested,”
Harrold said. “You are merely a boarder here.”
“Mattie was like a mother to me,” Ray
answered, suddenly pious. “But that Fine,
that. . . .” He broke off again in another
string of oaths.
Later, more calmly, he insisted he had told
the maid that Mattie had gone away only
because Fine had told him it was so.
Harrold, knowing that under the crustiest
of shells surprising sentimentalities sometimes
lurk, was noncommittal as he hauled Ray off
to police headquarters for further questioning. |
Police, meanwhile, checked Mattie Schaaf’s
bank account and her safety deposit box. All
was in order. There had been no large with-
drawals of money, and her jewelry and cer-
tificates of stocks and bonds were all intact.
Her estate figured to be worth between $700,-
000 and $800,000.
“But that doesn’t eliminate a money motive
for her murder,” Captain Harrold warned his
en. “The more I think about this deal the
more certain I am that the killer, whoever he
was, wasn’t playing for penny-ante. He was
out to get hold of her whole fortune, il
possible.”
As if timed to confirm this theory, and as
if to strengthen the already pointed arrows of
suspicion, word arrived from the New York
Police Department concerning the background
of Louis Fine.
It was not good.
True, Fine was, in a sense, what he claimed
to be—a retired businessman. But with this
difference: Fine’s business had been commer-
cial matrimony—marriage for money.
Two years before, Fine’s wife of the mo-
ment was overcome by gas in her bedroom,
the police said. Revived in the hospital, she
accused him of attempted murder. She had
been ill in bed, she said, unable to move, and
he had turned on the old-fashioned gas jets
and walked out. Six months before, he had
tried to kill her by giving her an overdose of
sleeping potion, she added. Miraculously, she
had recovered from ,that, too. She said that
Fine had lost interest in their marriage after
squandering her $30,000 fortune. Fine was ar-
rested and tried for attempted murder, but
acquitted.
HAT wasn’t all, according to his police dos-
sier in New York. As a young man in his
native Russia, Fine had married the daughter
of a wealthy family. She had died under mys-
terious circumstances and he had fled to Amer-
ica with her sizeable fortune. Running low on
funds and confident with previous success, he
had launched on a career of marrying for
money. He was charming and handsome, with
an agile brain for finance and a knack for
sniffing out a woman’s net worth..
At present, Fine was wanted in New York
for the murder of the former Miss Tillie Furn-
stein, who had also died of an overdose of |’
sleeping drugs. He had inherited her $50,000
and when last heard of was in Philadelphia,
posing as a successful realty broker.
Though it looked bad for Fine, Harrold
still didn’t eliminate boarder Joe Ray. The
latter undoubtedly was a bad character, well-
suited to such odd jobs as helping Fine with
the problem of body disposal.
A search of the two men’s rooms produced
nothing at first. Then Harrold, feeling the
somewhat lumpy mattress on Fine’s_ bed,
looked underneath.
He pulled out a small metal cashbox and
broke it open. On top lay a packet of letters.
They were addressed to Louis Fine. Beneath
were letters directed to General Delivery, At-
lantic City. These were addressed to Henry |
Miller.
Almost surely Louis Fine, the commercial
lover boy, and Henry Miller, were one and
the same.
The General Delivery letters revealed that
Fine was up to his old tricks. All the letters
were from women, Gussled by Fine’s romantic
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FOX, John J,
22-year-old white florist, hanged at New Brunswick, N,
Jey On August 27, 1856, for the 12-27-1855 murder of
John Henry, Affirmed on appeal: 25 NEW JERSEY LAW RE-
PORTS (I DUTCHER) 566, Also see 317 McDADE 96, If
more is need and there shouldn't be, coverage of crime
is in New York DAILY TIMES 1-2-1856 (2/5),
John FOX, hanged at New Brunswick, N. J., Auge 27, 1856 = Continued.
he was cut down and placed in his coffin, Soon afterwards the coffin was removed to the
rear gate of the jail yard, opening upon a side stree}, in which the crowd were assembled,
The military were so formed as to allow the mltitude to pass by in line and view the
corpse. His remains were afterwards taken in charge by friends who intend to take them to
Elizabethtown for interment,
"It was obserged with horror by somewho were present that women gazed upon the execution
from the windows. One of then uttered a startling shriek just as thecap was being drawn
over his ey eSe
"Notwithstanding the persistence of theprisoner in declaring his innocence 6f the-crime of
murder, it is the almost unanimous belief of those who are familiar with the facts elicite
on his trial that the culprit met with nothing more than justice, according to the law of
the State,
"Fox was 22 years of age, a florist by occupation, and lived at Elizabethtown where his
wife and child now reside, He was an illigitimate child and had no recollection of his
mother, The man named Faulks who had passéd as his father, told him during his incarcerat:
that he wasnot his father, Fox's child is now 3 weeks old, He had not been visited by hi:
wife from the period of his trial, Her late confinement prevented her from calling to see
him recently," DAILY TIMES, New York, N, Y,, 8/28/1856 (8/2).
ty No cauph “f AY: Hu - Vaedon Cagney
lication the following card: 'I, John J, Fox, about to be executed, deem it my duty as ~
1 as my pleasure in this trying moment to return my heartfelt thanks to those who
e shown me acts of kindness gincemy imprisenment, To Rev, Mr. Stubbs particularly do,
eel under great obligation for his continued kindness to me, He has been my friend, and
faithfully performed his duty to mes | aS as.
Oo my counsel, Messrs. Speer ‘and Schunck, I also return the thanks of -a dying mans; all
t:could be done for’me has been done by them, without fee or reward, 2
o Mr, A. R. Spere,: who has been with me much and has been unremitting in acts of,
ership, I feel comelled to utter my thanks, and also to Sheriff Acken, I am sure -
t:he has conscientiously perfémed his- duty to me,,and treated me well on all occasions,
Mr.° acken's family also I feel very thankful, hey have treated me with great respect,
kindness. Major Cunningham, of Trenton, I also thank for all he has done for me, He
always been a trve friend. «© ° Ce : os :
n reference to myself I would say that I have'a strong hope in the mercy .of God, and:
cerely trust that he has pardoned my sins and will receive meto himself, !
o far 4s d have’ done wrong during my past life. I feel truly sorry. : ee
am entirely innocent of the crime for which I am condemned, With my dying breath I de-
rec my -innocence,’ Seo. G - ee Ps a
freely forgive those who have injured me in any way - I carry no feelings against then
hme. I sincerely trust that all whom I-.may have injured in any way will forgive me,
have not been guilty of any violation of the law except the crime at Elizabeth, for which
as punished, The many reports in circulation about my being, connected’ with murders and
glars, etc, are all false. (Signed) JOHN J. FOX,! ee oe
his request, hewas left alone with the attending clergy - Rev, Mr, Stubbs and Rev, Mr,
nes of the Protestant Episcopal Church, from 9 o'clock until the time of his execution,,.
ring themorning people came into. New Brunswick in considerable numbers, and at the time
the execution there were over 2,000 persons about. the jail - among them probably 100
en and‘rirls. A military force of about 120 men was upon the ground, at 10 o'clock,
er the command of Col, Moore, aided by his staff, The companies were the New Brunswick.
illery, Capt. Chevaliere, the Morgan Rifles, Capt. Helm, and the Emeralduard, Capts
lan, “he crowd'of persons in the streets, as is usual upon such occasions, manifested a
t of order and decorum, and many things were said that fell with a chilling effect upon -
se.vho heard them. Meanwhile, thosewho had tifékets were admitted into the jail yard to
number of about 300 persons, including those who were required by thwir official posi-
n to be present. The gallows was brought from Philadelphia, and is the same one upon
ch Mattocks was hung a few months ago, ‘and the brothers Stupikski about 3 years ago, and
ing wo was’ executed previous to them, It was erected by F. Fe Morrell of Philadelphia,
| whole height was 16 feet. The platform was 6 feet high and 8 feet souare, and consisted
two doors, held at the side by hinges and supported in the center by ‘a.prop whilkh, upon
ng knocked out, gave him a fall of four feet. Aspecial police force of 30 men had been
utized by the Sheriffi to ke@ order inside of the yard, While these pr eparatians were
ng on, outside Fox wds‘engagedin hts cell with the clergy in prayer and was even heard
eating the Litany and reading the 51st Psalm of Davide He appeared to be sincerely re=
tant for his sins against God and man, -If he could say a word to his past associates in
lt, it would be that they abandon their evil course and lead religious lives. He said at
t that he had no fault to find, -and «that God had bem gracious to him, The religiqus. ex-
ises over, he was mr epared for the execution, Hes dress consisted.of a white. shirt, drab
ts and gaiter boots, eo a : So -
11:30 o'clock the prisoner, accompanied by the clergy in their surplices, the Sheriff
his deputies, and several other persons, marched in procession from the .cell to the
lowse' Fox walked firmly and erect, and ascended. the steps of the scaffold with an une
tering step. He looked’ pale, but evinced great courage, Upon beinggsked by the: Sheriff
he' had anything to'say, he said tha he had, and mde a motion as if to speak, He |
told the Sheriff that he had communicated to Mr, Speer all that he had to’say, When the
e was about to'be put:around:his rieck, He turned his head and ,ooked at it and then re-
ed: '0h! My wife - my child!’ Ged remember them,! While they were putting. the cap over
face, he said in a low voice: 'Lord Jesus, recieve my spirit}! The .prep was then jerked
andthe fell, The fall did not break his neck, e hung perfectly still for the space
Q seconds. Violent convulsuions then commenced which continued about 3 minutes,, His.
e was perceptible until he had been hanging 9 minutes, It was. remarked ,.by persons pre=
who had.witnesged a number of executions, that his was the hardest struggle.they had
e When pronounced :dead by the attending physicians, Drs. Van Deusen, Newell ‘and Layton,
u
: 5 NEW JERSEY' LAW REPORTS. (I DUT CHER) 566
FOX, John, hanged at New Biun silol; New Jersey, on August 275 1856.
"The execution of Jokn Fox took place at New Brunswick, ee just Seiies 12 o'clock,
It was witnessed by about 300 persons who were admitted wthin the jail yard, besides many:
who had climbed upon the roffs of houses in the vicinity. He maintained his firmness until
the last. He made no confession of the crime for which his life was. taken, and manifested:
but little agitation, ;
"His crime was the murder of John Henry,.a youth 1l7-years-old, near NewBrunswick on Deco
27,1855, The body of the murdered boy was found on Sunday; Dec, 30; in a gully about 100
feet from the Raritan River, and half a mile below NewBrunswick, It lay with the throat
cut from ear to eary and a small rivulet of water ran under hig throat. His overcoat was
buttoned up to the neck. Various articles used by burglars were found upon his person, |
His watch was gone and his watch pocket’ was turned inside out, His watch, and other articles
were found upon the person of his mrderer, Fox was arrested on Monday morning, Dec. 31, :
at Elizabethtown, and taken to NewBrunswick, where he saw the body of the: deceased, but exe
hibited no signs of agitation, He simply remrked that John Henry was his best friend, but
evinced no grief at the butchery of-him, They had been intimate friends for's-everal months,
Fox was a-resident of Elizabethtown, where Patrick Henry of New York = father of the, mur-
dered lad = hasresided in the Summer season for a number of years past. Fox was convicted:
upon circumstantial evidence, of a nature which left no reasonable doubt of his guilt upon.
the minds of the Court or public, . ; gs a Che rer ao, 7 :
. ‘ - TRIAL : |
"He. was ended at thellay” torn of the Middlesex County Court of ie and Terminer befor e Judge
Veedenburgh and Associate Judges Goele, Ward and Provost. His trial commenced on the 12th
and ended on the 23rd day of that month, The testimony showed that on Tuesday, Dec, 26th,
Fox and Henry were in New York together, They left that afternoon for New Brunswick where
they arrived that evening. Fox stopped at a aii house where he had been benrding pre-.
viously, and Henry stopped at a hotel, ..
"On Se morning of the 27th, Fox and Henry vere, sem together at the Railroad ‘Depoty at about
10 o'clock, They were afterwards seen going together through NewBrunswick towards the spot
where the body was afterwards found, He was soon afterwards seen in the road.above the
gully and-near it, under circumstances which proved. satisfactorily that hehad just come from
the gulley. He appeared excited, and staggered as if intoxicated, He was seen at other
points between the gully and the Railroad on his return, His clothes were mddy and his
hand was wounded and bloody, .He attributed the. wound and blood &o a fall upon the frozen
ground and ice,’ Immediately after he was see thus wounded, he took the cars to Elizabeth-
town. , He there told a different story as to the manner of his wound, saying that he fell
while getting upon the cars, ‘The chain of circumstantial evidence uhich was adduced upon
the thial, seemed to point conclusively to John Fox as the murderer, and when the case was
submitted to thejury; they devoted but a iad time e less than two. hour's to consultation,
and’ came in with a verdict of guilty.
"He was.sentenced on May 30th to be hung upon Friday), July octh, iit previous to that day;
Governor Price postponed the execution to yesterday, He was firm and unmoved ‘during his
trial, - ‘and his countenance wore a oo appearance, although Seep etene yen and sadness were
at times slightly visiblese “
"During tke period of his confinement in prison, he has heintaings his. firmness of manner
‘and apparent cheerfulness = singing, whistling and. joking, his has continued until -within
a few days past, during which time his manner has been more serious, A guard, day and night,
has been kept over him since his conviction, It was discovered a few weeks since that he
had nearly filed off his handcuffs, He was then more ‘securely ironed, . The Sheriff had
searchedfor it in his cell ineffectually, Fox would not tell where it had been secreted,
but he has since delivered up the file .which heused upon his irons, Oh Monday night last,
he sung two songs = 'Well, they miss me at home,' and 'Down, DEET > « down,' on
"He slept soundly during the nighb beforehis exectuion, from 11 o'clack tntil S10! clock in
the morning. Mr. A. Pe Speer passed some time with him in-religious exercises on Tuesday
evening, and again yesterday morning, - He manifested considerable feeling at times, and on
other occasions quite the contrary. He solemnly protested his innocence to Mr. Speer on
fuesday evening, and yesterday-morning he adhered to his assertioh that rhe was not guilty .
of this crime, He said: 'I call on my God to witness that I'am not guilty of the mrder of
“John Henry!' He desired to be galled at 2 0 "clock yesterday morning, but he slept so
‘soundly that the watchman could not arouse him, At 8 o'clock he was in good spirits and
seemed firmer, if possible, in nerve shan on the night previous. He then furnished for
110
paper from the bureau and handed it
to me, i
“Here is paper. You take — it no
_ mine.”
’ It bore the business heading of the
Potomska Mills. That was the part
that had been torn off the sheet Mrs.
Galulska had given me and the part
cut off the sheet on which the note had
been written.
That was the reason for the woman’s
terror; she feared she would get in
trouble for possessing stolen Paper.
After reassuring her, I questioned
her again. I pointed out how dangerous
it was for ther to conceal anything that
had any connection with the crime.
I asked her again if she knew anything
about the note. :
She was silent for a moment, then
She spoke,
«
@ e
‘
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
“Last summer,” she began, “I give
party. Lots of friends come. We have
good time. We dance; we sing; we tell
stories; we drink plenty moonshine.
Walenty and Mary here, too. Every-
body get drunk. Mary tell Jenny Pelz
she want to play joke. She tell Jenny
to write letter. I no see letter. Jenny ©
and Mary go in bedroom and shut door.
Jenny afraid somebody see her paper,
Her man friend he scrubber in Potom-
ska Mill, and he steal paper from office.
He give it to Jenny. I no know man’s
name. Jenny gone to Chicago now.
But she write letter for Mary. Mary
put it in her dress and go home with
Walenty. They allatime fight like hell.
Nex day, I forget everything, I drink
so much moonshine,”
That was all she knew, but it was
enough. Heartily I thanked her and
made my way back to headquarters,
The last unexplained angle of the Jus-
zenski case was solved, the last doubt
was erased from my mind as to the
accused woman’s guilt.
Today, Mary Juszenski goes about
her duties in the reformatory with the
same hard, belligerent look on her
mask-like features. She shows no re-
morse. She works hard, eats raven-
ously and sleeps the Sleep of, the
innocent.
But I am satisfied that the jury dealt
justly with her and that Mary, ‘alone
and unaided, murdered the man she
had once loved. ,
' But settled as the case may be, what
really happened in that back room is
a secret that is locked in Mary Jus-
zenski’s breast and will undoubtedly
be carried with her to the grave.
i= eae
_The Body in the Woods
(Continued from page 53 )
BP sa prasigieecn mes aeicesec oe
what name is he living there?”
Ira hesitated. The Chief reminded
him of his own position and advised
him to hold nothing back. Jensen then
admitted that Frazer was ata boarding
house on Halifax Street, Raleigh,: N.
C., where he called himself H. G. Dev-
lin. To prove his good faith, Ira pro-
duced a letter he. had received from
Bill since his return to Rahway. The
letter read in part:
“Remind Hilda that all she knows
is that I left her and she thinks I am
with some woman. Keep your eyes
open and get the news.” .
“Okay, Jensen!” the chief said fin-
ally, slipping the letter into his pocket.
“Just. one more thing: “Where is
Phoebe Stader’s body?”
Jensen shook his head.
“That I can’t say. Bill didn’t tell me
what he’d done with it:” ;
“You must have some sort of an
idea,” the chief persisted.
“I know he took the body away from
Rahway in his car—nothing more than
that,” insisted Ira earnestly, “and he
wouldn’t talk about it down in
Raleigh.”
“Well, Ira Jensen, you’re under ar-
rest as an accessory after the fact,”
’ McIntyresaid. “Mrs. Frazer and the rest
may go home. But they’re material
witnesses and must not leave town.”
'HE chief’s next act was to get in
ges.) touch with Abraham J. David,
prosecutor of Union County, New Jer-
sey. Then they phoned to Raleigh and
asked the police there to look for
William Frazer, and. broadcast an
appeal to law officers in. the states of
New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Delaware,
Maryland, Virginia and: North Caro-
lina, as well as the District of Colum-
bia, to search for the corpse of Phoebe
Stader. . °
It proved easy enough to locate
Frazer, but the Raleigh detectives
rae ie Bk ate
eed Lea POE ee
a ae NU Na ae ie DA ae es il le mtn ee dikes. Maina
thought it best to shadow him for a
while before they seized him, hoping
he would lead them to Pheobe’s body.
On Sunday, February 24, a colored
farmer named William Twiggs who
lived near Bowling Green, Virginia,
went out into the fields to search for a
dog he had lost. He observed turkey
buzzards circling over some Scrub-
oaks on a private road a short distance
off the main highway. It occurred to
him that his dog was dead, and that
that was what interested the carrion
birds. He plodded through the brush-
wood to the spot to make sure, and
there a shocking surprise was in store
for him.
Huddled beside a fallen tree trunk,
partly covered with broken branches,
leaves and weeds, was the absolutely
nude body of a woman. She had beén
shot in the “head, and evidently had
been lifeless for several days. Foot-
prints in the vicinity indicated that
brush had been collected for the pur-
pose of hiding the corpse. The body
had become exposed when the wind
had blown some of the covering away.
The Bowling Green police were ad-
vised and identified the body as that
of Pheobe Stader. Through five states
her corpse had been driven, to be
dumped, naked, for scavenging beasts
and birds to destroy, in a lonely field.
One finger on her left hand had been
mangled, as though a ring had been
torn off after death.
Before nightfall, the identification
was complete, and Phoebe’s body was
on its way back to New Jersey, and
with the corpus delecti now in their
possession, polite set about arresting
Frazer.
He was followed as he left his board-
ing house in Raleigh the following
morning, the 25th. He went straight to
the post office and was fumbling in his
pocket for change, when ‘an aqua-
marine gem fell to the floor. Detectives
I a
closed about him as he stooped to pick
it up. They snapped handcuffs on his
wrists and took him to headquarters,
The aquamarine was one that had
belonged to Phoebe. Frazer did not
deny that he had torn it from the dead
woman’s finger before he had aban-
doned the body. The setting was
smashed, because it had been necessary
to use a pair of pliers to wrench the
ring from the swollen finger.
The whole ghastly confession was
not made, however, until Prosecutor
David arrived from Rahway on the
26th. Frazer then talked freely, in the
hope of convincing police that he was
no murderer.
He began by recounting his narrow
escapes from detection on what Te-
porters called his “ghost ride” South
with the dead woman. At Chester,
Pennsylvania, while buying gasdline,
he was rattled by the fact that a police-
man stared at him, and he drove off
without paying. The station attendant
shouted to him to come back, and when
he did the cop strolled over, peered at
the heap covered with blankets in the
rear of the car and made him show his
license.
On reaching Alexandria, Virginia,
the following morning shortly before
dawn, he had been so tired he parked
the car in a side street and fell asleep
at the wheel. He awoke to see another
policeman staring at him, but the
officer let him go without giving hima
ticket.
Between Fredericksburg and Rich-
mond, Frazer made up his mind to
delay no longer in getting rid of the
body. The odor of decay was becoming
noticeable: He cut Phoebe’s clothes off,
tore them to shreds and dropped them
at intervals along the road. Near Bowl-
ing Green, he saw a culvert which
looked like a good hiding place. But
when he got out to examine it, a man
approached and frightened him away.
4
Sactincln.cs
This witness, one Charles Collinson,
was found later and corroborated the
story. The grove of scrub-oak where
Frazer left the corpse was within a mile
and a half of the culvert.
Asked to state exactly what had led
to the killing, Frazer vowed that it
had not been the result of a quarrel.
He said that he and Phoebe had never
quarreled. On February 19, the day
after he had driven her and her sister
to Walden, New York, he had taken
Pheobe on a pleasure tour of the hot-
spots in Newburgh, New York. That .
evening he had reminded her that they
had often planned to elope to Florida.
Suddenly she had agreed to go South
with him that very day. The following
is quoted from his statement to Prose-
cutor David: :
“We started, but somewhere near
Ramsey—just south of Ramsey, I think
it was—I got nervous or something. I
had a gun underneath the back seat
of the car. I stopped the car and went
in the back to get the gun. When I
lifted it from behind the seat, it went
off accidentally. I did not know what
to do when I saw that it had hit
Phoebe.
“I finally decided to go to Rahway.
I went there and stopped and told my
cousin, Ira, and then went over and
told my wife. She asked me what I
was going to do. I said, ‘I don’t know.’
There were only two things to do—to
tell the police, or to commit suicide.
I went out to the country to commit
suicide, but I did not have the nerve to
do it. That is all.”
David protested that the story was
altogether too slim, and did not ac-
count for the prisoner's behavior. The
town of Ramsey, where the shot was
said to have been fired, was right on
the border between New York and
New Jersey. Rahway was nearly fifty
miles from that point. What had
Frazer done on the ride between Ram-
sey and Rahway? When did he realize
that Phoebe was dead? Frazer an-
swered these questions wildly.
“I found out Mrs. Stader was dead
in New Jersey. I don’t know how long
it was after I shot her. I was so excited
I did not know what I was doing. I
wanted the gun out in case anybody
bothered us. I don’t know where the
bullet went. I knew she was dead be-
cause she started to get cold. I put my
hand on her and she was cold.”
David hammered at him, and Frazer
recalled that he had been driving past
the Durant plant in Elizabeth, New
Jersey, when he became certain that
Phoebe was dead.
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
“Why didn’t you rush her to a doctor
before then—as soon as she was shot,
in fact?”
“I was excited and did not know
what to do. It never occurred to me to
take her to a doctor.”
William Moore Frazer was removed
to New Jersey on February 27 and im-
mediately arraigned before Judge Al-
fred A. Stein in Elizabeth, the seat of
Union County. He pleaded not guilty,
his counsel, Victor Greenburg, stating
that insanity would be the first line of
defense, “since his mind was at least
affected by liquor.” Greenburg asked
for a preliminary examination by
alienists, which was granted.
“This tragedy can be laid at the
doorstep of prohibition,” the lawyer
argued. “Our contention is that Frazer
was drunk and crazed with the poison
of prohibition liquor when Mrs. Stader
was killed while she was in his auto-
mobile. There was no motive for a
crime.”
The following day three alienists
who had been appointed by the court
declared emphatically that Frazer was
sane, and the prisoner was held for
trial in June. ;
His car was brought back from
Raleigh on March 2. An attempt had
been made to erase the bloodstains,
but they could still be traced on both
the front and back seats. The car was
ticketed as exhibit No. 1 for the prose-
cution. It was Ira Jensen who formally
identified it.
Ira’s main concern now was to get
himself released on bail. On March 3rd,
he, too, came into a legacy, having that
day reached the age of twenty-one. It
was queer how inherited money played
a crucial part in the affairs of members
of that family. Ira’s windfall was only
$3,000, but it was enough for the pur-
pose. The court let him go March 6 on
$2,500 bail. Afterwards, the charges
against him were‘dropped. It would
have been preposterous to accuse him
of having helped to kill Phoebe, or even
of guilty knowledge before the event.
Few persons felt that there had been
any premeditation on the part of Bill
Frazer himself. Where could one put a
finger on any motive? He had been
trying to hold the woman, rather than
break up his affair with her. Neither
Hilda Frazer nor Phil Stader had
threatened serious trouble.. Robbery
was no motive, for Bill had money and
Phoebe didn’t. The aquamarine ring
clearly had been taken at the last as
a morbid keepsake.
It looked like a case of manslaughter,
as second-degree murder at the worst.
111
Perhaps that is all that would have
been charged in the indictment, if—
and it was a looming, sinister IF—
Frazer had not behaved like a man
with the blackest of crimes on his
conscience. Aware that he was the only
witness to the fatal shot, he had not
gone promptly to Chief McIntyre and
told what had happened. Instead, he
had fled, terror-stricken, after making
jumbled, craven statements to Ira and
his wife.
The prosecutor discovered that
Frazer had even warned Ira and Hilda
to keep their mouths shut, because they
“would be liable to ten years as ac-
cessories.” The only meaning of that,
in his own mind, was accessories to a
murder.
Frazer came to trial in Elizabeth on
June 15. County Judge Stein was again
the man on the bench. Abe David pros-
ecuted. The defense, however, had re-
placed its original counsel with Alex-
ander Simpson, who had won fame
in the Halls-Mills case.
. The accused took the stand and told
a story that did not differ greatly from
his Raleigh confession. He managed to
make the death scene appear a little
more convincing.
“I.tripped,” he said, after he had
described seaching for the .22 caliber
rifle in the rear of the car. “Anyhow,
the door got half open, and as I was
falling out backwards the gun went
off. She just said ‘Oh!’ I spoke to her,
but she didn’t answer me. Then I drove
to Rahway.”
His most characteristic utterances
were drawn from him in cross-exam-
ination.
“You say you loved this woman
very much?” asked Prosecutor David.
“Yes,” answered Frazer.
“Then why didn’t you give her a
decent burial?” ‘
“What opportunity did I have?”
“Why did you cut the clothing off
her body?”
“To help myself.”
“Why did you drag her into the
woods and leave her there?”
“To assist myself.”
“Why did you take the ring off?”
“So she couldn’t be identified.”
“Why did you retain the stone?” -
“To remember her by.”
Always thinking of himself, he was
not the type to move a jury to mercy.
He was found guilty of murder in the
first degree after a two-days’ trial, one
of the shortest on record in New
Jersey. :
The usual appeals failed, and Frazer
was put to death in April of 1932.
Spectacles of Death
(Continued from page 33)
with a large brown bow in front, white
shoes and light tan hose. She had worn
no hat.
Lindsay at this juncture asked
Sheriff Lowder to deputize him as an
officer so he might lead posses in a
search for his missing wife. He said
he could advance no reason whatever
for his wife’s strange disappearance.
Sheriff Lowder announced he had
made the husband an “unofficial dep-
uty.” Lindsay led increasing groups of
eM Ay
|
a me |
PU NL OWN ah! {0
ee Ree eee we
Fe ee —
“How did it happen?” McIntyre asked the youth.
Ira Jensen thereupon told one of the most amazing
stories in the annals of New Jersey crime. Very early on
the morning of Wednesday, the 20th, he had been awak-
ened by the ringing of the doorbell. He had gone to the
front door in pajamas, and opened it to find Bill Frazer,
wild-eyed and haggard, looking as if he had been up all
night.
‘I've killed Phoebe!” Bill had gasped, without prelim-
inaries. “She’s out in the car!”
Ira had dressed and gone out to the car. The corpse of
Phoebe Stader was slumped in the front seat. There was
asmall blue hole behind her left ear from which blood’
trickled down her neck.
“Murder, as I see it!’ McIntyre cut in. “Why do you
believe it wasn’t?”
“Bill swore to me that it was an accident,” Ira insisted.
“He said there was a .22 caliber rifle in the back seat
which went off when he was shifting things.”
“Well, what did you two do next?” the chief asked.
Ira said that he had advised Bill to give himself up to
the police, but he had been too scared to do so. They had
argued for a while, and then Bill had made a weird de-
cision. He decided to go and tell his wife about the tragedy.
Ira and he had entered the car, and with the dead
woman sitting between them, had driven to Frazer's
home. It was not yet six A. M. ‘
They had aroused Hilda, and Bill had repeated sub-
stantially what he had told Ira. Hilda, also, had urged
him to surrender and let the police investigate.
“Is that true?” asked McIntyre, turning to Mrs. Fraser.
“Yes. I said it would be best for him to go straight to
you. But I couldn’t persuade him.” tM
“Did you Jook at the body?” the chief asked Mrs. Frazer.
“No, Mr. McIntyre, Ijust couldn’t,” she said.
Bill had then rushed back to the car, accompanied by
Ira, and had headed for a golf course near Iselin. On the
way, the crazed man told his cousin that he was going to
commit suicide. He couldn’t face arrest and a murder in-
quiry, because of the grief that it would cause his mother,
he said.
“GHOST RIDE” CAR
In thie blood-stained sedan Frazer
tode for days with a dead woman.
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE | 53
‘to Mrs. Frazer's in the late afternoon, he’d scrammed,
Ira doubted his sincerity, but when they reached the
golf course Bill asked him to “go away for a few minutes
and come back when you hear a shot.” ,
Though he realized that Bill’s death in these circum-
stances might cast suspicion on himself, Ira did as he was
asked. He waited at some distance for the shot. None came.
Presently he heard,.émstead, the tooting of Frazer’s horn,
and he’ walked back to the car. Bill was holding out the
small rifle which he claimed had ‘accidentally ended
Phoebe’s life.
“I can’t do it, Ira,” he cried. “You shoot me!”
Ira Jensen had refused brusquely. Nor would he help his
cousin move the body from the front to the rear seat of
the car. Bill Frazer had performed the transfer alone and
covered the pitiful, rigid shape with blankets. Then they
had ridden back to Rahway, Bill at the wheel and Ira .
trying’ vainly to induce him to get in touch with Chief
McIntyre.
The town cut-up’s next move had been almost beyond
belief. He had parked his car in front of the home of his “y
mother, Mrs. Edna Frazer, and announced to Ira that he Bea
would go in for breakfast andanap. — ee
“He did just as he said he would,” explained Ira dully.
“The car stood outside Mrs. Frazer's house until three in
the afternoon. Then Bill came downstairs with a suitcase
of things and left Rahway.”
“And where were you all this time?” the chief asked.
“I'd gone home,” Ira Jensen replied. “When I returned
leaving a letter for me in which he told me to get some
money from his mother and take it to him at the Sir Walter
Raleigh Hotel, Raleigh, North Carolina.”
The chief spoke softly. ““You’ve. been out of town your-
self, Jensen. I suppose you went to Raleigh?” ;
Ira admitted that he had. He said he had obtained $260
from Edna Frazer and had made an express round trip
by train. He had seen Bill in Raleigh and given him the
money.
“Is he still down there?” McIntyre asked.
“Yes, so far as I know,” Ira said reluctantly.
"“At what address? Under (Continued on page 110)
HIDDEN EVIDENCE
Deputy Sheriff Joe Baker (kneeling)
shows where the body was found. ~
52 , FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE | 4
lighter entanglements and made a public scandal of his
pursuit of another man's wife.
Mrs. Stader apparently hadn’t needed much pursuing,
A hairdresser, married to a welder who had been out of
work for some time, she was about thirty-five years old
when she met Bill Frazer, who was twenty-eight. He was
eager to blow his recently inherited money on her, and
she had taken the easy money as it came. Both Hilda
Frazer, Bill's wife, and Phillip Stader had protested bit-
terly, but Phoebe had simply laughed in their faces.
Then Phoebe and Frazer disappeared from Rahway.
And because of the circumstances, Chief McIntyre didn’t
like the looks of it. He decided not to wait until he was
asked to find them.
The first thing he did was to question Phil Stader.
He found the deserted husband in a small furnished
- room, and his mood was savage. Stader stated curtly that
the immediate cause of his separation
from Phoebe was the fact that they had | KILLER
been evicted from their house for non- William Frazer
payment of rent. He had not, he said, pan off with
been willing to use Frazer's money to another man’s
keep up their farce of a home. wife — then
“Did you have words with your wife murdered her.
when you parted?” McIntyre demanded.
“Yes,"’ answered Stader. “We had quite a quarrel.”
“Did you threaten violence against either her or
Frazer?"
“No,” Stader said emphatically.
The Chief inquired next at the Frazer residence and
was told evasively that Bill was “out of town for a few
days.” Ira Jensen, Bill’s twenty-one-year-old cousin and
particular pal, was out of town also, the chief learned.
But nobody could say where they were.
McIntyre phoned to Walden, New York, and learned
from Phoebe's married sister that Phoebe had indeed
arrived with Bill Frazer on the 18th. They had immedi-
ately gone out drinking at roadhouses the evening they
arrived, and Bill had spent the night in a Walden hotel.
Early on the morning of the 19th he had called to take
Phoebe to Newburgh, New York. The
sister had heard from neither of them
since. ' . WIFE
All this struck McIntyre as being Mrs. Hilda Fra-
highly suspicious. If Bill had skipped for er refused to
good with Phoebe, where had he left her ¢tray the kill-
on the 20th when he had been seen alone °™ husband.
in Rahway? What was behind Mrs. Hilda
Frazer’s secretive manner? Why had Ira Jensen gone,
away?
The chief sent a description of William Moore Frazer
and Mrs. Phoebe Quick Stader to all police stations in
New Jersey, reporting them as missing persons. Then he
sat back to await developments.
rere the 22nd passed quietly. On the 23rd, McIn-
tyre received a phone call from Ira J ensen. The latter
said he was speaking on behalf of Mrs. Hilda Frazer as
well as himself. They had some important facts to lay
before the chief, Could they see him at his office?
“Come right on down,” McIntyre told them.
- Fifteen minutes later, Ira and Hilda arrived with some
other members of the family. Bill Frazer's wife was
jittery. Ira, a nervous, timid youth with
a receding chin, was white as a sheet. He VICTIM
cleared his throat and spoke.
“Chief,” he began haltingly. “It's—it's For Mrs.
only right you should know—Phoebe abc Stader,
Stader has been killed.” Me: My ‘s sat
“Killed?” repeated McIntyre, quietly. passion Seales
“Do you mean she’s been murdered?”
a-horribl
“No, I don’t think that. But she’s dead.” death, r
.
u
|
|
|
i took out a
eos poured a couple of
stiff drinks. He hardly felt the
raw sting of the whiskey as he
ic ag said to Frazer
“Sit down,” ; 7
“Take me over this thing slowly.
His friend nodded wordlessly.
“How?” :
“Shot her.” He slipped his hme
into his overcoat pocket an
pulled out a 25 caliber automatic
Pp - t
felt the cold swea
aah ae onic “Put it away,” he
i ously. Z
—¥ should I do?” Frazer
asked. He put the gun back into
his pocket and nervously began to
dry wash his hands. Kennelon
felt in his bathrobe pocket for a ure. Nothing:
k of cigarettes. There was none om ;
Pacwhy in the world- did you do it? Were y nips aut
Did you go off your rocker? What'd you wan
. ” ; : =
Pog en i eal ee
doesn’t help me none. id it hid”
: rrp a rag “There's only one thing to do.
lf in.” ;
You’ve got ta turn yourseil 7 aay. cant
k his head quickly. Too qui :
I Snretg o it. It would kill Hilda. I'd rather shoo
Hilda was Bill’s wife. There was much wise —
uld say, but this was not the time eet ~ :
- ds were like gritty ashes in his mou , bu Fiano
deed to say them. “Okay. That’s an alternatives oe en
fl were you, I'd feel the same way- It wot OTe
sofven it for Hilda, but at — you wouldn't have
the music. You'd be out of It. a. <4. vanbubily:
“You're right,’ he sal
eS anit Get dressed, Curt. Come on out
wees of fear tightened behind Kennelon’s knees. “I
Police trap baited by
and empty letter snapp
fugitive (center) in th
Recovered car provided key evidence
“['m your friend, es
u kill yourse Ye
azer’s voice. “lm
can’t do that,”
t and watch yo
asking because you
me down now.
last thing I'll e
with me, Curt.
uldn’t manage it by my
ver ask of you in lif
Help me keep up my ne
would allow. He'd go 0
al wasn't as bad as it seemee- =
off a queasy spas :
self to look at the starin
at the slack mouth and color-drained cheeks of Phoebe
Stader. There were no two ways about it. She was dead.
“Get in the back,” Bill Frazer said. “We'll drive out
Cherry Street to the woods beyond Colonial Golf Links.
Then you take a walk-and don’t come back till you
hear a shot.”
Kennelon began to sweat. “Listen,” he said pleadingly,
“you must have a reason for what happened. Go to the
cops. Lay it right on the line. What can they do to you?”
Frazer started the engine and the Buick surged up the
deserted street. “Nothing that I wouldn’t rather do to
myself,” he said determinedly. “Save your talk, Curt.
This is the way it has to be.”
The spinning tires tore ribbons of sound from the
asphalt roadbed. The body on the front seat lolled limply
with each bump on the street. The car sped west out of
Rahway, New Jersey, and plunged through the gaunt
winter landscape of bare trees and occasional snowdrifts,
clinging to the earth like soiled cotton wool after an
unseasonable February thaw.
A mile beyond the golf course, William Frazer braked
the car to the side of the road and talked to his friend
for the first time since they had begun their ride.
“Look, Curt,” he said, “you take a walk up ahead for
about a hundred yards or so. When you hear the shot,
come back. It'll all be over.”
Kennelon squirmed on the edge of his seat. “Wait a
minute,” he began. “We've got to talk this over. ”
“I’ve wasted too much time in talk already,” Bill said,
drawing the gun. “The time for talk is past.”
“You can’t do this——” Curtis protested.
‘Take a hike for yourself, Curt. Come back when you
oe
hear the shot.” He stared fixedly at the automatic.
There were a thousand things which suddenly occurred
to his friend. A man just didn’t sever the many threads
of his life without giving the matter a little careful
thought. What about Hilda? The kids? What about Bill’s
affairs—insurance, will, the house, the countless loose
ends which suddenly became important? >
As he climbed out of the automobile, tortured by
mingled emotions, torn between loyalty to his friend and
his own precarious connection with the tragedy, he caught
a prophetic glimpse of his successful accountant’s career
shattered by the notoriety and unsavory aftertaste which
must certainly follow in the wake of a police investigation.
“Bill——” he began. “What can I tell you? It’s not
just a question of logic, I feel that what you’re doing
is wrong——”
“Cut it,” Bill said dully. “I'm a cheat, a home-wrecker,
and a murderer. I’ve caused everybody a lot of grief.
It would be wrong if I didn’t save them the agony of a
trial. So long, Curt.”
The two men stood for a long minute before Bill finally
pulled away. “You're a good guy, Curt,” he said. “The
best. Tell Hilda that I loved her.”
Curt Kennelon, downcast, hollow-hearted, freighted
with grief, started to walk up the road. He moved in
a welter of dread on rubbery legs. His ears were attuned
to the sound of the shot with which his friend was about
to kill himself. His muscles were braced against the
shock of the sound which for him would pack more jolt
than the bullet itself.
For nearly 200 yards and five minutes time, he waited
for the crash of the shot. The suspense was unbearable.
His nerves were frayed at the ends.
Suddenly the horn of the Buick blew in a loud and
raucous summons. Curtis Kennelon nearly jumped out of
his shoes. He wheeled and pounded back to the car where
Bill Frazer, sweating and shaking, was waiting for. him.
“I can’t do it,” Bill told him. “It’s not bad enough that
Tm a phony and a killer. I’m a coward, too.”
Kennelon looked at his friend through shock-glazed
eyes.
“Give yourself up, Bill,” he pleaded. “Be thankful it
didn’t work out the other way. Move over and Ill drive
you back to the police.” ;
“So far, nobody knows,” he said. “I need time to think.
We'll leave the body in the car and I'll spend the rest
of the night with you. In the morning, Ill know better
what I’m supposed to do.”
The Buick with its grisly freight was parked in the
driveway of Curt Kennelon’s home. The stiffening corpse
of the pretty brunette was covered with an auto robe.
Frazer, emotionally exhausted, dropped off to sleep on
the living-room sofa.
It was almost dawn when Curt Kennelon fell, finally,
into a fitful sleep. He did not hear Bill Frazer get up in
the early morning and take off in the car. When he
awoke, Frazer’s Buick was no longer in the driveway,
and théfe was no trace of Bill to be found.
On Wednesday, February 18th, the day following his
nightmarish ride with Bill Frazer and Phoebe Stader’s
corpse, Kennelon walked into the manager's office at the
public accountant firm where he worked and announced
that he was ready to take off (Continued on page 70)
A hard-working, provident husband (1.) changed
when he inherited money, bought a car and met a
lovely girk—and both led him to electrie chair
chair de-
at Frazer
its with
1ey to be
is calibre
hundred
‘er from
care of
f Police
by tele-
of his
q
care
alias
dl in
2 post-
place
etec-
‘bles,
fora
tion.
item
ld of
of a
The
y
g
Se
Martin reasoned that if Frazer went
to Raleigh, his route south might have
taken him through Dawson. So De-
tective Jeremiah McNamara was sent
immediately to Bowling Green to
check on the body. A few hours later
McNamara reported to Chief Martin
by telephone from Bowling Green.
“The buzzards sure did their job
on this body,” the detective said. ~ “
can’t tell if it’s Phoebe Stader or not.
Better have the husband come down
here and take a look at it.”
Stader was willing to help police
in any way. When informed about
the body at Bowling Green, he went
there at once. McNamara met him
and took him directly to the Davis &
Pegg morgue.
Stader shuddered as he looked upon
the torn remains. Could this mute
evidence of treachery be what was
left of his beautiful and erring
Phoebe? Stader examined the body
minutely. He looked at the teeth and °
noted that the root of a decayed tooth
was still visible. The toes were mani-
cured the way Phoebe did hers, and
the little toe on the right foot was
turned under, just as Phoebe’s did.
Stader’s hands shook as he went
’ over the gruesome remains. There
Was one more thing he must look for
before being sure it was Phoebe’s
body—a bruise he had noticed on her
right leg a few days before she left
home. The body in the morgue was
turned on its side. There, on the right
thigh, was the bruise.
Stader broke down and sobbed. “It’s
Phoebe,” he said. “It’s my wife.” As
authorities helped him from the room,
Stader vowed to get the person re-
sponsible for this. “If I find him,” he
said, “they won't have to use the elec-
tric chair on him.”
Following the identification, the
body was sent to Elizabeth. With
the discovery of the corpus delicti,
the remaining job was to capture Wil-
liam Frazer.
So far the apprehension of Frazer
depended on Chief Martin’s dummy
letter addressed to H. G. Devlin. Al-
though Detectives Lowe and Peebles
had maintained a continuous watch
outside the gencral delivery window
of the Raleigh post-office, no H. G.
Devlin had turned up.
But only a few hours after the body
of Phoebe Stader was identified at
Bowling Green, Virginia, the general
delivery clerk in the Raleigh post-
office signalled to Lowe and Peebles.
The detectives noticed a sleek, -well-
dressed man standing before the win-
dow. He was puzzling over a letter
in_his hand.
Lowe and Peebles flanked him.
“Mr. Devlin,” said Peebles, “you
also are William Frazer. Am I right?”
In his astonishment, the captive let
the letter slip from his fingers and
flutter to the floor. Lowe picked it
up, It was the dummy which Chief
Martin had mailed from’ Elizabeth to
H. G. Devlin.
“Why, yes,” said the man, “I’m Wil-
liam Frazer, so what?” :
“You’re wanted for the murder of
Phoebe Stader,” snapped Peebles.
Frazer paled. “Mrs. Stader dead?”
he cried. “I know nothing about it.”
The detectives rushed him to police
headquarters. When searched, iden-
tification cards were found in his
pockets. ;
Word of Frazer’s capture was dis-
patched immediately to Elizabeth and
Union County prosecutor, Abe David,
left at once for Raleigh.
FACTS FROM OFFICIAL FILES
In the meantime, Raleigh police
pieced together other important links
in the case.
They found the brown Buick sedan
which Frazer had left in a -parking
lot. In the death car was a pair of
scissors and a pair of pliers.
Raleigh detectives then attempted
to retrace Frazer’s trail since his ar-
rival in the North Carolina city. They
found that the prisoner had anes at
Craddock’s Rooming House. etec-
tives questioned guests at the place.
Some of them recognized Frazer’s
pesure, But for the most part they
new nothing about him, explaining
that he didn’t get friendly with them.
But one of the guests, William T.
McGrath, had a strange story to tell.
He knew Frazer only as H. G. Devlin.
McGrath said he was hitch-hiking to
Florida when Frazer picked him up
near Petersburg, Virginia. He was
greptted to swear that he saw Frazer
urn the blood-stained clothing of a
woman in a roadside fire. :
When Prosecutor David arrived in
Raleigh, he confronted Frazer with
the evidence on hand. But the pris-
Oner continued to maintain that he
knew nothing of Phoebe Stader’s
death. “It’s a blow to me,” Frazer
kept repeating. “I was in love with
Phoebe.” He contended that he came
to Raleigh to look for a job and was
going to Florida if nothing turned up.
But under David’s hammering ques-
tions, the illicit lover finally broke
down. He admitted that Phoebe Sta-
der was shot in his car on the night
of Februa 17th, 1931. But he de-
clared emp atically that the shooting
was accidental. He was willing to be
taken back to Elizabeth for further
investigation. And at Elizabeth, in
the unpretentious office of Prosecutor
David, he unfolded his Odyssey of
Death—a grisly journey that covered
six states.
Frazer began his story at Walden,
New York. He said that Mrs. Stader
went there to visit her sister and that
he drove to Walden later to be with
Phoebe.
“On Tuesday,” Frazer said, “I had
a date to meet Phoebe at one o’clock
in the afternoon. We went to New-
burgh to a Chinese restaurant on the
main drag and had something to eat.
“We had a quart of liquor and we
drank,” Frazer continued. “Then we
went to a moving picture show. After-
ward we went back to the chop suey
joint and had something to eat and
drink. Then we went to another
moving picture show. We made up
our minds to go to Florida. We
started out but somewhere near Wal-
den I got nervous or something while
we were sitting in the car talking. I
had a gun underneath the back seat
of the car. .I went back to get the
gun. When I was getting it out it
went off accidentally somehow. I did
not know what to do. I thought I
would go to Rahway. I went there
and told my cousin and then told my
wife.”
Frazer related that both his wife
and cousin advised him to give him-
self up. He then told of his two
futile attempts to shoot himself.
David questioned Frazer about
when and where Phoebe Stader died.
The purpose in this was to determine
which county had jurisdiction over
the prosecution of the case. The para-
mour said that he knew Mrs. Stader
was alive when he passed the Durant
plant on Frelinghuysen Avenue, at
Elizabeth. He added that when he
mopped the car at Rahway, she was
ead.
This definitely placed the death in
Union County, under the jurisdiction
of David’s office.
The one big remaining mystery
was the death ride south. This Fra-
zer described readily. He drove from
Rahway to Philadelphia with the
body of Mrs. Stader in the back seat.
“I stopped in Baltimore and rested
up that night (Wednesday). From
there I went to Washington.” Arriv-
ing in the nation’s capital shortly
after midnight, Frazer said he parked
the car and slept in it all night beside
the corpse of the slain woman. The
capitol dome was visible from where
he slumbered.
“I left Washington the. next morn-
ing,” he continued, “with the body
still in the car. I next stopped at
Richmond for gas. I don’t know
where I stopped next—maybe in Vir-
ginia. I don’t know how far I drove
—it was on this road I took out the
posy- It was day time—it was still
ight.
“I dragged the body maybe a block.
The ground was not paved—it was
not in a city, that was a cinch. It
was a field; it was not bare—not many
trees or shrubs. Then I removed the
clothing. I used the scissors, proba-
bly the same ones found in the car.
I took the clothing off because it
would be easier to trace the body
with the clothes on. The pliers found
in the car are the ones I used to re-
move the ring from her finger.”
Frazer added that he arrived in Ra-
leigh on Thursday, February 19th.
He then confirmed meeting his cousin,
ae and receiving the money from
im.
Chief Martin was anxious to clear
up. another bit of confusion. He
gonved out that the letter which Mrs.
cLoughlin received from Frazer in
Philadelphia was datcd February
25th. ow could this be when the
fugitive. passed through Philadelphia
ednesday, February 18th? Frazer
admitted that he wrote the Ictter to
throw off any search for him. He
also arranged for the belating mailing.
Anticipating a defense contention
of insanity, the prosecution arranged
to have Frazer examined by a board
of alienists. The board found him
sane at the time the crime was com-
mitted and at the present time.
Frazer pinaded innocent. The de-
fense built its case around the con-
tention that the shooting was acci-
dental.
Having received a court ruling that
it was not necessary to prove a mo-
tive, the prosecution went ahead with
a detailed presentation of the case.
Among the numerous Pieces of evi-
dence brought into the courtroom
was the Buick sedan which was
hoisted up two floors. A large space
usually reserved for spectators .was
taken up by the gruesome exhibit of
the death car. .
Throughout the trial William Fra-
zer declared his love for Phoebe Sta-
der. But the evidence against him
was too overwhelming.
The jury found William Frazer
guilty of murder in the first degree.
No recommendation for mercy was
made. .
And at 8:14 o’clock on the night of
April 1st, 1932, William Frazer paid
with his life in the electric chair for
the death of Phoebe Stader. —
To his dying moment, his forgiving
wife and mother remained loya
59
PR LEE BY CFT ET ae
’ ms fe
a sizable roll. He was talking
= : : ~about thousands.”
subordinate, the brass hats were astounded ==
g . 4 ? od a
are Agr wend “So wa have the
IT PACKS RIGHT
oorie. % his friend rae a "s . “Would he cg come fica —— for
ively at © . ‘ - reci' bstance, | any reason other than the fact t you
two grand,” he "When youidn't last The story began to jer rag tg ee were there?” Detective Chief Martin
ming away from og erat al ai it runs however, when a ae too, had not wanted to know.
(Continued from page 55) you long. What happens revealed ge ~~ = Se “That’s the only reason, so far as I could
out? been seen : 5
i trek to waiting patrons.
Waves main gh to leave until next
This suggested a possible line of inquiry.
F inded him. “What's
week,” the manager remind
Neither Frazer nor the Buick had been hot
at the time of his Burlington appearance,
yet the fugitive must surely have realized
‘that the alarm would be out in short order.
He had to get rid of his car in any event.
Since he was so anxious to raise cash,
wouldn’t it be natural for him to sell it
in the Burlington area?
A cleverly worded wire to the North
Carolina Motor Vehicle Bureau .turned up
the expected leads. On the Friday after
Frazer and Kennelon had met in Burling-
ton, tae brown Buick had been sold by a
William Frazer to one Howard G. Devlin!
This sale was duly recorded as was the
subsequent sale of the same car by Devlin
to one Richard Nelson, a Raleigh, South
Carolina taxi driver.
The frantic reasoning behind the double
transaction was at once clear to the New
reason -
pair, driving in ,
ck home that evening. x
ae pr seen nothing of them since tha’
oral ris di Kennelon’
ugh this did not prove Kennelo!
<arain story of murder, it did Pro
dicate that the pair were together and i
they disappeared in each other's com-———
ane There was a framework, at least, to_ :
Ee ee oe th Stader and J
shocking news to bo’ :
wade Beoeer that their spouses had been
carryin| Jandestine remance. It was.4
Fe . Pry not to all of their friends 4
m were able to supply |
pr sng Pas ital and significant piece |
i "s mi de up. He
But Bill Frazer’s mind was ~ an
ONCE YOU CATCH
THAT THRILLING SCENT
LOAD UP QUICK —
You'LL SEE WHATS MEANT---
Kennelon was on ‘
i In Burlington,
paring Seco cat fuel oe
elon his contacts. He was ready to lt Se biden — 3
oe gg agp tell me how I'll be 2 sage to — id i
i e qu ;
obey pera ‘Tl a in touch with
had been im-
IT SMOKES SWEET
IT CANT BITE!
SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S
BLEND OF CHOICE KENTUCKY
gan making
push on gts pepe:
Ao ee the hotel grill, a bellboy paged
“him from the doorway.
Under the name of Mr. and Mrs. H.
d fum- ~ you.” disturbed Devlin, the illicit sweethearts had rented. yA eo rl gh rr ope, a BURLEYS IS EXTRA-AGED To
Curtis walked over to the boy What is Short of funds, and too much ds, Curtis a love nest on Watchogue Lage phere ES lina, the fugitive would be calling atten- GUARD AGAINST TONGUE 6:
bled in his pocket for change. to do justice to his cs gpa so ager d arrived light, Staten Island. _— — They renal tion to himself and leaving a trail which
it, son?” in the lobby,” the Kennelon took a train n turday morn-_ every available opportunity. t in a pas~ the police could easily follow. However, a 7
“There’s a gentleman sities mnie now, at his home in Rahway on Sa ck Be suit- head over heels in love, conte tidal “wave Howard Devlin trying to sell a Buick with e
bellboy said. “He’s waiting ing. He had just begun we eo g. He was sionale which swept ng ne North Carolina plates would never be con- 24-PAGE BOOKLET
sir.” ; alked into case when his front door' da policeman far beyond the shores of re fate itself had nected with Bill Frazer from New Jersey,
The traveling accountant w: Suddenly not overly , to find. De It would have seemed that fate its All whom the police were looking for. ON PIPE CARE.
the lobby and looked ete gg “ . wat of a ° standing in the begga McNamara, conspired to abet this mad hed ‘been bard=j The car’s new owner was contacted at JUST WRITE TO:
he froze. Bill Frazer ath P County Detective - to the point. Ken- his adult life, Bill — a steady. ands his garage and the Buick was examined SIR WALTER
lounge chair and came 0 ed from Curt’s _ the officer, was brief cod friend working and dependable, He worked ~ by the local authorities. There could be no
“EERE”. The ward exploded Pre?” nelon was Known to be 2 vemyee wife had provident husband and father. He wore ge a eae Eee could be no BY PLEASURE PLUS — paar,
lips. “How'd you know I was id. “They of one William Frazier whose Jon aid long hours as a railroad man the in=3 committed in this car. A stain on the front ? { DEPT. E4
“I called your office,” Frazer said. T¢Y ported him missing. Could Kennelon ai neither the time nor, apparently, the Wo j Sot. not entirely removed by repeated ap- YOUR HEARTS CONTENT - LOUISVILLE, KY.
told me where you were.” the police in any way? 1 “Come in, clination to stray down pong sae plications of spot remover, phon, up i“ wiih
“Not Png iy aartgg ol Frazer said. Ps ee fen “tie ‘a the way to his paths. Certainly, no one who m be human blood.
‘ot i officer,” he o > .
“Look. I need dough.”
Curtis bit his lips.
ook. You know too much about this
as it is. If you
won't be able to
way neither of us
“What did you do living room and i
don’t ask me anything I
tell you anything. That
will be sorry.
jointed segments was so astoni
ask the obvious question.
ted himself, the young man
omg ng pel: the floor—and —. Pr:
The story which he blurted out -
the county detective could not help but
at that time suspected that he had in him
life. It was
the open sesame to a new
per for a sustained fling, and after that,
929, the
The Howard Devlin who had sold the
Buick had given his address as the Raleigh
Hotel. Beyond any shadow of a doubt,
Devlin was the missing Bill Frazer. How-
ever, he had checked out of the hotel im-
mediately after the sale and gave no for-
warding address.
final verification. A Virginia farmer, see-
ing buzzards circling the north pasture of
his Tappahannock farm, started out over
the frozen fields with a .22 rifle in the
crook of his arm. He soon made the hor-
rible discovery that the attraction for the
velope and mailing it right out,” Martin
said. “It should be there sometime to-
morrow. You won't have any trouble pick-
ing up the man who calls for that letter.”
Bryan put two of his best men on the
job, Detectives J. E. Lowe and H. L.
‘ the nude and putrefying Peebles. They came on duty the first thing
: ; future could o5 ioth Frazer, it could now be Pe scavengers was ; : :
“ bod: 2” idn't dream all this? the and quit his jol > presumed. had body of a young, dark-haired woman. The in the morning and hung round the soak
a Frc Zaid. “Nobody but ata ; san tr ete rd that you were cold cous — ellen on his hands, he ended up after the transaction with up- — Jocal police flashed news of the macabre
4 As much as you can le ing about? a ailr
need dough, Curt.
ion whi out his wallet and anelon shook his head sadly. “Officer:
ped out “shea o i bgp a am turn out to be bottle 1
i Frazer did this for him.
mee Laared and fifty bucks,” Bill said.
“’]] need more than that, Curt.
“That’s all I have.
“How about the -
fremee ya Pings Seog back home. I’d have to - with doubt
t t my hands on it.”
eee soonled. “I could use about two
grand,” he said.
this night you're talking
ag Pt Foe 5 head sadly.
talk. I saw that woman’s corpse!
‘et up enough nerve to kill
- os just Thursday in
dough you inherited Carolina.”
“Officer,”
4 : bas to.
around with Frazer while he was age y Sas
Burlington, North
McNamara’s eyes were still clouded
his new found
ivi anions to share
sought for convividiom, He had played the |
field until he was attracted by the pro-
I rode vocative and vivacious Phoebe Stader.
characterized a whirlwind
The accountant yma ag him ;
wa! ral ;
poems one Curtis repented his story weighing the peer the police in Burling
of awkward silence Chief George McIntyre and County De-
Head-
ix weeks in advance of change of
i he magazine will reach you.
to make sure that each issue of t ; 1
eres ot Subscription Dept., TD PUBLISHING CORPORATIO
206 East 43rd Street, New York 17, New York. .
Send both old and new address and postal zone number. pos-
MovinGc? Please notify us s
—according to Curt Kennelon—!
rink, parti t the love nest
- oo hee conventions
emenen. which *
First in the order of police business was
the missing
q
"in: by Tusy, Fear 2
i ord a
para ‘Cuan, New Jersey, au —
held conclave to work Bt : Pty
uzzle. Curtis Ke
in and carefully questioned about his meet
thorities
wards of $1000 in his possession. He had
either used this thousand dollars to put
as much distance as possible between him
and Raleigh, or else he might still be
holed up in the area in the hope of pick-
ing up additional funds from his friend,
Kennelon. The detectives banked on the
fact that under the name of Devlin the
fugitive might feel a sense of false se-
curity and stay close to the Raleigh area,
which was hard by the route traveled
regularly by Kennelon. He would then be
In a position to contact his friend at any
of a number of hotels in the general area.
But if this were actually
to lure the quarry into a carefully baited
trap. The authorities, in the Stader case,
unable to pick up the fugitive’s spoor,
hoped to entice Frazer to them.
To this end. they needed the services of
Curtis Kennelon. It was decided to exam-
ine carefully the postmarks on the ac-
find to nearby Bowling Green. Here, alert
officers at once recognized the description
of the dead woman as that of the missing
Phoebe Stader, about whom they had been
circularized by the New Jersey authorities.
The body was taken to the morgue in
Bowling Green and an autopsy was im-
mediately performed. A .25 caliber slug
was removed from the occipital lobe of the
dead woman’s brain. Early on the morning
of February 26th, the victim’s husband, in
the company of Union County Detective
Jeremiah McNamara, arrived in Bowling
Green, where a positive identification of
know the cut of her hair and the shape of
her two front teeth.”
On the very day the body was identified,
the letter so anxiously awaited by the
Union County officials was slipped into the
mail box by Curtis Kennelon’s postman.
It was an envelope addressed in block
office until late afternoon.
At 3:30 a tall, slim, thin-faced man
walked up to the General Delivery win-
dow and spoke with the clerk. For the
first time that day, the clerk removed the
green celluloid sunshade which shielded
his eyes. It was the signal that H. G.
Devlin was calling for his letter.
The two detectives quickly stepped up
and took the man in custody. After a brief
flurry of resistance, the tall man quieted
down and admitted that he was the miss-
ing Bill Frazer.
Waiving extradition, William Moore Fra-
= ba brought —— to Union a,
ina. The A a so, how to the body was made. New Jersey, as quickly as Rahway detec-
There was a moment on, North os Fautingten and Rah-@ make the fugitive show his hand? “It's Phoebe, all right,” the taut-faced tives could be sent down to pick him up.
ere sible a ed officials at key rane be F BP wage — —_— <! ine = husband announced. “I’d never recognize birt was pew in Union County Jail —
‘ way i uniden' Ls ways. One school tracks ‘ relays of officers questioned him f -
report the discovery of any q the qu to its lair. The other attempts her from what's left of her face, but I y: q on ‘or
most two days. He finally admitted that
he had inadvertently killed his married
sweetheart, beautiful Phoebe Stader, when
a gun he was putting into the glove com-
partment was accidentally discharged.
This explanation did rot satisfy the offi-
cials. William Frazer was charged with
: : : : re e letters and postmarked Raleigh, North murder and brought to trial on June 15th,
IVE Wh rou weren't able to aathag i gy te a mags the particular Carolina. Pi arke: eig. ° ep
oe f Master DETECT “When y h bucks i r they wanted, the investigators in- Kennelon opened the letter in full vie On June 16th, the jury retired to bring
wee ee thot | than = Soins “what was his] serted an advertisement in the personal of Rahway Ps ior lag Inside was no other in a verdict of guilty of murder in the first
tole i i ae as he eeved, disappointed, pened columns of the Raleigh newspapers. enclosure than a stamped envelope ad- degree. Jersey justice took its inexorable
™ ile von Sey idee Ee a ped oe . Haw would you describe the waY « PM gicbicangs > aa! wana is pigeon mae — ed gts 2 M3 der Care of Genera] toll in the death house on April 1st, 1932.
Tow i ee b 2” ang Prat . ady an elivery, ei by ols
ee Eipeteet i he et es agnor ie will not for- gic idered. “It was a combination] waiting. ! : Detective Chief Martin got busy on the Eprror’s Nore: 0
? eT i to you unless 7ou pay extra pos ‘t » : faite pa things,” he said. “More The police then sat back to await results. telephone and explained the situation to-
i tra postage for 1 of all o' :
8 ward it to you unless you pay ex
can be sure of. He was
70
anything else he was desperate.
The bait had just been set when the
accountant’s fantastic story received its
Raleigh Chief of Police Winder Bryan.
“We're putting some paper in that en-
The name Curtis Kennelon is ficti-
tious.
—
VOW SAILOG Taq.
rm
A
‘ANT
a
°
@ |
Oo”
@ .
ry
Lee
eet
=
wa
=
2
Suspect in strange case (I., at table
at his wristwatch in
shortly before 2.
A man was standin
g just outside the door. Kennelon
) talks while bulk of death car looms behind him in courtroom
sound of his best friend’s v'
peculiarity of the request.
unlocked the door. Frazer
behind him.
“J don’t want anybody to see me here,” Frazer said
tensely.
Curt’s voice echoed the same anxious note. “How
come? What gives, Bill?”
Frazer said nothing for a second, then, “{ just killed
Phoebe. Her body’s in the car.”
Curtis Kennelon’s blood ran cold. Phoebe Stader was
the married woman with whom Frazer had been c i
on an affair.
“No!” he croaked with hoarse incredulity. “You're
kidding.”
“J wish I was. I killed her. I don’t know what I'm
going to do.”
ey
BY SEYMOUR ETTMAN
KILLER AND CORPSE,
THEY ZOOMED ALONG
‘HIGHWAYS FROM NEW
JERSEY TO VIRGINIA
68
gaze steadfastly toward the women’s pris-
on house. When Lyda appeared in the
yard and gave a sign that she had recog-
nized him his face would light up. He
was a near-sighted man but he could see
that far through his thick glasses.
When the next spring came Lyda
planted more flowers. But her climbing
roses needed a trellis to help them reach
the top of the wall. She asked and ob-
tained permission to have a trellis made,
Curiously enough, it was the near-sighted
trusty who constructed the iron trellis,
brought it to the women’s enclosure, set
it up against the wall. The climbing
flowers on the trellis made Lyda very
happy.
When another year had passed and the
spring of 1931 rolled around, two changes
came in the prison life. The near-sighted
trusty was released on parole and Lyda
saw him no more. And a change in polit-
ical affairs caused Warden Wheeler to
be succeeded by Warden E. R. Thomas.
The new warden looked over the pris-
on grounds, made a number of changes.
Among other things he discovered the
rusty iron door with a hole in it. One day
he saw a hard blue eye at the aperture
gazing unblinkingly at the outside world.
A half hour fater he returned, took an-
other look at the door. The eye was still
there.
Warden Thomas found out that the eye
belonged to Lyda; he promptly had the
iron door covered with a new heavy
True Detective Mysteries
wooden door. He was taking no chances.
But as the warden sat in his office the
recollection of Lyda’s determined, un-
blinking eye disturbed him. He won-
dered about the woman, determined he
would have her watched carefully.
Then came the night of May 4th, 1931.
A large pebble bounced off the roof of
the women’s prison house. Soon after a
victrola in one of the cells began to play.
It played a dance tune, gaily, madly.
Then, like a ghost, a figure seemed to
emerge literally from the stone side of
the building.
The figure pressed tightly against the
building’s stone wall in the shadow. A
moment later it darted across the moon-
light to the protecting shadow of the
inside of the prison wall,
6 Rea ghostlike figure wore trousers. It
moved about purposefully, relentlessly
in the shadow of the wall, first digging,
then hoisting something into place against
the wall.
Silver clouds scudded across the moon
and for a moment all the prison was in
shadow. During that fateful moment the
figure in men’s clothes went like a wraith
to the top of the wall.
Across the road, beyond the trusties’
building, a guard with a sub-machine gun
patrolled the wall of the men’s enclosure.
But the ghostlike figure had disappeared.
Then the guard passed out of sight be-
hind the trusties’ building.
The moon came out from behind the
clouds; life in the prison seemed to go
on as usual. But an hour later there was
a frantic cry, the sound of running feet.
Then the weird and fearful wail of the
prison siren went up to the high Idaho
sky—a terrifying sound.
In his office Warden Thomas leaped
to his feet. He knew what the siren
meant. In a fearful flash he realized
what this catastrophe might mean to him,
the new responsible head of the prison.
He rushed out of his office, heard a
shot. “What’s happened?” he cried.
Far beyond the prison walls a ghostlike
figure stopped, turned, listened, then went
on.
‘0.
Has the diabolical scheming of the
notorious poison murderess borne fruit
at last?
Will she make good her escape and
leave another crimson trail of death
behind her?
Or will the Law catch up with her
before she has an opportunity to take
other lives?
You won’t want to miss the next in-
stallment of this absorbing crime epic
that chronicles one of the strangest
dramas in American criminal history.
It will appear in the July issue of TRUE
DETECTIVE MYSTERIES. On sale at
all news stands June 2nd. Remember
the date, and order your copy early!.
The Scarlet Secret of the Steamer Trunk
“Maybe he didn’t,” replied Hoffman.
“How do we know he didn’t have a truck-
man aid him? You know we _ haven’t
found the men who took the trunk from
this house to the station.”
We took the woman’s clothing, placed
it in a bag which Choplinsky had pro-
cured, and then ascended to the first floor.
I left it there and went up to search
the rooms used by the boarders.
I went through all of Weiss’s effects, but
failed to find anything that might possi-
bly link him with the crime. As I pre-
pared to enter Fine’s room, Sergeant Cur-
yan came up and showed me a note.
“TF OOK at this, Chief,” he said. “I
found this in the maid’s room, and
it is signed by Fine.”
I noticed the note was dated March
5th, the day after Mrs. Schaaf had dis-
appeared. It read:
“Emma, I am going away for a few
weeks. When Mrs. Schaaf returns, that
is if she gets here before me, tell her I
have gone away for a while. In the mean-
time, I want you to keep my room tidy.
I'll see you when I get back.”
“This is interesting, indeed, Curran,” I
said. “Seems odd to me that this retired
business man should leave the day after
Mrs. Schaaf was murdered. Doesn’t it
seem the same to you?”
“T should say it does, Chief,’ Curran
replied.
For several minutes we rummaged
through Fine’s belongings, but failed to
find anything. I was about to give it up,
when Curran espied a little strong box
under the mattress of the bed. He pulled
it out.
Forcing open the lid, Curran pulled out
a packet of letters, bound with rubber
bands. He handed the packet to me and
continued pulling other letters and papers
out of the box.
He stopped as I suddenly exclaimed:
“Holy smoke, Curran, look at this en-
(Continued from page 13)
velope! Look at the address ... ‘H.
Miller, General Delivery, Atlantic City,
New Jersey’ ...I read it aloud... ‘H.
Miller... Henry Miller.’ Why man that’s
the name of the fellow who sent the trunk
containing Mrs. Schaaf’s body to Phila-
delphia!”
We looked at several of the letters.
Four more were found to have the same
address, while the remainder were ad-
dressed to Louis Fine, some of them
General Delivery, and the others, 31 S.
Connecticut Avenue.
“Curran,” I said quietly, “this is a real
find. It’s the first real clue we’ve come
across in this case.”
While I was talking to him, Curran con-
tinued pulling other letters and sheets of
paper from the strong box. He examined
each one carefully, As he neared the bot-
tom, I saw a look of astonishment on his
face:
“What is it, Marty?” I asked.
“Tt... it, why it’s a will,” he said. “And
look, it’s signed by Mrs. Schaaf. Why
Chief, this guy Fine is named as sole bene-
ficiary to her entire estate.”
I read the will through. It had been
written and executed on March Ist, three
days before Mrs. Schaaf had been mur-
dered.
Several thoughts raced through my
mind, as I read the will. I knew we were
getting hot on the trail of the murderer.
“Marty,” I said after folding up the will
and handing it ‘back to him “put every-
thing back in that box. Replace it where
it was, and don’t say a word about this
to anyone, not even to the other detec-
tives working on this case. Something
seems to tell me that if Fine had anything
to do with this murder, he is going to be
most anxious to get possession of this
box.”
Going downstairs, we rejoined Choplin-
sky and Hoffman. Juliano and May, who
had been investigating Fine and Weiss,
entered the house. They were accom-
panied by Detective Captain Emmanuel
Eckstein, of the Atlantic City Police De-
partment. Eckstein, May informed me,
knew both Fine and Weiss.
_Fine, Eckstein said, was a wealthy re-
tired Philadelphia real estate dealer, while
Weiss was employed in a store at Vent-
nor, New Jersey, just below Atlantic City.
And it was at this point that Eckstein
gave me some information concerning
Fine which I deemed very valuable:
“You probably may recall, Captain,”
he said, “that about two years ago, this
fellow was in a bad jam here. At that
time he was living with his wife, Mrs.
Bertha Abramson Fine, in a home on
Florida Avenue. One morning we found
Mrs. Fine overcome by gas in her bed-
room. When revived at the Atlantic City
Hospital, she told us Fine had attempted
to kill her by turning on the gas in her
room. She said she was ill and could not
move out of bed, Fine turned on the gas
jets and left.
os ER son later smelled the gas and
found his mother nearly dead. The
home in which they lived is one of those
old-fashioned dwellings which are still
equipped with both gas and electric fix-
tures. To make a long story short, the
woman recovered and we arrested Fine on
an attempted murder charge. He was ac-
quitted. During the trial, his wife de-
clared that this was the second attempt
made on her life by Fine. She testified
that about six months before, Fine had
given her an overdose of sleeping potion.
The woman apparently bears a charmed
life because she recovered on both oc-
casions. She further charged her husband
with stealing and squandering nearly thirty
thousand dollars of her money. She later
left him and is now residing in San Fran-
cisco.”
This was very interesting information
to me, remembering as I did the discov-
ery Curran and I had made only a few
minutes before,
Was this scou
sin?
Certainly this
what I had |
that he was. B
I was more
Fine. But how
I then thoug!
sure would wor!
give out to ne
that we were
Schaaf’s murder:
give Fine the im
He would leave
right into a tray
I went to a 7
Atlantic City 1
trust. I gave to
Was sought as
them to send th:
After doing th
detectives to tun
house.
“Put the latch
door,” I told tl
“we are going tc
all night.”
“Noticing thei
Curran, who smi
others of my pl
“Men,” I said,
to have a visite
either coming
morning, or tom
are going to stay
he doesn’t show 1
in relays. Unti
stick.”
I assigned Det:
to secrete thems:
Captain Eckstein
rear door in the
was to remain }:
was placed in an
ran heard footste
he was to hide
Juliano was to I
he was hiding ws
door of the roo:
secreted.
FTER the mi
I joined Ho
front room. We -
night of March 7
Nothing occurred
to get restless, w
stillness of the nig
placed into the fr
“Let’s duck,” I
panions.
We barely ma
dining room bef
open. As we jx
darkness of the f
a shadowy form
across the floor.
creak as the visit«
steps.
We were half af
might be heard.
mysterious visitor
floor, I whispered
“Remain quiet
But listen sharp!
When you hear (
the steps. Get th
ble.”
I heard faint fc
moved about on t!
a few seconds I hi
listened to hear it
to catch every so)
age, waiting there
Wouldn’t we ev:
Then suddenly,
heard the detecti:
to boom like an e>
“Stand still and
heard him say.
12
Middleton, had gone on a
trip. The maid, however,
could not tell us where she had
gone. This second woman
was Mrs. Mamie Schaaf, a
wealthy widow,
“Did you see Mrs. Schaaf
leave the house, Miss Middle-
ton?” IT asked the maid.
“No, sir,” she replied. “I
finished my work early on the
morning of March fourth and
went out. When I returned,
one of the boarders, Louis
Fine, told me that Mrs. Schaaf
had gone away and would be
gone on a trip for a few days.
She has gone away often, re-
maining for one or two weeks,”
Although I was not certain
that the murder victim was
Mrs. Schaaf, I instructed
Juliano to take Miss Middle-
ton to Philadelphia,
ULIANO took the maid aside
and I saw her nod her head.
Within a few minutes he and
the maid and Sergeant Curran
got into the police car and
drove off. Lieutenant Chop-
linsky and I went to my office.
Three hours later Juliano
called me from Philadelphia,
“Chief,” he said, “the body
in the Philadelphia morgue has
been positively identified by
the maid as being that of Mrs,
Schaaf. I’m starting right
back with Miss Middleton and
I'll report to the office.”
I was thrilled by Juliano’s
report. At last we had es-
tablished the woman’s identity,
Juliano, Curran and the
maid entered my office about
two hours later. The maid,
who had been weeping, came
to me and said:
“Mr. Harrold, I don’t know
why anyone would want to
kill Mrs. Schaaf. She was a
kindly old soul and would give
her last cent to help anyone.”
“Emma,” I asked her, “do
you know of any enemies Mrs.
Schaaf may have had?”
“No, sir,” the maid replied,
“as far as I know she didn’t
have an enemy in the world,”
“Did Mrs. Schaaf keep any
valuables around the house?”
“Yes, sir,” the maid re-
sponded, “she kept jewels in a
case in her bedroom, as well
as a strong box in which she
kept ready cash,”
“Have you been to her room
since she disappeared?”
“T tried to get in, Mr. Har-
rold,” she replied to this, “but
there is a big padlock on the
bedroom door,”
“A padlock?” I asked. “Has
that always been on the door?”’
“No, it must have been put
on the day Mrs. Schaaf was—
was killed.”
I next asked the maid who
was in the house with Mrs.
Schaaf when she, the maid,
left on March 4th.
True Detective M ysteries
ae omy
Vi —
™
MRS. BERTHA FINE
snapped on her way to the courtroom to testify at the trial
of Mrs. Schaaf’s slayer. Mrs. Fine narrowly escaped death
at the hands of the same fiend who snuffed out the Atlantic
City widow’s life
“The two boarders were,
Mr. Harrold,” she said. “One
of them is Mr. Fine and the
other Mr. Walter Weiss.”
“What do you know about
either of these men, Emma?”
was my next question,
“Well,” the woman answer-
ed, “Mr. Fine seems to be a
very nice man. He moved in
about a year ago and has
been very kind to me and
Mrs, Schaaf. The other man,
Mr. Weiss, works in town
Some place, I don’t know
where. He is much younger
than Mr. Fine. You know,
Mr. | Harrold, Mrs. Schaaf
but she often said the’ house
was so large that she didn’t
mind having people around,”
“Is that all you know
about them, Emma?”
“Yes,”’ she replied, “except
that I know Mr. Fine is a
retired business man and seems
have a lot of money. He
often told me how glad he was
that he had retired and could
take life easy.”
Feeling that the maid had
n through a terrible ordeal,
I stopped questioning her and
sent her to her mother’s home
in Longport, a few miles below
Atlantic City.
After she had gone, I turned
_ Juliano and May and
assigned to them the task of
Investigating Weiss and Fine.
gave them instructions to
dig into the past of these
men and ascertain what kind
of business Weiss was in, and
also what Fine did for a living
before retiring.
off another case, | told: him
briefly of the Schaaf case and
Instructed him to join in the
then returned to Mrs. Schaaf’s
home. We went direct to
Mrs. Schaaf’s bedroom, which
the maid said was padlocked.
We found that the bed was
made and that everything in
the room looked as though it
been Tecently cleaned.
We searched through Mrs.
Schaaf’s effects and found
that her jewels and cash box
were intact.
I was not surprised by this,
however, because I felt that
the murder had not been
committed by a thief. Crooks,
I knew, never took the trouble
to kill anyone and then ship
the body away in a trunk.
A thief, I reasoned, would
strike a person down, but
would flee as quickly as pos-
sible after obtaining his loot.
(Rig.
Atlar
splen
captu
From
went to
in the hi
trace of t
I was
when S
Hoffman
me on tl
they des
ment. YV
after the:
Hoffman
linsky an
man poir
rear wind
“Look
there,” hy
as though
trunk sto.
dust is tl
the spot \
is clean.
that rafte;
line. It k
We look
its edges
section. |
compared
had found
He had giv
he in turn ¢
in the day.
I whistle.
“You are
match. Tl}
ut from behind the
yrison seemed to go
hour later there was
ind of running feet.
fearful wail of the
i the high Idaho
nd.
len Thomas leaped
ew what the siren
| flash he realized
might mean to him,
head of the prison.
his office, heard a
ned?” he cried.
son walls a ghostlike
listened, then went
1 scheming of the
irderess borne fruit
od her escape and
son trail of death
catch up with her
pportunity to take
2 miss the next in-
sorbing crime epic
of the strangest
1 criminal history.
July issue of TRUE
RIES. On sale at
e 2nd. Remember
your copy early!.
Captain Emmanuel
tic City Police De-
May informed me,
Veiss.
was a wealthy re-
estate dealer, while
‘na store at Vent-
low Atlantic City.
oint that Eckstein
mation concerning
very valuable:
recall, Captain,”
wo years ago, this
im here. At that
ith his wife, Mrs.
in a home on
morning we found
y gas in her bed-
t the Atlantic City
‘ine had attempted
on the gas in her
is ill and could not
turned on the gas
elled the gas and
nearly dead. The
ed is one of those
< which are. still
and electric fix-
story short, the
» arrested Fine on
harge. He was ac-
trial, his wife de-
ie second attempt
‘ine. She testified
before, Fine had
of sleeping potion.
bears a charmed
red on both oc-
irged her husband
lering nearly thirty
money. She later
iding in San Fran-
Qo
sting information
I did the discov-
made only a few
minutes before, up in this man’s bedroom.
wae this scoundrel Mrs. Schaaf’s assas-
sin?
Certainly this information, coupled with
what I had learned seemed to indicate
that he was. But I was not certain.
I was more than determined to find
Fine. But how?
I then thought of a plan which I felt
sure would work. Why not, I reasoned,
give out to newspapers the information
that we were seeking Weiss as Mrs.
Schaaf’s murderer? This, I felt sure, would
give Fine the impression that he was safe.
He would leave his hiding place, and walk
right into a trap I had planned for him.
I went to a telephone and called two
Atlantic City reporters I knew I could
trust. I gave to them the story that Weiss
was sought as the murderer and asked
them to send the story on to other cities.
After doing this, I instructed the other
detectives to turn off all the lights in the
house.
“Put the latches on the froat and back
door,” I told them, and then explained,
“we are going to stay right in this house
all night.”
“Noticing their surprise, I glanced at
Curran, who smiled, and then I told the
others of my plan.
“Men,” I said, “I believe we are going
to have a visitor in this house. He is
either coming tonight, early tomorrow
morning, or tomorrow night. Some of us
are going to stay here the whole time. If
he doesn’t show up by morning, we’ll work
in relays. Until morning, however, we
stick.”
I assigned Detectives Hoffman and May
to secrete themselves in the front room.
Captain Eckstein was sent to watch the
rear door in the basement, while Curran
was to remain in Fine’s room. Juliano
was placed in an adjoining room. If Cur-
ran heard footsteps outside of the room,
he was to hide in a large closet, while
Juliano was to leave the room in which
he was hiding and stand guard over the
door of the room in which Curran was
secreted.
Dehra the men had taken their places,
I joined Hoffman and May in the
front room. We sat in that house on the
night of March 7th for nearly four hours.
Nothing occurred. We were just beginning
to get restless, when, through the eerie
stillness of the night, we heard a key being
placed into the front door latch.
“Let’s duck,” I whispered to my com-
panions.
We barely managed to get into the
dining room before we heard the door
open. As we peered through the inky
darkness of the front room, we made out
a shadowy form as it steathily walked
across the floor. Then we heard a step
creak as the visitor started to ascend the
steps.
We were half afraid to breathe, lest we
might be heard. Then, when I felt the
mysterious visitor had reached the upper
floor, I whispered to my companions:“
“Remain quiet a few minutes longer.
But listen sharply for sounds upstairs.
When you hear Curran’s voice, rush up
the steps. Get there as quickly as possi-
ble.”
I heard faint footsteps as the intruder
moved about on the second floor. Within
a few seconds I heard a door opening. I
listened to hear it close, straining my ears
to catch every sound. It seemed like an
age, waiting there in that darkness.
Wouldn’t we ever hear Curran’s voice?
Then suddenly, and without warning, I
heard the detective’s voice. It seemed
to boom like an explosion.
“Stand still and put up your hands,” I
heard him say.
True Detective Mysteries
Moving as one, Hoffman, May and I
bolted up the stairs. Juliano was just
entering the room as we arrived there.
Captain Eckstein, hearing us run, came
bounding up the steps.
As we entered Fine’s room, we saw a
heavy set man, with a black slouch hat
on, sitting on the edge of the bed. At
his feet lay the strong box, with its con-
tents scattered about the floor. Curran
stood pointing his revolver at him. The
man’s face was pale, and his lips twitched.
Eckstein broke the awful stillness in the
room.
“So it’s you, is it, Fine?” he asked, “Do
-you recognize me?”
ARTLY recovering from the surprise,
Fine said indignantly:
“Sure I do, Eckstein. But what do you
mean by this? Can’t a man enter his
own home and bedroom without having
a bunch of cops hold him up with guns?
What is the meaning of this outrage?”
“Cut it, Fine,” I said, “You know what
we want you for. Where’s Mrs. Schaaf?
Gone on a trip, has she? A nice trip!”
69
“What?” he exclaimed in surprise. “Is
she dead? Why gentlemen I knew noth-
ing of her death. When did she die?”
I was taken back by this, but decided
to keep questioning him.
“Where have you been, Fine?” I nex!
asked, Don’t you read the newspapers?”
‘Why I haven’t read a paper all day.”
he replied. “You see I haven’t had the
chance to. I have just returned from a
long trip.”
“Where did you come from, Philadel-
phia?” I next asked.
“No, New York,” was the answer.
I gazed intently at him, as he looked
me straight in the eves.
At least, I concluded, the man was a
darn good actor. JI knew then that |
could not hope to get any more informa-
tion out of him and decided to take him
to my office for further questioning.
Leaving Hoffman, May, Juliano and
Eckstein at the house, Choplinsky, Cur-
ran and I took the prisoner to my office.
Curran had scooped up the contents of
the strong box which were in Fine’s room
and took them along as he left the house
The victim of a greedy monster being removed from the Quaker City Morgue to an
undertaking establishment
“I don’t know what you mean,” he re-
sponded.
“You seem mighty anxious to have that
strong box,” I said quietly.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” he retorted. “Every-
thing in it is mine, also.”
“Oh, so you admit,” I said, “that those
letters in that box, addressed to H. Miller,
are yours, do you?”
I watched him closely as I said that. He
appeared startled for a moment and then
answered :
“No, they aren’t mine. I was given
them to keep for a man.”
Something told me this man was lying.
I felt sure that we were on the right track
and that Mrs. Schaaf’s murderer sat there
before us. Yet I wasn’t sure. True we
had found a lot of evidence which obvious-
ly linked him to the crime, but knowing
and proving was something different. This
man, I observed, was shrewd, and above
all, an adept prevaricator. Nevertheless,
I decided to accuse him of the murder
pointblank.
“Fine,” I said to him, “why did you
murder Mrs. Schaaf?”
Once at my office, the three of us plied
him with questions.
“Fine,” I said, “why don’t you tell us
the truth? Didn’t you know Mrs. Schaat
was dead and that her body was found in
a trunk at Philadelphia? Don’t you know
that her body was shipped there in a
trunk that came right out of the cellar of
that house where you live?”
“You say it was shipped to Philadelphia
in a trunk?” he asked.
“W7ES,” I replied, “shipped away after
she had been strangled to death with
a piece of rope.”
“My God, Mr. Harrold,” Fine almost
shouted, as he placed his hands to his
eyes, “why I sent a trunk out of that
house myself on March fourth. A man
named Mr. Miller, the man whose letters
Iam keeping, paid me twenty-five dollars
to send it away. He is another roomer at
the house. You see I was away for a
while on March fourth, and when I re-
turned this man met me in the front
room, told me Mrs. Schaaf had gone away,
and then he asked me to send his trunk
o boarders were,
1,” she said. “One
Mr. Fine and the
Walter Weiss.”
0 you know about
ese men, Emma?”
xt question.
he woman answer-
‘ine seems to be a
ian. He moved in
ear ago and has
kind to me and
f. The other man,
works in town
I don’t know
» is much younger
Fine. You know,
id, Mrs. Schaaf
to take in boarders,
ten said the’ house
ge that she didn’t
ig people around.”
t all you know
1, Emma?”
he replied, “except
»w Mr. Fine is a
ness man and seems
lot of money. He
ne how glad he was
d retired and could
asy.””
that the maid had
zh a terrible ordeal,
questioning her and
her mother’s home
‘t, a few miles below
ty.
» had gone, I turned
» and May and
» them the task of
ig Weiss and Fine.
em instructions to
the past of these
iscertain what kind
; Weiss was in, and
Fine did for a living
ring.
my men left, an-
county detective,
Hoffman, came in
r case. I told: him
the Schaaf case and
him to join in the
mm.
int Choplinsky, Ser-
ran, Hoffman and I
ned to Mrs. Schaaf’s
Ve went direct to
af’s bedroom, which
said was padlocked.
ved the lock and
id that the bed was
that everything in
looked as though it
1 recently cleaned.
‘hed through Mrs.
effects and found
jewels and cash box
‘t.
ot surprised by this,
because I felt that
ler had not been
1 by a thief. Crooks,
ever took the trouble
yone and then ship
away in a trunk.
I reasoned, would
person down, but
» as quickly as pos-
c obtaining his loot.
The Scarlet Secret of the Steamer Trunk 13
(Right) Detective Juliano, the clever
Atlantic County sleuth whose
splendid work did much toward the
capture of Mrs. Schaaf’s murderer
From Mrs. Schaaf’s room we
went to all the other rooms
in the house, but could find no
trace of the crime in any of them.
I was puzzling over this
when Sergeant Curran and
Hoffman left Choplinsky and
me on the second floor, while
they descended to the base-
ment. Within a few minutes
after they had left us, I heard
Hoffman calling us. Chop-
linsky and I went down; Hoff-
man pointed to a spot near a
rear window.
“Look at that spot on the floor
there,” he said. “It looks to me
as though this is the place where a
trunk stood. You’ll notice that the
dust is thick around the edges, while
the spot where the trunk probably stood
is clean. Now look over your heads to
that rafter and you’ll see a piece of clothes-
line. It looks as though a piece of it is missing.”
We looked. Sure enough, the line was there. One of
its edges was ragged, as though someone had chopped off a
section. I pulled the rope down and examined it. Then I
compared its edge with the piece of rope Doctor Wadsworth
had found imbedded in the throat of the murdered woman.
He had given this bit of evidence to Captain Heanley, and
he in turn gave it to me when I visited him at his office earlier
in the day.
I whistled as I compared the ropes.
“You are right, Val,” I said to Hoffman, “these edges do
match. This proves to me that the crime was committed
(Above) Murderer’s quarters at the horror
house in Atlantic City where the man
whose unholy greed for money led
him to kill, was finally trapped
right in this house. But the
question is, where? What room?
Although we have searched all
the rooms, we haven’t been
able to find a single thing that
would indicate that murder
has been done here.”
As though in answer to this,
Hoffman led me to the furnace.
He opened the door and point-
ed in.
There in the bottom of the pit
was a pile of woman’s clothing
... dress, shoes and underthings.
They were partly burned, show-
ing that the murderer had at-
tempted to destroy them.
As we looked, Hoffman spoke:
“This indicates that the woman was
strangled right in this cellar. She
probably came down to look for some-
thing. In my mind I can picture the mur-
derer creeping stealthily up behind her. Then,
as she leaned over, her slayer quickly slipped the
rope around her neck and twisted it before she could
utter a sound. The poor woman didn’t have a chance.
“After strangling her to death, the murderer must have
stripped her, crammed her body into the trunk and then
attempted to burn her clothing.”
While Hoffman spoke, I found myself picturing the crime
in my mind, so graphically did he relate it. When he stopped,
I felt my blood tingling. He must be right, I thought. Then
another thought occurred to me:
“But Val,” I asked, “how could one man have carried the
trunk out of here?” (Continued on page 68)
re and spend their
“fam so happy |]
Let’s celebrate
Fine poured her a
hing went into the
ieeping potion that
illen asleep a few
ind that strangling
had feared.
nther details of his
re was a trunk in
led it out, and then
ay. He lifted her
trunk. He spread
to keep it from
ie sat down, lit a
1 stiff drink.
vondered why. He
g this to himself.
he had felt when
‘ars, tiny, gnawing
is mind. He kept
e that he was leav-
to dispose of. He
nted the detectives
them that “Harry
didn’t care about
Mattie had drunk.
1 it carefully with
overdo the finger-
visited Mattie and
, they could be ex-
to explain if they
d sweat came out
at one thing that
idy-love hoped ta
of ideas and an
re on alert cops.
_ received a severe shock.and for
couldn’t be explained and
couldn’t be left in the room. It
was the part of the cord the
strangling rope had been cut
from. It came from a sash cord
in his room, a thing that could
be traced if the police found the
end of the murder cord had
been cut from it.
For a long time Fine stood
staring at that cord. It was
something he had not thought
of, and the fact he had almost
forgotten it caused his knees to
feel weak, nausea to come to
the pit of his stomach, and new
beads of sweat to stand out on
his forehead.
He wet his dry lips and tried
to think. His confidence had
the first time the terror that
comes to a murderer—haunts
every move he makes aftér his
crime—came to Louis Fine.
He shook his head to clear
his brain. Then he thought of
a perfect hiding place. Some-
thing new, unique, and per-
fectly safe. His derby hat.
Who would ever look there?
He could coil it around the top
of the sweat-band.
He burst out laughing. The
sound of his voice seemed weird,
unreal, and far away. He
stopped laughing. He knew
he had to get hold of himself.
He was letting silly things
bother him.- Only a part of
his murder plan was completed
—a very small part. He had to \
get the trunk up to the room
rented by “Harry Miller.”
Now was the time. The
other roomer on the first floor
worked .late and wouldn’t be
in. The old man roomer in the
fourth floor—the attic—always
went to sleep early. Fine had
to take his chances on the
roomers on the second floor.
After all, moving a_ trunk
wasn’t anything unusual, but he hoped no one would
see him.
The trunk was heavy. He hadn’t believed it would
be that heavy. He pulled it out into the hall. Some-
how he got it up the stairs and nobody had appeared.
He was sweating and breathing hard when he pulled
the trunk into the room and closed the door. He kept
pulling it across the floor until he had it in a closet and
the door to this closed. Then he sat down and wiped
his face and felt better. : ,
The fears that had come to him down in Mattie
Schaaf’s room had miraculously disappeared. He was
thinking clearly again. There was nothing else to. do
but to go to sleep and wait until morning when he
would hire a drayman to take the trunk to the express
station. From there it would be shipped to Phila-
delphia and.put in “Harry Miller’s” room at the Hoffman
rooming-house.
After that he would have only to wait until the
detectives had traced the trunk baek to the Mattie
Schaaf rooming house in Atlantic City. They would
question him because he was one of the roomers. He
had a story they never could break down. Mattie
would be dead. He was to be the sole heir to her
ae
This innecent appearing trunk was the reeeptacle into which Louis
Fine dumped the body of his ex-sweetheart. He then sent it to the
city of Philadelphia where he had established a bogus murder-man.
fortune. It had been so simple as to be amusing.
He laughed and this time it brought relief to him.
His voice sounded real. Only a couple of details to
attend to before going to bed. One was putting that
cord in his derby hat and the other was to recheck the
room where Mattie was killed. He knew there were no
clues left behind, but he wanted to make sure.
T one o’clock he went to bed. He fell into a restless
sleep, awoke with daylight shining through his
window. The light brought back his confidence. The
fear of the previous night fled. He got up, dressed, and
went out for breakfast. When he finished this meal, he
called Jim Frazier, a drayman in the neighborhood, and
asked him to call at the rooming-house for a trunk.
Frazier came, got the trunk out of Miller’s room, re-
ceived instructions from Fine to take it to the Adams
Express Company and have it sent to Harry Miller at
824 North 5th Street, Philadelphia. Then Fine went
back to his room, took a big drink of Scotch and relaxed.
“Four. days later Julius Hoffman rapped sharply at
the door of the room on the rear second floor of his
rooming-house. Hoffman knew only that a week before
a man by the name of “Harry (Continued on page 78)
A killer’s imagination works twe ways. It ereates
the murder-plet beautifully, but it also creates
fear and terror. Louis Fine cellapsed upon arrest.
Fine explained to Mrs. Schaaf that Mr. Miller was
traveling and wasn’t home often. There was some
trouble with the colored maid, Hazel, but Fine managed
to slip into the room from time to time to disturb the
bed covers and make it look like somebody had been
in the room.
Hazel was puzzled, but she was a girl who said little.
And there was another advantage. She
didn’t “sleep in” and didn’t get to work
until nine in the morning, which made
it logical that when “Mr. Miller” was
in town, he had left before she arrived.
Fine’s plan,. however, required that
“Mr. Miller” rent two rooms. The
second wasn’t as simple as getting one
from Mattie Schaaf. It had to be in
another city. Fine picked Philadelphia
and found a rooming house at 824 North
Fifth Street, operated by Julius Hoff-
man.
After several days of watching the
habtis of Hoffman and his maid, Fine
learned when he was out.’ The maid
wasn’t overly intelligent and Fine knew -
he could successfully work a disguise
as Mr. Harry Miller. He rented the
room from the maid, disguised enough
so she wouldn’t recognize him again
because ‘Fine was to appear at the
Hoffman rooming-house with a trunk
at a later date.
ITH this room rented, and. “Mr.
Harry Miller” well established as
a roomer, although ngbody ever saw
him, Fine went on to complete his’plan..
The rest wasn’t difficult. Late on the
evening of March 7th, he walked into
Mattie Schaaf’s room on the first floor.
She was all smiles and love for the
man she was to marry. She had made
out her will. The next day they’ planned
to go to New York, get married there and spend their
honeymoon in a hotel.
“Ah, my dear,” Fine exclaimed, “I am so happy ]
can’t sleep. I bought a little wine. Let’s celebrate
tonight.” ’
“Isn’t it rather late, Louis, deay?”
“Not too late for us,” he told her.
Mattie was all for celebrating. Fine poured her a
drink. She didn’t notice that something went into the
glass besides the wine. It was a sleeping potion that
would knock her out. She had fallen asleep a few
minutes after the drink and Fine found that strangling
her wasn’t the nerve-racking job he had feared.
And now he stood over her, the other details of his
plan going through his mind. There was a trunk in
the closet. He opened the door, pulled it out, and then
went to the couch where Mattie lay. He lifted her
lifeless body and dumped it into the trunk. He spread
several blankets and sheets over it to keep it from
thumping against the top. Then he sat down, lit a
cigarette, and poured himself a good stiff drink.
His right hand was shaking. He wondered why. He
wasn’t nervous. He kept repeating this to himself.
Yet the hand shook and the ease he had felt when
Mattie died left him. There were fears, tiny, gnawing
ones that kept flashing through his mind. He kept
looking around the room to make sure that he was leav-
ing no clues behind.
The rope! That wasn’t difficult to dispose of. He
would leave it in the room. He wanted the detectives
to find it. He wanted to convince them that “Harry
Miller” had killed the landlady. He didn’t care about
the glass that had held the wine Mattie had drunk.
Only there must be no fingerprints.
He got up, grabbed it and wiped it carefully with
his handkerchief. He didn’t want to overdo the finger-
print business, After all, he had visited Mattie and
if his prints were found in the room, they could be ex-
plained. In fact, it would be hard to explain if they
weren’t there.
Suddenly his body stiffened. Cold sweat came out
on his forehead. He was staring at one thing that
The house which the cunning killer of his lady-love hoped ta
“inherit” by his craft. Louis Fine had a let of ideas and an
elaborate murder pattern, but he didn’t figure on alert cops.
couldn't be
couldn’t be le!
was the part
strangling ro}
from. It cam:
in his room,
be traced if t!
end of the
been cut fron
For a long
staring at th
something he«
of, and the {
forgotten it c
feel weak, n
the pit of his
beads of swe:
his forehead.
He wet his
to think. H
received a se’
the first tim
comes to a
every move ?
crime—came
He shook
his brain. T
a perfect hic
thing new,
fectly safe.
Who would
He could co!
of the sweat-
He burst
sound of his
unreal, and
stopped lau
he had to gi
He was le
bother him.
his murder |
—a very sm:
get the tru:
rented by “
Now was
other roome
worked lat«
in. The old
fourth floor
went to slex
to take hi
roomers on
After all,
wasn’t anyt
see him.
The trunk
be that hea‘
how he got
He was sw:
the trunk 1
pulling it ac
the door to
his face anc
The fear
Schaaf’s ro
thinking cli
but to go °
would hire
station. F:
delphia anc
rooming-h¢
After th
detectives
Schaaf roo:
question h:
had a sto:
would be
Lk
%
REAL
DETECTIVE
Miller” had rented this room from
the maid. Hoffman hadn’t seen the
man, -but he had seen a truckman
bring a trunk four days before.
The week was up and Hoffman
wanted the rent. He didn’t like the
mysterious way the new roomer act-
ed. Nobody had seen him. Neither
did he like the odor that seemed to
be seeping from this room.
There was no answer to his knock.
Using a pass-key, Hoffman started to
unlock the door but found it open.
He entered the room. The stench as-
sailed fis nostrils and he felt sick at
his stomach. It came from a closet.
Hoffman opened the door. A trunk
stood there and the sickening odor
came from it in waves.
Hoffman didn’t stop to investigate.
It was too terrifying. The sudden
suspicion that- came over him didn’t
help the condition of his stomach and
his general mental condition either.
He called the police. Detectives
James Coogan and Frank Hagan ar-
rived at the house fifteen minutes
later.
The two detectives got one whiff
of the odor and promptly called. Doc-
tor William Wadsworth, Medical Ex-
aminer, and advised him to send the
death wagon out to get a trunk that
from all known odors had a dead
‘* body in it.
When the truck got to the morgue,
and attendants opened the trunk,
they found the doubled-up body of
Mattie Schaaf, but at that point they
didn’t know her name. They only
knew that it was the body of a wom-..
an in her fifties, gray-haired, and
rather portly. From the condition of
the body, she appeared to have been
dead for days.
HE express company label on the
trunk sent Detectives Coogan and
Hagan to the offices of the express
company,’ where they found that the
trunk had been shipped from Atlan-
tic City by a “Harry Miller.” De-
tectives Coogan and Hagan went to
Atlantic City and contacted Chief of
Detectives John Harrold, who took
them to the offices of the Adams Ex-
press Company.
Here they had difficulty tracing the
trunk beyond the office. They were
informed that it had been brought to
the express company office by a local
drayman, but Atlantic City was not
so large that checking on the local
draymen would prove a long and
tedious job. Twenty-four hours later
Detective Harrold was talking to Jim
Frazier, the drayman Fine had hired
to take the trunk to the express
company.
“Sure, I remember that trunk,”
Frazier said. “I got it from a room-
ing house at 31 Connecticut Avenue.
Some man there said that a ‘Mr.
Harry Miller’ had. asked him to call
me to get the trunk.”
“Who was this man?” Detective
Harrold asked. f
_“T think his name was Fine,”, Fra-
zier replied. “He said he roomed
there and knew this ‘Harry Miller.’ ”
Detective Harrold called Detec-
Sin of the Secret Sweetheart
(Continued from page 9)
tives Coogan and Hagan and the
three drove to the rooming house on
Connecticut Avenue. Hazel Mathews
answered the door:
“Is the landlady in?” Detective
Harrold asked. sags
Hazel shook her head. “Mrs.
Schaaf went to Philadelphia several
days ago and won’t be back for about
a week,” she answered. “We ain’t
heard from her, but that is the word
she left when she went.”
“When did she leave?” Detective
Hagan questioned. .
“T don’t know,” Hazel replied hon-
‘estly. “I came to work about four
days ago and Mr. Fine told me that
Mrs. Schaaf was gone and that |
didn’t need to come back for three
days. I came back then and she
hadn’t returned and there was so
much work to do that I stayed.and
worked.”
_ “What kind of a looking woman
was Mrs. Schaaf?”
“She was about fifty, ,heavy-set
and had gray hair.”
Detective; Hagan looked at Detec-
tives Harrold) and Coogan. “It
seems,” he said, “we won’t have
much trouble identifying that body
now. It is Mrs. Schaaf.”
Hagel turned pale and then her
body started to tremble. “What do
you mean by body?” she _ gasped.
“What’s happened to Mrs. Schaaf?”
“Where is this Mr. Fine now?” De-
tective Harrold asked. ‘
“He’s upstairs in his room on the
second floor,” Hazel returned weakly.
PSTAIRS on the secorfd floor,
Fine had seen’ the three detec-
tives walk up to the door. His heart.
was pounding and his head was
whirling. He had known they would
come to see him. Frazier had told
them he had ordgred the trunk taken
~ to the express company. They would
shoot questions at him. Could he
answer them? Would he make a
mistake? P
There was a knock on the door.
Every part of his body went cold.
His mouth became dry. He walked
to the door in a daze, opened it, and
the three detectives stood outside.
He was amazed, almost startled,
when he said casually: “What can I
do for you gentlemen?” -
“Are you Mr. Fine?” Detective Har-
rold asked. \ ve
“Yes, that’s my name.”
The sound of his voice brought con-
fidence back. He opened the door
wide. It amused him to think that these
officers would. ask him a lot of ques-
tions and then go away completely
baffled. :
They walked into the room. Fine
saw his derby lying on a table. He
wanted to laugh aloud. The rope that
the strangle cord was cut from was in
that hat and the detectives would never_
know it. i
“We want to ask you some questions
about a trunk you had shipped to Phil-
adelphia,” Detective Fine said; “I be-
lieve you shipped it about four or five
‘days ago.”
“A trunk?” Fine was a good actor
and he didn’t seem to remember at
first about a trunk. Then he said: “Oh,
you mean the trunk that ‘Harry Mil-
ler’ asked me to send to Philadelphia?”
“What do you know about this man
Miller?” Detective Hagan questioned.
Fine shrugged. “To be honest, not a
great deal. He came here about three
weeks or a month ago and rented a
room. He was a rather stockily built
man, who some people said looked like
me. He apparently was an English-
man because he spoke with an English
accent. I don’t know what he did be-
cause he wasn’t here much.
“About five days ago he told me he
had to leave and he didn’t have time
to get his trunk shipped. He gave me
twenty-five dollars to take care of it
for him. It seemed like a lot of money
to me, but I wasn’t passing it up. I got
a local drayman to ship it to some ad-
dress in Philly. I don’t remember the
address now.”
Fine was well pleased with his story.
From the expression on the detectives’
faces he knew it had gone over even
better than he had hoped.
Detectivé Harrold asked: “Did this
Miller know Mrs. Schaaf?”
Fine knew it was time to begin to
show some concern about what was in
the trunk. So he said with a worried
expression on his face: “What is this
all about? , Was there anything wrong
with the trunk? Why are you asking
about Mattie Schaaf? She left about
the same time and hasn’t come back
and I’m a little worried.”
“We’re not sure, but I don’t think she
will ever come back,” Detective Hagan
answered. “There was the body of a
woman in-that trunk, and from all we
can learn it answers the description of
Mrs. Schaaf.” :
Fine gave a gasping groan and he
did it well. His face registered shock
with the perfection of a Barrymore.
“Mattie Schaaf dead,” his voice had
a tremor. “It’s impossible. Nothing
‘like that could happen. Who would
have reason to kill her? She was kind
and good and didn’t have an enemy.”
“I. asked you how well this Miller
knew her,” Detective Harrold re-
peated.
Fine hesitated. “She knew him very
well, so well, in fact, that I thought
. they were to be married. He was such
a nice chap, but I don’t know much
about his relations with Mattie Schaaf.
His room was on the floor above. He
oi days ago and didn’t come
ack.”
E TOOK the officers to Miller’s
room. The rent receipts, signed
by Mattie Schaaf, were on the table.
These seemed to impress the detec-
tives. They asked him a lot of ques-
tions about Mattie Schaaf and Miller.
He answered them easily, and when ,
the detectives left, he returned to his
room, took a good drink, and lay on the
bed and laughed at the ceiling.
But while he was laughing at the
ceiling, the three detectives were in
Mattie Schaaf’s room. They turned
the place upside down. They found
bloodstains and the rope used to
strangle her. They took the wineglass
to have it tested for fingerprints.
They took another thing, which Fine
hadn’t th:
Schaaf’s st
her will.
Fine. How
left him all
ly convinci
as his ot}
enough to ¢
His story
her out yea
money to ¢
ever check
dead. He \
to believe +
only way h
Mattie hadr
other will, :
There we:
it was weak
convict him
him a susp:
couldn’t fin:
The next
around the
while it wou
much about
investigatior
Schaaf. T}
identificatior
Schaaf. He
make the
several othe
This trip }
worn his de
March day °
idea of beir
with the hat
would crack
HE THI}
back at
and when he
his room he ¢
been in the
detectives h:
knocked som
of Fine. Wh
What did the
There wer
questions an
his room ne:
the cord in hi:
the hat. He
and never let
Another d:
getting on hi:
out what
couldn’t figur
thing that b«
nothing had
Mattie Schaa!
will should |
the court.
That eveni:
He lay on hi:
hours now hs
himself that
It was proba
searched ever
could he hav:
whole case hi:
and there was
say that Fine
had seen this
There was :
fairly leaped
heart started
was another }
and Fine wal:
it a few inches
tective Harr«
man with Ha
know. Detect
door open and
“Fine,” he :
come to the D
We have som:
have found ‘H:
Fine didn’t
elated or frigt
ured on anythi
“Sure, sure. |’
1e said: “Oh,
‘Harry Mil-
hiladelphia?”’
out this man
n questioned.
honest, not a
e about three
and rented a
stockily built
id looked like
an English-
th an English
iat he did be-
ch.
| 1e told me he
| n’t have time
He gave me
ike care of it
2 lot of money
ig it up. I got
it to some ad-
| remember the
|
|
with his story.
the detectives’
one over even
d.
xed: “Did this
£7":
ie to begin to
it what was in
with a worried
“What is this
nything wrong
ire you asking
She left about
n't come back
ion’t think she
etective Hagan
the body of a
nd from all we
» description of
groan and he
egistered shock
. Barrymore.
’ his voice had
sible. Nothing
n. Who would
> She was kind
ave an enemy.”
well this Miller
Harrold re-
> knew him very
that I thought
.d. He was such
n't know much
h Mattie Schaaf.
oor above. He
nd didn’t come
icers to Miller’s
receipts, signed
re on the table.
press the detec-
m a lot of ques-
haaf and Miller.
asily, and when
» returned to his
ik, and lay on the
.e ceiling.
laughing at the
‘tectives were in
m. They turned
wn. They found
rope used to
ok the wineglass
ingerprints.
thing, which Fine
hadn’t thought of.
It was Mattie
Schaaf’s strong box, which contained
her will. ~This angle had bothered
Fine. How could he explain that she
left him all her money? He had a fair-
ly convincing story, not as convincing
as his other explanations, but good
enough to get by.
His story was simple. He had helped
her out years before and gave her the
money to get started. Nobody could
ever check on that because Mattie was
dead. He would act surprised, unable
to believe that he was her heir. The
only way he could explain it was that
Mattie hadn’t. had time to execute an-
other will, making Miller her heir.
There were a lot of holes in this and
it was weak. But its weakness couldn’t
convict him of murder or even make
him a suspect, as long as the police
couldn’t find “Harry Miller.”
The next two days Fine lounged
around the rooming house. In a little
while it would be his. He didn’t know
much about what was going on in the
investigation of the murder of Mattie
Schaaf. There had beer a formal
identification of the body of Mattie
Schaaf. He had gone to the morgue to
make the identification, along with
several other friends. ;
This trip had amazed him. He had
worn his derby hat, even though the
March day was chilly. He liked the
idea of being around the detectives
with the hat that hid the one clue that
would crack the case.
HE THIRD DAY detectives were
back at the house. He was gone,
and when he returned and walked into
his room he got a start. Somebody had
been in the room. The idea that the
detectives had searched his quarters
knocked some of the cocky feeling out
of Fine. What were they looking for?
What did they find? :
There were no answers to: these
questions and Fine paced the floor of
his room nervously. They didn’t find
the cord in his hat because he had worn
the hat. He wore it every place now
and never let it out of his sight.
Another day passed. The strain was
getting on his nerves. He had to find
out what was happening, yet he
couldn’t figure a way to do that. One
thing that bothered him was the fact
nothing had been said about the will.
Mattie Schaaf had been buried andthe
will should be placed in the hands of
the court.
That evening Fine was in his room.
He lay on his bed. For twenty-four
hours now he had kept repeating to
himself that he had nothing to fear.
It was probable that the detectives
searched every room in the house. How
could he have made a mistake? The
whole case hinged on “Harry Miller,”
and there wasn’t a witness who could
say that Fine was “Miller.” Nobody
had seen this mysterious person.
There was a knock at his door. He
fairly leaped from the bed and his
heart started pounding again. There
was another knock, this time louder,
and Fine walked to the door, opened
it afew inches. He saw the face of De-
tective Harrold. ‘There was another
man with Harrold whom Fine didn’t
know. Detective Harrold pushed the
door open and walked into the room.
“Fine,” he said, “we want you to
come to the District Attorney’s office.
We have some important news. We
have found ‘Harry Miller’.”
Fine didn’t know whether to. be
elated or frightened. He hadn’t fig-
ured on anything like this. He said:
“Sure, sure. I'll be glad to come.”
He reached for his derby hat and
walked out of the house between De-
tective Harrold and District Attorney
S. Cameron Hinckle.
At the District Attorney’s office, Fine
fell weakly into a chair. His head was
swimming. He couldn’t collect his
thoughts. They had found “Harry
Miller.” That was impossible. There
was no “Harry Miller.” Maybe they
had found a “Harry Miller.” Maybe
this man would be convicted -of the
murder.
- This made Fine feel a little better.
He sat holding his derby hat and for
the first time the idea that the cord
was there frightened him.
. “Fine,” Detective Harrold said, “we
have found ‘Harry Miller’ and we have
the evidence to convict him of the mur-
der of Mattie Schaaf.” -
“You... you...found... ‘Mr. Mil-
ler,” Fine replied. “Ill be glad to
identify him as the: roomer at the
house.” :
“That won’t be necessary,” District
Attorney Hinckle said. ‘Mr. Harry Mil-
ler’ is sitting in a chair in this room!”
INE looked around. There wasn’t
anybody in the room but him
and the two officers. Then he under-
stood what the District Attorney
meant. He got sick at his stomach.
Spots a dancing in front of his eyes.
Vaguely he heard Detective Harrold
say: “You planned a very neat mur-
der, Fine, to get Mattie Schaaf’s money.
We found her will. You had us fooled
at first. You did a good job on this non-
existent ‘Harry Miller,’ but when we
began to check on him, we found that
nobody had really seen him, except the
maid of the Hoffman place.
“She described -him about like you
did—short and heavy-set, with an
English accent. But she noticed one
thing you failed- to hide when you
posed as Harry Miller. Your disguise
was shaggy that you forgot that
you have a deformed little finger. The
maid saw this and described it to us.
She’s in the other-room now and I think
she can identify you and your little
finger.” Z
The door opened and the maid _en-
tered. She took one side look at Fine
and said: “That’s the man. That little
finger. You never see one twisted like
that. And the side of his face. He’s
the same man.”
Fine tried to say something, but the
words stuck in his mouth.
“There is only one clue lacking,” De-
tective Harrold said. “You made a
second mistake, Fine. You should
never put a cord in your derby hat and
wear it. It. makes a ridge above the
sweat band that anybody can see. We
have been searching for the other end
of this rope. We know it came from
your room. Now I know: where to
Angst. ->,
Detective Harrold took Fine’s derby
hat, reached inside, and pulled out the
cord. Fine looked at the rope in the
detective’s hand and then fainted dead
away. , /
They took him to the city hospital
where he remained for several days
under a special guard. The doctors
adjudged his condition as a nervous
collapse brought on by his own vivid
imagination and a sense of guilt.
On June 7, 1932 Louis Fine was tried
for the murder of Mattie Schaaf in the
County Court House at Mays Landing.
It took the jury only two hours to find
him guilty of murder in the first degree.
Three months later he died in the elec-
tric chair for his “perfect murder.”
THE END
>
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.urder three
iny crimes
; cunning,
»d to catch
ces finally
ot his first,
is last.
At that time
agents. They
international
1 prison sen-
» watching a
was a small
iad ordered a
ieral delivery
-e would only
ne of the de-
) this as soon
as possible in
rady day and
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letter.
velope of the
There -was
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and, while its
Either it was
Vienna police
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possible. The
ver had either
oy him. If kid-
to be large.. If
parental con-
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ad run away to
sroperly wed to
n unscrupulous
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appeared when
m jewelry and
ommended that
to her parents
sirl’s life might
ply L. Vareska,
had been duly
1eese in a trap.
r send the girl
by R. D. KINGSLYN
WHO LEFT THEM—DEAD
On the sixteenth day of waiting, a Saturday afternoon, April
11th, the police alarm finally began to clamor for attention.
In two minutes both detectives were racing to the post office.
The clerk there told them regretfully that he had stalled
just.as long as he dared. The man claiming the Vareska letter
was young, stocky, elegant in dress and manner. He had
pocketed the letter and rushed out, turning to the left.
When the detectives reached the street a taxi was rolling
away. No other cab was in sight. But they got the number
of the departing cab before it turned a corner and vanished.
By evening they had the driver. He led them to a cafe where
he had discharged his passenger.
At the cafe the waiters remembered the man when the
two detectives described him. He had come in, they said, and
joined a young lady who had been sitting nervously. at a
corner table for over an hour. She had kept ordering coffee,
but had barely sipped it.
The lady, they said, appeared very young. She was gentle,
sweet looking, a kind of fragile blonde. This description
tallied with that of the missing heiress, circulated guardedly
by the police.
The gentleman who had come late for their appointment,
the waiters recalled, had ordered two plum brandies. He had
tossed them off with a resentful air. When they rose to leave,
he began to search his pockets for some change. Embarrassed,
lucceeded until he lost his skill and his life in the electric chair
the girl hastily opened her purse, drew out a note and paid.
The two detectives reported to the chief. “Looks as if he
- must have told her he didn’t get any letter with money in it
at the post office,” one of them theorized.
The other muttered, “Wish we knew what his game is.”
Chief Gayer at once ordered four more of his best men to
aid the two detectives in pursuit of the man and the girl.
Hotels, lodging houses, cafes, cabarets, theatres and movies
were to be closely scrutinized and queried.
An hour and a half later Chief Gayer had a frantic phone
call. In response, he phoned for an ambulance surgeon, then
leaped into his big black car and hastened to an exclusive
hotel.
The manager greeted him, wringing his hands. “Thank the
good Lord you came yourself, Chief,” he exclaimed. “That
lovely young countess—”
“Where is she?” Gayer asked abruptly.
“Suite twenty-one.” The manager nervously led the way.
The door stood ajar. A housekeeper and two frightened
maids hovered timidly in the corridor. Looking through the
parlor into the bedroom the chief saw the slim body of Lydia
Vareska. Swinging from a noose of silken rope, it rotated
terrifyingly. The girl was clad only in sheer stockings and
a nightgown of delicate black lace. The rope noose had been
made from portiere cords twisted together.
Too ambitious cleaning job brought to light blood seeping from a trunk which had been left in this room
When unable to make fantastic stories
stick, suspect had sudden heart attack
Capt. Harry Heanley traced the devious
route of two trunks with deadly cargo
And Bertha put nearly the whole United
States between her and Louis. She moved
out to the West Coast and settled down
to the tablet-free, gas-free peace and se-
curity of San Francisco.
Louis let it be known right after his
trial that he was going to quit as a real
estate operator. He was moving on
again, he said, this time to Atlantic City,
New Jersey, where he intended to retire.
However, a little difficulty was due to
arise.
On a chill and gusty March day, two
years after Louis Fine left Philadelphia,
he said, forever, things began to happen
in that metropolis. In an orderly block on
North Fifth Street a man named Julius
Hoffman was ruthlessly pitting himself
against some unaccustomed wifely chores.
Hoffman’s wife was not feeling up to
them today. But the Hoffmans kept a
rooming house and somebody had to keep
it clean.
Moreover, the Hoffmans lately had ac-
quired a new lodger. This was the rather
aloof but solvent Mr. Miller. He had liked
the first room shown him and peeled off
three weeks’ rent in advance and he wasn’t
going to get a wrong impression of the
place. Not if the indisposed Mrs. Hoff-
man could wheedle, shame, or cheer her
husband on to feats of mopping.
Julius sloshed away in the newcomer’s
bedroom, pushing the mop into all the
corners save one, prodding close to a large
trunk which Mr. Miller had ordered placed
in that corner.
“Whaddaya know?” Hoffman asked him-
self. “This guy’s got liquor in his trunk!
Or he had liquor in it. Maybe not any
more. Lookit how the thing’s leaking—”
Hoffman bent over, touched a fingertip
to the wet stain, creeping out from under-
neath one end of the ponderous trunk.
He raised the fingertip, eyed it, sniffed
it. Then he shouted for his son. The youth
joined him and they conferred in somber
awe. “Sure, Poppa—it’s blood! And leak-
ing from that trunk!”
“Then we got trouble,” Julius groaned.
“Got to call in the cops!”
News of Hoffman’s discovery was trans-
mitted to homicide at police headquarters.
Not many minutes after the rooming-house
proprietor’s frantic phone call, the big
cars came boiling out of Callowhill Street
and into North Fifth.
From one stepped Detective Captain
Harry Heanley, head of the homicide squad.
He was accompanied by Detective Lieuten-
ant Harry Choplinsky. The second car
brought to the scene the assistant super-
intendent of Philadelphia’s police, Joseph
LeStrange.
The three men, authorities on murder
and killing, examined the ugly old trunk,
studied its seepage of blood. At once
LeStrange ordered it removed to the muni-
cipal morgue. He handed Julius Hoffman
a receipt for it.
The trunk was delivered to the morgue.
Here its lid was pried open. To the
amazement of all a second and smaller
trunk nested neatly inside of the large one.
This battered, even more ancient looking
article was covered by two quite recent
newspapers and a woman’s white night-
gown freshly laundered. The newspapers
were a night extra edition of the Phila-
delphia Evening Bulletin and a sports edi-
tion of the Atlantic City Journal.
“Both papers,” Captain Heanley noted,
“are dated March 4th.” Today’s date was
March 7th, a Monday.
The newspapers and nightgown were
carefully laid aside. The detectives as-
sisted morgue attendants to force open
the lid of the smaller trunk. The contents
of the inner trunk caused everyone stand-
ing close to it to recoil.
It was the nude body of a woman.
She had gray hair and looked quite
mature. From the doubled up posture
in which her body was crammed into the
smaller trunk, it was not easy to decide her
age, nor the manner of her death.
“Notify Wadsworth at once,” LeStrange
ordered.
Summoned by telephone, the coroner’s
physician, Dr. William S. Wadsworth, ar-
rived. He had the body lifted from the
trunk and carried to his private laboratory
in the morgue. At once a post mortem ex-
amination, to determine the approximate
time of death and its cause was begun.
When Wadsworth finished his autopsy
and reported to the head of homicide, he
handed Captain Heanley a piece of glazed,
tightly woven rope of the type used for
clotheslines. “I found this imbedded in
the woman’s throat. It had been pulled so
tight that it cut deeply into her neck.”
“How old would you say she was?”
“Somewhere around sixty,” the medical
examiner estimated. “She was strangled
about three days ago. I believe it hap-
pened while she was under the virtually
paralyzing effect of a strong dose of sleep-
ing pills.”
Experts of the police laboratory could
find no fingerprints on either of the
trunks or on the newspapers. There were
no telltale marks or labels on the trunks
or the nightgown. The latter didn’t have
even a laundry mark.
Other detectives had driven to the Hoff-
mans’ rooming house and brought Julius
and his son to headquarters for questioning.
The elder Hoffman, told of the source
of the trickle of blood he had noticed, of
the interior trunk and its grisly contents,
exclaimed, “You mean to tell me a body
was right there in our house for two
whole days!”
“Who brought the trunk there?”
“Mr. Miller had it brought in late Satur-
day night. He’d just rented a room with
us on Thursday.”
The name he gave was Henry Miller and,
besides his payment of three weeks’ rent
in advance, the new tenant had been a
stocky, dark, heavy-set man, prosperous
looking, very well-dressed, very polite, of
indeterminate middle age and_ speaking
English with an occasional trace of a
foreign accent, Mr. Hoffman told the offi-
cials.
“T’d say he was maybe 43 or 44 and
Polish or German,” Hoffman added.
“And where’s Miller now?”
“Washington. His trunk came and he
told me he’d have to go to Washington, an
unexpected trip. Said he’d be back in two
or three days,’ Hoffman recalled. “Ought
to be back by now—”
“If Miller ever comes near your place
again, we can all eat our last summer's
straw hats,” the homicide chief retorted.
“What about his truckman? Ever see him
before?”
“Never. But hey, there’s this—my son
does a funny thing. He copies down the
license number of every truck or business
car he sees stopping on our side of Fifth
Street at unusual hours. Don’t ask me
why. Sort of a hobby. Never made sense
to me before—but now, maybe it does—”
The younger Hoffman was flipping the
pages of a tattered notebook with an au-
thoritative thumb. He had four license
numbers for late Saturday evening. It
ought to be possible to find out which was
a truckman who might have brought the
trunk.
Two detectives hastened to the Motor
Vehicle Bureau. In an hour the four
license numbers had been narrowed to
one, that of Morris Weinstein of North
Marshall Street. And soon detectives
were questioning this truckman.
“You delivered a trunk last Saturday
evening to a lodging house in the 800 block
of North Fifth Street?”
“Sure—to a guy name of Miller, Henry
Miller,” said Weinstein.
“How come you remember it so easy?
He a friend of yours?”
“I only remember it because of the way
the guy fussed around me and my helper,
Charlie Robinson, getting it in the house
and putting it in his room just so.”
“Let’s hear all about it.”
Weinstein said, “Miller phones me to
say I’m to pick up a trunk at the Railway
Express Agency and bring it to where
he’s staying on North Fifth. He says he'll
be waiting for me. So I go over to the
express office at 18th and Market, get
the trunk and drive to the address and
there he is. Why?”
When told why, Weinstein seemed stun-
ned. He gasped, “We were lugging a body -
around!”
The detectives sped next to 18th and
Market Streets and the office of the Rail-
way Express Agency. “We'd like to look
at your records on a trunk that Morris
Weinstein picked up here two days ago,”
Captain Heanley said.
“Not that trunk again!” the clerk on duty
exploded. “W:
we were throug
trunk.”
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Det. Val Hoffman checked the furnace in murder house, found some charred clothes
“How long ago did it happen? Did
anyone touch anything? Why does the
body still rotate?” the chief demanded.
“Not long—no one—that broken win-
dow,” the manager stammered.
Tight-lipped, Chief Gayer cut down the
young body and placed it upon the bed.
The ambulance. surgeon arrived, made a
hasty examination and informed Gayer
that the girl had been dead scarcely half
an hour.
The crash of the broken window pane
in Suite 21, the manager explained, had
been heard in the hotel courtyard about
20 minutes ago. Chief Gayer concluded
that someone had used the breaking glass
to draw everyone's attention away from the
front staircase and the lobby, thus allow-
ing him to escape from the hotel unseen.
Evidence of suicide had been cunningly
planted. There was a sturdy overturned
chair, from which Lydia presumably had
stepped off to die. Under the chair was a
note,
In the note Lydia told her parents of her
despair because they had ignored her ap-
peal for money. Comparison of the hand-
writing in the note with specimens of
Lydia’s handwriting, however, proved it
to be a clever forgery.
Nothing else was found. The envelope
containing the money had vanished. Gone,
too, were the dead girl’s jewels and other
valuables—and also her husband.
The autopsy disclosed that Lydia had
been under the influence of an overpower-
ing dose of sedative before the noose had
snuffed out her life.
Gayer’s detectives dug up proof that there
had been a marriage ceremony. In being
married Lydia had used her own' name.
And the name used by the deadly bride-
groom—Ludwig Figner—was his real name,
it was hoped.
“From what we know of him, this
Ludwig Figner is a smooth operator,” Chief
Gayer commented. “He must have be-
lieved the jig was up for him here in
Austria, that the girl’s family had sought
help from the police. Well, he got the
letter with the enclosed money. He could
get the jewelry Lydia had brought to
finance their honeymoon. But he didn't
want to spend it on her. He must have
planned all along to murder her as soon
as he got his hands on the money. My
guess is, he’s putting as much distance as
possible between himself and the scene of
his crime.”
Ludwig Figner apparently had made
good his escape from Vienna. He had
made off with jewels and money esti-
mated to be the equivalent of $17,000. But
this was to be his lowest take from a mari-
tal homicide.
Just how he managed to slip out of
Austria after exposure of the fake suicide
of his young bride was never clear. He
was rumored to be in Stockholm, in Libson.
Then a world war broke over Europe and
Ludwig Figner vanished from the European
scene,
About three years later a polished and
well-to-do immigrant calling himself Louis
Fine arrived in America. He soon became
a modestly noticeable man about town in
New York City.
Louis Fine supported himself in two
ways. He would go to a_ safety-deposit
box and take out some more of the dollars
which he had shrewdly obtained in ex-
change for a variety of small, valuable
objects brought by him from abroad. His
secondary means of support was an oc-
casional judicious plunge into real estate
speculation.
While hovering discreetly on the fringes
of a number of large transactions in prop-
erties, Louis. Fine contrived to make
friends and influence people. He influenced
most of his new-found friends either in
joining him in a quick one, preferably
a glass of plum brandy, or in enabling him
to meet marriageable young women.
So elgible did the industrious, obviously
prospering bachelor, Louis Fine, appear
that only a few years after walking unob-
trusively down the gangplank of an ob-
scure freight steamer docked in Balti-
more, he was middle-aisling it with an
heiress. Smartly dressed, in a glittering
parlor suite of a large Manhattan hotel, he
took unto himself as his adoring bride a
winsome and comely: young lady named
Tillie Furnstein. :
His wife, by happy coincidence, had
money of her own. She lent some of it
to her husband for shrewd investment.
Thus the Fines prospered. A _ cheerful
home, an ideal mating, material and wed-
ded bliss.
One afternoon in November, three years
after their marriage, Louis Fine stopped off
at a theatre ticket broker’s and bought a
pair of orchestra seats for “Show Boat,”
then enchanting all beholders at the Zieg-
feld Theatre on Sixth Avenue. Then he re-
turned to the Fine- apartment.
When the real estate man arrived home
he let himself in with a latchkey and
whistled two low musical notes, the family
signal. Receiving no response, he hurried
through the handsomely furnished living
room into the bedroom. Then he sprang
to the telephone.
The Fines’ family physician was luckily
in his office and hastened over. He madea
quick examinz
tion of Tillie
ambulance an
Next morn!
examiner’s of
solately open
long envelop:
last night,” he
The assistar
York County
your wife of
Fine?” he ask
“Just the «
anybody wil!
“Still there
that Mrs. Fi
an overdose
The bereav
convulsively |
off an intoler:
him. “Suicide’
must be som:
would have d
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clusions, I ré
any other inte
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tablets in the
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Mrs. Fine a
months ago.
pharmacy. B
to him for a
supply was :
“It appears
“that Mrs. Fin
nature in mi
quantity of
which took he
fer that she !
of both bottle
yesterday ta
amount.”
“But when
why?”
“I can’t try
seem that she
before you car
bottles from
tablets, were i
basket.”
Louis Fine
mean the poli
my apartme)
case?”
“Where the:
called accide:
formalities of <
and perhaps b:
Official explai:
“Of course,’
“But Ill nev
“Then who
tablets?”
“She must h:
I know it wa
looking forwa
eager to see 'S:
Till, we don’t
versary. I’m
on an estate de:
“But, you see
a little cough,”
the most thor
meet. She m
yesterday afte:
anyone at the
accident, she :
pills. I would:
them to her, i
could happen.
Louis Fine }
due to make a
From his wife
The inheritanc
later, shortly «
Now Louis.
pensive dress:
as thick as r
weeks of Tilli
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the noose had
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ny. In being
" own name.
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his real name,
of him, this
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ust have be-
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ty had sought
. he got the
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i brought to
Sut he didn’t
fe must have
r her as soon
money. My
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y had made
ina. He had
money esti-
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from a mari-
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fake suicide
er clear. He
)lm, in Libson.
er Europe and
) the European
. polished and
himself Louis
e soon became
about town in
imself in two
safety-deposit
: of the dollars
otained in ex-
mall, valuable
m abroad. His
‘t was an oc-
ito real estate
on the fringes
‘tions in prop-
red to make
He influenced
nds either in
ne, preferably
1 enabling him
women.
rus, obviously
Fine, appear
walking unob-
nk of an ob-
sed in Balti-
g it with an
a a glittering
ittan hotel, he
‘oring bride a
; lady named
neidence, had
‘nt some ‘of it
d investment.
A cheerful
‘rial and wed-
or, three years
ine stopped off
and bought a
“Show Boat,”
‘s at the Zieg-
», Then he re-
arrived home
latchkey and
tes, the family
se, he hurried
rnished living
ien he sprang
in was luckily
vr. He made a
q
quick examination of the strange condi-
tion of Tillie Fine, then telephoned for an
ambulance and a police emergency squad.
Next morning, in an assistant medical
examiner’s office, Louis Fine sat discon-
solately opening and closing a small ob-
long envelope. “Our tickets for the show
last night,” he explained.
The assistant medical examiner of New
York County nodded sympathetically. ‘““Was
your wife of a melancholy disposition, Mr.
Fine?” he asked.
“Just the opposite, I would say. I think
anybody will tell you that, Doctor.”
“Still there is unmistakable evidence
that Mrs. Fine took her own life with
an overdose of sleeping tablets.”
The bereaved widower’s hand doubled
convulsively into a fist, as though to fight
off an intolerable thing which had struck
him. “Suicide?” Louis Fine gasped. “There
must be some mistake. My wife never
would have done that.”
“There has been an autopsy. Our con-
clusions, I regret to say, are not open to
any other interpretation.”
“J don’t think we even had sleeping
tablets in the house.”
“Your physician tells me that he gave
Mrs. Fine a prescription for some, four
months ago. It was unrenewable at the
pharmacy. But one week ago she applied
to him for a renewal, saying that her first
supply was all gone.
“It appears to us,” the official went on,
“that Mrs. Fine had had something of this
nature in mind for some time. By the
quantity of the drug she ingested and
which took her life, we are obliged to in-
fer that she had saved up the better part
of both bottles of ‘the sleeping tablets and
yesterday took practically the whole ,
amount.”
“But when did she take them? And
why?”
“I can’t try to guess why. But it would
seem that she took them at least two hours
before you came home and found her. Both
bottles from your pharmacy, empty of
tablets, were found in her bedroom waste-
basket.”
Louis Fine looked shocked. ‘Do you
mean the police have been going through
my apartment, just like in a criminal
case?”
“Where there is a death which can’t be
called accidental, there have to be the
formalities of an investigation, by our office
and perhaps by the district attorney’s,” the
official explained.
“Of course,” Louis Fine said. He added,
“But I’ll never believe it was suicide.”
“Then who gave her the sleeping
tablets?”
“She must have taken them accidentally.
1 know it was an accident. She’d been
looking forward to the theatre. She was
eager to see ‘Show Boat.’ I said, ‘All right,
Till, we don’t have to wait for our anni-
versary. I’m due to make a real killing
on an estate deal any day now.’
“But, you see, she’d had a touch of cold,
a little cough,” Fine continued. “She was
the most thoughtful person you’d ever
meet. She meant to take cough tablets
yesterday afternoon, so as not to disturb
anyone at the theatre. Instead, by cruel
accident, she must have got those awful
pills. I wouldn’t have let the doctor give
them to her, if I’d thought such a thing
could happen.”
Louis Fine hadn’t lied to Tillie. He was
_ due to make a killing on a real estate deal.
From his wife’s estate he inherited $50,000.
The inheritance passed to him a few weeks
later, shortly after Christmas.
Now Louis, always the elegant and ex-
pensive dresser, had no personal garment
as thick as rhinoceros hide. And within
weeks of Tillie Fine’s unaccountable sui-
cide, within days of the settlement of her
substantial estate, the inconsolable wid-
ower began to need such armor.
Mourning for Tillie by her many friends
and relatives was deep and sincere. And
in this Louis could join with a cultivated
talent. But there also was the dawning dis-
like and suspicion with which these same
people now regarded him. This stung and
wounded him.
By April Louis knew he had had enough.
He removed himself to Philadelphia, where
there was possibly less consumption of
plum brandy, but plenty of opportunities
in property rentals, mortgages and sales.
When he had been a Quaker City resi-
dent for almost twenty months and a
widower some six months longer, Louis
began influencing people again. He let
his new Pennsylvania contacts know that
he was both prosperous and lonesome, a
man who longed for the comforts of a wife
and a home. He began to wangle intro-
ductions to ladies as well-heeled and as
eligible for matrimony as himself.
The result was that Louis Fine married
again. He won the hand and the affections
of a charming young widow, Mrs. Bertha
Abramson. But the marriage proved some-
thing less than perfect.
Most of the trouble seemed to stem
from a characteristic of the bridegroom
which the new Mrs. Fine tried at first to
overlook and then, though in vain, to dis-
courage. Louis liked to keep his own con-
siderable resources intact, while tapping
her money as often as possible. Since her
late husband, Abramson, had been. a suc-
cessful business man and her deceased
father a wealthy one, Bertha had brought
an authentic fortune into the marriage.
But she hadn’t expected to see it squan-
dered.
Then matters took a curious and signifi-
cant turn.
In the Philadelphia Detective Bureau
situated in the gloomy gray pile of Public
Buildings at Broad and Market Streets,
the telephone rang. Detective Sergeant
Martin Curran took the call.
“Is this the police?” a breathless young
voice asked.
“It sure is, son. What can we do for
you?”
“Save my mother!”
Curran was hardened to the jolts of
everyday duty. It might be a crank or a
hoax, but he somehow didn’t think so.
“Just take it easy, son,” he urged. “First,
let me have your name and address. Then
tell me what’s wrong and where to reach
your mother.”
The address was a good one in South
Philadelphia. The youth on the telephone
gave his name as Abramson. He exclaimed,
“It’s my stepfather—he’s trying to kill
my mother by leaving the gas turned on.”
Curran and two members of his squad
reached the house in Locust Street as
fast as the squad car could be driven
through heavy traffic along South Broad.
A fire department emergency vehicle,
which Curran had told a phone operator
to signal for, pulled up before the Abram-
son residence right after the police car
wailed to a stop.
However, it was neither Curran’s quick-
ness, nor the firemen’s inhalator, that
saved the life of Bertha Fine. Her son by
her former marriage had happened to
come home from his suburban school sev-
eral hours earlier than usual. He had
smelled illuminating gas at the front door,
rushed in and threw up every window,
flung open doors, then telephoned detec-
tive headquarters.
“A darned bright lad, this one. Kept his
head,” the veteran sergeant complimented.
“He’s all I have to depend on,” mur-
mured the reviving Mrs. Fine.
“And your husband?”
“I want him arrested.”
“On what charge?” the detective asked.
The resentment justifiably felt by Bertha
‘Fine made her wits sharper, her voice
steadily stronger. “I am sick in bed. Louis
gave me something to quiet my nerves. But
it was too heavy a dose again. It made
me fall into a deep sleep.. Then he must
have turned on the gas in all the rooms
—this old-fashioned house as you see, has
both gas and electric fixures—and he went
off somewhere. He wanted me to die.”
“Did I hear you say ‘again’?” queried
Curran. “You mean this has happened
before?”
“Six months ago. Louis tried this same
thing, but without the gas—just an over-
dose of sleeping tablets. I felt something
was wrong right away and managed to
phone a doctor before I passed out. The
doctor used a stomach pump and saved
me. That was while we were away, en-
joying a seashore vacation.”
Curran had heard of many a fierce
family row, had listened to many bitter
accusations. Now he hesitated, asking,
“Are you sure, Mrs. Fine? Accidents do
happen, you know.”
“Today’s was no accident. Down at the
shore Louis, of course, denied everything,
laughed it off. He’s slick and smooth, Ser-
geant.”
“But are you sure you want the kind
of publicity this thing will get you, having
your own husband picked up on such a
charge?” *
“l’'m asking you to arrest him,” she said
firmly. _
“Will you swear out a warrant?”
“Just show me how. What have I got
to lose? Only my life, if I put up with
any more of Louis,” said Fine’s disillusioned
wife.
So a warrant charging Louis Fine with
“felonious assault with intent to kill” was
signed in Philadelphia. Louis saw that he
needed a genuine Philadelphia lawyer.
For this he had to spend his own money,
to pay the big retainer. At his subsequent
trial in Superior Court before an under-
standing jury he won an acquittal.
Bertha Fine had testified that in their ex-
travagant married life her luxury-minded
husband had got her to let him share in
a cool $30,000—every cent of which he
had since squandered. Even so, the twelve
jurors remained unconvinced.
Fine’s wife proceeded to divorce him.
Where police of five countries failed,
Capt. Frank Harrold got) a conviction ‘so
EE
RT ei
HOURS from
Caught in the meshes of a
nationwide manhunt follow-
ing the brutal murder of a
New Jersey paymaster, a
youthful gunman, faced with
the electric chair, eluded his |
guards and scaled the prison
. FITHIAN, Charles and GIORDANO, Peter, whites, elec. NJU@ (Salem) “ecember 30, 1931
walls in a daring jailbreak.
It was a perfect getaway;
but the fleeing desperado
trapped himself when he
couldn’t spell the name of his
own home town. |
By MACKENZIE GRIFFIN
of the Philadelphia Record
shattered the morning stillness of historic old Salem
in southern New Jersey. Tooling the car down
Fourth street with a directness that bespoke a carefully
rehearsed plan, the driver, a tall, lean-jawed desperado,
headed for the entrance of the busy Salem Glass
Works.
Down the street, with a $3,500 payroll tucked under
his arm came William J. McCausland, paymaster of the
glass factory. He was hurrying to catch the night shift
before it went off duty.
The battered car slowed to a crawl. Suddenly, as Mc-
Causland drew abreast of the cruising auto, the thin-faced
leader barked a command. A swarthy gunman climbed
out on the running board.
Too late, McCausland wheeled. Flame lanced from
the killer's weapon and the paymaster fell, mortally
wounded.
“Quick!” cried the thug on the running board. “I've
bumped him off.”
A companion leaped from the front seat and raced for
the prostrate body.
But the hand of death frustrated the cruel and inhuman
plan. In falling, McCausland had clutched the cardboard
box of money to his breast, and the bandit was able to
scoop up only a few envelopes that sprayed from its
Brandishing a revolver, Fithian intimidated the broken corners before the astounded eyewitnesses re-
cig ed tic gee pans eal ars: covered from their horror and dashed for the spot.
The killer fled back to his car and the machine careened
the roof. In this picture a carpenter is board- seg ie : , : :
ing up the opening after Fithian’s daring escape. off. Within five minutes, pursuit was organized and in
STARTLING DETECTIVE
T= popping exhaust of a battered touring car
48
_— J
6 e.
; Pad
FITHIAN, Charles
| Q2«year-old white man, electrocuted, New Jersey State
| Prison (Salem County) on December 30, 1931. ntT want to —
makea_complaint,! declared Charles Fithian as-he-sat—in—
New Jersey's electric chair, A guard nodded for him to
—eontinué. "That soup I-had for supper tonight: was too
__hot,! the doomed man grumbled,"
—AGENT OF DEATH by Elliott, page 172 22
‘Troy, N. Ye,-12=-28-1930-Charles ‘Fithian, 22-years-old, who
escaped from the Salem, N, J., county jail ‘last Monday night
coveral hours af ter-he had been sentenced to-die-in the el—
red here todaye Fithian was captured
ectric chair, ws _captu rere © Relics
in a roeming house by 5 officers to whom he surrendered
without a struggle. the prisorer was sentenced for slaying.
oo
— — 7
ee :
be, Salem Glass Co.»
i113 Causland paymaster of the
pee WEE Getober 216 Peter Giardano, who ae se
few weeks earlier in with theholaup
during a hol
gether
‘FITHIAN, Charles and GIORDANO, Peter , 7 -.-- °
(Salem Cocky N, Je)
"Charles Fithian and Peter Giordano, #s a Bridgeton baker,
murdered J. William MacCausland, paymaster of Salem Glass
Works on Octe 24, 1930. Henry Green, the tird man in-
volved was released because the first two were already ex
ecuted and could not testify. He had escaped and was
caught after the first two were executed."" Electrocuted
on 12-30-1931
56 Atlee FEY, F “ue
is indinedbic Maat is pte tugs
i i ay
When | Murder Jumped Out Of A Hat
; (continued from page 47) .f i o
Eis Ns Ste ask Mare Schaaf a lush dupe.
go to Philadelphia to make sure it “as ‘we ‘Investigators also Socaed why he
delivered there. He even said he’d pay
the C.O.D. at the other end.”” .
Fine paused, studying his listeners:
“T went to Fifth Street and saw the —
real estate office return the shipment.
I noticed the room-to-rent sign in a
house close by, so I took the room and
paid for it, naturally in the name of ,
Miller. The next day, I signed for the.
trunk, using Miller’s name again to.
avoid complications. Miller had said: ~
he would be in Philadelphia on Friday
Sight. so F met him. at bis otek Anat
' gave him the key, telling him here
» he’d find his trunk.’” NY
And why "Guise Taliane,
“didn’t you tell us all this ae we
first questioned you?””=
“*Because you didn’t ask me,’
returned Fine simply. ~ “2 $
Pinca “Sure you were in deep, porto epee
that you hunched yourself inside an
oversized coat and wore specs and a
‘slouch hat while you posed as Miller. ~
How do you answer that?’” 9 *
Fine answered it with a shrug. ae UN
“And you had no idea what was in
that trunk?” .. =
“I had no idea at all.” s
* **Then why,” asked Choplinsky, ©
*‘did you pull the window down to air
the place? And why did you dodge for
the front door when Mrs. Hoffman
mentioned the Lindbergh kidnap?”
Fine was already answering both at
once. He was having another of his
heart attacks. From there on, the case
was wrapped up fast. : ee
A search through Mattie Schaaf’s
effects proved that Louis Fine had
been playing the Merry Widow for all
that she was worth. Pawn tickets were
found, representing jewelry that the”
star boarder had wheedled out of his
ever-trusting landlady and hocked for
his own benefit. How his motive had
turned to murder was explained when
a will was found in Mattie Schaaf’s
safe deposit box, all nicely witnessed,
with Louis Fine named as the sole heir
to her $70,000 estate.
Even in his voice of an alias, Fine
had been clever. During the previous
year, Fine had dabbled briefly in the
real estate business using the name of
Henry Miller and even driving a big
Paige car. But he had dropped that
identity and sold the car, switching
back to Louis Fine when he had found
438
‘had dropped the name of Fine a year
before. His wife, Bertha Fine, had
‘charged him with attempted murder
* after he had opened the gas jets in their
apartment following a New Year’s
Eve party. Fine had beaten that rap
and his wife had moved to California
and settled for a divorce.
Before that, the boardwalk mnaller
had shown other Bluebeard tenden-
cies. His real name, the prosecutor
maintained, was Nathan Klopowitz
and one of his former wives had died
under suspicious circumstances in
* New York while another, i in Europe,
was still unaccounted for... .
Deeds and bonds were found among
~ Fine’s effects, signed by different
names, but in the sane handwriting.
Most incriminating of all, was a coil
of rope wound inside an expensive
black derby hat which Fine wore only
on state occasions, such as dating a
woman for the last time. That thin
rope matched the strangle cord that
had been found around the neck of
Mattie Schaaf when she reached the
Philadelphia morgue.
Investigators also found a list of
Philadelphia realtors from which Fine
had picked Lichow’s address as a
convenient place to ship the trunk. _
~ On June 6, 1932, Fine was tried
before Superior Court Justice Donges
at May’s Landing, N.J. Three. days
later, the jury deliberated for two
hours and brought in a conviction on
a charge of first degree murder.
Ten months later Louis Fine walked
to the electric chair, his last words a
Tepetition of an old line: ‘‘I can only
say that I am not guilty.” *
A Youth Division detective, after
listening to Bell describe the case,
commented that the name ‘‘Kay
“Lynn’’ was unusual for a woman. He
" also noted that his neighbor was
named Kay Lynn Neve, an 18-year-old
= woman who associated with a ‘‘bunch
“= of rough characters.”*
It was only a hunch, but Beil took
the information back to Crime
Analysis and ran Kay Lynn Neve
the computers. The computer
tied her directly to a known associate
‘of the Hickmans on one occasion, and
on another occasion, she had been
field carded in the same car with Troy
Memmott.
- Detectives were certain they had
identified the elusive ‘‘Troy’’ and
“Kay Lynn” named by the confidential
informant. Detectives were looking for
two bandits by those names who
associated with the Hickman brothers.
Officers were certain it was more than
just coincidence the computer had
linked Troy Memmott and Kay Lynn
Neve to the Hickmans.
Investigators subsequently checked
with the Utah State Prison to determine
if Memmott was still in custody. They
discoverd he had been recently
released from prison on a new intensive
parole program. As is the case with
all prison parolees, Memmott had to
provide the prison with the name and
address of a sponsor. His sponsor was
Kay Lynn Neve. Those same prison
records showed him living at her
ok © Who Killed Scarface?
(continued from page 21) :
residence, presumably on intimate
terms.
‘Identifying suspects in the shooting
was one thing. Proving a case against
them was another. All of the robbers
had been wearing masks, it was
doubtful witnesses could make a
positive identification on voice
recognition and there was no loot
taken from the Dixon home that
could tie the shooters.
A check with Memmott’s assigned
parole officer revealed that Memmott
had been living with Kay Lynn Neve
up until the previous Sunday. Parole
officers had conducted a surprise
search of the residence and found
marijuana pipes. Memmott’s parole
had been revoked and he was currently
being held incommunicado at a local
halfway house pending a parole
hearing. —
Investigators brought Memmott in
and questioned him about the Dixon
shooting. The suspect denied any
involvement in the case. Realizing
Memmott had not had any contact
with the Hickmans or Kay Lynn since
Sunday, Bell decided to try a little
interrogative deception.
“I told him I knew he was involved
in the robbery with Kay Lynn and that
the Hickmans were also involved. I
then told him the Hickmans had
fingered him as the shooter,”’ said Bell.
‘‘When I started naming off all those
(continued on next page)
names, he figured the Hickmans had
-fatted him off and he decided it was
time to come clean.’’ .
Memmott subsequently ‘told Bell
that Kay Lynn had once dated David
Dixon, who on two occasions had
taken her to his father’s house. She
told Memmott and the Hickman
brothers about the- expensive house
and thought it would be an easy target.
Kay Lynn had helped pian the robbery,
Memmott said.
.. **He (Dixon’s son) was heariae into
cocaine at the time and she got the
mistaken impression he was 2 oig-time
‘dealer,’’. said Bell. ‘‘She told (the
bandits) there would-either be lots of :
cocaine in the = or lots of
money.”’ . == nie
Memmott said it “was Dean and
Boyd Hickman who entered the home
through the back door and that it was
Dean who had done the actual shooting.
Dean had later told them the shooting
had been an accident.
Boyd was the masked gunman ‘who
had opened the front door to let Troy
into the house. Because Troy. didn’t.
have a mask, he stayed in the front ©
room where the Dixons couldn’t see
him.. Rick Hickman had stayed outside
~as a lookout. Kay Lynn had stayed
behind and did not participate is. ibe
actual robbery. «2... grease
Memmott told interrogators he had
participated i in the robbery because he
needed $300 to pay for Kay Lynn’s
scheduled abortion. The Hickmans
had participated because they needed .
money to Ln a new bd tain truck, he
said.
Denocthon. were ‘on a roll. “They at
pushing Memmott for information on
other crimes. Memmott told the
officers that Kay Lynn, who was
-heavily into drugs, had helped plan
another robbery for Monday night —
the day after he was arrested on the
parole violation. Because he*had had
no contact with any of his cohorts since
Sunday, he didn’t know if the robbery
had gone down. -«
Memmott said the target of Mon-
day’s robbery was supposed to have
- been a drug dealer. A quick check of
recent crime activity revealed no
robberies in Salt Lake City. West
Valley City, a suburb just west of Salt
Lake, however, did report a residential
robbery Monday night. Two men
wearing masks and carrying various
guns forced their way into a trailer
house where they terrorized two
women and their children. They then
took about $600 at gunpoint and fled.
Memmott’s statement provided
enough probable cause to bring Kay
I bag
Lynn Neve in for questioning. After a
Miranda warning, Bell told Kay Lynn
that Troy had confessed to the Dixon
shooting and that she had been/
implicated in that crime and the West
Valley City robbery.
Kay Lynn had little doubt Troy had
confessed and decided to come clean
herself. She subsequently told officers
she knew about the plan to, rob the
Dixons, but maintained she didn’t
know they were going to commit the
robbery that Thursday night. The
Hickmans and Memmott had left her
alone at her residence, she said.
_» Kay Lynn denied any involvement
in the West Valley City robbery,
though she admitted she knew one of
. the women victims and had purchased
cocaine from her in the past. Bell told .
her they had enough evidence to
‘convict her of participating in the
robberies, and said she would have to
prove her whereabouts on the night
» of the two robberies. Kay Lynn
Offered to let detectives look at her
. diary, and told them it was in her car.
~_»Not wanting to take any chances
with taking potential evidence that a
judge could later declare was illegally
seized, Bell contacted the county
“attorney’s office for a search warrant
of Kay Lynn’s vehicle. ‘
‘We called the County Attorney’s
‘Office to get a search warrant to get
the diary out of her car, and we were
told we didn’t need it if she had
consented,”’ said Bell. ‘“We then asked
her a second time if we could get it
from her car and again she said yes.’
. Detectives searched the car carefully
“and recoveréd a blue ‘‘Care Bear”
diary, a set of handcuffs, a large
number of newspaper clippings
describing the Dixon shooting and a
small amount of marijuana. Beil
noted the diary contained entries for
each day since Jan. 1, 1984.
The diary, entitled ‘*My Book of
Dreams Come True,”’ was a detailed
daily account of everything Kay Lynn
had ever done, everywhere she had
gone, every person she had talked to
or seen, every detail of her daily life,
and her thoughts and opinions on
everything from drugs and sex to crime
and police officers.
Kay Lynn wrote in her diary daily,
and she told Bell she was going to sell
the diary and get rich describing her
various experiences. ‘‘She honestly
believed herself to be a great writer,”’
said Bell. ‘She was going to write this
diary and make all this money from
it. But the truth is she couldn’t even
put a complete sentence together.”
Bell quickly flipped through the
diary until he came to the days
immediately before and after the
Dixon shooting. There was enough
evidence there for Bell to arrest Kay
Lynn on suspicion of aggravated
robbery. As detectives marched her
downstdirs to book into jail, they ~
noticed Boyd Hickman was in the
booking room being processed on
some outstanding traffic warranis. ©
“*We waited for the jail people to
finish up with him,”’ said Bell, ‘‘and
we then took him upstairs for question- ~
ing about the robberies. We had been -
looking for him and his brothers, but
couldn’t find them. Boyd just made it.
easy on us.””
~ Boyd predictably denied any invol-
vement in the two robberies, but he
did identify his two brothers as the
bandits in both the Dixon case and the -
West Valley case. Despite his protes-.
tations of innocence, he was taken
back down and booked for investiga-
‘tion of aggravated robbery. :
Detectives were having a much more .
difficult time trying to find Dean and
Rick Hickman. Both were extremely
streetwise and both were experienced
felons. Police continued to hold
on several known Hickman
hangouts, but it became immediately
apparent the fugitives were staying
with someone police knew nothing
about.
Investigators managed to trace the
brothers to a small town on the Utah-
Arizona border about 250 miles away,
but the brothers had apparently :
returned to Salt Lake City. Warrants
‘had been issued for their arrest
charging them with aggravated
robbery and attempted criminal
homicide. Officers from all nine Salt
Lake County jurisdictions were
watching out for them. 2
Despite the disappearing act,
detectives were certain the brothers
were still in the Salt Lake area. The
brothers were supporting themselves
on the run by pulling off residential
burglaries; burglaries with the trade-
mark Hickman signature were happen-
ing on a regular basis. Still, investigators
seemed to always be one step behind
them.
The Dixon case was, for all intents
and purposes, wrapped up. All three
*Hickmans, Memmott and Neve were
charged with aggravated robbery,
while the Hickman brothers had
attempted criminal homicide tacked on
to that. Bell, however, continued to
go through Kay Lynn’s diary, looking
for information that might link them
(continued on next page)
49
er eC Ie) ee ree ie
ae it i
46 The Master
home of Jensen at the time Jensen had said it contained
Phoebe Stader’s body. That also substantiated his story.
While that car stood there at the curb, holding the mur-
dered body of Mrs. Stader—according to Jensen—hun-
dreds of persons passed it, including employes of the Monte
Christo and Regina manufacturing plants on their way to
work, and hundreds of pupils of the two
high schools!
So far as we had gone, Jensen’s story
had held water, but we questioned him
again, seeking other details which might
have slipped his mind or which he might
have withheld. His story, however, re-
mained unchanged.
In the meantime, of course, we had
sought the aid of the Raleigh Police. Jen-
sen had told us that he believed Frazer
was using the name “H. G. Devlin” in
Raleigh, and | wired Chief of Police
Winder Bryan at Raleigh to have his men
watch the Post Office there to pick up “H.
Detective
money freely and gain the reputation of a playboy.
Dissension immediately came to the Frazers. Mrs.
Frazer learned of her husband’s attentions to Mrs. Stader
and on one occasion she stripped the license plates from
her husband’s automobile to prevent him from using the
car for a meeting with the other woman. Frazer promised
her he would reform and she returned the
plates, but he continued his meetings with
Mrs. Stader.
Frazer rented a home on Watchogue
Road, Westerleight, Staten Island, and
he and Mrs, Stader met there frequently.
Complaints by the neighbors about
“noisy”. parties, broke up that arrange-
ment.
Philip Stader and his wife had quar-
reled frequently, and the quarrels were
over Frazer’s attentions to Mrs. Stader.
As I have explained, it was on the night
of February 22nd when we heard Jen-
sen’s extraordinary story. If his story was
William M. Frazer in court talking to his attorney, Alexander Simpson, who won national fame as special prosecutor in the
famous Hall-Mills murder trial
G. Devlin” in case he should go to the general delivery win-
dow for mail. I knew there would be mail at that window
for “Devlin,” for I sent a letter to that name and address
myself. , ITE lO.
Meanwhile, our work in and. around Rahway gave us a
background on what we believed was a murder. We had
little or no proof of a murder at that time, of course; mere-
ly Jensen’s strange story and the disappearance of Mrs.
Phoebe Stader and William Moore Frazer. We delved into
the family histories of the Staders and the Frazers. Frazer,
fifteen years before, married Miss Hilda Comer, daughter
of Mr. and Mrs. Lloyd Madden. They had two children,
Irene and Evelyn. Frazer was a World War veteran and
had been an employe of the Pennsylvania Railroad. In
1929 he inherited from his father’s estate approximately
$28,000. He immediately gave up his position with the
railroad. He bought the house at 519 Jefferson Avenue,
Rahway, paying down $5,000 cash and giving a mortgage
for $6,000. He bought the Buick sedan which we sought in
the murder hunt and immediately stepped out to spend
true, Frazer had slain Mrs. Stader not later than the night
of February 17th, five nights before we got on the trail.
And it was Tuesday, February 24th, before we felt that
we had taken every possible step to apprehend Frazer the
murderer, if murderer he was. Our lines were out through-
out the entire country, the Raleigh police were giving us
splendid cooperation and the police of the eastern seaboard
were looking for the body of the missing Phoebe Stader.
T was that same day, February 24th, that the newspapers
of the country carried a story, sent out of Tappahan-
nock, Virginia, telling of the finding by a Negro farm-hand
of the partly decomposed body of a woman. The body, the
story said, had been molested by buzzards, those scavengers
of the air, and virtually was unrecognizable. | read and re-
read. that story, however. The description of the woman
found did not correspond in any way with the descrip-
tion we had of Mrs. Stader. Tbe story said the woman
whose body was found in Virginia was 5 feet, 4 inches tall.
weighed 110 pounds, and had blonde hair and blue eyes.
And our
a woman
dark hai
last seen
found in
But a
of cours
whether |
fantastic
police he
learn the
found, he
trip Sout
reply, Pr
Captain
sen, this
Jensen
he went
hardly h
the Was!
hannock
been four
More
Washing’
mysterio
And the
from tha
approach
tion of t
We kn
could m
body if i
called hi:
night of
compan)
McNam:
Bowling
taken to
ITH
to B
combing
his brow
Elizabet!
details o
dinary s
story of
derer an
was at |
unfound
Frazer d
murder \
in any «
State or
Stader |
Bowling |
February |
sen's sto
him insk |
body of
lay in th
not far
lington
by soar!
brush an
When |
that pers |
that of
appearec
ture of
picture
identific:
himself
With
.
4 O
‘
)
RTIN
etectives
N. J.
! to
SSELL
able in many of
fications.
in my office in
th that Sunday
February 22nd,
hen Chief McIn-
led.
e on over to
*, will you Roy?”
d me.
a case here that’s
ing. Yes, mur-
nyway, that’s the
old to me. Can
ne at once?”
be right over,” |
‘d him.
is conversation
ested me strange-
yr the tone of his
» seemed unnat-
and | thought
oroblem must be
to Rahway, and
| heard a story
Intyre had been
tion, but the sus-
ities had no idea
found. In other
ive, but no mur-
the murder had
alleged murderer
father-in-law.
told me, “ready
story first hand.”
t, McIntyre gave
persons involved.
man and playboy
reglected his wife
1, and Irene, aged
at 519 Jefferson
the company of
der, of Rahway.
PHOEBE STADER’
IDE
A murder had been com-
mitted. But neither the
murderer or the body of his
victim could be found.
Read this amazing stery
of a hunt covering five
states—a hunt for a live
man and a dead woman
Ira Jensen, a young cousin of Frazer, lived with
Frazer's mother, Mrs. Edna Frazer, at Rahway.
They were the central characters in the story
which | was to hear from the lips of Ira Jensen.
“Jensen,” Captain McIntyre told me, “declared
his cousin, William Frazer, killed Mrs. Stader,
and after exhibiting the body to him (Jensen),
drove away from Rahway with the dead body
of Phoebe Stader in the back seat of his car!”
“Let's talk to Jensen,” I suggested, and Mc-
Intyre had him brought into the room.
[RA JENSEN was a youth with a wondering,
startled expression. He was below medium size
and his blond hair was combed back straight
from his forehead. The hair was bushy, standing
high and wavy above his boyish face. He talked
freely but was confused at times. I was sure,
however, that he was telling the truth to the
best of his ability. This, in effect, was the story
Jensen told us, in response to many questions.
“It was Wednesday morning, February 18th,
probably two o'clock in the morning, when my
cousin, William Frazer, came to my home at 67
Cherry Street, Rahway. I was asleep and he
awakened me. ‘Ira’, he said, ‘I’m in trouble. Mrs.
Stader is dead. | either shot or killed her.’ Then he added:
‘Her body’s outside, in my car!’”
Jensen said he dressed hurriedly and with Frazer went to
the street where the car, a brown Buick sedan, was parked.
In the front seat, with her head resting against the window
on the right hand side, Jensen said, was a woman.
“It was Mrs. Stader—and she was dead, so far as I could
see,’ Jensen went on. “Then Frazer said. ‘I’ve got to tell
my wife,’ and Frazer entered the parked car, sitting behind
the steering wheel, alongside the dead woman’s body.”
Jensen entered the car, sitting on the back seat, and Fra-
zer drove to the home of his wife, at 519 Jefferson Avenue.
There, Jensen said, they awakened Mrs. Hilda Frazer and
the philandering husband told her, “I’ve killed somebody!”
“Who?” demanded the wife. “Was it ‘that woman?’ ”
“Yes,” he replied to his wife who had known of the affair.
Mrs. Phoebe Stader, with whom William M. Frazer was infatuated
and whose dead body he carried all the way from New Jersey to Virginia
f
pt
“Then,” responded Mrs. Frazer, “you’d better give your-
self up to the Rahway Police.”
The two, the alleged slayer and his bewildered cousin,
Jensen, left the Frazer home and re-entered the parked
sedan.
“Then,” Jensen went on earnestly, “I told Frazer, ‘Bill,
you'd better give yourself up or kill yourself.’ And he an-
swered, ‘That’s what I'll do, I'll kill myself, and [ want
you to go with me while | do it.’
“1 got into the back seat of the car again and Frazer,
with the woman’s body beside him, again got behind the
wheel. He drove to the woods outside of Rahway, to a spot
near the Colonia golf links, and stopped the Buick.
““PIL kill myself here,” Frazer said. ‘You walk up the
road a bit and when you hear a shot you'll know I've killed
myself.’ I got out of the car and walked away, waiting for
43
inutes, but I
blowing the
ost his nerve,
walked away
He said he
auld run away
said, they re-
way, parking
isen and Fra-
ver the body
‘r wanted me
e back, but I
it alone.”
nd Jensen en-
azer’s mother.
Jensen went
had kept me
re afternoon,’
rove away in
re. It said to
z it to him at
lina. He said
eigh, Jensen?”
ther. It was
m in a room-
the Sir Walter
before | met
the money. It
| gave him the
that he would
31, little more
an inheritance
vs twenty-first
him with that
returned from
vay that same
irs before I got
When Jensen
2 and told Mrs.
r. Mrs. Frazer,
{adden, also of
nforming Chief
o the Rahway
t Sunday after-
ry when Chief
eard, called me
vy?" Jensen was
‘but all he said
You know too
vable story that
shington’s Birth-
pleted the ques-
of his story. It
message on the
into the police
with Union
believed to be
the murder car
The Ghastly Tale of Phoebe Stader’s Last
in Jersey, for Jensen insisted that Frazer was in North
Carolina, but it was the first flash on the trail of the fugi-
tive, to be rushed on to the police of other states and
especially to the police of Raleigh, North Carolina.
Despite the earnestness of Jensen in his recital of the
gruesome crime, it was hard to believe that such a crime
had been committed, and the escape managed as he had
told it. Our first work, of course,‘was to learn the where-
abouts of Mrs. Phoebe Stader just prior to the time set by
Jensen as the day of the murder and to learn her present
whereabouts if she was still alive. We got a good descrip-
tion of Mrs. Stader. She was 5 feet, 10 inches tall, weighed
140 pounds, had dark hair and dark eyes, and was wearing
a brown suit, brown stockings and brown pumps the last
time her husband, Philip Stader, had seen her.
Stader said that he had last seen his wife on the morning
of February 16th, Monday, when she left Rahway to go to
her girlhood home in Walden, New York, to visit her sister,
Mrs. Fred A. McLoughlin, who lived on Orange Street in
that town.
E got in touch with the authorities in Walden imme-
diately and they went to the Mcloughlin home. They
learned that Mrs. Stader had reached the McLoughlin
home, in company with her sister, June, and a man who
had driven them there from Rahway. And that man was
William Moore Frazer. On the following day, Tuesday,
February 17th, the Walden Police told us, Mrs. Stader left
her sister's home, declaring that she was going to New
York City to meet friends. She had not returned to Walden
and the McLoughlins knew no more of her whereabouts!
This information, of course, strengthened Jensen’s story.
Moreover, the dates were right, for, it was on Wednesday
morning, February 18th, when Frazer appeared at Jensen’s
home with the body, as Jensen had told us.
While the Walden Police
had been getting that im-
portant information for us,
we were working on the
Rahway angle. We _ ob-
tained the license number
on Frazer’s automobile
plates and it was put on
the teletype signal and
broadcast throughout the
country. We found persons
who had seen the brown
Buick sedan parked in
front of the Cherry Street
Mk Ab
Mrs. William M. Frazer,
wife of the murderer of
Mrs. Phoebe Stader. She
at first refused to believe
her husband’s confession,
considering it just another
of his ‘‘wild stories”
Ride
44
The
Mrs.
zer,
Master
Edna Fra-
mother of
William M. Fra-
zer, who claimed
that her son had
not been right
mentally since his
discharge from the
army
Detective
the shot. I guess I waited ten or fifteen minutes, but |
didn’t hear the shot. Then | heard Frazer blowing the
horn.
“I came back to the car and he said he had lost his nerve.
Then he said he’d make a second try and | walked away
again. I waited a while and then came back. He said he
had lost his nerve completely and that he waquld run away
later in the day, after he got scme sleep!”
After this astounding performance, Jensen said, they re-
entered Frazer's sedan and drove back to Rahway, parking
the car in front of the home occupied by Jensen and Fra-
zer’s mother. Frazer, he said, threw a blanket over the body
and locked the doors of the car.
“Before that,” he hastened to add, “Frazer wanted me
to move the body from the front seat to the back, but |
wouldn’t touch it. When I refused, he moved it alone.”
With the body in the locked car, Frazer and Jensen en-
tered the house, and their coming aroused Frazer’s mother.
“It was six o’clock in the morning then,” Jensen went
on, “and she raised the devil because Frazer had kept me
out all night.
“Frazer slept until about three o’clock in the afternoon,”
Jensen went on, “and then he got up and drove away in
the car with the body. He left a note for me. It said to
get money for him, all I could get, and bring it to him at
the Hotel Sir Walter, in Raleigh, North Carolina. He said
he would meet me there.”
“Did you take the money to Frazer at Raleigh, Jensen?”
I asked.
“Yes, I got the money from Frazer’s mother. It was
$260. I went to Raleigh and took a room in a room-
ing house, for I did not find Frazer at the Sir Walter
Hotel. I had to go there several times before | met
him in the lobby. Then I gave him the money. It
was last Friday, February 20th, when | gave him the
money.”
Frazer, Jensen then said, told him that he would
remain in Raleigh until March 3rd, 1931, little more
than a week away, until Jensen received an inheritance
of *$3,000, which was to come on Jensen’s twenty-first
birthday. Frazer wanted Jensen to aid him with that
inheritance.
Jensen wound up his story. He had returned from
Raleigh by bus, he said, reaching Rahway that same
afternoon, February 22nd, only a few hours before | got
the call to Rahway from Chief McIntyre. When Jensen
reached Rahway he went to Frazer’s home and told Mrs.
Frazer of what he had done to aid Frazer. Mrs. Frazer,
alarmed, hurried to her father, Lloyd Madden, also of
Rahway, and Madden lost no time in informing Chief
of Police McIntyre. Jensen was hurried to the Rahway
police headquarters and questioned late that Sunday after-
noon, and he had hardly outlined his story when Chief
McIntyre, astounded at the story he had heard, called me
to Rahway.
“But what did Frazer say about the body?” Jensen was
asked.
“I asked him about it,” Jensen answered, “but all he said
was, ‘I got rid of it. Don’t ask me any more. You know too
much already!’”
THAT was the astonishing, almost unbelievable story that
I heard that night of February 22nd, Washington's Birth-
day. It was late in the night before we completed the ques-
tioning of Jensen, who stuck to every detail of his story. It
was shortly after midnight when | put this message on the
newly-installed teletype system reaching into the police
station of New Jersey:
“Look out for brown Buick sedan, with Union
County license tags. Man driving, and believed to be
carrying the body of murdered woman.”
We had little hope, of course, of finding the murder car
Ree Mn, oe ee vont ennnmcamaesliiiilitee ene. -
in Jerse)
Carolina
tive, to
especially
Despite
gruesome
had been
told it. ¢
abouts of
Jensen as
whereaboi
tion of M
140 pounc
a brown
time her |
Stader <
of Februa
her girlhox
Mrs. Fred
that town
E gol
diatel)
learned tt}
home, in ¢
had driver
William A
February:
her sister's
York City
and the M
This inf
Moreover,
norning, |
home with
While th
had been ;
portant inf
we were \
Rahway a
tained the
on Frazer
plates and
the telety;
broadcast
country. W
who had s
Buick sed:
front of the
“And I’ve already left, Philip. When all the red tape
is over, you and I can be married. While things are
being settled, we can go to Florida. We can leave
right away.”
“Sounds simple the way you put it,” Frazer argued,
“but it’s not that easy. There’s you and me to think
about. I had a lot of money two years ago when you
and I met. Most of it’s gone now. That’s why you’ve
been so cool to me.”
Phoebe Stader shuddered as his accusing words
poured out in a quickening stream.
“That’s why you came to Walden instead of staying
in Rahway. You were trying to run away from me.”
Frazer stared drunkenly at the woman beside him.
“Why don’t you say that it’s all over between you and
me? Why don’t you say it?”
“Oh, Bill,” sighed Mrs. Stader, “you’re impossible.”
Darkness hid the color flushing up from his neck.
They sat in stony silence, each staring at the snow. The
car lights were off and their eyes were accustomed now
to the darkness. They could see the full sweep of the
valley stretching out. before them. :
Suddenly Frazer said: “I don’t like this neighbor-
hood. Gives me the willies, like someone you can’t see
is creeping around. I think I'll put my gun in the front
seat.”
“All right,” said Phoebe, “but we’d better not stay
much longer.”
Frazer opened the door on his side of the car and got
out. He stepped into ankle-deep snow and opened the
rear door. A .22 calibre rifle was shoved behind the back
seat. Frazer pulled it out. As Phoebe Stader leaned
over in the front seat to fix her stocking, a shot
cracked the stillness of the night. The echo circled
the valley.
Frazer heard a painful gasp. Then he saw Phoebe
slump down in the front seat, her head resting against
the side window. Blood, flowing from a wound in the
back of her head, streamed down her neck and over her
coat. Bill Frazer became panicky. He climbed into the
front seat and shook the dying woman. “Phoebe. Phoebe,
darling. I love you. I didn’t mean to do it.” But her
lips were sealed. He touched her breasts and felt the
faint beat of her heart. Phoebe Stader still was alive.
Frazer started the car and drove down the country
road to the main highway leading to New Jersey. It
was shortly after midnight, February 18.
As the passionate paramour drove through the snow
with the dying woman beside him, the night became
filled with fears. At an intersection in Walden, where
Phoebe’s sister lived, he slowed down before a traffic
signal. Again he leaned over and touched her. The
heart still beat.
He started the car and raced toward Rahway, New
Jersey, his home town. Speeding through Elizabeth,
New Jersey, he again tested Phoebe Stader’s pulse and
found she still was alive. A few miles farther, he came
to Rahway and stopped before the house at 67 Cherry
Street where his mother and cousin lived. Before leav-
ing the car, Frazer felt Phoebe’s pulse. It was quiet.
He put his head close to hers, than drew back.
Phoebe Stader was dead.
William Frazer sat numbly on the front seat, looking
at the woman he loved. Her eyes, once dark and invit-
ing, now were dead. Only now, it seemed, did Frazer
fully realize the beauty of Phoebe Stader. Her raven
hair was soft and lovely to touch. He remembered hav-
ing stroked it lovingly. And now, with the recollection,
he reached over and touched the lifeless hair. Pangs of
remorse gripped him. He choked back sobs, but they
kept returning.
Finally he got out of the cqr, locked the door and
went into the house. The room where his cousin, Ira
40
Jansen, slept was on the first floor. He trod softly to
avoid waking his mother, Frazer went up to Ira’n door,
His knock was unanswered, so he walked in. Ira, a
youth verging on twenty-one, stirred restlessly in his
bed. Frazer shook him until he awoke. Ira pulled him-
self up on his elbows and gazed sleepily at his older
cousin.
“What’s the idea? Where’ve you been?” asked Ira.
Frazer sat wearily at the foot of the bed. “I’ve been
up to Walden,” he said. He looked sorrowfully at Ira.
“Oh, I’m in a beautiful mess. Phoebe is out in the car.
She’s dead.”
Ira leaped from his bed. “Phoebe Stader dead!” he
cried. “What do you mean? Are you kidding?”
“No. It’s true,” was Frazer’s resigned reply. “She’s
out in the car. Go see for yourself.”
Ira Jansen threw a coat over his pajamas. “How did
it happen, Bill?” he asked.
“J don’t know. Don’t be asking a lot of excited ques-
tions.” Frazer kept rubbing his forehead with his hand
as though he were trying to blot the past few hours
from his mind. Ira became hysterical. “My God, Bill,”
he gasped, “you’ve got a dead woman in the car and
you sit around as if nothing happened. Did you kill
her?”
“Stop with your questions,” screamed Frazer. He
arose from the bed. ‘Come on.”
Ira followed him out of the room. When they reached
the car, Frazer pointed to the front seat. ‘There she is,”
he said. “Will you help me move her into the back
seat.”
Ira pecked through the window at the body. “There’s
blood on her head, Bill.”
“Shut up,” snapped Frazer. “(Come on, help me move
her.”
“I won’t touch her,” said Ira, stepping back. “I
won't.”
“All right then. Get into the back seat.”
“Where are we going?” asked the youth.
“I’m going to tell my wife.” Frazer got into the
front seat. When Ira had closed the rear door and
seated himself behind the corpse, Frazer started the car
and drove off. Young Jansen sat
nervously staring at the wound in
the back of the woman’s head. ‘Are
you sure she’s dead. Bill?” he asked
naively. “Did you take her to a
doctor or anything?” :
“No. I didn’t go to a doctor. I
was too scared.”
Ira reached forward and gingerly
touched Phoebe Stader’s cheek. He
withdrew his hand with a quick
jerk. The cold lifelessness of the
flesh chilled him.
Frazer pulled the car up before
the house at 519 Jefferson Avenue.
The pair got out. Frazer locked the
car on its dead passenger and the
two men entered the house.
Frazer’s wife, Hilda, a calm, in-
telligent woman and good mother,
was asleep when her husband and
Ira entered her room. She awoke
as Frazer shut the door behind them.
“Where on earth have you been:
these last two nights, Bill?” she
asked sitting up,in bed. She noticed
Ira’s worried eyes. ‘“What’s wrong?
Why art you here at this time of
night, Ira?”
“Plenty’s wrong, Hilda. I just
killed somebody.”
“Bill!” sh:
band and Th
“Who was |
Frazer sa
to know wh
Hilda lea
She knew.
band durin;
was. The }
through ca!
Stader.”
“Yes, it’s
So this, t
and upon t
rested the 1
couldn’t he
you do it, }
Pricked
Frazer sna’
“What 2
“What is
Hilda m
put onad
needed he:
weak Bill,
to problen
her husba:
firmly as
give your:
Ira Jen:
with Hild:
“T can’t
His wile
But the f
only irrit:
Finally H
moment.
youth anc
For ten
room. He
was begg!
There
softly to
a’s door.
Ira, a
y in his
led him-
1is older
‘ked Ira.
‘ve been
y at Ira.
the car.
ead!” he
»”?
“She’s
How did
ed ques-
his hand
w hours
id, Bill,”’
car and
you kill
zer. He
reached
' she is,”’
he back
“There’s
1e move
ack, =“*T
nto the
or and
the car
“Bill!” she cried. “Who?” Quick glances at her hus-
band and Ira told her of the seriousness of the situation.
“Who was it, Bill?”
Frazer sat limply at the foot of her bed. “You ought -
to know who,” he said. eae
Hilda leaned against the back of the bed for winpore
She knew. The amorous escapades of her paramour hus-
band during the past two years told Hilda Frazer who it
was. The pains, the shame, the suffering she had gone —
through came to mind as she spoke the mae, “Phoebe
Stader.”’
“Yes, it’s Phoebe,” said her husband.
So this, thought Hilda, was the end of Phoebe Stader
and upon the shoulders of her unfaithful husband, Bill,
rested the responsibility of the crime. But even now, she |
couldn’t hate him as she thought she should, ‘Why did —
you do it, Bill? How did it happen?” '
Pricked by the questions he didn’t want to answer,
Frazer snapped: “I don’t know.” ay
“What are you going to do?” she asked,’ :
“What is there to do, Hilda? Where can I ees #
weak Bill, thought Hilda. His weaknesses’ habe led him
to problems beyond her power to solve, ‘but he still was:
her husband. She’d do her best for him. “Bill,” she said
firmly as she sat beside him on the bed, “you've. got to
give yourself up. There’s no other way out, PF Soh, RR Ee
Ira Jensen, standing awkwardly beside: them in hod
with Hilda. Bill had to give himself up. 2
“I can’t do that,” he wailed. “I just can’t.”
His wife and his cousin pleaded and argued with him. °
But the fear was too great within him. Their appeals | 37
only irritated him. He snapped at his wife and at Ira
Finally Hilda told Ira to step out of the room for a
moment. This early morning ordeal was hard on the >
youth and he willingly left the room. is
For ten minutes he stood outside the door to Hilda's |
room. He heard the calm, pleading voice of Hilda. She ©
was begging Bill to give himself up.
There was silence in the (Continued on page 57).
+}
The amazing story told by Ira Jansen
. (above), launched the police on one of the =—_—
weirdest murder cases in the crime annals ~
of America. :
Enroute from Raleigh, N. C.,-to face trial
in New Jersey. William Frazer (center),
lunches with New Jersey Prosecutor Abe
David (right), and a detective,
‘bol and
ing de-
eyes of
to Leo
fe talks
focs much,
he sus-
is head.
if you
d more
actually
utburst.
roll up
he com-
» work-
in good
r arms,
4c Over
2s, Bur-
ie chair
ved his
ol and
ostilely,
with a
s broad
w I got
cut Jots
wing it.
a few
day be-
Brennan
) search
iite shirt
spend as
sut come
Other
heek the
and his
hours.
. the en-
suse, not
2 ealibre
absolute
yy found
‘t in his
e hidden
istol and
> know)l-
its since
res were
evidence
mewhere
ne house
¥at Bren-
gers and
ve think
ere’s one
or even
at the
his wife
and hid
anybody
‘on wise
and put
his lunch
Maybe,
ee
‘i
too, he even hid the pistol there.”
The detectives raced for the plant,
where the superintendent was quick
to point out Burbol’s locker and permit
it to be searched.
Overalls, a fireman’s cap and a black
lunch pail were all that the locker
contained. Brennan seized the pail,
tore it open. His face fell in disap-
pointment, The box was empty.
Headley took down the overalls to
examine them. He thrust his hand in-
side the garment, and it suddenly froze
there, His fingers had contacted some-
thing that was thin, cool and had the
feel of linen. He yanked it out. It
was a white shirt—torn at the elbow!
Confronted later with this damaging
evidence, Burbol continued to insist
upon his innocence and refused to ex-
plain the tear in the sleeve. Drops of
blood were taken from his fingers and
rushed to the laboratory.
Within twelve hours enough wit-
nesses had been found to account for
Frank and Leo Grettna’s movements
since two o’clock the previous after-
noon,
Came the analysis report from Dr.
Edell. The blood on the torn shirt
sleeve belonged to Burbol himself.
And the crustations taken from the
victim’s fingernails likewise belonged
to Charles Burbol!
room Ira stepped nervously toward
the door. As he did, it opened. Bill
Frazer, pale and haggard, came out.
“Come with me, Ira,” he said curtly.
“Where to?” asked the worried
youth. '
“Don’t ask why or where. Come
along.”
Obediently, Ira followed his cousin
out to the death car. He got into the
back seat. Frazer, tight-lipped and
grim, climbed in behind the wheel.
Like a woman in deep slumber, the
body of Phoebe Stader lay slumped
beside him. Frazer drove off.
Ira Jenson now was becoming
afraid of his cousin. He wanted to
leap from the car and run for his life.
No telling what the mad Frazer would
do now. Ira imagined the car racing
head-long over some cliff, or hurtling
into some building in a wild suicide
crash. As these thoughts went
through his mind, his fingers felt cold
metal. They clasped around the rifle.
This might be a solution to Wil-
liam Frazer’s troubles, thought the
youth. It would mean blood on his
hands, too, but it would be an act of
mercy. But no. Not while the car
was speeding at this clip. Ira’s irri-
tation increased.
“Bill,” he cried, “where are we
going?”
“Up to Bram Hall Road,” replied
Frazer sullenly.
“Why?” asked Ira.
“Never mind,” came the blunt re-
tort.
The winter night was just begin-
ning to fade into dawn when the two
men and their dead companion
reached the dreary Bram Hill Road.
Frazer drove the car off the road into
a clump of trees. He got out and
opened the back door for Ira. The
youth stepped out nervously into the
FACTS FROM OFFICIAL FILES
Despite this proof that dynamited
his alibis and protests, Burbol for
hours clung to his story of innocence.
As the grilling waxed instead of wan-
ing, he finally gave up all resistance
and admitted his guilt.
In few words, regardless of the de-
tectives’ demand for elaboration, he
sketched the story of his crime.
For years, he declared, his wife had
gotten on his nerves by quarrelling
with him, hoarding their money and
being suspicious of him, always ready
to accuse him of wanting to leave her.
It was by chance that he had caught
her in the act of burying her money,
rent collections, in the yard dugout.
Just before he prepared to leave for
work an argument arose and Burbol
lost all control of himself. He blurted
out that he had dug up her money
that morning and hidden it in her
father’s shack. Mrs. Burbol imme-
diately stalked after her money. While
she was looking for it, Burbol fought
with her and finally shot her with an
old pistol.
He carried her to the haymow, hid
her there until an opportunity for her
disposal availed itself. That opportun-
ity came shortly before five o’clock,
when old man Grettna was sound
asleep. Burbol then went to the hay-
how, with his wife’s hat and coat, and
picked up on the way the sled, which
was reclining against the outside of
the shack.
When he carted her to_the spot
where she was later found, Mrs. Bur-
bol was still alive! Burbol tossed
into the snow the hat and coat and
dumped his wife into a pile after
tearing away her dress and under-
clothes to give suspicion of an attack.
Familiar with his father-in-law’s
habits, he returned the sled to the
yard, waited until the old man left the
shack, then placed it in there, hoping
to divert any possible suspicion to
Grettna.
The gun was never found, though
Burbol declared he had tossed it away
somewhere near the spot where he
had dumped his wife. The money,
though, amounting to almost two hun-
dred dollars, was found in his home
under a loose brick in the fireplace.
On January 24, 1923, exactly one
month after the discovery of the crime,
a jury in Court of Oyer and Terminer
declared Charles Burbol guilty of sec-
ond degree murder. And on January
29, Judge Charles W. Parker sentenced
him from fifteen to twenty years in
New Jersey State Prison.
(The names Leo and Frank Grettna
are fictitious, in view of the fact that
both of these men were innocent.) _
ILLICIT LOVER
(Continued from page 41)
snow. Frazer reached into the back
seat and brought out the gun.
Ira looked questionably at his
cousin.
“Pm going to kill myself,” said Bill
deliberately. ‘You walk up the road
so you can’t see me. When you hear
two shots, you’ll know I’m dead, Then
go back to town and tell them about
it. Go on now. Beat it before I
change my mind.”
Ira. Jenson turned and_ walked
quickly up the road. A chilling early
morning wind whipped him. It
wailed a requiem through the barren
trees. When he was about fifty yards
from the car, he stopped. The first
thought that came to his mind was
that he had forgotten to say _goodby
to his unfortunate cousin, Ira and
Bill always had been friendly, al-
though Frazer was much older. Now
Ira realized that he would never see
Bill alive again. For a fleeting mo-
ment he contemplated dashing back
to say some kind word of farewell.
Then when he realized the deed Wil-
liam Frazer was about to commit he
decided against any interruption.
Ten minutes passed. Whatever
preparations Bill had to go through,
he must be ready now. Ira braced
himself against a tree. He tried to
turn his thoughts to other things, the
coming dawn, his plans for the future,
the last movie he had seen. The
image of all these thoughts came to
mind, but his throbbing mind kept
returning to the dominant thought:
William Frazer is standing over there
about to shoot himself.
Another five minutes passed. Ira
looked anxiously in the direction of
the car. Then the sound of a horn
broke the morning stillness. Bill was
calling to him. Ira returned.
“T can’t do it, Ira,” said Frazer when
the youth approached. “I haven’t the
nerve to pull the trigger.” Frazer
handed young Jenson the gun. “Here,
you do it.”
“Me?” Ira almost fell over. “You
want me to kill you?”
“Yes.” Frazer shoved the gun into
the youth’s trembling hands.
“I won't do it. I won't kill you.”
“You've got to,” pleaded Frazer.
His calm, deliberate manner fright-
ened Ira all the more. The youth
threw the rifle into the snow. Frazer
picked it up. “All right,” said Frazer,
“if you won’t do it, then go on up the
road again. Tl try it again. This
time Vl do it.”
Ira turned. “Good by, Bill,” he
called back haltingly. His cousin dis-
appeared behind the car and Ira re-
turned to his waiting place. This time
another fifteen minutes passed. Then
the youth heard his cousin’s voice.
“Tra. Oh, Ira.’ He returned to the
car.
“T haven’t the nerve,” said Frazer.
“Tt’s all off. I’m going home .to bed
and figure things out. Come here and
help me move the body into the back
seat so people won’t notice it.”
Ira refused.
“T can’t lift her by myself,” pro-
tested Frazer.
“IT won’t touch her,” insisted Ira.
“You go ahead and move her. Ill
wait for you.” Ira walked a few feet
from the car and watched his cousin
struggle to place the corpse of Phoebe
Stader into the back seat..He propped
her form against the back cushion
and then covered her with a blanket.
Ira returned and climbed into the
roe seat where Phoebe Stader had
aired,
“lm going to take it on the fly,”
said Frazer as he started the car.
They drove back to the home of
57
Frazer’s mother at 67 Cherry Street.
When they pulled up _ before the
house, Frazer sent Ira in for a box.
The youth returned with a straw-
berry crate. Frazer pulled the blanket
down from the corpse and rested the
crate between the knees and the chin.
Then .he replaced the blanket. The
corpse of Phoebe Stader resembled
nothing more than a pile of luggage
in the rear seat. Frazer locked the
car. Then he entered the house and
went to bed.
The first thing William Frazer did
the next morning was to burn Phoebe
Stader’s pocketbook in the furnace
after having removed about two dol-
lars in change. ‘Then Frazer gathered
together some belongings and loaded
them into the front seat of the death
car. Then he drove away. Just as
he and Phoebe had planned a Florida
vacation a few hours ago, so, now,
was William Frazer driving south-
ward—with the corpse of the woman
he loved!
Ira Jansen found himself still obli-
gated to his erring cousin. when he
woke up that morning. Frazer had
left Ira a note asking him to get two
hundred dollars from Bill’s mother
and bring it to him at the Sir Walter
Hotel in Raleigh, North Carolina.
Frazer’s note said he would be using
the name of H. G. Devlin.
Young Ira felt duty bound. On
Friday morning, February 20th, he
met Frazer in Raleigh and gave him
two hundred dollars. Then Ira re-
turned to Rahway by bus on the fol-
lowing Monday.
The past five days had completely
unnerved the youth. He knew not
where to turn. He visited Frazer's
wife directly upon returning from
Raleigh. After talking it over, they
both decided that the crime could no
longer be kept from authorities. So
Jansen went to Rahway’s_ Chief of
Police, George McIntyre. He unbur-
dened himself of the terrible events
that had taken place since the pre-
vious Wednesday morning.
McIntyre asked Jansen why he had
not reported the death of Phoebe Sta-
der upon first learning about it. The
youth said that Frazer had warned
him he would get ten years’ punish-
ment in prison for saying anything
about it.
Chief McIntyre immediately con-
tacted Roy A. Martin, Chief of Union
County detectives, at Elizabeth, New
Jersey. Martin hurried to Rahway
and again Ira Jansen told his sensa-
tional story.
At first authorities were skeptical.
This tale was almost too fantastic,
they —— They checked with
Philip Stader at South Amboy, New
Jersey. He reported that he had last
seen his wife on Monday, February
16th, when she went to Walden, New
York, to visit her sister, Mrs. Fred
McLoughlin. Stader added that he
was anxious because she was sup-
posed to have telephoned him from
Walden.
With that, police sent out a state-
wide alarm for the fugitive, William
M. Frazer, who was carrying a dead
woman passenger in a brown Buick
sedan.
Now, six days after Phocbe Sta-
der’s death, the far-flung arm of the
police was thrown into action.
Meanwhile, authorities at Walden,
New York, contacted Mrs. Stader’s
sister, Mrs. McLoughlin. She con-
firmed that Phoebe had left Walden
on Tuesday, February 17th, with
William Frazer. But Mrs. McLoughlin
58
COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES
showed detectives a letter which she
had just received from Frazer. Dated
February 25th, it had been mailed
from Philadelphia. The letter said:
“Hoping you didn’t worry about us,
but we got pretty well canned up and
instead of going to Walden we landed
in Philadelphia. Phoebe is sleeping
it off now, but she said to write you
and let you know, and she will write
later. My wife is suing me for
divorce, and so I won’t have to answer
it, we are going on a trip. As you
Louis Stader (right) with his attorney arriving
at the clump of underbrush near Tappahan-
t nock, Virginia, where he identified the body
cedure and apply some armchair de-
tective work. He figured that Frazer
would make arrangements with
friends and relatives for money to be
sent to Raleigh. A man of his calibre
would not hold on to two hundred
dollars for very long.
So Martin mailed a letter from
Elizabeth to “H. G. Devlin, care of
General Delivery, Raleigh.”
Then he talked to Chief of Police
Winder Bryan, of Raleigh, by tele-
phone. Martin told Bryan of his
Frogs oad of Mrs. Phoebe Stader, of Rahway, N. J.
eS
know this is the first one, but it will
be the one to remember. We _ sold
the Buick and bought a Packard and
some new clothes and are on our way
to California. How is that?”
It was signed: “Bill.”
So, according to this letter, Phoebe
Stader was alive on February 25th.
Then, what about Jansen’s story?
Martin figured that if Frazer was
in Raleigh—and Jansen believed that
his cousin would remain there—it was
obvious that the fugitive would not
risk capture by staying at any one
hotel or boarding house for very long.
With this in mind, the shrewd Chief
decided to break from his usual pro-
-
mailing the letter to Devlin in care
of General Delivery. Frazer, alias
Devlin, might be receiving mail in
that manner. If so, the Raleigh post-
office would be the most likely place
to nab him.
Bryan sent two of his best detec-
tives, J. E. Lowe and H. L. Peebles,
to the post-office to keep watch for a
man answering Frazer’s description.
The next morning a newspaper item
from Bowling Green, Virginia, told of
the discovery of the nude body of a
woman near Dawson, Virginia. The
newspaper article said that the body
was badly mutilated and identifying
features were scarce.
Martin
to Raleigt
taken hin. ...
tective Jerem
immediately
check on the |
McNamara r¢
by telephone
“The buzza
on this body,
can’t tell if it
Better have t
here and tak:
Stader was
in any way.
the body at !
there at onc
and took hin
Pegg morguc
Stader shu:
the torn ren
evidence of
left of his
Phoebe? St:
minutely. H
noted that th
was still visi
cured the w:
the little to:
turned unde:
Stader’s h
over the g
was one mo!
before bein;
body—a bru
right leg a
home. The
turned on it:
thigh, was ¢
Stader bro
Phoebe,” he
authorities h
Stader vow:
sponsible for
said, “they »
tric chair 01
Following
body wee <
the dis
the rem
liam Fr
So far th:
depended o
letter addre:
though Det«
had mainta
outside the
of the Rale
Devlin had
But only :
of Phoebe
Bowling Gr
delivery cli
office signa]
The detecti
dressed ma!
dow. He v
in his han
Lowe anc
“Mr. De
also are Wi)
In his asi
the letter
flutter to t
up. It wa:
Martin had
H. G. Dev!
“Why, ye
liam Frazc
“You're
Phoebe S&
Frazer |
he cried.
The dete
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tification «
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Word of
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left at onc
FINEY Lewis, white, elec. NJSP (Atlantic) June 12, 1933,
ommess
From: 100 TRUE CRIME STORIES by Sam D. Cohen, 196, New World Publ. Company
THE CASE OF
The Avenging Express Receipt
Ox tHe morning of March 7, 1932, Captain of Police Frank
J. Harrold, of the Atlantic County, N. J., police department,
sat at his desk and listened as the radio operator at Philadelphia
police headquarters dispatched the following message:
“Body of woman found in trunk. Request descriptions of all
missing, aged women be wired to headquarters here immedi-
te lately?
This was Captain Harrold’s first inkling of one of Atlantic
| City’s most atrocious crimes.
The trunk had been discovered by Julius Hoffman, the pro-
prietor of a rooming house in Philadelphia, as he was cleaning
a room he had rented to a new tenant two days before. Rent for
the room had been paid three weeks in advance. Hoffman had
noticed a very peculiar odor coming from the direction of the
: trunk. Sensing something wrong, he had notified the police.
The trunk was opened. Inside was a smaller trunk, covered
with two newspapers. One of these was a copy of the Philadel-
phia Evening Bulletin, dated March 4, 1932; the other was the
sports section of an Atlantic City newspaper of the same date.
The smaller trunk was then pried open. Inside was the body
of a white-haired woman.
The cause of death was strangulation. Imbedded deep in the
woman’s neck was a length of clothes line.
-. Hoffman described the tenant. His name was Henry Miller,
and he was about forty years of age, clean-shaven and rather
heavy-set. He had one peculiarity: he never removed his hat,
| 38
THE AVENGING EXPRESS RECEIPT 39.
even while he was inside the house. He would pull the hat,
which was of dark felt, over his face as though he didn’t want
anyone to see his features.
It was learned that the trunk had been delivered to the house
at night by two truckmen, Morris Weinstein and Charles Rob-
inson, who lived in the vicinity.
Miller had asked Weinstein to pick up the trunk which was on
the platform of the American Express Company.
From the records of the Express Company the police learned
that the trunk had been sent from Atlantic City at 4 P.M.,
March 4, via the Pennsylvania Railroad. The trunk was con-
signed to Henry Miller, care of the American Express Com-
pany, Philadelphia, and the consignor was Henry Miller of
Atlantic City.
The crime had obviously been committed in Atlantic City.
The Atlantic City police made a canvass to find out if any
elderly women answering the description of the victim were
missing. There were two: One had disappeared three months
rior to the discovery of the murder; the second had been lost
sight of less than five days before.
The first woman lived with two married daughters, the sec-
ond, in a pretentious home with two boarders and a maid. The
first woman had left to visit relatives in West Virginia and had
never been heard from since.
The second, according to the maid, was a Mrs. Mamie Schaaf,
a wealthy widow. One of the boarders, Louis Fine, had told the
maid that Mrs. Schaaf had gone away ona trip and would return
in a few days. :
The maid was rushed to Philadelphia. One look at the body
was enough. The unfortunate victim found in the trunk was
-.< Mrs. Mamie Schaaf.
The boarder, Louis Fine, had disappeared the day after Mrs.
Schaaf had gone on her supposed trip, but he had left a note
which read:
“Emma: I am going away for a few days. When Mrs. Schaaf
returns, that is if she gets here before me, tell her 1 have gone
away for awhile. In the meantime I want you to keep my room
tidy. Pll see you when I get back. L. Fine.” |
The police rammaged through Fine’s belongings, but at first
they failed to discover anything of importance. Under the mat-
Wee ee
“ft
coroner’s physician and examiner, to conduct the post mortem.
When the medical examiner arrived, he had the body re-
| : moved to his private laboratory in the morgue, where he
. performed an autopsy to determine the approximate time
| and cause of death. .
In the meantime, Captain Heanley, Lieutenant Choplinsky
and Sergeant Curran examined the trunks to ascertain if
About a half-hour later, Dr. Wadsworth entered the
es! morgue’s receiving room and said, “Gentlemen, I have found
that this woman has been dead about two or three days.
The cause of death was strangulation.”
As he said this, Dr. Wadsworth showed the detectives a
“I found this imbedded deep in the woman’s throat. It had
been bound so tight that it cut deep into the neck.”
Captain -Heanley, after receiving this information, went
into .the visitors’ room to question Hoffman and his son,
who had been taken there by detectives,
Phe .Mr. Hoffman,” Heanley asked him, “what was the name
| of the man who rented the room from you, and what does he
look rt
“He to
‘me his name was Henry Miller,” Hoffman replied,
“and as for the description, I can say. he was a man about
forty years of age, clean-shaven and rather heavyset.
“There was one peculiar thing I observed about him, and
(Below) Man who knew the an-
swer. Murderer's room (at
right) where clues pointing
out the killer were located
piece of small, strong rope, the type used in clotheslines. ,
that was that he never removed his hat, even while he was
“Kn
inside the house. The hat, a dark felt one, was pulled down ing fr:
over his eyes, as though he didn’t want anyone to see his there.
face.”
“Had you ever seen him before?” Captain Heanley next
asked, . :
“No, sir,” replied Hoffman. et
“How was the trunk sent to your home, Mr. Hoffman?”
“Two truckmen carried it in, and Mr. Miller directed them
where to place it,”
“Did Miller tell you where he came from, or where he
was going?”
“No, sir. He merely paid me for the room and said he did
because he had to 80 away on a trip.”
-It was at this point that I, as chief of the Atlantic County,
' New Jersey, Detectives, found myself projected deeply into
the case. It started innocuously enough by the jingling of my
_ desk telephone.
. Answering the call, I recognized the voice of my friend,
the co-author of this story, who was covering the murder
for his newspaper in Philadelphia. - Pe Se
“Frank,” he said to me, “it looks as though you are going
to have a job on your hands. They’ve discovered a trunk
murder in Philly, and—_” ‘
“T know,” I interrupted. “T’ve been listening to a broadcast.” -
“In that case, then,” my friend continued, “you don’t know
all about it, for we’ve learned a lot more since the broadcast
arted. We’ve traced part of the movements of that trunk,
and learned that it was shipped to Philadelphia from your
town.” :
I was more than interested when I heard this, “Shipped
Market Streets here. Weinstein said that he and Robinson
and Miller went to the express company’s station, obtained
the trunk, and took it to the house on North Fifth Street,
not expect to occupy the place himself for three or four’ days,°
showec
March
‘to Her
"Thi
paper,
trunk,
your «
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FINE, Louis, white, elec. NJSP (Atlantic
Co.)Jume 12, 1933...
ane D On th® morning of March 7th,
“eo operators at Philadelphia police
headquarters dispatched the
following message over the
teletype system:
“Body of woman found in trunk. Re-
quest descriptions of all missing women be
wired to headquarters here immediately.”
Intercepted by operators at the Pennsyl-
vania state police headquarters, it was re-
layed by radio within a few minutes to
police stations and precincts of every city
throughout the eastern section of the coun-
try.
I listened to the broadcast as I sat in
my office at the headquarters of the At-
lantic County Detectives in Atlantic City,
New Jersey. My stenographer made notes
of the details so that we would be ac-
quainted with the case in the event we
were asked to cooperate in its solution.
Little did I realize, as I listened, that
within forty-eight hours my department
would be engaged in unraveling the shroud
of mystery which enveloped the most brutal
crime ever to come to my attention.
As I later learned, the facts up to the
time of the broadcast were as follows:
In the first-story bedroom of a rooming
house on North Fifth Street, Philadelphia,
Julius Hoffman, proprietor of the place, was
busily cleaning. His attention was at-
tracted to the corner of the room, where
stood a huge steamer trunk, bound tightly
with a rope. Only two nights before, a
new tenant had had the trunk sent there
and had paid rent for three weeks in ad-
vance. However, the man had not occupied
the room. He had left shortly after the
trunk arrived, saying he was going away
on a short trip.
As the rooming house proprietor swept
the floor, he noticed a wet spot near the
bottom of the trunk. Examining it, he
found that a fluid was seeping out of one
corner. Hoffman smiled. The new roomer,
he thought, would be searching in vain
for that bottle of liquor in the trunk.
Wh
touch
his b
As
the 1
glanc
over
him
Her+
had
H
ing
tur
inst
the
cet SS
When he resumed sweeping, Hoffman
touched the wet portion of the floor with
his broom.
As he moved to another section of
the room where the light was brighter, he
glanced down. A puzzled expression came
over his face. A horrible feeling crept over
him as he hastened back to the trunk,
Here he discovered that the fluid which
had been oozing out of it was blood.
He turned and ran from the room, call-
ing his son, Harry. Together they re-
turned to examine the trunk.
“You are right, Papa,” the younger man
instantly said, “it is blood. We must call
the police.” : -
Within a few minutes a squad of detec-
tives, headed by Assistant Superintendent
of Police Joseph LeStrange and Captain
Harry Heanley, chief of the homicide squad,
rushed to the house. :
After an examination of the trunk’s ex-
terior, Superintendent LeStrange ordered
it removed to the city morgue.
Upon its arrival there, Captain Heanley,
aided by Detective Sergeant Martin Curran
and Detective Lieutenant Harry Chop-
linsky, forced the trunk’s lid. -
To their surprise they found a smaller
trunk inside. This was covered by two
newspapers and a freshly laundered wom-
an’s nightgown. One of the papers was a
copy of a night extra edition of the Phila-
delphia Evening Bulletin, and the other
was the sports edition of the Atlantic City
Journal.
The papers and gown were put aside, and
the detectives turned to aid morgue at-
tendants in’ prying open the lid of the
smaller trunk. Inured as they are to seeing
death in all its forms, gasps of horror-es-
caped them as they saw the nude body
of a woman. j
Turning to one of his attendants, Le-
Strange ordered him to summon Dr. Wil-
liam S. Wadsworth, internationally famous
ormer Chief of Detectives
Atlanti¢ County, Now Jersey
z
ae
SRNR tT a gene
Perey
. brings you here?”
Stumped again, thought Zuckerman.
“All right, Fine, that’s all.”
“Is there any other help we can give
you, Harrold?” asked Choplinski.
“T think not.”’
“Then we'll go. But we'll keep in
touch with you.”
Back in Philadelphia that afternoon
Choplinski and Zuckerman, after re-
porting to their commander, Captain
a D. Heanly, and after finding
that Schaaf’s information about himself
was correct, returned to the office of
Milton Litzow. Much to their sur-
prise, they found him in. This was
Saturday. Helene, his sister, said she
didn’t expect him until Sunday. He
was a man of average height with dark
. a and a deliberate way of speak-
g. :
“Hello, Meyer,” he said. ‘What
“Plenty. Listen. You had a trunk
-sent to you last week. What about it?”
“That has puzzled me a great deal,
Meyer. I don’t know a thing about it.”
“Do you know Hirsch Miller?”
“The name sounds familiar. But I
. don’t know him.”
“Do you know Louis Fine?”
“Yes, I know him only too damn
well, He used to have a real-estate
office at Perth and Spring Garden
Streets, He’s a louse, if there ever was
» one! .Yqu should know him, Meyer.
: Why, he was pulled in once for owning
and maintaining a, disorderly house.
He was married a couple of times, but
his last marriage was unusual.”
“Yeh, what about it?”
“Well, he married a greenhorn right
off the boat and put her to work help-
ing him run the house, but she wised
up and left him, and married some-
body else.”
“That’s very interesting. But do you
know what was in that trunk, Milt?”
“No, how should I know? What
was in it?”
Hat dead _body—an old woman’s
“Are you kidding me, Meyer?” __
“Here, read this paper. That story
there about the body in the trunk. It’s
right across the street from that ad-
dress. That’s where it was taken by
Fine himself.”
-. “Well, what’ do you know about
that? That beats mel.. ... the lousel”
“What do you mean by that? It
looks pretty bad for you, Litzow. If
ITHIN a few moments, the three
men left for City Hall.
Meanwhile, in the Schaaf home in
Atlantic City, Harrold and his men
were searching the house from top to
. bottom, searching into each nook and
- cranny for possible clews. , They began
at the top of the house, and searched
the room that Marty usually occupied,
then to Mrs. Schaaf’s room, where
they scraped the brown substance off
the baseboard, and found it, after an
analysis, to be human blood.
They searched for additional rope
“that might fit the piece that had been
wound about the dead woman’s neck,
and which Choplinski had turned wed
to Harrold. - Squads of police and dé»
tectives were sent out to search for the
man named Hirsch Miller, whose de-
scription Fine had eagerly given them.
Nothing was found in any of the rooms
that might furnish a clew. The de-
tectives had reached a blank wall.
After stationing two men at the house,
the detectives left for Headquarters.
At seven that evening Choplinski
and Zuckerman returned to Atlantic
City. With them were Mr. and Mrs,
Hoffman, Sam, the truckman, and Mil-
ton Litzow. They drove directly to
Headquarters.
“I think we have our man,” said
Choplinski to Harrold. .
. “You havel Who is it?”
“Louis Fine!”
“Fine! Why, he gave us an airtight
* story.”
“Sure, too airtight. Listen, Harrold.
apie
Fine was in the real-estate business in
Philadelphia for some time, and each
transaction he made he used a straw
name. We found that in the real-es-
tate records in City Hall at Philadel-
phia. Know what that name was?”
“How should I know? But I can
guess. Hirsch Miller?”
“Hirsch Miller is right. And more
than that. When he was arrested for
owning and maintaining a disorderly
house in Philadelphia in 1926, he gave
the police the name of Hirsch Miller,
I found a bunch of people who knew
him, and most of them said he often
used that alias.”
“But that doesn’t prove he killed
Mrs. Schaaf... Wait... let’s go back
to the house. Bring your people along
with you.”
“Litzow is certain that Fine is the
kind of a guy who’d send the body to
him, or anybody else, just to frame
somebody with it. I am sure he tried
to frame Litzow, because Litzow has
a@ good record, and I am positive he
wouldn’t get mixed up in anything like
this. Fine killed Mrs. Schaaf to get
her dough.”
“All right, let’s get back to the house
and get at him again.”
WEEN Fine saw Litzow, he greeted
him warmly.
“Hello, Milton,” he said. “Good to
see you. How have you been?”
“Go to Hell!” Litzow retorted.
“Why Milton, what’s the matter?”
“Shut up, Fine, before I poke you!”
“Fine,” said Harrold, “you stay here.
We want to run over your room again.”
Zuckerman, Choplinski and Harrold
went up to his room and dumped the
contents of drawers and the closet in
the middle of the room. As Harrold
threw down a bundle of clothes, some-
thing struck the floor with a metallic
sound. He leaped for the bundle and
felt around it. He picked up a heavy
overcoat and inspected it. He tore
open the lining. There, sewed to the
inside, was a thin tin container about
seven inches long and three inches
wide. It was locked, but Harrold
eee it open as Choplinski and
‘uckerman watched tensely. It con-
tained letters and documents.
The detectives were exultant as they
found some letters. addressed to
“Hirsch Miller, General Delivery, At-
lantic City,” and a few canceled checks
signed with the same name. The writ-
ing was identical to that on papers
written by Louis Fine. But they were
to find a more amazing clew. On the
bottom of the packet they found a will
made out to Louis Fine. He was the
sole beneficiary of an estate worth
more than $100,000.
It was Mattie Schaaf’s last will!
It was executed February 27, 1932,
a few days before the murder of Mrs.
Schaaf.
“That’s enough for us!’ said Har-
rold. “There is a motive. Plenty.
We can hold him for murder!”
They returned to the living-room.
“Fine!” commanded Harrold. “Stand
up. Zuckerman, get his hat and coat.”
“What do you want with me?”
“You are under arrest for the mur-
der of Mrs. Schaaf!”
“Me murder Mrs. Schaaf? Why,
that’s preposterous!”
“Yes, you!” shouted Zuckerman.
“Harrold, this is the same Fine who
was tried for attempted murder of one
of his wives, a rich widow that he had
married. That was a year ago. He
gave her some sleeping pills one night,
and then turned the gas on. She pulled
out of it and had him arrested, but he
got away with'it that time. She di-
vorced you, didn’t she, Fine?”
“I did not try to kill my wife. I
didn’t kill Mrs. Schaaf. I have told
ou the truth from the beginning,”
Fine shouted.
“What about this will?” asked Har-
rold. :
“T don’t know a thing about it.”
“Those trunks were yours, Fine, You
got the rope from the cellar.”
“It is not true.”
There was a sudden scuffle in the
room. Ernest Schaaf, who had been
watching Fine with blazing eyes
leaped for him, but Fine ducked out o
the way, and Harrold and Zuckerman
restrained Schaaf,
“Hold on to yourself, Mr. Schaaf,”
cautioned Harrold. “The law will take
care of him.”
He turned to Fine. “Here, Fine, take
this pen. Sit down at that table. Now
write as I tell you.”
Harrold began dictating and Fine
wrote:
Dear Sir: I have received yours
of the 7th and | want to say | did
not kill Mrs. Schaaf, Milton Hirsch
. did it and not Louis Fine.
Harrold took the sheet away from
him suddenly and compared the writ-
ing with that on the canceled checks
and other documents in the room.
“Fine, you are an amazing liar,” he
said. “Now come clean,”
“T have come clean.”
“Why, this handwrit’ng alone con-
demns you, Fine.”
Suddenly the man lost his compo-
sure, and began to scream: “I didn’t
kill her! I didn’t kill her!”
“Well, we’re taking you in,” said
Harrold. “You are the murderer of
Mrs. Schaaf. You killed her to get her
money, Fine. We can prove it easy.”
“Go ahead, take me in,” Fine yelied
challengingly. “It won’t mean a thing!”
He was taken to the Atlantic City
jail and booked on a charge of first-
degree murder. No amount of grilling
could make him confess. But during
the months before the trial at Mays
Landing, the County seat of Atlantic
County, on June 7, 1932, Prosecutor S.
Cameron Hinckle and his staff built up
an impregnable case against him.
Fine pleaded not guilty. His defense
was temporary insanity due to paresis,
Fine’s record, of course, was dragged
out into the light. And it was a
malodorous one. Whatever else he
might have been, he appeared to have
had a way with women, and paid par-
ticular attention to middle-aged and
elderly women whom he belicved to
have money. His first wife, whom he
married in Russia, died under mystcri-
ous circumstances. With the moncy
from her estate, a sizable sum, Fine
came to the United States.
His second wife had been a Miss
Tilly Funstein of New York. She
charged that he had stolen $50,000
from her and had deserted her.
His third wife was a Mrs. Bertha
Abramson, who at his trial in Mays
Landing testified that he stole $75,000
from her.
During his trial at Mays Landing
he admitted he had been broke for a
long time and that Mrs. Schaaf’s
wealth had become a terrible lure to
him. It grew in his mind like a cancer,
until the urge drove him to despera-
tion. He won Mrs. Schaatf's confidence,
and persuaded her to make out her
will to him. Then one night while
they were drinking tea, he dropped
several sleeping tablets into her bev-
erage. She became limp and dizzy, but
did not fall asleep. He carried her to
her room, and beat her after he had
undressed her. Then he choked her.
To make certain of her death, he got
the clothesline from the cellar, and
wound it about her neck. Then he
carried her to his room, and stuffed
her in the trunk, and shipped the trunk
to Milton Litzow. He absolved Litzow,
saying that he had chosen someone at
random to frame with the body. But
he was crazy, mad, and desperate, he
said.
He was convicted. And he died in
the electric chair a few months later,
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Wish had found'i¢ long myo: BAGO ten Os I
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laundered
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vhite-tiled
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her death
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had been
direction
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hich had
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liberately
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Journal,
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id failed.
Quickly scanning the sheets for some additional lead,
Detective Lieutenant Choplinsky made an interesting dis-
covery. In the sporting section of the Atlantic City Journal,
entries in the second and fourtheraces at Pimlico Track
had been circled in pencil.
The officers next examined the freshly washed night-
dress and bloodstained blanket, hoping to find a laundry
mark by which identification of the body might be facili-
tated. There was no such mark to be found.
“Okay, we'll do it the hard way,” Captain Heanley said
resignedly, ‘We'll have to trace that trunk.” He turned to
Curran. “Martin, you and Harry shoot over. to the Hoffman
place and see what you can find out. I’ll check through the
missing persons reports and then contact Atlantic City.
They might have a disappearance on record over there.”
That such a disappearance must be quite recent was
quickly established by Coroner’s Physician Dr. Wadsworth,
who estimated that death had occurred within the last
three or four days. He noted, also, that other than the
marks around the victim’s neck there were no other marks
of violence on the body. Despite the fact that the corpse
was stripped—there seemed to be none of the indicia usual ,
in a sex case. !
“Of course,” he admitted, “the autopsy may reveal other-
wise. But offhand, I’m inclined to doubt that the victim was
raped.”
Choplinsky and Curran, interrogating the Hoffmans at
the North Fifth Street rooming house, were told that the
trunk had been delivered at 8:30 on the night of March 5th,
shortly after a telephone call from one Henry Miller, ar-
ranging for the rental of a room.
“You say this Miller showed up about an hour after the
truckmen left?” Curran asked.
Julius Hoffman nodded. “He just stood on the porch in
the dark,” he said. “He wouldn’t come in the house. He
paid three weeks’ rent in advance and said he had to make
a train. That’s the first and the last I saw of him.”
“What kind of aman was he?” Choplinsky asked. “How
would you describe him ?”
Hoffman sighed. “Like I said, he kept standing out of the
light. He wouldn’t let me get a good look at him. I could
see he wore glasses and that his hat was jammed on his
head, but more than that I couldn’t say.”
“What about the teamsters?” Curran interjected. “Did
you recognize them? Maybe you got a look at their truck ?”
Again Hoffman shook his head. “They were just a couple
of truckmen,” he said. “I don’t know who they are, but: |
guess I’d know them if IT saw them again.” ’
“Do you know what the American Railway Express uni-
form looks like?” Curran asked patiently.
“Sure,” Hoffman declared. “Those guys weren't from
the American Express.’ They were just dressed in work
clothes,”
The detectives considered their next step. Since a copy
of the Atlantic City Journal had been found with the body,
it seemed likely that the trunk had been forwarded from
that New Jersey city. The officers, therefore, decided to
concentrate their initial efforts on exploring this hy-
pothesis. .
“Miller” had rented the room only shortly before the
trunk arrived at the rooming house. At the time of his
telephone conversation, the trunk must already have ‘been
in Philadelphia. Possibly, then, it was at the Railway Ex-
press depot in care of General Delivery pending “Miller’s”
decision as to its ultimate destination. After he had rented
the room, he probably made arrangements with a local
trucking firm. Were this the case, the bill of lading which
was filed at the Express Depot would reflect the name of
this local concern,
A trip to the freight terminal of Pennsylvania Station
revealed that this was the case. The officers were gratified
to learn that on the evening of March 4th, one “Henry
Miller” of Atlantic City had shipped a trunk to “Henry:
Miller,” care of General Delivery at the Philadelphia Ex-
press Depot. On the night of March 5th, a truck from the
local firm, Morris Weinstein, Movers, had picked. up the
trunk. 4
A hurried visit to the office of the trucking firm, provided
the officers with only little more than they already knew
about the enigmatic Miller. On the evening of March 5th,
the bespectacled mystery man, with his coat collar turned
up and the brim of his fedora pulled down, had afforded
the truckmen no better-opportunity to view his features
than had been offered Julius Hoffman. The proprietor ‘of
the trucking firm noted, however, that the stranger was
stockily built and of medium height. The conversation had
been brief and unrevealing. Miller gave the trucker four
dollars to attend to the pickup and delivery of his trunk.
He then departed. :
Returning to headquarters with their information, the
two officers learned that no woman of the victim’s descrip-
tion had been reported missing either in the Philadelphia
or nearby Atlantic City areas. However, it was now a
simple matter to trace the trunk to its point of origin,
Shipped from Atlantic City, the American Railway Ex-
press officials there had a record of the teamster who had
delivered the trunk to the station, The Atlantic City police
soon established that the trunk Had been called for at the
home of Mrs. Mamie Schaaf, 31 South Connecticut Avenue
in that city.
The trunk had been on the back porch of the Schaaf
home after arrangements for its shipment had been com-
pleted over the phone. Attached to the trunk had been a
blank envelope containing the prearranged expressage fee,
While the Philadelphia authorities sent a squad-car with
Choplinsky and Curran to the Jersey resort, Atlantic City
Detective Captain Frank J. Harrold and his aides, Detec-
tives May and Juliano, went at once to the Schaaf home on
South Connecticut Avenue. [Continued on page: 48]
Detective Frank Juliano, top right, helped break the case.
At left, Detective May inspects the furnace for burnt cloth-
ing of the victim. In center is the furnished room in Phila-
delphia, whose sole occupant was the corpse in the trunk.
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Miller was not the first unusual roomer in the landlord's
experience. In any event, three weeks’ rent money in advance
did much to counterbalance the stranger's seeming ab-
ruptness.
The next morning, Hoffman and his son Harry routinely
tidied the newly rented room, They had moved Miller’s
large wardrobe trunk into the closet the night before. They
remarked at the time that the trunk was heavy—unusually
heavy. But this, of itself, was nothing to excite suspicion.
Now, tidying the room in the morning, Hoffman dusted
the furniture and brought an armful of clothes hangers to
the closet. It was at this time that he detected a strange,
cloying odor, subtle and elusive. It seemed to disappear
when he opened the window.
But the next day, the odor was stronger. It clawed at
Hoffman’s palate when he opened the door of the absent
Miller’s room. Fighting down a wave of sudden nausea, the
landlord closed the door behind him. He at once perceived
that the trunk in the closet was the source of the mysterious
stench.
Thoroughly alarmed, the landlord called his son. They
discussed the new tenant's mysterious behavior. Renting
the room over the telephone, he had appeared only long
enough to establish that the trunk had been delivered. Then,
paying for the room, he had disappeared without leaving
an address at which he could be reached.
a | don’t like it,” Hoffman told his son. “Now that I
think of it, he deliberately tried to keep me from seeing
his face.”
“T don’t like it either,” Harry Hoffman agreed. “We
better call the police.” ‘
It was in this manner that on the morning of March 7,
1932, Detectives James Coogan and Frank Hagan of the
Philadelphia, Pa., Police arrived at the Hoffman rooming
house at 824 North Fifth Street.
The stench so disturbing to the Hoffmans was no mystery
to the officers. They at once recognized it as the reek of
death. Telephoning headquarters, they made arrangemnts
for the trunk’s immediate transport to the city morgue.
There, in the ptesence of Assistant Superintendent. of
Police Joseph LeStrange and Captain Harry Heanley, Chief
of the Homicide Squad, the trunk was forced open by De-
tective Sergeant Martin Curran‘and Detective Lieutenant
,
Harry Choplinsky. :
G
+
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{ERHARD
The house of death, from which expressmen carted the trunk
with its gruesome contents to the train depot for shipment.
Encased in the wardrobe was a smaller trunk, covered
over with newspapers and a woman’s freshly laundered
nightgown. This receptacle was tied around with loops of
clothesline. which the detectives cut in order to preserve
the knots, The lid of this inner trunk was then lifted.
A loathsome miasma at once suffused the white-tiled
room. Captain Heanley flicked on the wall switch which
operated the ceiling ventilator. As the fans began to clear
the air the officers crowded around the trunk and removed
a bloodstained blanket. b
Jacknifed {nside was the huddled corpse of a naked
woman ! 7
Apparently in her middle years, the cause of her death
was instantly revealed. Still knotted tightly around her
throat was the clothesline garotte with which she had been
strangled, :
Transferring the body to a mortuary slab at the direction
of Medical Examiner Dr. William S. Wadsworth, the of-
ficers carefully examined the two receptacles which had
served as the woman’s makeshift coffin.
Rust rimmed impressions in both trunks marked the
places where metal trademark tags had been deliberately
removed, The newspapers, which had been used for wrap-
ping, offered the only immediate clues.
Consisting of issues of two different publications, both
papers were dated March 4, 1932. One was the night extra
edition of the Philadelphia Evening Bulletin. The other
was a copy of the-sports edition of the Atlantic City Journal,
From his hospital bed the patient looked up at the posted
guards and realized his scheme to thwart arrest had failed.
a ee
The boy stood beside a small circle of
charred grass and ashes. A small rec-
tangle of metal poked up out of the little
heap of debris. Mrs. McEssy plucked it
from the ashes.
It was a charge plate for a Fond lu Lac
store. The name on it was Agnes Jaeger.
Next Mrs. McEssy fished out of the
ashes a charred remnant of cloth, a small
unburned piece of a pair of men’s pants.
There was a name written on the lining
by a dry cleaner. The name was Gardner.
A policeman’s wife, Mrs. McEssy knew
what to do. She replaced each item in its
original position, hustled her brood back
into the machine, and sped off in search
of her husband.
She found him, several miles away,
patiently beating through the brush with
his young helpers. A short while later
Sheriff Sook and Captain Flaherty were
at the Rienzi Cemetery with photogra-
phers and identification men.
In addition to the name in the trousers
lining, a bloodstain was found on the
patch of cloth. And, digging further into
the ashes, the sheriff's men came up
with the heel of a man’s white shoe. Bill
Gardner had disposed of the white sport
shoes, all right; but because they were
bloody, not because they were worn out.
Three days later, on Friday, August 29,
District Attorney McEssy, Sheriff Sook
and Milton Meissner, a lawyer from West
Bend who had been named special prose-
cutor to assist McEssy, summoned Attor-
ney Worthing and Bill Gardner’s father
to the D. A.’s office. :
“We shall not tell you the exact nature
of the evidence, of course,” the district
attorney said. “But we feel that we should
give you this information. We have abso-
lutely incontrovertible evidence against
William Gardner, Jr., in the death of
Agnes Jaeger.” ‘
There were a couple of other sessions,
with Attorney Worthing and the sus-
pect’s father. Then, on Monday, Septem-
ber 1, Worthing released a statement
signed by young Bill Gardner.
“T do not want to bring any more
trouble to anyone,” it said. “Also, I want
to pratect the Jaeger girl’s reputation and
make things as easy as possible for my
family. Therefore, I will no longer claim
I was not responsible for her death. I
caused it.
“The weapon was a lug wrench in my
car. The authorities have had this in their
possession ever since I was arrested and
.
there was no other weapon of any kind
involved.
“T didn’t intend to kill her, but after
this happened I got scared and tried to
hide the evidence. I cleaned the wrench
and put it back in the car, T found her
purse in the car and I bought some gas
ata filling station on Fond du Lac Avenue
and burned the purse and my shoes and
pants near the Rienzi Cemetery. I bought
new shoes.
“IT want you (Worthing) to waive pre-
liminary hearing for me, so I can be
bound over and get a quick trial.”
Young Gardner did not reveal the mo-
tive for the crime in his statement, but he
did-insist that he was not guilty of first
degree murder. When his trial was calted.
he said, he would prove this. How, he did
not predict.
Sheriff Sook, however, still was certain
that Agnes Jaeger had died in repulsing
the amorous ‘advances of the tall, thin,
dark young man with whom she accepted
a ride home from the Division Street cafe.
On Wednesday, September 3, Gardner
did waive a preliminary hearing on a mur-
der charge and was held in $50,000 bail
pending grand jury action and eventual
trial.
The Strangled Nude
[Continued from page 9]
From the maid, Violet Thompson, they’
learned that Mrs. Schaaf was not at
home.
“When do you expect her back?” Har-
rold asked.
“She went to New York a few days
ago,” Violet answered. “It's a shopping
trip.” She revealed that her mistress often
went on such excursions, leaving .the
house in her care, Mrs. Schaaf, a widow,
had been left by her late husband in very
comfortable circumstances. She further
augmented her income by renting out
several rooms in her large home.
* “What makes you so sure she’s in New
York?” Detective May inquired. “Did
she say she was going there when she
left?” ;
The attractive maid shook her head.
She admitted that March 4th had been
her weekly day off. When she returned
in the evening, there was a note on her
dresser from Mrs. Schaaf.
“Can we t&ike a look at that note?”
May asked.
The maid went upstairs to her room to
look for it. Some minutes later she re-
turned, obviously perplexed.
The note was nowhere to be found!
It was impossible to say whether this
written message had disappeared acci-
dentally, or- whether its vanishing bore
some sinister relationship with the unfold-
ing murder-plot.
- Violet Thompson knew nothing of the
trunk which had been removed from the
Schaaf back porch. Nor did she know of
a Henry Miller at. whose request this
pickup had been effected. None of the
three lodgers in the house was named
Miller.
Questioned about these three men, the
now frightened girl related that two of
them, a Louis Fine and a Joseph Botwi-
nak, had resided in the house for about
two years. The third man, an Alton
Lochr, had come to live at the house only
three months before.
It was at this juncture that the squad
car from Philadelphia pulled up in front
of the house. Lieutenant Choplinsky and
48
\
Sergeant Curran had brought with them
a morgue shot of the dead woman, also
the nightgown and newspapers which
had been found in the trunk. The expres-
sion on the maid’s face when she viewed
the picture left no doubt as to the identity
of the nude corpse which had turned up,
in Philadelphia. The nightgown was also
recognized by Violet, Thompson. The
maid stated that she, herself, had washed
and ironed this garment only six days
before.
The woman in the trunk, then, was the
well-to-do widow, Mrs. Mamie Schaaf.
Manifestly, it was not she who had writ-
ten the note concerning an intended
shopping excursion to New, York. The
disappearance of that note now assumed
its proper position in the murder riddle.
Thus far, the indications were that
Mrs. Schaaf had been garotted in her own
home. The trunk encasing her body had
been deposited on the back porch. The
nightgown had been taken from a drawer
in her bedroom. The missing note had
been left in the maid’s room—and. then
removed, after serving its purpose.
A search of the premises soon con-
firmed this elementary hypothesis. Arti-
cles of Mrs. Schaaf’s clothing, partially
burned, were recovered from the furnace
in the cellar. A basement clothesline,
hanging from the rafters, had provided
the murderer with his deadly strangling
cord, Also, a clean square on the dusty
cellar. floor, marked where the wardrobe
tfunk hdd long stood before it was
pressed into grisly service as the widow’s
improvised coffin. .
All of the evidence pointed to the fact
that the murder had been committed by
someone who either lived in the house or
who was well acquainted with both its
layout and routine. :
Thus far, the officers had been unable
to question any of the lodgers who made
their home in Mrs. Schaaf's house. How-
ever, interrogating the maid, the officers
were provided with descriptions of these
three men.
Louis Fine, graying and middle-aged,
was a «etired business man enjoying his
leisure among the attractions offered by
the famous seaside resort. He took long
strolls along the boardwalk and_ fre-
quented the excellent restaurants for
which Atlantic City is noted. Occasionally
he left town for short trips to various
points of interest.
In sharp contrast to Fine was Alton
Loehr. Good-looking, and in his thirties,
he seemed well provided with funds, the
source of which he never explained.
Broad-shouldered and sturdily built, he
wore expensive clothes and was fre-
quently to be seen in the company of
wealthy women guests who vacationed at
Atlantic City’s luxurious hotels.
Joseph Botwinak differed from both
the other men. Employed as a salesman
for a New York firm, he had come to At-
lantic City for his health, requesting a
transfer to the New Jersey territory in
order to take advantage of the beneficial
climate and the invigorating salt sea-air.
In his forties, the salesman was red-haired
and wore glasses. Each morning he drove
off with his sample cases, usually return-
ing late in the evening.
These three men, all roomers at the
Schaaf home, were equally logical sus-
pects in the murder of their well to-do
landlady. Of the three, the police were
particularly interested in Joseph Botwi-
nak, The mysterious Henry Miller had
also worn glasses. Moreover, Miller had
not removed his hat, in fact turned the
brim well down, during his interviews
with Hoffman and the truckman, Per-
haps he had done this merely to make
recognition of his features difficult. Per-
haps, on the other hand, he was trying to
hide the fact that he had red hair!
While waiting for the return of the
lodgers, the officers began an exhaustive
search of the premises. Ordinary robbery
/was quickly eliminated as a possible mo-
tive for the macabre crime. In Mamie
Schaaf’s bedroom was found a strong-
box containing cash, securities, and a con-
siderable amount of valuable jewelry. It
seemed hardly likely that a murderer
bent on theft would have overlooked this
valuable cache.
What, then, had inspired the diabolical
garotting?
Lieutenant Choplinsky was nonplussed.
“T don’t get it.” he confessed to Captain
Harrold. “She wasn’t raped and_ she
- wasn’t robbed. What did the killer gain
by her death?”
Detective May had a thought. “Don't
throw out robbery too fast,” he cau-
—-rer Ee
by JOHN CAMERON
over on its sidé beneath. The girl, the
manager said, was Frau Ludwig Figner,
who was staying with her husband who
was not at the hotel at the moment.
Under the chair they found a note
addressed to Lydia Vareska’s parents
in which she begged their forgiveness
for the trouble she had caused, by her
elopement and her suicide.
It might well have passed for suicide
except for the few facts that didn’t
fit. The note was a poor forgery of
Lydia’s handwriting. All her money
and jewelry were missing. And her
body contained so heavy a dose of
sedative that she couldn’t have strung
up the bedsheet and kicked away the
little gilt chair. And lastly, Ludwig
Figner never returned to the hotel,
even though the newspapers obliged
the police by carrying a story listing
her death as a suicide in order to lull
him into thinking he was free from
suspicion.
The Vienna police were out to get
him, however, and for weeks on end
Ludwig Figner was the most wanted
man in all of Austria, Hungary and in
Poland as well. Of course, they were
certain that it would be only a matter
of time before they found -him, if for
no better reason than that he had
shown himself to be perfectly stupid
in every aspect of his crime. The letter
to Lydia’s family had very nearly ended
in his capture and how ‘could he have
expected the police to believe in Lydia’s
suicide if he disappeared at the same
time? He was undeniably stupid, but
he was also undeniably elusive and the
only thing the Vienna police ever
learned was that he actually had mar-
ried Lydia soon after whisking her
away from Warsaw. But every other
lead ended in a blank failure.
The case was still on the books in
Vienna some three years later when
Louis Fine, a refugee from war-ridden
Europe, arrived in New York City.
Fine arrived as a passenger on a Swed-
ish freighter and although he was
short on funds, he’d managed to sal-
vage a wardrobe that set him up as a
dapper, if impoverished, man about
town. Fine was industrious and adept
at making friends, and from his conver-
sation anyone would surmise that he
had been a highly successful business-
man in the old country.
His industry and his carefully nur-
tured reputation began to show good
results, and within a few years his im-
poverishment was.a thing of the past.
He began dabbling in real estate in a
small way and talking about it in a
big way, and (Continued on page 64)
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day. There was a time toward the end
of World War II when scientists believed
venereal disease had been conquered at
last by the miracle drug, penicillin. It
was announced that gonorrehea and
syphilis were now curable, quickly, eas-
ily’ and permanently, and that these
diseases would soon cease to be a prob-
lem in the United States.
These predictions were prompted in
part by the remarkable success achieved
in rapidly reducing these diseases to a
minimum among the U. S. Armed
Forces.
But curing men who are under mili-
tary discipline is one thing and eradicat-
ing VD in a nation of 100 million citi-
zens who are under no control at all is
entirely another. In the Armed Services,
men could be ordered to undergo regu-
lar examinations and could be treated
at once if found infected. Among civil-
ians, such a procedure is impossible.
Also, in spite of heroic attemps to
“bring VD out into the open,” many
adults still think of it as something
loathsome and shameful. Even when
they know they may have been ex-
posed to it, they are reluctant to be ex-
amined by a physician.
Among teen-agers, the situation is
even worse. Nowadays, boys and girls
who contract gonorrhea usually know
what it is and are frightened to death
at having it. But teen-agers—particularly
the girls—are even more frightened of
the consequences of telling their par-
ents they have the disease or going to
their family doctor.
Usually they have been hiding their
free and easy sex life from their par-
ents, who would be horribly shocked,
and this would give the whole thing
away. Too often they tell no one at all,
not even their teen-age friends. They
continue to have sex relations and thus
infect others. In this way, gonorrehea
and syphilis can spread to serious pro-
portions in a community before a single
case of it comes to light.
In a small West Virginia city, a high
school boy recently went to his doctor
and confessed timidly that he thought
he had a disease. The doctor found that
he had syphilis and, after treating him,
notified the Department of Health.
Reluctantly, the boy finally named
the girl who had infected him. She
turned out to be a 16-year-old high
school miss, and tests proved that she
was an active VD carrier.
She broke down and admitted that
she had been very drunk at a party re-
cently and thought she had had sexual
relations with most of the men there.
Careful inquiry established that she
had been intimate with 41 boys and
men! Health officers rounded them up
and found that 23 of them, including
17 high school students, had been in-
fected with VD.
All of these men and boys were
promptly treated and an outbreak that
might have become extremely serious
was checked at the start. But records
of the U. S. Public Health Service show
cases of VD epidemics which have run
rampant through the student body of a
high school before their existence was
known. :
VD is still on the rise throughout the
country as a whole, and the greatest rise
has been among teen-age boys and girls.
A Massachusetts Department of Health
official places the blame on the love
clubs which have been springing up in
high schools everywhere. Because of
their secret nature, VD can breed unre-
ported for weeks or months among their
members and eventually to teen-agers
and adults throughout the community.
This health official says he is con-
vinced that three out of every four teen-
agers who get syphilis keep it a secret
from one to four years. They don’t seek
medical treatment, but instead pass it
on to their friends, who in turn pass it
on to others.
A report from the Iowa Department
of Health details a case of a 19-year-old
high school youth who contracted syph-
ilis and passed it on to a 12-year-old
junior high school girl and a 49-year-
old housewife.
The young girl later confessed ‘that
she had had intercourse with 32 high
school boys who were members of her
club. By good fortune, however, only
two of these boys contracted the disease.
But they had relations with a total of
13 girls in the club and two of them
got it. One of these two passed it on to
another boy. By the time the authorities
had stepped in and put a stop to the
chain reaction, nearly 50 students had
been exposed to the disease and six of
them had already acquired it.
Meanwhile, however, the housewife
had given the disease to five men and
they had infected four other women. A
total of 15 persons had contracted spyh-
ilis indirectly from one student—and if
the disease had not been stopped then
by prompt treatments with penicillin it
might have swept through the entire
town.
In spite of modern contraceptives and
miracle drugs, high school sex clubs
and rising promiscuity among teen-agers
are a real present danger to our public
morals and public health. Nobody: has
figured out yet what should be done
about the problem. But psychologists,
youth workers, school boards, ministers
and parents are all working on it. *
TRUNKS ARE NOT FOR CORPSES
(Continued from page 37)
in your city, not ours.” 8
Then Captain Heanley gave him all
the information available.
At this point the telephone rang. It
was Detective Frank May calling from
Atlantic City. <
“Here’s what I found on that trunk,
he told Captain Harrold. “It was ship-
ped from here on March 4th. But this
Miller guy had no return address on
the tags, and the depot has no record
of his residence here, nor of who de- |
livered the trunk.”
“Okay, Frank, stay on it,” ordered
Harrold. :
Heanley drove Harrold and Juliano
to the morgue.
When the sheet covering the woman’s
body was removed, Juliano, known for
his photographic memory, whistled in
astonishment.
“I know her!” he exclaimed. “She
lived in Atlantic Citv somewhere on
States or Connecticut Avenue. I’ve seen
her often on the boardwalk.”
Harrold and Juliano made a bee line
for Atlantic City, accompanied by
Choplinsky and Curran of the Phila-
delphia force. In Atlantic City they im-
mediately instituted a house to house
search of that section of Connecticut
Avenue where Juliano thought the mur-
dered woman had lived.
They finally reached an impressive
home on South Connecticut Avenue. A
maid answered the doorbell.
She explained that her mistress, Mrs.
Mamie Schaaf, had left four days ago
for an undisclosed destination.
“I wasn’t here when Mrs. Schaaf
left,” she explained. “You see, on the
morning of March 3rd, I got through
with my work earlier than usual as I
had an important errand to do, and
when I got back here, Louis Fine, one
of the two boarders, told me that Mrs.
Schaaf had left for a short trip and
wouldn’t be back for a week or so.”
“Is Mrs. Schaaf in the habit of going
away on short trips like that?” ques-
tioned Juliano.
“Yes. She goes away for three weeks,
sometimes.”
Juliano asked the maid if she would
go with them to Philadelphia to identify
a woman’s body.
At the morgue the maid stood
breathless as Captain Harrold uncover-
ed the body of the murdered woman.
“Why, that’s Mrs. Schaaf!” - she
moaned, and nearly collapsed.
Returning to Atlantic City, Juliano
asked the horrified maid if she knew of
anyone who would want to murder her
mistress.
“Mrs. Schaaf was a kind lady,” she
sobbed. “She’d help anyone who came
to her.”
“Did she keep money or jewels
around the house?”
“Yes, in a strong-box in her bed-
room.”
Then she explained that the day her
mistress went away, she tried to get
into her bedroom but found it pad-
locked. She couldn’t understand why,
since Mrs. Schaaf never locked. her
doors.
“That's strange,” said Juliano, “Tell
eM
cn alcthdaiaat
3
me, who else was in the house the morn-
ing you left early?”
“The two boarders, Mr. Louis Fine
and Walter Wicks,” she replied.
“Know anything about them?”
She said that both were nice gentle-
men. Mr. Fine had moved in a year
before, while Mr. Wicks, younger than
Mr. Fine, had been boarding with Mrs.
- Schaaf three years.
“Mrs. Schaaf didn’t have to take in_
boarders, really,” the maid added. “She
was well off, but was happy having
people live in her large home.” She ex-
plained that Mr. Wicks worked in a
nearby town, and Mr. Fine was a re-
tired business man with a lot of money.
HEN they returned to the Connec-
ticut Avenue address, Captain
Harrold sent the maid to her home and
ordered Juliano to investigate Wicks
and Fine and find out what the latter
did for a living before he retired.
Meanwhile the captain and Detective
Valentine Hoffman, together with
Choplinsky and Curran, removed the
padlock from the murdered woman’s
bedroom door. They found everything
in perfect order. In a drawer of the
dressing table they discovered a strong-
box containing jewels and a substantial
amount of money, which seemed to rule
out robbery as a motive.
The puzzled officers continued their
search of the remaining rooms in the
large house but without results, and
finally came to the cellar.
There, at last, Detective Hoffman’s
sharp eyes focused on something.
He pointed to a clean, rectangular
space on the floor outlined distinctly
against the surrounding dust.
“The trunk!” said Harrold. “Things
begin to add up. It looks like the short
trip Mrs. Schaaf took was to the cellar.”
The rectangular space was carefully
measured; it conformed precisely to the
measurements of the trunk containing
the body. Further corroboration was
found in a piece of clothesline hanging
from the ceiling which matched com-
pletely the rope about the victim’s neck.
Furthermore, the frayed ends of each
piece fitted together perfectly.
Detective May, searchlight in hand,’
fished out of the furnace a woman’s
dress, underthings, and shoes, all partly
burned.
Harrold instructed Choplinsky and
Hoffman to pick up the charred cloth-
ing and put it in a bag for further
analysis. Then he went up to the first
floor and started a search.
First he searched Wicks’ room, but
found nothing to arouse suspicion, Next
he stepped into Louis Fine’s room and
was joined in the search by Curran.
For half an hour then went through
the lodger’s clothing, and then, in a
drawer of the night table, they found
a metal cigar box which held a packet
of letters and other papers.
Some of the letters were addressed
to Louis Fine, So. Connecticut Avenue;
others to Henry Miller, General De-
livery, Atlantic City, N. J.!
By the following morning, Juliano
had found that Louis Fine was a re-
tired Philadelphia real estate operator,
and Walter Wicks was employed in a
grocery store in Longport, a town a
few miles from Atlantic City. Both men
had vanished.
Captain Harrold came to the conclu-
sion that either Wicks or Fine, or both,
had murdered the woman for a bigger
stake than what her strong-box con-
tained. Consequently he ordered Detec-
tive May to investigate Mrs. Schaaf’s
financial standing. Then he outlined a
plan of action.
“We'll release the news that we sus-
pect Walter Wicks of the murder of
Mrs. Schaaf,” he said. “If Wicks is
guilty we won’t see him for dust, but
if he isn’t, he’ll be yelling against us
to high heaven. On the other hand, if
Louis Fine is the killer, he’ll want to
retrieve the incriminating letters in this
cigar box, and most certainly he’ll want
to do it tonight.” He slid the box back
into the drawer of the night table.
That night they assembled in Mrs.
Schaaf’s home, in the dark. Captain
Harrold assigned Hoffman to guard the
front door; Captain Emmanuel Eck-
stein, of the Atlantic City Police De-
partment, took the rear door; Curran
hid in Fine’s room, Choplinsky in Wick’s
room, and Juliano in an adjoining
room. :
At about 2:00 a. M., a key in the
front door latch broke the stillness.
Harrold and Hoffman ducked as the
door opened slowly. They heard foot-
steps ascending the stairs.
Presently they heard the mysterious
visitor walking on the second floor.
And after a few tense minutes, Cur-
ran’s voice suddenly cracked the eerie
darkness.
“Put up your hands and don’t move!”
At this signal the men bounded up
the stairs and converged in Fine’s room
where Curran, after having snapped the
light on, held a man at gunpoint.
HE man, heavy-set, about 45, wear-
ing a black hat, was seated on the
edge of the bed. The cigar box lay at his
feet, its letters scattered about. The
man’s face was colorless.
“What’s the meaning of this!” he de-
manded. “My name is Louis Fine. I
live here.”
“Where’s Mrs. Schaaf?” asked Har-
rold. “Gone on a trip, I suppose.”
“What are you driving at?” the man
asked as he collected the letters and
the cigar box.
“Why are you so interested in those
letters?”
“They belong to me,” he snarled de-
fiantly.
“Then you admit that the letters ad-
dressed to Henry Miller are yours?”
“Definitely not,” he shot back. “I’m
keeping them for a: friend.”
“Stop lying,” charged Harrold. “You
murdered Mrs. Schaaf.”
“What was that?” he asked, sur-
prised. “Mrs, Schaaf murdered!”
“Don’t you read the newspapers?”
Harrold asked.
Fine explained he had been busy for
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waar cae
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2 7 ., |.
Ze TOA ly
A 3-TIME KILLER
slim. She was prettier than all but
a very few girls in Vienna, and
richer than almost any. She also hap-
pened to be a countess, and this was
something that added considerably to
her allure, since Vienna in 1914 was still -
the gem and capital of the Austrian-
Hungarian Empire, and to be anyone
who mattered, if your name wasn’t
Hapsburg, you had to be rich or titled
or a very good opera singer.
As it turned out, Countess Lydia
L VARESKA was blonde and
-Vareska had the qualities that counted,
and her background and _ connections
made it highly unusual for her name
to figure in any police matter. But in
March of 1914, the case of Lydia
Vareska was the most important case
before the Vienna police department.
It had come there by way of a long let-
ter from the firm of lawyers in Warsaw
who represented her father. Lydia had
been missing from her home in Warsaw
for the better part of two months and
at first all that was known was that
her disappearance coincided with the
disappearance of a large sum of money
and several valuable pieces of jewelry
that had been in the family for many
generations. The Warsaw police had
been called in on the case and for the
next several weeks the question of
what had happened to Lydia was the
talk of Warsaw, with nobody knowing .
if Lydia had caused a scandal or if
she were a victim of foul play.
Her family and friends couldn’t bring
themselves to put much stock in the
scandal theory—because Lydia was
‘quiet and self-possessed—not the wild
type who would run off on a romantic
adventure. There were others, however,
who pointed out that still waters do
run wild sometimes and, after several
weeks, a letter from Vienna suggested
‘that the latter version might be right.
The letter was a request by Lydia
for a substantial sum of money, and
curiously enough, it was addressed to
her father’s lawyers. The letter ex-
plained that she had run away to.
Vienna and was married and was very
much in love. It did not say who her
husband was or where or how they
were living. It asked that the money,
about $3800, be sent in cash in an en-
velope addressed simply to L. Vareska
at the Vienna post office.
To the Vareska family, the letter was
ominous. It did not appear to be in
Lydia’s handwriting or was it her way
of: expressing herself. Coupled with
their doubt that she would elope, there
were additional doubts that she would
conceal her husband’s name at this
time. The letter, it appeared, was an
unscrupulous attempt to extort money.
There was, however, the question of
the girl’s safety, and following the ad-
vice of the Warsaw police, the family
decided to send the money.
The Warsaw police and the family
lawyers, meantime, made contact with
the Viennese police who were very
willing to cooperate. In those days, the
central police headquarters of the Vi-
enna police were in a massive build-
ing adjoining the central post office,
which the Viennese police figured
would work to their advantage.
They set up a trap in the post office
and installed an electric button at the
window where the public came for gen-
eral delivery letters and instructed all
the clerks to push the button if some-
one came to collect the letter addressed
to L. Vareska and to be as slow as they
could about handing it over. The noisy
end of the buzzer was next door in the
police department where two officers
were assigned to sit and wait for it to
go off.
The Viennese police officers were
perfectly satisfied with their arrange-
ments and two detectives waited at all
times for nearly a week before the
buzzer finally did go off in their ears.
Grabbing their hats, they dashed out
‘of the police building and over to the
post office. A clerk from the general
delivery window was there in front
pointing to a cab that was just turning
the corner. There were no other cabs
in sight, and swallowing the impulse
to run back for their bicycles, they
started after the cab on foot. They
didn’t catch up with it but they did get
close enough to get the cab’s number
when it stopped to avoid striking a
balky dray horse.
When the cab started up again and
left them behind, the detectives re-
turned to the post office to learn from
Louis, white, elec. NJSP (Atlantic County) June 12, 1933...
the general delivery clerk that the
son who had collected the letter fo:
reska was a man, short, stocky
good-looking in a dark brooding
In his nervousness, the clerk |
thought to stall the man until
he’d handed over the letter and by
it was too late. The man obvious!
in a hurry and nearly ran fron
post office to the cab which seem
be waiting for him.
Whatever the state of the poli
ing system in Vienna, it was an
of several hours before they could
up with the name of the driver «
cab and track him down. By the
they did, the driver was at hom
ting ready to go to bed.: After
prodding, the driver rememberec
ing a man to the post office and
driving him to a small cafe. |
cafe? He remembered that too an
the officers the name and locatio
also remembered that the mar
opened a letter in the cab.
At the cafe, the officers ques
the waiters and found one who re
bered a man who answered the «
tives’ description. He had entere
cafe shortly after lunch time v
young, pretty girl. The girl, he bel
spoke with a Polish or a Russiz
cent. He left the girl alone for h
hour and returned by cab. Ha
waiter ever seen the man or th
before? Never. They were cor
strangers. But the girl had beer
beautiful.
In retrospect, it appears th:
Vienna cops muffed it. A det
working near the general deliver
dow would have been worth two
police station. And instead of th
prit, they had only a descript
description that failed to ring :
At the urging of the Warsaw poli
the girl’s family, Viennese inve
tors set about checking hotel:
lodging houses, but it wasn’t unti
a week later that they learned an:
of Lydia Vareska or the man whi
her company—and what they did
was in tragic circumstances.
From the office of one of the
hotels in town came an urgent r
for police aid. Officers rushing :
place were met by the manage
told them that one of the hotel ;
a young girl, had hanged hers
so it appeared.
It was in one of the most exp
suites with large windows openi
a balcony. In the bedroom, the b
a young girl turned slowly on a
of twisted bed sheet hung from a
delier. A. small gilt chair was }
HE MADE A CAREER OF WIFE-DRUGGING; SHRIEKED HIS INNOCENCE
j > , — , S
be LericTWe , SpldARY 96S
A a Nip 2D IE ac EO
Did you ever ask yourself...
WHY CAN'T I
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M.., determined, strong-willed
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All smokers absorb some nicotine in the
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two days and had not read any papers.
“Where’ve you been?” asked Har-
told.
“I’ve just returned from New York.”
The captain took him to headquar-
ters for further questioning, but left
Hoffman and Juliano in charge of Mrs.
Schaaf’s home. °
Driving to headquarters, Captain Eck-
stein revealed to Harrold that Louis
Fine had been in trouble in Atlantic
City two years before. At that time he
lived with his wife in a home on Florida
Avenue. One morning the police, in an-
swer to a hurried call, found Mrs. Fine
overcome by gas in her bedroom. She
was taken to the Atlantic City Hospital,
and when she came to she declared that
her husband had attempted to kill her
by turning on the gas jet in her bed-
room.
After Mrs. Fine recovered, she said
that six months before her husband had
attempted to murder her by giving her
an overdose of sleeping tablets.
Louis Fine was arrested, but, as there
was little evidence against him, he was
acquitted. Mrs. Fine left him and went
to live in California.
“That’s very interesting,” commented
Harrold.
In Harrold’s private office, the Cap-
tain and Choplinsky began questioning
the suspect all over again.
“Do you know that Mrs. Schaaf’s
body was found in a Philadelphia room-
ing-house, shipped there in a trunk
tatan Feam hor ceallar®” acked Harrnld
Fine’s forehead furrowed. “Shipped
to Philly in a trunk?” he asked, puzzled.
“After she had been strangled to
death and stripped of her clothes.”
“Good God!” Fine gasped and his
hands went up to his face. “Why, I sent
that trunk out myself. Mr. Miller, whose
letters you found in my box, gave me
twenty-five dollars and asked me to do
him a favor as he was in a hurry to do
an errand that morning. He’s another
lodger in the house, you know. Poor
Mrs. Schaaf!” Louis Fine crumpled in
a chair and started crying.
“What kind of a man is this Henry
Miller?” asked Harrold.
Fine explained that Miller was young-
er than he, had red hair, and sported a
luxuriant growth of red whiskers.
At this point Juliano knocked at the
door and entered. He called the captain
aside and informed him that they had
caught Walter Wicks as he was sneaking
into the house.
“Luck’s with us,”
“Where is he?”
Juliano led him into another office,
where a stranger sat beside Detective
Hoffman. It was Walter Wicks, who
fitted perfectly the description of Henry
Miller given by Louis Fine.
As the captain resumed questioning
Fine, Juliano brought Wicks in. Fine
leaped to his feet and shouted: “That's
Miller! He’s the man who murdered
Mrs. Schaaf! He’s the man who asked
me to have the trunk shipped to Philly!”
The other roomer. annarently shock-
said Harrold.
ed, finally managed to blurt out, “The
man’s crazy! My name is Wicks, not
Miller. And what’s all this about a trunk?
I don’t know anything about a trunk.
What trunk is he talking about?”
“All right, Frank.” Harrold motioned
to the detective to take Wicks out.
“You’re not letting him go!” pro-
tested Fine. “I’m telling you—he’s the
Miller you’re looking for.”
“Maybe so. If he is Miller, how do
we know that you didn’t help him?”
Fine swore he was innocent, that he
had no reason to commit the murder.
Harrold was impassive. “If you’ are
innocent, you have nothing to worry
about.”
T ten that morning, Harrold gath-
ered together the men who had
been working on the case.
“We are holding two men,” he began.
“Either might be the killer—or both.
Now Detective May has done some fast
investigating and has come up with
something that ought to bring results.
It seems that Mrs. Schaaf owned real
estate and cash in the banks to the tune
of about eight hundred thousand dollars.
“Now we don’t know yet how that
fits into the case,” continued Harrold,
“nor how the killer could benefit by it.
But somehow I feel sure it furnishes
the motive for the murder. It would
also explain why the jewels and money
in the cash box weren’t taken. This
killer, whoever he was, wasn’t inter-
ested in peanuts. He was interested in
those eight hundred G’s. Just what the
scheme was, we still have to find out.
“First we'll have to have the landlord
come from Philly to take a look at
Wicks and. Fine, also those two truck-
men who delivered the trunk.”
Detective Sergeant Curran called his
headquarters in Philadelphia and re-
layed Captain Harrold’s instruction to
Captain Heanley who promised speedy
action. Meanwhile May, Juliano, and
Hoffman scattered to find the truckman
who had delivered the trunk from the
Connecticut Avenue address to the
Pennsylvania Depot. By noon, they
brought to Captain Harrold’s office two
expressmen who claimed to have called
for the trunk at Mrs. Schaaf’s home.
They said they had been met by Louis
Fine who had the trunk on the porch.
The captain sent for Fine. While he
was waiting, the telephone rang. He
was informed that Fine had _ been
seized by a heart attack and rushed to
the hospital.
This upset in his plans caused the
captain to wait until all the witnesses
were assembled before he brought them
to the Atlantic City Hospital.
At two-thirty P.M., the witnesses were
grouped together outside Fine’s room.
The doctor cautioned the captain to
bring in one witness at a time.
One by one they trailed in and iden-
tified Lous Fine as Henry Miller. ;
“Yes, That’s the Henry Miller who
rented our room,” said the landlord
emphatically. “I would know him any-
where I ever saw him.
Cantain Eckstein hurried into the
eb Ei eS
am
A a li at
sn ae nai
A palate
saad ash Sa, a a inet
San i I alaid
room to speak to Harrold.
“Look at this! I found it in a wallet
hidden under the mattress in Fine’s
room.”
Harrold’s eyes opened wide as he
read the paper just handed him. It was
a will signed by the late Mrs. Mamie
Schaaf, naming Louis Fine as the sole
beneficiary of a fortune worth nearly
a million dollars. He approached the
suspect and held ‘the. will before his
eyes.
“Well, Fine. You can cut out the act.
What explanation can you give about
this”
The man bounced up from the bed as
though released by a spring, then
dropped back and said, “Mamie was
very fond of me. Our feeling was mu-
tual. It was her desire to leave me
everything she owned when she died.”
“And you conveniently arranged to
strangle her to death in her cellar, eh?”
“That’s a lie!” shouted Fine. He
tumbled from the bed in a faint.
The doctor asked the detectives to
leave the room.
Confident that he had the killer of
Mrs. Schaaf, Harrold had the witnesses
take a look at Wicks, the other lodger,
just to make sure. Nobody identified
him as Henry Miller, and he was im-
megliately set free.
With the arrest of Fine, an investiga-
tion into his past revealed that, while
living in Russia, he had married the.
/
daughter of well-to-do parents. Two
years after he married, she had died
of a mysterious malady. He arrived in
New York and married a Miss Tillie
Furnstein who, three years after their
marriage, died of an overdose of sleep-
ing tablets. From her he inherited fifty
thousand dollars. He then moved to
Philadelphia where, passing himself off
as a real estate man, he met and mar-
ried his third wife, whom he had tried,
unsuccessfully, to murder with gas.
Captain Harold prepared his case
against the killer of Mrs. Mamie Schaaf
and brought the full report to Atlantic
County Prosecutor Louis A. Repetto.
By this time, the murderer, recovered
from his false heart attack, was taken
back to his cell where he attempted to
give the impression that he was insane.
On June 6th, 1932, he went on trial
for his life. During the trial, which
lasted four days, Fine claimed insanity
The jury, on June 10th, in less than two
hours, came back with a verdict of
“Guilty of murder in the first degree
without recommendation for mercy.”
The killer took the pronouncement
stoically. He had gambled for a fortune
worth a million; instead he found him-
self taken to the State Penitentiary at
Trenton where, on April 13th, 1934, he
died in the electric chair. *
Editor’s. Note: the name, Walter Wicks
_as used in this story is fictitious.
TERROR IN THE MANSION
(Continued from page 13)
sprang from her chair and snatched the
revolver from the .bureau. Marion
wheeled around, seized the woman’s
-wrist and forced the weapon from her
hand. Angrily, he lifted the gun and
smashed it against her head. Mrs. Tur-
ner fell heavily into a chair.
Marion now went back to the bureau.
This time he was luckier. He found a-
jewel case filled with glittering dia-
monds. He eagerly stuffed various rings,
earrings and other items into his
pockets. Then, from the corner of his
eye, he saw a movement on the floor.
Mrs. Turner had slid from the chair
and picked up a walking stick. Holding
it in her hand, she half crawled across
the floor toward Marion.
Now, Marion lost his temper. After
all, he had entered what he had believed
to be an empty house. But he had
found it occupied by a middle-aged
woman. That was bad enough. But
when this woman kept attacking him,
it was too much. She should have been
scared into immobility. Anyway, she
certainly was rich enough not to risk
her life in order to save a few jewels
and $11 in cash.
James Marion, at the moment, felt
badly put upon. He had never been con-
victed of any violent act, but under the
present circumstances violence seemed
called for.
Marion seized the walking stick and
tore it from Mrs. Turner’s grasp. He
tossed it aside and began belaboring
her on the head with her own pistol.
She began to scream but lost conscious-
ness almost immediately and lay silent
and inert upon the floor. James Marion
thrust the revolver in his pants pocket
and examined the other drawers of
the bureau.
The continued search was more or
less successful. Marion came upon a
second pocketbook, this one containing
$93. He sttiffed that in his pocket along
with the jewelry and the $11 he had
previously found. Then, he walked out
of the room, leaving his victim lying
on the floor.
As he descended the wide staircase,
he suddenly felt tired. It was now about
4 o'clock in the morning and the night's
activities had wearied James Marion.
In the downstairs hall he tried a door
which opened onto another bedroom.
The white pillow and the wide mattress
looked inviting. James Marion decided
upon a nap.
He put his bag of tools down care-
fully at the side of the bed. He removed
his shoes, pulled back the spread and
climbed on to the soft mattress. In a
few minutes, he was asleep. He slept
soundly and long. As a matter of fact,
he was still asleep when Juanita Young
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(Continued From Page One.)
front seat, Frazer’ drove aimlessly
about, then drove home and told his
‘cousin, Ira L, Jangon, and his wife,
| what ho had done, |
' Frazor then drova to Dhiladelphto,
‘with the body in the back of his
ear. He stopped thera and wrote 2
lotter to Mra, Atador’s alotar trying
they were cloping to California.
Then he procecded to Washington,
D, O., where he slept that night in
his car with his murdered mistress.
The next day he drove south of Dos-
well, Va, where he lefe tha body in
&. fleld and burned Mra, Stader's
clothing to remove all marks. of
Identification, “
He drove on to Raleigh, N, C,,
Where he registered in » rooming
, house under'the namo of F.C. Deve
| Un. Later Jansen went to ‘Raleigh
and gave Frazey $200, On Yebruary
22, the body of Mre, Steder was din
covered, Throe days later “rarer WHS.
Parrested in. the postofiics nt Raleigh
ap he called for a9 letter under the
name of Devin.
He readily confessed shooting Mrs,
Stedar but claimed it was an decident,
But Georgo F. Evans, Waléen, N, Y¥,,
sports. dealer, tetsifled that Frazer:
bought shells Zor his rifle from him
just before he left with Afra, Stader,
FRAZER'S ARREST ANIL
CONFESSION MARY HERE
Williem Moore Frazer's arrest in
Raleigh camo through information -
furnishe] by Ira Jensen, his congin, '
then belng held by Now Jorsey of.
Relals in connectlon with Mra, Stad-
$ iaetles
er’s disappearance,
Jensen told oficers in Now Jeragy
of meeting Frazer in Raloigh and ‘of |
giving him money. Ho told of Fra: |
zer bringing the dead body to hla |
home in Rahway prior to his trip |
to the South and declared that he
was introduced to tho corpse, Frazer
saying, “I want you to meet the ‘girl
friend.”
As result of Jonsen's story, New
Jorsey officials requested Raleigh
Police to bo on the lookout for Fra-
zer. It wag learned that Fraver was
receiving mail at the local post
office and it was hero that officers
took up a watch for him after check-
ing all hotels and garages,
On the day beforo tho arrest, De-
tectives Joe Lowe and H, L, Peables
were assigned by J. Winder Bryan,
then chief of police, to watch tho
postoffice, After watching for several
| hours, the officers returned to the
| station, A few minues later tho post.
office elork telephoned that Frazer
camo in and had reccived his mail
and left, °.
‘
| h
|
A thorough search was made that
night for the Buick sedan raver
was known tu be driving. No trace
of it could be found, Later, police
Jonrned that Frazey wae in Durham
om that night,
Detectives Lowe and Peebles again
took up thelr watch on the following
day. A aignal head been arranged
with B,J. Utley, clerk at the “gonera]
delivers” window, to be given whon
Frazer approached and asked for
his mail. The two Officers stood in
tho lobby of tho Postoffica for two
hours and were about ready to give
up 2 Becond time, Peebles had walk.
ed out of the door and Towe was
about to follow when Mr Utley
whistled, Lowe heard and adled
Peebles back and the two officers
Placed Frazer under nrrest,
Captain of Dateatives Robert M,
Saunders immediataly Notifed Jor.
sey officers of the arrest and polles
Wero dispatched from Elizabeth, N,
J. to return Frazer immediately, ;
Tho body of Mra, Stador, ‘found in
3 patch of wood tn northern Vircinia
had been identifed the day before
by her husband and police had di.
reetly linked Frazer With bor dleap. |
pearance, fad cer
When questioned by Raleigh off. |
vers, Frazer denied at drst ‘that he |
know Mra, Stader, 4 clipping from}
The News and Observer, telling of |
the fdentifeation of the yody in
Virginia, waa foun jn hie poekot,
sud confronted with this, he ad.
mitted that he was Aeqriainted with
Mira, Stader, but knew hothine of
her Usappearanee,
Upou the arrival of Jersey ofii.
clals hora, including in easiztant dis.
trict attorney, Frazer was quesationed
at length and finally mado a. come
plete confession of the sluying, con-
tending that it was aceldental,
Frazer was returned to New Jor.
wey the day after his arrest,
the trial waa called, Captain .Saun.
dere and Chiet Bryan, who were
Present when tho confession Was
‘} the automobile for the 22 rife.
Pollee investigation of Frazer's
stay here revealed that he had rey-
istered at a local boarding house un-
der the name of a former employer,
H. G. Devlin. He had attended meet: |
ings of a loval Masonie lodge, using!
his correet name. in gaininvg admit-!
nee ;
vireser'a car, found with blood-
stains on the inside covering of the
right front door and on the back
seat, was located in front of the.
rooming house where he .had lived
for several days. <A search through
his baggage disclosed a .22 calibre
rifle, which Frazer said wss the
weapon which killed Mrs, Stader.
Frazer had told several people here
that he intended opening a cafe.
He had formerly worked in a eafe
in New York. .
The war veteran always contended
that Mrs. Steder was accidentally
shot when he renched in the rear of
Frazer told officers here that he
aid not know whether the killing
occurred im New York or New Jer-
sey. It was on this pains that a re-
cent apreal war taken. : :
The case was ome of fhe most aen-
sations] of the year ie the Enstera
Vaitel States. Soom zfter Frazer's
arrest here, a mamber of 3letrepeli-
CRA RERTPAPITSR gent renerlers and ;
ninde, went to Elizabeth, .
yortographers te Raleigh far specint ;
rereruge on the stor. Foc came i
i aimlante and Sthers wa caine,
. >.
ae
FRAZIER, William Moore, white, elec. NdSP (Union County) on 4-1-1932...
NiWS AND OBSERVER,
Raléigh, N. a.
April 2, 1932, page 1
Re Berrys at ana fo || am omen
a Ue ‘eh im | oF in pwd
Xf i Kreis aligad Nag? g Non, * aes Se QD /
i3 Jaw Jersey Prison
ne ?
bE aletet er bs vy
MOON aa
“Playboy,” Who ‘Yas Arrested in Raleigh, Pays Pen-
alty for Murcer of Mistress On- Whom He
dered $25,004. Condemned Man Evinces No
He Walks to Electric Chair
Squan-
Trenton, N. J., April 1—(UP)—~
William M, Frazer, Rahway, N, J.,
“playboy” who squandered $25,000
on his mistress bofore he shot her
to death, wae executed for the mur-
der in the olectric chair at the Now
Jersey State prison toni ht,
Frazer, we ‘king stendily, entered
the death chamber at 8:05 and wus
Pronounced dead aine minutes Inter,
Frazer was exccuted for the mur.
der of Phoebe Quick Stader, 33,
whom he killed on February 18,
1931, after the woman told him abe
was through with hin», oe
Tho condemned man evineed tie
emotion as he entered the death
chamber, With him were his apirit-
ual adviser, Dr. Finley Keooht, pastor
of First Baptist Ghureh at Ruhway
aud ‘the prison chaplain, the Rey.
John Moorley,
Col, William P, Stone, euperin-
tondent of". the prison, rreoted
Frazer, “Hello, Bill”
Frazer replied, “Hello, Colonel,”
nd walked #traicht to the chair
where Robert Elliott, the execution.
er, waited, The current WARS ap
plied at 8:05 and turnog of at 8:14,
when the prison dovtor, Dr. J, Well.
ington Crane, prouounced him dead,
Frazor’s wife, Hilda, who had been
loyal to him to the end, elaimed the
body. Funeral services wil! be hald
at Rahway. She Jast saw him on
Wednesday, at which time Frazer
mado a will Frazer's mother, 3fre.J
Edna Frazer, ealled during the aft.
ernoon, but the prison rules pro.
SE ee cca ees oe es eres. 5
hibited a visit and sho sent him a
farewell note,
World War buddies of Frazer had
sought clemency for him, but Gov;
ernor A, Harry Moore and the court |
of pardons refused to interfere,
Frazer, 31, was convicted of shoot-
ing Mrs, Stader in the back of the
hoad with a .22 calibre rife and then
carrying ber body about for several
days in his automobile before ho
deposited it, stripped of all cloth-
ing, in the woods near Doswell, Va.
Frazer, who hed been married 2£
years and: who had twe littlo daugh-
ters, syed 8 and 11, met Mrs. Stader,
the wifo of Philip Stader, at Rah-
way, where both familice lived, They
carried on a clandesting affnir for
two yearn until Mrs. Stader’s hus.
band left her and moved to South
Amboy, N. J., and Mrs, Stader threat.
med to obtain a divorce,
Finally the war veteran urged
Mrs. Stader to elope with him and
on February 16 they drove in his
wutomohile to Waldon, and Newburg,
N. Y. During the trip Mra. Stader
told Frazer, who previously had
spent all of hig $25,000 inheritanee
On her, that she was thretigh with |
him. He egrecd to take her back
home, |
Somewhere on the way back, at a |
point south of Ramsey, N. J., Frazer |
pulled tho ear over to the side of
the road, got out and shot Mrs,
Stader, who wag Sleeping in the
eee
Mivume Burn lo Puge Two.) |
:0_DAILY nip
FRAZER, yatta M, yf
Oy
ie
<8 ee tenet ee Mtoe
DISMISS: MURDER
‘CHARGE AGAINST
alicaenadeiatinadiebanih ua koe
| KIRKLAND’S PALS}||.
, Crown’ Point,:Jad., June.
Bins
on with
the death of Arlene Drav pended yi.
gin perty last November were «
missed today. The dismissal freed
two of the youths and allows ‘free-
dom of the remaining two on 10,000
bonds pending trial on charges of as-
sault and battery with intent to com
mit rape.
Robert G. Estill, prosecuting aticn
ney of Lake county, who twice brought
Kirkland to trial, appeared « before
7 “e Martin Smith here to ask dis-| a
\ of the murder cHarges against | a:
jarton, Harry Shirk and’ David
oson. At the same time the
--s@@ against Leon Stanford, the
fourth of the co-defendants, was dis-
talssed by Special Judge Harry ‘L.
Crumpacker in the Porter county Cir-
cult court at the request of Estill, -
Stanford and Shirk were discharged
immediately from custody. They-had |
been held since the death of the girl.
Stanford had followed Kirkland’s ‘ex-
ampie in demanding a change of venue
son were held on new affidavits charg:
ing them with the same count on
hich Kirkland was convicted at. his
second trial and on which he was
sentenced to serve from one to ten
zs in the estate reformatory.
one-act ate seen tetas meet: te Ra ae ten em cepte ae epammimanntersceren nie:
peemineeny TTT
to Porter county, Barton and Thomp- | sit
6 RAE ee Ne ae RA TR Ne ca
\ Nappapi, ‘J INE.
oy cetiatadiatieataunina die meliinieanaatet an oan aah oa ean cece eT
oat PARK BURCLARS
e Oak Park ies ienactiel the
cago detective bureau last night
ale lehae tr burgiars, on’ Satuniay night,
raided the home of Charles G. Novak,
814 Carpenter avenue, Oak Park.
T r loot there was a mink coat val-
ued at $1,000, @ rascoon coat, valued
[BE [eee @ $136 diamond ring, and @
raveling bag.
iia. en on Sunday night two men en-
tered the home of. Charles J. Novak,
& second cousin of the other victim,
t 633 Bouth Kenilworth avenue, Oak
as A neighbor saw them carrying
away the $850 orfental rug which was
thelr only loot there, ’
Pr
v4
Le
Government Buys :
gah treasury: depart ent at Wash-
ington yesterday selegted a: 5) foot
| frontage lot adjoining ” government
at 24th place 62d ‘avenue,
cero, for the: Cicere ‘postoffice, : The
purchased property 5218 West 24th
place was owned by Joseph Stranc.
Price was $12,000. Ed le aged Se
mabe the property had been tnder way
more than.a year. :
¢ Mf NSP (Union { county
according to the suburban po- |’
' for Cicero Yostofiice|:
~—
™,
- BB. pe mee an ee
on m Apri Ly 1 19324 ;
RIVER SHANNON IS
BLOCKED BY MUD;
||FLOODS COUNTRY
GALWAY, Ireland, June 16.--(#)-—
A’ huge masse of black, malodorous
mud wish Soured down the side of
Bilevenakilla mountain, in County
Leitrim, blocking the headwaters of
the River Shannon, : ae caused serious
damage.
Hundreds of tons of a loosened
by: recent torrential rain in the
i ?
cf
i,
h
3 $
iv
ed the district, . ogee allem
formiles and drove farmers from
they pe-and hreat-
; Comsainelonor Mooney and a
of men working on a nearby
a Were marooned on a billock for
\@ days by mud and water uatil
oes reached them.
Ride Slayer F. hand
ity; Mast Die in Chair
Mzabeth, N. J., June 16.—(4)—Wwil-
lari Moore er of Rahway, c
with the “death ride” killing Feb. 18
ot Mra. Phoebe Btader, whom he pro-
teased he loved, was convicted of first
Gegree murder tonight. The jury de
pears five hours and fifty minutes
Gid not yecommsend mercy. The
dict carried @& mandatory Gegth
Alty.
sence eet tn ape mae aperentae eM sa
4
ee As eae
-
6 Ieee 2 tls eT
a :
ERS SO 5 GS a EA
\ THE
y oad
f
Ee
oe,
hs & j
Lai «
2% m=
MAS
+ Ce
NS og
|
\ (: ne 1
i Pic
, Plere fi
4
yj : .
i ¢
as, am
er, incidentally, who was
enough, that many thou-
police department for stool
Commissioner Mulrooney,
ingle penny” went to stool
hat in last month’s article I
oney as later admitting the
Q00 to snitchers in 1929.
1 that expression has crept
ry.
ul character of last month’s
a—the little human rat who
‘rame women in immorality
orgotten Acuna, I can sup-
persons who have not, prin-
> New York police force.
‘una “spilled the works” on
s when the vice ring investi-
vill be recalled also that he
iumber of framed cases; at
n were railroaded on his
of the swarm of two-legged
the $100,000 paid out yearly
1 of rats, they deserted pell
f trouble stalked into their
“=-3el started prying off the
mpering for cover. And
his quarry, Kresel dis-
ition.
- lam’ and in hiding were be-
)ps they had worked for be-
‘ha Acuna had made his pub-
ealer, a stoolie ratting on the
itched for, Mr. Kresel was
nent stool pigeons whom he
1 he was ready to begin his
mes of twelve informers, 1n-
rocess servers after them.
vanished !
of course, was out of the
1e eleven missing men were
iembers of the force. But it
members of the force that
if the eleven missing men—
me weeks later in New Or-
om Baltimore, whence he had
he technical charge was ob-
-ed much in the same manner
r employers were Patrolman
‘atrolman William M. O’Con-
‘the vice squad who managed
of convictions.
“put the finger” on more than
s and had brought about their
received a telephone call from
iter said, ae
‘n cops mixed up in this thing
ed. “It will last two years.
enty-five dollars every week—
. other fellows are getting and
jdual, Levey refused to take
lew York. That was even
__d (Continued on page 66)
The Victim
Mrs. Phoebe
Stader, who
was mur-
dered and
whose nude
body was
propped in
the front
seat of her
lover's au-
tomobile
and driven
boldly
through
New Jersey
and Vir-
ginia.
PARADE
By HARRIS DALTON
The Death Car
The Murderer
ON
William
Frazer, who
killed the
woman he
loved when
she threat-
ened to
leave him.
Insanely in-
fatuated, he
committed
one of the
strangest
crimesin
history.
It was in this car that Phoebe Stader was slain—and in this car her body was taken on a
weird parade of death.
HEY have called William Frazer—handsome Bill
Frazer, of Rahway, New Jersey—the “Parade
Killer.”
Never was there such a parade! It was born of an
orgy in the dead of night. It started at the crack of a
rifle. It careened through half a dozen states. A “parade”
of only two persons—Bill Frazer and a dead woman!
So bizarre, so incredible was the story of what hap-
pened that February night of this year, that New Jersey
authorities to whom it was told refused at first to be-
lieve it. Even newspapermen, ever keen for a “good
story,” stuck up their noses. It was too fantastic! Yet
it was true!
Ira Jensan told it first. Ira was Bill Frazer’s cousin.
He knew about Frazer’s love affair with pretty Mrs.
Phoebe Stader. He knew about Frazer’s neglect of his
own wife and children in favor of the alluring hair-
dresser who herself had found domesticity too humdrum
for her luxury-loving senses.
Bill Frazer always had been well liked in Rahway. He
had been in the war. He had married; settled down;
became the head of a family, the father of little children.
He was active in the church, and popular. He was suc-
cessful as the manager of a popular New York city res-
taurant. He was buying a home. He was the kind of
fellow a community likes to have.
Then his father died, leaving Frazer $25,000. That’s
a lot of money—when a fellow hasn’t been used to it.
That money, which must have seemed to Bill Frazer as
a smile from Heaven, proved to be the curse of Hell.
His friends say it was like a rush of blood to the head.
It was strong wine that turned his senses giddy. Twenty-
five thousand dollars! Think what fun a man could have
with that! Drink, women, night life. Just to be able to
walk into those swanky, high hat Broadway night clubs
and rub shoulders with other spenders, other big shots
and tinseled wastrels!
The home in Rahway, the wife who had loved him
and borne him children, the mother who always had
adored him—all forgotten, as Bill Frazer, with $25,-
000 in real money, fell into step with the foolish
gentry whose cash keeps the lights bright on Broadway.
29
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discovered “a few bloodstains, which he
scrubbed with a cleaning fluid until the
spots were barely discernible. Then, the
night of February 24, Tuesday night, he
wrote again to young Page.
On Wednesday morning he went to the
post office to mail the letter. As he pulled
‘a handful of change from his pocket to
buy a stamp, the aquamarine setting from
Phoebe’s ring came out and fell to the
floor, Bill stopped for it. As he arose,
two men were at his side, two men with
badges.
“Where’s Phoebe Stader?” they asked.
Bill shrugged. “I took her home last
Friday morning,” he said.
“Why are you here in Raleigh, under ,
an alias?” : ‘
“I wanted to get away from my wife.”
They said nothing more, but took him
to headquarters, where Police Chief
George Mcintyre of Rahway was waiting
with two detectives.
“Quit lying, Bill,” McIntyre counseled.
“A colored boy saw the buzzards circling
over that scrub ont patch out near Bowl-
ing Green yesterday. We found Mrs.
Stader. The body has been identified.
We've had a look at your car. You can’t
wash out bloodstains completely.”
Now Frazer launched into his story of
an accidental shooting along the highway
as he and Phoebe were returning from the
trip to her sister’s home in Walden, but
the police wouldn’t believe him.
“If your conscience had been clear,”
McIntyre summed it up, “you’d have come
to us, like Dickie Page and your wife
urged you to do.”
Then Bill learned that, despite his
threats, Dickie and Hilda had gone to
McIntyre with the whole story, knowing
it was the only thing to do. Dickie had
even told the police where his friend was
in hiding. ‘
“Tt was an accident,” Frazer insisted
repeatedly. “I was too scared to go to the
police.”
Bill was confident the grand jury would
view the affair as nothing more serious
than manslaughter.
After all, how could they assume any
premeditation on his part to kill Mrs.
Stader? How could they be shown other
than that he was in love with Phoebe and
wanted to hold fast to her, and not to
kill her? What pessible motive could the
jurors ascribe for murder?
The indictment, however, charged mur-
der in the first degree. Bill Frazer was
brought to trial in June.
The trial took- only two days. Tt was
one of the shortest murder hearings on
the New Jersey records, but those two
days were the longest Bill Frazer had ever
spent.
“Into the minds of the jurors, the prose-
cution hammered’ a concept of William
Moore Frazer as a ruthless rake who used
his money to attract women, while leav-
ing his wife and his little daughters to
shift for themselves.
Then the state examined his affair with
Phoebe Stader, and shrewdly dissected
each of his actions and the probable
reason for it, from the instant before the
fatal shot was fired until his arrest.
His failure to seek medical aid imme-
diately was cited as proof that he intended
to kill her. His refusal to go to the police
with his story at once upon reaching
Rahway was held up as evidence that he
had a guilty consicence. His warnings to
his wife and friend to keep quiet or face
prison terms as his accessories could mean
only one thing, the prosecutor thundered.
“Accessories to what?” he demanded of
the solemn jurors. “Accessories to an
accident? Impossible. He meant acces-
sories to murder!”
Bill took the stand in his own defense
—and became an excellent witness for
C)
oe lee eee . T Sa Te
the state. -
“You say you loved Phoebe Stader,”
District Attorney Abe David prodded him
on cross-examination. “Then why didn’t
you give her a decent burial?”
“I had no opportunity.”
“Why did you drag her body into the
woods and leave it for wild animais to
worry and carrion birds to devour?”
“To help myself.”
“Why did you strip the clothing from
her body and try to scatter it so it could
not be found?” David asked, holding por-
tions of a woman’s undergarmeats which
had been recovered along the Virginia
highway.
“To help myself.”
“And you tore rings from her fingers—
why?”
“So that she could not be identified.”
7 “And you kept the stone from one ring
—why?”
“To remember Phoebe by.”
On and on Bill answered questions,
each designed to show him up as a heart-
less killer. The jury found him guilty as
charged. There was no recommendation
for mercy.
ILL sat stunned as Judge Alfred A.
Stein pronounced the sentence of death
in the electric chair. This couldn’t be!
A prison term, ten or fifteen’ years, even,
for manslaughter—yes. But the chair,
for murder—good God, No!
He took heart when his appeal was
filed. He sat waiting bitterly, week after
week in the death house in the big prison
at Trenton, reassuring himself continually
that he had been convicted not on evi-
dence but by the prejudice of jurors who
paid more attention to his extra-marital
frivolities- than to the facts of Phoebe
‘Stader’s death. The appeals court would
not condone such a verdict; it could not.
But it did.
Another appeal was taken and _ lost.
Finally the execution of the death sen-
tence was set for a night in April of 1932.
Now, that night had come, and the last
hour of it had all but ticked’away. The
minutes were few before Bill Frazer was
to keep that dread appointment with
eternity, and in his last review of the sor-
did story of Phoebe’s death he had un-
covered nothing that might. save him.
Terror and hope kept fighting with each
other to break through the shroud of
numbness that had begun enveloping him
as the last afternoon wore away. Terror
of the scene he would face when they
walked him through the final door into
the execution chamber. Hope that over
the open telephone line to the governor's
home there would come, even in the last
fleeting second, a reprieve.
But deep in his heart, when the numb-
ness smothered both his hope and his
fear, he knew they were going to kill
him. But why? An eye for an eye, a life
for a life—was that it? But he’d not
meant to kill Phoebe. It had, been an
accident, a horrible mishap.
Had it, really? What actually had hap-
pened in his car that wintry night on the
highway outside of Ramsey? In that. mo-
ment which, try as he had so many times,
he could not Temember, why had he
reached for his gun?
When the warden came and stood be-
fore his cell, Bill looked at him with a
desperate plea in his eyes. Maybe, his
dull, slowly revolving brain seemed to tell
him through the fog, the warden knew the
truth. But the warden misread the ques-
tion in the doomed man’s face. He grave-
ly shook his head. There would be no
reprieve, cas
Eprror’s Note: The name Dickie Page
is fictitious to protect the identity of a
person innocently involved in this case.
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~~ William Frazer— eae
He Went Prosperity Mad
*
Herewith is presented another case history exemplifying the possi- .
: ; bilities of applied endocrino-criminology—that latest discovery of modern
Sins ; : Science in the detection of crime. Not only could this specific murder,
B Ex-O er ative A 8 presented here, have been prevented, but also others like it could be so
ry p : prevented in a more enlightened day when the science is developed
: and applied more fully. con
be By endocrino-criminology it is possible not only to recognize certain
glandular types who are capable of having committed the crimes that.
already have been perpetrated, but also to forecast the crimes that the .,
Same type possibly may commit in the future.
Ex-Operative 48, who for years has made a profound study of the»
science, suggests in his series of stories that present-day police methods **
would be enhanced greatly if they were to take into account endocrino-
criminology. He long has advocated sterilization of certain criminal types
and urged the passage of sterilization laws by more States. . ;
that they don’t deserve. Even Bg0 G4 ms
when they are married men, the About February 20, 1931, the gos-
theughtless public is apt to believe that sips of the small town of Rahway
there is something romantic about began to make sarcastic comments
them. They are regarded as gay, tem- on the prolonged absence from their
. Peramental devils, who have the cour- families of William. Moore Frazer,
age which others lack to kick over the aged 28,: and Mrs. Phoebe Quick
traces of convention. But when one of Stader, 35. Four days before, the man
_. those same gay dogs ends by commit- had offered to take Mrs, Stader and
'. ting some ghastly crime, nobody stops her sister, June Quick, in his car -to .
to realize that his previous antisocial Walden, New York, where they were
behavior contained a warning of peril to visit relatives, Nothing had been |
to his fellow men. Not every jittery . heard since of any of them.
pleasure-seeker becomes a murderer. Frazer already had given his neigh-
Granted. But homicidal mania is far bors plenty of reason to discuss him,
more common among them than it is Until the beginning of 1930, he had _
among normal persons. ; been just an ordinary young chap who
I say that men—or women—who had a job with the Pennsylvania Rail-
plunge suddenly into dissipation should road, managing one of the restaurants
be treated as glandular suspects. Espe- in the New York City terminal. He
cially if they have sacrificed home and lived at No. 519 Jefferson Avenue,
children to their folly. It will gen- Rahway, with his wife, Hilda, and two
erally be found that one or more of children, Evelyn, ten, and Irene, seven,
their ductless glands are not function- His mother was an old. resident, her
ing properly, and in that event they home being at No. 67 Cherry Street.
should be sterilized. The operation will His father had died years before, ap-
not put an end to their‘sexual life, but parently leaving no estate:
it will have a calming effect upon
themselves. It is the surest and cheap- SUDDENLY lawyers discovered that
est insurance policy against crime that the elder Frazer had had secret in-
Society has at its command. vestments. These were disposed of,
Remember, most murders - need and William came into $28,000 cash.
never have occurred. We get down to He promptly resigned from the rail-
diagnosing the horror after it was road. He plunged into an orgy of
perpetrated—that’s why. If law-en- spending, according to small-town
forcement agencies had been on the standards. At first his family shared
watch for degenerates capable of act- in his extravagances, He bought a new
ing that way, and had been empowered house for $8,000 and two cars-——one
to sterilize them, the victim could have for his wife and one for himself. He |
been saved. It is infinitely better to took Hilda to the theater several times i
prevent than to punish. But if the a week, and to night clubs. Then he
sterilization. of morons is to have its began running after other women. At
full effect, it must be practiced by the home of his mother, Mrs, Edna. 4
every State in this Union, and eventu- Frazer, he met Phoebe Stader, who *;/
by all countries. . When that was the wife of a welder, and who
-happy day arrives, the birth of de- still worked at her old trade of hairs
- generates will be reduced to a mini- dressing. He went for her in a big
Prince es get a lot of sympathy tigated in New Jersey seven years
; y mum and we may expect to see acor- way, and Phoebe responded. | They *
id r er 2 ler Shee! Ny a ; SR i ni Ca a ‘responding minimum of major crime. made no secret of their relationship.
William Moore Frazer: “When a thymus- parathyroid defective commits a . ‘I am moved to the above remarks They haunted public resorts, where
ie murder, he does it relentlessly, hysterically and with hair-trigger speed by a bloodcurdling melodrama I inves- Frazer got rid of so much money that
f
Endocrino - Criminologists Declare That a Mad Murder
at Rahway, New Jersey, Could Have Been Prevented |
If Society Had Taken Advantage of This New Science
Mrs. Hilda Frazer: She
could only © stand by -
and wait for tragedy
in the past few “weeks he had been
looked upon as broke,
Mrs. Hilda Frazer had told acquaint-
ances that her home was wrecked.
Phoebe’s husband, Philip, was threat-
ening to leave her. It was a nasty mess
all around. No wonder there was talk
about the disappearance of the guilty
couple. But Chief George McIntyre of
the local police did not see it as a
matter that called for his interven-
tion: No complaints had been filed
with him. f
McIntyre wasn’t even interested un-
til the afternoon. of Washington’s
Birthday, when Ira Jensen, a 20-year-
old cousin of Frazer who lived with
Frazer's mother, appeared voluntarily
in the Chief’s office. Jensen was an
undersized fellow. with a receding
chin. He looked younger than his
years. He talked-nervously. But the
story he had to tell was the most
astonishing that had ever been heard
in that office. fie) ,
“I’m—I’m here about Phoebe Stader,
She’s . been—been killed,” he- stam-
mered. “I’ve figured out that it’s my
duty to let you know.”
“Who killed her?” Snapped MclIn-
tyre. ce Sm
“My cousin, Bill.”
T= Chief was © fairly staggered,
There didn’t seem any reason why
William Frazer should’ have killed
Mrs, Stader. The pair obviously had
been infatuated with each other. A
left-handed elopement had been ex-
pected, but not this,
“Do you mean to say he murdered
her?” McIntyre asked.
“No. I only said she’d been killed.
I think it was an accident.” -
“Well, get it off your chest, What
happened?” ,
Jensen gulped. He said that at about
three o’clock on the morning of
Wednesday, February 18, he had been
awakened by the ringing’ of the door-
bell. He had gone downstairs in. Pa-
jamas and had found his cousin, Bill,
standing on the steps,‘ looking di-
sheveled and almost'a nervous wreck.
Bill had ‘said without preliminaries;
“Ira, I’m in trouble. Mrs. Stader is
dead. I must have shot her, but I
didn’t mean ‘to. Her body’s outside, in
my car.” :
Jensen got into’ some clothes and.
accompanied Frazer to the street,
where he saw the body of Phoebe
Stader in the front seat with her head
resting against the window. He thought
he could make out a wound behind ~
her left ear, from which: blood was
trickling. at eo
The distracted killer muttered: “I’ve
got to tell my wife. For Heaven’s
sake, come along, Iva. Help me out.”
So the youth had climbed into the
back of the car. Frazer, sitting beside
the body, took the wheel and drove
to his home on Jefferson Avenue. The
two went upstairs and entered Mrs.
Frazer’s bedroom. Bill shook her
(Continued on Page 36)
Mrs. Phoebe Quick Stader: She
helped spend an Inheritance, but
she ended asa murder victim
Balik aats wi.
William Frayer — He Went Pros
awake, He told her wildly, “I’ve killed
somebody.” a
“Was it that woman?” Hilda de-
manded, after she had collected her
senses, ee
- “Yes,” answered Bill. It had been
plain that to both of them “that
woman” meant Phoebe Stader.
After some further remarks of no
consequence, Mrs, Frazer had advised
her husband to go straight to Police
Headquarters and give himself up,
But the suggestion had. terrified him,
and he had rushed from the house,
followed by Jensen. They had resumed
their seats in the parked car.
“Then 'I did what Hilda had done,”
the youth informed Chief McIntyre .
earnestly. “I told him that by far the
best thing was to go to you. You see,
he’d said there was a .22 ‘caliber rifle”
in the car which went off when he was
shifting things. He showed. me the
rifle. I argued that if it happened that
way it was not murder, but he was
too scared to listen to me. He said he
preferred to commit suicide.”
FRAZER, according to Jensen’s story,
had then driven the car to some
woods outside Rahway, near - the
Colonia golf links; and’ sobbed:
“This is where I’ll kill myself. You
80 away for a few minutes, Ira, and
come back when you-hear a-shot. I’ll
be dead, sure.” ee ‘
By no means the least amazing part
of the tale was Ira’s solemn declaration.
that he did get out of the car, walk
about 100 feet and stand waiting for
the. shot—which never came. Instead,
he heard the horn toot. On his return
re found ‘Bill holding out -the .22
caliber rifle,
“I can’t do it,” the demented weak-
ing cried. “You shoot me, Ira.”
But that had been .too much’ for.
‘ra. He refused with some: heat.’ Nor
vould ‘he assist -in moving the body
tom the front to the back seat. Frazer.
lid this alone, covered it with blank-
‘ts and locked the rear doors of the
‘ar. Then they drove back to Rahway,
leading for Mrs. Edna Frazer’s. house,.-
vhere Ira lived. Their: arrival at 6
.m. aroused Mrs. Frazer,’ who de-
‘ounced her son for “keeping Ira_ out.
ll night.” Bill said nothing about the
tagedy, but asked to be allowed. to
leep in one of the bedrooms.: He threw
imself down on a bed and at once
ank into insensibility, < ‘
“He slept until three in the after-
oon,” stated Ira dully. “All that time
ie car stood outside the house with
ie woman’s body in: it. Then’ Bill
ime downstairs with: a suitcase of
lings and drove away, He slipped me
note. It said to get money for him,
3 much as possible, and ‘bring it: to
im, atthe Hotel Sir Walter, in
aleigh, North Carolina.”- ~
“Did you follow.” instructions?”
sked McIntyre. = = ; Pte Ey
“Yes, sir. I- got the “money: from
sazer’s. mother—$260;. I went to
aleigh and took a room in a rooming-
ouse, because I did not find Frazer
the Sir Walter Hotel. I had to go
ere several times before I met him,
the lobby. Then I gave him the
oney. It was last Friday, February
, when I gave him the money. I
me back to Rahway immediately
ter that.” ‘
“Did Frazer’s mother know what
' was running away from?”
“T don’t think so. At least, I didn’t
l her. I just said he was in trouble
d needed money, and she gave it
me.’ 1
“Is Frazer still in Raleigh?”
“Yes. He said he would be there for
week, anyway.” Recs
‘Under what name?” > ~ :
‘He is calling himself H. G. Devlin.”
‘Do you know where -he is stay-
‘No,” said Jensen, but he mentioned
boarding-house on Halifax Street,
Raleigh, where he thought that his
‘cousin possibly had taken a room, He
also produced a letter which had fol-
lowed him to Rahway, and in which
Frazer said, in part:
“Remind Hilda . (his wife) that all
she knows is that I left her and she
thinks I am with some woman. Keep
your eyes open and get the news.”
“And what did Frazer do with the
body of-Mrs, Stader?” inquired Chief
. McIntyre, ‘
“I asked him about it,” replied Jen-
sen, “but all he said was: ‘I got rid
-of it. Don’t ask me any more. You
know too much already.’ Honestly, I
don’t know. where it is,” .
“There’s one more question. What
led you to come to me with this story?
I want the truth now.”
“When I got back from Raleigh
this morning, I told Bill’s wife, Hilda,
about taking the money to him. It
worried her and she told her father,
’ Mr. Lloyd Madden, And Mr, Madden
said he was going to tell you. So I
thought I’d better come right away,”
declared Jensen simply.
He was held, of course, as a ma-
terial witness and a possible accessory
after the fact. No one believed at first
that his narrative was true. He had
- put it up to the police to search for a
ody. which only he had seen, and a
killer who, he said, was not a mur-
- derer. :
But as McIntyre and _ his men
checked up, they confirmed detail after
detail exactly as Jensen had stated
The two Mrs. Frazers, mother
and wife, admitted that Bill had vis-
on February 18, and be-
haved in the manner described. The
mother said she had not suspected
that anything serious had happened.
» Mrs. Hilda Frazer: asserted that she
had thought he was merely “telling.
one of his wild ‘stories,’ and added:.
--“When he came in with Ira Jensen
and said he had killed someone, I
asked, ‘Was it ‘that woman?’ meaning
Mrs. Stader, and. he ‘answered, ‘Yes,’
I did not: believe him and he. said:
- ‘Look out’of the window. Her body’s
in the car.’ I looked out, but it was.
dark and I could see nothing but the
car,’ : ' sg Mag
Perhaps significantly; both’ women
accused the other of providing the
$260-sent to Bill: in Raleigh:
McIntyre phoned Walden, New
York, and was informed that Phoebe
Stader and her sister, June, had ar-
rived there on February ‘16, ‘escorted
. “by: Frazer, The women’ had gone to
the home of a third sister, Mrs. Fred
A. McLoughlin.. Frazer had Stayed the
night in @ hotel.: The next day, the
“seventeenth, Phoebe had departed
with him, saying she was going to
New York City to-meet friends. June
«Quick had remained behind, and was
still at the McLoughlins’, Phoebe had
not returned and her sisters were wor-
ried about: her. > :
«. This information dovetailed perfectly
with Jensen’s story. How and why
Frazer had « reappeared in Rahway
early on the morning of the eighteenth,
driving the dead body of Mrs. Stader
—that was the mystery. If, indeed,
Mrs. Stader was dead!
Chief McIntyre called the Union
County authorities into the case,
Prosecutor Abraham J. David co-
Operated with him thereafter, They
broadcast descriptions of the missing
persons, and of Frazer’s car, to all
important police headquarters in the
country. They phoned Raleigh, North
Carolina, and asked the officers there
to pick up Frazer.
I became interested in this singular
affair as a result of studying a photo-
graph of William Moore Frazer, which
I saw in a New York City newspaper
on the afternoon of February 23. The
man’s face struck me as being de-
cidedly that of a glandular cripple. I
at once went to Rahway ‘and com-
menced an inquiry along lines which
differed somewhat from those fol-
lowed by the local Police,
I found that Frazer had: served a
short enlistment in the’ United States
Army as a young fellow, and: that his
mother maintained his behavior had
been abnormal ever since. She believed
that soldiering had ruined him. But I
saw it in.a different light. The Army
does not degrade the average man; it
benefits him. A natural weakling,
however, may see in that life an op-
portunity to cut loose from home re-
straints, The evil that comes out in him
was always there,
After Frazer married and went to
work for the Pennsylvania: Railroad
he apparently reformed. Yet those who
were closest to him knew him to be
moody and eccentric. Lack of funds
was what held him in check, :
. The moment he came into the $28,-
000 from his father’s estate he went
completely haywire. Mark you; I do
not mean merely that he became a
spendthrift and plunged into a liaison
with another man’s wife. Others have
done that before him. His compara-
tively small fortune would not have
gone very far, and if he had been half-
way normal he would have returned
to his senses before all of the legacy
had disappeared.
Frazer’s way. of going prosperity-
mad had been unbelievably freakish.
It had been based on a wild exhibi-
tionism associated with sex. Sometimes
he would even park in front of his
home in broad daylight with his female
companion, then leave her in the car
for his wife.and neighbors to watch
while he rummaged in his back yard
iad some object he pretended he had
ost.
WITH Phoebe Stader he had been
‘only a trifle more restrained. His
flaunting of her had been directed
chiefly at her husband, Philip, and at .
his own wife. He once offered to. pay
Stader’s rent and had been contemptu-
ously turned down, . ; dee
I submit that Frazer’s behavior was
close to the borderline of insanity.. A
scientifically ordered Society would
have taken cognizance of this before it
was too late. I thought I could trace
the diagnosis in his pictured features,
And I was right. “But let us postpone
the details until I tell how I observed
him face to face.
On February 24 a Negro farmhand
named Wellington Twigg, residing near
Tappahannock, Virginia, started to
cross the fields in search of a dog he
had lost. He noticed turkey buzzards
circling over a clump of scrub oaks a
short distance from a side road be-
tween Washington and Richmond. He
thought that possibly his dog was dead
and went to investigate,
What Twigg found was the un-
clothed body of a woman, mutilated by
the carrion birds and partly decom-
posed. The face was unrecognizable:
One finger on the left hand was torn
and swollen, as though a ring had been
wrenched off it. It was impossible
for anyone not a medical expert to tell
that she had been shot through
the head, because of the ghastly con-
dition of the surface flesh,
Horror-stricken, the Negro ran the
whole way to the police station in Tap-
pahannock. Officers came out and took
the remains to an undertaking parlor
in Bowling Green. Newspapers print-
ed the story, and, of course, it was re-
jayed to the New Jersey authorities,
among the others. The vague descrip-
tion of the victim received did not
suggest Phoebe Stader, as both height
and weight were notably different.
Nevertheless, Detective Jeremiah Mc-
Namara was sent from Rahway, ac-
companied by Philip Stader, to pass on
her identity. ‘
It was found that the telegraphed
description had been incorrect, and
perity Mad (Continued from Page 15) OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
that the body was that of a woman’
about Phoebe’s size; His lips clamped
tightly, his face as white as paper,
Stader examined it closely, then said:
“It’s Phoebe, all right. I know her
by the prominence and shape of those
two front teeth. Also by that’ mark
on her side. It’s caused by a belt she
wore ever since she had an operation.”
An autopsy subsequently revealed a
bullet wound in her head. The body
was released by the Virginia authori-
ties and sent to New Jersey. :
A few hours later, on the morning
of the twenty-fifth, detectives who
were looking for Frazer under his alias
of H. G. Devlin trapped him: in. the
General Post Office at Raleigh. On
the theory that he would go there
hoping to receive a letter ‘from Ira
Jensen, the delivery window had been
shadowed. Fake mail had even been
sent there, addressed to “Devlin,” and
the delivery clerk notified.
Frazer readily admitted his identity
when he -was seized, but denied that
he knew anything about the death of
Phoebe Stader. Taken to Headquar-
ters and searched, an aquamarine ring
which had belonged to the*woman was
found in his pocket, as well as a news-
Paper clipping describing the discovery
of her body near Tappahannock.
Later in the day his car was located.
The upholstery of the right-hand front
seat was stained with human blood. .
Prosecutor David arrived from Rah-
way and brought pressure to bear upon
the prisoner. Suddenly Frazer broke
and told his gruesome story eagerly, in
the hope of convincing the world that
he was no killer, that his Pparamour’s
death had been accidental. His con-
fession began as follows:
“I met Mrs. Stader on Monday, not
last Monday, but ten days ago. I took
her and her sister, J une, up to Walden.
I took Phoebe out Monday night to a
couple of roadhouses. [ got some
liquor.. I remember ‘where. I got it, all
right. - She drank a good share of it;
pe | a did not drink as much of it as
. “Tuesday I had a date to meet her
at one o’clock .:... We made up‘ our
minds to go to Florida, We started. out;
but somewhere below’ ‘Suffern,. New
York, I got nervous or something...-f
had a-gun under the back: seat of : the
car. I stopped the car and went back
to get the gun. While I was. getting the
gun, it went off accidentally somehow,”
__ What he had’ intended to.. do. with
the gun jin the first place was.a -blank
to this’ creature, or so he ‘claimed;.
_ “I did not know what to. do’ when
I. saw she was.shot,”-he went on... “I
thought I. would go to Rahway; I..went
there and stopped and told my cousin,
and went over and ‘told my .wife.. She
asked me what I was going to do. I
said, ‘I don’t know.’
“There were only two things to do
—to tell the police, or. commit suicide.
Then I went to the country -to commit
suicide, but I did not have the nerve
to do it. I went back to Rahway, then
left Rahway and came on south.”
H's description of his ride with the
dead body through five States and
the District of Columbia was filled
with incidents both queer and grim.
On reaching Washington, he was so
tired he parked the car in a secluded
spot, huddled down on the front seat,
where Phoebe Stader had died, and
slept like a log.
In Virginia, between Alexandria and
Richmond, he concluded that he would
have to dispose of the body, which was
beginning to have an unpleasant odor.
With the idea of preventing identifica-
tion, he cut Phoebe’s clothes off.
Not far from Bowling Green he
stopped with the intention of pushing
the body up a culvert. Buta Ppasser-
by scared him away. This individual,
Charles Collinson, was afterwards lo-
cated and recalled having seen a man
lext Issue of OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES Will Be on Sale Wednesday,
ws
09
November 2
THE AVENGING EXPRESS RECEIPT 4!
Mrs. Schaaf?s will. The beneficiary was none other than Fine.
The prisoner, who had remained calm as each witness identi-
fied him, nearly jumped out of bed when he saw the legal paper
in an officer’s hand. He was suddenly very spry fora supposedly
sick man. With much difficulty he was forced back into bed, and
then he fainted.
At police headquarters it was learned that Fine was wanted in
New York State for the murder of another woman. It transpired
that the man in custody was a veritable bluebeard, the type of
fiend who preyed on women, then murdered them.
Fine recovered from his “heart attack” and was once more
placed in a cell. He scorned all Visitors, then tried to give the
guards the impression that he Was insane. But a husky guard
named Harold Johnson overheard F ine give the final damaging
evidence. The prisoner was bemoaning his fate, when he sud-
denly blurted out:
“The old fool! I wanted her to give me some money. It was
the only way I could get it.”
On June 6 he went on trial for his life. The trial lasted four
days, and Fine based his defense on insanity. Not one bit of tes-
timony was offered to prove his innocence.
Then, on June 10, Fine’s fate was placed in the hands of the
jury. Within two hours the jury returned:
“Guilty of murder in the first degree with no recommenda-
tion of mercy.”
Fine was doomed to die in the electric chair. The verdict sur:
prised the courtroom, for it was the first time in thirty years that
the death penalty had been imposed in an Atlantic County Court,
. FINE, Lewi . ;
» Lewis, wh, NJ@ (Atlanta) June 12, 1933
Bibi nen sal
DOS eg RU Me EAM goes ! : |
his crimson-stained hana ih cS sedping
; ORS eed beam
yy
TRUE DETECTIVE, June, 1933
bs nN ONE HUNDRED TRUE CRIME STORIES
tress, however, there was a small strong box. The lid was
forced open and inside was a packet of letters bound with rubber
bands. One of the letters gave the police officers their first clue.
It was addressed to H. Miller, General Delivery, Atlantic City,
N. J.—the name used in sending the trunk to Philadelphia. The
rest of the letters were addressed to Louis Fine, >
Police officers hid in Fine’s room and waited for the return of
the man they now suspected of strangling Mrs. Schaaf. As the
officers had no way of knowing when Fine would come back, they
planned to work in relays.
It was the night of March 7. The officers were beginning to
get restless when the stillness was broken by the sound of a key
in the lock. Then came the sound of someone ascending the
stairs. The door of Fine’s room was opened, and in walked the
suspect, Louis Fine. One of the officers boomed:
“Stand still and put up your hands!”
He was accused of murder, point-blank: “Fine,” demanded
Captain of Police Harrold, “why did you murder Mrs. Schaaf?”
The suspect appeared surprised. me
“What!” he exclaimed, “is Mrs. Schaaf dead? Why, gentle-
men, I know nothing about it. When did she die? You see, I just
got back from a trip to New York.”
Hoffman, the owner of the boarding house in Philadelphia,
and the two truckmen, Weinstein and Robinson, were sent to
Atlantic City. To complicate matters, Fine suffered a heart
attack and was taken to the Atlantic City hospital.
The witnesses were brought to the hospital. Physicians told
Captain Harrold that Fine, although ill, was not seriously so.
They were inclined to believe he was shamming.
But to play safe, they would permit only one witness at a time
to enter Fine’s room. Hoffman was first. He took one look and
said he was almost certain that Fine and Miller were one and the
same person. Efe would be completely certain if he saw the man
with a hat on. A nurse brought Fine’s hat, it was placed on his
head, and Hoffman was given another look.
“That’s the man,” he said. : es
The rest of the witnesses entered one by one. Each identified
Fine as the man they had known as Miller, Fine didn’t say a
word. He merely kept staring at the witnesses.
Then the police played their trump card. They had found
Be ee tine t0 slrre ind: -preremiieckgemn cement catinerdicine
+
‘Carray
been. bound 80 tight that it cut
x
0, air. ‘He merely
eRe Onretry
go
radio. anno
i
Eway.on 6 tip.”
peid me for the room and éaid he did
the place himself for three or four days
police broadcast,
Arriving there, we went to the section
embracing Atlantic and Connecticut’
Avenues, and started a house-to-house
canvass of all residences in the neigh-
borhood to ascertain if any women, an-
swering the description of the victim,
were missing. Leiner
After a long, tedious task, we learned
that two women were missing. One had
disappeared three months prior to the
discovery of the murder, while the sec-
ond had left less’ than five days before.
The first woman, we found, lived with
two married daughters, but had left to
visit relatives in West Virginia and had
-not been heard from. The. second re-
sided ina pretentious home on South’
Connecticut Avenue, with two boarders
and a maid. Mrs. Mamie Schaaf, ac-
cording to Emma Middleton, her maid,
had gone on ‘a trip, but she could not tell
us where, :
“Did you see Mrs. Schaaf leave the
house, Miss Middleton?” I asked the
maid.
my work early on the morning
of March 4th. and went
out. When I returned,
one of the boarders,
Louis Fine, told me
that Mrs. Schaaf
expected to
be gone on
a_ trip
fora
“No, sir,” she replied. “I finished
few days. She has gone away before,
- and she often remains for one or two
’ weeks,”
Although I was not certain that the
murder victim was Mrs. Schaaf, I in-
structed Juliano to escort: Miss Middle-
ton to Philadelphia. Three hours later
Juliano called me from that city.
“Chief,” he said, “the body in the Phil- -
adelphia. morgue has been positively
identified by the maid-as being that of
Mrs. Schaaf. I’m starting right back with
Miss Middleton.” ;
I was relieved by Juliano’s report. ‘At
' last we had established the woman’s
identity.
Juliano and the maid entered my
office about two hours later. The maid,:
who had been weeping, came to me and
said: : Fee
“Mr, Harrold, I don’t know why any-
one would want to kill Mrs. Schaaf. She
was a’ kind woman and would give her
last cent to help anyone.” y
“Emma,” I asked her, “do you know
of any enemies Mrs. Schaaf may have
had?”
“No, sir,” the maid replied, “as far as
I know, she didn’t have an enemy in the
world,” f ' 253
“Did Mrs, Schaaf keep any valuables
around the house?”
“Yes, sir,” the maid responded, “she
kept jewels in a case in her bedroom, as
well as a strong box in which she kept
ready cash.” |
“Have you been to her room since she
disappeared?” 5 :
“I tried to get in, Mr. Harrold,” she
replied to this, “but there is a big
* - padlock on the bedroom: door.”
‘“A padlock?” I asked. “Has
that always been on the
door?” —
Se ee
Rope found imbedded in
Mrs. Schaaf's throat. —
(Below) Room in which
trunks were discovered
“No, it must have —
House where slaying occurred (below) |
been put on the day Mrs. Schaaf wai lock °
killed.” i We
I next asked the maid who was in the every
house with Mrs. Schaaf when she, the thou;
maid, left on March 4th. ' searc
“The. two boarders were, Mr. Har- and {
rold,” she said. “One of them is Mr! were
Fine and the other, Mr. Milton.Birch} I v
Mr. Fine seems to be a very nice man] beca'
He moved in about a year ago and has been
been very kind to-me and Mrs. Schaaf! knew
The other man, Mr. Birch, works in| one
town some place, I don’t know where, trun
He is much younger than Mr. Fine. You; a pe:
know, Mr. Harrold, Mrs. Schaaf didn’t} as p:
have to take in boarders, but she often!) Fi
said the house was so large she didn’t) all
mind having people around.” | cou!
“Is that all you know. about them, I
Emma?” | and
}
“Yes,” she replied, “except that Ij the
know Mr. Fine is a retired businessman} to ‘
and seems to have a lot of money. He! I ht
has:often told me how glad he was that; anc
he had retired and could take life easy.”| to :
Feeling that the maid. had been through | “
_ a terrible ordeal, I sent her to her moth-) he
er’s home in Longport, a few miles be-| is ‘
low Atlantic City. not
After she had gone, I turned to Juliano i: ed:
and May and assigned to them the task pr
of investigating Birch and Fine. I gave} yo
them instructions to dig into the past of ; a}
these men and to ascertain what kind of ,
business Birch was in; also what Fine | th:
had done for a living before retiring. ec th
When my men left, another detective, tic
Valentine Hoffman, came in off another an
case. I told him briefly of the Schaaf} wi
case and instructed him to join in the | hz
investigation. : m
Lieutenant Choplinsky, Sergeant Cur- {7 of
ran, Hoffman and I then returned ‘to. in
Mrs. Schaaf’s home. We went directly | at
to Mrs.. Schaaf’s bedroom, removed the |
‘
thu
Hi
ui wn
nit
i
mn
a ow
|
SS
P
piinataiemaeis
See
|
t
i
SECRET OF THE STEAMER TRUNK
(Continued from page 25) I remarked that
the note was dated March 5th, the day after
Mrs. Schaaf had disappeared. It read:
“Emma, I am going away for a few
weeks. When Mrs. Schaaf returns, that is
if she gets here before me, tell her I have
“ gone away for a while. In the meantime,
58
I want you to keep my room tidy. I'll see
you when I get back.”
“This is interesting, indeed, Curran,” I
said. “Seems odd to me that this retired
business man should leave the day after
Mrs. Schaaf was murdered.”
For several minutes we rummaged
through Fine’s belongings, but failed to
find anything that would help in the case.
I was about to give it up, when Curran
espied a little strong box under the mat-
tress of the bed. He pulled it out.
Forcing open the lid, Curran pulled out
a packet of letters, bound with rubber
bands. He handed the packet to me and
continued pulling other letters and papers
out of the box.
He stopped as I suddenly exclaimed:
“Holy smoke, Curran, look at this enve-
lope! Look at the address! ‘H. Miller, Gen-
eral Delivery, Atlantic City, New Jersey.’
That’s the name of the fellow who sent the
trunk containing Mrs. Schaaf’s body to
Philadelphia!”
We looked at several of the letters. Four
more were found to have the same address,
while the remainder were addressed to
Louis Fine, some of them General Delivery,
and the others, South Connecticut Avenue.
“Curran,” I said quietly, “this a real find.
It’s the first real clue we’ve come across in
this case.” t
Wie I was talking to him, Curran con-
tinued pulling other letters and sheets of
paper from the strong box. He examined
each one carefully. As he neared the bot-
tom, I saw a look of astonishment on his
face. ‘
“What is it, Marty?” I asked.
“It’s a will,” he said, “signed by Mrs.
Schaaf. Why, Chief, this guy Fine is named
as sole beneficiary to her entire estate!”
I read the will through. It had been
written and executed on March Ist, three
days before Mrs. Schaaf had been mur-
dered. ’
“Marty,” I said, after folding up the will
and handing it back to him, “put every- *
thing back in that box. Replace it where
it was, and don’t say a word about this to
anyone, not even to the others working on
this case. Something tells me that if Fine
had anything to do with this murder, he is
going to be most anxious to get possession
of this box.”
Going downstairs, we rejoined Choplin-
sky and Hoffman. Juliano and May, who
had been investigating Fine and Birch, en-
tered the house. They were accompanied
by Detective Captain Emmanuel Eckstein,
of the Atlantic City Police Department.
Eckstein, May informed me, knew both
Fine and Birch.
Fine, Eckstein said, was a wealthy re-
tired Philadelphia real estate dealer, while
Birch was employed in a store at Ventnor,
New Jersey, just below Atlantic City. And
it was at this point that Eckstein gave me
some information concerning Fine which
I deemed very valuable.
“You probably may recall, Captain,” he
said, “that about two years ago, this fellow
was in a bad jam here. At that time he
was living with his wife, Mrs. Bertha
Abramson Fine, in a home on Florida Ave-
nue. One morning we found Mrs. Fine
overcome by gas in her bedroom. When
revived at the Atlantic City Hospital, she
told us Fine had attempted to kill her by
turning on the gas in her room. She said
she was ill and could not move out of bed.
Fine turned on the gas jets and left.
“Her son later smelled the gas and found
his mother nearly dead. The home in
which they lived is one of those old-fash-
ioned dwellings which are still equipped
with both gas and electric fixtures. To
make a long story short, the woman recov-
ered and we arrested Fine on an attempted
murder charge. He was, however, ac-
quitted. During the trial, his wife de-
clared that this was the second attempt
made on her life by Fine. She testified
that, about six months before, Fine had
given her an overdose of sleeping potion.
The woman apparently bears a charmed
life, because she recovered on both occa-
sions. She‘further charged her husband
with stealing and squandering nearly thirty
thousand dollars of her money. She later
left him and is now residing in San Fran-
cisco.”
This was very interesting information to
me, remembering as I did the discovery
Curran and I had made only a few minutes
before, up in this man’s bedroom.
I then thought of a plan which I felt
certain would work. Why not, I reasoned,
give out to newspapers the information
that we were seeking Birch as Mrs.
Schaaf’s murderer? This, I was sure, would
give Fine the impression that he was safe.
He would leave his hiding place and walk
right into a trap I had planned for him.
I went to a telephone and called two
Atlantic City reporters I knew I could
trust. I gave to them the story that Birch
was sought as the murderer, and asked
them to send the story on to other cities.
After doing this, I instructed the other.
detectives to turn off all the lights in the
house.
“Put the latches on the front and back
doors,” .I told them, and then explained,
“we are going to stay right here in his
house all night.”
Noticing their surprise, I glanced at Cur-
ran, who smiled, and then I told the others
of my plan.
“I believe we are going to have a visitor
in this house. He is either coming tonight,
early tomorrow morning, or tomorrow
night. Some of us are going to stay here
the whole time. If he doesn’t show up by
morning, we’ll work in relays. Until morn-
ing, however, we stick.”
I assigned the officers to various vantage
points throughout the house. Curran was
to remain in Fine’s room. We sat. in the
house that night of March 7th for nearly
four hours, during which ‘nothing occurred.
We were just beginning to get restless,
when, through the eerie stillness of the
night, we heard a key being placed in the
front-door latch.
As we peered through the inky darkness
of the front room, we made out a shadowy
form stealthily walking across the floor.
Then we heard a stair creak as the visitor
started to climb the steps.
“Remain quiet a few minutes longer,”
I whispered to my companions, “but listen ~
sharply for sounds upstairs. When you
hear Curran’s voice, rush up the steps.”
I heard faint footsteps as the intruder
moved about on the second floor. Within a
few seconds I heard a door opening. I
listened to hear it close, straining my ears
to catch every sound. It seemed like an
age, waiting there in that darkness.
Then suddenly, and without warning, I
heard the detective’s voice.
“Stay where you are and put up your
hands,” I heard him say.
Moving as one, Hoffman, May and I
i
bolted up the stairs. Juliano was just en
tering the room as we arrived there. Cap,
tain Eckstein, hearing us run, came bount,
ing up the steps.
As we entered Fine’s room, we saw Yi
heavyset man, with a black slouch hat on)
sitting on the edge of the bed. At his fet
lay the strong box, with its contents scat
tered ‘about the floor. Curran stood point)
ing his revolver at him. The man’s fat
was pale, and his lips twitched. '
Eckstein broke the awful stillness in th,
room. i |
“So it’s you, is it, Fine?” he asked. “Ds
you recognize me?”
Partly recovering from the surprise, Fine
said indignantly:
“Sure I do, Eckstein. But what do yo
mean by this? Can’t a man enter his ow .
home and bedroom without having a bunch
of cops hold him up with guns? What is the
meaning of this outrage?”
“Cut it, Fine,” I said. “You know what
we want you for. Where’s Mrs. Schaaf?
Gone on a trip, has she? A nice trip!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” he re
sponded.
“You. seem mighty anxious to have that
strong box,” I said quietly.
“It’s mine, isn’t it?” he retorted. “Every:
thing in it is mine, also.”
“Oh, so you admit,” I said, “that those
letters in that box, addressed to H. Miller,
are yours, do you?”
I watched him closely as I said that. He,
appeared startled for a moment and then}
answered: “No, they aren’t mine. I wat!
given them to keep for a man.”
I knew in my heart this man was lying
“Fine,” I said to him, “why did you mur
der Mrs. Schaaf?”
“What?” he exclaimed in surprise. ‘1!
she dead? Why, gentlemen, I knew noth
ing of her death! When did she die?”
“Don’t you read the newspapers?” |
asked.
“Why, I haven’t read a paper all day,
he replied. “You see, I haven’t had the
chance to. I have just returned from a lon
trip.”
“Where did you come from, Philadel.
phia?”
“No, New York,” was the answer.
I gazed intently at him, as he looked me
straight in the eyes.
At least, I concluded, the man was :
darn good actor. I knew then that I couli
not hope to get any more information
out of him, and decided’ to take him to my
office for further questioning.
Leaving Hoffman, May, Juliano and Eck.
stein at the house, Choplinsky, Curran ani
I took the prisoner to headquarters. Cur-
ran took the contents of the strong. box
Once at my office, the three of us plie
the boarder with questions.
“Fine,” I said, “why don’t you tell u
the truth? Didn’t you know Mrs. Schaai
was dead and that her body was found
in a trunk at Philadelphia? Don’t yo
know that her body was shipped there i:
a trunk that came right out of the cellar
of that house where you live?”
“You say it was shipped to Philadel.
phia in a trunk?” he asked.
“Yes, shipped away after she had beet
strangled to death with a piece of rope.
“My God, Mr. Harrold,” Fine almos
shouted, as he placed his hands to hi
eyes, “why I sent a trunk out of tha
house myself on March 4th. A man name
Mr. Miller, the. man whose letters I ar
keeping, paid me twenty-five dollars t
send it away. He is another roomer 2
the house. You see, I was out for a whil
on March 4th, and when I returned, thi
man met me in the front room, told me
Mrs. Schaaf had gone away, and then askei
me to send his trunk to the American Ex.
press Company in Philly for him. I wanted
1 while he was
is pulled down
one to see his
Heanley next
(r. Hoffman???
directed them
or where he
d said he did
or four’ days,~
intic County,
deeply into
ogling of my
' my friend,
the murder
u are going
red a trunk
broadcast.”
don’t know
‘roadcast
it trunk,
mM your
Shipped 4
nis?”
ne,” he
nd then
‘W any-.
it night
Morris
e thor-
se, and
earned
tion of
asked
2 plat-
h and
binson
tained
street.
£
“S.
“Knowing the express company would have records show-
ing from what city the trunk had been shipped, we went
there. A delivery slip, signed by Weinstein, was found. This
showed the trunk had been sent out of Atlantic City at 4 p.m.,
March 4th, via the Pennsylvania’ Railroad... It was consigned
: ‘to Henry Miller, of Atlantic City.
é “This, coupled with the fact that an Atlantic ‘City news-
a as well as a Philadelphia one; had been found in the
, trunk, led us to believe the crime had been committed in’
your city. The Philadelphia paper,.we recalled, was of an
edition that is sent to your city every day. That was an-
other clue.”
I thanked the reporter for the information, and then
" turned to two of my men, Detectives Frank May and Frank
Juliano.
“May,” I said, “I want you to. go to the American Express
office at the Pennsylvania Station and check the records of
all trunks shipped out of here on March 4th. .See if any
were sent for a fellow named Henry Miller. Try to find the
driver who picked it up and get the address of the house
where he received it.”
When May left, I told Juliano that I was going to Phila-
- delphia and that I wanted him to come along with me. We
arrived in the Quaker City within two hours after I had
received the call.
Going to the detective bureau’s headquarters in City Hall,
we conferred with Captain Heanley, Superintendent Le-
Murder luggage, showing roped trunk
inside another, in which a nude body
was found by the Philadelphia police
e
Strange, and other detectives who were assigned to the case.
Weinstein and Robinson, the two truckmen, were waiting
to give us further details.
“This fellow Miller,” Weinstein said, ‘came to my office
on the afternoon of March 5th. Robinson and I went with
him and got the trunk. He paid me four dollars for moving
it to the Fifth Street address.
“I remarked that the trunk seemed rather heavy. He
winked at me and said, ‘Boy, you’d be surpriséd if you knew
what is in it.’ I, judged from this that he was a bootlegger,
but not wanting to be too inquisitive, I didn’t ask any more
questions.”
Thanking the two men for their help, we advised them
that they would probably be called upon to make an identifi-
cation of Miller if we. ever found him.
Captain Heanley then started to tell me about the informa-
tion he had received from the Hoffmans. As he did, the tele-
phone on his desk rang. He answered and learned the call
was for me from Detective May, whom I had assigned to trace
the trunk in Atlantic City.
“Chief,” May reported,
out of here, on March 4th, by a fellow named Miller.
“I found the trunk was shipped
This
An officer searches furnace in horror house for addi-
tional clues. Detective Hoffman had found part of the
victim's partially burned: clothing (as shown on floor)
man, however, took the trunk to the station in a delivery
truck. He failed to place a return address on the tag, and
the station has no record of his home address. I’ve been
unable to find any truckmen who moved the trunk, but will
let you know as soon as I find something.”
I replaced the receiver ‘and turned to Captain Heanley.
After telling him of May’s findings, I remarked, ,“That is
rather definite proof that this crime was committed in At-
lantic City. Our next step is to. establish the identity of this
unfortunate woman.”
Captain Heanley, Detective Juliano and I then went to the
morgue to view the victim’s body.
As soon as Juliano saw it, he turned to me and said, “Chief,
I’ve seen that woman in Atlantic City many times. If I’m not
mistaken, she lived either on States or Connecticut Avenues,
near Atlantic Avenue.”
“In that case, Frank, ” I replied, “we had better get back
as fast as we can.’
Captain Heanley detailed Detective Lieutenant Choplinsky
and Detective Sergeant Martin Curran to accompany us. He ~
also furnished us with a fast police car, and we made the
‘run back in a little under an. hour and a half.
23
‘ eee nner enter
Mrs. Schaaf was BP jock with some difficulty, and entered.
i who was in the
f when she, the
A.
were, Mr. Har-
of them is Mr.
(= We found that the bed was made, and
Heeverything in the room looked as
} though. it had been recently cleaned. We
‘B& searched through Mrs. Schaaf’s effects
38s
Ti
were intact.
‘. Milton Birch, F% I was not surprised by this, however,
very nice man. |
ar ago and has
nd Mrs. Schaaf.’
‘irch, works in
‘t know where, #
fs because I felt that the murder had not
« knew, never took the trouble to kill any-
one and then ship the body away in a
trunk. A thief, I reasoned, would strike
1 Mr. Fine, You “= a person down, but would flee as quickly
- Schaaf didn’t Fs as possible after obtaining his loot.
, but she often
irge she didn’t
ind.”
’ about them,
except that I fe
‘:d businessman
of money. He
id he was that
‘ake life easy.”
d been through
r to her moth-
few miles be-. *
ned to Juliano
them the task
Fine. I gave
ito the past of
what kind of
so what Fine ~
2 retiring,
her detective,
n off another
Schaaf
tin the
ergeant Cur-
returned ‘to.
vent directly
removed the
ed (below)
From Mrs. Schaaf’s room we went to
Fy all the other rooms: in the house, but
* could find no evidence of the crime.
4 =I was puzzling over this when’ Curran
“fe and Hoffman left Choplinsky and me on
“to the basement. Within a few minutes
#) I heard Hoffman calling us. Choplinsky
and I went down, and Hoffman pointed
to a spot near a window.
“Look at that spot on the floor there,” .
he said. “It looks to me as though this
is the place where a trunk stood. You’ll
notice that the dust is thick around the
edges, while the spot where the trunk
probably stood is clean. Now look over
your heads to that rafter, and you’ll see
# apiece of clothesline.”
3 We looked. Sure enough, the line was
there. One of its edges was ragged, as
though someone had chopped off a sec-
tion. I pulled the rope down and ex-
amined it. Then I compared its edge
with the piece of ‘rope Dr: Wadsworth
had found imbedded in the throat of the.
murdered woman. He had given this bit
of evidence to Captain Heanley, and he
“| in turn gave it to me when I visited him
at his office earlier in the day.
I whistled as I compared the ropes.
and found that her jewels.and cash box .
= been committed by a thief. Crooks, I’
the second floor, while they descended _
Victim's body being taken from Philadelphia morgue to undertaking establishment
“You are right, Val,” I said to. Hoff-
man, “these edges do match. This proves
the crime was committed right in this
house.”
As I talked, Hoffman walked to the
furnace. He opened the door, looked
in, and called me over.
There in the bottom of the pit was a
pile of woman’s clothing: dress, shoes.
and underthings. They were partly
burned, showing that the murderer had
attempted to destroy them.
As we looked, Hoffman spoke. “This
indicates that the woman was strangled
right in this cellar. She probably came
down to look for something... Then as
she leaned over, her slayer must have
crept up behind her, slipped the rope
around her neck and twisted it before
she could utter a sound. The poor wom-
an didn’t have a chance.
“After strangling her to death, the
murderer must have stripped her,
crammed her body into the trunk and
then attempted to burn her clothing.”
“But Val,” I asked, “how could one
man have carried the trunk out of here?”
“Maybe he didn’t,” replied Hoffman.
“How-do we know he didn’t jhave a
truckman aid him? You know we haven't
found the men who took the trunk from
this house to the station.”
We took the.woman’s clothing, ‘plated
it in a bag which Choplinsky had pro-
cured, and then ascended to the first
floor. I left it there and went up to
search the rooms used by the boarders.
I went through all of Birch’s effects,
but there was nothing that might pos-
sibly link him with the crime. As I pre-
pared to enter Fine’s room, Sergeant
Curran came up and showed me a note. :
“Look at this, Chief,” he said. ay
found this in the maid’s room, and it is
signed by Fine.” ’ (Continued on page 58)
Captain. Harry. Macntey (above), of -
the Homicide Squad, who aided ma-
terially in solution of this atrocity
‘Detective. Juliano, clever “Atlantic
County sleuth whose splendid work
did much toward capture of slog
Captain Frank Harrold, co-author,
had complete charge and directed
manhunt for Mrs. Schaaf's murderer
25
of any kind
‘cr, but after
and tried to
the wrench
| found her
ht some gas
Lac Avenue
iy shoes and
ry. 1 bought
\o Waive pre-
so I can be
rial.”
‘veal the mo-
‘ment, but he
ruilty of first
al was called.
How, he did
ill was certain
| in repulsing
the tall, thin,
1 she accepted
on Street cafe.
ver 3, Gardner .
ring on a mur-
n $50,000 bail
and eventual
L Occasionally
ips to various
ue was Alton
in his thirties,
vith funds, the
ver explained.
built, he
was fre-
mpany of
> vacationed at
1otels.
‘ed from both
as a salesman
ad come to At-
1, requesting a
ey territory in
f the beneficial
ng salt sea-air.
was red-haired
ning he drove
usually return-
‘oomers at the
lly logical sus-
heir well to-do
he police were
Joseph Botwi-
nry Miller had
ver, Miller had
fact turned the
his interviews
truckman. Per-
uerely to make
-s difficult. Per-
1e was trying to
red hair!
- return of the
n an exhaustive
irdinary robbery
s a possible mo-
ime. In Mamie
‘ound a strong-
rities; and a con-
iable jewelry. It
vat a murderer
overlooked this
ed the diabolical
was nonplussed.
essed to Captain
raped and she
{ the killer gain
ght. “Don't
st,” he cau-
tioned. “Mrs, Schaaf was a rich woman,
Who gets her dough, now? Okay, the
strong-box wasn’t touched. But if the
killer gets her estate, he winds up with
«the strong-box anyway.
Choplinsky | nodded his agreement.
“That could be it,” he said. “The killer
wouldn’t lose anything by waiting.”
But had Mamie Schaaf left a will? This
became the question of the moment. The
search of her room did not reveal such a
document. .
Violet Thompson, questioned on this
. score, confirmed that a will indeed ex-
isted.
“She asked me to sign it as a witness,”
she said, “It was about a month ago. Mr.
Loehr was in her room with her. Both of
us signed it.”
The young woman was not acquainted
with the provisions of, her employer’s
will, nor had she any idea where Mrs.
Schaaf might have put the document for
safe keeping. So far as the maid knew,
the widow had neither a lawyer nor the
use of a safe deposit box.
The: fact that the young and dapper
Loehr had been the other witness to the
execution of the will was of itself sugges-
tive. It was with interest, then, that the
officers admitted themselves to his room.
It was at once evident that Alton Loehr
was a man of many interests—all of them
‘expensive. The officers found a number
of autographed photographs of pretty
young women, some of them obviously
showgirls. In the closet was an array of
custom-made clothing. There was also, on
top of his dresser, an accumulation of
racing forms and other track information.
- This evidence of Loehr’s predilection
for horse racing seemed to establish the
ownership of the marked sports section
of the newspaper found in Mamie
Schaaf’s makeshift coffin.
The troom was meticulously combed,
but there was fio trace of the landlady’s
last will and testament.
Loehr, himself, walked into the house
almost coincident with the search of his
room. The young man, nattily dressed
and wearing a camel’s hair polo-coat,
seemed amazed at the array of police in
the house. He made an ill-considered at-
tempt to retreat, but was blocked at the
door by Detective Juliano. :
“What's the matter, Loehr?” Harrold
asked him. “What's your hurry.”
The dapper ladies’ man shrugged, “No
hurry,” he said. “What’s going on?”
Apprised of the murder of his landlady,
Alton Loehr appeared incredulous. It was
impossible to tell whether he was genu-
inely shocked or putting ona convincing
act.
Shown the newspaper with the pen-
ciled Pimlico entries, the young man
freely admitted that it was he who had
circled the horses’ names.
' “So what?” he demanded irately. “So
I put an occasional bet on the nags.
Whose business is that?”
Choplinsky was grave. “It’s police busi-
ness when that paper turns up wrapped
around a dead woman,” he said, “Maybe
you can tell us how it got there.”
Loehr’s face became ashen. It seemed
that for the first time he realized the ©
direction of the officers’ questioning.
“Anybody could have picked up that
paper,” he said. “Anybody in the house,
I don’t hide my papers. I leave them
around,”
Captain Harrold’s manner became ab-
ruptly direct. “How'd you spend the
afternoon of Friday, March 4th?”
Loehr considered, He admitted that he
left the house at noon and wandered over
to the hotel district. “Looking for a poker
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MUNICH TRIANGLE
W hen 19-year-old Martha Joan Wage. with. His tone of voice was sarcastic.
arrived in her new quarters at the Fut-
stenfeldbruck Air Base near Munich,
_ Germany, with her two infant children,
aged 15 months and 5 months, she was
thrilled by the thought of a new world
far from Oak Grove, Wisc., where she
had spent most of her girlhood. She
had hardly been able to wait to join her
husband, Sergeant, Dan P. Wage, 25,
_who was stationed there. °
But once she was settled, she began
to notice that Dan stayed away from
home more than seemed necessary. She
realized that a soldier’s duties required
erratic hours—but there was something
about his attitude toward her that be-
wildered her. She suspected that he was
‘playing around with other women.
Then came the fatal Saturday night of
July 26, 1952. Martha was in the bed-
room, after putting her two babies to-
sleep. She heard the front door open and
the sound of Dan’s footsteps. But be-
sides Dan’s steps there were those of
another. The bedroom door swung open
and she saw her husband holding the
~hand of a young woman. “Look what I
have here!” she was later to tell the
authorities was what Dan taunted her
It was then that the infants began to
cry and—"“I became unstrung,” she
said, in recounting the tragedy that fol-
lowed. When she asked her husband
what he was doing with the girl, she
said he had replied, “None of your busi-
ness.”
Shocked by the swiftly moving events
that threatened to break up her home,
Martha, “so I could scare some sense
into him,” went to the closet and got a
carbine which she claimed didn’t work.
According to the testimony of the girl
whom Wage had brought home with
him after meeting her at a dance, the
sergeant had managed to wrest the
weapon away from his wife and remove
the bullet. “She found another:and put
it in the gun and pulled the trigger
twice, but the gun didn’t go off.”
The girl had run out of the house to
get help when she heard the shot which
was to wound Sergeant Wage fatally.
At the funeral on August 2, Martha
threw herself across her husband’s cof-
fin and screamed, “I loved him... . I
never meant to kill him.”
Above, pointing, she leaves court
where she pleaded Innocent. —DD
game,” he confessed. “Gambling is my
business. A guy can always find a floating
game ina resort town like this—”
He refused to divulge either the names
of his fellow players or the hotel at which.
the Friday poker session had taken place.
“For a guy in my business, it would be
better to face a murder rap than to talk
out of turn,” he said.
Sometime during Friday afternoon,
Loehr said, he returned to the house. No
one seemed to be in. He read his news-
paper in the front room and then de-
parted. He took a walk and then had
dinner.
“What about that will you witnessed?”
Harrold asked. “Mamie Schaaf's
will.”
“Nothing about it,” Loehr said. “She
called mein her room and told me she
wanted me to witness her signature. I
said ‘sure.’”
He, like the maid, professed complete
ignorance of the will’s contents and its
present whereabouts.
Letting him wait, the officers conferred,
They agreed that there seemed to. be a
ring of sincerity in the young man’s non-
chalant manner. Besides, according to the
old maxim with gamblers, money was
easy come; easy go. Living optimistically
in the imminent prospect of big winnings,
gamblers seldom turn to crimes of vio-
lence to recoup former losses. Besides,
the murder.of Mamie Schaaf seemed to
offer Loehr no possibility of profit. :
Detective May put this deduction into
words.
“The one thing that convinces me he’s
in the clear,” May said, “is the fact that
he actually witnessed that will. Under
the law, a necessary witness can’t share
in the estate.”
Harrold nodded. “That’s absolutely
right,” he recalled, “That’s to make sure
that the witnesses are disinterested when
the will comes up for probate.”
Choplinsky and Curran both agreed
that in view of this fact, Loehr, probably,
was not involved in the macabre crime.
This reduced the likely suspects to Louis
Fine and Joseph Botwinak. Quite pos-
sibly, also, the vanished will which tended
to clear Alton Loehr might be found to
actually implicate one or the other of the
two men, Neither had been a witness;
therefore, either might benefit under its
terms.
The officers, by. now, were convinced
that the will was in some way related
with the strangling of Mamie Schaaf.
They were also of the opinion that the
strangler was one of the lodgers. That
the will had disappeared seemed to indi-
cate that the killer might be named in it.
Perhaps, fearing that the discovery of
the document might point the finger of
suspicion at him, the killer had removed
the will pending such time when it might
be safé to present it!
Choplinsky conceived a sudden strata-
gem. “Only if somebody else gets pegged
for this murder. would the killer dare to
have that will show up,” he reflected.
“Suppose we make it look like we've
actually nabbed a fall-guy. The killer
might figure that his one chance to get
the dough is to bring that will back—be-
fore we discover it’s missing.”
Captain Harrold was at once taken with
this idea. He added, however, a refine-
ment of his own. “We can make it a little |
stronger,” he suggested. “We can nab
the fall-guy, just as you say. We can give
his name to the papers and announce that
an old will has been found giving Mrs.
Schaaf’s property to charity. Then we
put in a paragraph saying that tomorrow
we're conducting a thorough search of
this house, f__
our case against |
“What happens
“The killer mig
house,” Harrold «
It’s a later will t
nounced, and tom)
only chance to put
effects before we
The fall-guy w
out in the living
Alton Loehr adn
seemed a good ga
willingness to coc
The evening pa
the police, carried
sensational murdc¢
“Alton Loehr was
police. expected t
crime. The pape
space to the oth«
by the authoritic
will and the plan
house the next d:
The trap was |!
selves in the dark
that night, waited
nibble at the che:
At a quarter 0:
the lock anda sho
through the front
from his.hiding p
heard the stair t
walked heavily u
Upstairs, from |
hall linen closet, |
the man walk to
o¢cupied by Jose}
opened the door
The light went ot
fore the door cl
turned down hat
rimmed spectacle:
May left the li:
on the door. A sec
police badge 2+ °
Quickly jon
detective fri
fully examir
case. The missing
Cautioning the
remain quietly in
resumed their vig:
more than an h
heard a key turni
man of compact |!
and walked quic]
man moved. fur:
thought, and in t!
ing seemed labor:
The newcomer
Schaaf’s bedchar
looked around, th
was inside when
and Sergeant Cur
grabbed his shou!
Turning on the
looked at their w
“What are you
Fine?” Curran as
the name is Hen:
Louis Fine star«
then looked guilt
ment grasped in h
“T’ve got nothin
“It’s Mrs. Scha:
would look bette:
room.”
A hasty exami:
vealed it to be t!
in it as sole benefic
estate was Louis
Protesting his :
was taken to hea:
tensive grilling dic
he knew nothing
his landlady. Fina
low to the cell-h
sleep.
In the meantim:
ambling is my
i find a floating
1 hike this—”
re either the names
‘the hotel at which.
on had taken place.
siness, it would be
er rap than to talk
Friday afternoon, ©
d to the house. No
He read his news-
om and then de-
alk and then had
ll you witnessed?”
‘Mamie Schaaf’s
Loehr said. “She
and told me she
> her signature. I
rofessed complete
contents and its
officers conferred,
e seemed to. be a
young man’s non-
s, according to the
lers, money was —
ving optimistically
st’of big winnings,
to crimes of vio-
r losses. Besides,
Schaaf seemed to
ity of profit.
1is deduction into
‘onvinces me he’s
. “is the fact that
that will. Under
itness can’t share
‘hat’s absolutely
it’s to make sure
isinterested when
-obate,”
roth agreed
ir, probably,
tabre crime.
suspects to Louis
inak. Quite pos-
will which tended
ight be found to
- the other of the
been a witness;
benefit under its
, Were convinced
me way related
Mamie Schaaf.
opinion that the
1e lodgers. That
seemed to indi-
t be named in it.
he discovery of
nt the finger of
ler had removed
ie when it might
a sudden strata-
else gets pegged
re killer dare to
>,” he reflected.
look like we’ve
guy. The killer
e chance to get
it will back—be-
sing.”
once taken with
wever, a refine-
1 make it a little °
. “We can nab
ay. We can give
d announce that
ind giving Mrs.
rity, Then we
¢ that tomorrow
‘ough search of
i Naa al laa it ete
this house, from top to bottom, to clinch
our case against the fall-guy.”
“What happens then?” Curran asked.
“The killer might plant the will in the
house,” Harrold offered. “He’d have to.
It’s a later will than the one we've an-
nounced, and tonight would give him his
only chance to put it among Mrs. Schaaf’s
effects before we search the house!”
The fall-guy was at hand, sweating it
out in the living room.:Told of the plan,
Alton Loehr admitted that basically it
seemed a good gamble. He expressed his
willingness to cooperate with the police.
The evening papers, at the request of
the police, carried banner accounts of the
sensational murder. They announced that
‘Alton Loehr was in.custody and that the
police. expected to charge him with. the
crime. The papers also devoted some
space to the other details decided upon
by the authorities—the discovery of a
will and the plan to search ‘the murder-
house the next day.
The trap was baited. Secreting them-
selves in the darkened house, the officers,
that night, waited to see if the rat would
nibble at the cheese.
At. a quarter of nine, a key grated in
the lock and a short, stocky figure walked
through the front door. Detective Juliano,
from his.hiding place in the living room,
heard the stair. treads creak as a man
walked heavily up’to the second floor.
Upstairs, from his vantage point in the
hall linen closet, Detective May watched
the man walk to. the room known to be
occupied by Joseph Botwinak. The man
opened the door and entered the room.
The light went on. In the short time be-
fore the door closed, May glimpsed a
turned down hat and a pair of horn-
rimmed spectacles.
May left the linen closet and knocked
on the door. A second later he flashed his
police badge at the startled Botwinak.
Quickly joined by Captain Harrold, the
detective frisked the salesman and care-
fully examined the contents of his sample
case. The missing will was not found,
Cautioning the frightened salesman to
remain quietly in his room, the officers
resumed their vigil, They waited for little
more than an hour before. they’ again
heard a key turning in the lock. Another
man of compact build entered the house
and walked quickly up the stairs. This
man moved furtively, Detective May
thought, and in the darkness his breath-
ing seemed labored.
The newcomer went directly to Mamie
Schaaf’s bedchamber. He paused and
looked around, then opened the door. He
was inside when Lieutenant Choplinsky
and Sergeant Curran, waiting in the dark.
grabbed his shoulders.
Turning on the light, the two officers
looked at their whitefaced prisoner.
“What are you doing with that paper,
Fine?” Curran asked softly. “Or maybe
the name is Henry Miller?”
Louis Fine stared from one to the other,
then looked guiltily at the folded docu-
ment grasped in his stubby fingers.
“T’ve got nothing to hide,” he mumbled.
“It’s Mrs. Schaaf’s will. I thought it
would look better if it was found-in her
room,” .
A hasty examination of the paper re-
vealed it to be the missing will. Named
in it as sole beneficiary of Mamie Schaaf’s
estate was Louis Fine!
Protesting his innocence, the prisoner
was taken to headquarters. Hours of in-
tensive grilling did not alter his claim that
he knew nothing about the murder of
his landlady. Finally he was brought be-
low to the cell-block and’ permitted to
sleep, ;
In the meantime, Captain Harrold made
arrangements for Julius Hoffman and the
Philadelphia truckmen to be brought to
Atlantic City to confront the prisoner the
next morning. By the time they arrived,
another twist had been added to the al-
ready convoluted case. The police ser-
geant in charge of the cell-block reported
that Fine had ‘suffered a sudden heart
attack. He was ordered removed to At-
lantic City Hospital.
Hurriedly consulting with the attend-
ing physicians, Harrold was told that the
prisoner was probably shamming, and
that, in any event, his condition was not
serious enough’ to preclude witnesses
from entering his room.
Subsequently,, Harrold brought . the
Philadelphia witnesses to the hospital.
He placed a slouch hat and a pair of
glasses on the protesting ‘patient.
One by one the witnesses entered the
room. Each of them, upon regarding the
suspect and listening to him talk, identi-
fied the patient as the mysterious Henry
Miller. :
To verify this identification, the wit-.
nesses were asked to view both Joseph °
Botwinak and Alton Loehr; both of
whom donned glasses and hats. The wit-
nesses were certain that neither of these
men was Henry Miller.
Whether Fine had adopted this dis-
guise in order to inculpate his fellow
lodger, Botwinak—who superficially re-
$embled him in build—could not be deter-
mined since the prisoner persisted in his
claim of innocence. However, in the
opinion of the officers, such’ had been.
Fine’s intention. !
The prisoner’s background was investi-
gated with startling results. Two years
earlier, he had actually been arrested on
charges brought by his third wife, Bertha,
that he had tried to murder her by turn-
ing on the gas jets in their home. Tried on
this. charge, Fine was: subsequently ac-
quitted. According to the wife, this was a
second attempt by Fine on her life, Six
months earlier, she said, he had given her
an .overdose of sleeping potion. She
further claimed that he had misappropri-
ated $30,000 of her personal funds. s
A communication ‘was received from.
New York with the information that Fine
was also wanted in that state for murder!
His second wife had died after a lethal
dose of sleeping drugs. Her death en- |
riched Fine by the sum of $50,000!
Tracing Fine’s life still further, the of-
ficials discovered that-his first wife, too,
had died under sinister circumstances,
when, as a young man, Fine had married
in Russia. At that time, he managed to
make his escape to America with a size-
able fortune which he then proceeded to
squander.
Obviously, his relations with Mrs.
Schaaf had followed a repeated pattern.
He had inveigled his way into the lonely
widow’s heart. The subsequent settlement
of her estate revealed that Louis Fine
would have inherited $70,000! With such
a stake to win, he had crowded his luck
too far. It was poetic justice that the will
which held so great a promise of good
fortune should have proved the instru-
ment by which he was brought to book.
Indicted for. murder, Louis Fine was
brought to trial before Supreme Court
Justice Ralph W. E. Donges in Atlantic
County Court on June 6, 1932. Gambling .
everything on a defense of insanity, and
offering not one iqta of evidence that he
was innocent, he was convicted of mur-
der on June 10th.
Sentenced to die in the electric chair,
the first time such a penalty was imposed
in Atlantic County, Louis Fine walked
the last mile to his death in April of 1933.
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5
THE LOVER
Out of five tries at murder three
and much cunning. Because of his cunning,
the police of five countries had failed to catch
up with him. When American detectives finally
bagged him, they got him for murder. Not his first,
to be sure, but firmly and conclusively his last.
The intensive pursuit of him started in Vienna. At that time
the secret police did not have to worry about Red agents. They
were concerned then with polished and elusive international
crooks who must be caught red-handed to make a prison sen-
tence stick.
At the moment the Viennese detectives were watching a
letter. On one side of Vienna’s main post office was a small
police station. Herr Gayer, the chief of police, had ordered a
wire installed between the station and the general delivery
counter at the post office. The clerk on duty there would only
have to press a button to set a bell ringing in one of the de-
tective rooms of the police station. He was to do this as soon
as a certain letter was asked for, then be as slow as possible in
delivering the letter.
At the police station two detectives were ready day and
night to hurry out the instant that bell sounded and to hold
for questioning the person who had received the letter.
It was an ordinary looking letter, a broad envelope of the
best linen stock. Only its contents were unusual. There was
no writing, just money—crisp new bank notes in rather large
denominations to an amount equaling $3,900. \
This was a pretty big sum in Austrian currency and, while its
origin was known, its destiny was obscure. Either it was
ransom money, or it wasn’t. Herr Gayer of the Vienna police
had been instructed by the highest authority to find out.
From Warsaw had come a confidential appeal from their
secret police. Publicity must be avoided if possible. The
young heiress-daughter of a wealthy landowner had either
eloped with a scoundrel or had been kidnaped by him. If kid-
naped, the ransom demand might be expected to be large.. If
an elopement, the girl was under age, had no parental con-
sent. A marriage ceremony would be invalid.
The girl, Lydia Vareska, had written to her father’s lawyers—
a curiously adult letter. She wrote that she had run away to
Vienna with her love and now, in order to be properly wed to
him, she needed more money.
This sounded like blackmail dictated by an unscrupulous
and calculating suitor. It also sounded like extravagance, in-
asmuch as a considerable sum of cash had disappeared when
Lydia did, together with some family heirloom jewelry and
several of her mother’s prized jewels.
After consultation, Herr Gayer in Vienna recommended that
the money be sent. If Lydia’s indirect appeal to her parents
was ignored by them, Gayer pointed out, the girl’s life might
be endangered. And so the letter, addressed simply L. Vareska,
General Delivery, General Post Office, Vienna, had been duly
posted from Warsaw.
It had arrived, was now being watched as cheese in a trap.
The rascal would either call for it himself, or send the girl
or a trusted confederate for it.
H’ WAS A MAN of many names, many crimes
succeeded
On the
llth, the
In two:
The cler!}
just.as lor
was youl
pocketed
When
away. Ni
of the de;
By evenir
he had di
At the
two detec
joined a
corner ta!
but had b
The lad:
sweet loo:
tallied wit
by the po!
The gen
the waiter
tossed the
he began t
rie 2¢Lale Meapg,
4
i
j
i
Tes
is
SS SSETEUEAVANVANOQUOOUAGUAQUQUEOUOQUQUSOUOQUQUEOUEQUGNNQUOQNONEQNENUGUEOUGUEOVEQUQUEDNOUEQUQNNQUENNQNEQNOUGQNQUEQUONNQUEQUQNNQUEDAGSEONQNEQUQUEQUOUNNUEN
- 8
UU
by KEN CARPENTER
={§ Widow and she liked it.
‘i Gaily, she hummed the
strains of the famous waltz
as she took a black dress
from the closet and placed it .
on the bed. Black was her |
color, not only because she
was a widow, but because it
went well with her silky hair.
So, for that matter, did the
pink nightgown that was fol-
ded on the bed beside the ~
dress.
She smiled at the two garments as
though comparing them in terms of
anticipated adventure. Then, seating -
herself before her vanity table, she
picked off her fancy slippers and drew
a pair of silk stockings over her sleek,
firm legs. ©. s :
-+As she leaned back, her dressing
gown spread_open, revealing a plump —
but attractive form. In the mirror, she
Detectives peer through the
window of boarding house
where ‘salesman’ delivered his
grisly trunks one afternoon.
o + oe eS hs
+ -
pase a
WHEN MURDER
JUMPED OUT |
OFAHAT
noted that the uptilt of her chin kept
her neck smooth and alluring. She
sighed happily, then hastily tried to
gather the folds of the negligee as she
heard the door opening behind her.
A man stepped into the subdued
TRE ts ct Cases, Def GF O, , ier |
Killer recuperating after another ‘heart attack’ : |
police questions. He protested innocence even on the chair. Z|
a
ONT
ae BE:
“yenead fell backward as she clawed
« . wildly at her throat. og
© Moments, later, her head fell
_. forward. As she slumped from the
“vanity chair, the man grabbed for her
= shoulders, missed and caught the
; negligee instead, peeling it from the ff
sagging form which was now clad only ff
4. in a pair of stockings beneath the.
~ Yevealing lamplight. So erg gee
~~ Footsteps sounded in the hall
._~ outside the hushed room. The man -
listened as they went by and continued .
on upstairs. Briefly he studied the
figure on the floor, noted that blood
was trickling steadily from lips that no
+ longer breathed a sigh — in fact. n
_ longer breathed at all! ~ ok
nt
~landlord’s hand, keeping his head
‘down, eyeing the money from beneath
_ the brim of his slouch hat. ~: ;
-* Hoffman asked the new roomer’s
-Name. “‘Make it S. Miller,’” he said,
‘indicating the receipt that Hoffman
eens
_- He looked at the label on the negligee
‘and read the name of an expensive
‘-shop. He picked up the slippers,”
~~ bundled them with the filmy garment
‘/-and stole from the room, calmly closing ©
_ the door behind him. He moved to the
darkness of the rear hall in the
deliberate manner of a man who had
all the time he needed. AAS
- Thursday, March 3, 1932, was a
mild day in Philadelphia, so mild that
«Julius Hoffman wondered why his new
~roomer kept his overcoat collar;up
indoors. The man. had seen the sign
“Room for Rent’” in the window of
: Hoffman’s home on North Fifth
Street. When told that it was on the
‘tomorrow with my baggage. I’m a
salesman and travel a good deal and
Pll be out of town on many occa-
. sions.’* — : “!
* He took the receipt and turned
away. As Hoffman watched the
Squatty figure walk out through the
» front door, he realized that at no time
did he get a good look at the new
-Toomer’s face. Only when-he turned
at the bottom of the steps did Hoff-
first floor, he had asked to take it sight Man catch a glimpse above the
unseen. : ~“muffling coat collar. .
But Hoffman had insisted that he . Then, all he noticed was a pair of
look at it, so now the man was glancing - heavy-rimmed glasses beneath the
about the room, saying: ‘“‘Good. I’ll down-turned hat brim that so effecti-
take it.’ He pulled a roll of bills from vely obscurred the remainder of
his overcoat pocket and turning Miller’s features: ¢
toward Hoffman for the first time, he ‘Late the next afternoon, the new
brought on by
sf
lamplight which tended to renew the —
widow’s charms. He spoke simply and
sincerely: ‘‘You are beautiful... so
beautiful.’’ Lulled by the flattery, the
woman looked up into the mirror too |
late. Something lashed her face. Her }
a
J
was about to sign. ‘‘I’ll be back.
2
¥ Se eee: r Fs < ¥ + oe oe j ig i eer Pa :
- The trunk was large, the wardrobe
Pe = me. .
UVQOQQQQQOGQEQQQQUUUUNEUUOGCOQQQOUECOOOOOOOOOOOQQQQOUUUOOOQUUCUOOG808S004UCTHHHOO000Q0QHA000Q00000000000U000000000000GHH000008000H0HH0000000000HH00000000000000000000HH0008000000HK08800U0000
UR or |
eos at get
es PEreg2
“es:
myn MULT
Ll?
“ bye pS mye =
Toomer was back. Again the weather =="
“was mild, but Miller was as heavily ==©
muffled as before. He kept pacing SS
slowly along the sidewalk in front of ==*
the brick house where Mrs. Hoffman —
had just finished washing the white —
marble steps. With each pause, he =c,
stared impatiently along the street until =A
finally, a small moving van rattled ==:
along the cobbles and halted as he ==
flagged it down. ~ =
While two men were unloading a = t>
large, heavy trunk, Mrs. Hoffman = ot
called her husband and son. Under == °
Miller’s supervision, the moving men =
carried the trunk into the house and = ©
the Hoffmans took over when they —
reached Miller’s room. There, Miller == ct
pointed to the corner where he wanted B= }s
it, adding, ‘‘Keep it right side up.” == Q
ee
As the Hoffmans worked the trunk = on
between them, Miller commented, = i
“This room is stuffy and I like fresh = ees,
air.’’ With that he stalked to the =
window, pulled it down from the top: = NN
and added, ‘‘Better leave it that way.”
‘Why he should like fresh air and yet
keep himself so muffled against it, he
did not specify. Mrs. Hoffman tried
to open a polite conversation with
Miller about the recent kidnapping of
the Lindbergh baby as he followed the
moving man out through the hail, but
the new roomer turned and brushed
past her brusquely.
On the street, Miller paid off the
two truckers. Then, instead of
returning into the house, he walked
(continued on page 43)
The victim as she lay foided
and trussed inside two trunks.
Killer removed ail her clothes
but strangely left her jeweiry.
STUPUVOUAEUOUOUAUOUOUNOEOOUEHEHEOEAUAEOUSEONGUGUGH
by |
8
LR Ae ames Satomi
When Murder Jumped Out Of A Hat
* (continued from page 43)
Dr. Wadsworth pointed toa red welt
encircling the dead woman’s neck.
Investigators, studying it closely, saw
that it was caused by a thin, taut rope
that was actually imbedded in the
swollen flesh. She
At the back of the neck was a close-
clipped knot. So tight was the strangle
cord that it took skilled work by Dr.
Wadsworth to cut it loose, at the same
time preserving the knot. '. >; ;
**A slip noose,’ said the model
examiner. ‘‘Dropped down around the
neck and given a sudden jerk, it could
’ have brought almost instantaneous
death. Look there, in the knot.”*~ »
The physician’s practiced eye had
discovered something that only a
~ microscopic ‘examination would ordi-
narily have disclosed. A single hair had
- caught in the loop. In shade, it
matched the light gray of the victim’s
hair. Pulled from her head, it stood
‘as evidence of the murder process
described by Dr. Wadsworth. But the
medical examiner could give no exact
estimate as to how long. the woman
"> fuad been dead. i
- **Perhaps a week,”” he coclaetede
*‘or maybe longer. I doubt that even
the autopsy will help us much. It may
depend upon how long she was dead
before she was packed in the trunks.”
~The stopped wrist-watch offered no
clue to the time element. A simple test
proved that it had not been broken in-
the death struggle, but had simply run
down.
The-stuffed newspaper proved a
better clue. Detectives had smoothed
them and examined them. Now
**The last date,’” he stated, Mis
Tuesday, March 1. They are all copies
of the Evening Bulletin, so the trunks
may have been shipped by somebody
right here in town.’’
**And in Philadelphia,’’ quoted
Captain Heanley, ‘nearly everybody
reads the Bulletin.’’
**So do people in upstate Pennsyl-
vania,’”® put in Superintendent Le-
Strange, ‘‘and a lot of others over in
New Jersey. Here’s something worth
noting’? — he tapped the mastheads
of the different newspapers — ‘‘every
edition is a Night Extra. told go on
sale early.”’
‘*That’s right,”’ aapeed Heanley.
‘Anyone buying from a newsstand
here in town would be apt to pick up
a Sporting Extra or a Final. But Night
44 .
Express might be the latest you could
get in other locales.’’
.«-The investigators turned their
attention to the trunks, hoping to learn
where they had come from. But white
marks on the lining showed where the
manufacturer’s tags had been pried
away.
_. Though the victim’s age was difficult
‘to pinpoint, her weight was established
as approximately 140 pounds. Added
to that, the combined weight of the
two trunks and their other contents
brought the total to slightly under 300
pounds.
‘Choplinsky talked with fulies
Hoffman and his son, but found that
both knew Miller only as a stocky man
who said he was a salesman and who
had never slept in the room where the
trunk had been found. They had not
noticed the two rine
~ nor. had Mrs. Hoffman.
« Mrs. Hoffman provided one new
‘note when she stated: ‘‘He didn’t
strike me as very polite, the way he
kept his hat on in the house. I tried to
be nice to him anyway, but he acted
“offended. ‘
«SL said to him, “it was too bad about.
the. Lindbergh baby, wasn’t it?’ and
he just turned and walked out.””.
Choplinsky could understand the
man’s reaction. The kidnapping had
occurred. just three days before. All
the station was on the alert for any
clue to the shocking crime. Any man
with a body in a trunk could not afford
to engage in small talk on a subject
that might make his own actions look
suspicious.
Miller and the truckmen had come
and gone unnoticed by any one except
the Hoffmans.-Only one address
remained to be visited, a real estate
office near the rooming house. It had
been closed before the truckers had
arrived on Friday, but Choplinsky,
methodical in every detail, decided to
inquire there. 2
The realtor, Maurice Lichow, was
puzzied at mention of the trunk.
“‘The Express Company brought a
trunk here to the office,” explained
Lichow, ‘‘and wanted my sister to pay
a $7.50 C.O.D.”
“*You have no idea where it came
from?”’
‘‘None at all, but it couldn’t have
been for us.’’
When Choplinsky reported that to
Heanley at headquarters, the homicide
chief showed renewed interest.
**We’ve checked with the American
ress Company,”’ stated Heanley,
“*but they couldn’t find any record of
a delivery at Hoffman’s so we had
about given them up. This new angle
nay he the answer.”
It was the answer. When Choplinsky
stopped at the express office adjoining
Philadelphia’s ancient Broad Street
Station, he gained prompt results when
he spoke of a C.O.D. shipment. Not
only were such records available, the
amount of the charge as against the
weight of the trunk, furnished a lead
to its point of origin.
“Sounds like it came from Atlantic
City,” one clerk decided.
The guess was right. The bill of
lading was found and it showed that
the shipment had been sent from-
Atlantic City on Wednesday, March
2,. consigned to S. Miller in care of
Lichow’s real estate office. =
_ But that was not all. After the trunk
was returned, a man had phoned the
complaint department, gave a des-
cription of the trunk and stated. that.
he would call for the trunk the next
day and pay the charges. He had done
that, signing as ‘‘S. Miller.’’ ‘
Because the express office was busy,
Ro one had taken particular notice of
Miller. But the records; once unco-
vered, were replete with detail. Miller
had assigned the delivery of the trunk
to a local mover, Morris Weinstein,
who had also signed for the trunk
when he picked it up.
Choplinsky visited Weinstein’ s
office and talked to both the mover
and his driver, Charles Robinson.
Their description of Miller tallied with
that given by Hoffman, at whose
home they remembered delivering the
trunk. y
The hunt switched to Atlantic City.
There, Frank Harrold, Chief of
Atlantic County Detectives, was
contacted by Philadelphia police and
immediately assigned Detective Frank
Juliano to the investigation.
At the Atlantic City office of the
American Railway Express, Juliano
talked with Earl Steelman, the clerk
who had handled the shipment. He
remembered that a tall, middle-aged
man had consigned it to ‘‘S. Miller’
in Philadelphia. Steelman had the
consignment papers.
**None of our men picked up the
trunk,’’ Steelman stated. ‘‘It was just
brought here and dropped off.”’
Juliano reported his findings back
tq,Harrold.
(continued on next page)
“*We’ve lost two days now,’’
declared the detective chief, ‘‘and
we’re back-tracking, while Miller —
if he’s smart — is getting farther away
all the time.”
“The same goes-for the man who
made the shipment,”’ added Juliano.
“*We’ll have to check all local
truckers,’’ Harrold said, “though it
may be tough.” _-
It was doubly difficult. There were
many small trucks in Atlantic City that
could be hired for odd pickup jobs.
But the majority of eee were hard
to locate.
~ “I’m going to talk to the € express
company drivers,’’ Juliano told’
Harrold. ‘‘Maybe they will remember
the truck that stopped by that Wed-
nesday.”” :
The Wednesday in question was
March 2 and now, with more than a
week gone by, it looked as though
Juliano had picked a most unlikely
longshot. Not a single expressman
could recall a truck delivering a 300- - ©
pound trunk at the local platform, but
Juliano’s hunch was still due to score.
Just as he was leaving the express ~
office, a driver named Richard Regent
stopped him.
“*That trunk you asked about,” said
Nugent. ‘‘I didn’t see it delivered here,
but I saw a dead ringer for it that a
fellow wanted shipped the day you
mentioned.” :
**Where was that?’” Selina acked:
**At a house on South Connecticut
Avenue,” replied Nugent. ‘I don’t
remember the address, but you can’t
miss the house. It’s kind of weird
looking. ” Sa pity
**You mean you. went Hace to pick
it up?’’ ‘
“That’s right, but it was too heavy
for me. I said I’d have to go back and.
get a helper. So the shipper said never
mind, he would take care of it.””.
“Was he a tall man? Middle-aged?’’
““Yes.’? Nugent was puzzled. E cnigd
did you know?”’
**Because,’” said Fallens: *the
happened to be the man we are looking
for.”’
Chief Harrold had already assigned
two other detectives, Frank May and
James Ebbecke, to help Juliano track
down the local truckers. All three
drove along Connecticut Avenue and
soon identified the house that Nugent
had mentioned.
Quiet inquiry at a nearby store
yielded some facts about the place. It
was the home of a widow named Mrs.
Mattie Schaaf. She had kept house for
a banker named George Curry who
had willed it to her when he died. Since
Ps
then, Mrs. Schaaf had added to a:
substantial income by running it as a
year-round rooming house.
The storekeeper had not seen Six
Schaaf since the storm and now the
house looked deserted. Juliano posted
May and Ebbecke inside the picket
fence where they could watch both
sides of the house while he went up
the steps and rang the doorbell. The
ring was answered by a tall man whose
iron gray hair and reddish face
matched the description given by the
_ express company employes.
The man was in shirt sleeves and
seemed drowsy, but the brisk air
roused him. :
**What do you want here?””
Juliano told him: ‘We want to talk
to Mrs. Schaaf.’’
~f*You’ll have to wait for a few
_ weeks. She has gone on a cruise.’”
¥ “I see. And your name?’’
> ‘‘Fine“ Louis Fine. I have a room
“Do you know anything about a
trunk that was shipped from here on
Wednesday, March 2?”
~ For the first time, Fine relaxed. His
‘expression became a slight smile.
~.**Why, certainly,’’ said Fine. ‘‘I
" shipped it for a friend of Mrs. Schaaf’s
named Miller. An old friend, she
called him, when she introduced me
to him the night before. He was here
on Wednesday, after Mrs. Schaaf had
~ gone.”’
--‘*You saw her leave?”
***No. I had been strolling on the
boardwalk. I take a stroll every
morning and evening. But Mrs. Schaaf
had said she was going to New York
to take a cruise. She had asked me to
take care of things while she was away.
But why are you interested in Miller’s
trunk?”
“*Because,”’ returned Juliano, ‘‘Mrs.
Schaaf may have taken a very short
trip. There was a body in that trunk
and it sounds as if it was hers.”” :
The flush faded from Fine’s face,
leaving it a drab gray. They were in
the hallway now and”Fine sat on the
steps leading up to the second floor.
He stared into space.
“This Miller,” probed Juliano.
**What did he look like?”
“Short, stocky, with thick glasses.”
Fine spoke in gasps.
“Miller roomed here a few years
ago,” Fine explained, ‘‘and he had left
some things in the cellar. He said the
trunk was his and that he had packed
it with patent medicines, samples of a
product that he sells.”
Juliano remembered Nugent men-
tioning that he had seen the trunk ina
oom. Casually, Juliano asked: © /
“You say the trunk was down in the
cellar?”
“No. Miller had brought it up to
Mrs. Schaaf’s room.’ Fine gestured
across the hallway. ‘‘I thought i was
a trunk she was taking with her, but -
Miller said that hers had already gone.
He had spent the morning packing his
bottles so they wouldn’ 't break and was
in a hurry to leave.””
“To catch the train for Philadel-
phia?’”’ :
“No. He had a car. A big Paige with
a Jersey license. He wanted me to ship
the trunk for him so I called the ©
expressman. When he found it too
heavy for one man, I decided to use a
regular mover.”’ ere
“So you called one?”” 6 =
“I did. James McDevitt, on Mt.
Vernon Avenue. He brought a helper
and I rode to the station in their
truck.”
“Now show | us the room 2 where the
trunk was.”’ i
~**I can’t,”’ returned Fine. “Ips
padlocked and I don’t have the key.”*
“If Mrs. Schaaf locked shes: how did
you get in?” "
“The lock wasn’t even on ‘the ‘door ;
then. Mrs. Schaaf must have told Jesse
Fitzgerald to put on the padlock. He’s
the janitor.”” -
**Then you think he would have the
key?” >. :
**Yes, unless he gave it to ‘Emma
Middleton, the,maid. If you wait, she
should be here shortly.””
Juliano didn’t wait. He broke the
padlock with a hammer and the
detectives stepped into a dirty, delica-
tely furnished bedroom where the
scent of perfume filled their nostrils.
Juliano pressed the light switch. A
single lamp glowed from the vanity
table.
Ebbecke probed the room with a
strong flashlight. Near the vanity table,
he pointd out two spots under the edge
of a radiator. One was about six inches
across; the other half that width.
**Those spots,’’ stated Ebbecke,
“look like bloodstains.”’ Then, as he
stooped closer to examine them, he
added: ‘‘But they smeil like cleaning
fluid. Somebody cleaned the floor here
but missed these.’’
Detective Juliano phoned Prosecu-
tor Louis Repetto, who arranged for
Dr. Louis H. Meyers, medico-chemical
expert, to examine the stains. Mean-
while, Emma Middleton arrived to
start her day’s work. Shown the stains,
the maid was dumb-founded.
(continued on next page)
TRON
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See ee ee egreee nee
‘When Murder Jumped Out Of A Hat
,, (continued from page 45)
eT ey: cicare then wheat aii :
‘the room that Tuesday morning,” she
insisted. ‘‘It had to be spotless for
Mrs. Schaaf.”” -°** -
‘*Tuesday mormiag,”’ mused Julia-
no. “‘Then Mrs. Schaaf couldn’t have
slept here Tuesday night?” © ° ©
“*No, sir. She couldn’t have. It’s just
the way I fixed it, except for the
stains.”’
Dr. Meyers arrived, examined the ©
stains and classed them as dried blood.
Whether they dated back to the night
of Tuesday, March 2, he could not say.
But Juliano was satisfied that the time
of the murder had been established.
°The janitor, Jesse Fitzgerald, was
‘locted and insisted that he knew
nothing about the padlock on Mrs.
Schaaf’s door.
<*T didn’t com= th leet Weck. he
said, ““because the weather was so nice
that I didn’t have to start a fire in the -
", furnace until the storm hit. When I
‘did come in, though, it looked like “
somebody had already a a fire and
then let it go out.”* =~
~ **Fhen you weren * bere that
Wednesday???
**I was next door. I saw Mr. Fine
showing a couple of moving men how
to carry a trunk down the steps,
careful-like.’’ =>
The truckman, James McDevitt,
had been contacted. He arrived with
his helper, Robert Burkett.
“*The room was lighted just as it is
now,”’ said McDevitt, “‘with just that
one lamp. _
Juliano questioned Emma Middle-
ton: “You’re sure Mrs. Schaaf did not
give you a key to the padlock before
she left?’’
“I didn’t even know she had left,’’
teplied the maid, ‘‘until Mr. Fine told
me on Wednesday and said I could
have the next two days off. When I
came back, the room was padlocked.”’
“Did you see Mr. Miller, who lived
here a few years ago?’’
“T never heard of him. I’ve only
worked here since June.’’
Juliano turned to Fine. ‘‘Since you
were the last person to see Mrs. Schaaf
alive,’’ stated Juliano, “‘we’re holding
you as a material witness.’’
‘But Miller saw her last,”’ protested
Fine, ‘‘and there was another man
living here the past few weeks. I don’t
know his name, but he paid me his
tent today and left less than an hour
before you came. He is a red-haired
man with a short beard.”’
ag
y —
<-*That’s rigki,’? put in Wwe
‘Middleton. ‘‘I don’t know his name
either, but he is living here, just like
‘Mr. Fine says —’
~ She broke off. Fine’s face had gone
Nichen again. He had taken a large pill
from a box and was gulping it, as
Juliano exclaimed, too late: “Stop him!
It may be poison!”
*“Not poison...” * Fine was gasping
again ‘‘..‘it’s for my heart. Too: much
excitement. . call my doctor...
They sent for Fine’s physician who
suggested that his patient be taken to
a hospital. So Fine was shipped off in
an ambulance and Juliano proceeded
to check the latest angle. In a second
floor room he found magazines,
cigarets, other odds and ends that the
red-haired roomer had left. There were
copies of the Philadelphia Evening
-Bulletin, too, all night extras. Signifi-
cantly, their dates were all more recent
than Tuesday, March 1.
“"There was no doubt, however, as
to the victim. Emma Middleton was
- taken to Philadelphia where she
identified the body as that of Mattie
Schaaf. :
Atlantic City police were a RE am
intensive search for the red-haired
lodger who had vanished so myste-
tiously an hour before detectives had
reached the Schaaf home. A stakeout
was set at the house itself in case he
returned to pick up the few belongings
he had left behind.
- “Fine did spend much of his time
on the boardwalk,” Detective Juliano
reported to Chief Harrold. ‘‘He was
riding in a rolling chair with two
women that Tuesday evening and a
half-dozen people saw him taking a
stroll Wednesday morning.””
“*He may have been fixing himself
an alibi,’’ commented Harrold, “going
out of his way to have people notice
him.”’
‘*Not exactly,’’ stated Juliano. ‘“‘The
way he walked around with wavy hair
and no hat, he naturally attracted
attention. And we still don’t know
where this fellow with the red beard
fits into the case.’’
That afternoon, Detective May
spotted a man entering the gabled
house. The officer moved in after him.
The route led to the room vacated by
the red-haired lodger and the visitor
proved to be the bearded man in the
flesh. May interrupted him while he
_ gathering the articles he had left
ere.
He gave his name as Alfred Wister
and seemed surprised to learn that the
police were looking for him: “‘I only.
saw the landlady once,’’ Wister
declared. ‘‘That was when I took the
room here. After that I paid my room
rent to the maid and finally I gave it
to the man across the hall because he
was the only person around and I
thought he was in charge.’’
**And why,”’ queried May, ‘‘did you
leave so suddenly?”’
'_ J] wasn’t getting any service and I
was fed up with the place.’’
Wister was taken to the Atlantic City
Hospital to see Fine, who was resting
there. Each recognized the other as a
fellow-lodger. But when mention was
made of Miller, the bearded man went
blank.
“J not only never heard of him,”
Wister stated, ‘‘I never saw any other
man in that house except Mr. Fine
here.” =
It was Juliano who put the question:
**You were home the night of Tuesday,
March 17”? ->
**Yes,”” replied Wister, ‘but I didn’t
_ notice anything unusual.” j
Granted that the house was a roomy ~
old place, it still did not quite fit the -
circumstances. Detective Juliano dis-
cussed that point with Lieutenant
Choplinsky when the Philadelphia ace
arrived at Atlantic City to help
consolidate the investigation.
_ “Fine says he was only in the house
a short while Tuesday,’’ stated
Juliano, “but he ran right into Miller.
Yet Wister was home all evening and
never knew the man was there or even
existed.’”
**From what we’ve learned of
Miller,”” declared Choplinsky, “‘his
main talent is a disappearing act.’’
While going over papers in the case
and for the first time comparing the
- shipping documents made out in
Atlantic City with the receipt from
Philadelphia, Juliano suddenly said:
‘‘Fine says he has a fairly good idea
of what Miller looks like. It’s too bad
none of those people up in Philadel-
phia would be able to recognize him.”
“One man might,’’ returned Cho-
plinsky. “‘That’s Morris Weinstein, the
trucker who picked up the trunk. He
caught a glimpse of Miller when he
had his glasses off and was polishing
them, but it was pretty dark.”
“‘Maybe we ought to have Weinstein
meet Fine so they can compare notes
on Miller.””
‘*A good idea. I can get Weinstein
down here in a few hours. He said he
(continued on next page)
would be available.’’
"They phoned Philadelphia and
Weinstein went directly to the Atlantic
City hospital. There, Juliano Suggest-
_ed, “T’ll go in first and then call you.”
When the call came, Weinstein
"stepped into the hospital room and
stopped dead in his tracks on the
threshold. Propped up in bed was
Fine, his form hunched against the
pillows. He had lost all appearance of
“height. Not only that, Juliano had
adjusted the bed lamp so it threw its
glow on Fine’s lower features, letting ~
his hair blend into the dark back-
ground of the wall.
Instead of introducing Fine, Telnaes
‘simply questioned Weinstein: “You’ve
“met this man before?’’
~ “*T sure have,”’ returned Weinstein.
**Hello, Miller.’”
Fine reared up and snatched at the
lamp, too late. He looked tall now and
his wavy hair changed his facial
appearance amazingly. But Juliano
was pounding home facts that could
-not be denied. He told Fine: =: =
**¥You were the only person who saw
Miller here in Atlantic City. But
nobody here saw you for two days
after that. They couldn’t have, because
you were in Philadelphia posing as
Miller, a man of your imagination.
You were smart, giving the maid two: |
‘days off so she wouldn’t know you
_ were gone. But you made a bad slip.”’
Juliano flashed two papers before
Fine’s eyes. One was the order for the
.. express company shipment made out
_in Atlantic City; the other the receipt
from Philadelphia. _
“*You wrote the name S. Miller in
the address box,’’ stated Juliano, ‘‘and
you signed it S. Miller in exactly the
same handwriting. Explain that if you
can.”’ ipa i + 5
“T can explain it.’’ Fine leaned back,
eyes half-closed. ‘‘Miller tricked me.
(continued on next page)
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Runner-up Prizes of $25 each. Checks
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cones No. 15.
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Use ag coupon below ora :
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47
cee meen
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nite
2
Miami's Shocking ‘Contraceptive Murder
Sa (continued from page 41)
her time after aa at
He went on bitterly about John
* Davis. In the mind of Deputy Martin
the more pleasant impressions of a
model citizen who was chairman of the
local crime commission, well-liked
president of the country club, pious
trustee of the Assembly of God
Church and devoted member of all
those community organizations,
began to evaporate.
Abruptly, he began to consider the
awful thought somebody else might be .
motivated to kill Davis, other than a
chance prowler who really didn’t steal
anything from that $250,000 house in
Middleburg. . 9.
He kept pushing Marjorie Davis
back into his mind. Ridiculous, this
quiet .woman, with her own unble-
mished history, could have blown off
his face, used that .38 caliber pistol
—.which lacked fingerprints. This /
exquisite lady who ran pre-kinder-
garten classes, treasurer of the civic
association, who donated six pints of
blood, happily ran a volleyball league.
But he couldn’t banish that inexpli- -
cable contraceptive ‘‘thing’’ from his
thinking and he listened to this oe
data on Marjorie Davis. BY
The father told the detectives.” vee
“‘When we called Marjorie on the
phone she would not talk unless John
was on the extension. He policed all
her conversations. My God, if you
tried to ask her a simple question about
her daily life, he would do ail the
anwering.”’
Her stepfather contributed the
information that Davis was ‘‘cruel and
bullying.’’ Martin wished that these
relatives had been more helpful at the
Meanwhile, the search for the
so-called stranger on the bike wearing
the blue bandanna took an unexpected
turn.
This mysterious character had not
been cornered and arrested. On the
second Friday in December — the
futile chase of the intangible murder
had now been lasting for weeks
— a 22-year-old junior instructor at
Middleburg High School, a pretty and
fretful girl, peered down an alley
seeking a lost dog and saw a reddish
bicycle. It was slightly bent, obviously
from a violent collision with the alley
wall, as if hurtled there in great haste.
What brought the cops running, six
of them, was the phone call from the
girl saying a tattered blue bandanna
42
_was knotted to the handlebar.
By 2 p.m. on that Friday a finger-
print expert, a detective familiar with
bicycle serial numbers and models and
police photographers were at the scene
in less than 20 minutes.
. In another 25 minutes the cops were
sure this indeed was the bike that had
been observed by several witnesses on
the night of the murder. In fact, they
were so unerring in their skill that they
‘came up with these devastating facts:
1- There were male fingerprints on
the handlebars swiftly traced to Allan ~
Fisher. His crime was no worse than
**sporadic mental retardation.”’
Detectives picked him up at a shabby
‘rooming house near Coral Gables.
2- Fisher readily conceded he had
been riding. aimlessly near the Davis
house in Middleburg. He also said he
heard shots from that house. In panic,
and confusion, he returned several
times to the area “‘not knowing why’”’
and then fled.
.3--The blue bandanna had been one
of his prize possessions. He admitted
stealing the bike from outside a
grocery store. See
» 4 The explosive words in ‘Fisher’s
statement to the police after he had
been detained and quizzed relentlessly
were: “Couple of times I roamed back
to aged Middleburg house after I heard
the shots. I knew the dame (Marjorie
Davis) had been released in her own
recognizance. ;
**Once... I saw her get into her
compact and drive to the west side of
town. I had to move pretty fast to keep
up with her. She rushed into a private
house and there was a doctor’s name
on a sign near his hedge. She went
in there. Maybe an hour and came out
crying...””
The astute Deputy Martin quickly
learned it was not the regular doctor
she visited to obtain prescriptions for
a diaphragm. He discovered this MD
was a gynecologist — never previously
visited by Marjorie Davis, openly. It
was clear she went to this doctor
secretly.
Martin decided on a daring move,
based entirely on his hunch about what
the pharmacist conjectured might be
some inexplicable physical damage to
Marjorie Davis before the murder.
Twenty-five minutes after he quietly
sat down with Marjorie Davis in the
empty bedroom where her husband’s
face had been blown off by the
‘‘prowler with the long-nosed .38,”’
Martin listened to her, his mouth
slightly agape
She alcaedly talked frely ‘once
Martin announced fatly:- “Zsur hus-
band did somethi.g awfully: brutal to
your Private porte before you killed
him.”
She said softly: “*He was against
brith control. I did not want a second
child. He was crazy — suddenly. We
were getting ready to go out to the
party. He asked me if I was lying to
him about secretly wearing diaph-
ragms. < ex $
**} don’t know why he started on
THAT again. Maybe he had those few
drinks before we were os: leave for the
party ome.
“Did you kill him with that 38 gun,
Mrs. Davis?’’ -
‘When she allegedly answeréd **Yes’’
‘ Deputy Martin called in police
stenographers which took down her
confession.
At 2.a.m. on September 24, she
_ related, with their five-year-old child
asleep in another room, she walked
into their bedroom while her husband
slept.
She “studied him’’ a long time _
she did not know how long — before
she decided to kill him. Wandering
around the house, filled with so many
weapons and hunting equipment, she
opened a closet door and-found a long
box which had recently arrived by
express. In the box was a newly
delivered long-nosed .38-caliber
revolver. .
‘‘Tronically,”’ said Deputy Martin
later. ‘‘It was a weapon not listed
among all the others in the house. She
also looked at it for'so long that she
did accurately memorize how it was
constructed. It was this very action that
eventually aroused our suspicions on
how she could be so familiar with
guns.’’
Marjorie Davis repeated, bitterly,
she was still bleeding from his
“‘fiendish taking’? of the diaphragm
from her vagina. In her final state-
ment, she allegedly told how she blew
her husband’s face away. Afterward,
she said, she ran to the neighbors’
house and told them a prowler had
killed her husband.
She begged them to call the police,
which neighbors did. At first, she was
vague about the intruder and could
hardly describe him. She declared he
was a “fleeting shadow with a smoking
gun.”’
By 10 a.m. the next morning,
Deputy Tim Martin and Derry Ded-
(continued on next page)
mon, of the Clay County Sheriff’s
Office, had another full confession —
unexpectedly loaded with new details
and precise information.
In the long history of the Clay
County’s Sheriff's Office there’s no
record of a major crime with the
strange overtones of the ‘‘contracep-
tive murder,’’ which is its official
description.
Her second confession included the
embellishments of the ‘‘Spanish
twang”’ and the ‘‘blue face mask”’ and
the burly size of the non-existent
murderer: By far, as Deputy Martin
observed, it was how Marjorie Davis
seemed hypnotized by the .38 she had
found in the newly arrived box.
» “She gave a better description of
the .38 revolver than a professional
gunsmith,’’ said Martin.
The strangest overtones of the
**contraceptive murder’’ was its
aftermath and how the courts and
police struggled with its meaning.
Several times Marjorie Davis put into
her confessions that her husband
became so angry because she did not
want another child that he forcibly and
brutally tore the diaphragm from her
A court-appointed gynecologist,
with no previous knowledge of the
case, told the judge that she had been
severely lacerated by the broken rim
on the contraceptive. “She could have
bled to death:””
Nonetheless, Marjorie Davis is
awaiting trial on a charge of first-
degree murder in the Clay County jail.
Her behavior is described as ‘‘erratic.”
By that is meant she reads the Bible
constantly and announces she is
innocent before God.
- With two full confessions to the
murder from Marjorie Davis in his
legal arsenal, plus medical evidence
showing that only a brutal assault on
her vagina could have caused the
severe wounds, Assistant State
Attorney James Thies, who will
her for first-degree murder,
publicly stated he finds it “very
difficult’’ to handle the case.
He told the media:
‘*Whatever their findings (court
appointed psychiatrists), I have a very
difficult time believing Marjorie Davis,
an educatd, upper-middle-class wo-
man, was an abused wife driven to kill
her husband. Yet all convicting
evidence appears to be in our pos-_
session.
“There had to be alternatives to
facing his brutality. That she did not
appear to know them is very hard for
me to believe.”
But the prosecution has further
evidence that Marjorie wiped her
fingerprints from the murder gun with
a moist towel, Gute hea epee
him was so intense that: ~
“! * Not only was her husbands face
blown away, but she also described in
her confession how she shot him in
the back, the chest and the right leg.
© That in her continuing rage she ~
fired at the wall, wiped the gun and
then flung it toward the closet.
Doctors will testify at her trial that
removal of a diaphragm is a careful,
sometimes risky, procedure for the
user. One physician wrote in his
report: ‘‘There had to be brutal and
senseless rage in tearing it out of her.
Not only do most women know about
the need for an exact fitting by a
physician, but they must ‘practice’
with it so the removal is safe.’’ ,
Marjorie Davis awaits trial on first-
degree murder of her huband, inno-
cent under law until poeres other-
wise. Roa ; *
(Editor’s note: The name Allan Fisher is fict-
tious. Use of the individual’s real name would
serve no public interest.)
When Murder Jumped Out Of A Hat
(continued from page 23)
* to the next corner. Mrs. Hoffman,
watching from the steps, saw the
squatty figure board a street car bound
toward downtown Philadelphia.
Miller did not come back that night
nor the next, which didn’t surprise the
Hoffmans. He’d already stated that
he would be in and out of town. But
with the week-end, a lusty March gale
swept up the Atlantic seaboard, hitting
the New Jersey coast with 50-mile-an-
hour winds which carried inland to
Philadelphia. Julius Hoffman heard’
the flapping of the window shade in
Miller’s empty room and went in to
close the window against the storm:
On Sunday, the Hoffmans noted a
strange odor in the house. It became
more unpleasant later in the day and
by Monday morning, they had traced
it to Miller’s room. They called the
Philadelphia police and two district
detectives were sent to investigate.
Once they saw the trunk, they arran-
ged for its removal to the City Morgue
at 13th and Wood Streets.
There, only a few blocks from police
headquarters in the Philadelphia City
Hail, a group of top investigators took
over. At the morgue were Dr. William
s Wadsworth, of the coroner’s office,
Joseph LeStrange, assistant super-
intendent of police, Capt. Harry
Heanley, in command of the homicide
squad, and Detective Lt. Harry
Choplinsky. They watched while de+
tectives broke the locks and opened
the trunk.
Inside was another trunk, only a
trifle smaller than the outer one. It was
locked and sealed all around with
broad strips of white adhesive tape,
apparently in an effort to keep it
airtight. On top of the inner trunk was
a black and white woman’s sweater.
When this was removed, a freshly
laundered nightgown was found folded
beneath.
Those garments had obviously been
placed there to keep the smaller trunk
from rattling inside the big one, for
all around the sides were old clothes,
large pieces of black oilcloth and
crumpled sheets of newspaper.
The adhesive strips were peeled
away, the locks of the inner trunk were
forced and the lid opened. Within, the
investigators viewed the gruesome
sight they had anticipated. In the trunk
was the nude body of a once comely
woman, crammed into a contorted
position. The body was removed and
Dr. Wadsworth began an immediate
examination. Detectives, meanwhile,
studied the remaining contents bag the
inner trunk. 2
These consisted of an expensive
black dress, evidently the victim’s, and
a pair of flesh-colored silk stockings
turned inside out. No other garments
were in the trunk, but on the victim’s
body were three items of jewelry: A
wedding ring; a simple gold bracelet;
and a wrist-watch of a well-known
make stopped at 5:45.
“If they could help us,’’ observed
LeStrange, ‘‘the slayer would probably
have gotten rid of them, as he did with
whatever else she was wearing.’ :
‘*Any unusual item might be
traced,’’ agreed Captain Heanley,
“like lingerie, or a hat.’”” He turned
to Lieutenant Choplinsky, who was
listing the clothes that had been stuffed
between the trunks. “What have you
found there?”’
‘“‘Nothing but old dresses and slips,”’
returned Choplinsky, glumly, ‘‘with-
out a label in the lot.”
So far there was no tangible clue to
the victim’s identity, but there was no
doubt as to the cause of her death.
(continued on next page)
43
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i did. But it was the Hall-Mills prosecutor, not the Hall-
i Mills defense counsel. He was Alexander S. Simpson,
i unsuccessful candidate for United States senator against
ine Dwight Morrow, and one of the keen legal minds of
‘i New Jersey.
Prosecutors indicated that Frazer would be held in
ti jail until the May grand jury could return an indictment.
Prosecutor David has insisted throughout that the state
‘Ng had “an open and shut case.” He said he would ask the
electric chair.
ir! The defense immediately began preparations for an
insanity defense, into which also might be woven
There was also the
possibility that the :dentification of the body might be -
challenged, and also that the question of where the kill-
er’s story of accidental homicide.
ing occurred would be a major issue.
prosecution from the start.
the exact spot where the shot was fired.
ia) Orange County, New York, authorities interested
\ themselves in the case for a time, believing possibly that
Mrs. Stader had been shot before crossing into Jersey.
It later was established, however, that the slaying took.
place in New Jersey, although it was not absolutely
certain in which county.
Te Parade has but started. Bill Frazer and the body
wof his slain inamorata—a Virginia negro beating the
thickets for a lost dog—an inquisitive landlady who dis-
liked roomers who snored—detectives, police prosecut-
ors—a buzzard-picked corpse, a bullet in the brain riding
back to Jersey in a box—lawyers, alienists,
taking part in the parade.
REAL DETECTIVE TALES anp MYSTERY STORIES
Murder On Parade (Continued jrom pase 31)
The aftermath rings with pathos. There are Bill
Frazer’s two children and his attractive wide, Hilda. He
was barely back from Raleigh before he asked about the
children. He did not mention his wife; nor did she ex-
press interest in him. She felt she had stood about all
This latter question held disturbing aspects for the
It was doubtful if even
Frazer could say exactly where death occurred or even
judges; all
.
she could from Bill Frazer.
ed it most.
back.
Fraz- “How are you?” the mother said, seeking desperately,
to control her emotions.
“T am well, thank you, mother. How are you?”
“Are they giving you enough to eat?
poorly.”
“Oh, yes, mother, plenty.”
tension,
is only the beginning!”
children, mother.
walking slowly to the clank of jail chains.
The Murder Parade!
only for a high-backed electric chair.
Most pathetic of all was the figure of his mother,
whose love rose to its greatest glory when her boy need-
They met at the police station after he was brought
You look
He was taken into court for arraignment, pleading not
guilty. He was held without bail. Detectives snapped
handcuffs on him, leading him back to jail. The click of
the cuffs seemed the signal that might break the mother’s
“My God!” she screamed. “Where will it end? This
Only the beginning, indeed! The Murder Paradg
moves on. In front is the ghost of dark haired, brows
eyed Phoebe Stader. Lawyers, police, witnesses, wife
A. parade without music; only the
reiterated staccato rhythm of a rifle shot. Bill Frazer
And far ahead one sees th¢
road fork. One fork leads to freedom. At the end of thé
other is a building in which is a bare room—bare sav4
Vivian Gordon’s Last Portrait
“Pl tell what I know, whatever the cost—’’
ND the cost was death.
Vivian Gordon, Titian-haired beauty of Broad-
way, threatened to expose the hook-up between New
York officials and gangsters.
But, before she could tell what she knew, her voice was
- silenced forever—she was strangled to death.
“J was framed and sent up the river, ”” she said, ‘“‘and,
if it’s the last thing I do, I’m going to get even.”
She waited eight years—and the end was death.
“There are two men I fear,” she wrote in her diary.
“They could get me if they wanted to, and I’m afraid—
afraid...”
Who are these men? What was Vivian’s secret? What
sinister plot is revealed in her diary?
Elsewhere in this issue, a summary is given of the
tragic fate of Vivian Gordon. As we go to press, the
newspapers are filled with her story. But the real story
has not yet been published.
Gerald Dudley McClean, who is exposing New York’s
vice ring for this magazine, will tell the whole inside
truth about the brutal murder of this beautiful woman
in next month’s
REAL DETECTIVE TALES
Get a Copy at the Nearest News stand on May 1
p ays great—
pas:
9
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30 REAL DETECTIVE TALES anv MYSTERY STORIES
Fate, which is Life’s great jester, had provided him
with money. Fate also provided the woman. Later, Fate
provided the rifle and the bullet that killed her. Gayety,
gold, glamor, and gin; a quartet inG. Wantonness. Lust.
The gold slipping through his fingers like water through
coffee in a percolator.
Fate stood by, wearing a sardonic grin.
When the money was gone, when the woman began
to tire, Fate stepped forward again. The rifle! A dead
woman! The ride from Jersey to Virginia. Dump the
body behind that thicket. No one will find it! On to
Raleigh, North Carolina.
Police! Arrest! A charge of murder!
Stabe STADER, in her early thirties, lived with
her husband. Already there may have entered her
heart a wild desire to break from the humdrum of a
wife’s life. She wanted nice clothes. She wanted excite-
ment. She longed for what thousands of other women
mistakenly call “life.”
Along came Bill Frazer with his $25,000. They say
he bought her an expensive fur coat. The two began
going out together. The husband on the one hand, the
“Meet the girl friend,’ he said, introducing me to his
companion. I could see vaguely the outline of a woman
on the front seat.
“T stuck out my hand because I thought the woman
was bashful. Then I noticed she didn’t move. I saw she
was dead!
“T drew back in horror. Frazer only laughed.
“Get into the car,’ he told me.
“He looked mad. I got into the car. He laughed in a
way that chilled my blood.
“He turned a flashlight full upon her.
“T saw she had been undressed. I saw she was Mrs.
Stader. I almost screamed.
“Frazer just kept cackling, ‘the girl friend, the girl
friend.’
“He chucked her under the chin. He told me to move
the girl friend into the back seat. I wouldn’t touch her,
I was so frightened. We drove out into the woods near
the Colonial Country Club. He pulled out a gun and
said he would kill himself. Finally he put it away. We
drove back to the house. He picked her up and put her
in the back seat himself. He put a blanket over her. He
went into the house with me. It must have been near
The Parade of Death Moves on—
“Handsome Bill” Frazer driving his car, with the nude body of his slain sweetheart
sitting beside him. The car moves eerily from state to state. .
. . A Virginia negro
beating the thickets for his lost dog and finding a woman’s corpse, a bullet in her
brain. .. . And then the aftermath:
Police, lawyers, judges, alienists, wife,
children, and mother—and the clank of prison chains as the love-sick murderer is
led slowly to jail. . . . Here is a graphic
account of the most fantastic crime of this
year—the first magazine story of a strange love-murder case that is still front page
news in the nation’s press.—E. B.
\ife and children on the other, faded into the back-
ground. A round of parties started. The parade had
begun!
It became an open secret, this affair of Bill Frazer’s
and Phoebe Stader’s. A man infatuated is a man with-
out reason. A woman, nibbling at $25,000, loses her
sense of right. The affair went on. Under the spell of
the money they were two different persons from the hard
working, home-loving William Frazer and the self-re-
specting housewife, Phoebe Stader.
Finally the money was gone. Then came the awaken-
ing for Mrs. Stader. She had not loved Frazer. Perhaps
she had thought she loved him, but she hadn’t. She de-
cided to go back to work, to hairdressing.
But Frazer, with money gone, job forgotten and fam-
ily alienated, was not to be tossed aside. Infatuation still
burned in his soul, fanned now by a feeling that some-
how he had been wronged. So—
Ira Jensan went to the police on February 24 and told
them the following story:
“On February 18, in the dead of night, Frazer drove
up in front of his mother’s house. I, too, live there. His
mother is my aunt. He urged me to come out to the car.
dawn. His mother awakened. She scolded him for keep-
ing me out so late.
“7 saw him take $2.50 from Mrs. Stader’s purse. I
dozed. When I awoke, he was gone. He left a note tell-
ing me to send him money at Raleigh, North Carolina.
I got $260 from his mother. I went to Raleigh and gave
him the money. He was nasty. I said to him: “What
did you do with that woman's body?’ He answered,
‘None of your business. I got rid of it.’ I came home
to Rahway.”
MK darts was the story Ira Jensan told on February 24,
before anyone suspected any tragedy existed in the
affairs of William Frazer and Phoebe Stader.
True, Mrs. Frazer had reported her husband missing.
She had had an intimation of disaster even before Jen-
san, for Frazer had come to her before going to Jensan.
“He came in that night,” she said, “and told me: ‘T’ve
killed Mrs. Stader.’ I didn’t believe him. He is such a
liar.”
Later, after her husband had been returned to New
Jersey to face a charge of murder, Mrs. Frazer said:
“When he came home from the war and we were
married, we we
—Irene,
to church
left him than
He got to be ju
until last sum
Stader. We fo:
up. What coul
T left him.”
But even bef
there was an
until later. A;
Bowling Gree:
woman. Buzza
at work, these
almost unrecog
No significa:
by New Jersey ”
looking for Bi
Mrs. Frazer, t!
may have run ;
the newspaper: *
about “meeting
The De
He came in t
Frazer, “‘and t:
Mrs. Stader, |
There was no
found, but no
of Phoebe Sta
; Once under ;
ing wall of dan
thorities, probi 4
the thicket nea:
tified as Mrs. S
fact, pointing «
en route to Ra
“What if I d
kill Phoebe. Y
said, introducing me to his
ly the outline of a woman
use I thought the woman
he didn’t move. I saw she
azer only laughed.
me.
the car. He laughed in a
upon her.
-ssed. I saw she was Mrs.
‘the girl friend, the girl
chin. He told me to move
seat. I wouldn’t touch her,
ve out into the woods near
He pulled out a gun and
‘inally he put it away. We
picked her up and put her
put a blanket over her. He
e. It must have been near
slain sweetheart
A Virginia negro
», a bullet in her
alienists, wife,
-sick murderer is
istic crime of this
is still front page
d. She scolded him for keep-
rom Mrs. Stader’s purse. I
was gone. He left a note tell-
at Raleigh, North Carolina.
_ I went to Raleigh and gave
iasty. I said to him: ‘What
man’s body?’ He answered,
vot rid of it.’ I came home
. Jensan told on February 24,
d any tragedy existed in the
ind Phoebe Stader.
‘eported her husband missing.
of disaster even before Jen-
o her before going to Jensan.
’ she said, “and told me: ‘I’ve
believe him. He is such a
a nad been returned to New
murder, Mrs. Frazer said:
from the war and we were
MURDER ON PARADE 3]
married, we were very happy for years. The babies came
—lIrene, who’s nine now, and Evelyn, seven. We went
to church socials. Everybody liked Bill. Then his father
left him that money. Without telling me, he quit his job.
He got to be just a spendthrift anda drunkard. It wasn’t
until last summer I heard it was on account of Mrs.
Stader. We fought and fought. He promised to give her
up. What could I do? Finally, just before this happened,
I left him.”
But even before Ira Jensan told his story to the police,
there was a major development, only none realized it
until later. A negro, hunting for a dog in a woods near
Bowling Green, Va., came upon the nude body of a
woman. Buzzards circled over it. Already they had been
at work, these scavengers of the sky. The body was
almost unrecognizable.
No significance was attached to the negro’s discovery
by New Jersey authorities. They did, however, continue
looking for Bill Frazer. Acting on information from
Mrs. Frazer, they sought him in the South, believing he
may have run away with Mrs. Stader. In the meantime,
the newspapers had published Ira Jensan’s weird story
about “meeting the girl friend” and about going South
to give Frazer
money.
One of those who
read that story was
Mrs. Louis Bash-
ford, a rooming
house keeper of
Raleigh. She hada
new roomer. She
was curious about
him. He snored ter-
ribly. He had given
his name as Wil-
liam Devlin. The
story Jensan told
related that Frazer
often used the
name of William
Devlin.
Mrs. Bashford
went to the police.
They trailed him to
the general delivery
window of the
postoffice and ar-
rested him when he
called for his mail.
The Deserted Wife
ILLIAM
DEVLIN
“He came in that night,’ said Mrs. readily admitted he
Frazer, “‘and told me he had killed was William Fraz-
Mrs. Stader, but I didn’t believe er. Why not? He
him. had a right to be in
Raleigh if he want-
ed to, hadn’t he?
There was no charge against him. A body had been
found, but no one had even intimated it might be that
of Phoebe Stader.
Once under arrest, however, Frazer found a bewilder-
ing wall of damning evidence falling upon him. The au-
thorities, probing, received word that the body found in
the thicket near Bowling Green, Virginia, had been iden-
tified as Mrs. Stader’s. They confronted Frazer with the
fact, pointing out that Frazer must have driven that way
en route to Raleigh.
“What if I did drive that way?” he replied. “I didn’t
kill Phoebe. You'll never get me to say I did.”
But they did get
him to say he did
within 24 hours.
They told him how
Arthur Stader, the
dead woman’s hus-
band, had gone to
Bowling Green,
looked upon the
body the buzzards
had fed upon, and
then had said, life-
lessly :
“That’s Phoebe.
That scar on the
knee, those marks
on her feet, those
two fillings in the
teeth and that scar
over her hip made
by the reducing
band she had worn
for years.”
Then Bill Frazer
talked.
“Yes, ‘I ~killed
her. But it was an
accident. We had
been drinking a lot.
There was a rifle
in the back of the
car. I reached for
it. I was trying to
scareher. AsI was
trying to get it into
the front seat, it
exploded. The trig-
ger must have
caught on something. The bullet pierced her brain. I
wouldn’t have killed her on purpose. It was an accident.
“T was half crazy when | saw she was dead. I was in
a terrible predicament, and I knew it. I propped her up
in the seat beside me so people wouldn’t know she was
dead, and drove to Rahway. We had been at Newburgh,
New York, where we had drunk a quart of whisky.
“T got hold of Ira and we drove around Rahway just
like he said. I told my wife about it, but she thought
I was crazy and wouldn’t believe me.
“Then I started to drive south. I didn’t know what
to do with Phoebe’s body. I was afraid they would
identify the body, and then I might be blamed for
murder. I drove through a lot of towns. She was in
the back, covered over. Nobody knew she was there.
But I knew, and I knew I had to get rid of her. Finally
I took off all her clothes. I took off her wedding ring
and threw it away, so it couldn’t be used for identifica-
tion. I drove into the woods near Bowling Green, \ ir-
ginia, and hid the body. I drove on to Raleigh.”
“They Can’t Send Me to the
Chair!”’
“It was an accident, | tell you!”
screamed Frazer, when locked in a
cell of the Raleigh, N. C., jail. “The
gun went off accidentally. | didn't
commit a murder.”
HEY asked him what had became of the rifle. He
said he threw it away on the ride south. Detectives
then showed him a freshly cleaned rifle they had found
in his Raleigh room,
“Yes, that’s the gun,” he said. “I didn’t throw it away.
I cleaned it because I was afraid. But they can’t send me
to the electric chair,” he added, desperately. ‘I didn’t
commit a murder. It was an accident, I tell you. An
accident! I’ll get the Hall-Mills lawyer. He'll get me
off.”
He did get the Hall-Mills lawyer. Rather, his mother
(Continued on page 44)
A REC SERRE.
FRAZIER, William Moore, wh,
Sf
GHASTLY TALE of
William M. Frazer calmly eating lamb chops, rolls, and coffee
in the jail at Raleigh, N. C., after his capture there when
claiming a letter for ‘‘H. G. Devlin,” at the General Delivery
window in the post office
O people all over America February 22nd is sig-
nificant as the birthday of the Father of Our
Country; but in Northern New Jersey this impor-
tant date in American history has a second—and a
third meaning. And while the first brings to mind
all that is high in patriotism and manhood, the second and
third serve as dim reminders of tragedy and horror and
the depths to which it is possible for man to descend.
It was at Crawford, New Jersey, February 22nd, a few
years ago, that Campbell, the torch-murderer, perpetrated
his terrible deed, a merciless slaying which stirred the en-
tire East.
And it was on the night of February. 22nd, 1931, that I
received a telephone call from Chief of Police George Mc-
Intyre, of Rahway, that busy town in Union County, which
was to send me and other county officials on a man-hunt
remarkable in many ways; on an elusive crime trail almost
42
Octoher
MASTER DETECTIVE, MXRAMX 1932
.
elec. NJ® (Union) April 1, 1932
ROY A. MARTIN
Chief of County Detectives
Union County, N. J.
As told to
P. L. TRUSSELL
unbelievable in many of
its ramifications.
I was in my Office in
Elizabeth that Sunday
evening, February 22nd.
1931, when Chief MclIn-
tyre called.
“Come on over to
Rahway, will you Roy?”
he asked me.
“I’ve a case here that’s
astounding. Yes, mur-
der! Anyway, that’s the
story told to me. Can
you come at once?”
“T’ll be right over,” |
answered him.
His conversation
interested me strange-
ly, for the tone of his
voice seemed unnat-
ural and | thought
his problem must be
unusual. It did not take me long to get to Rahway, and
when | reached.Chief MclIntyre’s office | heard a story
that seemed almost incredible. Chief McIntyre had been
told of a murder, probably in his jurisdiction, but the sus-
pected murderer was gone and the authorities had no idea
where the body of the victim might be found. In other
words, Chief McIntyre had a murder to solve, but no mur-
derer and no victim! And the story of the murder had
been told to the Chief by the cousin of the alleged murderer
at the instance of the alleged murderer’s father-in-law.
“I've got the informer here,” McIntyre told me, “ready
for you to question him, You can hear his story first hand.”
Before facing the detained man, however, McIntyre gave
me an outline of the story, identifying the persons involved.
Briefly, it follows.
William M. Frazer, former restaurant man and playboy
and husband of Mrs. Hilda Frazer, had neglected his wife
and two children, Evelyn, eleven years old. and Irene, aged
eight, remaining away from their home at 519 Jefferson
Avenue, Rahway, to spend much time in the company of
Mrs. Phoebe Stader, wife of Philip Stader, of Rahway.
, it dis-
ve. He
ed Rah-
1e police
y'd learn
° and ac-
4 himself
: tired o
ed by his
zen lights
g to do?
e to the
d, Dickie
; pajamas,
do wild-
ng before
rile Dickie
ec body in
zer swore.
to kill her.
do, Bill,”
ght to the
Straight to
Everybody
verybody in
od heel be-
> and kids a
k would be-
la
man in your
You wouldn't
igerator until
e sneered.
.d Hilda, and
ked the tears
» reason WI
» police, Bill,”
For the girls
Even if things
uld mean only
nm. They cant
her.” :
rison, eh?” Bill
re. All the rest
oint at me and
ving any, thank
me.
pete outside the
got out and
back seat.
Id Page curtly.
ear a shot.”
ined the muzzle
t going,” he or-
d away into a
waited for five
10 repayt from a
{ the car and saw
ig board with his
\| said as Dickie *
= this and shoot
his friend urged
r house and talk
Dickie could say
go to the police.
wn,” he said final-
body, somewhere,
he cops find me, I
You two are the
v abor this. And
a’ id to anyone.
oust both get ten
You're in it now,
Ye glared at, his
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fine mess, Wouldn’t they, with both their
father and mother behind bars.” |
‘He said he was going to his mother’s
for breakfast and a nap. He left her
home at three o’clock that Friday after-
noon, taking a suitcase full of clothing.
The next morning Dickie Page received
a letter from Bill, mailed in° Rahway the
previous day. It instructed Dickie to get
some money from Bill’s mother and to
bring it in person to a hotel in Raleigh,
North Carolina.
Leaving Rahway, with the body of
Phoebe Stader hidden beneath a blanket
on the floor behind him, Bill Frazer drove
to a wooded section in southern New
Jersey, where he prowled along a little-
used back road and. parked in a clearing
behind some scrub growth.
Here he stripped the corpse, pressed it
back on the floor and with a pair of
pliers tugged off Phoebe’s wedding ring
and another band set with an aquamarine.
Then he covered the body again with the
blanket and drove on.
~In Chester, Pennsylvania, on the out-
skirts of Philadelphia, he made a nearly
fatal mistake. As he sat in a gas station
while the attendant filled his tank, he saw
a policeman staring at him, and grew so
frightened he drove off without paying.
The attendant yelled. Frazer returned
and explained nervously that he was very
absent-minded. -The cop came over and
asked for his driver’s license, eyeing the
blanket-covered lump in the back. Bill’s
hands trembled. as he handed over his li-
cense. The officer looked at it, grunted,
and told him to drive on.
He drove all night. Early in the morn-
ing he drew to the curb in Alexandria,
Virginia, just across the Potomac from
Washington, and fell asleep behind the
wheel.
A rough hand on his shoulder aroused
him. He awoke in terror at the sight of a
policeman’s uniform. Hastily he began to
explain that an urgent mission had forced
him to drive long without sleep. The cop
looked curiously at the blanket on the rear
floor, but let him go.
Twice he had been lucky. Frazer shud-
dered to think of a third encounter with
an officer. Between Fredericksburg and
Richmond he decided to rid himself of
the loathsome burden in his car.
He tore up most of Phoebe’s clothing
and dropped the pieces out the window,
one. by one. With these garments dis-
posed of, Frazer “turned his attention to
finding a hiding place for the corpse.
A culvert traversing beneath the high-
| way” near Bowling Green attracted him
| and he stopped to commit the -body to
| the icy waters beneath it. But a farmer
i came by, and Bill was frightened away.
Not much farther on: he took a by-
road that led toward a large expanse of
thicket and scrub oak in the distance.
Here he dragged the remains of Phoebe
Stader and left the naked corpse beside a
toppled tree trunk, covering it with fallen
branches, dry weeds: and dead leaves
scooped from the floor of the woods.
S IF easement of its ghastly burden had
given it extra horsepower, his sedan
fairly flew on southward to Raleigh,
| where he registered in a hotel as H. G.
Devlin, from Newark, New Jersey. The
next day Dickie Page arrived in Raleigh
with $200 for Bill, and after vainly try-
ing to persuade his friend to go to police
and clear up the méss, returned to Rah-
way,
Frazer checked out of the hotel and
moved into a rooming house. He wrote
Dickie a letter, advising him to coach
Hilda to tell the police, if they questioned
her, that she knew only that he’d left
Rahway, probably with some woman.
He examined his sedan carefully and
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region at the time replete with booze-
stocked hideaways, the couple disported
themselves and decided, once and for all,
to cut loose from their spouses and go
their own way.
‘“You always wanted to try Florida,
honey,” Phoebe said. -“I’m ready.”
It was dark when they got started, and
it was cold as they twisted over the high-
way across the snow-coyered mountains.
Snuggled against him in the front seat,
Phoebe chattered endlessly about Florida
and what they would do there and how
they would live happily forever and ever.
Gradual , thro the fog of drunken-
ness, Bill Frazer realized what all this
meant. He was not in love with, Phoebe
Stader, any more than he had béen with
any of the others. To run away with her,
live with her always? Impossible. Why,
‘in a few more years, she would be an old
woman while he would just be in his
prime... ‘
This was not what he wanted, to ex-
change one set of fetters for another. He
wanted to be free ‘to pick and choose and
go from one woman to another whenever
he wished.’
After. a while they began to quarrel.
her she’d better go back
got for stealing his: wife. T'll—
~ Bill pulled to the side of a lonely road,
a cutoff near Ramsey, New Jersey. Take
his money, would she? Send him ‘back
to a twelve-hour day behind a i
aah sa counter? Maybe she could)
H* NEVER could remember what hap- ©
pened next. It may have been the
liquor that dulled his memory; pos-
sibly it’ was sheer rage that burned the
details out of his brain. -All he knew was -
that he was fumbling in the back seat,
where he carried a little .22 rifle for tar-
get shooting, and that there was a nasty
little spat as the gun fired,’ and then
Phoebe ‘began to fall off the seat, with a
tiny purple hole in the center of her -
forehead.
Bill got back in the front seat. and
shook her, but she was limp as a rag. In
the cold air her fiesh soon began to chill.
Then he knew she was dead, :
The shock of this discovery and the
frozen air he gulped into his lungs sobered
him quickly, \
He had killed Phoebe 'Stader, Even
worse in the eyes of the world, he real-
ized, he had ‘slain his paramour, the wife
of another man. What was he to do?
“Anything! Anything!” his brain in-
sisted desperately, seeking some means
of escape.
He thought of smuggling her body and
the gun into her own home in Rahway,
so that her husband would be suspected
of killing her in a quarrel over her in-
fidelity. Then he remembered that
wouldn't do, since he and Phoebe had
been together at her sister’s in Walden,
and the police would be certain to trace
them to the spots they had visited in
Newburgh and thus would know that she
had been with Bill Frazer the night of
her murder.
‘ Then he. thought of a better plan. It
looked like a perfect out. He’d go straight
to the police and tell them he’d accident-
ally shot Phoebe. He’d say he saw a rab-
bit along the road and ‘stopped to pot it
PSA RE ae ER fe ov
Tt nee Pan Ss oe
_| skirted back roads until he reached Rah-
way. There, only a block from the police ©
“Heartened, he began to drive.
station, he lost his nerve.
They’d never believe him. They’d learn
all about his affair with Phoebe and ac-
cuse him of killing her just to rid himself
of an unwanted mistress after he tired of
her. It was easy for him, oppressed by his
guilt, to turn away from the green lights
‘in front of headquarters.
_ But: now what was he going to do?
Almost automatically he drove to the
home of his one close friend, Dickie
Page.
Dickie came to the door in his pajamas,
@ensing at once that his haggard, wild-
eyed friend, standing trembling before
him, was in grave trouble. While Dickie
dressed, Bill told him about the body in
his car.
“It was an accident,” Frazer swore.
“So help me, I did not intend to kill her.
The gun just went off.”. :
“There’s only one thing to do, Bill,”
young Page said. “Go straight to the
police.”
“Yeah,” Frazer snorted.
the electric chair, you mean.
in Rahway knows I've gone girl-crazy
since I’ got that dough. Everybody in
Rahway thinks I’m a no-good heel be-
cause I’ve been giving my wife and kids a
hard time. Who do you think would be-
lieve that. Phoebe Stader, out on a party
with me, was shot accidentally? Come
along, I’m going to see Hilda.” ~ 2
“With—with that dead woman in your
car?”
Frazer laughed harshly. “You wouldn’t
like to keep her in your refrigerator until
we got back, would you?” he sneered.
When he and Dickie faced Hilda, and
~Bill told his story, she winked the tears
‘from her ae and tried to reason with
her husband.
“You've got to go to the police, Bill,”
she pleaded. “For yourself. For the girls
and me. I'll stick by you. Even if things
turn out badly, well, it would mean only
a couple of years in prison. They can’t
prove you intended to kill her.”
“A couple of years in prison, eh?” Bill
-snorted. “That’d be just fine. All the rest
of my life people would point at me and
say ‘Jailbird’. I’m not having any, thank
you. Dickie, you come with me.”
Bill drove to a golf course outside the
city. There he parked, got out and
reached the rifle from the back seat.
“Take a walk,” he told Page curtly.
“Come back when you hear a shot.”
Dickie’ hesitated. Bill trained the muzzle
ary gun on him. “Get going,” he or-
red.
“Straight to
screen of brush. He waited for five
minutes, but heard no report from a
rifle. He edged in toward the car and saw
Bill sitting on the running board with his
head in his hands.
ape PAGE backed aWay into a.
“T couldn’t do it,” Bill said as Dickie‘
came up. “Here. Take this and shoot
me.”
“Come on, fellow,” his friend urged
“Let’s go back to your house and talk
this over.” ;
Nothing Hilda or Dickie could say
would persuade Bill to go to the police.
“T’1,. setting out of town,” he said final-
ly. “I'll Jet rid of her body, somewhere,
someb w. And when the cops find me, I
won’t <now a thing. You two ‘are the
only eople who know about this. And
you're not going to say a word to anyone.
Because if you do, you'll both get ten
years as accessories. You're in it now,
right along with me.” He glared at his
wife. “Evelyn and Irene would be in a-
’
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© of coffee before going to their offices. Bill
envied their custom-tailored clothes, their
talk of golf and country clubs in the sum-
“- mer and of Broadway. plays and fights in
the Garden in the winter. He seldom
missed their banter about deceiving their
wives, of cuties in hideaway niteri¢s, of
tete-a-tete dinners with secretaries.
At lunch the ‘secretaries and typists and
shopgirls came in; and Bill watched them,
chic, young and fresh-looking, with. a dif-
ferent interest, imagining them in the eve-
nings with the handsomely groomed men
he had seen at nine and nine-thirty in.
the morning. -
Bill, too, was a commuter, but a far
different, one from. these . snappy Long,
Islanders. He caught an early train six
days a week from Rahway, New Jersey,
to Penn Station, worked twelve hours and
then. returned to the flat down in Rahway,
too tired for anything except bed, even if
he could afford speakeasies and ist al
clubs.
Then in 1930 a letter came from the:
law firm in downtown Manhattan. Long
ago his father had acquired a piece of
property of so little worth or promise he
had forgotten about it. Now it had be-
come extremely valuable. Bill and his
mother inherited $56,000, sharing it equal-.
ly since the elder Frazer had left no will.
With a check for $28,000 in his hand,
Bill took one last, contemptuous look at
the restaurant in Penn ‘Station and quit.
He bought an expensive house in Rah-
way. He plunked down cash on the. line
for a handsome roadster for Hilda and
purchased a glittering sedan for himself.
A man: of. wealth now— $28,000 was a
considerably. fatter. fortune. in 1931 than
today—he babbled-of the great things he
meant to do. But, meanwhile, the seed
of his unsown. wild oats took sprout.
N ALL his years of serving sandwiches
and malteds, he had been only a white-'-
jacketed ‘automaton, not a: man to his
women customers.° But he was no sooner
coated with sugar than they began to
buzz around him like flies around spilled
syrup. ae ;
A man of more experience would have
taken them in his stride, or at least have
enjoyed them with some measure of dis-
cretion. But Bill Frazer's knowledge of
women ‘had been limited to marriage,
which is not apt to teach a man much
about furtive dalliance. So, when he set .
foot on that slippery path, he skidded its
whole length.
He paraded his girls before the men he
knew—or used to know—to show them
what a fellow he had become. And when
. Hilda protested, he drove his companions
right up to the house and left them in: his
car while he went inside for a coat or a
hat—or sometimes a. suitcase.
*. Eventually his mother summoned Bill
to her home to-try to talk some sense into
his head. While he was there, Phoebe
Stader knocked at the door. .
Bill’s mother had no misgiving about
the unavoidable introduction of Mrs.
Stader to her handsomeg dark-haired son,
even though Phoebe was uncommonly
pretty, with large, lambent eyes and ‘a
body that seemed to be stirring sensuously
even in repose.
Sia SU erm
ssteeainepmiemenmeten senate ee ee
Body in the box belonged to nude woman found murdered in woods.
For one thing, Mrs. Frazer knew, .
Phoebe was older than Bill, at least thirty-
five. “And for another, she was married
to-a welder who was usually around home
where he could keep an eye on his wife,
even if Bill should try to add her to his
string.
What the mother failed to take into
account was that.Mrs. Stader was heartily
sick of nothing but a meagre existence
and that she was at that point in her life
where her youth and her beauty were
hanging by one last, fraying thread.
Bill Frazer was young and ruggedly at-
tractive and he had money to spend.
Phoebe Stader realized this was her last
chance, and she took it. She laughed at
her husband when he remonstrated, just
as Bill taunted Hilda when she besought
him to settle down and be a good hus-
band and father.
On the Wednesday morning of Febru-
ary 18, Phoebe got Bill on the phone.
“T’ve had a hell of a row with Phil,” she
said.
“About me?” It pleased Bill that she
would fight over him.
“What else?” she laughed. “I want to
get away. Let’s drive to my sister’s, up in
the Catskills.”
They picked up a sister of Phoebe and
drove to the home of another sister in
Walden, New York, about eighty miles to
the north. To keep up appearances, Bill
stayed overnight in a hotel and, the next
morning, called for Phoebe and they went
to Newburgh, a picturesque little city on
the Hudson River about two hours’ drive
above New York City.
Here, in a (Continued on page 40)
William Frazer was girl-crazy.
Pe
=,
-—?
FRAZIE :
ZIER, William, elec, Nd (Union) April 1, 1932
The thrill was gone anites,
of coff
ca e ° o envied
from their illicit talk of
: mer an
‘ 2 the G:
love affair -— but missed
. F wives,
why murder the girl? age
l
ee —
chic, yc
By BOB WICKS —.
nings w
¥ he had
ILL FRAZER had an appointment, the mo:
the most important in his thirty ‘ j Bill,
years, which had been as speckled $4: ’ pee: fs differen
as a sparrow’s egg with memorable “>. Ne ‘ i Islander
rendezvous. He wanted nothing #2 er 4 Senaraer. be ig days a
more on earth than to avoid this meeting; ~ * iy Me pee ae te cs ‘ae to Penn
indeed, he would give everything, to the = AS ae SN / i aia tp § se y then ret
last cent of his inheritance and all he Ae Ee Se : ; Skate mh too tire:
could borrow on the future, to escape it. a» py SG tks et ~ he coul
But the only currency that could buy him hares ; : ee ee clubs.
off from the date which he dreaded to =?) Sea aam Sai Ss Done Then
te: Seis q Mees os’ law firn
ago his
the dregs of his soul was time, and of that 7
very little remained. gel e : :
Still, there was some of it left..And, # * mene ; 5 ae ee property
although it was less than an hour, it : : had for;
might -be enough if he could only think. 4
Think? Think of what he had already SOR ean, ; :
gone over a thousand times? And yet he POs _ ; ly in
; . ith
come e
mother i
must think and, no matter how futile the
effort, review the whole affair again, hour Bill took
by hour, from its merry, reckless begin- the resta
ning to its bitter, incredible end. 4 He bo
If only he could' remember everything way. He
for a he
purchase:
in detail and in its true perspective. Pos-
sibly he could, this last time, if he
reached back beyond his madness with
Phoebe, back into the struggling years
before the golden bombshell exploded
and rained upon him fortune beyond his
dreams. .
He recalled his boyhood as a sort of
yellow, buttery sunshine of life. And into.
it came the face of Hilda, the dark and
; radiantly pretty girl with wide, sultry eyes
‘and full, deep-red lips, the girl he mar-
ried just after high school, when both’
were in their teens.
| significant estate, which meant he had to
Perhaps it had been a mistake to give
his hostages to fortune—little Evelyn was
born in the first year of marriage, and
Irene three years later—before he had the
chance to frolic a bit, kicking his heels
like a coltgiigan April meadow. But he
had done it, quickly submitting to the
harness of a wife and family and a tedi-
ous, unpromising job. .
Then his father died, leaving an in-
help his mother a little, as well as to pro-
vide for Hilda and the kids. But even his
promotion to the assistant managership of
the commuters’ restaurant in Penn Station
in New York City gave him no more than
just enough wages to get along.
There, in the subterranean eating place,
Bill Frazer gave nearly as much of his at-
tention to the patrons as to the mechanics
of operating the business.
In the morning his counters were
crowded with prosperous looking suburb-
Body in
Mrs. Phoebe Stader loved too well.
a
: a, le, ea
the ecaip were cause! us be
ng eaten bv fistea, and coming in contact with
Frocks euch as line the shores of tue bay.
\, The first monthly reception # Evening School
Ne. 1, carver ot Adims and Colford streets, took
place last evening. The exe tises consisted of
Piano sciwe. reeita:ions. mOoneReee declamarions, by
Severe of the male and female pupiia of Day School
Nout.) ‘the sebeol of M-. 8. €.. Abdbott, Principal
6 Yn ‘\enarze with a coropetent corps of
feachers. There are seventeen cigases—tweive male
and five femaie—with an SvCTAES aggregate aiten-
Sy. .
ance of neatly 46 papiia. an
The dead body of John NeMitebell, residing
at No. 24 Myrtie avenue, Brooktyn, and employed
48 private watchman in the ne fyhborhood of Fort
{yreene Park, was found. at 9>'clock yesterday
merniag in s vatans Jot on Cumiiasland street, be-
tweee Myrle and Wilicaghly avensea There
Werte Do marks of fenl piay on th® boas. Mitchell
was fortseriy » momber of the Metropolitan Police
force. Death ie supposed to hag® been caused by
; . Rae are oy 2a
‘{ James Hayes, formetty ‘of Boston: waa ar-
Peated yeaterday om bourd the ship Minnesota, boy
lying at the Brockiyn Nevy-yard fore robbery com-
mitted some tims: sinee in [veton: Flayes is accused
of atealing $1,430 from the offica @l as eaw-mill and
beceping with it to New-York. iither the officers
fullowed bim, but did not » ie grresting bim
anti) he had speat the money gd entisted in the
Navy-verd.. He was handed ov tae Bootoa of.
Score on a requisitiva trom the G@#ernor of Masaa-
enusetta, aod takce beck to Bosiem! for trial, sit
ee noe
{<< WESTCHESTER COVXTY..
The, celebration of the Heitle of White
Pisins will. take place today 2 PF. M,. Major
: a W. Grand Master of Masons
pep cg pow. ord ree wih Jap'the corser-stone
mopement which is to be ted on Chatter-
ere wits fall Masenic vig Fhe | stdzeee
ign of Hill and Fulham, the El
wood mardereré. took place in the atlantic County
Jail, at May's Leading, yesterday. The crime for
which they expiated on the gallows, was comaitted
on the 6:hof August. The executed men, witha
confederate, entered the residence of farmer Ches-
itte early in the morning of that day, and finding
him alone, brutally murdered and then robbed him,
Their federate tarned State's evidence, aad on
bie teetimony they were convicted of marder in the
first degree, while he, pleading guilty to a charge of
murder im the gecond degrve, cacaped with a pen-|
ality of twenty years impriscument.
They have been confined
County Jail, and on Thareday
Shenff whe goarded them discov
a pa
Re Ser ren
SALE OF VALUABLE PAINTINGS.
The sale df .
for
last evening at
Leavitt's Salee-roome in Clinton There wae
a large audience present, but, as 0: Thureaay even-
fog, the bidding was poor, and the ‘majority of the
painting were withdrawy. The preg fe a liet’
of those whieh | were seid, with their value, upect
SUHIL A40Z HEN
*9LE8T £2 t9qoq00 Uo. fpN fSuTpUeT s,fey qe pesuey Suyor “TTTH pue Suyop ‘NATION
wife Phoebe, too,. had been missing
since Tuesday.
Checking further, the Rahway police
discovered that on that Tuesday Phoebe
Stader had left the home of a sister in
Walden, New York, with: whom she
had been staying. She had last been
seen in the company of William Frazer
as the two started their drive south in
Frazer’s brown Buick.
Although this in itself was not enough
to substantiate the wild story of murder,
it at least showed that Phoebe Stader
and William Frazer had been together
when they disappeared. It gave the
investigators a basis for starting an
investigation.
It didn’t take the New Jersey detec-
tives long to establish that Phoebe
Stader and Bill Frazer had been lovers.
Several neighbors were found who were
only too anxious to supply details. The
revelation, which broke on the town
like a summer thunder shower, came
as a shock to two of the people most
intimately involved—the left-behind hus-
band and wife.
AS a first step, Chief McIntyre issued
an alarm for the missing pair and
the Buick all along the Eastern Sea-
board. Next, police authorities in Bur-
lington, North Carolina, were con-
tacted and asked to start tracing
Frazer’s trail from that city. Key offi-
cials along the routes from Burlington
to Rahway were notified to be on the
alert for any unidentified body that
might turn up.
- By Tuesday, February 24th, the po-
lice were still without a clue to Frazer;
the body or the Buick’s whereabouts. A
new approach was decided upon and to
help carry it through Paul Cunningham
was summoned to the police station.
“You say you were only able to give
Frazer two-hundred and fifty dollars?”
Chief Martin asked.
“That’s right,” the accountant replied.
“What was Frazer’s reaction when
that was all you could give him?”
“He was quite disappointed.”
In conference, the investigators rea-
soned that since neither Frazer nor the
Buick had been wanted on that Thurs-
day it was a good possibility that Frazer
had sold the car in Burlington. If, as’
seemed likely, Frazer had been desper-
ately trying to raise cash he would al-
most certainly have sold his car after
failing to get the money he neded from
his friend, Cunningham. As a result of
a telegram sent to the North Carolina
motor vehicle bureau the investigators
were able to get a line on Frazer’s
movements.
The day after the meeting between
Cunningham: and Frazer in Burling-
ton, the brown Buick had been sold in
that city by William Moore Frazer to
one Howard G. Devlin. The car had
then almost immediately been sold to
a Raleigh, South Carolina, taxi driver.
The New Jersey police at once realized
what had taken place. If Frazer had
used his own name and had tried to
sell a car with New Jersey plates in
North Carolina, he would have called
64 ;
attention to himself and left a trail
which could have been followed easily.
It was safer for a Howard Devlin to
sell a car with North Carolina plates.
It was obvious that Frazer was Devlin.
The car’s current owner was con-
tacted and the Buick examined. A stain
was found on the front seat. Although
great effort had been made to wash it :
out, it was easily. established that the
stain had been made by human blood.
Obviously violence had taken place on
that front seat.
In selling the car, Devlin had listed
his address as the Raleigh Hotel. Check-
ing there, the investigators found that
“Devlin” or Frazer had already checked
in Bowling Green where an autopsy was
immediately performed. It was estab-
lished that the woman had been killed
by a .25 caliber bullet which passed
through the occipital lobe of her brain.
Early on the morning of February 26th,
Union County Detective Jeremiah Mc-
Namara and the slain woman’s husband
arrived in Bowling*Green to view the
body. :
“Yes, it’s Phoebe,” the widower said
sadly. “I don’t recognize the face in
that condition, but the hair is cut the
way Phoebe wore hers and I recognize
the shape of the two front teeth.”
On that very day the anxiously
awaited letter arrived for Paul Cunning-
out without leaving a forwarding ad- “ham in Rahway. A New Jersey detec-
dress. ‘
The New Jersey investigators. as-
sumed that Frazer had acquired about’
$1,000 from the sale of his car. Two
possibilities now presented themselves.
First, Frazer had used his funds to put
as much ditance between himelf and the
scene of the crime ~as possible. Or,
second, the wanted man felt somewhat
secure under the name Devlin and was
hanging around Raleigh hoping to con-
tact Cunningham or someone else and
raise more money. The New Jersey po-
lice banked on the second possibility.
They reasoned that since Frazer knew
that his friend Cunningham’s route took
him through the Raleigh area, the
wanted man would stay close by that
southern city so as to be in a position
to contact the accountant in any one of
a number of hotels in the vicinity.
Having decided on this possibility, the
next step for the investigators was to
devise some plan for drawing their
quarry out into the open. Again the
services of Paul Cunningham were re-
quired. The accountant, agreed to allow
the police to examine the postmarks
on all the mail he would get.
EXT, Chief McIntyre placed an ad
in the personal column of a Raleigh
newspaper to elicit the particular piece
of mail they were looking for. The ad
read: “To whom it may concern. Paul -
C, has the money his friend is looking
for. It is ready and waiting.” The in-
vestigators then sat back and watched
over the baited trap.
The final verification that Paul Cun-
ningham’s fantastic story was true came
before the trap was sprung. On the
day the ad was inserted in the Raleigh
papers a farmer in Trapahannock, Vir-
ginia, noticed buzzards circling over his
north pasture. With a .22 rifle in the
crook of his arm,.the farmer started
walking over his frozen fields toward
the spot over which the birds were cir-
cling. He soon discovered what had at-
tracted the ghoulish buzzards. He found
the nude, rapidly decaying body of a
young woman with long dark hair.
The farmer hurriedly notified the lo-
cal police, who in turn informed officials:
in nearby Bowling. Green. There an
alert officer recognized the description
of the corpse as that of the missing
Phoebe Stader. aes
The body was removed to a morgue
tive was waiting at the accountant’s mail
box when the postman brought an en-
velope addressed in plain block letters
and postmarked Raleigh, North Caro-
lina.
The accountant opened the’ letter in
full view of the investigators. It con-
tained nothing but a stamped envelope,
addressed, “H, G. Devlin, Care of Gen-
eral Delivery, Raleigh, N. C.”
Detective Chief Martin put in a long-
distance phone call to Raleigh Chief of
Police Winder Bryan and explained
the situation. Martin told Chief Bryan
that they were going to put some strips
of blank paper in “Devlin’s” envelope
and send it to the general delivery.
“It should be there sometime to-
morrow,” Martin said. “When you ar-
rest the man who comes to pick it up,
you shouldn’t meet with any resistance.”
Chief Bryan stationed Detectives
J. E. Lowe and H. L. Peebles at the
general delivery. The two detectives
went on stake-out watch the minute the
post office opened.
At 3:30 that afternoon a tall, slim,
thin-faced ‘man walked up to the
window and spoke with the clerk. The
post office employee removed the green
sunshade which shielded his eyes. It
was the prearranged signal that “Devlin”
had called for his letter. Lowe and
Peebles closed in quickly and arrested
the unresisting Frazer.
William Moore Frazer waived ex-
tradition and was returned to Union
County New Jersey. Relays ‘of detec-
tives questioned him for almost two
days. Frazer finally admitted that he had |
accidentally killed his married lover
when his gan went off while he was
putting it in the glove compartment.
This explanation. was not acceptable
to the authorities in view of the fact
that the autopsy findings tended to con-
tradict the possibility that the fatal
wound was inflicted in that manner.
William Moore Frazer was charged
with the first-degree murder of Phoebe
Stader and brought to trial on June
15th, 1931.
On June 16th, after short delibera-
tion, the jury returned a verdict of
guilty. On April 1st, 1932, William
Moore Frazer was executed in the death
house of New Jersey’s state prison. *
Editor’s Note: The name Paul Cunning-
ham is fictitious.
POLICE FILES
Sst
ing to the op;
information: “
a sweetheart.’
membership. Many
DEPENDABLE, IND
ductions by lette:
tlons. Sealed.
LOIS L. REEDER
LON
PERSONAL A’
cation. Experi.
1929. No club
cient, honest ar
lasts until suit.
P.O. Box 681
ane
LONELY!
STANDAR
Box 207
YOU desire ;
UNDERSTA)
others. We we)
month. Large
$2.00. Write tor
THE N(
P. O. Box 492
WEAL
100 Women wt
seeking Pen-:
Marriage. Exc
SELECT )
P. O. Box 647,
devoted to mer
tion! E>
WILSON, 3081 E
That’s all. Nothing more.”
<rzton beckoned Chief
Detective Chief, Hoyman
\ angle to this case we’ve
o little attention,” the state
d. “Opportunity. Who had
ty to waylay the girl on
vho knew she used it,”
That could take in a lot of
ly shook his head. “Nope,
yrong,” he said. “It had to
ho knew she was tfaveling
e that morning. He’d never
e as long as Helen Jean
id were together, because
ep at least one of them
ng out an alarm. So you
1 be somebody who knew
s alone.”
t someone in her school
man said.
100k =his head. “Elijah
he said. “He haunted that
1 the girl go by. When he
2an was alone, he moved
is play. Our job now is to
fess, I’m going to take a
Let’s hope it hits.”
aced Elijah Thompson
. azan who seemed anxious
/ way he could.
Krzton said. “You got a
in your kitchen?”
one,” Thompson admitted.
e off awhile back. I been
‘et a new one, first time I
ig down in the town.”
oduced the blade found
ean’s body. “This yours?”
peered closely at the blade.
it. But I couldn’t say for
e without a handle, it’s
our kitchen, isn’t it? You
the woods, after you killed
’
n’t help,” the sergeant con-
voice calm and confident.
the lab report on your
bluffed. “There were two
od on them. One kind was
ther was from Helen Jean
-aid,” Lije Thompson said
might find that out. Yes, I
rl. Crept up on her from
iit her in the head with a
the first blow knocked the
cious. He said he then
off into the brush, about
d yards down the path from
ne, about a hundred yards
from his house. There. he
: her, but could not.
ome, got the knife and a
went back to the woods,”
it her some. I put my hands
at. But she was dead. I
best I could, put her
-va~d her up.”
. panic, he claimed, he went
iged wife’s home. He said
# explain taking the stripped-
_ ith him.
POLICE FILES
ere ae
After the fight in which he was badly
injured, Lije said, he believed his own
blood on his trousers would provide a
perfect cover-up for his crime.
He made and signed a full confession.
On Monday he was arraigned on an
information charging murder before
Justice of the Peace Rudolph Schwartz.
He waived a preliminary hearing, and
was ordered held without bond for
grand jury. action.
A few hours after Lije Thompson
faced the magistrate, the arrest of: an
ex-seaman named Harry Gossard solved
the brutal slaying of little Karen Mauk
in Conemaugh. ‘Both sex killers were
found guilty and sentenced to die in the
electric chair. Elijah Thompson Jr. sat
in the hot seat at Rockview State Peni-
tentiary on July 25th, 1955. When on
June 4th, 1956, Harry Gossard took the
same seat, the brief reign of terror in
Western Pennsylvania was at an end. *
Editor's Note: The name, Fred Nora-
chen, is fictitious.
CORPSE IN THE CAR
(Continued from page 19)
reported for work and went straight to
see his boss. He asked to be allowed
to begin his round of calls through
North Carolina one week early.
“What's the matter?” the boss. asked.
“Is the law after you?”
Cunningham’s lips twisted into a
wry smile. “Yes,” he said. “It was
murder.”
The accountant caught the afternoon
train to Burlington, North Carolina.
With: distance between himself and the
previous night’s scene he began to feel
a little better. The strange hotel room
and shower detached him somewhat
from the horrible situation he was in.
By Friday the accountant had com-
pleted the audits he had to do in Bur-
lington and was ready to push on to
Durham. At dinner that night he heard
his name being paged.
“I’m Mr. Cunningham,” he told the
bellboy. “What is it?”
“There is a gentleman to see you in
the lobby.”
COLD shudder ran up the ac-
countant’s back as he walked into
the lobby and William Frazer rose from
a lounge chair and walked in_ his
direction.
“Bill!” Cunningham said, doing his
_best to hide his disappointment, “how
did you know I was here?”
“I phoned your office.”
“What’s happened? What did you
do with...”
“Let’s not talk about it. I took care
of it. That’s all. So ‘far, no nig ant
“What did you come ‘down here for,”
the accountant asked.
“I need some money.”
Cunningham took out his wallet and
gave the entire monetary contents to
his friend without bothering to count
it. Frazer did it for him. It came to some
$250.
“It’s not enough,” the murderer said.
“I need ‘a lot more.”
“What do you mean by a lot?”
“At least two-thousand.”
“How long do you think that will last
you when you’re on the run?”
“I’m going to go out West,” Frazer
explained. “I’m going to start over. 1
need a stake.”
POLICE FILES
ee
“I can’t get my hand on that much
money without going back to New
Jersey,” the accountant replied.
“I can’t go back,” the murderer said.
“We'll have’to arrange something else.”
“You leave word where you'll be,
Bill. [’'ll send you the money as soon
as I have it.”
“No. I have a better idea. Give me a
list of the stops you’re going to make.
I'll be in touch with you in a few days.”
It was agreed. The two friends shook
hands and Frazer walked out of the
accountant’s life again. Cunningham
went to Durham and tried to continue
with his rounds of clients. He found
that he could not. shake the horrible
feelings of guilt and unreality that
hovered in his mind constantly. Short
of funds and unable to keep his mind on
business, Paul. Cunningham returned
to Rahway on Saturday. He arrived
shortly after noon and was soon visited
by Detective McNamara. Cunningham
felt he simply had to unburden himself
and the investigator’s visit presented the
opportunity.
Jeremiah McNamara could not be-
lieve the tale he had just heard. .He
looked at the ‘accountant queerly.
Could the young man be psychotic, he
wondered. He had come to ask if the
accountant had known anything about
William Frazer’s disappearance, but
had never expected to hear anything
as fantastic as the story he had just
been told. The town of Rahway, New
Jersey, wasn’t accustomed to witness-
ing such fantastic, nightmarish goings-
on,
“I don’t know what to make of that
tale,” McNamara said frankly.
“Look, you’ve got to believe me,”
Cunningham said. “I drove around with
Bill Frazer Tuesday night trying to
talk him out of committing suicide. I
saw the gun. I saw the corpse. I tell
you I saw William Frazer in, Burling-
ton, North Carolina, on Thursday.”
McNamara was convinced enough to
take the young accountant to Rahway
Police Headquarters where he repeated
the fantastic tale to Chief George Mc-
Intyre and County Detective Chief Roy
A. Martin. These latter two officers re-
’ acted with the same scepticism as had
Detective McNamara. Cunningham’s
story was given some credence when
Chief McIntyre put in a call to Mr.
Stader. He informed the police that his
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I was trying to find the solution of these
puzzling questions, when I was interrupted
by the jingling of my desk telephone.
Answering the call, I recognized the voice
of my friend, the co-author of this story,
who was covering the story of the murder
for his newspaper in Philadelphia.
“TXRANK,” he said to me, “It looks as
though you are going to have a job on
your hands. They’ve discovered a trunk
murder in Philly, and it... .”
“T know all about it,” I interrupted him,
“T’ve just been listening to a radio broadcast
about it,”
“In that case, then,” my friend continued,
7 “you don’t know all about it, for we've
learned a lot more since the broadcast started.
We’ve traced part of the movements of that
trunk and learned that it was shipped to
Philly from your town... .”
“i was more than interested when I heard
is.
“Shipped from Atlantic City?” I asked,
“How did you learn this?”
My reporter friend told me the story.
Fi
‘uy alll
“When the reporters arrived at the Hoff-
man home,” he said, “we managed to get a
few details of the story and then surveyed
the neighborhood to see if the neighbors
knew anything. We learned the trunk was
taken to the house at night by two truckmen
who live in the vicinity, They are a fellow
named Morris Weinstein, who lives at 840
North Marshall Street, a little thoroughfare
a few squares away from the Hoffman house,
and a man named Charles Robinson, 1014
Brown Street, Weinstein’s helper.
“We managed to get to them before the
cops, and learned that a man named Miller,
who answers the description of the one who
rented the room at the Hoffman place, had
asked Weinstein to obtain a trunk for him
which was on the platform of the American
Express Company at Eighteenth and Market
Streets here. Weinstein said that he and
Robinson and Miller went to the express
company’s station, obtained the trunk, and
‘ THE LAW LOOKS FOR CLUES
| i Detective May searches the furnace of the horror house for additional
| & evidence after some of the murder victim's clothing (shown on floor)
| : was found there by Detective Valentine Hoffman Partially burned
|
ta
eet oD * wv — =
took it
“Knc
records
had be
livery s
This sh
Atlantic
the Pe
signed t
Express
signor v
“This
Atlantic
delphia
led us |
mitted i
we reca]
b
her bo
trunk left
your city «
I thank
tion and
and detecti:
Weinsteir
located by c
questioning
“This — fe
‘he solution of these
a I was interrupted
lesk telephone.
recognized the voice
ithor of this story,
story of the murder
iladelphia.
o me, “It looks as
ng to have a job on
discovered a trunk
”
” T interrupted him,
to a radio broadcast
my friend continued,
about it, for we’ve
‘he broadcast started.
e movements of that
it was shipped to
be 3
rested when I heard
tic City?” I asked,
PIF
9?
ld me the story.
arrived at the Hoff-
we managed to get a
y and then surveyed
see if the neighbors
rarned the trunk was
ight by two truckmen
’. They are a fellow
in, who lives at 840
a little thoroughfare
n the Hoffman house,
iarles Robinson, 1014
in’s helper.
t to them before the
a man named Miller,
iption of the one who
e Hoffman place, had
tain a trunk for him
form of the American
tighteenth and Market
in said that he and
went to the express
‘ained the trunk, and
took it to the house on North Fifth Street.
“Knowing the express company would have
records showing from what city the trunk
had been shipped, we went there. A de-
livery slip, signed by Weinstein, was found.
This showed the trunk had been sent out of.
Atlantic City at four p.m., March fourth, via
the Pennsylvania Railroad.: It was con-
signed to Henry Miller, care of the American
Express Company, Philadelphia, and the con-
signor was Henry Miller, of Atlantic City.
“This, coupled with the fact that an
Atlantic City newspaper, as well as a Phila-
delphia one, had been found in the trunk,
led us to believe the crime had been com-
mitted in your city. The Philadelphia paper,
we recalled, was of an edition that is sent to
DEATH NOOSE!
The strand of rope that
‘Doctor Wadsworth found im-
bedded in Mrs. Schaaf’s throat when
her body was discovered secreted in a
trunk left’ in a Philadelphia rooming-house’
your city every day. That was another clue.”
J thanked the reporter for this informa-
tion and then turned to two of my men,
County Detectives Frank May and Frank
Juliano.
“AAAY,” I said, “I want you to go to the
American Express office at the Pennsy
Station and check the records of all trunks
shipped out of here on March fourth. See
if any were sent by a fellow named Henry
Miller. Try to find the driver’who picked
it up and ask him to give you the address of
the house where he received it.”
When May left, I told Juliano I was going
to Philadelphia and that I wanted him to
come along with me. We. arrived in the
Quaker City within two hours after I had
received the call.
Going to the detective bureau’s head-
quarters in City Hall, we conferred with
Captain Heanley, Superintendent LeStrange,
and detectives who were assigned to the case.
Weinstein and Robinson, who had been
located by detectives, were taken before me for
questioning.
“This fellow Miller,” Weinstein said,
Entrance to the lodging-house in the Quaker City where the wealthy
*s slayer ordered the trunk containing the body of his victim
woman
er
WHERE HORROR WAS DISCOVERED!
sent after it had been shipped from Atlantic City
9
ar lL ee wee
‘Chief
times. |
Connecti
“Are \
“Sure
gained a
with a e¢:
visited A
munities,
to indelil
“In th
back to »
APTA
Chop
of the P!
He also f
the run t
Arrivin;
Connectic
of all resi
answering
After a
women wi
prior to tl}
left less t
The fir:
daughters,
at 31 Sout
maid. Qi
informed
West Vir;
second, ac
Captai
Count)
officer
Harry Hoffman and his mother as they looked while
being questioned by detectives shortly after I
had reported the finding of the death trunk to head-
quarters
“came to my office on the afternoon of March fifth. He
said he had a trunk at the express station which he wanted
delivered to the Fifth Street address. Robinson and I
went with him and got it. He paid me four dollars for
moving it.
“I remarked that the trunk seemed rather heavy. He
winked at me and said, ‘Boy, you’d be surprised if you
knew what is in it.’ I judged from this that he was a boot-
legger, but not wanting to be too inquisitive, I didn’t
any more questions.”’
{NFORMING Weinstein and Robinson that they would
probably be called upon to make an identification of
Miller if we ever found him, we permitted them to leave.
Captain Heanley then started to tell me about the
information he had received from the Hoffmans. As he
did, the telephone on his desk Tang. He answered and
learned the call was for me, and came from Detective May,
who, the reader will recall, had been assigned to trace the
trunk in Atlantic City.
“Chief,” he reported, “I found the trunk was shipped out
of here on March fourth, by a fellow named Miller. This
a I replaced the receiver and turned to Captain Heanley.
TT HT rf After telling him of May’s findings, I remarked:
HPT dt he
t4dey TAH a
mitted in Atlantic City. Our next step is to establish the
identity of this unfortunate woman. Once that is ac-
ero See complished, we may, by questioning her friends, find a clue
HORROR HOUSE! which may lead to this man Miller,”
Located at 31 South Connecticut Avenue, in Atlantic Captain Heanley, Detective Juliano and I then went to
City, New Jersey, where the owner Mrs.’ Mamie the morgue to view the victim’s body. . Showing t
Schaaf, wealthy widow, was murdered As soon as Juliano saw it, he turned to me and said:
|
ik
\
a
, Bs
|
a i
—
* looked while
y after Harry
cunk to head-
March fifth. He
which he wanted
Robinson and I
e four dollars for
ather heavy. He
: surprised if you
iat he was a boot-
juisitive, I didn’t
that they would
\ identification of
ed them to leave.
‘ll me about the
Hoffmans. As he
He answered and
m Detective May,
igned to trace the
ik was shipped out
med Miller. This
ition in a delivery
‘ss on the tag, and
iddress here. I’ve
moved the trunk,
something.”’
Captain Heanley.
-emarked:
is crime was com-
establish the
that is ac-
is, find a clue
nd I then went to
» me and said:
oe
diaeresis. ater:
The Scarlet Secret of the Steamer Trunk
“Chief, I’ve seen that woman in Atlantic City many
times. If I’m not mistaken, she lived either on States or
Connecticut Avenues, near Atlantic Avenue.”
‘“‘Are you certain, Frank?” I asked.
“Sure I am,” he replied. Juliano, incidentally, has
gained a reputation throughout police circles as a man
with a camera mind. Many criminals, I know, who have
visited Atlantic City while dodging police in other com-
munities, have been trapped and caught by Juliano’s ability
to indelibly record a picture in his alert mind.
“In that case, Frank,” I replied, ‘we had. better get
back to the shore as fast as we can.”
APTAIN HEANLEY detailed Detective Lieutenant
Choplinsky and Detective Sergeant Martin Curran,
of the Philadelphia Detective Bureau, to accompany us.
He also furnished us with a fast police car, and we made
the run to the seashore in less than an hour and a half.
Arriving there, we went to the section of Atlantic and
Connecticut Avenues, and started a house to house canvass
of all residences in the section to ascertain if any women,
answering the description of the victim, were missing.
After a long, tedious task, we learned that two aged
women were missing.. One had disappeared three months
prior to the discovery of the murder, while the second had
left less than five days before.
The first woman, we found, lived with two married
daughters, while the second resided in a pretentious home
at 31 South Connecticut Avenue, with two boarders and a
maid. Questioning members of the first family, we were
informed that the first woman left to visit relatives in
West Virginia and had never been heard from. The
second, according to her maid, a woman named Emma
Captain Frank J. Harrold, Chief of Detectives, Atlantic
County, New Jersey, co-author of this story, and the
officer who directed the manhunt for Mrs. Schaaf’s
killer
eee eee nee S
MURDER BAGGAGE!
Showing the top of the roped inner trunk in which the body of the victim was foun
d bv officers from Philadelphia Headquarters
was just en-
‘ there. Cap-
came bound-
n, we saw a
louch hat on,
At his feet
‘ontents scat-
. stood point-
e man’s face
ad.
illness in the
‘asked. “Do
urprise, Fine
what do you
noter his own
ving a bunch
? What is the
know what
Urs. Schaaf?
ice trip!”
ean,” he re-
to have that
ted. “Every-
“that those
to H. Miller,
aid that. He
nt and then
nine. I was
in,”
. was lying.
d you mur-
irprise. “Is
knew noth-
he die?”
spapers?” I
er all day,”
1’t had the
from a long
1, Philadel-
aswer,
looked me
nan was a
hat I could
information
him to my
10 and Eck-
Curran and
rters. Cur-
strong. box.
of us plied
‘ou tell us
Irs. Schaaf
was found
Don’t you
od there in
the cellar,
) Philadel-
» had been
> of rope.”
ine almost
nds to his
ut of that
nan named
tters I am
dollars to
roomer at
or a while
urned, this
a, told me
then asked
erican Ex-
1. I wanted
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to accommodate him as he said he couldn’t
wait, since he wanted to make an early
train. And to think poor Mrs. Schaaf’s
body was in it!”
The man leaned over and started weep-
ing. He kept moaning:
“Oh, it’s terrible, terrible. And I didn’t
even know it!”
“Fine,” I finally asked him, “what sort
of a looking man is this Miller?”
He hesitated a few minutes, and then '
stammered: :
“Why, he is a rather young fellow, but
he has a red beard and red-hair. He is a
little taller than me, but not quite as
stout.”
“Would you know him again if you saw
him?”
“Would I know him?” Fine asked in turn.
“I sure would! I lived in the same house
with the dirty scoundrel. If he were here
now I could strangle him with my bare
hands!”
As he said this, Detective Juliano, who
had just entered, motioned to me to step
out. .
“Chief,” he said in a low tone, “we
caught another fellow sneaking into the
house a few minutes ago.
He’s the other boarder.”
Juliano took me to a side room and
showed Birch to me. I was dumfounded.
The man’s description answered that of
the mysterious Miller as given to me by
Fine. The man had red _ hair, sported a
red beard, was just a little taller than Fine,
but not quite so stout.
Then suddenly I smiled. “This is a break,
Frank,” I said to Juliano. “And what a
break!”
Juliano, who of course didn’t know what
I was referring to, was puzzled. He started
to ask me what I meant. I interrupted him,
however, and said: “Never mind, Frank.
In a few minutes, though, I want you to
I’ve got him.’
take this fellow to my office. Just give me
enough time to get back there. Then walk
right in with him.”
Juliano did as instructed. I had been in
my office, only a few minutes and had re-
sumed questioning Fine when the detec-
‘tive brought Birch in.
Fine jumped as though some mysterious
hand had yanked, him out of the chair.
A startled expression came over his face.
Then, recovering from his surprise, he
pointed a finger at Birch and almost
screamed: “That’s him! That’s Miller!
There’s the man you want for murdering
Mrs. Schaaf!”
I watched Birch as Fine made this ac-
cusation. The man was plainly dumfounded.
Then, as he realized what had happened,
he smiled, grimly, I thought.
“Why, that is ridiculous,” he said. “This
man—I don’t know what he is referring to.
I’ve never been known as Miller in my
life. My name is Birch. It always has been
and always will be.”
I studied Birch for a few seconds, and
then addressed Juliano.
“All right, Frank,” I said, “you can take
him out now.”
I turned to Fine. The man glared at me.
“Why did you let him go?” he demanded.
“I tell you he is Miller. He is the mur-
derer.”
“I didn’t let him go, Fine,” I replied
calmly. “I’m holding him as a suspect in
this case. You still insist you had nothing
to do with this murder? You still claim
it was Birch who committed it? All right,
you don’t have to answer. Maybe you
didn’t kill Mrs. Schaaf, but how am I to
know you weren’t in on it?”
“Mr, Harrold,” Fine pleaded, “I tell you
I am innocent. Birch—or Miller—asked me
to ship the trunk for him. I tell you I was
out at the time Mrs. Schaaf was killed.
Won't you believe me?”
“Fine,” I told him, “I am going to give
you every chance you deserve. But until
this is all cleared up, I am going to hold
you.”
Knowing I could not get any more infor-
mation at the time, I had him placed in a
cell. When a detective walked out with
him I exclaimed to Choplinsky and Curran:
“Whew! What a fix we're in now! Which
of these men is the murderer? Fine blames
it on Birch who, he says, is Miller, while
Birch laughs it off,”
It was true that all the information we
had gathered so far wove a tight net of
circumstantial evidence around Fine. But
there was still that element of doubt upon
which a clever lawyer could elaborate in
court and obtain a client’s acquittal. I knew
that before I could prove Fine was the
murderer, or that Birch was, I would have
to clear one of them of suspicion. It was
perfectly obvious ‘they had not conspired
to kill the woman. ;
I turned to Curran and asked him to call
his headquarters in Philadelphia and re-
quest that the Hoffmans, Weinstein and
Robinson be sent to Atlantic City to iden-
tify either Fine or Birch as the mysterious
“Mr. Miller,” .
I then summoned my whole squad of
county detectives and instructed them to
visit every moving man in town to locate
the man or men who had taken the trunk
from the Schaaf home.
Less than two hours later, Detective- May
reported he had found the moving man
who had visited the house. He was James
Gillespie, who lived in the Inlet section.
When May entered my office with Gillespie,
I sent for Fine. While detectives were on.
their way to the cell to get him, the ser-
geant in charge of the cell room called me
by telephone and reported that Fine had
been seized with a sudden heart attack
and had been taken to the Atlantic City
ee eee
=~
Hospital. This was a turn in the case I
had not anticipated.
I waited until all the witnesses were in
my office, and then took them to the hos-
pital. The physicians there told me that
Fine, though ill, was not seriously so.
They were inclined to believe he was sham-
ming. But, being physicians, they played
safe and would permit only one witness at
a time to enter Fine’s room.
The Hoffmans were first. I entered the
room with Julius, the rooming house
owner. He took one look and said he was
certain Fine was the Miller who rented
the room from him. He declared, however,
he could tell better if he saw the man
with a hat on. A nurse brought Fine’s hat.
Placing it on the man’s head, after he had
been propped up, I asked Hoffman to look
at him again.
“That’s the man,” he said without hesi-
tation.
Fine didn’t say a word. He merely kept
staring at the witnesses. The rest of the
witnesses entered. All identified Fine as
the Miller who had negotiated with them
in the moving of the trunk.
Curran and I then entered the sickroom,
after I had held a conference with the
doctors. I had decided to play my trump
card in this grim game we were playing.
I held Mrs. Schaaf’s will in my hand.
“Fine,” I said, “do you recognize this?”
The prisoner, who had remained calm
as each witness examined him, nearly
jumped out of the bed in his effort to grab
the paper. He was mighty spry for.a
supposedly ill man. It was with difficulty
that we forced him back into bed.
“Well, Fine,” I said, “what do you say
about this will?”
“Nothing,” he growled. “Nothing, ex-
cept that Mrs. Schaaf was fond of me and
I of her. She said she wanted to leave
me her estate when she died.”
“Yes,” I interjected, “and you saw to it
that she was going to die so that you could
get your hands on her money.”
“It’s a lie!” the man screamed. “You're
trying to railroad me to the electric chair!”
Fine’s face had paled. He was frightened
as I put the next question to him.
“Fine,” I asked, “I want you to tell me
the truth about this. Didn’t you kill Mrs.
Schaaf so that you would inherit her
money?”
The prisoner, I felt, was weakening. I
thought he was going to confess, when sud-
denly he arose in his bed. Before we
could catch him, he fell to the floor in a
dead faint. A doctor entered the room,
and motioned us to step out.
As we drove back to headquarters, I
knew that we had caught the murderer.
Fine had been trapped by his own alibi.
He had assumed the name of Miller in all
his transactions concerning the renting of
a room in Philadelphia, and in the ship-
ping of the trunk. And it was this that
enabled us to trap him.
Arriving at headquarters, I had the
witnesses look at Birch, the second boarder.
He was quickly exonerated of all impli-
cation in the crime and was released.
After this, headquarters became agog
with excitement when it was learned that
Fine was wanted in New York State for
the murder of another woman there. De-
tectives had ascertained that the man we
had in custody was a veritable bluebeard,
the type of fiend who preyed on women
for their money and then murdered them.
An investigation revealed that Fine had
married, while a young man in Russia, the
daughter of a wealthy family in his home
town. His wife there had died under mys-
terious circumstances, and he had es-
caped with a small fortune. Arriving in
New York, he had married a second time.
Three years after this marriage, his sec-
ond wife, formerly Miss Tillie Furnstein,
had died as the result of an overdose of
sleeping drugs. Fine inherited fifty thou-
sand dollars from her, and went to Phila-
delphia.
Arriving there, he married for a third
time, on this occasion, Bertha Abramson,
who had inherited a large fortune from her
father. Fine attempted twice to do away
with her, but failed.
After hearing all this, I went to the At-
lantic County prosecutor’s office to pre-
pare the case against Fine. Ss. Cameron
Hinkle, the assistant prosecutor, perused
my reports containing all the evidence we
had found against Fine. He declared:
“Captain, we have an ironclad case. The
fact that Fine has positively been identi-
fied by all witnesses concerned clearly in-
dicates and proves he is the murderer of
this unfortunate woman. Also the will,
which you found was dated and executed
three days before the woman was mur-
dered, shows that the crime was premedi-
tated. I feel that you and your men,
as well as the Philadelphia authorities,
have built enough evidence around this
scoundrel to warrant us holding and try-
ing him on a first-degree murder charge.”
Fine recovered from his “heart” attack.
He was again back in a cell. He scorned
all visitors, and then started giving guards
the impression that he was insane. A
husky guard, Horace Johnson, obtained
from Fine what was considered the most.
.damaging evidence a man ever gave against
himself.
He was bemoaning his fate and confiding
in his cellmate, when he suddenly blurted
out: “I wanted her to give me some money.
Sure, I gave it to her. It was the only way
I could get the money.”
Johnson reported this to me as the
famous Jersey justice oiled up its ma-
chinery to speed Fine to trial.
He was indicted by the Atlantic County
Grand Jury for murder. On April 4th, one
month after Mrs. Schaaf had been slain,
he entered a plea of not guilty before
Supreme Court Justice Ralph W. E. Donges,
in the Atlantic County Court, at Mays
Landing, New Jersey. .
On June 6th, he went on trial for his life.
The trial lasted for four days, and Fine
based his defense on insanity. Not one
bit of testimony was offered to show he
had not committed the crime. This was
practically admitted ky the defense.
Then on June 10th, Fine’s fate was placed
in the hands of a jury. Within two hours
it returned a verdict of guilty of first-
degree murder without recommendation
for mercy.
Fine was doomed to die in the electric
chair. The verdict electrified the court-
room, for it was the first time in thirty
years that the death: penalty had been im-
posed in an Atlantic County Court. The
last time a murderer from Atlantic County
had paid the supreme penalty was in 1902,
when the slayer of a farmer had been
hanged at the old county prison. -
Fine had gambled for a fortune, it was
revealed, when an accounting of Mrs.
Schaaf’s estate was filed. She was worth
seven hundred thousand dollars—all of
which would have gone to the murderer.
Instead of the life of luxury which he
craved, and for which he had killed, Fine
met death about a year later—on June 12th,
1933—in the ‘electric chair at Trenton State
Prison.
Eprtor’s NOTE
The name Milton Birch, as used in
this story, is not the real name of the
person concerned. This innocent person
has been given a fictitious name to pro-
tect his identity. A picture of the per-
petrator, Louis Fine, appears on page
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THIS LABEL IS
YOUR PROTECTION
LOOK FOR IT
FINE, Louis, white, elec. NJSP (Atlantic) June
HE mind of Louis Fine was working smoothly,
clearly. He felt no nervousness; no fear or terror.
This gave him a feeling of mild surprise and aston-
ishment. He had been afraid of this moment. He
had dreaded it because he had’ been afraid his nerve
would break at the last minute. Yet it was done now,
and it had all been so simple, so easy that he wondered
why he had ever had a moment of trepidation.
Mattie Schaaf was dead. She lay on the floor of her
bedroom in her rooming house at 31 Connecticut Avenue,
Atlantic City, New Jersey. She didn’t look bad, not
nearly as gruesome as Fine had expected. There was
a mark around her throat.where he had strangled her.
Perhaps it: was because she was middle-aged, a little
fat, and with a heart condition, that her face wasn’t
blue and bloated—a condition Fine had always read
happened when a person was strangled.
There was a smirking smile on his face as he stared
down at the lifeless body of his landlady. The smile
broadened as he thought how she had dreamed of be-
coming more than his landlady. There was irony in
the absurd idea of the heavy-set, middle-aged woman
believing that Louis Fine would marry her. He was
forty, a heavy-set man, with a handsome face and eyes
that seemed always to be shifting. :
All his life Fine had believed. in the axiom that a
smart man takes what he wants, no matter how. He
never believed in working. A smart man, he always
said to himself, didn’t have to work. And he had been
fairly successful in getting what he wanted without any
grinding labor. :
There had been his former wife, a wealthy Phila-
delphia widow, who had married him against the advice
of her family. He had fared well with this marriage,
getting large sums of money, and then when his wife
got on to his scheme, she refused him any more money.
A week later she had been taken to the hospital suf-
fering from poisoning. Shewxecovered and Fine ‘had
been questioned by the police. The questioning didn’t
lead to anything, except to give him an utter disdain
for the intelligence of detectives. .
This time there wouldn’t be any slip-up. Mattie.
Schaaf was dead and in her strong-box was a will,
leaving him her entire estate, valued at over fifty
thousand dollars. She had made the will at his sug-
gestion three nights before. They were to have been
married the next day, March 8, 1932.
SECRET
12, 1933.
Sweetheart
By EDDIE BURKE
Broken in health and aging
rapidly, the erstwhile man
of many ameurs presented'a
miserable appearance after
being sentenced to death.
t ge vad <t ‘ wl Morin
> & ¥ 14/8) * wa es < me a
Detective sorts ashes of the furnace in search of
further clues as te the disappearance and murder
of Mrs. Mattie Schaaf who trusted her devoted lover.
HE had planned every detail of the murder. It had
. taken him several months. The plan was ‘compli-
cated, but as he stood there, every fact of that master-
plan going through his mind, he knew that there
couldn’t be any mistake.
Complicated as his murder-plan was, there was
basically a certain degree of simplicity in it all. It
was made intricate for the reason that not only must
Fine get Mattie Schaaf out of the way, but he must
also establish her death and offer the police a logical
solution. ‘This he had to do to inherit her fortune from
the will.
He had come to the rooming-house several months
before, learned of Mattie Schaaf’s fortune and her de-
sire to marry again. She was a fine woman, good-
natured and affable and as naive as a child. So good-
looking Louis Fine—the man whose mind never stopped
working to get money without effort—had little trouble
A eons her heart and getting her to make out the
will.
He started thinking about murder soon after ar-
riving at the rooming-house. Having no moral sense;
no feeling for anybody but himself; willing to resort to
anything to get the fifty thousand dollars, he at once
began to figure how he could do away with her and
still get the money. A hundred plans flashed through
his mind. Each was discarded in quick order as it
failed to provide for all the elements of the case.
‘Then he thought of the bogus roomer. At first the
plan seemed impossible, but as he considered it, it
suddenly appealed to him as the answer to his problem.
One trouble was Hazel Mathews, the colored maid.
Fine never doubted but that he could fool Mattie Schaaf.
He took care of Hazel by seeing that she got a week off.
Talking Mattie Schaaf into this was easy when Fine
promised to help her with the work..
She never knew anything about the Mr. Harry
Miller, who rented the second floor rear room. Fine
explained to her that Mr. Miller had come while she
was out, given him eight dollars for a week’s rent, and
if she would write out the receipt, he would give it to
Mr. Miller. Fine then went into the room and laid the
receipt on the table.
He planned that the police would find it there. Not
only one receipt but three, covering three weeks.
een had been
hey were, for
and identical.
‘scriptions were
pect by the de-
cy by the Vent-
McDevitt.
seven describes
d with assault
-e I worked on
rgeant Curran
adelphia wom-
‘ainst him. She
and lived to
uitted.”
‘ates converged
It was Tues-
nost of them
been poking
iked in, a grin
» “You’ll want
uipped to Har-
te me, I’ve al-
: of the bed in
had told them
‘ective had dis-
hes. Tight, slim
breadth wide,
overlook, yet
a fairly fat
ers.
‘y fabric cover
re immediately
. series of sur-
ness letters ad-
r, General De-
id testament of
lt disposed of
> estate. Apart
istant kin and
verything the
“my dear and
notarized but
ir days before
onday, the 29th
4 a Leap Year.
ant for a mo--
ver” letters, all
: were in the
single striking
. and rumpled
Russian pass-
»hotograph had
3ut the details
‘red and trans-
younger Louis
-ven on the old
er,
rt was a small,
ig, only a frag-
latt of eighteen
ves could read
y aloud.
young heiress,
and then, quite
icide by hang-
paper, the At-
nliging a police
th a clever piece
Journal of the
suised hint that
younger lodger,
was really the
> suspected and
‘aken their line
sport. So that,
now be lurking,
s he would get
ifidence.
.pers will throw
d. “These docu-
» him. He'll be
back for them and then maybe we'll have
ourselves a killer.”
“Fine’s our man all right,” Captain Har-
rold agreed. “It all fits. He went to Philly
last Thursday and rented the room in
Hoffman’s house. He was back here in At-
lantic City on Friday morning.
“He waited until Ella and Ganz left the
house, then went to offer his friendly serv-
ices to Mrs. Schaaf—wanted to help her
pack and see her off. She probably invited
him to a cup of coffee—or maybe he sug-
gested it. That’s when he slipped her the
overdose of sleeping tablets.
“Poor Mrs. Schaaf got drowsy and he
helped her lie down. Then he watched un-
til she dropped off into a heavy sleep.”
“Her last,” said Curran. “The same meth-
od he used on his wife in Philadelphia.”
“Only this time he made sure,” Harrold
went on. “He had the rope ready, the
trunks waiting. But there was still a lot
to be done and now he had to hurry. He
strangled her, carried her to the cellar,
stripped her, packed the trunks and got
rid of her clothing in the furnace.”
“With all that careful preparation, for
some queer reason when he went to cover
the inner trunk he used current, local
newspapers,” Juliano said. “Like leaving
his calling card.”
“Made our job that much easier,” Har-
rold concluded. ‘“Fine’s a smart operator,
but not nearly as clever as he thinks.”
Two detectives now were stationed in-
side the Schaaf residence day and night.
In the morning mail on the 9th came a
picture postcard addressed to Mrs. M.
Schaaf. It read: ‘‘All has gone well. Busi-
ness completed sooner than I had expected.
Returning very soon and hope to find you
home from your visit. Love, Louis.” It had
been mailed in Wilmington, Delaware.
Nervously cooperative Ella March had
been induced to continue on the job. And
early that Wednesday afternoon the news-
paper decoy paid off. The doorbell rang.’
When Ella, although braced and rehearsed,
opened the door and saw who it was, she
burst into tears.
“Why, Ella! Whatever is wrong?” cried
a buoyant voice.
“Oh, Mr. Fine! It’s Mrs. Schaaf!” Ella
March wasn’t acting. “If you’d seen her in
that morgue the way I had to—”
Shortly thereafter Fine, who affected
total ignorance of the brutal homicide,
managed to disengage himself from the
tearful Ella and dashed upstairs.
When Juliano and Hoffman pushed open
his bedroom door, they found him at the
bedside, Mrs. Schaaf’s will in his hand.
Juliano said, “Okay, fellow. You drugged
and strangled her for her dough. Don’t
you want to save yourself a lot of trouble
and tell us the truth?”
“How dare you barge in like this? Let
me see your warrant—”
“You killed her, didn’t you?” the detec-
tive hammered on. “And her lawyer says
her estate should be worth somewhat more
than $700,000.”
Fine blinked. He couldn’t help it. He said
nothing.
“But is seven hundred grand really
enough for you, Louis?” Juliano pressed on.
“Enough, I mean, considering all the dis-
comfort you’re going to meet with over in
Trenton, in the death house?”
Louis Fine tried a variety of countering
maneuvers. First bleak and dignified si-
lence, then injured innocence and total ig-
norance. Failing to score, he now got
around to making direct accusations. “It
was Walter Ganz, I tell you. He murdered
Mattie. He was Henry Miller. And, like a
fool, I came back and helped him with the
shipping of that trunk.”
What Fine did not know was that, while
his fellow lodger Walter Ganz was absent
from the city, he no longer was missing.
Ganz, reading the story in the newspapers,
quickly got in touch with Atlantic City
officials through the Pennsylvania state
police. And as quickly he established an
indestructible alibi.
On the morning of Friday, the 4th, he
had left Mrs. Schaaf’s home shortly after
Ella March had left. He had seen Ella
waiting at the bus depot.
Ganz had not had to take a bus, for a
business acquaintance, driving to Trenton,
gave him a lift in his car. From Trenton
Ganz went to Reading and Allentown. He
could, and did, account for every minute of
his time.
When his fantastic charges had met
only with chilling disbelief, Louis Fine suf-
fered a heart attack. It impressed doctors
enough to get him admitted, under guard,
to an Atlantic City hospital. And here, one
by one, seven persons came to take a look
at him.
These were the three Hoffmans of North
Fifth Street and Weinstein and Robinson,
the Philadelphia truckmen, all of whom
had known him as “Mr. Miller.” Their iden-
tifications were emphatic. And so were
those of the New Jersey truckmen, Burkct
and McDevitt.
Mrs. Schaaf’s suitcase, which the detec-
tives had. been unable to find in her home,
turned up at the North Philadelphia Sta-
tion of the Pennsylvania Railroad. Taken
there, presumably, by Louis Fine after he
got rid of the trunk and fled from Atlantic
ps aN
Important documents cleverly hidden in box spring of the incorrigible killer’s bed were unearthed by Det. Frank Juliano
City, it was being held at the station for
unpaid checking fees.
The famous Jersey justice oiled up its
machinery to speed the accused man to
trial. He was indicted by the Atlantic
County grand jury. And on April 4th he
appeared before Supreme Court: Justice
Ralph W. E. Donges at Mays Landing to
enter a plea of not guilty.
On the 6th of June, 1932, three months
and two days from the date of his last mur-
der, Fine went on trial for his life. Prose-
cutor Louis A. Repetto of Atlantic County
was determined that Fine should not again
escape the law.
The trial lasted four days. Not one word
of testimony was introduced to show that
the accused had not committed the crime.
The defense of Louis Fine was based solely
upon a plea of insanity.
On June 10th the jury deliberated for
only two hours, then returned a_ guilty
verdict, the first that Fine ever had heard
pronounced against him. But this verdict
hit hard, for it declared him guilty of mur-
der in the first degree without any reeom-
mendation for mercy. Judge Donges
promptly sentenced the convicted murderer
to die in the electric chair.
A year passed, while the customary ap-
peals were taken. But every defense move
was in due course denied.
On June 12th, 1933, Louis Fine was es-
corted into the death chamber at Trenton
State Prison, strapped into the chair and
put to death by electrocution.
Electrocuting such a man was like a mass
execution—he had been so many individ-
uals, so many evil personalities, with so
many names. He had begun with a naive
girl of 17. He had sacrificed her life for a
net gain of $17,000. He had ended with a
trusting woman of 60. Except for some ex-
cellent interstate detective teamwork, he
would have gained the immense sum of
$700,000. Even the electric chair could not
even the score of eviland murder. $@¢@
EpITor’s NOTE:
The names, Ella March, Walter Ganz,
Howard D. Titus and Daniel Emmett, as
used in the foregoing story, are not the
real names of the persons concerned.
These persons have been given fictitious
names to protect their identities.
a| a
double jlength feature
63
itory could
rer of the
There were
the trunks
didn’t have
o the Hoff-
sught Julius
questioning.
the source
i noticed, of
sly contents,
| me a body
ise for two
sre?”
n late Satur-
a room with
‘y Miller and,
weeks’ rent
had been a
prosperous
ery polite, of
ind speaking
trace of a
told the offi-
3 or 44 and
added.
‘ame and he
ashington, an
» back in two
lied. “Ought
- your place
ist summer’s
nief retorted.
ever see him
this—my son
ies down the
i; or business
side of Fifth
jon’t ask me
r made sense
» it does—”
: flipping the
~ with an au-
four license
evening. It
vut which was
» brought the
to the Motor
our the four
narrowed to
tein of North
ion detectives
nan.
last Saturday
a the 800 block
Miller, Henry
er it so easy?
ise of the way
ind my helper,
in the house
ust so.”
»yhones me to
: the Railway
it to where
He says he'll
so over to the
Market, get
e address and
n seemed stun-
lugging a body -
st to 18th and
ice of the Rail-
‘e'd like to look
ink that Morris
two days ago,”
ne clerk on duty
sil idacakc ail
2
4
a ai Sener Seen
exploded. “We've kidded ourselves that
we were through having trouble with that
trunk.”
“What sort of trouble?”
The express clerk was leafing through
his records. The trunk, he found, had
been shipped from Atlantic City on Friday,
March 4th, at 4 P.M. Shipped by Henry
Miller of Atlantic City, addressed to
“Henry Miller, care of Railway Express
Agency, Philadelphia, Penna.”
“So then this Miller drops in and orders
us to deliver the trunk to Howard D. Titus.
But Titus isn’t home, and His sister is and
she isn’t laying out $7.50 charges on a trunk
she doesn’t expect and says she never
heard tell of. So our delivery men bring
the thing back here. And then the truck-
man, Weinstein, called for it.”
Captain Heanley interviewed Howard
Titus. He was a real estate man and
seemed to know no more about the tour-
ing trunk than had his sister. He said that
he had no friend or acquaintance named
Henry Miller. He knew very few resi-
dents of Atlantic City, none named Miller.
“My sister was quite right in refusing to
accept that trunk,” he added. “If I'd been
home, I would have done the same thing.”
Heanley had to smile. “Especially, I
think, Mr. Titus, if you had known there
was a woman’s body in-the trunk.”
“A woman’s body! Are you serious?”
“Murder is serious.”
“You mean, somebody named Henry
Miller actually was sending’ me a dead
body?” Titus exclaimed. “Well, I still
don’t recollect knowing any Henry Miller.
Must be somebody that knows me. Or else
he may have seen my name written in
some real estate deal.”
“We'll get you the answer to that when
we catch up with him,” Heanley promised.
Returning to his office at headquarters
he put through an immediate call to At-
lantic City and Captain Frank J. Harrold,
chief of the detective force of Atlantic
County, New Jersey.
As soon as Harrold heard the problem
he promised to send one of his men, De-
tective Frank May, to check up on the
shipment of the trunk. He said he and
Detective Frank Juliano would leave at
once for Philadelphia.
“Frank,” he said of Juliano, “has the
memory of an elephant. If your corpse
was an Atlantic City resident or ever spent
any considerable vacation here, Frank prob-
ably will be able to identify her for you.”
Harrold was in Philadelphia two hours
later. Juliano was with him. Captain
Heanley drove his visitors to the morgue.
The sheet covering the strangler’s un-
known victim was pulled down from her
face. The investigators from New Jersey
studied her features thoughtfully.
At length Frank Juliano said quietly, “T
know her. I would swear she’s lived in
our town. Something seems to remind
me of Connecticut Avenue. It may be she
comes to the boardwalk a lot and favors
a location at the foot of Connecticut.”
When Harrold and his subordinate re-
turned home to the famous seashore re-
sort, two crack operatives from Philadel-
phia homicide, Lieutenant Choplinsky and
Sergeant Martin Curran, went with them.
In all Atlantic County no gray-haired
woman of 60 had been reported missing.
Juliano suggested, ‘Captain, suppose we
try first over on Connecticut Avenue. Find
out who’s absent. It’s still my hunch she
lived over there.”
“Okay,” Harrold agreed.
When they arrived at the avenue, Juliano
studied a row of ornate resort houses. He
rang a doorbell. Nobody was missing here.
He pressed another bell. A competent and
cheerful looking housemaid responded.
“The lady of the house at home?” Juliano
asked her hopefully.
“Mrs. Schaaf? No, sir. She’s away now, on
a visit.”
Harrold and the two Quaker City detec-
tives turned questioningly to their com-
panion. “Mrs. Schaaf,” Juliano repeated.
“Mrs. Mattie Schaaf?”
“That’s right,” the maid said.
“Who else is at home?” Harrold asked
the maid.
“There’s nobody but me,” she said. “Mrs.
Schaaf went visiting to New York. And
Mr. Ganz is off on one of his business
trips. The same as Mr. Fine.”
“These men are boarders here?”
“Lodgers. Mrs. Schaaf is a rich lady.
She’s not in need of the gentlemen’s room
rent. But she says she would dislike living
alone in this great big house. So she
lodges just the two of them, both very
nice, quiet gentlemen.”
Sergeant Curran had a question. “Would
your Mr. Fine be Louis Fine?”
“That’s right, sir. Do you know him?”
“I think I’ve met him,” the sergeant an-
swered.
“Mr. Fine is a retired gentleman,” the
maid volunteered. “But he often has to
be away for a spell, looking after some
business interests he says he can’t let go
of.”
Identifying themselves as detectives, the
four continued to question the housemaid.
Her name, she said, was Ella March. She
helped them get the schedule of recent
departures from this house.
Mr. Fine had left first, on the 3rd,
Thursday. Then the next day, Friday, Mr.
Ganz and Mrs. Schaaf had gone, though
not together. Ella stated that she had
seen Mr. Fine go; but she had not been
at the house when Mr. Ganz and Mrs.
Schaaf left.
Ella’s employer had said two days be-
fore, “Since the three of us will be away
at the same time, why don’t you go some
place, too, Ella? How about visiting your
sister in Toms River?” And so the maid
had left here, around 9 A.M. last Friday,
after helping Mrs. Schaaf pack a suitcase
and go over a list of things that Ella was
to lay in when she got back to Atlantic
City after her brief overnight absence.
Captain Harrold now had to tell Ella
March, who said she had been with Mrs.
Schaaf for more than eleven years, here
and in Philadelphia, that he feared some-
thing had happened to her mistress. He
asked Ella to go with Detective Juliano to
Philadelphia, to look at a body in the
morgue. And the maid, her eyes wide with
alarm, consented to make the trip at once.
Less than three hours later Ella found
herself the central figure in a police group
headed by Heanley, Juliano, Choplinsky
and Curran. Again the sheet was turned
back. “Why—why it is Mrs. Schaaf!” Ella
March gasped, a handkerchief to her
streaming eyes.
Once this positive identification was
made, the murder investigation picked up
speed. The combined team of Philadel-
phia and Atlantic County detectives now
learned that Mrs. Mattie Schaaf was, in-
deed, rich. She had private means and
had received a handsome settlement from
her husband, on being granted a divorce.
Thereafter, in various South Jersey en-
terprises, she had been the close friend
and frequent business partner of the
late Daniel Emmett, a man of numerous
large holdings. So valuable had Mattie
Schaaf seemed to Emmett that, when he
died only 15 months ago, he had willed
her a major share of his fortune, far in
excess of that which she was known al-
ready to have accumulated.
Had the motive of murder been robbery?
Mattie Schaaf might easily have attracted
the attention of a ruthless thief. She was
known, Ella said, to keep large amounts of
ready cash and valuable jewels in a strong-
box in her bedroom. But Ella couldn’t say
if anything was missing.
“When Mrs. Schaaf went away this time,
she padlocked her bedroom door. Without
a key I couldn’t even get in to clean. She
always trusted me before,” Ella said tear-
fully.
Juliano hurried to report to Captain Har-
rold and the detectives went straight to
the Connecticut Avenue house and broke
the padlock on the door of the murder vic-
Hlis women victims ranged in age from 17 to 60. Last one is carried from morgue
6
| BEQUEATH YOU,
MR. FINE.... —
He sneaked into the rooming house, tore apart the mattress, pulled out the
cash box and read the will. “I bequeath you, Mr. Fine... Death in the Chair.’’
by BRADFORD D. JONES
m™ Mrs. Mattie Schaaf was possessed of Woman’s three
most cherished assets: she was attractive, she was eligible
for matrimony—being a widow—and she was worth three-
quarters of a million dollars. Had she but the first two of
these properties, she doubtless would have remarried and
lived out a happy, normal span of existence. As it was, the
three-qarters of a million caused Mattie a lot of trouble.
Because of it, in fact, she wound up in a steamer trunk—
as an unidentifiable, and very dead, nude... .
At first, Julius Hoffman had believed that the dark stain
of liquid escaping from the trunk’s bottom onto the bed-
room floor came froma broken bottle of booze. It was
back in the waning days of Prohibition and still nothing
unusual to bring along- one’s own personal remedy for
pneumonia and snake bite.
Then Hoffman turned on the electric light and noticed
that the crimson hue of the liquid more nearly resembled
blood. Quickly, he phoned the Philadelphia police.
The cops pried open the trunk lid and found a smaller
trunk inside. It was covered with copies of the Philadelphia
Evening Bulletin and the Atlantic City Journal, dated
March 4, 1932. It was now March 7.
’ They broke open the second lock and lifted the lid to
reveal the uncomfortably cramped nude that was later to
be identified as Mattie Schaaf. They carted the whole
. works off to the morgue laboratory for more minute in-
spection.
Hoffman, proprietor of the rocming house on North
Fifth Street, had been sweeping out the bedroom in prep-
aration for the impending return of its recent renter; a
fond wish that the police now concurred in, although regret-
fully certain it would never be realized. Hoffman said that
the room had been rented two days before by a man
describing himself as Henry Miller. Despite Méiller’s
whimsical idiosyncrasy of keeping his hat jammed low over
In the Death House, Fine continued to scream his innocence.
“You're railroading me to the chair,” he shouted daily.
his face all the while he negotiated for the room, he had
more than ingratiated himself with the landlord by paying
three weeks’ rent in advance. It was obvious now to the
police that he had purchased time to delay the dead
woman’s discovery and to insure his own getaway. The
jammed-down fedora tended to. render him relatively
unidentifiable. Hoffman could describe him only in the most
general terms—fortyish, clean-shaven, and of average
height and build.
Nor could the coroner or police technicians help much.
There were no shipping tags on the trunk, no clothing or
other means of identifying the body or its point of origin.
The woman was described by Coroner Dr. William’ S:
Wadsworth:as a trim and well-preserved 60, gray-haired,
five feet six and weighing 140 pounds. She had been dead
two to three days and the tightly-drawn clothesline ‘en-
circling her neck was the undébatable cause of her death.
With nothing further to enlighten them, the police set
out to determine the corpse’s mode of arrival. They: knew
only that the much-wanted Mr. Miller had brought the
trunk to the rooming house in the cart of two unidenti-
fied truckmen. Presumably the two were Philadelphians.
HAT did not mean, of course, that the journey of the
trunk, with lady therein, had originated in Philadelphia.
- Special bulletins were broadcast the length and breadth of
the eastern seaboard for missing trunks, description given,
possibly containing missing ladies, description given also.
Special attention was paid to Atlantic City, since the
killer had thoughtfully enclosed a copy of the local news-
paper, as well as Philadelphia’s Bulletin. As for the name,
Henry Miller, the police had scant hope that it was the
strangler’s real name. Nevertheless, it was to aid them
later in a strange and unexpected manner.
Among Philadelphia truckmen A Continued Fe page 78)
4 A eRe we (2 OKNA-~2
equal LISS
62
tim’s bedroom. Nothing here seemed to
have been disturbed, however. Jewels and
a thick roll of currency lay unmolested
in the unlocked strongbox left in a drawer
of Mrs. Schaaf’s dressing table. Nor had
any intruder ransacked the other immacu-
late rooms of the house.
Detective Valentine Hoffman went down
cellar while his colleagues were searching
other rooms in the spacious residence. His
attention was immediately attracted by a
clean rectangle in the dusty floor—a rec-
tangle which had exactly the same dimen-
sions as the bottom of the larger of the two
trunks. There was, too, a length of clothes-
line dangling from a rafter, rope similar to
that found biting into the skin of Mrs.
Schaaf’s neck.
Detective Hoffman sifted through the
ashes he took from the furnace. Thus he
came upon a woman’s dress, underthings
and shoes, all partially burned but none
consumed as the killer doubtless had
planned.
Ella March identified these charred ar-
ticles as having belonged to Mrs. Schaaf.
The dress was the very one she had been
wearing last Friday, when Ella took off for
her holiday in Toms River.
All this while Detective Frank May had
been trying to run down the truckman who
had carted the murder trunk from Mrs.
Schaaf’s home to the Railway Express
Agency. Since the Philadelphia records of
the R. FE. A. showed that the trunk had
been shipped from this New Jersey point
at 4 P.M. Friday, March 4th, and since the
nude victim inside the inner trunk had
been alive, clothed and conferring with
her maid at 9 a.m. that same day, it stood
to reason that the truckmen hired by the
killer had been engaged on rather short
notice. They should be able to locate him:
Since Atlantic City is a vacation spot,
thousands of trunks stream in and out of
the popular resort. May hunted truckmen
and talked with truckmen until finally, in
neighboring Ventnor, he located Robert
Burket and John McDevitt. Both of them
remembered calling last Friday afternoon
at the Connecticut Avenue address.
They had been engaged for the job by
a Mr. Miller, over the telephone. Their
instructions had been fussy and precise.
They had been met on the front porch
about 3:25 p.m. by a man who told them,
“Mr. Miller was unable to wait for you
fellows any longer.” So, as a favor to Mil-
ler, he was here to take charge.
“We came just as quick as the wheels
would turn,” McDevitt had said.
“Okay. Okay. No offense intended,” the
man said. ‘Just so I see this trunk on its
way.
“What did he look like?” May asked.
He had been stocky and dark, a natty
dresser who appeared to be in the chips,
but fussy. He had tipped them well. He
had kept an eye on the avenue, watching
cars and passing pedestrians. And even in-
doors, even when he led them down cel-
lar to pick up the trunk, he had kept his
dark felt hat on, the brim pulled down low
over his eyes, “as if not wanting to let you
get a good look at his face,” the man con-
cluded.
Lieutenant Choplinsky and Sergeant Cur-
ran, working out of Philadelphia head-
quarters, had come again to Atlantic City.
They brought with them five depositions
which had been made by Julius Hoffman,
his wife, his son, by the truckman, Wein-
stein and his helper, Robinson. The sworn
descriptions of the “Henry Miller” these
Imposing home of Mattie Schaaf where a bedroom was found mysteriously padlocked
five Philadelphians had seen had been
taken down separately. They were, for
police purposes, unvarying and identical,
What is more, these five descriptions were
now duplicated in every respect by the de-
scription given Detective May by the Vent-
nor truckmen, Burket and McDevitt.
“And every one of the seven describes
Louis Fine. He was charged with assault
with intent to kill in a case I worked on
a couple of years ago,’ Sergeant Curran
said. “It was his wife, a Philadelphia wom-
an, who brought charges against him. She
survived two murder tries and lived to
divorce him, but he was acquitted.”
The detectives from two states converged
again on the Schaaf home. It was Tues-
day afternoon, the 8th, and most of them
were in the living room. ’
Detective Juliano had been . poking
around upstairs. He now walked in, a grin
expanding his pleasant face. “You'll want
to thank me, Captain,” he quipped to Har-
rold, “but don’t congratulate me. I’ve al-
ready congratulated myself.”
Lodged in the box-spring of the bed in
the room which Ella March had told them
Louis Fine occupied, the detective had dis-
covered a clever set of caches. Tight, slim
slits no more than a hand’s breadth wide,
easy to close up, easier to overlook, yet
each capable of concealing a fairly fat
sheaf of documents and letters.
The four slits in the heavy fabric cover
of the bed’s box-spring were immediately
inspected. They disgorged a series of sur-
prises. There were four business letters ad-
dressed to “Mr. Henry Miller, General De-
livery, Atlantic City, N. J.”
There was the last will and testament of
the deceased Mattie Schaaf. It disposed of
what seemed to be a large estate. Apart
from a few bequests to distant kin and
charitable causes, it left everything the
woman had in the world to “my dear and
faithful friend, Louis Fine.”
It had been executed and notarized but
eight days ago—and only four days before
Mrs, Schaaf’s murder—on Monday, the 29th
of February, 1932, this being a Leap Year.
_ “What more would you want for a mo--
tive?” Curran said.
Aside from the four “Miller” letters, all
the other letters and papers were in the
name of Louis Fine—with a single striking
exception.
This was a worn, stained and rumpled
Russian passport—a Czarist Russian pass-
port, dating from 1915. The photograph had
been crudely scraped off. But the details
of description, when deciphered and trans-
lated, seemed to sketch a younger Louis
Fine. However, the name given on the old
document was Ludwig Figner.
Tucked inside the passport was a small,
yellowing newspaper clipping, only a frag-
ment from the Prager Tagblatt of eighteen
years ago. One of the detectives could read
German and he read it slowly aloud.
In the spring of 1914, a young heiress,
Lydia Vareska, had eloped, and then, quite
mysteriously, committed suicide by hang-
ing.
Currently, another newspaper, the At-
lantic City Journal, was obliging a police
official, Captain Harrold, with a clever piece
of calculated slanting. The Journal of the
8th gave out a thinly disguised hint that
the murdered Mrs. Schaaf’s younger lodger,
the missing Walter Ganz, was really the
man whom the police now suspected and
were seeking.
The wire services had taken their line
from this on-the-spot report. So that,
wherever Louis Fine might now be lurking,
if he read the newspapers he would get
a warming shot of self-confidence.
“Those stories in the papers will throw
him off guard,” Curran said. “These docu-
ments are too important to him. He’ll be
Important docu
back for them ar
ourselves a kille
“Fine’s our ma
rold agreed. “It :
last Thursday a4
Hoffman’s house.
lantic City on F)
“He waited unt
house, then went
ices to Mrs. Sch
pack and see her
him to a cup of «
gested it. That's |
overdose of sle |
“Poor Mrs. Sc |
helped her lic d |
til she dropped «
“Her last,” said
od he used on h:
“Only this tim:
went on. “He h
trunks waiting. }
to be done and :
strangled her, c
stripped her, pac
rid of her clothir
“With all that
some queer reaso
the inner trunk
newspapers,” Jul
his calling card.’
“Made our jot
rold concluded. ‘
but not nearly ;
Two detectives
side the Schaaf
In the morning
picture postcard
Schaaf. It read:
ness completed s
Returning very ;
home from your
been mailed in \\
Nervously coo;
been induced to
early that Wedn:
paper decoy pai
When Ella, altho
opened the door
burst into tears.
“Why, Ella! Ww?
a buoyant voice.
“Oh, Mr. Fine!
March wasn’t act
that morgue the \
Shortly therea:
total ignorance
managed to dise
tearful Ella and ¢
When Juliano «
his bedroom door
bedside, Mrs. Sch
Juliano said, “¢
“Yes,” said that worthy. “There were two of them—
a tall, stiff-looking sort of chap and a dark-skinned one.
They got out, waited a minute and then jumped into an-
other car that came for them.”
“Did you recognize the men?” said Dixon.
“Sure,” replied the agent. “The fellow driving the
second machine was young Charlie . He lives right
around here. But Charlie’s a good boy; he wouldn’t do
anything wrong.”
Dixon decided to let the evidence speak on that point.
He took Charlie’s address and went around to the house.
But he learned little beyond the fact that Charles had
driven hurriedly away after receiving a mysterious tele-
phone message early that morning.
Back in Selec, other tips were also bearing fruit.
Dixon got there to find that his deputies had arrested two
men who fitted the descriptions given of the stickup
crew.
The prisoners were two ex-convicts whose records were
anything but prepossessing. They had been police char-
acters for years. More significant, however, was the fact
that they had just been released from the state prison the
night before after serving terms for a series of gas station
holdups. -
Dixon called in the various eyewitnesses and had them
give the suspects the once over.
‘Are they your men?” he asked.
“They look a lot like them,” said the spokesman, “but
we can’t be sure.”
The sheriff turned to his prisoners. They scowled as
he resumed his questioning.
“What do you say, boys?” he put it to them. “Will you
come through and take your chance on a plea?”
“T should say not!” retorted one. “These guys can’t
pin a thing on us. As far as you are concerned, we were
home in bed when this paymaster fellow was bumped off.
And you've got to prove it otherwise.”
A Deep Sea Trail
LESS seasoned man would have figured it time to
sweat a confession out of the ex-convicts. But not
Sheriff Dixon. His trained mind saw too many conflicts
in the evidence.
Young Charlie at that very moment was driving two
men he had picked up in the bandit car through a net spread
by the entire state constabulary. Yet those three couldn’t
be guilty if the prisoners were. And the prisoners couldn't
have been Charlie’s passengers, for they had been roused
from bed at the very hour the other three were setting
out on their dash from Bridgeton.
It was a puzzle that only the capture of Charlie could
solve. But Charlie’s capture was becoming a puzzle in
itself.
The posses returned empty-handed. The state police
had no trace of the fugitive car. The sheriff's own men
spent two days in futile search of clues.
Then the driver of the 8:15 Salem-Bridgeton-Philadel-
phia bus line walked into Dixon’s office. With him he
brought a tale that put new hope into the flagging search
for those who were at that moment the most wanted men
in the Garden State.
On the night after the McCausland holdup, the Salem
bus had been stopped just outside of Bridgeton by two
prospective customers. These men carried what sailors
call duffle bags. They wore their hats low over their
eyes and talked in low tones.
But they had taken a seat close behind the driver. And
from scraps of conversation he overheard, the driver was
able to tell Dixon that the men were bound for Philadel-
phia to ship out on the freighter, S. S. Invincible.
Dixon showed the driver a picture of Charlie.
“That looks like the shorter one,” he said.
The sheriff grabbed a car and raced for Philadelphia.
He found where the /nvincible docked but he wheeled up
HE WENT THROUGH THIS
Charles Fithian, leader
of the payroll bandits.
Squirming through the bars across the ventilator opening,
Fithian found his way barred by a sheet metal covering,
but using his head for a ram, he forced it open and gained
50
the safety of the roof.
STARTLING DETECTIVE
2 PELL FES OEE
t time to
But not
conflicts
ving two
‘t spread
couldn’t
s couldn't
n roused
setting
could
rPZie IN
> police
wn men
Philadel-
him he
g search
inted men
> Salem
by two
sailors
r their
‘er. And
river was
hiladel-
adelphia.
eeled up
HIS
at breakneck speed only to discover the ship had sailed for
New Orleans and Galveston at 1 o’clock that afternoon.
He phoned the Navy Yard and explained his mission.
A. U. S. Navy tug sped down the Delaware, hoping to
head off the ship. But the Invincible passed the break-
water and steamed out into the wide reaches of the bay
before the tug had passed Marcus Hook.
Baffled, but unbeaten, the sheriff got a call through to
Captain William Carter, of the New Jersey State Con-
stabulary. A few hurried words and that official in turn
was on the wire to the U. S. Coast Guard base at Cape
May.
Shortly after, a government radio buzzed. Out at sea,
two Coast Guard cutters turned their noses from Rum
Row and headed for the Virginia Capes. Down at the
Norfolk base, two seaplanes tuned up for a search over
moonlit’ waters. One of the nation’s greatest manhunts
was in full swing.
Charlie Surrenders
MAN WHILE a strange drama was being enacted in
a quiet Philadelphia home. While police of two
states, Navy tugs, Coast Guard cutters and seaplanes were
hunting him, the bedraggled figure of a youth pulled up
before the house and limped in.
“Charlie!” cried the mistress of the house.
“Charlie! You're wanted for murder,” interjected the
youth’s brother-in-law.
“Murder?” said the boy.
“Yes, murder—that paymaster you shot in Salem died.”
“But I didn’t shoot him!”
“You can say what you like, but you can’t stay here.
I'm going to phone the sheriff that you’ve shown up.”
“Don’t bother,” said Charlie. “T’Ii go there myself.”
The youth got back into his car and proceeded to carry
out his word. It was perhaps the most unique ride of
TO DEATH ‘CELLS
In this grim room, the death chamber of the state
his trigger man, Pete Giordano, are doomed to pa
surrender ever made in a criminal investigation. While
the youth they had hunted over land and sea drove by,
police stood calmly at intervals and clocked his progress.
Not once was he molested and when he reached the Salem
county line, Dixon stepped forward and congratulated
him on keeping his word.
“Tt will help for the Court to know it can put confidence
in your testimony,” said the sheriff.
“But I didn’t kill the paymaster,” protested the boy.
“Who did then?” asked the sheriff.
“Chuck Fithian and Pete Giordano and a negro they
called Green.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Fithian called me up Friday morning and asked me to
meet him at the Pennsy station, that he had something
important to tell me. I went, and after he hedged around
a bit, he said he wanted me to drive him to Florida.
“I was surprised. I said I didn’t have the money. But
he said, ‘I’ll pay all the bills and you can iron it out with
me when you get rich.’
“I knew Fithian from picking apples with him on
farms in the summer time and we had often talked about
going to Florida. It looked like my chance, so I decided
to go.
“I went home and got my car, but I didn’t tell mother
because I was afraid she’d put up a fuss. We started out
and made good time all the way down.”
“Didn’t anyone try to stop you?” asked the sheriff.
“No, sit. Nobody did and I didn’t know there was any-
thing wrong until we got to Jacksonville.”
“What happened there ?”
“Fithian had a big roll of one and two dollar bills. ]
asked him where he got so many and he became fidgety.
Finally, he told me he and Pete and Green had stuck up
a payroll runner, but he didn’t say anything about a shoot-
ing.”
[Continued on page 70]
TO ESCAPE DEATH IN THE CHAIR!
WHERE WITNESSES SIT
prison at Trenton, New Jersey, Charles Fithian and
y the supreme penalty for the
wanton murder of
William McCausland, Salem paymaster.
ADVENTURES
51
SPEER ML
uring Car
‘id Salem
ar down
. carefully
lesperado,
ilem Glass
under
of the
in climbed
inced from
mortally
“T’ve
| raced for
{ inhuman
cardboard
was able to
from its
tnesses Tre-
spot
ne careened
zed and in
TECTIVE
Seaplanes, coast guard cutters and a Navy tug
were ordered out by George Dixon, sheriff of
Salem county, New Jersey, in a concerted drive
which jailed the murdered paymaster’s slayers.
full swing. Motorcops roared through the streets; state
police shot onto the highways, and throughout the borders
of Jersey the teletype carried the warning to head off a
big, battered machine carrying three men wanted by the
Law.
Their capture was a vital matter to Salem peace officers.
Not only was the murdered paymaster one of the town’s
most substantial and respected citizens, but also the son-
in-law of Francis D. Weaver, president of the state Board
of Taxation,
A short time after the wires carried the news, Governor
Larson’s office at Trenton, the state capital, was on the
phone to urge Sheriff Dixon to immediate action.
But the sheriff was hours ahead of the official warning.
The murder had been committed about 6:30 a. m., Octo-
ber 24, 1930. The day was still young when Sheriff
Dixon had gone over the scene and heard the stories of a
half dozen eyewitnesses. It was from one of these, a vet-
eran employee of the glass works, that he drew two im-
portant clues.
“T met McCausland in the middle of the block and passed
the time of day with him,” said the factory worker. “I
ADVENTURES
i
—
1
j
cut
i‘
Balancing precariously on the roof of the Surrogate’s office after
a daring leap from the court house at the right, Fithian narrowly
escaped falling backward when he sprained an ankle; but he
recovered, and, sliding down the rain pipe indicated by the dotted
lines, succeeded in making a clean getaway.
kept on, and was about twenty yards farther when | heard
the shot. I wheeled around in time to see McCausland
fall and hear the man on the running board shout to his
companions. He was a short, thin man with a dark,
pinched face. He had on a dark suit and gray fedora.
The robber who jumped out looked to me like a negro, al-
though he might have been a very dark skinned Italian
or Spaniard. The other fellow, the one at the wheel, was
tall and blond with his hair brushed back in a pompadour.
He sat there as if a ramrod was stuck up his back.
“Tt was all so sudden I stood there as if I was rooted to
the spot. I tried to get the license number, but my brain
wouldn’t function. However, I did manage to get the first
part of it. It was Y12—”
The Manhunt Begins
; ty omer took the descriptions and the incomplete tag
numbers and relayed them to the posses in the field.
Seven hours later, he received word from Bridgeton, a
dozen miles distant, that a car corresponding to the bandit
machine and bearing license tags beginning with Y12 had
been found parked in front of the Pennsylvania Railroad
station.
The sheriff hopped into a car and drove over to Bridge-
ton. He asked the stationmaster if he had noticed the
men who had abandoned the car.
49
ea sate ES
a
Seven Hours From the Death Chair!
[Continued from page 51]
“What did you do when you found ‘Go get him.’ I climbed out on the run- squad comb every rat hole in the city.
how things stood?” ning board and when the paymaster He sent posses through every foot of
“I turned around right away and came alongside, I moved to go for him. the Jersey pine belt where Fithian had
started for home. I wanted to ditch As I did, my gun went off. I didn’t roamed year after year as a hunter.
Fithian, but I was afraid and he seemed mean to shoot him; the pistol had a Still the fugitive eluded him.
as anxious to get back as I was. I let hair trigger. Finally the sheriff hunted up a femi-
him out of the car downtown in Philly.” . “Green jumped out of the car then nine acquaintance of Fithian. He had
“What about Giordano?” and grabbed some of the envelopes. a quiet talk with her in which he aJ-
“Oh, he didn’t make the trip. He got Then somebody started to yell and we mitted Fithian’s chances of escaping the
out of the car soon after we left Bridge- climbed back and drove away.” chair were slim, but what remained of
ton.” “How much did you get for shooting them depended solely on his surrender-
a man in the back?” Dixon demanded. ing himself and turning state’s evidence.
Trigger Man Captured “Two hundred bucks,” replied Gior- The next morning, at almost the
dano. “Fithian and Green got the rest.” identical hour McCausland was killed, a
gsi rapes had recited his part in the “Bows ‘about Charite?”
escape without evasion. His manner
inclined Dixon to believe it was the
truth. F
The sheriff made a quick descent on
the Giordano home and learned that
Pete had driven off the day of McCaus-
land’s murder with a Bridgeton friend.
Dixon questioned the friend.
“Sure, I drove him to a house near
Ninth and Christian streets in Philly,”
he said. “Why? Is anything wrong?”
Dixon went to Philadelphia. Early
next morning, with Lieutenant Harry
Clark, County Detective Robert Kidd,
Corporal Dube and twenty-five city
policemen, Dixon surrounded the house
and knocked on the door.
“Come on out, Giordano,” he shouted.
“We've got you hog-tied and in the
pen.”
There was a scramble of hurried foot-
steps on the tar and gravel of the roof.
Detective Kidd fired a single shot.
Then above the coping, hands up-
raised, appeared the form of the bandit
suspect.
“Don’t shoot,” he said, “I give up.”
Dixon rushed his prisoner before
Magistrate De Nero and arranged for
extradition. Within twenty-four hours
he had Giordano lodged in the Salem
county courthouse and facing a good, ' i
old-fashioned third degree. e : ra
“Out with it,’ said Dixon. “Who
tall, lean-jawed youth walked into the
“He’s innocent. He didn’t even know Salem courthouse.
about the shooting when. Fithian got “T’m Charles Fithian,” he said. “I
him-to drive us out of Bridgeton.” guess you want me. It looks as if it
‘ was all up, anyway.”
Dixon took him into an inner room.
He talked to Fithian for an hour. When
he emerged he had the whole story in
black and white, plus the signature of
a penitent.
The sheriff still had Green to gather
into the fold. He put port authorities
of New Orleans and Galveston on the
watch by wire. But if Green was
aboard the Invincible, he made himself
scarce, for officials of neither port could
get a trace of him.
Prosecutor W. A. W. Grier brought
Giordano to trail on December 7. So
weak was the material for the trigger
man’s defense that his counsel made no
plea for acquittal, but contented himself
with asking that the man’s life be
spared for the sake of his wife ard his
ten-months-old child. Giordano was
convicted on December 9.
Fithian followed him to trial ten days
later. On the stand he claimed to have
been double crossed by Dixon, saying he
never would have surrendered had he
not been assured by the sheriff that he
would not be tried on a capital charge.
But the jury remembered McCausland
and the shot in the back that had ended
killed McCausland?” The death of William J. McCaus- his life. On December 20, Fithian, too.
Giordano lowered his eyes. “We did,” land, Salem paymaster slain by the was convicted.
he said. “But we didn’t mean to.” bandits, precipitated a nation-wide Except for the capture of Green, the
“None of you tough guys ever do,” manhunt. brutal murder of the Glass Works pay-
remarked the sheriff. “Whom do you master was a closed case. The convict
‘ A Sheriff’s Ruse suspects had been cleared; Charlie, who
mean by ‘we’?” : at,
was never under serious suspicion, wa.
“Fithi nd me.” i :
neta tenn ‘ IXON mer satisfied he had gotten = completely exonerated of all guilt; and
Giordano then blurted out his story. all the information possible out of i
oa : ; : , the leader and the gunhand had been
He had met Fithian and Green while his prisoner. He had the trigger man placed behind the bars
armi i a Fight i i i . : .
farming near Bridgeton ithian had in the murder and a signed confession, But Sherif Dixon was not yet
kidded him about plugging away for $3 What he wanted now was to lay his
a day until he agreed to join the pair in hands on the man who had planned the through with the McCausland case.
Three days before Christmas, Fithian
a job. killing. ‘
About ten days before, Fithian had But Fithian was a slippery customer. and Giordano were called before Judge
told him to make ready. He had said His wily tongue had talked Giordano Henry Burt Ware and is rag eae a
he knew a runner who carried a lot of into committing one of the most brutal yee one grey sa napa ba ° d —
money every Friday morning at a cer- crimes on record. He had beguiled the ed a = . re Rewer wie is ae
tain time and a certain place. juvenile Charlie into running him RE SSF to CANE IN, SRE OM Genre
“The morning of the holdup,” Gior- through a dragnet that would have y k!
dano said, “Fithian put some plates he baffled Houdini. He simply couldn’t be Jail Break!
had swiped on his old car and drove us traced now. S EVEN hours later, there came a suni-
to the Salem Glass Works. We saw The chase became a battle of brains, mons that sent every police and
the. runner walking along the street as with Dixon using all the established peace officer within a radius of five
we drew up. His back was toward us. police methods at his command. He had miles racing for Salem’s lockup. It
“Fithian handed me a gun and said, Philadelphia’s stool pigeons and murder came from Warden John Hopkins.
70 STARTLING DETECTIVE
i 64
from the home of Mrs. Edna Frazer
i at 67. Cherry Street, Rahway, down
ae a eee a tiene
through Bramhall road and out into
the vicinity of the Colonia golf links,
near Iselin, where Frazer twice asked
Jensen to leave him while he twice lost
his nerve to “commit suicide.” On the
road we found a newspaper which Jen-
if | sen was positive they had thrown from
the car which carried them and the
body of Phoebe Stader.
We questioned Mrs. Hilda Frazer in
the Prosecutor’s office and she substan-
tiated, in part, Jensen’s story of the ap-
pearance of Frazer and Jensen that
morning of February 18th. She admit-
ted that her husband had told her he
had killed a woman, but she merely
thought it one of his “wild stories.”
She did not confide it to her father un-
ul after Jensen returned from Raleigh
and told her Frazer had been supplied
with money.
She told of the trouble in her home
caused by Frazer’s infatuation for Mrs.
Stader. Many times they quarreled
over Mrs. Stader, she added.
“But her name never was mentioned
in my home,” she went on. “When he
came in with Ira Jensen and said he
had killed someone, I asked, ‘Was it
that woman?’ and he answered ‘yes.’ |
did not believe him and he said, ‘Look
out the window. Her body’s in the car.’
I looked out, but it was dark and |
could see nothing but the car.”
Mrs. Frazer was questioned by the
assistant prosecutor, John B. Walsh,
and hardly had he finished his examin-
ation of her when in came Mrs. Edna
Frazer, the mother of the accused man.
[he mother turned on Walsh, demand-
ing, “Is my son under arrest, and if so,
for what reason?”
“For murder,” responded the assis-
tant prosecutor.
“Did he do.it?’sthe elder Mrs. Frazer
asked. aeramenes
“You know he did,” retorted Walsh.
“He told you so and you furnished
money for him to get away!”
“That’s not so,’ Mrs. Frazer re-
torted. “I’m going to-leave here! It
wasn’t my duty to tell; \it was his
wife’s!” :
But she did not leave, for the assis-
tant prosecutor informed her that she
was detained temporarily. Then ‘she
consented to tell something of her son’s
past life. William Frazer, she said, had
not acted normally since his life in the
army. She turned on the younger Mrs™
| Frazer, who still was in the room, and ~
| declared that Mrs. Hilda Frazer’s jeal- —
ousy had caused contention between
Frazer and his mother. The wife re-
if torted angrily and each accused the
{ other of furnishing the funds which
Jensen had taken to Frazer in Raleigh.
7 Prosecutor David and a detective
reached Raleigh in time to question
- Frazer in his cell there on the morning
of Thursday, February 26th. Up to the
time the Union County Prosecutor
reached the North Carolina city, Frazer
had maintained ignorance of the death
of Phoebe Stader. He was ready to
waive extradition and return to New
Jersey, he said, for he was guilty of
no crime. :
| It was ‘only after Prosecutor David
i} and his assistants began an extensive
if
|
The Master Detective
questioning of Frazer in his cell that
he “broke,” finally admitting that Mrs.
Phoebe Stader had been shot to death
“accidentally” in his automobile on the
morning of February 16th. Then, at
David’s insistence, he began the recital
of that ghastly “Ghost Parade”—his
trip by motor from Rahway, New Jer-
sey.
After describing what had happened
when he disposed of the body, Frazer
made this statement to Prosecutor
David:
“T met Mrs, Stader on Worn f not
last Monday but ten days ago. I took
her and her sister, June, up to Walden.
I took Phoebe (Mrs. Stader) out Mon-
day night to a couple of roadhouses. I
got some liquor. I remember where |
got it, all right. I drank a good share
of it, but she did not drink as much as
id.
“Tuesday I had a date to meet her
at one_o’clock. We went to Newburg
to a Chinese restaurant on the main
drag and had something to eat. We
had a quart of liquor and we drank;
then we went to a movie, then back to
the chop suey joint and had something
to eat and drink. Then we went to an-
other picture show.
“We made up our minds to go to
Florida. We started out, but some-
where below Suffern, in New Jersey, I
got nervous or something. I had a gun
CORRECTION
On Page 2 the September
issue of THE MASTER DE-
TECTIVE was_ erroneously
numbered Vol. 6 No. 2. This
should have been Vol. 7 No. 1.
under the back seat of the car. I
stopped the car and went back to get
the gun. While I was getting the gun,
it went off accidentally, somehow.
“I did not know what to do. I
thought I would go to Rahway. I
went there and stopped and told my
cousin and went over and told my wife.
She asked me what I was going to do.
I said, ‘I do not know.’
“There were only two things to do—
to tell the police or committ suicide.
Then I went to the country to commit
suicide, but I did not have the nerve to
doi went back to Rahway, then
“left Rahway\and came on south.”
py ae
eply to questions Frazer told of
his* gruesome ride to the South.
When he reached..Philadelphia, he said,
he parked his car on a street, the name
of which he did not remember, and
left it standing there»with the body
covered in the rear, while heate lunch.
He veered in Baltimore for gas and
oil an
on to Washington, reaching the Capital
about dusk. He was tired, he said, and
decided to a the night there. He
drove around the streets until he found
a secluded spot and parked the car
for the night. There, almost in the
shadow of the Capitol dome, William
Frazer looked to see that the blanket
covered the body of Phoebe Stader on
water for the car and moved
the floor of the back of his sedan. Sat-
isfied with the concealment, Frazer
made himself comfortable on the wide
front seat of the car and slept soundly,
slept until the rising sun warned him it
was time for him to be on his way!
Then the “Ghost Parade” was re-
sumed, to end when he reached that
spot outside Tappahannock where he
cautiously left his car, half carrying,
half dragging the dead body of Phoebe
Stader, and plunged into the brush to
hide forever, he had hoped, any evi-
dence of the killing.
On the day Frazer was revealing his
version of Phoebe Stader’s death in his
cell in Raleigh, the body of Mrs.
Stader was on its way north. It ar-
rived in Elizabeth on the following day,
accompanied by Philip Stader, the hus-
band, and Detective McNamara. It
was taken to a morgue in Elizabeth
where Stader sorrowfully identified it
again as that of his derelict wife.
AN autopsy performed by Dr. George
” W. Horre, Assistant County Physi-
cian, revealed that there was only one
wound. The wound was in the head,
made by a small-caliber bullet, which
had entered the skull from the rear
and lodged in the brain. The bullet,
misshapen by impact with the skull,
was removed, and we kept it for evi-
dence,
We had been working on the pre-
sumption that the murder had been
committed in Union County and at this
time we received disturbing news. It
was that women’s clothes, resembling
those worn by Mrs. Stader, had been
found in the vicinity of Haledon, near
Paterson, N. J. If these clothes proved
to be those worn by Mrs. Stader, it
would mean that the completion of the
case would go into the hands of the
Passaic County authorities, Neverthe-
less, we continued our work in building
up the case.
Prosecutor David left Raleigh with
his prisoner, Frazer, on the night of
Thursday, February 27th, and reached
Elizabeth the following day, part of
the trip being made by automobile.
And on the trip north the Prosecutor
succeeded in having Frazer amplify
his version of Phoebe Stader’s killing.
Frazer’s statements, in part, supplying
the missing links in the story he first
had told, follow:
“After looking over a road map of
the State of New Jersey ... I am satis-
fied and I make statement to the effect
that I reached for the gun and it went
off after I passed Ramsey, New Jersey.
I want to add that when the gun acci-
dentally went off—and I could not say
how long I had driven after leaving
Ramsey—I felt the body of Mrs.
Stader and I heard her breathing, and
I do know that she was still alive when
I passed the Durant plant on Freling-
huysen Avenue, Elizabeth, New Jersey;
and I do know that when I reached
Rahway and stopped the car she was
dead, and so she must have died be-
tween the time | passed the Durant
plant in Elizabeth and the time I
stopped the car in Rahway. ... The
pliers found in my automobile are the
liers that I used to remove the ring
rom Mrs. Stader’s finger.”
October, 1932
THAT par
definitely
wounded P!
County and ;
case.
Relative t
Stader’s bod:
“T left W:
eight o'clock
was still in t!
car. I next
about noonti
definitely. |
Then I went
know where
Virginia. I di
—it was on
the body. It
light. I have
stopped on tk
carry her aro
to remove the
“T dragged
I don’t knov
paved. It w
cinch. It wa:
but there were
I then remove
clothes off; |
they were the
I am not pos:
a patch if yor
Again he t
His statemen
part:
“T found o
in New Jerse:
after I shot h
not know wh:
the gun out
us—to have i!
anybody bot
where the bul
dead because
put my hand
her to a doct
and did not k
occurred to n
tor....
“R IGHT hei
not kno\
about. We
could not tell
I shot her. . .
seat and got |
the rear seat.
and the gun w
my car until
placed it in n
the suitcase in
Raleigh, Nort!
“T threw M)
road some mi
the body—I d
where I place:
was wearing
a necklace ma
necklace awa\
her finger, us:
in the car.
broke it. I ha
and now prod
the ring | rem
finger. I rem:
finger so as to
her body, and
the same rea
Stader’s pocke
in the stove i
Rahway, New
about one do
» return
erminal
> Twen-
ollowed
zistered.
s yet. I
e to get
at least
it, but
per cent
the wo-
‘ington’s
cture by
the next
r hotel.
ved and
e imme-
have it
my job
ie brace-
want to
v clients
the bar-
t charge
t, owing
is turned
g acard
ascertain
criminal
more or
I pulled
Richards
dollars.
orcement
itry had
that the
ment by
he hotel.
vund out
nove had
as there-
saw, two
ent New
ring Mrs.
ole thing
our face;
ike down
the man,
and Mrs.
the more
ght clubs
ily infai-
ympanion
da wife
shts) and
‘ite a fuss
ideal for
nethod by
. Andrews
with the
1g for one
to figure
mplish the
ou in Mr.
yr and the
he swanky
my oper-
sat at the
directly at
her out of
detectives
October, 1932
launched into this conversation (in tones
easily heard at the adjoining table):
“Yes indeed, I’ve seen her on the big
trans-Atlantic liners. She’s one of the
best con women in the business.”
“Is that so? Does she work alone?”
“No, she travels with a man. He’s a
pretty slick crook, too.”
“What’s her specialty?”
“Cards. She and the man she’s liv-
ing with took a well-known New York
woman for twenty-five thousand just
a few weeks ago coming over on the
Leviathan.”
“That certainly is mighty interest-
ing. Well, let’s get going.’
As the two detectives left, they no-
ticed that Mrs. Andrews, who had over-
heard the conversation, was visibly
nervous, although she was doing her
best to control herself as she talked
with her next prospect—Taylor.
Half an hour later, when Mrs. An-
drews and her escort were leaving the
Casino, another pair of detectives, at-
tired in riding habits, were loitering
near the entrance, engaged in this con-
versation :
“They tell me she’s one of the clev-
erest crooks in the business.”
“You don’t say! And so pretty, too.”
“Yes, she can take anybody for
plenty. Why, just a short while ago
she swindled a woman here in town
for twenty-five thousand.”
“What ate”
“Cards. They were on the Levia-
thane ci
For two solid weeks | made Mrs. An-
drews’ life a hell upon earth. Never.
once did she appear in public without
hearing two persons nearby discussing
her. The discussions, always carried on
by a different set of detectives, were
couched in such manner that only Mrs.
Andrews knew the remarks applied to
her. If she was at the theater, two de-
tectives sat right behind her. In a res-
taurant, they were at an adjoining
table. As she got into a cab in front
of her apartment, two passers-by would
happen along, talking about her.
The psychology of the thing struck
The Master Detective
the woman card sharp like a bolt from
the blue and she was on the verge of a
nervous collapse at the end of two
weeks, One day she was having tea
with Taylor in the Ritz-Carlton Hotel
when two detectives, my brother, Wal-
ter S. Schindler, and my father, John
F. Schindler, sauntered in and sat at
the next table.
“Yes,” began my father, “they tell
me she’s the smartest woman crook
that ever earned a dishonest dollar.
Why, she even——”
MBS. Andrews, hearing a repetition
of the torture, burst into hysterics.
“Those two men!” she cried to Tay-
lor, pointing at the two detectives, “are
talking about me!”
Taylor walked over to the next table
and being entirely ignorant of the
background vehemently demanded an
explanation.
“Why,” explained my_ father, “the
lady must be mistaken. We have said
nothing about her. As a matter of fact,
we were discussing an entirely different
subject. We were talking about a clever
woman crook who cheats at cards on
the trans-Atlantic liners. Surely, that
description does not fit that of your
charming companion.”
Taylor, satisfied with the explana-
tion, hurriedly escorted Mrs. Andrews
from the hotel.
That night, I called Mrs. Andrews
on the telephone. | told her who | was,
then said:
“Are you going to return the brace-
let—or must I play my trump card?”
(A warning circular containing her
photograph).
“My God!” she literally screamed
over the phone, “come and get it! I'll
give you anything—only call off those
wolves!”
The bracelet was returned, and now
Mrs. Andrews dines in peace.
Another article by Detective Schind-
ler exposing rackets of the higher-up
underworld will appear in an early issue
of THE MASTER DETECTIVE.
The Ghastly Tale of Phoebe Stader’s
Last Ride
(Continued from page 48)
In a side pocket of his coat was some-
thing else which the Raleigh detectives
seized eagerly. It was a clipping from
a newspaper, telling the story of the
discovery of a woman’s body, muti-
lated by buzzards, near Tappahannock,
Virginia!
And William Moore Frazer, sus-
pected of murdering Phoebe Stader
and driving through half a dozen
states with her body before he aban-
doned it, refused to discuss his inter-
est in keeping that clipping!
HILE the detectives were examin-
ing the prisoner, other Raleigh
sleuths discovered another important
link in our case—the brown Buick
sedan, bearing Union County, New
Jersey, license plates in witch
had driven from New Jers€yy1
Carolina. In the car re
small pair of scissors ea |
pliers. uate
On the upholstery, on the right side
of the front seat (just where Jensen
had told usefhe dead body of Phoebe
’ Stader had_rested that fateful morning
of-Febftary 18) there was a dark
brown stain, a stain probably made by
the life-blood of Phoebe Stader as she
died beside the man who, we believed,
had killed her!
While Prosecutor David was on his
way to Raleigh we still were checking
Jensen’s story. ip led us over the
gruesome trail he took in the brown
Buick that morning of February 18th,
63
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ee eee ee essai —-
of a_ playboy.
Frazers. Mrs.
to Mrs, Stader
ise plates from
from using the
*razer promised
she returned the
s meetings with
on Watchogue
en Island, and
here frequently.
ighbors about
» that arrange-
wife had quar-
» quarrels were
) Mrs. Stader.
vas on the night
we heard Jen-
If his story was
ecutor in the
er than the night
got on the trail.
fore we felt that
ehend Frazer the
vere out through-
e were giving us
eastern seaboard
Phoebe Stader.
at the newspapers
nut of Tappahan-
Negro farm-hand
an. The body, the
s, those scavengers
vle. | read and re-
on of the woman
with the descrip-
‘ said the woman
feet, 4 inches tall.
air and blue eyes.
ne EY
The Ghastly Tale of Phoebe Stader’s Last Ride
And our description of Mrs. Stader was of
a woman 5 feet, 10 inches, 140 pounds, with
dark hair and dark eyes. Mrs, Stader, when
last seen, was dressed in brown. The body
found in Virginia was nude.
But a woman’s body had been found and,
of course, we had to investigate, to learn
whether the body could be identified with the
fantastic tale told by Ira Jensen. I called the
police headquarters at Washington, D. C. to
learn the exact spot where the body had been
found, hoping to find a link to tie it to Frazer’s
trip South to Raleigh. While waiting for the
reply, Prosecutor Abe J. David, of Elizabeth,
Captain McIntyre, and I again questioned Jen-
sen, this time about Frazer’s route South.
Jensen believed Frazer had mentioned that
he went through Bowling Green, Virginia, and
hardly had we secured this information when
the Washington police notified me that Tappa-
hannock, the spot where the nude body had
been found, was not far from Bowling Green!
More than that! In my conversation with
Washington | got another description of the
mysterious body found near Tappahannock.
And the new description differed materially
from that sent out on the newspaper wires. It
approached, much more closely, the descrip-
tion of the missing Phoebe Stader!
We knew that her husband, Philip Stader,
could make a positive identification of that
body if it were the body of Phoebe Stader. We
called him to headquarters, and that night, the
night of February 24th, he left Rahway, in
company with County Detective Jeremiah
McNamara of Union County, New Jersey, for
Bowling Green, where the body had been
taken to a morgue.
WITH Stader and McNamara on their way
to Bowling Green and the Raleigh Police
combing that city for the suspect, Frazer, and
his brown Buick sedan, we held Ira Jensen in
Elizabeth, subject to constant questioning on
details of his unique story. -It was an extraor-
dinary situation. Jensen had told a positive
story of a murder and named the alleged mur-
derer and his victim. The alleged murderer
was at large and the body of the victim was
unfound, Then, too, the question arose—“If
Frazer did kill Phoebe Stader, where was the
murder committed?” It might have occurred
in any ‘one of several counties in New York
State or New Jersey.
Stader and Detective McNamara arrived in
Bowling Green, Virginia, on the morning of
February 25th, just a week after Frazer, according to Jen-
sen’s story, had displayed the body of Phoebe Stader to
him inside the parked car on a Rahway street. The nude.
body of the woman found near Tappahannock, Virginia,
lay in the morgue of Davis & Pegg. It had lain in the brush
not far from Tappahannock for several days before Wel-
lington Twigg, a farm hand whose curiosity was aroused
by soaring buzzards circling over the spot, went into the
brush and found the mutilated body.
When Stader and McNamara arrived they were informed
that persons who had viewed the body thought it might be
that of a young woman of the neighborhood who had dis-
appeared recently. Twigg, however, when shown a pic-
ture of Mrs. Stader, declared he saw a resemblance in the
picture and the woman whose body he had found. The
identification then, was up to Stader himself, and he steeled
himself for the ordeal of viewing the body.
With set lips he accompanied Detective McNamara into
William M. Frazer in the custody of Roy J. Martin, Chief of Union
County, N. J. detectives. Picture was taken in Elizabeth, N. J.
where Frazer was brought after his capture in Raleigh, N. C.
the room where the body was held. It was almost unrecog-
nizable, for the buzzards had done their work on the fea-
tures. Suppressing his concern, however, Stader examined
the body minutely.
“It’s Phoebe,” he said finally through tight lips. “I rec-
ognize the cut and color of her hair. And I’d know her by
the size and shape of two front teeth.”
Stader also identified a bruise on the body, caused by
a belt which his wife had been obliged to wear after an
operation. There was a mark on a finger, made by a ring,
now missing, which also aided in the identification.
Commonwealth’s Attorney D. B. Powers granted per-
mission for the removal of the body to Elizabeth, satisfied
with Stader’s identification, and McNamara shot a wire to
me with the news.
At last we had found the victim of the murder outlined
to us by Ira Jensen. The next step—and we hoped it would
come quickly—was the apprehension of William Moore
47
48 The Master
William M. Frazer, indicated by cross
mark, receiving the death sentence
from Judge Alfred A. Stein on
June 16th, 1931
Frazer, the man.
named as the slay-
er by his cousin, Jen-.
sen.
The identification of
Phoebe Stader’s body was*made
fairly early in the morning of Wednesday,
February 25th. That much accomplished, I was
eager for the springing of the trap in Raleigh which would
put Frazer in our custody. As J have told, Jensen was sure
Frazer was using the name “H. G. Devlin’.in Raleigh and
eventually would look for mail under the name at the gen-
eral delivery window of the Raleigh Post Office.
Chief of Police Winder Bryan of Raleigh had selected two
shrewd detectives, J. E. Lowe and H. L. Peebles, for the
job at the Post Office. They were armed with a perfect
description of Frazer. I had sent a letter to “H. G. Devlin,
General Delivery, Raleigh, N. C.” and: I knew Lowe and
Peebles would be at Frazer’s side when he claimed that
letter. I sat back in my office and awaited word from
Raleigh.
That word came shortly after II o’clock on the morning
of Wednesday, February 25th, only a few hours after the
identification of Phoebe Stader’s body. It came in a mes-
sage from Chief of Police Bryan at Raleigh, and it said:
“Frazer arrested here. Admits identity, but denies
knowledge of killing.”
Prosecutor David, together with William Wagner, a
Pinkerton operative, left immediately for Raleigh to ar-
~
Detective
range for Fra-
zer’s return to New
Jersey, and in_ the
meantime I| got further
details of Frazer’s arrest.
Lowe and Peebles were stand-
ing close to the general delivery window
in the Raleigh Post Office when a dapper’ ener-
getic man above average height stepped to the window and
asked for mail. The clerk signaled to the detectives that
“Devlin” stood before them. Then, as the clerk handed
the waiting man the letter I had mailed to him, Lowe and
Peebles stepped to his side and grasped his arms.
“We want you—Frazer!”
The man started and his face paled.
“You're Frazer, William Moore Frazer, aren't you?”
o
“Wuy, yes,” responded the prisoner, “but why
“You’re wanted in connection with the murder of
Mrs. Phoebe Stader!”
Frazer seemed amazed.
“Phoebe Stader murdered!” he cried. ‘| know nothing
about that—nothing about any murder!”
With Lowe and Peebles watching him closely, Frazer
was hurried to Police Headquarters in Raleigh and
searched. In his pockets were identification cards issued to
William Moore Frazer by New Jersey Fraternal organiza-
tions and a card bearing his home address, 519 Jefferson
Avenue, Rahway, New Jersey. (Continued on page 63)
Maree owe pent out] a”
Ove. PROV i
timc aco
Mer:
INVITATION TO
A mild, pleasant, satisfying,
moderate drink ina highball
with sparkling water and ice.
Other Twig Liqueurs: Rock
.
and Rye, Kummel, Antsette,
Creme de Menthe.
*Twig is a registered
and copy ghted brand 0 } Sreizdtt
Protucts Co “Cmcago US A GO Pract
ai] a Se 1 lima
‘ANY. DETECTIVES ‘admit that 2
despite repeated experiences with -
certain phases of human nature, ©
i there are some things which always, res.
. Main strange and non-understandable to.
ei a > them. 5 ;
~* One of these is the callousness so fre-
a quently displayed by apparently normal
Guepeople .who commit. the. most. “habitual
‘crimes. This does not mean habitual ~~”
criminals who make a business of preying
on others. Such callousness is to be ex-
pected of, this class and occasions no sure ve
prise among the police. aah oe
“It is when this -trait_ is exhibited by 4
one who has never before Committed a
ey, crime, that peace. officers are stunned and ‘
bay revolted by ite wht ec sitio ie ‘ é
©. A classic illustration of this * femotional’
vanaesthesia” was furnished by William
Ps ch Fase Rah sinew J Mrs. in Fee
1) Stader, at way, New: ersey, n ‘eb;
E tuary,” 1931.07" ge
- Frazer, up until the time he was about
30, liad never come into contact with the
@* police for even a traffic violation. He ©
owas apparent bythe typical, middle-class _,
* “suburbanite who never did anything more
/ exciting than go to a “movie or church
"social with his wife, or stay home and.
ri Eplay with his two children.
oe Every, day at the same time he went to
vee work i in the railroad office where he was
Ne employed, ‘nervously watching the clock
h’ ceit he happened to be a few; moments late. :
eS , Then he met Mrs. Stader, became very _
Ariendly with her and, finally, to the as-.
Se aii
% © shot and killed her. The motive for the”
2’! thurder was never definitely established.
> It was, however, Frazer’s coriduct after »
% who worked on the case to gape in won--
der at the hoyish-looking," kindly-faced
_ young killer. ey :
as For what Frazer had ‘done, after he
/2© put her body in the back of his car, cover
ipsa with: a blanket and then drive with
& this macabré object of his grisly handi-
i: Bi york more. than, ,500 , miles sto southern
Virginia!” JS OAS |
,~ And he drove, not in a hurry,” not
furiously like one pursued by conscience *
ps
yor haunted by dread, but: in a rina
Has tonishment of everyone who knew him, .,
“the ‘slaying which caused the detectives
“<had sent Mrs, Stader to eternity, was to.
Be “he's 's the hardest, thing.
¥
ISIDE DETECTIVE,
ero = June, 19h.
‘while the body of the Woman: “he
‘slain lay in the parked. car; he v
- into a restaurant and ordered lunch.
“What did: you eat 7 the: Prosecutc
asked him. j
Frazer was RN? at. ‘the apps
j itrelevancy of the question. But h:
swered it. He had ordered chicken
king, peas, mashed DOES
coffee. ie
"Eat it all?” y
“Yes, indeed, all of it. Why ?”
The D. A. did not tell him, Bu
‘had caught what he had been fishing
He wanted to find out if Frazer—
clean-cut young man who, had_neve:
fore violated even the most trivial la
could eat with relish a big luneh \
But still more was to come, T°
was learned that Frazer: had stopp:
Baltimore for gas and that, while, w
for the attendant to “fill her up,” he
chatted and joked with him ,and
~Jaughed gleefully at ari off-color
which the attendant told him. ©
Then he went on to Washington. «
“he found a quiet street, parked. th
and slept soundly through the nig):
-the front seat while the already two-
‘old corpse lay under, the blanket in
‘rear!
When he awakened in the morni::
went on to Virginia, Stopping at
roadside stands for his ‘meals -unt:.
reached a wooded spots where he
“dispose of the body.” >.
After he had stripped it of Bothing af
identifying jewelry, he drove on’ to
-leigh, North Carolina, where.” he
arrested.
In jail this “eonindoplate family :
ate all his meals with the greatest r'.;
joked with the guards, slept the sleep
the innocent, and finally went to his
ecution without the slightest appear: :
of either fear or remorse, )* ,
One of the officers who worked o:
“ease, and who witnessed the execi
delivered himself of an aphorism ©
probably expresses the sentimen:
‘every detective who has come into coi'<
with such contradictory human
mens:
“When a soft guy’s hard,” he obs:
i pop pie «1
‘the woman he had murdered Jay jn hus’
car not a hundred feet away!’
oe:
RD te St Rc ET tos
The
Pe Livil
LOVER t-
the
A Killer. |
took his bullet-riddled
victim on a grisly journey R
that covered six Navid
states Anderson
In Court: A loyal wite,
Mrs. William Frazer,
stands by ready to help
her faithless husband
in his hour of need.
iv 2. Ne a : ey : Her ‘Boy—No matter what the wotla@iay.
| ae 1 le Sl MUS’ gt’ O° say oO think of him?) Mother ‘of Wilifetm’.
ae __ Frazet sits beside her son on trial for hi 1s 1
ConPlere. DstecTWée
INY sno
I in the he
The ti:
over snow ru
sedan labore«
the top of a}
outside Wald
“Tt’s death]
Bill?” breat
Stader when
side lay asle
Bill Frazer
He took a bi
a salute, he :
“Why, Bill
much. You’r
He put th
it to the wo
to death.
When she
squarely. “Y
like one dec]
Phoebe tu:
nice evening
“Well it’s t
you’re throu;
shook her. “.
“You’re dr
at the falling
because of y
married life
love you.”
Frazer rel:
my temper |
up to keep u
that show w«
a right to lo
that because
two kids th:
Phoebe.”
Mrs. Stad«
We'll have th
Frazer’s m:
“How can yo
“Hilda wil
fumbling in the back seat of a car at
e roadside. . The clump.. of scrub |
oaks where Frazer eventually hid the
“nude remains of Phoebe was near the
side road, which he took when driv-
ing on from Bowling Green to Tappa-
hannock, _ ‘ete
Reverting to the killing, Prosecutor
avid: asked Frazer to state exactly
where the couple had been when the
fatal shot was fired, and where Phoebe.
had died.
Then Frazer changed his story and:
said that the gun had gone off-‘when *
they were near Ramsey, New Jersey, -
a’ small.town just.’south of. the State.
line of New York, It’ was nearly 40°
miles from Ramsey. to Rahway. Frazer:
insisted that he Scarcely knew what he.
was doing on that' long ride. It never
occurred to him to take his stricken
sweetheart to a doctor. But he touched
her frequently with his hand to see if
she was getting cold, He was driving
past the Durant plant in Elizabeth,
New Jersey, when he became positive :
that she was dead.
AN UGLY, craven. confession, - any,
way one looks at it.
Frazer did not resist extradition.
i ‘eyes under heavy eyebrows.
burg, a Passaic lawyer, to defend him.
A plea of not guilty was entered,
Greenburg laid: the blame. at the: door
of the old ogre, Prohibition. :
“Our contention ‘is that Frazer was
drunk and.crazed with the poison of
Prohibition liquor when Mrs. Stader
was killed while she was in his auto-
mobile,” said Greenburg. “There was
no motive for a crime,’
Three alienists. were appointed by
the court to examine the prisoner,
They reported the following day that
Frazer was sane, and he was held for
trial in June.
My. opportunity to size up this su-
perneurotic delinquent came at the
same time that the alienists were at
‘work on: him, ‘I--was allowed: to be -
present during part of the quizzing
they gave him. “While I agreed with
‘their:-conventional decision that he was
“legally sane,” in. that he knew the
difference between right and wrong
-and was aware of the consequences of
his act, I rated him as one of the worst
thymus-parathyroid hyphenates I had
ever seen.
He had a long, thin face, with a
Pinched, nervous expression about’ the
mouth, poor teeth and throbbin, veins
in the temples, Though the chin was
Prominent, it was slightly lopsided
from left to right. The hair of the
head was rather thick and fine. Mor-
bid adolescence, rather than boyish-—
ness, peered from his widely spaced
: Parathyroid ‘ characteristics -dumi-
* nate the above portrait. The tight,
evil mouth and ‘throbbing veins are
the unmistakable signs that this gland
is failing to regulate the supervitality
needed to keep the organs normal,
Hence the haunting, irrational rest-
lessness of the:type. The twisted chin
means thymus, the gland of childhood,
which should vanish from the system
at about the age of seventeen. Other
thymus stigmata are absent. But a
subparathyroid who has any thymus
in his system is an absolutely bad
actor,
Frazer’s widely spaced eyes and
heavy eyebrows indicate a small ex-
cess of pituitary, the intelligence
gland. This lifts him above the moron
classification. Actually, it was negli-
gible in deterring him from crime,
though it doubtless helped him to hold
down a good job with the railroad.
he would have killed later. He should.
have been sterilized at the time he-
He came to trial on June 15, 1931,
before the same Judge Stein who had
heard his original plea. Ira Jensen,
exonerated of complicity, was the chief
witness against him. There never was
a more air-tight case founded on cir-.
cumstantial evidence. Frazer’s attor-
neys put him on the stand in his own
defense. He exhibited such revolting
selfishness in his answers to. Prosecu-
tor David’s questions that it was im-
possible for him to capture the least
sympathy,
' The case went to the jury on the
evening of the second day of the
trial. They deliberated for about five
hours, then found him guilty of mur-
der without recommendation of mercy.
He was sentenced to death, and after.
the usual appeals had failed he was
‘electrocuted on April 1, 1932.
' Doctor Carleton Simon, well-known
criminologist, recently contributed an
Modern Science in Crime Detection (Continued from Second Cover)
i aN
These simple diagrams and charts, show-
ng the basic structure. of teeth and how
hey are placed ‘inthe upper and. lower +=»:
aw, should: be In every investigator’s kit
“uw S
ayy
7inyard then sent a copy of, the record
9 a national dental magazine and for
ome time nothing happened. Then.
Joctor A. Taylor, a dentist at Lincoln,
lebraska, became interested’ in the
ase when he read the dental record
1 the magazine. Much. of the. work
one on the victim’s teeth,’ as de-
sribed, resembled the same work he
ad performed on ‘a woman from
olumbus, Nebraska, .
The dentist checked his records and
ommunicated with “the © woman’s
cother, J.. Hanson, then living in
ebraska. Hanson wrote the Sheriff
‘ September, 1934, stating that his
ster had not been heard from in over
year. Hanson then went to Teller ~
dunty, taking with him Doctor Tay~
’s X-Rays of Taylor’s nego Doc-
r Chafee, in Colorado, had removed
e dead woman’s: teeth; these he
‘ecked with Taylor’s X-Rays,
The records matched, The dead wo-
an was,Ida Hanson, Later (after’ D
Tda’s life had been checked) a suspect
naméd Clarence Neal was searched for, :
found in S$ encer, Iowa, and returned
to Teller County. ‘His real name ‘was
Charles W. Neal, In March, 1935, Neal
went on trial for the murder. He was
convicted and given a life sentence,
ANY other cases have been solved
in similar manner,
Returning to teeth proper, I might
add that, in those cases where I find
only. a stump, not a whole tooth, I
mark my chart with a “vy,” and if I
find that the tooth has been broken,
I mark the chart with an “x.” Other
details important to scientific inves-
tigators respecting teeth-charts and
examination of the mouths of victims
of violence include a knowledge of
‘the appearance of - “Davis Crowns,”
gold crowns, crown-abutments, pin
facings, . gold foil fillings, amalgam
fillings, (MOD type); M. O, amalgams,
. O. amalgams and so forth, This
data may be procured and these facts
studied at a dental laboratory, ‘source:
of much of the author’s own knowl-
edge of the subject, Fused. porcelain,
platinum, gold and silver are: mostly
used in dental work, importing further
resistant properties to the already
hard, resistant enamel-cement : struc-
ture of teeth.
The advanced investigator then can
study the effects of chewing upon the
teeth and can, in time, learn to read
some of these ‘habits by studying the
teeth. Persons who use toothpicks,
who bite their fingernails, who “chew”
on their pipestems, and those persons
who breathe through the mouth—all
these and many others can be recog-
nized by a study of the surface features
of the teeth,
Occlusion (normal) and malocclu-
sion provide further material for ad-
vanced studies along this line, as does
orthodontia. (tooth or jaw straighten-
ing). For the novice, you might obtain
article to the Police Reporter of New.
Orleans in which he endorsed many
of the ideas preached by myself in :
this series. I obtained special permis-
sion to quote from it:
“Inheritance of mental and physical
qualities of ancestors plays an impor-°
tant part in the life of a normal indi-
vidual,” writes Doctor Simon, “but
Strikingly so in the life of a burn
criminal, who, because of his inability
to. rise out of his heritage, becomes +“:
incorrigible . . .
“Latent conditions may ‘be present.’ ..
which are usually traceable to gland-- ...~
ular changes that affect their charac-
ter, and which are active in the blood, . :
transmitted through inheritance’ and
accentuated by environment. The ha-*
bitual criminal must be viewed not
alone from the standpoint of the in-*
tellectual defective but also from the
moral instability conception.
“Gradually the ete is _ gaining
ground that certain glands in our body
shave a determining effect upon _the,
vital organs and also 2 profound influ-.
ence over the mind.
“As long as Society produces men-
. tal inferiors, defects, morons and psy-.
chopaths, ‘so long will-we have crime.” -
’ The good Doctor stops: short of ad-
“ vocating sterilization as a preventive,
but’on the other hand he does not con--
demn it. T'respectfully add to his ex-
Position the following postscript of my ty
own:
Endocrino-criminology is the - best
means of detecting ‘antisocial ten-
dencies. Sterilization dams the tainted
strain. With two such weapons at our
disposal, the majority of major crime
can and shall be eliminated,
Read It First in
OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
3 a ne FS ? her .
Second-hand | sets of” false ‘teeth “for:
your elementary studies. Later’ you
might purchase “mounted _teeth”—
real teeth mounted in plaster of paris
or gutta percha or other media, which
are articulated, that is, mounted in
such a way that you can open and
shut the “model” jaw in which the
teeth are~mounted, for study. Consult
dental technicians’ for aid’ in. ‘these
studies, ‘ : é
_Much has been done in dental
science; more still can be done. The
field is’ wide open for development
insofar as- crime detection is con-
cerned and undoubtedly will be a
most important one in future.. ‘
Shakespeare was right—murder,
though it have no tongue, will speak
“with most miraculous organ.” That.
“organ” more often. than not consists
of human teeth, the study of which is
becoming more and more a part of.
the equipment of modern scientists in,
crime detection, % ye ae
INY snowflakes danced
; in the headlight beams.
The tires crunched
over snow ruts as the Buick
sedan labored slowly toward
the top of a hill a few miles
outside Walden, New York,
“It’s deathly quiet, isn’t it
Bill?” breathed Phoebe
An important “bit” of evidence
is brought into the courtroom:
The car Frazer used in his
weird death tour. Left to right.
William Frazer, Prosecutor
Abe J. David, and Alexander
Simpson, lawyer for the ac-
cused,
Stader when the car reached the crest. For miles around the
side lay asleep under the white blanket.
Bill Frazer brought the car to a halt. “Let’s sit here awhile,” he said.
He took a bottle of applejack from the seat beside him. Lifting it in
a salute, he smiled at Phoebe. “A toast to death.”
3 much. You’re morose.”
to death.
When she finished, Bill Frazer, his cyes heavy lidded, faced her
squarely. ‘‘You don’t love me anymore, do you?” He spoke deliberately,
like one declaring a truth.
an Phoebe turned on him sharply.
love you.”
Phoebe.”
Mrs. Stader tried to quiet him.
We'll have the life we want.”
“How can you be so sure,” he said.
He put the bottle to his lips and drank deeply.
it to the woman beside him. Unknowingly, she, too, drank a toast
“Why, Bill,” said Phoebe reproachfully, ‘“‘you’ve been drinking too
‘['m not going to spoil a perfectly
nice evening by iistening to that kind of talk.”
“Well it’s true,” snapped Frazer. ‘“‘Now that my inheritance is gone,
you’re through with me, aren’t you?” Her silence aggravated him. He
shook her. “Aren’t you? You’re through with me.”
“You’re drunk, Bill Frazer.” Phoebe looked through the windshield
at the falling snow. Tears came to her eyes. “I’ve broken up my home
because of you,” she said. “I’m going to throw away seven years of
married life and get a divorce because of you.
Frazer relaxed his hold on her. ‘“‘SSometimes, Phoebe,” he said, “I lose
my temper just thinking about you. I feel that something will come
up to keep us from going through with the life we want. It’s like in
that show we saw at Newburgh tonight—The Right To Love. We have
a right to love, Phoebe, no matter what the world thinks. People say
that because I’ve been married to Hilda for thirteen years and have
two kids that I should keep on loving her. But T don’t. T love you,
‘We'll get married all right, Bill.
Frazer’s moroseness increased. He took another drink from the bottle.
“Hilda will give you a divorce, Bill,’”? Phoebe said in quiet voice.
Then he handed
That’s how much I
Mrs. Phoebe Stader: She kept a
date with death.
weary. It was now 8:30 p.m. They
had been working on the case for more
than twelve hours. They discussed
future moves, and after a while Zuck-
erman exclaimed:
“T’ve got it, Frank. Listen. Let’s go
back to the express company, and stick
around where they bring in the lug-
gage. We'll question each truckman
that comes in. We might get a break
that way.” :
“All right. But let’s eat first. I’m
starved.”
“Geez, I’d plumb forgotten about
eats,” said Meyer, “and now that you
remind me,-I am mighty hungry.”
At 9:30: p.m. they returned to the
express offices and informed the super-
intendent in charge just what they
wanted to do. A
Just as they took up their posts on
the unloading platform, it began to
‘rain hard;‘and the wind was sharp and
cold, but hour after hour they re-
mained there, questioning each driver
very carefully.
INALLY at midnight a huge truck
. from the Beach Baggage Transfer
backed up to the platform, and a tall,
lumber-jacketed young man began un-
loading a trunk. Zuckerman stepped
up to him and told him who he was.
“Say,” said Zuckerman, “did you
ever deliver a big heavy trunk, tied
with rope; to the company here?”
“Did I?” answered the young man,
laughing. “I sure did! You don’t for-
get a trunk that, big very quick. It
was the heaviest damn thing I ever
handled. Handled it alone, too,” he
added proudly.
“Do you remember where you picked
it up?”
“Yes, on Connecticut Avenue, be-
tween the Boardwalk and Pacific. I
’ don’t remember the number, though.”
“Do you have a record of it? Could
you find it again?”
“Sure, I could find it easy. Say
wait until I get this checked in, an
we'll go over there. It’s only a few
blocks from here. Got a car?”
“Yes,” said Meyer, “we have.”
“O. K. Wait a minute.”
. Soon the three men were driving up
Connecticut Avenue toward the beach,
driving very slowly, while the young
man, who said he was Jim McNamara,
carefully looked at each dwelling.
“There she is!” he exclaimed, point-
ing to a three-story multi-gabled,
white frame dwelling surrounded by a
large lawn. It was the sort of dwell-
ing they call a cottage in Atlantic City,
but in reality has the appearance of a
large home of the well-to-do. The
neighborhood was a good one, too.
“Are you sure this is the house?”
asked Choplinski, stopping his car in
front of it.
“Positive,” replied McNamara.
“The place is dark,” said Zucker-
man. “Looks like everyone’s asleep or
else nobody’s home. Shall we go in?”
“Certainly, Meyer. Why not?” an-
swered Choplinski as he glanced about
the premises. “Nice place, Meyer, You
can see, even in the rain, that it has
been very well kept. Must look mighty
nice in Summer with all those hedges
and lawns. Come on, let’s go up. Come
in with us, McNamara.”
“Sure will,’ answered the young
truckman, who seemed elated in par-
ticipating in the work of detectives.
The three men mounted the steps,
and Choplinski pressed the bell button.
From somewhere in the still, dark
house the bell re-echoed, but no one
answered the ring. Choplinski pressed
it again, and they waited. But the
place seemed deserted.
“Well, looks like there’s no one
home... Let’s go and get some sleep,
and come back in the morning,” said
Zuckerman.
Just as they were about to descend
the steps, the door opened. ll
man, in a bathrobe buttoned around his
neck, opened the door, and shouted:
“What do you want here at this time
of night?” A dim light from a floor-
lamp inside framed his spare form in
the doorway. The detectives turned
back again.
“We're the police,” said Choplinski,
flashing his badge.
“Well, what do you want here?” the
AD10-
man snarled. “We didn’t call for the
police.”
“Nobody said you called!” answered
Choplinski sternly. ‘“‘We’re here on
important business. We'd like to talk
to you.”
“Well, come in, come in! Don’t stand
there. It’s cold.”
The men entered, and McNamara
whispered to Zuckerman: “No, that
isn’t the guy.”
“We're sorry to disturb you at this
time of night,” said Choplinski.
“Oh, never mind, never mind. What
is it you want? Be quick, please. I’m
tired.” ;
The detectives looked at the spare
man for a moment. He seemed ner-
vous, as though suppressing hysteria.
His cheeks were sunken. His eye-
sockets were hollow, and his eyes were
luminous. It was difficult to guess at
his age offhand. He might have been
Lieutenant-Governor George Hat-
field of California was a United
States Attorney when he acted in
a sensational drug-smuggling case
in San Francisco. Read this amaz-
ing story on Page 28 of this issue
40, but looked nearer 60. He stood
in the middle of the room, fidgeting,
and biting his thin lips.
“Who are you?” he asked again.
“J am Frank Choplinski. This is
Meyer Zuckerman. We are Philadel-
phia detectives.”
“Philadelphia detectives! Why are
you here?”
“Let me ask you a question first,”
said Choplinski. “What is your name?”
“My name, sir, is Ernest Schaaf.”
“Is this your home?”
“No, this is my sister-in-law’s home
—Mrs. Mattie Schaaf.”
“Is she home?”
“No. She is in Philadelphia. She’s
been away for a week.”
“How long have you lived here, Mr.
Schaaf?”
“I just came yesterday. I live in
New York. I have come just for a
visit. Atlantic City is good for my
health.”
“Can you show us, please, a recent
picture of your sister-in-law?”
“Why, yes,” he answered. Then his
eyes went wide. “Why do you want
a picture of her? Has something hap-
pened to Mattie?”
“We don’t know for sure. Bring us
the picture, please.”
The man hesitated for a moment,
looked closely at the men, then mount-
ed the steps, and soon returned with a
large family album. He turned the
pages and stopped at a picture.
i ass was taken last Summer,” he
said,
Zuckerman and Choplinski examined
it carefully.
“The features look the same,” said
Meyer.
“Would you mind doing something
else for us, Mr. Schaaf?” asked Cho-
plinski.
“Not at all,” he answered, having
now composed himself. “What is it?”
“Well, would you mind bringing us
down some of her nightgowns?”
“Nightgowns? Of all things! What
is the trouble? Please tell me.”
Frank told him of the woman in the
trunk and described the clothing.
Schaaf sat down weakly as he heard
the end of the story. Tears came free-
ly from his eyes. He seemed genuinely
affected, and he murmured: “That
sounds like Mattie. Indeed it does!”
He stood up, and appeared to be try-
ing hard to control himself.
“Come upstairs with me. You can
look for yourself.”
The men followed him upstairs to
a bedroom on the second floor. The
door was locked with a padlock.
“Look, Frank, this lock is the same
as on the trunk!”
“How long has this lock been on
here?” Choplinski asked.
“IT wouldn’t know. But I do know,
however, that Mattie always kept her
bedroom locked when she went out.”
“T see. Well, we'll break it open.
Anyone else at home?”
_ “No, I am alone. The maid will be
in in the morning. There is another
man who rooms here, but he’s out.”
“Rooms here!” said Zuckerman in
amazement. “Do you rent rooms?”
“Well, not because Mattie had to.
She is rather well off. But she thought
it a shame to waste so much space, and
so she rented rooms to persons she
investigated.”
“All right. Let’s break it open. Get
me a hammer, Mr. Schaaf.”
The hammer was brought, and the
lock was smashed open, and the men,
stepping into the room after Schaaf
had switched on the light, found it to
be a very large bedroom, with a huge
bay window. It was very neat, and
furnished in early American pieces.
Zuckerman went to the bureau and
opened a drawer, then another, and
picked out a few nightgowns. He held
them up.
They were similar to the ones found
in the trunk!
“Mr. Schaaf, I would like you to get
dressed and return with us to Phila-
delphia,” Zuckerman said.
“To go to the morgue?”
“Yes,”
He seemed to shiver, but answered:
“I will dress immediately.”
The two detectives thanked Mc-
Namara for his cooperation, bade him
good-by and, accompanied by Schaaf,
started for Philadelphia.
¢)* THE way Schaaf told them about
his sister-in-law. She had been a
widow for ten years. His brother had
been a building contractor in Atlantic
City, and had left Mattie quite a bit
of money. After a while Mattie be-
came tired of doing nothing, for she
had been an active woman, having
helped her husband in his business, and
she took the job of managing the home
of a physician, a widower. When he
died he left Mattie the Atlantic City
house. Mattie was an excellent person.
She was very charitable, and gave
much of her time and money to social
projects. If he hadn’t been so sickly,
Schaaf said, he would have asked her
to marry him a long time ago. Yes,
she was over 60 now, but she looked
very young, and was really beautiful.
No, she had no children.
“Who in the world would want to
harm a woman like Mattie?” he asked
time and again. “If it is Mattie at the
an I will kill the murderer my-
self!’
And it was Mattie at the morgue.
Schaaf looked once at the dead wo-
man’s face, now not so purple, and ex-
claimed: “It is Mattie. Yes. It is
Mattie!””, Then he wept unrestrainedly.
Presently he controlled himself.
“This is atrocious,” he exclaimed. ‘“‘We
must bring her murderer to justice!”
Choplinski and Zuckerman ushered
him into a front office, and allowed him
to sit there alone for a while. They
stepped outside for a moment.
Here’s a Pa
of States, C
Institutions
GRADUA
LAS, were:
positions a
Print Ex
Montr
Walla
BeA ,
Secret Service and Cleve
Identification Expert! = sro
Tuese
Schenectady, N.Y. Pana
State of Wash.
State of Michigan Alhambra, Calif, Leave
State of Utah Saginaw, Mich. Port!
State of Ohio Fort Collins, Colo, Albus
Duluth, Minn, Bedford, Ohio Sprin
Detroit, Mich. Huntington, W. Va. Greer
Pueblo, Colo. Salt Lake City, Utah Shrey
Idaho Falls, Idaho Taft, Calif. Koko
Ogden, Utah Phoenixville, Pa. Bostc
Lorain Co., Ohio Rochester, N.Y. Mexi
St. Paul, Minn, Media, Pa. Parse
Pittsburgh, Pa. Dayton, Ohio Talla
Lincotn, Nebr. East Chicago, Ind, Colur
Birmingham, Ala. Green Bay, Wis. Atch
Columbus, Ohio Nocona, Texas Sault
Havana, Cuba Neenah, Wis. Ports
New Haven, Conn, Kingfisher, Okla, Glen
Great Fails, Mont, Centralia, Wash. Etyir
Galveston, Texas Bismarck, N.D. — Ashe
Pensacola, Fla. Bloomington, Ind. Ft. $
Stillwater, Okla, Cuyahoga Falls, 0. Aug:
Calgary, Alta., Can, Rock Island, Il. Flore
Houston, Texas Philadetphia, Pa, Hinse
lowa Astoria, Ore. New
Pendleton, Ind. New
La, St. Joseph, Mo. Greer
Atlantic City, N. J, State of Ilinos Meri
E. Lansing, Mich, State of lowa Dow
Globe, Ariz. State of idaho Dany
London, Ont., Can, State of Colorado = Syrw
Henryetta, Okla. Lima, Onio Tam
Seattle, Wash. Selma, N. C. Mass
Ferndale, Mich. Jamestown, N.Y. Walt
McAlester, Okla. Livingston, Mont, Gran
Negaunce, Mich. Joplin, Mo. Long
Lawton, Okla. Parkersburg, W. Va. Ft. ¥
Crown Point, Ind, Mobile, Ala St.t
Bay City, Mich, Huntsville Lans
Roanoke, Va. New tb: Ely
Glendale, Calif. Little Cars
Hawaiian Islands Aberdeen, S. D. Burl
Drumright, Okla. Pontiac, Mich. Oma
Miami, Fila. Boise, Idano Pater
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seemed more fascinated than scared at
this discovery, several questions.
“Who brought this trunk here?”
“A man who gave us his name as
Miller.”
“What was his first name?”
“Matilda,” called Hoffman to his
wife, “get the book. I will tell you in
a minute.”
“How did he bring the trunk here?”
“An express truck brought it. It was
very heavy. Two men carried it in.
One was a Negro. This man Miller
went in his room after they put the
trunk in, and I haven’t seen him since.
He didn’t sleep here at all.”
Mrs. Hoffman returned with a large
ledger in which the Hoffmans kept
their records. He turned the pages,
then stopped at one, ran his, finger
down. the list of names and said:
“Here it is. Hirsch Miller, Atlantic
City, New Jersey. He came in on
March 4, at six o’clock in the evening.”
“Did he sign that name?”
“No. I signed that myself. You see
we don’t make the roomers sign like
they do in a hotel. This is just our own
record.”
“How long have you been running
a rooming-house?”
“Fifteen years, maybe more or less
a little.”
“Did he pay for the room?”
“Yes. Five dollars in advance.”
“What did he look like?”
“Well, he was a short man, perhaps
five feet six inches, but he was heavy,
with wide shoulders. He had bushy
black eyebrows, and his hair was
combed back in a pompadour style,
and stuck out on the sides. He had a
funny mouth. It was a big one. The
lips were heavy in the middle then
they got thin and turned down on the
ends like a half-moon.”
“Did you ever see him before?”
“Never.”
“Did you ever see him, Mrs. Hoff-
man?”
“Oh, ho. He was a stranger to me,
too. ”
“What do you think is inside the
trunk?” ‘asked Hoffman.
“IT have smelled decomposed bodies
ADI0
of human beings before,” answered
Choplinski, a veteran detective. ‘“Plen-
ty of them. There’s a*man, woman or
child in there.”
“And it’s been in our house for three
days!” exclaimed Mrs. Hoffman.
“But we'll soon make sure. At the
morgue,” Choplinski said.
Within another half-hour, the prints
had been taken, and the trunk was at
the morgue. Attendants removed the
inner trunk, which was also sealed
with two locks, one a new one similar
to that on the outside container. The
locks were pried loose, the cover flung
back, and even the morgue attendants,
accustomed to gruesome death, shud-
dered when they viewed the contents.
For there, crammed into the trunk,
was the rotting body of a white-haired
woman. Her face had turned a dark
purple.
tyre was lying on her back, her legs
bent up over her face. Her toes
rested on her forehead.
“That’s one of the worst things I
have ever seen,” exclaimed Choplinski,
“A mighty brutal killing—out-and-
out murder!” added Zuckerman.
An attendant straightened up from
his inspection of the woman’s face.
“Just as I thought,” he said. “That face
is purple because she was strangled to
death. There’s a heavy rope around
her neck!”
“Get her out. Put her on a slab,”
said Choplinski.
“Tl call Wadsworth,” said Zucker-
man, referring to Doctor William S.
Wadsworth, internationally famous
Coroner’s Physician and Criminologist
of Philadelphia County.
Choplinski laid out the clothes on a
table as the attendants, with some dif-
ficulty, removed the woman’s body
from the trunk and placed it on a slab.
Choplinski picked up one of the dresses
and measured it to the form of the
woman,
“Yes sir,” he said. “I am sure these
clothes belonged to her.”
“She was an old woman,” said one
of the attendants. “Over sixty.”
“T think you are right about that,”
replied the detective. “This is a rotten
job. Even from these sedate clothes
you can tell she was.a good woman,
the conservative type. Maybe an old
widow. Maybe rich.”
Shortly after Doctor Wadsworth ar-
rived, and he immediately began an
autopsy. Concluding, he said:
“The cause of death was strangula-
tion, but she may have been given a
sleeping potion before she was stran-
gled. There are marks on her body
which show she was beaten. No bul-
let wounds. No fractured skull. I am
sure strangulation was the cause. She
worse
my
‘
; %
# *
Se “*
aaa
has been dead five or six days. She
was about sixty-five years old, and
from the condition of her flesh even
now, and from her weight, I would say
she had been in good health before
this attack. Obviously, this is a case
of murder.”
“Did you say she was dead five or
six days, Doctor?” asked Zuckerman.
“Yes, I would say that.”
“Look, Frank. That trunk was taken
into Hoffmans’ on March fourth. This
is March seventh. That means she’s
been dead since March second.”
“That’s the way it looks,” said Frank
4
Louis Fine, shown here after he collapsed, was not hand-
some, yet he had a way with middle-aged and elderly women
“Well, let’s get back to the Hoffmans’
and question them more.”
“Right. Did you find any identifica-
tion marks on the trunk or clothes?”
“Not a thing.”
“That’s tough. Well, let’s get going.”
“T will have a full report for you
this afternoon,” said Doctor Wads-
worth, as he left.
Back at the Hoffmans’, Choplinski
said to Julius:
“Well, we were right. There was a
body in the trunk. An old woman.
Strangled to death.”
OFFMAN and his wife were silent
in their amazement.
“Ts there anything else I can do?” he
asked after a moment.
“Yes, we'd like to ask you a few
more questions.”
“Yes, sir. Come into the parlor.” an-
swered Hoffman, leading them to the
front room on the ground floor whi
was furnished in overstuffed blue vol-
our furniture.
“Are you sure?” asked Zuckerman,
“that the trunk wasn't delivered \:
one of the big express companies, like
the American or any other expre:
company?”
“T am sure it wasn’t. I was sitting
by the window when the trugk cam,
in that truck. It was a Ford truck.”
“Did you ever see the truck before?
Was there a name on it?”
“Yes, sir. The truck was familiar.
It seems I saw it before, but I just
can’t remember where. I remember
because one of the fenders in the back
was off. I saw the truckman before,
too. But I can’t remember where. 1
think perhaps he belongs in the neigh-
borhood.”
Mrs. Hoffman entered as her hus-
band was speaking of the truck.
“Julius,” she said timidly, “maybe
you took the number. My husband has
a funny hobby,” she added. “When he
(Continued on Page 50)
17
seven, his apparent grief over his
wife’s death, was a gay dog. Within a
short time after the tragedy which
shocked the neighborhood, he had re-
covered sufficiently to go visiting and
brag about himself.
Now we had all the information we
wanted. And Lucky would be glad to
be a material witness. Leaving her
behind the bars, I started out to round
up Henniger. On the way I stopped
off to check a few things with Joe
Hartman, Mrs. Henniger’s son.
“Joc, was your mother insured, and
8 so, who was beneficiary?” I asked
him.
He nodded. “Yes, she was, and I
don’t like the looks of things at all.
Mother was insured for one thousand
dollars, with double idemnity in case of
violent death. Henniger was bene-
ficiary. He is also slated to inherit
her property at 285 Fourth Street. I
wish you'd investigate the case thor-
oughly.”
The
sits by the window where he is sitting
now he takes the license number of all
automobiles that stop in front of our
house. He has thousands of them.” She
smiled at Julius.
“Is that right, Mr. Hoffman?” asked
Choplinski.
“Yes, that is right,” he answered
smiling. ‘But I don’t remember taking
the number of that truck. But we will
see. Bring the book, Matilda. Every
man to his own hobby,” he added, still
smiling as Matilda left for “the book.”
Ta she returned with a huge ledg-
er, and Hoffman began thumbing
through it. :
“Here,” he said, holding the ledger
before the detectives. ‘““Here is March
4.” He studied the numbers. “Yes, this
is the one! Right here. You see. Ford
truck, six o’clock.”
“Are you sure that is the one?”
“Yes, I am sure.”
“Why didn’t you tell us before?”
“IT was excited, I guess. I had for-
gotten. Please excuse me.”
“All right,” said Zuckerman, copying
the license number, “‘we’ll excuse you.
That will be all for the time being. If
we find this man Hirsch Miller, or the
truck driver, we'll want you to identify
them.”
“We will be very glad to help you,
sir,’ Julius said. “But we would not
like to have this get in the newspapers.
It will hurt our business.”
“We will do what we can about
that,” said Zuckerman as the detec-
tives left.
Outside, he said to Choplinski: “Look,
Frank, we'll phone this number into
the Hall, but we don’t have to wait for
the answer. They don’t keep all truck
numbers at Headquarters, as you
know. They’ll have to teletype Harris-
burg. Now, here’s what I figure—this
man Miller, whoever he is, came here
because he knew the neighborhood.
He knew that on Marshall Street above
here there’s a lot of little truck com-
panies, men who own one or two
trucks. I know them all personally.
Let’s go around there and talk to them.
We can save a lot of time.”
Frank agreed, and the two detectives
first phoned City Hall, then began cov-
ering all the little trucking companies
in the neighborhood, within several
blocks of the Hoffman home. By mid-
afternoon, they had interviewed fifteen
such companies, without result, and
Harrisburg had to be teletyped.
“We're not getting anywhere,” said
Frank disgustedly after the fifteenth
interview. “Let’s call back the Hall
and find out if the checkup came
through.”
They called. :
The truck was owned by Hamil Mor-
tin on North Marshall Street, less than
a block from the Hoffmans’ home.
“Why, he told us he didn’t deliver
a trunk!” declared Meyer.
“Sure, we saw him the first. Let’s
go back.”
Within a few minutes they were
again in the small, frame garage owned
by Mortin, and this time a truck was
50
“Was the house insured against fire?”
“It was.” .
Then I went to the Lunds, who
lived next door to the Hennigers.
“Mrs. Lund, I’ve just learned that
old man Henniger admitted beating his
wife to death. Now it’s safe to tell me
what you know,” I said.
RS. LUND answered: “Well, this is
what I saw: The night the house
caught fire I was standing on my back
porch here, looking across the vacant
lot towards Henniger’s back yard.
That was about ten minutes before
smoke began pouring out of the closet.
I saw Henniger beat his wife, knock
her down, then kick her and jump on
her. It was just too awful. I couldn’t
move or scream, just stood there un-
able to do a thing.
“Then when he stopped beating her
he took her by the shoulders and
dragged her into the house. He had
trouble getting the body through the
screen door and I can still see her feet
sticking out the door as he pulled and
tugged.
“That’s right,” Lund agreed with his
wife. “I saw the same’ thing, only—
until now, when you said he admitted
getting rid of his wife, we didn’t want
to get mixed up in any neighborhood
scraps that might end in court.
“Henniger burned up that mattress
out there on the rubbish heap. He
‘must have sneaked it out to the garage
that night before the firemen arrived.
Everybody was so excited they prob-
ably figured he was only trying to save
some of the household stuff.”
Now I had witnesses. I went over to
the home, found Henniger there and
asked him to come down to the sta-
tion with me. He was sullen and
silent, but he came along without any
trouble.
When I told him he was held for
investigation he blew up, denied every-
thing, wound up by saying that he
was going to make it hot for me. I
swore out a murder complaint. Hen-
niger was arraigned.
Royal S. Riddle, prominent local at-
torney, represen’ him at the pre-
liminary hearing held in Long Beach,
February 16, when Henniger pleaded
not guilty. He was held without bail,
and the date of trial was set for March
14,
Henniger sits glumly behind the bars
of the County Jail, staring into space.
Whenever he speaks at all, he is sure
to declare that his wife died from the
effects of a fall in the rock garden,
that_he’s absdlutely innocent of the
charge hanging over his head, and that
he has a clear conscience and a clean
bill of health, . ae
But the jury found him guilty of
manslaughter and sentence was to be™
passed March 30.
More pictures with this story are on
Pages 45 and 56, C y
$100,000 Body in the Trunk (Continued from Page 17)
there. A Ford truck with a rear fender
missing. They stepped into Mortin’s
small office. Zuckerman knew him
well, and wasted no words.
“What’s the idea of trying to kid us!”
he said sternly. “You know what this
means—withholding information from
the police. You can go to jail for that.
Plenty.”
“TI don’t get you,” answered the little
man with great bewilderment in his
eyes.
“Didn’t you tell us you didn’t deliver
a trunk to 824 North Fifth Street on
March fourth?”
“Yes, I told you that. And it’s true.
I didn’t deliver any trunk.”
“Well, the man who owns that house
took your license number. And it
checks. He described your truck, too.”
Mortin scratched his head.
“Meyer, you know me for a long
time. You know I wouldn’t lie to you.
I got other men working here for me.
Maybe they didn’t report it. Wait a
minute.” He stepped out of his office
and called: “George. Hey George!
Come here!” ;
A tall Negro entered the office. ‘Yes,
sah, Boss,” he said.
“Did you deliver a trunk to 824
North Fifth Street any time within the
last week?” ;
George thought for a while. ,
“Yes sah, Ah did. Me an’ Sam de-
livered that.”
"ae why didn’t you make a record
9”
“Sam. He said he ’tend to that.”
“Where is Sam now?”
“Down the street gettin’ a sandwich.”
“Well, get him, quick.”
“Yes sah,” said George, leaving.
“I am sorry, Meyer. This is not my
fault. There’d be no reason for me not
to tell you anything like this. What’s
the matter?”
“Plenty.”
Presently, the young man called Sam
came in, dressed in denims.
“Sam, did you deliver a trunk to 824
North Fifth Street on March fourth?”
Mortin asked. .
“Yes, about six o’clock.”
“Well, why didn’t you record it?”
“Didn’t 1?”
“No. But don’t worry about it. I
found an extra two dollars in the box
that day. Go ahead, Meyer, ask him
anything you want.”
“Who hired you to deliver the
trunk?” Zuckerman asked.
“A little guy that spoke with an ac-
cent, He was about five feet six. I
think his name was Miller.”
“Did he come in here?” ‘
“Yes, he came here, and gave us th
bill of lading for the trunk. It was at
the American Express offices at Eighth
and Jefferson Streets. The damn
thing weighed 300 pounds. We had a
Hell of a time with it.”
“Did you ever see the man before?”
“No. First time I laid eyes on him.
He tipped us a dime apiece—the lug!”
“You'd be able to tell him if you saw
him again?”
“You bet!”
“Didn’t you have to pay anything for
of
the trunk at the express office? Weren’t
there any charges due?”
“Sure. He came alors with us, and
paid $7.50 for the charges at the ex-
press office. He never spoke a word
from the time he hired us until he
paid us off.”
“Thanks,” said Zuckerman, “We
might need you soon again.”
“OQ, K.,” answered Sam. “Any time.”
“Well, we might find out now where
that trunk came from,” Choplinski
said, “I have a hunch it might have
come from Atlantic City, because you
remember that this man Miller told
Hoffman he was from there. Or maybe
it was just a blind.”
“What do you make out of it all?”
asked Zuckerman.
“You mean why the woman was
killed?”
“Yes,”
“Well, Meyer, my idea is that there
is plenty. dough behind it all. Those
clothes we found in the trunk are not
cheap stuff. They’re quality. She
wasn’t knocked off just for a robbery.
Maybe some relative tried to get her
out of the way and collect insurance
or a will or something. But I can’t
quite see it yet. That’s only a hazy
idea. We'll just follow these leads
down and see where we come to. Damn
rotten job though, that murder.”
In the offices of the express com-
pany, the detectives interviewed the
persons on duty on Friday, March 4,
but since so many pieces of luggage
of all descriptions are handled each
day by a concern as large as the
American Express, it was impossible
for any one individual to recall that
particular piece. But the books of the
egg luggage revealed a good
clew.
ae consulting the books, Joseph
Ward, in charge of the luggage
traffic, told the detectives:
“A trunk was received here on
March third and was to be delivered to
a man named Hirsch Miller, in care of
Milton Litzow, at the northwest cor-
ner of Fifth and Parrish Streets.”
“Was it delivered there by any of
your trucks?” asked Zuckerman, who
seemed elated- now.
“Yes, it was delivered there on the
afternoon of March third and refused,
and returned here. The charges, when
it was finally taken away, were $7.50.”
“Where was the trunk shipped
from?”
“Just a moment, and I’ll find out.”
Ward consulted another ledger, then
looked up.
“It was shipped from Atlantic City
on March second.”
The detectives left. Outside Zucker-
man exclaimed:
“Frank, I know Milton Litzow. Why,
his real-estate office is just across the
street from the Hoffmans. We grew
up together. What in Hell could he be
doing in this?”
“Swell,” said Frank. “Let’s get back
there at once. And, by the way, I was
right about that Atlantic City hunch.
But why would this guy Miller give his
right address? If he knocked off the
woman he certainly would want to
cover up where he came from.”
“Sure looks funny, but we'll -soon
find out, I think.” .
_Milton Litzow was not at home, but
his attractive sister, Helene, with
whom he lived in quarters above his
real-estate office, cordially welcomed
the men into the apartment.
“What brings you here, Meyer?” she
said jovially. “Have we done some-
thing wrong?”
“Where’s Milton?” asked Meyer, ig-
noring the question.- 3
“He’s down the shore for a few days
on a deal. He’ll be back on Sunday.”
“Helene, was a trunk delivered here -
—a big trunk tied around with rope—”
Miss Litzow interrupted him. ,
“Yes, Meyer, it was, and it’s been
puzzling me ever since. It came here,
13 me see, about three days ago, ad-
dressed to a Hirsch Miller, in care-of
Milton. We didn’t expect anything like
that, because we don’t know a Hirsch
Miller. So I refused it. Why? Is
there anything wrong?” ~
“No, nothing. Not yet.” . The de-
tectives arose.
“T’ll see Milton when he gets back.
Do you know where.he is stopping in
Atlantic City?”
She named a hotel. “That’s where
he usually stops.”
Outside again, Frank said: “Well,
that’s pretty strange. This is getting
to be a puzzler, Meyer. What.now?”
“Report to Headquarters. Then At-
lantic City. We'll go to the express
office down there and find exactly
where the trunk came from, and per-
haps we can find Litzow.”
“Sure. If this trunk ~came from
Atlantic City, then the dead woman
must have lived there also. Perhaps
killed in her home, packed up, and
sent to Philadelphia.” :
Three hours later Choplinski and
Zuckerman were in the offices of the
American Express Company in At-
lantic City, but the report they re-
ceived there was very disheartening.
The company’s trucks had not called
for the trunk. It was brought for ship-
ment by a local drayman. The only
records on file were that the trunk was
“to be shipped to Hirsch Miller in care
of Milton Litzow, N. W. Cor. Fifth
and Parrish Streets, Philadelphia.” A
huge task confronted the detectives.
“Well, Meyer,” Choplinski said, “it
looks like we’ll have to cover every
drayman in Atlantic City. Let’s get a
room in a hotel and check by phone.
And we’ll call the hotel where Litzow
is supposed to be stopping.” _
“I think we’d better go to the hotel
where Litzow is supposed to be and
check in there,” answered Zuckerman.
“We just might run into him, you
know.”
They checked in. But Litzow was
not registered. And they began check-
ing the trucking companies. And after
two hours of ceaseless phoning, they
were no closer to a clew of the trunk’s
source than: they were before they
came. to Atlantic City.. They were
AD10a
“I forgot something,” said Frank.
‘Wait here a minute, Meyer.”
He returned to Schaaf.
“Mr. Schaaf,” said Choplinski, “may
‘ask you where you live and where
you work in New York?”
“Certainly,” answered Schaaf. “I
im assistant teller in—’ He named a
‘amous New York bank. “I live on
West Thirteenth Street.” He gave
hem an address.
“Thank you,” said Choplinski, step-
ying out again,
“Meyer, call Headquarters. Tell them
what we've been doing. Ask them to
‘heck this with New York at once.” He
ransferred the information to his
yartner that he obtained from Schaaf
ibout himself. Then Choplinski re-
turned to Schaaf.
“Feel up to the ride back?” he asked.
“yes. Any time you are ready. I
will make arrangements for the re-
moval of the body as soon as we reach
the shore, This will be a very terrible
blow to the family.”
“Was Mrs. Schaaf worth much
money?”
“LP would say more than $100,000 in
cash, securities and property.”
“Do you know whether she had a
will? Or to whom she was going to
leave her money?”
“No, we never discussed that with
her,”
“Why do you think, Mr, Schaaf, any-
one would want to murder her?”
Schaaf looked sternly at Choplinski.
“That is what puzzles me. I have
been trying to think who might want
to, but I cannot see for the life of me
who would.”
“Who else lives in the house?”
“Well, there is Marty or Martha, the
maid, and that other roomer. There
have been other roomers, I under-
stand.”
At 4 a.m. the two detectives and the
very fatigued Schaaf entered the house
in Atlantic City. He had been silent
on the way down, and every once in a
while sobbed.
In the house, Schaaf said: “I hope
you will excuse me. I am very tired.
This has been a great shock to me. I
would like to go to bed.”
“That will be all right,” answered
Choplinski. “But I would like to ask
a favor. Could you put us up here for
the rest of the night?”
CHAAF hesitated a moment, and
then answered cordially:
“Indeed I can. There are plenty of
rooms. Come with me and I will show
you.” ,
The men followed him to the second
floor, and he stopped at a room next to
that of Mrs. Schaaf’s. He opened the
door, turned on the light and _ said:
“There are twin beds here. The bath-
room is down the hall. Now, excuse
me.
As soon as he left,
closed the door, and asked:
“What do you make of it, now,
Frank?”
“Listen, Meyer, did you notice the
smell of disinfectant in Mrs. Schaaf’s
room, and where the carpets seemed to
have been cleaned in spots, sort of
washed with the disinfectant?”
“I must admit I only noticed the
odor, that was all.”
“Well, there are brownish spots
along the baseboard by the bed. They
look like dried blood. I think Mrs.
Schaaf was murdered in her room! But
who did it, I can’t see yet, nor why.”
“It looks like someone was sore as
Hell at her the way she was knocked
off. Zcaten up, then strangled to
death like that. Could one person have
done it alone, and then pack her up
without any help? And could it have
been done here without someone, the
maid for instance, not seeing the
trunks come in or go out? Or see the
trunks being taken into Mrs. Schaaf’s
room, if they were taken in there?
And what about this guy Miller?”
Zuckerman
“We've got to find the man who took
the trunk out of here,” replied Cho-
plinski. “I think he holds the key to
this puzzler. I think he’ll lead us to
find whether it was one person or a
scheme with others in it. Anyway,
murder or no murder, I’ve got to get
some sleep. We'll question that maid
in the morning. 'She ought to know
something pretty valuable.”
“What about Schaaf... think he’s
telling us the truth?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Well, maybe you're right .. .”
At 7:30 a.m. Choplinski awoke with
a start. He heard footsteps shuffling
outside his door. He got out of bed
quietly, and tiptoed to the door. The
footsteps had stopped. He hastily
drew on his trousers, shirt and shoes,
opened the door and stepped out in the
hall. The room to Mrs. Schaaf’s door
was open! He looked inside. Ernest
Schaaf was sitting in a chair, fully
William G. Hamilton, Collector of
Customs at the port of San Fran-
cisco, who took a leading part in
smashing a dope octopus. The
story is on Page 28 of this issue
dressed, and was leaning over with his
head in his hands, and his elbows rest-
ing on his knees. He was crying.
“Mr. Schaaf,” said Choplinski.
Schaaf looked up. He was calm,
poised. “Oh, I’m sorry to have you
see me this way,” he said, wiping his
eyes with a handkerchief.
“Pretty hard on you, Schaaf?”
“Yes, I loved Mattie all my life.
This is terrible.”
“Has the maid come in?”
“Yes, She’s down in the kitchen
making breakfast.”
“Come down with me. I want to
talk with her.”
Schaaf led the way to the kitchen,
and told Marty, the Negro maid, who
Choplinski was. She was a_ large
woman, and looked at Choplinski un-:
afraid. She had been crying.
“You can ask me questions, mister.
An’ ah’ll answer. Ah’d like to get ma
hands around the neck of the man who
done this to Mis’ Schaaf! Yes, sah!”
“When did you see Mrs. Schaaf
last?”
“It was las’ Tuesday when ah left
fo’ the day.”
“That was March first,” said Cho-
plinski. “Did you come in the next
day?”
“yes, sah, ah did, but the roomer
here tol’ me Mis’ Schaaf went to Phil-
adelphia, and she wouldn’t be needin’
me for a few days till she came back.
The roomer tol’ me that he was goin’
away, too, and Mis’ Schaaf said to tell
me that she wouldn’t be needin’ me
till she got back.”
“Who is this roomer?”
“Mistah Fine. Mistah Louis Fine.”
“Is he here now?”
“Well, I heard him in his room.”
“Go up and tell him to.come down.
Tell him there is someone to see him.”
When Marty left, Schaaf said: “He
must have come home while we were
in Philadelphia.”
They walked into the large, com-
fortable living-room. And soon a
short, stocky man came down the open
stairway into’ the room. Choplinski’s
eyes blinked in amazement when he
looked at the roomer. Hair combed
back pompadour style... sticking out
on the sides .. . a half-moon mouth.
Was this man Hirsch Miller?
“Mr. Fine?” asked Choplinski.
“Yes, sir,” he answered as he seated
himself in a chair. “What can I do for
you?”
“I am Lieutenant Choplinski ef the
Philadelphia detectives.”
The man remained calm. “Yes, sir.
What can I do for you?” he repeated.
Choplinski thought it best to waste
no time. .
“You sent, a trunk from here to
Philadelphia on March third.”
“That is correct. I did.”
“Do you know what is in that
trunk?”
“No, sir, I do not. A man by the
name of Hirsch Miller brought it to
my rooms and asked me to keep it for
him until he called for it. He had a
tag on it addressed to himself in care
of Milton Litzow in Philadelphia, and
asked me to hold it and then send ‘it
when he told me to do so.”
“You did that?”
“Yes, sir. Last Wednesday.”
“Who is Miller?”
“Miller? I don’t know much about
him. I met him at the Elks’ down
here one night about a month ago. I
didn’t even know where he lived. But
he seemed a good sort of guy. Hard up
for funds, though. One day he called .
me and said he was being put out of
his room for rent, and would I take his
trunk in for a while until he got
straightened out. I was glad to help
him. Why? What is wrong?”
“You rented a room in Philadelphia,
Fine, didn’t you?”
Affably the man answered: “Yes,
Miller sent me twenty-five dollars
from New York and wrote me to ship
the trunk to Philadelphia, and go up
there and rent a room at—let me see
... it was near Fifth and Parrish
Streets...”
“824 North Fifth Street?”
“Yes, that’s right. I took the room
in his name.
“Then the next night I met him at
the Reading Terminal in Philadelphia
and gave him the key to his room. I
haven’t seen him since.” 4
“Listen, Fine, that trunk was de-
livered to Litzow and refused, and sent
back to the American Express Com-
pany, then you went back and _ got it
and took it to the house on Parrish
Street.”
“That’s right. I was coming to that.
I went to Litzow’s first and found the
trunk had been refused because they
wouldn’t pay the charges, so I hired a
truck in the neighborhood and took it
up to the house myself. That’s about
all I know about it.”
“Do you know what was in that
trunk?”
“I couldn’t open it. It was tied
around with rope.”
“Mrs. Schaaf, your landlady, was in
that trunk, Fine!” Choplinski shot at
him.
“You mean Mrs. Schaaf is dead?”
“J mean she is dead. Murdered.
And put in that trunk!”
Fine looked at Ernest Schaaf, then
bowed his head.
“That sounds incredible! Incredible!
How is that possible?”
Mca what we're trying to find
out.
Choplinski called in the maid.
“Marty, did you ever know a man
by the name of Miller? Did he ever
come here? Did you.ever see him
with Mr, Fine?” *
“I don’ know no man by that name.
Mistah Fine had visitors some time,
but I never knew them.” :
“Did you ever see a big trunk in
Mr. Fine’s room?” :
“Yes, sah, a big trunk was in there a
few jweeks ago, But it ain’t there no
mo’, ; ‘
“Did you see it brought in the
house?”
»
ON
“Fine, did this man Miller know
Mrs. Schaaf?”
“Yes, I introduced her to him, and
I remember him saying to me once, ‘I
bet she’s got plenty dough around
here.’ Once when I came home I saw -
him talking with Mrs. Schaaf, and let
me see, yes, about a week ago I saw
him in her room talking with her.”
bb deserts did you see Mrs. Schaaf
last?”
“Last Sunday night. She told me
she was going to Philadelphia and I
‘told her I was going away for a few
days, too, and she gave me orders for
Marty. That’s the last time I saw
Choplinski looked studiously at Fine,
and thought that this man was either a
master liar, or else was completely in-
nocent. It was almost too perfect, the
way his story fit in each detail with |
what Hoffman and the truckman had
told him about Fine. -And also Jim
McNamara. Fine denied nothing.
Zuckerman came‘down the steps and
looked at Fine, and seemed to recog-
nize him, but said nothing,
“Meyer, call Chief’ of Detectives.
Harrold at Atlantic City Headquar-
ters. Get him over here. “You people
will have to remain in the house until
the case is disposed of.” j
“Very well,” said Schaaf, looking
curiously at Fine. 4
“That’s all right with.me, too. I
bas) do all I can to help you,” Fine
said. : :
The group left the living-room.
When Harrold arrived with several
assistants, Zuckerman ‘and Choplinski
outlined the case to him; told him each
detail of what they had found.
“But it’s your case now, Harrold,”
said Choplinski. “The murder occurred
in your territory. That looks pretty
certain. i
“But there are a few angles in Phila-
delphia that we'll clear up for you,
Harrold. I want to bring Hoffman, the
truck-driver and his man Litzow down
here. Also, we'll investigate Fine in
Philadelphia, and also let you know at
once what we find out about Schaaf.”
Harrold thanked Choplinski and ©
Zuckerman, and went to work at once,
requestioning Fine, Marty and Schaaf,
but uncovering nothing more than the
Philadelphia detectives had found, and
before Choplinski and Zuckerman left,
Harrold held a conference with them.
“There is a clew here that sticks out
like a sore thumb,” said Zuckerman,
“Those new locks. The-ones we found
on the trunk, and the one on Mrs,
Schaaf’s door. They’re all the same.”
Marty said that Mrs. Schaaf never
had a padlock on her door. She just
locked it with a key. Harrold called
Fine in again.
“Fine, what do you know about the
lock on Mrs. Schaaf’s door? ‘You
should know something about that.
You've lived here for some time.”
“Yes, sir, I do know something about
them. I bought them for Mrs. Schaaf,
She asked me to. I bought five of
them. She said she needed them for
the closets and her door. I don’t know
who put the lock on her door, though.”
Next Issue of ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES of Wo-
men in Crime Will Be on Sale Wednesday, April. 20
52
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trunk containing the body. Further cor-
roboration .was found in a piece of
clothesline hanging from the ceiling
which matched completely with the rope
about the victim’s neck. Furthermore,
the frayed ends of each piece matched
the other exactly. When Detective May,
searchlight in hand, fished out of the
furnace a woman’s dress, underthings,
and shoes, all partly burned, any doubt
that still lingered was dissipated.
“What puzzles me,” said Curran, “is
whether one man could carry the trunk
out of here.”
“A strong man could,” said Harrold,
“especially when the pressure is on and
he has to—if he wants to keep living.”
Harrold then instructed Choplinsky
and Hoffman to pick up the charred
clothing and put them in a bag for further
analysis. Then he went up to the first
floor and started a search of every room
in an effort to discover more clues,
PiRst he searched Weiss’ room, but
found nothing to arouse suspicion.
Next he stepped into Louis Fine’s room
and was joined in the search by Curran.
For half an hour they went through the
lodger’s clothing, and then, in a drawer of
the night table, they found a metal cigar
box which held a packet of letters and
other papers.
“Look at these !”
Harrold showed several envelopes to
Curran and Hoffman who had just
walked in, Some of the letters were ad-
dressed to Louis Fine, 35 South Connect-
icut Avenue; others to Henry Miller,
General Delivery, Atlantic City, N. J.!
By the following morning, Juliano had
found that Louis Fine was a retired Phil-
adelphia real estate operator, while Wal-
ter Weiss was employed in a grocery
store in Longport, a town a few miles
from Atlantic City; and that both men
had vanished.
Captain Harrold came to the conclu-
sion that either Weiss or Fine, or both,
had murdered the woman for a bigger
stake than what her strong-box contained.
Consequently he ordered Detective May
to investigate Mrs. Schaaf’s \financial
standing. Finally he outlined a plan of
action,
“We'll release the news that we suspect
Walter Weiss of the murder of Mrs.
Schaaf,” he said. “If Weiss is guilty we
won't see him for dust, but if he isn’t,
he’ll be yelling against us to high heaven.
On the other hand, if Louis Fine is the
killer, he’ll want to retrieve the incrimi-
nating letters in this cigar box, and most
certainly he’ll want to do it tonight.” He
slid the box back into the drawer of the
night table,
That night they assembled in Mrs.
Schaaf’s home, in the dark. Captain Har-
rold assigned Hoffman to guard the front
door; Captain Emmanuel Eckstein, | of
the Atlantic City Police Department,
took the rear door; Curran hid in Fine’s
room, Choplirisky in Weiss’ room, and
Juliano in an adjoining room. With every
man in his proper place, the night slowly
gave away to the early morning hours
without a sign of either of the lodgers.
At about two a.m., however, a key in
the front door latch broke the nocturnal
stillness, Harrold and Hoffman ducked
as the door opened slowly and a shadow
crept across the front room on the car-
peted floor. They heard footsteps ascend-
ing the stairs stealthily.
Harrold whispered to Hoffman ; “We'll
rush up the moment we hear the voice of
Curran or Choplinsky.”
Presently they heard light footsteps as
the mysterious visitor reached the second
floor, And after a few tense minutes, Cur-
ran’s voice cracked the eerie darkness.
“Put up your hands and don’t move!”
Curran ordered.
At this’ signal the men bounded’ up the
stairs and converged into- Fine’s. room
where Curran, after having snapped the
light on, held a man at gunpoint.
The man, heavy-set, about forty-five,
wearing a black hat, was seated’ on the
edge of the bed. The cigar box lay at his
feet, its letters scattered about it. The
man’s face was colorless.
“What’s the meaning of this!’ he de-
manded. “My name is Louis Fine. I live
here.”
“Where’s Mrs. Schaaf?” asked Har-
rold. “Gone on a trip, I suppose, eh?”
“What are you driving at?” the man
asked as he collected the letters and the
cigar box.
“Why are you so interested in those
letters?” | :
“They belong to me,” he snarled defi-
antly,
“Then you admit that the letters ad-
dressed to Henry Miller are yours ?”
“Definitely not,” he shot back. “I’m
keeping them for a friend.”
“Stop lying, Fine,” charged Harrold,
“you murdered Mrs.. Schaaf,”
“What was that ?” he asked, surprised.
“Mrs, Schaaf murdered !”
“Don’t you read newspapers?” asked
Harrold,
Fine explained he had been busy for
two days and had not read any news-
papers.
““Where’ve you been ?” asked Harrold.
“T’ve just returned from New York.”
The captain took him to headquarters
for further questioning, but left Hoffman
and Juliano in charge of- Mrs. Schaaf’s
home. Further, he had collected the scat-
tered letters and papers, placed them in
the cigar box, and took it along with him.
RIVING to headquarters, Eckstein
revealed to Harrold that Louis Fine
had been in trouble in Atlantic City two
years before. At that time he lived with
his wife, Bertha Abramson Fine, in a
home on Florida Avenue, One morning
his department, in answer to a call,
found Mrs. Fine overcome by gas in her
bedroom. She was taken to the Atlantic
City Hospital, and when she came to she
declared that her husband had attempted
to kill her by turning on the gas jet in,
her bedroom. Her son had smelled the
fumes and found his mother unconscious.-
After Mrs. Fine recovered she said that
six months before her husband had at-
tempted to murder her by giving her an
‘ overdose of sleeping tablets. She further
stated that he had squandered more than
forty thousand dollars from a legacy she
had received from her parents. Louis
Fine was arrested, but as there was little
4
evidence agi
Mrs. Fine |
Hollywood,
“That’s inter
rold.
Once in Har
rold and Chop
the-suspect all :
“Do you kno
was found in ;
house, shipped
from her cellar '
Fine’s forehe:
Philly in a trun
“After she ha
and stripped of
“Good God!’
hands went up t
that trunk out m
letters you fow
twenty-five doll:
him a favor as
an errand that
lodger in the hov
Schaaf!” Louis
and started cryi
6 HAT kin
Miller ?”
Fine explained
than he, had re
luxuriant growth
At this point
door and entered
on the side to in:
caught Walter W
into the house.
“Luck’s with
“Where is he?”
F haawai pointec
office beside Dete
Weiss answered t
Louis Fine. \
who had murd
cided to find ....
structed Juliano 1
in two ar three mi
As the Cgptai:
Fine, Juliano bro
Fine leaped to |
“That’s Miller! E
dered Mrs. Schaz
asked me to have
Philly !”
The other room
finally managed to
crazy! My name
And what’s all this
know anything abc
is he talking about
“All right, Frat
to the detective to
“You’re not letti
Fine. “I’m telling
you’re looking for
“Maybe so. Any
him go yet. And i:
we know that you
Fine swore he -
had no reason to ¢
Harrold was in
innocent, you hav
about. We'll find «
ways do. Anyway,
holding the both ‘of
At ten that morn
the men who had
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94
me. Our feeling was mutual, It was her
desire to leave me everything she owned
when she died.”
“And you conveniently arranged to
strangle her to death in her-cellar, eh ?”
“That’s a lie!’ shouted Fine. He tum-
a from tlie bed and fell on the floor in a
aint, j
The doctor asked the detectives to leave
the room.
Confident that he had the real killer of
Mrs. Schaaf, Harrold had the witnesses
take a look at Weiss, the other lodger,
just to make sure. Nobody identified him
as Henry Miller, and he was set free.
With the arrest of Fine, an investiga-
tion into his past revealed that he had
married in Russia the daughter of well-
to-do parents. Two years after she had
died of a mysterious malady. He arrived
in New York and married a Miss Tillie
Furnstein who, three years after their
marriage, died of an overdose of sleeping
tablets. From her he inherited $50,000.
He then moved to Philadelphia where,
assing himself off as a rea] estate man,
in met and married Miss Bertha Abram-
son, his third wife, whom he had tried,
unsuccessfully, to murder with gas.
Captain Harrold prepared his case
against the killer of Mrs. Mamie Schaaf
and brought the full report to Atlantic
County Prosecutor Louis A. Repetto.
_ By this time the murderer, recovered
from his false heart attack, was taken
back to his cell where he attempted fo
give the impression that he was insane.
But after'a few days, he broke down and
began confiding to cellmates.
One afternoon he said, and guard H.
Johnson heard: “I was desperate. I asked
her for $3,000, and the damned sourpuss,
who was lousy with dough, refused to
give it to me; so I gave it to her.”
On June 6, 1932, he went on trial for
his life. During the trial, which lasted
four days, Fine claimed insanity. The
jury on June 10, in less than two hours,
came back with a verdict of “Guilty of
‘murder in the first degree without recom-
mendation for mercy.”
The killer took the pronouncement sto-
ically. He had gambled for a fortune ;
worth a milliop; instead he found him-
self taken to the State Penitentiary at
Trenton where on April 13, 1934, he
walked into the grim, bleak chamber to
the electric chair to pay the penalty for
the savage, ghastly murder of Mrs. Ma-
mie Schaaf.
Gallant Bluebeard
They circled the building in opposite
directions, looking for cracks in the walls
asghey went. They found none. Its con-
struction was solid and sturdy.
“Well, there’s only one way now,”
Chief Duckworth said to Southern when
they met again at the door.
“All right. Ready?” —
They threw their combined weight
against the door in repeated effort. A
splintering crash echoed through’ Quiet
Dell into the nearby Blue Ridge hills as
the door finally yielded. Quickly they
stepped inside to a wall of blackness,
soon pierced by, the yellow arc of ‘their
flashlights, They sniffed at a nauseating
odor of decay that momentarily sickened
them, and then silently exchanged a
meaningful glance. .
An old, battered trunk in the midst-of
an assortment of odds and ends circling
in Chief Duckworth’s light were the first
objects they saw. Two additional trunks
lined the wall. Swiftly, Detective South-
ern pried them open, and rymmaged
through piles of clothing, women’s and
children’s, copies of the Pierson matri-
monial “ad,” bundles of answers from
women, and pieces of jewelry. In one
corner lay a heap of blood-stained gar-
ments, Buried in the clothing of the bat-
tered trunk a small box camera with a
roll of exposed film was to play its part
four’ days later. So, too, were the torn
pieces of a bank receipt discovered in a
trash pile on the floor,
As the officers continued the search
with typical unhurried efficiency it was
[Continued from page 53]
already 1:30 a.m., August 28. Following
a trail of irregular browned splotches
through the debris on the floor, Chief
Duckworth and Detective Southern
traced them to a trap door. Through that
door they walked down a short flight of
stairs to a lower level. The strange
garage had a basement. Mutely, they ex-
amined several small soundproof cells
built in against a wall. Overhead, from a
rafter near the door dangled an end of
rope. On the floor near the cells lay a gas
mask of the type used in World War I,
bringing them to a sharp halt before they
realized what it was. Suspicious-looking
stains covered the floor.
_ At daybreak Chief Duckworth notified
Sheriff W. B. Grimm, and Captain H.
M. Brown of the State Police. Details of
police were already digging around the
whole area of the garage when Sheriff
Grimm arrived with a squad of convicts
from the Harrison County jail to help.
Swarms of curious onlookers rushed to
Quiet Dell only to be sent back.
A woman’s hair with charred hairpins
still in it was discovered in the ashes of
a fire recently made outside the garage.
But that was all. The digging continued.
Suddenly a low cry tensed to attention
the searchers working around the front
of the garage, and sent them scrambling
to the rear, A group-huddled over a four-
foot-deep opening in the drainage ditch
leading from the garage to the nearby
creek. A body, its burlap wrappings
dripping slime, was lifted to the surface.
Minutes later, after officials took
-
charge of the co
grabbed their shov
around the : |
unearthed t
separate bur__..
was lifted out at :
abouts of Asta B.
Greta, Harry, and
tery no longer.
Quiet Dell, anc
with indignation.
NE! morning
Powers was t
County morgue tc
corpses of the Eic!
slabs, Powers st:
bodies then turne:
God, isn’t that aw
But even then he
than having met
Ridge. As for the
to Chief Duckwo1
solutely nothing |
away to marry anc
cell Powers clamo
“T want to set nv
he kept shouting.
Chief Duckwo1
minister to visit h
Harry F. Powers ¢
“Tn the month o
Mrs. Asta B. Ei
children, Harry, G
using hammer an:
Meanwhile, und
Grimm the diggin
on unabated. Abo
29, one of the met
garage stopped wi
air, Fragments
peeped up at hin
Moments later ho:
the surface ~"")
the morgue it
Led by f
descended on Po
home and found a
correspondence
photographs. Not
identify the fifth c
Sheriff. Grimm
squad on to rene
the men to spread
on which Powers’;
that special attent
abandoned well, a:
cottage on the pre
Piecing together
taken from the gar
and Detective §
“Dorothy Pressle:
Mass.” Almost
Duckworth receive
phone call from th
law advising him
a newspaper pictur
as the likeness of
Mrs. Lemke und
Lowther” of Virg
He told Chief
relatives were reac
Clarksburg becau:
man when he visi
last July 27. The
parted with her sa
be married and li\
Towa; but not be
er proposition.
and trying to
could see that
‘and madder.
nly to his feet
eably.
e and poured
x. “Sure hope
you want it,
erspiration on
business if it
I brought him
ittle pig and I
but if Lou
or those coats,
ither sip of his
it, Fran, but if
ork it, I’m go-
re him into it.
ly pocket, and
going to have
‘e him to death
‘ee it. I won't
It wasn’t my
ture.
hat Lou and
room. I said,
ned to the
heme a crash
dedroom,
or tne room,
her shoulders,
her eyes two
almost at her
lown, a wide
> front of his
" T erted.
ie sobbed. “He
‘ying, to shove
ling open my
off, Fran, and
. The dresser
spotted your
ind threatened
er stop fooling
{ don’t know
shed his hand
id suddenly he
minutes were
linutes I ever
Carmody from
2 couch, where
h wound,” he
iss of worried
10ulder, thank
a doctor right
» was sitting
ouch, weeping
i, I knew, and
o handle her-
tioned. I said
vu, and get. out
up. I'll take.
his own
make up
y~~ get out,
a NC es a em
.and nobody'll ever know you were here
when it happened.”
It took about a minute for the words
to penetrate, then she rose and walked
swiftly to the closet. She walked out of
the apartment with the slow, measured
steps of a sleepwalker.
Immediately I heard the door close
behind her, I picked up the telephone
and called the police department, ex-
plaining that a man had accidentally shot
himself. ,
I was dressed, and sitting alongside
of Max when the police arrived. ‘And by
that time we had our story set. Max and
Carmody had dropped in to have a drink,
Carmody had gotten drunk and, while
Max and I were in the other room, had
accidentally shot himself, There was no
mention of Lou at all.
They waited around until the am-
bulance arrived, then Max and I were
taken down to the police station.
Of course I made the page one head-
lines. I was fairly well known on Broad-
way, and, the fact that I was a party
girl made me a made-to-order item for
the papers, Carmody, fortunately, had
suffered only a slight flesh wound, and
was able to leave the hospital a few days
later, His story to the police was sub-
stantially the same as ours. He was
drunk, he didn’t remember, Last thing
she moaned and Juliano held her as she
keeled over.
Returning to Atlantic City, Juliano
asked the horrified maid if she knew of
any one who would want to murder her
mistress. |
“Mrs. Schaaf was a kind lady,” she
sobbed. “She’d help anyone who came to
her.”
“Did she keep money or jewels around
the house ?”
“Yes. In a strong-box in her bedroom,”
Then she explained that the day her
mistress went away, she tried to get into
her bedroom but found it padlocked, She
couldn’t understand why, since Mrs.
Schaaf never locked her doors.
“That’s strange,” said Juliano, “Tell
me, who else was in the house the morn-
ing you left early ?”
“the two boarders, Mr. Louis F ine
and Walter Weiss.”
“Know anything about them?”
She said that both were nice gentle-
men. Mr, Fine had been taken in a year
‘before, while Mr. Weiss, younger than
Mr, Fine, had been boarding with Mrs.
Schaaf three years,
“Mrs. Schaaf didn’t have to take in
boarders, really,” the maid added. “She
was well off, but was happy having people
live in her large home.” Then she ex-
plained that Mr. Weiss worked in a
nearby town, and that Mr. Fine was a re-
tired businessman with a lot of money.
When they returned to the Connecticut
Hire a Tae oe et eto “adi
he remembered was sitting around in the
living room holding a drink in his hand.
They held Max, of course, as a wit-
ness, but I was the one they could pin
a rap on, Being a party girl made me
immediately suspect, but they couldn’t
do anything about that. But illegal pos-
‘session of a gun was something I could
be charged with.
Naturally, Lou wanted to go to the
police and tell them the whole story, but
I told her to stay out of it. I didn’t see
how it could help me, since it was my gun
anyway, and it could only hurt her, Be-
sides, I wanted her free to run around
and get me a lawyer.
She used all. our money—hers and
mine—and got me Jack McGuffey, one of
the best lawyers in town. And with all
that, it was still a tough case. I had no
visible means of support, and the district
attorney was able to build up in the jury’s
minds a question of my character, In the
end, I got six months in jail.
That was almost a-year ago, and to
all intents and purposes it’s all over and
past. But it’ll never be forgotten, be-
cause it taught me one thing. No matter
how easy the easy money looks, and no
matter how innocent you are technically,
being a. party girl is still much too close
to the fine border line between law and
lawless to make it worthwhile.
.O. B.
[Continued from page 9]
Avenue address, Captain Harrold sent
the maid to her home and ordered Juliano
to investigate Weiss and Fine and what
the latter did for-a living before he re-
tired.
Meanwhile the captain and Detective
Valentine Hoffman together with Chop-
linsky and Curran removed the padlock
from the murdered woman’s bedroom
door, They found everything in perfect
order, In a drawer of the dressing table
they discovered a strong-box containing
jewels and a_ substantial amount of
money, untouched, which seemed to rule
out robbery as a motive,
The puzzled officers continued their
search of the remaining rooms in the
large house but without results, , and
finally came to the cellar,
There, at last, Detective Hoffman’s
sharp eyes focused on something signifi-
cant.
“Say, look here!” he exclaimed.:
He pointed to a clean, rectangular ©
Space on the floor outlined distinctly
against the surrounding dust, the accu-
mulation of years.
“The trunk!” said Harrold. “Things
begin to add up. It looks like the short
trip Mrs, Schaaf took was down to the
cellar, and I don’t think she had a nice
time down here. I- guess we've found the
murder scene.” .
The rectangular space was immedi-
ately carefully measured; it conformed
precisely to the measurements of the
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91
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evidence against him, he was acquitted.
Mrs. Fine left him and went to live in
Hollywood, California.
“That's interesting,” commented Har-
rold.
Once in Harrold’s private office, Har-
rold and Choplinsky began questioning
the-suspect all over again,
“Do you know that Mrs, Schaaf’s body
was found in a Philadelphia rooming-
house, shipped there in a trunk taken
from her cellar ?” asked Harrold.
Fine’s forehead furrowed, “Shipped to
Philly in a trunk?” he asked puzzled,
“After she had been strangled to death.
and stripped of her clothes.”
“Good God!” Fine gasped and. his
hands went up to his face, “Why, I sent
that trunk out myself! Mr. Miller, whose
letters you found in my box, gave me
twenty-five dollars and asked me to do
him a favor as he was in a hurry to do
an errand that morning. He’s another
lodger in the house, you know, Poor Mrs.
Schaaf!” Louis Fine crumpled in a chair
and started crying.
- HAT kind of a man is this Henry
Miller?” asked Harrold,
Fine explained that Miller was younger
than he, had red hair, and sported, a
luxuriant growth of red whiskers.
At this point Juliano knocked at the
door and entered. He called the Captain
on the side to inform him that they had
caught Walter Weiss as he was sneaking
into the house. :
“Luck’s with us,’ said Harrold.
“Where is he?”
Pb pointed out a man in ahother
office beside Detective Hoffman. Walter
Weiss answered the description given by
Louis Fine. Was he the Henry Miller
who had murdered Mrs. Schaaf? He de-
cided to find the answer soon, and in-
structed Juliano to bring in the suspect:
in two ar three minutes,
As the Captain resumed questioning
Fine, Juliano brought Walter Weiss in,
Fine leaped to his feet and shouted:
“That’s Miller! He’s the man who mur-
dered Mrs. Schaaf! He’s the man who
asked me to have ‘the trunk shipped to
Philly !”
The other roomer, apparently shocked,
finally managed to blurt out: “The man’s
crazy ! My name is Weiss, not Miller,
And what's all this about a trunk ? I don’t
know anything about a trunk. What trunk
is he talking about?”
“All right, Frank.” Harrold motioned
to the detective to take Weiss out.
“You're not letting him go!” protested
Fine. “I’m telling you—he’s the Miller
you're looking for.”
‘Maybe so, Anyway, we’re not letting
him go yet. And if he is Miller, how do
we know that you didn’t help him ?”
Fine swore he was innocent, that he
had no reason to commit the murder.
Harrold was impassive. “If you are
innocent, you have nothing to worr
about. We'll find out the truth, We al-
ways, do. Anyway, in the meantime I am
holding the both of you.”
At ten that morning, Harrold gathered
the men who had been working on the
case for a conference,
“We are holding two men,” he began. .
“Either might be the killer—or both.
Now Detective May has done some fast
investigating and has come up with some-
thing that ought to bring quick results.
It seems that Mrs, Schaaf owned real
estate and cash in the banks to the tune
of about $800,000.”
“Now we don’t know yet how that fits
into the case,” continued Harrold, “nor
how the killer could benefit by it. But
somehow, I feel sure, it furnishes the mo-
tive for the murder. It would also ex-
plain why the jewels and money in the
cash box weren’t taken. This killer, who-
ever he was, wasn’t interested in peanuts.
He was interested in those eight hundred
G’s. Just what the scheme was, we still
have to find out.
“First we'll have to have the Hoffmans
come from Philly to take a look at Weiss
and Fine, also those two truckmen who
delivered the trunk. This case is just
about ready to be tied up and delivered.”
Detective Sergeant Curran called his
headquarters in Philadelphia and relayed
Captain Harrold’s instruction to Captain
Heanley who promised speedy action.
Meanwhile May, Juliano, and Hoffman -
scattered to find the truckman who had
delivered the trunk from the Connecti-
cut Avenue address to the Pennsylvania
Depot, and by noon they brought to Cap-
tain Harrold’s office two expressmen,
John McDevitt.and Robert Burket, who
claimed to have called for the trunk at —
Mrs, Schaaf’s home and that they, were
met by Louis Fine who had the trunk on
the porch,:
The captain sent for Fine. He was in-
formed that Fine had been seized by a
heart attack and rushed to the hospital.
This upset in his plans caused the gap-
tain to wait until all the witnesses were
assembled before he brought them to the
Atlantic City Hospital.
At 2:30 that afternoon the witnesses
were grouped together outside Fine’s
room. The doctor cautioned the captain
to bring in one witness at a time.
One by one McDevitt, Burket, Wein-
stein, Robinson, and the Hoffmans iden-
tified Louis Fine as Henry Miller.
ULIUS HOFFMAN, to make sure
he wasn’t mistaken, asked that a hat
be put on Fine’s head, and a nurse com-
plied with his request,
“Yes, That’s the Henry Miller who
rented our room,” said Hoffman emphati-
cally. “I would know him anywhere.”
Captain Eckstein hurried into the raom
to speak to Harrold.
“Look at this! I found it in a wallet
hidden under ‘the mattress in Fine’s
room,”
Harrold’s eyes opened wide as he read
the paper just handed him. It was a will
signed by the late Mrs. Mamie Schaaf,
naming Louis Fine as the sole beneficiary
of a fortune worth nearly a million dol-
lars, He approached the suspect and held
the will before his eyes.
“Well, Fine. You can cut out the act.
What explanation can you give about —
this ?”
The man bounced up from the bed as
though released by a spring, then dropped
back and said: “Mamie was very fond of
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A NA SA oA eR lk Ait cS, ‘ * Bhs
‘
lantic City. Juliano took his ‘time studying
the face and then decided that she was. He
didn’t know her name nor did he believe he
ever had spoken with her but he knew he’d
seen the face.
By this time the Philadelphia coroner’s
‘hysician had completed an autopsy and dis-
covered that the victim had been strangled
by a piece of cord which had been imbedded
so deeply in her neck that it hadn’t been
noticed at first. He also found that the victim
had a heavy dose of sedative in her system—
enough to cause her to lose consciousness.
The investigation now turned to Atlantic
City where Captain Frank J. Harrold took
charge. Detective Juliano returned and was
accompanied by Philadelphia’s Detective Ser-
geant Martin Curran.
By this time, Atlantic City Detective Frank
May had been trying to trace the route the
trunk had taken. From the Railroad Express
agency, he learned that the trunk had been
brought to the depot at 4 p.m. Friday by a
local trucker engaged by Mr. Miller. The
records failed to disclose the trucker’s name
and since the moving of luggage is a con-
siderable business in a resort city there are
‘a number of small firms in the business. May’s
job now was to find which outfit had han-
_ dled it, a job which boiled down to some
. brisk leg work. With only Miller’s name and
4
66
the time the trunk was delivered as facts to
work with, May was at it nearly 24 hours,
visiting one trucking firm after another, be-
fore he found what he wanted—a father and
son. working as partner on a small delivery
truck. They remembered Mr. Miller.
Oddly enough, they said they recognized
Mr. Miller’s name—not the gentleman him-
f, because after receiving a phone call from
ler and going to a house on Connecticut
Avenue, they found another gentleman wait-
ing for them who explained that Mr. Miller
had waited nearly an hour and then had to
leave for an appointment. The stranger took
them down to the basement of the house
and pointed out the trunk and paid them.
May asked the trucker what the man looked
like and wasn’t the least surprised when the
description—short, stocky, dapperly dressed—
was identical to the description of Miller
himself.
But the important thing was the house and
the truckers had a record of the address. A
short time later, Detectives Frank Juliano and
Martin Curran pulled up to a large house on
Connecticut Avenue. The house was a big
old fashioned affair with a porch that curved |
around two sides. Their knock was answered
by a young girl.
“Is Mr. Miller at home?” Juliano asked.
The girl looked puzzled. “There’s no Mr.
Miller here,” she said.
Juliano identified himself and asked who
lived in the house. “Mrs. Schaff lives here,”
she said.
“And do you live here?”
“l’m Mrs. Schaff’s maid.”
“Ts Mrs. Schaff at home?”
The maid shook her head and said that Mrs.
Schaff hadn’t been home since Friday. Then
they learned two highly interesting bits of
information. One was that Mrs. Schaff was
a gray-haired lady in her 60s whose exact
whereabouts were unknown to the maid and
the other was that two gentlemen, a Mr.
Travis and a Mr. Fine, were lodgers in the
house—but that neither was at home at the
moment. Memories two years old stirred in
the brain of Sergeant Curran. “Mr, Fine—is
he by any chance Mr. Louis Fine?” he asked.
The girl said that it was Mr. Louis Fine and
Curran ‘quickly asked her what he looked
like. When she told him that Fine was short
and broad-shouldered, Curran was convinced
that he was matched against the man he’d
FORT KNOX
met two years ago, the Louis Fine who had
been acquitted of the charge of trying to
murder his wife.
There was a brief consultation with De-
tective Juliano. “We know this man in Phila-
delphia,” Curran said. Then they asked Mrs.
Schaff’s maid if they could look through the
house, All the rooms in the house were open
to their inspection except Mrs. Schaff’s bed-
room—which was padlocked. “She keeps her
jewelry and things in there,” the maid ex-
plained. “She doesn’t even let me have a key.”
But they didn’t need a key to come up with
the kind of evidence for which they were
looking. In the basement, Juliano poked
around in the furnace and pulled out some
charred remnants of a woman’s dress, under-
clothing and a pair of shoes. On the floor of
the basement was a rectangular mark in the
earth as if something heavy—about the size
of a truck—had rested there.
"THEY showed the remains of the clothing to
the maid who promptly identified them as
having belonged to Mrs. Schaff. The maid
was highly upset by this time but before they
told her what it was all about, they questioned
her closely. She had last seen Mrs. Schaff on
Friday morning when she had served her
breakfast in bed. Mrs. Schaff had said she
was going away for the weekend and that
neither Mr. Travis or Mr. Fine would be in
the house and that she should take a small
vacation and go visit her relatives in Barnegat.
The maid left a few hours later and returned
late Sunday night to find that neither Mrs.
Schaff or her two lodgers were home.
From this the detectives knew that the
murder had taken place on Friday between
the hours of 9 a.m. when the maid last saw
Mrs. Schaff and 4 p.m. when the truckers
called for the trunk.
At this point they took Mrs. Schaff’s maid
to Philadelphia and asked her to view the
body at the city morgue. The girl took one
look and burst into tears. “It is Mrs. Schaff,”
she wailed. —
With this the detectives knew that they
had at least solved part of the mystery of the
body in the trunk. They also felt that they
had made fair progress in solving the second
part. There was, however, no positive proof
as yet that Louis Fine, the boarder at Mrs.
Schaff’s, was the same Louis Fine known o
Sergeant Curran. .
But when Juliano returned to Atlantic City
that Tuesday, he returned to Mrs. Schaff’s
house, and this time with the authority to
force the lock on Mrs. Schaff’s bedroom and
also with the intention of making an even
more careful search of the rest of the house.
When the officers gained entry to Mrs.
Schaff’s bedroom, they found it in good order,
It didn’t appear to have been ransacked,
there were no signs of a struggle and Mrs.
Schaff’s maid, who was induced to enter the
room, looked through the drawers and the
closets and said she could find nothing miss-
ing—even the jewelry worth several thousand
dollars was intact.
Then they reached the rooms occupied by
Mr. Travis and Mr. Fine, beginning, of course,
with Mr. Fine’s. Here also, there was no sign
of disorder. Articles of clothing hung in the
closet indicating that he intended to return.
They decided to make an even more careful
search, hoping to find some papers or other
evidence that would connect Louis Fine with .
the man so well known to Sergeant Curran.
prudently sunk a large chunk of his earnings
into maintaining an impressive bachelor suite
in a good hotel.
To all appearances, Louis Fine had become
an extremely eligible young man, and as a_
ladies’ man he seemed to have a Strong taste
for heiresses. It was after he’d been in New
York three years that he settled on Tillie
Furnstein, proposed marriage and was ac-
cepted.
Fine’s marriage to Tillie Furnstein apparently
was very happy. Because he was shrewd in
the way he handled her money, they lived
much the way they wanted to, which included
the best seats at the theater, one of Tillie’s
' extravagances and one they easily could
64
afford.
On a November afternoon after three years
of marriage, Fine phoned Tillie to tell her
he had two theater. tickets and would be home
shortly after 6,
It was from the Fine apartment at 6 o’clock
that night that Louis Fine made the urgent
call to the family doctor. “I can’t rouse Tillie,”
he said. “You’d better come right away.”
The doctor came at once and was taken into
the bedroom where Mrs. Fine lay fully clothed
‘across the bed. The doctor took one look,
felt for her pulse, pulled down the lids of her
eyes, then went to the phone and called for
the police emergency squad and an ambulance.
Mrs. Fine was taken to a hospital where she
died a few hours later and the New York
medical examiner set to work trying to figure
out why. What he discovered was that she
had died as a result of a massive dose of
sleeping pills, ,
Louis Fine looked aghast. Did his wife
ever take slecping pills, he. was asked.
The answer was yes, but rarely. Sometime
during the past year a doctor had given her
a prescription which she had filled but he had
objected to her taking them and he believed
she had thrown them away.
By this time the New York City police
were in on the questioning and they decided
to check with the drugstore the Fines patron-
ized. What they learned was that Mrs. Fine
recently had renewed the prescription.
But according to the medical examiner’s re-
port, it would have taken more than just one
prescription to account for the amount of pills
that had caused her death. The conclusion was
that she had saved up some of the pills from
her first prescription and added them to the -
second purchase. It was suicide, they ruled,
suicide that had been planned for some time
in advance,
Louis Fine said he couldn’t and didn’t
believe it. His wife simply wasn’t that kind .
of a woman. You couldn’t help but feel sorry
for poor Fine.
Two months later, with the help of $50,000
he inherited from his wife’s estate, he conclud-
ed the biggest real estate deal of his career,
and two months after that, he sold his furni-
ture and moved to Philadelphia.
Two years later, Louis Fine married again.
This time it was a wealthy widow whose
husband had been a successful businessman
and whose father had been very wealthy. The
larriage, however, came close to being the
listake of his life. From the Start it was a
problem marriage and the problem for Fine
was that he had a wife who understood him.
She also had an excellent understanding of
YOU CAN’T RAILROAD A 3-TIME KILLER continued from page 23
the business world and was perfectly capable
of managing her own considerable fortune.
To Fine’s distress, Bertha clearly saw that in
handling her affairs he had a strong tendency
to use her money for the highly risky ventures
and his own when he got wind of a sure
thing. When there was a loss to be taken, she
took it. When there was an easy profit to be
made, her husband was there with his out-
Stretched hand.
Bertha began keeping a careful watch on
all the transactions her husband made with
her money and asked to see contracts and.
figures. Life became miserable for Louis
Fine, accustomed as he was to women who
accepted a smile and an assured wave of his
hand as an answer to any serious question,
He felt hampered and restricted and there is
considerable evidence that he began to brood
about a way to-get out from under the short
leash. ;
None of this attracted any notice outside
of the family until a couple of years later
when the Philadelphia police got an urgent
call from the Fine home—a hugh rambling
Structure in downtown Philadelphia. The
caller was a relative of Mrs. Fine who
pleaded with them to get an ambulance over
to the house as quickly as possible.
When the ambulance and a police lieu-
tenant and a couple of patrolmen arrived,
they found the front door of the house
‘Standing open and Mrs, Fine’s relative run-
ning from room to room opening windows as
fast as he could. Inside, there was a very
Strong smell of gas, Mrs, Fine was in her
bedroom in need of medical attention but
that she hadn’t breathed her last was some-
thing she could thank her relative for.
The relative’s explanation to the police was
highly unusual. He had come to the house
to visit Mrs. Fine and entered when no one
answered his knock. The house was filled
with gas, However, he kept his head and
dashed up to the bedroom where he found
the unconscious Mrs. Fine and threw open
the window. Then he called the police. But
it wasn’t until then that he realized that the
gas jets in every one of the rooms in the
house had been opened.
(THE house was built in the days of illumi-
nating. gas and the jets had been left intact
when electricity was installed. It was con-
ceivable that one of the jets could have been
opened accidentally—but not all of them.
The relative doubted that Mrs. Fine, a
practical woman with a firm grip on the
world, would be the kind to attempt suicide.
And so it was that the family and police came
to consider the possibility that someone had
tried to murder Mrs. Fine and the case was
- given to Detective Sergeant Martin Curran
They naturally supposed that Mrs. Fine
would be highly alarmed when they broke
the news to her. But the only surprise was
their own at Bertha Fine’s reaction. When
they told her all the gas jets had been opened,
she smiled a wry smile and said, “I knew
he’d try it again!”
“Who try what?”
“My husband,” she said. “He tried it once
before by giving me an overdose of sleeping
pills. I managed to call the doctor in time
and he pumped out my stomach. Louis had
given me something for a headache. He in-
sisted that he thought he had_ been giving
me some aspirin. I suspected he was lying
and now I know he was. I want him ar-
rested.”
“Wait a minute,” Curran cautioned her.
“We’re not at all sure he was the person who
turned the gas jets on. We'll conduct an in-
vestigation, Your husband will be questioned
along with everyone else who had access to
the house.”
“You can conduct your investigation, Lieu-
tenant, but I want him arrested. Perhaps
you're not sure about it but I am.”
“Are you willing to sign a complaint?”
“Absolutely.”
And she did, with the result that Louis
Fine was arrested on a charge of felonious
assault with attempt to kill,
It was a highly serious charge and to a
good many friends and business associates, it
was absurd, but in November of 1929 Louis
Fine came to trial in Philadelphia Superior
Court.
There was considerable evidence against
him although all of it was circumstantial.
Louis Fine, represented by an excellent lawyer,
looked poised and utterly unworried. As for
‘a motive, there was the testimony by Mrs.
Fine that the last year of their marriage had
been marked by furious arguments, mostly
concerned with financial matters, and further
that Fine had squandered or lost some $30,000
she had given him to invest. It was also al-
leged that Fine had been in the house with
his wife 20 minutes before the gas was dis-
covered and had given her a glass of warm
milk which had caused her to fall asleep. -
But the jury was having none of it. They
listened to several days of arguments and
then retired to find Louis Fine not guilty,
He was a free man but it marked the end of
his marriage to Bertha, who quickly divorced
him and moved to California.
Louis Fine, deciding that he would move
away, too, sold most of his interests and an-
nounced he was going to retire. A good many
people, Detective Martin Curran among them,
believed they understood. the reason why
Philadelphia no longer had any appeal for
Fine, and firmly believed they’d seen the last
of him.
It was on March 3, 1932, a Thursday, some
two years after Louis Fine’s sudden de-
parture, that a taxi pulled up in front of a
rooming house on Philadelphia’s North Fifth
Street and a prosperous looking gentleman got
out and rang the doorbell. -
The landlady answered it and the pros-
perous looking gentleman asked her if she
had a room to let. The landlady was flattered.
Clearly this was a man who was used to the
better things in. life and who could have been
expected to stay at a good hotel downtown.
He introduced himself as Mr. Miller.
She took him up one flight of stairs to a
large high-ceilinged room at the front of the
house. There was a double bed and an old
fashioned wardrobe, which the prosperous
gentleman took in with one fast look, and
nodding affably, said it would do and peeled
off a month’s rent in advance. He left saying
he would return in a day or so with his
things.
On Saturday night Mr. Miller appeared
again with two men who carried a large
trunk up to his room.
The owners of the house didn’t see much
of Mr. Miller over the weekend and the land-
anc
enc
bri
hor
assi
gat)
cut
up
fror
City
rem:
gow
took
at t)
It w
open
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tions
was t])
cramn
double
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| d, who came to clean things up
y morning, didn’t _ believe Mr.
sept in his bed at all. But there
utter of the trunk that stood in
jof the room. This, the man de-
ii be moved, so that he could do a
ys job of mopping, since it ap-
jt something had been spilled on
ight where the trunk was standing.
lben spilled? No, he thought not—
‘gemed to be something that came
tunk itself—a dark, glazed fluid.
posed something had broken inside
twhen it was being moved and he
{if he should open it up to see if
[prevent further damage. Suddenly
set with another suspicion. He got
put his finger to the fluid. It was.
ai gave off a disagreeable odor. He
the door and called his wife.
blood, you fool,” she said.
ou think we should open it?”
k you should call the police!”
RT time later, officers from the Cal-
ill Street precinct house arrived at the
house. They examined the sticky
agreed with the landlady that it was
t they refrained from opening it and
the Philadelphia homicide squad.
tudying the still unopened trunk,
Lieutenant Harry Choplinsky asked
lord who occupied the room.
iller,” he said.
e lived here long?”
since Thursday.”
does he do for a living?”
idn’t say.”
e go to work every day?”
ll the truth, we’ve only seen him
e day he took the room, and on
the day he brought the trunk in.”
swer was all Choplinsky needed to
all the morgue and tell them to
it up,” he told his men.
time the trunk got to the morgue
were ready to open it, it had roused
terest in the police department to
ptain Harry Heanley, chief of the
squad, and Joseph Le Strange,
superintendent of police. They all
around as Heanley and Choplinsky
gh the hinges at the back and pulled
p. Inside were two newspapers, one
iladelphia and one from Atlantic
ther was bloodstained. When they
these they found a woman’s night-
ban and neatly folded. When they
away they found themselves looking
p of another trunk inside the first.
neat fit and as they began prying
top they wondered if they weren’t
t a Chinese puzzle of ever diminish-
rned out, there were only the two
h deal with. When they got the
up, they found their worst predic-
ified. The trunk’s horrible burden
body of a gray-haired, nude woman,
into the trunk with her knees
p to her chin, It wasn’t until the
ttendants hauled her from the box
saw she. was a woman well into
d a little over average height. There
bruises on her body except on her
d it was the initial judgment of the
xaminer that death had come as a
manual strangulation.
None of them recognized her and a phone
call to police headquarters quickly established
that no one had reported a woman of her
description missing in the past several weeks.
As it stood, police could attack the case
from three directions—by identifying the
woman and trying to trace the last hours of
her life, trying to identify the mysterious
“Mr. Miller’? who had rented the room
where the trunk was found, or by tracing the
trunk itself.
Neither the trunk or the newspapers bore
any fingerprints whatsoever, even the out-
side, which had been handled by the moving
men, had been wiped clean.
The landlord, who had watched the trunk
being carried into the house, felt reasonably
certain that they were legitimate truckers.
They had driven up in a van with the
name of a trucking company on the outside,
but it was, alas, a name he couldn’t remember.
The room “Mr. Miller” had occupied was
also clean of fingerprints and absolutely bare
of any personal effects by which he might be
identified. It appeared as though he had
rented the room for the express purpose of
unloading the trunk there. Moreover, the
* newspapers had been Friday’s, the day after
he took the room, and the day before he left
the trunk, which suggested a premeditated
sequence of events.
Since one of the newspapers came from
Atlantic City, Captain Heanley got in touch
with the police department there. The At-
lantic City police had no idea who the victim
might be—no one by that description had
been reported missing—but they agreed to
send a couple of detectives over to view the
body. :
Meanwhile, Heanley had his men asking
questions in the neighborhood of the rooming
house and found two other people who noticed
the moving van in front of the house the
previous Saturday night. One of them thought
he remembered the name of the trucking
company and gave it to the detectives. The
detectives hot-footed it over to the company’s
office where the van men remembered the
trunk very well. They had picked it up at
the railroad express freight depot and de-
livered it to the rooming house.
“Who made the arrangements?” the de-
tective asked.
“The guy phoned me and told me to pick
it up,” and then he stopped and thumbed
through his records until he came to the name.
“Miller—Henry Miller was his name.”
“Did you ever do business with him be-
fore?”
“Never. He seemed pretty fussy about the
way we handled the trunk. I’m not anxious
to see him again.”
The detectives had made the first step in
tracing the trunk. Their next step was to con-
tact the Railway Express agency and find
out how the trunk got into their warehouse.
The agency records showed that the trunk
had been shipped to a Mr. Henry Miller from
Atlantic City. The name of Henry Miller also
was listed as the sender, but records of how the
trunk got to the Atlantic City Express office
would be in Atlantic City.
Meanwhile, an Atlantic City detective had
arrived in Philadelphia and gone to view the
body at the morgue. The detective, Frank
Juliano, was known for his excellent memory
for faces and he figured he could say whether
the victim was a permanent resident of At-
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They searched drawers, pockets, looked under
the rug and behind picture frames. They
were beginning to believe that Fine traveled
with all the documents he possessed until they
got to the bed. It was Detective Juliano who
searched the bed and made the discovery that
there were two tiny slits in the mattress along
the edges of a seam where they would escape
discovery by anyone but a highly suspicious
searcher. In these two slits, Juliano found
several packets of papers that made highly
interesting reading. Most of them were busi-
ness papers, deeds to property, which _ indi-
cated that Fine was fairly well heeled. But
there was also a document that proved that
he had expectations of far greather wealth—
in the event of Mrs. Schaff’s death. This was
a will, less than a week old, that stipulated
that Mr. Louis Fine, “my dear and faithful
friend,” stood to inherit all of her worldly
possessions.
It was as clear a motive as could be im-
agined. Of course, the fact that Fine’s first
wife had died from an overdose of sleeping
pills was well known to Curran, even though
this could not be mentioned in court when he
was being tried for the attempt on the life of
the second Mrs. Louis Fine, who had also
been drugged. The coroner’s report that Mrs.
Schaff had been drugged before she was
strangled didn’t at all surprise Curran, who
was certain that they were on the trail of a
monster who had made wife-drugging a way
of life.
And it was with these strong suspicions
that Curran picked up a yellowed newspaper
clipping. It was in German and they sent out
for a detective who could read the language
to translate it for them. The clipping was
from a 1914 Viennese newspaper and con-
cerned the tragic death of a 17-year-old-girl,
Lydia Vareska, recently married to one Lug-
wig Figner. The girl’s body had been found
strung up in a Viennese hotel and her hus-
band was wanted for questioning because of
official suspicion arising from the fact that she
had been heavily drugged before being hanged.
“Maybe that’s where he got his inspiration,”
Curran suggested.
“t don’t think so,” Juliano said, and
handed over a small booklet he'd been
studying. It was a passport issued by the
Russian Imperial government in 1915. There
was a photograph, partially scraped off, but
quite clearly a youthful version of Louis Fine.
But the name under the photograph was not
Fine. It was Ludwig Figner.
Now it was clear. Fine’s talent for drug-
ging wealthy ladies had been perfected in
Vienna 18 years before and he used it to
further his advancement when he immi-
grated to America.
All that was left was to locate Fine—or
Figner—because now the evidence against him
was irrefutable. They knew that he must
have plans to return to the scene if he was
ever going to cash in on Mrs. Schaff’s will.
And the most likely place for him to show
up would be at the house itself. They de-
cidéd to bait a trap and carefully returned all
the documents to the mattress and arranged
the room just as they’d found it. Then they
persuaded Mrs. Schaff’s maid to stay in the
house just as though nothing had happened,
assuring her that three detectives would re-
main in the house with her. She reluctantly
agreed.
That night they contacted Mrs. Schaff’s
lawyer and asked him what the value of Mrs.
Schaff’s estate was. The lawyer’s estimate was
a whopping $700,000. And _ police felt more
certain than ever that Louis Fine would make
an appearance soon.
The maid and the detectives stayed in the
house all Tuesday night. On Wednesday a post
card addressed to Mrs. Schaff from Louis
Fine arrived in the mail informing her that
he would arrive that afternoon. It was mailed
from Delaware. A letter to the dead was, in
the opinion of the detectives, a poor attempt
to substantiate his claim that he knew
nothing of the murder.
That afternoon a cab pulled up to the
front of the house and Louis Fine got out
and came up to the front door and rang the
bell. It was answered by the maid who was
trembling violently.
“What on earth is the matter?” the de-
tectives heard Fine ask her.
The maid broke into tears. She actually
was badly frightened at being face to face
with Fine, but Fine could only mistake her
tears for grief. She sobbed out the story of
Mrs. Schaff’s horrible murder, showing him:
a copy of the morning paper.
Fine couldn’t believe his eyes, he said. He
was shocked. He was grief-stricken. But, when
he heard that detectives had been at the
house, he hastily excused himself and bounded
up the stairs to his room. There, as Detectives
Curran and Juliano moved silently into the
doorway behind him, he stripped back the
covers of the bed and stuck his fingers in the
little slits in the mattress and drew out some
papers. He quickly stuffed them into his
pockets and pulled down the covers—and
turned to see the detectives.
It was a bad moment for Louis Fine.
“We've read them, Louis... or Ludwig...”
Juliano said.
Fine said nothing but he looked very weak
and stumbled backward into a deep chair. He
looked very old then, as though he didn’t
have much energy to buck the inevitable.
Still silent, he was led from the house to the
Atlantic City police station where he was
charged with the murder of Mrs. Schaff.
Louis Fine was brought to trial on June
6, 1932. The trial was brief and to the point.
The other lodger, the only other possible sus-
pect, had had an excellent alibi. And the
truckers and the landlady of the Philadelphia
rooming house had excellent memories. The
defense could find little to say that would
show that Fine could not or did not drug and
strangle Mrs. Schaff in the hopes he would
come into a $700,000 estate. It was all over
in four days and the jury retired for less than
two hours to return with the verdict of
guilty of murder in the first degree. There
was no recommendation of mercy which
made it mandatory for Judge Donges to sen-
tence him to death in the electric chair.
Fine’s attorneys appealed and it wasn’t
until another year had passed that all possi-
ble appeals had been made and rejected.
On June 12, 1933, Louis Fine was taken to
the electric chair at the State Prison at Tren-
ton and put to death, despite his loud and
frequent lamentations that he was being
railroaded.
The sum of Louis Fine’s ill-gotten gains
has never been accurately appraised. But
including the $17,000 he earned from Lydia
Vareska—as Ludwig Figner—the figure stands
well over $100,000. And the final effort, Mrs.
Schaff’s $700,000, would have emerged as the
pinnacle of a lifetime of horrors. am
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The trigger man in the Salem murder, Pete Giordano, (left) ‘was sentenced to
die in the electric chair. At right, Patrolman Linney guards Charles Fithian as
The desperate bandit leader, Fithian, had
escaped.
“When did he go?” demanded the
sheriff, one of the first on the scene.
“While the prisoners were at dinner,”
replied Hopkins.
“How?”
“Up through that hole sawed in the
mess room roof by Craven when he
made his break, through the hospital
and out over the roof.”
“Show us.”
”
The warden led the way into a low-
ceilinged room. On three sides were
cells, divided into upper and lower tiers
by an iron gallery. In the ceiling, just
outside the door of the last cell to the
right, was a gaping aperture about
twenty-two by fifteen inches.
“There,” said Hopkins, pointing to the
hole. “He swung open the cell door,
used it as a ladder, broke open the tin
sheeting that covered the hole and
crawled through.”
Searching parties were sent out im-
mediately to comb the city, swamps and
woods, and to block all roads out of
Salem. The state police were warned.
Dixon stayed behind and _ pieced to-
gether the story. It was this:
Fithian and Giordano had been offi-
cially docketed at the lockup at 11:20
a. m., and placed in two adjoining cells
in the lower tier. They spent most of
the afternoon talking together and ex-
changing cigarettes, ignoring the other
sixteefi prisoners in the place.
Just after 5 o’clock, Hopkins fetched
the prisoners’ supper of meat, coffee,
vegetables and set it on a long, wooden
table in the center of the main room.
The doors of the cages were opened and
the prisoners sat down to eat.
Neither of the two killers partook of
food. Nervous and disagreeable, they
paced the floor until the guard went
back for more food. Then Fithian dis-
appeared into his cell.
There, in the semi-darkness, the gang
ADVENTURES
the bandit leader is questioned by Troy, N. Y. police officials.
chief ripped off the sweater he had been
wearing. Quickly he fashioned it into
a dummy and stuck it beneath the bed
clothing.
When the guard had made another
trip out, Fithian darted from his cell.
In his hand was a .38 caliber pistol.
Threatening to shoot the first to make
an outcry, he called Giordano and dashed
to the gallery directly beneath the ill-
repaired break.
Swinging open the door of the end
cell, Fithian used it as a ladder. He
tore off the thin sheeting over the hole
and clambered through. Giordano, how-
ever, could not get through and had to
give up.
Fithian emerged into the floor above
waving the pistol in front of him. The
room in which. he found himself was
supposed to be the jail hospital, but
actually it was a juvenile cell block
occupied by a number of youthful
prisoners.
Daring Getaway
HE murderer, his blue eyes icy cold,
warned them that the first to make
a sound would be killed. He pulled a
table to a position beneath a ventilator
and clambered ip.
This vent was covered with a guard
of cast iron. Fithian butted his head
against the iron till it cracked. Then
he wiggled his way through the opening.
One of the youths clambered up on
the table and saw the fugitive run across
the roof to a decorative cupola on one
corner. He ducked into this for con-
cealment.
Then the fleeing man kicked out the
boards on the side overlooking the Sur-
rogate’s office, located in an old, colonial
building ten feet below. For a moment
Fithian posed on the roof, then he
jumped. Barely gaining the roof of the
lower building, he narrowly escaped
falling backward into the alley below.
That was the last seen of him. The
boys said he must have hurt himself
in the leap because he rubbed one leg
and limped as he made off.
The escape of Fithian aroused the
sheriff to even greater activity than had
the murder for which the man was
doomed to die. Giordano was brought
from his cell and subjected to a rigorous
grilling. He admitted knowing of the
plot, saying that Fithian had obtained
the pistol and nearly $100 in cash by
rolling a drunk, and expressed the belief
that “the boss” had escaped in a car
provided by friends.
“Yes, I was to go along,” he snarled.
“But Fithian double crossed me. I hope
he gets caught, the dirty rat. He was
supposed to give me a hand when he got
through the hole in the ceiling, but he
went right on without ever turning his
head.”
The search for Fithian went on. The
Salem County Board of Freeholders,
roundly censured for failing to have the
ceiling repaired properly, sought to make
amends by putting a price of $500 on
Fithian’s head. But even this brought
no results.
And then one Saturday night, up in
the city of Troy, New York, a tall,
gaunt lad with his chin in his upturned
coat collar and his hat pulled deep over
his eyes, applied for shelter at a room-
ing house.
The proprietor showed the man, who
had given him the name of John Plaite,
to a room on the second floor. Then he
went back downstairs and did some
heavy thinking.
There had been a picture under the
caption “Escaped Slayer” in the Troy
Record a few days before. The rooming
house operator remembered it. He dug
up the paper, and after refreshing his
memory, became convinced that the man
he harbored was Charles Fithian.
71
Fithian’s Fatal Error
E IMMEDIATELY telephoned the
police. Sergeant Peter Keating re-
ceived the call, He knew little of the
Salem case, but instinct told him he was
about to make an important capture.
He called James Linney, patrolman on
the beat, and outlined the situation.
“Watch the house until we get there,”
he said. “But don’t go in yet. He’s
dangerous and may have a confederate.”
Within less than five minutes, Keating
himself was at the house, together with.
Sergeant Willard Bulson, Linney and
Patrolman John McGraw.
The landlord was waiting outside.
He pointed out Fithian’s room. The
policemen climbed the stairs and stood: °
in the narrow, ill-lighted hallway. They .
knocked on the door.
There was a pause of ten seconds and® *
then the traveler swung open the portal.
Keating and his men closed in with
drawn pistols and pinioned his arms to
his sides,
The prisoner appeared more amused
than anything else. :
“What’s all this, boys?” he asked.
“Guess you know,” answered Keating.
. gotten, how,
#“You're Charles Fithian and they want
you down in Salem.”
The reply was very smooth: “You
got me all wrong. My name’s John Plaite
atid I’m looking for a job. I just got in
this morning. I’ve never been in Salem
in my life; my home’s in Indiana.”
The newspaper photo was shown him.
“It looks like me,” he admitted. “But
there’s an awful mistake some place.
You know everyone has a double and I
guess that’s mine.”
Keating and his men were puzzled.
Still they couldn’t get the hunch out of
their systems. They took the suspect
to the office of Captain John F, Lynch
and explained their trouble.
“Whereabouts in Indiana are you
from, buddy?” asked Lynch.
“Goshen,” replied the suspect.
“Spell it,” said the captain.
“G-o ... gee, that’s funny. I’ve for-
” replied. the suspect.
“Get Salem on the wire,” said Lynch.
Detective Kidd arrived in Troy the
next morning.’ He was shown into the
captain’s office and the prisoner was
brought in to confront him.
’ “Good morning, Charlie,” said the
captain, ©
“My name’s not Charlie,” retorted the
prisoner.
Kidd spoke up. “You can’t fool me,
Fithian,” he said, not unpleasantly.
The suspect was silent. Then he
grinned.
“Okay, Bob,” he said. “It’s all up.
I'll go with you.”
Fithian steadfastly refused to impli-
cate his friends in his escape.
“That’s a lot of bunk,” he said. “I did
it myself. I ducked out back of the
jail, stole a boat and rowed up the river
till I thought it was safe to grab a hike
to Philly. .
“T rented a room in Market street,
right near City Hall, got a job in a
lunch room and hung around a couple
of days reading all about my desperate
deeds in.the newspapers. When I de-
cided it was time to scram, I grabbed
another hike to Poughkeepsie and an-
other to Troy. And if they hadn't
caught me there, they never would.”
Neither Fithian nor Giordano has
walked the “last mile” as this is written.
Appeals have obtained brief respites for
both of them. But the time is growing
short when they must answer to the
state for the murder of McCausland.
The Mu
“Why,” he said, “she is where I can
go to her any day or any hour just when
I like.”
Phoebe asked if he were jealous. of
others being with her. '
“No,” he said. “When I am not with
her, nobody else is either.”
Naturally after a.while Mrs. Martin
began to wonder why her daughter did
not write to her, and Corder replied first
that she was a poor writer and after-
wards that she was too busy; but he
delivered supposed messages from the
girl and took letters to her.
Corder, with his show of blatant self-
confidence, felt that any sudden de-
parture from Polstead would arouse sus-
picion, but after the corn was stored in
the red barn he left the village and made
preparations for a trip to France. Let-
ters came to the Martins now and then.
from foreign cities, always containing ~
loving messages from Maria, but never.
a personal word from her.
Then in March, ten months after the
ghastly murder had been committed in
the red barn, Mrs. Martin had her. dream.
Not only once, but three times, did the
spirit of Maria tell her mother to look
for her body under the pile of corn.
The horrible discovery led to a war-
rant for the arrest of William Corder.
Suspicion against him was _ further
aroused when a cutler in Hadleigh told
the authorities that some time previous
to the murder Corder had come to him
with a little sword which he asked to be
ground up “as sharp as a carving knife.”
_Mrs. Stow remembered that off the after-
noon of the murder Corder had bor-
rowed a spade from her,
72
[Continued from page 69]
Corder’s notes—his finishing touches
were too perfect, and proved his un-
doing. ‘They were easily traced from
the postmarks, and the officials had no
difficulty in finding their man when
armed with a close and accurate descrip-
tion of him. Corder had never left
London from the time he arrived there
in May, 1827. He had several of his
letters sent to the Martins by friends in
different parts of England to give the
impression that he and Maria were
traveling. Indeed, Corder; who thought
himself so secure, had been teaching
school for several months, and was in
the act of demonstrating a problem in
physics to his pupils when he was ar-
rested and charged with the murder in
‘the red barn!
He repeatedly denied any knowledge
_ of a person named Maria Martin, but in
his: room were found her black velvet
reticule and the brown ‘Holland bag, two
pistols, which. Corder said he had since
the age of ten (a type that had not yet
been invented when he was a boy), an
unused passport to France and the sword
which had been ground “as sharp as a
carving knife.”
Tried For Murder
HE trial of William Corder was held
in the summer of 1828—“The King
Agt. William Corder. For the Wilful
Murder of. Maria Martin.” The brief
opens like this:
First Count. The Jurors for our Lord
the King upon their Oath present that
William Corder late of the Parish of
Polstead. within the. Liberty of Bury
rder in the Red Barn
Saint Edmunds in the county of Suffolk
Yeoman on the Eighteenth Day of May
in the Year of the Reign of our Sover-
eign Lord George the fourth by the
Grace of God of the United Kingdom of
Great Britain and Ireland King De-
fender of the Faith with force and arms
at the Parish aforesaid within the Liber-
ty aforesaid in the County aforesaid in
and upon one Maria Martin in the peace
of God and our said Lord the King then
and there being feloniously and wilfully
and of his malice aforethought did make
an Assault.”
This first count goes on to record how
Corder with “a Pistol of the value of two
shillings then and there charged with
Gunpowder and one leaden bullet (which
' Pistol he the said William Corder in his
right hand then and there had and held)
. .. . did ‘discharge and shoot off at
against and upon the said Maria Martin,
“who,” of which said Mortal Wound...
then and there instantaneously died.”
Corder was accused of murdering
Maria in seven different ways, including
strangulation with the green plaid hand-
kerchief she wore. Following the pistol,
“with a certain sharp instrument to wit
a sword of the value of one shilling...
he ... did strike thrust stab and pene-
trate .... of which said Mortal Wound
the said Maria Martin instantly died.”
In fact, the unfortunate girl seems to
have “instantly died” not fewer than
seven times,
Finally . . . . “And that the said
William Corder her the said Maria Mar-
tin into a certain hole dug and made in
and under the floor of a certain situate
in the Parish aforesaid .... there with
‘
YW
Di
EERE RAINEE
THE
CHRONICLES OF NEW BRUNSWICK,
NEW JERSEY
1667-1931
By
Joun P. Watt
!
One thousand copies privately printed
Thatcher-Anderson Company
Publishers and Printers
New Brunswick, N. 8
PUBLIC AND SCHOOL LIBRARY SERVICES BUREAU
Division of State Library, Archives and History
New Jersey Department of Education
EY
Pitus. If his trial
wd not have been
ne in this county,
xecuted on April
ite of the Bayard
execution inthe
reaking the first
lef Justice Horn-
President of the
‘neral, Molleson,
Wood and John
ry. Suydam was a
on of the south-
the upper part of
ving in return a
d by his friends
lat he was only
*' idea of get-
hea vould cancel
invited Suydam
3, in order to
ame. Robinson,
contemplate the
pers. Robinson
of the head and
large amount of
Robinson down
im, and left him
n he went there
threw him into
e spade, dashed
the corpse with
of December hy
t Robinson, As
n disappearance
themselves into
« would be tolled ;
ae
it ne ns
CHRONICLES OF NEW BRUNSWICK, NEW JERSEY 323
arched for him) during two weeks. It was
squads and actively se
Hlouse bell
understood that, when the body was found, the Court
and on the night of the 14th, the tolling of the bell
of the old Union Hall struck terror into many hearts.
John lox
The trial of Fox for the murder of John Henry occurred in the
Spring of 1856. The defendant at time of his exccution was a young
aranee and about twenty-one years old.
man of prepossessing: appe
a considerable
Fox came from Canada to this country and lived for
time in New York City, from whence he went to Flizabethtown and
there pursued the vocation of florist, also was a member of a band
of young burglars, of whom, it is probable Henry was also one.
During his stay in Elizabeth he became acquainted with young Henry,
ars of age, son of a prominent citizen of New York, whom
confidence of himself and wife, and with whom
latter in De-
cighteen ye
he introduced into the
he principally associated until the disappearance of the
cember, 1855,
The accidental discovery of young Henry with his throat horribly
cut, was made on Sunday, December 30, 1855, in a gully about half
amile below the steamboat dock in this city, now called “Fox's Gully.”
whereupon Coroner Mitchel impancled a jury of inquest, upon whose
verdict was based the arrest of John Fox at Hlizabeth on the morning
of December 31, 1855. Messrs. A. V. Schenek and IT. V. Speer ap-
peared as counsel for the prisoner, and Attorney-General 2k
Vroom, Hon. John Van Dyke and Ex-Recorder Talmadge, of New
York, appeared for the State. Judge Vredenburgh presided.
The evidence in the trial proved Fox's guilt conclusively.
Fox was convicted and sentenced to be hung on July 26, 1856,
but obtained a reprieve for a month, He kept his bravado spirit
to the last and, as he said he would, “died game.” During the time
which intervened between his conviction and execution he er rated a
great furor among the ladies of the town, who sent bouquets nearly
every day to him and to whom he in turn indited “poems.” He
was hung on the 25th of August, 1856, and made no confession.
Joseph Williams
Joseph Williams was executed for the murder of John A, Reddick,
on July 5, 1867, one month hefore the execution of Bridget Dergan.
On the 17th of December, 1806, Joseph Williams and his victim,
pana EM est tf
Ae he Smee apc oI &
po Pa gees
dan. Sat-
Frazer
the wide
- soundly,
ed him it
; way!
Was re-
ched that
where he
carrying,
yf Phoebe
brush to
any evi-
ealing his
ath in his
of Mrs.
h. It ar-
wing day,
r, the hus-
(mara. It
Elizabeth
entified it
vife.
yr. George
ity Physi-
; only one
the head,
let, which
the rear
‘he bullet,
the skull,
it for evi-
1 the pre-
had been
and at this
news. It
resembling
had been
edon, near
hes proved
Stader, it
tion of the
ids of the
Neverthe-
in building
leigh with
e night of
nd reached
y, part of
iutomobile.
Prosecutor
or amplify
er’s killing.
. supplying
ory he first
ad map of
I am satis-
o the effect
ind it went
New Jersey.
ie gun acci-
uld not say
‘ter leaving
y of Mrs.
‘athing, and
| alive when
on Freling-
New Jersey;
1 I reached
car she was
ve died be-
the Durant
the time I
y.... The
»bile are the
ve the ring
Silla nn a tne
innit,
October, 1932
THAT part of Frazer’s statement
definitely fixed the death of the
wounded Phoebe Stader in Union
County and gave us jurisdiction in the
case.
Relative to his disposition of Mrs.
Stader’s body, Frazer said, in part:
“I left Washington about seven or
eight o'clock in the morning. The body
was still in the car—in the back of the
car. [| next stopped in Richmond—
about noontime I guess. I can’t say
definitely. I stopped just to get gas.
Then I went toward Raleigh. I don’t
know where | stopped next, maybe in
Virginia. I don’t know how far I drove
—it was on the road that I took out
the body. It was daytime. It was still
light. [ have no idea of the time. |
stopped on the main road. I could not
carry her around forever; so | stopped
to remove the body.
“1 dragged the body maybe a block;
I don’t know. The ground was not
paved. It was not a city, that is a
cinch. It was a field; it was not bare,
but there were not many trees or shrubs.
I then removed the clothing. I took the
clothes off; I used scissors. I suppose
they were the scissors found in the car.
I am not positive. You use scissors for,
a patch if you get a blowout... .”
Again he told details of the killing.
His statement on that point said, in
part:
“I found out Mrs. Stader was dead
in New Jersey, I don’t know how long
after I shot her. I was so excited I did
not know what | was doing. I wanted
the gun out in case anyone bothered
us—to have it in the front seat in case
anybody bothered us. I don’t know
where the bullet went. I ‘knew she was
dead because she started to get cold. I
put my hand on her. I did not take
her to a doctor because I was excited
and did not know what to do. It never
occurred to me to take her to a doc-
tor....
“RIGHT before the gun went off I do
not know what we were talking
about. We were half barreled-up. |
could not tell what she said right after
I shot her.... I got out of the front
seat and got the gun from the back of
the rear seat. I started to turn around
and the gun went off. I kept the gun in
my car until I left Rahway, then I
placed it in my suitcase and had it in
the suitcase in my room at 112 Halifax,
Raleigh, North Carolina.
“1 threw Mrs. Stader’s clothes on the
road some miles from where I placed
the body—I do not know how far from
where I placed the body. Mrs. Stader
was wearing an equamarine ring and
a necklace made of silver. | threw the
necklace away. I took the ring from
her finger, using a pair Of pliers I had
in the car. In removing the ring |
broke it. I have this ring in my pocket
and now produce it and identify it a
the ring | removed from Mrs. Stader’
finger. I removed the ring from her
finger so as to prevent identification of
her body, and removed her clothing for»
the same reason. I destroyed Mrs.
Stader’s pocketbook by burning it up
in the stove in my mother’s home in
Rahway, New Jersey. It contained
about one dollar and a half or two
The Master Detective
65
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66
dollars in money, which I took.”
We took Frazer over the route he
traveled that fateful night of February
17th, from the point where Phoebe
Stader had entered his car in Weldon,
New York, to the door of Frazer’s
mother’s home in Rahway, where he
had parked his car containing the wo-
man’s body. He readily corroborated
his signed statement by pointing out
the spots mentioned—but he would not
admit that the killing was other than
an accident.
“I was in love with her,’ he said,
time after time. “I had no reason to
kill her.”
When we got him back to the prose-
cutor’s office in Elizabeth, Frazer’s rela-
tives were there to meet him. Already
they had taken steps to secure counsel
for the accused man and Prosecutor
David was preparing the murder in-
dictment for presentation to the Grand
Jury. E
Our work on the case continued with
unabated energy. Our colleagues in Ra-
leigh located another witness, William
T. McGrath, a hitch-hiker who had
been given a ride into Raleigh by
Frazer, who picked him up on the road
after the disposal of Phoebe Stader’s
body. McGrath was ready to swear he
saw Frazer burn women’s clothing in a
fire beside the road. p
We were working to make an air-
tight case against Frazer and we knew
we were up against odd circumstances.
There is a Jersey law which provides
for the prosecution of a murderer in a
certain county, even though the death
Mblow might be delivered in another
“county. And we had_ established
through Frazer’s own words and by
other means that the death of Phoebe
Stader had come in Union County, de-
spite the fact that on that fatal ride
razer and PhoebédStader had passed
through the countiesof Orange and
Rockland, in New York State; and
robably Bergen, Essex;,and Union, in
es Jersey. :
We also anticipated an insanity de-
fense, so Frazer was examined by a
board of alienists. That board, speak-
ing through Dr. Emil Stein, reported
that, in the experts’ belief, Frazer was
sane at the time of the crime, during
the interim between the commission of
the crime and the time of his\arrest,
and was sane at the present time.
Victor Greenburg, a Passaic lawyer
retained by members of Frazer’s fam-
ily, was hard at work building up his * —
defense. He was joined in the case by
Senator Alexander Simpson, widely
known Jersey attorney who had acted
as a special prosecutor in the famous.
Hall-Mills case at New Brunswick.
FRAZER'S car was driven. back
from Raleigh by County Detective ..
Richard A. Reilly and identified again
by Ira Jensen as the car in which he
had seen Phoebe Stader’s body. The
trial of Frazer was set for June 1|5th,
1931, and we felt that we had the case
well in hand, despite the fact that the
defense had let it become known that
five points would be contested bitterly
in an effort to save Frazer. The points
were:
1, A: question of proper jurisdiction.
The Master Detective
2. A question of corpus delicti.
3. The mental condition of the pris-
oner.
4. A contention that the shooting
was accidental.
5. Absence of premeditation and mo-
tive for murder.
The trial opened on the morning of
June 15th, 1931, in the Court of Oyer
and Terminer in Elizabeth, with Judge
Alfred A. Stein presiding in a setting
strange, indeed, in Jersey court pro-
ceedings. A large space usually re-
served for spectators was taken up by
a gruesome exhibit in the case—the
brown Buick sedan, owned by William
Moore Frazer, the same brown sedan
in which Phoebe Stader met her death
—that brown sedan which had rolled
on through the states in Frazer’s “Ghost
Parade” with a dead woman for his
traveling companion!
The automobile had been placed in
Plagiarism
Stories have been submitted to
this magazine which are copies that
have appeared in other magazines.
Anyone submitting a plagiarized
story through the mail, and re-
ceiving and accepting remunera-
tion therefor, is guilty of Federal
offense in using the mails to de-
fraud,
The publishers of THE MAS-
TER DETECTIVE are eager—as
are all reputable publishers—to
stamp out this form of literary
theft and piracy, and are advising
all magazines, from which such
stories have been copied, of such
plagiarism and are offering to co-
i a with the publishers there-
of to punish the guilty persons.
Notice is hereby given to all
who submit stories that the same
must be the original work of the
author.
the courtroom after much effort and
_ expense. It stood there, forbidding, as
the court proceedings got under way.
Jersey justice moved swiftly and a
jury was selected in twenty-three
minutes after the first talesman was
The-examination of witnesses began
with=Prosecutog David and John B.
sistant,Prosecutor, acting for
the State, and Attorneys Simpson and
Greenburg and Frank Cohn of Eliza-
. beth acting for Frazer, Over the entire
proceedings hung the sinister shadow
of the brown sedan, the brownysedan of
the “Ghost Parade,” which frowned
port of alienists, declaring Frazer sane.
AND Ira Jensen! The youth repeated
his story, the same story which
had sent us on Frazer’s trail over the
“Ghost Parade” highways. He did not
falter. He was not shaken by cross-
examination. He jumped into the sin-
ister sedan and sat on the front seat of
the car, simulating the posture of the
dead Phoebe Stader as he had seen her
in front of his home that eerie morning
of February |8th. Ira Jensen’s testi-
mony was all we had expected of
him.
William Moore Frazer, tight-lipped
and pale, sat with his attorney and
heard the State’s case loom menacingly
before him. Prosecutor David closed
the State’s case with startling sudden-
ness, and Frazer’s attorneys motioned
him to the witness chair.
William Frazer, the Ghost Parade
driver, was to be the only witness for
the defense to save himself from the
chair!
Frazer retold his story of the killing
of Phoebe Stader. He told it well un-
der direct examination by his lawyers.
He declared the shooting was an acci-
dent. At Attorney Simpson’s command
he stepped into the fateful brown car,
and re-enacted the scene in which he
had taken the gun from the back seat
of the car and discharged it accident-
ally while Phoebe Stader sat in the
front seat.
Frazer hopped into and out of the
— car as the jurors crowded around
im.
Prosecutor. David was merciless in
his cross-examination. Frazer faltered
under his fire.
The arguments were complete and
the case went to the jury on the eve-
ning of the second day of the trial, on
June 16th, Less than six hours later the
jury filed into the courtroom, in the
shadow of the forbidding automobile.
Alex Deutsch, the foreman, spoke
huskily for his fellows.
“We find the defendant”—he faltered
a moment, and then went on—‘guilty
of murder—of murder in the first de-
gree.”
Frazer blanched, and his mother, far
back in the courtroom, uttered an odd
cry and fainted. The silence became
intense. Would the foreman add the
words recommending mercy? There
was only a wrenching stillness. The
jury had made no_ recommendation,
and William Moore Frazer faced death
in the electric chair!
Judge Stein formally imposed the
death sentence, setting the date of exe-
cution for the week of July 27th, 1931.
Attorney Cohn announced that an ap-
peal would be filed, an action which
automatically would delay the execu-
tion.
from its eminence, : Frazer’s attorneys failed to secure a
The parade of the witnesses began. ‘Writ of error at the hands of Chancel-
There was Joseph Baker, the deputy Jor Walker in Trenton on July 19th,
sheriff of Bowling Green, Virginia, who
had assisted in removing Phoebe
Stader’s body from the woods to the
Virginia morgue. Then came Philip
Stader, a sad-eyed, disillusioned and
sorrowing husband, who ne told
of his identification of the dead Phoebe
Stader’s body. Then there was the re-
“and the steps for the appeal were taken.
William Moore Frazer was electro-
cuted in the Death House at the New
Jersey State Prison at 8:14 o'clock on
the night of April 1, 1932 after con-
tinued appeals were made. The grand
finale of the “Ghost Parade” had been
written.)
October, 1932
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FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
... THE BODY
itm aft aR) Hh tes
Tor ay
Wes fey +
ee NAL the electric chair claims a man about
whose guilt there is some reasonable doubt. He has
‘been convicted on circumstantial evidence, and he has in-
sisted to the last that he is innocent; yet jury, trial judge
and courts of appeal have been obdurate. In such cases,
the following is nearly always true: The accused did not
come clean with the police at the start; his actions after
the crime were even more suspicious than his actions
_ before it occurred; he evaded and he lied; it became im-
possible to believe anything that he said.
These question-mark mysteries never lose their inter-
est. But few of them are as extraordinary or as blood-
curdling as the drama of William Frazer, who went riding
through several states with naked death in the back seat
of his car.
Rahway, New Jersey, is a small town of sixteen thou-
sand inhabitants, and naturally gossip spreads fast there.
On Thursday, February 21, 1931, George McIntyre, chief
of the police and the detective force rolled into one, be-
came interested in rumors concerning the Stader and
Frazer families, A
Mrs. Phoebe Quick Stader, a handsome brunette of
thirty-six, had, it was said, left her husband and gone out
of town three days before. She and her sister, June Quick,
had been driven by William Frazer in the latter’s big car,
and their destination was said to have been Walden, New
York, the home of another sister. Phillip Stader, Phoebe’s
husband, had moved to a boarding house.
William Frazer, meanwhile, had not returned to his
own wife and children. He had been seen cruising around
Rahway on the 20th—which was after Phoebe and her
sister had disappeared—but had since vanished with his
car,
» These facts would scarcely have been alarming if Chief
McIntyre had not had a hunch based on his knowledge.
THE SEX-MAD NEW JERSEY KILLER
MURDERED THE WOMAN HE LOVED,
THEN DROVE ABOUT THE COUNTRY
FOR DAYS WITH HER MUTILATED
BODY CONCEALED IN THE BACK
SEAT OF HIS CAR
Top, left: Police
Chief Albert
Roundtree, of
North Haledon,
N. J., and Police
Commissioner
Emil Rheiner.
(left to right) are
shown examining
the clothes worn
by Phoebe Stader
on her ride of
death. Right: Mrs.
Phocbe Stader
parted from her
husband to go to
a horrible fate.
.
_ of the situation between the Staders and Frazers. It wi
a queer set-up; a unique one in the history of quiet Ra
way. An unexpected legacy of $28,000 had brought it
pass. :
Until 1930, Bill Frazer was a modest young fellow wi
commuted to a job as assistant-manager of a restaura
in the Pennsylvania Station, New York City. He liv
with his wife and his two daughters, Evelyn, ten, a
Irene, seven, in Rahway and had a hard time making bo
ends meet. His father had died years before, supposed
leaving no property. His mother, Mrs. Edna Fraz
. we)
(tt was”
Rah-))
‘tit tom
badd
struggled along in Rahway on next
to nothing.
Suddenly lawyers discovered a
secret estate which had belonged to
Frazer’s father. This was sold im-
mediately for $56,000, of which
$28,000 went to Bill Frazer and the
other half to his mother.
Frazer’s first act upon receiving
his inheritance was to buy a flashy
new house for $8,000 and two cars—
aroadster for his wife and a larger
machine for himself. He quit his
job, and plunged overnight into an
orgy of pleasure-seeking and
spending in which his family had
no part. He went completely hay-
wire and became what is known
in American suburban lingo as a.
skirtchaser, and he developed a
crude exhibitionism in connection
with it,
When he had a woman—some-
times two—in his car, Frazer made
‘point of driving past groups of
male friends to show them. the suc-
cess he was having. He would even
drive up to the door of his home,
leave a woman in the car for his
wife and neighbors to see, and rum-
Mage around in the house on the
pretext of searching for something
he had forgotten.
On a visit to his mother, who had
moved to a two-family dwelling
near the railroad station, he met
Mrs, Phoebe Stader, the tenant of
the other half of the building. Mrs.
Frazer herself introduced her son
fo her neighbor—to her sorrow. :
For Bill became violently infatu-
ated with Mrs. Stader, dropped his
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
YIN THE W
MOTIVE?
Witliam
Frazer (on
left) mur-
dered the
woman he
loved but he
couldn’t tell ~
the police
why he did
it.
telling the truth was like a great weight
pressing down on the accountant’s
shoulders. He said nothing. He just,
stood staring at his friend.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do,”
Frazer said.
“Come in and have a drink.”
The accountant poured two long stiff
drinks and handed one of them to his
shaken companion.
“Tell me about it.” ;
“There’s nothing to tell,” Frazer re-
plied, numbly. “I killed her. That’s all.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t mean it to
happen. It just did. I shot her with
this,’ Frazer said, brandishing a .25
pistol. ~
“Put that thing away!” Cunningham
said.
The two men sat lost in thought,
glumly staring at the floor.
“There’s only one thing to do,” the
accountant said at length. “You’ve got
18
~
to go to the police and give yourself
“I can’t do that,” Frazer said shaking
his head. “I-think I'd rather kill myself
first. I couldn’t face my wife finding out
about me and.. .”
“Don’t talk rot, Bill. Pull yourself
together. Suicide is no answer for any-
one,”
“Paul, you’re my oldest and dearest
friend. I came to you because I thought
that you were the only one who’d under-
stand: You've got to see it. Killing my-
self is the only way out.”
“O.K.,” Cunningham said, “that’s
one solution—for you. But what abow-
your wife and the kids?”
“Look Paul; I’ve thought all this out.
Believe me. My way is the best way for
all of us.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe if I were
in your shoes I’d feel the same way,”
the accountant said, still searching his
brain’ for words to talk his friend out
of taking his own life. But Frazer seized
on his companion’s momentary agree-
ment.
“O.K.,” he said. “I’m going to do it.
Get dressed.”
“What for?”
“You’ve got to come with me,”
Frazer said desperately. “I can’t go
through with it myself.”
“You can’t expect me to sit by and
watch my best friend blow his brains
out. I can’t do it.” :
“You’ve got to,” Frazer pleaded,
. urgency apparent in his voice. “You're
my best friend. You can’t let me down.”
Cunningham searched tlie corners of
his mind, groping for the words to
soothe his friend, “Look Bill,” he said,
“you shot Phohebe: You- must have
had a reason. Maybe it was a good
reason. Maybe it was a good enough
reason to constitute mitigating circum-
stances. Maybe if- you talked it over
with the police you’d get off with -a
light prison, sentence. Don’t throw in
the towel so quickly.”
To this Frazer just smiled. “You're
talking rubbish and you know it. Paul,
my mind’s made up. I’m going to go
through with it. In the name of our
friendship I’m asking this one last favor
of you.”
AUL Cunningham dressed quickly,
grasping at the straws that poped
into his mind. He’d go out with his
friend. Maybe if they drove around for
a while he’d be able to talk Bill out of
killing himself. The more the accountant
thought the more desperate his think-
ing became. It suddenly occurred to
him’ that perhaps Frazer was drunk and
had only imagined that he’d killed
Phoebe. Or maybe he had tried to kill
her and had only wounded her. Phoebe
might be down in the car, bleeding
but alive, at that very moment. With
a ‘tenacity that’ grew out of desperate
POLICE FILES
¥
fear, Cunni
last hope as
with his frie
One glan
sprawled in
vinced the
that line o
was stone
open, blooc
hair, her ch
The issue h
“You tak
said. “I'll c
The neop
ignition an
into the ni
countryside
~ “Listen ]
Frazer c
saying any!
is made up
The bro\
the edge o!
walk now
you hear <
don’t mess
A. thou
POLICE FILI
‘ASH of gunfire seemed
1@ night. William Frazer
1 at the still-smoking .25
in his hand and realized
ead that he was a mur-
d taken a human life.
ler lay slumped across
it of his. brown Buick,
ugh her head. Numbly,
he gun into his pocket
back, emotionally ex-
took out a cigarette, lit
ately tried to collect his
thoughts. How had he
us mess? What was he
Vhy had this happened
ore Frazer sat in his car
cigarette glowing softly
ark, and thodgkt vie
the last year which had
' this desperate juncture.
when I inherited that
‘ thought. “Yes, that was’
\t life, William Moore
ena hard-working, Te-
1 man. He had worked
‘ailroad and had made
1 Rahway, New Jersey,
d the kids, They were
he had provided well.
“n content. Never once
t another woman. Then
lied and left him that
oney had changed his
s had brought tragedy.
ith the railroad, Frazer
9. He bought a flashy
ck. With time on his
ind himself looking for
excitement. Then he
Jer. Although she was
had been instantly at-
she was gay and viva-
9s more important, did
1ed by the conventions
2ound married people.
were soon head over
meeting clandestinely
*y got. Frazer rented
n Island and the lovers
1 in the days that
‘he sad case, Frazer’s
xe Stader’s husband
ew people who didn’t
ssionate, illicit affair.
of all else, the lovers
‘eir stolen hours to-
William Frazer had
er. He was not sure
e had not meant to
1ehow he had mur-
‘haps it was bound to,
was crumbling down
rdid truth was almost
wife, who strangely,
Ing in the car, .cold
m his back, William
couldn’t bear the
POLICE FILES
{
|
|
|
|
Suspect (I.) confers with lawyers at table. Death car (background) was brought into court as evidence.
thought of hurting his wife and family.
Desperately, he wracked ‘his brain for
a suitable course of action. Without
thinking, he started up the car and drove
off with no particular direction in mind.
Frazer was hardly aware of his lover’s
cold corpse beside him as he drove
through the night, his subconscious
taking him in the most likely: direction.
The first twinge of apprehension
came to his wife that Tuesday night in
February when her husband#failed to
come home for the first time in their
married life. By Saturday she had used
up, and argued herself out of, every
rationalization she could conjure up.
She notified the police that her husband
had disappeared.
Union County Detective Jeremiah
McNamara interviewed the wife, ob-
tained .a'‘list of particulars and. prom-
ised to do his utmost to locate the
missing spouse. As a first step, Detec-
tive McNamara started to interview
Frazer’s friends, whose names had
been supplied by the distraught wife.
Topping the list was the name Paul
POLICE FILES
Cunningham, Frazer’s life-long best
friend.
Wc pulled: up in front of
Cunningham’s home and walked
up the path. The accountant let the in-
vestigator in. McNamara was brief and
to the point on the reason for his visit.
Cunningham’s face -went ashen white
and he slumped into a soft chair.
“You had better have a seat too,
Officer,” he said. “What I have to tell
you about Bill Frazer will take some
time.”
Paul Cunningham then unfolded the
fantastic tale which would soon have
that quiet, New Jersey suburb aghast.
It had begun on the previous Tuesday
at about two in the morning when the
\ raucous ringing of the downstairs bell
had roused Paul Cunningham from a
sound sleep. Wearily, the accountant
had rubbed the sleep from his eyes,
and shuffled down the stairs.
A ‘sense of dread and’ foreboding
spread into Cunningham’s consciousness
as he thought of the possible explanation
of this late night call; ‘bad news—a wire
announcing a death, an accident, trouble
outside in the street. Cunningham could
make out the figure of a man standing
just outside his partly-glass door. As
the accountant approached the visitor
rattled the door knob.
“Paul, it’s me, Bill Frazer. Let me in.”
With a sense of relief the accountant
admitted his best friend. “What are
you doing here at this hour of the night?
Are you drunk?” ;
“Turn off the light,” Frazer de-
manded. “I don’t want anyone to see
me here.”
Cunningham did as his friend bade,
- though puzzled at the strangeness of
the request. “What’s the matter, Bill.
What’s wrong?”
“J just killed Phoebe.”
Cunningham’s mouth dropped open
in utter shock. Then he suddenly re-
laxed and smiled. “You're kidding,” he
said.
“No, I’m not. I wish I was,” Frazer
replied.
The realization that his friend was
17
FRAZIER, William Moore, Jr., wh, elec. NJ& (Union) April 1, 1932
16 . 5
Phoebe Stader’s secret romance was a prologue to doom.
The frightened man said, “Douse the light
and open up! | just killed Phoebe!”
CORPSE IN
THE CAR
by Alan Masters
* THE CRASH of gunfire seemed
‘to shatter the night. William Frazer
looked down at the still-smoking .25
caliber pistol in his hand and realized
with cold dread ihat he was a mur-
derer—he had taken a human life.
Phoebe Stader lay slumped across
the front seat of his brown Buick,
a bullet through her head. Numbly,
Frazer put the gun into his pocket
and leaned back, emotionally ex-
hausted. He took out a cigarette, lit
it and desperately tried to collect his
wildly racing thoughts. How had he
gotten into this mess? What was he
to do now? Why had this happened
to him?
William Moore Frazer sat in his car,
the tip of his cigarette glowing softly
in the inky dark, and thought about
the events of the last year which had
brought him to this desperate juncture.
“It all began when I inherited that
money,” Frazer thought. “Yes, that was”
it.”
All his adult life, William Moore
Frazer had been a hard-working, re-
spected married man. He had worked
hard for the railroad and had made
a good home in Rahway, New Jersey,
for his wife and the kids. They were
not rich, but he had provided well.
And he had been content. Never once
had he looked at another woman. Then
his uncle had died and left him. that
money. The money had changed his
life, and perhaps had brought tragedy.
After years with the railroad, Frazer
had quit his job. He bought a flashy
new brown Buick. With time on his
hands Frazer found himself looking for
new thrills, new excitement. Then he
met Phoebe Stader. Although she was
married, Frazer had been instantly at-
tracted by her. She was gay and viva-
cious, and perhaps more important, did
‘not feel constrained by the conventions
\
POLICE FILES, June, 1961
(Same article, DETECTIVE CASES, March,
1963 ,p44)
which normally bound married people.
Phoebe and Bill were soon head over
heels in love and meeting clandestinely
every chance they got. Frazer rented
a cottage on Staten Island and the lovers
met there often in the days that
followed,
As is usually the sad case, Frazer’s
wife. and. Phoebe Stader’s husband
were two of the few people who didn’t
know of the passionate, illicit affair.
To the exclusion of all else, the lovers
had lived for their stolen hours to-
gether. And then William Frazer had
murdered his lover. He was not sure
why. He knew’ he had not meant to
kill her, But somehow he had mur-
dered her.
And now, as perhaps it was bound to,
his house of cards was crumbling down
about him. The sordid truth was almost
sure to reach his wife, who strangely,
he still loved. Sitting in the car, .cold
sweat running down his back, William
Frazer suddenly couldn’t bear the
POLICE FILES
LS
thought of
Desperatel:
a suitable
thinking, b
off with nc
Frazer wa’
cold corp:
through t
taking hin
The fir
came to hb
February
come hon
married li
up, and
rationaliz:
*She notifi
had disap
Union
McNama
tained a
ised to
missing ‘
tive Mc
Frazer’s
been suy
Topping
POLICE |
@ got to,” Frazer pleaded,
‘pparent in his voice. “You're
‘iend. You can’t let me down.”
gham searched tHe corners of
groping for the words to
: friend, “Look Bill,” he said,
t Phohebe. You- must have
ason. Maybe it was a good
{aybe it was a good enough
constitute mitigating circum-
Maybe if- you talked it over
police you’d get off with -a
Mm. sentence. Don’t throw in
so quickly.”
Frazer just smiled. “You're
>bish and you know it. Paul,
; made up. I’m going to go
ith it. In the name of our
I’m asking this one last favor
-unningham dressed quickly,
ng at the straws that poped
uind. He’d go out with his
ybe if they drove around for
‘d be able to talk Bill out of
| self. The more the accountant
@ more desperate his think-
e. It suddenly occurred to
sthaps Frazer was drunk and
imagined that he’d killed
‘ maybe he had tried to kill
d only wounded her. Phoebe
down in the car, bleeding
at that very moment. With
that grew out of desperate
| ere body was found.
POLICE FILES
“8
District Attorney A. J. David holds gun suspect (second from I.) was believed to have used to kill Phoebe Stader.
fear, Cunningham clung to this .one
last hope as he walked down the path
with. his friend to the brown Buick.
One glance at the dead woman
sprawled in the front of the car con-
vinced the accountant of the folly of
that line of thought. Phoehe Stader
was stone cold dead. Her eyes were
open, blood matted her long tangled
hair, her cheeks were drained of color.
The issue had to be faced. i
au apre the back, Paul,” Frazer
said. “I'll drive.” i
._The neophyte murderer turned on the
_ ignition and the powerful car tore off
into the night across the New Jersey
countryside, —
“Listen Bill .. .”
Frazer cut him. short. “It’s no use
saying anything more, Paul. My mind
is made up.”
The brown Buick rolled to a stop at
the edge of a golf course. “You take a
walk now Paul,” Frazer said. “When
you hear a shot come back. I hope I
don’t mess things up too much.”
A. thousand .things—trivial details,
POLICE FILES
s
loose ends—occurred to the accountant.
“What about insurance, your will, a
note for your wife .. .” he said.
“It’s all taken care of. Now start
walking, will you?”
Cunningham took his friend’s hand
between his own moist two and held it
tightly. He looked with moist eyes into
Frazer’s eyes, searching for some sign
that his friend’s resolve to kill himself
was not as strong as he made out.
“You'd better go now,” the self-con-
demned man said hoarsely.
Cunningham turned and walked slow-
«ly down the lonely, tree-shrouded lane.
He kept listening, for fully five minutes,
for the shot he knew would resound
like a cannon: shot: in the still night.
The waiting, the agonizing suspense,
was unbearable. Several times the, ac-
countant was on the point of dashing
back up the lane to grab the gun from
his guilt-ridden friend.
Suddenly the tension was broken by
the blare of the Buick’s horn. Cunning-
ham started and then pounded back
up the lane. He found Frazer, slumped
down in the front seat, sweat pouring
off his face, the .25 caliber pistol dang-
ling from his limp right hand.
“I couldn’t go through with it, Paul.
I’m a cheat and a killer and now...
a coward.” |
“Thank God,” the accountant
breathed. “Listen to me. Give yourself i
up. Now move over and I'll drive back
to town.”
“Don’t go to the police’ station,”
Frazer begged. “I'll stay at your house
tonight and by the morning I'll have
made up my mind as to what to do.”
The Buick, with its macabre passen-
ger stayed parked through the night in
Cunningham’s garage. The accountant
awoke the next morning to find it and
his friend gone without a word or a
trace. Cunningham was not quite sure A
whether the whole horrible thing hadn’t
been a nightmare. But as he came awake)
he realized the awful reality of his grim |
ride with William Frazer the previous |
night. |
On Wednesday morning Cunningham \
(Continued on page 63)
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