New York, multiple executions, 1934-1985, Undated

* GRETSEERO. & Gate
IRON MIKE LOOKED LIKE A PER-
FECT SET-UP FOR AN INSURANCE |
POLICY GANG, BUT BEFORE HE
DIED, THEY LEARNED THAT KILL-
ING THIS MAN WAS NOT AS
EASY AS IT SEEMED TO BE.

het

fit

“BIRCTROCUTED: S]

IRON MIKE MALLORY wasn’t
a man to believe in miracles even
though he was looking one right in
the face, on that evening of Decem-
ber 18, 1932. It was a cold night
in New York City, and out of the
north came a wind that cut through
heavy coats like a sharp knife.

Mike wasn’t wearing his overcoat.
He had pawned it several nights
before for a couple of shots of alky.
That phoney liquor always kept him
warmer than any coat. He was, to
put it mildly, a piece of flotsam on
the sea of life—a bum, a tramp, a
hobo who had long since forgotten
what his real name was.

These things, however, were of
no interest to Mike on that night.
He was penniless, a chronic con-
dition with him, and he craved a
couple of shots of that poison that
was sold for whisky. So he stopped
at Tony Marino’s speakeasy on
Third Avenue and 171st Street and
rang the bell with the usual trepi-
dation of a man who in ninety-
nine cases out of a hundred is given
the bum’s rush,

But for once in his miserable life
Mike beheld a miracle. The thin-
faced man that came to the door
smiled and said, “Hello, come on in
out of the cold.” Mike gulped ner-
vously, made a straight line for the
bar where an affable bartender
added to his joy by saying, “Help
yourse!f to whatever you want to
drink.”

There was, however, nothing at
all miraculous in the attitude of
the bartender or the -thin-faced man

33

POLICE RECORD DETECTIVE MAGAZINE, Vol. I, NO, III, Nov., 1918.

who met Mike at the door. The
owner of this speakeasy, Tony Mar-
ino, was a slick-haired, sharp-eyed
crook, who had devised a unique
way of making money, besides sell-
ing cheap liquor,

This new system of profit con-
sisted of insuring bums and out-
casts, without friends or relatives,
and through various and sundry
means causing them to die, and then
Tony and his henchmen would col-
lect on the insurance policy, Iron
Mike was a perfect set-up, or so

. Tony and his gang thought. Hence

the cordial greeting when Mike
came to beg for a drink,

Tony Marino’s gang had four

members. Frank Pasque, who had
been trained as an undertaker was
Tony’s chief assistant. He handled
the burial of the bodies, an impor-
tant phase in the plan. Red Mur-
phy was the bartender, It was his
job to feed the poison alky to the
victims or get them so drunk they
could be taken out on a cold night
and undressed and left to catch
pneumonia. Daniel Kriesberg, who
sold fruit during the day, worked
with the gang at night and did
much. of the rough work.

Iron Mike was not a stranger to
Tony Marino, even if Mike didn’t
know it, Marino had seen Murphy
heave him out several nights be-
fore and decided that Mike was an
ideal victim for the murder ring.
So Marino took out a $1,500 life in-
surance policy on Mike’s life. On
this particular night Marino was

A year passed before the District Attorney got a tip on Mallory’s death. When they dug up his body they fround he had died from gas poisoning. %

greedy for a speedy collection of
the insurance money.

Anti-freeze was the surest and
swiftest way to cause a whisky-
soaked bum like Mike to pass out
of this world. After Murphy had
given Mike a few drinks of alky,
he slipped the now drunk bum a
shot of anti-freeze. Mike gulped it
down with evident relish and asked
for more of that “good stuff.” He
was given more, plenty more, as
Murphy and Marino looked on with
amazement at the ease with which
Mike could take the poison.

There is, however, a limit to all
things, and after ten or twelve
shots, enough to have killed three
men, Mike slumped weakly to the
floor. Murphy and Kreisberg car-
ried him to a couch to wait for him
to die. Mike slept for two hours and
woke up bellowing for more of the
“good stuff.” They fed him’ more,
and he liked it. He would pass out
only to recover with amazing speed.
So Tony Marino gave orders for
something else. Mike was fed’ sar-
dines left in the can long enough
to insure ptomaine poisoning, Mike
relished the sardines. They fed him
ground glass with the sardines, He
gulped it down. ;

Then the murder ring decided
that enough was enough, and it was
time for certain action. They made
ready to play their ace card. Mike
was gotten dead drunk and then
taken to the park, where his clothes
were stripped off and water poured
over his body. They left him there
for the night with the full know-

ledge that with the dawn he would
have developed a bad case of pneu
monia, ;
The next morning the conspitpi-
tors sat in the back room of “‘Tony’s 4 4
speakeasy. The night had been j
hard on them. They all had colds. 4
But they didn’t mind so much whe :
they thought of Mike out there in”.
the park dying of pneumonia, Their 4
pleasant reveries were

voice in the barroom. It was eye
yelling for some more,“Good alky.””
At first they thought they must bed \
hearing things, But no, sir! Mike |

had come back hale and hearty. He Ey
didn’t even have the sniffles; gi

The murder gang was not only 4
getting disgusted with Mike but he «
was beginning to cost them money.*

So they threw all caution to the a
winds and boldly mixed arsenic” 7
with sardine sandwiches and fed -
them to the
drinks.

He ate them, yelled for ™

more, and didn’t even have a stom-

ach ache. They - tried strychnine |
with no better luck. Mike was get- —
ting fat and a little overbearing. ™ ;
It was Marino who hit on the |
sure fire plan te get Mike. out of
the way. The gang had forgotten 4

all about the insurance. It was a> §

matter of pride with ‘them, now, %
So he was made drunk again and)

taken out under the elevated ee

near Fordham. Herby Green, Big
taxi driver, was hired to run his
taxi over Mike five times. Then the _
gang left and waited for word that
somebody had found the body,

suddenly
disturbed by the sound of a familiar 7

iron man_ between 4

‘ Five
waited.
that Mi
to the I
dead, y
the fif
Marino’
doctor
of his,
_to"leave
his frie:
‘By t
crazy
somethi
unreaso
When t
pick hi
loud ext
on the 1
the spez
arsenic
They le

m

aan

“7


conspitp- 4
of Tony’s ag
ad been %&
ad colds.
uch whenS
there im 4
ia, Their 3
suddenly
. familiar
vas Mike
od alky.”
must be
ir! Mike
arty. He
e838,
not only
ce but he
*& money.
yn to the
arsenic
and fed
% between
lied for
a stom-
trychnine
was get-
rbearing.
on the
e out of
»orgotten
t was a
“m, now.
gain and
ed tracks
ireen, &
run_ his
1e
at

Five days passed and they still
waited. What they didn’t know was
that Mike had been found and taken
to the Fordham Hospital. He wasn’t
dead, yet! Just badly bruised. On
-the fifth morning, the phone in
Marino’s place rang. A_ hospital
doctor informed Tony that a friend
of his, a Mike Mallory, was ready
_to leave the hospital, and he wanted
his friends to come and get him.

By this time the gang was half-
crazy with frustration, There was
something weird, inhuman—utterly
unreasonable—about Mike Mallory.
When they went to the hospital to
pick him up, he greeted them with
loud exuberance, slapping his “pals”
on the back. They took him back to
the speakeasy. They didn’t feed him
arsenic or ground glass this time.
They let him take his fill of alky.

They had to have time to think, to
plan more carefully,

Kriesberg and Murphy got the
idea of doing the job in a furnished
room. They rented one at 1410 Ful-
ton Street. Two days later they got
Mike drunk, which wasn’t hard, and

Green drove him to the house where
Kriesberg and Murphy half-carried
him upstairs. They had a gas hose
and, using tape, they stuck it in his
nouth and turned on the gas and
left.

An hour later they returned.
Iron Mike Mallory was dead this
time. Even his iron constitution
couldn’t breathe gas for an hour and
survive. A nearby doctor was called.
He issued a death certificate, giving
pneumonia as the cause of sudden
demise. Pasqua handled the funeral
and it was over in quick time.

lt was to this speakeasy that Mallory went on that fatal night of
: December 15th and received a strange welcome. ;

Mike’s body was tossed in a rough
box and taken to the cemetery and
buried.

Tony Marino and his henchmen
collected the $1,500 and relaxed,
glad that it was all over at last.

The story of Iron Mike Mallory—
the nickname was later given him
by the newspapers—is extraordin-
ary, yet no more so than the work
of the New York City Police in fer-
reting out this crime. A year passed
before District Attorney Samuel
Foley in the Bronx got one of those
vague tips that flood all District
Attorney’s offices. It was simply
that a man had been killed for in-
surance and that an Italian. under-
taker handled the funeral.

ae. i

asn’t much to go on, but

= This

“ Foley had the detectives investigate.

They began to check over the death
certificates for the year. After
weeks of careful study, the detect-
ives found one certificate that
struck them as unusual. An. Irish-
man by the name of Michael Mal-

.lory had died one morning at eight

o’clock and he had been buried at
one o’clock, something that néver
happens in the case of an Irishman.
The body of Mallory was examined.
The medical examiner found that
he had died from gas poisoning.

The police started a real inves-
tigation, They traced Mallory to
Tony Marino’s speakeasy through
the records of the Fordham Hos-
pital where he had gone after he
had been run over. This tip enabled
the detectives to uncover the in-
surance ring, and Tony Marino,
Murphy, Kriesberg and Pasque were
arrested. Pasque broke under the
grilling of the detectives. Marino,
Pasque, Kriesberg and Murphy paid
with their lives in the electric chair
for their part in the murder. Green
got five to ten years for driving
over the body of Mallory.

(See following two pages for
more photos of those invo!ved in
Mallory's murder and others con-
nected with the case.)

In the rooming house death finally came to Iron Mike, and the body
was removed and buried two hours after he had died. — (See over)

lis Sie nian aS +5


“-, THE MAN WHO WOULDN'T DIE

*

: . 2 ae a Frank Pas

Tony Marino was head of the gang, the “brain” that picked the a, but when

victims and handled the insurance and did all the collecting when . 9) & he died,
the victims died. '  Saitecoeem

|
4
$
3
3
2
i
rf
7
3

&

Herby Green was brought into the picture when the ring had te % The four

Daniel Kriesberg was the strong man of the gang. drive a taxi over Mallory. Green got five to ten years for his part.


left him to die of pneumonia. The following
day he turned up at the speakeasy loudly
demanding a drink. He didn’t even have
the sniffles.

The conspirators soaked a batch of oysters
in’ wood alcohol and gave them to Mike as
a special treat. To wash them down, he had
glass after glass of a well-advertised anti-
freeze’ solution. The mob watched him
closely -and with mounting disappointment.
He showed not the slightest sign of indige’-
tion. “Best feed I had in a long time,” he
told them. “You fellows sure are good to
me!”

Nor did he show any ill effects the-follow-
ing day. He told the solicitous Frank Pasqua
that he had never felt better in his life.

jThe conspirators held another council of
war. There was plenty of bickering; every-
body felt that the jinx was on them, and
they all were developing a bad case of the
jitters. Mike Malloy, the ingrate, had more
lives than the proverbial cat!

“Pl fix him!” declared Tony Marino.
“Ptomaine—that’s the ticket! I had an aunt
once who got ptomaine, and she popped off
before the doc could get to the house, even.”

He opened a can of sardines and let them
stand in the tin for several days until the
fish took on a decidedly unhealthy odor and
color. When he decided they were “ripe,” he
ripped the top off the can, cut it in fine
pieces, and mashed up the particles of tin
into the fish. This vile paste he spread
quickly on a slice of rye and then clapped
another piece of bread on top of it. The
next time Mike came in looking for a hand-
out, the dive proprietor served him the
sandwich. : ;

“Geez, Tony! How did you know I liked
sardines?” exclaimed Mike rapturously.

He gulped the sandwich, downed several
slugs of wood alcohol, and walked happily
out of the speakeasy.

“He'll be dead tomorrow, and then we can
collect,” Marino prophesied to Murphy. ~

But’ the next morning, hale and- hearty,
Mike came in and asked whether there might
be another of those delicious sandwiches
about the premises. Marino and the bar-
tender stared at him in pop-eyed amazement.

“J give up!” Tony Marino declared later
at another murder parley. “That bum’s got
a cast-iron stomach. You can’t kill him, I
tell yah! I’m goin’ nuts!”

Tough Tony Bastone creased his fore-
head to ‘show that he was thinking. At
length, he said, “Boys, what we need is one
of them specialists. A specialist could do
away with Mike in a hurry, and I know
just the guy. You might call him a gas-pipe
specialist. He knows all about gas.”

“Just like Hershey Green knowed all
about running. over a guy?” sneered Pasqua.

“Naw, naw, I tell you, boys, this mugg is
a professional!” ~

And so .a poker-faced hoodlum named
Dan Kreisberg was called in. Told the set-
up, he agreed he would, for a mere $75,-rub
out Mike Malloy so that he’d stay rubbed
out.

Kreisberg bought a length of rubber hose,
the syndicate rented a room in a Fultor
Avenue rooming house, and the stage was

set.
O N THE NIGHT of February 22—Wash-
ington’s Birthday—the mob got Malloy
blind drunk in the Third Avenue speakeasy,
and then Murphy and Kreisberg transported
him. to the room. They laid him on the
floor, directly beneath the old-style gas jet.
Kreisberg, the specialist; ran the hose from
the fixture down to Malloy’s mouth. He
covered the rest of the bum’s face with a
cloth and turned on the gas.

The body was “found” the following day
by the dead man’s “brother”—that is, Red
Murphy. Presently a fat, heavy-lidded
physician came to the rooming house. He
was Dr. Frank Manzella, a former alderman
and minor Republican politician. He wrote

NOVEMBER, 1941

out a death certificate stating that ‘“Mellory”
had died of lobar pneumonia.

Still the boys could hardly believe that
“Durable Mike” Malloy was really deceased.
They had a few lingering doubts until
Pasqua tossed the remains in a cheap -piné
coffin which he buried nine feet deep in a
cemetery charity plot.

They had no difficulty. at all in collecting
one of. the $800 insurance policies. But on
the other policy the company said that as'a
matter of routine, payment would have to
be deferred for one week. .

During. that week an unfortunate thing
occurred—unfortunate, that is, for the mur-
der syndicate, but rather lucky for the law.
Bastone got into an argument with another
hoodlum named Joe Maglione, with whom
he was drinking in’ Marino’s speakeasy. -
Tough Tony reached for his rod, but Magli-
one beat him to it. When the fracas was
over, Bastone was dead, Maglione was in
custody charged with first degree: murder,
and Red Murphy was lodged in a jail cell as
a material witness.

Now Murphy,’ as the “brother” of
“Mellory,” had to appear in person at the
insurance company office to collect the sec-
ond $800 policy. Obviously he couldn’t ldo
this when he was under arrest. Conse-
quently, Pasqua and Marino started making
determined efforts to\win his release. These
efforts were so sustained as to arouse the
suspi¢ions of the police and assistant prose-
cutors working under District Attorney
Samuel Foley of the Bronx. Point No. 1.

About the. same time, “Tin Ear” Smith,
the plug-ugly who turned down a chance to
kill Malloy for $200, was taken into custody
on a holdup charge. Fearing life imprison-
ment as a habitual criminal, he cudgeled his
Brain trying to think of some way to win
favor with the authorities. He got wind of
Malloy’s death and remembered the offer the
mob had ‘put to him, | Ah, ,that was it!
Maybe he could take the heat off himself
by spilling the goods on Pasqua, Marino
and Company. He talked plenty. Point
No. 2.

At first the whole thing sounded incredible
to District Attorney Foley, Inspector Henty
Bruckman, and other officers. But when
further confirmation came in from stool
pigeons around the Bronx, they decided to
push a full investigation.

Piece by piece the complete story came
ouf—the pitiful, fantastic saga of “Durable
Mike” Malloy. The body was exhumed,
and an autopsy showed the derelict had died
of gas, not of pneumonia. The damning
evidence of the two insurance policies was
brought to light. Other insurance agents
who had been approached by Pasqua added

_their bit to the testimony. The syndicate

members still at large were rounded up.

Presently they began to sing. They tried
to out-do one another in reciting the gory
details of the murder plot. By the fullness
of their confessions they hoped to gain
leniency.: :

But it didn’t work. . The crime was too-
horrible, too cold-blooded and deliberate,
for them to get off with anything less than
the supreme penalty. Frank Pasqua, Tony
Marino, Red Murphy and Dan Kreisberg
were put on trial, convicted in the first
degree, and sentenced to die. They all
marched to the electric chair at Sing Sing
in June, 1934.

Hershey Green, who failed in his hit-and-
run attempt on Malloy, entered a plea of

guilty to an assault charge and drew a term—-

of five to ten years in prison. Dr. Manzella
was acquitted on a charge of being an ac-
cessory after the fact, but was convicted of
failure to report a suspicious death—a mis-
demeanor. For this, he was sentenced to
an indeterminate spell in the city prison.

Thus justice triumphed in the case of the
alcoholic derelict. And the authorities proved _
that it is not wise to apply the “try, try
again” maxim to the business of murder!

:

MR. SCARFACE

(Continued from page 15)

- He hadn’t seen Patricia since the thing

happened. He meant-never to see her again.

He felt that he couldn’t bear her shudder of -

revulsion if she saw his face. The only thing
to do, he told himself, was to get as far from
her as he could and try to forget her—and
hope that she would forget him.

After writing a- farewell note to her—a
note that gave no reason for his action—he
packed up and left Chicago. He avoided

his manager and saw none of his friends.

Though he had no definite destination, he
wandered off in a westerly direction, with
the vague notion that he would end up in
California. His widowed mother, Sarah
Laybourne, lived in California, as did his
brother, Carl, and his sister, Violet, and he
thought he might join them there.

Drifting on, more or less aimlessly, earn-
ing a catch-as-catch-can living at makeshift
jobs, he arrived finally in Los Angeles and
made his home with his mother.

{= OCCURRED TO HIM now that he
might make money writing detective
stories and he started grinding them out with
a will. He met only indifferent success,
however, and turned from this to try for a
script writing job in Hollywood. He applied
at Columbia, Paramount, MGM, Universal,
and all the rest, and got from each the same
answer: “No.”

At last he met up, with Forrest Halsey,
independent writer, and Halsey put him to
work writing crime scenarios. This proved
profitable for a while, but hard times hit
the movies, script buying was cut to a mini-
mum, writers were dismissed by the score,
and he again found himself out of a job.

Followed a lean and hungry period in
which he worked as typist, office clerk, gas
station attendant, house-to-house canvasser
—anything at all that promised a chance to
support himself and help support his mother.
Finally he was reduced to working as a
laborer for the WPA. And then even this
was denied him. They let him go, along
with a hundred others. Bis

Jt was a warm night in late June, 1940,
and he was drifting with the crowd in the
street, hands in pockets, head bowed, feel-
ing more than ever he was a complete failure
in life, a miserable misfit. In his pocket
there was exactly forty-five cents—every
cent he had in the world.

He came to a saloon and shuffled inside
and ordered a hooker of whisky. As he
dropped his two dimes.on the bar and
swallowed the stuff he caught sight of him-
self in the back-bar mirror, and the ugly
scar on his face brought vividly to mind
another night such as this—the night in
Chicago, years ago, when he had his first
taste of alcohol.

He drew his hand across his brow as if
to brush away the memory, and instantly,
unbidden, there came before his mind’s eye
another vision to harrow him—the vision of
a beautiful girl with titian hair and ex-
quisite skin and soft blue eyes.

He slid from the stool and hurried back
to the street.

Wandering along the sidewalk, he passed
a small notion store and from the tail of
his eye he noticed a tiny object in the show
window which, without his knowing it,
etched its image on his brain.

He walked on and came to the rear of the
Examiner building. A group of newspaper
carriers and distributors clustered there,
waiting for the night edition. They bunched
together beneath a bright light and from
them issued strange sounds: “Little Joe!”
“Big Dick!” “Baby needs a didy!” Cryptic
words, conveying no sense to the uninitiate.

33

~*

aybelle
a, who
al try.

L. to r., Daniel Kreisberg, Joseph “Red” Murphy, Tony
Marino and Frank Pasqua, ringleaders in a crime that is
stranger than fiction. All four died in electric chair.

As the months of 1932 wore on, business at Tony’s took
a sudden drop. The society people—the big spenders—didn’t
seem to be coming around so much any more. Tony, who
spent a lot of time running around the corner placing horse
bets with a bookie, was having rotten luck picking winners.
Thus, by the fall of 1932, Tony Marino, what with bad
bets on the horses and a general decline in business, was up
to his ears in debt and woefully short of cash.

Tony Marino’s closest friend was an undertaker—a blub-
bery little man with a bluish beard and small shoe-button
black eyes. His name was Frank Pasqua and he used to
drop into Tony’s of a cold winter’s night and sit there behind
that beaded curtain complaining to Tony about how tough
things were. Pasqua longed for a return of the good old days
of 1918 when the Bronx was hit by an influenza epidemic
and people were dropping off so fast that Pasqua could
hustle them underground in the dead of night in crude pine
boxes and charge their relatives for expensive mahogany
jobs. ‘

“Why can’t we,” Pasqua asked Marino one night, “have
a plague or somethin’?” .

The only plague that Tony Marino could think of—apropos
of his gloomy friend’s question repeated that December
evening of 1932—was a one-man pestilence by the name of
Michael Malloy. This gentleman was a graying, leathery
little County Donegal Irishman of uncertain years who had
long since exhausted his credit in at least 10 per cent of
the Bronx speakeasies.

As far as was ever learned, Malloy devoted his daylight
hours to the studious avoidance of gainful employment, and
spent his nights in speakeasies, cadging drinks in return

for hoary jokes that took on a semblance of originality be-
cause of the teller’s brogue, and agreeing to sweep up in
the morning in return for a night’s lodging on the floor.
Michael Malloy, looking at the world through the bottom
of a glass, agreed with the poet who observed that life is
a lying dream and that he only wakes who casts the world
aside. Bravo, Malloy! ae , Fd

“You know,” said Marino to Pasqua. “Mailoy don’t have
no relations.”

“He don’t?” said Pasqua. ~

For several days and nights Tony and Pasqua, sitting
there in the back room, devoted the kind of attention to
Malloy that Newton is reputed to have devoted to the apple.
Then one night Marino and Pasqua got their heads together
and decided that it might be a good thing to murder Michael
Malloy for insurance.

So Tony Marino phoned to an insurance agent he knew—a
fee-happy fellow who would write out a policy on practically

were en

‘anybody except a man who was on his way to a cemetery

in a box. Marino, with Pasqua sitting there, took out a $2,000
policy on Malloy. Marino, the beneficiary in case anything
should happen to Malloy (in case!), cut Pasqua in for a
share of the swag and the burial job of Malloy, because

the undertaker paid the first quarterly premium on the in-

surance.

Although Mike Malloy was probably 60, he didn’t look
it. Preserved in alcohol, he could have passed for 45. He had
a cheery glint in his eyes and a spring to his walk. And so
45 was the age he was put down for on the insurance policy.
The agent, grabbing that commission, didn’t even ask to see
Malloy. Marino just took the application papers, said he
would get Malloy to sign them, and forged the Irishman’s
name. /

Now Tony and Frank, the two evil men, got down to busi-
ness—the business of knocking off Michael Malloy. They
called Joseph “Red” Murphy, the bartender, into the plot.
“Diddin you used to study [Continued on page 76]


in grave No. 2107 in Ferncliff Ceme-
tery.

The next day, May 11, my office was
notified that an exhumation was going
to be made, and I proceeded to the
cemetery with Assistant District At-
torney Arthur Carney and Detective
Edward J. Leonard of the Homicide
Squad.

The coffin was nine feet under the
ground, due to the fact that each grave
was supposed to hold three bodies: and
when it tinally was located a block and
tackle were used to raise it. When the
lid came to the surface, I raised it and
saw the body of a heavily-built man
dressed in undershirt, trousers and
stockings. The color of his face and
neck was cherry red, and because of
this peculiarity I knew almost immedi-
ately that this was a case of carbon
monoxide poisoning.

HE body was well-preserved, and

there was no sign of violence except
for a slight bluish discoloration of the
eyelids. I found the lungs in good
condition—and there was no sign of
the pneumonia listed on the death
certificate.

A simple test made with blood taken
from the bedy confirmed my theory on
the gas poisoning. Caustic soda added
to normal blood will turn it black or
— In this case it remained bright
red!

When I reported this to the District
Attorney, he called up the Prudential
Insurance Company. whose policy
Smith remembered seeing, and learned
from them that they had issued insur-

ance on Nicholas Mellory and were at
the present time looking for his broth-
er, Joseph Mellory, the beneficiary.

oon was the key to the whole rid-

e!

Red Murphy was hustled from his
cell in the material witness section of
the jail, and his blue eyes were wor-
ried circles in his pallid face as he was
brought into Foley’s office.

The District Attorney sized him up
in one glance—a weak-kneed, nervous
hoodlum.

“Sit down, Murphy,” he said, indi-
cating a chair.

Murphy sat down,

“T’ve been getting some letters here
for you from your brother,” said Foley.

Murphy’s eyes narrowed. Was this
a trap?

“T have no brother,” he said.

The District Attorney’s smile was
benevolent.

“You have no brother?” he replied
in mock surprise. ‘Why, what about
Nick Mellory? Isn’t he your brother?”

Murphy’s knuckles were white as he
gripved the chair.

Then the District Attorney let him
have it.

“We dug the body out of the grave
today—maybe you would like to have
a look at it?”

Red Murphy doubled up in his chair
oo almost instantly became violently
i

When he recovered, he was limp.
Completely broken by the shock of
having his worst fears suddenly con-
firmed, he admitted his part in the
murder trust, and within an hour a

squad of detectives including Byrnes,
Leonard, Alfred Laurino and Walter
Dinan, were combing the Third Ave-
nue district for the others.

Before many hours had passed, the
snarling, cursing members of the mur-
der trust were unceremoniously
clapped into jail. They howled their
innocence loud and long—until they
were confronted with the District At-
torney’s evidence. Then they tumbled
over one another in their eagerness to
crawl out from under and implicate
the others.

With complete confessions from
Tony Marino, Frank Pasqua, Daniel
Kreisberg and Red Murphy, it was de-
cided to try these four for first-degree
murder. Hershey Green, who had not
been present at the successful death
attempt, was indicted for assault, and
Doctor Manzella was held as an ac-
eessory after the fact.

FTER an intensive search, Joseph

Murray, who had been the unwit-
ting substitute for the Iron Man, was
located. He had spent forty-three days
in the hospital recovering from his
injuries, and was greatly upset to
learn that the men whom he had taken
for his friends had been plotting his
life. At the trial of the four accused,
he testified as a surprise witness and
the plotters stared at him with hate
in their eyes.

On October 19, 1933, Marino, Pas-
qua, Kreisberg and Murphy were
found guilty of first-degree murder
and were sentenced to die in the
electric chair. Hershey Green then

pleaded guilty to assault and was
given a five-to-ten-year term, while
Doctor Manzella was tried and found
guilty and was sent to the penitentiary
for an indefinite term. For his ser-
vices to the people, Rubber Ear Smith
was discharged on his own recog-
nizance.

EANWHILE, the four killers wait-
ed in the death house for their ap-
peal to be heard. After four months of
suspense it was denied, and the execu-
tion date was fixed for June 7, 1934.
On the night of the execution I went
to the death house to see them go.
At the last moment Red Murphy won a
stay of execution. He toddled from
cell to cell shaking hands with the
others, and when their time came he
buried his head in his cot.

The rule at the death house is that
the weakest goes first. Murphy hav-
ing won a respite, it was the under-
taker, Frank Pasqua, who was ad-
judged the least able to stand the
strain of waiting. In back of him was
Tony Marino, and last of all was the
icy Kreisberg. Three times the door
in the corner of the execution cham-
ber opened to disclose a white-faced
murderer looking in with blinking
eyes, and three times the door in the
opposite corner opened to receive a
lifeless body.

The next week Murphy’s stay ex-
pired; his plea of having been con-
fined previously to an insane asylum,
failed to be substantiated. He, too,
passed through the little green door
from which there is no return.

Can You Solve This?

on Page 24, this isswe?
in September OrrictaL DETECTIVE STORIES.

Did you study the details of the riddle of the President Hotel murder

in Kansas City, found

Are you going to try to win the $100 award? If you don’t succeed, there will be another

It?s the Unsolved Mystery surrounding the death of pretty Corinne

Loring of Mt. Rainer. Maryland. suburb of Washington. D.C. Watch for this additional chance to be a true-life

detective.

Rise and Fall of Racketeer Barons (Continued from Page 17)

missed their numan targets. Gradually
Joe Porello was leaning toward the
“modern school” of gangster thought.
He was beginning to believe that per-
haps he, too, needed gunmen. May-
be that was why he was not as suc-
cessful as the Lonardos. Racketeers
in other cities ruled their vast empires
with blazing rods. Bootleggers fre-
quently shot it out. Maybe that was
the thing to do.

Joe talked it over with his brothers
in family conference. What the others
said in that meeting probably never
will be known. Later events indi-

cated that at least four of them de-.

cided to become out-and-out gang-
sters, but how the others voted must
remain a mystery. However, this
meeting was a turning point in the
growth of the Porellos; a turning point
which changed many destinies.

A FEW days later Joe Porello gave a
trusted friend $600 in cash and sent
him to Youngstown, Ohio. There this
man went to a certain store and took
delivery of 24 pistols. He hurried
back to Cleveland and turned them
over to Joe. Anda die was cast. This
is perhaps one of the most amazing
pictures in the entire history of Amer-
ican crime. Here was a roly-poly,
little-boy man of middle age, sudden-
ly deciding to become a_ gangster.
Even as many executives order new
office equipment, he ordered two doz-
en instruments of death, and primed
them to kill! And with the purchase
of the guns, history and many des-
tinies were changed.

Almost as soon as Joe had the
“hardware.” on the evening of Octo-
ber 13, 1927, in fact, Big Joe Lonardo
received an important telephone call.
He summoned his brother, John, and
together they drove out Woodland
Avenue to 110th Street. As they
stepped from the car each brother
patted his bulging pocket to reassure
himself. Side by side they strode into
Ottavio Porello’s barber shop and
walked through to a card room in the

42

rear. Sickly Angelo Porello was seat-
ed there, and he spoke to them in
Italian. Suddenly Angelo saw some-
thing which sent him diving under a
table, for the die had been cast in
deadly earnest.

In an instant red hot lead was
shooting all over the room but most-
ly into the bodies of Big Joe and John
Lonardo. John jerked out his own
gun, but dropped to the floor dead be-
fore he could use it. Big Joe drew a
gun in either hand and blazed away,
wildly. Seven slugs pierced his great
body. He staggered out through the
barber shop, still holding his smoking
weapons, fell through the door and
died on the sidewalk nearby.

Police came, of course, rounded up
the Porello brothers and took them to
headquarters for questioning. They
turned them all loose a few days later,
and the murder of the Lonardos still
stands in the records as unsolved.

This burst of gunfire climaxed Joe
Porello’s rise as a racketeer baron, and
it also marked the beginning of his
downfall. If only he had learned the
lesson of the Licata rainfall—but he
didn’t; so—

Joe immediately took over as many
of the Lonardo sugar customers as he
could get, and for a short time he
tasted the full glories of the power
that was so dear to him. The third
Lonardo brother, Frank, attempted to
carry on but without much _ success.
The Porellos did most of the business,
and how Joe strutted!

With thousands of dollars a week in
net profits rolling in now, all of the
Porellos showed more prosperity than
ever before. Joe bought a large brick
mansion in an exclusive residential
district, and moved his family there.
And now he began spending large
sums on flashy clothes and possessions.
He was partial to brown, perhaps be-
cause he sold brown sugar in brown
bags. Anyway, he wore brown hats,
brown suits of expensive materials,
brown shoes and often brown shirts
and neckties.

From eight o’clock until noon every
day he directed affairs at his ware-
house and headquarters. But he spent
every afternoon calling on his cus-
tomers and maintaining his contacts.
Although he dealt wholly in corn
whiskey, he would drink but little of
it himself. He preferred the expensive
bonded whiskies which he drank neat,
and with a flourish. And if he bragged
before the growing wealth and power
of the Porellos, now he was unbear-
able. His ego knew no bounds. He
was cock of the walk, and he didn't
intend that anyone who would listen
to him should forget it. He was es-
sentially a man-sized little boy suf-
fering from a malignant case of brag-
gadocio.

But for all his wealth and all his
giddiness, Joe Porello remained true
to the traditions of his ancestors. He
remained faithful and devoted to his
family. No strings of glamorous play-
girls for him, no rounds of the night
haunts. He was strictly a man’s man,
spending his evenings playing cards
and sipping wine with his country-
men in the card rooms which dotted
the Italian quarter. And it was the
same with all the Porellos.

HESE carefree days and nights did

not continue for long, however.
Short-sightedness, the same weakness
which had made Joe vulnerable when
he had set out in his childhood to mas-
ter the other boys of Licata, again rose
up to destroy him, By the tenth year
of prohibition the public taste had
grown beyond the corn whiskey stage
and drinkers were demanding and
getting aged whiskey in bottles with
labels. The bottom dropped out of the
corn whiskey market, and out of the
corn sugar trade. Joe Porello found
himself sitting on the throne of an em-
pire which did not exist.

At first he thought he could fight it.
He instructed his men to strong-arm
his customers into line, make them
take their regular quotas of sugar—or
else, But it didn’t work. Joe was mys-

tified. It simply couldn’t be, he told
himself. But it was. His business
dropped off until it was all he could
do to take in enough to pay off the
couple of hundred men he employed.
Finally he laid off most of them and
called in his lieutenants for confer-
ence,

There were many conferences, but
nothing much came from any of them.
Slowly Joe began to realize what had
happened. He looked around him then
to see how he could go about getting
into the fancy liquor and beer field.
And he found powerful gangs domi-
nating both.

ND there were other things to wor-
ry Joe, too. Black Sam Todaro, a
Lonardo lieutenant who had joined
the Porellos after the barber shop
massacre, was shot down by gangster
bullets on June 11, 1928, and right in
front of the Porello barber shop. He
was killed as he stood talking with
Mrs. Concietta Lonardo, widow of Big
Joe; her son, Angelo; and her nephew.
Dominic Suspirato. The three Lonardos
were arrested and tried for the killing
The widow was acquitted but the two
boys were found guilty and sentenced
to serve life terms. They appealed and
after serving some time in the peni-
tentiary, won new trials at which they.
too. were acquitted.

And then Joe’s elder brother and
able helper, Rosario, was arrested for
carrying concealed weapons; a pistol
in the pocket of his car. Joe fought
the case through to the supreme court.
but lost it. He must have paid out an-
other sizable sum, for some way or
other the fact that Rosario was sen-
tenced to serve one to three years in
the state’s prison was overlooked for
more than six months. Finally, how-
ever, newspapers carried the story
and Rosario went away on January
27, 1930, to serve his term.

Gangster guns flashed quite fre-
quently in Cleveland during this pe-
riod, and one of those to be killed
was Frank Lonardo, the last of the

an aunt in Washington to seek employment on the stage.
But she hadn’t found employment and so she was going the
rounds, looking for work—almost any kind of work. May-
belle was so broke she didn’t have money for a 50c-a-night
room.

Tony Marino sat there at the little round table behind
the green beaded curtain, puffing on a cigar, listening to
Maybelle’s story as she approached him for a job. “Tell you
what, Baby,” said Tony, a great fellow for getting right to
the point with a girl, “you can go right to work waitin’ on
the tables out there. But be sure you're nice to the society
swells.” :

“Where will I sleep?” asked Maybelle.

Tony leered at the girl. “Why,” he said, “at my place.”

“But,” said Maybelle, “have you got room?”

Tony just smiled. “I got one bed. That’s enough. Now, how
about startin’ to wait on the customers, Baby?”

“Fine,” said Maybelle. “I’ll get right to work.”

The word soon got around that Maybelle Carlson was
Tony Marino’s girl.

Then one day in March—the 17th of March, some five
weeks after Maybelle had first put in an appearance—she
didn’t show up for work. A male patron asked Tony where
Maybelle was. Tony just looked at his questioner, took his
cigar from his mouth and replied, “Oh, she died. Died of
pneumonia, poor kid.”

“Yeah? Gee, that’s too bad.”

“It sure is,” said Tony. ‘Maybelle was a great girl.”

“Where’s she buried?”

“She had an aunt in Washington—her only living rela-
tive. I sent the body there.”

Successful in murder-for-insurance death of Maybelle
Carlson, a speakeasy owner set up a second victim, who
had as many lives as a cat. Below, the final fatal try.

little «
long s
the B
As
hours
spent


KRIESBERG, MARINO and PASQUA, elec. NY’ (Bronx) 6-7-193h3 and
MURPHY, elac. NY (Bronx) on 7/5/193lies,5

To turn a man into a corpse is a
frightening thing, indeed. But it can
become a horrible nightmare when the

NO WILL
TO DIE

BY ALAN HYND

ge Marino’s come-as-you-are speakeasy on Third
Avenue in New York City’s Bronx was, in the year of 1932, .
one of those places where society rubbed elbows with the
common folk. The middle-class residents of the neighbor-
hood walked to Tony’s place, but it was not uncommon for
a sleek limousine, driven by a chauffeur, to disgorge a dame
wearing mink, accompanied by a fellow decked out in
top hat, white tie and tails, in front of the peephole of the
establishment. f

Tony Marino himself was a dark, pouchy little man of
about 40, with vaselined black hair parted in the middle
and usually wearing a double-breasted suit of purple flannel.
Like most speakeasy proprietors of the era, Tony had a
certain polish and charm. He knew how to greet cordially
and handle his society customers, who dropped into his
place because it was so colorful. But underneath his suave
surface, Marino was a real bad boy.

Tony ran things from the rear of the speak, sitting at a
small round table behind a green beaded curtain. The area
where Tony sat behind that curtain was dark, so that he
could see out into the speak proper while -those at the bar aes
and the tables there could not see him.

One thing had to be said for Tony. He had a way with
the ladies. The scuttlebutt around Tony’s section of Third
Avenue was that more than one society doll, who had first
spotted Tony while in his place with a top-hatted companion,
had privately made contact with him later in a couple of
rooms he maintained in a small apartment house around the
corner from his establishment.

One night in February, 1932, a rather wistful blonde who
bore more than a passing resemblance to Lillian Gish, the
actress, wandered into Tony’s place. Her name was Maybelle
Carlson; she was 22, and had come from her home with

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had in mind.

“You just get this bum plastered to
start,” said Tough Tony. “Then you take
him somewheres where it’s nice and quiet
and hold-him up in front of a car and let
the automobile hit him.”

So the plot to murder Mike Malloy by
what would seem to have been an acci-
dent got under way. Hershey Green was
to drive the murder car—the cab—and
Tough Tony, now in on the money part of
the plot, was to hold Mike in front of the
cab and shove him in front of it as it ap-
proached. Tough Tony was to get one
hundred simoleons for the skill that
would be required to hold a human being
upright and shove him in front of a
speeding automobile at precisely the
right moment.

So there they were, at 3 o'clock one
morning, in a lonely stretch of the Bronx
called Gun Hill Road. Tough Tony was
on the sidewalk and the unconscious
Malloy and Hershey Green was up the
street a way at the wheel of his cab.
Marino, sitting in the cab with Pasqua and
Murphy, was present to supervise things.

There was only one house in the
vicinity where the murder was to be com-
mitted and, it being 3 in the morning, the
house was completely dark. The plot was
that Green, going full speed, at about 60
miles an hour, was to toot his horn twice
as he approached the spot where Tough
Tony was to shove Malloy in front of the
cab. The idea of the horn tooting was to
make sure that Tough Tony did not shove
Malloy in front of a strange car out of the
darkness.

All right. So everything was all set.
“Let’s go,” Marino said to Green. And so
Green put his foot all the way down on
the accelerator. When he approached the
spot where he was to toot his horn he
tooted. But almost instantly, lights went
on in the bedroom of the one damned
house in the whole neighborhood and
Tough Tony, ready to deliver Malloy,
saw the light. So he didn’t deliver Malloy
and the cab passed the spot where the
crime was to have been committed.

Green returned and there was a con-
ference in the darkness with Malloy, hap-
pily drunk, unaware of it all. The plotters
were by this time beginning to feel as
futile as the little boy in Australia who,
~wanting a new boomerang, tried to
throw the old one away.

But they had lots of stick-to-itiveness,
these boys. What they did next, that same
night, was to take Malloy to another
desolate street in the Bronx—a part of
town where there wasn’t a single damned
house. This time, with Green hitting
about 60, Tough Tony shoved Malloy in
front of the speeding taxi and Mike was
caught flush and up right.

Then, just for good measure, as the
cab turned around and came back for
Tough Tony, Hershey ran over the
recumbent Malloy lying out in the middle
of the street.

There was not a line in the papers

68

about the “accident” next day. Murphy
was dispatched to visit the city’s morgues
with instructions from Marino to get a
peek at all unidentified male bodies un-
der the pretext that his brother was miss-
ing.
But Mike Malloy did not turn up. .
“Maybe,” suggested Tough Tony, “he
ain't dead but is in a_ hospital
somewheres.”

For a week the plotters covered all the
hospitals in Greater New York in person
and by telephone. No Mike Malloy. “I
wonder where the old bastard is,” Marino
said. “He’s got to be somewheres.”

More time passed. The plotters were
in a bad way, lacking that insurance
money. An alcohol dealer was putting
screws on Marino for an unpaid bill and
Pasqua was being hounded by a coffin
company.

It was at this stage of the crime that
Tough Tony contributed a really original
thought. “Leave us,” he said to a gather-
ing of the killers behind the beaded cur-

Don’t miss the July issue of

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE
On Sale June 4th!

tain, “get a substitute for Malloy and
knock him off and say he’s Malloy.”
Getting a substitute for Malloy would

be a problem, but not too much of a‘

problem. Since Malloy’s general physical
characteristics were recorded in the in-
surance policy, a man of his general
specifications was needed. The substitute

corpse-to-be would also have to be a.

citizen without family or close friends.
And, to be sure, a drinking man.

And so the plotters—all five of them—
fanned out and covered the Bronx bars in
the roles of talent scouts. Tough Tony
was in a Harlem speakeasy when he
found just what everybody was looking
for. The actor who was, without realizing
it, to portray Malloy was a 50-year-old
Irishman named McCarthy. Tough Tony
fell into conversation with McCarthy and
learned he was unemployed. So Bastone
offered him a job as a sweeper-up in Tony
Marino’s speakeasy at a salary of a dollar
a day and all the booze he could hold. Mc-
Carthy, as much of a drunk as Malloy,
looked upon Tough Tony’s offer as the
chance of a lifetime and grabbed it.

Tough Tony, who was now kind of
running things for whatever he was to get
out of the insurance, went to a printing es-
tablishment and had some name cards
run off for Michael Malloy. The caper
was to plant one of these cards on Mc-
Carthy when McCarthy was done in, by a
means not yet determined, thus es-
tablishing McCarthy’s identity as that of
Malloy for the insurance company. It
simply did not occur to the plotters, who
surer than hell were not thinking very
clearly along about now, that a man with

no seat in his pants would hardly be likely
to go in for calling cards. Yet a fact is a
fact and this was one day to become a fact

in the files of the Bronx District Attorney.

McCarthy hadn’t been working in
Marino’s long when Marino gave the sign
to Murphy one night and Murphy fed Mc-
Carthy a shot of wood alcohol. Later that
night, the still-breathing-but-unconscious
McCarthy was taken in Green’s taxicab to
a bleak stretch of road winding through
Claremont Park. There, when Tough
Tony shoved out front, Hershey Green hit
him broadside. Then Green turned
around and ran over once and then, tur-
ning around again, ran over him a second
time. Now, planting a name card on the
victim, the murderers left the park.

Next day there was no news of any
kind. On the second day, however, there
was news—in the paper called the Bronx
Home News. A citizen by the name of
Michael Malloy, the Home News an-
nounced, had been the victim of a hit-
and-run driver in Claremont Park and
was in Fordham Hospital suffering from
a compound fracture of the skull, two
broken arms, a compound fracture of the
leg, 12 broken ribs and assorted internal
injuries.

Marino, muttering, telephoned to the
Fordham Hospital. “Mr. Malloy,” the in-
stitution told him, “is not expected to
live.”

“It could be worse,” Marino an-
nounced to his fellow conspirators. “It
looks like he’s gonna die.”

The boys, to show their respects for
the very ill sweeper-upper, sent him
oranges. Tony Marino actually went to
the hospital to see McCarthy, alias
Malloy. The good news was that the
battered-up patient was in no condition
to see anyone, having but a few hours to
live.

The joy in the back room at Marino’s
was short-lived. The patient not only did
not die in a few hours but, a few days
after Marino’s visit, the patient had done
an about-face and was positively out of
danger.

There was great gloom behind the
beaded curtain. All five of the boys—
‘Tony Marino, Frank Pasqua, Danny
Murphy, Tough Tony Bastone and

Hershey Green—were sitting around °

behind the curtain one night in the middle
of February, some two months after the
death plot had first got under way, drink-
ing their way out of their sorrows. They
were surely a depressed lot and they had
every reason to be. Wood alcohol. Slithers
of tin in poisoned sardines. Nakedness in
a freezing rain. Assault by automobile,
first on Malloy, then on his stand-in. And
nothing had worked. Yes, their anguish
was deep.

It was along toward midnight this par-
ticular night, and it was sleeting outside,
and there was only one customer out at
the bar. Tony Marino had just taken a
gulp of anti-snake bite when he almost
choked on the drink. “What's the

matter?” asked
you seen 2 ohos

To n't:
and pc ou’
Pasqua, Murph
looked out to wt
Now they thous
ghost. They we:
they were looki
in the front do
these weeks—v
one, the only
Malloy.

It develope:
that he had got
car—some thre
had been in a |
Why, one that
when attempt
Through a cl¢ri
had not appear
accident victin
covered that p

The boys >
dilemma. Wh
Should they kn
got out of the
take up wher:
Malloy? They
been such bac
would wait fo
knock him off

Malloy wa:
one, while the
however, the «
changed. “Thr
yelled to Mury

“What dic
Mur}
Malloy looked
bum out!”

And so Mik
out of Marino

Soon, hov
presented itse
from the hos]
remarkable re
So now then
surance had n

It was sev:
Pasqua, Mur
searching the
Malloy. Mike
sweeping out
ing. It was 1]
located Mike
Mike,” Tony «
throwing you
to come back

Malloy str:
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Employment.
him with a ¢
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back to Mari

Since Ma
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was necessal
man into the


ot telling her to
it.”
‘oice, told the
‘k had “vowed
on October 13,
» be married as
sted to store
n working as
ire and his ap-
id been made
iis fiancee dis-
J
‘d the hearts of
le in the cour-
Ison handed
ait the crime
witness if he
son in the

in,” King said

rd day of the
| to testify. He
iind after con-

and now he
rmation as had
nade the night

The major
er said it was
id stabbed the
d beauty to

itement to the
Ith >from

nl, Jchols
;and I’m sorry
body.

was arrested I * |

Ud been work-
lay. I'd been-
running away
ve happened
fine Christian

‘ied his head in

sobs, causing
f he wished to
npose himself.
to say,” Echols

Echols told the

from a broken ~

seen his father
ie father show-
inty jail drunk
sted and charg-
iid he had seen
nd that was on
an and that his

ssfexamination
sited the infor-
rving time for
and had other
m'for rape and
ferro County.
sged the body
‘Stanford ask-

the lead,”
t tl ney.
ther questions

concerning the charges in Taliaferro
County.

In his summation to the jury, District
Attorney Ison said: “To start with, there is
some conflict about which one of these
men actually thrust .the knife into. the.
victim’s body, but both are guilty because
her death occurred asa result of their con-
spiracy to commit another crime.”

Tears flowed freely in the courtroom as
Ison described the events of the night of
December 5, 1971 and a hard-working
mother, soon to be married, on her way
home to put up a Christmas tree for her 5-
year-old son.

As he closed his moving address, Ison
asked that the jury bring back a sentence
of guilty, and that Echols be sentenced to
death for the wanton slaying of Mrs. Sue
Ann Wick.

Defense Attorney Stanford called
Ehrlich Coker a “mad dog who is
arrogant and has an aura of filth about
him.” .

“You heard about Coker’s various other
crimes, and it’s hard to believe that this

one incident led him to commit all these
other crimes,” the defense attorney said.

“Coker bought the right to murder by
pleading guilty to the charge,” the
defense attorney said.

The jury retired-and deliberated three -

hours before returning a verdict of guilty
against Echols. They deliberated the
punishment for another hour and return-
ed to sentence him to life in prison.

Governor Jimmy Carter of Georgia
cited the arrest of Coker and Echols as an
“excellent example of cooperation
between authorities in Richmond Coun-
ty, Clayton County, Atlanta police and
the State Department of Investigation.”

The aspect of the case which continues
to baffle Atlanta officers, and particularly
Detective C. W. Smegal, was the vivid ac-
count offered investigators by the two.
Smith children. There was no question in
the minds of the officers that someone
had gone to the vehicle when it appeared
Mrs. Wick was having trouble with her
car.

There are any number of explanations,

they believe, but the strongest possibility
is that some good Samaritan had tried to
help the victim and had departed without
being able to do so. Perhaps she had told
the man she would return to the store and
seek help there and he had left, stopping
to chat with a police officer as he left the
parking lot.

There was the possibility, too, that the
children had gotten details mixed up in
their minds. Even under hypnosis they
had recalled specific aspects of the panel
truck and the atom design on the side.
Whatever they saw will likely remain a
mystery forever. joke

EDITOR’S NOTE:

Roy King, Mr. and Mrs. Charles
Gilbert and Mr. and Mrs. Robert
White and their children Maren and
Melvin are not the real names of the
persons so named in the foregoing
story. Fictitious names have been used
because there is no reason for public
interest inthe names of these persons.

Victim Refused to Die

for action. Marino, wanting to make
doubly sure this time, wasn’t satisfied just
to feed Malloy the poisoned fish in a
sandwich. Marino took the can the sar-
dines had come out of, went to a Bronx
machine shop, had the tin of the can
reduced to slithers, and mixed the slithers
with the sardines. If the rotten fish didn’t
do Malloy in, Marino said, the tin slithers
would. “The tin’ll cut his guts to pieces,”
was the way Marino put it.

That night—this is in the third week of
the plot—Malloy shuffled in. He had by
this time been hired by Marino to sweep
the place out every morning, in return for
which he was to receive free drinks at
night. This night, along with a tumblerful
of anti-freeze, Malloy was given the
sardine-and-tin sandwich. Murphy
observed things from behind the bar and
Marino and Pasqua were looking on from
behind the beaded curtain.

Malloy downed the drink, then went to
work on the sandwich. The sandwich was
so tasty that he hardly seemed to chew it
thoroughly, because it was all gone after a
few big bites. “Danny, me boy,” said
Mike, “you ain’t got another one of them
foine sandiwches, have. ye?” Danny
didn’t but he he had more anti-freeze.

Mike, who was by this time sleeping in
the joint, somehow or other got away this
night. “Now,” grumbled Marino, “we'll
have to hunt all over the Bronx for the
damned body.”.

But the plotters were put to no such
trouble. Next night, along toward 10
o'clock, who shuffled in, as cheerful as
ever, and as thirsty as ever, but Mike
Malloy.

“How are you feelin’, Mike?” asked
Murphy.

° VOR aaa
Ppp | il aN oe

(from page 43)

‘“Foine, Danny, my boy, Just foine.”

“No cramps or nothin’, Mike?”

“Never felt better,” replied Malloy.

The three plotters now went into
serious conference. As a result, they went
into action the first week of the new year
of 1933. Malloy, unconscious on the floor
of Tony’s from the wood alcohol, was
taken into a taxicab driven by a friend of
Marino’s—Hershey Green. The cab,
parked at the door of Tony’s, had, in ad-
dition to Malloy, Marino and Pasqua as
passengers.

The weather was just what the boys
wanted this particular night. A violent
sleet storm was pelting the city and it was
colder than hell.’

Green drove the cab to a lonely stretch
of Claremont Park. There the murders
took the unconscious Malloy out of the
cab and carried him into the stretch of the
park not visible from the road. There they
stripped him to the waist and laid him on
the ground face up. Now, to make
assurance doubly sure, Tony, the policy
holder; had brought along a gallon of
water which he poured over Malloy’s
chest. Now they left the sleeping drunk
there to catch his death of cold.

Next afternoon, Hershey Green the
cabby came in to report that he had
driven past Claremont Park and looked at
the spot where Malloy had been left and
that Malloy positively was not there.

Marino telephoned to Pasqua who had had

a funeral that morning and asked him to
bring the afternoon papers with him.
There was nothing in the papers about
a man, half stripped, having frozen to
death in Claremont Park, or anybody
having been found ill there. Marino, Pas-
qua and Murphy, and Hershey Green, the

taxi driver, were mulling over what could
possibly have happened to Mike Malloy
when who walked in, chipper but thirsty,
then Mike Malloy.

“The funniest thing happened to me
this mornin’, my friends,” Mike explained
to his startled auditors. “I woke up in
Claremont Park with most of my clothes
off. | wonder how I ever got way up there
and why I ever tried to take my clothes
off in a public park.” Malloy stopped.
“Red, my boy,” he said to the barkeep,
“how about a drink of that special stuff
you serve to me?”

While Malloy was talking to Murphy,
now out in the bar, an old friend of
Marino’s—a character named Anthony
Bastone—lumbered in. Tough Tony, as
Bastone called himself, was a_ hairy
character with practically no forehead.
“How’s every little thing?” Tough Tony,
now behind the beaded curtain, wanted
to know of Marino.

“Things ain’t so good,” answered
Marino. He nodded toward Malloy, out
at the bar, enjoying his wood alcohol.
“We're tryin’ to bump him off for a little
insurance and we're havin’ an awful time.
We give him wood alcohol and poisoned
sardines in ground-up tin and put him out
in a sleet storm practically stripped and
nothin’ happens.”

Tough Tony addressed himself to the
problem. The element that was lacking in
the plot against Malloy, he said, was
violence.

“But,” said Marino, “we don’t want to
make it look like murder.”

“Who said anythin’ about makin’ it
look like murder?” said Tough Tony.

“Make it look like an accident. An’ anyway,
don’t insurance policies pay double for
accidents?”

Indeed they did, answered Marino,
now craving details of what Tough Tony

67


KRIESBERG, MARINO and PASQUA, Electrocuted Sing Sing (Bronx) on June 7, 193, and
MURPHY, Joseph, electrocuted Sing

~”

by BILL KELLY

Tony Marino’s speakeasy
in New York’s Bronx was,
back during the soupkitchen
days of 1933, vulgar, drab,
and depressing. There was a
putrid smell about the joint,
legacy of a few addicts and
countless alcoholics. A pipe

twisting to the toilet leaked,

and the water angled off into
a crack beneath the deterio-

rated mahogany bar.

A stuffy hole-in-the-wall, Marino’s
featured free baloney-or sardine
sandwiches during the Depression, and
a swig of raw alcohol for 15¢ or two
jolts for a quarter. Tony Marino,
owner of the groggery, was a dark,
tousle-haired man, lanky, bony, and
angular. From a seat in the rear of his
tavern, Tony usually peeked out from
behind a green and red-beaded curtain
to see who was coming in the door.

His best pal was Francis F. Pasqua.
He may have been christened that, but
everyone knew him as Frank. The
neighborhood mortician, Frank was
little and shaped like a beetle. A cold-
hearted businessman, he suffered
from one fault which caused him
untold misery — he couldn’t stay away
from the liquor. In fact, he got so pie-
eyed one day, he once fell headlong
into a grave after the coffin.

But the undertaking business was
deep-troubled. One night while Pasqua
complained about how hard it was to

Sing Ceerox) on July D3 19 316

4 t ro U
i? “ re ee re
bis
: : ‘ ; if
; ; ‘A
oe pints J : Bae
‘ ‘i Hi A aly ‘ FN a
i aa ‘ay
Pub 2) ‘4 , ‘ ' ame 1 Reathe ys
“4, ‘ % y

make ends meet, Marino told him:
**You think your business is off? Why,
it’s come to the point where my
customers won’t even spend the time
of day.”’

Just then Michael Malloy, an
elderly drifter, walked in from out of

A CRIME
CLASSIC

the December cold. His timing could
not have been better. As usual he was
swacked, and as usual, he began
bumming more drinks and begging for
somewhere to sleep. When Tony heard
Mike’s gruff voice, he peered out from
behind the beaded curtain and eyed
him with something other than
ridicule.

‘‘There’s our answer!’’ Marino

mF yrs ANRINGS vos

pom
adh

ten

A gee Sie

whispered to Pasqua over his glass.

‘‘What we could do is take out
insurance on that old bastard and
bump him off.”’

For several chilly, December nights,
Marino and Pasqua sat behind the
trimmed curtain watching Mike Malloy
slouched at the bar, spinning a yarn
or making a pitch to anyone with the
price of a drink. ‘*You know,’’ Marino
told Pasqua, ‘‘Malloy don’t have no
living relations — he told me that one
time when | let him sleep here if he’d
sweep the joint out in the morning.”’

It would be a simple enough matter
to insure Malloy’s purposeless life for
$800 with a double indemnity clause.
With the aid of a commission-happy
insurance agent, they could pull it off.
In those days, with soup kitchens and
relief lines, Pasqua with his back to
the wall and Marino deep in debt, $800
wasn’t chicken feed. Pasqua would
even get Mike’s burial job for laying
out the first quarterly payment on the
‘policy. An insurance agent, who would
later claim he didn’t know the cards
were down and dirty, was contacted.
On paper, Malloy was listed as 45 and
in mint condition, not the jug-bitten
wreck he was really at sixty.

The problem now was how to send
Malloy to the big bar in the sky without
arousing suspicion. In 1933, murderers
were put on the hot seat in New York
State. The way suggested by Dave
Murphy, Marino’s red-headed_ bar-
tender, was probably the surest.
Murphy was as spineless as spaghetti,
usually, but. greed overcame his
cowardice.

‘‘Dave,’’ said Pasqua, ‘‘this Malloy
we gonna knock him off. Didn’t you
use to study chemistry? What could

Marino’s Speakeasy where five
men gathered to determine

_ ways of committing murders.

|
}
i


idly be likely
‘et a fact is a
yecome a fact
rict Attorney.
1 working in
) gave the sign
urphy fed Mc-
hol. Later that
it-unconscious
‘en’s taxicab to
iding through
When Tough
shey Green hit
yreen turned
and then, tur-
-fhim a second
1e card on the
the park.
» news of any
owever, there
lled the Bronx
the name of
ne News an-
ctim of a hit-
ont Park and
uffering from
‘he skull, two
fracture of the
orted internal

phoned to the
alloy,” the in-
‘ expected to

®@ an-
ispirators. “It

.r respects for
er, sent him
ually went to
Carthy, alias
was that the
no condition
. few hours to

m at Marino’s
t not only did
t, a few days
ient had done
sitively out of

n behind the
»f the boys—
squa, Danny
Bastone and

itting around °

tin the middle
mnths after the
er way, drink-
sorrows. They
t and they had
cohol. Slithers
Nakedness in
y automobile,
stand-in. And
their anguish

(night this par-
‘eting outside,

isto ut at
| fs a
en He~almost

“What's the

matter?” asked Pasqua. “You look like
you seen a ghost.”

Tony didn’t answer. He hung his head
and pointed out toward the front door.
Pasqua, Murphy, Bastone and Green
looked out to where Marino was pointing.
Now they thought they were looking at a
ghost. They were and they weren't. What
they were looking at— who had just come
in the front door after an absence of all
these weeks—was none other than the
one, the only, the original Michael
Malloy.

It developed, from Malloy himself,
that he had gotten banged up—hit by a
car—some three weeks previously and
had been in a hospital. Which hospital?
Why, one that the plotters had covered
when attempting to locate Malloy.
Through a clerical slip-up, Malloy’s name
had not appeared on the hospital’s list of
accident victims when the plotters had
covered that particular institution.

The boys in the back room faced a
dilemma. Who should they murder?
Should they knock off McCarthy after he
got out of the hospital? Or should they
take up where they had left off with
Malloy? They decided that Malloy had
been such bad luck to them that they
would wait for McCarthy’s release and
knock him off.

Malloy was at the bar, having a free
one, while the decision was made. When,
however, the decision was made, things
changed. “Throw the bum out!” Marino
yelled to Murphy. ;

“What did you say?” called back
Murphy.

“I said,” answered Marino, while
Malloy looked directly at him, “throw the
bum out!”

And so Mike Malloy was tossed to hell

out of Marino’s drink trap.

Soon, however, another problem
presented itself. McCarthy was released
from the hospital, after something of a
remarkable recovery, and disappeared.
So now the men who had taken out in-
surance had nobody to murder for it.

It was several nights before Marino,
Pasqua, Murphy, Bastone and Green,,
searching the Bronx in sections, located
Malloy. Mike had sunk to employment,
sweeping out a rooming house for a liv-
ing. It was Tough Tony Bastone who
located Mike. “It was all a mistake,
Mike,” Tony explained, “that business of
throwing you out that night. We want you
to come back to Tony’s.”

Malloy straightened himself to his full
height and looked coldly at Tough Tony.
Employment, it developed, had vested
him with a certain dignity. Theré was
nothing Bastone could do to lure him
back to Marino’s.

Since Malloy had made it clear to
Bastone that he wanted no part of the
boys in the back room, under any cir-
cumstances, and since the boys in the
back room were out to murder Malloy, it
was necessary for them to call a sixth
man into the death plot. This was a friend

/

of Tough Tony’s

named Danny
Kreisberg—a broken-down fruit dealer
who had become embittered at the world
because corner apple sellers had ruined:
his business. Kreisberg roped Malloy at a
new hangout of the elderly Irishman—
one where Mike paid cash. On the after-
noon of Washington’s Birthday,
Kreisberg roped Malloy to a room in a
roach trap on Fulton Street, not far from
the Pasqua Memorial Home.

First thing Kreisberg did was to get
Malloy stiff in the room—out cold after

no little difficulty.. Then he phoned:
Marino, still the head plotter, for instruc-.

tions. Marino sent Murphy to the room
where Malloy was stoned cold and where
Kreisberg was waiting with a length of
rubber hose.

Now, after all this time, the murder
was so simple that the boys must have felt
ashamed of. themselves. Kreisberg and
Murphy simply attached one end of the
rubber hose to.a gas jet and held the cther’
end in the passed-out Malloy’s mouth and
turned on the gas. That, after all this time,
did it. . :

There was great joy in the back room
of Marino’s place that night. Pasqua conn-
ed a careless doctor into signing a death
certificate ascribing Malloy’s death to
pneumonia.

The durable Irishman was packed ina
pine box and laid away in a twelve-dollar
plot in a Bronx cemetery. Now the in-
surance company paid Tony Marino the
$1,200 for Malloy’s policy.

What with all the time and expenses
involved in the murder of Mike Malloy,
$1,200 simoleons didn’t go far. The boys
in the back room began to quarrel among
themselves over the importance of their
individual roles in the scragging. They
did worse than quarrel among
themselves. They began to leak at the oral
cavity. Tough Tony, for example, actual-
ly went around to Bronx friends, telling
them what part he had played in the
murder of Mike Malloy, and asked them
if they didn’t think Marino was swindling
him in giving him only a hundred dollars
of the insurance money. Unbelievable

but true. Then Hershey Green, the taxi
man, began trying to enlist the sympathy
of friends when he told them he had hit a
guy for a friend and had never been paid
for the job. And Kreisberg, a genuine
dope, was ridden by fear and went
around asking friends if they thought he
would be accused by the police of giving
the gas hose to a man who had really died
of pneumonia. |

As time wore on fights broke out
among Marino, Pasqua, Murphy,
Bastone, Green and Kreisberg. The
fighting words became louder and
sounds like that, and what they have im-
plied, sometimes gets to the wrong ears.

So it was in May of 1933. The in-
teresting talk got to a Bronx police station
and a couple of smart dicks began to
thumb through the death records of
Washington’s Birthday—a day that had
cropped up in the fascinating talk. The
dicks found the death of Mike Malloy to
their interest. And so Mike was dug up.

When the lid was opened on Mike’s
twelve-dollar coffin, there was our boy,
beautifully preserved in alcohol and with
the body giving off that beautiful cherry-
red hue supplied by gas poisoning.

So the boys in the back room, begin-
ning with Marino, who had taken out the
insurance on the gas-killed Mike, were
put under the official magnifying glass.
Pasqua had paid an old bill to a coffin
company the day after the insurance
company had paid Marino the insurance
on Mike. Marino had settled an overdue
alcohol bill, the same day. And Red
Murphy had bought two new suits.

The law, lowering the boom, got con-
fessions out of the whole fiendish
crowd—all except Tough Tony. Tough
Tony got into an argument that had
nothing to do with the murder of Iron
Mike Malloy and got himself killed.

The confessions did little good to the
plotters, who thought that by confessing
they would escape the big burn in Sing
Sing. Hersey Green was the only one to
get off with a prison stretch. Marino, Pas-
qua, Murphy and Kreisberg died in the
chair at Sing Sing. tk

Dead Ohio Socialites

grotesquely on its side, her feet only in-
ches from her mate’s head. Since the cou-
ple was dressed in night clothes, police
theorized that they were murdered dur-
ing the night, probably minutes before
the bedroom was set aflame in an aborted
attempt to cover up homicide.

For reasons never fully understood—
except possibly by the victims—it was
noted that Hoffman was wearing a pair of
women’s nylon panties when he died, a
fact which was to be used by the defense
in the second murder trial.

-As was brought out during the course
of both trials, young Tom Hoffman was
questioned routinely—as were dozens of

(from page 32)

other people—but was never considered _
a serious suspect in the deaths of ‘his
parents until it was learned that he could
not satisfactorily explain the dis-
appearance of several handguns from his
apartment at Chagrin Falls. Tom Hoff-
man told Chagrin Falls Chief of Police
Hugh V. Young that his apartment had
been burglarized. While police ordinarily
would have accepted the report and
handled it routinely, they were disturbed
by the fact that young Hoffman had not
previously admitted owning hand
weapons, and the fact that the burglary
occurred about the time that detectives
had planned on searching the apartment.

69


TONY GARLAUS, RAYMOND NORTON, WATSON EDWARDS AND
HARRY EISENBERG (New York)
"Tough Tony!s Gang*®

"Four frightened gunmen lined up in a New York Courtroom Dece
lt to receive sentence for first degree Sinden, Said their leader,
‘Tough Tony! Garlaus: *Give me the works.! Raymond Norton and
Watson Edwards said nothing. Harry Eisenberg covered his twitching
facee Then each of them was sentenced to death for killing a
restaurant proprietore Next day Tough Tony and his gang arrived at
Sing Sing feeling cockier. Tony and Edwards and Norton grinned,
Eisenberg still covered his face. To accomodate them, along with
its 23 other condemned men, Sing Sing added four new cells to
death row,"
LIFE MAGAZINE, Dece 28, 1936.

Page 17

si er

MY Tine

Aft 1740

JOSEPH BOLOGNIA, THEODORE DI DIONNE AND GANG (New York)

"SIDEWALK PRRYERS TO GOVERNOR SAVE FOUR OUT OF SIX MURDERERSe"

"On Septe 2. 19352 a Brooklyn subway-collector wis killed and
robbed of $245205 in nickelSe Six aun thugs were convicted of the
murder and sentenced to diee As Sing Sing prepared for a mass exe~
cution on Jane 7, 200 friends and relatives knalt before Gove
(Herbert He) Lehmann's Park Avenue apartment and prayed for clemencye
In Albany, just before the execution, the Governor commuted four
death sentences to life imprisonment, To the chatr went the two men
who actually fired the fatal shots: Joseph Bolognia, 24, and Theodore
Di Dionne, 3le In Brooklyn, Mrs» Di Dionne told her rosary 4s she
waited in vain for radie news of her son's reprievee

The family of Salvatore SCATA, 19, youngest of the killers, went
to Sing Sing just before the execution to bid hima last farewelle
While they were there, Gove Lehman decided to spare Scata's life be-
cause he had helped the State's casee. As they passed out through the
prison gates, the Scatas rejoiced that their Salvatore would only
have to spend the rest of his life in jail along with Sam KIMMEL, 21+
Eugene BRUNO, 23» and Dominick ZIZZ0, 26, whose trial two Court of

Appé@als Justices felt had not been faire

Caption underneath photograph: ®Day before executhon, EBugene

Bruno was reprievede In Sing Sings Re yelled "Its Great)"

LIFE MAGAZINE, Jane 18, 19376 pages 18 & 19

f=

*

MADELINE WEBB, ELI SHONBRUN AND JOHN CULLEN (New York)

"Here before the bar of Manhattan's Homicide Court, is the trio
accused of ‘one of the most cold-blooded murders! (the Assistant Dis-
tgfict Attarney's words) in New York City's historye Two of them (John
Cullen, a soured hoodlum; Eli Shonbrun, a belligerent petty larcenist )
are routine crooks; the third is note Madeline Webb, Oklahoma A & M
graduate (1933), wanted to be an actress. She didn't quite have what
it takes. She failed in Hollywood, danced in New York nightclub chorus
lines, slipped to near naked posing at a World's Fair peep show, fimlly
ended up with little Eli Shonbrune

“The crime of which they stood accused: murdere Stout Susan Reich,
wife of a rich, reputable Polish refugee manufacturerg was robbed of her
jewelry ($2,000 worht); was 16ft bound on the floor - her mouth and nose
taped so that she suffocated, In court, bedraggled Madeline Webb
quivered, wept, swayed, sighed: 'My poor mother! My poor mother}!

But detectives who questioned her out of court said they had XAXX rarely
met anyone So icily articulate."

TIME MAGAZINE, March 23, 1942 Page lt.

"seeeeMadeline Webb, who went on trial for her life in Manhattan
last weeke With her is her mother, Mrs, Vera Webb, who came from Okl a~
homa for the trial.e Mrs. Webb had not seen her daughter since Madeli ne
left home in Stillwater to go on the stage. In Stillwater, Madeline
had belonged to a good sorority, had graduated from collegee She tried
Hollywood and Broadwaye Then she was a model; then a peep=-sbow dancor
at the World's Faire She met up with a petty thief named Eli Shonbru ne
Now Madeline and her shabby lover, along with a petty-crooked chum,
were accused of luring a mediume-rich wife of a Polish refugee to a
Manhattan hotel, strangling her and robbing her dead bodye In court,
Madeline sobbed for photographers, swooned, smiled desperately at
Shonbrun, WxsuS Whispered: 'y love yous! With her mother, while flash
balbs popped, she wept again, clutched her mother's hand to her scarlet
lips, cuddled in her arms. Said tight-lipped Mrse Webb: tMadeline
couldn’ t be guiltye eeoooe’®

May 25
TIME MAGAZINE, MXKKMXZX, 1942.6 Page lh.

"The world never appreciated Eli Shonbmune He was a little yy
with plenty of talent, he figured, but the world never gave him a
decent break, That was the way he saw ite Just after he was married »
his job folded up on hime He went to his greasy Unbke Murray Hirschl ,
who was a ewX schlemiel with a diry repttation in the jewelry busines Se
Big-bearted Uncle Murray took him into tpartnership'. The pay: $10 a

week. With all Eli's talentecserce
"One day he held out a little of the dough he had collected on

jewelry, and he was arrested for larcentye That was the kind of brea k
Eli gote Eli dropped the jewelry business-he had been let off with a

suspended sentence-and tried nightclub singinge His wife took their
kid and left hime Then he met Madelines

TOO TOUGH TO DIE
(Continued from page 19)

a policy on Betty’s life, with Tony as
beneficiary. Marino, thinking wistfully
that another $1500 would come in
handy, raised his brooding eyes to the
undertaker’s face. “You remember
Betty, don’t you, Frankie?”

“Yeah. Sure. That dame!” said Pas-
qua. “I’ll never forget her.”

Marino nodded. “Frankie,” he said,
“find me someone I can insure and
I'll let you bury the body.”

At that precise moment, the buzzer
on the outside door sounded. The two
plotters looked up. Joe Murphy, the
scat-faced bartender, squeezed from
behind his counter, crossed to the
door, slid back an iron panel and
squinted through it. He saw Michael
Malloy standing outside, lips blue,
teeth chattering.

“Oh! It’s you again?” snarled Mur-
phy. “Scram, bum!”

“Just one shot, Joe,” pleaded Mal-
loy. “I’ll pay you right after Christmas.
Let me in. I’m freezing out here.”

He was about to slam the panel in
Malloy’s face when Marino called out:

“Who is it, Joe?”

“That bum, Malloy, again.”

Marino looked at Pasqua. Pasqua
looked at Marino. Each nodded imper-
ceptibly at the other. Malloy was a
godsend. He was just what the doctor
had- ordered — a drink-sodden bum,
frail, fragile, homeless, no friends and
no family. No one would mourn his
passing or care how or if he had died.

“Leave him in,” said. Marino softly.
“Give him anything he wants.”

Murphy’s jaw hung slack in wonder-
ment. “But .. .”

“You heard me! Let him in,” snapped
Marino. “Load him up .. . and invite
him back for tomorrow.”

With a shrug Murphy obeyed. The
boss must be going nuts, he thought,
but it wasn’t his hooch.

He threw back the bolt from the
door, swung the portal wide and Mal-
loy bounced into the room and over to
the bar in one unerring, beeline move-
ment. He was a happy man.

Murphy poured him a
smoke.

He tossed it off with a jerk; tossed
off the second and third and began to
feel himself come alive again.

“You're a right guy,” he said, “I'll
pay you sure, right after Christmas.”

Murphy glanced at Marino seated
at the table in the back room. Marino’s
nod indicated that Murphy was to con-
tinue playing Santa Claus.

As for Malloy, it was his policy
never to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Unquestioningly he tossed down the
smoke just as fast as Murphy poured
it out.

At midnight, deliriously and deli-
ciously drunk, they tossed him out
into the street on his ear and Marino
ordered the place locked up for the
night.

“What was the idea of all the char-
40

jigger of

‘ ity?” demanded Murphy.

And Marino told him what he and
Pasqua had in mind. Murphy agreed
that it was a good idea.

“Tomorrow,” concluded Marino,
slipping the bartender a bill, “I want
you to go out and get a gallon of anti-
freeze. When Malloy comes in again,
start him off on the smoke to warm
him up. Then switch to the anti-freeze.
They tell me a couple of slugs of that
wood alcohol will kill an ‘ox.”

The following morning, while Mur-
phy was buying the anti-freeze, Ma-
rino took out a $1500 life insurance
policy on Malloy’s life.

Because the agent, an old friend of
Marino’s, was greedy for the com-
mission, he permitted Marino to sign
Malloy’s name to the application. Then
Marino paid the first quarter’s prem-
ium, got a receipt for it and his murder
corporation was in business.

As near as your mail box: each
$1 sent to CARE Food Crusade,
New York 16, N. Y., delivers a gift
package to the hungry overseas.

Promptly at nine o’clock that night,
Malloy showed up at the speakeasy.
Murphy rolled out the red carpet for
him.

“And what will Mr. Malloy be hav-
ing tonight?” he asked. “On the house,
of course.” :

Malloy was staggered at this un-
expected hospitality but gallantly rose
to the occasion. “The same, my
friend—a shot of excellent smoke.”

Watching from the back room, Ma-
rino and Pasqua saw Malloy toss off
three shots of hooch in rapid succession.

Murphy reached for the anti-freeze
“How about another, Malloy?” he
asked.

“Don’t mind if I do, pal,” said Mal-

‘loy graciously.

So, behind the counter, Mufphy
measured out a liberal shot of anti-
freeze, a compound of raw wood alco-
hol and other lethal chemicals, guaran-
teed to keep your car from freezing up
and guaranteed to kill an ox.

He set the brimming glass before
Malloy, who pounced on it at once,
raised it to his lips and tossed off the
deadly poison as if it were the purest
milk.

He smacked his lips together then
looked at Murphy with a hurt and
aggrieved look in his mild blue eyes.

“Pal,” he said in a reproachful voice,
“you’ve been doing me wrong.”

In the back room Marino congratu-
lated himself that the poison was
working so soon. But Murphy, who
had dished up the deadly brew, squirm-
ed under Malloy’s baleful glare. “Who?
Me?” he protested in a hurt voice.
“Why, I’m your friend, Malloy.”

“Friend, nuts!” . snapped | Malloy.
“You been holding out on me. The
first three drinks you gave me were
from your bum stock. This last shot,
you must have made a mistake and
poured me out some of your good
stuff. From now on, I don’t want any-
thing else but that. The real McCoy.”

Murphy heaved a sigh of relief and
grinned amiably. “Sure thing, Malloy.
You know good stuff when you drink
it. Anything you say.”

Hastily’ he poured another slug of
anti-freeze and set it before Malloy.

Hastily Malloy downed it, tor fear
it would be snatched away. He closed
his eyes and smacked his lips ecstatic-
ally; “Who would think it,” he said.
“After all these years—the real McCoy!”

Steadily for three hours Murphy
served up the anti-freeze and steadily
for three hours Malloy slugged it all
without batting an eye.

On that evening, he consumed
enough poison to kill a hundred men.
But .the only apparent effect it had
on him was to put a rosy glow of color
into his. cheeks.

Amazed and bewildered, the three
plotters watched him with fascination.
Would the pig never pass out? What
was going on, anyway?

Then suddenly, without a word of
warning, Malloy doubled up at the
middle, cracked his chin on the bar
and swan-dived to the floor.

He was out like a light.

Pasqua hurried in from the back
room. Pasqua was an undertaker. He
was an expert. He felt for Malloy’s
heart beat. It was a faint, irregular
flutter and he assured Marino that the
end couldn’t be far off.

“About time,” growled Marino. 4
thought he was never going to die.”

They locked up the joint and turned
out the lights. They let Malloy lie
on the floor, gathered round him in a
circle to watch him die.

At three o’clock, his heart began to
pick up speed again. At five o’clock
it was beating full and strong. At six
Malloy sprang nimbly to his feet, play-
ful as a kitten, and banked his fist on
the bar.

“Another shot- of that good, honest
hooch of yours, Red,” he said.

The following night they changed
the brand of anti-freeze, but it was all
one and the same to Malloy. He lapped
it up as if it were cream and honey.
He thrived on the stuff. He had
never been in better physical shape
in his life. Glumly, from the back room,
Marino and Pasqua watched his antics
with growing disgust.

“The guy’s got a cast iron gut,”

POLICE DRAGNET

growled Marino. “If it wasn’t that we
had to have a death certificate to col-
lect the insurance, I’d feed him ar-
senic.”

For a week the plotters plied their
intended victim with enough wood al-
cohol to kill off half the male popula-
tion of the Bronx. But Malloy stub-
bornly refused to fulfill his part of the
arrangement and die. On the contrary,
he flourished on the anti-freeze. There
was an unwonted sparkle in his eyes,
a healthy color in his cheeks, a spring
to his step and he actually began to
put on weight. He hadn’t been so well
nourished in years.

Marino groaned and called a coun-
cil of war.

“At the rate he’s going, he’ll out-
live us all,” he said. “He ought to be
ashamed of himself. This damn thing
is costing me good money. Six gallons
of anti-freeze.”

Pasqua studied the floor and shook
his head. “It’s this way,” he said. “The
guy’s built up what the docs call a
tolerance, or resistance to it.”

“I don’t care what he’s built up,”
snarled Marino. “I want him dead.”

Murphy had a suggestion to make.
“I’ve heard that if you leave fish
standing around in an open can for
a day, it becomes a deadly poison.
Ptomaine, or something like that. We
got lots of cans of sardines here we’
never use. How about serving him a
free lunch?”

Marino was desperate. He was ready
to try anything once. And the sardines
wouldn’t cost him anything, for he had
a dozen cans in stock.

But this time he would make sure
that the stuff would work. Instead of
letting the sardines stand in the open
can for a day, he let them rot and de-
cay for a full week until it was more
than he could stomach to walk past
them.

Then, when they were really ripe
and putrid, he ground up a tumbler
into tiny, silver slivers of glass and
blended the fragments into the putrid
fish. Then he made the sandwich. But-
tered rye bread, poison fish and ground
glass, topped with plenty of mustard
to hide the stench.

That night, after he had downed a
half dozen shots of anti-freeze, Murphy
served Malloy his free lunch. He wolfed
the sandwich down with relish, smacked
his lips over it, averred that he had
never eaten a more delicious concoc-
tion. And so, thus fortified with wood
alcohol, poisoned fish and ground glass,
he staggered out into the night.

“That ought to do it,” said Murphy
with a sigh of relief. “He’ll be dead
as a dodo by morning in some gutter.”

“He better be,” said Marino darkly,
“or I'll be feeding you a sandwich.”

“Stop worrying,” said Pasqua. “If
the ptomaine don’t get him, the ground
glass will.”

But they counted their eggs without

taking into consideration Malloy’s cast
iron stomach. Promptly at nine o’clock
the following night, the derelict showed
up at the speakeasy, bright and chipper.
He was full of vim and vitality; he
could have licked his weight in wild-
cats. Under the deadly administrations
of his murderous friends, on his diet of
wood alcohol, poison fish and ground
glass, he had actually gained twelve
pounds.

He banged on the bar as if he owned
the joint. “None of that rot gut of
yours,” he said. “A shot of that good
special stock—the real McCoy.”

And dutifully Murphy poured him
out a glass of anti-freeze. There was
another ‘council of death when Malloy
had staggered out into the night at
closing time. Marino was so burnt up
that he couldn’t talk, so Murphy took
over the floor. “I’ve heard that if you
drank a lot of alcohol and then eat
raw oysters, they’ll turn to stone in
your stomach and vou die,” he said.

So they decided to put Malloy on
an oyster diet. But first they soaked
them in anti-freeze for 48 hours. Mal-
loy, grateful for all such blessings,
washed down the bivalves with a tum-
bler af wood alcohol and assured Ma-
rino that they were even more tasty
than the sardines had been.

“I want to cry,” he said in a burst
of sentimentality. “Why are you guys
so good to me?”

The only effect the oysters had on

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41

KREIS BURG,

ManlOol,

on July

. 7. June 8. eR) |
o'glock  Thurdday |
sing death house
Frank Pasqua.
| youngest me hqr of the rons
| murder syndici to} that conceived
| and executed fhe bizarre murder |
‘of durable Mi »Wialloy, February |
22, 1933; Pasqda. } married, father
of 4 child; Pas ug, the undertaker.
who buried durpblp Mike's body in
+ pauper's gr vet
They’ Il be bhitrying Panqua 8000 —
‘now. Some other undertaker will |

be burying ‘hing Right now, at |
10:09 o'clock | haraday night, he,
j stares bewildate at the silent!
witnesses coma tq see hint die. He

in frightened. |

OSSINING,
—It in 10:09

night in the Si
Here come

‘

4

7 wasn't long. |
Now they are/Zaking him out. 4

At 10:15 cldck. . They don't’:
lose much timp fat these affairs.
That is Anthdnyj] Marino coming. ;

walks steadil ind he's smiling.
What fs there}fo Bmile about? The
witnesses don mile. The guards
don't amile. ‘J ‘t their funeral.
Only Marino
neral.

r 10:20 oelodk. |
for Marino than for Pasqua. Some |

|
Been marrie even years. He |
|
|

3
—
ss
=
3
R
D
“4

than others.
some scientifi¢

mere in: probably |
iexplanation of {t,

out.
Here come Daniel Kreisberg. It |

. They;
with precision.
arried, too; got |
wnever been in

three chikdret .

any trouble [wih the law  be-
fore; well, ep» in plenty of
trouble now. | Hp’s been lying on

his bunk, 1 in}
ture of his mathé

“all Sagat when
him. On ni fin
cigarette tremblé
Wonder how |
Kreisherg? Fqur|
‘Ike Pasqua.

That's all for
‘Marino and Kre:

|
|
at a small nie. |
. He said he felt
they went to = |
as he ‘spoke, |
. All right? “|
ng it willtake for |
minutes. Quick,
tonight—Pasqua,
sberg.

Wonder what |
when he sits

The black og—the electrodes
—somewhere, fou, of sizht, the
throwing of a switch—

NEW3-JOURNAL, Da ytona

1934

June 8,

F Li

Bea Cn, Fila.


‘ , 25
Pi

by Peter Osdel

* HE WAS A BUM, pure and simple. Sleet spattered
his ragged clothes as he staggered toward a lamp post
and wrapped his arms around it to keep from falling on
his face. This was at St. Mark’s Place and Third Ave-
nue in New York City’s Bronx. There was a mean wind
howling out of the north that December night. All men

‘Should have been indoors,

%\

Michael Malloy was homeless, without family, friends or

“. “finances and had been a drunk-sodden bum for the greater

part of his 40 years. Up until that night he had gone un-

—® Yiced by. both press and public. But things were about to

cBamge. The curtain was going up on the most incredible—
and “amusing—human comedy in recorded history. Mike
Malloy was about to become famous.

He hung'‘on to the lamp post, bowed his head to the icy
blast and ‘tried to get himself organized. He wasn’t drunk,
That was the rub of it. That was his problem—how to get
drunk when he didn’t have a counterfeit cent in his pocket.

He trembled in the gale simply because he was weak from
lack of food. But he wasn’t concentrating on a juicy beef
Steak or even a humble hamburger or hot dog.

He was concentrating on a shot of smoke and wondering
whether he could chisel one from the redheaded bartender
at Tony Marino's speakeasy a couple of blocks further south,
at 171Ist Street.

An EI train hurtled by overhead and he decided that it
was worth a try. It was this decision that was to make him
a medical Eighth Wonder of the World, with his name in
every paper. On such little things as a potential shot of
smoke does fame depend. :

With his parched tongue feeling like a handful of gravel
in his mouth, he bent his head to the gale and plodded
down Third Avenue towards Tony Marino’s place.

They seldom gave away anything at Tony's bar. As a
18

The money-hungry gang
thought it would be easy

fo murder a drink-sodden bum
and collect his insurance

matter of fact, they seldom ever sold anything, either. For
it was the depth of the depression and business was bad,
even with smoke selling for two shots for a lousy two-bit
piece.

So, sitting in the back room of his establishment, Tony
Marino was glum and sad. He was also short of funds.

Seated beside him, also glum and sad and also short of
funds, was his friend, Frankie Pasqua. Frankie was a local

undertaker with a shady ‘and crooked past and no bodies
to bury.

“They're dying just like they used to,” he complained to
Marino. “But they let the city bury them.”

Marino snorted. “You're belly aching?” he demanded.
“They're drinking just as much booze as they used to—but
they’re making it at home in their bathtubs.”

“I'm broke,” said Pasqua. “We gotta do something.”

“Yeah,” agreed Marino bitterly. “Look at this dump.
Not a customer all night.”

He brooded in sudden silence for a few moments and
then, somehow, began thinking of Betty Raymond. Betty
had been a lady lush who had wandered, more than a little
drunkenly, into his dive several years before. He had taken
a shine to her, had let her imbibe for free all the liquor
she could hold and had established her in a furnished room
on Webster Avenue, for which he had paid the rent.

Betty had died shortly after this stroke of Juck. The
ambulance doctor who called it pneumonia—which it cer.
tainly was—had wondered, at the time, where she had ac-
quired the peculiar habit of sleeping nude on the top of
her bed, with the window wide open in the middle of winter,

He wondered about that until his next emergency
call and then forgot all about it. Of course, he had no
way of knowing that Frankie Pasqua was called in to
bury Betty and that two weeks later Tony Marino re-
ceived a check for $1500 from .the insurance company
that had issued (Continued on page 40)

POLICE DRAGNET

MAY, 196).

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‘to hear.

“ -*Don’t gimme. that.
croak.”

_tutional conditions as a whole for he
knows that public reaction will do-

more to help him bring about im-
provements than any other single
factor.

And so I say, visit the prisoner; be-
come acquainted with the background
and causes which led to his downfall;

' study his present and future problems

and attempt to formulate a- pre-
release plan which will assure, at
least, an even chance for successful
comeback; encourage him and help to
restore self-respect and confidence in
his own ability to make good with

our assistance. Financial aid will

elp smooth the way, and is neces-
sary, but it won’t do the whole job.
The prisoner must be made to realize
that there is some responsible person
on the sidelines cheering him on.

We hear a great deal today about

the. ineffectiveness of the modern

Church and much of this criticism is
justified. .I believe this is entirely

“due to the failure on the part of the.

Church to convince its members that

religion is something real and vital,

something which can apply to every
day life in a practical way. _In this
way alone can religion be of any con-

structive value in building the right.
kind of a world. It. is therefore the ©
responsibility of the Church and its |

members to initiate and support any
worthwhile social movement and “by

your good works, glorify your Father

which is in Heaven.”
_It is our indisputable privilege as
citizens, our right as taxpayers and

2s: our,duty as humanitarians—Protes-

dead,” he said. -He removed his
es from under Mike’s grimy under-
shirt. ‘

- “But he’s going fast,” Red said.

- It was one o’clock, four hours since.
~<-the bum had taken his first drink.
"But Mike Malloy was not dead yet.

The death watch went on.
The wall-clock said that it ‘was
three when Pasqua jumped to his

feet, his face set in an unbelieving
gnarl. . 4

“It’s impossible!” he cried. © “It’s
against Nature.” cS te
~““What’s wrong?” Tony. Marino
asked.
“What’s wrong?” the Bronx under-
taker screamed. ... “I'll tell ya! He
don’t want to die, that’s what’s wrong.

His heart is beatin’ like a drum! He’s -

gettin’ better!”

Tony Marino’s voice wasn’t pleasant
_It grated like a squeaky
‘chalk against a blackboard. .

He’s got to

‘As if in answer, a whiskey blurred
voice cut through the silence follow-

_ ing Tony’s tirade.

-“Gimme: another drink of that
special stuff.” ;
It was Mike Malloy.

B preg ged poison liquor was
not the right instrument to se-
cure Mike Malloy’s quick demise.
Something that was more certain and
that still would have the saving grace

FACTS FROM OFFICIAL FILES

tant, Catholic and Jew alike—to
acquaint ourselves with the condi-
tions under which convicts must live.

It is our abe tig vanes to be complete--

ly informed as to what measures and
methods of rehabilitation are being
employed to assure the probability—
not merely the possibility—that the
supposedly reformed criminal will
live according to law after dis-
charge from the institution.

It is; in like manner, our duty to be
cognizant of parole practices in our
own localities so that the parolee is
not only given proper supervision but
genuine and effective assistance in
securing respectable employment: at
-a living wage, thus reducing to a min-
imum the incentive to return to un-
lawful pursuits.

To take an entirely selfish view-
point, the foregoing is nothing more
than good insurance for the future

safety of our property and families. .

I am afraid people are very much
the same today as they were in the
time of the parable of the Good

Samaritan. We still fall into three’

_classes—the. Casual, the Curious and

the Concerned—when it comes to

problems of social welfare.

The Casual, like the priest in the
parable, close .their eyes to the
existence of a- problem which gnaws
unceasingly at the moral fibre of this
nation. They simply can’t be bothered.

The Curious are comparable to the .

Levite who, although he admitted
that the situation was deplorable
and ought to be remedied, neverthe-
less “came and looked—and passed

HARLOT’S HEIR AND THE MAN WHO

WOULDN'T STAY DEAD

of appearing accidental would have
to be found.

A gleam replaced the watery look
in Red Murphy’s eyes. “I have a

“way of killing him that will be just

‘as natural as poison alcohol,” he said.
Marino leaned forward anxiously.
“What is it?” -

Red got up and went to the back
of the bar where, under an accumu-
lation of dirt and grease, lay six cans
of sardines. He ripped off the covers.
“There you are,” he said. “Just let

them stay open all day before you”

feed it to him. It will give him the

‘ best case of ptomaine poisoning that”

you ever saw.”

“I ain’t taking chances with that -

uy,” Tony retorted. “These sar-
ines are going to lay. open for a
week.”

When the fish reached a state bor-
dering on putrefaction, Tony Marino,
ever practical, broke a bar glass and
put some ground glass over the sar-
dines as a bit of lethal garnishing.
He added some carefully cut strips
of tin. in

On the day set for the death
banquet, the sardine sandwich—one
so potent it would have burned the
insides of an elephant—was handed
to the cheerful Mike Malloy. He
thanked his. generous benefactors,

wolfed down the food, and then.

washed the clinging remnants_down
with generous portions of Anti-Freeze.
Frankie Pasqua had told the speak-

always plenty of people to offer ad-

‘Concerned.

-at the same time.

by on the other side” of the road.

“And then there are the pitiably ’
few Concerned who, like the good .»
Samaritan, are continually binding up ~
the wounds of their fellowmen, iv-
ing food and shelter and providing
opportunities for gainful employment.
- There is little doubt in my mind- -
that the ever-rising tide of “repeat-
ers” is due, in large part, to the un- ~~
charitable, unfriendly, vindictive at-'-
titude displayed by organized society
toward the ex-prisoner.

“I shall never forget\the four-time . - <="
loser who, not so long ago, stood be- ..
fore a judge for sentencing. When .*
asked if he had anything to say, the .
man replied bitterly, “There were ..-.°;

vice but none to lend a_ helping
hand.” And that statement sums up
the entire situation pretty concisely... **
Until we assume a sincere, active ~
attitude of cooperation toward a prac-
tical solution of the problems of the
man in prison, the old system will
continue to yield the vicious in-
fluences which threaten to engulf the
youth of our nation. “e
» Yes, we can continue to send men to ~;
prison—but for what purpose? To.
temporarily protect society from their” «
depredations or to reshape their lives °:
so that they may eventually resume ©.
a normal place in a world* which so
sorely needs good citizens? Which. :
shall it be? Do something about: it. —
Make your own contribution, no mat- -«
ter how seemingly unimportant. En- .<
list in the crusading Army of the

(Continued from page 23)

easy proprietor that he once. buried
a man who had died -from. having --
eaten raw oysters and drinking liquor -
This was good .».
enough for Tony.. He pickled some _
raw oysters in wood alcohol and gave “i
half a dozen to the hungry Mike. »:
Severe ptomaine poisoning,
Murphy said, should kill within 24
hours. The best. thing to do. under
these circumstances was to let Mike
Malloy leave and die on the outside. .
Then when his body showed bn at
the morgue it could be claimed by.
Pasqua and buried by him, without ~
anyone being the wiser. ' bans
To say that the three men who. ° ©
were trying hard to become murder-: - »
ers were surprised when their victim
walked into the speakeasy under. his’
own :power the following morning is
to state the case mildly. Even Tony.”
Marino, who up to this point had
gooreonee an affable front to. the. :
omeless Mike Malloy, found it dif-. <2
ficult to restrain his anger. Sis Baga :
“What are you doing here?” he
shouted.
Surprise was written all over
Mike’s face. ‘“You’ve been so good
to me,” he said, “I thought you /
liked it when I came here.” g
Marino controlled himself with an +
effort. “Sure I do,” he amended -“4@
hastily. “But I thought you was ae
gonna be sick last, night.” 0
‘Who me?” Mike asked in surprise. —
“Sure, the way you walked out of ;


, eee night, I didn't : Anowswhat
was the matter: with: you.”’. « nee
“I never felt better in- my.» ite,”

Sitorent. ‘cause. erponure jolowets
pneumonia had: done the trick
aybelle..Carlson, the “jaded. har. oe
»who si yi her .own death warrant ©
oP -her name to the -in-
= po cy that cs "Tony -Ma=.:

neficiary. There. was noth-:
on gar for. him_ to do but ‘tepeat: thes

ulous taxicab driver named Hershey |
reen. _»The night they ‘selected: to
lan- in operation. was the

ture ° ‘hovered at. five degrees: above

4 a
“In the smelly bistro: Murphy fed the fed the

indestructible . Mike ».

which ‘consisted of ‘anti-freeze.
As: 5 a.

«Pasqua.
‘the ‘waiting taxicab. | Hershey Green '

=. = between: them*in the rear seat.“**The-
cab carefully picked its way to Clare
*mont: Park,’ a dark, -deserted © spot
fully exposed... sto. the force. of. the --
wintry winds. : =
‘/Hershey Green: stopped
frye a clump of b Mike Mal- -
still. too drunk to know what was ©
shappening to him, had the clothing «:

ped. from his ‘body and his un-
ag

figure. deposited on the snow in »
cha manner that the bushes hid~
him: from the view ‘of any passerby. -
<.Marino. took a “gallon jug of water.~
out of the ‘taxi, callously poured “it -

‘flesh seemed. to. shrivel, but he id
not wake up... eee

+> 3“T guess that does at; ‘Marino said
“simply. ee fe

-. /Pasqua’ nodded his head nervously.”
“Let's get away. from here,” ”- hessaid’
with a shiver. ; ae ve i
-.The-men climbed back into “the
j taxi and returned to the speakeasy.

po eer
EGS a -

o bsch following morning. Red. ‘Mur-
*: di :phy was at his usual place behind
the bar..;’Tony Marino and Frankie
Pasqua were seated at a table, Tony’s
nose was. running and he. had a big
~ handkerchief. clam to his face. He
»- caught a-severe cold the night before.
He didn’t mind that so much, thou =
‘It -was nothing .compared to
potting the indestructible Mike Mal~
out of the way once and for all.

e time -was exactly 11:32 on the
3 ot to his January ae 1933. _Pasqua
~. got to feet, extend ed a hand to

ie 4 guess we did it that time, : eh,
a erRey me arigton (sg Se :
ey shoo ands asqua got into
his coat and walked to the door. He
put his hand on the knob, twisted it,
» and: opened the door. If’ he were the
fainting: me he would have dropped
spot..

eak-
face was a st ahs in

cs fou'd. néver _ believe it,” _Mike .
-in a plaintive voice. “I was
be yesterday. ‘Somebody took.

pueky IT could a Pack

2 enor emotions.

been -re-.-’

He obtained the: help of an. unscru-

.the _year.”.. The tempera- “

after drink’ concocted front thea’ vas

hustled? the > limp bodys nets

lid: “behind * the wheel. while Tony. ~
Marino and Frankie Pasqua held Mike

his cab ‘ope th

fy sat “Mari

tertiied as a natural ath
or. At eight. o’clock ‘Anthony. “angi

“Tony” Bastone, a to customer w

turned ‘his hand to

me

pray arco ioe Marino approached him
directly. He laid his. problem ‘be-

“and dispatch with which Tough Tony
srry e up with the right answer.
t was,

eWwhat:: do you. mean?” the asked

doubl Lae

tant nod edie:
at?” ‘Tough Tony. asked. “Sup
che’ gets. killed - as* the” result re)

twelve hundred,
na ‘instead.”
oo: was the sort of language that
akeasy proprietor could under-

tand “You got something there,”

mation of the situation ‘that the next
“murder..attempt grew. Once again
Hershey Green, the taxicab driver,

“was called:in to-assist. The plot was -
“down to the New York. City morgue
“his “usual anti-freeze cocktails until ~
ver the nude figure. -Mike Malloy’s © hereached a state of insensibility.

»a: simple one. « Mike was to be ‘fed

Then: the was to be carted out ‘to a

~ lonely. street where Hershey was to
‘run ‘him down, leaving him, so far
‘as any curious. authorities .were con-
cerned, the victim of a “hit-and- run”
accident...

Tt:-was’ almost eleven o'clock “be-,
fore Mike Malloy reached the desired
state ‘of intoxication, » Marino closed»
up the ‘speakeasy. *:
while «
Pasqua half carried the indestructible:
"Mike Malloy across the icy
ment into ‘his car. Hershey
followed in his cab.
... At Gun -Hill Road, a particularly’
deserted section of the Bronx, Mike.

-.was propped up in the middle of the
street .- by
’ Murphy while. Hershey Green drove
further down in order to get a run-
ning start. -—

reen

As he approached the man he was

‘to hit he spied the headlights of a
car coming from the opposite direc-
fossa He swerved to’one side, nar-
rowl ly missed Mike Malloy. He didn’t
mind hitting the drunkard. He just
didn’t: like to do it in front of any
outside witnesses.

Mike was bundled back into Tony’s
car and driven to Baychester Avenue,
a aig, are which, at this early
morning hour, was deserted. Once
more -Mike Malloy was propped ies
in the middle of the street. Toug
Tony held him while Hershey Green
pressed his foot down hard. on the
accelerator. _When the speeding cab
was only 30 feet away Tou ough Tony
let go of the victim and dived toward

Pave sidewalk: The cab hit Mike Mal- %

oe ‘i ae so
ioeiicles erated at the op “house: © Toy’with territic force, ©
1 to’ the pavement.
Rags over his body.

: ace,
er get going.”

net the car and drove off, leaving behind*:

the’ dark, crumpled Neue of: what
1 forms of*ille- -
. gal pursuits so long as they looked =
. profitable,: walked into’ the speak- oh
easy where he was one-of the regular

“fore. his friend. and some. time -as- ..’;
‘sociaté and was surprised at the haste ~

_~.@ause morning newspapers were’
perhaps, just as lucky, Tough ~
“Tony said,’ that the earlier attempts:
“to kill. Mike Malloy had failed. Tony «
Marino * couldn't | quite. follow: - ‘this #4
2, ed: for. ne edition.’ o
_- papers.
mews columns,

you: ary: rae Tm" driving é Ig |
.- alive?” he asked nervous]

an “Not a chance in the world.” Tough
--automobile’ accident; you don’t collect Me “Hershey hit
you get twenty-four -

§ . generally print stories about
“he said ‘with admiration in his voice.::
“It-was out of Tough Tony’s sum-

death’ was not worth reporting.

He led the way

Murphy : and Frankie -
~ injuries... But, as the doctor cheer-

ave- aie

-the nature of the injuries was such ~—

“that he. need feel no concern. The

Tough. Tony and. Red.

only investing their time. a
ever, had‘ a large cash: investment. ~ . |

that’ Pasqua had a friend, a phy=%
Sician, who could be counted upon te .

oe,

The cab dragged
him for a few yards. A wheel bumped

‘At the sound of: the: sickening im-)
a smile broke on ‘Tony Marino's .
“Good work,” he cried. “Let's.

Hastily, the men climbed back into®

once had been a man:

he ‘could find none, he. ee olainae tol
his ‘employer, was not “unusual be-:.

usually printed the night before: It: 5
‘was the afternoon papers that would ~
more likely than not carry the story.
-The conspirators im aig wait-
rnoon.
deeounad the
could find no

Red. eagerl
but still

ony: snorted.

enough to kill ten guys.”: :
The educated bartender came nts A

with an ame lanation that sounded «

reasonable e. said that newspapers

Matloy.
of importance. Since Mike

was only a homeless bum—an obvious
one to judge by his clothing—the city* ~
desk ‘had‘ evidently figured that his —

Once again Frankie Pasqua went |

at Bellevue Hospital, reception center
for unclaimed bodies that are con-:
ed to Potters Field: Posing as a:
th ative of the missing man, he had- ©
the attendant pull out slabs from the —
ice box, viewed a dozen corpses, with-. co
out finding Mike Malloy... rei
The undertaker then made the
rounds of the hospitals in the vicinity -
of the accident. e found Mike Mal- .
loy.-in Fordham. Hospital. He was
suffering from @ fractured skull, se- ~
vere contusions and possible internal. «

explained. to the undertaker, .

patient was already well on the road -
toward recovery.

A. thick pall of gloom hung. over
Tony Marino’s speakeasy. The mur- > «.:
der trust was at its wits end. Pasqua .-
was dis He was ready to call ©
quits, to chalk the fiasco up to ex-' |
pesence, but Tony Marino wouldn’t .- +

ear of it. After all, the others were 2

-He, how- — &

In the interval of time before Mike’s
release from the hospital the murder
trust had ample opportunity to plot
anew.

“Another outside specialist was 4
called in to help. He was Daniel «|
Kreisberg, a one-time fruit dealer who 33
had turned to crime. His plan was to. %
kill Mike Malloy by means of gas *%
poisoning and then to have the death
certified as pneumonia. It had in its
favor two pan The first was that) %
there would be no signs of violence ons
the body of Mike. The second was*


“Marino them. took: :
<=. the jug of water, cal-
lously poured it over ‘the.
“semi-nude figere. Mike Mal-.
~ Joy's flesh seemed to shrivel, °


84

Now, as he looked in, Tony nodded.
“Have another, Malloy?” asked Red.
“Don’t dare if I do, me lad.” Malloy

banged his glass down on the bar, and
Red picked it up. This time, the bar-
tender poured Malloy a straight drink of
anti-freeze mixture, shoved it over the
bar. He, and Tony and the undertaker
in the backroom, looked on under heavy-
lidded eyes as the derelict lifted the glass
of poison to his lips.

Malloy’s right hand went through that
quick upward jerk of the drunkard, and
the glass was empty.

The three would-be killers knew it
would be but a question of a minute or
two until Malloy would keel over in his
tracks, dead.

A minute passed. Then two. Malloy
began to look around the place. It seemed
to Tony and‘the undertaker that he was
staring straight at them. They moved
over a bit in their chairs, so that the green
curtain separating the bar and the ack-
room would, likewise, separate them from
the range of Malloy’s vision. .

Then their victim turned, shifted his
gaze intently on the bartender. Tough as
he was, Red winced involuntarily, know-
ing what he had done.

“Now look here, me lad,” Malloy said,
a trace of anger in his voice, “you've
been doin’ something to me.” .
“Me?” Red’s cupped hands: went to his
chest in-a feigned gesture of innocence.
“Why, piers I’m your. friend.”
“Me friend, hell!” shot back Malloy.

“You've been givin’ me rotten stuff all
along, and you just made a mistake and
gave me some 0’ your good stuff. Now
don’t argue. This stuff you just gave me’s
got a different flavor. Hereafter I want
that, and none o’ that other stuff.”

Strange as it may seem, Malloy spoke

- those words—and meant them.

A hush fell over the place, and had
Malloy not been.so drunk he would have
heard the three plotters inhaling heavy
sighs of relief. He wasn’t suspicious after
all—at least of what they had in mind.
Quickly, Tony took advantage of the
situation. He nodded, and Red poured
Malloy another drink of wood alcohol.

At 1 o’clock the next morning, Malloy,
still at the bar drinking what people should
use in automobile radiators, suddenly
crumpled in the middle, struck his chin
on the edge of the bar, and crashed to the
floor.

Eagerly, the three plotters ran to the
prostrate form, and examined him.

Pasqua, knowing not a little about the
human body, put his hand over Malloy’s
heart. “He’s about gone,” he said with
a sinister smile. “It’s Just barely beating.”
Then the murdering undertaker looked
up.at the bartender. “Good .work, Red.”

The trio laid. Malloy out onan’ old
couch in the rear of the place, and sat
around ‘to wait for death.

An hour passed, and Malloy’s heart-beat
grew stronger! At 3 A. M., the: prospec-
tive murder victim stirred perceptibly.
At 6’o’clock in: the morning he awoke,
and bounded. from the couch like a child
eager for play. : it

“More of that good alky, me lad!” he
shouted, running to the bar. © “More of
that good alky!” : :

Tony and the undertaker ducked into
the backroom. Red alone remained to
make explanations, since Malloy knew
Red slept in the place. When Malloy
noticed that it was daylight he drunkenly
inquired as to what had happened, and the
bartender explained that Malloy had
taken a bit too much to drink and had
fallen: asleep. .

Night after night, Malloy dropped into
the ‘speakeasy and, under the watchful

True Detective Mysteries

eyes of the murder trust, was adminis-
tered enough wood alcohol to kill, it
seemed to them, two strong, healthy men
—let alone a man like Séalioy. But night
after night, much to the chagrin of the
killers, Malloy would merely fold up, take
a nose dive and a nap, then wake up as
strong as ever with the break of day. And,
no longer was it necessary to ply him
with several jiggerfuls of ordinary hootch,
so that he wouldn’t know when he was
drinking wood alcohol. From_ that first
quaff of anti-freeze mixture, Malloy had
developed a decided preference for that
oa nae drink, and nothing else would

)

Need it be said that the murder trust,
somewhat discouraged, was by this time
searching for a more potent means of dis-
patch?

Nor were they long in finding it. Red,
the bartender, was a fellow who had fallen
on evil days. At one time, he had hopes
of being a chemist, and in the furtherance
of such ambition had, in his spare time,
melted into that studious group that you
might. find in the quiet rooms of any
public library. Red, being in New York,
visited the main library at Fifth Avenue
and Forty-second Street. There, for those
who care to seek, can be found many

FRANK MANZELLA
one of the aides who carried out the
plans instigated by the vicious murder
trust

volumes on poisons and their effects on
the human system. It was but natural
that Red should absorb some of these
books in his self-planned course of prepa-
ration. :

So it was that, Red knew all about
ptomaine poisoning. He knew, for in-
stance, that canned fish, if left in the can,
produced that particular type of illness,
and it was this particular bit of informa-
tion that he took up witi his employer,
Tony Marino.

“Why don’t we,” asked Red, “open a
can of them sardines on the shelf—we
never sell ’em anyway—and let ’em stand
around for a while, then make this guy
a sandwich. You see, if you open the
can and leave the fish in there, it’s going
to make him get ptomaine poisoning—
and that ought to get him.”

Tony, the brains of the murder trust,
twirled his little black mustache. A gleam
came to his eyes, and he uttered his favor-
ite expression:

“An idea. An idea.”

Tony Marino was extravagant in some
ways. He opened six cans of sardines in-
stead of one and, disdaining to let them

stand a day, for fear that they would not
become putrid enough, ordered that they
be laid aside for a week. In the mean-
time, the further instructions of the brains
of the murder trust was that a different
anti-freeze solution be fed to Michael
Malloy. In that way, it might not even
be necessary to use the sardines.

A week passed, two now since Malloy
had gulped_down his first drink of wood
alcohol in Tony’s. Strange to say, (and
the records of the District Attorney’s
Office fully support this) Malloy was
standing up under amounts of poison that
should have killed any man. In fact he
seemed to have shed ten years and, as
Edmund Pearson would say, he was
blooming like a daffodil!

The wood alky a dismal failure, the
murder trust looked to the putrid sar-
dines. A week old in the open cans, it
was all that Marino could do to go near
them. Still, he insisted on personally
making a sandwich that Malloy was to
eat on his next visit.

Tony personally sliced the bread (rye,
which Malloy preferred), personally but-
tered it, and personally spread on the
poisoned fish. He looked at his handi-
work, then thought of how immune Mal-
loy had been to the wood alcohol, and de-
cided upon a certain improvement.

He put on his hat and coat, stuck one
of the sardine tins in his pocket and
walked from his speakeasy. He was back
in fifteen minutes. He took from his
pocket a small brown package and care-
fully unwrapped it. -A glistening sub-
stance within, resembling silver, was care-
fully blended with the sardines in the
sandwich. It was the finely cut remains
of one of the sardine cans. If that
wouldn’t fix Malloy, nothing would!

That night, Michael Malloy, in addition
to his drinks, was proffered a free lunch.
The drunkard, accepting with gratitude,
reached for the sandwich that Red held
out on a cracked plate.

Malloy munched into it. Between
bites, he reached for his ‘anti-freeze
“straight,” commenting freely on the ex-
cellence of the food and the liquor..

Malloy finished the sandwich. There
were no immediate ill effects, but when
he ambled out into the night, the arch-
plotters were convinced that they would
never see him alive again. That ground
hers yonld get him by morning at the
latest.

Ru Malloy appeared the next night,
asking for the usual alky, and more
sandwiches. There being nothing but some
innocuous boloney on hand, he was given
a sandwich of that. Red, man of science,
walked into the backroom and attempted
to cheer Tony, who made no effort to
conceal his disappointment over the im-
potency of his Macabre handiwork.

“Tf you’ve been drinkin’,” Red sug-
gested, “and eat enough raw oysters they
turn to stone in your stomach and kill
you. ;

“This guy’s awful tough,” said Tony,
“and he’s beginnin’ to get on my nerves.
Now, if them oysters would kill him just
from eatin’ them, why wouldn’t it be
better to put them in some alky and
soak them first?”

The next night, Michael Malloy was
fed a dozen raw oysters, pickled over-
night in anti-freeze mixture. Malloy
downed them with his usual gusto, taking
several drinks of the wood alcohol before
and afterward.

_Once more Malloy proved the excep-
tion, rather than the rule, to an assault
on the human constitution. If other
people would have doubled up and died
from the ghastly mixture he had con-
sumed, Malloy was blissfully unaware of

it. He sat arou
ing more alggh
“This gy

day. “We"eer:
A few nights
been decided »
Malloy wand
9p.M. Red’si
to get him tho
it took several
Finally convi
pletely “out,”
carried him ou
cab driven b:
despicable ch:
heard nothing
The unconsc
the sprawling «
It was one of
winter and, as
was first single
murder plot,
pelting the cit

TS undert:
Tony, his |
ance money,
looked up an
was not a sou
The two dr
form from tl
arms, Pasqua
the sleet-cove:
tim, then dis:
barren trees.
A hundred {

HE

unscrupulc
did his sh
death of °

the “‘i

dropped the
waist. Then
and returned
ice water.
Tony pour
chest—to ma
die of expos
The next
speakeasy ea
in red flann
a croak. FE
throat cold «
the night be
ing any too
and coughin
“What a we
served, “risk
“Well,” an
this—but he
A little la
dertaker we
other, the bu
Malloy!
“Mornin’,
to Red, rubb
a bit of a cl


1 the
mains
that
dition
lunch.
itude,
| held

tween
-freeze
he eX-

There
when

» arch-
would
ground
at the

night,
| more
ut some
s given
science,
empted
ffort to
the im-

od sug-
ers they
ind kill

1 Tony,
* nerves.
him just
't it be

« |ky and

* lloy was
od over-
Malloy

» o, taking

ol before

cep-
ult
other

and died
had con-
jaware of

it. He sat around all that evening, down-
ing more alcohol.

“This guy could eat arsenic,” remarked
Tony to the undertaker and Red the next
day. “We gotta find another way.”

A few nights later, “another way” had
been decided upon.

Malloy wandered in at his usual hour—
9 p. mM, Red’s instructions that night were
to get him thoroughly ossified. As usual,
it took several hours to accomplish that.

Finally convinced that Malloy was com-
pletely “out,” Tony and the undertaker
carried him out and put him into a taxi-
cab driven by one Hershey Green, &
despicable character who saw nothing,
heard nothing and said nothing.

The unconscious Malloy was driven to
the sprawling expanses of Claremont Park.
It was one of the coldest yy of the
winter and, as on the night that Malloy
was first singled out as the victim of the
murder plot, a violent sleet storm was
pelting the city.

Ts undertaker, itching for a job, and
Tony, his palm primed for the insur-
ance money, jumped out of the cab,
looked up and down the street. There
was not a soul in sight.

The two dragged Malloy’s unconscious
form from the cab, Tony grasping his
arms, Pasqua the legs, slithered across
the sleet-covered pavement with the vic-
tim, then disappeared into the forest of
barren trees.

A hundred feet in from the street, they

HERSHEY GREEN

unscrupulous taxicab driver who

did his share toward hastening the

death of the murder trust victim,
the “indestructible” Malloy

dropped the body, stripped Malloy to the
waist. Then Tony went back to the cab,
and returned with a demijohn filled with
ice water.

Tony poured the water over Malloy’s
chest—to make sure that he would either
die of exposure or contract pneumonia.

The next morning, Pasqua entered the
speakeasy early. His throat was swathe'
in red flannel. He couldn’t speak above
a croak. He had contracted severe
throat cold during the sinister doings on
the night before. Tony, too, wasn’t fecl-
ing any too chipper. He was sneezing
and coughing, and his eyes were red.
“What a way to make money,” he ob-
served, “riskin’ your health.”

“Well,” answered Pasqua, “we'll get over
this—but he won't.”

A little later, while Tony and the un-
dertaker were commiserating with each
other, the buzzer sounded. It was Michael
Malloy! : d

‘Mornin’, me lad,” the derelict chirped
to Red, rubbing his hands together. “Got
a bit of a chill last night. How about a

True Detective Mysteries

quick shot of that good alky of yours?”

To say that Tony and Pasqua looked
on in amazement when they saw Malloy,
hale and hearty, is something of an under-
statement. The man seemed nothing short
of indestructible.

The murder plot, unsuccessful as it was,
was now running into time, loss of sleep,
risk of health, and money. Tony Marino
was getting desperate, so he called in a
specialist in homicide—an oversized lug
who referred to himself, in all seriousness,
as Tough Tony. His last name was Bas-
tone.

Tony Marino outlined his problem to
Tough Tony, then asked the other’s ad-
vice.

“All you gotta do,” said Tough Tony,
with professional pride, “Gg get a machine
and run the bastard over. That’s an ac-
cident, and you get double for that.”

An accident! ouble indemnity!

“An idea,” said Tony Marino. “An

a.”

The killers got Michael Malloy thor-
oughly intoxicated again the following
night, and in the early hours of the morn-
ing took him out to a deserted thorough-
fare known as Gun Hill Road. There was
no moon that night.

The unconscious Malloy was lifted from
the cab by Tony Marino and Tough Tony
Bastone, Pasqua remaining in the ma-
chine with Hershey Green, the driver.

There was a meshing of gears, the .cres-
cendo of a speeded motor, and the cab
was off in the darkness. It went up the
road a quarter of a mile, then turned
around, and began to gather speed.

_Presently, a horn tooted twice—the
signal to Tony and Tough Tony that the
cab was coming back again. The two,
bracing the inebriated Malloy, stepped
out into the street.

A pair of headlights came closer. Again
a horn tooted twice. There was no doubt
now. It was Hershey Green’s cab.

As the car approached at forty miles
an hour, the driver noticed a woman
peering out of a bedroom window. She
a been awakened by the tooting of the

orn.

AN so, as the two killers shoved
Malloy into the center of the road,

Green swerved his cab sharply to the left
fo avoid running over the man in the
presence of a witness.

The murder trust decided upon a change
of scene. Fifteen minutes later some dis-

tance away, On a thoroughfare known as
Baychester Avenue, the stage for the
kill was set again.

This time, when Green tooted his horn
twice, no one, save the killers, heard it.
Tough Tony Bastone propped up the limp
form of Michael oma and shoved it
forward, face downward, when Hershey
Green’s cab came scuttling forward at a

Tony Marino, brains of the murder
trust, stood back in the shadows and
grinned evilly as he saw Tough Tony step
back just in time to avoid the streaking
cab. But Malloy didn’t escape. The ma-
chine, struck him with terrific impact and
its wheels went over the booze-sodden
victim.

Their work done for the night, the mem-
bers of the murder trust went home to
bed, leaving Malloy lying in the road.
Next morning, they gathered early in
Tony’s speakeasy, Red, the bartender,
having orders to stop every passing news-
boy and get the latest papers.

in the backroom, the plotters scanned
the columns of all the newspenes look-
ing for a story about an unidentified man
being found dead on Baychester Avenue,
victim of a hit-and-run driver.

The members of the murder .trust had

9 f
@

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he seemingly
nbed to the
or profit

yu on the back
life. And meet
undertaker by
Pasqua, too,
ind is what his
1 trousers, cut-
esterfield and a
But don’t let
somebody this
after. Despite
vuldn’t warit to
< alley.

ith the women.
ip with a blonde
‘Ison, attractive

a frequenter of
) it that she got
ff. Often, when
ild carry, Tony
ag-house not far

ad in her room.
t that the young.
uustom of sleep-
ith the window
A physician (and
scribed. death to

buried, Pasqua
ner. Two weeks
‘k from the Met-
of Newark, New
3. Tony, pecu-
he beneficiary in
alle Carlson some
demise.
ams us—this bit-
32—Tony Marino
cer, had been en-
sation just before

(Above) Headquarters of the scheming killers,
Tony Marino’s speakeasy in the Bronx. Here
the first victim was marked for death

Malloy, the derelict, entered, hoping to bum a drink.

Pasqua, like Tony, had been struck by the De-
pression. People were still dying, but you weren’t
getting as much for putting them away, the under-
taker remarked. And people were drinking as
much as ever, Tony opined, but you weren’t getting
as much for the stuff.

‘Well, who the hell’s got all the money, anyway?”
the deeper-thinking undertaker asked at length.
“I was on Fifth Avenue only: yesterday and you
ought to see the stuff in the windows. Say, Tony,
there’s a suit down there that you’d go nuts about.
Just your style.” ° :

Tony sat there, brooding. No money, few cus-
tomers, fewer friends.

Suddenly he looked up, an evil light in his dark
eves.

“T got an idea, Frankie,” he said. “If you get
a guy I can take insurance out on, I'll give you
the undertaking job.”

The words were no sooner out of Tony’s mouth,
the idea had no sooner found favor with the under-
taker, than Michael Malloy entered.

“How about him?’? ‘The undertaker tilted his
head ever so slightly.

TONY followed Pasqua’s gaze, and his eyes found
Malloy. Malloy, who had spent half of his
forty years in a state of almost-continual intoxica-
tion. Malloy, this jobless bum who came in with a
quarter at the outside, then hung around the place
all night, wheedling drinks out of the other cus-
tomers; or who came in, more often, with only the
lining in his pockets, and, like Wimpy, the char-
acter in the funny papers, announced that, for
trust today, he would gladly pay Thursday.

“An idea,” answered Tony. “An idea.”

Out in the barroom proper, Malloy was negotiating
for another drink and Red, the bartender—right name
Daniel Murphy—was hurling verbal aspersions on
Malloy’s parentage. (Continued on page 83)

ele

Pg Nae i Sh = tergen

aoa:

ENTRANCE TO SPEAKEASY
through which Michael Malloy, the man who was to be
branded as nearly “indestructible,’? passed on his way
to death during a stormy night in December, 1932

25


ve us if we
and guide.
v you Dad
rgiveness on
writing for
v I can’t ex-
m you for
But God up
1 judge me
taken Him
rv. He died
lvary’s Tree.
at the door
e worst need
t force Him
el that you
‘ould like to
hoping this
your heart.
m Wilson.
sincerely,
1 HeNwoop.

s subpoenaed
both boys, I
tely.

th when Hen-
County Court
> Judge Hugh
Bench. Long
ned, a crowd

found it im-
. Guy Black,
appointed by
»partment at
ense of both

perfectly
nfessions
ing the

hanging. The
1e confessions
2 endeavoring
amination of
ts were made
admitted the
score for the

r witnesses to
Henwood.

e could under
cave no quar-
cry minute of
‘ted four days.
e had _regard-
inished when
ty. This able
ight stamped
instructed the
ould consider
efore them.

time, the jury
“Guilty!”

ik the verdict
was deferred

ch opened the

d three days,
; on the stand.
called by the
nly a few wit-
ie boys’ char-

to aid Hen-
the sympathy
Smith was the
‘as dominated
« lid not appeal
» the fact that
[rs. Smith two
all bat before
jugular. These

, use death.
were not en-

rueman Smith.
the jury
ne group,
hours, re-

\ty of murder

lll ta

ot fies

with a strong recommendation of mercy.”

The crowd dispersed and the opinion
was general that justice had been ad-
ministered.

As for myself, naturally I felt the ver-
dicts of guilty were entirely justified.
Others held that Henwood was the really
guilty party and Smith should be shown
mercy. I could not see it that way. Both
lads were old enough to know right from
wrong and, as for Smith, he had a mind
of his own.

The two strangers, first mentioned, had
long since been released and completely
exonerated. A quirk of fate is that one
of these men was arrested for an offense
shortly before the executions and is still

in prison at this writing.

[a exceedingly sorry for the imme-
diate families. It was a terrible blow
to them and the unjust part is that they
are the real sufferers.

On July 7th 1933, Judge Ross sentenced
Henwood to hang. Then he spoke at
greater length to Smith, telling him he
could not take into consideration the
jury’s recommendation of mercy, con-
demning him, also, to die.

The two boys were lodged in gaol under
close watch to await their doom on
September 12th, 1933, the date set for the
executions.

In July, two friends of Henwood’s at-
tempted to aid him in breaking jail.
These boys, whose names are not im-
portant to the story, were caught through
Henwood telling on them, and, as I now

True Detective Mysteries

write, are being held to await trial. Things
will probably go hard with them. Just
another example of Alvah Henwood’s
strange behavior.

Smith had hopes his sentence would be
commuted because of the mercy verdict.
The authorities at Ottawa refused to in-
tervene and both boys plunged through
twin traps at 1:30 on the morning of
September 12th, 1933. Canada’s official
hangman, Arthur Ellis, handled the double
trap without a hitch.

It is over ninety years since Cumber-
land County witnessed a hanging.

I might say that neither myself, Elmer
E. Smith nor Trueman Smith are related
in any way.

It is interesting to note that both
Henwood and Smith were chummy with
Wilson Smith; particularly the former.
Five or six years ago, Alvah lived quite
close to Wilson and they frequently
studied their lessons together with Mrs.
Smith smilingly looking on.

Speculation has been rife as to what
prompted the boys to commit such a crime.
Some say it was a bad streak in their
make-up. Others, more sympathetic and
kindly, are inclined to the belief that the
youths never intended to_harm the old
of but lost their senses. Judge for your-
self.

As this is written, the reward has not
been paid to anyone.

If Henwood had been content to spend
his money more cautiously, like Smith,
it’s extremely doubtful if we’d ever have
solved the crime at 26 Croft Street.

The Tragedy of the “Indestructible” Man

(Continued from page 25)

In the backroom, Tony snapped his
fingers, and Red came hustling in.

“Give ’im anything he wants,” Tony
told Red. The bartender’s lips parted
and his eyebrows raised, as if he had
suddenly discovered that he was working
for a man not in his right mind. :

“Don’t stand there! Give ’im anything
he wants, I tell you!” snapped Tony.

Red went back to the bar, poured Mal-
loy another drink.

Malloy left around midnight, stagger-
ing out into a sleet storm, and Tony
ordered the place closed up and the lights
put out. Then he called Red Murphy,
the barkeep, into the backroom.

Tt was there, as those three men sat
huddled over a cheap table in the back-
room, as the sleet pelted against the win-
dowpanes out in: front, that New York’s
“murder trust” was formed; it was then
that the first plans were formulated (al-
though the members of the trust wouldn’t
have used that word) for what District
Attorney Samuel J. Foley of the Bronx,
calls “Lhe most grotesque chain of events
in the criminal history of modern New
York.”

Michael Malloy was to be murdered—
murdered for insurance. Tony would take
out the insurance, leave that to him. Red
was not to be brusque to Malloy any more
when the derelict asked for drinks on the
cuff. Red was instructed to give Malloy
anything he wanted—and more. Red was
instructed, to be precise, to go out and
buy a gallon of automobile anti-freeze
mixture—composed largely of wood alco-
hol—for the special benefit of Mr. Malloy.

The plot was to give Malloy a few
rounds of the usual stuff, then switch to
the deadly poison. Tony would arrange

for the death certificate. And Mr. Pasqua
would be in attendance at the requiem and
officiate at the grave.

Red, the bartender, ventured the ques-
tion as to why Malloy had been chosen.

“Because,” said Tony, “he’s half dead
from booze already, and he ain’t got no
relations.” .

The whisk-whisk of Red’s broom (Red
was homeless, swept up the speakeasy and
slept there for a dollar a day and drinks)
was all that could be heard for the next
hour as the two arch-plotters talked in
low, ominous tones, perfecting the final
details of what was to be an epic of
horror.

A few nights later, like clockwork,
Michael Malloy pressed the buzzer in the
vestibule. A slot slid open and a pair
of eyes peered through.

“Oh, hello, Malloy. Come on in.”

Malloy’s head jerked up a bit. Instead
of being threatened with the bum’s rush,
he was, for the first time, received with
open arms. But Malloy didn’t stop to
wonder why. It was cold outside again
tonight, and a few shots of Tony’s stuff
would warm him up no end.

ONY, that very morning, had suc-

ceeded in obtaining a twelve-hundred-
dollar policy on Malloy’s life, paying the
first quarterly premium in advance, so
that the policy went into immediate effect.
The insurance salesman—a friend of
Tony’s—permitted Tony to sign Malloy’s
name to the application, in his desire to
collect his commission.

Malloy followed his usual course to the
bar—the shortest distance between the
~ and the nearest part of the brass
rail.

“A shot of the same, me boy,” he said
to Red.

“Sure thing, Malloy.. Anything you
want,” answered Red. “And pay when-
ever you feel like it.”

A half dozen jiggers of Tony’s smoke,
and Michael Malloy was beginning to feel
himself again.

The bartender had been looking into
the backroom after he served each drink.

83

“WHY ae HER

NCE she hungered for his

morning good-bye kiss. But
lately the smudge from that venomous
chimney leaves her hungering only
for plenty of fresh air.

He can keep his bride and keep
his briar—with a little consideration
for them both. Ream out the old pipe,
friend! Rama cleaner through the
stem. Fill up with Sir Walter Raleigh.
And settle down to a second honey-
moon. This mild mixture of Ken-
tucky Burleys is a cool-burning,
slow-burning, well-aged tobacco that
is indescribably milder. It has brought
families and friends closer. It certainly
is bringing a new favor to indoor
smoking. And making quite a repu-
tation for itself on the way. Try it!

Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corporation
Louisville, Kentucky, Dept. B-44.

7 Send for this

FREE

BOOKLET

WALTER | |

Hi

Irs 1 sf AND IT’S MILDER


The ever had during his

Beame one that for years did in the
F-Tombs, and it is known as the old
*Tombs’ gallows. of it,

Pprostration. Peckenham fs Sitio.

Nae |

* Al
BG ‘bie
:

ay , for be will be $720 richer when his
Tow he will visit the ‘lombe for the

? ¥¢ et

Pthat he may immediately secure the

fortunate men were finished ten days

} excepting the “ax log, is 3 piece

Pe
;

if
as a.

ty \:

VOLUME XIV August XH, 1°84. ashiille Tein , Tvesday evening |. N
— , —wt a0 22> ote nweee aa ,
’ H ; isa “vi
of and the i :
FIVE MEN TQ BE HANGED | © sen true Bpgiish soomnt,| OVER THE STATE.
Camden Wheelman’s Olub, ’ Shade

At the Tombs Prison,
York, Next Friday,

Toe Has » All the Ar-
ts Completed.
Warden Osborne Sits Down on All
- ° §entimentaliam  __

bwis and Nolan—tbe

m, has pealed to. and be-
shed Pfomealne for porsaiasion: 00
» the f ‘men to console
m and direct their tho to a

all right-minded peo
reaking down fast the absence of
hope. is

better, and trouble is feared with these
bree on the ssorning 3 the execution.
Lewis, the negro, is the plyckiest man
pf them all, and it is expected that
Nolan will. also hold out and meet his

”
«

s

J is doing ajj that forethought
st to make assurance doubly
prevent «@ repetition of the
scences that occurred at the
unging of three negroes some years
eae for the murder of the Hebrew ped-
dier in West Chester. Mr. Atkinson -
all” arrangements completed for

he oceasion and is exceedingly hap-

wf

bie task is finis” !. To-mer-

of “sizing up” his victims, so

sights necessary for the “drops.”
he nooses which will dangle the un)

vo and are rade of the finest Italian
hemp. I< took Mr. Atkinson two days
» manufacture these nooses, and his
ill for them, which will be by
Sheriff Flack, will amount to ex-

slusire of the cost of the pinion ro
tkinson has engaged Marks and John-
on, his two old assistants, to help him
h his big job, which is the largest
~six years’

xperience at hanging crim.
The awful instrament of death is the

of

The Report

ee eee eta: ie

hima social lion.

and looked pretty, occasionally bor-
small sume on the old-piea that |

remittances had not come

lord ia said to have made

ion on several suscep-
belles. As.a prisoner
arrested to await a requi-

SPORTING MEN EXCITED.

A Rumor That Jake Kilrain.

' Has Skipped Out.

Childs, of Mississippi.
Barsurons, Mo. August 20.—Sport-
ing circles Were éxercised last night

over rumors that Kilrain, the pugilist,
bad. lett omy and. that hie bonds of
$2,000 be forfeited. He was not at
ome, bué his friends say that he has no
intention of evading the law, inasmuch
as he knows that, even should he be
convicted. and senteneed, be will vever
serve a dey'’s time in a Mississippi
prison. Sheriff Childs, of Missiiseppi,
said that Kilrain had no intention of
gring him the slip. “Kilrain is no

ool,” said he, “and he knows that he
has nothing to fear from Gov. Lowry.
We will start south to-day without
waiting until Thursday, the time fixed
by the court here for him to appear in
the habeas corpus proceeding.” Sheriff
Childs added ‘hat Kilrain would be
convicted and given the same sentence
as Sullivan, but he, too, would appeal
to a higher court and be released on
bail. The court of appeals would not
sit for ninety days, and in the mean-
time the company at which
the prosecution was really directed

‘would be dealt with, and the pugilists

would be eitner pardoned = ae:
ings against m drop Gov,
Lowry was after the railroad company,
but it wae only by prosecuting the
principals that he could reach the ac-
cessories.

——— oe

BRUTAL TREATMENT.

Two American Citizens Arrested as
.-. fptee-by- German Goidters.

Leusavents, Inp., August 20.—E.
G. Hill, widely known among florists,
and president. of the National Floral
Association, has just returned to Rich-
mond, Ind, his home, from a trip to

E ‘ope, and report y that wal =

‘A. Probably Fatal Cutting

ied by Sheriff}

Affray at Tullahoma.

Preliminary Trialof Wheel Seo-
retary Davis Postponed.

Sundry News and Social Gossip
_ From Various Points.

Turtanoma, TEnx., August 19.-—{ Cor-
res At 1 o'clock this after-
noon, in the of the Park Hotel,
four of the dining-room servants,
Henry Jobneon, Tom Peitis, Jo Peltz
and Jim Buchanan, became involved |
rer ep a AE ar

and probably

oa echelon ~ the hands of Tom
Pettis. Bachanan says that Johnson
and Peltz held him ‘witile Pettis
stabbed him. Johnson ani Pelts

in the statement that they only
interfered to stop the quarrel, between
Pettis and Bnachanan, snd were

exceedingly dangero
chances largely egainst the négro’s re-
covery. The three negroes, Jo. Petty,
Henry Johnson and Tom Pettis, are
under arrest and now undergoing &

a mM trial before Esquire W. Tf.
ilson.

Mr, W. W. Bogle, of Evansville, Ind.,
was here yesterday.

Mr. M. Overton, of Nashville, was
here yesterday.

Mr. John Means, of Waco, Tex., is

here.

Mrs. W. M. Moore and Mise Lollie
Moore, of St. Joseph, La., are here.

‘Mrs. T. B, Miller, children and nurse,
or Dallas, Tex., arrived here to-day
and are at Park.

Mr. T. J. ler, of St. Louis, is here.

Mr. J. A. Featherstone, of Nashville,
is here.

Mr. L. Mason, of Chattanooga, late
postal clerk, is here. From distributing
mail matter in the service of Uncle
Sam, he ie now engaged in distribut-
ing tobaceo for a Virginia tobacco
house.

Dasspex, August 19.—[Correspond-
— nse seg ay pata 30 ar
jail three weeks for attempting
itt Mr. J. P. Gibbs pa having a dirk.
on his person, has at last given bail
and was from confinement
Saturday afternoon. His bond was fixed

ton Carlton, went to «ieason, Davie’


Aad ima ala’
ae en Oe | Fa Po & bewrsrrw sy

{ received in

handed. up to!

i In General Ses-
nas. Chester

“old, 1,259, Boynton
*» John Kulka,

Ad-up ©
‘been: assoc
«Club ‘gunmen in

East Seventy-
‘taxicab . driver
1d Carson some-

fiving tomold-up
the
t

sewas}:

i East 107th! - ian
|Report at the Annual Meeting}:

$25,000 bail, and.
ond .Ave-

“fo
Koch, ¢
treet, who *was
“Park Saturday night.
in Mulcahy of 952 Eighth Ave-
; fifth member ‘of the al-

aberdasher
s shop ‘at 178 Dyck-
n° April 11.. Mulcahy
ras: bail for “hearing
pril’ 22 ‘on rge
oncert with: Kulka in the robbery
- lot the haberdashery of John Wel-
‘ters, 244 De ancey Street, on April 9.

edn te Ee ete

‘of acting. in

Margaret Bondfield

ve

“Margaret Bondfield, Minister of!

Labor in the British Cabinet 1
women.t?7
ived yes-

| bus, Ohio, to attend the Be oF
Conference as & delegate from

land. foe
“Atger the convention Miss Bond-);
field said she hoped to visit the}
West Coast and on her return make
studies of American advances: in:
labor, housing, city ‘managem

and education. a
Bondfield said she had
work being 4
Roosevelt and
3 P

eS

'W.C.A. HAS BALANCE
OF $10,233 FOR YEAR

Shows $1,245,706 Expended

ion and advanceme tof

e association showe

' expenditures of
ion ‘the same
| including “women: 4
ps and many natio

_ William Henry Hays, ¥
ing treasurer, submitted. the #
cial report. at the meeting,
was held inthe Sgeih Ch

14
Dodge,
penditures
tutions -operat by. |
tion totaled. $1,245,706, and income’

| from all sources $1,259, 39. |

mau Naw Yous Toms, | BYGSO OF UN bridge
S, N.Y¥., April 18.—Pa- stibt, necessitating a detor

“ee

ther Is Victim

at- Gansevoort”
traveling south on the:

Nine Cars in Bridge
: in-|. The Washington Bridge,
ere today when his tends from 18ist Street, Ma
flided® with a dirt | across the Harlem River, 1
sified through the | Clear of vehicular traffic,
fad been em-; for a few trolley cars, fron
eman at the Singer after 7 o'clock last night,’
ae Seiad about sult of a crash involving:
Julius , 43, of | and eight automobiles.
r of me truck, was} During the stoppage mote
siring to cross the Harle
had ‘to use. the Macom!

years old, of 19} or more miles: °
died this morn- ten-ton truck from
of in-| N#J., on its way to Be

nto a tree on Nep-| the Bronx when @ numt
here. Patrolman Jo- | mobiles halted in front of
parives of the car, | Bronx end, for a tra:
@ accident. The tried to stop, but his:
sent to investi-| carried him into the tear'¢
tomobile driven by Edware
40: years old, of 673 “Es
the Bronx. ‘The
into:

he was struck by an/| aged
ven by’ Allan Kress-
tic City.” Jack Steel-] attended by Dr. Meyer'«


ITHREE MURDERERS DIE
IN oe. AT SING SING

oe
TING, N,.¥., Bob. iS—Three

Pe atrolman aot ne an
the phold-up_ of a New York City.
night club, and Frenklts Ww. a

ett tn ‘neve ar,

Kin formerly Catholic chap-

ni Sing. He ‘substituted
tot the feguiar chaplafo, the Rev.
Bernar< peat who me i with

| = a sie chants

Jenner e@ dea’ r

, followed by Kulka and Thing-

stead, in that order. one Me-

| Se ery ae —

fenner and lien, were 5 alent as.

in the chair waiting for the
‘Thingstead, who was

‘charge.
ng uM Gon oghokagen

"you,


KRIESBURG, MARINO & PASQUA, whites, Hlec. Sing Sing (Bronx) 6-7-193)
and MURPHY, white, elec. Sing Sing (Bronx) 7-5-193).

NA owt c

EWG CLYE (Pee. fo, /9¥S”

The Man Who We

/ Would-be killers tried

It wasn’t until he was pumped full of

deadly gas that Malloy
The astonishing saga of
Malloy the Mighty — as he

_ -was later dubbed — took

place back in 1933.

Malloy, a decrepit 60-year-
old drunk, was reduced to
bumming drinks in Marino's
speakeasy in the Bronx, N.Y.

He seemed the perfect vic-
tim for a gang of thugs who
wanted to murder him and
ecliect insurance on him.

The gang included Antho-
ny Marino, 27, owner of the

Bre |

speakeasy; Joseph: Murphy,
28, the bartender; Francis
Pasqua, 24, an undertaker;
Harry Green, a cabdriver,
and Daniel Kreisberg, 29, a
fruit vendor.

The men got Malloy insur-
ed for $1,788. And since they
would collect twice that
amount if Malloy died acci-
dentally, they stood to col-
lect $3,576 — a sizable sum
in 1933 — if they could kill
him and make it look like an
accident.

Their first plan was to ply

. him with whiskey. Suddenly,

to Malloy’s delight, he found
himself getting drink after
drink on the house.

Malloy would drink like a
fish and stagger off — but
come back the next day actu-
ally looking -healthier!

Next, the bartender Mur-
phy spiked his whiskey with
car antifreeze. Malloy col-
lapsed on the floor. But after
a while he got back up, apolo-
gized for passing out and
asked for another drink.

For a whole week the gang
laced Malloy’s drinks with
antifreeze. It didn’t work.
Next, they tried turpentine

but it also failed to kill Mal-
loy — as did horse liniment
and rat poison.

They tried raw oysters
tainted with deadly wood al-
cohol. That flopped. They
even gave Malloy a sandwich
filled with spoiled sardines
and carpet tacks.

Malloy ate the whole
thing, muttered “appetizing”
— and knocked back some
more wood alcohol to wash it
down.

Now the gang got down to
business. They got Malloy so
drunk he was in a stupor,
drove him to a spot near the
Bronx Zoo, stripped him and
tossed him onto a snowbank.

ee

For good measure, they
threw water over him. The
temperature that night was
14 degrees below zero.
Incredibly, the next day
Malloy walked back into the

He Survived 30 Murder
Attempts Before Killers
finaly died. Finally Bumped Him Off

turpentine, rat poison, an-

speakeasy complaining: “I
got a wee chill.”

Next, after getting him
drunk again, the gang ran
over him with a taxicab,
leaving his seemingly life- a

loy drunk again, they took
him to one thug’s room, put a
rubber hose from a gas jet

less corpse in the road. After |down his throat, and killed
about two weeks, he reap-|him. Malloy’s Irish luck had
peared — explaining that|run out.

ay 3S eS
at y 4 bad e f ,
iy . ; ‘
a br h v
Br < pom :
oS 71
5 Fic eumeene |

more than 30 times to murder Michael | ~
Ma!loy — but incredibly, he survived every one of those. attempts!

‘. Malloy was poisoned with deadly wood alcohol,
tifreeze and horse liniment — but they didn’t even faze him. A spoiled sardine
sandwich spiked with carpet tacks

proved just a tasty delicacy to him.
And when he was doused with cold water

and left outside all night in freezing cold

weather, he merely complained of a chill!

with a brain concussion and

THE GANG THAT DID IT — and died in the electric

chair as punishment. On tri
Kreisberg, Murphy, Marino

fractured shoulder.

al (front row, |. to r.) are

and Pasqua.

tually brought to justice —
because they talked too

Finally, after getting Mal-|much. The police dug up Mi-

The murderers were even-

chael Malloy and found he'd
died of gas poisoning.

One man, who testified

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ee )

Samuel J. Foley, District At-
torney of Bronx County, New
York. A mysterious telephone
message to Foley’s office pro-
vided the first information in

this baffling case.

MURPHY, elec. 7/5/1934.

zi *

The strange case of a
man who refused to
be murdered and a
detective trail that
led from the grave to
the gallows

The body of Nicholas Mellory, murder
victim. What were the strange circum-
stances leading up to this man’s murder?

in the reception room of District Attorney Sam-
uel Foley of the Bronx, New York, rang shrilly.
““T want to talk to the District Attorney,” a man
said over the wire.
““He’s gone for the day,’
answered replied.
“Okay,” the man replied, “but get this and pass it
on to the D.A. A man has been murdered here in the

L:: in the afternoon of April 11th, 1933, the phone

the policeman who had

Bronx and an undertaker by the name of Frank is’

mixed up in the job.”

24

nT

fae

Bea
x

AMERICAN DETECTIVE,
February, 1935,

“Murdered?” the policeman gasped. “Whoand when?”
“I don’t. know who and I don’t know when,” the

“voice answered. “I only known a man was murdered

and that’s that.”

-“Say, what the hell,” the policeman demanded. “Is
this a gag?”

“Yeah, it’s a gag,” the voice taunted, “and a damned

good one for the D.A. to work out. Just pass this ‘info’ ~

along and tell him I called. My name is ........ :
What the name of the man was will foreyer remain
a secret because he was one of the numerous sources


' case of a
efused to
d and a
rail that
£rave to
lows

is Mellory, murder
he strange circum-
this man’s murder?

Whoand when?”
now when,” the
a was murdered

1 demanded. “Is

, “and a damned
st pass this ‘info’
CS cer ;
| forever remain
umerous sources

By Wilton. Gray

the police had in the underworld, a man who had given
valuable tips before.

Suffice to say that the mention of that man’s name
brought District Attorney Foley back to his office that
night and with him was Inspector Brockman of the
Bronx Homicide Bureau.

of

ee
e
e-

WAM LLLYS Og
Thy Wy souapysas

mqgouad (Z) Qmy hq

c) yswus Aq spew w ytausasu0pua

ra
Sed.
Au an®
Ang ay} 4Q yur Ut paszopua aq Nw qovq? siqy

é

~LVIEMW HON YINSC ONY wiwiv4

‘LNA NMBAOU NY -ASVW'ISY
JO saceyd noqy Surard ‘ja ow oy

pessouqia oq ysnu

it

MHL 40 NOsvah

MOMAANMM IMEEL

METROPOLITAN Lire INSURA

INDUSTRIAL DEPARTMENT
; \s

Owttk? AND Desrt NUMBER

HARLEM NY 168

B 1145978

e * ° "«
SSP POU ALOR Ye

.. DOLLARS

TOTHE CHASE NATIONALBANK :.. (_- J

aes,
OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK . é Ofims aia An ——
: yy EASURER,

METROPOLITAN BRANCH

The insurance checks for which Mellory was murdered. Note the small sum for which the
' murder was ‘committed,

25


a “ eh

; Pee $ 5 : . , ge
TWO-PAGE SPECIAL PHOTO FEATURE

Frank Pasqua was the undertaker for the ring,
but when he buried Mallory several hours after

he died, he gave detectives their big clue. District Attorney Samuel J. Foley The physician who was called to sign the

oar Neue bilan tar net oe death certificate that Mallory had died of
and this tip led to the killers of PRecmoni-
Mallory.

The four members of the insurance policy ring as they were booked for murder. The smiles on their faces faded when they heard the charge.
(The End)

41


ee : EA, BIER AEM APEC AR OS ANE A OTN =" .

white collar. He was Frank Pasquu
by profession an undertaker.

As Malloy entered, Marino laid
hand on Pasqua’s sleeve

“There he is,” he whispered

Pasqua’s coal-black eyes took
Malloy’s shambling gait, the uz ’
face and watery e }
Doctor Frank Manzella: His beginning of a man’s dis!

Death Certificate covered a and Pasqua nodded with approval
multitude of heinous sins “He'll do. Send him around tome
row.”
HAT evening a bewildered M

Malloy experienced the novel se:
about his legs, and he dug his fists tion of having a grink on the hous
deeper into his pockets. Where the ee, Marino's PAY HON, sll
yellow transom light of No. 3775 faced po ee es Re bens
gleamed upon the sidewalk, he mca “ os a ool ro oa
hunched up his shoulders and decided ae se Sister rca oe
to see whether Tony Marino had POdy, he heard words that ch«

changed his mind about free drinks. heart. 4 : ; f ;
Winter’s coming on and you wo:
. 5 } he arks mux
E knocked on the door and a few De able to sleep in the parks m
longer. If you go down to Fr

seconds later a wad of paper was
withdrawn from a peephole. Then a
bolt clicked and the door opened.
Malloy nodded silently to the bar- mn ight
tender and handyman, Joseph Murphy, Sreshiee cuties ae eet snd
whose red hair was combed back in * When” Be appeared at “the *
an oily pompadour and whose wide, taxing establishment at No. 246 E
week mouth was framed in a pinkish’ 116th Street, in the Little Italy se
stubble of beard. : . pa aee :
Ete a . of Harlem, he was given a maitres

At the bar inside, Tony Marino WAS and allowed to sleep on the floor. T!
engaged in earnest conversation with he did every night for a weck or so
a soft-voiced, beady-eyed young man and at the end of that time Pasqua i
dressed in an oxford gray suit, with roached’ an: insurance agent. ~~
a black tie knotted neatly at his crisp ? “Tye got iin old fallow I'm taki

EW YORKS
MURDER TRUST

By Doctor Charles H. Hochman

Assistant Medical Examiner for the City of New York
as Told to

ened condition bordering on alcohol- Richa rd Hirsch

ism. By the time her plight was dis-
covered it was too late to stop the fatal
progress of the disease, and at night-
fall she expired without regaining
consciousness.

There was no suspicion attached to
the death and a few weeks later a life
insurance policy of $1,500 was paid to
the beneficiary, Tony Marino of New
York.

For Tony Marino was Maybelle
Carlson's lover! It was he who had
plied her with drink after drink until
she was ripe for his little murder
scheme!

With the proceeds of this insurance
money, Marino opened a speakeasy at
No. 3775 rd Avenue, New York,
ring elevated tracks
of the city’s five
ighborhood was a
rink of the
eting slug of
called “smoke,” which

Pasqua’s place on East 116th Stree:
tomorrow night, he’ll fix you up.”
So it was that Michael Ma

’

rino’s place was
7, and its true nature
S ill-disguised by
in the window and
* over the doorway.

Bae Aad ARDS the place one night in the
F >f 1932 came Michael Malloy,
a strapping six-foot Irish bricklayer,
out of work for many months and re-
duced to begging dimes; and when
there were no dimes, to begging drinks
from bartenders. A cold, snarling The Trust at the Bar of Justice: From left, Daniel Kreisberg, Joseph
wind whipped his frayed trousers Murphy, Tony Marino and Frank Pasqua, with court officers behind them


oe

sone wry

cs ‘me before my accident.””-;-> °
“Marino ~ shrugged his’, shoulders.

a, front of the. bistro...

Sek Ae ee Bh 9

“jssue ‘the eckined’ death. certificate.”
==--This was to be Marino’s final at- -

tempt. If he failed now, then mee
too, would quit.

MX MALLOY was = aistionees
from the hospital on the morning
of February 22nd, 1933, Washington’s
birthday. -. His first: stop «was the
speakeasy. where he complained: to
his “friends” that the doctors had
made his life a perfect hell. -
“Can ‘you beat it,” he said, “they
didn’t let me have a single ‘drink. 3,
“We'll take care of that, 24 Tony said.

x >: “Hey, Red, fix Mike a drink.”

Red’ Murphy’ handed ‘the ‘derelict

“a shot of prohibition hooch and Mike’:

« downed it iri a gulp. - His face twisted
ace. >

~The speakeasy proprietor ‘went up

tS to him. . “What's the es ‘Mike? i
& * Don’t you like it?” ‘~

"said reproachfully. -

“You're holding out ‘on ‘me, aie ‘Mike
“This isn’t half.
‘as good as the stuff you were giving

ial.” 2.

pe; and Mike was stra the: Blass.
A’happy smile spread over his face, ©

Se In’
. sired ‘state of intoxication and
Murphy,: climbing out” of “his apron.’

~and. getting into his © coat,’ Soimed
Daniel Kreisberg on the sidewalk in

Bronx, where, the day. before,
iteooming was carted _;into «the

“hour, Kreisberg*who.hadbeen-care-"
fully watching. the: breathing of Mike’:

“=< Malloy ; grow. less and Jess" distinct, is:
e finally. got-up: *satisfiedi aX pres Se

<“ “You can turn: the: (Bas. off now,” dag

‘he announced...’ %

. dead.”

Murphy, - pai

“Seyilling ‘to’ accept: this! yerdi t

“Mike : Malloy. was: ‘concerned ;:

anything could be expected.» ‘Hevand
‘Kreisberg kept -vigil at. the. side es of.
ey

the body until evening when‘
were relieved by Hershey Green*
Tough Tony Bastone.

“and =

physician. with good *
nections, arrived... He: took. a fleeting

glance at Mike’s body and wrote out -

the death certificate.

Pasqua removed the body to his"

undertaking ‘establishment. *' In” his

hurry’ to: get rid of it he ‘placed it, =:

clothed as it “was, into a crude pine
box and ‘quickly interred it in a

twelve-dollar plot in Ferncliffe Ceme-.

tery in the upper Bronx. . ¥ eter:
So slick was the last act of the’
murder - plot. that not ‘the slightest

‘That’s more: like it,” he said.<)*™-§
an hour Mike reached the de~ ;

They put the ~
and drove to Fuiton- Avenue; “the *
“Murphy had rented a room: Durable BE

mouth. Red turned. a on while © :
‘Kreisberg, using. his*-hand, kept a —
tube: end carefully sealed in, Mike’s

: “by. ee
““dening “slowness: sAt-the’end*of an’ -

q i a on the trigger. -
-knew. from experience. that: ie “throug

- The latter‘two © he
kept’ the death-watch until morning -
when Dr. Frank. Manzella, ‘a Harlem. .. ‘He saw. his confederate groveling in -
 eon—- the: ‘sawdust. There was only one

FACTS snOM: OF ric eILES

siolclnh ‘was cast on: Mike: btatioyle®
death. ‘He had no. family to mourn
his loss nor any friends to make in-
quiries about ‘his sudden ng} perl
ance. The insurance money was
divided by the members and they
looked about for another victim.

Tough Tony found one who fit the
specifications in a Harlem- dive and
brought -him up to Tony Marino’s
for inspection... An’ unforseen oc-
currence, .however, necessitated a
hasty change of plan.

.on Tough Tony

the heat time he’ ad ever laid: eyes. ie:
Bastone.
When the reports on_the investiga~.
tion were filed in the District Attor-~
ney’s office, one man read them with»
more than normal interest. He was
Charles Brody, Chief Clerk of the
Prosecutor’s office and former re-
porter for the New York World. He
was the lone newspaperman. who had ©.
covered the death of Maybelle Carl-
son, the blonde pleasure. girl whose
nude body had been foun stretched

LLL LLL EDL

eel

ts “Ra

Ee

~*¢ee

That same night three’ exceedingly
“tough gentlemen’ got - into © ‘an argu-
“ment with Tough. Tony. *One-of the

*. trio whipped out a revolver; squeezed. :
There were orange ©

‘spurts of flame. -Two' slugs ‘ripped
h Tough Tony’s* mid-section.
‘A’-third ‘bullet caught him. in’ the

heap... The three men raced ° ‘out of
the place.

‘“#Tony Marino was seated in the back
room at the time and at the sound

“thought in his mind. Get Tough
“Tony..out -of the place before he
brought: the police. down on his il-
Jegal ‘establishment. :. With the help
of Red’ Murphy he carted him: into
the ‘street and laid him in the gutter.

“When: the: detectives from Bronx
Homicide Squad arrived Tough Tony
was ‘dead. They : questioned Tony
Marino, but ‘the latter blandly denied
knowing anything about the shooting.
In fact, Tony Marino swore, this was

\

The house where MiKE ¢ MALLOY. finally fell a Victin of ons cold-blooded conspirators. i

“insurance policy was a Tony Marino. ©

coincidence. He confided his belief”
head. .He fell-to the floor in’a,bloody.-

di
For a week Detective. Byrnes shad-

of the shooting came on the run.’ owed the suspect, carefully noted ‘the -

- lishment of Pasqua. At oe same Yims:

see OO

Oe dead

Pe adn a chase socmitigy gua
.The name of the beneficiary on-her

he F

The name of.this same man loomed .
large: now. Brody felt “that -there:
was something deeper behind the. re-_
‘currence of Marino’s name than mere.

in Assistant District Attorney Edward -;
F. Breslin’ and the latter. -assigned’:
ace detective Edward W. Byrnes. to.

into Marino’s background... =

“names of the men in whose companys
he was seen most frequently.

ing the files at the Board of Health,
Detective’ Byrnes learned ‘that - the
body of Maybelle Carlson. had been z
removed from the house where: she... “Jy
had died by Frank Pasqua, under-~;
taker. This was the name of Ton
Marino’s closest crony. It gave De-.'
tective. Byrnes an idea. He’ went:
painstakingly through the files of ‘all
people who had died in the Bronx and* -
who had used the undertaking estab-


neers :

tightl ly. h

hurled against ; ‘the stra rape
fined. gum 10 the death chair.

Tt: The
ian listened. for

Catetully the: executio
e: metal headgear. in®
|! Daniel Kreisberg was .-then
0.4 His face was impassive.: “Ht
official witnesses. the :
reporters ‘toward ‘th
waited. : Blue-shirted:,

_ SPRINGFIELD'S SEX BANDIT

~ (Continued. from page 9)

bro. aic dersely,. his ‘face: “suffused ‘sak th

2x bandit peed avound Wout him : “She’s been shot .throi
elf with. no. further. opposition. art.” Ruth Bowter: had been shot
ee ing motion; -he tore.a-broo through the arm; and although weak
tuth Bowter’s throat and. fled» from the loss of blood, along. with
cher, mother. and sister she wa “able

_ to give a g00d account f
arenspired: *

Discovering that. her brooc

-Ruth: se the ° sex-bandit

uth Stee ak ‘his eyes -blazing % ele oer one 7
as he: snarled: j:°: Fos ‘ fa sand tain . searched. The slug fired at Mrs Bo
‘ake Jit, i ck-" ter. was aug. out: at He wall. As.fo


v

Here Is the Sensational
of What the Po-
lice Did with the Mob
That Went in for Cold-
Blooded Murder for

Profit Through Insurance

Story

the presence of illuminating
gas poisoning after death?”

The speaker, Assistant District At-
torney Arthur Carney, former Naval
Academy football star, asked me that
question over the telephone one morn-
ing.

“Depends on the condition of the
body. Carbon monoxide is the thing
that does the trick in deaths from il-
luminating gas, and it will usually
show up,” I replied. “How long’s the
man been dead?”

“We don't know yet,” came the
somewhat startling reply. “I'll get
in touch with you later.”

Such was my introduction to one of
the weirdest crimes in my years of
experience as Assistant Medical Ex-
aminer. I have performed thousands
of autopsies and have taken part in
seores of homicide investigations, but
no more bizarre case ever came to my
attention than the one involving the

8

"Gin DOC, can you determine

rE]

macabre operations of the cruelest
and greediest murder syndicate ever to
write its crimson history on the annals
of crime.

For Assistant District Attorney Car-
ney, acting under the direction of his
chief, District Attorney Samuel J. Fo-
ley of Bronx County, New York, was
investigating a number of mysterious
rumors that had been circulating
through the underworld grapevine—
rumors almost too weird to believe—
that a gruesome combination had gone
into the business of murder for profit
and had done their job so successfully
that a large insurance company actual-
ly had paid them death benefits with-
out ever suspecting the real nature of
the claims.

HEN these rumors became fact—
when one day I looked at the
cherry-red body of a man who had
been thrown half clothed into a plain
pine box and buried nine feet under the

ground—without benefit even of em-
balming—I realized the full dastardly
import of the viciousness behind this
murder syndicate.

How the operations of this sinister
crew were discovered and smashed has
never before been revealed, and now
for the first time the real story may be
told. It properly begins on a bitter
cold night somewhat less than five
years ago, in Washington, D. C., and is
told here in sequence after the whole
hair-raising scheme had been ferretted
out.

Up the stairs of a shabby rooming
house lurched a blond young woman.
supported by a sleek, dark-haired
young man. The woman’s eyes were
dazed and glassy and her tongue thick.
She sagged against the wall as the man
fumbled in his pocket for the key to
her room. When he found it, he
opened the door, carried her limp form
across the threshold, and threw her
onto a bed,

She lay there unmoving, her hair
tumbling in a golden gleam about her
head, her white throat arched. Her
eyes were closed and her breathing
heavy. The man closed the door, then
stepped to the bed. His pinched white
face was cold and hard as he looked
at the unconscious woman. With a
grim smile playing about his mus-
tached lip, he proceeded to disrobe her.
Off came coat, dress, slip and lingerie.
Careless hands dropped them to the
floor in a silken heap.

HEN the slim white body lay bare
against the coverlet, the man
snapped off the light, walked to the
frost-coated window and threw it open.
A cold blast of the Winter wind quick-
ly chilled the small room. His breath
steaming in the air, the man stole
softly away.
The next day blond Maybelle Carl-
son was in the delirium of pneumonia,
brought about by exposure in a weak-


86

scanned every edition of the afternoon

papers and the early editions of the morn-
ing papers, without finding so much as a
line about the affair in which they were
so interested.

“What do you suppose could of hap-
pened?” Marino inquired of the assembled
group. Then, addressing Green, the taxi
driver: “You sure he wasn’t still lyin’
there when you looked this afternoon?”
Green shook his head.

Pasqua was the next to speak. “Some-
times the papers don’t have space for all
the news, and besides this guy ain’t what
you call prominent. Nobody would be
interested in him, except us.”

It was decided that Malloy had been
picked up, and removed to a morgue, an
the bartender, Red, was instructed to get
on the job bright and early in the morn-
ing and make the rounds of the various
city morgues.

“Maybe,” chimed. in Tough Tony: Bas-
tone, “they. buried him’ somewhere before
we saw him. You can’t collect insurance
unless you got a body to show ’em.”

So Red was told to be sure and look at
every body that had been brought in since
Malloy’s unfortunate “accident.”

Red had news for the plotters when he
walked into Tony’s speakeasy late the
following afternoon. He had been to every
morgue in Greater New York, looked at
every stiff in each place, and none of them
was Michael Malloy.

AS expression of dawning amazement
crossed Tony Marino’s dark counte-
nance, and he uttered an oath. “You don’t
suppose,” he demanded, “the ——’s still
alive, do you?”

Tough Tony Bastone opined that such
was a possibility, and an air of gloom
settled over the little backroom.

Tony Marino opened the slot machine
out in front and removed a number of
nickels. He gave them to Red.

“Go up the street to the drug store and
start callin’ the hospitals. Somethin’ tells
me he ain’t dead.”
~ Red spent a long time in the telephone
booth. When he came out, perspiring,
he was the picture of dejection. At eac
hospital, it had been the same story—
“No one by that name or description has
been brought in. Have you tried the
other institutions?”

Nothing short of desperate in his desire
to collect the insurance money—almost
two months had passed now since the
gang first went to work on Malloy—Tony
decided on a bold stroke. He would find
a substitute for the man who couldn’t be
killed!

Tony locked up early’ that night, and
the plotters began a tour of the Harlem
speakeasies, looking for a new victim.
They had no luck, but the following night,
in a dive in the Scratch Park district of
the Black Belt, Tough Tony Bastone’s
eyes widened when he saw, leaning against
the bar in a fairly drunken condition, a
man of the same general appearance as
Malloy.

Tough Tony struck up a conversation
with the stranger. The man’s name was
Joe Murphy, and he was homeless and
jobless. That made him eligible. Tough
Tony told him that a friend of his who
ran a speakeasy on Third Avenue needed
a handy man around the place. The pay
would be a dollar a day, and all he could
drink. Would Mr. Murphy consider such
an opportunity? Yes, Mr. Murphy would.

Tough Tony scribbled down the address
of Marino’s dive, and Murphy showed up
the next day for work.

That night, the killers plied the pros-
pective victim with smoke, and he soon
succumbed. Tony planted a card bearing
the words “Michael Malloy” in the man’s

True Detective Mysteries

pocket, then hastily went about the grim
business of murder.

On a desolate thoroughfare in the upper
Bronx, the unconscious Murphy was
thrown in front of Hershey Green’s cab
and knocked down like a match-stick in
a hurricane. This time the killers lingered
behind, prepared to run Murphy over a
second time if he was not already dead.
But Pasqua, the undertaker, announced
that Green had done his work well.

“You'll collect the insurance now,” he,

assured Tony.

But, the next day, it was apparent that
something had gone awry: again. Mur-
phy’s body had been removed by some
one, but it had not been received at any
of the morgues. Then came the bad news.
A man registered as Michael Malloy had
been picked up the night previously, and
taken to Fordham Hospital. When Marino
called at the institution, he learned that
Murphy was not dead at all, but was
suffering from a compound fracture of the
skull, a broken arm, a fractured leg, sev-
eral broken ribs, a severe injury to his
right eye, exposure, and internal injuries.

That night, as the murder trust sat
around the backroom, bemoaning their
sad plight, the buzzer sounded. A familiar
figure entered.

“Evenin’, me lad! I’m dyin’ for a
drink. Make it snappy.”

The customer was Michael Malloy.

Malloy had met with a slight accident,
he announced, and had been taken to a
hospital (one that Red had neglected to
call), suffering from minor bruises.

“There was really nothin’ wrong with
me,” he told Red, banging his glass on the
bar for an encore, “just scratched up a
bit. But they kept me in the damned
place.” Malloy gulped down another
glassful of anti-freeze mixture. “It’s nice
to be back, me lad. Couldn’t get any o’
this in the hospital.”

Would the gang ever succeed in mur-
dering Malloy? Wood alcohol, poisoned
sardines, the lid of the sardine can, oysters
and anti-freeze mixture, a night in a sleet
storm half naked, being run over with a
taxicab—he had withstood every murder-
ous onslaught. Not only that, he actually
seemed to be thriving on the treatment he
was getting. It is a matter of record
that he looked younger and happier, and
seemed to be in better health, than before
bd eeieer trust began concentrating on

im

ALLOY’S fate hung in the balance for
the next few days. His amazing vital-
ity had thoroughly disgusted the plotters,
and they were loathe to make any further
attempts on his life, hoping that the
second “Malloy” would die of his injuries.
When, however, it was learned at the hos-
pital that Murphy was expected to recover
(which he eventually did) the gang de-
cided on just one more try at abruptly
abbreviating Michael Malloy’s sorry jour-
ney through life.

Red, the barterider, rented a room in
a boarding-house at 1210 Fulton Avenue,
the Bronx. On the afternoon of Wash-
ington’s Birthday, he and a friend of the
ring—Daniel Kreisberg, a financially em-
barrassed fruit dealer—inveigled Malloy
into going to the room on the pretext
of sampling a new brand of alcohol.

Malloy sampled to his heart’s content,
and presently fell into his not unfamiliar
state of unconsciousness. Kreisberg and
Red lost no time. They took a length of
brown rubber tubing from the bureau
drawer, fastened it to a gas jet, turned
on the gas and put the other end of the
tubing in Malloy’s mouth.

The unconscious derelict, filled with
alcohol, was breathing heavily, which was
ideal for the Macabre business at hand.

The slayers held the tube in Malloy’s
mouth for more than an hour. Then they
removed it, shut off the gas, and Red
stuck the tube in his pocket.

' Michael Malloy was actually dead at
ast.

Kreisberg left, and Hershey Green, the
taxi driver, joined Red in the murder
room. It was late in the afternoon, and
Tony Marino, the master mind, had in-
structed that the two men remain with
the body, so that it wouldn’t be dis-
covered, until proper arrangements were
made for its disposal.

The hours wore on, and darkness fell.
Green lit the gas jet through which the
lethal fumes had flowed not long before.
There stil! came no word from Tony; and
Green and Red, not daring to disobey
orders, remained in the room with the
corpse. All night long, as the flickering
light in the gas jet cast a dull yellow glow
on the body of Michael Malloy, the two
men, sitting within a few feet of the
corpse, played cards.

In the morning, Doctor Frank Manzella,
an old friend of Pasqua, the undertaker,
came in, looked at the body, and issued
a death certificate ascribing the demise to
pneumonia.

HE body was removed to Pasqua’s un-

dertaking establishment. Pasqua, out
for all he could get, didn’t even bother
embalming it. He placed it, clothed just as
it was when death came, in a crude pine
box, not even bothering to remove a
plug of chewing tobacco from the hip
pants pocket..

Michael Malloy was interred in a
twelve-dollar plot in Ferncliffe Ceme-
tery, and Tony Marino collected more
than twelve hundred dollars in insurance
money. Tony kept most of it for him-
self, inasmuch as he had been the direct-
ing genius behind the plot, and divided
the rest among Kreisberg, Pasqua, Red
and Tough Tony Bastone.

Everything went along very smoothly
for more than two months—with the ex-
ception of the murder of Tough Tony in
Marino’s speakeasy by a young man who
suddenly sickened of Tony’s constant ex-
hibitions of toughness. This affair, how-
ever, had nothing to do with the murder
of Michael oe Up until now—the
early part of May—there had been no
hint of suspicion in connection with the
derelict’s death.

Then one of District Attorney Foley’s
assistants—Edward F. Breslin—somehow
got next to a rumor that an insurance
murder had been committed in the Bronx
some time previously. Mr. Breslin’s in-
formation was of the most fragile sort,
however. He had no names, no addresses,
no date. All he learned was that the
undertaker in the case had been an
Italian, and that the doctor who issued
the death certificate might have been an
Italian.

District Attorney Foley instructed Mr.
Breslin to run down the tip, unpromising
as it seemed on the surface. And so Bres-
lin got in immediate communication with
Inspector Henry Bruckman, in command
of all detectives in the Bronx. Inspector
Bruckman in turn assigned one of his
aces—Detective Edward W. Byrnes—to
the case.

Breslin and Byrnes worked hand in
hand from that moment on. The first
thing they did was to go to the Health
Department, and examine every death
certificate that had been issued in New
York City for a period of six months,
several thousand in all. In each instance,
they immediately eliminated the certifi-
cate if the undertaker’s name was not an
Italian one. All certificates bearing such
names were tentatively held out for pos-

sible future in
ments revealing

and the do .
to be inv

A staff
and weeks

check up on ¢!
tors and under’
It was a pa
destined to bri
began to probx
hind the deat
bearing the n
with Frank P
Doctor Frank
physician.
When it wa:
done practical!
for some tim
was none too
ported at once
that moment
gating.

IS first mo
at 1410 I

had died. T
that it was a p
immediately »
ing and board
creased what:
already had, |
rule that ev:
writes on a di
solutely accur

Byrnes nex
various large
learned that 1
proprietor, ha:
insurance poli
news, this, for
the murder c
Marino’s plac

Marino and
night and da
ward. When
Pasqua were (
than casual fi
came more in
boarding-hous:
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ance policy |
homeless.

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Addres
TERIES !
5th, 1934

The th


~ Lieutenant |
Stanley T. Adams

Medal of Honor
wr,

NE FEBRUARY
NIGHT, Lieutenant

w Adams was on a bitter-
B ly contested hill near
Sesim-ni, Korea. Out of
the earth some 150 Communist troops
rose up. Ordering fixed bayonets, the
lieutenant, with only 13 men, leaped
up and charged furiously. He was
knocked down by a bullet. Three
hand grenades bounced off his body,
exploding nearby. But when Adams
.and his squad. were through, there
were only 50 Communists left — and
they were dead.

“Nobody likes war,” says Stanley
Adams. But today the surest way to
invite a war is to be weak. Twice in
the last ten years Americans have let
their guard down. And the Philippine
and Korean graveyards are filled with
men who paid the price for it.

“Please don’t make that tragic mis-
take again. Help make your country
stronger—by buying more and more
United States Defense Bonds. Put
your bond-power behind our fire-
power, now—and together we'll keep
America at peace!”

* * *

Remember that when you're buying bonds,
you're also building savings. Remember, too,
that if you don't save regularly, you generally
don’t save at all. So sign up for bonds today
in the Payroll Savings Plan where you work,
or the Bond-A-Month Plan where you bank.

Peace is for the strong...
Buy U S Defense Bonds now!

100: TOUGH TO KILL

(Continued from page 39)

grade of automobile anti-freeze—straight.

Now anyone who knows anything at all
about anti-freeze will tell you that such
a mixture is mainly lethal wood alcohol
and should prove to be deadly poisonous
‘to any normal person.
~ But not so with Mr. Malloy. He rolled
a bit of the stuff on his tongue, swallowed
it appreciatively and said to Red Murphy,
“That’s the finest drink I’ve tasted in many
a year.”

The bartender looked at Marino and
gulped. Marino looked at Undertaker
Pasqua, who had come for the body.

“Iron Mike” Malloy finished the jigger
and asked for some more of that, “Very
fine liquor.” .

Marino gave Murphy the go-ahead on
another shot of anti-freeze and told Malloy
that nothing was too good for one of their
oldest and best customers.

“That stuff is right off .the boat,” he
said. “They unloaded it off Montauk Point
just yesterday. You couldn't get any better
anywhere.”

Malloy downed that second one and
followed it by another and another until
he had five straight drinks of anti-freeze
under his belt. °.

ARINO and his bartender and Under-

taker Pasqua had all witnessed a
great deal of high class drinking, but this
exhibition topped them all.

Iron Mike finally passed out; and the
three watchful waiters put him to bed fully
assured that’ he would never live to enjoy
the momentous hang-over that was his
due.

Frank Pasqua checked on the subject’s
heartbeat all through the night; but in-
stead of Malloy growing weaker as all
expected he gained in strength until morn-
ing at which time he opened his eyes,
shook his head and asked for another shot
of that very fine liquor.

“I always say go back to the dog that
bit you,” he laughed. “And what a nice
little doggie that was.”

Murphy and Marino provided the
liquor; and Pasqua went back to his under-
taking parlor a wiser man.

Frustrated, but far from giving up hope,
the speakeasy men fed Iron Mike more
‘anti-freeze than an ordinary car would
consume in a life time—but the only re-
sult seemed to be one hang-over after
another.

“We're not getting anywhere and this
is costing me moncy,” Marino told the

others one day. “This guy has an iron
gut, but I think I have the answer to that,
too.”

The others were eager io listen.

“We'll poison him another way,” the
speakeasy owner began. “We'll take a
couple of cans of sardines and open them
and leave the sardines in the open cans
for a week. Then we'll feed ‘em to Mike.
If that doesn’t kill him we'll buy a gun.”

Undertaker Pasqua reminded Marino
that medical examiners might object to a
bullet through the brain.

“I know,” the man whose idea this had
been said, “but what with liquor, anti¢
freeze and sardines—not to mention the
premium on the insurance—lI’ve got quite
an investment here. And I'll tell you both
I don’t intend to lose it.”

“The sardines will do the trick,” Red
Murphy assured his boss,

Several nights later Mike Malloy was
served what the unholy trio called a “Mar-
ino Special"—-a sardine sandwich that was
poisonous enough to kill a healthy hog.

Mr. Malloy did not react in the expected
manner. He downed the bread and fish
between gulps of anti-freeze and did so
with gusto. ,

“That’s the best sandwich I’ve ever
tasted,” the object of homicide said.
“Could you spare another one?”

Marino and Murphy took a drink of
their own hooch—the good stuff—and fed
Malloy a second and a third rotten sar-
dine sandwich.

The only visible result was an exuber-
ance on the part of the man who was
being guided by Marino and his cohorts
to the cemetery.

Every night they fed Mike Malloy
poisoned sardines and anti-freeze—all he
could hold. And each morning Mike Mal-
loy got up feeling fit as a fiddle and ready
for more.

Tony Marino was becoming discour-
aged.

“Let’s put a bullet through the old goat's
head,” he suggested. “That's the only way
we'll ever get him under the ground.”

“That’s illegal,” Undertaker Pasqua
shouted. “I don’t want to burn in the
electric chair. We'll figure out something
that'll make his death legitimate.”

Red Murphy, who had been eyeing an
empty can in which sardines had been
allowed to stand a week, got an inspira-
tion.

“Let’s grind that tin up into small
pieces,” he said. “Then mix it with the

Be Sure To Read

MAD FOR LOVE — AND MURDER

-in the July issue of Real Detective

Now On Sale

fish. Malloy w
ence. An
I’m ready
“No sto
agreed. ‘
Red fixed the
ing care. He se:
fish after Mr. \
stiff drinks of a
. wholesome three
call life quits.
Instead, the sn ;
More. “Best di }
tasted,” he told } Jj
the wrong busine
operating a fancy
theatrical district
sandwiches to fc
could call this on
Just how a ma:
weather the com!
poison fish and ;

always remain a

York City police

that Mike Malloy

sardine can tops

deadly mixture. T;

ation for such a pt

Malloy had eaten

drunk so much ba:

that by the time
boys got around to
ing could turn the

After a couple
line Marino, Pasqi
that Iron -Mike wa

“I’m gonna buy ;

“That bum’s not go

of me. I’ve invest

this project. Mallo
Undertaker Pas

“There's more way

shooting him,” he ;

cab driver who fa:
Tunning over. |

Tony Marit
good, but just .. wc,
bered how easily ji
Pearl Godwin via th:

“That's a safer way,
said; “And I'm exper
doesn't work we can i
with a cab."

It was February—ar
and Sleet and driving
in-hand with the plott:
got Iron Mike Malloy
and took him for a rid
They found an isolated
drunk of most of his c/
him out into a night |
man or beast.

The boys had a drink
casy to ward off colds
Sure of getting from th
ge hi raw night.

ut when mornin;
Mike Malloy. He prod
Phy (who lived at the
asked for a drink.
ra, must have tied a ;
night,” he laughed. “A
stuff will warm me up.”

Pasqua wouldn't belies
that Malloy was Standing «
laughing about skeping .
Crotona Park, Murphy »
to call it quits. Marino,

laying out the dough, sift
a gun—and use it, »

K RIES BERG, Mee? fale + [As DvA
Moe puy, 7-S-1434F

as well as
will were
2 spurious
ite as next
inclined to

but at the
ing over-
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explained.
ider it, no
t once the

proceeded
now ready
felt he was
ng the old
at he con-
lary check
ent a simi-
The bank
was master

ineuvering,
before the
household
ivid Short.
s contacts,
deeds for

they were
ce. But of
- or the
duties
Even

00, Morris
was put on

mechanics
e very im-
to the con-
wulk of his
sribed as a
e to make

‘rate corre-
ough these
he lawyer's
greatly im-
cen to con-
onal affairs.
er allegedly
| questions,
z out a will
t should be

as well as
‘y would be

and a very
his careful
ere broken?

n on Rice’s
is assets to
vas airtight,
rt of law—
ngency con-

ttion of the
ng in New
from Rice
n the Fifth
oration, and

ge 55)

l ONY MARINO was an opportunist. He was also a character
right out of the great depression; and his livelihood depended
on the less great “noble experiment.” He owned one of New
York City’s most unattractive speakeasies. Mt was on Third
Avenue, in the Bronx. Business was lousy.

Like most bartenders, Tony knew the life stories of his regular
customers. The only difference was that fewer elbow benders
patronized his fire water emporium and he therefore listened to
the same stories over and over again.

One night in 1932, when business, was even slower than usual,
Tony allowed a faded blonde to bend his ear for the hundredth
time. After the lonely tippler had spent her last dime and departed
Tony got to thinking about his own troubles.

First, he‘wasn't making enough money to pay his bills. Second,
the competition in the speakeasy business was so keen that future
prosperity appeared dubious.

While trying to arrive at some satisfactory solution to his
problems Tony Marino's thoughts kept returning to the faded
blonde, whose life story he had heard so many times. The name
was Pearl Godwin. She was in her middle forties. More than
twenty years earlier she had come to New York from a small
western town to seek fame and fortune on the stage. She had done
all right for a while because she wasn't bad looking and she had
youth. Time removed both of those attributes—and fame and for-
tune passed her by. She had changed her name and lost all contact
with her family and relatives. There was no one to know—or
care—what happened to her.

Tony Marino knew all this; and he arrived at a plan. One night
when Pearl was in her cups and didn’t know what she was doing
he had her sign an insurance application for $1,500. Shortly

This unwholesome trio found out

that murder isn’t always easy.

» bs -

CRIME De FEOTCOE.

afterwards he got her drunk again and saw to it that she went
to sleep without any clothes on. The night was cold; a window
was up; and Pearl Godwin contracted pneumonia. She died.

Nobody but Tony Marino cared. He collected $1,500 insurance.

This money went fast. And it was only natural that the bar-
tender, whose crime against Pearl Godwin had gone so smoothly,
should try a repeat job.

The most likely prospect for the second insurance fraud murder
scheme was a down-and-outer named Michael Malloy. Tony
Marino knew that this man had no friends, no’ relatives, no money
—only an almost insatiable craving for alcohol.

Mr. Malloy had not, until this time, been in high favor in Mr.
Marino's speakeasy. His cash had been negligible and on more
than one occasion he had been tossed out of the joint.

If he hadn’t been completely punch-drunk he would most cer-
tainly have suspicioned something when Marino's stern looks
gave way to broad smiles and lines such as, “Drink up, Mike. The
liquor’s on the house tonight.”

Marino had taken two friends into his confidence on this latest
project: Red Murphy, who relieved him at the bar; and Frank
Pasqua, a Bronx undertaker. :

Murphy fed Malloy liouor when Marino wasn’t there. Together
they managed to get all the vital statistics from the man who was
destined to go down in history as “Iron Mike.” And in almost no
time at all he had signed insurance papers totaling $1,500—with
a clause calling for double indemnity in case of death by accident.

After this ground-work had been laid Marino and Murphy
took turns feeding their man the best bootleg they had. When
he was really soysed up, Marino gave the signal and Murphy
started feeding the insured man a cheap (Continued on page 64)


in Malloy’s
Then they
s, and Red

ly dead at

Green, the
the murder
‘moon, and
ad, had in-
emain with
n’t be dis-
ments were

irkness fell.
which the
ong before.
Tony; and
to disobey
a with the
e flickering
yellow glow
oy, the two
eet of the

k Manzella,
undertaker,
and issued
> demise to

‘asqua’s un-
-asqua, out
ven bother
hed just as
crude pine

ove a
e hip
‘red in a

{fe Ceme-
‘ected more
1 insurance
it for him-
the direct-
nd divided
isqua, Red

’ smoothly
ith the ex-
th Tony in
x man who
onstant ex-
iffair, how-
the murder

1 now—the, *

d been no
n with the

1ey Foley’s
'—somehow
1 insurance
. the Bronx
sreslin’s in-
ragile sort,
9 addresses,
s that the
| been an
who issued
ve been an

ructed Mr.
inpromising
nd so Bres-
cation with
1 command

Inspector
one of his
Byrnes—to

d hand in
The first
the Health
very death
ed in New
onths,
tance,
certifi-

was not an
caring such
ut for pos-

fir

sible future investigation. Those docu-
ments revealing that both the undertaker
and the doctor were Italians, were the first
to be investigated.

A staff of detectives did this leg work,
and weeks of time were required to
check up on the reputations of the doc-
tors and undertakers in question.

It was a painstaking job, but it was
destined to bring results when the sleuths
began to probe into what might lay be-
hind the death certificate they found
bearing the name of Michael Malloy,
with Frank Pasqua as undertaker, and
Doctor Frank Manzella as the attending
physician.

When it was learned that Pasqua had
done practically no business to speak of
for some time, and that his reputation
was none too savory, the investigators re-
ported at once to Detective Byrnes. From
that moment on, Byrnes did the investi-
gating.

IS first move was to call at the house

at 1410 Fulton Avenue, where Malloy
had died. The death certificate stated
that it was a private residence, and Byrnes
immediately noticed that it was a room-
ing and boarding-house. This at once in-
creased whatever suspicion the sleuth
already had, for it is a strictly enforced
rule that everything that a physician
writes on a death certificate must be ab-
solutely accurate.

Byrnes next communicated with the
various large insurance companies, and
learned that Tony Marino, the speakeasy
proprietor, had been the beneficiary of an
insurance policy issued on Malloy. Hot
news, this, for Byrnes immediately recalled
the murder of Tough Tony Bastone in
Marino’s place some time before.

Marino and his friends were shadowed
night and day from. that moment for-
ward. When it was observed that he and
Pasqua were obviously considerably more
than casual friends, the investigation be-
came more intense. Byrnes called at the
boarding-house where Malloy met death,
interviewed the landlady, and asked who
had rented the room where Malloy died.
The woman, an honest soul with nothing
to hide, said that Mr. Malloy’s brother
had. This was a new lead, for the insur-
ance policy had stated that Malloy was
homeless.

“Do you remember what Malloy’s
brother looked like?” asked Byrnes.

True Detective Mysteries

“T remember him very well,” the land-
lady answered, “because he had such bright
red hair. He was not a kind looking man;
in fact, I was a little afraid of him.”

“How old would you say he was?”

“Oh, about thirty, more or less.”

The woman had described Tony Ma-
rino’s bartender!

The whole gang was carefully watched

‘now, and an order was issued to exhume

Michael Malloy’s body. Pasqua, as has
been stated, hadn’t bothered to embalm
it. He didn’t know it at the time, but
that’s where he made a fatal mistake.
Embalming fluid would have removed the
highly pink coloring that is the result of
death by gas. But now, after all these
months, the corpse (remarkably preserved,
by the way, owing to Malloy’s constant
indulgence in alcohol, was as pink as it
had been the morning after death. There
could, even at this late date, be no ques-
tion as to the cause of death.

It was at this stage of the investiga-
tion that Charles Brodie, chief clerk in the
District Attorney’s office, recalled a
singular fact. Mr. Brodie, as a reporter
on the New York World, had, three years
previously, worked on the story of the
death of Maybelle Carlson, the blonde
street-walker who had been found in her
room, nude and with the windows open,
in mid-winter. And now Brodie recalled
that none other than Tony Marino had
been the beneficiary named in Miss Carl-
son’s insurance policy.

i pee gang was quickly rounded up. Com-
fronted by the incriminating evidence
against them, they all confessed, Red, the
bartender, being the first to crack.

At this writing, Doctor Manzella, who
issued the false death certificate, is await-
ing trial for his alleged connection in the
crime. Hershey Green, the taxi driver,
drew twenty years, missing the death
penalty only because Malloy recovered
from his injuries in that particular attempt
on his life. .

But the four arch-plotters—Tony Ma-
rino, Red Murphy, Pasqua, the murdering
undertaker, and Kreisberg who, with Red,
was one of the actual slayers—were sen-
tenced late last October to death in the
electric chair at Sing Sing by a jury that
remaining out exactly twelve hours, the
first time in many years that four men
have received the extreme penalty for
one crime in the State of New York.

First Prize: $10.00
Mrs. G. E. Long

Claytonville, Ill.

gestions in mind?

Sth, 1934.

Prizes ror OPINIONS ON THE
January True Detective Mysteries

Second Prize: $5.00

Miss Mary Cashin
Box 14 359 Ellsworth St.
Memphis, Tenn.

WEEN you have read this issue of TRUE DETECTIVE MYSTERIES Magazine,
let us know what you think of the stories jit contains.

Which story is best? Which do you like the least? ‘Have you any helpful sug-

Ten dollars will be paid to the person whose letter, in the opinion of the judges in
charge of these awards, offers the most intelligent, constructive criticism; $5 to the
letter considered second best; $3 to the third best letter submitted.

Address your opinions to the Judges of Awards, c/o TRUE DETECTIVE MYys-
TERIES Magazine, 1926 Broadway, New York, N. Y. This contest closes April

The three awards will be made promptly. No letters will be returned.)

Third Prize $3.00

_ Eugene W. Blank
482 Bergen Avenue
Jersey City, N. J.

87

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*

(WEBB, Madeline, SHONBRUN, Eli, & CULLEN, John - Continued )

“Madeline Webb lived on the soiled fringes of Broadwaye She had
had a shot at Hollywood. Before that she had been a college girl back
in Stillwater, Okla. She was good-looking, the pouty kind with heavy,
half-open red lips and a little girl's big, wide eyes and a kind of
Hedy Lamarr hair-doe Two of her teeth had been kncoked out in an
automobile accident, but she was good enough to be a model for a while
and even a peepeshow dancer at the World's Faire

"E14 fell harde Madeline fell for him tooe He was not bad looking
in a Broadway waye So Eli and Madeline lived together in inexpensive
hotels, skipping out when they got too broke to pay the bill. That
happened every 80 oftene Finally they had hardly a nickel for a cup
of coffees They talked it over, a little desperate now, with a pal
they had picked up, John Cullen, who was a West Side punk with a petty
police record from way backs. They consulted alwo with the greaseball,
dirty Uncle Murray Hirschle

"A couple of days later employes at the Hotel Sutton in Manhattan
heard the blaring radiom in Eli and Madelin's room. The funny part
was that it blared all one afternoon, through the night and into the
next mornings Finally someone took a pass key, opened the door to
look ine The suite was empty - except for a big woman all trussed UD,
lytng on the floor in the bedrooms

"The woman was identified as Mrs, Susie Reich, a Polish refugeeée
Someone had overpowered her and stoled her jewelry and the noise of
her struggling had been drowned by the radioe Adhesive tape had been
plastered as a gag over her face and her head wound up in a flowered
scarf and a Paisley mufflere She had suffocatede Police rounded up
E14, Madeline and Cullene

*pirty Uncle Murray had squealed. He told how he had helped
Cullen swipe a roll of adhesive tape from a 5¢-&-10¢ store and buy
some other odds & etidsy they might need in robbing Mrse Reiche They
had needed a few dollars, so they had hocked Eli's overcoate When
the actual murder took place, Uncle Murray was somewhere else, he saidg
but he put the finger on Eli. and Cullen. ‘Eli felt a little sick,'
said dirty Uncle Murrays He also put a fat finger on Madeline. He
said she had been in: the roome

"Eli screamed right out in the courtroom: tyoutll never sleep
again, Murray3*

"ne tried to comfort Madeline@e She broke down and wept and ran
her fingers through her Hedy Lamarr haire-doe She sobbed, beat her
fists on the table, and sobbed again. He wrote notes to her about bow
be loved her and how she was the loveliest and most beautiful woman
in the worlde

"Eli was worried about her acting like a lady. When she talked
she generally remembered: to talk in the way that is considered very
ladylike by one & all on Broadwaye Once she screeched, in answer to
a question from the prosecuting attorney: ‘rl never file my nails in
the presence of otherse You're: just trying to ruin ay charactere!

nafter all, the pair of them were fighting for their lives - even
if their lives hadn't been so muches

"E14 sometimes showed off, sometimms said such things as: 'I am
addicted to verbiagee' But at one point he was almost noble. He triec
to make a sacrifice by confessing the killing, thus clearing Madelim ,
and even Cullen. He would have died, he said, if Madeline had known
about ite He had done it = he and dirty Murraye ‘Murray and I mur-
dered the woman alone,' he shoutede’ ‘This was an act I am willing to

(WEBB, Madeline, SHONBRUN, Eli, & CULLEN, John - Continued)
mf

to pay for and I know I will burneesoe.e!?

"Cullen, the unsuccessful thief, sat mum throughout the trial,
His life too was at stakes but his show of emotion was limited: a
couple of times he sneezed a littles

"Madeline's pious, sadelooking mother had come from Stillwater to
hold Madeline's hand; and old, lean Judge James Springer had also come
from Oklahoma to help defend an old friend's flashy little daughter.

“Said the gtd Judge, summing up: 'Cleopatra had her Mark Antonyeeo
King Edward said: "I abdicate my throne at long last that I may marry
the woman I lovee"eveeeeNXXXXXX¥HH My helpless client found her Shon=
bruneeeeWill you lead her to the dark doors of the dungeon or will you
lead her to the green pastures and by the still waterse.ees.?!

"The jury was out five and a half hourse They decided to take the
State's storys that Madeline had invited her friend Mrs~. Susie Reich
over to her hotel so that Eli and Cullen could pounce on her and rob
here When they filed in again, they found all three guilty of first-
degree murder, with a recommendation of mercy for Madelinee Eli's
girl forgot again about being a ladye She pounded the table and
Screamed: 'Pleas@ecee.epleasee. I didntti! Eli wept: ‘You have crucified
hereccese!

“When they asked him for his pbd@igree, the little guy who thought
he had plent of talent, but never got a break, snarled: ‘My business
iS a murdererecseee! Eli and Cullen will die in the chaire His little
lady will finish her life in prisone"

TIME MAGAZINE, June 8, 1942 Page 16.

Serpe my: rae sates a
; y;
i
|
|

{
baffling; but this was |
the first time they had
been called upon to
solve a murder without
any remote clue as to
who had been mur-
dered.

In a borough of New
York City, with its seven
million population, a
man had been murdered.

tte

(Below) Room in the Fulton

street boarding house where

Frank Mellory was finally

murdered by the insurance

seeking slayers. Arrow (at

extreme right) points to gas
jet used in killing.

rr Pn a

STi yeh aevtgitisny PMR ie i. sb

(Above) These men were questioned concerning the
; Mellory murder. What did they tell police authorities?

“I checked up on the tip,” Inspector Brockman
said to Foley, “and it is genuine!—but it’s like
finding a needle in the haystack, searching for a
murderer when we don’t know who was murdered
or when or why or how.”

“The tip said there was an undertaker by the
name of Frank mixed up in it,” Foley replied. “That
might lead somewhere.”

“Maybe to a grave,” Brockman retorted, “but an
undertaker can murder a man without collecting
the fee for burying him.”

Foley agreed with a helpless shrug. :

“If the murderer,” he said, “threw the body in
the Harlem River with a weight....”

“We are going to waste a lot of valuable time
tracing this crazy tip,” Brockman cut in. “We
don’t know whether the murder took place this
year or last. In fact we don’t know a thing except
that a man has been murdered.”

“Exactly,” Foley agreed, “but that tip is genuine— When or how or where was a mystery. The informant
and we’re going to find the man murdered and who had been questioned and he admitted that all he could
did it.” _ find out through the grapevine of the underworld was

Inspector Brockman shook his head slowly and _ that there had been a murder committed and an under-
wearily, taker named Frank was involved in jt.

“Just where,” he asked, “are we going to start?” He knew nothing more, and Foley and Brockman

It was Foley’s turn to shake his head. For years, while knew if this man couldn’t get the information from:
he had been assistant District Attorney, he and the the underworld, the police would be wasting their
Inspector had worked. on»cases, many difficult and tirue trying to unearth anything else.

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28 American Detective

Frank
Pasqua,
one of the
men ques-
tioned by
authorities,

undertaker was involved in this murder, the victim
was buried. He isn’t among the unidentified bodies
found in the last six months, He’s either in the bottom
of the Sound or the Harlem river—or is six feet under
the sod in some cemetery.”

“And I suppose,” Inspector Brockman said, “we'll
start with a digging brigade and dig up every person
that has been buried in the last six months.”

“Hardly that,” Foley replied. “We are going to ex-

amine every death certificate turned in for that period
of time.”

“Where is that
manded.

Foley smiled and shook his head.

“To be very frank,” he said, “I don’t know.”

The examination of all the death certificates issued
in the six months period was a voluminous job, requiring

going to get us?” Brockman de-

Tony Marino,
another -sus-
pect who
was caught
in the
Police
dragnet.

the services of every available person in the District
Attorney’s office. A large number of the certificates
could be discarded at once; those where the doctors
were well known, where the.deceased had died of acci-
dents, and where they were children or aged
people.

Days passed as this examination continued, and it
began to look as if this effort was going to be as futile
as the search for the undertaker named Frank. Foley
afterwards admitted that he had no remote idea just
what he Would find among the death certifi-
cates when the investigation started, except
that he was convinced that somewhere
in the stacks of slips lay the
solution to the mystery.

At last all the cer-
tificates had been
examined. About
twenty were
laid aside for
further
study, but
out of

twenty,
nineteen |

were @

soon
tossed

intothe

pile of

those

thathad
been
passed.
Only one
remained,
It was the
death cer-
tificate of a\
Nicholas Mel-
lory, who died on
February 23rd of
pneumonia. The ad-
dress of his home was
given as 1210 Fulton Ave-
nue, and the doctor signing
the certificate was Doctor Frank
Manzella, 249 East 116th Street.

But one surprising fact was disclosed by —
this certificate. Mellory had died February 23rd
of pneumonia and had been’ buried in the Ferncliff
cemetery, Westchester, the following day.

“An Irishman is never buried the day after he dies,”
District Attorney Foley said. “If he had been of the
Jewish faith, that would be easy to understand, or if
he had died of some contagious disease, but there is
something funny about the burial and we're going to
find out what it is.”

ee

tiv


ut this was
me they had
d upon to
rder without
e clue as to
been mur-

ough of New
with its seven
pulation, a
en murdered.

n in the Fulton
ig house where
ry was finally
the insurance
rs. Arrow (at
/ points to gas
in killing.

informant
il he could
world was
an under-

Brockman
tion from:
ting their

The Mystery of the Man Who Wouldn't Die 27

To police officers less stubborn and Jess determined
than Foley and Brockman, the absurdity of trying to
trace the mystery to a solution would have loomed as
too great a barrier, but Foley and Brockman weren’t
easily deterred from what they believed was their duty

and with all the intelligence and all the experience of

their years at crime detection, they threw themselves
into the most amazing situation that any two police
officers ever faced.

“We'll start with the undertaker first,” Foley said.
“We'll get every undertaker named Frank in here and
question him. At the same time, we'll start a search for

the body, studying every case of unidentified dead found.

in the last six months.”
_ But in the very beginning they ran up against a stone
wall. In their search of undertakers, they discovered

(Right) Dr. Frank Manzella, the man who signed the death
certificate, is shown being escorted from the Bronx homi-
.:"’ cide court by Detective Carroll.

the amazing fact that there was no undertaker
in the Bronx named Frank.

The investigation of the unidentified bodies
unearthed nothing. There had been a number
of unidentified bodies found and sent to the
morgue, but a close check-up of the record failed

to disclose any of them as having come to their death

by foul play.

Three days later Foley and Brockman sat in the
District Attorney’s office, looking at each other a little
helplessly. Every available detective on the Bronx force,
headed by Edward Byrnes, one of the best known
detectives on the force, were searching every part of
the underworld, trying -to discoverer something that
might give Foley and Brockman a lead on the case.
But: their efforts were proving as futile as Brockman
and Foley’s. he

“The undertaking angle,” Foley said, “is the thing

‘ we have to work on.”

“We have to find one named Frank before we can
do much work,” Brockman said.
“I got the hunch,” Foley replied, “that because an


son in the District
of the certificates
where the doctors
d had died of acci-
children or aged

continued, and it
ning to be as futile
imed Frank. Foley
9 remote idea just
ith certifi-

except
e

d-by
lary 23rd

the Ferncliff
y.
after he dies,”
d been of the
lerstand, or if
, but there is
ke’re going to

The Mystery of the Man Who Wouldn’t Die 29

What they found out about the man named as
Nicholas Mellory in the death certificate was puzzling,
but did not even, with the peculiar facts about his
death, necessarily indicate murder or foul play.

Detectives calling at 1210 Fulton Avenue found a
cheap rooming house, used largely by a transient type
of roomer, mostly men. The landlady gave them the
information about Mellory willingly and in detail. Mel-
lory had come there, the day before his death, with his
brother, who had rented the room the day before.
Mellory was: brought to it in a taxi-
cab, and it was believed by the
_ landlady that he had been
drunk when he arrived as
two men had come with
him in the taxi and
helped him up the
stairs, but the
next morn-
ing, when it
was discov-
ered that
he was
dead, the
landlady
realized
that he
had

likely
been
ill.
But
on this
matter
she was
not sure.
Shehadn’t
liked the
looks of his
brother or the
two men that
came with him;
the whole thing
had looked  suspi-
cious, but as she ex-
plained, she was a woman
thatedidn’t look for trouble
and when the body was re-
Arrow panel store in mare be an, noderiiker: An
rue Where Tuas linc hour after he was reported
operated speakeasy. Detec- dead, she was relieved and
tives er Marino thought no more. about ‘it.
On examining the room,
the detective discovered a white poster bed and an old
bureau and two chairs. The landlady went with them
to the room, telling how the brother of the dead man
had spent the night with him, calling a doctor early
the next morning, who pronounced Mellory dead.
While the detectives were checking up on the room-

Tony
Marino
shown in*
court at
time of the
trial,

ing house, Inspector Brockman and Detective Edward
Byrnes were in the private office of Doctor Frank
Manzella, the doctor who had signed the death cer-
tificate. His office was in his-home at 249 East 116th
Street,

Doctor Manzella was a short, heavy-set man, some-
where in his fifties, who appeared nervous in front of
the officers. He told them that he remembered the call
to the Fulton Avenue rooming house, but that Mellory
was dead when he arrived and a quick examination told
him that the man had died of pneumonia.

When asked who called him on the case he said it
had been a phone call and the dead man was a stranger
to him. He knew nothing about when he was buried
since his only work was to make out the death certifi-

(Continued on page 67)

Another view
of Frank
Pasqua at
time of the
trial.


blackness. When he collapsed from
the knockout drops the bottle con-
tained, his hosts rolled him onto the
floor under the folding seats.

The cab reached Marino’s place, and
they dragged Murray inside and emp-
tied his pockets of all identifying
marks. Then they stuck a card in the
vest pocket, that read:

“Nicholas Mellory, 246 East 116th
Street, New York City.”

To make things look proper, Ma-
rino put a dime, a nickel and two pen-
nies in Murray’s trouser pockets, after
relieving him of his slender bankroll.

Near midnight the crew started out,
choosing Austin Place as a likely spot
to do away with Murray unobserved.

This time no one except the victim
left the cab. When they reached the
spot, the door was flung open and the
unfortunate Murray was hurled into
the gutter. The cab went down the
street a bit, turned and then roared
back. Marino, Bastone, Pasqua and
Murphy were flung against one another
as the cab rolled over the prostrate
form.

ASTONE tapped on the. glass.

“Again,” he said, when Hershey
Green turned around for instructions.

Once again there was the roar and
the sickening lurch, and this time the
cab kept on going.

Marino wiped perspiration from his
glistening brow.

“I’m glad that’s over with,” he said,
dragging deeply on a cigarette.

But as the car slipped away into the
darkness, a cautious shadow darted
from behind the high board fence of
a lumber yard. It was a watchman,
Valen Jenkins, who had witnessed the
occurrence. He found the battered
Murray still breathing, and a hurry call
to the police brought an ambulance
to the scene. Murray was taken to
Lincoln Hospital where it was found
that he had a broken shoulder, broken
ribs, and fractured leg.

The next morning when the murder
trust looked at the papers for news of
their latest hit-and-run scheme, they
again found nothing mentioned. In
desperation Red Murphy was again
given a handful of nickels and told to
call the hospitals . . . When he came
back from the telephone he was shak-
ing his head in disgust.

“They picked him up in the street
and brought him to Lincoln Hospital.
They think he’ll recover!”

Marino and Pasqua looked at Tough
Tony with ill-concealed venom. They
had paid out cold cash for the insur-
ance premiums and expected results.
Now their second victim was still alive
—and they didn’t even know where
their original choice was.

“T’ve never heard of so much trou-
ble in rubbing out a guy,” said Tough
Tony.

Marino glared at him, and Pasqua
was too disgusted to speak.

“The only thing we can do,” contin-
ued Tough Tony, “is to forget about
it for a while.”

When he heard this, Red Murphy
breathed easier. The repeated failures
to complete the insurance scheme were
telling on his nerves, and he was sick
with a gnawing fear. Being a weak-
willed young hoodlum, he was easily
dominated and was willing to string
along on any job where soft money
was involved. But when it came to
taking chances, Red Murphy preferred
to play safe.

HENCE, three days later, when Iron

Man Malloy suddenly reappeared
and walked jauntily up to the bar,
Murphy almost sank through the floor.
He stared at the bricklayer with fear
in his heart.

“Where you been,” he managed to
croak through a mouth that had sud-
denly gone dry.

“I met up with a little accident,”
said Malloy. ‘I slipped and fell. and
when I woke up I was in Fordham
Hospital. But you can’t keep a good
rnan down, can you me boyo? How
about a drink?”

Red Murphy grinned a sickly grin.
He poured out a jigger of Malloy’s fa-
vorite anti-freeze. Then looking
around to make sure that no one was

listening, he leaned forward on his
elbows and spoke to Malloy:

“Stay away from here! If you don’t
you’ll be taken for a ride.”

Malloy furrowed his brow and stared
at his now empty glass. His shoulders
sagged a little and his watery blue
eyes were puzzled. It was a long time
before he spoke, but when he did he
shook his head.

“Not me,” he said ‘slowly. “I’ll stay.
If they do anything to me they will
suffer for it.”

Defiantly he tossed off another
drink.

A few days passed, and Tough Tony
brought in another expert in the art
of murder—hawk-faced Daniel Kreis-
berg, in whose veins flowed blood the
temperature of ice-water.

“IT can kill a man with gas,” he said.
“But you'll have to get a doctor to fix
up the death certificate.”

“I can do that,” volunteered Pasqua.
“There’s a fellow down in Harlem who
will help us out.”

Accordingly the gang rented a room
in a boarding house at No. 1210 Ful-
ton Avenue, and on Washington’s
Birthday Malloy was plied with liquor
until he was stupefied. Red Murphy
and Kreisberg then brought him to the
room and stretched him on the bed.
Kreisberg took a length of rubber hose

District Attorney Samuel J.
Foley, of Bronx County, New
York: He sent The Trust away

from his pocket and attached it to a
gas mantle on the wall. It fell short
of Malloy’s head by two feet.

“Don’t move the bed. Put him on
the floor!” snapped Kreisberg. He
spat the words from his teeth in clipped
accents.

URPHY pushed Malloy off the bed

onto the floor. With quick hands
Kreisberg wrapped a towel around the
man’s head, leaving a hole over the
mouth. Then he inserted the rubber
tube between Malloy’s lips and turned
on the gas.

For the next few minutes the only
sound was the soft hiss of the escaping
gas, and Malloy’s stertorous breathing.

Red Murphy sat on the edge of the
bed staring at the dying man with fas-
cinated eyes. Stolid-faced Kreisberg
watched the effect of his technique...
and after a while straightened up and
shut off the gas.

“Ts he dead?” asked Murphy, in hol-
low voice.

Kreisberg nodded. The Iron Man
was beaten at last.

“But how come he’s all pink?” per-
sisted Murphy.

“Oh, they get blue after a while,”
Kreisberg assured him.

Little did they know that the cherry-
pink color that now suffused Malloy’s
skin was the indelible aftermath of
carben monoxide poisoning!

Satisfied that the job was done,
Kreisberg left Murphy to watch over
the body, and went back to Marino’s
speakeasy to report.

Pasqua rubbed his hands with satis-
faction and hurried to Harlem where
he contacted a fat-jowled ex-Alder-
man, Doctor Frank A, Manzella. The

Doctor went to the rooming house,
looked at the body and wrote out a
certificate of death caused by pneumo-
nia!

Pasqua filed the certificat2 with the
Department of Health—and, eager to
squeeze every penny out of the deal,
threw Malloy’s body into a plain box
without embalming it. Two days later
it was buried in a charity grave in
Ferncliff Cemetery.

Red Murphy, posing as Joseph Mel-
lory, brother of the deceased Nicholas
Mellory, then presented the insurance
claim for $800 at the Metropolitan,
where it was paid immediately. From
there he went to the office of the Pru-
dential, but here the company wanted
time to make its customary investiga-
tion and the clerk said that they would
be glad to communicate with “Mr. Mel-
lory” as soon as everything was
okayed.

Murphy went back to Marino’s
place, where the eight hundred dol-
lars was split. Kreisberg received sev-
enty-five dollars for his share, of which
Tough Tony immediately “borrowcd”
sixty, leaving the stolid killer with fif-
teen dollars’ blood money.

Marino brought out a bottle of his
best bootleg whiskey and the murder
syndicate drank to the conclusion of
their plan, achieved at long last. Mal-
loy, friendless and unmourned, was at
the bottom of a charity grave and no
one would miss him or ask any ques-
tions. The death certificate was fixed,
and one insurance claim already was
paid. What could be better?

Here if ever was the making of a
perfect crime, but the inexorable
weavings of fate and chance already
were criss-crossing about the conspir-
ators in their hour of triumph. The
real story of how this sinister crew op-
erated, never before has been revealed
—and now for the first time it may be
told how they were discovered and
smashed:

pees started to go wrong when
Tough Tony welched on a bet. The
man he bilked was Joe Maglione, a
swarthy, heavy-jawed,  thin-lipped
brawler who took no nonsense from
anyone.

On the evening of March seven-
teenth, Red Murphy was polishing the
bar in Marino’s place, and Tough Tony
sat at a table reading the late race re-
sults. In walked Joe Maglione, his
face black with fury.

When Tough Tony saw him, he put
down his paper and tried to scurry
past him for the door.

Maglione calmly took a gun from his
pocket and fired at Bastone’s head.
Tough Tony dodged, and the bullet
pinked him in the shoulder. His own
momentum carried him outside into
the street. Maglione, baring a row of
gold teeth in a grin of satisfaction,
emptied his revolver into Tough
Tony’s broad back. Bastone clawed
the empty air and fell into the gutter.

Before the echo of the first shot had
died away, someone in the neighbor-
hood was frantically calling for the
police.

When the first radio car arrived,
Maglione’s gun was _ still smoking.
Seeing himself cornered, he surren-
dered, and the police who frisked him
found two more fully loaded guns con-
cealed on his person. Evidently he was
taking no chances on missing Tough
Tony.

It was a clear case of first-degree
murder, and the police immediately
took into custody the best available
witness—Red Murphy, who had seen
everything from behind the bar. De-
spite his protests, Red was lodged in
jail as a material witness to insure his
safe appearance at Maglione’s trial,
which on a crowded court calendar
might take a year to be heard! Mur-
phy of course would be paid the usual
three dollars a day while in custody,
so the authorities felt that he had
nothing much to complain about.

But the gang was furious. For
word soon came from the Prudential
that the claim on Nicholas Mellory
had been approved, and would Mr.
Joseph Mellory please appear to get
the money?

It wouldn’t look very good to tell

the Prudential that Mr. Joseph Mel-
lory, real name Murphy, was now in
jail as a material witness in a murder
case, so Marino sent back word that
Mellory was in Philadelphia on busi-
ness and would return to the city
shortly.

Then the gang got busy on ways and
means to have Murphy released from
custody.

“Tl go to see Maglione myself
Marino told Pasqua. “If he will cop a
plea, that will close the case and we
can get Red out.”

But Maglione was not interested.
Marino and Pasqua persisted, how-
ever, and sent emissaries to the jail to
convince Maglione.

HROUGH confidential channels Dis-

trict Attorney Samuel J. Foley of
Bronx County got wind of his man*n-
ver and decided that the matter would
be worth looking into. Stool pigeons
were planted near Maglione and Mur-
phy to find out what lay behind this
extraordinary show of interest on the
part of outsiders to have the Maglione
case closed.

While this plan was being effected.
another interesting development was
coming to light. Rubber Ear Smith.
the man whom the murder syndicate
had approached originally with their
proposition, tried to hold up a butcher

Deputy Chief Inspector Henry Buck-
man: He brought The Trust in

shop and found himself trapped by a
swarm of radio police before he could
make a getaway.

Having been convicted of crime on
previous occasions, he faced a life sen-
tence in jail under the Baumes Law.
Worried at this prospect, he sat up in
his cell all night long figuring a way to
get around this obstacle. In the morn-
ing he sent word to the Warden that
he wanted to speak to the District At-
torney. Tugging nervously on the
lobe of his good ear, he asked for leni-
ency in exchange for valuable in-
formation. Then he told his story of
how Pasqua and Marino had tried to
induce him into their nefarious plot.

“I don’t know the name they buried
the guy under, but if this information
is any good to you, you’re welcome to
it ”

SHELING two and two together, the
District Attorney saw that Murphy,
who had worked for Marino, might be
the key man in the insurance scheme,
and that perhaps Smith’s story would
be worth investigating. After a con-
ference with Deputy Chief Inspector
Henry Bruckman, in charge of Bronx
detectives, Detective Sergeant Edward
W. Byrnes of the Homicide Squad was
assigned to the case. Immediately he
began a search of the death certificates
on which Frank Pasqua was listed as
undertaker.

Working at nights in the greatest
secrecy, Byrnes pored over hundreds
of records filed during the preceding
five months, until finally he discovered
the sole customer that Frank Pasqua
had buried during that time — one
Nicholas Mellorv, whose remains were

4|


Doctor Charles KH.
Hochman: He per-
formed the autop-
sy that cracked the
case, and is co-
author of the story

care of, and I’d like to protect myself
in case he dies as I’ll probably have to
bury him.”

Some discussion of the ethics of this
procedure ensued, but the upshot was
that Mike Malloy was insured without
examination under an industrial policy
for $800 by the Metropolitan Life In-
surance Company. Then Pasqua con-
tacted another agent, obtaining a poli-
cy for a similar amount from the Pru-
dential, with the added provision for
double indemnity in the event of ac-
cidental death.

N both policies the bricklayer was

insured as Nicholas Mellory, and
the beneficiary was his brother Joseph
Mellory. The reason for the change in
names from Malloy to Mellory is best
known to the nefarious bunch. But
of prime significance is the fact that
the “brother,” Joseph, was none other
than Marino’s Red Murphy!

Oblivious to the sinister purpose of
this sudden hospitality, and ignorant
that his carcass was now worth $2,400
to his hosts, Malloy glutted himself in
drink to his heart’s content, drifting to
Marino’s place at every opportunity.

One night Pasqua gave him a lift in
his car, and when they entered the
speakeasy the undertaker whispered a
few words to Tony Marino. And Tony
nodded and spoke to the bartender,
Red Murphy. When Malloy leaned his
belly against the bar and slapped down

10

his hairy fist for his drink, Red’s hand
trembled as he poured something from
a bottle from beneath the counter.
Malloy’s eyes brightened as he saw
the glass fill up, and he clutched it in

his fist. Up went Malloy’s arm and
down went the drink in one gulp. The
bricklayer’s veinous face flushed
slightly as he smacked his lips.

“That’s the best drink I’ve had since
the war. Give us another!” He held
out the empty glass.

Murphy looked twice at the bottle
which a short while before he had
filled from a can of anti-freeze mix-
ture. Then he poured another drink
for Mike Malloy.

As the evening. wore on, Malloy
tossed off one drink after the other,
and eager eyes watched him for a sign
of impending collapse. Suddenly,
without warning, it came. Silently
Malloy slid to the floor.

“Now he’s done it!” thought Pasqua
as he bent over the prostrate form.

“Don’t let him pass out in here,”
snapped Tony Marino. “Let’s dump
him in the park.”

Pasqua listened to Malloy’s heart.
It was still thumping. _

“All right,” he said. ‘We still hav
time.” -

It was a bitter night outside and
cold, baleful moon rode high in the
sky. Its rays fell on three men carry-
ing a fourth to a bench in Crotona
Park, a short distance from the speak-

easy. Two of the men stripped the
limp figure to his shirt-sleeves, while
the third went back to the car. He re-
turned with a bottle of water which he
poured over the chest of the man who
lay outstretched on the bench.

The next morning Frank Pasqua
and Tony Marino slept late, and only
Red Murphy was at the speakeasy to
open up. He was busy with his broom
at the front door, when suddenly he
went limp and leaned against the wall
for support.

Coming down the street at a rapid
pace was shirt-sleeved Mike Malloy!

“I’m near froze,” he said by way of
greeting. “How about a drink?”

In his excitement Red Murphy
poured out a jigger of the customary
smoke. . Malloy, whose hands were
blue with cold, made a wry face as he
gulped it down.

“Where’s that good stuff I had last
night? Don’t be holding out on me
now.”

UCH was the Iron Man’s reaction to
a course of treatment that would
have rubbed out a dozen men!

Tony Marino chewed the ends of his
little black mustache when he heard
about Malloy’s morning visit. Then he
spat curses until the air was blue.

“No one can keep drinking that
stuff!” he said grimly. “Give him all
he wants.”

Night after night Malloy rolled to

the bar, lapping up the wood alcohol
anti-freeze like a kitten draining a
saucer of milk. Each evening would
end with him drinking himself into a
blind stupor, but morning saw him
back at the bar, eager for a pick-me-
up.
One day when he asked for some-
thing to eat, Marino got an idea. He
opened a tin of sardines and let it
stand in the sunlight, and when it had
ripened sufficiently he chopped up part
of the tin cover and sprinkled liberal
portions throughout the fish.. The next
time that Malloy was hungry he made
up a sandwich that spelled sure-fire
ptomaine. ,

Malloy downed his shot of anti-
freeze and bit into the rye bread. The
filling was a bit odiferous but that
didn’t faze Malloy. When he had fin-
ished he smacked his lips and washed

The empty store. where

down the crust with another drink.

Marino, Pasqua and Murphy fixed
their greedy eyes upon the man,
watching for the moment when he
would clap his hands to his ample
stomach and roll his eyes heavenward
Oblivious to their stares, Malloy
chewed on a toothpick, downed a few
more drinks and then leaned his head
on the table. Soon he was snoring
peacefully, while the conspirators
looked at one another in amazement.

“This is getting too expensive,” said
the pinch-faced Marino when he saw
that nothing was going to happen.
“We’ll have to get rid of him another
way.”

Pasqua became _ thoughtful. His
slender fingers toyed with his necktie.

“I’ve been reading a lot of stuff in
the papers about hit-and-run drivers.
Why can’t we fix up something like
that for the bum?”

Marino’s eyes flashed. ‘“‘That’s great,
Frank, great! I know just the fellow
we need.”

The man that Marino had in mind
was a six-time loser named “Rubber
Ear’ Smith. He was a husky, heavy-
set man with small features in a big,
wide face. His eyes were like black
shoe-buttons, his complexion grayish.
In a knockdown fight in the Brushy
Mountain Penitentiary, where he was
serving time for a robbery, someone
had sliced off his right ear. Undaunt-
ed, Smith fashioned a mold:and made
his own artificial ear. Due to the fact
that his skin was gray and bloodless, it
became difficult to tell which ear was
real.

Marino located Smith and took him
to see Pasqua.

“What's this all about?” Rubber Ear
asked the undertaker.

"WE got a derelict, a bum who is al-
ways drunk. You have a car,
and I want to know if. you will run
him over for us. If you throw him I’ll
give you two hundred dollars.”

Smith’s face went blank. .He reached
for his hat and turned ‘to go. “Two
hundred dollars!” he muttered in dis-
gust.

Pasqua tugged at his sleeve.

‘Don’t be in a rush. How about
four hundred?”

Smith’s eyes narrowed. Pasqua’s

Ma-

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face was earnest, and in his hand he
was unconsciously crushing a folded
white paper. Smith reached for the
paper and pulled it from Pasqua. It
was an insurance policy on Mike
Malloy.

Smith wet his thumb and turned
over the pages of the contract.

“Suppose this man dies of an ac-
cident, what do you get?” he asked,
confused by the clauses and sub-
clauses in fine print.

“Sixteen hundred dollars,” admitted
Pasqua.

Rubber Ear stared at him, then
threw the document on a nearby table.
His voice was sharp with indignation.

‘Don’t you think you have a hell of
a nerve offering me two hundred dol-
lars to kill a man when you get sixteen
hundred?”

“Well, we got risks,” began Pasqua.

“All right,” said Smith. “Give the
paper time to dry, then come around

METROPOLITA

Pasqua and Marino agreed to act
under the homicide “specialist’s” di-
rection and on the evening of Janu-
ary 30, 1933, Bastone came to the
Third Avenue speakeasy and an-
nounced that everything was in readi-
ness. Malloy was dead drunk as
usual, and Bastone, with the help of
Red Murphy, carried him from the
speakeasy.

HE street was deserted and no one

saw the two men bundling the husky
bricklayer into a taxicab waiting at the
curb, At the wheel of the machine
was a long-nosed, glib individual
known as Hershey Green. It was
Green’s boast that for money he would
do anything, and that evening he was
going to have a chance to prove his
assertion.

Murphy and Tough Tony hustled
Malloy into a cab and threw him onto
the floor. Then they settled: themselves

INDUSTRIAL DEPARTMENT

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shugerivabar to 2

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nein . Seen wi
“vse.
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TOTHE CHASE NATIONALBANK:.» ©

OF THE CITY OF NEW YORK

METROPOLITAN BRANCH

and a half away, he turned. There
was a roar of a straining motor as he
stepped on the gas and came back
down the street. As the glare of the
headlights came closer, Murphy and
Bastone flung Malloy from them, and
he rolled into the path of the car. A
second later there was a_ sickening
crunch of bone and flesh as the wheels
passed over him.

After he had hit the fallen man,
Green eased his foot from the acceler-
ator, stopped his cab and looked out
to see the results of his handiwork.
Tough Tony and Red Murphy were
running towards him.

“Get the hell out of here quick!”
breathed Tough Tony as he shoved
Murphy before him into the cab.

Green looked up the road where
Tough Tony was casting anxious
glances—to discover the reason for the
excitement. A passing car had stopped
and was drawn over to the curb near

N Lire INSURANCE COMPANY

or SE DOLLARS

Reproduction of the $800.00 check paid by the Metropolitan Life Insur-
ance Company on the man the Trust thought they couldn’t kill

if

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and I’ll see what I can do.”

When Rubber Ear left, Pasqua shook
his head. “Nothing doing. That fel-
low is too smart.”

“You're right,” acknowledged Ma-
rino. “We’ll get somebody else. May-
be Tough Tony will be satisfied with a
small cut.”

Tough Tony Bastone was a swag-
gering neighborhood hoodlum who
shook down small shopkeepers and oc-
casionally bled Marino for tribute. He
had a long thin nose, a slit for a mouth
and stoney, gray eyes.

When Marino approached him with
the proposition and pointed out Mal-
loy, still thriving on the poisonous
brew, Tough Tony slapped his hands
down on the bar.

“It’s a snap,” he said.
details to me.”

“Leave the

comfortably in the back seat, their
cigarettes glowing in the dark.

Up to a lonely section of the Bronx
in the vicinity of Baychester Avenue
sped the darkened cab. When they
arrived on a deserted street, Green
stopped, and slid back the glass panel
behind his head.

Okay?”

“How’s this?

I Raedecbsoi TONY stepped out and peered

around. The street was in the midst
of a string of empty lots, and what
few houses stood in the distance, were
dark.

“Okay,” he said. He nodded to Red
Murphy and together they tugged at
the besotted Malloy. When they got
him out of the cab they propped him
up between them.

Green started off and about a block

where the fallen Malloy lay.

“Of all the luck!” wailed Murphy as
the cab jolted forward. “That’s prob-
ably the first car that’s passed here for
hours.”

“What's the difference?” said Tough
Tony grimly. “We fixed the bum.”

At six o’clock the next morning the
conspirators gathered in the back
room of Marino’s speakeasy, waiting
for a look at the morning papers to
see how their scheme turned out.
Tough Tony was confident that all was
well.

“All we got to do now is collect,” he
said.

The front door opened and Red
Murphy came in with a bundle of
newspapers. He tossed them onto a
table where they were seized by eager
hands. The faces of Marino, Tough

It was in a furnished room in
this house on Fulton Avenue
that the Trust got in_ its
work with victim Malloy

Tony, and Pasqua were tense as they
scanned the news columns for reports
of a man killed by a _ hit-and-run
driver in the north Bronx. Minutes
passed. The only sound was a ner-
vous rustling of the pages.

Finally Marino spoke.

“There’s nothing in it. What went

wrong?” His voice was sharp and his
dark eyes burning.

“Something is rotten!’”’ chimed in
Pasqua. “They should have found the

body.” He looked questioningly at
Tough Tony, and for the first time in
his life that worthy had to make
excuses:

" AYBE those birds in the car were

afraid to report the body. May-
be they threw it in the bushes. I'll go
up and look around.”

But when Tough Tony Went back to
the lonely street he found nothing but
debris in the empty lots—and no trace
of Mike Malloy. What could have
happened?

Back at Marino's the schemers w
frantically telephoning the hospit
but without result.

“Stop squawking!"’ snapped Tough
Tony as their complaints mounted
“T’ll get you a substitute.”

“What do you mean?” asked Pasqua

“What's the difference whether we
find Malloy or not? Suppose we pick
up another derelict and call him Mel-
lory like it says on the insurance f
we put an identification card in his
pocket and run him down, who’s going
to know about it?”

“A swell idea,” agreed Pasqua.

HEN the evening papers likewise

failed to carry news on the Bay-
chester Avenue incident, Marino, Pas-
qua and Tough Tony set out on a tour
of speakeasies in the Harlem section of
New York.

That very evening a tall, genial
Irishman named Joseph Murray,
down on his luck and out of a job,
paid up his room rent, and then left
for a drinking place on 129th Street
and Third Avenue. He still had a few
dollars in his pocket, and he decided
to buy a drink to ward off the rigors
of the cold evening.

While he was standing at the bar,
a mustached little Italian appeared,
and with a smile asked him if he was
working.

Murray shook his head.

“Would you accept a job?”

(Continued on Page 40)

asked

1]


been snooping around
vy and had walked in-
h what looked like a
vV—a piece of au-
stained a deep
blood. @& was in-
rone that the lining
ed in Ford cars. I
} d Doran what kind
of automobiles Schuck and James

ear,” said Doran.

A Ford!
When [| got back to Mount Holly
and examined piece of lining, I
saw that it was about a foot square,
and that the edges were jagged, as if
it had been ripped hurriedly from
ti A row of tack holes
re of the material were
act to match up with the
corresponding holes in the door of the
car which the lining had been
torn—if and when the door could be
located

of his men stood in an alleyway near
James’ home. James had gone out
earlier in the evening. The _ three
sleuths observed him when he drove
his Ford into his driveway shortly
before one o'clock in the morning.
They waited until the last light in
the residence had gone out; then, sure
James was in bed, they picked their

way to the garage.

HE sleuths forced an entry; then,

with flashlights, they proceeded to
examine James’ Ford. The thrill of the
scent was theirs when they saw that
new lining had been placed over the
rear left door of James’ Ford sedan!
They noticed, too, that the interior
of the rear of the vehicle had been
given a thorough, recent washing.

“Let's rip that lining off,” said Dor-
an, “and see what's underneath,”

There was plenty underneath. The
tacks that fastened the new lining had
not been driven into the same holes as
the tacks fastening the original lin-
ing. Doran reached into his pocket
for the lining found in Irick’s Cause-
way, which I had sent down to him.
When he placed it against the left
rear door, he saw to his grim satis-
faction that the tack holes in it
matched perfectly with the original
tack holes in the door! A detective
couldn't have asked for a more per-
fect piece of incriminating evidence.

An hour later Frank James, respect-
ed citizen, pillar of the community, was
being booked for cold-blooded murder.

When I saw Frank James in Dor-
an's office in the middle of that night,
I knew I was looking at a killer. The
man had a finely featured face, an
intelligent face. But his eyes gave
him away. Peering from behind gold-
rimmed glasses, they were light blue,
cold and heartless. They were the
eyes of a man capable of anything.

James admitted exactly nothing.
The stain on the lining? Blood?
Bosh! That came from a spilled bot-
tle of “Dago red" wine. The lining
being found in Irick’s Causeway?
What about it? Irick’s Causeway was
a public thoroughfare, and James had
been in there with a woman. That
didn't prove murder.

Doran and I knew we had a killer.
But this man was a killer who wasn’t
going to confess unless we had on
him something far stronger than that
which we had, as convincing to us as
was the evidence at hand.

James was removed to the Burling-
ton County Jail in Mount Holly later
in the day, and the grand jury was
convened. We sent for James’ wild-
party pal, Raymond Schuck. This man
had not so much as been questioned.

It was on one of the tombstones shown above, marking
the grave of his mother, that a murderer hid his loot

I was very friendly to him when he
walked into my office. I told him I
wanted him to go before the grand
jury and tell everything he knew about
Paul. Schuck agreed to waive im-
munity and he walked into the grand
jury room. When he did so, he did
not know that his pal James had been
arrested for the murder.

My official position prevents me from
telling what went on in that grand
jury room. Suffice to say that the
jury, after hearing me, and after hear-
ing Schuck, indicted him along with
James for the murder!

Darkness had fallen when I walked
Schuck from my office to the jail. The
man was too stunned to know what
had hit him. All he knew was that
he was charged with the slaying of
David Paul, and that he was on his
way to be locked up, pending trial
for his life.

I left Schuck sitting in the warden’s
office in custody of a jail attache while
I went into the jail proper to look
for my old friend, Harry King, the
turnkey. The jail seemed unusually
still. I passed James’ cell. He was
asleep. I could not seem to raise
Turnkey King. As I walked into a
corridor, I heard something stirring
behind me. I turned quickly and
there stood a man. His eyes were
wild and blazing, and he was brand-
ishing a poker. He stood not five feet
from me, and the hand holding the
poker was raising slowly.

I pulled my revolver. “Drop that
thing or I’ll shoot!” I barked. The
man dropped the poker. I marched
him into the warden’s office. He
turned out to be a man named Harry
Asay, doing a short stretch for drunk-
enness.

pasty into the jail I went, continuing
my search for King. Presently
I found myself in the jail yard. There
I found King. His remains, rather.
Asay, gone suddenly insane, had beat-
en the turnkey to death with the
poker. King went to his grave and
Asay to an asylum.

When I broke the news of King’s
murder, in the warden’s office, Schuck
was considerably unnerved. I sug-
gested to him that perhaps he would
like to talk to me before he went to
sleep for the night. Up to this time
I had not asked the man a single ques-
tion.

“T’ll talk to you, Mr. Parker,” he
said. “But not here. Can’t you take
me for a ride—away from all this
murder business?”

Fifteen minutes later Schuck and I
were driving along through the quiet
countryside. He was not handcuffed,
and I was the only person in the car
with him. He sat alongside of me in
the front seat. We drove on in si-

lence. Then I heard the voice of the
man alongside of me.

“IT didn’t really kill old Paul,” said
Schuck. “Frank actually killed him.”

I continued to drive on through the
countryside. Never let a man who
has’ started to confess see you’re too
anxious! That might stop him.

My silence finally got Schuck. I
turned to look at him. What a pity,
1 reflected, a man like him being mixed
up in such awful business. Schuck
was a_ nice-looking, mild-appearing
man in his early thirties; soft of voice,
and quiet of manner.

“Well,” he said, “aren’t you going
to say anything, Mr. Parker?”

“I thought I’d let you do the talk-
ing, Raymond,” I said. “This is on
your mind, not mine.”

CHUCK thereupon proceeded to
pour out a story that was to bring

about two more deaths in the Paul
case. On the afternoon of the crime
James drove to Schuck’s home. Schuck
was having lunch. He asked Schuck
to get into the car and drive him to
mid-town Camden. James sat in the
back seat of his own car. Schuck
thought such a procedure was odd, but
didn’t say anything. James directed
him to drive to a point a quarter of
a block from the First National Bank.

“We'll wait for old Paul and give
him a lift as far as the ferry,” James
told Schuck when they reached the
point in question.

When old Paul came along, carrying
his little black satchel, James hailed
him. “Get in, Dave,” he said. ‘Here
in the back seat with me. We’ll give
you a lift to the ferry and take a
load off those tired dogs of yours. And
say, we’ve got some nice female flesh
coming down to Lolly-Pop over the
week-end. Like to join us?”

Old Paul chortled in anticipation as
the car drove off. It was necessary to
cut through a narrow, deserted street
to go to the ferry terminal. As he
drove through the thoroughfare in
question, Schuck heard a cry from the
rear seat. Turning, he saw James
striking Paul over the head with a tire
iron.

Schuck saw—not his pal of the good
times at Lolly-Pop Inn, but, instead, a
heartless killer at work. Schuck
stopped the car. “Hey, Frank! What
are you doing!” he called.

James drew a gun. “Do what I say
—or you'll get it, too,” the killer mut-
tered.

While Paul lay on the floor, Schuck,
drenched in cold perspiration, did
James’ bidding and drove to Irick’s
Causeway. Just as the car was about
to turn into the causeway, Paul re-
covered sufficiently from the blows
over the head to speak. “Let me
live,” he gasped. “Take the money.”

James answered by firing two bul-
lets into the old man’s face, and that
was the last heard out of Paul.

James somehow had learned about
the strange properties of the water
in Bread and Cheese Run. It was hi:
idea to tie the body to the tree-trunk
That task done, the two men returned
to Schuck’s home in Camden. The
man’s wife was out for the afternoon,
and each took about a thousand dol-
lars, then decided to hide the remain-
der of the plunder. The hiding place
selected was a flower-pot on Schuck’s
mother’s grave in Harleigh Cemeters
in Camden! And so to the cemetery
they went, Schuck stopping on the
way to buy flowers to place on the
grave, so that the visit would look
natural in every way!

N THE ninth day after the murder,
James and Schuck went back to
Bread and Cheese Run, took the body
from the water, and buried it. “There,”
said James, “that'll fix things. The
hunters will be through here in a
couple of days and find it. The dicks
will think the old man beat it with
the money, then got bumped off re-
cently. That body’s in swell con-
dition. They'll never dream he got
it the way he did. That’ll let us out.”
I drove Schuck back to Mount Hol-
lv and got his confession in writing
in the presence of witnesses. Then,
with several assistants, I drove him
to Camden, to Harleigh Cemetery, ar-
riving there in the dead of the night.
Two carloads of us sped into the city
of the dead, and drew up near the
grave of Schuck’s mother. While our
headlights danced on the tombstones.
Schuck, in their yellow rays, went to
one of the flower-pots, loosened some
earth that had been placed atop the
money, and extracted the murder
swag!

Faced by the confession and by
Schuck, James cracked and confessed
too. He wanted money for good times
he said: plenty of it. And he got it
by murder.

“You'd never have caught me if I
hadn't been foolish enough to throw
that piece of blood-stained lining in
Irick’s Causeway,” James said to me.

“T wouldn’t, eh?” I replied. “Where
you really made your mistake was in
putting the body in Bread and Cheese
Run. That was my tip-off that Paul
was murdered the very day he dis-
appeared. And the only way he could
have disappeared involuntarily thot
day in broad daylight was by having
in the picture a couple of fellows
such as you and Schuck, who knew
him. We'd have caught up with you
sooner or later. Had you not placed
the body in the water, we would have
had a hard job figuring out just when
Paul had died. Yes, the lining from
your car helped, Frank, but that mark
I found on the tree-trunk in the creek
helped a lot more.”

i WAS only after the mystery was
solved by the confessions that I could
be certain that my mysterious tele-
phone informant—the one who tried
to cast suspicion on Paul's innocent
son—had been a crank. I never did
find out who he was. But the woods
are full of people like that. The trou-
ble is, the tips they hand out take up
valuable time, not to mention trouble
and expense. Not only that—tips
from such a source frequently look
better than something genuine.
James and Schuck died in the elec-
tric chair in the State Prison at Tren-
ton. While there, Schuck, an ama-
teur artist, drew several pictures of
the girl Mary, whose new fur coat
had helped trap him. One of them he
sent me. It is reproduced on page 28

Smashing New York's Murder Trust (Continued from Page 11)

the mustached man.

“Sure I would.” boomed Murray.

“Well, I think I can use you. I need
a handyman around my restaurant.
There won't be much of a salary to
start, but you'll get all your meals, a
place to sleep and whatever tips you
can pick up.”

40

Murray downed his drink and held
out his hand,

“That will suit me fine” he said.

The mustached man then _intro-
duced himself as Tony Marino and
brought forward his friends Frank Pas-
qua and Tony Bastone.

Outside, the party headed for a wait-

ing cab, and Hershey Green smiled to
himself as he saw them approach with
the unsuspecting victim in tow. The
resemblance between Murray and Mal-
loy was uncanny, and for once luck
seemed to be with them.

When they all piled inside, Marino
pulled a bottle from his overcoat and

uncorked it.

“Have a drink?” he said politely, as
he passed the bottle to Murray.

“Don't mind if I do.”

Murray wrapped his lips about the
bottle mouth and took a long swallow.
Ten thousand stars flashed green fire
inside his skull—and then there was


TRIZSIORL, VIAR INL, UURPpb aes cciieeties

AST CD UO

SS

hina

Some of the boys in the back room had the shorts.
They also had no heart, and no conscience, so they
dreamed up a cute little Caper to get their mitts
on a fresh bankroll.. There was only one problem:

by PAUL BAILEY BRETT
Special Investigator for OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

Ma

ple.
rela

“]
he’c
It
of |;
sale
play
witl
may
bud
Dep
retu)
Miki
Ni
the
mur¢
SoM
a fur
Over}
“D
Didn
drink
Mi
freez
Mari
“Ww
“It

“Hoy

Mall.

better.

Mur}

be nec:

ONY MARINO’S speakeasy in New York's sprawling epidemic. “Then us undertakers could shove the bodies in the bad Iri:

Bronx was, back in the dismal year of 1932, hardly the —_ ground with no coffins, like we did in the influenza epidemic of Mike

type of joint you would pick as the background for a nineteen eighteen,” Pasqua would keep telling Marino. “Then all set tc
murder that was to take a niche of its own in the annals of charge for coffins.” in a he:
American crime. A dark, hole-in-the-wall on Third Avenue, “Well,” Marino said one night when Pasqua was complaining A cu:
Tony’s featured a cherry-stained bar, a free lunch and a drink about how hard it was to make ends meet, “I'd like to get nv Tony’s.
consisting of raw alcohol and colored water retailing at15¢ashot hands on something that would steer me to some dough. Malloy
or two jolts for a quarter. The patrons gave off substantially the Sometimes I don’t even break even on this joint, business is so floor. “]
same odor as the sardines in the free lunch. No, a visitor from goddam bad.” now,” \
another planet, covering the Bronx for a look-see at how “Just then, as Tony and Frank happened to look through the That’s h
American murder was conducted, would hardly havethoughtto _ beaded curtain out into the bar part of the joint, who should shuf- Tony
peek in on Tony’s joint. fle in but a character whom Marino regarded as a one-man Tony’s «
Tony Marino was a dark, sharply dressed little man in the mid- pestilence and whose name was Michael Malloy. Mike Malloy Ataq
dle years who, being a highly honed product of a bitterly com- was a graying, leathery County Donegal Irishman who was . heart. It
petitive society, was a great one for elbowing at the turns. He sat always unemployed and broke, who could drink any other.10 “kind of
ata small round table behind a green beaded curtain in therearof men under the table and who had long since exhausted his credit Them
the establishment, where he could keep an eye on what went on __in at least 10 per cent of the Bronx’s hundreds of speakeasies. Malloy’s
out front. “Malloy’s appearance hit Marino and Pasqua like a flash. in. Fillec
Tony Marino’s closest friend was the neighborhood “What we could do to get some money,” we know now, through to Mallo
undertaker—a round little citizen named F rank Pasqua, who was later court records, Marino said to Pasqua, “is take out some in- “His hea
so in love with booze of any kind that, plastered, he twice almost surance on that old bastard and bump him off.” That’s the way, it Anoth
fell into the grave after the coffin. Pasqua, hard hit by theGreat shall be seen as we get farther into this chronicle, that the men we The man
Depression which was on the land, with men selling apples on _are to meet thought, spoke and acted. was still
street corners to keep from starving, kept telling his friend For several nights running, Marino and Pasqua, sitting there Three
Marino that what the country needed was a good death-dealing _ behind the beaded curtain, devoted the kind of attention to Mike Pasquaa

42

=~

Se

pre« ce [ T°7 Sf

/ etal aS cen LA ae 9


+ has an iron
inswer to that,

listen.

her way,” the
“We'll take a
ind open them
the open cans
d’em to Mike.
‘ll buy a gun.”
1inded Marino
zht object to a

e idea this had
h liquor, anti‘
to mention the
—I’ve got quite
‘Il tell you both

the trick,” Red

ke Malloy was
) called a “Mar-
adwich that was
a healthy hog.
~ “he expected

id and fish

and did so

iwich I’ve ever
homicide _ said.
> one?”

ook a drink of
id stuff—and fed
third rotten sar-

was an exuber-
+ man who was
and his cohorts

d Mike Malloy
ati-freeze—all he
ying Mike Mal-

fiddle and ready

scoming discour-

ugh the old goat’s
iat’s the only way
- the ground.”
dertaker Pasqua
to burn in the
ire out something
egitimate.”
d been eyeing an
ardines had been
k, got an inspira-

a. up into small
1 mix it with the

DER

fish. Malloy will never know the differ-
ence. And if that doesn't do the trick
I'm ready to give up.”

“No stomach could take that,” Pasqua
agreed. .

Red fixed the next concoction with lov-
ing care. He served the tin and poisoned
fish after Mr. Malloy had consumed six
stiff drinks of anti-freeze. And the Un-

. wholesome three waited to see Iron Mike

call life quits.

Instead, the smiling Irishman called for
more. “Best darn sandwiches I ever
tasted,” he told Red Murphy. “You're in
the wrong business, son. You should be
operating a fancy restaurant down in the
theatrical district and serving these tasty
sandwiches to folks with money. You
could call this one the “Malloy Special.”

Just how a man’s stomach managed to
weather the combination of ground tin,
poison fish and anti-freeze will perhaps
always remain a mystery—but the New
York City police reports verify the fact
that Mike Malloy consumed at least three
sardine can tops along with the other
deadly mixture. The only possible explan-
ation for such a phenomenon is that Mike
Malloy had eaten so much bad food and
drunk so much bad liquor in his life-time
that by the time the Bronx speakeasy
boys got around to trying to kill him noth-
ing could turn the trick.

After a couple of weeks trial along this
line Marino, Pasqua and Murphy decided
that Iron -Mike was indestructible.

“I’m gonna buy a gun,” Marino insisted.
“That bum’s not going to make a bum out
of me. I've invested a small fortune in
this project. Malloy’s gotta die.”

Undertaker Pasqua asked patience.
“There’s more ways to kill a man than
shooting him,” he said. “Now I know a
cab driver who, for a fee, doesn’t mind
running over. people with his car.”

Tony Marino’ thought the idea was
good, but just at that moment ‘he remem-
bered how easily it had been to kill
Pearl Godwin via the pneumonia route.

“That’s a safer way,” the speakeasy man
said: “And I’m experienced in it. If that
doesn't work we can always run over him
with a cab.”

It was February—and a bad one. Snow
and sleet and driving rains played hand-
in-hand with the plotter’s plans. So they
got Iron Mike Malloy soused to the gills
and took him for a ride to Crotona Park.
They found an isolated spot, stripped the
drunk of most of his clothes and dumped
him out into a night that wasn’t fit for
man or beast. .

The boys had a drink back at the speak-
easy to ward off colds they were almost
sure of getting from their own exposure
on the raw night.

But when morning came around—so did
Mike Malloy. He woke Marino and Mur-
phy (who lived at the speakeasy) and
asked for a drink.

“I must have tied a real one on last
night,” he laughed. “A bit of your best
stuff will warm me up.”

Pasqua wouldn't believe it when told
that Malloy was standing on both feet and
laughing about sleeping off a drunk in
Crotona Park. Murphy was about ready
to call it quits. Marino, who had been
laying out the dough, still wanted to buy
a gun—and use it.

ee

hy,

After a conference, however, they all
agreed that it was a silly thing that three
men couldn't kill one man.

“We can still run over him With my
friend’s cab,” Pasqua said. “And we won't
have to cut this guy in for too much of
the insurance money.” :

Murphy and Marino agreed to the
scheme-—-which called ‘for getting Mr.
Malloy drunk again, taking him to an isol-
ated place and running over him—because
the insurance called for double indemnity
in case of “accidental” death—which this
was supposed to look like:

Indestructible Mike was again fed
liquor until he passed out. Then he was
transported to a dark street in the Bronx
where Pasqua’s cabbie “friend” ran over
him—but good. .

The boys back at the speakeasy waited
twenty-four hours and then started calling
hospitals and morgues throughout greater
New York. They wanted to know whether
or not a man named Michacl Malloy had
been brought in. No person giving such
a name had.

Marino, Murphy and Pasqua were puz-
zled. Their indestructible friend had
vanished in thin air—and he wasn’t heard
from for ten days. .

Then Mr. Malloy walked into Marino’s
speakeasy with his Irish eyes all smiles.

“I had an accident, boys,” he told them
when pressed for details. “I’m afraid 1
drank a wee bit to much and got myself

run over. I've been in a hospital—but 1 .

didn’t give them my right name.” He
laughed smugly and said, “I might want
that same service again sometims; and I
don’t want those nice people to think -I’m
an alcoholic.”

The three would-be murderers were
about ready to admit that Iron Mike Mal-
loy was a better man than they were. But
finally Mike Marino persuaded the other
two that he had to get his investment back
—and they agreed to an out and out kill-
ing.

The new:plan called for renting a fur-
nished room, getting Mr. Malloy drunk
again—and - feeding him gas until he was
really dead. ;

This did the trick. Iron Mike Malloy
could eat poisoned tin sandwiches, sleep
outside in the snow and sleet, drink anti-
freeze—but he couldn’t take illuminating

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dies in the
pidemic of
ino. “Then

»mplaining
to get nv
ne dough.
isiness is SO

hrough the
hhould shuf-

a one-man
like Malloy
n who was
ny other.10
ed his credit
peakeasies.
like a flash.
ow, through
out some in-
’s the way, it
t the men we

sitting there
ition to Mike

Malloy that Isaac Newton is reputed to have devoted to the ap-

ple. “You know,” said Marino, “Malloy don’t have no living |

relations.” ‘
“He don't?” replied Pasqua. “How do you know?”

“He told me that one time when I let him sleep here all night if

he’d sweep the place out in the morning.”

It wasn’t long, then, before Marino and Pasqua enlisted the aid
of a commission-happy insurance salesman. The insurance
salesman, who was later to claim that he didn’t know that foul
play was part of the plot, wrote a policy on Malloy for $1,200,
with Marirfo named as beneficiary in case of death. Now, $1,200
may not seem like much loot in these days of multibillion-buck
budgets, but to Marino, down at the heels and with a great
Depression on the land, it wouldn't be at all bad. Padqua, in
return for putting up the first quarterly payment on the policy on
Mike, was to get Mike’s burial job.

Now Marino faced the problem of murdering Malloy without
the death appearing to be murder—because in those days
murderers were put to death in the juice seat in New York State.
So Marino summoned his bartender, Danny Murphy. Danny was
a fumbling wise guy with red hair, greenish teeth and a heart
overflowing with larceny.

“Danny,” said Pasqua, “this Malloy. We gonna knock him off.
Didn't you use to study chemistry? What could you slip in some
drinks I’m gonna give him?”

Murphy had a quick suggestion: automobile radiator anti-
freeze. “It’s practically pure wood alcohol,” Murphy told
Marino, “and tastes a lot like the stuff we serve.”

“Will it be sure to kill him?” Marino asked Murphy.
“Tt can’t miss if I handle it right,” said Murphy. “I'll give him

”

“How do you mean, Mike!

Malloy shrugged. “I dunno,” he said. “I just seemed to like’em
better. If tell you another joke can I have another on the house?”

Murphy didn’t think a third drink of the wood alcohol would
be necessary. But more minutes passed and Mike told another
bad Irish story.

Mike got a third drink of wood alcohol and a fourth and he was
all set to get a fifth when at last he collapsed. He simply crumpled
in a heap, right there at the bar.

A customer passing out attracted practically no attention at
Tony's. Murphy, getting the nod from Marino, simply dragged
Malloy behind Tony's beaded curtain and left him there on the
floor. “He'll be dead by the time we close up—if he’s not dead
now,” Murphy said to Marino. “TL isten to his heart once in a while.
That’s how you'll be able to tell—when you don’t hear nothin’.”

Tony looked at his watch. It was a few minutes past midnight.
Tony's closed up around three in the morning. ,

At a quarter past 12, Tony leaned down and listened to Mike’s

‘heart. It was beating—but it sounded, Tony was one day to say,

“kind of funny.”

The minutes ticked away and'soon it was one o'clock but Mike
Malloy’s heart was still beating. Pasqua, the mortician, lurched
in. Filled in on what had happened, he leaned down and listened
to Malloy’s heart. “It won't be long now,” Pasqua told Marino.
“His heart's barely beating.’ ”

Another hour passed and the situation remained unchanged.
The man who had downed not less than a pint of wood alcohol
was still alive.

Three o'clock came and the joint closed up, leaving Marino,

& Pasqua and Murphy the bartender with the doomed man. Now

regular stuff to begin with then switch to the. wood alcohol. He
should be dead before the night's out.”

Christmas was approaching. Good cheer superimposed itself
on the Depression. Street-corner Santa Clauses, some of them
with breaths that practically singed their false beards, were mak-
ing outrageous promises to demanding kids. A competitive
speakeasy to Marino’s started the insane Yuletide practice of
every fourth drink on the house. The only saving grace of the
Yuletide, the way. Marino saw it, was that Murphy could serve
free drinks to Malloy without arousing the Irishman’s suspicion.

On the night that the plot began to roll, Murphy quickly
anesthetized Mike Malloy with the regular booze. Then Marino,
looking on from behind the beaded curtain, gave the nod.

_Drunker than three lords, Mallory was still on his feet. So when

Murphy slipped him a drink of anti-freeze, on the house, Mike
couldn’t have been more grateful. Down it went in one fell
swoop.

” "There were several other patrons but they paid no attention. It
was Murphy and Marino who were paying attention— waiting
for Mike to drop dead. But five minutes passed. Nothing happen-
ed. Mike began to tell one of his bad jokes—to anybody who
would listen.

Marino nodded again to Murphy. “That was such a good joke
you just told, Mike,” said the redhaired barkeep, “that I’m givin’
you another on the house.”

Mike downed half a tumblerful of wood alcohol. Wiping his
mouth with the back of his hand, he said to Murphy: “Red, me
boy, you've been holdin’ out on me.”

“Whadda you mean, Mike?” asked Murphy.

“Them last two drinks,” said Mallory. “They was different.”

Murphy listened to Malloy’s heart. “He can’t possibly last the

night,” announced Murphy.

Now, while they sat there behind the beaded curtain, ata little
round table, awaiting the arrival of death, the murderers broke
open and went to work ona bottle of the paint remover that pass-
ed for whiskey in Marino’s joint. Came the dawn. The murderers,
who by now had knocked off two bottles of the rotgut, were less
conscious than the man who was supposed to die. Because what
happened was Mike Malloy woke up, got up off the floor, and

‘asked Murphy for a drink.

For several nights running, the murderers saw to it that their

- victim had plenty of wood alcohol. Each time, eventually, Mike
Mallory, grateful for the free drinks, would pass out. Then would
begin the long night vigil, waiting for death. Each morning, just
about dawn, Mike Malloy would wake up and ask for a drink.
Malloy had by now consumed well over a gallon of wood
alcohol—enough to send at least 50 men into another dimension.
The only explanation for this would seein to be that Malloy had
consumed wood alcohol in small doses, in bootleg liquor, over a

long period and had developed a tolerance for the poison.

It was Murphy who conceived the next step in what a Bronx
district attorney was later to tell me were the most grotesque
chain of events in criminal history. Murphy, falling back on his
knowledge of chemistry, took the lid off a can of sardines. Then
he set out the can of fish to putrefy. “When they get back
enough,” he explained to Marino and Pasqua, “I'll make Malloy a

sandwich and he'll get killed from the ptomaine poisoning.”

After the open can of sardines had been out in the alley for
several days, and the smell of the fish could be detected 50 feet
(Continued on page 6”

away, the plotters were ready
4

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Undertaker Pasqua picked the body up
and put it in a cheap box without even
bothering to embalm it. They all chipped
in and bought the smallest possible plot‘ in
Ferncliffe Cemetery and buried the poor
guy.

The insurance money was paid to Tony
Marino. Each man got his share and it
looked as though that was the last of [ron
Mike Malloy. But it wasn’t

Several people who had known how
hard -up Tony Marino had been noticed
that he was paying his bills—and that one
regular customer was missing from _ his
speakeasy. Somebody went to the police.

New York officers—who knew Tony
Marino wasn’t ‘the most solid citizen in
town—tackled him from several angles.
When he failed to explain his new afflu-
ence satisfactorily they checked with in-
surance companies and found Tony’s name
on policies of two different dead people.

Pearl Godwin had been under the
ground for quite a spell, but Michael

- vation.

Malloy hadn’t. Investigators opened his
grave and discovered that because of
Mike's chronic alcoholic condition and the
fact that Undertaker Pasqua hadn't even
bothered to embalm him the indestructible
man’s body was in a good state of preser-
The causé of his death—-illumin-
ating gas—was easy to detect.

Detectives probed into Mike Marino’s
close acquaintances and came up with the
names of Red Murphy and Undertaker
Pasqua.

Red proved to be the easiest to “break”
and after he confessed Marino and Pasqua
admitted their part in the Mike Malloy
story.

All three conspirators were tried and
found guilty of murder in the first degree.
They died in the electric chair at Sing Sing.

The only thing that could have capped
the climax of this bizarre criminal case
was to have Mike Malloy himself show
up at the last minute and say, “Here I am.
I wasn’t dead after all.”

Which he didn’t.

MYSTERY OF THE 13TH KEY

(Continued from page ?).

detectives placed him in a cell in which
a dictaphone had been planted. Detectives
had also planted one of their investigators
in that same cell who was to pretend that
he had been convicted of a murder. The
idea was to ‘get this man to get Moore to
talk.

The planted cell mate told all about
himself and boasted about his crime. Then
he asked Moore what the truth was con-
cerning his case. The bellboy didn’t come
right out and.admit the Clevenger crime
but he: did tell the cell mate that he
owned a gun. That was all Martin and
Quinn needed.

They confronted Moore with his state-
ments and the suspect finally admitted
that he owned a .32 calibre automatic
that had been made in Spain.

“Where is the gun now?”
Quinn asked.

Reluctantly the bellboy said, ‘Its hid-
den under the front steps at my house.”

Officers went out to Moore’s home and
found the weapon. Ballistics tests showed
that the bullet fired into Helen Clevenger’s
head matched the Spanish make automatic.
Quinn and Martin tied all the evidence
together. They explained how they had
arrived at the fact that the guilty party
had been employed at the hotel; and they
told Moore that his alibi had been a little
too good because he had remembered
‘more details about what he had been do-
ing on the night of the murder than an
innocent man would have remembered.

Finally Martin Moore broke down,
buried his face in his hands and sobbed,
“Yes, I killed the girl. Ill tell you the
truth about the whole thing.”

A court stenographer was sent for; and
while Sheriff Brown and the two New York
detectives sat silently by the confessed
killer made a full statement.

“My name is Martin Moore,” he be-

Detective

gan. “I am twenty-two years old. I live
at 84% Hill Street. { am employed as_a
bellboy at the hotel. I finished my work
at 5 p.m. on July 1Sth, 1936, and left for
home. That same night I sneaked back
into the hotel by a rear door about 9 P.M.
I hid downstairs in my locker. About
12:45-a.M. July 16th 1 went up the back
stairway to the second floor and went to
Room 224. I used a master key.

“When I went in the girl was on the
bed. She screamed. I shot her. She kept

- screaming and I hit her in the face with

the gun until she stopped. She fell on the
floor near the bathroom. The bed light
was on and I could see what was happen-
ing. After she fell on the floor she
screamed some more and I hit her again.
I left the room and went down the front
stairs to the mezzanine and into the ball-
room. I made my way out onto a porch,
slid down # pipe onto the ‘street and then
started walking toward Hill Street. I didn’t
see anybody. I still had the gun on me
when I went to work the next morning.
I] worked until almost five that afternoon
and went home. I hid the gun under the
porch where you found it.

“f had seen this girl when she came into
the hotel. I have made this statement of
my own free will and accord and without
promise or threats of any kind. T have
read it and it is true.”

Martin Moore was brought to trial be-
fore Superior Court Justice Donald Phillips
in Ashville, North Carolina, two weeks
after the confession. He took the stand
and denied both the murder and the con-
fession—but the prosecution presented
photographs showing Martin Moore re-
enacting every phase of the brutal crime.

The jury found him guilty of murder in
the first degree and sentenced him to die
in the electric chair in Raleigh State
Penitentiary.

PAY
TILL
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At least 50¢¢
States are being
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smart on that occasion. The speak
hadn’t paid off like he expected, so now
he was going to be smart again. As he
looked across the. bar at the alcohol-
sodden frame of Mike Malloy, he
laughed to himself. This job. would be
simple. Like taking candy away from a
baby. The bum must be _half-dead
already from drinking so much. He
would be a pushover. ;

“Have a slug on the house, stranger?”
Tony asked jovially, baring his sharp
teeth.in a forced grin.

“Why, sure, mister! Sure, and much
obliged!’? Mike, who had the map of Ire-
land on his face, used to be an engiheer,
but he hadn’t worked for years. Of late
he had gone from bad to worse, so that
now his only occupation was begging for
nickels and dimes and cadging drinks
wherever he could. Having a shot offered
to him like this was a novel and gratify-
ing experience. He picked up the glass
that was set before him, drained it with
a backward toss of his head, and
muttered, “Good stuff! Right off the
boat, eh?” ,

“Right! Have another!”

“Happy days!”

A ten-minute conversation convinced
Marino that Malloy was a made-to-order
victim. He had no family, no friends,
and. he was sleeping on park benches,
even though it was late in the fall of
that year, 1932.

After a while Marino called to a red-
headed youth who was puttering around

“in the back of the saloon. “Hey, Red,

-come and take over, will you?, I’ve got
to run down and see Frank Pasqua. This
is Mr. Malloy—treat him right.” Joseph
Murphy, the regular bartender in the
joint, tied on.a dirty white apron and
moved to obey.

A half-hour later, in Frank Pasqua’s
undertaking establishment on East 116th
Street in the fringe of New York’s
Harlem, Tony Marino outlined his
murder-for-profit scheme. Pasqua
creased his face in an evil grin and
nodded in agreement.

“Sounds okay,” he said. “Of course,

the buildup will take a little time. You'd’

better tell the guy he can sleep here—
then I can keep my eye on him.”

It wasn’t long before Malloy, over- |

whelmed by his good fortune, moved.
into his “home.” Pasqua let him sleep
on a cot in the front room of. the dingy
undertaking parlors, and in: return all

- he had to do.was tend the furnace and

sweep the floors. Whenever he felt like
a drink, which was most of the time, he
wandered to Marino’s speak and imbibed
as much as he liked—on ‘the house.

“You fellows sure are good tas me,”
Malloy told Pasqua and the dive pro-
prietor, his bleary eyes filled with grati-
tude. “I just hope I can make all this up
to you some day.”

“Oh,” we figure you'll pay us back, all
right,” said Marino, winking at Pasqua.
“We consider you sort of an investment,
Mike.”

Malloy, in his habitual alcoholic daze,
missed thé deadly significance of ‘the re-
mark. These men were his true pals; he
would never think of distrusting them.

Even when Pasqua brought up the
subject of insurance Mike Malloy con-
tinued to be un- (Continued on page 32)

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Ringleaders of the murder syndi-
cate appear with court attendants.
1. Frank Pasqua. 2. Tony Marino.
3. Red Murphy. 4. Dan Kreisberg.
They thought they had a foolproof
scheme for picking up easy money.

That classic admonition reads well in the schoolbooks

and is doubtless excellent advice for young men and
women striving to make their mark in the world. But
when it was followed by a bunch.of cutthroats in a
grisly murder plot, it planted four men squarely in the
electric chair. It so happened that the police had heard
of the maxim, too!

Tony Marino probably was not acquainted with the
recipe for success. However, it must be said that he
knew a sucker when he saw one. The first time he set
eyes on Mike Malloy he suspected he had a new victim
for his cold-blooded death racket. All he had to do was
insure this bum, get some pals to help in the bump-off,
and then collect the benefits.

It was an easy way to pick up a piece of change. Tony
Marino ought to know. A year or two beforeshe’d got his
girl friend unconscious drunk, stripped her, doused her with
water, and left her lying naked on a bed in her room with
the windows wide open. It was in the middle of winter.
Naturally, the dame caught pneumonia and died. There
was enough insurance money for Tony to set himself up
in a speakeasy on Third Avenue in the Bronx. And the
cops never let out a whisper.

Tony, a ferret-eyed, sharp-featured little man of twenty-
seven, figured he’d been plenty (Continued on next page)

‘| F AT FIRST you don’t succeed, try, try again!” ...

6

nin 3

t/

HEADLINE DETECTIVE, November, 1941

smi
Dr. Frank Manzella wrote out a hac
death certificate stating that he
Mike Malloy had succumed to | loc
an attack of lobar pneumonia. SS

HEADLINE DETECTIVE


Malloy was to increase his appetite
and capacity for the anti-freeze.

Marino was in a quandary. His death
scheme was not only costing him time
—but money. If he didn’t hurry up,
and kill Malloy off, another premium
would be due on the policy. No profit
in that. Evidently Malloy had the
original cast iron stomach, so Marino
changed his tactics.

He brought Jerry Black, a cab
driver, into the plot. Then, one bitterly
cold night in mid-January, with the
thermometer hovering near zero, when
Malloy had passed out after a lengthy
bout with the anti-freeze, they heaved
his frail body into the rear of Black’s
cab. Black climbed behind the wheel
and drove swiftly to a deserted section
of Claremont Park.

There, Marino and Pasqua lugged
the sodden Malloy deep into the shrub-
bery and threw him to the ground.
While Pasqua stripped him to the
waist, Marino hurried back to the cab.
He returned a moment later with a
bucket of ice water which he poured
over Malloy’s bare head and chest.

The north wind howled. The tem-
perature was dropping rapidly. They
left him lying there encased in a
crust of ice.

' The next evening, back at the speak-
easy, Marino was coughing all over
the place and Pasqua had a runny
nose. They had both come down with
hard colds, due to their exposure on
the night before. :

“If that wind did this to us,” said
Pasqua, “think of what it did to him.
He froze to death for sure or died
from pneumonia. Relax, Tony, it’s in
the bag.”

And at that moment the buzzer
sounded. Murphy opened the door and
Malloy bounced into the room. He was
gay, chipper, debonnaire, ready and
eager for his nightly dose of poison.
“Hiya, friends,” he called out. “How’s
for a shot of that private stock of
yours?” When he had downed the first
glass, he said: “Funny thing happened
this morning. I woke up in the park
stripped to the waist. Better watch
myself or the cops will be running me
in for indecent exposure.”

In the back room, Marino damned
near passed out with a sudden fit of
coughing.

“Got a cold?” asked Malloy solicit-
ously. “Too bad.” He held up his glass
of anti-freeze. “Try a shot of Red’s
special. That’ll cure you quick.”

By now Marino was desperate. He
had too much time, money and effort
invested in the plot to throw it over-
board. He called in an expert in mur-
der, a plug-ugly hoodlum who called
himself Tough Tony Bastone.

Bastone listened patiently to a re-
cital of Marino’s difficulties. He shook
his head in disapproval. “You're going
at it the wrong way,” he said. “It’s all
very simple. All you need is a car.
Run over the lug a couple of times and
he’s dead for sure.”

“You guarantee it?” asked Marino
skeptically. “You don’t know this
double-crosser. He’s made of cast iron.”

42

“Yeah, I guarantee it,” said Tough

- Tony. “Absolute.”

The car was easily obtained. Jerry
Black, already in the plot, had his
taxi. So once again Malloy was plied
with anti-freeze until he doubled up
in the middle and nose-dived to the
floor. Once again he was pitched to the
floor of Black’s cab, with the con-
spirators piling in after him.

Black drove rapidly to a deserted
stretch of Gunhill Road in the north-
ern part of the Bronx. Momentarily he
stopped the cab and Bastone and
Murphy dragged out the unconscious
Malloy. They propped him up between
them, then waited impatiently while
Black continued on for a quarter of a
mile, turned around and came roaring
back at them at a 50-mile-per-hour
clip.

Tough Tony was experienced in such
matters. His timing was perfect. When
the cab was almost abreast of him, he
gave the signal to Murphy, and to-
gether they heaved Malloy directly into
the path of the oncoming juggernaut.

The radiator of the cab met Malloy
head on, tossed him head over heels
for twenty ‘eet. He crumpled in the
middle of the road like a rag doll.

Clutching the wheel, Black headed
the cab straight for him, winced at the
heave and lurch as the wheels passed
over the body. That was that.

Back in the speakeasy, everybody
agreed that Mike was dead at last. He

had to be. The boys threw a little’

party in celebration. w

There was no story in the papers
the following morning concerning a
fatal hit-and-run accident on Gunhill
Road and Marino began to get wor-
ried. There was no story in the eve-
ning papers and Marino began to sweat.

“Stop worrying! Stop worrying,” said
Tough Tony. “What’s eating you? He
was a bum. Who cares about him. The
papers aren’t printing it, that’s all.”

“Yeah?” said Marino. “That’s what
you think. You don’t know that guy
like I do. You’d think a breath of air
would blow him to pieces, yet we can’t
kill him.” With a worried look in his
eye, he crossed to the phone booth
and called the city morgue. The news
was heartbreaking. His worst fears
were confirmed. Michael Malloy had
not turned up at the morgue, either
dead or alive.

“I told you,” wailed Marino bitterly.
“He ain’t in the morgue. He ain’t dead.”
Calling over Murphy he gave the bar-
tender a handful of silver. “Start calling
the hospitals, Red,” he ordered. “Don’t
miss a one.”

Murphy sweated in the phone booth
for two hours, but at each hospital he
called he received the same answer. No
patient answering the description of
Michael Malloy had been admitted
during the past 24 hours. Better call
the police.

But the police were the last people
Marino wanted to call concerning the
whereabouts of Mike Malloy.

Where was the bum? What had
happened to him? Black ran his cab
up to Gunhill Road and reported back

that the body wasn’t there.

“Well, where is he?” raved Mafino.
“This is ‘a mess. Without the body we
don’t collect no-insurance money.”

HE mystery was solved ten days

later, when on the night of Wash-
ington’s Birthday, Malloy sallied into
the speakeasy. He was hale and hearty.
There was a twinkle in his eye and
color in his cheeks. Piayful as a colt,
he made straight for the bar and de-
manded a shot of the “good stuff.”

“Where you been, pal?” asked’ Ma-
rino. “We been worried about you.”

When he had downed his third shot
of anti-freeze, Malloy explained his
long absence from his dear friends and
benefactors. “Got into a little accident,”
he said. “Just a few bumps and scratch-
es. But that dopey doctor at the hos-
pital”—one that Murphy had failed to
call—“made me stay in bed for ten
days.”

He held up his fourth slug of poison
to the light and squinted through it
lovingly. “Joe,” he went on, “not hav-
ing a shot of your special for so long
near killed me. Here’s mud in your
eyes.”

He tilted back his head, his Adam’s
apple bobbled and he was again on
his way to an anti-freeze, wood alcohol
drunk.

Marino was fit to be tied. Pasqua
was a bum with his anti-freeze. Mur-
phy was a bum with his putrid sar-
dines. Bastone was a bum with his
assault by car. He took over proceed-
ing himself, ordered Murphy to rent
a furnished room. The only require-:

"ment was that it should have a gas

plate. That was absolutely needed.

Murphy obeyed and paid a week’s
rent on a shabby, hole-in-the-wall in
a rooming house on Fulton Avenue.
Then Marino gave the rest of his or-
ders. The bartender nodded. He under-
stood perfectly.

Daniel Kreisberg, another old friend
of Marino, was now brought into the
plot. Together, he and Murphy brought
Malloy to the furnished room on the
pretext that they. had some special
liquor there they wanted him to sam-
ple. Malloy was only too glad to go
along.

Once in the room, Malloy went to
work on his diet of anti-freeze, colored
this time with a bottle of hair. tonic.

He pronounced the concoction excel- _

lent, so excellent indeed that he drank
steadily for two hours before passing
out on the bed.

Then the boys went to work. From
his pocket, Murphy produced a five-
foot length of red rubber tubing. Swiftly
he worked one end over the jet of the
gas plate. Kreisberg, just as swiftly,
forced the other end into Malloy’s
mouth. The connection complete, Mur-
phy turned on the gas.

Due to all the anti-freeze he had
imbibed, Malloy was breathing heavily,
so the gas was inhaled easily enough.
For an hour it poured into his lungs.
Then he stopped breathing with a con-
tented little sigh. Then his heart stop-
ped.

POLICE DRAGNET

Michael Malloy, the cast iron man,
was dead at last.

Murphy turned off the gas, removed
the rubber tubing from its terminals
and stuffed it in his pocket. Then they
stripped Malloy, left him lying naked
.on the bed and opened the window
wide to the cold February blasts. Si-
lently they stole out of the house.

The following morning, a local doc-
tor called in by Marino agreed that
Malloy was really dead, and seeing
the nude body and the open window,
wrote “Pneumonia” on the death cer-
tificate as the cause of death.

Everything was now legal and of-
ficial: death certificate, innocent cause
of death, no investigation. Marino turn-
ed the body over to Pasqua for burial
and that greedy individual, wanting to
get as much out of the deal as possible,
planted Malloy in a plain pine box
without even bothering to embalm him.
But that was to be his undoing.

The next day, unmissed and un-
mourned, durable Mike Malloy was
laid to rest in a ten-dollar grave. And
two weeks later Marino received a
check from the insurance company for
$1,500. It was divided up amongst
the members of the murder combine
but with so many now in on the deal
no one got more than coffee-and-cake
money.

Everything went along well for the
plotters for the next sixty days, save
for the passing of Tough Tony Bastone:
One night he ran up against a hood-
lum who was a little bit tougher than
he was and he stopped a hunk of lead
with his gun. But that little episode
had nothing to do with Malloy’s murder
or its aftermath.

The aftermath began when a rumor
came to the ears of Samuel J.-Foley,
the two-fisted district attorney of the
Bronx, that sometime during the past
winter an insurance murder had been
committed in his borough. All that
Foley had to work on was the hint
that the undertaker involved in the
crime had an Italian name.

Foley turned the matter over to his
assistant, Edward Breslin, who in turn,
called in Detective Edward W. Byrnes.
Their first attack on the problem was
to scan all the burial permits that had
been issued during the past three
months in the Bronx, in which an Ital-
ian undertaker had officiated «

This was a long and laborious job,
but after three weeks of intensive
work, they had boiled down the stack
of permits to one—the one that cov-
ered the burial of Michael Malloy.
The permit had possibilities. Pasqua,
it was known, had a shady reputation.
From the records it was learned that
Malloy had had no family.

A little further digging uncovered
the fact that Malloy had been insured,
with Tony Marino named as the bene-
ficiary. And Tony Marino and Pasqua
were bosom pals. Things were begin-
ning to add up. Tails were put on the
two men. Then, on a visit to the room-
ing house where Malloy had died,
Breslin got his big break.

“Who rented the room?” he asked

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the landlady.

“Mr. Malloy’s brother,” she replied.

But Malloy had no known brother!
“Can you describe him?” asked Breslin.

“Why, yes. He was a big man, and
he had a scar running down one side
of his face.”

She had given an accurate descrip-
tion of Daniel Murphy, Marino’s bar-
tender.

Convinced now that murder had been
done, Breslin had Malloy’s body dis-
interred. Despite the fact that it had
not been embalmed, it was in a re-
markable state of preservation. The
anti-freeze solution had seen to that.
Also, the skin was a glowing pink,
invariable condition following death by
gas asphyxiation.

If Pasqua had not been so greedy
and had embalmed the body, this fatal,
tell-tale clue would have vanished.

An autopsy was performed. The
result was a foregone conclusion. Mal-
loy had not died of pneumonia. He had

died from inhaling a lethal dose of
illuminating gas.

The plotters were swiftly rounded
up. Pasqua cracked first. He implicated
Jerry Black, the cab driver, Tough
Tony Bastone, who was already dead
and Daniel Kreisberg, who had actually
held the tube in Malloy’s mouth.

Once Pasqua had sung, Murphy fell
all over himself to get his version of
the life and death of Malloy onto the
records.

When the singing was all over and
the trial that followed swiftly there-
after, Marino, Murphy, Pasqua and
Kreisberg were sentenced to the chair,
and the following year on June 8th,
1934, followed each other to the hot
seat at Sing Sing. Meanwhile Jerry
Black had copped a plea and pleaded
guilty to a charge of assault. He was
sent away for a ten-year sentence.

Editor’s Note: The name Jerry Black
is fictitious. *
43


Clinching their case, they had found an
old .44 pistol hidden among the suspect’s
personal effects. It undoubtedly was the mur-
der gun. :

Despite this evidence, Tucker maintained
a bold front until Presley explained in de-
tail how the cowardly crime had been exe-
cuted. As the youthful prisoner listened,
he suddenly broke down and _ screamed,
“You’re driving me mad!” But he confessed
to nothing.

Desperately the officers searched for a mo-
tive, besides robbery, but they were unable
to find any.

“We know you killed him,” Presley told
the prisoger bluntly a few days later. “But
why ?”

Gilson Tucker leered back at him in si-
lence.

The big deputy was struck by a sudden
hunch. He recalled that a nameless old
trapper had been robbed and clubbed to
death last January less than a mile from
that remote spot where Sonny’s body was
buried. Was this fact merely a coincidence,
Of

“a very plausible theory,” Presley
was saying as he studied the prisoner’s face.
“You killed the old trapper, and you con-
fided in Sonny just as you confided in him
about everything else. You felt sure he
would keep the secret.”

Tucker’s eyes bulged. His face twitched
nervously as he gulped, “Go on, smart guy!”

“Sonny didn’t react the way you expected.
My guess is that he told you to make things
right. And he left home to give you time
to do it. But you knew you couldn’t make
things right. You knew it might mean the
electric chair. So you went up there and
killed him.” ;

Young Tucker’s face turned as pale as if
he had seen a ghost. Two ghosts. His
mouth was too dry for talk. Besides, he
had nothing to say. i

“Tt was almost a perfect crime,” Presley
continued. “In the first place, you made it
appear that your pal had stolen a colt and
fled the country. Clever, indeed. Then,
after the rain came, almost every clue to
your foul crime was blotted out. And if it
hadn’t been for two of the greatest trackers
on earth—”

“Stop!” shrieked the jittery, ashen-faced
prisoner. ‘You're driving me mad, I tell
you.”

A few days later when he was questioned
again about motive, Tucker shrugged, and
said, “Hell, maybe I am crazy.”

With that declaration, the wily prisoner
sounded a- note that reverberated through
the McKinley County courts for two solid
years !

Finally declared sane, the prisoner went on
trial for his life in District Judge M. A.
Otero, Jr.’s Court charged with first degree
murder. District Attorney David Chavez,
who had conducted a brilliant and successful
fight to bring Tucker to justice, was the
prosecutor,

Defense Counsel Reed Holloman, an able
attorney and a former district judge, told
the jury that it was ridiculous to believe that
“anybody on earth” could follow six-weeks’-
old horse tracks across a hundred miles of
rough country where a violent storm had
beaten down several weeks after they were
made,

Officers and ranchers of the posse told their
stories. Jim Mescal and Chee took the wit-
ness stand. Evidently the jury believed that
the. miraculous feat’ was possible. Tucker
was found guilty and promptly sentenced to
life imprisonment at hard labor in the state
prison at Santa Fe.

Relieved that he had barely missed a date
with the electric chair, the convicted killer
began talking sanely for the first time in two
years. He revealed where Sonny’s clothes
were hidden—in an old badger hole only a
short distance -from the grave—and they
were recovered.

32

DEATH SAGA

(Continued from page 7)

suspecting. He readily fell in with the idea
that policies should be taken out on his life,
for whatever it might be worth.

But getting these policies was another
matter. Agents for two, big companies wrote
out the necessary papers, but when the
doctors came around they took one look at
Malloy and declared him a bad risk. Though
he wasn’t over forty, he obviously was
drinking himself into an early grave. At the
physicians’ urgings, the companies refused
to issue the policies Pasqua sought.

Pasqua, Marino and Murphy, who also
was in on the plot, stewed over the situation
for a couple of weeks. At last they suc-
ceeded in having two “industrial” policies
written on Malloy with smaller companies.
These policies were for $800 apiece, and one
was with double indemnity. In obtaining
insurance of this kind, it was not necessary
for the human derelict to go through a
physical examination; in fact, the agents for
the companies did not even see him.

For some reason known only to the
devious minds of the murder conspirators,
Malloy was insured under the name of
“Mellory.” The beneficiary on both policies
was specified as his brother, Joseph Mellory,
who in reality was the bartender, Red
Murphy.

“Guess we're all set now, boys,” Marino
said when the business was completed. “It
ain’t as much as I’d hoped for, but let’s see
—800 bucks plus 800 makes 1,600, and
another 800 in case he happens to pass out
in an accident comes to twenty-four C’s.”

“Times being what they are,” chimed in
Pasqua, “that ain’t hay, even when we split
Mag . ~

“Yeah, but how. do we collect?” put in
Murphy. “Who’s going to do the bump-
off?”

Marino ventured that the safest thing
would be to hire somebody to run over
Mike in a car while the bum was drunk;
then it would look like a hit-and-run acci-
dent, and the double indemnity would be

. paid.

Pasqua, snapped his fingers. “I know just
the guy!” he exclaimed. “Tin Ear Smith!”
Eddie “Tin Ear” Smith, a hoodlum with
an impressive police record, who got his
nickname from the fact that he had an
artificial ear, was approached. They offered

_ him $200 for doing the job. He laughed at

them and declared he wouldn’t be interested
for anything less than $500. The con-
spirators decided they’d better find another
assassin’ who didn’t value his services so
highly.

| rect TURNED TO a neighborhood thug
named Tony Bastone, “Tough Tony,” as
he was known, was a frequent visitor to
Marino’s speakeasy, and was acknowledged
to be’ the most dangerous character in that
part of the Bronx.

“Sure!” said Tony. “I can get some-
body for you, but I want to be in on the
job, too, so I can get my cut.”

Reluctantly the original plotters agreed:
The corporation was growing, but they
feared Bastone too much to turn him down.
Besides; the $2,400 would still make quite
a generous split.

While all this scheming was going on
around him, Mike Malloy was_ blissfully
ignorant. He had a place to sleep, he had
some fine pals, he got plenty to drink. Every
night he drank himself unconscious on
Marino’s free liquor. All this seemed too
good to be true, but who was he to question
a kindly Providence? In his few half-
sober moments he thanked the Fate that had
drawn him to Tony Marino’s speakeasy.

f

On a cold night in the middle of January,
1933, the stage was finally set for murder.
Mike+Malloy and all his wonderful pals were
gathered at the Third Avenue drink em-
porium, Murphy ladled out one shot after
another to the derelict. He gulped the raw
alcohol with keen relish, until finally he
passed out with his head cushioned in his
arms on a table top. ae

“O.K., boys, let’s go!” said Bastone.

Eager hands lifted the sagging body of the
bum and dragged him outside to the curb.
There one Hershey Green, a taxi driver, was
waiting in his hack. Green had promised to
run over Malloy for $125—satisfaction
guaranteed. ;

They. cast the unconscious “investment”
on the floor of the cab, and then they all
_— in. Green drove to a lonely spot in

e upper reaches of the Bronx. There were
no houses around, and due to the lateness of
the hour the chances were that there would
be no passing cars.

Bastone, Pasqua and Marino dragged
Malloy out of the hack and laid him out
carefully in the middle of the street. Green
backed up for nearly a block and then came
forward swiftly, the cab’s motor racing in
second gear. There was a sickening crunch
as the wheels passed over the body on the
pavement.

Green was about to turn the hack around
to drive over the victim a second time when
another car happened to come along. The
occupants saw the form in the street and
stopped. ‘“Scram!” screeched Pasqua. The
conspirators piled helter-skelter into the
murder vehicle and raced away. Though
Malloy had just been run over once, they
were confident he was dead as a doornail.

But in the papers the next morning the
gang could find no item concerning a fatal
hit-and-run accident. There was no report
in the afternoon papers, either.

e“Why, the dirty rat!” yelped Pasqua.
“After all -we done for him, he went and
double-crossed us!”

' Poor Mike Malloy was ‘a “double-crosser”
because he refused to die!

A few weeks later, in February, a familiar
figure weaved down Third Avenue and
turned in at Tony Marino’s place. His
clothes had been patched up here and there,
his stubble of beard wasn’t quite as long,
but otherwise he was just the same.

“Hello, chums!” Malloy said airily. “How’s
tricks?” ‘

“Mike! Where in hell have you been?”
demanded Murphy.

“Oh, they had me in the hospital for a
while. Seems I was wandering around
drunk one night when a car hit me, or some-
thing. I didn’t remember a thing about it,
but when I came to there was a lot of
doctors fussing over me. They said I had
a broken collarbone, some fractured ribs,
and a few other things wrong. But now I’m

good as ‘new, and boy, do I need a drink!” .

Mike Malloy had not one drink, but a
dozen of them, and thus picked up the happy
routine of life where he had dropped it when
he landed so mysteriously in a charity ward.

The conspirators were getting desperate at
this point. Clearly, it had been their tough
luck to pick as a victim a man who led a
charmed life. This stumblebum was harder
to kill than a bull elephant. Pasqua com-
plained. about the money being dribbled
away in insurance premiums; Marino suf-
fered because of all the liquor Mike con-
sumed on the house; Bastone and Murphy
were getting impatient about the dividends.
‘ They decided to forget about the double
indemnity and simply arrange a “natural
death” for Mike; after all, $1,600 would
be better than nothing.

Marino recalled how his trusting sweet- ~

heart ‘had come to an untimely end. Under
his orders, the mob let Malloy drink himself
unconscious one winter night and then car-
tied him to a park bench, removed most of
his clothing, poured water over him, and

HEADLINE DETECTIVE


Aa

/ b, ow
CAntfts,Le

A AYBELLE CARLSON’S profession was
ag ‘am easy” one’ to judge—the °. frowsy,
4 Blonde « hair, .dissipated face which
~ still held in it a flash of her old beauty, the ap-: /

praising glance that made it clear that she was
strictly business—all were infallible ‘indications.

At one time the girl had been at the top
in her particular calling—meaning that she

worked in: an exclusive Manhattan bordello’

and received up to one hundred dollars for
her favors. i sits

~ It was drink that brought about her downfall
and now, barely in her thirties, she- eked out
a miserable existence, pounding the pavements
“in the Bronx; making the ‘rounds of the cheap
_ bars ‘and lunch rooms. . . :

 /ate-in.the Winter of 1929, the landlady of . |
_% the: floor. She was about to give voice to her. disgust.

-the*rooming house in which Maybelle: dwelt,
trudging home through the deep snow, happened

_to.-glance up -and: see that. the’ window™ of”

Maybelle’s room.was wide open and. that a

-torn curtain fluttered, in the cold-:winter air.

The landlady’s lips pursed angrily. She would have to ®
tell her not to leave her window open in Winter. The-
uncarpeted stairs groaned beneath the pressure of her but-.:.
toned shoes as she made for Maybelle’s room. She knocked ~
briskly. There was no answer and she sniffed contemptu- .
ously. Probably drunk again. 0 he

She shrugged her plump shoulders, reached: out and tried:
the doorknob.. It yielded to the pressure and opened. ee ta”

_*The room was in disorder. Clothing was scattered over ~

when she swung toward the bed. The words of reproof *
died on her lips. The landlady screamed. Maybelle was.
dead. Her nude _ body, stretched on top of the covers,
was tinged with blue. ~~ ees Benen: ays


MARINO & PASQUA, E
OG nD eg 4 Elec. 6-7-1934 &


FRANK PASQUA: In his anxiety

to get rid of the corpse, the un-

d dertaker made a deadly mistake. |

“That's: ‘him,”. “Marino | said; ‘a’ slow. smile

“spreading on : his: pasty. face... “‘I’d° know that '

“cough anywhere. Let him in, -Red!” °

“Red: Murphy was the bartender. His enig-

matic: eyes of pale, indeterminate: blue told

‘a ‘story even Tony couldn’t: read.. Working

for a buck a day, plus a. bunk in:the speak-
easy, Red imagined he deserved ‘something
better than a job slapping a ‘smelly rag
across a splintered bar. Red once: had am-
bitions.. He had gone. to college for a few
years and had studied to become a chemist.
Now that tight mouth, a thin gash in a. gaunt
face, was silent, keeping the. burning desires

<locked .forever in a drink-disintegrated heart.

He’ eased his way through the narrow room

end" opened the door that led; ofall places,

into a telephone booth. A second door on the

other side of the booth was set in a Third:

Avenue cigar store, which acted as a legal
front for the illegal saloon.

Behind Red walked Tony.

A coatless, shivering bum .stood on the,
threshold of the barroom. .He was~-dirty and

forlorn, the kind of mar who ‘had lost his

past and could have no future.

>.

RED MURPHY prepared a dish
that would have killed a dozen

e 3] men, but his guest enjoyed it.

lene a DANIEL KREISBERG, a one-time
: fruit dealer who had turned to

a es yp <4 crime, had a fool-proof plan...

SMES SEE EY

‘“Hya, Mike,”-greeted Tony. “Come on in!”

The bum’s bloodshot eyes blinked. There
was something wrong here. Tony’s voice was
too kind.

“Maybe Tony thought he had some dough.

‘T-ain’t got no money, Tony. I-just ae in

‘to get warm,’. Mike Malloy said.:

Tony’s face radiated good will, but his, small, »
crafty eyes gleamed. His voice was soft. “How
about a shot, Mike?’ he-said. “It’ll' take the
cold out of — your bones. Red, set one up for’
my pal.”

1 es was really too easy, Red thought, as he
filled a tumbler with wood alcohol.. Mike
would drink it—it tasted no different than the
“smoke”: he had been getting lately—and would
die a few ‘hours later. He would be just an-
other bum who. died from poisoned hooch.
Certainly there = -would be nothing suspicious
about it. ;

'' Mike Malloy couldn’t quite trust his eyes.
The sudden generosity of the men who. used

- to bounce him out of the joint as soon as

his money was gone looked too good to be
true.

It couldn’t. be a trick though, because there
stood a tumbler full of liquid. Who was he
to question the kindly twist of fate?


“A happy smile spread over Mike's

face. ‘That's more like it. Could you

let me have another? S'wunnerful.’”
(Specially posed)

re Bae

was no case for the.detective division,
since there was.no’ sign of violence on the:
“ body.--A’ single uniformed. officer -remained ©
at the rooming ‘house until the body ‘was dis
; “posed of. - My eS ee oa

“the end of the once fashionable harlot... He

~-on ‘duty. <2
at the sheet-draped. figure on. the bed...
.#*All I. know“ is. that».she -was~a. floozy—

says it’s pneumonia.”

“sands of them,-I guess.”) =~.
“J mean a steady one!”

+) “Yeah,” grunted the cop

f insurance. I-guess he was her only heir.”

a. » AD

=< Only-one reporter _showed ; up to chronicle:

~ was Charlie Brody of the New York World.
~ “What's it, all about?” he asked the cop: —

>. The policeman’ jerked his broad shoulders”
“ -‘name’s Maybelle Carlson. Her landlady found _
“her this. morning’ stiff as'a board. The doc

The reporter’s ‘voice was hopeful: “Did she —
have a boy friend?”’-The cop grinned. “Thou-. «

named Tony Marino. She must've loved the |
ouse. Left him: fifteen hundred ‘bucks worth _

The only important thing. about the: case,

IRE NOME EE IN INE OT TE I Le I Scr hauaeth aaheiie Hama Ran atte aetna

“aside from the fact that Maybelle Carlson’s:
“body was assigned to a’ nameless grave in
“Potter’s Field was that: Charlie Brody saved
the notes he had used for that story. If he
“-hadn’t, the world’s most ‘amazing. murder
“story might never have been written.

‘FPPHREE years went, by and the Carlson girl |

»-d& was forgotten as completely as though she
had never existed. It was 1932—year of black
depression... The scene was still the Bronx.

Although ‘sleet was falling and a wintry,
mid-December blast made the Bronx's Third
Avenue almost impassable, inside Tony Ma-
rino’s speakeasy near 171st Street, there was
a foul-smelling warmth :which pervaded the
: dingy. interior of the smoke joint,

It was almost:nine o’clock. ~~

In the back room, the proprietor sat with his
friend, Frankie Pasqua, an undertaker.

i\"The smell of rancid ‘whiskey was rich ou

“*Tony Marino: “He smelled of » prohibitions

rot-gut. liquor. His hair was pomaded to an

“unreal sleekness, His shirts were of the rain-
bow. variety.~ Yet, behind the gaudiness of

his attire was a calm, deliberate manner.
His friend, the. undertaker, was a similar
product of the depression, slum-upbringing
and prohibition. As Pasqua aptly put it—
“T’d rather pickle myself than a corpse.” ‘That
“pickled” state made it easier for Tony Ma-


‘the| Indestructible MA

The inside story of New York’s damnable murder

yndicate, that carried out.a sinister program
My. of death for profit from the derelicts
—em, whom Fate thrust into their clutches

- SIGNS

Wha) «OTH YD, y
rt

Charter members of the “murder
trust” that preyed on derelicts. (C)
Anthony Marino, (D) Frank Pasqua,
snapped in the courtroom

peephole. ‘You here again?”

“Now wait a minute, me lad,”

chirped Malloy in a voice whose
timbre had been greatly altered by
years of overindulgence in alcohol.
“Tl pay you Tuesday if you'll give
me just one little one.”

“Aw, all right. Come on_ in.”
The door was unlatched and Malloy
made a beeline across the splintery
wooden floor to the bar. The man who
had let him in—a tough-looking individ-

ual with flaming red hair—begrudgingly
poured out a jigger of “smoke,” and shoved
it toward Malloy.

The derelict (Malloy had been a piece of hu-
man flotsam in the sea of modern Babylon for
well over ten years) owned the only foot that
rested against the scratched brass rail of Tony’s
place that night. For Tony, despite the fact that
he peddled his smoke at two shots to the quarter
dollar, had been hit by the Depression. The guy around
. the corner was underselling Tony by way of two jiggers
for twenty cents.

An astrologer would have told you that trouble lurked in
Malloy’s cosmic path that December night. For, as the
derelict downed the shot of smoke, two men in the backroom
regarded him with sinister, interested eyes.

Come into the backroom for 8 moment. Meet Tony, the
proprietor of the place: Tony Marino, twenty-seven, typical

23

Where “Tough Tony” Bastone fell,
after being shot in Marino’s speak-
easy. The victim’s hat shown in the
foreground marks the exact spot

kK ResBRER ES, Lirido é [BSOUA  €/7// eg yf

/ :

Tre TRAGEDY of the :

By ALAN HYND
Slice acne

(Above) Two members of the murder
ring who operated in New York City.
(A) Daniel Kriesberg, (B) Joseph
Murphy, as they appeared in court

ICHAEL MALLOY flapped
bis arms crosswise and beat
his hands against his sides
to stir up the circulation as

he shuffled along the streets of New
York’s Bronx that bitter night in
mid-December, 1932. . He wore no
overcoat’ (he had pawned it to buy
whisky a few weeks before), and a
savage wind that seemed to come
straight from the North Pole pressed
his threadbare trousers flat against his
legs, and whistled through a hole in the
crown of his dilapidated hat.

It was a few minutes lacking 9 o’clock
when Malloy ambled from St. Paul’s Place
into clamorous Third Avenue and walked
north toward 171st Street. He didn’t hear
the roar of the elevated trains above—brown
caterpillars moving through the inky night—nor
did he see the denizens of Gotham’s great Black Belt
as they cake-walked on about whatever business was at
hand, their hips bulged by bottles of thirty-five-cent
gin. For Malloy was nearing his haven—Tony’s speak-
easy, up the street a few paces.

Malloy passed through the dismal frosted outer door of
Tony’s shabby one-story store-front establishment into a
cheerless vestibule, and pressed a buzzer. Presently a slot
in an inner door slid back and a pair of eyes appeared in the
opening.

“What the hell,” rasped the man who had opened the

22


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MORE CLASSIFIED ON PAGE 51

kits,

. 80 raN

Pasqua, Hershey Green the cabby and,

now, Kreisberg. On top of all this, the

creditors of the plotters were growing
increasingly restless.

Kreisberg, the new member of the
murder ring, was a really heartless fiend.
He had been a fruit dealer, but had grown
embittered with the world and practically
everybody in it, because the corner apple
sellers of the depression era had ruined
his business. “Tll get acquainted with this
Malloy,” Kreisberg told Tony Marino, the
head plotter, as he sat behind that beaded
curtain. “Leave everything to me.”

Thus it came to pass that on the after-
noon of Washington’s birthday, Kreisberg
called Marino on the paseo “IT got Malloy
drunk in my room,” he announced. “He’s
out cold. Send somebody over with a piece
of rubber hose.”

It was, after all that travail, just as
simple as that. Red the bartender went
to Kreisberg’s room in a roach trap and
there, lying on the floor, was Mike Malloy,
stewed to the roots of his hair. Just above
the Irishman’s head was a gas jet. “You
stick the hose in his mouth,” Kreisberg
said to Red, “and I’ll attach this thing to
the gas.”

Late that afternoon, Kreisberg and Red
walked into the back room of Tony’s and
found Tony and Pasqua and Hershey
Green sitting there. “Well,” said Kreis-
berg, “we finished him off.” It had taken
the murder mob six tries to knock off the
helpless little man whose only defense was
his lack of a will to die.

An unsuspicious doctor, summoned to

’ Kreisberg’s room, ascribed the death of

Michael Malloy to pneumonia. And so the
durable Irishman, his last drink across his
cracked lips, was laid away in a cheap
cemetery plot. The insurance company
paid $2,000 on what it believed was a
natural death, and the boys split up the
swag. Since there were six of them in on
the caper, the money was spread out pretty
thin. Tony Marino, the master mind, sitting
there behind the ge beaded curtain,
began to wonder if the whole thing had
been worth the effort.

Now dissension began to rear its ugly
head. Tough Tony began to patronize
another speakeasy. There, thinking that
he had not got his share of the gravy, he
began to leak at the mouth. He posed
hypothetical questions to bar flies. How
much should a man get for his share of
money paid for a certain kind of murder?

One night Tough Tony was in a speak-
easy when a woman came in with another
man. Tough Tony a ina the woman.
“How about me and you goin’ to my room
together?” Tony asked the woman. The
woman’s companion didn’t do a_ thing
about that but whip out a gun and shoot
Tough Tony dead.

When Tony Marino heard about the
murder of Tough Tony, he was plunged
into Stygian gloom. “Why couldn’t the
ween of got hisself killed,” Marino
asked Red the barkeep, “before we cut
him in on that insurance dough?”

Now Marino, who felt somewhat
ashamed of himself for the way the plot
against Malloy had turned out financially,
began bragging to Red Murphy and to
Hershey Green that he should have
handled the thing himself. “Why?” asked
Murphy. “Because,” said Marino, “I took
care of that Maybelle Carlson dame all by
myself.’

‘ “You did!” said Murphy, lost in admira-
tion.

“Yup. I just got her drunk and took all
her clothes off and left her layin’ on the
bed with the windows open. Boy, was it
cold! I poured some ice water over her
just to make sure. She got pneumonia in a
hurry.”

“You insure her, Tony?”

“Yup. Got $2,000 on her—and I didn’t
have to share it with anyone, either.”

“You're a real smart fellow, Tony,”
said Red. |

“You bet I am.”

Now Hershey Green began to leak at
the mouth. He, too, got sore at Tony
Marino. Hershey thought Tony should
have, in addition to giving him a sixth of
the loot, paid to fix the radiator of Her-
shey’s ca ented when he hit Malloy.
Hershey began to burn so much over this
injustice that he went around asking
pone if they thought it was fair that

arino should not. pay for the damage
when the radiator had been dented when
it hit a man on Marino’s orders. Talk like
that*was stupid, but Green was a stupid
fellow.

Then Kreisberg, the gas-pipe specialist,
started to leak at the mouth. He, the dope,
began to go around asking perfect
strangers if they thought the cops igoaid
suspect that he had something to do with
giving the gas pipe to a derelict on Wash-
ington’s birthday.

That really did it. The cops heard about
that question of Kreisberg’s. They also
heard about that question Hershey Green
was going aroun asking, and they also
picked up the fact that Tough Tony Bas-
tone and Tony Marino had been quarreling
over some insurance money. So all the
cops had to do was put everything they
had heard in proper sequence and, presto,
get terribly suspicious.

A couple of nosy detectives began to
thumb through the death records for
Washington’s birthday. They found that
a Michael Malloy had died that day. They
wrote to all the insurance companies, ask-
ing if Michael Malloy had been insured.
Thus they unearthed the transaction in-
volving Marino.

The dicks, hearing the scuttlebutt about
Tony Marino’s having killed Maybelle
Carlson for insurance, dug into the death
records and learned that, sure enough, a
Maybelle Carlson had died 11 months
previously at the same address in the
Bronx as Tony Marino had a couple of
rooms. Checking with insurance com-
panies, the dicks came up with the infor-
mation that Miss Carlson had been insured
for $2,000 and that the beneficiary had
been Tony Marino.

Malloy was secretly dug up. The body
was almost as well preserved as a brandied
peach or cherry—a beautiful cherry-red
hue that gas poisoning gives to a body. No
need to bother now about Maybelle Carl-
son. A man has but one life to give to the
electric chair,

- The boys in the back room were
under the magnifying glass. Pasqua
paid the casket company something on

‘ account the day after the insurance money

had been paid. Marino had settled an alky
bill at the same time. Red Murphy had
bought a new suit. The law lowered the
boom. The plotters outdid each other fill-
ing the detectives in on every detail of
what had gone on. They thought that talk
would be mistaken for co-operation and
that by being co-operative they would
escape the big burn. Hershey Green, the
cabby, was the only one to get off with a
prison stretch. Marino, Pasqua, Murphy
and Kreisberg died in the hot seat in Sing
Sing.

Poor Tony Marino. Up to the very night
he was executed he kept railing against
the fates. Here he had gone to all that
trouble to get Mike Malloy out of the way
and what had happened? What had he got
for all his trouble? A few hundred dol-
lars and the electric chair. In a way,
maybe poor Tony Marino had something
when he felt sorry for himself.

tiie Sana es

he

[oll
a

TESTE


SAMUEL J. FOLEY

District Attorney in the Bronx, that part of Greater New
York where the. “murder trust” had its headquarters.
Foley and his men finally trapped the ringleaders

24

(Above) The death room where the seemingly
‘Gndestructible’” man finally succumbed to the
plotting fiends who murdered for profit

spawn of prohibition, who’d pat you on the back
in order to find a spot to plant a knife. And meet
Tony’s friend—Frankie Pasqua, an undertaker by
profession, a drunkard by recreation. Pasqua, too,
is on’ the laughing side of thirty, and is what his
friends call dressed to kill. Striped trousers, cut-
away coat, winged collar, and a Chesterfield and a
bowler hanging on the hook up there. But don’t let
that deceive you. He’s just buried somebody this
afternoon, and come to Tony’s right after. Despite
his sartorial splendor, you still wouldn’t want to
meet up with Mr. Pasqua in a dark alley.

oe. MARINO had a way with the women.
Three years before, he had met up with a blonde
street-walker named Maybelle Carlson, attractive
after a fashion. Maybelle had been a frequenter of
the speakeasy. Tony always saw to it that she got
all she wanted to drink—on the cuff. Often, when
Maybelle had more than she could carry, Tony
took her home, to a tawdry rooming-house not far
from his place.

One day Maybelle was found dead in her room.
The police noted the rather odd fact that the young
lady had practiced the peculiar custom of sleep-
ing nude and uncovered, and with the window
wide open, in the dead of winter. A physician (and
who was there to doubt him?) ascribed. death to
pneumonia.

And so Maybelle Carlson was buried, Pasqua
officiating in his best graveside manner. Two weeks
later, Tony Marino received a check from the Met-
ropolitan Life Insurance Company of Newark, New
Jersey, for fifteen hundred dollars. Tony, pecu-
liarly enough, had been named the beneficiary in
a policy taken out by Miss Maybelle Carlson some
few months prior to her untimely demise.

And so, on the night that concerns us—this bit-
ter night in mid-December of 1932—Tony Marino
and Frankie Pasqua, the undertaker, had been en-
gaged in earnest, low-toned conversation just before

Malloy, the
Pasqua,
pression. ]
getting as 1
taker rem:
much as ey
as much fo

‘Well, wl
the deeper.
“T was on
ought to se
there's a su
Just your s

Tony sat
tomers, few

Suddenly
eves.

“-4T got ar
a guy I c:
the underta

The worc
the idea ha:
taker, than

“How al
head ever s

ONY fol
Malloy.
forty years
tion. Mall
quarter at t
all night, v
tomers; or >
lining in hi
acter in th
trust today,
“An idea,
Out in the
for another ¢
Daniel Mur
Malloy’s par


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. Train at home in spare .

‘| NORTH AMERICAN Careers through Home Study 3

As Mike told it, he had wobbled out
in front of a car and nearly got killed,
After spending nine wearisome weeks
in the hospital — one that the plotters
had visited while trying to locate him
— he was released. Through a clerical
error, Malloy’s name was not register-
ed on the accident calendar when the
plotters had called.

The group behind the curtain now
faced the horns of a dilemma. Whom
should they send to glory — McCar-
thy after he got out of the sick berth
— or should they take up where they
left off with Malloy? Finally, they con-
cluded Malloy was a bit troublesome.
They would wait for McCarthy’s
release and send him to his last
account,

From his secluded spot behind the
trimmed curtain, Marino yelled to
Murphy: ‘‘Throw that goddamn bum
Out on his ass!”’

And so Murphy picked up Mike
Malloy by the collar and the seat of
the pants and tossed him out into the
snow.

That very night McCarthy was
released from the hospital, after a mir-
aculous recovery. A reporter took a
picture of him, got his story, and ran

it in the afternoon edition. The article
called him Mike Malloy and that tick-
led the boys no end, because now the
insurance company would hardly be
in a position to argue the point. But
when the boys went looking for
McCarthy, he had vanished into thin
air, Now they were stuck with an insur-
ance policy and no way to collect on
it.

For a week the five fanned out cov-
ering the heavily trafficked Bronx dis-
trict in search of Mike Malloy. Final-
ly Tough Tony found him guzzling
wine in an alley. Poor Mike was a wob-
bling wreck. ‘‘We want you to come
back to Marino’s,’’ Tough Tony said.
“‘That business of throwing you out
in the snow was all a mistake, pal.’’

Even a vagabond has pride. Witha
smile forcing his chubby cheeks wide,
Mike told Tony: ‘‘There’s nothing you

can say to make me go back to that
pigsty, I've a decent job now, shovel-
ing snow and cleaning out the john at
O’Leary’s.’’ Tony begged, but Mal-
loy turned a deaf ear and lopped off
towards O’Leary’s, the most popular
groggery in the Bronx.

Since Mallow had made it clear that
he wouldn’t return, it became neces-
sary for the boys to enlist a sixth ras-
cal into the death scheme. And so, with
the enlistment of Dan Kreisberg, a pal

(continued on next page)

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Stand-In For Murder

(continued from page 57)

of Tough Tony’s, and a dilapidated
fruit peddler, the arduous, time-
consuming task of preparing Mike
Malloy for the next world began all

over again.
Around lunchtime on Washington’s

Birthday, Danny lured Malloy out of
O’Leary’s and took him to a ratty flop-
house on Fulton Street, near the Pas-
qua Memorial Home. There, Danny
promptly got Malloy stoned to the
gills. After Malloy had blacked out,
_Kreisberg telephoned Marino for

instructions. Like a shot, Murphy was
dispatched to the flat where Danny was
waiting with a thick rubber hose.One
end of the hose was attached to a gas
jet and the other was shoved down
Malloy’s throat. In a couple of minutes
Malloy was dead.

There was a big celebration that
night behind the curtain. Pasqua con-
tacted an unscrupulous doctor and
slipped him $50 to sign the death cer-

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tificate. On paper Malloy had died of
pneumonia.

The crusty old Irishman was placed
in a clumsy wooden box and planted
in a twelve-dollar grave in a Bronx
cemetery without a whisper of suspic-
ion. The ordeal was over, and Tony
Marino received a check for $800 on
March 1, 1933, from the Metropolit-
an Life Insurance, as payment for Mal-
loy’s policy.

Time and expenses considered, $800
was nothing to write home about. The
boys behind the spangly curtain beg-
an squabbling about who should get
what and who had contributed the
most to the plot. Tough Tony blabber-
ed about the part he had played in the
murder. He said Marino wouldn’t give
him a decent slice of the pie. Hershey
Green, the cabbie, told friends he had
run over a waif for a pal and hadn’t
been paid a dime. And Kreisberg went
from bar to bar asking friends if they
thought he could be arrested for giv-
ing a guy gas although his death pap-
ers said he had died of pneumonia.

The gossip reached the Bronx pol-
ice. A routine investigation into Mal-

loy’s death was conducted,

Sifting clues, two Bronx detectives
went browsing through the death
records on Washington’s Birthday.
They found the papers on Mike Mal-
loy. These were suspicious enough to
have Mike dug up.

A police medical examiner found
that Mike Malloy had died via gas
poisoning.

So the boys behind the fringed cur-
tain, beginning with Marino, to whom
the policy was made out, were roasted
on the police grill. Pasqua had come
up with the money to pay off his old

' bills the day after Marino received the

insurance payoff. Marino had settled
a long-overdue booze bill, that very
day. And Dave Murphy had paid cash
for a second-hand red Ford roaster.

After a few days of cat-and-mouse
in a dingy police station, the entire
bunch confessed — all except Tough
Tony. A ratty thug known as Little
Joe had drilled him full of holes dur-
ing a quarrel over a dice game.

The prosecution built an insur-
mountable case against the fiendish
crew and Hershey Green was the only
one sent to state prison. The others,
Marino, Pasqua, Murphy and Kreis-
berg, all died on the electric chair at
Sing Sing. . *

ER Sexgeitie ise ee

Carol & Doug Craved ‘Newly Deads'’

(continued from page 9)

‘I sort of hoped it wasn’t true,’’ she
told police. ‘‘Then I found the head.”’

She said she came home one after-
noon while the kids were away visiting
relatives and found a severed head —
later identified as Exxie Wilson’s —
lying on the kitchen counter. She said
at this point she was so much under
Doug’s spell that she didn’t know what
to do about the head.

“Doug just laughed,’’ she remem-
bered. ‘‘He told me to play with the
head and put make-up on it, so I did.”
She said Doug later joined the ghoulish
game and played with the head while
he took a shower.”’

By late July, Carol was accom-
panying her boyfriend when he went
cruising the Strip for prostitutes. In
one instance she said she handed Clark

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the gun to kill a prostitute, whose body
was later found near Tuna Canyon
Road.

During this time she would occa-
sionally see her old boyfriend Jack
Murray when she went for a drink at
the Little Nashville. Apparently she

tipped her hand during one of the:

meetings because Murray said he
suspected Clark was mixed up in the
Sunset Slayings the paper were writing
about and he thought about going to
police.

Carol said, she wanted to talk with

‘him before he went, and.arranged to

meet at midnight, August 3rd, outside
the club. Murray was right on time,
pulling his custom van into the lot at
precisely midnight. A few minutes later
Carol opened the passenger door and
got in beside him. She said she carried
a boning knife and a gun tucked in
her pants.

The body was discovered four days
later when someone noticed an

(continued on next page)

gt ee


i Humbert Morus tay


‘different. The sun grew
F finally retreated into an

sky. A brisk wind scur-|°
he avenues, wrestling with |.

padgear both masculine and
, and a few. scatterifig
rain. threatened .devasta-
me hundreds of thousands
worth of Easter raiment.
sis passed, however, and
ty 2 P.M. the promenad-
practically carnival propor-
ontinued their pacing be-
ifty-seventh Street and the
ta at Rockefeller Center.

2 Degrees Below Normal
the weather was not what
“called idea] for Easter,
of the local Weather Bu-
pwed it was more or less
The high was .53 degrees
iM. and the low'44 at 6 P. M.
ye was 48, or 2 below nor-
e‘record ‘high for the date
n 1808 and thf record low

“the great church edifices
ity Fue members.of tremen:

be required before!
tion,: itis underst

pendent milk me
is generally 1 or
the cost of ad

bers. of the coopera
milk through the
kk the milk

“| from the Howdy Clu
in’

.| Hospital with woynds from’ police
‘bullets,.the detectives were able to

jp arrest four other men. Detectives

| James Hayden, Eugene Caneveri,
‘Frank Crimmins and Charles Mc- |
‘Gowan, acting under Lieutenant

}j Martin: Owens and Deputy Inspec- oy,

| Midieli, 2,015 Second Avenue.

ended yesterday after the y ight ad
had received: word of the death of
Humbert Morey in Co-

“Patrolman ° Moruzzi was shot by

an : one” ‘Of the club robbers. Fellow-|
policemen shot down: ke three hold- :

pmen. =.
© Moruzzi received two blood trans-
fusions in an effort to save. his life.

fednesday morning from the
oman: Catholic ‘Church of St: Ber-
ard, 334 West Fourteenth Street..

be ‘Records kept by‘a taxicab driver

‘who drove the gang to many of

- their ‘robberies helped: the detec-
tives” to link™ at least. ten‘ recent’
:. old-ups to’ members of the gang ar-

ested in the Club “Howdy.
‘Driver. Received Extra ‘Pay.

The chauffeur, the ‘police ‘said,
was. willing to drive the men. to

;{the scene of a proposed robbery

‘and ‘collect a few extra dollars for
the. hazardous nature of the call,

but took no pert in. the hold-up.

“recorded each trip on his

loyer, noting the place ‘and ‘the;
time, which detectives were later

able to match against a series, of

hold-up reports:. Although he:had
no direct part in the: hold-ups the
{|cab driver, Julius Paider, 427 East
Seventy-third Street, faces a charge

of assault and robbery:
_ By linking him to Chester Carson
: ‘and John Kulka of 161 West Thir-

ty-sixth Street, two the bandits
who are now

serious condition! in Bellevue

tor Richard F.° Oliver, traced the

od. hold-ups.

“When the prisoners w ‘were sounted
up, the police said, they learned

5] that the arrests had checked plans

to hold up’ Jack Dempsey's bar,..8
prominent Brooklyn lawyer ‘and

“| several small West Side hotels.

‘Carson sat in Dempsey’s one night

“<1 and saw Jim Braddock and Jack

Dempsey at a table together. *tT'a

--| like to go out and get the ‘toy’ and:
{etick this joint up,”’ he said, ‘ac-
: ‘cording to the story told to the /po-

Nice’ by’ “his companion, Charles

-Micleli argued the foothardiness':

~.|| of holding ‘up’. two former wotld
heavyweight champions.

+ Nobody is tough ‘when a gun is

|| pointed at him,”* Carson replied. “I
can't do it now anyway. 7 have no

Continued ea ‘Page Stx )

4 He will receive’an inspector's fu- | *
is | neral:'

Crane have not compl

blesome task of RTE
vention. patronage, but the m
part of the work has been a
the rest may be

ate, are determ:
question of) pari-

nents argued | thee th te ou
not consistently ban’ private
teries, as they bad ;

statute for many |

I ters to members of the Cabinet.

On| March ..28 he ‘published ” ‘an-
tee letter attacking the Premier,
Patriarch Miron. Christea, an 4 and nls
government, asking? eee

|

‘How can you suffer. hese: “old
men with. their: atrophied.
We no longer ask. I

brains? swore to follo

ll up there, in that
:stchester.”

voice, showing no
lroned on with his

when he went to
3, in answer to the
ig Budd for a job,
1 the intentions of
away so he could
udd home, he saw
and she attracted
ins to kill her.

to take her to the
dn’t been difficult
‘t directly to the
n, where he had
ord, Westchester.
alked her down a
d house, called in
Vistaria Cottage,”
had been vacant
g affair built after
ar.

e to go out and
2nt up to the sec-
1 out a canvas he
eat cleaver and a

ts of murder
Street before

wwe on that fatal

ter he had spread
he undressed and
0 come up to the
;, unsuspecting of
her, but when she
reamed piteously,
but as she called
around her little
t of the body.

was dead, he pro-
ody up in three
a the canvas and
arew them in the

rent back 1 » the ~
ays later ‘to nak
ody and arra.

e of order bea?

the police up to
d show them the

, were looking at
h killers of their
se calm and stolid
srturbable recital
of his story, wad)

»stchester and be-
house, set in the
aid he at one time
ull of a little girl
» the skeleton.
o New York, put
ves continued to
t bones were
ian skeletons,
ve tnat the brutal
udd was only one

f

cate, which he did as a matter of routine
and then forgot about it.

Outside the doctor’s office, Brockman
and Byrnes jumped in their police car,
with Brockman driving and heading for
Westchester,

“There’s something suspicious about
this Mellory’s death,” Brockman said,
“and now I’m going to find out if an un-
dertaker by the name of Frank buried
him.”

At the Ferncliff cemetery they inter-
viewed the sexton, who had to consult
his records about the burial of Mellory,
but after he consulted his records, he
recalled the case.

“Yes, | remember that case,” he said.
“A funny burial. He was brought here
by a hearse and two men and dumped
in the grave and covered in a hurry, the
burial taking place late in the evening.
No funeral, no nothing but a cheap pine
casket and two mysterious men.”

“Who was the undertaker?” Brock-
man demanded.

“The Pasqua undertaking parlors,”
the sexton replied. ‘I believe they. are
in Harlem or the lower Bronx.”

“The Pasqua undertaking parlors,”
Brockman said. “Why, that is one of the
leading undertaking concerns in Har-
lem. Was Pasqua with the body?”

“No, only two men I didn’t know,”
the sexton replied. “They had a Pasqua
hearse.”

This was all the information Brock-
man wanted from the sexton and .the
next moment he and Byrnes were back
in their police car, racing back to the
Bronx. It was, late when they drove up
in front of the Pasqua Undertaking Par-
lors, and the first thing the two detec-
tives noted was the fact that these par-
lors were directly across the street from
Doctor Manzella’s office.

In the Pasqua parlors they were
greeted with the information that there
was no record of any burial of a Nicholas
Mellory and that the undertaking com-
pany had not handled the case. Pasqua,
head of the concern, was an elderly
Italian, whose reputation was unimy
peachable and he seemed surprised when
told that a hearse from his company had
driven to Ferncliff Cemetery on Febru-
ary 24th with a body.

When questioned about his help, the
elder Pasqua informed the police that he
had a son, who sometimes helped him,
and that son’s name was Frank!

Back in the District Attorney’s office,
Brockman and Byrnes. sat across the desk
from Foley, whose face by this time was
tense with excitement.

“That death certificate,” Foley said,
“is beginning to get us somewhere, but

American Detective

(Continued from page 29)

we're still on thin ice and we're not
showing our hand until we have some-
thing. I am convinced now that Mellory
was murdered and-he is the man that
tip was about,”

“We found the undertaker by the
name of Frank,” Brockman admitted,

“but that son of old man Pasqua isn’t a_

murderer.”
“I’m not saying he is,” Foléy replied,

“but the murderer could easily have |

used the boy; who is unsuspecting, to
have the victim buried.”

“We'd better find out first whether
Mellory was murdered,” Brockman sug-
gested. ‘““We can exhume .. 7?

“We'll exhume the body when we
know a little more,” Foley answered.
“It’s a safe bet that that grave is being
watched and the minute we start to dig
it up, the murderer or murderers are go-
ing to run, and if they do, we'll never
find them in a hundred years. We’re
going to work on the motive now.”

“Mellory was undoubtedly a derelict,”
Brockman said. “The description the
landlady gave of him fits that pretty
well. Why would anyone want to kill
a bum?”

“We'll find out everything we can
about Mellory,” Foley replied, “and then
we can start to work on the motive. In
the meantime, we are going to find this
so-called brother, Joseph Mellory, that
rented the room for him.”

But finding the brother proved an im-
possible job, even though the entire re-
sources of the Bronx police department
were thrown in the search. The under-
world was combed without results. The
man that had given the tip to the Dis-
trict Attorney’s office was told about it,
but’ he could find no one that had ever
heard of the man.

Then suddenly the strange case, which

had started with the vague tip-off about
a man having been murdered, took a
turn that sent detectives scurrying to
downtown Manhattan, Foley and Brock-

“man. had overlooked nothing in the

amazing case, and two days later came
the information from a large Insurance

Company that Nicholas Mellory had~

carried an industrial insurance policy
with them and that the check had been
paid to his brother, Joseph Mellory.

Foley, on receipt of this information
requested the Insurance Company, one
of the big National concerns, to pro-
duce the agent that had sold -Mellory
the policy.

Detectives went down to Manhattan
to question this agent. They got the
startling information from the agent
that he had never seen the man Mellory,
but that he had been instructed to leave

The Mystery of the Man Who Wouldn’t Die

the blanks for the policies at the Pasqua
Undertaking Parlors and that he had re-
turned the next day and they were
signed by Mellory and the money was
waiting for him.

The policy was industrial insurance,
which didn’t require a physical exam-
ination or the presence of the insured.
The agent admitted that he. took the
signed application blank and the money
and issued the Insurance without asking
any questions.

Inspector Brockman went back to the
Pasqua Undertaking Parlors. The elderly
Pasqua was shocked to hear what the
agent had said and gladly gave the In-
spector a chance to make any search or
do any questioning he wished, but Pasqua
said he knew nothing about the applica-
tion blank and that there must have
been some mistake.

And while Brockman was investigat-
ing the undertaking parlors, District At-
torney Foley was down town, talking
with a high official of the Insurance
Company, who had produced the records
of the agent that had issued the insur-
ance to Mellory for Foley to examine.

What Foley found in these records
caused a-grim smile to come to his face,
and several hours later he was back in
the Bronx, talking to Brockman.

“We're getting somewhere now,” he
said, “‘and if nothing happens, we'll dig
Mellory up and see just how he was
killed.”

But something did happen, something
that brought Foley’s house of cards
down in a crumpled heap.

From the Lincoln Hospital came the
report that a man named Nicholas Mel-
lery had been a patient there, between
the dates of February 22nd and March
21st. .The. hospital record showed that
on the night of February 7th he had
been picked up on the street in Austin
Place by a motorist, with his body
crushed by a car that had apparently run
over him. When brought to the hos-
pital he was in a state of advanced al-
coholism.

Where he had gone after leaving the
hospital nobody knew, except that he
had given the address of 3775 Third
Avenue as his home when he had re-
gained consciousness.

And then came another bombshell
that caused Foley and Brockman to look
at each other in wonder. From the Ford-
ham Hospital came the report that on
February 22nd, a Nicholas Mellory had
been discharged after having been in
the hospital from February 7th to
February 22nd. He had been picked up
on Bayside Avenue, Westchester, his
body crushed by a car that had apparent-


68

ly run over it, and as in the case of the
Lincoln Hospital report, he had been
found by a motorist and brought to the.
hospital.

“Nicholas Mellory gets out of Ford-
ham Hospital on February 22nd, che
same date he is admitted to the Lincoln
Hospital,” Brockman said, “and on Feb-
ruary 23rd he died and on the 24th he
was buried in Ferncliff Cemetery, and at
the same time, he is a live patient at the
Lincoln Hospital.”

“Very complicated chinese puzzle,”
Foley admitted. “This man Mellory seems
to be a cat with something like nine
lives.”

“The answer to the puzzle,” Brock-
man said, “is very simple. The man
buried as Mellory wasn’t Mellory at all.”

“Part of that, I believe, is true,” Foley
replied, “only, I’m going to add a little
to it. I don’t think there is such a man
as Nicholas Mellory anywhere and never
has been.”

“Meaning?”

“All right,” Foley said, “Ill try to
explain. Both of these so-called Nicholas
Mellory’s were admitted to the differ-
ent hospitals after someone had run over
them with a car, apparently leaving
them for dead... .”

“And where does that get us?” Brock-
man cut in.

“To the simple fact,” Foley answered,
“that neither of these admitted, each so
stupified by drink that they knew
nothing, was Mellory.” ;

“And the man buried in Ferncliff
Cemetery?” Brockman asked.

“The first Nicholas Mellory, the one
that was discharged from the Fordham
Hospital on February 22nd,” Foley re-
plied, “the address the man in the Lin-
coln Hospital gave as his home was 3775
Third Avenue. Know what that is?”

“Sure, it’s Tony Marino’s speakeasy,”
Brockman replied. ““We got his bar-
tender, Joe Murphy, in the county jail as
a material witness in a killing that took
place three weeks ago.”

“All right,” Foley said. “I want you
to go down to Marino’s place and keep
your ears and eyes open, but don’t let
anyone know what you are there for.
Somewhere in that dive you are going to
find out somethirtg.”

Tony Marino’s speakeasy at 3775
Third Avehue was a cheap, dirty dive,
where about every form of poison liquor
obtainable was served to the human dere-
licts that hung around the place. It was
in a basement, with the barroom in front
and small rooms at the rear. The riff-
raff of the Bronx gathered there, down-
and-outers ‘who spent their few pennies
for drinks that would kill the average
man.

Marino had once owned a speakeasy
in Harlem, a higher type of place, but
the business depression and the repeal
of the prohibitory laws had killed his

American Detective

business and landed him on Third Ave--
nue, dealing out wood alcohol and wa-
ter for a nickel and catering to the low-
est scum of human nature.

Brockman knew .Tony, and, on the
whole, Marino stood fairly well with the
police, his record was not exactly clean,
but for a man in his walk of life, it was
considered satisfactory.

Marino was behind the bar, serving
his poison liquor to the human wreckage
that lined his bar, when Brockman and
Byrnes entered the place.

“Hello, Inspector,” Marino called out:

cheerfully, “when you gonna let Joe
out? I need my bartender because I
don’t like to work.”

“Murphy will be back in a few days
now,” Brockman answered, “And tell
him not to be looking on when some-
one is killed.”

“Fe’s dumb, Joe is,” Marino retorted.
“Doesn’t know enough to look the other
way when someone pulls a gat.”

“Murphy’s O.K.,” Brockman an-
swered,

“Looking for someone?” Marino
asked.

“There was a stick-up last night,”

Brockman answered.

“What, again?” Marino laughed good-
naturedly. “Well, look the boys over.
You're liable to find anything down in
this dump.”

Brockman looked the boys over, but
most of his looking was directed to Ma-
rino, who had suddenly left the bar and
was walking for the rear rooms, disap-
pearing through a door.

“Tony seems to be nervous about some
of his boys,” Brockman said to Detec-
tive Byrnes.

‘Brockman and Byrnes went through
the door Marino had used and came into
a small, dirty room, with a table in the
center anda few chairs around the wall.
A bottle of whisky set on the table and
two empty glasses.

But only one man was there when the
detectives entered, a tall, sharp-faced
chap, with the manner and looks of the
underworld.

Marino turned and stared at Brock-
man and Byrnes as they entered the room,
his face losing some’ of its good nature.
Brockman walked up to the table, picked
up the whisky glasses.

““Where’s your drinking pal?” Brock-
man said to the man at the table. “There
were two men in here when you en-
tered,”

Somewhere in the rear of the base-
ment a door closed softly. Byrnes went
out of the room from the rear and Brock-
man looked at Marino and smiled.

Brockman said.

“Come clean, Inspector,” Marino
growled. “You're not here looking for a
sticksup man. You don’t handle cases

like that.”

Brockman looked at the man stand-
ing at the table.

“Who's this chap?” he asked Marino.

“Danny Kriesberger,” Marino an-
swered, “but you ain’t looking for him.
I know him and he’s okay,” «

“Sure, he’s okay,” Brockman replied.

Detective Byrnes came back in the
room and announced that the man they
had heard in the rear had disappeared.

“Who was he?” Brockman dema~* 2
of Marino.

Marino shrugged.

“I don’t know the names of these
bums,” he said. “Maybe Danny here
knew him.”

“Sure, I knew him,” Danny Kries-
berger said. “His name was Smith, Bill
Smith.”

“Smart boy, you are, Kriesberger,”
Brockman. shot back, “but it’s dumb
punks like you that make the police fa-
mous.”

“What are you looking for,- Inspec-
tor?” Marino cut in angrily.

“You'd be surprised, Tony,” Brock-
man retorted, “and before I leave here
I’m going to find it.” -.

When Brockman and Byrnes left the
dive, they had found enough to convince
them that the mystery of Nicholas Mel-

lory was tied up in some way with the.

place. Just how they did not know, but
two things found there told them that
Mellory, or at leagt that name, was
not a stranger to the place.

On a dirty notebook, where Marino
kept such records as he had, including
credits to the bums he knew or had
work for him, they found the name of
Nicholas Mellory. They didn’t question
Marino about this name, but went di-
rectly to District Attorney Foley’s of-
fice to report their find.

“T thought so,” Foley said. “Marino
is good at shielding crooks and we'll
never get anything out of him. We'll
question Murphy and after we question
him, J’ll see that no one gets to him so
he can tip the murderers of Nicholas
Mellory off to the fact that we’re on
their trail.” ee

Joe Murphy, Marino’s bartender, be-
ing held in the county jail as a mate-
rial witness, was brought to Foley’s of-
fice. Murphy was a mild mannered,

rather good looking chap, with nervous .

eyes that seemed always to carry a look

‘of fear.

**Joe,” Foley said to him, “we're up

against a hard case and I think you can

help us. What do you know about
Nicholas Mellory?”

For one brief moment the face of Joe

_ Murphy lost all color and his eyes darted
“guess he didn’t want to see me,”

from Brockman to Foley in a strange
manner.
“Nicholas Mellory?” he said hoarse-
ly. “Why, I never heard of the man.”
“Yes, you have, Joe,” Foley replied.
“You know most.of the bums that drink

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72

face left and his eyes went glassy with
fear, but he managed to gasp: “Well,
Foley, you’ve made some mistake. ...”

“No mistake, Murphy,” Foley inter-
rupted, reaching in a desk drawer pulling
out papers: One was a check and another
was the receipt Murphy had signed for
the five dollars in cash given him by As-
sistant District Attorney Carney.

“You might as well talk, Murphy,”
Foley continued. “We've known for sev-
eral days that you were the man that
posed as the brother of Nicholas Mel-
lory, the man that rented a room for him
at 1210 Fulton Avenue, the night. he
died. We’ve known this ever since you
signed that receipt for that five dollars.”

Foley lifted the check on the desk up
so Murphy could see it.

“You’ve seen this before,” Foley
added. “It’s the check from the Insur-
ance Company for eight hundred dollars,
the amount of Mellory’s insurance policy.
It was mailed to you and you endorsed
it as Joseph Mellory, his brother. We
have compared the handwriting on that
receipt signature with the endorsement
on the check. They are the same.”

Faced with this evidence Murphy
broke and talked, not trying to keep
back anything, and while he talked Ed-
ward Byrnes was arresting Marino, Daniel
Kriesberger and Frank Pasqua, the young
son of Antonio Pasqua, owner of the un-
dertaking parlors.

Marino was brought in Foley’s office
next. He laughed at the story at first,
but when he found that Murphy had
talked and Murray had appeared, he
broke and confessed. Frank Pasqua came
next and his resistance failed to stand
long in front of the evidence.

Kriesberger was a harder man to break
and it took several hours but in the end
he confessed as had the others.

In all the annals of crime there is no
more strange, no more pitiful or brutal
story than that told by the four men
_ that confessed to the murder of Mike

Mellory, the man buried as the fictitious
Mellory. What the four did not tell,
Frank Murray, the man sent to the Lin-
coln Hospital as Mellory, added.

It was in Marino’s speakeasy that the
plot to have the life of one of the nu-
merous derelicts that hung out there in-
sured and killed for insurance. On the
face of it, it all looked simple and safe
to Marino and the three men he took in
with him on the plot. Young Pasqua
was to handle the burial of the body and
Kriesberger and Murphy were to handle
the rough work.

Mike Mellory, a homeless drifter, was
chosen as the victim. Two applications
for insurance were made, one for three
thousand and one for two. Young Pasqua
was to be the beneficiary in both cases,
but the insurance company refused the
applications on the grounds that Pasqua
had no legal right to collect the money.

American Detective

Then they changed tactics, made
Murphy the fictitious Joseph Mellory,
brother of Nicholas MeHory; and under
this arrangement one policy for eight
hundred: dollars was taken out in one
company and two policies of four hun-
dred and ninety-five each from another
company. The applications were left in
the Pasqua funeral parlors for the agents,
so he would not see Mellory and the in-
surance went through.

All that remained now was to kill
Mellory. The plan was to get him drunk,
which wasn’t hard, and to let kim out in
the night somewhere, wet and unpro-
tected, so that he would get pneumonia.
That would leave no traces behind and
would give the killers the insurance.

But from the start the four men en-
countered difficulties that seemed to defy
all laws of human life. They got Mellory
drunk, took him out in Crotona ‘Park,
covered him with wet blankets and let
him sleep his drunk off in freezing
weather. But he didn’t even get a cold.

They tried this again, using the same
park. Again Mellory slept his drunk off
and woke up feeling fine, with no sign
of a cold or pneumonia. So the four men

_ decided that the man wouldn’t die of

pneumonia and they tried ground glass

in his food, but he got fat on the diet. °

And all this time the four men were
feeding him, giving him all he wanted to
drink, and the expenses were running up.
It was Marino that conceived the idea of

contaminated sardines and to make their:

work certain, he cut the tip of the can
into a hundred pieces, sprinkled the tin
with the sardines,

Mellory ate the sardines and demanded
more. Another can was ready. He ate
these, but gave no symptoms of getting
sick. Disgusted now and tired of paying
out money for drinks, they,took Mellory
to Bayside Avenue, in Westchester, in a
drunken stupor and laid him on the
pavement. Then they drove a taxi over
him several times, leaving him’ there
for dead. i

The next morning they were greeted
with the news that Mellory was in Ford-
ham Hospital, wanting to see his pals,
his pals by this time had given up hope
of ever killing him; so they looked
around for another man to act the part
of Nicholas Mellory. They finally chose
Frank Murray, and he was subjected to
the same things that Mellory went
through, but he, too, withstood them,
one after another, until at last, as in the
case of Mellory, the four decided to run
over him with a taxi. They picked Austin
Place, the Bronx, for the job, getting
Murray dead drunk. They ran over his
body once, but as they started the sec-
ond time, a car came along and they had
to flee.

Murray was picked up and taken to
the Lincoln Hospital, where his broken
bones were mended and he, in time, .re-

cea ale A is a

ei ti ac

covered. But on this same day, February
22nd, Mellory was discharged from Ford-
ham Hospital and returned to his pals at
Marino’s speakeasy.

This time Marino decided that there
would be:rid question of death. Murphy,
posing as the brother, rented a room for
Mellory. Marino gave Kriesberger a rub-
ber hose, with instructions to see that
Mellory inhaled gas until he died.

In celebration of his return to his pals,
Mellory at once got drunk, and in this
condition they took him to the rented
room. They laid him on the bed, but
the hose wouldn’t reach, so they dumped
him on the floor, stuck the hose in his
mouth, and then holding his nose and
keeping his lips tight around the hose,
they let him breath the gas until all life
was gone.

After that he was thrown back on
the bed and Murphy spent the night with
the body. Early the following morning
Doctor Manzella arrived.and made out”
the death certificate, giving the cause of
death as pneumonia. Young Pasqua was
ready with the hearse and the body was
rushed to the Ferncliff Cemetery where
the body was hurriedly buried.

The confession of the four men
brought to an abrupt end, the most
baffling mystery the Bronx police ever
faced.

On October 11th, the four men came
up for trial. They did not try to retract

_their confessions and the trial was mere-

ly perfunctory. The four were found
guilty and sentenced to be electrocuted.

Justice acted speedily in their cases.
There was no money for appeals, except
the case of Murphy, and on June 7, 1934,
three of the men, Marino, Pasqua and
Kriesberger paid with their lives for the
crime of killing the human wreck of a
life that thought, for once, he had met
with real pals.

A reprieve was granted Murphy. His
family came forth and offered the de-
fense that he was not mentally responsi-
ble, that he had once been mentally de-
ranged.

_ But the new trial was not granted and
on July 5, 1934 he paid with his life
for the part he played in the grue-
some murder drama. Doctor Manzella,
who signed the death certificate, was ar-
rested and charged by the police with
being an accessory to the crime, on the
alleged grounds that he had signed an
erroneous death certificate. The four
men had sworn that Manzella knew
about the cause of death and they had
paid him two hundred dollars for the ©
certificate.

Manzella denjed this, claiming that he
only made an honest mistake, but a jury
in the Bronx County Court found him
guilty of a misdemeanor which carries
either a fine or thirty-five months, and
as American Detective Magazine goes

, to press he is awaitimg sentence.

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70

at Marino’s and you know Mellory.”

“Honest to God, Chief,” Murphy pro-
tested, “I never heard of the man.”

“Joe,” Foley said quietly, “lying isn’t
going to help you any. We’ve given
you every break we could while you are
being held as a witness. We’ve paid your
fees without protest for every day.
You’ve got to tell us who this Nicholas
Mellory really is. We know that isn’t
his name.”

Murphy’s eyes were on Foley with a
fixed stare, a stare of fear and terror.

“I don’t know the man,” he protested
weakly. “My God, I’d tell you if I did.”

“All right, Joe,” Foley said quietly.
“We just thought maybe you might be
willing to help us because we. can help
you a great deal.”

But Murphy kept up his protest that
he didn’t know the man, and after a few
minutes Foley had him taken back to his
cell, with strict instructions that nobody
was to get near him.

When Murphy was gone, Foley said
to Brockman: “I got a hunch.”

“Okay,” Brockman replied.
is it?”

“[’m going’ to pay Murphy some
money and get a receipt from him,”
Foley replied. “I think I know why he
was afraid to talk—and I don’t blame
him.”

Assistant District Attorney Arthur
Carney went to Murphy’s cell several
hours later, gave Murphy five dollars
in cash, and got a receipt.

When Foley saw the receipt, he
jumped to his feet.

“This case is going to crack any min-
ute now,” he cried, “and before it does,
we want the body of the man that was
buried as Nicholas Mellory.”

It was late in the evening when the

police arrived at the Ferncliff cemetery
to dig up the body of the man that had
been buried as Nicholas Mellory.

It was hauled from the grave and
opened, and one look at the man that lay
in there told a pitiful, ghastly tale of his
burial. The body had not been embalmed
and it had been thrown in the box as a
person might throw a sack of potatoes.

For three months it had lain there.
Rain had seeped in the pine box and. had
half filled it. The features of the man
were almost obliterated, but enough re-
mained for the police to see that the
corpse was that of a man around forty,
tall and slim. The clothes, half rotted
from his decomposing body, were ragged
and dirty. Everything about the body
indicated poverty and want.

Hurriedly he had been buried, a for-
gotten human wreck that had moved
through life as a derelict ship on a for-
gotten sea; thrown at last into a pine
box and buried in the potter’s field at
night, with the dull clods of dirt falling
on his coffin to sing his requiem and the
hushed silence of the dead that lay

“What

American Detective

around him to mutter the prayer that
consigned him to his Maker.

And now three months later, his body
was being exhumed to be rushed to the
morgue where doctors would carve and
tear at his body to determine how and
why he had died.

Late that night Doctor Charles Hock-
man, assistant Medical Examiner, com-
pleted the autopsy and he found that the
man had apparently died from gas,
while in a state of drunken stupor.

And from that moment on the law
worked rapidly. The first thing they
had to determine was the identity of the
corpse. To do this they had to resort
to a remarkable new form of taking
fingerprints. The flesh on the fingers
had decomposed so badly, with the wa-
ter that had seeped into the box, that
there was no chance to take a print from
them.

grafting. He split the finger of the dead
man, peeled a layer of skin off, and then
grafted this ‘skin to the live finger of
Inspector Brockman, letting it remain
on the finger long enough to settle and
the live skin pull it tight.

Then they took the print of the In-
spector’s finger, getting a perfect print
of the dead man’s finger, an achievement,
which in itself, was considered remark-
able by fingerprint men.

With the fingerprint of the dead man,
the police started a search of their files,
realizing that, after all, the trouble of
getting the print might lead them no
place. But it did. The print was found
among their records as the fingerprint of
a man named Mike Mellory, who had
been arrested several times on the minor
charges of drunkenness and disorderly
conduct.

The traces of Mike Mellory were.

plentiful in the strata of the Bronx where
the bums and derelicts hang out, and
every path the police found of Mellory
led to one place—Tony Marino’ $3 speak-
easy.

But as this break came in the case,
there appeared upon the scene a character
whose part in the mystery had caused
him to be dubbed “the walking dead
man,” by the police.

A drifter and down-and-outer, like

Mellory was this man, who called him- .

self Frank Murray. Alone and unan-
nouriced he wandered into the outer
room of the District Attorney’s office,
a shabby, dissipated looking individual,
whose clothes and whose pallid face be-

. spoke the abject poverty that had been

his.

“Want to talk to me?” he addressed
the policeman at the desk outside Foley’s
office.

The policeman looked up, studied the
man with a bewildered face and said:
“Just who are you?”

“Murray, Frank Murray.”

So Doctor Hockman did a job of skin

“Well, what do you want?”

“Nothing, but thought maybe you.

might want to see me.’

The policeman looked at the man who
stood in front of him.

““What’s the idea?” he demanded.

“Tell the D. A.,” Murray said with a
grin, “that Nicholas Mellory is out here
to see him.”

“Nicholas Mellory,” the policeman

, gasped, and then wasjnside Foley’s office.

He came out in.a minute to escort Mur-
ray inside,
“So your are Nicholas Mellory,” Foley
said, motioning the man to take a seat.
“Well,” Murray admitted, ‘that seems

. to’ be one of my names. I was sent to the

Lincoln Hospital and when I came ,to,
everybody was calling me that. They
found papers on my body of that name,
but I never’ heard of it before.”

“Naturally,” Foley replied. ‘You were
supposed to be dead when you were left
on the street and those that killed you
wanted you to be Nicholas Mellory. 4

“What the hell,” Murray | said, “was
the idea? My pals took me.

“Hungry?” Foley cut in dryly.

“Well, I could eat a little,” Murray
replied.

“Tl have the boys take you down for
a good feed, Murray,” Foley said. “I
don’t want you to get drunk because you
are too valuable a witness right how.”

-Two men from the District Attorney’s

office took Murray in charge. Foley called -

Inspector Brockman, who came over to
the office at once.

“Nicholas Mellory’s second ghost has
appeared,” Foley announced. “A man
named Murray, who was sent to the Lin-
coln Hospital, on February 22nd as Mel-
lory.”

“I guess that about completes the
case,” Brockman suid.

“It does and Murphy is the first one
we will talk to,” Foley said. “Phone
Byrnes to start rounding up the others.”

Inspector Brockman phoned his orders

to the Bathgate Station while Foley sent:

for a guard to bring Murphy to his office.
Murphy came, a little paler than when

he first appeared. He sat down weakly, .

staring at Foley. Foley played with a
paper weight on his desk, his eyes boring
into Murphy.

“Met a relative of yours today, Mur-
phy,” Foley finally said. “He wanted to
be remembered to you.”

“A relative?” Murphy gasped. What
do you: mean?”

A cold, humorless smile came to the
face of the District Attorney as he
looked Murphy straight in the eyes.

“Murphy,” he said slowly, “I met

‘your brother today.”

“My brother?” Murphy said ‘weakly.
“I nevér had....
“J. met, Nicholas Mellory,” Foley cut

_ in quietly,

What color there. was: in Murphy’s

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themselves to a bottle of whisky while

they waited for death.

Occasionally Pasqua would get up and
feel Malloy’s pulse. It wasn’t until day~
light began to show through the frosted-
glass front window of Tony’s that the
undertaker, leaning down listening to
Malloy’s heart, announced bad news. “His
heartbeat’s getting stronger!” Pasqua told
Marino and Murphy. “I can’t un erstand
it. Why, he should of been dead hours
ago.”

Marino turned to Red. “I thought you
said that antifreeze’d fix him.”

“I can’t understand it,” said Murphy, “I
simply can’t understand it, Why, in college
they told us wood alcohol was sure death.”

“T feel like kickin’ the old - - - - - ’s head
in,” said Marino, looking down at Malloy.
Just then Michael Malloy opened his eyes.
They were bloodshot, but open all right.
“Hello, gents,” said Mike. “Golly, but I
sure got a thirst. Got a drink in the house
before I start sweepin’ up?”

“Sure,” said Marino. “Sure, Mike.”

Murphy, the chemist, got to work dur-
ing the day. First thing he did was to come
up with an explanation for the fact that
Malloy was still among the living. The
Irishman had, over a period of time, con-
sumed so much bootleg liquor, much of it
containing a percentage of wood alcohol,
that he had developed a tolerance for the
lethal stuff.

Murphy suggested to Marino and Pas-
qua that he open a tin of sardines, let
them rot, then make a sandwich for Mike.
“He'll get ptomaine poisoning,” Red ex-
plained, “and that’ll finish ’im.” Marino
and Pasqua thought that was a great idea.

Murphy opened a tin of sardines and
put them on a radiator in the back of the
joint, not far behind that little table where
Tony Marino held forth. In a couple of
days the sardines smelled so awful that
even Tony began to complain. “Don’t
worry, Tony,” said Red. “I’m makin’ a
sandwich for Malloy tonight.”

“Hey,” said Tony. “I got an idea, Red.
A great idea.”

“What?”

“Why don’t we grind the sardine can
up and put some of the tin in the sand-
wich. The tin’ll cut his guts to pieces. Then
we'll be sure of killin’ the ------- i

“A great idea, Tony,” agreed Red. “A
simply great idea.”

So Murphy took the sardine can to a
Bronx machine shop and had it reduced to
fine slivers of metal. Returning to the
speak, he made a sandwich for Malloy
—a sardine-and-tin paste on rye.

Malloy, who had _ been repeatedly
warned to keep away from the free-lunch
end of the bar—a section reserved for
paying clients—was practically overcome
with emotion when Murphy offered him
the sandwich.

“Red, me boy,” said Malloy, whose
speech was that of a low comedian, “it’s a
foine, generous lad ye are.” Marino and
Pasqua, in the back room, watched the
gentleman from County Donegal munch-
ing the ptomaine-and-tin sandwich and
washing it down with antifreeze.

“You ever see anything like that?”
Marino inquired. Pasqua had not.

An hour after he had eaten the sand-
wich, Malloy was still at the bar, going
great. He had found a society man who
was buying drinks for him in return for
jokes. “What's holdin’ him up, I wonder?”
Marino, still there in the dark with Pasqua,
asked his co-conspirator.

“Search me,” said Pasqua. “It’s the
funniest thing I ever seen.”

An hour or so later, the two plotters
sitting there in the dark were beginning
to feel pretty sorry for themselves, A quiet
desperation was beginning to creep over

them. Malloy, out front at the bar telling

his jokes to the rich man, was in fine fettle.

“Damned,” said Marino, “if I can figure

this out.”

Nobody else through the years has ever
been able to figure it out, either, except
on the premise that, during his life time,
Mike Malloy had consumed so much as-
sorted garbage that he had developed a
stomach like a tin-eating goat.

It was during the week between Christ-
mas and New Year’s that Pasqua was
visited by a bright thought. “Ya know,”
he was re to Tony Marino one night,
“I oncet buried a man who died from
eatin’ raw oysters and whisky.”

“Okay,” said Marino. “Let’s try it. We
got nuthin to lose. We’ll get Red to soak
the oysters in antifreeze and then give ’em
to Malloy.”

So one night, while Pasqua and Marino
were sitting behind the curtain, eyes nar-
rowed and ears peeled, they heard Red
the bartender saying to Malloy,
somethin’ here
Oysters.”

“Foine, me lad. Foine!” said Malloy. “It’s
a generous lad ye are, Red me boy.”

Red gave Malloy the plate of oysters.
The bivalves were practically as hard as
rocks. But as he stood there behind the
bar, looking at Malloy gobbling the oysters,
he could hear the bivalves being crunched
by Mike’s remaining teeth.

“Well,” Marino was saying to Pasqua,
“he’s sure done for now.”

“Yeah,” Pasqua was saying, “Red’s
givin’ him some antifreeze. Boy, what a
combination!”

“Look at him drinkin’ that stuff down,”
said Marino.

At closing time, Mike Malloy was still
going strong. Marino called Red from be-
hind the bar. “What the hell’s holdin’
him up?” he wanted to know.

Red shrugged. “All I know is he should
have been having awful pains in his
stomach a long time ago. Oysters and
alcohol—and wood alcohol at that—why,
it’s murder!”

Murder or not, Mike Malloy was still
going strong at closing time. “I’m going
home,” Marino said to Pasqua and Red.
“You two guys better beat it, too. I don’t
feel so good. I got a headache.”

“What about Malloy?” Red asked.

“He'll sleep here.”

“Maybe,” said Red, brightening, “the
oysters and the alcohol’ll go to work dur-
ing the night and we'll find him stiff in the
morning.”

Marino, looking and feeling sad, just
nodded to his bartender.

But Michael Malloy, the durable one,
was up and chipper in the morning. Gloom
began to descend on the plotters.

A couple of nights after New Year’s, a

fellow by the name of Hershey Green,
who ran a taxi, stopped into Marino’s for
a shot. “What a hell of a night to be out,”
Green said to Red. “The sleet’s somethin’
fierce. And cold! Boy, it’d freeze your ears
vight off tonight.”
-. Tony, sitting with Pasqua there behind
the beaded curtain, was listening in on the
conversation. He beckoned to Red Murphy
to send Green in. Tony knew Green—
knew he was a smart fellow filled with
ideas. He had insured Malloy, Tony told
Green, and wanted to knock him off.
“We're having an awful time killin’ this
bum, Hershey. We’ve tried three different
ways already,” said Marino. “In fact, he’s
beginning to get on our nerves.” Did Green
have any ideas as to how Malloy could be
successfully dispatched?

Indeed Green had. “Let’s drive him out
somewheres and take some of his clothes
off and Jeave him layin’ there to catch
pneumonia.”

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—~

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ny.

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ough to
front of
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amount
che cape
ig.
plotters,
deserted
id. Pas-
en, and
1 Tough
1d out a
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« for the
so there
vy being
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lawn on

an.

There was only one house in the vicinity
and it was dark. Everything was set. “It
can’t miss this time,’ Marino was saying
to Tough Tony as Tough Tony held the
limp Malloy up, all set to shove him in
front of the cab.

Green got a good start. He was going
40 miles an hour, and rapidly approach-
ing the spot where Tough Tony was hold-
ing Malloy. He gave his horn two short
toots to signal Tough Tony to get set to
toss Malloy in front of the cab. At the
right moment, Tough Tony shoved Mike
Malloy right in front of Green’s cab and
Mike, the durable Irishman, was thrown
at least 40 feet into the air. The impact
of the car against Malloy frightened even
Marino and Tough Tony. “Let’s get out of
here,” Marino said. And so they all got out
of there, secure in the knowledge that in
their fifth attempt they had now done in
Malloy.

Next morning the conspirators sta-
tioned themselves at the plants of the city’s
afternoon newspapers to catch the early
editions fresh off the presses. There was
not a line in any of the papers about a
hit-and-run victim in any part of the
Bronx. There was nothing in the Bronx
Home News, either. Murphy the bartender
was dispatched on a round of the city’s
morgues, with specific instructions from
Marino to get a look at all unidentified
male bodies under the pretext that his
brother was missing. Murphy hit all the
morgues and he saw stiffs in his dreams
for weeks thereafter—but he did not lay
eyes on Michael Malloy.

“I wonder where the old - - - - - - - is,
Marino inquired of Pasqua. “He’s got to
be somewhere. He’s not still on Gun Hill
Road. Hershey Green drove past the spot
where we hit the bum and he’s not there.”

“Maybe,” suggested Tough Tony, “he
ain’t dead. Maybe he’s in a hospital some-
wheres. It could be. People fall off build-
ings and live sometimes.”

The plotters went out and bought a
pocket directory of Greater New York and
systematically covered the hospitals by
telephone. No Michael Malloy. A week
passed. Still no Malloy. The suspense was
terrible. Marino went off his food and
Tough Tony went off the chickens.

Another week passed. Action of some
kind was imperative. An alcohol dealer
was putting the screws on Marino for an
unpaid bill, and Pasqua was being
pressed by a coffin company. But without
a corpse, there was nothing the plotters
could do except wait and hope that
Malloy’s body would turn up. And turn
up it did!

One night Pasqua, staring out into the
bar, almost choked on his drink.

“What’s the matter with you?” asked
Tough Tony.

Pasqua couldn’t talk; he just nodded
toward the bar. There stood Malloy!

After recovering from the shock of see-
ing the man he thought dead, Marino
rushed out from behind the beaded cur-
tain to the bar. “Why, Malloy,” he said,
clapping the. Irishman on the _ back,
“where you been? We've missed you,
Malloy.” :

Malloy said he had been hit by a taxi-
cab some three weeks previously. “Got
quite banged up,” he said, “but I’m foine
now, me lad.” Foine indeed. Malloy
looked simply great. What had happened
was that he had been picked up and taken
to a hospital but, through some clerical
slip up at the infirmary, his name had been
misplaced in the record department. Thus,
when the plotters had phoned all the
hospitals, there was no record of a Michael
Malloy.

If- the frustrated murderers were
shocked by the reappearance of durable

”»

Mike Malloy, they were to be jolted out of
their breeches by Mike’s announcement
that he was through with drink. His nar-
row escape from death had put the fear of
God in him; from now on he was going
to tread the straight and narrow. “I just
dropped in to say good-by,” Mike stated,
and with a wave of his hand he was gone
again.

It took several weeks before the plotters
tracked down their man.

It was Tony Marino himself who dis-

covered Michael Malloy—not in a saloon, :

but in a rooming house. Malloy had, all
else failing, sunk to employment. He had
taken a job as janitor in the rooming
house.

“Well, well, well, Malloy,” said Marino,
clapping Mike on the back. “So this is
where I’ve found you—working. Shame on
you, Malloy.”

Malloy, peering at Marino, saw no
humor in the remark. He cocked his head
to one side and squinted at Marino. Work
—honest toil—had vested the Irishman
with a certain new-found dignity. Mike
had fallen off the wagon, but he was tak-
ing his liquor in moderation. He could
pay for his drinks now; he no longer
needed to suffer the humiliation that had
been heaped on him in Marino’s place
when he had cadged drinks or been treated
to them after telling some of his hoary
jokes.

Marino rushed back to his joint and
went into conference in the back room
with his bartender, the undertaker and
Tough Tony. Tough Tony’s mind was by
now wandering from the plot. He was
sitting there, picking his teeth with his
fingers and peering out into the saloon
proper every time the front door opened.
“Where’s all the chickens tonight?” Tough
Tony would ask every time the front
door opened and a man walked in.

The decision of the boys was that one of
them would simply have to get on friendly
terms with Malloy—terms friendly enough
to lure him back into the speakeasy. They
would have to get him ossified again and
try that taxi business once more. Marino
had thought of a new, lethal twist to the
taxi business. “We’ll get Hershey,” he said,
meaning Green, the cabby, “to keep run-
nin’ over Malloy until he’s squashed like
a tomato.”

Pasqua thought that was just a dandy
idea. He had once buried a man who had
been run over by a railroad train. “The
guy was in pieces,” said Pasqua, recalling
the job. “Maybe we could get this Malloy
run over so many times an arm would
come off or somethin’.”

One by one, the plotters went to the
rooming house where Michael Malloy,
in his new-found dignity, was earning the
money to spend on drink. Malloy gave
every one of the callers the same treat-
ment he had given to Marino; he just
wanted no part of the old crowd.

So back the boys went to that back

room, conspiring at every pore. “I got a *

idea,” said Tough Tony a couple of nights

-, before Washington’s birthday—more than
two months after the plot had first begun

to simmer. “I got a friend named Daniel
Kreisberg who might be interested in
gettin’ in on: this.”

It was pretty important now for some-
body to come into the plot—somebody who
could finish off Malloy. The boys in the
back room had devoted so much time,
thought and trouble to the enterprise of
dispatching the Irishman that they were
beginning to run into the law of diminish-
ing returns. They stood to collect $4,000
if the insurance company paid off double
for accidental death, but they would have
had to split the swag six ways—with
Marino, Tough Tony, Red the bartender,

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78 OA

Marino banged his first on the table. “A
great idea!”

It was about 2 that morning when Tony
Marino and Frank Pasqua decided that
Malloy was sufficiently unconscious to be
taken care of. So Tony closed up.

When all the lights were out in the
speakeasy, Marino and Pasqua carried
Mike out to Hershey Green’s cab. The cab
drove through the dark and icy reaches
of the Bronx until it came to a stop in a
lonely stretch of Claremont Park. While
Green kept an eye peeled for cops and for
other. cars, Marino and Pasqua carried
Malloy off the road 20 or 30 feet and,
screened by shrubbery, laid hinr on the
ground face up. Malloy didn’t own an
overcoat. The plotters removed his jacket.
Then they opened his shirt and under-
shirt so that his bare chest was exposed.

The sleet was bouncing off Malloy’s
chest and the temperature was about 14
degrees below freezing—but that wasn’t
enough to suit Tony Marino. He had
brought along a five-gallon demijohn,
filled with water, and now he poured the
water over Malloy’s chest.

Early next afternoon, Green walked into
Marino’s domain behind the beaded cur-
tain. “Well,” said Marino to Green, “what'd
you find?” Green had driven past the spot
where they had left Malloy and Malloy
wasn’t there. “Good,” said Marino. “He’s
been picked up and taken to a morgue
somewheres.” The door of the speak
opened, “Here comes Pasqua now. He’s got
the afternoon papers.”

Pasqua had brought early editions of
the New York papers. The plotters began
to search the papers, column by column,
for some notice of a dead man’s body
having been: found in Claremont Park.
“I don’t see anything,” Marino was saying,
a note of discouragement in his voice.
“Maybe there wasn’t space to put anything
in about it. Sometimes the papers don’t
have room for everything.”

“You know somethin’?” said Pasqua.
“I don’t feel good. I think I caught cold
in all that sleet in the park last night.”

“Me, too,” said Marino. “My nose keeps
runnin’.” Suddenly Marino grew terribly
angry. He pounded his fist on the little
table. “Dammit!” he yelled. “Why can’t we
get this thing over with! I keep wakin’ up
in the middle of the night thinkin’ about
it. Why can’t it come to an end? We been
on this for weeks now.”

“It’s probably all over,” Pasqua was
saying. “Old Malloy couldn’t possibly live
after layin’ out there with all that sleet
bouncin’ off his chest. Why, drunks al-
ways catch pneumonia and they die prac-
tically right away. I know. I’ve buried a
lot of them.”

. a was still talking when the door
opened. Pasqua, looking toward the door,
blinked. Neither Murphy nor Marino
happened to be looking at the door. Pasqua
nudged Marino. “Look,” he said, nod-
ding toward the main room of the speak.
“Do ‘you see what I see?”

Marino looked and blinked. Then he
rubbed his eyes. Now he turned to Pasqua.
“It’s not possible,” he said. “It can’t be
possible.”

There was Iron Mike Malloy, the un-
killable man, pelvis up to the bar.

“The funniest thing happened, Red me
lad,” the trio in the back room heard
Malloy telling Murphy. “I woke up this
mornin’ in Claremont Park. I wonder how
I got way over there?”

Murphy shrugged. “How do you feel?”
he asked.

“I got a bit of a chill in the park, but
nothin’ a shot or two won’t fix.” The
plotters, muttering to themselves, just sat
there looking at Malloy, then at each other.

It was that night—that night when

Michael Malloy drove the plotters to the
depths of despondency by reappearing, as
though from the grave—that there hap-
pened into the back room of Tony’s an
old friend of the proprietor’s—a character
by the name of Anthony Bastone. Bas-
tone, who was known in the sleazier
precincts of the Bronx as Tough Tony,
was a hairy character with practically no
forehead. People meeting him for the first
time were sometimes surprised to learn
that he could talk.

Tough Tony was a howling wolf. “Ullo,
Tony,” he said to Marino as he parted the
green beaded curtain and lumbered into
‘the back room. “Any chickens around?”
Tough Tony always called women
chickens.

“Maybe one’ll be in later, Tony,” said
Marino.

Tough Tony settled himself in a chair
alongside Marino and began to drum his
fingers on the little round table. Staring
at Marino, he said, “You don’t look so
good.”

Marino allowed that Tough Tony was
right. Now Marino told Tough Tony that
he was having grave difficulties with the
plot to kill Mike Malloy. Tough Tony was
thoughtful as he sat there drumming his
fingers on the table. “Maybe,” he said,
“T’ll get an idear.”

Toward midnight Tough Tony, Marino
and Pasqua put their heads together.
Tough Tony was doing the talking and
Marino and Pasqua were doing the listen-
ing.

The element that was lacking in the plot
against Malloy, as Tough Tony saw it, was
violence.

“But we don’t want to make it look like
a murder,” Marino said.

Tough Tony grew impatient. “You don’t
get it,” he said. “Make it look like a ac-
cident, then you get double indemnity.”
Marino and Pasqua had never thought of
that.

“What you got in mind?” asked Pasqua.

“You just get this bum drunk. Then
you take him out somewheres nice and
quiet and hold him up in front of a auto-
mobile and let the automobile hit him.”

Marino and Pasqua looked at each other.
Tough Tony sure had something. Maybe
Malloy had a cast-iron stomach and may-
be some strange chemistry in his body
immunized him from pneumonia. But
Malloy could certainly never survive this
latest plot.

Hershey Green, the cabby, was sum-
moned and asked it he would be willing
to hit Malloy if the gent were held up in
front of his cab. “I’ll hit anything,” said
Green, “if there’s enough in it for me.”
Green was now officially cut in on the
swag. “Who’s goin’ to hold him in front
of the cab?” he asked.

“I will,” volunteered Tough Tony.

“For how much?” asked Marino.

“For a share,” said Tough Tony. It was
a deal. Holding a man close enough to
a charging car to shove him in front of
it, so that ‘. would be hit full force while
still upright, called for a certain amount
of skill and dexterity not unlike the cape
work of a matador in the bull ring.

At 3 o’clock in the morning the plotters,
losing no time, were on a_ deserted
thoroughfare called Gun Hill Road. Pas-
qua was in the cab with Green, and
Marino was out in the road with Tough
Tony and Malloy, who had passed out a
couple of hours previously. Green drove
a few hundred feet up Gun Hill Road,
turned around and poised his hack for the
charge. It was very dark. Just so there
would be no slip, such as Malloy being
held up for the wrong car, Green was to
toot his horn twice as he bore down on
the spot where he was to hit the Irishman.

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Pasqua
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rushed ou:
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76 A

and it would have been impossible for the
technical experts to have gathered enough
pieces to prove a dynamite blast had taken
place. John Graham might well have col-
lected his $37,500 blood money insurance
completely unsuspected.

At 5:45 a.m., Monday, the FBI office an-
nounced that the bomb case had been
solved by Graham’s confession. Later in
the morning, Graham was taken before.
U. S. Commissioner Harold S. Oakes and
arraigned on a charge of sabotaging a na-
tional defense utility. The offense carried
a ten-year prison term and a $10,000 fine,
but it was considered only a holding
charge. Graham was ordered held for trial,
and bond was set at the maximum of
$100,000. The defendant was taken to the
Denver county jail.

Later in the day, after U. S. Attorney
Donald E. Kelley had conferred by tele-
phone with top officials of the U. S. Justice
Department in Washington, it was de-
cided that the case would have to be
turned over to state authorities for prose
cution of murder. The national defense act
dealing with aircraft does not provide for
federal action on murder charges as does
the one dealing with sabotage of railroads,
U.S. Senator Gordon Allott has promised
to introduce legislation in the next Con-
gress to plug this loophole in the law.

District Attorney Marc Smith of Gree-
ley, and the Denver District Attorney,
Bert M.. Keating, went into conference
with the federal authorities. It was deter-
mined that the state laws allowed prose-
cution of murder in either district, and
the case was turned over to Keating.

This famous and hard-hitting prosecu-
tor lost no time working up the case
against Graham for court presentation.
Within two days, the youth denied his
earlier confession—even stated he hadn’t

made it. But this will do him little good.
He has been identified as the man who
bought a timing device from the Ryall
Electric Supply Company in Denver on
October 18. This one he found unsatis-
factory and brought back, to trade for
another model the next day.

Also, one of the partners in the Brown
Brothers Mercantile Store in Kremmling,
Colorado, where Graham went to high
school, recalled selling Graham a supply
of dynamite about November 1. The case
against Graham was tightening.

“I will prosecute this case personally,”
District Attorney Keating said. “And if we
do not send him to the gas chamber for the
murder of his mother, there are 43 other
homicides to try him on.”

On November 17, Graham was brought
into the Denver District Court for ar-
raignment on charges of murdering his
mother. He was granted a delay of 11 days
in order to get an attorney.

As for the reward money, whether any-
one helped enough in solving the case to
claim it will have to wait until after the
trial. FBI Agents, of course, are not al-
lowed to collect rewards.

As for the $37,500 insurance Graham
had hoped to collect on his mother’s death,
not a cent of it will he get. A Colorado
Supreme Court decision prevents anyone
from gaining money from a premeditated
act against another person which results
in death. He may, however, receive a $1.50
refund from the insurance company for
the premium on the insurance policy!

An ironic note in the case of the mur-
derer who couldn’t wait for his mother’s
death: despite his bitter quarrels with her,
John Gilbert Graham had been named in
his forgiving mother’s will to receive one
fourth of her $150,000 estate. Now Graham
won't be able to touch any of this bequest.

No Will To Die

[Continued from page 31]

chemistry?” Marino asked Red. Mu
had studied chemistry before drink
got the better of him. “O.K.,” said Marine.
“This Malloy. We gonna knock him off for
insurance. We'll cut you in. But you gotta
tell us a good poison.”

Murphy devoted some thought to the

. matter. He didn’t wince at the thought of

murdering a man. “You know what would
do it?” he finally said.

“No, what?” chimed in Pasqua.

“Some antifreeze from an automobile.”

“You sure?” asked Marino.

Murphy said antifreeze couldn’t miss.
It was practically 100 per cent wood
alcohol—one of the deadliest poisons
known to man or beast. “O.K.,” said
Marino, “but will he catch on?”

Murphy shook his head. “Not a chance,”
he poe’ “Old Malloy is Radin so drunk
along about midnight he never knows
what he’s throwin’ down the hatch. I'll
just switch and give him a big shot of wood
alcohol and he’ll never know the difference
and he’ll be dead before you know it.”

The sleet was pelting the Bronx the
night the plotters went to work. Mike
Malloy wandered in, his throat hot and
dry, and bellied up to the bar. He was
looking around for: somebody to tell a
story to—one of the society patrons who
usually relished his stories most—when
Red the bartender shoved a shot in front
of him. “Merry Christmas, Malloy,” said
Red. Christmas was approaching and
Malloy just blinked as he downed the

shot. “Another one, Malloy?” asked Mur-
phy. Malloy, happily bewildered at such
good treatment, just nodded.

Now Red glanced toward the back room.
He could barely see Pasqua and Marino
sitting there in the shadows. But he saw
Tony nodding.

Murphy slipped Malloy a drink of anti-
freeze. Red stood there open-mouthed,
watching Malloy smacking his lips, and
Marino and Pasqua leaned forward in
their chairs, waiting for the Irishman to
keel over.

But a minute passed. And two minutes.
Malloy was still standing up. Murphy was
still standing there staring at Malloy and
Marino and Pasqua were looking at each
other.

Malloy was still on his feet five minutes
after drinking the antifreeze. Murphy, on
a signal from Marino, gave Malloy another
shot—this time not in a whisky glass but
in a tumbler.

Mallow downed the big drink in one
gulp. “This time,” Marino was saying to
Pasqua, “he’s got to drop.”

But Michael Malloy, durable man, did
no such thing. It took five shots of anti-
freeze to send Malloy crashing 'to the floor.
Red the bartender carried Malloy be-
hind the beaded curtain and laid him on
the floor. Marino and Pasqua sat there
waiting for the Irishman to die. Every once
in a while Pasqua, who by virtue of his
profession was something of an authority
on the workings of the human » would
lean down and listen to Malloy’s veart. It
was barely beating. “It won’t be long now,”
the undertaker assured Marino. At closing
time, the lights were switched off in the
bar, and Pasqua, Marino and Murphy sat
in the dark at the little table and devoted

themselves
they waitec

Occasiona
feel Malloy
light began
glass front
undertaker,
Malloy’s he:
heartbeat’s ;
Marino and

ago.
Marino tu
said that ant
“T can’t ur
simply can’t
they told us:
“T feel like
in,” said Mar
Just then Mi
They were |
“Hello, gent:
sure got a th
before I star:
“Sure,” sai
Murphy, t
ing the day. I
up with an «
Malloy was
Irishman had
sumed so mu
containing a
that he had d
lethal stuff,
Murphy su
qua that he
them rot, ther
“He'll get pt
plained, “and
and Pasqua tI
Murphy op
put them on ;
joint, not far |
Tony Marino
days the sarc
even Tony |}
worry, Tony,
sandwich for
“Hey,” said
A great idea.”
“What?”
“Why don’t
up and put sc
wich. The tin’!
we'll be sure
“A great id
simply great ix
So Murphy
Bronx machin
fine slivers o{
speak, he ma
—a_ sardine-ar
Malloy, wt
warned to kee;
end of the b
Paying clients.
with emotion
the sandwich.
“Red, me |
speech was th:
foine, generou
Pasqua, in the
gentleman fro:
ing the ptoma
washing it dow
“You ever
Marino inquire
An hour aft:
wich, Malloy \
great. He had
was buying dri
jokes. “What’s }
Marino, still the
asked his co- ~co
“Search me,”
funniest thing I
An hour or ;
rim there in
to feel pretty so:
desperation was


soaaateiaal

PE tt sp a

you slip in some drinks I gonna give
him?’”’ “. fie)

Immediately Murphy came up with
a brilliant idea. ‘‘I’ll mix a couple of
my special wood alcohol cocktails, well
spiked with radiator anti-freeze. It
tastes so much like the stuff we sell
here, he’ll never know the difference.
The guy who can survive a couple of
them ain’t been born.’’

On New Year’s Eve every joint in
town was jumping — even Marino’s.
In an atmosphere of carnival, Mike
Malloy sat down to the good news —
all the free liquor his paunchy belly
could hold. Dave Murphy quickly
anesthetized Mike with the house
hooch, then slipped him the anti-freeze
cocktail. ‘‘I’ll have another,’’ Mike
said as he swooped it down with one
gulp. Then another, and a further three
or four.

Tony came from behind the beaded
curtain and passed behind the bar,

pausing long enough to whisper into -
Murphy’s ear: ‘‘What’s holdin’ this
guy up?”’

Murphy shrugged, ‘‘He can’t
possibly last the night,’’ he said from
the crooked corner of his mouth.

By dawn Pasqua and Marino were
slumped over the table behind the

‘speckled curtain, having swizzled two

bottles of Marino’s own brew. To their
discredit, Malloy was still on his feet.

Throughout the next week the boys
saw to it that Malloy had all the free
liquor he could consume, from
turpentine to horse linament. At times
he crumpled in a heap at the bar, which
attracted practically no attention at
Marino’s. When he did, they’d simply
drag him behind the ornamented
curtain. ‘‘Just leave him there, he’ll
be dead by the time we close up. Listen
to his heart once in a while. If you
don’t hear nothin’ he’s gone.

One night after Tony closed the bar,

4

Tough Tony Bastone drove
over victim three times and
couldn't kill him.

he, Murphy and Pasqua rushed behind
the curtain. Tony leaned down and
pressed his ear to Malloy’s chest. ‘It’s
tickin’ ’? he gasped. Pasqua, the
mortician, wiggled in and listened to
Malloy’s heart. ‘‘It won’t be long.
now,”’ he told the others. i

A couple of hours later Malloy,
climbed to his feet and bellowed:
‘‘How’s about another one of those
house specials, Murph!’’ A doctor
later testified that Malloy had downed
so much alcohol over the years, that
the poison had actually become a sti-
mulant.

Murphy gnashed his teeth, mumbled
a few cuss words, and considered
another way of removing Malloy from
life.

Taking the lid of a can of sardines,
he set them out on a shelf to putrefy.
‘“‘When they get black enough,’’ he
explained to his two partners in crime,
‘I’ll make Malloy a sandwich and
ptomaine poisoning will set in. That
will put-him out of his misery.”’

After the can of fish had been left
for several days, it let off an odor that
could be detected half-way up the
block. As an afterthought, Marino
took the sardine can and had the tin
ground to slithers. This done, he mixed
the slithers in with the sardines. ‘‘If
the sardines don’t get him, the tin’ll
slice his gizzard to pieces,’’ said
Marino.

Three weeks after the first attempt
on his life, Malloy stumbled in and
hobbled up to the bar. Having spent
all his bum money, he made Marino a
deal to sweep the place in exchange
for a drink. ‘‘Sure,’’ Malloy replied,
‘*1’ll even throw in a couple of my
sardine sandwiches!’’ That night,
Malloy was fed the sardine-and-tin
sandwiches along with a few anti-
freeze cocktails as Marino and Pasqua
observed from behind the tasseled
drapery.

At closing time, Mike Malloy
stumbled out of Marino’s speakeasy
into the blustering cold and disappear-
ed into the sleet storm. ‘‘We’ll have
to hunt all over hell for the body
tomorrow,”’ Marino grumbled. :

But there would be no such thing.
As usual, the next evening Mike
Malloy shuffled into the bar. ;

‘*How are you feeling, Mike?’’
Murphy asked.

(continued on next page)
11


Kling an oe eunk and collpctingy life insurance :

me by et Only thing was, the victim had
a habit of not dying when the occasion 1 called.

a)

ew

| nu f‘Fine,’’ Mike sputtered.
After a serious conference, the
plotters decided that if they were to

murder him, there would have to be |

- another way. The result was what a
Bronx district attorney was later to
describe as ‘‘the most hideous chain
of events in the manual of crimin-
_ology.”’

_ One night during the first week of
1933, around closing time, Malloy felt
into a heap on the floor, from the

- wood alcohol. Marino called a pal of
his, taxidriver Hershey Green, to help
turn Malloy into a corpse. The car
eased up to the back door around 3:30
.p.m. and when it pulled away through
the sleet and wind toward Claremont
Park, it had,
cockeyed Malloy, Marino and Pasqua
as passengers.

In a patch of woods bordering
Claremont Park, they tossed Malloy
headlong into some pigweed, doused
him with a five-gallon jug of water,
and left him to freeze to death. That
night a violent hail storm pelted the
city, dropping the temperatures below

freezing.

The next day, Hershey Green steered
his cab past the lonely stretch of
Claremont Park and peered at the spot
where they had dumped Malloy,
hoping to find him as stiff as a poker.
A few minutes later he raced back to
the speakeasy to report that Malloy

was positively not there! In a panic,

Marino phoned Pasqua. On the way
over, the undertaker picked up the
afternoon papers. There was no story
about a man having been found cold
as stone in Claremont Park. Pasqua,
Marino, Murphy, and Hershey Green
. retired behind the adorned curtain to

mull over the shape of things. Just then
the door swung open and in came
Mike, coughing and sneezing, but
alive.

While Malloy and Murphy were
chewing the fat at the bar, an old
acquaintance of Marino’s came in.
Here, surely, was evil incarnate, a

12

in addition to the

--New York newspaper

identified bandaged acci-
dent victim as Mike Mal-
loy, though really he was.
-.a substitute murder vic-

“tim named McCarthy.

figure straight from the darkest fringes
of a nightmare. The man was ‘‘Tough
Tony”’ Bastone.

A few minutes later the cabbie, the
undertaker, the bar owner and Tough
Tony were bunched at the little round
table behind the fancy curtain.
“‘Maybe you can help us for a small
cut of the profits,’ Marino told Tony.

**Sure,’’ Tony answered. ‘‘You
know me, always ready to turn over a
fast buck.’’ Marino nodded toward
Malloy. ‘‘We’re trying to knock this
jerk off for the insurance loot but
we’re having a hell of a time.”’

Tough Tony focused his attention
to the problem. He poured himself a
glass from a bottle on the table.
‘‘Gentlemen,’’ he said, his eyes
narrowing, ‘‘the element missing here
is violence.”’

‘‘But,’’ Marino interrupted, ‘‘we
must avert any homicide investigation.
It must look like an accidental death

6é

because insurance companies pay

double for accidents.”’

Tough Tony’s brainstorm was
simple. All they had to do was take
him out to a remote section of town
and run over him with an automobile.
Everyone agreed it was the best
procedure. Tough Tony was to get a
hundred dollars for pushing Malloy in
front of Hershey Greéen’s cab at

- precisely the right time.

At around 3 a.m. they arrived at the

rendezvous point, an insular country

lane a hundred yards off Gun Hill
Road, a stone’s throw from the Bronx.
It was a weird scene. Malloy was
unconscious in a ditch. Tough Tony
was impatiently waiting on the
sidewalk, puffing a cigar. Coming
down the road at 65 mph was a big
shadowy cab loaded with Marino,
Pasqua and Murphy. Green was at the
wheel. The plan was that Green was
to toot his horn twice as he neared the
corner where Tough Tony was to

- shove Malloy in front of the speeding

cab. This was to make sure Tony
didn’t push Malloy in front of a stran-
ger. It was as dark as pitch at this time
of the morning, and the only house in
the vicinity was in total darkness.

As Green approached the spot where
he was to toot his horn, he floor-
boarded it. The cab backfired. Almost
instantly, the lights flicked on in the
one house within miles and Tough
Tony, seeing the light, dropped the

sagging Malloy on the pavement and

ducked behind a tree. The cab roared
past the spot.’

Back at the speakeasy, the unholy
five huddled behind the hanging
curtain while Malloy, unaware of what
was going on, helped himself to.a
bottle of Marino’s private stock.

The following night they got Malloy
and drove him to another desolated
road where there wasn’t a single
dwelling. Green came speeding down
the street with the speedometer waver-
ing between 60 and 70. At the toot of
the horn Tough Tony shoved Malloy in
front of the cab and Mike bounced


around in the air like a flag in the wind.

Then, as Mike lay squirming on the
asphalt, Green returned to pick up
Tough Tony, and ran over Malloy
again. A professional job.

The boys scanned the papers the
next morning but there was not a word
about a hit-and-run ‘‘accident.”’
Marino sent Murphy to browse the
city’s morgues under the pretext that
his brother was missing.

That night they all watched the door
nervously, waiting for Malloy to enter
from the chill. But Mike never showed.

‘‘Maybe’’, Tough Tony suggested,
‘the ain’t dead, but is lying in a hospi-
tal somewhere.’’

That week the plotters scrambled
from one hospital to another until

‘every hospital in Greater New York

had been covered. Mike was nowhere

to be found. ‘‘Where the hell can he

be?’’ Marino said.
Time dragged agonizingly on. The

- schemers were flustered. They needed

that insurance money bad. A tough
bootlegger was putting the squeeze on

_ Marino for a past-due bill and Pasqua
' was being threatened by a coffin

company.
Everyone’s composure was utterly
shattered except Tough Tony’s. He

strolled into the bar one night and told
his nerve-wracked companions behind
the festooned curtain: ‘‘I’ve got it
boys. The perfect plan. We’ll get a
substitute for Malloy, polish him off
and say he’s Malloy.”’

Seemed logical. All they would have
to do was find a bum with the physical
characteristics of Malloy, as recorded
in the insurance policy. The substitute
would have to have a booze-soaked
brain, and have no next of kin or
friends. At closing time the five
plotters devoured a few bottles and
prattled about the next day’s doings.

After breakfast the five schemers
covered the Bronx barrooms in search
of a corpse-to-be. Tough Tony entered
a rat-hole in Harlem and spotted a

bum whose description fit that of |

Malloy. He was a 50-year-old Irish-
man named McCarthy. Tony bought
him a drink and discovered he was
alone in the world, unemployed, and
down on his heels. ‘‘How would you
like a job sweeping out Tony Marino’s
joint at a buck a day and all the booze
you can drink?’’ Tony asked. McCart-
hy went for it with no questions asked.

And now they had to establish
McCarthy’s identity as that of Mal-
loy, who had utterly vanished. No gen-

]

a |

“‘That’s not my real number... It’s an alias.”

ius, Tough Tony went to a downtown
printer and had some calling cards
made for: Michael Malloy, Esquire.
All they would have to do was plant —
one of these cards on McCarthy. It
never occurred to the schemers that a .
bum would hardly be passing around
name cards. Yet this fact is in the files —
of the Bronx District Attorney’s
Office.

Happy with his new-found wealth,
McCarthy was sweeping out Marino’s
joint one afternoon when Marino nod-
ded to his bartender from behind the
garnished curtain. ‘‘Time for a break,”’
Murphy called out, and quickly pour-
ed McCarthy a tall glass of wood
alcohol. At closing time, McCarthy
was carried out the back door to
Green’s waiting taxi. Still breathing,
he was driven to a sleepy stretch of
macadam interlacing through Clarem-
ont Park. With no one in sight, the
gory work began. Tough Tony placed
McCarthy in the middle of the road
and Green ran over him, three times
in all. After planning a name card on
the body, the killers returned to Mar-
ino’s and toasted their success.

The next day the Bronx Home News
said a ‘citizen named Michael Malloy
had been the victim of a hit-and run

. driver in Claremont Park. Police said

he no doubt wandered into the path
of an on-coming car. He was recover-
ing at Fordham Hospital. In bad con-
dition, he was suffering from a com- '
pound fracture of the skull, two

broken arms, a compound fracture of

the leg, 12 broken ribs and assorted

internal injuries.

The bedazzled Marino hastily plac-
ed a call to the Fordham Hospital. :
‘‘Mr. Malloy,”’ a voice said stiffly, ‘‘is
on the critical list.’’

To show their ‘appreciation,’ the
plotters sent their former sweeper a
basket of fruit. A card read: From the
gang at Marino’s. Tony Marino actual-
ly went over to the hospital to look in .
on McCarthy, alias Malloy. The news
was that the patient was in such bad
shape no one was allowed to see him.
A nurse said he probably wouldn’t live
the night out.

But an unexpected element threat-
ened to jeopardize the whole plan. Lat-
er when Marino called to check on
McCarthy’s condition he was told the
patient had surprised medical experts
and was now well on his way to
recovery.’

Haunted by the nagging thought of.
failure, the five plotters, Tony Mar- -

(continued on page 56)

' 13 .


Was The Sex Kill Only Camouflage?

(continued from page 54)

He went with the detectives to the
house and gave a complete re-enact-
ment of his actions in killing Lisa and
setting fire to the house.

Shortly after the news media had
been advised that charges had been
filed against Sellers for the murder of
Lisa Rice and he was being held in the
Hamilton County jail, Slaughter
received a call from Rossville, Georgia,
Chief of Police Charles Dunn. Ross-

ville is located just across the state line.

from Chattanooga.

‘<] don’t want to mess up your case
right now,’’ Dunn said. ‘‘But when
you get through with that guy Sellers,
we’re going to want to talk to him.”’

Dunn explained that on July 11,
1982, a 17-year-old girl, Mary Angela
Smith, had disappeared after attending
a party. The last person to be known
to have been with her was Sellers.
When they questioned him he stated
he had taken the girl home and she
had been alive and well when he left
her.

“We checked out his car and didn’t
find bloodstains or anything,’’ Dunn
. said. ‘“We didn’t have a body, so there
wasn’t much more we could do about
it.’”’

The corpse was found a month later
in a wooded area. The body was so
badly decomposed that a post mortem

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was unable to determine the cause of
death.

‘That guy Sellers is still our prime
suspect,’’ Dunn said.

Sellers was brought to trial on counts
charging him with murder, rape,
arson, armed robbery and grand

larceny. When Judge Hinson rule that.

the video-taped recording of Sellers’
voluntary confession could be intro-
duced as evidence, it left the defense
the only alternative of pleading the
defendant innocent by reason of
insanity.

State psychiatrists who had examin-
ed Sellers testified that in their opi-
nion he had been sane at the time of
the crime and was mentally capable of
assisting in his own defense.

It took the jurors only three hours
to return with a verdict finding Sellers
guilty on all counts. They were then
asked to deliberate the penalty,
whether he should be sentenced to life
imprisonment or death in the electric
chair.

Defense Counsel Michael Raulson

. pleaded with the jurors to spare the

life of his client. He requested the court
to have the electric chair brought to
the courtroom so the jurors could see
how inhumane it was to put a person
to death by electric shocks. Judge
Hinson denied the request.

Begging for mercy, Raulston told
the jurors, “‘If you kill Ronny Sellers,
Lisa Rice is not going to come back.
What you have been asked to do by
the prosecution is every bit as grue-
some as the crime you have convicted
Ronnie Sellers of. One of you, and I
hope all of you, will not let the state
perpetuate premeditated murder.
Would any one of you shave his head?
Put Vaseline on his palms and then
pull the switch to fry his flesh?”’

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He concluded with, ‘‘Tennessee has
a throne of death in Nashville, It ts
the devil’s throne, Don’t make Ronny
Sellers Satan’s next jewel. I have
absolutely no problem at all in asking
you not to kill Ronny Sellers. No
problem whatsoever. I have only the
problem of the state asking you to kill
Ronny Sellers.”’

Sloan countered the plea of the
defense by telling the jurors, ‘‘You are
not sentencing this defendant to the
electric chair. This is no personal
burden you will have to carry the rest
of your life. It is not your fault, ladies
and gentlemen. You are being asked
to do only one thing — and that is to
follow the law.

‘Whatever happens to this man,
certainly it will never approximate the
proportions of what happened to the
victim. He showed no mercy. No
second chance to keep on living.”’

It took the jurors nearly five hours
to reach a decision. They returned with
a verdict recommending Ronny Allen
Sellers spend the rest of his natural life
in prison without possibility of parole.
Judge Hinson passed the sentence.

The investigation into the murder of .

Mary Angela Smith in Rossville, in

which Sellers has been named as the °

chief suspect, is ongoing.

— Stand-In—
For Murder

(continued from page 13)

ino, Dave Murphy, Hershey Green,
Frank Pasqua, and Tough Tony
Bastone, sagged in their chairs beyond

the peeling walls of the back room and_

drowned their sorrows. Success,
always just a few steps away, had elud-
ed them with taunt and jibe.

Six weeks passed. One night, a teeth-

‘chattering snow blast swept the area.

Marino’s was as quiet as a tomb, with
only one customer crouched at the bar.
The boys were, as usual, behind the
decorated drapery mulling over their
misfortune when suddenly, Tony Mar-
ino turned as white as chalk. ‘‘What’s
the matter?’’ Pasqua asked. ‘‘You
look like you seen a ghost.’’ Tony
slowly put down his glass and mutter-
ed weakly, ‘‘The door... look at the
door...’’ Abruptly, all eyes moved in
the direction of the door. ‘‘My God,’”’
gulped Tough Tony. ‘‘It’s Mike
Malloy!”’ ‘

(continued on next page)

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