Colorado, S, 1880-1994, Undated

the place. The commotion caused by the
fight in the tavern across the street was a
lucky break for him. At gunpoint, he took
all of Ford’s money, then forced him into
his car and made him drive out of town on
Highway 6.

Fifty miles from the city he made
Ford get into the car trunk. He had to stop

for gas, so he warned Ford that if he made

any outcry, he would kill both him and
the attendant at the filling station where

_ he planned to stop. Ford remained quiet.

Some 60 miles further on, a few miles
from the town of Brush but over the line
in Washington County, he stopped the

. Car again ona lonely stretch of road near a

bridge. He made Frank Ford tie a blind:
fold over his eyes.

Frank Ford now spoke for the first
‘time, Schneider said, telling him of his
heart condition and asking his captor to
have some consideration for him.
Schneider said he did not answer the
helpless man.

Taking a jack handle from the trunk of
the car, he walked Ford down under the
bridge, made him stop, then took
deliberate aim and smashed him on the
head with the jack handle. Astonishingly,
the blow did not kill him. Ford staggered
to his feet, so Schneider began shooting
him. Mortally wounded, and reeling
sightlessly under his blindfold, Frank

Ford staggered off into the darkness.
Police found Ford’s body in the area

where, Schneider told them it would be.

The confessed triple-murderer was

returned to Colorado, and on October 29, —

1947, he took the police over the route he
had taken with his victim. In the presence
of: numerous officials, reporters, and
other witnesses, he reenacted the

s murderous assault.

On January 19, 1948, Schneider went
to trial in district court in Akron,
Colorado, which is the county seat of
Washington County. Presiding was Judge
Raymond Sauter. On January th, the
jury retumed a unanimous verdict of guil-
ty of first-degree murder. Sentence was
‘passed on the convicted man on February
14th, and the judge ordered Schneider
put to death in the gas chamber during
the week of May 22nd.

Schneider’s date with the executioner
was delayed for nearly two years,
however, by a series of appeals, all of
which were rejected by higher courts. He
kept that date, finally, on December 17,
1949, at which time Paul J. Schneider
went to his déath in the gas chamber in
the Colorado State Prison at Canon City.
When he signed his name to endorse a
stolen $40 check, he had, in effect, signed

his own execution warrant. oo¢

Blanket Shroud for
Slain Blonde Beauty

(Continued from page 49)

her absence. A pick-up for Wright was
put out at once.
Almost at the same time that the
detectives were surveying the wasted
body of Kathy Wright in the “store-
room,” a bank teller in Seattle’s
Broadway District was looking at a
check. It had been handed to her by a

_ young man driving a blue Plymouth

Duster through the drive-in lane. It was a
paycheck, issued by a contractor in
Seattle’s northend. Ordinarily, with
proper I.D., the bank would have cashed
the check, whith was for $87.53. But they
had cashed a check for $277.29 drawn on
the same account 3 days before...and it
had been returned with the notation that
the account had been closed because the
bank customer had been robbed of a

~ book of checks and a check protector.

Now, the teller looked at the young,
jean-clad man who had handed her the
check, and she suspected that she was
probably looking at the thief. She mur-
mured something about getting the check
okayed and left the window.

Patrolman G. Hogue and R. Paradis,
riding in Unit 2-G-2, received the radio
call stating that a man driving a light blue.

- Duster was trying to pass a forged check

at the Seattle First Bank on Broadway.
They were at the front of the bank in a

60

‘minute or two. Hogue let Paradis out of

the patrol car and drove around to the
rear of the bank to thwart the suspect's es-
cape in that direction. Just as he rounded

the corner, radio added to the original.

message, “This suspect is also wanted for
suspicion of murder...”

Officer Hogue saw that the alleged
forger-killer would not be able to drive
away in his vehicle; another car blocked
the drive-in window lane. Leaving his
car, the patrolman headed toward the
Duster. He could see Officer Paradis was
creeping up from the rear. Hogue called
out, “They want him for murder, too...”

The longhaired man in the jeans had
seen Hogue leave his car, and had spun
around to make his escape on foot. He
didn’t see Paradis behind him and ran
right into the second officer’s outstretch-
ed arms. Paradis patted the suspect down
and removed a “Buck” knife from his
pocket.

The driver’s license the vetaildbe
forger had handed the bank teller read
“Andrew James Wright.” He was booked
on suspicion of forgery ($3,500 bail) and
suspicion of homicide (no bail).

Officer Paradis placed a call to the

. detectives at the old home on Harvard

Avenue and let them know that the
suspect had been captured. It was an
ironic twist; Kathy had lain in that putrid
bedroom for almost a month, and yet the
suspect in her murder was arrested within
an hour of the body discovery—arrested
not because he was a murder suspect at
that moment, but because he was trying

AS

~ to pass a forged check.

Paradis called the number listed on
the checks passed at the bank on the con-
tractor’s account and learned that the
business had been burglarized on
November 17th, with checks, check
protector, and several other items being
taken.

While his fellow homicide detectives
continued to process the death room,
Don Cameron talked with Andy Wright
at headquarters. Wright vociferously
denounced policemen. He said he hated
them, that they’d always been unfair to
him. He had served some big time, had
numerous scrapes with the law and felt it
was all the fault of the police.

When Cameron broke the news of the
finding of his wife’s body in the home on
Harvard. Wright showed no emotion at
all. Questioned «about his lack of
response, he snarled, “I wouldn't cry in
front-of any goddam cop! If I wanted to
cry, I'd go off by myself...”

The suspect insisted that he hadn't
seen Kathy since she left him on October
28th. He said she’d gone because they had
no money—that was the only reason.

“Didn’t you notice the odor in the
house?”’ Cameron asked quietly.

“That house always smells like cat
shit; you can’t smell anything else,”
Wright responded.

“But you must have _ noticed,”
Cameron suggested. Wright refused to
comment. :

Wright said he'd spent the night
before in.a motel. He did state that he was
feeding a 16 to 20 grain a day heroin
habit, and glanced at his watch to es-
timate that it had been about five hours
since he’d had a hit.

Wright said he had told so many

stories about Kathy because he was.

’ ashamed to have people know she’d left

him. He said she'd had no boyfriend that
he knew of, and admitted that he hadn't
really looked for her.

The stories Wright had told that police
knew about at the time of the finding of
Kathy’s body were merely the tip of the
iceberg; investigators would soon find
that they were dealing with a master
story-teller, a man who evidently would
stop at nothing to feed his $100-a-day
habit.

At 9:00 the next moming, Detectives

Wayne Dorman and Dick Sanford’

attended the post mortem examination
done by Dr. Donald Reay on the decom-
posed body of Kathy Wright. Reay found
three bullet wounds in the back—all .22
caliber. X-ray showed that the three slugs
were still trapped inside the body. These
were removed and given to Dorman for
ballistics tests.

Word from informants was_ that
Wright had owned several guns—many
of them .22 caliber. Detective Dick Reed
talked to the owner-of a gun shop in the
University District who recalled that the
suspect had come into his shop on the first
of November wanting to sell three guns: a

RS

.22 Colt revolve:
22 Marlin rifle.

“I paid him ‘
was back agai
November,” the
checking his re
Peacemaker to :
that. He didn’t s:
the guns or why

The guns wi
and placed into |
them through t!
there were no |
stolen.

Ree also

witneses, wh
variations to \
Several emplo
restaurant wher
remembered \\
giving them the
sudden accider
several times tc
it. One young
wife were frien
planned to spe’
late in Octobe
had cancelled
Detectives |
- the King Count
he'd be willing
He agreed reac
the whereabou
- automobile. He
dealer in dow:
tive duo check
owners said the
to since Augu
nearby Ford d
Pinto on the b:
for $1,275, but
ed $186 cash af
paid off. The
“detailed” out
resale and ther
evidentiary va
But Wright
pelled to tell a
disappearance
nice young
recalled. “We
he hated to se
had stepped «
and been kill«
married three
Andy Wri
deal of symp:
Detective Re
visor where \'
years. The me
at work was
called at four
wife had bee
““T told hin
take the week
again onOcti
pick up his |
said.
Wright h:
Kathy’s fun
parents wer

a

SCHNEIDER, Paul J., white, gassed COS (Wasjomgtpm) December 16, 1949

Patient, careful detective work by Colorado police, and a Kentucky

newsman’‘s shrewd hunch set a trap for a man who killed three times

by CH

|
|

HEN THE MYSTERY was dumped in the

laps of Detectives Joseph A. Holindrake and

Joseph Duffy, ace homicide investigators of
the Nenver Police Dept., the case was already more
than 48 hours old. The delay was understandable,
because even then nobody was sure that a murder
had been committed. The strange disappearance of
a local business man was enveloped in a set of omi-
nous circumstances which augured the worst, how-
ever. :
Without exception, every officer thus far con-

“nected with thezincident felt certain that when

54

Frank J. Ford was found, he’d be dead. This had
been reported at a long conference in the office of
Police Chief John F. O’Donnell at which the
progress—or lack of same—in the investigation up
to that point had been discussed in detail.

“It’s a mighty tricky case,” observed Captain
James J. Pitt, chief of detectives. “If Ford was ab-
ducted, we can be almost certain he’s dead by now.
On the other hand, we can’t completely disregard
the possibility that the man disappeared of his own
volition. His personal history makes this seem un-
likely, but we can’t dismiss it because it’s also
unlikely that he could have been kidnaped from

Te PT eee

MASTER DETECTIVE, May, 1962

‘his place of business without someone having seen

it happen.

“There were people all around there that night,
yet when we got there, the door was wide open, the
lights were still on, and Ford was gone.”

“Well whatever happened,” Chief O’Donnell said,
“I want the case cracked, and quick. Have you had
any leads on the discovery of a body?” ‘

“Not a thing,” Capt. Pitt admitted. “I’ve got a 12-
county alert going out right now, requesting sheriffs
to check the vicinity of all highways and secondary
roads for bloodstains, or other signs of violence. I’m
also assigning a homicide detail to the case at once.”

A few minutes later Detectives Duffy and Holin-
drake were assigned to investigate the case that
might be murder, kidnaping, or just an ordinary
missing person incident. It was up to them to dis-
cover which.

The veteran investigators waded into the task

by spending a couple hours absorbing the reports

of how the case had developed thus far. They found
the bare facts relatively simple.

At 12:30 a.m. on Sept. 21, 1947, a couple of radio
car patrolmen were dispatched to the Ford Service
Station at Brighton Boulevard and 46th to investi-

NDORSEMENT FOR WM

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tj

by CHARLES WALKER

MURDER

gate a report that the owner might be missing,
When they reached the filling station in the indus-
trial district of the city, they found it ablaze with
lights, apparently open for business, but no sign
of Frank Ford, the proprietor, or any other attend-
ant. Ford’s car, a bag of groceries on the front seat,
was parked beside the grease rack, Alongside it
was another car,

Ford’s 21-year-old son J ack, a partner in the busi-
ness with his father, arrived as they were going
through the place seeking some sign of life. He had
been notified by his mother when Ford failed to
arrive home more than an hour after he was ex-
pected. She had been unable to get any answer to
her telephone calls, and it was she who had asked
police to investigate.

The greatest fear of both Mrs. Ford and her son
was that the elder Ford, who suffered from a serious
cardiac condition, may have had a heart attack. The
son checked the register at the officers’ request and
it soon appeared that the place had been robbed.
The $25 in change Frank Ford customarily left in
the cash register was missing. A study of the tape
indicated that $211 in receipts for the day was also
unaccounted for. Ford usually took this home with

Paul Schneider, arrested in’ Kentucky, denied Denver killing

Rats


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[ was reported to be a darkish-blond young :
. man, about 24, and he drove a new car.
The undersheriff had learned that

Schneider had stopped at a local hotel for
two nights the week before, but he had
not been seen around town since. Doak
also learned that Schneider had made in-

_ quiries about a local girl who had moved

elsewhere after her marriage several
years before.

Detective Duffy asked Undersheriff
Doak to arrest the man on sight if he
showed up again, and to hold him for in-
vestigation of robbery, for starters, a
charge which might later be changed to

_ something far more serious. Duffy then

‘<

requested the FBI to give him a‘ make”
on any Paul J. Schneider they might have
in their files. The reply that came back to
Denver gave the probers of Frank Ford's
disappearance hope that, at long last,
they were on the trail of a sizzling hot
suspect.

According to the FBI files, Paul J.
Schneider was wanted on two counts of
abduction and car theft in Los Angeles.
Three of his 24 years had been spent in
San Quentin, for robbery. He had been

_discharged, dishonorably, from the U.S.

Army for desertion and armed robbery.
He was also wanted in Salt Lake City,
Utah, for violation of probation.
Denver Chief of Detectives Pitt at
once ordered the distribution of wanted
circulars requesting Schneider's arrest on
suspicion of murder. These flyers had
scarcely come off the presses, however,
when the search tor the wanted man end-
ed abruptly. On October 17th, Pikeville’s
Assistant Police Chief Vernon Sanders
reported that he spotted Schneider in a
restaurant in that city, to which he had
just returned. Almost before the fugitive
knew what was happening, Sanders had

-Schneider in handcuffs and relieved him

of a revolver he was carrying in a
shoulder holster.

In quick order, then, Sanders found
that Schnedier had been driving a
Chrysler convertible reported stolen in
Los Angeles; the car was filled with new
merchandise—radios, appliances, and
the like—and sported a set of four brand
new white wall tires.

Schneider, under questioning, then

admitted that he’d stolen the car and had :

been driving it all over the country for
nearly a month. He gaid he’d been in
Denver and Detroit, among other places.
Although he admitted being in Denver
around September 20th, he flatly denied
that he’d robbed the Ford Service Sta-
tion. me

Captain Pitt and Detective Holin-
drake flew to Kentucky to question the
suspect, who continued to deny any
knowledge of the robbery, or about the
disappearance of the Denver gas station
owner. It soon became obvious that
Schnedier, a veteran of innumerable
police interrogations, was not going to
admit a thing. His story could not be
shaken. But suddenly there occurred a
development that shaped yp like

something right out of a whodunit movie:
In the Lexington, Kentucky, bureau of
International News Service, reporter Jim
Galloway had_ been servicing the
Schneider arrest story from Pikeville. The
report contained details of the Denver
crime which had caused Schneider’s
arrest, and those details prodded the
memory of veteran reporter Galloway.
At first the reporter thought he
must have read about the case before, but
this seemed unlikely. On a hunch, he
backchecked the files of news copy fora
couple of weeks—and he found what he
was seeking. A wire story datelined
Detroit, October 8, 1947—. vo weeks and
three days after the Denver gas station
stickup and disappearance of its owner—
had reported the mysterious _dis-
appearance of attendants from two filling
stations in that city: James R. Hall, 21,
and Donald Dusseau, 28. Both stations
were robbed, and the loot included a set
of four new white wall tires, a radio,
accessories, and numerous other
appliances of various descriptions.

Au of Galloway’s news instincts told
him the similarities between the Denver
case and the two Detroit robberies were
too strong to be charged off as coin-
cidence. From the Detroit INS bureau, he
requested and quickly got a list of iden-
tifiable serial numbers from some of the
stolen merchandise. On the morning of
October 22nd, Galloway turned his list
over to the authorities in Pikeville. Within
the hour they established from the serial
number that one of the radios in
Schneider’s car had been stolen from one
of the Detroit service stations!

Confronted with this irrefutable
evidence, Schneider admitted he had
pulled the two Detroit robberies and
killed both attendants. His M.O. for both
crimes had been identical. He forced the
victim into his car, drove to an isolated
spot, made the victim get out and blind-
fold himself, then bludgeoned him on the
head with an iron bar. He told police
where they could find the bodies and
they were quickly located. Both men had
died from skull fractures.

Although frankly admitting the
Detroit murders, however, Schneider
continued to protest his innocence in
Denver's Frank Ford case. Police were
convinced he was lying, and they were
pretty sure they knew why...

The stir-wise ex-con knew he could go
to the gas chamber for murder in
Colorado, whereas the maximum penalty
he would face for murder in Michigan
was life imprisonment.

Under persistent interrogation,
however, Paul Schneider finally broke
down and confessed he had robbed
Frank Ford.

“But he was alive when I left him,” he
insisted.

Schneider said he had driven into
Ford’s gas station at exactly 10:30 p.in. the
night of September 20th, intending to rob

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the tavern hastily when the fight started, so his ability to
remember details of the car was even more useless than
the first informant’s.

A patron of the gas station said he happened to be
driving by at 10:15 and saw Ford talking to two men in
a dark blue sedan.

Another tavern habitue told police he had seen “a
suspicious looking car” parked behind the station at 4:15

on Saturday afternoon.. He saw no people near, just -

the car. He could not explain why he thought it looked
suspicious, other than to say, “It just did.”

There was nothing in any of this information , which
Homicide Detectives Duffy and. Holindrake could Tegard”

as a solid lead by any stretch of the imagination.

“The only thing that sticks out here,” Duffy said, as
they discussed the reports, “is that there were quite a
few people around the place that night. If there was any
unusual activity there—like a stickup or a scuffle, say—
someone should have seen it.” :

“You’d think so,” Holindrake agreed, “but if anyone
did, they’re not talking about it. The boys couldn’t find

any sign of a scuffle or a fight, though. No signs of gun-

play, either—certainly no shots fired. I see they checked
the possibility the fight in the tavern may have been staged
as a cover for a stickup, but they’re pretty certain there’s
no connection. The principals were a couple of respec-
table Joes who got into a beef when they were loaded.”
Duffy sighed, and quoted an old adage which had guided
the team in numerous other successful investigations.
“When in doubt,” he said, “start with the victim.”
Without further ado, they proceeded to draw a huge
chart, blocked off in large squares. At the top of each

square they inseribed a date, beginning with Sept. Ist,
and ending with Sept. 20th, which was the last day the
missing man was seen. Their plan was simplicity itself,

- although both were aware it would involve a staggering

amount of work and “‘shoeleather procedure.”

With infinite patience, they set out to question everyone
who knew Frank Ford. Hour after hour, day after day,
they interviewed members of his family, relatives, cus-
tomers, tradesmen* with whom he did business, friends,
acquaintances, and people’ who lived in, or frequented the

- neighborhoods of his filling station and home.

'~ At the outset, th ound ample confirmation that Ford
isi a ‘steady, sober ii dividual, certainly the most unlikely
person in the world’to disappear suddenly—and volun-
tarily—-without any word to his family. Prior to buying
the filling station, he had worked for 27 years in the
-same job, as an employee of a-meat-packing concern. He
had given up this-job only when his cardiac trouble
made it inadvisable for him to continue in such physically
demanding employment.

The filling station, which he ran with the assistance
of his son and another employee, seemed like a happy com-
promise for a man of 47 who, though his health was
impaired, still had an active mind and had no wish to re-
tire as an invalid.

When Detectives Holindrake and Duffy had finished
their round of interviews, each large square in their chart
was filled with notes. Viewed as a whole, they had com-
piled what amounted to a detailed diary of all of Frank
Ford’s ascertainable activities for every day of the three
weeks preceding his disappearance.

“Thus ended the first phase of (Continued on page 92)

Sheriff Erna Brown, holds the bar used to bludgeon victim to death, as other officers and suspect Paul Schneider look on

ake
%

SFr

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I MRT PT


Re ’ %
eee - sacuanaan die

was parked in the filling station had been in earlier and
stayed about an hour, leaving shortly before a fight broke the t
out in the tavern. rememt
So far as the detectives could determine, Ford had no the first
von enemies. They did learn, however, that the man had A patr
? reason to believe a local 17-year-old youth had twice driving |
burglarized the filling station. He had never reported a dark
it, but spoke to the young man’s parents about the matter. Anothe
A quick check established that the boy had left Denver suspiciou
t for Cheyenne, Wyoming, two days earlier, and police of on Satur
that city verified that he had taken a job there a day the car.
before the disappearance. suspiciou
The clerk at a fruitstand next to the tavern across the There
street told officers he recalled seeing a car drive into the Homicide
station just about the time the fight broke out. He had paid as a soli
no further attention to it, and he had seen no other “The
car pull in until the first police cruiser arrived. His de- they dis
scription of the car was so vague and general as to be few peo;
x ‘| useless. unusual
| Ady “hae on ee et ee te In all cases where an individual suddenly disappears, someone
| : it is police routine to explore the possibility that the “You'd
missing person took off of his own volition, for any of did, they
a vast number of potential reasons. In this instance, Mrs. any sign
Ford dismissed this possibility as utterly impossible. play, eit!
“In 23 years of married life my husband never failed the poss
him, Jack said. He was fearful that his father had been to let me know when he was going to be late coming as %
robbed and kidnaped. home,” she said. “And I did the same for him. I feel no con:
One of the patrolmen called in a description of the miss- certain something terrible has happened to him.’’ She table J«
ing man on his car radio. Frank J. Ford was 47, medium was equally certain that he could not have suffered an Duffy
height, dark hair and eyebrows, angular face, slender, and amnesia attack, the te
wore glasses with thin metal frames. He did not drink, On the following day, detectives pursued their quest ‘When
was sober, steady and dependable. He never failed to for information about Frank Ford, with rather provoca- With«
arrive home before midnight. tive results. The owner of the car in the station lot was chart
The report of the officer on the scene brought a group interviewed. He last saw Ford at nine o’clock, and he
of detectives to the station. They quickly established a could account for his own movements thereafter.
number of things, none of which proved to be especially The part-time attendant who had worked with the
helpful. The second car parked in the station lot be- missing man the night before said he had left at 10:25
| longed to a customer who frequently left it here. At a p.m. as Ford was preparing to lock up for the night.
| bar across the street, they learned that no one in the place Officers found a man who had seen the car reported
i had noticed anything unusual at the station that night. by the fruit stand clerk when it drove out of the station. Sheriff }
i Frank Ford was not a customer, but the man whose car But he was admittedly the worse for drink and leaving ~
|
In photo at left, suspect (c.) visits with
Det. Duffy, Capt. Pitts, scene where
Frank J. Ford (photo r.) was found
|
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lisclosed that
yank account
ials reported
‘awals for a

lindrake de-
to the filling

Sometimes
her, they in-
who ran an

they found
stigation cer-
lack of effort.
he filling sta-
stomers who
Fitzsimmons
made a spe-
ho they were
s in the case
ing pertinent
ne of inquiry.
ored the pos-

a,

.

sibility of disgruntled customers who
may have nursed a grievance against
the missing man. They were told. that
Ford had no disgruntled customers. This
seemed incredible.

“J never heard of a business that
didn’t have at least.a few chronic com-
plainers among their trade,” Duffy said.

Stated that way, it turned out there
were a few “cranky” regulars. But
everyone connected with the filling sta-
tion insisted Frank Ford had never had
a serious argument over service with
any of his customers. ae

The closest he ever came to this was
the disclosure that he had once been
forced to sue a man for payment of a
$380 bill. Duffy and Holindrake imme-
diately sought out the attorney who had
handled the case for Ford.

“Frank has always been a real softie,”
the lawyer told them, by way of expla-
nation. “After we served the debtor with
papers, Frank felt sorry for him and
wanted to drop the whole thing. I per-
suaded him to let me talk to the man.
The subpoena had thrown a scare into
him, and I got him to promise to pay
off the bill over a period of weeks. One
of his checks, for $50, bounced, but he
made it good within a few days.”

The attorney expressed the opinion’
that the debtor was anything but the’

violent type, but the detectives checked
him out anyway. They could not estab-
lish positively that he was non-violent,
but they did learn beyond question that
he had been on a business trip to Omaha
for a week which. straddled the date of
Ford’s disappearance.

At this point, Detectives Holindrake
and Duffy were forced to admit that
despite their diligent efforts, their end-
less round of interviews with hundreds
of persons, they had failed to turn up
even a single suspect, and they still had
no way of being sure whether they were
working on a murder, a kidnaping, or a
missing person case. Both confessed
later it was “about the most frustrating
case” they had ever handled.

As so often happens when investiga-
tions seemingly reach a dead end, how~
ever, they suddenly turned up what
struck them as a potentially significant
bit of information. Exasperatingly, too,
it was information that had been readily
available from the very beginning, but
no one had thought to mention it.

In a discussion with the previous
owner of the filling station, the man
from whom Frank Ford purchased the
business, they learned that as an accom-
modation to his patrons, he frequently
cashed a number of thecks. “I’m pretty
sure Frank did it too,” he said.

Young Jack Ford confirmed that this
was so, but he had no way of telling
whether his father had cashed any
checks on Sept. 20th, or if any part of
the missing $211 had been in checks.

“Has anybody come in to tel] you that
they cashed a check here that afternoon
or evening?” Detective Duffy asked.

The young man. said no, but he ad-
mitted he had not thought to ask any-
one that question. Said Duffy, “Begin-
ning right now, make a point of asking
every customer you know. It could be
important.”

This happened on the afternoon of
Oct. 8th, and that same day Duffy asked
reporters of the Denver Papers to publi-
cize the fact that police were seeking
information on any and all checks
cashed at the Ford service station dur-
ing the week preceding the disappear-
ance of its owner. Both the Denver Post
and the Rocky Mountain News printed
the request in a box on the front page
for several days.

The appeal resulted in reports of a

ee ae

dozen such checks, but investigation of
each one contributed nothing to the
probe. The one they had been hoping
for, however, popped into. the open on
OctjlOthes sain i y
Two men had come to the filling sta-
tion to report on a check Frank Ford
had cashed for one of them late on the
afternoon of Sept.-20th; Even more: im-
portant, the bank had advised that. the
check had just come in for payment.
Duffy and Holindrake met at once
with. the two men. One was the owner

of a Denver factory who had drawn the

check. The other was an employee to
whom. the check was made out; for
wages, in the amount of $40.57. The lat-
ter, seeing the front-paged police request
for information, had recalled that he
cashed the check at.the Ford station
and mentioned it to his boss. He, in turn,
had checked the stubs, found the num-
ber and date of the check and queried
his bank, only to learn that the check
had just come in for payment.

The detectives sped to the bank for
more information, which was quickly

. forthcoming. An examination of the

check showed it bore only two endorse-
ments, neither of them by Frank Ford.
One. was that of the employee who had
cashed it at the service station. The
other was signed “Paul J. Schneider.” A
comparison of this signature with hand-
writing specimens of Frank Ford re-
vealed no similarity. It was clear that
he had not signed: the Schneider name.
The check had come in for collection

from the Pikeville National Bank and-

Trust Company in Pikeville, Kentucky.

In a hasty exchange of communica-
tions with Undersheriff Robert B. Doak
of that city, Duffy learned that Schneider
was reported to be a darkish blond
young man, about 24, and he drove a
new car. He had' stopped ata local hotel
for two nights the week before, but had
since disappeared. He was known to

have made inquiries about a girl who

had married and moved elsewhere sev-
eral years previously. Duffy asked Doak

to arrest the man on sight if he showed.

up, and hold him for. investigation of
robbery, a charge subject to change to
one more serious.

Duffy then asked the FBI for “a
make” on Paul J. Schneider, and their
reply fired the Denver officers with the
belief that at long last they were on the
track of a prime and logical suspect.
Schneider, the FBI report stated, was
wanted on two counts of abduction and
car theft in Los Angeles. Three of his
24 years were spent in San Quentin. The
charge, robbery. The Army had dis-
charged him dishonorably for desertion
and armed robbery. He was also wanted
in Salt Lake City for violation of pro-
bation. -

Captain Pitt immediately ordered the
distribution of wanted ‘circulars on
Schneider for suspicion of murder.

But these had scarcely come off the
press when the search for the fugitive
came to an abrupt end. On October 17th,
Pikeville’s assistant police chief, Vernon
Sanders, spotted Schneider in a restau-
rant in that city, to which he had just
returned. He had the fugitive in hand-
cuffs, and relieved kim of a revolver in
a shoulder holster before the wanted
man knew what was happening, In quick
order, then, Sanders found that Schnei-
der was driving a Chrysler convertible
reported stolen in Los Angeles; the car
was filled with new merchandise, radios,
appliances and the like, and sported a
set of four brand new white -wall tires.

Schneider then admitted he had stolen
the car and had been driving it all over
the country for nearly a month. He said
he had been in Denver and Detroit,

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(Continued from page 57)

rote
their investigation. One of their most
significant interviews had been their
meeting with Ford’s personal physician,
who left no doubt about the gravity of
his heart disease. He had _ prescribed
digitalis, he said, which had to be taken
regularly to keep him alive.
“Do you think,” Detective Duffy asked
the doctor, ‘that he might be the vic-
tim of amnesia?”

The doctor shook his head negatively.
“T never found anything in my exami-
nations of him—which were fairly fre-
quent, I might add—to suggest any such
possibility. He had absolutely no mental
complications. Other than his heart con-
dition, his health was good.”

Detective Holindrake raised another
point. ‘What would happen to him if he
failed to take his digitalis regularly?”

The doctor shrugged. Frowning, he
said, “He might be all right for about a
week. He might even be all right for a
couple of weeks if he remained very
quiet, with no activity or physical exer-
tion. After that, he’d begin to suffer. In
another week, he would die.”

Duffy and Holindrake reacted quickly
to this. Duffy voiced the thought in both
their minds. ‘‘That means he has to re-
plenish his supply of digitalis if he’s still
alive. Is that correct?”

“Indeed it is,” the doctor assured him.

“Do you know where he has your
prescriptions filled?”

The doctor did, and gave the officers
the name of the drug store patronized by
the missing man. They promptly drove
there and told the pharmacist it was
imperative that they be notified if any-
one appeared and attempted to get a
refill on Frank Ford’s prescription.

A study of Ford’s books disclosed that
he had $1,100 in a joint bank account
with his wife. Bank officials reported
there had been no withdrawals for a
considerable time.

Detectives Duffy and Holindrake de-
voted substantial attention to the filling
station’s credit customers. Sometimes
separately, sometimes together, they in-
terviewed every customer who ran an
account with Ford. That they found
nothing helpful to the investigation cer-
tainly was not due to any lack of effort.

When they learned that the filling sta-
tion had a number of customers who
were soldiers stationed at Fitzsimmons
Army Hospital, the officers made a spe-
cial point of finding out who they were
and talking to each one. As in the case
of the charge patrons, nothing pertinent
was developed from this line of inquiry.

The detectives now explored the pos-

¥

"The mayor is a member of my congregation."

everyon
tion ins
a serio
any of
The ¢
the dis
forced t
$380 bil
diately s
handled
“Franh
the laws
nation, “
Papers,
wanted t
suaded }
The sub;
him, anc
off the b
of his ch
made it ¢
The at
that the
violent ty
him out
lish posit
but they
he had ¢
for a we
Ford’s a
At thi
and Duff
despite t!
less rour
of perso
evenas
no way of
working
missing
later it w
case”’ the:
AS So (
tions seen
ever, the
struck th¢
bit of int
it was infi
available
no one ha
In a
i owner of
| from who
| business, t
| modation
} cashed a 1
sure Fran}
Young .
was so, b
whether
i checks on
i the missin
“Has an)
they cashe
or evening
The you
mitted he
one that gq
ning right
every cust
important.’
This hay;
Oct. 8th, ar
reporters o
cize the fz
informatio:
cashed at t
ing the we
ance of its
and the Rc
the request
for severa]
The appx

ee

Crea

ik


oalance of the
declaring, “I’m
is stuff around
a a k.’*

mark with

ie kitchen
s, putting the
ot frying pan.
vilderment on
de in his high
or leading into
look of bewil-
ae of horror as
‘ame lurching
t her eyes with

TER whose astute
‘stiqation helped
eaking time.

dl
*
©
om
td
°
~

CHARLES FORD SILLIMAN, center of a grim double tragedy which claimed his wife
and child in the space of a few agonizing minutes without the slightest warning.

dimpled hands and whimpering, “I
can’t see, Daddy. I’m afraid. I can’t
see.” ;

He swept her up into his arms,
and her chubby little body writhed
convulsively in his embrace. Her
whimpering grew louder and her big
blue eyes took on a glazed look of
terror as she struggled to speak
again but was unable to do so.

He whirled about and called fran-
tically, “Esther! Patty’s sick. I’m
afraid she’s terribly sick.”

Mrs. Silliman hurried to him and
took the writhing child from his

arms. She exclaimed, ‘Her jaws are
locked together, Ford! She can’t talk
any more. Can’t you do something?”

She knelt and set the child on the
floor, but Patricia Mae’s twitching
limbs would not hold her erect. The
distracted father leaped to the cup-
board and got a kitchen knife with
which he tried to pry open the
child’s locked teeth, but they were

. set together with an iron tenacity

that resisted his efforts.

“She can’t breathe,” Mrs. Silliman
sobbed. “Her face is turning blue.
Get some help. Quickly!”

Silliman ran out the door, shout-
ing frantically for help. The first to
hear him was the proprietor of an
antique shop next-door. She came
running through the twilight, and
as soon as Silliman explained Patri-
cia Mae’s plight, she suggested:

“You’d better get Mrs. Davis...
right up the street. She has a three-
year-old girl and perhaps she’ll
know what to do.”

The woman hurried into the
kitchen while Silliman ran to call
Mrs. Davis. The pork chops, for-
gotten, were burning on the stove,
and she paused to snatch them off
before going on into the living room.

There, she was appalled to see
little Patricia Mae in frightful con-
vulsions, her face turned a horrible
blue and contorted with agony,
though only a faint whimpering es-
caped her locked lips as her mother
sought to comfort her.

One look convinced the neighbor
this was no case for simple home
remedies. Having one of the few
telephones in that neighborhood, she
hurried back to her shop to call a
physician just as the father arrived
with Mrs. Davis.

She telephoned a nearby doctor,
A. H. Montgomery, at. his residence
on West Ohio Avenue, and gave the
message to Mrs. Montgomery who
said her husband was due to return
in ten or fifteen minutes and would
hurry right over.

Returning to the Silliman house,
the neighbor found the father on his
knees beside the stricken child en-
deavoring to force his own breath
into Patty’s lungs while Mrs. Davis
advised him as best she could.

Mrs. Silliman looked up dully as
her neighbor entered,- and asked,
“Did you get a doctor?”

“He’ll be here in about ten min-
utes. Don’t worry. I’m sure Patty
will be all right.”

But Mrs. Silliman compressed her
lips and refused to be comforted.
“He'll be too late,” she declared. “He
won’t be in time to save Patty.
Never.” She shuddered then, and tot-
tered: to her feet, averting her eyes
from the tragic scene on the floor.

“['m beginning to feel ill too,” she
complained weakly. “I wish you’d
help me get a dose of soda.”

She clung to her neighbor as they
went into the ‘kitchen . . . leaned
against the cupboard as the neighbor
put a teaspoon of bicarbonate of
soda in a glass of water and handed
it to her. She drank it and the two
women went back into the living
room—to be greeted by the silence
of death.

Little Patricia Mae had ceased her
convulsive twitching, and Mrs. Davis
was striving to comfort the grief-
stricken (Continued on page 55)

15


*

DISTRICT ATTORNEY RICHARD H. SIMON
(seated) and DEPUTY DISTRICT AT-
TORNEY ROBERT B. LEE, both of Arapahoe
County, Colorado, who will demand the
death penalty for a ruthless slayer.

py tonight—for Patty’s sake, if
nothing else.”
With heightened color, Mrs. Silli-

man agreed. She got a glass from ©

the cupboard and held it out while
he uncorked the bottle. He slowly
poured liquor into it, watching her
curiously. There was at least three
ounces of brandy in the glass when
she finally said, “That’s enough.”
He didn’t say anything but his
expression indicated that he thought
it was more than enough.
Patricia Mae came toddling into
the kitchen just then, her freshly-
scrubbed face shining happily. She

"HHETETIT

os.

Presereseen

ARAPAHOE COUNTY JAIL where the man convicted of a fiendish crime was held
. . . brought to justice by a scarlet stain on his handkerchief and a tiny vial.

beamed when she saw the glass in
her mother’s hand, and announced,
“Wanta taste, Mommy.”

Silliman’s expression darkened as
his wife extended the glass toward
the child. He started forward and
said angrily, ‘That stuff is too strong

_ for her,” but the mother told him

calmly, “A taste won’t hurt her.
Patty always has some of anything
TI drink.”

Again, Silliman checked himself.
He turned away, putting the bottle
up to his lips. He took it down after

14

the first sip, sputtered, and rushed
to the sink to spit out a mouthful.
When he turned around his wife had
just finished draining her glass.

“How can you drink that stuff?”
he demanded. “It tastes spoiled to
me.”

She said, “I guess I don’t know
as much about how liquor is sup-
posed to taste as you do.” She set
her empty glass down and started to
set the table for supper.

Silliman studied her for a moment
through low-lidded eyes and then

angrily poured the balance of the
brandy in the sink, declaring, “I’m
not going to leave this stuff around
for you and Patty to drink.”

His wife greeted his remark with
silence, moving about the kitchen
with compressed lips, putting the
supper chops in the hot frying pan.

With a look of bewilderment on
his face, Silliman strode in his high
laced boots to the door leading into
the living room. The look of bewil-
derment changed to one of horror as
his tiny daughter came lurching
toward him, clawing at her eyes with

SHERIFF CHARLES FOSTER whose astute
direction of the investigation helped
crack this case in record breaking time.

a*

CHARLES FORD
and child in the

dimpled hand:
can’t see, Dad:
see.”

He swept h
and her chub!
convulsively i
whimpering g1
blue eyes took
terror as she
again but was

He whirled :
tically, “Esthe
afraid she’s te

Mrs. Sillima
took the writ


(Are pa he

Wilt c “9 ~ nid ba

Db didi ae ag

evening, January 22, 1944, when
Charles Ford Silliman turned
into the gravelled driveway beside
the trim brick bungalow on South
Federal Boulevard on the outskirts
of Denver, Colorado.

Cheery, welcoming light gleamed
from the windows of the bungalow
in the early dusk as Silliman gath-
ered up a number of grocery bags
and other parcels from the front seat
of the sedan and got out.

His four-year-old daughter, Patri-
cia Mae, came romping to the back
door to meet him as he entered, and
he fended her off with a laughing
caution while he set the parcels
down on the kitchen table.

“Pork chops for supper,” he told
her happily. ‘And as soon as we’re
through, you’re going to get dressed
up and go with Mommy and me to
the Stock Show. Isn’t she, Esther?”
he went on to his wife who entered
the kitchen at that moment.

Mrs. Esther Corrine Silliman was
a tall, attractive blonde of 28. She
wore a simple housedress and gave
her 34-year-old husband a wan, pre-
occupied smile as she assented, “I
guess so. If you want her to, Ford.”

She moved past him toward the
kitchen table where he had _ set
down his parcels.

A queer look of disappointment
or of fear clouded Silliman’s strong
features for a’moment, then he
gently put Patricia aside and stepped
forward to take his wife in his arms.
He turned her face up to his and
kissed her lips hard, then mur-
mured throatily, “Let’s go to the
Stock Show and be happy tonight,
dear. I’m sorry about the argument
-we had.”

His wife studied his face gravely
for a moment, then sighed and
nodded. “All right. I’ll start supper
right away.”

“Why don’t you start cleaning
Patty up?” he urged tenderly. “T’ll
put the frying pan on for the chops.”

12

ig was seven o'clock on Saturday

SCENE OF TRAGEDY: In the car parked
in the driveway alongside the Silliman
bungalow, police found a vial of strych-
nine, and they believed that this unhappy
house held somewhere within its four
walls the answer to a loathsome murder.

IT WAS LIKE SOMETHING OUT OF HORROR
FICTION. BUT IT WASN’T A STORY—OR A

NIGHTMARE; IT WAS BRUTAL TRUTH. HE
WAS FACE TO FACE WITH MURDER — AND
THE VICTIMS WERE HIS WIFE AND CHILD

BY DAVE

He whistled exuberantly as he
moved about the small kitchen,
building a fire in the stove and
putting groceries away while his
wife took Patricia Mae into the bath-
room.

When Mrs. Silliman came back
into the kitchen some ten minutes
later, she found a fire roaring in the
stove and a frying pan heating. Silli-
man was just turning away from a
cupboard over the sink, and he held
a partially full fifth bottle of brandy
in his hands.

His voice was hoarse with some
repressed emotion as he said, “How
about having a drink together—just

BARSTOW

to prove that we’ve made up and
aren’t going to quarrel any more?”

Mrs. Silliman blinked at the bottle
in his hands and asked sharply,
“Where did you get that?”

“Right here on the shelf,” he told
her, and added harshly, “I was about
to ask you the same thing. Have
you taken to drinking while you’re
here alone?”

“T don’t know anything about it,”
she faltered. ‘I never saw that bot-
tle before.”

Charles Ford Silliman started an
angry retort, then checked himself.
He shrugged and said, ‘‘Let’s have
a drink, anyhow, and try to be hap-

‘Let's have o ari

be happy tonight
(Speci


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among other places. He admitted being
in Denver around Sept. 20th, but he de-
nied he had robbed the Ford service
station.

Captain Pitt and Detective Holindrake
flew to Kentucky to question the pris-
oner, who continued to deny any knowl-
edge of the robbery or the Ford service
station owner’s disappearance.

No amount of questioning could shake
his story, but there,suddenly occurred
a development which was as bizarre as
anything in the experience of the vet-
eran officers questioning the suspect. It
resembled nothing more than an episode
in a TV mystery thriller.

In the Lexington, Kentucky bureau
of INS, reporter Jim Galloway had been
servicing the Schneider arrest story that
came out of Pikeville. It had contained
details of the Denver crime which had
caused his arrest. These details prodded
Galloway’s memory. At first he thought
he must have read about the case be-
fore, but this seemed unlikely. On a
hunch, he checked back in the files of
news copy for a couple weeks—and he
found what he was seeking.

A wire story datelined Detroit, Oct.
8th, reported the mysterious disappear-
ance of attendants from two filling sta-
tions in that city, James R. Hall, 21,
and Donald Dusseau, 28. Both stations
were robbed. The loot included a set of
new white wall tires, a radio, accessories
and numerous other appliances of vari-
ous descriptions.

All of Galloway’s news instincts told
him the similarities between the Denver
case and the two Detroit robberies were
simply too strong to be charged off as
coincidence. From the Detroit INS bu-
reau, he requested and quickly got a
list of identifiable serial numbers from
some of the stolen merchandise. On the
morning of October 22nd, he turned this
list over to the authorities in Pikeville.
Within the hour, they established from
the serial number of one of the radios
found in Schneider’s car that it had been
stolen from one of the Detroit service
stations.

‘Confronted with this irrefutable evi-
dence, Schneider admitted he had pulled
the two Detroit robberies and killed both
the missing atterdants. His MO for both
crimes had been identical. He forced
the victim into his car, drove to an iso-
lated spot, made him get out and blind-
fold himself, then bludgeoned him on
the head with an iron bar. He told police
where they could find the bodies, which
were located quickly thereafter. Both
men had died from skull fractures.

While he frankly admitted the Michi-

‘gan murders, Schneider continued to

protest his innocence of any wrongdoing
in the Frank Ford Case in Denver. Po-
lice were convinced he was lying about
this; they were virtually certain his ad-
mission of one and denial of the other
was based on his knowledge that Michi-
gan bars capital punishment, whereas
conviction for murder in Colorado may
result in sentence to death in the gas
chamber.

Finally, under relentless questioning,
Schneider broke down and confessed that
he had robbed Frank Ford.

“But he was alive when I left him,”
he insisted.

He said he drove into Ford’s service
station at exactly 10:30 p.m. Sept. 20th.
He fully intended to rob the place, and
the commotion caused by the fight in
the tavern across the street was an un-
expected break for him. At gunpoint,
he took all of Ford’s money, then forced
him into his car and made him drive
out of town on Highway 6. Fifty miles
from the city, he made Ford get into
the trunk. He had to stop for gas, so he

warned Ford that if he made an outcry
he would kill both him and the attendant
at the filling station where he planned
to stop. Ford remained quiet.

Some 60 miles further on, a few miles
from the town of Brush, but over the
line in Washington County, he stopped
the car again on a lonely stretch of road
near a bridge. He made Ford tie a blind-
fold around his eyes. Schneider said
Ford now spoke for the first time, tell-
ing him of his heart trouble and asking
his captor to have some consideration
for him. Schneider did not answer the
helpless man.

Taking a jack handle from the trunk
of the car, he walked Ford down under
the bridge, made him stop, then took
deliberate aim and smashed him on the
hea@ with the jack handle. Astonish-
ingly, the blow did not kill him. Ford
staggered to his feet, so Schneider began
shooting him. Ford, mortally wounded
and reeling under his blindfold, stag-
gered off into the darkness.

Authorities found Ford’s body where
his killer said it would be. Schneider
was returned to Colorado and on Octo-

NO IMPOSTOR

When a Casper, Wyoming, officer arrested a
man reportedly impersonating an FBI agent,
the prisoner stoutly protested he was no im-
postor,

The initials "FBI" on his shirt, he declared,
simply meant he was a full-blooded Indian.
That being obvious to the eye, the officer
promptly released him.

—Norman Olds

ber 29, 1947, he took police over the
route he had taken with his victim and
reenacted the murderous assault. He
was brought to trial before Judge Ray-
mond Sauter in the district court at
Akron, Colo. on Jan. 19, 1948, and on
Jan. 24th, the jury returned its verdict
of guilty of first-degree murder, On
Feb. 14th, he was sentenced to die in the
gas chamber during the week of May
22nd.

The usual series of appeals delayed
his date with the executioner for more
than two and a half years. It was not
until December 17, 1949 that Paul J.
Schneider went to his death in the gas
chamber in Colorado State Prison at
Canon City.

But for his greed in attempting to cash
a check stolen from his victim, and en-
dorsing it with his real name for a
paltry $40, he might have gotten away
with murder. e¢4¢

Police
of the

inside the

in each, putt
in case of a
couldn’t get
pocket! He \
ate men wit!

“T felt aw
he recalled 1
Jered loud e
They didn’t
we later four
pillows.”

By the tin
Benton, Mis
both his rer
tive ability.
outwitting
wrapped the
a drum.

Through a
cated a one-t
oners who \
man once hac
gang, only to
mance his \
bars. Now
vengeance.

Little offer
At the troop:
voluntarily \
Benton jail,
awaiting tria
in touch dai]
he was able
little effort
thing they
Little, who «
the gang’s o
safecrackings

This was
before his N
ducted into
he was anx
Little left C
apprehension
that time—a
daughter—ar
member Clau
for being put
ferson City
escape for th
Little was o1
his revenge «
was not a co

McGee's
down a tota
mile. Some
military duty
John Manor
tenced in the
stood in the
hammer he h
ness, McGee
the convict v
sentenced to
the first men
gas chamber

In the Arm
make his mar
man. Transfe
the Corps of
was assigned
officers to hel;
department.
manded a p
which he sur
per square fi
the world.”
some of the ti
Manila Bay, :
nary underw:
ing to comba:


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60

COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES

been identified as strychnine and had
been purchased shortly after five
o’clock that afternoon in a downtown
Denver drugstore by a man answerin
Silliman’s description, though he ha
signed another name to the .receipt
and told the druggist he wanted the
poison for killing rats.

The residue in the brandy bottle had
been analyzed and found to contain
strychnine, and a preliminary exam-
ination pointed to that particular
poison as the death agent. Finger-
prints on the tire patching tube and
vial were Silliman’s.

With this lengthening chain of
evidence, laboriously compiled by
painstaking police work, Silliman was
brought into the sheriff’s office and his
grilling commenced.

“We know it was you who brought’

the poisoned brandy into the house,”
Sheriff Foster told the prisoner. “Jean
Templeton told us all about it. We
know where you bought the poison,
and the phony name you signed. The
druggist who sold it to you has identi-
fied your picture, and your finger-
prints are on the vial. We’ve got
everything but the motive, Silliman.
You might as well give us that.”

But Silliman calmly denied every-
thing. “I did have a bottle of brandy
at Jean’s apartment,” he admitted,
“but I drank it up on the way home.
I don’t know where: the other bottle
came from... nor. the poison. The
druggist is mistaken, that’s all.”

“What about your fingerprints on
the vial?” =

Silliman crossed his booted legs and
shrugged. “You must have planted
them there some way. I’ve heard of
things like that—framing an innocent
guy.”

Foster stared at him in astonish-
ment. The awful charge of murdering
his wife and baby girl seemed not to
disturb the prisoner at all. He was as
calm as though discussing last week’s
football scores.

Both Gorman and Loter took a
hand, and the grilling continued re-
lentlessly for hours. But Silliman’s
unnatural calm remained unshaken.
He simply denied everything blandly,
paying absolutely no attention to the
mass of evidence against him.

It was two-thirty in the morning
when Sheriff Foster tried a-new tack.
He leaned forward and said, “You
know, we have a gas chamber in Colo-
rado, Silliman. That’s where you'll

| sit. That’s the penalty for first degree

murder. You see, Silliman,” he went
on conversationally, “your crime was
premeditated. Your motive was clear
enough. You were in love with Jean
Templeton and your wife was in the
way. So you planned to get rid of her.
You had murder in your heart when
you bought the strychnine. That
proves premeditation—and that’ll put
you in the gas chamber.”

He saw Silliman’s lips twitch, and
a tremor shook his strong body. But

he averted his eyes from the sheriff’s.

and didn’t reply.

“That’s about the foulest motive for
murder any man can have,” Foster
told him harshly. “Killin your wife
and baby for love of another woman.
And she doesn’t even care for you.
Where does that leave you?”

“Of course she doesn’t. I told you
I didn’t love her,” broke from Silliman
in a strained voice. “And it wasn’t
premeditated murder either. I just...
well, I just helped Esther commit sui-
cide, that’s all.” He lifted his head
to glare at Foster and the deputies.

“We'd planned it that way,” he went
on vehemently. “We're both sick with
dust pneumonia. And I’m losing the
sight of one of my eyes and pretty
soon I won’t be able to earn a living.
I tried to drink the stuff myself,” he
went on brokenly, “but it gagged me
and I couldn’t. But they won’t put me
in the gas chamber just because I lost
my nerve, will they?” he ended wildly.

“Do you mean to say your wife
knew what was in that brandy to-
night?” demanded the sheriff.

“Well... I don’t know whether she
knew or not. I think she must have
guessed. After Patty was taken, any-
way. We'd talked about it often,”
Silliman went on. “But we never had
definitely decided just how and when
we'd do it. And I thought it’d be
easier on her if she didn’t know——”

He went on and admitted every-
thing freely after that, seemingly hap-
py to make a clean breast of it and
childishly clinging to the hope that his
story of a suicide pact would be -ac-
cepted and would save him from the
gas chamber.

When he finished his amazing story,
there remained one point yet unex-
plained .. . for which he had no ex-
planation. That was the scrap of
paper bearing the scrawled couplet,
“Heaven is Hell. Hell is Heaven,”
found by the officers in the kitchen.
He denied all knowledge of it or its
authorship, and the officers were
forced to put it down as just another
queer coincidence in the bizarre case
which had been cracked in the record
time of a few short hours after the
double deaths occurred.

HE next morning—Sunday, Janu-
pd bye 23rd—Charles Ford Silliman
repeated his confession and. signed a
fifteen-page statement giving all the
details of his crime, in the presence
of Deputy District Attorney Robert B.
Lee of Arapahoe County, Colorado.
This signed confession was the basis
on which District Attorney Richard H.
Simon filed a charge of murder against
Silliman on January 26, 1944, in Lit-
tleton District Court.

The case was tried before Judge
Harold H. Davies and on March 16,
1944, Charles Ford Silliman was found
guilty of first degree murder and was
sentenced to death. Attorneys for the
defense admitted Silliman’s guilt and
tried merely for life imprisonment,
using the “suicide pact” as extenua-
tion. Judge Davies granted the de-
fense attorneys 30 days in which to
file a motion for a new trial.

District Attérney Simon will op-
pose the motion and demand the
death penalty in Colorado’s gas cham-
ber for this confessed killer.

Jean Templeton is a fictitious name,
used to protect the identity of an inno-
cent person.

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She knew
names, but t,
thing to che:
pare the w:
of Awols.

Suddenly }
here, Nolan.
AW OL.”

- He kicked
gear and he:
There they

about the ca
mand of the

Hathaway
news and req
Naylin’s disa:

Records

army officer <
Naylin failed
the morning
several days ;
him up yet.”

“Where's hy

The army
Alabama. “H
there, accor
think he ma)
to see her an
him over tha

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drove t:
They had t:
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from only on.
they talked pr
ployee in the
Finally ~
who hinte
might tel
fusing to say w
insisted, “You ;
Party a week a;
The girl was
tain Hathaway
way, you forgc
and Juanita we
lin not long agi
soldier?”
The girl gas)
fiance.”
“Why didn’t ,
before?”
“Because I di
self and my bo:
anything.”
“What were -
mixed up in?’
asked.
_ “Nothing,” th:
is, nothing ser
that if the polic.
Pd keep out of
“Do: you thin!
with Pete?” H;
lentlessly.
“I don’t kno:
wildly. “I don’
“Do you thir
killed her when
already married
cut like a whip.
The girl brok
shook her head
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It was comp:
check on the so]
the other waitre:
duty all day Th
been out with ei:
Since the Saturda

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taken to the
d, roller and

Carefully
ked for their
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nd compari-
ity minutes
Gouldthorpe

nd McGrath
cuffs. A mo-
iired suspect
his wrists.

the sergeant,
murder and
he New York
he necessary

ig,” the pris-
2ver wrong,”

the futility of
tity. He now
that his true
a, but he de-
{ the death of

‘few York and
the murder
ag trial, the
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second degree
ontenced him

s to life

are ficti-
« embarrass-
ay criminally

Y
\TE

page 34)
ANN an a

nt his pretty
chess. At’any
- hours of the
ing the young
ated at one of
ess board be-
j be heard An-
ying: “Why do
_ is there, right

ick, then again
ard, trying to
e had. left for

ew dance hall
slipper opened
those who fre-
Italian named
‘tionally good-
sted of his con-

iouse one day,
a then on he
on.
grave import,
ature of their
‘ssa could rare-
) they used to
arn. Sometimes
n evening with
r evenings
ther girls.

And then, in February, 1927, an
unsigned letter reached Angelo. It told
him that if he were to follow his
wife on her evenings off he would
find her at the Silver Slipper dance
hall, and dancing dance after dance
with the handsome Juan Espiro.

Angelo read the letter, put it in his
pocket, and said nothing.

That night, Tessa went out. Angelo
waited an hour, then followed. It was
just before eleven when he returned.
Tessa came back a little later and
the business of the place went on
as usual. A little later word flashed
around that Juan Espiro had been
found dead in a lane at the rear of the
Silver Slipper. He had been stabbed
through the heart but there was no
trace of the weapon.

An hour later Angelo’s little shop
closed as usual.

BOUT 2 a.m., Patrolman Neville,

passing down the street, noticed
that the lights of Angelo’s were still
on. That was not unusual, for often
Patrolman Neville had seen Angelo
and his wife at a last game of chess,
even as he saw them now.

An hour later Neville passed again,
and saw the couple in exactly the
same position. It was a cold night and.
Neville fancied a cup of coffee. The

father. Even as she stood in the door-
way and looked at the body of her
child, a convulsive tremor racked Mrs.

Silliman’s slender frame. She tried
to speak but a look of agony distorted
her lovely face. A little wailing sound
escaped from her locked teeth as she
peg vr down on the floor, twitching
and fighting for breath. The dreadful
bluish color spread over her pale
features as the frightened trio tried to
aid her.

Mrs. Esther Gorrine Silliman died in
silent agony a few minutes after Pat-
ricia Mae had passed away.

Dr. Montgomery arrived on the
death scene a few minutes later, hav-
ing rushed over as soon as he returned
home and received the message from
his wife. ;

He was just completing a cursory
examination of the bodies when a
State Courtesy Patrol car pulled up in
front of the house and Patrolman
Arnold Pinney entered. He explained
that a report had been telephoned to
their office by an excited neighbor and
he had been sent out to make a routine
investigation.

Mr. Silliman came up and inter-
rupted just then. “You’d better give
me something too, Doc,” he said. “I’m
beginning to feel awful. I just re-
membered that Esther opened a jar of
dried beef this morning and made
sandwiches for my lunch. They must
have eaten the rest of it today. Do
you think I’m going to die, too?”

The doctor studied him keenly for a
moment, then shook his head. “I don’t
think you need to worry about food
poisoning in this case.” He took the
patrolman’s arm and led him out of
earshot to avoid shocking the bereaved

FACTS FROM OFFICIAL FILES |

door was unlocked and he entered.

Angelo took not the slightest notice
of him—never even turned his head.
Patrolman Neville noticed that Tessa’s
usually sparkling eyes looked very
dull as they stared down at the chess

ard.

Neville halted and was about to
speak when he heard a sovund—a
faint, ominous drip-drip-drip.

Puzzled, he looked down at the floor
—and saw that what was dripping
was blood! It came from beneath the
small dark handle of one of Angelo’s
throwing stilettos projecting from
Tessa’s bosom!

“What—” Neville began—and then
Angelo looked up at him.

“Why doesn’t she move, officer?” he
asked pleadingly. “See, it is there,
right in front of her. She’s not stale-
mated!”

Neville stared down into Angelo’s
eyes and that one look was enough.

In a mental home today Angelo
wanders about, always carrying a
chess board. Occasionally he _ sits
down, his eyes upon an imaginary
opponent, and there comes pleadingly
from his lips: “Why don’t you move,
Tessa? It is there, right in front of
your eyes.”

a Tessa can no longer play with

im. ‘

PLANTED
MURDER

(Continued from pade 15)

husband and father further, and ex-
plained, “This looks like a case of
violent poison to me. I’m ready to
swear that mother and child didn’t die
of ptomaine.”

Patrolman Pinney said, “I'll call
the Arapahoe County sheriff to take
charge.”

EPUTY SHERIFF JOSEPH LO-

TER arrived first, followed by
Sheriff Charles Foster of Littleton who
assumed charge of the investigation.
Almost immediately behind him was
Ben L. Gorman, Under-Sheriff of Ara-
pahoe County, and Coroner Ivan J.
Joss.

The officers stood aside while Coro-
ner Joss conferred with Dr. Montgom-
ery, then made his own examination
of the bodies. Joss at once confirmed
Dr. Montgomery’s diagnosis, stating
that it definitely appeared to be a case
of some quick-acting poison, probably
strychnine, although an autopsy would
be required to determine the exact
nature of the toxic agent.

As soon as he received the official
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little bungalow of reporters and
sympathizing neighbors and reported
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a way as possible.

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the young father. “Do you think it
could be suicide? Do you think your
wife could have deliberately poisoned
herself and the little girl?”

Silliman shuddered and shook his
head. He muttered, “I can’t believe it.
Esther was so full of life. And she
loved Patricia. Are you sure it’s poi-
son?” :

“We have two competent opinions,”

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COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES

Foster told him. “Have you and your
wife quarreled lately?”

“N-o-o0.” Silliman hesitated, biting
his under lip, then admitted honestly,
“We did have a little quarrel last
week . .. about going to the Stock
Show. But we’d made that all up and
were going tonight right after supper.
We were sort of celebrating—”’ He
paused again, his jaw dropping slack-
ly. “That brandy,” he muttered. “TI
thought it was funny——”

Pressed for an explanation by.Sher-
iff Foster, he haltingly told the story
of events after his return from work
that evening.

“I didn’t know what to think when
I saw that bottle sitting there,” he
confessed. “I’ve always taken a drink
when I wanted it, but Esther hardly
ever did. But she drank it right off
this evening as though she was used to
it.”

He shuddered and shook his head,
drew in a long breath. “It’s a wonder
I didn’t get a dose too. But it tasted
bad to me and I spit it out’. .. poured
the rest of it down the sink.”

Foster listened to this story with a
frown. “If it was in the brandy, how
did a four-year-old child get any?” he

‘objected.

“Esther gave her a sip of her drink,”
Silliman explained.

“Of straight, high-proof brandy?”

“That’s right,” Silliman agreed un-
happily. “I tried to stop her, but
Esther insisted.” , :

“How did she act? Did you have
any intimation she>might know the
stuff was poisoned?” :

Silliman shook his head. “I didn’t
notice anything.”

By this time the coroner and Deputy
Sheriff Loter had the empty brandy
bottle and were examining it. It
smelled all right, but there was enough
residue to permit a chemical analysis
and the coroner took it away for that
purpose after being cautioned by the
sheriff, ‘Handle the bottle carefully.
There may be fingerprints on it.”

And when Silliman looked at him
inquiringly, the sheriff explained,
“The suicide theory doesn’t ring true
to me. I’ve seen a lot of things in my
official capacity but I’ve never known
a mother to deliberately poison her
child.”

“But . . . what else could it be?”
Silliman protested blankly. _

“’m wondering where that bottle
came from.” The sheriff paused, then
added, “It’s possible someone planted
it here to get you.”

“Oh no! Who would do that?”

“You're away. from home all day,”
Foster pointed out. “Your wife was a
very attractive woman. She might
have met some man—”

“No,” Silliman said strongly. “Not
Esther. I’ll swear she was a faithful
wife.”

“Might have been someone who
hated both of you. Did either you or
she have any enemies around the
neighborhood . . . male or female?”

“None that I know of.”

“What about the couple occupying

the other half of this bungalow?” Fos-

ter demanded. ‘How well did you
and your wife know them? Where
are they tonight?”

Silliman said, “We didn’t know them
very well. I guess they’re out tonight.
I didn’t see any light when I got
home.”

“Was the husband ever here in the
daytime while your wife was here
alone?”

“You didn’t know. Esther,” Silliman

told the sheriff with simple dignity.
“or you wouldn’t even suggest such a
thing.” He wiped tears from his eyes
with a handkerchief.

Foster said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean
to disparage your wife, but these are
questions that have to be asked.”

NDER-SHERIFF GORMAN called

Foster into the kitchen just then.
He and Deputy Loter had been mak-
ing a search of the house and had
turned up a couple of interesting
things. One of them was a tiny gro
tesque doll dressed in a weird Indian
costume. He held it in the palm of his
hand and showed it to the sheriff.

“There’s a dozen or more of these
in a row on the bedroom dresser,” he
reported. “All of them absolutely
identical. Reminds me of pictures I’ve
seen of voodoo dolls. Why do you
suppose she had a dozen of them, all
alike?”

While Sheriff Foster turned the
bizarre little doll over and over in his
hands thoughtfully, Deputy Loter
showed him a torn scrap of paper,
with the remark, “There’s something
crazy about this whole set-up. We
found this on the kitchen table under
a plate.” ,

Two short sentences were scrawled
on the scrap of paper in soft pencil.
The sheriff scowled as_ he read:
“Heaven is Hell. Hell is Heaven.” He
mumbled the words aloud and said,
“That’s what it seems to say.”

“That’s the way we deciphered it
too,” Loter told him. “But what does
it mean?”

Foster said, “We'll ask Silliman.”
He returned to the living room hold-

ing the tiny doll and the scrap of paper:

concealed in his hand.

“Do either you or your wife go in for
the occult?” he demanded.

Silliman looked at him in surprise.
“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Voodoo. Black magic. That kind
of stuff.”

“Of course not,” Silliman snapped,
his voice trembling near the breaking
point. “We were Christians and went
to church.”

“What’s the meaning of this then?”
Foster displayed the doll.

“Oh, that! My wife was just learn-
ing to make those in her spare time for

a novelty company in Denver... for.

extra money.”

“Sg she wanted extra money?
Youre working, aren’t you?”

“Yes, And I make a fair salary.”
Silliman’s voice cracked despite his
effort to remain calm. “But it was
never enough for Esther,” he went on
bitterly. “You know how some women
are. She wanted some money of her
own.”

“What for? To have a good time on
Sway from you?” Foster asked sharp-
y.

Silliman half-rose from his chair
and shouted hoarsely, “No! I’ve told
you she wasn’t that sort.”

“But you admit you were surprised
to see her take a big drink and seem
to enjoy it,” Foster countered.

Silliman sank back and covered his
eyes with his handkerchief again. He
muttered, “I don’t know. I can’t
think.”

“Ig this your handwriting?” Foster

thrust the scrap of paper under Silli-

man’s nose.

He removed the handkerchief and
gazed at it. “No. I didn’t write that.
What does it say?” .

“Ts it your wife’s writing?” the sher-
iff persisted.


“TJ don’t think so. Not unless she
was excited or drunk or something.
She wrote a neat hand.”

“What does it mean? ‘Heaven is
Hell. Hell is Heaven.’ What kind of
gibberish is that?”

“How do I know?” Silliman fairly
shouted. “I didn’t write it. And T
don’t think Esther did.”

“Who else,” asked Foster meaning-
ly, “could have been in here writing
this kind of stuff to your wife?”

Silliman sank back and covered his
face again. He appeared ata complete
loss for words, as though all the ae
he had believed in had been rude y
snatched away from him and he had

nothing left to cling to.

IX THE meantime, Joseph Loter and
Ben Gorman had been out around
the neighborhood questioning the
neighbors about the Sillimans in an
effort to throw some light on the
inexplicable deaths of mother and
child. They returned to report to the
sheriff:

That the Sillimans had lived in the
neighborhood only a few months, but
were well-regarded and appeared to
be a happy couple; that no breath of
scandal had ever touched them; that
they appeared to live within their
means and to have enough money for
their needs; that none of the neigh-
bors had ever seen Mrs, Silliman take
a drink of intoxicating liquor, though
her husband was known as a moder-
ate drinker.

These few simple facts made the
case more mysterious than ever. The
neighborhood was a quiet residential
section, and it was. Sheriff Foster’s
experience that people of that homey
sort generally knew just about ail
there was to know about the private
affairs of their neighbors. Another
important fact that his copies had
picked up was that Mrs. Silliman was
considered very healthy and was a
completely normal and cheerful per-
son; which was difficult to reconcile
big the theory of suicide and infanti-
cide.

Yet, there was that unexplained bot-
tle of brandy in the kitchen, with all
the known facts seeming to point to
it as the medium of death. The fact
that Mrs. Silliman had been practi-
cally a teetotaler would explain why
she had not noticed the unusual taste
of the liquor (which had been im-
mediately noted by her husband, and
which accounted for his being alive),
and it also gave credence to the theory
that ‘the bottle might have been
planted by a third person in the fiend-
ish expectation that Silliman would
drink from it while his wife abstained.
' This theory, however, called for an
enemy, intimately acquainted with the
household and at least passive con-
nivance on the part of Mrs. Silliman.

While the sheriff was mulling over
these various possibilities, the keen
eyes of Under-Sheriff Ben Gorman
introduced a new angle into the
bizarre case of double death.

orman was making a cursory sur-
vey of the living room when he
stopped suddenly and stared at the
humped figure of Charles Silliman,
who was still dabbing at his eyes with
his handkerchief. Gorman’s eyes nar-
rowed, and he stepped forward and
snatched the handkerchief from Silli-
- man’s hands without warning.

“I knew it,” he told Foster trium-
phantly. “See here... that’s lipstick.
And it’s mighty fresh too.”

Silliman looked up and said dully,

58

COMPLETE DETECTIVE CASES

“What of it?
I came in.
lips.”

Foster realized the importance of
the clue at once. He shook his head
and said, “You’d better think of an-
other story, Silliman. Your wife didn’t
wear any lipstick or rouge. That’s
one of the things I noticed.”

“She never used rouge,” Silliman
admitted, “but lately she’s begun
wearing a lot of lipstick.” He started
up excitedly.
She never used to fix up much. Do
you suppose that she—that that’s an
indication she was interested in some-
one else?”

Foster shook his head. He reiterated,
“She wasn’t wearing any lipstick to-
night. Where did you get that on your
handkerchief?”

Silliman sank back, pale but com-
posed. He muttered, “She must have
wiped it off after I kissed her.”

“Wait a minute,” Foster interposed.
“You say you didn’t get home until
after seven tonight?”

“It was about seven o’clock.”.

“What did you do after work...
until seven?”

“I had a few beers . .
of the fellows.”

“What fellows? Name the places
you visited.” Sheriff Foster got out
notebook and pencil.

Silliman wilted. He spread out his
hands dejectedly and admitted, ‘All

Then -I wiped it off my

. with some

right. I was with another woman for
a little while. But she was just a
friend. I drove her around to look at

an apartment.”

“And kissed her goodbye?” Foster
pursued sternly.

“Well... yes. It was just one of
those impulses and didn’t mean any-
thing. You can ask her.”

Foster said, “I will.” He took the
name and address Silliman gave him,
and dispatched a raging to interview
Jean Templeton at a North Denver
address.

Witt this admission from Silliman
that he did have a woman friend
whom he had visited before coming
home, Sheriff Foster ordered a much
more intensive search of the house and
premises than had been made pre-
viously. :

A thorough search of the house
brought no results, but a surprising
and damning discovery was made by

Deputy Loter when he shifted his at-

tention outside to the car parked in
the driveway. For in the unlocked
glove compartment he found a cylin-
drical tube of tire patching materials
and inside the tube was a small glass
vial containing a portion of white
powder. It was labeled—POISON'!

Confronted with this evidence, Silli-

man showed great astonishment but
lost none of his composure. He de-
clared the tube of patching material
did not belong to him and he had
never seen it before. “‘Someone is
trying to frame me,” he expostulated.
“Someone hid it there to get me in
trouble . . . whoever poisoned the
brandy and planted it in my kitchen.”

“That’s possible,” Foster admitted,
“but we can check up on it easily
enough. There’ll be mgerprints on
the can and the vial, and the druggist’s
label will help identify whoever
bought it. You might as well come
clean, Silliman.”

“Good God,” Silliman protested. “Do
you think I murdered my wife...
and little girl?” He shudderéd and his
voice broke. “If I’d known the brandy

I kissed my wife when-

“I’ve wondered why. ~

was poisoned, do you think I could
have stood there and watched Patty
drink it?”

Foster said implacably, “I think you
know more about it than you’ve ad-
mitted. I’ll have to hold you while
we continue our investigation.”

“That’s all right,” Silliman agreed
readily. “I don’t want to stay here.
I don’t think I could sleep in this
house.”

Sheriff Foster arranged to have him
taken to the Arapahoe County jail in
Littleton and held without charges
while Miss Templeton was being \ ogee
tioned and an attempt was made to
trace the vial of poison and to deter-
mine whether it was the death agent.

| igersebieny: of the important dis-
covery that had been made by the
sheriff and Loter, Ben Gorman in the
meantime was speeding to the North
Denver address given by Silliman.

He found a _ modest apartment
building with the name of Jean
Templeton, coupled with that of an-
other girl, on a mailbox in the foyer.
When he knocked at the door of the
apartment, it opened and he was con-
fronted by a smiling girl in her early
twenties, dressed in a clinging hostess
gown.

She admitted her name was Jean
Templeton and stepped back to let
him enter when Gorman said bluntly,
“‘T'm a friend of Silliman’s.”

“Has anything happened to him?”

she demanded in alarm. “Has he had
an accident?”
“How drunk was he,” Gorman

asked, “when he left you this after-
noon?”

“He wasn’t drunk,” the girl said
quickly. “He’d only had a few drinks.
Look here. Who are you?”

Gorman showed her his badge and
she paled. “Your boy friend is in
bad trouble,” he told her, “and he’s
trying to mix you up in it.”

“He isn’t my boy friend,” Jean
Templeton denied. “I just... know
him slightly.”

“Do you kiss all the men you know
slightly?”

“All right,” she said quietly. “I did

‘ like Ford. But he’s married.”

“So you killed his wife,” Gorman
shot at her. ;

She stared at him blankly, then
gasped, “What!”

“He’s trying to make us believe you
did it,” Gorman goaded her. “He says
you were in love with him and had
begged him to get rid of his wife. That

you must have slipped the poison in

the bottle of brandy—” He paused to
let his words take effect.

“The brandy?” she exclaimed. “You
mean that bottle he had this after-
noon? I didn’t touch it. And it cer-
tainly wasn’t poisoned when we were
drinking out of it.” :

Now, Ben Gorman knew he was on
the trail of the awful truth. Further
questioning brought out the fact that
Jean had met Silliman after work that
afternoon and they’d had a few drinks
in her apartment, though she vehe-
mently denied any intimacy with him,
or any knowledge of the ruthless mur-
der plan which must have even then
been maturing in his mind.

It was almost midnight when Gor-
man returned to the Arapahoe County
Courthouse, certain that his evidence

‘would help convict a cold-blooded

double murderer. At about the same
time, Sheriff Foster returned with his
quota of amazing evidence.

The contents of the poison vial had

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before I came home. There were tire
tracks leading .up to’ the house. I
thought, ‘Well, Esther*must have had
company.’ But that’s all I thought.’
And I went on in the house.”

“There wasn’t any car here at that
time?”

“No, it had already gone.” .

“Were Mrs. Silliman and her daugh-
ter here?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see them.”

“Did you see anyone come to the
Silliman home this afternoon?”

Mrs. Foster shook her head.

“That’s all I want to know—right
now,” and the sheriff dismissed her.

Foster took a moment then to try to
get the time element straight in his
mind. Mrs. Foster had gotten home

about 6.30. Silliman said he returned .

from work about 7:30 and said he found
his wife and daughter dead. Doctor
Montgomery arrived at 7:45. Mrs. Fos-
ter heard Silliman come home and
thought it was about 7:30. But she was

reading and wasn’t sure about that.

time.

Foster shook his head. Nothing.
really definite about these statements
of time. That was bad.

Oz thing he could check on—the
time when SilHiman got off work.
He sent a deputy to the Rio Grande
Trucking Company, Silliman’s place of
employment, to verify his story.

Then the Sheriff turned his atten-
tion back to: the husband, asked him
if he had any idea who the wife’s visitor.
was that afternoon. At first Silliman
shook his head, then a moment later he
pore “It might have been Mike Hol-
erin.”

“And who is Mike Hollerin?” :

“Old friend of Esther’s family. He’s
a cattleman. Comes to Denver lots
from Cheyenne Wells—on business.
That’s Esther’s home town. He brings
stuff down to Esther from Esther's’
mother. Swell old fellow.” — :

32

“Old fellow?” Foster asked frowning.

“That’s right. Good middle-age any-
way.” Silliman’ stopped. Foster's
meaning had just struck him. “If
you're thinking Mike may have killed
them, you're wrong. He wouldn’t
harm a flea. Like I say, he was an old
friend of the family.”

Foster took this opportunity to get
into the background of Silliman and
his wife. Maybe after he knew more
about them, he’d have some idea where
to search for the killer.

Silliman said he had been reared in
Towner, Colorado. He met his wife in
Cheyenne Wells in 1934. In October of
that year, they were married. They
lived.on a farm near Cheyenne Wells
and made a good living until the start
of the dust storms. Then, little by lit-
tle, they lost all their savings until they
were forced to give the place up and
move to Denver in September, 1943.

§TLLIMAN immediately found em-
ployment with the Barr Lumber
Company and it seemed good to have
money in the houSe again and decent
food. Four months latex, he got a better
job with the Rio:Grande Trucking
Company. He had worked there only a
week before his wife and daughter
were killed.

Besides Patty, there was another
child, eight-year-old Charles Le Roy.
He was staying with his grandparents,
Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Henderson, at
Cheyenne Wells.

“Did you leave any enemies back at
Cheyenne Wells—anyone who might
have followed you here and murdered
your wife and child?”

Again -shook his head and
sunk back into. that deathly trance.

Foster then turned his attention to
other things that disturbed him.

In the ‘first place, there was no whis-
ky bottle about the place, yet the
Coroner said that both the woman and
child had had whisky to drink shortly

¢

This address, found in the dead
woman's purse, changed the com-
plexion of the case, made it even
more challenging to the police

Charles Silliman: Investigators looked to him hopefully for valuable
aid in their attempt to find the murderer of his wife and little daughter

.

before their deaths. Where had they

gotten it? | Y

Another thing. Outside the back
door, the officers found footsteps lead-
ing to and from the Silliman home.
They were the footsteps of a man,
dressed in cowboy boots. In the snow,
the steps were fast becoming invisible.
But they were still plainly enough out-
lined, and Foster judged they had been
made about six o’clock,

More important was the difference
in the two sets of footprints—those
leading to the house and away from
the house. An officer, trained for
operations in the Rocky Mountains,
knows his footprints. He knew that
the tracks leading to the home had
been made about 30 minutes before the
ones leading away from the place..He
could tell by the depth of the prints
in the snow.

T= tracks going from the back door
of the home led down the alley.
They had not been made by the per-
son who had visited the Silliman home
in a car! Then Esther Silliman had had
two visitors that afternoon.

~ Who were they? Why had they come
to see her? Were either of these visi-

ones. the killer of Mrs, Silliman and
atty.

Foster already had a pretty good
idea who the person was who had en-
tered the back door. On the kitchen
cabinet, he found some pork chops and
bread, and a bill from a nearby gro-
cery. The tracks led out the back
door towards that grocery store!

“Get down there and see what you
can find,” Foster told Deputy Loter.

BY THIS time, the deputy had re- .

turned from telephoning the Rio
Grande Trucking Company concerning
Silliman’s working hours. The husband
had checked out at 7:10. The crime
had been discovered at 7:30. It was
nearly seven miles, through traffic,
from the Rio Grande Company to
Silliman’s home. His story must have
been true. He couldn't have made that
distance in less than twenty minutes.
So Silliman was allowed to go to the
home of a nearby friend while the of-
ficers continued their investigation.
Undersheriff Gorman was put to
work checking on the background of
Silliman, his wife, and Mike Hollerin.
Then Foster and Patrolman Pinney

_ began a careful search in the snow

i

: What Could Officials Do to Find the Killer Who Made This Beaver,

Colorado, Mother and Child Toast Their Deaths in Poisoned Brandy?

dishes knocked to the floor and broken:
But it didn't look as if there had been
a terrific fight that had ended in sud-
den death. But the expressions of
agony on the faces of the mother arid
child were evidence enough that they

died horribly. Probably by poi-
son. Certainly, death was not by natur-
al means.

Doctor Montgomery said, “There's
nothing that can be done to help the
mother and child. But we'd better call
the officers -immediately. There's
plenty for them to do here,” ‘

The Silliman home was located just
inside the limits of Arapahoe County,
and Sheriff Charles Foster, who was
no relation to Mrs, Gertrude Foster, got
the call at his office in Littleton. He in
turn notified the Colorado Highway
Patrol; and Arnold Pinney, in his ra-

_ dio-equipped cruising car, received the
message a few minutes later and went
immediately to the Silliman home.
Sheriff Foster was right behind him.

W HEN they drove up to the front
door of the house, the husband
stood silhouetted in the doorway, mo-
tionless as a statue. The light from the
living room threw a long shadow of the
man on the snow-covered ground.

And the constant snow flurries made
boo Py ui move—like an excited
ghost.

“Where are they?” Sheriff Foster de-
manded quickly.

Silliman, saying nothing, turned and
pointed into the living room. The offi-
cers hurried inside. .

The husband turned back toward the
outdoors. His face and hair were cov-
ered with snow. He put his arm across

, :

the doorway—as if to keep anyone else
from entering.

He remained there until Sheriff
Foster drew him back into the room.

“Your wife and daughter have been
murdered,” Foster said, “and you've
got to try to help us.” :

Silliman nodded. His lips moved
slightly, but he said nothing.

“Do you have any idea who killed
them?” the Sheriff demanded.

“No.” It was the first thing the man
had said to the officers.

4ITELL us what happened here to-
night—before you went to the
Foster home for help.”

Silliman wet his dry, trembling lips
and spoke in quick, almost incoherent
snatches. “I got off work about seven
and came right on home. Got here
about half-past seven. Just like I al-
ways do. Esther and Patty and I were
going to the stock show in Denver to-
night .-. . got home fast as I could.
Ran in the front door .. . asking Patty
if she was ready to go... then I saw
both .. there on the floor. Got Mrs.
Foster fast as I could.”

“You didn’t see ‘anyone else here
when you came in?”

“No ... didn’t take time to look...
everything just went crazy ...and I
was scared ...I got Mrs. Foster.”

Coroner Ivan Joss, Undersheriff Ben
L. Gorman and Chief Deputy Joseph~
Loter came in the front door, brushing

the snow off their overcoats. Joss went
to examine the bodies and the deputies,
accompanied by Patrolman Pinney,
started a search of the place.

Foster said, sniffing, “Smells like
liquor in here, Silliman. You've been
drinking?”

Silliman shook his head.

“Did your wife drink?”

“A little . . . occasionally.”

Coroner Joss broke into the conver-
sation. “Then this is one of the times.
Both the woman and the girl have had
some liquor.”

Foster looked at Silliman. The hus-
band’s face flushed, his voice was
angry. “I told Esther never to give
Patty any of that stuff.”

Sheriff Foster asked. “You and your
wife had trouble over the drinking
question, didn’t you?”

“No..,not much.”

“But you did have trouble!”

a“ SOME. Like every married couple.
We didn’t agree on everything. I

was just brought up to think that
drinking was wrong, that’s all. I didn’t
mind Esther drinking some, but I
didn’t want her to let Patty have any.”
Sheriff Foster left the husband alone
for a moment and spoke with Doctor
Montgomery and Mrs. Gertrude Foster,

the Silliman’s neighbor. They were ,

still talking when the ambulance came.
Joss said, “No blood, Sheriff, except
a little scratch oh the woman and a

This is the home where the Silliman family lived—before a heart- |
less murderer poisoned a mother and her four-year-old daughter

ied

ii

e

ail ie

bump on the head of the child.”
Foster nodded. “Get a comple
autopsy right away, Ivan. And dor
worry about there not being any bloo
Maybe it’s poison. Or maybe they we
stabbed with some small weapon like
well, an ice-pick, for example.”
When the bodies had been remove
the Sheriff began an intensive que
tioning of Mrs. Foster. The first thir
he wanted to do was check Silliman
story. Silliman was slumped on tl
sofa, his face covered, sobbing. fF
hadn’t looked up when the two me
dressed in white, had come in with tl
stretcher to get the two bodies.

“| WANT you to think hard, M:
Foster, and tell me whether or n:
you remember hearing Charles Sillime
drive up to his home in his car tonight
“Yes, I remember hearing him dri\
in.” Mrs. Foster looked at Sillima:
pity in her eyes. “I was readin
though, and I don’t remember exact.
what time it was. It didn’t seem bi
just a moment or two later, howeve
that he came running into our hon
to tell me what had happened.”
“But you’re not sure how long

“No ... not exactly.” Again Mr
Foster looked at Silliman’s bowed hea:
“Like I say, I was reading and—”

“When was the.last time you sa
Esther Silliman and her daughter?”

“About—oh, two or three o’clock th
afternoon. I saw them when I starte
downtown. I didn’t get home until si
or maybe half-past.”

“Did you see anyone here then?”

“No, though I did notice that som:
one had driven up to the house in a ce

li

‘'

he ;
WA


around the home, using a spotlight,
looking for anything they could find—
but particularly a liquor bottle!

An hour later, they were back in the
house, practically frozen, and they had
found no bottle!

The question of where Esther and
Patty had gotten the whisky loomed
even larger than before. In fact,
Foster was beginning to wonder if the
answer to this crime didn’t hang on
that one secret.

Foster and Pinney then began a more
thorough search of Mrs. Silliman’s
personal belongings—her purse, a box
of letters and her bureau drawers.

~ In the midst of all the lipstick, bobby ©

pis, small change, hair nets and oth-
er odd articles in the victim's purse,
Foster found a.small piece of paper on
which was scribbled this address: 1942
Pennsylvania Street. -

Just then the back door of the home
opened, and Deputy Loter entered, ac-
companied by a white-faced youth
about seventeen years old. Loter quick-
ly explained that the youth was the

“grocery store delivery boy who had
visited the Silliman home that after-
noon.

“And he’s got the dangdest story,”
Loter said. “He claims there was an-
other woman here about six o'clock
when he came in. I think—”

“There was,” the youth interrupted
suddenly, nodding his head for em-
phasis.

41 A. WOMAN?” Foster was surprised.
He hadn't expected this. A man
maybe. That would make sense. But
not a woman. “What did she look like?”
“Oh ... nice dressed’. . : kind of
pretty . .. not very old looking. She
had a little girl. Looked like she was
about three years old—the little girl.
Didn’t. get a very good look at the
woman. She and Mrs. Silliman were
in the living room talking.”

“Were they drinking anything?”

“I don’t know. Didn't notice.”

“Did you smell any liquor?”

“Can’t smell tonight. I've got a
cold.” And he sniffed to show the
Sheriff what he meant. .

Foster thought for a moment. “Why
did you stay here for thirty minutes?
Rather long to stay just to deliver some
groceries wasn’t it?”

It was the youth’s time to look sur-
prised now. He was frowning. “How’d
you know how long I was here?”

“Never mind how I knew. Just an-
swer my question.” |

Bid

“I was just playing with the little
kids out in the kitchen. They wanted
me to show 'em how ta make. snow ice

oo And I was showin’ ‘em, that’s.

“Did it take you thirty minutes.”

“Guess it did. Boss got pretty sore.”

“Was there a car parked in front of
the house when you left?”

“Yeah. But I didn’t notice what
kind it was, or anything like that.”

The youth definitely had added life
to the investigation, so far as Foster
was concerned. The visitor at the Sil-
liman home that afternoon had been
a woman! A woman with a child
about the same age as the Silliman’s.
The woman and her child must have
left the house about the same time
Mrs. Foster returned from town.

HE Sheriff's thoughts immediately
went back to that address which he
had found scribbled on a piece of paper
in Esther Silliman’s purse: 1942 Penn-
sylvania Street. Who lived there? Why
did Mrs, Silliman have that address in
her purse? Was that where the woman
lived who had been visiting in the
Silliman home that afternoon? ~
Foster, Pinney and Loter left the
Silliman house after locking it and
placing a guard on the premises. Then
they drove to the morgue to see what
progress had been made there, -
Coroner Joss met them at the front
door of the gloomy, dimly-lighted es-
tablishment, rubbing his hands excit-

ly, ;

“Y’ know that means something!”
Foster exclaimed, hurrying inside the
building, and brushing the snow from
his coat. “Stop rubbing your hands,
Ivan my good man, and tell me what
goes on.” ;

“It’s a poison case, Sheriff,” Joss
announced. “I told you at first there
was something queer about that—no
blood at all.”

Gesturing excitedly, Joss went more
into detail. Doctor Frances McConnell,
toxicologist, and Doctor John C. Wid-
enmann had performed the autopsy.
They found a lethal dose of strychnin
mixed with brandy, in both the victims.
The poison, the doctors explained,
would kill the victims in from fifteen
minutes to an hour.

Now, the question of where the wom-
an and daughter had gotten the drink
of liquor became paramount. For it
was this poisoned drink that had taken
their lives.

Foster turned to Deputy Loter.

Sheriff Charles Foster: His biggest problem was to locate a mysteriou:
“Charles Howell" who boosh! strychnin on the day of the murder:

“Check every drug store in town if
necessary, and get the names of every-
one who has purchased strychnin dur-
ing the last month. Also, check at the
drug stores in Cheyenne Wells and
Towner—just to make sure wé don’t
overlook anything.”

FOSTER had a trip all picked out for
himself—that address on Pennsyl-
vania Street. Right now, he was very
interested to find a woman—a woman
who had a three-year-old girl. And he
had a good idea he might find her at
that address. .

The snow had almost stopped when
he drove up in front of the big, brick

apartment house on = Pe:nsylva)
Street early that Sunday morni
The sun was coming up bright and:
in the east, and it looked as if it mi;
be a warm day. No one wis outsi
Probably still asleep.

The Sillimans owned a 1936 blz
Ford sedan. Foster had seen it wh
he drove up to the Silliman home t
night before. If Mrs. Silliman’s wo
an friend lived here, perhaps Mrs. Si)
man had been here at some time, v
iting in the Ford sedan. It might bx
way of locating the mysterious wom
friend who had a_ three-year-«
daughter.

Foster awakened the manager of t
apartment house, told him about t
Ford sedan and the woman with t
daughter.

“Sure would like to help you, Sherif
the manager replied, yawning, “but
don’t have no woman with a little }
living here. Must have the wrong a
dress I guess.”

“Wait a minute,” Foster said quick
before the man shut the door in }
face, “has there been anyone of th
description living here recently?”

“WW ELL, now that you mention
about six months ago, guess
was, we had someone like this he
woman you describe. Mrs. Fred Rey
olds, think her name was. Wife of
soldier. But they moved away. Do:
know where they went.”
“Are you sure you never saw a 19
model black Ford sedan parked here
“Nope, can’t say that I do. Lots
cars come and go here all hours of t
day and night. Got people living he
who work every shift of the day. Cra
way people worked these days. Gue
they gotta do it to win the war.”
“Did you hear of anyone named S
liman?” Foster asked, in desperatio
“Nope. Sure didn’t. Sorry, Sherifi
Back at Headquarters, Foster fou
Pinney waiting for him. The patrc
man was as discouraged a man
(Continued on Page 45)

An officer examines the Silli-
man car for some vital clew to
the identity of the twin killer


It was a_ lipstick-stained
initialed handkerchief, sim-
ilar to this one, that police
hoped to use to bring them
closer to a double-killer

Charles Le Roy Silliman
probably would have died
with his mother and sister
if he hadn't been staying
at his grandmother's home

in aq 1A a nine | 7 eo) “)
fh, gassed CO (Arapahoe) 11-9-19

—“And Serve With Brandy

ROWNING, Mrs. Gertrude Foster
looked up suddenly from _ the
book she was reading. She was
sure she had heard someone call her
yame, Someone with terror in his
voice. The January wind howling

.round the corners of her home in the -

suburbs of Denver, Colorado, muffled
sche call. It was Saturday night, and
outside snow was falling. She wished
ner husband would hurry and get

nome.

“Mrs. Foster! Mrs. Foster!”

The call was unmistakable this time,
cight at her front door. She jumped
50 her feet, and waited...

A husky young man about 35 years
yIid, and clad in a leather jacket and
‘iding breeches, lunged into the room.
He closed the door behind him and
fell against it, panting.

“Mr. Silliman!” the woman cried out,
running to the man whom she recog-

30

Until

Cold”

By Harlan Mendenhall

‘Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

nized as her neighbor.
“What in the world has happened?”

“It’s Esther . : . Esther and Patty.
Something terrible . . . call a doctor
quick.” 4

“What’s .wrong?”

“Never mind . . . call a doctor.”
A moment later, Mrs. Foster was on

the telephone directing ‘Doctor A. H.

Montgomery to the Charles Silliman
home at No. 667 S. Federal Boulevard,
just a few blocks south of the city.

When Doctor Montgomery entered
the Silliman home ten minute§ later, he
found Mrs. Foster and Charles Silliman
holding the bodies of little four-year-
old Patricia Mae “Patty” Silliman, and

her mother, Esther Corrine, 28 years ©

old. The only light in the living room
came from the open flame in the gas
stove. A

Long shadows, formed by the flames,
played weirdly across the dead faces
of the mother and child—and the two

persons who held them,

“Isn’t there a light here?” the Doc-
tor asked.

The thought, apparently, hadn't oc-
curred to Silliman or Mrs. Foster.
There had been too much else to think
about—too much of terror and sorrow.

“Yes.” Silliman spoke as if he had
been awakened suddenly. “Right be-
side the door.”

URRIEDLY switching ‘the light on.

Doctor Montgomery first bent over
little Patty. Then he turned to the body
of pretty Esther Silliman, held limply
in the arms of her husband. The fast
examination told him what he’d al-
ready known: mother and daughter
were past all medical aid. © -

Doctor Montgomery _ straightened
up and looked about the room. There
was little evidence of struggle in the
room—two overturned chairs, a few

RrticiAe velecrTive YTeRIES
U1

spas) OF Roy

terrified Hoover reportedly
ust I die like a dog?”
nte replied, “Bennett died

<nown avengers had evi-
e plans for two lynchings,
Hoover took longer than
the rising sun broke, one of
2s ran down and told Simms
‘lucky for him that they did
ne to attend to his case, but
buld see him later.”
trial was held later that day
‘ed atmosphere surrounding
:. The jury, no doubt intimi-
e hanging, deliberated fif-
s before returning a verdict
‘ate murder.” Simms was
to be hanged in the Park
Friday, June 11, 1880, at
Jpon hearing the verdict,
wed not a particle of emo-

O prevent another summary
officials decided to send

OLp WEsT

Colorado Historical Society

Simms back to Denver to await hang-
ing. While people in Fairplay were gen-
erally hostile toward Simms, at least
one person demonstrated sympathy in a
tangible way. The Rocky Mountain
News said, “A small pocket saw was
found in his cell, which had been
thrown through the grated door, but he
did not get time to use it.”

June 11 came and went and Simms
remained alive. Thanks to Simms’
lawyer, General S.E. Browne, Colorado
governor Frederick W. Pitkin granted
two three-week stays of execution
beginning June 8. Browne argued that
the Hoover lynching had intimidated
Simms’ jury. According to the Denver
Tribune, the citizens of Alma reacted
with outrage, not only because they
loathed Simms, but because ‘“‘so unpro-
voked was the murder that the citizens
of Alma determined to put a stop to
shootings, which had got to be so com-
mon on the streets that men, women,
and children were in danger walking

FALL 1994

the streets at noonday.”

Members of the Denver press had
regular access to Simms during his two
months in the Arapahoe County jail. A
Rocky Mountain News reporter inter-
viewed Simms and recorded his version
of the events that led to Johnson’s
shooting. After the card game, Simms
said he got up to go to supper ‘when
Johnson followed him out and began to
curse him, knocking off his hat.

After Johnson refused to pick up the
hat, Simms said he picked it up himself
and started to walk away. “He followed
after me and I turned and told him to go
away from me, that I didn’t want any
fuss with him. He said he didn’t care a
—— whether I wanted a fuss with him
or not. He began to curse me and threw
his hand to his pistol pocket. I thought
he was going after his gun.”

THE REPORTER made no attempt
to refute Simms’ version, but he did
provide his own impression of the
young man. “At first sight Simms has
not an unpleasant face, but it will not
bear scrutiny. The cold grey eyes, and
thin, firm set lips allow a cruel, unre-
lenting temper and indicate a bad dis-
position.” He had the features of ‘“‘a
relentless badman,” the reporter said,
noting that although Simms was but
nineteen, “cruelty is stamped upon his
face with indelible marks.”

On July 22, before boarding the
train for Fairplay and his execution,
Simms posed for a portrait on the front
lawn of the Rocky Mountain News.
Once on the train, reporters continued
grilling the prisoner. When one com-
mented that Simms seemed outwardly
untroubled by his predicament, Simms
responded, “I’ve made up my mind that
I’m gone up, and that’s all there is of
it,"

On the trip, lawmen arranged to
detrain at Red Cliff, where they
boarded buggies for the hour-long jour-
ney to Fairplay. The Rocky Mountain
News said that, to ward off potential
trouble, an escort consisting of Sheriff
Ifinger and ten men “armed with the
latest improved repeating rifles, and
double-barreled shotguns,” joined the
party. Although they made it to
Fairplay without trouble, events could
have been different if a rumored rescue
of Simms by his brothers and their

friends had not gone awry. The armed
liberators supposedly met the wrong
train. Not having heard of the second
stay of execution, they arrived early,
apparently about July 2, and tipped
their hand, effectively ending any
chance of rescuing Simms.

In Fairplay, Simms was ushered into
a drab basement cell in the courthouse.
Aside from a tray of food placed on the
spare bunk, the only human touch was
“a candle burning dimly in one corner.”
Still exhibiting an outward indifference
to his fate, Simms quickly devoured the
meal, and “at about 10 o’clock...took
off his boots and coat and lay down
upon his rude couch—the last he would
ever occupy this side of eternity—and
pulled the warm covering over him.”

Sleeping a full eight hours, Simms
awoke at six o’clock the morning of
July 23. He immediately used the soap
and water that guards brought him.
Soon breakfast arrived and he quickly
ate his last meal.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER he had
a final conversation with his brothers,
George and Ross, who were miners in
the Breckenridge area. Simms permit-
ted the ever-present reporters to eaves-
drop on their conversation. Displaying
the same iron-grip on his emotions,
Simms did not flinch, even when the
brother closest to him in age began cry-
ing.

Still, said the Denver Republican,
“at every mention of the names of
General Browne or the Governor he
would start with nervous expectancy,
showing that he still retained a kind of
undefined hope that something might
yet be done for him. His eyes are now
deep sunken, and terrible to look at, but
it was nevertheless apparent that he
would die game.”

After the brothers departed, Father
Charles M. Ferrari, a local priest.
joined Simms in his cell. At 12:20 p.m.
the jailer unlocked the heavy steel door
and told Simms that the time had come.
The Rocky Mountain News said,
“Simms was not changed even at this
momentous time. When all around him
were in a State of the most intense ner-
vous anxiety, he alone remained cool
and collected.”

Exiting the jail in shackles, Simms
was lifted into a carriage and, sur-

43

*
*

Colorado Historical Society

The Park County Courthouse in Fairplay, where Simms spent the last day of his life in a drab basement jail cell.

rounded by guards and an excited
crowd, driven the quarter mile to the
gallows erected in a small clump of
cottonwoods. An estimated crowd of
800 people awaited the prisoner, who
was set to die at 1:00 P.M.

Simms may not have been aware
that in the final days a member of his
jury had signed an affidavit swearing
that he had voted for conviction only
because he feared for his life if he did
otherwise. He offered to pay the attor-
ney fees if General Browne could
secure a new trial. Nor was he probably
aware that Sheriff Ifinger had similarly
sworn that the Climate at Fairplay was
so hostile that he could not guarantee
Simms’ safety during the trial. Despite
the affidavits and the fact that the pre-
siding judge at Simms’ trial, Thomas
M. Bowen, urged a commutation of the
death sentence to life imprsonment, the
Colorado Supreme Court refused to
concur, and Governor Pitkin accepted
the court’s decision.

At the gallows, Simms unhesitat-
ingly climbed the steps to the platform
and sat in a chair. “He did not seem to

44

take any notice of the instrument of
Death on which he sat, but his eyes
wandered about in a dreamy, dreary
sort of a way.” The weather suited an
execution—overcast skies, lightning,
and rolling thunder.

Standing next to the prisoner,
Sheriff Ifinger read the death warrant.
Simms maintained a stoic countenance
until the sheriff spoke the words, “hung
by the neck until he is dead.” Then his
“chest was seen to throb and heave vio-
lently.” As handkerchiefs began to
appear among the women in the crowd,
Simms was asked if he had any last
words. Rising from his chair, Simms
spoke in barely audible tones, “I don’t
know as I have much to say. I have my
life taken, and I do not think I have had
a fair trial or a fair show, but I am will-
ing to forgive all who had a hand in it,
if they will forgive me. I hope the Lord
will forgive me my sins.”

After a short prayer with the priest,
Simms was guided to the trap door,
where his limbs were bound tightly and
the obligatory black mask fitted over
his face. Apart from a slight convulsive

twitching of the fingers on one hand, he
remained outwardly impervious to his
fate. At 1:19 p.M. the lever was pulled
and Cicero C. Simms plummeted
through the door. The only sound was a
“horrible shudder that ran through the
crowd.” As the body snapped to a bru-
tal stop, the noose, which had been
knotted under his left ear, slipped all
the way around to his right ear.
Someone later calculated that the rope
stretched fourteen inches during the
drop.

A Denver Tribune reporter acted
more like a participant than an
observer. Standing adjacent to the drop
area, he was allowed to handle Simms’
body as the man slowly strangled to
death. At the moment the body
dropped, he reached up and felt Simms’
pulse, which was ninety-five beats per
minute. He wrote, “During the first
minute there were ten convulsive
movements of the shoulder, in efforts
to breathe, and two or three twitchings
of the legs. His pulse was 112. In the
second minute the pulse had fallen to
92 and there were two movements of

OLD WEST

the shoulders. |
pulse was 60.
action of the sh
fourth minute th
the fifth minute
ceptible at the w
minutes the he:
strokes were lat
During the ele,
utes the heart b
teenth at 51, in
in the sixteenth <

Then Simms’
and stopped. D1
of two physicia
Simms and said.
dead.”

The sheriff \
before releasin:
ring, while depu
body to the gro
crude wood box
ward and rem¢
than some mott
cheek and neck
ping from the
Simms’ face loc
The Denver T)
eyes were open
slightest bloodsh
stony, but as natt

THIS LAST
perhaps one of t
that spread immc
tion that Simms’
thetic doctor ha
According to a
via the Central
Stagecoach dr
McCarthy claim
of the hanging.
his stage just ou
told him they
wanted taken to
worst, the driver
to drive on. wh
against his face.
stood guard ove:
into some bushe
body of a man.
but as he was p
covering fell off
ver recognized...
though too weak

Five miles o
men ordered M
carefully lifting
coach, they po

FALL 1994

Colorado Historical Society
ent jail cell.

ie fingers on one hand, he
vardly impervious to his
°.M. the lever was pulled
C. Simms plummeted
or. The only sound was a
ider that ran through the
2 body snapped to a bru-
noose, which had been
his left ear, slipped all
und to his right ear.
calculated that the rope
rteen inches during the

Tribune reporter acted
participant than an
ding adjacent to the drop
lowed to handle Simms’
1an slowly strangled to
‘© moment the body
iched up and felt Simms’
vas ninety-five beats per
rote, “During the first
were ten convulsive
the shoulder, in efforts
two or three twitchings
s pulse was 112. In the
the pulse had fallen to
vere two movements of

OLp WEsT

the shoulders. In the third minute the
pulse was 60, and one convulsive
action of the shoulders occurred. The
fourth minute the pulse beat was 64. At
the fifth minute the pulse was imper-
ceptible at the wrist. For the next three
minutes the heart beat at 30, but the
strokes were labored and intermittent.
During the eleventh and twelfth min-
utes the heart beat at 38; in the four-
teenth at 51, in the fifteenth at 74, and
in the sixteenth at 90.”

Then Simms’ heart fluttered briefly
and stopped. Dr. W.A. DeBeque, one
of two physicians present, examined
Simms and said, “Mr. Sheriff, Simms is
dead.”

The sheriff waited another minute
before releasing the rope at the iron
ring, while deputies below lowered the
body to the ground and placed it in a
crude wood box. Someone stepped for-
ward and removed the mask. Other
than some mottled blood in the right
cheek and neck areas, and saliva drip-
ping from the partially open lips,
Simms’ face looked surprisingly calm.
The Denver Tribune reported, “The
eyes were open, and were not in the
slightest bloodshot, nor were they at all
stony, but as natural as life.”

THIS LAST DESCRIPTION was
perhaps one of the sources for a rumor
that spread immediately after the execu-
tion that Simms’ brothers and a sympa-
thetic doctor had resuscitated Simms.
According to a story out of Leadville
via the Central City Register-Call, a
stagecoach driver named Gerald
McCarthy claimed that on the evening
of the hanging, two men had stopped
his stage just outside of Fairplay. They
told him they had a sick man they
wanted taken to Leadville. Fearing the
worst, the driver declined and attempted
to drive on, when a pistol was thrust
against his face. “While one of,the men
stood guard over him the other stepped
into some bushes and brought out the
body of a man. The face was covered,
but as he was placed in the coach the
covering fell off and the frightened dri-
ver recognized...Simms, who was alive,
though too weak to walk.”

Five miles outside Leadville, the
men ordered McCarthy to halt. After
carefully lifting “Simms” out of the
coach, they pointed their weapons at

FALL 1994

the driver and ordered him back to
Fairplay. Needing no further encour-
agement, he raced back to Fairplay
where he told his story.

The Denver Republican, also relying
on Leadville sources, wrote that Simms
was indeed alive and recuperating in
the Cloud City. His brothers and sev-
eral friends were reportedly in town
and acting very unconcerned about
recent events. The brothers refused to
confirm or deny the rumor, but “their
pleased expression” convinced many
that Cicero C. Simms was alive in
Leadville, and that his brothers were
waiting an opportune moment to hurry
him to Denver.

Another story, this one from Alma,
detailed the widespread belief that

Simms had survived the hanging.
Supposedly, friends of John Johnson
planned retribution against an unnamed
doctor and Sheriff Ifinger for partici-
pating in the shocking conspiracy.

Despite those and other so-called
“eyewitness accounts,” no solid evi-
dence ever indicated that Simms went
anywhere except to a grave in a lone-
some Rocky Mountain valley. Still,
the larger question remains, was
Cicero C. Simms an incorrigible crim-
inal who got his just deserts, or was he
the victim of a string of bad luck that
culminated in his hanging at the age of
nineteen?

Bred

Colorado Historical Society
A street scene in Fairplay. Simms had been in trouble with the law there before he
murdered John Johnson.

Fairplay, Colorado, the site of Simms’ hanging.

between a healthy yawn, said, ‘Hello,
Sherman, what do you want?’

““Where is Johnson?’ asked
Sherman.

“In Alma, I suppose,’ replied the
young man. ‘Was he hurt much?’

““He’s dead, that’s all,’ replied the
officer.

“Ts that so?’ came the weak rejoin-
der.”

As the cobwebs cleared from his
brain, Simms learned that he was under
arrest. As he got up and dressed at a
leisurely pace, -hhe made no attempt to
conceal a pistol and knife. He readily
responded to questions, informing his
captors that he had been in. Denver sev-
eral times before. He said he had been
arrested on those occasions and had
appeared several times before the jus-
tice’s court. Simms remembered
Sherman as one of the officers who had
arrested him.

Within days, Simms was arraigned
and returned to Alma for trial. Alerted

42

to a possible lynching, the lawmen dis-
guised Simms as a woman. After
detraining at Fairplay, they drove him
by wagon the five miles to Alma. The
Denver Times said, “The lynching party
at Fairplay through which Sims was
driven, learning by accident that he had
slipped by them, mounted their horses
and rode rapidly after him, reaching
Alma just in time to see the jail door
close upon him.”

Following a brief stay at Alma,
Simms was moved to Fairplay and
housed in the courthouse basement to
await trial in April. His fellow inmates
included John J. Hoover, accused of
murdering a man named Bennett.
Hoover, after a brief trial, was con-
victed of manslaughter and given ten
years in the state prison; however, the
judge reduced the sentence to eight
years as credit for time already served.

Early April 28 a band of masked
men broke into the courthouse and
hanged Hoover from a second-story

window. A terrified Hoover reportedly
begged, “Must I die like a dog?”

A vigilante replied, “Bennett died
like a dog.”

The unknown avengers had evi-
dently made plans for two lynchings,
but killing Hoover took longer than
planned. As the rising sun broke, one of
the vigilantes ran down and told Simms
that it was “lucky for him that they did
not have time to attend to his case, but
that they would see him later.”

Simms’ trial was held later that day
in the charged atmosphere surrounding
the lynching. The jury, no doubt intimi-
dated by the hanging, deliberated fif-
teen minutes before returning a verdict
of “deliberate murder.” Simms was
sentenced to be hanged in the Park
County jail Friday, June 11, 1880, at
1:00 P.M. Upon hearing the verdict,
“Simms showed not a particle of emo-
tion.”

Seeking to prevent another summary
execution, officials decided to send

OLD WEST

Simms back to
ing. While peop
erally hostile t
one person dem«
tangible way.
News said, “A
found in his ¢
thrown through
did not get time
June 11 cam
remained ali\
lawyer, General
governor Frede
two three-wee
beginning June
the Hoover lyn
Simms’ jury. A
Tribune, the cit
with outrage, 1
loathed Simms.
voked was the |
of Alma deteri
shootings, whic
mon on the str
and children w

FALL 1994

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The Killer
Returns

(Continued from page 45)

house the rest of Friday evening and all
night? Looks like with the phone ringing
and Mrs. Ohlander trying to get into the
house he'd have been scared foolish. On
the other hand, it doesn’t look to me that
he’d come back here the next day, just to
turn that light off.”

“THe might have,” Glasier said. “He
might have remembered the light or driven
by and seen it and decided it was .worth
a gamble. He could have worked on the
theory that no one would investigate a
closed house like this unless something un-
usual attracted them. And a light burning
on the porch of a closed house ts certainly
not usual.” :

First, the plumber, Burt Swisher, was
checked on. Swisher was frankness itself.
“I was there Friday,” he said. - “I shut
the water off for her and left. She told me
she was leaving that evening.”

“Was anyone else in the house at the
time?” Deal asked.

“Well, I wouldn’t know for certain. I
think so—think that I heard somebody
moving stuff upstairs. I shut the water off
in the basement. There’s a stop and waste
valve to drain the pipes, so I had no busi-
ness upstairs and I didn’t go there.”

“No carpenter in the basement?”

“Not then, but I think she called one.
There was a window broken out and I
suggested she have it replaced or else
boarded up. I suppose she did that.”

“She did, all right,” Deal said. “I don't
suppose yeu know who she called?”

“Yes: I believe so. I suggested she call
C. D. Brown, Brown and I work together
that way.”

Brown’s address was obtained and a
deputy was sent to question him. He re-
turned with the information that Brown
had not done the work for Mrs. Culbertson.

“He tells me,” the deputy said, “that
Mrs. Culbertsorf called him but he was tied
up and couldn't do the work for a couple
of days. She said she was leaving that day
and the work had to be done then, so he
told her she’d have to get somebody else
and he supposes she did.”

Ri find out where Brown was work-
ing!

The deputy said he had and a check was
made and it was quickly proved that Brown
had not boarded the window up. “And so
we are left with a blank field,” Deal said.

There wasn’t much to be done about this
beyond what they did do. A deputy was
given the Manitou Springs and Colorado
Springs telephone directories and told to
phone every carpenter and repair man listed
in the classified section of the books,
“That's what Mrs. Culbertson had to do,”
Deal said. “She had to pick her man that
way.

Meantime Sheriff Deal had heard from
the chief operator of the telephone com-
pany. No long distance calls had been
made to or from the Culbertson residence
excepting the Baldwin calls from Denver.
Mrs. Culbertson had called her aunt once
and Mrs. Baldwin had called several times.

Only the first call—made on Thursday—_

getting through.

Deal at once telephoned Mrs, Baldwin
in Denver and told her what had happened.
There was a gasp and then a silence that
lasted so long the sheriff thought the
woman had left the wire.

He said, “Did you hear me, Mrs. Bald-
win?”

“T heard you,” she replied faintly. “TI
was afraid of something like that.”

“You mean you had a reason to believe
something like that might happen? ‘Then
you have some idea about who killed her?”

“No,” Mrs, Baldwin said, “that’s not
what I mean. I mean when she didn't
come back here as she was supposed to
and when she couldn’t be found down there,
I was apprehensive.”

The sheriff was disappointed, “Then you
can’t help me any?”

“I'm afraid not, Mr. Deal.”

She'd talked to Mrs, Culbertson on
Thursday, she said. “Carrie said she’d
leave there Friday night.
got thé house in order.

.

She hated to leave

it but I told her things would be all right.: %—

Also I told her to have my caretaker keep
an eye on the place.
place down there and | pay him enough
that it wouldn’t hurt him any to keep an
eye on Carrie's place too.”

Her home in Manitou Springs, she said,
was at 234 Spencer Avenue, about a block
down. the hill from the Culbertson house.

“Why don’t you go down and see my ©
caretaker?” she asked. “His name is John. |
Sullivan. He knew Carrie and it might ©
be he can help you. He's a good man and
you can depend on him to do whatever he ©

can.”
Deal said he’d do that. Mrs. Baldwin .

told him she’d be in Manitou on the first» .

train. “This is awful,” she said, “but 1
want to help you all I can.”

The sheriff found Sullivan at the Bald-
win home. A man about 40 years of age, |
he had frank eyes and an opén face. He
acknowledged the sheriff’s self-introduction ©
and said, “I heard about Mrs. Culbertson.
It’s pretty awful—hard_ to

ago and told me and I told him what I
know, and that’s not much,
idea who could have killed her. This is ©
a very exclusive neighborhood out here and *
tough characters don’t get out this way.

“I was up to Mrs. Culbertson’s Thurs-
day and she told me she was leaving Fri-
day. Asked me to keep an eye on the place

and I said I would. I didn’t see’her Friday... ee

I was busy here and I took for granted she ©
had gone.”

“You saw the plumber and carpenter
trucks up there, didn’t you?” Deal asked.

“Il saw a couple trucks up there—one
of them just a little after noon and> the
other a little later. But I didn’t pay any
attention to them.”

“One thing I want to know, Mr. Sulli-

van: Did you see a light burning on the ih

porch Friday night?”
“Yes, I did,” the man said.

“THAT'S RIGHT. The rest of the

house was dark and I thought maybe
she’d forgotten to turn the porch light out.
So I decided I'd go up Saturday morning
and turn it out. But when I got up there,
around 9 o'clock, the light was already out
and I figured she hadn't left as early as
she’d planned—had come back and turned
the light out herself.”

“How were you going to turn the light
out? You got keys to the place?”

Sullivan shook: his head. “I figured to
unscrew the bulb.”

“You were up there Thursday, you say.
What for ?”

“For two reasons.. Mrs. Culbertson got
a letter and I phoned her about it and she
asked me to bring it up. She said she
wanted to talk to me anyhow. I took the
letter up and that’s when she asked me to
keep an eye on the place. She said she’d
see I was paid for my trouble and I told
her Mrs. Baldwin paid me and that Mrs.
Baldwin had asked me to watch both places:
In the winter, you see, there’s not much
for me to do.”

“This letter,” Deal said.
from ?”

“Where was it

She’d just about >

He looks after my *°

believe. A &
deputy sheriff was here a couple of hours = >

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couldn't talk and pretty soom she dted. |
dragged her out, then | went upstairs and
turned all the lights out. The electric
range was burning and I couldn’t find the
switch, so I let it burn» I locked the doors
so nobody would bother me, then [ went
back to the basement.

“Well, I left the house then and locked
the front door with a padlock. I had the
key. But after I got back to where I live
I saw I'd left the porch light burning so I
knew I must have been a little excited.

"I hadn't noticed it before,

“I started back up there to turn the light
off and I saw her daughter was there, so I
went back home. Saturday morning when

I got up the light was still burning. That °

was around six o'clock. So I went back
up there and unlocked the door and turned
the light off.”

Though John Sullivan confessed his
heinous crime, when arraigned by District
Attorney Irl Foard of El Paso County,
Colorado, he pleaded not guilty by reason
of insanity. He was sent to the State
Hospital at Pueblo where he was held one
month. Alienists there determined that he
was entirely sane. He was returned to
Colorado Springs for trial and was indicted
on a charge of murder in the first degree.

The State meant to have a conviction.
They wanted no false trials. So instead of
the usual 12-man jury, there was a jury
of 13—the 13th man being an alternate to
take, the place of any juror who be-

“came incapacitated for any reason during

the trial.
John Sullivan’s trial ended Thursday,
March 26, 1942. Convicted, he was sen-

.tenced to death.

Unless Sullivan appeals and wins a new
trial, he is slated to die in the gas chamber
on the week of August 23.

EI Cabalito

(Continued from page 27)

Within a few days Brophy received the
following cable from the underwriters’
investigators :

ROSSI’S FATHER IS A PAINTER, BUT
NOT THE KIND YOU THINK. HEIS A POOR
HOUSE PAINTER. THREE GIRLS NOT
KNOWN AND CAN’T CHECK FROM AD.
DRESSES GIVEN BECAUSE ONE IS A
CEMETERY, THE OTHER AN OLD FACTORY
BUILDING AND THE LAST AN EMPTY LOT.
VITTORIO ROSSI HAD A FIRE IN HIS
CORDOBA STUDIO IN WHICH ALL HIS
PAINTINGS WERE DESTROYED, HE COL-
LECTED 78,000 PESOS ($32,000) INSURANCE,
AMY’S UNCLE HAROLD GODBER NOT
KNOWN HERE AND FOR YOUR INFORMA.
TION EL CABALITO IS A SUBWAY STA.
TION IN BUENOS AIRES, NOT A RANCH,
SENDING VIA AIR MAIL LIST OF PAINT-
INGS WHICH WERE DESTROYED IN HIS
FIRE AND FOR WHICH WE PAID INSUR.
ANCE,

This cable set in motion the efficient
machine for which the New York Fire
Department’s Arson Squad is famous. Chief
Brophy inimediately phoned Scotland Yard
in London to ascertain whether Harold
Godber really died in Liverpool four years
prior. He and his aide, Martin Scott, then
called at the Rossi home.

“There are certain facts concerning your
passport which we would like to speak with
you about. Will you please come down to
headquarters with us?” Brophy’s gentle
handling of the suspects was motivated by
the need for further evidence directly con-
nected with the fire.

At headquarters, Chief Brophy had a

pail ewoutn lake Amy to breakfast in the
uilling so that he could question Vittori
alone.

“Now Mr. Rossi, you told us that you
never had a fire before. Isn't it a fact
that your studio in Cordoba burned down?”

Sensing a bluff on Brophy’s part, Rossi
answered in the negative

“Well, then I’ll refresh your memory,”
Brophy shot back.
pesos insurance on that fire.”

“Oh, yes!” Rossi replied with an ex-
aggerated expression of remembrance. “I
completely forgot that. Money—it means
nothing to me.”

Chief Brophy was interrupted by an

urgent telephone call from London. Upon
his return to the room he found Amy and
the policewoman. He \took Amy into his
private office.

“Now, Amy, I don’t want to make trouble
for you,” he said, “but I’ll send you and
your husband to jail unless you tell me the
truth. I-know you lied about inheriting
the paintings. I just spoke with Scotland
yard in London and I know all about your
Uncle Harold Godber. Now tell me the
truth about the fire.” -

Amy paled. “I—I don’t know what you're
talking about.” *

“All right,” Brophy continued. “I’ll prove
I’m not bluffing. You have an aunt named

Elizabeth Edith Godber living in Kings-

way, South Africa, with another uncle
named Herbert Bramley Godber. Am I
right?”

Brophy studied her worried expressions
before continuing.

“Well, I know your Uncle Harold God-
ber was not a world traveler, and he did
not die at the ripe old age of 65. He was a
longshoreman in Liverpool and was mur-
dered in a common street brawl at the age
of 16. Now, Amy, where did you get the
paintings ?” ;

Oy was a frightened girl. “Well, after
all,” she said, “I don’t see why I can’t
tell you the truth if the other artists don’t
hear it. You see, my husband wanted me
to say the paintings were inherited so that
it would add romance to them. But please
don’t tell others.”

Brophy had Rossi brought into the room

and warned Amy to remain silent. Adter -
the paintings —

he questioned him about
again, and Rossi stuck to his story of
inheritance,“ Brophy permitted Amy to
speak, She spoke to her husband in
Spanish, and when they were finished he
turned to Brophy and said:

“I want to make this statement. My wife !
I bought —

did not

them.”

inherit the paintings.

“You collected 78,000 :

“Where did you get the money?” asked > +

Brophy.

“T won $200,000 at a horse race in Buenos ©

Aires,” he replied.
Brophy's next question was a logical one.

“At what race track and on which ©

horse did you win this money ?”

“T don’t remember,” Rossi answered.

“What!” exclaimed Brophy. “You win
a fortune of $200,000 and you don't re-
member -where ?”

“Money—it means nothing to me,” said
Rossi.

G. F. Mueller, a recognized art expert,
was ushered into the room.

“IT sent for you,” said Chief Brophy,. “to
examine these postcards of famous _paint-
ings which I found in an envelope in

‘Rossi’s desk. These criss-cross lines aroused © -
my curiosity. Will you tell me what you

make of them?”

After examining the postcards, which ~
are usually bought in art stores or public —

museums, Mueller replied:

“These proportional lines on thé famous *-
paintings reproduced on these postcards . *

mean only one thing—that whoever drew

——eE

SULLIVAN, John, ‘wh, gassed COM (Bl Paso) September 20, 1943 _

16

ONCE AGAIN SECRET DETECTIVE CASES ROVING CRIME RE
BRINGS YOU AN EXCLUSIVE CASE

by SECRET DETECTIVE CASES Special Investigator
JAMES J. BURTIS, JR.

Pare ay

ete
+

PORTE

The woman screamed in nameless horror. as the knife was plunged into her back.

SECRET DETECTIVE CASE

S
Pai? 9

August, 1942

SINGLE light shone from a
A basement window of the lit-

tle house that perched like
a sentinel on the top of the rocky
hill.

To the wild-eyed man whd plod-
ed resolutely up the hillside, the
light was a guiding beacon, leading
him up through the solid darkness
that enshrouded the Colorado hills.

It was the second week of Jan-
uary of this year and the weather
was fairly mild. None the less, the
man pulled his coat tighter around
his neck as a chill ran down his
spine, a shiver doubtless caused
by the sordid thoughts that wan-
dered through his evil mind. He
looked back to see if anyone was
following him, as though someone
might. have heard his ugly and
unuttered thoughts. No one was
there, so he continued on toward
the beckoning light.

Once at the house, his beady
eyes trying to penetrate the dark-
ness, his ears straining for any
sound, the man stood still a mo-
ment. Again, he saw no one com-
ing up the lonely lane; except for
the eerie wail of a freight train as
it passed through the cut a mile
below, the night.was as silent as a
tomb.

The nocturnal visitor next turned
his attention to the house outside
of which he stood. He peered
through the lighted cellar window.
The woman he sought was there,
standing before the open furnace’
door, evidently trying to start a
fire. Then the man turned to the
door leading to the basement,
found. it unlocked, and entered.

The woman was obviously ex-
pecting him. Hearing him enter,
she straightened up and faced him.
Garbed in a rayon house dress

~ that revealed much of her stunning

figure, her neat hair-do framing
her finely carvel features, she pre-
sented an attractive sight for the
eyes of any man. To her visitor, she
was irresistible.

“Hello, there,” she said. “You
brought my letter?”

“Yes, here it is,’ the man an-
swered, handing her an envelope.
“Want me to help you with the
fire?”

“No, I guess it will come up
now,” the comely lady _ said.
“Thanks for bringing me my mail.
T’ll come down and see you to-
morrow; good-night, now.”

The lady walked over to a table
near the furnace, picked up a let-
ter-opener, slit the envelope and
began to read the message. When
she finished, she placed the letter
and the opener on the table. Then
she saw that the man still stood
there, an uncertain look in his
piercing, eyes.

“Is there something else you
wanted?” asked the lady.

“Just thought I might borrow
your rake so I can use it while
you're away,” the man answered.

The woman opened the door of
a tool closet, stooped down to pick
up the rake. With cat-like speed
the visitor slithered over to the
table, picked up the letter-opener
and with one motion plunged the
stiletto-like point deep into the
lady’s back. She crumpled slowly
to the floor, frothy blood oozing
from her mouth, unable to speak
but fully conscious.

The visitor finished his grisly
task as quickly as he could. First,
he dragged the dying woman’s
inert form to the coal bin. ...


thie

’ Mrs.

"Denver, Tt was from Mes, Batdwin.!

"Why was it sent here instead of to Mrs.
Culbettson’s house?” Deal wanted to know.

“Because that was the arrangement.
Mrs. Culbertson asked me to watch for her
mail when she first came down here. She
didn't know how long it would take her
to close her house and she knew I’d be here
all winter.”

Sullivan said he thought Mrs, Culbertson
had got two men from the Federal Employ-
ment Bureau to help close the house.

“I offered to help as much as | could,”
he said, “but she said I was really working
for her aunt and she’d rather hire her own
help from town.”

Deal had thought about the angle of the
Federal Employment Bureau. Needing help
for a day or two, it was natural for any-
one to call the bureau.

He knew the local manager and got him
on the phone. The man said he wouldn't
know if he'd sent anyone out, nor who the
men were if he had. “I’d have to go to
my office and check the records,” he said.
“Tomorrow morning be all right?”

“It sure as the world won't be all right,”
the sheriff said. “I got a cold enough
trail-now.”

* “Well, I'm in bed, Sheriff ; but I'll dress
and meet you at the office in half an hour.”

Deal stopped at his office on the way
down. The deputy detailed to phoning
Carpenters had located a man who said he
had boarded up the basement window in
the Culbertson home.

“Fellow named Tom
said. “He says Mrs.
him and he went out and did the job.
Wasn't there but a few minutes, he says.
He says also there was a couple other guys
in the house at the same time. They were
covering and moying furniture, he says.”

Undersheriff Glasier was sent
to Higby and Deal went on to the employ-
ment office. The manager, grumbling a
little over getting out of bed at such an
hour, quickly went through his records.
“Here it is,” he said. “Two men. Worked
Thursday afternoon and most of Friday.”

The men were Harvey Squires and Wil-
lard Dragoo. They had been on call with
the employment bureau for a number of
years.

“Seem to be
ager sdid.

“But you really don’t’ know much about
them?” the sheriff asked.

“Just what we have on the records.”

Dragoo and Squires lived in widely sep-
arated parts of Colorado Springs. They
did not seem likely suspects. If but one
man had been hired, the lead would be
worth something; but in criminal history
it is not often that two men have partici-
pated together in sttch a crime.

Glasier had little to report from Higby.
“T don’t think he knows a thing about it,”
the undersheriff — said. “Anyone would
know he couldn’t have been in the house
very Jong. It doesn’t take long to board
up a window. Far as I see, the only good
he has done us is to give us a lead on these
two other guys.”

“T hope they can give us a lead,” Deal
phy fervently. “We're getting nowhere
ast.”

Dragoo and Squires gave a lead and an
alibi. That is, they alibied each other.
They said they had left the Culbertson
home together around 4 o'clock Friday af-
ternoon.

Squires said,

Higby,” the deputy

good solid men,” the man-

“We were all through and
Culbertson started, to pay us off.
Just then the phone rang and she answered
it. I couldn’t hear much that she said,
only that she’d be there quite a while yet
and then she ‘said to bring it over.”

“Bring what over?” Deal asked the man. -

“I don’t know what.

She just said to do
that, then she hung up.”

Culbertson called.

out to talk:

Yhe sheriff, Marshall Ranks and Under-
sherit! Glasier went into a huddle. For
some time they talked in circles. Then of
a sudden Deal snapped his fingers.

“That letter! We've searched the house
over and I haven't seen any letter from
Denver or any place else. Sullivan says
he brought a letter over here on Thursday.
Maybe it was Friday, or maybe there wasn’t
any letter. Maybe he was looking for a
reason to come over here. He said he
phoned Mrs. Culbertson and she said to
bring it over. Maybe that’s it.”

There was a moment of silence, then

Banks said, “It looks like maybe you've
got something, sheriff.”"

“Only,” Glasier put in, “she could have
got a letter on Thursday and burned it.
There aren’t any other lett:rs around the
house. After all, there are lots of people
who don’t keep letters very long.”

“Burned it!” Deal said. “That’s it.
Let’s take a look in that furnace. There’s
a fire laid there. Let’s see if maybe a
letter isn’t part of the make-up,”

THE OTHERS had less enthusiasm than

the sheriff, but all went to the basement.
Deal opened the furnace door and looked at
the laid fire. There was some wadded
newspaper, a little kindling, a few larger
sticks of wood and atop this a quantity of
coal. But sticking out of the newspaper
was a bit of paper fresher and whiter—a
pure sulphite envelope. Deal drew it forth.

It was a letter, addressed to Mrs, Carrie
Culbertson, in care of the Baldwin res-
idence, 234 Spencer Avenue,
Springs, Colorado. It had been mailed in
Denver on January 8, which was Thursday.
It could not have been delivered in Manitou
Springs before Friday.

The letter had never been opened.

“And to think,” Sheriff Deal said, “the
whole case has been lying in front of us
all this: time. An absolute open-and-shut
proposition!”

Deal and Marshal Banks made the ar-
rest. John Sullivan opened the door of the
Baldwin home to their ring. His eyes
were heavy with sleep, but he smiled.. He
said, “Why, hello, sheriff. Is there some-
thing else you want?”

“There is, Sullivan,” Deal told him. “T
want you—for the murder and assault of
Mrs. Culbertson. Get your clothes on and
let’s go. And, Sullivan,” he added, “I’d
advise you to be careful what you say.
We've got the dead-wood on you, but the
law says even a thing like you is entitled
to a fair trial—and you'll get one.”

“I don’t know what you're talking
about!” Sullivan blustered, but his face
turned ghastly white. “A man tries to
help the law and look what he gets,”

A_few hours later in the sheriff's office
at Colorado Springs, in front of Sheriff
Deal, Undersheriff Glasier, Marshal Banks,
Forrest Yockey of.the state courtesy patrol
and Jailer: Jim Brand, Jo‘in Sullivan con-
fessed.

“I done it,” he said. “That letter came
over there and I called Mrs. Culbertson and
she said to bring it over. I did—maybe
an hour after that. There were lights burn-
ing all over the house and in the basement.
I went to the basement and she was building
a fire. Said she would be there a few hours
more and it was too cold in the house.

“I gave her the letter and just then I
saw that knife Jaying on a bench and I
thought what I wanted to do. I didn’t
like her anyhow. So I said I needed a
rake and a shovel to do a little work on
Mrs. Baldwin's place. I kttew where they

_ were and she went to the door of the

woodroom and was bending over to pick
them up when I grabbed that knife and
rammed it into her back.

“She fell and turned a little on her face
and started to say something but che

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36

Corrine Silliman, 28 years old, and
little Patrician Mac Silliman, her
four-year-old daughter. Their deli-
eate features were distorted in ex-
pressions of agony. It was apparent
that each had died a horrible death.

| OF chair near them sat a comely
middle-aged woman whose’ ter-

‘ror-filled eyes were red from weep-

ing, and opposite her, slumped on
the sofa with his head buried in his
hands, was a_ husky 35-year-old
man, dressed for the outdoors in
riding breeches and heavy leather
jacket.

The man on the sofa arose when
the officers entered. His face was
ashen as he acknowledged Doctor
Montgomery’s introduction of the
sheriff. Foster noticed that even
though obviously under a_ great
strain he was a handsome man, with
dark hair and eyes, straight nose
and a fine build.

“Pm Charles Silliman—” he be-
gan brokenly, when the sheriff
looked at him inquiringly. “T came
home from work and... NG &6'.
found my wife... and Patty...
lying there-—like that—”

A shudder passed over his big
frame and he took off his gold-
rimmed glasses which were streaked
with, tears he could not control. His
words, though-they came with diffi-
culty, were well spoken and his
voice was low and resonant.

“Sit down, Mr. Silliman,” Foster
urged sympathetically, motioning
the husband to the sofa. “We'll do
everything we can to find out what
happened. What time did you get
home?”

“About 7:30,” Silliman replied.

“TJ rushed next door to get Mrs.
Foster. She called Doctor Mont-
gomery.”
- “You’re Mrs. Foster, then?” the
sheriff asked, stepping over to the
red-eyed woman in the chair.
“That’s my name, too. You knew
Mrs. Silliman well, I suppose?”

Mrs. Foster nodded.

“Did you see her and Patty this
afternoon?”

“T saw them about 3 o'clock, when
I started downtown,” the neighbor
woman recalled. “I didn’t get home
until nearly 6:30.”

“Did you see anyone around here
after you got back?”’

“No.”

Further questioning of Mrs. Fos-
ter was halted by the arrival of
Doctor Joss, who at once began an
examination of the lifeless forms on
the floor.

“No marks on them, sheriff,” the
coroner announced, ‘“‘but they’ve had
liquor, both of them. They died in
convulsions. I'd say they've been
poisoned and have been dead only
a short time, maybe less than an
hour. ‘There's an ambulance out-
side. I'll have them taken to the
morgue for an autopsy. Let you
know later tonight.”

Doctor Joss went to the door and
summoned two hospital attendants

Sheriff Charles Foster, of Arapahoe County, Colorado, who was

finally successful in solving

who removed the bodies. When the
ambulance drove away he, too, de-
parted with Doctor Montgomery.

Foster looked around the living
room. Could Esther Silliman have
taken the life of her child and then
committed suicide? There was no
evidence there that such a thing had
happened. There was no liquor, no
drinking glass or spoon, no poison
vial, nor any farewell note.” Near
where the child had lain was a
cuddly white woolly lamb and a set
of blocks, half built. Little Patty
had been at play when death struck
suddenly.

“Joe,” the sheriff said, addressing
his chief deputy, “you and Pinney
search the house, especially the
kitchen. It’s possible Mrs. Silliman
and the little girl got hold of some
poison by’ mistake. See if there’s
any evidence of they’re having
eaten anything. If you find anything
like that, or any liquor, handle the
container carefully. We may want
to examine them for fingerprints.”

Loter and the patrolman set about
fine-combing the neat five-room
bungalow, while Foster and Gor-
man questioned Silliman.

the mysterious

double murder.

.

Dr. Frances MeConnell, renowned
toxicologist whose d iscoveries
were useful to the authorities.

“Do y
house?”
“Not t}
replied, |
dully. |!
tragedy
his hous:
“What
Foster d:
“T don
like ad
dinner.
has any
keeps it.’
“Did s!
tle girl?”
The h
used to
while.
let her h
“Then
poisoned
the youn
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the glass
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Charles
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enne W<
ents, Mr.
The i:
room wi


“Do you have any liquor in the
house?” the sheriff inquired.

“Not that I know of,” the husband
replied, and by now his words came
dully. He seemed dazed by the
tragedy that had descended upon
his household.

“What do you.mean by that?”
Foster demanded.

“I don’t drink, but Esther uged to
like a drink now and then before
dinner. I don’t know whether she
has any around now, or where she
keeps it.” i

“Did she ever give any to the lit-

tle girl?”

The husband frowned. “Patty
used to beg for a taste once in a

tL while.. Sometimes my wife would

let her have a swallow or two.”

“Then Mrs. Silliman could have
poisoned her child without arousing
the youngster’s suspicion,” the sher-
iff mused: out loud, “but where is
the glass or bottle they could have
drunk out of?”

Further questioning of Silliman,
however, failed to reveal a motive
for suicide on the part of the young
mother. Esther Silliman had al-
ways been fun-loving, popular and
happy. She had no serious financial
difficulties, since her husband had
a good job with the Rio Grande
Trucking Company. The couple had
a handsome eight-year-old son,
Charles LeRoy, whom his mother
idolized and who now was in Chey-
enne Wells visiting his grandpar-
ents. Mr. and Mrs. Ralph Henderson.

The interrogation in the living
room was interrupted by the ap-

pearance of the chief deputy, who
beckoned Foster to the next reom,
There was some conversation, and
when the sheriff returned his face
was grim. He walked over to the
window and looked out. There was
a sedan in the driveway.

“Js that your car out there?” he
asked, returning to the man on the
sofa.

Silliman nodded listlessly. \

The sheriff spoke to Gorman. “Go
out and see if there’s any other car
tracks in the drive, and if so, cover
a part of them up with something—
boards will do—until I can get out

to examine them. Look around for -

footprints, too. We'll have to work
fast or the snow will obliterate
them.”

The county official then dismissed
Mrs. Foster, telling her she would
be questioned later at her home, and
when she had left he spoke gravely
to the dead woman’s husband.

“My men_ have searched the
house,” he said. ‘There is no poison
here, no liquor, no sign of anyone
having eaten or drunk anything.
Preparations for dinner were under-
way in the kitchen. There’s a warm
pie on top of the stove.

“That means your wife probably
was here for at least an hour before
she diea@. The coroner said she had
been dead less than an hour, which
indicates to me that the poison was
taken here, and not outside.

“We have found no notes to ex~-
plain a suicidal attempt on the part
of your wife. It looks to me, Mr.
Silliman, as though the victims were

given a poisoned drink by somebody
else. Somebody . they knew, I
should say, since there is no sign
of a struggle.”

RADUALLY, the impact of the

sheriff’s words struck Charles.
Silliman. He seemed stunned. He
stared incredulously at the tall, lean,
shrewd-eyed officer. ;

“You mean-—somebody deliber-
ately: gave them poison?” he gasped,
“You mean somebody . . . murdered
Esther—and Patty?” Silliman’s
voice was charged with horror.

“[’m not going that far, as yet,”
Foster replied cautiously. “It may
have been an accident, or it may
have been intentional. But whoever
did it took great pains to destroy
the evidence.”

“J can’t understand it. I just can’t
understand it,” Silliman kept re-

eating, his face a study in disbe-

lief.

Foster drew a chair close to the
sofa, sat down facing Silliman and
pulled a notebook and pencil from
his pocket. ,

“I know how you must feel, Mr.
Silliman,” he explained, “but two
members of your family have died
under very mysterious circum-
stances. Because of your relation-

‘ship to them, we must question you.

Tell us exactly where you were and
what you were doing from 3 o’clock
this afternoon until the time you
went for Mrs. Foster.”

The white-faced husband nodded
that he understood and gave the
sheriff a (Continued on page 64)

9
“<a

eee > ee i nl te a ee

RE eee

oor,

Photo shows Colorado State Pent-
w tontiary, where a smooth (bat met”
‘smooth enough) killer was taken.


he had seen Chesley Gragg swim.

“Why, sure!” Westes declared.
“Gragg’s a good swimmer!”

This fact was attested to by others.
Nevertheless, although the case was
greatly strengthened thereby, the
sheriff and MacNicoll sought out even
more convincing evidence of foul
play.

The next day, an unexpected break
came in the case when City Detectives
M. M. Bullock and FE. L. Warnick
strode into the county official’s office
while Schmid and Decker were map-
Ping further plans.

“We’ve been out of the city, trailing
some auto thieves,” Detective Bullock
began, “so we didn’t know about this
Gragg case being reopened. The chief
told us about it when we got back to-
day. I thought you ought to know
that we found a stolen car abandoned
underneath the Corinth Street viaduct
Wednesday night, June 16.

“We hid nearby, hoping that the
would reappear, but nobody came. We
waited four hours.”

“What hours were they?” the sheriff
asked excitedly.

“We were there from six-thirty to
ten-thirty.”

“Did you see Gragg?”

“Well, we saw a man rowing around
in a rowboat in the borrow pit.”

“Did you sce the woman and child?”

“No. The man was alone.”

“And you didn’t hear any shouts?”

“Not a sound.”

Schmid made some swift caleula-
tions. “There wouldn't have been
time for Gragg to row to shore, get
to the liquor store and put in his call
to the police, between the time you
left the viaduct and we gof the call,”
he figured. “Then Mrs. Gragg and

the boy must have been drowned be-

fore six-thirty p.m., and the husband
was waiting for you to leave before
he made himself known to the police?”

“That clinches the case!" the sher-
iff cried, enthusiastically. “Gragg
swears his wife and son fell out of the
boat. We have no witnesses who saw
him commit murder——but we now have
eye-witnesses refuting his statement
that the woman and child were in the
boat at all! Besides, he claims he
shouted for help. June sixteenth was
a clear, still night. A shout would
certainly have been heard by you
two men stationed not two hundred
yards away. We’ll move at once for
an. indictment.”

The following week, Chesley A.
Gragg was, indeed, indicted for the
murder of his wife.

‘In the meantime, Molly Ashley had
been allowed to go home with the
warning to keep herself available for
further questioning. But soon the
police learned she had disappeared.

“This is Gragg’s work,” Schmid
sputtered over the phone, when in-
formed by Caster. “He knows the
importance of her testimony!

It did not take the authorities long
to locate the vanished blonde, who
had, as the sheriff suspected, been
taken away by a friend of the alleged
murderer. She was found in a tourist
camp at Shawnee, Oklahoma.

Brought to trial on March 15, 1944,
before Judge Roy Stout in Criminal
District Court, Gragg pleaded not
guilty to the charge of the murder of
his wife.

The State eo on the witness stand
Gragg’s neighbor, Mrs. Wheeler, who
told of the burning of the letters;
Westes, who swore the man could

swim, and Detectives Bullock and

Warnick.
In addition to the testimony of the
law enforcement officers and neigh-

bors of the accused man, Prosecutor
MacNicoll introduced as evidence the
rowboat used on the fatal excursion,
which was described as one from
which a_ ten-year-old child could
hardly fall.

aes thirty-three love letters to
Molly Ashley were read to the jury
and spectators, and the young woman,

- taking the stand, corroborated the fact

that the husband had made ardent
protestations of love and proposals
of marriage to her before his wife’s
death.

Gragg’s attorney called no witness
in his behalf and in offering a case
for the defense contended only that
the state had failed to prove the man
guilty beyond a reasonable doubt.

The jury deliberated less than
twelve hours and brought in a ver-
dict of ee of murder in the first
degree. Judge Stout sentenced Gragg
to death in the electric chair, the first
instance in sixteen years that a man
had been condemned to death in
Dallas. on circumstantial evidence.

The defense attorney has appealed
the case, an automatic procedure in
the State of Texas.

At this writing, the condemned man
is awaiting a decision in that action,
but it would seem unlikely that the
Court of Criminal Appeals would find
any cause to set aside the verdict of
the lower courts.

Note:—The names Molly Ashley
and John Wintermute are not real, but
fictitious, to erect innocent persons
involved in the investigation—Eprtor.

REAL

DETECTIVE!

detailed account of his moveménts
during the day.

“I was at work until 7 o’clock,” he
declared, “I came directly home and
got here about 7:30. I found my wife
and child on the floor—and went for
Mrs. Foster. She called the doctor and
then, came back with me to the house.”

“Was your wife expecting any visi-
tors today?”

“Not that I know of.”

Before continuing, the sheriff sent
Loter to the trucking company office
to check on the time Silliman left there
that afternoon. Then he examined the
contents of Mrs. Silliman’s purse,
which Pinney had dumped on the din-
ing room table. There was a compact,
a lipstick, a few bobby pins, some small
change, the family ration books and a
small piece of paper on which was
scribbled “1942 Pennsylvania Street,”

“Did your wife have much money in
the house?” Foster asked the husband.
“There’s only a few cents in her
pocketbook.”

Silliman said he thought that was
about right, since his wife usually
spent most of her cash on Saturday for
groceries, It wasn’t likely she was rob-
bed, then, the sheriff agreed, and pro-
ceeded to ascertain pertinent facts re-
garding the young couple’s past life

G4 and background.

Triangle of Death

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 37)

The county: official made notes of
these facts and also jotted down names
of intimate friends of ‘the couple and
then, leaving Patrolman Pinney on
guard in the house, joined Gorman
outside.

“There are footprints on the back
steps,” the undersheriff informed him,
“and two sets of tire tracks in the
driveway. Out in front everything’s
been trampled beyond recognition.”

Foster, trained for sleuthing in the
Rocky Mountains, was an authority
on footprints and other identifying
tracks. By the light of flashlights, he
and Gorman first examined sections of
tire marks which the undersheriff had
preserved by propping boards up over
them. He had selected portions which
the wind had Ay fairly clear of
snow and which still showed the pat-
tern of tire treads,

“The treads are different,” the sheriff
exclaimed, “and one car came in and
went out again.”

The senior officer stepped over and
trained his torch on the tires of Silli-
man’s car, a 1936 black Ford sedan.

“Mrs. Silliman had company. this
afternoon, all right,’ he remarked,
after comparing the tire patterns with
the two sets of tracks, “and it wasn’t
her husband. By the depth of the snow
you can see that the visitor stayed

quite a while and left before the hus-
band returned. Now let’s take a look
at the footprints.” ,

N the rear of the house Foster stud-

ied a path made by a person who
had entered the back door and, ac-
cording to the sheriff's calculations,
lingered in the dwelling only a few
moments.

“Cowboy boots,” he announced to
Gorman. “But this person didn’t stay
long. Might have been a tradesman,
this being Saturday. Say! Loter men-
tioned that there was a box of groceries
in the kitchen, Let’s see if there's a
sales slip in it.”

The officers found, as they had
suspected, that the groceries came
from a nearby store, and from. the
direction of the tracks which led down
an alley they deduced that its delivery
boy had brought the box to the house.
They quickly located the young man
at the store and questioned him. He
was, as the sheriff had determined,
wearing cowboy boots.

“I was there about 6 o'clock,” the
slender, 17-year-old youth readily ad-
mitted. “Yes, the Sillimans had guests,
The living room door was open and I
Saw a woman and a little girl. The
kid was smaller than Patty. About a
year younger, maybc.”

f
hac
wit
vou

stor

we’!
told
bun

relatiy
The hi
child |
pearc
cided ;
that ti
the hor
contini
fore Si
somet}
“Jus!
he put
Paper |
“May thy
wife t}
Pennsy
know a
The }
address
saw tha
toward °

T Mr;
fir;

by tele;
chair ft
woman.
‘Did

Silliman

man, di:

fears of ;
disaster?
or workir
Mrs. ¥.
plied slo
“Did
trouble \
derstandi
Mrs. Fy
on this sc
fied that |
ther fron
Neighbo:
They |
had told
tivities d
also lear:
in the S;


ook

tud-
who
. ac-
tions,
. few

ad to

stay
sman,
men-
-eries
re’s a

had
came
i the
down
livery
nouse,.
. man
n. He
nined,

* the
ly ad-
zuests.
and I

The

bout a

Foster made a list of places the hoy
had been that afternoon and checked
with the proprietor as to the time the
youth departed and returned to the
store,

“T don’t think he’s involved, but
we'll have to look into his alibi,” he
told Gorman on the way back to the
bungalow.

By the time the two officials arrived,
Loter had returned from the trucking
company office. Silliman had checked
out from work at 7:10. The deputy had
clocked the mileage from the office to
the house and found it was nearly
seven miles, through heavy traffic. The
dead woman’s husband couldn’t have
made it in less than 20 minutes, the
officers agreed.

“Doctor Montgomery said Mrs. Fos-
ter ealled him at 7:35 and he got here
ten minutes later,” Foster pointed out.
“That substantiates Silliman’s time-
table. We can be reasonably sure
that the husband didn’t make two
trips to the house this afternoon, be-
cause the car that left earlier wasn’t
his. We'll go in and ask him about
the woman and child the grocery boy
saw here.”

_ Rejoining Pinney and Silliman in the
living room, the sheriff took up another
line of interrogation.

Did Esther Silliman have a friend or
relative with a three-year-old girl?
The husband knew of no one with a
child that age, and since the man ap-
peared near collapse, the officers de-
cided not to question him further at
that time. He was permitted to go to
the home of a nearby friend while they
continued their investigation. But be-
fore Silliman left, Foster remembered
something. :

“Just one thing more, Mr. Silliman,”
he put in, bringing out the slip of
paper from the dead woman’s purse.
“ Maybe the woman who visited your
wife this afternoon lived here—1942
Pennsylvania Street. Do either of you
know anybody there?”

The husband looked vaguely at the
address and shook his head. ‘Never
saw that before,” he said and turned
toward the door.

mn Mrs. Gertrude Foster’s the sheriff
first summoned several deputics
by telephone and then dropped into a
chair to interrogate the neighbor
woman.

“Did you see a car parked in the
Silliman driveway when you came
home at 6:30?” he wanted to know.

“J heard a car,” the woman respond-
ed, “but I expect that was Mr. Sili-
man coming home.”

“You saw quite a lot of Mrs. Silli-
man, didn’t you, Mrs. Foster?” the
sheriff suggested.

The woman nodded, and dabbed at
her eyes with a handkerchief.

“Did she ever express to you any
fears of anybody, or of any impending
disaster? Did she seem nervous, lately,
or worried?”

Mrs. Foster reflected. “No,” she re-
plied slowly, “not really nervous.”

“Did she ever mention having
trouble with anybody—family misun-
derstandings, or anything like that?”

Mrs. Foster was unable to help them
on this score, so the investigators, satis-
fied that they could learn nothing fur-
ther from her, left to question other
neighbors.

They discovered that Mrs. Foster
had told the truth about her own ac~-
tivities during the afternoon and they
also learned that a car had been scen
in the Silliman driveway «bout six

o’clock. But the neighbor who had
noticed it could only describe it as a
rather old sedan.

Nevertheless, from this same neigh-
bor the sheriff picked up a lead he
thought should be investigated.
Several weeks before her death, Mrs.
Silliman had confidentially told her
neighbor about a quarrel she had had
with a practical nurse whom she had
called in to attend Patty.

“Mrs. Silliman told me that she
looked in her purse while the nurse
was there, and missed some money,”
the neighbor asserted. “Naturally, Mrs.
Silliman exclaimed, as anybody would,
‘Why, there was ten dollars here and
now it’s gone!’

“Well, the nurse immediately as-

sumed that Mrs. Silliman was accuS- .

ing her of stealing it, and no amount
of persuasion on Esther’s part could
convince here that it wasn’t so. Esther
was very upset about it. She told me
the nurse got so mad it scared her.”

“Who was. this person?” Foster
asked.

“T think the name was Lambert—a
Mrs. Lambert.”

Thanking the woman, the sheriff and
his chief deputy sped to the house
where Charles Silliman was staying.
Did he know a Mrs. Lambert? Did he
remember his wife mentioning a quar-
rel? Did Mrs. Lambert have a three-
year-old child?

“I don’t know where Mrs. Lambert
lives or whether she has,a child,” the
husband told them, “but I know a
nurse of that name came in when
Patty was sick. I remember some-
thing about a fuss—but that was a
passing affair. It didn’t amount to
anything. My wife mentioned that
Mrs. Lambert had dropped in a
couple of times to say ‘hello’ and that
everything was fine between them.”

When they had taken leave of Silli-
man, Foster gave Loter an assignment.
“Check the city directory for. a prac-
tical nurse by the name of Lambert.
Look her up and question her. Try to
find out something about her back-
ground,”

Then, after posting a couple of
deputies in the place, he and Officer
Pinney drove to the morgue to learn
what Dr. Joss had found out.

The coroner met them at the door of
that gloomy building.

“We've had a streak of luck in being
able to secure the services of Dr.
Frances McConnell, who is aiding Dr.
John C. Widenmann in the autopsy,”
he informed them. “They wili have a
report ready in a few minutes.”

Doctor McConnell, whom they knew
to be onc of this country’s most emi-
nent toxicologists, appeared a moment
later with findings which confirmed
Foster’s suspicions. She told the in-
vestigators that Mrs. Silliman and her
daughter had died of poison and that
a lethal dose of strychnine, mixed with
brandy, had been found in both vic-
tims. The poison would kill in from
15 minutes to an hour, she estimated.

“Strychnine!” the sheriff exclaimed.
“Pm positive now that it’s murder.
We'll check the drugstores to get

the names of everyone who bought —

that drug during the past month, Pll
put Loter on it when he gets back.”

OSTER and Pinney decided to take

a run over to the Pennsylvania

Street address, which they knew to be

an apartment house, Maybe the mys~

terious woman and child who had
called on Mrs. Silliman lived there.

They talked to the manager of the

place, but he could tell them nothing
beyond the fact that no woman with
a girl that small resided there. Per-
haps Mrs. Silliman had some other
friend there whom she visited. Did

the manager remember sceingg a 1936
black Ford sedan parked outside
lately?

The manager shook his head. “T wish
I could help you,” he said apologeti-
cally, “but I couldn’t remember any
one car, so many of them stop here.”

The sheriff obtained a list of tenants
of the building. He planned to show it
to Charles Silliman, Perhaps one of the

. names would be familiar to him.

Pocketing the list, the sheriff, with
Pinney, returned to his office, where
Gorman was waiting for them.

“Joe found that Lambert woman’s
name in the directory,” he told them.
“He’s over there now.”

“Good,” Foster said, rubbing his
hands and blowing on them to get them’
warm. “How did you make out?”

“I talked with a lot of people,” Gor-
man replied. “Everybody says the
Sillimans were a fine couple. Best of
reputations. Both of ’em active in
club and church work.”

The undersherill’s investigation had
brought out that Charles Silliman had
taught a Sunday school class in Town-
er and had been an athletic leader. In
high school he had been a star athlete
and excelled in debate and dramatics.
Esther Henderson, who had become
his wife, likewise was a leader among
the young people and had been voted
“Most Popular Girl’ at Cheyenne
Wells High School.

Foster was examining this report
when Loter came in. “No luck, chief,”
he announced dejectedly. “The Lam-
bert woman is away. The neighbors
say she’ll be back in the morning.
But she hasn’t any children, so
guess that lets her out.”

“Not necessarily,” interjected the
sheriff. “That kid at the Sillimans
might have been one of her relatives,
or just'a friend of Patty, for that mat-
ter. We'll go see that nurse to-
morrow.

It was after midnight. The drug
stores were closed at that hour, so
the officers decided to turn in and
check on strychnine sales in the
morning.

Early Sunday, while Loter was
making the rounds of the pharmacies,
Foster and Pinney went to see Mrs.
Mathilda Lambert. They found an
extremely: pleasant woman of thirty
who looked much younger and who
said she was a widow. She seemed
shocked to learn of Mrs. Silliman’s
death.

“Why, I was over there yesterday
afternoon!” she cried. “She seemed
perfectly all right then, and Patty
was playing with another little girl.”

“Was anyone else there?” he in-
quired casually.

“Yes, another woman,” the nurse
asserted. “I don’t know her name.
just stopped for a moment, and Mrs.
Silliman didn’t introduce us.”

Mrs. Lambert said she couldn’t de-
scribe the other woman, because she
hadn’t noticed her particularly. She
flushed when the officer reminded her
of her quarrel with Mrs. Silliman.

“Yes,” she conceded, very muc
embarrassed. “I did fly off the handle,
but that was all forgotten.” ‘it

No amount of probing could bring
out anything which could involve the
nurse, so the investigators, after mak-
ing her account for every minute of

her time on Saturday afternoon, went 65
i @

*

ey

pe

b ipeae

oe

* sore
smaspy

etrur= -
s jus

eed
b the:

-nme
rved

+ the

“tive board alter mere than four
« hitter weanglirng. +.
\< whe: meeting broke up, Harry
busigess agent of the local,
ay a_etatement on behalf of his
ive hoard declaring that it “has
thority to ¢oncur in the action
international executive council
rampiy with their request to dis-
retatish picket bined
tas the pesition of the oaerutive
it of lodge No..68 that the atatus |!
_stitke is unchanged
“WS otivte asthe membership takes
“Than Under no. condition
ot local lodge executive board
se fOr

tie 2

eur members ta retuin to
nthe struck shop without per-
eon of the lodge.” 33
LLOWN MENTIONED f ee
: KOSTA ELS PLEA. s
avn inn letter to lodge 6&8, cited
7 lot) Peesevelt’s request that

wtiine be terminated in the in-,

* of fational defense. He gave
fh .tere ‘af the international un-
teort to have the lodge comply :
ait request

: : ordered pucket lines be dis: |
rye €. at shipyards erated here |
~. ‘he Bethichem Shipbuilding. cor-
*- a*
.=> tiengral Engineering company.
{‘ol;mbia_ Machinery. company and

the Matson Navichtion company.

*- Po uwn referred to one of the AF:
ft piayhinista’. principal fights the
bate toa get union recognition at:
re ckem. He promised that/ the}

until:

OLD HANCOS JIM GOES TO DE
WITH INDIAN WAR WHOOP ON

Aged Cowboy Tears Loose From Bonds and Blindfold
In Gas Chamber and Meets Fate After:
eS , Navaho Manner. | -

\

(Continued From Page One.) , would —calm and defiant like the In-
Stephens entered the death cham- dians with whom he hed lived in hie
her at 8.02 p. m.. and war pronounced vouth.. Warden Reat said he made s
dead twenty-five minutes later. ‘remark in Indian language as he was
The oldest: man. ever Iegally exe- ied into the gas chamber:
cuted in Colorado. and probably the Burial will be in Lakeside cemetery
cidest in the United States. Stephens at Canon: City, fullowing a requiem
was too feeblp to walk the half mile. mass at. St. Michael's church. ae i Pighe
i uphill road to the gas chamber, and Stephens. was converted ta the Catho-|

‘pe. United) Engineering com-! thus was the firet condemned man to he faith by Father Schaller while he . gow

‘was confined in the death hause.
The shooting. of Dean > occurred
early in 1939. Considered a harmless
old man who had. been: a cowboy in
hia youth and a sheepherder in. his f
‘advanced age, Denn had expected no
i trouble when he arrested Stephens for
djrunkennesa; Stephens pulled-out a:

ride to his death.

He was’accompanied by the Rey
Albert Schallet. prison Catholic chap-’
jain. who was in the chamber as the’
 strapa were being adjusted, and who

was the last person to leave the room:

+ As the doars were closed, Stephens

r4 datge would- co-operate with. tet aut the ysil he had Icarned tom!

tne ai union in cettins speedy set-
‘sat the controver-iee if Reth-
‘fers ta comply with the find-

mh recommendations of

roy ei: she Neste. agreement.”
BRUTMERHEM |
ONLY HOLDOUT.
Tre sfwid= agreement referred
les reached between jhe ALF atl.
~tay “tiades department “and west.
“sbiphuilders, Al thirty-nine
r - const’ vards, with the. excep-
~ is  Rethlehem. signed it. On one
‘peciay provides ynion shop. condi-
4.4. Om the other, it promises no

i oe

ry lnc hout<
Wa F. 1. machinists here 1e6--

Sere ye eartiace when it. Was rati-
ie) by ether unite: of thé metal
States depfartment They obiected to
yet es eniv time and a half inetead
"ec. eustamary double pay for
sare ‘wh:k and struck when the
e etisct reductions were enfioced,
further demanded $115 an
> :¢ yndtead of the $112 an hot pio-
‘ed an the sage Ss beet raise from >
tan hour

| BRITISH MAKE

MASS RAID ON

They

| INVASION PORTS

(Cantinued From Page dae.)

@- aothwert of BRdulogne,
ne PD AF. recently Quccess-
ano! with enemy shipping. The
of the attack was
Hiewocne ov to the north’
tomberg poured tons of
be a todies aod tnvendiarios on
nt Kiel Fat-
Satutdav. and
targets in

. Se ephere

«. -

’ rot, eet ad, betpee
omerly

esther

oP ogee rsef
rr |
(yer nanyvs

nid Kiel wae

Seo Ptye
eee Ail I

th. beer atte «

eps! Aen oe oe rerite of tne H A. to
Pre bye ty eo ct cte boon! ther tenth
Binet fe gD

miter ne.

,with Navaho Indians.

the |
anal defence mediation board, to!

°
“cuted. -

three generations of his association
The witnesses
said it was “a terrible sound” !
After the eggs had been dropped.
hut before the fumes had risen to the }

‘aged to release his teit hand from
the straps binding him to the chair!
He then whipped the blindfold away
from hs eyes and dinengeKed the!
—Tenwaining stiaps: a ero fo ee

He slumped back in the chair apy
taited> When the fumes cuculated |
ne pitched forward and took a huge
gatp. He war. unconscious. in less
than two minutes after he was blind: ;
folded.

Up. to the la-t minutes the aged
condenined man had huped for a re-
prieve frum Gov, Ratph 1. Carr. The
osovernor, howeves,
paranted a forty five-day stay of exe-

peution to study (acts of the case, de- > NSM

claied he could see no Treason why

~Mancos Jim” shonld not) be. exre-
4

“In most cases I feel the old age of Sa
5 tlirday by t ' 4
Pihes defendant would bea suffic sent { ve aa sige ML deat abt Nek ag

‘reason. to commute the sentence.”
Governor Carr said. “However,
conditions surrounding the’ actual
/ commuasion of the crime render it im-
| | possible, e even. for his extreme nue. to
i guatifs _madificatic n 2
‘rence ieee
“Mancos Jini.”
in hupe of a tepricve, said
“take it, but it's a dirty: shame:
bah ditty shame.”
The azed- man

I can.

ihterate and tooth

i level of “Mancos Jim's” head, he ran)

|

who had already -

the.

Se iced
Fe yat ened iheve was.

Icx' United: Mine Workers of Amprica oa: |
funy other labor organization

revolver and shat the officer to death
on a Mancos street:

Zamzam

He was convicted of firat degree
murder Oct. 9, 1939, and the state
eupreme® court later sustained the
decision of the lower court:

Sheriff Rav Smith. of Cortez,
Montezuma county seat, was (a Sates
‘witnens at the execution.

GOAL FIRM ORDERED
TO REINSTATE FIRED
WORKERS WITH PAY

An’ order” directing the Gallup
American\Coal company. of Gallup.

’
t

against hecause — of

NURSE
_HTSTR

: ‘phys Bergen Vic

section of
Fo

Phyllis Bergen, 22.

“to Mffer to seirstate with back and bruises early Satu
| psy six emploves found to have been!
. disecuminated

ger collided with anot

their union activities,” was announced and Logan street. .-

inng to ward received by the Denver
NIE: office

The boaid at the same time dis-
ama allezations that the conipany
hiad> dacriminatonily. discharged x;
20 ere’ ‘employes. atid it: dwemed=tne}
coal company * to ceane dinces ape
memberehip. of it« ot Ae in the

> strerct.

Upon charges filed by the UM

‘Miss Bergen was ri

Buerger,
which collided: with a car
Elvin Linke, 37. of 2826 W
second avenue, as Linke

a left turn to Ke north

2, of 5308S Ud

Buerger's” “ear cat hick?
attempting to avoid. @e co
_then careened into Linke «
tcars’ were traveling eant
{Fourteenth avenue.

leee pattank of aclant meal” of soft “Woof A., the board issued Rs con: Donald Care. 16 of 7
foods fruit’ juleea> and~ eggs. and: plaint lant Sept 24 and a public henr- peedcohee street. a bicy
three cups of coffee PINE AWARE held at’ Gallup last October! treated ‘hy a police* surg
Hie died as he had promised he! before George: Hokat) examiner. jatternoon for a shoulder
Spas oa ©
Cs ee
Ader 6 )
! , es: ‘ “
¢ -
37 5 a
: ag Ge ; <
o. ‘ pr hi * - 4
- 7
‘ ae a
ee ¥ ™~..
Rees: A x
id f 2
{ 5 fen
a
2

si sinniaauubnccasashassiiea aaa geass ash ta

Kidnaped Beauty

[Continued from page 80]

too, that if Ellis had been the slayer, he
would not have “discovered” the body.
He would have left that to someone else.

Several weeks passed with no further
developments. Schuster had been in the
habit for three or four weeks of going to
Salt Lake City and hanging out in the
freight yards, and along the Southern
Pacific right-of-way. The man to whom
the dog had been given by the newlyweds
had appeared to be a bindlestiff or hobo.
The fact he had camped along the rail-
road was evidence of this.

Late one afternoon he saw a man, ob-
viously a hobo, walking west along the
tracks. His description was similar to
that furnished by Mr. and Mrs. Hall. He
was carrying a blanket roll.

Stopping the man, Schuster questioned
him at length. He said he had been
through Salt Lake City in mid-February,
and had been as far east as Denver. But
he had not liked it there. He was re-

JEALOUSY SLAYER
EXECUTED

ys battling vainly in the
courts for two years, Martin
Sukle, 43, condemned to death for
the slaying of his wife and her lover,
finally has been executed in the
lethal gas chamber of the Colorado
state penitentiary at Canon City.

Mrs. Marie Sukle was found shot
to death in a parked car in Colorado
Springs on the morning of Oct. 3,
1939, The owner of the car, Jack
Russell, could not be located.
Neither could the woman’s hus-
band, Martin. The question of
which man had fired the fatal shot
was settled when Russell’s bullet-
riddled body was found in the
nearby Black Forest. Sukle, pur-
sued relentlessly by police, at last
surrendered voluntarily, confessing
that jealousy had motivated his
crime. (Daring Detective, Feb. 1940)

Found guilty and condemned to
death, Sukle was spared by re-
peated stays of execution and court
appeals for two years. Then justice
claimed him.

turning to the coast as fast as he could.
“Weren't you the fellow a couple in a
buggy gave a shepherd dog to last Feb-
ruary?” the deputy asked.

“Yes,” the man admitted readily, “that’s
so. But he didn’t stay with me. He fol-
lowed another fellow and a girl. He
seemed to want to make up with the girl
so I let him go.”

The deputy’s pulse missed a beat or
two. “Where was this?” he asked. “Tell
me all about it.”

“Well,” the man said, “it was back in
the willows west of town. A fellow I'd
run across a time or two on the road was
with his daughter. That is, I guess it was
his daughter. He told me once he had a
girl about eighteen. They had stayed all
night in the jungles where all the other
hobos camp. I came by while he was
making coffee and the dog went right
over to the girl. I called him off and made
him heel. Then I started on, but he
wouldn’t stay with me. He acted like he
wanted to go back, so I finally let him

go. I like company all right and’a dog is
mighty fine company, but if they won't
stay with you there’s no use fooling with
them.” <

“Who was this fellow?” the deputy
asked. -

“T don’t know his name. First time I
saw him was in jail in Reno, Nevada,
when I got vagged there. They were.mak-
ing it pretty hot for us fellows about then
and some twenty of us got picked up one
night and Al was among them.”

“T thought you didn’t know his name,”
Schuster snapped.

“Well, that was his first name—Al. I
never heard what his last name was. I
saw him about two weeks later in Elko,
Nevada. He told me he had just got out
of jail there for taking some apples out of
a basket im front of a grocery store.”

The hobo said he had been picked up
in Reno during the early part of January,
and that it had been some time toward
the middle of January when he again en-
countered “Al” in Elko.

Schuster immediately got in touch with
the Elko officials and learned that on Jan.
16 one Albert East had been arrested for
petty theft. He had been charged with
stealing apples from a grocer and had
received a sentence of 30 days.

With time off for good behavior he
had been released on Feb. 10, only two
days before Corrine Dickerson disap-
peared.

On the day of his release a .32 caliber
Colt automatic had been stolen from
a trapper’s cabin east of Elko, and East
had been suspected. But he had not been
seen or heard of since.

ONVINCED that he had a line on the

killer, Schuster sent word to every
chief of police along the railroad that Al-
bert East was wanted for murder. Rail-
road police and detectives were warned
to be on the lookout for him.

It was difficult to understand how a girl
of Corrine Dickerson’s type had been
lured into a jungle camp by East, who
was described as slovenly and ill-man-
nered. But Schuster thought he had an
explanation.

The Dickerson girl, he reasoned, had
returned to the railway station for her
bags before going to the Mansion House
hotel, and somewhere near the railroad
had fallen into East’s hands.

How he had managed to induce her to
accompany him to the jungle camp and
later to the spot north of Brigham, where
he had slain her in the lonely mountain
region was of course something no one
could figure out.

No doubt he had forced her at the point
of a gun to go along, or had threatened to
knife her. That he had slain her for her
money, after criminally assaulting her,
there was no doubt.

The hobo Schuster had picked up along
the tracks proved invaluable in tying to-
gether the threads of the story. He led
the officers to the spot in the jungles
where he had seen East in company with
the young woman. The ashes of a fire
were found nearby, and in the tall grass
a bed had been made out of willow
boughs. Apparently two persons had oc-
cupied it. Schuster picked up from. the
leaves a woman’s comb which was later
positively identified as having belonged
to Corrine.

The mystery of where she had spent the
night of Feb. 11 was solved when it was

s

SUKLE, Martin, white,
gassed COSP (El Paso) oh

May 22, 1942.

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SUKLE, Martin, white, 41, gassed State Prison (El Paso Co.), May 22, 1942.

Sukle, of Jugoslavian descent, was born in Pueblo, and married Marie Essex, 15 years his
junior. Both of the Sukles were employed at a Colorado Springs psychiatric hospital and lived
there. When Sukle, 38, caught his wife in a compromising situation with Jack Russell, a married
man with whom she was having an affair, he threatened to kill both of them and she moved from
their hospital quarters into the home of her mother. On October 3, 1939, Sukle purchased a
pistol, went to Russell’s home and offered to buy his wife’s lover gasoline if he would drive him
to Black Forest. The unsuspecting Russell agreed. When they were riding towards the forest,
Sukle drew the pistol and told Russell that he was going to shoot him. Russell thought that he
was joking and laughted, but when the reached the forest, the left the car and Sukle drew the
pistol and shot him twice in the head, Sukle then drove Russell’s car back to Colorado Springs,
picked up his wife and the spent the next 36 hours drinking beer and whiskey and visiting Sukle’s
relatives in Pueblo. After they returned to Colorado Springs, Sukle shot her and left the body in
the car. He walked back to Pueblo along a railroad siding and evaded capture for ten days, hiding
in vacant buildings. Finally his aunt persuaded him to surrender, and on October 10 he walked
back to Colorado Springs, went into a service station, identified himself and asked the attendant —
to call the sheriff. Sukle confessed the murders and at his trial was convicted and sentenced to
death in the gas chamber. His life was spared by appeals until May 22, 1942, when he was exe-
cuted at the State Prison.-Colorado Springs Gazette, Colorado Springs, CO, 10/10/1939;
Startling Detective, November, 1953, page 121..

|

SUKLE, Martin, white, gassed COM (El Pago) May 22, 1942
9 ‘

Colorado Springs Police Department
opened the door of the parked sedan.
Che face of the woman sitting in the front
seat was concealed by one arm flung up
over the steering wheel. Her clothing was

| Nccerado I. B. “Dad” Bruce of the

in wild disarray. On the floor in the rear.

were several empty beer cans.

“Who found her?” The inspector turned
to Officers Cameron Westcott, Earl Boat-
wright and Homer Beattie.

“Man named George Nelson,” replied
Westcott. “He wes coming along Pueblo
\venue here about 6:15 this morning when
he noticed the woman sitting in the sedan.
At first he thought she was drunk, and he
opened the door and shook her shoulder.
Then he saw that something was wrong,
ind called headquarters.”

Inspector Bruce gently lifted the tousled
head and stared into the woman’s vacant,
unseeing eyes. It was a girl of only twenty-
five or so, he judged. The face, cold and
white in death, bore the marks of a brutal
beating, and the left eye was swollen and
discolored.

“All right,” said Bruce. “Get the coroner
and have him send the wagon. We'll want
the photographer and fingerprint man, too.
\nd see if you can trace the registration of
this car.”

That was at eight o’clock on the morn-
ing of Tuesday, October 3, 1939. Two
hours later Inspector Bruce sat in his office
at police headquarters. With him was
Dr. J. Thomas Coughlan, El Paso County

coroner.
“Tt’s murder, all right,” Dr. Coughlan
said. |" Someone—someone in a maniacal

rage—must have beaten her into a state
— unconsciousness before he finished off
the job with a gun. Looks like he placed
the muzzle against her head before firing.”

“How long would you say she’d been
dead: when we found her, Tom?”

“Hard to tell until after the autopsy,”
Coroner Coughlan said. “Twelve hours,
maybe more. Be able to give you a better
‘dea soon, Your men check that auto-
mobile license ?”

“Yeah. Listed to a guy named Jack —

Russell. Haven’t much on him yet. A
carpenter by trade. Had a few odd jobs
tround here lately.”

“His tools in the car 2” asked the
coroner.

“No. Just those beer. cans and three
empty shells ; thirty-eights. Found a blood-
‘tained slug embedded in the back cushion,
though. Did that bullet wound indicate
the shot had gone clear through the head?”

Coughlan thought for a moment. “No,”
he answered finally, “that would have been
impossible. Whoever fired that shot must
have held the gun directly over the top
i the girl’s head. The bullet probably
stopped down under the brain. Might have

_ though he were thinking aloud.

he carried off with him?”

more
than
one shot,

O aay
though. t, dy)
mS
¢
ww

We'll know

presently.” i
“Kind of a

funny position

for the: killer to OD

have got into, in 4

that low car, wasn’t A

it?” Bruce asked.
"That's just why I’m On
convinced that the girl :
was evidently shot some- 2
place’ else—probably while “~
lying down—hauled into the
car and left slumped over so that
her arm concealed the face. Any-
body going by would have thought
she was asleep or passed out. It’d
give the killer time to make his get- e
away.”
For several moments the police in- CO
spector sat with eyes closed, his hand 4
slowly massaging the forehead beneath his Cs ™
graying hair. When he spoke it was as a
a

“Yes, But if the killer had plenty of time,
why did he leave those. empty shells in the back
of the car? And why did he fire one last slug into
the rear cushion, so we'd be able to get a ballistics
expert on the job and prove it came from the weapon

“Well,” replied Coughlan, “it’s a cinch he stopped long
enough to shove her body down under that steering’ wheel.
She certainly wasn’t there when he killed her, and dead
women don’t drive automobiles.”

The ringing of a telephone on Inspector Bruce’s desk inter-
rupted their conjectures. It was the Psychopathic Ward at the
Colorado Springs Sanitarium calling.

Bruce held the receiver an inch from his. ear and the speaker’s
voice came clearly enough for the coroner: to catch the message.

“fs Marie Sukle, all right. Our man just returned from the
morgue, Mrs. Sukle had been with us more than a year and we'd |
never found anything wrong with her work.”

“A drinking woman, by any chance?” asked the detective.

“Never knew of her using liquor ; wouldn’t have stayed here long if
she had.”

“When did you see her last?” 5

“Early Saturday. She asked for a few days off to visit her husband’s
relations and the superintendent told her to go right ahead. Had a vacation
coming to her, he felt.”

“Know anything about the husband?”

“Oh, yes. He worked here, too. That is, up until a. couple of weeks
ago when he quit to take a better job over at Pueblo. We'd put him on
as stationary engineer almost a year ago; said he was anxious to work
near his wife.” :

Inspector Bruce started to replace the receiver. Then his expression
changed and he quickly resumed speaking. :

“By the way, doctor, did you ever have a patient out there by the name
of Jack Russell ft! pao

Waiting while the physician checked’ over records at the institution \ for
the mentally ill, Inspector Bruce glanced at a small packet of letters lying
on his desk. They constituted the contents of a black leather bag he had
found on the front seat-of the death car. Those letters, he noted, all ended

been » WIFE HUSBAND FRIEND © WIFE

HUSBAND

Met) was mi:

slain wile w
abandoned

UBLE Li

still had to be interviewe
workmen had not. been jn
il; his work was done. out.
rch, and he had not seen
7: ey | her man had ac. >
ide ouse, to turn off
rain wie pipes. ye eee
had cleaned out the fur- — ‘
ashes or secured the cellar —
third man must have done
and this third man must _
1e house very close to the _
rder. : TU
known workmen .~ were —
wed, as the officers had —
ould be. ae 8
now facing the police was -
> identity of the third man

‘s worker who had nailed

vs and cleaned out the —
Culbertson cottage. ~~. 5
rany men in the mountain

m Carrie Culbertson might
perform simple chores of ©
1y handyman would have
for such tasks. While
questioning likely candi- _.
eal and the two marshals «
he murder house on the
2y had overlooked some ~
an’s identity. eae
mday afternoon. The sun —
wool crowning the craggy

to the west. Chickadees ~_
2d needles of majestic firs.
er than they, scrabbled in | ;
‘ood. On the Culbertson —_

hk

Ow : y unbroken, ex-
> wh d from the road

und rail around the: _
he officers. + ihe

ad taken place before th
‘hat clues were concealed
vhiteness? Had the killer _
ole traces of his passage |
: walked around the house, ~~
adows and the clapboard
z whether there was some-
verlooked in their former
3 the cellar window which
ed over, they sought to
‘ul lead from the gleaming
newly sawed planks.
1e house was no more re-
front. Here, too, the snow
smooth white blanket.
eding silence broken only
2 of jays as they pecked
»me frozen crusts on the

Shal Banks came to an
ing at the birds as if in
ed his head and measured
1 the crusts to the kitchen

atter, Dave?” John Corley

Banks exclaimed.
?” Deal demanded: “Mrs.
‘ably threw it out the *
1 is e snow!” Banks

the xucnuen window and

me. It was different from
confirmed the startling _
id struck the marshal like

sely he related his extraof- —— ,
s to his colleagues. He

eemeiisanemnitieeemne sae eee

‘had found the clue for which they had all
been seeking. However, it had lain uncon-

‘cealed on the surface of the snow, not
underneath as he had expected.

“The first thing we do is get Slim Sul-
livan out here,” Banks directed.

WitHIN the hour, John Sullivan, the

hackie, was at the Culbertson cottage
with the three officers.

“Slim,” Banks began, “it’s important that

. we check your footprints against those

tracks you made here yesterday morning.
It may help us crack this case.”

“Glad to oblige,” the hackie said. |

It took only a moment to find the

_ original tracks which Sullivan had left.

The officers, as a routine precaution, had
taken care to preserve some of these prints.
They stood out: clearly alongside of the
well-trodden path which the officials had

. made in their passage to and from the

house.

“Try ’em, Slim,” Corley directed.

There could be no doubt that Sullivan’s
shoes fitted the impressions in the snow.
“They’re mine, all right,” he said.

“That’s mighty interesting,” Banks de-
clared. “They were the only tracks we
found when we got here last night. You
say you made them in the morning around
eight o’clock?”

“Sure thing,” the puzzled) hackman
answered. “But that was twelve hours
after Mrs. Culbertson was killed.”

“We know that, Slim. Did you go in-
side the house yesterday morning?”

“No, Marshal. Like I told you, the front
door was padlocked.”

“Funny thing, Slim. Back of the house,.
there’s some jay birds feeding on bread
crusts which were thrown out of the
kitchen window.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. The bread is on top of the
snow. On top of the snow, mind you. You
know what that means?”

The cabbie shook his head dazedly.

“Here’s what it means, Sullivan. That

‘bread was thrown out of the kitchen

window after the snow stopped falling.
We can tell that from the window, too.
It’s been raised and the snow is shaken
off.”

Sullivan stared wordlessly.

“That means somebody was inside the
house after .the snow stopped falling,”
Banks went on relentlessly. “That some-
one couldn’t have left the house without
leaving tracks. The only tracks we found

“were yours. That means only you could

have been in the house on Saturday morn-
ing. You raised that window. You threw
out those crusts. And all the time Mrs.

Culbertson was lying in the cellar—dead! .

“You killed Carrie Culbertson on Friday
night, Sullivan. You’re the odd-job. man

‘who. boarded up the windows and cleaned

out the furnace. Then you killed her. But
you came back on Saturday morning.
What’d you come back for, Slim? What
did you forget?”

Sullivan was pale. “I didn’t forget

-nothin’!” he shouted. “I didn’t do it!”

‘Corley, who had unobtrusively searched
the cabbie’s. automobile, held out the
broken handle of a letter opener. “Maybe
you came back for this, Slim,” he said. “I
found it in the glove compartment of your
hack. You were afraid you left your finger-
prints on it.”

4

See aieck ay

Dorco.

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Cambridge Jail, awaiting the outcome of
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~ SEX-MAD SLAYER

(Continued from page 23)

“Mrs. Culbertson!” the marshal called
out. He raised his voice and again called
out: “Mrs. Culbertson!”

His voice boomed through the house,
evoking only eerie echoes. The shrouded
rooms seemed suddenly to grow even more
cold, ‘more forbidding. Silence brooded
over the house, sinister and mysterious:
Corley found the switch panel and
flooded the living room with light. Noth-
ing seemed untoward, but there was no
trace of Mrs. Culbertson.

Fruitlessly, the officers went from room
to room, finally mounting the stairs which
led to the second floor, It was when they
reached what was obviously Mrs. Culbert-
son’s bedchamber that their nameless fore-
boding crystallized into outright alarm.
A woman’s hat and coat were carefully
draped over the back of a boudoir chair.
The bed had been neatly made up for

‘sleeping, but the plumped pillows and

turned-down sheets indicated that the bed
had not been slept in.

In sharp contrast to the tidiness of. the
bed and clothing was the evidence of ruth-
less rummaging in the room. Bureau
drawers were pulled out. The top of the
dresser was strewn with the contents of a
woman’s emptied pocketbook. On the

‘floor was a closed valise which had been

slashed open with a sharp instrument.

_ Banks quickly checked over the mis-
cellany which had been dumped on the
dresser. There were keys, cosmetics, and

‘the usual complements of a woman’s purse

—but there was no money.

Banks looked grimly around
“What do you think, Jack?”

“Same as you, Dave. Something hap-
pened to Mrs. Culbertson—and right here
in the house.” eget! ,

Banks nodded somberly. “About the

only place we haven’t looked yet is the
cellar. Let’s go.”
_ It was in the furnace room that the
two marshals found the corpse of Carrie
Winona Culbertson. She was lying in a
twisted heap on the. cement floor. Her
face was crusted with dried blood, and
her clothing had been savagely ripped by
brutal hands. There was no sign of the
death weapon,

At once, Marshal Banks telephoned the
Sheriff’s Office at Colorado Springs, realiz-
ing that the probe of the diabolical sex
slaying would require far greater re-

the room.

sources than were at his command.

Within the hour, Coroner Lawrence Qu.
Haney and Sheriff Sam Deal arrived with
a contingent of county officers. e-

- While Doctor Haney examined the
corpse, Banks related to the sheriff the

“This Sullivan fellow—the guy who left .

‘ after seven o’clock on Friday night. More-_

‘the fatal hemorrhage which had bloodied
the victim’s face. oi

- accompanied by a criminal assault,” the

officers began a thorough search of

sequence of events which had culminated
in the macabre discovery. “i
“Mrs. Culbertson used this place most}
for week ends,” he said. “She came down
this last time to close up the house: until
spring. She was here about a week.” ~~)
“Did you know her .at all?”
“Fairly well. She was a quiet, respectable :
woman.” ei:
Sheriff Deal eyed the marshal shrewdly.

his footprints in the snow—what do you ~
know about him?” et
“Slim? He’s. just a guy around town.
Drives a hack, does odd jobs. He’s kind
of a jack-of-all-trades—picks up a buck
here and a buck there.” :
Marshal Banks knew, of course, what
was in the sheriff’s mind. Despite the fact
that John Sullivan had made no effort to
conceal his visit to the Culbertson home
at eight o’clock that morning, he was, be-
cause he had been at the house, the only
suspect in the case thus far. It was not
until Doctor Haney reported his prelimi-
nary findings that suspicion pointed away
from the part-time taxi man. - #
“The woman was killed about twenty-
four hours ago,” he announced. “I’d say’
about six or seven o'clock last night.”
-This opinion jibed with other circum-'
stances. ._Mrs. Culbertson’s relatives had
been unable to reach her on the phone.

over, her bed had not been slept in the -
night before. It seemed clear, therefore,
that the murder had taken place prior to"
seven o’clock on Friday night. The fresh ©
snow on which Sullivan had left his foot-
prints when he called at the Culbertson ©
home chad not fallen until dawn of Satur-
day morning. ‘ae
The doctor revealed that Carrie Culbert-. 7
son had been stabbed to death with a —~
sharp, pointed instrument. In fact, the
blade which had been thrust between the
hapless victim’s shoulders, had broken
from its handle and was still in the wound. -
The tip had punctured the lung, causing _

“I’m pretty sure that the killing was :

doctor concluded. “The torn clothing in-
dicates that, and I think an autopsy will

44%
confirm it. Ree

the removal of the remains #0) ~
the morgue in. Colorado Springs,’ the

house. The pattern of the tragedy :
clear. Comely Carrie Culbertson had beet
robbed, raped, and murdered on the

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‘cleaned out

of her departure for home. With none of

the doors or windows showing signs of

forcible’ entry, presumably the young
matron had voluntarily admitted the killer.
It seemed hardly likely that Carrie, alone
and in an isolated house, would have
opened the door to a stranger. The slayer,

then, was probably someone she knew.

In the absence of any known persons who
fitted this category, the officers had .to
start. their investigation into the mysterious
slaying from scratch.- . ~-
On the chance that Carrie’s killer was
a neighbor who had dropped in to say
goodby, a detail of deputies undertook the
questioning of residents of the sparsely
settled cottage colony. Other officers,
under the direction of Carl Matthews,
superintendent of the Colorado Springs
Criminal Identification -Department, went
through the house, in search of fingerprints
or. other likely clues. The sheriff also ar-
ranged for a systematic study of ‘the
county’s police files on recent crimes, in-
volving known sex offenders. _ :
Marshal Banks accompanied Matthews
on his rounds. The house was scrupulously
in order. Carrie Culbertson, in prepara-
tion for returning to Denver, had done a
thorough job of housecleaning. But for
a. few unwashed dishes and odds and ends
of food in the kitchen, the chores pre-
paratory to closing the house for the rest
of the winter had been completed.
On the counter of the kitchen cupboard
were half a loaf of sliced baker’s bread,
an empty orange-juice can and several
slices of ham in a wax paper package.
In a partially filled-dishpan were a knife,
a fork and two spoons. Evidently, Carrie
had eaten a light supper and had not

‘completely cleared away afterwards.

‘Banks went to the kitchen sink and
turned the spigot. A dry, gurgling noise
came from the pipes, but no water.

_ “She must have had the water turned
off,” the marshal said. “That means a
plumber was here yesterday.” ‘

Matthews and Banks went at once to the
cellar, where they verified that the valves
were shut off at the boiler main, and that
the pipes had been drained. Checking the
furnace, they saw that the grate had been
and the ashes
shoveled into the sifter. This was another
task which had probably not been per-
formed by Mrs. Culbertson. Gua

Matthews inspected the cellar windows.
Each of them had a new spike driven into
the. moulding to further secure the sash.
One window, the pane of which was
broken, was boarded up from the outside,

“At least we can be pretty sure that a
plumber was called in to shut off the
water,” Matthews agreed, “and somebody
else who shoveled out the furnace and
battened down the windows. That’s at
least something to work on.”

While in the cellar, the technical ex-
pert paid particular attention.to the site
where the body had been found, hoping
to ‘locate fingerprint impressions or other
clues to the killer. In this he was disap-
pointed. For that matter, he was no more
successful in the rest of the house. Even
the chaos of the bedroom presented no
identifiable fingerprints other than those
of the dead woman herself. ;

Sheriff Deal and Night Marshal Corley, '

meanwhile, had been examining the dead
woman’s effects. The slashed suitcase,

carefully

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’

strangely, had ‘not been rifled. Had the
killer been interrupted in a burglary at-
tempt by Mrs. Culbertson, who then fled

to the basement pursued by her knife-

wielding assailant? Could this assailant

have been one of the men called in by.

Mrs. Culbertson to aid in the closing of
her home? z

“We're pretty sure she had a plumber in
hére, and probably somebody. else who
nailed up the windows,” Sheriff Deal said.
“Let’s try to figure who else might have
been called in here to help close up the
house.”

“The electricity’s on,” Corley pointed
out. “How about the gas?”

A search revealed that the gas cylinders
had been removed from their fittings on
the back porch. This indicated that a
representative of the local utility company

-had paid a visit to-the Culbertson home

the day before. The suspect list now in-

| cluded a plumber, a gas man, and possibly

a handyman.

The detail which had been questioning
the neighbors returned, unsuccessful in
their quest for clues. No transients or sus-
picious automobiles had been observed in
the vicinity on Friday evening.

[VMFANWHLLE, news of the shocking

tragedy had swept the small town of
Manitou Springs. Carrie Culbertson was
well known in the community. She had
traded at the local shops and made a host
of friends among the permanent residents
during the many summers she had spent
at her cottage. Marshal Banks at once
began to delve into her local associations
on the off chance that she might have at-
tracted an over-zealous admirer in the
town. :

Marshal Banks had the unhappy task

of breaking the shocking news to Carrie
Culbertson’s family in Denver. The
stunned relatives could throw no light on
the brutal murder. They assured the mar-
shal that Carrie had led a blameless life
and that her slaying could not possibly
have been the outgrowth of some secret
romance. They confirmed that Carrie had
been in the custom of carrying a’ fair
amount of money on her person. This was
particularly true when she took her fre-
quent trips to her Manitou Springs
residence. i

.The information he received convinced
the marshal that the secret of the gruesome
riddle lay within the precincts of his own
bailiwick. :

By Sunday morning Dr. Lawrence
Haney had completed his post-mortem and
submitted his formal report. In substance,
the report confirmed his original diagnosis.
Death had resulted from a hemorrhage
caused by the perforation of the left lung
cavity. The victim had lingered for- per-
haps an hour after being stabbed. It was
during this period that the mortally
wounded woman had been sexually as-
saulted! _

The four-inch blade of a letter opener
had been recovered from the wound.
Evidently it had broken off at the handle
when the slayer attempted to withdraw
the weapon.

The police located two workmen who
had occasion to come to the Culbertson
place on the. previous Friday afternoon.
They were highly reputable citizens, but

thing they had overlooked in their former

‘Snow.

_ pointed out. or:

of course they still had to be interviewed.

One of the workmen had not been in
the house at all; his work was done. out-
side, on the porch, and he had not seen
Mrs. Culbertson. The other man had ac-
tually been inside the house, to turn off
the main and drain the pipes.

Neither man had cleaned out the fur-
nace, sifted the ashes or secured the cellar
windows. So a third man must have done
this latter job, and this third man must ——_
have been in the house very close to the ~~
time of the murder. w Ss

The two known workmen. were 3
thoroughly cleared, as the officers had S|
expected they would be. |

The problem now facing the police was
to determine the identity of the third man
—the mysterious worker who had nailed
up the windows and cleaned out the a
furnace in the Culbertson cottage. oa

There were many men in the mountain
community whom Carrie Culbertson might
have asked to perform simple chores of
this nature. Any handyman would have i
been qualified for such tasks. While a
deputies began questioning likely candi-
dates, Sheriff Deal and the two marshals -
drove out to the murder house on the :
chance that they had overlooked some
clue to their man’s identity.

It was late Sunday afternoon. The sun
gilded the white wool crowning the craggy
mountain peaks to the west. Chickadees
rustled the frosted needles of majestic firs.
A few jays, braver than they, scrabbled in
the snow for food. On the Culbertson
property, the snow still lay unbroken, ex-
cept for the lane which led from the road
to the porch, and the trail around the.
house made by the officers.
‘The murder had taken place before the
fall of snow. What clues were concealed
by that fleecy whiteness? Had the killer
left some tangible traces of his passage
under the snow?

The three men walked around the house,
studying the windows and the clapboard
siding, wondering whether there was some-

searches. Passing the cellar window which
had been boarded over, they sought to
wrest some helpful lead from the gleaming
nailheads in the newly sawed planks.

The rear of the house was no more re-
vealing than the front. Here, too, the snow
stretched like a smooth white blanket.
There was a brooding silence broken only
by the chattering of jays as they pecked
stubbornly on some frozen crusts on the

Suddenly Marshal Banks came to an
abrupt halt, staring at the birds as if in
a trance. He turned his head and measured
the distance from the crusts to the kitchen
window. a
“What’s the matter, Dave?” John Corley
asked in surprise. 3
“That bread!” Banks exclaimed.
“What about it?” Deal demanded. “Mrs. B
Culbertson probably threw it out the &
window.” : e
“But the bread is on the snowf’ Banks |

He hurried to the kitchen window and
examined the frame. It was different from
its fellows and confirmed the startling ©
thought which had struck the marshal like J
a brainstorm. Tersely he related his extraor- q
dinary hypothesis to his colleagues. He ©


SCHNEI DER, Paul dJ.,

asphyx.

BONUS-LENGTH FEATURE

CASE OF THE
40 DEATH WARRANT;

Colo,

(Washington) Dec. 16, 1949,

.by CARL JENSEN |
Special Investigator for OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

NE OF the most difficult of all assignments, experi-

enced detectives agree, is a case which has not yet

completely crystallized, one in which, first of all, no

one really knows whether a crime has or has not been commit-

ted; and second, if a crime has been committed, no one knows
precisely what crime it is.

This was the sort of thing dumped in the laps of Detectives
Joseph A. Holindrake and Joseph Duffy, veteran homicide
team of the Denver Police Department in Denver, Colorado.
What’s more, they didn’t even have the advantage of getting in
on the case at its inception; by the time they heard of it, it was
already more than 48 hours old.

It wasn’t that the detective team’s superiors were trying to
make things tough for them. The fact of the matter was that
the delay was understandable, because even then nobody was
sure that a murder had been committed, and murder investiga-
tion, of course, was the particular specialty of Detectives

, Duffy and Holindrake.

About the only thing of which anyone was sure at the time
was that the strange disappearance of a Denver business man
was enveloped in a set of ominous circumstances which augur-
ed the worst.

Without exception, every officer thus far connected with
the incident felt certain that when Frank J. Ford was found,
he would be dead.

This had been reported at a long conference in the office of
Police Chief John F. O’Donnell at which the progress—or lack
of same—in the investigation up to that point had been discuss-
ed in detail.

“It’s a mighty tricky case,” observed Captain James J. Pitt,
who was Chief of Detectives. “If Ford was abducted, we can
be almost certain he’s dead by now. On the other hand, we
can’t completely disregard the possibility that the man dis-
appeared of his own volition.”

“Anything in his background to suggest he might have
wanted to take off on his own?” asked Chief O’Donnell.

The detective chief shook his head negatively as he answer-
ed, “Just the opposite. His personal history makes that seem
impossible, but we’ve all seen those impossible ones do it be-
fore. It’s unlikely, but it’s also unlikely that he could have
been kidnaped from his place of business without someone
having seen it happen ... There were people all around there
at night, yet when we got there the door was wide open, the

‘lights were still on, and Frank Ford was gone.”

“Well, whatever happened,”’ Chief O’Donnell said, ‘‘I want
the case "cracked, and quick. Have you had any leads on the
discovery of a body?”

“Not a thing,” Captain Pitt admitted. “I’ve got a twelve-
county alert going out right now, requesting sheriffs to check
the vicinity of all highways and secondary roads for blood-
stains, or other signs of violence. I’m also assigning a homicide

'' detail to the case at once.’’.

That was the point at which Detectives Holindrake and
Duffy acquired the problem. The detective chief made them
responsible for solving the case which at the moment looked

58

f

like it might be murder, or might be kidnaping, or might be
simply an ordinary missing person incident. It was up to them
to discover which.

The veteran investigators waded into the task by spending a
couple of hours absorbing the reports on how the case had
developed thus far. They found the bare facts of the matter
relatively simple.

A half hour after midnight on the morning of September
21st, a couple of radio car patrolmen had been dispatched to
the Ford Service Station at Brighton Boulevard and 46th to
investigate a report that the owner might be missing. When

they reached the filling station, located in the industrial dis. .
trict of the city, they found it "ablaze with lights, apparently

open for business, but there was absolutely no sign of the
proprietor, Frank Ford, or of any other attendant.

Mr. Ford’s car, they noted, was parked alongside the grease
rack. There was a bag of groceries on the front seat, on the
passenger side. Alongside the owner’s car another car was park-
ed.

Mr. Ford’s young partner in the business arrived as the
officers were going through the place seeking signs of life. The
partner had been notified by the missing man’s wife when

Ford failed to arrive home more than an hour after he was |

expected. She had been unable to get any answer to her tele-
phone calls, and it was she who had telephoned the police and
asked them to investigate.

At this point it appeared that her greatest fear was that
Ford, who suffered from a serious cardiac condition, might
have had a heart attack.

At the patrolmen’s request, the missing man’s young part:
ner checked the cash register to determine if a robbery had
taken place. Very shortly he announced that it “‘sure looks like
the place was robbed.” He reported that the $25 in change
which Frank Ford customarily left in the cash register was
missing. Moreover, a study of the tape indicated that'the day’s
receipts, totaling $211 and change, was also unaccounted for.
Mr. Ford usually took this money home with him, the young
man said.

After further questioning of the partner, one of the patrol-
men went to his car radio and called in a description of the
missing man. Reading from his notes, he said that Frank J,
Ford was 47 years old, medium height, had dark hair and
eyebrows, was slenderly built, and wore glasses with thin metal
frames. He did not drink, was sober, steady and dependable.
He never failed to arrive home before midnight.

This report from the officer at the scene brought a group of
detectives to the filling station. After a quick look around the
premises, they soon established a number of points, none of
which, admittedly, proved to be especially helpful to the in-
vestigation.

For.one thing, the car found parked in.the gas station next
to the owner’s belonged to a customer .who frequently left it
there. For another thing, they learned from a round of ques-
tioning at a bar across the street that no one around the place
had noticed anything unusual at the filling station that night.

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE, JULY, 1972

After a reen
right:) Sheri


ing, or might be
i was up to them

isk by spending a
ow the case had
‘ts of the matter

ng of September
en dispatched to

ard and 46th to ' -

e missing. When
ne industrial dis-
ights, apparently
‘no sign of the
lant.

ngside the grease
ont seat, on the
ier Car was park-

s arrived as the
igns of life. The

in’s wife when |

r after he was
¢ to her tele-
! the police and

st fear was that
ondition, might

it’s young part-
: copbery had
“sure looks like
‘> in change

ish ‘ister was
J that the day’s
accounted for.
him, the young

ne of the patrol-
scription of the
{i thar Frank J.
4 dark hair and
with thin metal
ind dependable.

vught a group of
‘ook around the
points, none of
Ipful to the in-

gas station next
equently left it
. round of ques-
round the place
ition that night.

BRE 0

at slaying scene, the jack handle identified as the murder weapon was examined by (/eft to
as Det. Joseph Duffy, bareheaded suspect Paul Schneider, and Capt. James Pitt looked on

After a reenactment of the crime
right:) Sheriffs Brown and Lewis,

There was a certain grim irony in the Colorado detectives’
long search for the coldblooded killer. The climax came
when the suspect got a little too greedy, and before he
knew it, he was locked into not one—but three murders!

59

jon the point concerning the time of his
4 arrival there and whether he might have
left Cheyenne to return to Denver.
me ee The Wyoming detective promised to
‘eh yal get back to Holindrake as soon as possi-
ble.
i The Denver homicide team then re-
turned to the area around Ford’s filling
station and resumed their digging. At a
fruit stand across the street from the gas
station, they found a clerk they had
missed on their earlier questioning, Now
he told the partners that on the night in
7 tm question, he recalled seeing a car drive
5) fay into Ford’s place at just about the time
“iithe fight broke out at the tavern. The
“Vil cderk said he hadn’t paid any more at-
tention to this car, but he did remember
that he had seen no other car pull into
the filling station until the first police
patrol car arrived there.
~ “Can you describe the car you saw?”
asked Detective Duffy. “The one that
pulled in over there around the time the
ght started?”

The clerk shrugged; shaking his head.
“Whatta ya want from me?” he said
helplessly. “It was a car. I seen hundreds
of cars pull into that place—you think I
remember the descriptions? It was just a
tar. Far as I know, it wasn’t new, it
wasn’t old. Some kinda car.”

In all cases where a person suddenly
disappears it is standard police routine
to explore the possibility that the miss-

n

As if to indicate ‘‘no hard feelings,’’ Judge Raymond Sauter (/.), who sentenc
man (right) shook hands—less than three hours before the execution. It was a rare moment in the history of crime

ing person might have taxen off of his
own volition, for any number of a vast
number of potential reasons. In this in-
stance, the missing man’s wife dismissed
this possibility as utterly impossible.
She said that in 23 years of married life,
her husband had never failed to let her
know when he was going to be late

varriving home. She was nagged by a

dread amounting almost to a certainty
that something terrible must have hap-
pened to him. She was equally certain
that he could not have suffered an
amnesia attack.

The next day the detectives pursued
their quest of information about Frank
Ford, with rather provocative results.
Their first interview was with the owner
of the car who left his vehicle in the
station lot; they had been unable to
reach him earlier. He told the officers
that he had last seen Frank Ford at 9
o’clock the evening he disappeared.

Asked by the detectives to give them
a detailed account of his movements
thereafter, that evening, he freely gave
them a very specific recital of time and
places.

“I got nothing to hide,” he told the
probers. “Go ahead and check that out.”

“We will,” Detective Holindrake
assured him. ‘“‘We will.”

They spoke next to the part-time at-
tendant who had worked with the miss-
ing man on the night Ford disappeared.

ed Schneider to death, and the condemned »

He said he had left the filling station at
25 minutes past ten and Mr. Ford was
getting ready to close up for the night as
he left.

Checking with headquarters at this
juncture, the partners were advised that
the Cheyenne detective had been trying
to reach them, so they returned to their
office to call him back.

The Wyoming officer’s information
was thorough, but disappointing. He
had found the young fellow from Den-
ver with no difficulty; as his parents had
said, he was staying with his friend at
the home of the latter’s parents. Ac-
cording to the youth’s story, he had left
Denver Friday morning, September
18th, and hitchhiked to Cheyenne,
arriving there early Friday afternoon.
His friend had taken him around to the
gas station where he was working, and
the owner had hired him at once. He
had worked there, on the 4 p.m. to mid-
night shift, every night since Saturday.

He could not have been in Denver on
Sunday night, therefore, when Frank
Ford disappeared and his filling station
was robbed.

During the next hour, Duffy and
Holindrake also ran a check on the man
whose car had been parked at Ford’s
station. Every detail of the man’s ac-
count of his movements checked.

(Continued on page 76)
61

“=,

i

«23

Frank Ford was not a customer, to be
sure, but he was well known to the own-
er and the employes, several of whom
bought gas at Ford’s place. And there
was one other thing; the man whose car
was parked in the gas station had been
in the tavern earlier and remained there
for about an hour. He had left shortly
before a fight broke out in the tavern.

While the results were not particular-
ly encouraging, the detectives who had
been sent to the scene covered a good
deal of ground and questioned several
dozen people in a relatively short time.
At the outset, they were interested
primarily in whether anyone had
noticed any occurrence out of the ordi-
nary at the missing man’s place of busi-
ness that night, or even during the past
couple of evenings, and also, they were
anxious to learn as much as they could
about Frank Ford himself.

In the first instance, they drew a
series of blanks. There was no dearth of
witnesses in the area all evening long—
one detective estimated there must have
been “at least a couple of hundred”—
but not one was found who had seen, or
would admit to having seen, anything
that evening which could be considered
unusual or suspicious.

And so far as the questing detectives
could determine, Frank Ford was not a
man to have any enemies. Persons who
knew him casually said he seemed like a
very regular guy who minded his own
business and worked hard to keep his
customers satisfied. Those who knew
him well agreed with that estimate and
added that he was a hell of a nice guy
who “didn’t have an enemy in the
world.”

To one informant who repeated that
phrase several times during their interro-
gation of him, Detective Hoindrake
commented wryly, ‘‘You’d be surprised
how many murder victims we find who
didn’t have an enemy in the world.”

He and Detective Duffy promptly set
to work to find someone who might
have been an enemy, or who, at the
least, did not regard Mr. Ford as a para-
gon of paragons. They found one, too,
or at least they turned up information
about such a person.

Closely questioning a man who said
he not only was a good customer of
Frank Ford’s gas station but one of
Ford’s closest friends as well, they learn-
ed that Ford had reason to believe that
a 17-year-old youth who lived a few
blocks away from the gas station had
twice burglarized the place.

“Did he report this? Was the kid ar-
rested?” Detective Duffy asked.

The informant shook his head, then
said, ““Yes and no. Yes, he did report
the burglaries to the police, but no, the
kid wasn’t arrested. Frank was such a
softie. We were talking about the break-
ins one time and I asked him how come
he didn’t have the young punk arrest-
ed.”

‘“‘What did he say?” asked Detective
Holindrake when the informant paused
to light his pipe.

The man took a few deep drags, then
replied, ‘Frank said he wasn’t absolute-

60

ly certain the kid was the burglar—al-
though he was pretty sure—and he
didn’t want the kid to get a black mark
on his record till he knew for sure.”

“Did he just let it go at that?” Holin-
drake asked.

“No, Frank said he dropped in on
the kid’s parents and spoke to them
about it.”

The informant supplied the youth’s

- name and the probers hangs learned

his address, which was less than three
blocks from Ford’s filling station. Be-
fore going there, however, they spoke to
Ford’s partner about the incident.

He said he was familiar with it, but
that Frank had handled the matter and
he didn’t know a great deal about it,
except that the young suspect no longer
hung around the station.

Detectives Duffy and Holindrake
then called at the youth’s address,
where they were admitted to his home
by his parents after the detectives had
identified themselves. The first thing
they learned was that the young fellow
was not at home. In fact, he hadn’t been
home for several days.

In the interrogation which followed,
the boy’s parents said their son had left
Denver to go north to Cheyenne the
week before. Cheyenne is about 100
miles from Denver.

“Can you tell us exactly when he left
for Cheyenne?” Duffy asked.

“Sure,” the youth’s father replied,
“it was Friday. Friday moming.”

“That would have been the -eight-
eenth,” Holindrake commented, ex-
changing glances with his partner.

Both officers, of course, were think- q

ing about the same thing. Frank Ford
had disappeared, and his gas station pre-

sumably had been robbed, on the night —

of the 20th-21st of September, 1947. If
the suspect had actually left for Chey-
enne on the 18th, as his parents be-
lieved, then he would have been out of
Denver for two days before the robbery
at Ford’s.

But they were keenly aware that the
parents might have been misled, so they
weren’t taking any chances. The kid
might have left home on the 18th, but
he could have hung around Denver a’
couple of more days without their being
aware of it.

Before leaving the suspect’s home,
they asked his father if he had any idea
where his son might be staying in Chey-
enne. The parent said he was pretty sure
he’d be at the home of a friend whose
family had lived in Denver until the pre-
vious June. Their son had gone to high
school with him. He had gone to Chey-
enne, in fact, at the friend’s suggestion,
when the latter had written that he
might be able to help their son get a job -

in the Wyoming capital.

Upon their return to headquarters,
Detective Holindrake got on the tele-
phone to Cheyenne police while his
partner typed out his report. Speaking
to a detective in the Cheyenne homicide
division, Holindrake spelled out the
details of the case they were working
on, gave the Cheyenne officer the ad-
dress they had obtained from the sus-
pect’s parents, and asked him to runa
careful check on the youth, particularly

When he used his real name on a fatal slip of paper, the suspect signed his own

death warrant. In prison, as he awaited execution, he studied the Bible regularly

eaten

As if to inc
man (right

on the point cc

| arrival there an:
© left Cheyenne t:

The Wyomir

* get back to Ho!
ble.

The Denver

_ turned to the a
- station and resi
| fruit stand acro:
» station, they f
* missed on their
wm he told the part

= question, he rec
_ into Ford’s plac
the fight broke
be clerk said he h:
}- tention to this c
» that he had see
> the filling stati:
> patrol car arrive;
; “Can you de:
» asked Detective
= pulled in over t!
fight started?”
© The clerk shr
© ““Whatta ya wa
helplessly. “It w:
- of cars pull into
P remember the d«
- car. Far as I k)
- wasn’t old. Some
' _ In all cases w
-. disappears it is ;
* to explore the p


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SIMMS, Cicer

Cic

n late January 1
little mining camp of

Alma, Colorado,
tion 1,000, prepared

out the frigid winter that
invariably dominated the
seasons at its elevation of

10,800 feet. Five m

west of Fairplay and
about fifteen miles east
of Leadville over
Mosquito Pass, Alma
was a typical rough-
and-tumble mining

camp.

One of those waiting
out the long winter was a
Scandinavian roustabout
named John Johnson (or e
Jansen). Thirty-five years are “ ? B) meg on
old, Johnson enjoyed a repu- ron :

tation as an honest,

able worker. His main job was

at the Boston and Colorado
Smelting Company, but he also
labored at several mining claims. A rel-
ative old-timer in Park County, he had

been in the area
since 1872.

The past summer,
the good-natured
Dane had befriended
a young stranger
named Cicero C.
Simms (also spelled
Sims). In return for a
place to bunk,
Simms did the cook-
ing; a welcome trade
no doubt, as Johnson
also provided the
food.

A native. of
Ducktown, Polk

vory past. Despite b

child of a Baptist minister who died, as _ fondness for and a prowess with hand-

did the mother, when

moral code of his parents or siblings.

o, wh, hanged Fairplay, CO July 23, 1880

880, the

popula-
to wait

iles

oF eit

depend-

Colorado Historical Society

VILLAIN
VICTIM?

By ROBERT V. HUNT, JR.

County, Tennessee, Simms, only eigh- _ prosecuted for interrupting a religious —_ was taken charge of by Sheriff [John]
teen years old, boasted a rather unsa- meeting and carrying a concealed _ Ifinger and returned to the young man

Convicted killer Cicero C.
Simms, as he appeared on page
one of the Rocky Mountain

News.

the way he detoured
through Franklin County,
Kansas, where he
stopped long enough to
acquire a permanent
facial scar at the hands
of a saloon keeper
named J.B. Williams.
According to the
Fairplay Flume, Simms
“got into difficulty and
ve. drew a pistol, and
MRE Williams, fearing fatal
Sf consequences, snatched up
the poker and dealt the blow
which left [the mark].”
Stealing a horse, Simms
raced away, eluding a posse that
chased him 400 miles. An erroneous
story later arose that Simms killed a
man at Granada, Colorado, in 1874,

soon after making
his escape from
Kansas. He stead-
fastly denied the
charge, however,
and no records indi-
cate otherwise.

The Flume said
that after stops at
Denver and Malta,
Simms landed in
Fairplay, and almost
immediately got into
serious mischief,
“pulling a pistol on
Joe Summer in April
1879. The weapon

eing the youngest weapon. At an early age he displayed a _ on his appeal for clemency.”

On Sunday evening January 25,

Simms was atod- guns. Encouraged to leave southeastern 1880, Simms and Johnson were in
dler, he apparently never adopted the Tennessee, Simms decided to head _ Louis Link’s saloon on Buckskin Street

west and join two older brothers, in Alma, drinking and playing cards.

Among other indiscretions, he was | George and Ross, in Colorado. Along  Tiring of the game, the men decided to

40

OLD WEST

leave, getting as far <
walk outside the salo

Young men in t!
engaged in horse}
knock off each other
Simms knockec
Johnson’s hat off
and Johnson returne:
the favor. For som
reason, perhaps th
alcohol in his sys
tem, having his ow
hat knocked of
angered Simms. Th
good-natured rough
housing becam
deadly serious.

Cursing, Simn
stepped back an
said, “You had bett
pick up that hat.”

Johnson, stridir
toward Simm
replied, “I won't ¢
it.”

Simms, contin
ing to back up tl
alley with Johns«
matching him ste
for step, said, “C
away or I will give
to you.” As Johns:
drew closer, Simi
pulled out a .32 c:
iber pistol and to
aim. Johnson ke
walking toward hi
and Simms shot his

With a look of
back against the s
lapsed on the side
died within min
yelled, “John is ki
as startled as any
his wits and cont
from the scene. th
in his hand. Reac
bolted out of sight

Within minutes
a party of volunte:
for Simms. The
night in the moun
escaped. The next
rumored to be fou
Mosquito Pass.
shifted their attent
leading toward Le

The following
council offered a

FALL 1994

Convicted killer Cicero C.
1s, as he appeared on page
me of the Rocky Mountain

News.

the way he detoured
through Franklin County,
Kansas, where’ he
stopped long enough to
acquire a permanent
facial scar at the hands
of a saloon keeper
named J.B. Williams.
According to the
Fairplay Flume, Simms
“got into difficulty and
drew a_ pistol, and
Villiams, fearing fatal
ynsequences, snatched up
poker and dealt the blow
ch left [the mark].”

‘aling a horse, Simms
way. eluding a posse that
n 400 miles. An erroneous
rose that Simms killed a
ada. Colorado, in 1874,
soon after making
his escape from
Kansas. He stead-
fastly denied the
charge, however,
and no records indi-

cate otherwise.

The Flume said
that after stops at
Denver and Malta,
Simms landed in

) Fairplay, and almost
immediately got into
serious mischief,
“pulling a pistol on
Joe Summer in April
1879. The weapon

iarge of by Sheriff [John]
turned to the young man
for clemency.”

ay evening January 25,

s and Johnson were in

saloon on Buckskin Street
nking and playing cards.
game, the men decided to

OLD WEST

leave, getting as far as the wooden side-
walk outside the saloon.

Young men in that era frequently
engaged in horseplay by trying to
knock off each other’s hats. Apparently
Simms knocked
Johnson’s hat off,

arrest and return” of Simms. The fugi-
tive was described as about five-feet,
six- or seven-inches tall, slender, with
fair skin and “large blue or grey sunken
eyes, high cheek bones, square chin,

Denver Tribune, later that evening
Denver police chief W.R. Hickey and
officer H.C. Sherman were observing
the “lay of the land,” at the corner of
Sixteenth and Wazee streets. A Mr.

and Johnson returned |
the favor. For some
reason, perhaps the
alcohol in his sys-
tem, having his own
hat knocked off
angered Simms. The
good-natured rough-
housing became
deadly serious.

Cursing, Simms
stepped back and
said, “You had better
pick up that hat.”

Johnson, striding
toward Simms,
replied, “I won’t do
it.”

Simms, continu-
ing to back up the
alley with Johnson
matching him step
for step, said, “Go
away or I will give it
to you.” As Johnson
drew closer, Simms
pulled out a .32 cal-

With a look of shock, Johnson fell
back against the saloon wall and col-
lapsed on the sidewalk. He apparently
died within minutes. A bystander
yelled, “John is killed.” Simms, at first
as startled as anyone, rapidly regained
his wits and continued to back away
from the scene, the smoking pistol still
in his hand. Reaching the corner, he
bolted out of sight.

Within minutes, Sheriff Ifinger and
a party of volunteers launchedfa search
for Simms. The posse spent a cold
night in the mountains, but Simms had
escaped. The next day his tracks were
rumored to be found near a sawmill on
Mosquito Pass. The searchers then
shifted their attention to the wagon road
leading toward Leadville.

The following day the Alma town
council offered a $500 reward “for the

FALL 1994

small mouth, clean shaven with a scar
on the underside of his right jaw resem-
bling a cut or burn.” His attire on the
the day of shooting consisted of “‘a pair
of fine boots with small heels, black hat,
black half-frock coat, and light pants.”

AFTER SURVIVING a night of bit-
ter cold temperatures in the mountains,
Simms gained a wagon road and began
following it east toward Denver and the
plains. He walked some of the way
down, but also hitched a ride on a
wagon, covering the one hundred miles
at a rapid pace.

By January 28 Simms was in
Denver, his feet nearly frozen, and so
exhausted that of all the hotels and
boarding houses in Denver, he stopped
at the popular Columbus House at 377
Wazee Street, where he registered
under his own name. According to the

Colorado Historical Society
iber pistol and took Alma, Colorado, where Cicero C. Simms killed John Johnson January 25, 1880.

aim. Johnson kept

walking toward him,

and Simms shot his friend in the nose.

Daniel, proprietor of the Columbus
House, overheard them discussing the
murder at Alma and said, “Why,
Hickey, I believe that fellow Simms is
at my hotel. He came in tonight, and I
remember that he said his name was
Simms and that he came from Alma.”

Sherman, with a Denver Tribune
reporter in tow, accompanied Daniel
back to the hotel where they waited
several minutes for another officer to
arrive. Finally, the two officers, Daniel,
and the reporter climbed the stairs to
Simms’ room. Opening the unlocked
door, they quietly entered the darkened
room. One of the officers struck a light
and held it to the face of a sleeping fig-
ure.

The reporter said that the man, dead
to the world, required several rough
shakes before he awoke. “Finally he
opened his eyes, lazily, stretched, and,

41

im HIS CONFESSION, the accused man said

i hdd stabbed the woman and left her lying, in

ise basement, as portrayed in this photo, posed
7, professional models.’ The murder weapon

shown in actual photo’ on, opposite page.’

'

“By CAPTAIN R.
HAVELOCK-BAILIE

ee es ¢ et


tis Whatever you can”

The young wonun choked back a wob, “Pent tell yout
anything, sheriff,” she said. “Mother was sypposed to come
here Friday night for dinner and we were to take her to the
depot after that. She didn’t show up and | phoned her, ‘The
phone rang and rang but no one answered,

“Of course 1 went over to mother’s then. but the house
was locked up. The porch light was burning and I thought
she'd be back in a little while but she didn't come. T went
back the next morning and the porch light was out but she
didn’t seem to be there. I called her aunt in Denver—that's
Mrs. Baldwin-—and she said mother hadn't gone there. Then
Mrs. Baldwin started calling mother long distance but couldn't
get her. Then I told Marshal Banks and that's all I know.”

The sheriff stood in thoughtful silence. The porch light
had been burning® Friday night. Saturday morning’ it,.was
out. Mrs. Culbertson had been killed Friday evening. That
was almost sure. She must have been lying in the furnace
room dead when the daughter went to investigate. Did that
mean the killer was in the house tken, or did it mean he had
come back to the house the next day to turn out the light he
had‘ forgotten in his flight? How long had the light burned?

“Do you know who your mother had helping her close the
house ?” Deal asked.

and otherwise attempted to lead investigators astray.

This was a possibility that could not be overlooked and
Sheriff! Deal determined to investigate it thoroughly,

Before returning to the Culbertson home, Deal called the
chief operator of the telephone company. He asked for a re-°
port on all long distance calls made to and from the murder
house from Monday, when Mrs. Culbertson had come to
Manitou Springs, through Saturday. He then joined his
deputies and found they had had a little luck.

One thing they had found out was about the porch light.
Others beside Mrs, Ohlander had observed it and the deputies
found it had burned throughout Friday night. One man, com-
ing in from his work at 4 in the morning had seen the light
and wondered about it. .He had spoken to his wife of the
matter, but no one seemed to know when the light had been
turned out.

Mrs. Culbertson had not been seen by neighbors since around
noon Friday. But directly after noon a plumber’s truck had

been seen there. It belonged to Burt Swisher, a well known;

Manitou Springs plumber.

Later another light truck had stopped at the Culbertson
house and a workman had carried inside a tool box and several
boards. After that, a neighbor had heard the pounding of
nails. A short time later this truck left.

THE SPACIOUS_home in Manitou Springs where the murder occurred.”
It was this one which burned for hours, . ©
morning.

Note small light next to door.
then

Mrs. Ohlander shook her head. “She had a carpenter, I
think, to board up a window; and | know she had a plumber,
That would be Mr. Swisher. She was going to have him turn
the water off and drain the pipes.”

Sheriff Deal learned little more from the daughter. He
did learn that the paper knife used in the crime had belonged
to Mrs. Culbertson. He learned that aside from Mrs. Oh-
lander, a son and the husband survived the murdered woman.
The husband was on business in Chicago. The son was em-
ployed at an aircraft factory in Los Angeles.

The sheriff was evolving a theory. If the murder knife be-
longed in the house, that would indicate an unplanned killing.
Someone had started to build a fire in the Culbertson fur-
nace. The possibility existed that Mrs. Culbertson had been
ready to leave the house when she had a caller. The house
was cold, She had gone to the basement to build a fire: and
the murder followed.

The killer, apparently a man of means, had been above theft,
but smart enough to try and make his work look like that of
a man bereft of all reason. He had slashed the hand luggage

was mysteriously turned off some _ time before

ce

Two men, workmen by their appearance, had walked up wi.

the street and entered the house earlier in the day.

Culbertson house. :
Carl Matthews had picked up many finger prints—so many

in fact that their worth was doubtful, Certainly they were 9° |
worthless unless there was a record of some of them, or a>‘

man whose prints they matched was captured.

In this connection, there likely would be the plumber, the 7
carpenter and any workmen who had been employed by «,”

Carrie Culbertson—not to speak of her own prints and the
prints of the people who had been living in her house pre-

vious to its being closed. There were no prints on the murder |

weapon.

D* HANEY had set the time of Mrs. Culbertson’s death ° 4

No ones,
had seen them leave, nor had anyone seen any well-dressed
man enter, and no cars had been parked in front of the ~

as late Friday afternoon. “Killed instantly,” he reported: ~ |

“That brings us back to the porch light,” Deal said. “That's
what gets me. Was the killer in the (Continued on page 56)

a¢


“also.

ek: Pie A # i ee mi ae |

PP oe ; x

“SULLIVAN, John, white, asphyxiated Colorado

HERE SEEMED nothing wrong with the Culbertson
4 =f home in Manitou Springs, Colorado. It appeared to be _

just another handsome residence, closed for the winter.
All doors and windows were locked. The blinds were drawn
and the house was dark. The house was closed, all right. As
a matter of fact, one of the basement windows had_ been
boarded up and a heavy padlock did auxiliary duty to the
regular lock on the front door.
It was Sunday night, January 11, 1942. Marshals John
Corley and David Banks had twice circled the house. It was

so dark and quiet that it seemed impossible anyone could be |

inside. ,

“I don’t know what to do, John,” Banks said. “I sure don’t.
This woman—her name is Mrs. Leonard Baldwin and _ she’s
Mrs, Culbertson’s aunt—called me from Denver and asked
me to break in here and see if something has happened to
Mrs. Culbertson. But anyone can see the doors were locked
from the outside and there’s nobody inside.”

He was silent a moment. He said, “This Mrs. Culbertson
lives in Denver too. She came down here a few days ago to
close her house here. Mrs. Baldwin has a house down here
It’s closed but there’s a caretaker. Mrs. Baldwin says she
thinks Mrs. Culbertson should be back in Denver. She couldn't
be in the Baldwin home here and she’s not at her daughter's.”

“Her daughter lives where?” Corley asked.

“Here—out on Wood Avenue. Her name is Ohlander, and
she’s nervous too. She called me yesterday ‘and asked me to
look for her mother. I came out here but she wasn’t here.
Everything was just like it is now. Mrs, Baldwin says she
has been trying to get Mrs. Culbertson long distance since Fri-
day, and no luck.” ;

“Maybe she just made a little side trip on her way back to
Denver,” Corley suggested.

“That's what I think,” Banks said. “But you know how
women are when they get ideas. And if we break into this
house we're likely to find ourselves in trouble.”

(El Paso) on Sept. 20, 193.

‘of the Culbertson home.

dbpates

By now the two officers were standing on the back porch
Banks tried the door. It was the
dozenth time he’d done that and he knew he’d find it locked
He did. He shook his heal. .

The wind had been blowing hard, but suddenly it quieted
and there was a sort of humming sound. Banks glanced
around and his eyes came to rest on the electric meter. He
turned the beam of his flashlight on the face of the meter. It
was running.

He said, “Well, that makes it different,” and started tearing
off the screen from a window. It was necessary then to break
the window pane, and he did. A moment later the two officers
were inside the house, passing from room to room.

Everything seemed in: order. The house was scrupulously
clean, the furniture ghost-like in snowy dust covers, the
rugs rolled and. pushed against the walls. No lights burned,
but they found the electric range was turned on.

“Went off and forgot about it,” Banks said.

They went to the second floor of the house and there found
much the same condition. Then as they stepped into a front
bedroom, Banks stopped, the beam from his flashlight directed
on the bed. A fur coat and a hat were lying ‘there.

“That’s queer.” Banks said.

Corley nodded. “Looks like she had everything in order,
stored away and all, but her hat and coat. She was ready to
go. Doesn't look like she'd walk out after that and leave her
hat and coat. It’s plenty cold weather.”

“There’s the basement,” Banks said.

The two officers almost ran to the basement. Here all
seemed in order until they reached the furnace room. The
woman they had been looking for—Mrs, Carrie Winona Cul-
bertson—was there. She was sprawled in front of the furnace,
her face covered with blood. Her clothing was torn and
disarrayed.

Banks and Corley stood in the doorway a moment. Then
Banks said; “Let’s get the sheriff and the coroner before we go

INSIDE DETECTIVE, August, 1942.

A BURNING PORCH LIGHT AND AN UNOPENED LETTER FOUND IN A

FURNACE WERE VITAL CLUES IN THIS SHOCKING COLORADO CRIME

JOHN SULLIVAN, caretaker of a house i
nearby—he noticed the lone light burning.
and later saw it had been turned off.

in there. Can't afford to make any mistakes.’

They found the telephone upstairs, still connected, and called
Sheriff Sam Deal. Not long afterwards the sheriff, Under-
sheriff Roy C, Glasier, Chief of Police I. B. Bruce of
Colorado Springs’and Dr, L. O. Haney, the coroner, reached

Se Culbertson house. They entered as the marshals had—

hrough the window.

In the basement they turned on lights and stoad for a
moment surveying the scene. The dead woman wore but one
shoe and there was a dragged line in the dusty concrete floor.
It ran from her body to a door which opened into a wood
bin. The skin of the victim had darkened. and it was ap-
parent that she had been dead a Jong time.

Sheriff Deal said, “Let's get at it, boys—only he careful.
Doctor. take a look and tell us all you can. We'll likely need it.”

They found in the coal room a great many tracks in the
dust. It looked as though a battle had taken place there and
the tracks, party made by a man’s shoes and partly by a
woman's, were in spots quite plain. Both the man and the
woman had worn good. shoes.

In the wood room a saw horse had been overturned and
kindling was scattered about the floor. An axe lay there and
a quantity of dried blood was on the floor and kindling.

From the concrete’ wall, near the floor, Sheriff Deal picked
several hairs. He said, “Looks like her head was batted
against the wall, but that’s not what caused all this blood.”

“The axe wasn’t used,” Banks said.

From the furnace room, Dr. Haney called, “Uve got. it,
he said.

The officers went to him, He held out a paper knife, the
blade of which had been broken. “It was beneath her body,”
he said. “I'd say the rest of it is buried in her lung. She was
stabbed in the back. The blood on her face came from the
hemorrhage that followed. She wasn't beaten.”

“How long dead?” Sheriff Deal asked.

Dr. Haney shook his head. “Quite a while—maybe as
much as three days. Tell you later.

“Friday was the last time she was heard from,” Banks said.
“She was supposed to go back to Denver Friday night, but

nf course didn’t.

“That makes it about right.” the coroner said.

“Assaulted 2?’ Deal asked.

“Yes,” the doctor replied.

The officers stood there, a coldly silent group. Banks broke
the silence. “We are going to be up against something,” he
said. “The woman was here alone—or supposed to be. She
came down here to close her house and that’s all.”

“She didn’t close this house alone.” the sheriff said. “There's

MYSTERY SOLVED .. . Deputy Roy Glasier, District Attorney Iri Foard,
Sullivan, and Sheriff Sam Deal (left to right) are seen after one man’s
story cleared up the puzzle. An unopened letter was the final clue.

been a lot of work done around here. Chances are she had
packers, plumbers, carpenters and other help—and changes
are we'll have enough men to check on to keep us busy for.
a while.”

HEY LOOKED carefully around the basement. There

were the footprints and little else. They saw that the fur-
nace door was open and inside a fire had been laid but not
lighted.

“Looks like she was down here building a fire.’ Chief
Bruce said.

They went upstairs and Bruce phoned for Carl Matthews,
superintendent of the Colorado Springs identification bureau,
to check for fingerprints.

In the bedroom on the second floor where the coat and hat
had been found, they saw now a woman’s purse and gloves
on a dressing table: The purse had been opened and _ the
contents removed, but they lay beside the purse. Aside from:
the usual things found ina woman's purse, there was a con-
siderable amount of money—both change and bills.

“If our man rifled this purse, he apparently isn’t much
interested in money,”’ Glasier said.

“I noticed that in the basement,” Sheriff Deal replied. “The
woman was wearing a couple of valuable rings.’

A suitcase protruded from under the bed. Deal drew it
forth. A large piece of leather had been cut from the bag by
a very sharp knife. But the bag was fully packed and nothing
had been) disturbed,

“Our man does strange things,’ Deal muttered, and the
others agreed,

The killer, it seemed to them, was more than a sex mad
maniac. He apparently had no use for money but he liked
to rifle and destroy things. A mental case if they'd ever
run up against one—or else he had left a false trail, hoping
the officers would think just that.

“We've lost a lot of time.” the sheriff said. “Two or three
days. We can't afford to lose any more.’

To Undersheriff Glasier, he said, “Roy, you get some men
and scour the district. See if people around here noticed any-
one prowling about. Find out if Mrs. Culbertson had any
men working here and if she did, find out who they were and
when they were here. Find out when she was last seen and’
anything ‘else you can—and fast.”

The .sheriff himself immediately got in touch with Mrs.
Ohlander the murdered woman's daughter. As gently as pos-
sible he told her what had happened, leaving out the more
horrible details. “We've got to have your help, Mrs. Oh-
lander.” he said. “I wish vou’d hold vourself together and tell

a


were inhaling dynamité wit ery

SCHNEIDER, Panl Ja, wh, gassed CO Washington) Dec. 16, 1949

breath. Downstairs, in the basement, the
‘big presses were ready to roll out 300,000
more papers, telling of the execution,
starting when word came that Hoch had
been taken from his cell in death row.
- At 10:03 news came that the death
march had begun. A moment later the
whole building was quivering. But
twenty minutes later the reporter in the
Criminal Courts Building said he was
still waiting to see Pratt’s red handker-
chiet displayed.

“Find out what’s delaying the execu-
tion!” snapped Bickert. His bewilder-
ment turned to horror as he heard the
newsboys shouting, “Wux-try! Hoch
Hanged! Get your American here!”

Someone had got mixed up on the
signals, jumped the gun.

The court reporter was back on the
phone. “Hoch’s lawyers interrupted the
death march!” he shouted in a frenzy.
‘They threw a habeas corpus writ at
Sheriff Barrett. The condemned man is
being taken before Federal Judge Landis
right now!”

“What's the writ based on?” groaned
the suddenly sick city editor.

“The claim that Hoch can’t be hanged
for murder because he was extradited
from New York on an entirely different
charge—bigamy!”

“My God!” Bickert cried to Norlander
“We'll all be bounced if they don’t hartg
that rat today.”

“Being fired will be just the begifining.
There won’t be any Evening American
after today if they don’t string/him up.
We got the guy dead. The othér papers,
who weren't so quick on the tmigger, will
have him alive.”

“Shall I stop the presses?”

“What's the use, Jim? We) can’t stop
the sale of the papers now! And who is
ever going to believe a word we print
after this—unless the guy swings?”

Hour after hour, as Hoch’s appeal was
argued before Judge Kenesaw Mountain
Landis, a feeling of doom settled\over the
editorial office. It deepened when,\as Nor-
lander predicted, the other afternoon
papers came out. with news of the last-
minute fight for the doomed man
When some bright boy on the
pointed out to Bickert that the executi
order stated that Hoch must be hange
before two o'clock that day, Bickert
wished he were dead.

Then, when almost everybody on the
staff had given up hope—Landis need
only to reserve decision to wreck the
paper for all time—good news (for the
Evening American, that is) came from
Federal Court. With less than an hour
to spare!

At 1:15 Landis rejected the appeal. At
1:34 Johann Hoch walked up the gal-
lows, a new one and not too well-built.
On mounting the steps, the condemned
man’s face lighted with his famous smile.
He said jauntily, “Are you sure this thing
is safe?” At 1:47—with only thirteen min-
utes to spare—he was pronounced dead.

In the whole history of crime reporting
in this country, there is no episode more
thrilling, dizzier, or more packed with
the last-minute sock of suspense that
makes the lives of reporter-detective so
enviable~and melodramatic.

bee

The Policeman's Page
[Continued from page 52]

Aughinbaugh was picked up by the police.

He has been identified as the hospital
robber and also as one of the two bandits
in two loan association stickups netting,
$55,000.

The artistic detective says he has been
drawing since he was in high school. He
used the talent as extra “equipment”
while pounding a beat five years ago in
the Warren Ave. district.

doesn’t come up with the models I get.”

CONFESSION

At the annual convention of the Colo-
rado Sheriffs and Peace Officers Associ-
ation in Denver, Undersheriff Robert Doak
of Pikeville, Ky., told how he had gained
a murder confession from Paul J.
Schneider, 22, convicted slayer of Frank
J. Ford, 47, Denver filling station owner.

Doak said Schneider’s confession was
made to himself and Paul Keane, FBI agent
from Louisville, Ky., after Schneider had
knelt in prayer beside his cot in the Pike-
ville jail.

“The agent and I asked Schneider to
pray and then let us know in the morning
if he killed Ford or not. At first, he
wouldn’t, and said he didn’t believe in
God ... but in the morning, he told us
the whole story.”

Schneider now faces execution in the
state gas chamber.

HE SAW 75 DIE
He was the official executioner of Okla-
aa, and one of the toughest men i
state—Wiry,—weatherbeaten,_and—Hhard.

“I’m not afraid to die,” he said defi-
antly all his life, and he wasn’t afraid,
when cancer wrote an end to his career.

In his 67 years, Rich Owens killed 75
men himself—with no regrets. ‘

He executed 65 men in the electric chair,
hanged another; the remaining 9, were
killed by him in prison riots or escape at-
tempts. ;

He had a fabulous reputation for hard-
ness.

In 1937 two life-termers attacked him
with hatchet and knife. They bound his
hands behind him with barbed wire, put
the knife to his back, and started to march
out of the prison in McAlester, Okla., with
Rich as hostage.

Rich spotted a tower guard.

“Start shooting Pat!” he yelled and threw

himself backwards to the ground.

. TRUE POLICE CASES, October, 1948

Pat shot. The convicts attacked Rich.
Rich worked his hands free, grabbed the
knife blade with his bare fingers and
hurled himself into the savage struggle.
He killed one of the convicts by ripping
the knife through his neck bones. Then he
chased the other and smashed his head
with a shovel.

“Every man has a time to go,” he said.
“When it comes he goes. . . . I never give
it a thought. But I do wonder what hap-
pens after you go.”

Rich Owens has gone to find ont what
happens. ...

THE WARDEN'’S KID

Jimmy Melton, 12, stood before the court
in Las Animas, Colorado, and pleaded
guilty to the killing of his sister. He shot
Phyllis Marie, 16, five times last Dec. 15th
as she wrapped Christmas presents.

The boy was found guilty of second de-
gree murder and sentenced to serve not less
than 12 years to life imprisonment in the
state penitentiary.

When Jimmy Melton, 12-year-old mur-
derer got off the train, Warden Roy Best
took over.

Best had thought it over... . “I’m going
to rear Jimmy Melton like my own kid,”

“T war tobe-a-comic stiip~artist at he said. “I can’t put that kid behind bars
first,” he said, “but, even Milt Caniffto_be with the toughest thugs and bums in

the state. I’m going to take him into my
home, let him go.to school.

“They ‘sent Jimmy here for me to care
for. The way I look at it, I can do it my
own way. This is my way. I'm going. to
try it out.” \~

The warden hopes that Jimmy, who said
he shot his sister because he thought their
father favored her, may go to school freely.
When and if he does, Jimmy will ride a
bicycle belonging to Bud Best, the warden’s
17-year-old son.)

Mrs. Best took Jimmy on a shopping
tour. She let him buy a loud-colored cow-
boy shirt. Them Best took the boy on a
tour of the prison to see what he could
be forced to take if he doesn’t behave
properly.

Then Jimmy settled down to learn his
household responsibilities, including care
of the warden’s two large dogs, Chris and
Ike.

The rest now remains with Jimmy... .
He must be worthy of the trust to remain
in th€ bosom of the Best family. He still

ill be a number-holder—No. 24,939—and
could be confined to a regular cell.

HOW ABOUT IT, OFFICER?

Okay, policemen, let’s hear from you
personally. What have you got on your
chest that you’d like to write The
Sergeant about—an idea, a bit of heroic
police action by one of your buddies,
a gripe, something humorous or serious
out of your own life? Send it to The
Sergeant, care of this magazine, 67 West
44th St., New York 18, N. Y. Remember,
this is your page; it’s wide open to you.
Watch for another Policeman’s Page
in the next issue.

theSoapaat

89

Schneider Sends Yule
Cards, His Return
Address: Death House

_By ROBERT M. COUR. ma

ae ee i s,
« A ) i bs fo > tpt
* ¢ a) ol i a "a9
FS OR i a
MW etaced bree
* = J .
Y 3 7
t >. ‘

go: re ee eu q an : LON ‘
Lees) OTE ESE kilfér of ‘thre men, is scheduled to cie
p. m. irl the gas chamber at’ the state penitentiary.

—_—

“| his composure as the hours slipped

by Friday. Schneider has said he
doesn't believe in death,

‘| With Kim on his last day were a

sister, Mrs. Marie Nash, and 4

brother, Rav Schneider, both at

}} Woodburn, Ore, They were per.

remitted to use a small room Open-
ing from the office of Deputy War-

den Oran Doolen.

BROTHER, SISTER CRY.

With a box of Candy in front of
him, Schneider signed and ad-
dressed Christmas cards to friends.
Ile wrote his return address as
“Cellhouse 5,”

His brother and sister, who still
hope for executive clemency, oc-
casionally sobbed and hugged the
haby-faced prisoner seated  be-
tween them. Schneider himself was
calm and smiling.

Mrs. Nash said he had placed |
himself “completely in the hands
of the Lord.”

NO CELEBRATION. .

The young prisoner turned down |
the traditionally sumptuous “last
meal” of condemned men. He said
he preferred to eat “regular chow
line food" for lineh and dinner,

“After all, there's hothing to
celebrate,” he said,

His brother and sister were to be
allowed to remain with him until
6 p. m., when Schneider would be
required to begin preparing him-
-{self for death. :

After that, he will be led outside
the prison gates, up a hill, to the
small stone building in which he
‘}must die,

ibe, ee
Wo WA

peo
(21/7/1948

[scune der}

on

Colo. December 16, 1949...

All three victims were bound,

blindfolded and then bludgeoried

VERY police officer will know what I mean when I
speak of the “causeless” murder—a crime that
falls into no ordinary pattern, presents no clues to

the killer, and has happened for no discernible reason. The “con-
trived” murder of detective fiction is practically unknown in real
life.

The cases that really give a police department trouble are those
where a man of impeccable character, of positive habits, is found
dead or missing and the full resources of modern investigative
techniques fail to get an initial clue or lead on which to hang the
opening phases of investigation. Yes, the murder without apparent
cause is the toughest of all to solve.

The Frank J. Ford murder in Denver, Colo., on September 20,
1947, was one of those that left us literally grasping for straws as
we desperately sought a clue to give us a starting point on a case
that was stacked against us from the very beginning.

Without cause, rhyme, or reason, a well-known, highly respectable
citizen disappeared about 10:30 p. m. on a Saturday evening.

It was about midnight on the 20th when Mrs. Frank Ford called
Denver police headquarters. She stated that her 47-year-old husband
always closed his automobile service station at 10:30 p. m. and drove
directly home. It was located at 4590 Brighton Boulevard near the

Vt; olarak ie G AE


outskirts of town, but it only took him a few minutes to

-reach his home at 4319 Fillmore Street, Mrs. Ford also °

stated that their son, Jack, worked the station in partnership
with his father and she was trying to get in touch with him
at a university dance.

The night detective sergeant; Arthur Shotwell, at once
had the radio dispatcher direct Officers Vernon H. Key
and Paul R. Mayerle in car 54 to the service station.

They found the place in order, the lights out and the front
door closed. A car identified as Ford’s was parked in its
regular place and there was nothing out of the ordinary
except for another car that was parked near the grease

rack, It.was an unlikely spot to keep a car overnight and

Vern Key immediately radioed headquarters for a check
on the license number.

They learned the second car did not belong to Frank
Ford, but was registered in the name of Warren Mervin.

Mervin could not be located just then.

Young Jack Ford soon appeared and opened the station.

Mayerle directed him to look the premises over care-
fully and report anything that was out of the ordinary.

When he completed the inspection Jack Ford said, “Well,
the cash till is empty. Even the pennies are gone. We always
made it a habit to keep $25 in change here to open with in
the morning. Dad might have seen a suspicious character
lurking around and taken the larger change with him, but I
don’t believe he would take the pennies, too.” -

“What else?” prompted Mayerle. “Is there anything out
of place?” .

“I can give you a lead there,” Jack Ford said. “The last
thing at night, Dad always took a tire pressure gauge out
of his pocket and laid it down on top of this cabinet, It was
something of an unpracticed ritual, the way he signed off
each night when his work was done. And you can see that
it is not here now.”

He told the officers that his father had been an employe
of Swift & Company for many years, but had retired be-
cause of a bad heart condition and subsequently helped
operate the service station. Ford was a man of regular

habits who did not smoke, nor drink. He was required to ,

take regular shots of digitalis to aid his heart. Because of
his condition he led a quiet, comfortable life,

By a number of telephone calls the investigators checked
out the possibility that Ford might have had a severe

attack, They learned from Ford’s physician that the mans [Continued on page 62]

The author, Captain James J. Pitt, right,
and Detective Joe Holindrake, escort
the extradited prisoner, in the center,

could have gone without his digitalis shots for ten days or
so without suffering too much. And he was not at any
Denver hospital.

Jack Ford vouched for the mysterious car at the station.
Warren Mervin was a part-time employe and occasionally
left his own car there when out with a friend in another car.

_At this juncture Mayerle radioed Detective Sergeant
Shotwell in charge of the night shift and gave his report.

Shotwell dispatched Detectives Nelson and Fritts to the
scene and they took over. A description of Ford was broad-
cast by short wave to all points in the state.

Nelson and Fritts found Warren Mervin and a friend
named Alvin Williamson and learned that they had seen
Ford about 9:30 p. m. and talked to him. Later they passed
the station and noticed that it was closed and darkened.
They were sure there was no strange car in the vicinity
and everything was normal.

A tavern, across the road reported everything as usual
and no one there had observed anything at the Ford station,
not even a late car that might have stopped for gas.

Apparently the man had closed on time and simply gone
about his business—except that his car was there, and the
cash till was empty, even of its pennies.

Here, the investigation bogged down, and I’m sure the
case would have terminated at this point as an unsolved
mystery except for one of the most incredible instances,

- that I have witnessed in many years of police work, of a

killer inadvertently betraying himself.

. Everywhere we turned, we drew a complete blank. By
Monday morning enough evidence on the man had been
accumulated to convince us that Ford had not abandoned
his home. He was too stable and trustworthy a character
to leave without telling
his family about it and
we were positive that he
had gone from his sta-
tion at the point of a
gun. But how to prove
it?

We ruled out the
chance that he had been
killed with resistance
against a bandit be-
cause his heart condition

——
~stsesitaiancsamaon,


eae

SS SS

“But I didn’t murder him,” the prisoner
insisted repeatedly when questioned by
Baltimore State Police, and Washington
County authorities. “It was an accident.
Taylor pulled a gun on me and when I
tried to take it away, it went off.”

The prisoner stated that shortly after
Bill Morgan had left the Martinsburg
restaurant just before midnight Sunday,
he had told Taylor that he was going to
New York and would like a ride as far as
Hagerstown. On the way, they began
arguing over the payment of a bet which,
he said, Taylor owed him—a $40 bet on a
longshot horse which should have netted
him $2,400.

A few miles out of Williamsport,
Ridenour said, the argument became so
heated that Taylor stopped the car, pulled
a gun and threatened him. He attempted
to knock the gun “on safety.” It went off
and Taylor slumped back, bleeding.

He said he then became panic-stricken.
He dumped Taylor out of the car, after
removing a paper bag full of money from
the gambler’s lap. He then drove the car
to Hagerstown, abandoned it, took $200
from the paper sack, and threw the
rest—still in the sack—into the school
hedge.

After disposing of the gun on South
Potomac Street, Ridenour said he went
to the Blue Ridge bus terminal, intending
to board a New York bus. In the wash-
room, however, he got a good look at
himself, saw the blood on his clothes and
realized he was in no condition for public

travel. So he hired a taxi to take him to
Frederick, where he engaged another for
the trip to Baltimore.

“What's that about the gun again?”
Isanogle asked. “You say Taylor had a
gun? I've looked into his habits pretty
closely and people tell me he made a point
of never carrying one. On the other hand,
I’ve got witnesses from Martinsburg who

.say you owned an Army forty-five!”

Ridenour admitted that the death
weapon had once been his. “But,” he
added lamely, “I sold it to Taylor last
Friday.”

In the opinion of the police, the pris-
oner’s statement left many salient points
unexplained. To begin with, if Taylor had
carried his bag of money in his lap—an
incredible place for it—why was the bag
stained when the only blood was on the
slain man’s back? And why was the dead
man’s bloodstained hip pocket cut open?
Moreover, if Ridenour had taken only
$200 of the $4,000 in the bag, what had
become of the rest of it?

And if, as the prisoner alleged, the gun
had gone off accidentally in a scuffle, why
had he abandoned a dying man and fled

‘to Baltimore? .Why hide his stained

clothing in a railway station locker? And
why had he not communicated with
police to explain what had happened?
On a psychological level, too, Ride-
nour’s story did not hold water. Taylor
was a gambler, yes, but he confined him-
self to dice and cards where his own skill
was pitted against that of others; he was

not a bookmaker. But if he had been, and
had accepted a horse-bet, there were
many who knew him intimately to declare
that had he lost, he would have paid
promptly and without a murmur.

And finally, the police questioned
Ridenour’s assertion that Taylor, known
to abhor firearms, had purchased from
him the instrument of his own death two
days before. Nor could Rideriour produce
any substantiation of the alleged transac-
tion.

On Wednesday, July 30, 1947, Deputy
Isanogle handed Roy William Ridenour
a warrant, in Washington County jail,
formally charging him with the murder
of Charles Taylor. November 12, the
grand jury returned an indictment charg-
ing Ridenour with first-degree murder.
Two days later, at the conclusion of their
session, the grand jurors issued a state-
ment praising Deputy Isanogle for his
intelligent work on the case.

As this account of the police investiga-
tion into the death of Charles Taylor is
prepared for publication, Roy Ridenour
awaits the trial that will determine his
innocence or guilt. And, despite diligent
search, no trace has been found of the
oe $3,800 of the victim's: money
roll.

(The names Marjory Adams, Mrs. Mary An-
derson, Slim Rogers, Bill Morgan and Grace Moore
are fictitious to protect the identity of persons in-
nocently involved in the investigation.—The Edi-
tor.)

TRIPLE
PATTERN IN
DEATH

[Continued from page 9]

would have forestalled any desire, on his
part to resist armed robbery. Therefore,
he had gone, perhaps unwillingly, but
without. resistance, where ever that Mr.
X with the gun had taken him. We knew
also that he would have turned up before
Monday if he had been taken only as a
temporary hostage by a kidnapping armed
robber.

Jack Ford ran a tally on the cash reg-
ister and was able to tell us that his
father was in the possession of about $211
in cash or checks at closing time Satur-
day night.

I considered the case to be a daring
challenge to our department and with
armed robbery on the increase all over
the nation I felt impelled to put the best
men available on the job. On Monday
morning, knowing that the case would
require a tedious, infinitely patient inves-
tigation, I assigned Detectives Joseph
Duffy and Joseph Holindrake to the Ford
mystery and gave them carte blanche to
go ahead in any manner that suited their
needs.

Within three weeks, working all hours
of the day and night, this team visited
and questioned 257 people in seeking
some infinitesimal clue.

They talked to Ford’s former em-
ployers, his fellow workers, every: friend
and acquaintance.

They stopped to question merchants
along Brighton Boulevard for miles in
each direction, and they:interviewed not
less than 50 suspects who were going
through routine police processing in the

daily line-up at police headquarters. They
checked pawn shops, gun sales, other
robberies and car thefts and spent I. don’t
know how many hours going through
bulletins from other departments and
case histories in our own files.

In all that time they succeeded in estab-
lishing the fact that Ford had been at his
station as late as 10:25 that night, alone
and with the lights on. At 10:40, at the
very latest, he was ‘gone, the station
closed as usual.

And the toughest hurdle of all was that
old department bugaboo—conducting an
investigation predicated on the assump-
tion of murder at a time when there was
no corpus delicti. All we could prove was

‘that Ford disappeared.

Day in and day out, the solution of
real life murders very often hinges on
small, almost impalpable clues that can
be classified as little more than hunches.

If Duffy and Holindrake had given up
when every ordinary tactic had been used,
I’m afraid this case would still be on our
books unsolved, By playing their hunch
on a one-in-a-million chance, they got the
— they were striving so desperately
or.

With Duffy sitting silent as usual, his
clothes neat and impeccable, Holindrake
got busy one morning on a borrowed
typewriter in the office. He brought his
copy into my desk. It was an appeal
through the newspapers for anyone who
had cashed a check with Ford on the
20th, to bring the information to them at
headquarters.

“Saturday was a pay-day,” Holindrake
explained, “and it .was customary for
Frank Ford to cash several checks for
regular customers. Therefore we can as-

_sume that he was robbed of them as well

as the cash.”

“That’s a pretty slim lead,” I said.
“No man in his right mind would go
around trying to cash a check he took
from the body of a man he killed.”

“But,” Holindrake protested, “if Ford
has fooled us and really did go away on

4. serena ie,

his own account it’s likely that he’d cash
any checks he had with him. They are
legitimate tender and he has every legal
right in the world to present them for
payment.” :

Now, when officers start playing
hunches they do like other people and
find rational logic for their actions. We
didn’t think Ford was alive, yet if he was,
it was reasonable to assume that he might
cash a check someplace.

Duffy, meanwhile, sat on the edge of
the desk and lit a cigaret carefully before
adding: “I know it’s a long shot, Captain,
but it’s the only chance we have left.
Barring a break on this hunch, it looks
like someone has gotten away clean on
a crime that is so perfect we can’t even
prove it was committed.”

“Well,” I admitted dubiously, “if the
killer does take a chance on forging Ford’s
signature, we might get his description
or some lead on his direction of flight,
but I think you’re shooting at the moon.”

Duffy grinned over his cigaret. “With
radar that’s not such a long shot, any-
more.”

“Tf just one person gives us a lead on
a check we can still work on the case,”
said Holindrake. He stood up and raised
his hands up in despair. “Otherwise, we’ve
hit the end of our rope.”

I handed him his copy. “It’s your case.
Take it to the newspapers.”

But as they left my office I didn’t be-
lieve they had a chance of solving the
case. It looked hopeless.

On October 10, we received a report
that two service station operators, near
Detroit; had disappeared under circum-
stances identical to the Ford mystery in
Denver.

Two days before, on October 8, during
the early morning hours, Donald Dus-
seau, 28, had disappeared from his station
in Erie, Mich. From a station 45 miles
away, 21-year-old James Hall had also
disappeared.

The next mornirig both stations were
deserted. There was tangible evidence of

a ar.


robbery, but both disappearances were
without cause. There was no sign of a
Struggle. Both men had instructions not
to resist an armed robber, There was no
reason for either of them to be murdered.

There were no fingerprints and no wit-
nesses. Just two deserted service Stations
Standing in the gray hours of dawn.

Two men missing in Michigan, and one
in Colorado. Three possibly “perfect”
murders without a lead except for Duffy
and Holindrake and their hunch about
payroll checks.

The day after Holindrake’s appeal for
anyone who cashed a check with Ford
broke in the local papers, a man named
Elmer Bloom walked into the offices of
the Reed & Green Planing Mill at 4501
Winecoop Street in Denver.

“Mr. Green,” he said, “I want to call
your attention to this article in the
paper.” He laid the clipping on his em-
ployer’s desk. .

Green digested the contents. “How
does this concern you?” he asked.

Bloom said, “I cashed my check about
noon that day at Frank Ford’s station.
That’s one check he might have had in
his possession when he disappeared.”

Mr. Green got up and reached for his
hat. “It may be a waste of time,” he said,
“but if we can give information to the
police, I feel that it is our duty to do so.”

It was only a short drive to police head-
quarters. When the situation had_ been
explained, Green said, “I bank with the
Central Bank and Trust Company.” He
willingly agreed to go to the bank for his
cancelled checks.

This put the first clue into the hands
of Duffy and Holindrake.

To make a long story short, Elmer
Bloom had received a check for $40.57 on
September 20th. He endorsed this check
and tendered it to Frank Ford about
noon. Now, these men, accompanied by
Duffy and Holindrake, found the check
in the files of the bank. They had expected
to find Ford’s signature ‘forged under
Bloom’s but to their surprise they dis-
covered that the name Paul J. Schneider
was written thereon in a bold firm hand.

The check had been presented for col-

lection’ to the Pikeville National Bank

and Trust Company in Pikeville, Ken-
tucky on October 4th, and insofar as the
check was good, the Denver institution
had forwarded a cashier’s draft that
would be honored at the point of col-
lection.

The detectives were granted permission
to keep the check. A handwriting expert
told us two things about it. The signature
was not in Frank Ford’s handwriting,
and it had the appearance of being a gen-
uine document, though it was impossible
for us to assume that the killer had sent
us his name and present,address with
such inexplicable consideration. But, as
Duffy remarked, people do funny things.

Our first step, of course, was to call
the local offices of the Federal Bureau of
Investigation—without whose help I be-
lieve national law enforcement would be
hamstrung and almost helpless. I re-
quested all information available on Paul
J. Schneider.

Meanwhile, Holindrake and Duffy fired
a telegram at the sheriff’s office in Pike-
ville, Kentucky requesting the apprehen-
sion of the suspect. An airmail letter
followed.

This letter detailed our case and stated
frankly that we were up against a blank
wall except for the check. The check
positively had been in Ford’s POssession
when he dropped from sight. In the event
that the draft had not yet been collected,
we also requested a stop-payment order,

Fortunately, these requests fell into the
hands of energetic, well trained officers.

Undersheriff Robert B. Doak and Assis-
tant Chief of Police Vernon Sanders got
busy in their Kentucky bailiwick, They
learned two things at once—the check
had not yet been paid, and the man who
Presented it for collection was not in the
community just then. A 24-hour watch
was established,

And now what seemed at first a hope-
less shot in the dark, a tenuous lead even
when the check turned up, began to mush-
room overnight,

Paul J. Schneider had an F.B.I. record
and it was soon in our hands. He proved
to be an ex-convict with a vicious record
for a man not yet 24 years old. His rec-
ord dated back to 1940 in Oregon and
included six escapes from jail and three
counts of desertion from the armed
forces. When apprehended, early in 1943,
he had just terminated a cross country
blaze of crime. He was sentenced, in Cali-
fornia, from five years to life, for armed
robbery, At the same time he was dis-
honorably discharged from the Army.

After serving four years in San Quen-
tin he was paroled in April of 1947. At
that time he was extradited to Salt Lake
City, Utah, where he was charged with

Donald Dusseau, a third victim, was
murdered after he was helplessly bound.

another armed robbery on June 30, 1944,
en route to the west coast.

That being our next step, we requested
information on Schneider in Salt Lake
City and learned that he was convicted
of this charge by a jury trial on June 21,
1947, However, his San Quentin record
had been excellent, and the California
board of pardons had certified him eligi-
ble for parole. He came from a large and
respectable family which was prepared
to offer him a 40-acre farm in Oregon

and all the money and help he needed to

rehabilitate himself. Therefore, after
careful study of the Case, and on the rec-
onunendation of competent psychiatrists,
the presiding judge granted Schneider a
stay of execution on the sentence due him
and he was paroled to the custody of the
Oregon State Adult Parole Board and
returned to Oregon as a free man,

When you are on a lead, you follow
through as tenaciously as Possible, taking
nothing for granted. This carried our
quest for information into Oregon where

y

D> cha 40,

we discovered that Schneider had vio-
lated the provisions of his parole by ab-
sconding to California.

We sent teletypes to San Francisco
and. Los Angeles. The case started to fall
together of its own accord them.

Paul Schneider was wanted in Cali-
fornia on two counts of aggravated as-
sault and robbery, for kidnapping, car
theft and parole violation.

On September 13th, he entered a park-
ing lot in Los Angeles and forced the
attendant to drive him away in a Hudson
sedan, at the point of a gun. At an out-
lying service Station, he locked his kidnap
victim and the attendant of that service
Station in a wash room and confiscated all
their money. He then returned to the
parking lot and traded the Hudson for a
black Windsor model, 1946 Chrysler-con-
vertible that belonged to an H. V.
Quandt. Its license number was 4-N-9734,

This information was channeled on to
Kentucky where Doak and Sanders were
still keeping the bank and the’ various
8arages and hotels under surveillance.

On October 17th, Assistant Chief -

Sanders spotted Schneider in a Pikeville
restaurant. Schneider made no attempt to
resist arrest although at that time, he was
carrying a loaded automatic pistol,

With Schneider's arrest, all we had was
a cunning criminal in custody; no proven
murder case, no connection between the
Denver murder and the Detroit murders,
And Schneider was of above average in-
telligence, stir-wise, cautious and non-
communicative,

I am sure that if Sanders and Doak
had been untrained men, and had faced
him with accusations of having murdered
Ford in Denver, the case might have been
Stalemated. But they played their cards
carefully and with utmost skill,

In the Chrysler, which Schneider had
ina local Sarage, they found several items
of suspicious nature. Most important to
our case was the tire pressure gauge which
young. Jack Ford had listed as missing
from his father’s station.

There was also a Portable radio with a
serial number that the Kentucky officers
sent to the manufacturer in an attempt to
trace its point of sale.

They accused him only of the car theft
and the Los Angeles felony warrant
charges, which he admitted, having no
other course than to do so. Knowing that
he was hot, and Being a well educated
griminal, he was ready then and there to
settle for his unsuspected murders by
returning to California on the charges of
armed robbery,

Detailed questioning that was only sup-
posed to establish his route trapped
Schneider into placing himself in Denver
on September 20th.

And the adroit interrogation led him
into an admission that the tire pressure

gauge came from a service station on the.

northeast outskirts of our city.

oak and Sanders were then satisfied
that Schneider had definite knowledge of
Ford’s disappearance and telegraphed me
to come at once. At 12:25 a.m. on October
21st, Holindrake and I caught a United
Air Liner eastbound to Lexington, Ken-
tucky, where an F.B.I, man met us for
the drive to Pikeville.

On the next day we got an admission
from Schneider that he had kidnapped
Ford and “released” hin about 100 miles
northeast of Denver. As we were sure
what “released” meant in this case, we
wired Colorado to instigate a manhunt
for Ford’s body, and the next day Sheriff
E. M. Brown, heading a 100 man Posse,
located the body near the banks of a canal
at a highway bridge crossing a few miles
from Brush. Ford had been slugged with

63


HEADS OR
TAILS...YOU
LOSE

[Continued from page 31]

“IT think I know what kind of\watch
that is,” Chief Guy spoke up. “Let me
have it. I'd like to do a little checking
on it.”

He studied the timepiece carefully, then
put it in his pocket. He had an idea, which
he was keeping to himself for the moment,
that the slender indicators of the time-
piece might ultimately point accusing
fingers at the savage slayers of the cab
driver. At the moment, however, he was
interested in finding something else.

“Look,” he said, “if these two killers
are the frightened amateurs that the
sheriff thinks they are, what would be the
first thing they would do after the killing?
Wouldn't it be — — —”

“To get rid of the guns,” Swoverland
finished.

“Exactly. And where would be the most
likely place, in the course of their flight,
for them to ditch them?” ;

“T see what you're getting at!” Osborn
exclaimed. “The stream! You think they
might have thrown them in there.”

“Right. They're probably lying in the
mud bottom where they crossed the
brook.”

The idea was put into execution at’

once. Two young boys froma neighboring
farm started diving into the waist-high
creek and groping about its bottom. First
one would go under, and then the other.
Twice they came up empty-handed. But
the third time one emerged waving a black
object in his hand.

It was a German Luger!

The others watched with breathless in-
terest as Chief Guy “broke” open the

. water-soaked weapon. —

Four bullets were missing! And four
bullets had been fired into the body o
the murdered chauffeur! '

There was a shout from the secondboy.
He held aloft another gun, a .22. An ex-
amination, however, showed it Was un-
usable because of a broken firing/pin.

The guns were rushed to the{ballistics
expert of the Detroit Police Department,
so that a comparison could be \made of
the German gun's slugs with these re-
covered from the body of the slainNman.
There was no doubt in the officers’ minds
that the Luger was the death weapon. The
experts’ report, made the following day,
showed this to be so.

The shrewd deductions of Sheriff Os-
born and Chief Guy had already brought
important. results. But neither Osborn,
Guy, nor the others engaged on the case
were resting on these laurels. Under the
direction of the sheriff, a “spot” was
placed on the shop of every shoemaker in
Willow village, the suburb toward which
the killers had fled, on the possibility that
the one who had lost the rubber heel

‘would have it replaced.

Following this, Osborn decided to
check on the Luger, figuring that, if the
killer had stolen it, there might be a pos-
sibility of finding out from the legal
owner something which might be of help.

Luck was with him. The list of stolen
property maintained by the Detroit Police
Department included the Luger which
had been found in the little streain. And
a maid in the burglarized house had gotten
a glimpse of one of the two prowlers. She

rn |

‘

ae : &

described him as about 21, tall, dark and
with a shock of black hair combed straight
-back. She was not sure, however, that she
would be able to identify him if she saw
him again.

In the meantime Chief Guy had been
making inquiries concerning the watch.

“Tt’s an Army watch,” a jeweler in
Dearborn told him. “It’s only ‘sold to the
soldiers at Army posts.” ;

The next step was obvioys, But the
commandant at the Army post was dis-
couraging. “Those records are kept in
Washington,” he explained, “and they'd
have to go through millions of names to

‘find ont who lives, or lived, in Dearborn

and Willow village. It would take weeks

to dig out the information you want.”
What had looked like an excellent lead

had seemingly petered out. But Chief

Guy’s hopes were revived when he re-
turned to his headquarters and learned
from Inspector Forman what Sheriff Os-
born had told him about the theft of the
Luger.

“If that prowler is the one who killed

drews,” the chief commented, “it cer-

tain eves._Osborn’s theory that
killers were young. But the very fact of
the burglary shows he might be wrong in
another respect.” , ‘

“You mean that they were also inex-
perienced?”

“Right. And since this burglary was
committed over a year ago, indicating

that this fellow had been on the prowl for -

at least that length of time, isn’t it rea-
sonable to assume that he might have—?”

“T get you,” the inspector interrupted.
“You mean the reformatory.”

Almost before the sentence was com-
pleted, Guy was on the telephone and
connected with the superintendent of the
state reformatory at Ionia. ‘Would your
records show which boys had been in the
Army, either before or after they came to
your institution?” he asked.

The superintendent assured him the
institution’s lists would show the former
and parole records the latter. He agreed

to furnish the chief, as promptly as pos-
sible, with the names of such boys, whose
homes were either in Willow village or
adjoining towns.

An hour later Chief Guy had this infor-
mation, There were only three. And of
these, a telephone check with their fami-
lies showed that two were overseas.

The remaining one was Kenneth Basha,
21. After serving a year in Ionia he had
enlisted in the Army—only to be dishon-
orably discharged about fourteen months
later for theft, insubordination and other
misconduct. His present address was un-
known, but that of his parents was given
as Melvindale, a suburb of Detroit.

But again the chief and his inspector
ran into a dead end. For Basha’s parents ©
said he had left home a year or so before.
and that they had no idea where he was
living.

“Do you know of any boys he was
particularly friendly with?” the chief per-
sisted.

The father thought for a moment.
“Only one,” he replied, “a fellow of 16 or
17 named Swartzman, or Swarthout, or
something like that.”

“You're certain that the first part was
‘Swart’?”

“Yes, I’m sure of that.”

Once again the chief phoned the Ionia
institution, only to run up against another
barricade. For, while there were several
“Schwartz’s” on the reformatory’s books,
there were none with names sounding like
the one given by Basha’s father.

“He said the friend was only 16 or 17,”
the inspector reminded. “Maybe he was
under 16, That would make him eligible
for the — — —”

“Of course it would!” Chief Guy inter-
rupted. This time he called Wayne County
Training School. The response was al-
most immediate, Yes, several years ago

‘they had a boy named Swarthout, Willard

Swarthout.
“The last address we have,” the super-

intendent concluded, “is that of a relative

in the Norwayne housing project.”

The day, one of frenzied activity for
Guy and Forman, had slipped by on
wings. It was now approaching three in
the morning. But the officers were giving

o'thought to sleep. At just about that
hour they rang the bell of Swarthout’s
relative, who opened the door, blinking
sleep

“Yes; Willard’s here,” she said. “Has
he been\getting into any trouble?”

“T don’t know,” Guy answered, “but I'd
like to talk to him alone.”

“All right, he’s in that room.”

Swafthout, a not-unattractive-looking
youth of about 19, was still asleep. When
the chief shook him he opened his eyes,
gazed uncomprehendingly at his two vis-
itors, and then, as the chief introduced
himself, ‘sat upright in bed. Every line of
his face indicated panic. Never, Guy
thought, would there be a more opportune
moment to question him,

“Why did you do it, Willard? he
asked, in a tone which indicated there was
no doubt whatever of the pre-supposed
fact.

“T didn’t,” the youth answered, a semi-
hysterical undertone in his voice, “I
swear | didn’t. Kenneth did.”

“Tell us about it,” the chief urged
softly.

Like a suddenly-released flood the stor”
came boiling out:

“Basha killed him. I didn’t even know
he was going to do it. We had agreed just
to stick up the driver to get some money.
We called up that taxi place‘for a car.
We met the cabby outside the Gay Haven
place and told him to go to Ypsilanti.

a: «(Cee


er I
hich
wed,
loor.
time

me
leep,
ound

1im it
~-. aot

re we

who
old us
lerton
of the

-ilgore
d her,
o you
ad ex-
didn’t

-d her.
iat she
ything
inform
th her
n’t di-
ouldn’t
1 prac-

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n was.

1 don't
lived a
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Sands
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ry

to this,

SS

gentlemen,” he said, after comfortably
seating himself. “You see, I’m pretty
sure in my own mind that she’s dead.
“Alice was a headstrong woman and
got to drinking too much_the last few
ears we were together. That's why.I
insisted on the separation, And we had a
mutual woman friend who was interested
in me. Alice had the settlement money on
her person that I’d given her after we

finally separated when she met this .

woman.

“About a year later, I saw this woman
again and she told me that she and Alice
had gone out on a lake in a rowboat and
that Alice had drowned when the boat
capsized. She claimed that she had
$10,000 that she had saved out of the
accident and wanted to share it with me.
I told her in no uncertain terms that I
didn’t want to hear any of the details
and that I never wanted to see her again!

“Whether she died in Wyoming as my
brother-in-law wrote, or whether she
drowned, I can't tell you.”

“Let’s talk about Ellen, then,” I sug-
gested, “You didn’t really pay her $20,000
in cash in a public place like a coffee shop,
did you?”

He looked at me. “Well, no, Mr. Calla-
han. I gave her $3,000 and an I. O. U.
for the rest. I have the money cached
away in the Oregon foothills and I in-
tended getting it and sending it to hep;
that is until I learned of het disdp-
pearance.”

Sands had taken his notebook out of
his pocket when the conversatigh began
and had been taking down the fonversa-
tion in shorthand. I saw Haytgn, in spite
of his coolness, glance at thd scurrying
pencil several times.

“If you're taking all this down,” he
said worriedly, “you must think I had
something to do with it. Same of my
statements must seem confusikg to you,
but if you don’t believe what I safd-abo
the money being in Oregon I'll be glad
to go down there with you and prove ity’

“We're going to take you in and book
you on an open charge, Hayton, And
we'll let you go to Oregon or any place
else you want to prove your statements—
in our company, of course.”

Sands and Freeman took him in their
car and I talked to Ski on the way back
to the office. “This fellow Hayton is no
fool, Ski,” I told him, “He wants to go
to Oregon for some reason, or he'd never
have brought it up. You and the boys
take him down tomorrow. We haven't
much on him so far, but if we can find
out whatever it is he’s got on his mind
down there, we may learn something im-
portant.”

That was on Monday, January 19.
They left early Tuesday morning and got
back Wednesday afternoon. Ski’s 220

ounds looked a little deflated and his
eft wrist was in a cast.

“Did you discover why he was so
anxious to a to Oregon?” I interrupted.

“Yeh, I found out—the hard way! I'll
tell you about it.

“We got down there about 3 o'clock
in the afternoon—about five miles out
of Milton, in the Blue Mountain country.
Hayton said it was going to get dark too
soon for us to try it that night, but we
had flashlights so made him get started.

“He took off at a good pace for a few
hundred yards and then sat down on a
rock, Said he guessed we didn’t know
how to climb mountains. You could
travel faster if you rested every so often,
he said, We must have covered two miles
straight up, Cal!

“It was eating dusky but you could
still see the countryside. We finall
reached a kind of plateau with one cli

falling off into nothing, I found out what
was on his mind, all right!” _
1 tistened impatiently but didn’t inter-

upt.

Rr told him we seemed to be at the top
and asked him where the money was.
-“'Ower there,’ he pointed and made
a bee-line for’ the edge of the cliff, I
slipped and fell and busted a’bone in my.
hand here,” he pointed to his cast, “but
I got up in time to make a flying tackle
and grab him before he went oyer!”

“So it was suicide he was thinking of!
What a round-about way to accomplish
it. But he must have known we had the
goods on him that night we took him
into custody.”

“Yes,” Ski answered disgustedly, "He
told us down there in Sheriff Goad’s of-
fice that he killed Ellen. Figured the jig
was up, I guess. We got him in the car,
Cal. He's going to show us where he
buried her.’

Hayton directed us to a lonely road
north of Seattle near Arlington, I heard
the story while we were driving.

He and Ellen had agreed on the sepa-
ration and the amount to be paid for set-
tloment. He was to keep the home and
the car and she and her son would live
at the riding academy. But the morning
of January 8 she had gotten up and was
dressing after her son had left for school
and Hayton had come in to sit on the
edge of the bed, They got into an argu-
ment, and she slapped him.

In order to strike him she had turned
toward him so that his left hand was
loosely clasped around the back of her
neck, He tightened his fingers and held
the grip.

Her face purpled and she fell to the
floor, He ran to the bathroom and got a
wet wash-cloth and tried vainly to revive

her. So he sat on the edge of the bed and
wondered what to do.

After about a half hour while the
corpse lay in front of him on the floor,
he got up and put her body in a wood-
box next the fireplace in the front room.
A trap door from this led directly into
the garage.

In the garage he trussed her into a
jack-knife position and worked her into
a large duffel bag. Then with the body
and a shovel jouncing in the car's trunk,
he headed toward Mt. Vernon, a locality
he had come to know while married to
his first wife.

We found the body in the duffel bag
in a shallow grave at the base of a tree
about 100 feet off the little used road.
Hayton smoked a cigaret as the body
was brought to light. Later he enacted the
slaying at his home for Prosecutor Lloyd
Shorett and myself.

On Saturday morning he requested to
see Phil Sands and Bill Freeman, He was
going to crumble all the way.

“T think I can show you the approxi-
mate location of Alice’s grave,” he said,
‘Gf you care to take me there.”

Again Hayton, Lyskoski, Sands, Free-
man, and I took the trail of the mail order
brides of death; this time south of Brem-
erton, to near Hoods Canal and Panther

ake.

We found Sarah Alice Hayton buried
in’a lonely grave at the butt of a large,
blown down cedar tree.

Hayton and his wife had camped near-
by on the first lap of their trip to West

irginia in June, 1945. As evening closed
in over the beautiful lake an argument
waxed hot within their trailer, Hayton
railing at her with the same accusations
he later hurled at Ellen.

Sarah Alice burst from the door and
ran for her very life! But Hayton stood
in the doorway and fired his 32-20 rifle
into the gathering dusk. Sarah Alice fell
with a bullet fn her brain,

He located the cedar, dragged the body
to it at the end of a rope and rolled it
into a shallow pit he scraped out. As a
final gesture he dropped the rope-end in
on her face and filled the grave.

We called Mason and Kitsap officials
to complete the disinterment, as it ‘came
under their jurisdiction, and returned to
Seattle to begin a final check.

But Hayton’s first wife in Mt. Vernon
had died from natural causes. The di-
vorcee and her sister were located in
Kansas City. Both were in apparent good
health as each had married several times
since knowing Hayton!

The story of the overturned rowboat,
as told by Hayton, was thoroughly ex-

loded when we located the woman. Her
indignation at the tale knew no bounds
and she proved that it was a further ex-
ample of Hayton’s fertile imagination.

Hayton signed full statements on the
death of both his wives and was moved
to Shelton in Mason County where he
will stand trial in the killing of Sarah
Alice Hayton.

Her death was considered to have a
stronger element of premeditation than
that of Ellen, wife number three, How-
ever, Hayton has a charge of her murder
standing against him in King County re-
gardless of what happens at Shelton.

The mysterious telegram announcing
Sarah Alice Hayton’s death in Wyoming
is still a mystery as this account of the
police investigation leading to the indict-
ment of Roscoe Hayton is prepared tor
publication. Perhaps that angle will be
explained during the trial that will de-
termine the innocence or guilt of Hayton.

(The names Andrew Stetz and Jake Bellen are

fictitious to protect the identities of persons inno-
cently involved in the investigation.—The Editor.)

55


42

F ILE NUMBER 101308 of the Denver,
Colorado, police department is an inch-
thick sheaf of papers. Report after
report lists leads and follow-ups num-
bering into the hundreds which officers
investigated in an apparently unsolv-
able crime. :

The first report in file 101308 is signed
by Officers Verne Key and P. Mayerle.
It is dated September 21st, 1947, 1:45
A.M., and states that the undersigned
were patrolling in car 53 at 12:30 a.m.
when they received a call to proceed to

the Ford Service Station et 46th and

Brighton Boulevard. Frank J. Ford, the
proprietor, was reported missing.

The. patrolmen arrived at the station
in Denver’s industrial district a few
minutes later. They found the door
open, and the lights inside. still burning,
The floodlights in front had been turned
off. Two cars were parked beside the
station, and on the front seat of one was
a sack of groceries. The registration card
found in ‘the glove compartment of -this

No one knew what had befallen the Denver businessman who
vanished. Then a reporter’s hunch uncovered a sen-

sational development which aided authorities in solving not

automobile showed its owner to be
Frank J. Ford. No certificate of owner-
ship could be found in the other car.

At 12:40, while the officers were still
making an initial investigation, another
automobile drove into the station and a
young man jumped out.

“Have you found him?” he asked
frantically.

“Haven't found a thing yet,” Key an-
swered. “Who are you?”

The 21-year-old youth identified him-
self as Jack Ford, a student at the
University of Denver. He was also
his father’s business partner. “Mother
called me a few minutes ago. Dad was

due home over an hour ago, but there -

was no answer on the phone when she
called him here. He has a very bad

heart condition, and we thought per- :

haps he had an attack. I didn’t know she
was going to call the police.”

“It looks as if something were
wrong,” Officer Mayerle observed. “The
door was open, and the-lights were still

TROE DETECTIVE

he GALS

EBT ENE OE ST
Seed Saute had Wok Soule be

one—but three ruthless murders!

on inside. Check through things and see
if anything is missing.” :

The young man stepped to the cash
register and hit the “no sale” key. Im-
mediately he stated, “It has been robbed.
Dad always leaves $25 in small change
in the register. There isn’t a cent here.”

“What does he do with the day’s re-
ceipts?” asked Key.

“He takes all but the change home
with him,” said young Ford.

“Do you have any way of telling how
much that would have been tonight?”
asked Mayerle.

“Just a minute.” The youth scanned
the tape on the cash register. “It shows
that $211 was taken in today.”

Quickly the officers asked routine
questions. The youth identified one of
the cars alongside the station as his
father’s, and the other he thought be-
longed to Warren Mervin, a customer
who often left his automobile parked in
the station.

Jack Ford described his father as

cove

At death scen
Holindrake, 1.

forty-seven, c
wearing thin-
ing man had
ailment for
medicine. He
habits, never
home by mid

Officer Key
tion from the
initial report
tive Sergeant
of the myster
immediately ¢
to the servicc
Wells, Oscar }
rived at the sx
the investigat
men and thus
service.

The three
sizing-up of tl
in the Circle
street from th
Frank Ford !
evening—in f


ngs and see

to the cash
2” key. Im-
een robbed.
nall change
cent here.”
1e day’s re-

iange home

telling how
n tonight?”

ith scanned
r. “It shows
iy.”

:ed routine
fied one of
tion as his
thought be-
a customer
.e parked in

; father as

< ‘
“
~y
be

At death scene, after crime re-cnactment,

triple slayer (second fr

om right) identifies

‘murder weapon. (L. to r.) Det. Joseph

Holindrake, Logan Co. Sheriff Erna Brown, Washington Co. Sheriff S. B. Lewis, Det. Joseph Duffy, ‘slayer and Capt. James Pitt

forty-seven, of medium height, slender,
wearing thin-rimmed glasses. The miss-
ing man had a very dangerous heart
ailment for which he regularly took
medicine. He was a man of steady
habits, never drank, and he was always
home by midnight.

Officer Key broadcast Ford’s descrip-
tion from the patrol car, and made his
initial report to headquarters. Detec-
tive Sergeant L. S. Sawyer was notified
of the mysterious disappearance, and he
immediately dispatched three of his men
to the service station. Detectives John
Wells, Oscar Nelson and Elmo Fritts ar-
rived at the scene at 1:20, and took over
the investigation—releasing the patrol-
men and thus putting their car back into
service.

The three detectives made a quick
sizing-up of the situation. Wells checked
in the Circle Bar directly across the
street from the station. He learned that
Frank Ford had not visited there all
evening—in fact, that he was never a

customer. The bartender did tell the
detective that Warren Mervin, owner
of the second car in the Ford station,
had been in earlier.

“He came in about 9:30 and had a
couple of drinks,” recalled the bar man.
“He met a guy here who apparently was
a friend, and they went out together
about 10. I’m pretty sure of the time
because we had a fight here about
thirty minutes later.”

Meanwhile, Nelson and Fritts ques-
tioned Jack Ford in, detail concerning
his father’s habits and missing items.
Beside the money, the only thing not
accounted for was the tire gauge which
Ford generally left on a ledge near the
door. i
“I'm certain that Dad was closing up
when he was robbed,” the youth stated.
“There is a slip here with the pump
readings, but they haven’t been entered
in the books yet.

“On Saturday night,” the youth con-
tinued, “Dad always closes up at 10:30.

The latest he has ever gotten home on
other nights is around 12 o’clock.”
“Was he working here alone tonight?”
asked Fritts.
“No, he shouldn’t have been,” an-
swered the son. “I opened in the morn-

’ ing and worked until 2:30 in the after-

noon, Dad came out about noon. Joe
Baker is supposed to come on at 5:30

to do any heavy work like wash or.

grease jobs. He stays until closing time.”
The youth was asked if there was any
chance that his father might have lost

- his memory.. His answer was & definite

no. And he even more energetically de-
nied that. he might have decided to walk
off and leave. his old life behind.

“Dad is the steadiest: person in the

‘world,’ young Ford exclaimed. “He

worked for twenty-seven years for the
same meat packing company, and only
quit because of his heart condition. The
only way he would break his routine
would be at the point of a gun. I feel
sure that he has been kidnapped.”

43

a

98

Case of the Triple Murders

(Continued from page 45) night shift,
he received word from Cheyenne police
that Jim Bertram and his friend were in
custody at the Wyoming capital. The two
boys claimed that they had hitchhiked to
Cheyenne on the night of September 17th
and had been working in a garage and
living with a brother-in-law ever since,
This story did not fit with the informa-

tion on Bertram and his companion that the |

detectives had gathered. Sergeant Sawyer
advised the Cheyenne police to hold the
pair for further questioning. :

Early the next morning the sergeant
and Detective Donovan drove to Cheyenne,
which is just ninety miles north of Den-
ver. Under questioning, Bertram and his
pal became aware of the seriousness of
the suspicion against them, and the fear-
ful pair started cooperating with the offi-
cers. It took only an hour for the lads
to prove through reliable witnesses that
they had actually come to Cheyenne on the
night of the 19th by bus, and that they
had been working in a local garage all
afternoon and evening of the 20th.

The return of Sawyer and Donovan to
Denver with word that the Cheyenne lead
had turned out to be a dud was the signal
for a conference of top officials of the
department. Most of the detectives and
sergeants who had worked on the case
gathered in the office of Captain Pitt.
Chief John F. O'Donnell sat in on the
meeting.

After considerable discussion, Captain
Pitt voiced the consensus of opinion when
he said, “This is a mighty tricky case. If
Ford was abducted, we can be almost cer-
tain that he is dead by now, for his family
does not have enough money to make a
ransom demand worth-while. That would
mean the kidnapper was probably just
another filling station-robbing punk.

“On the other hand,’ continued the cap-
tain, “we can’t disregard the possibility
that Ford disappeared of his own volition.
I know his personal history makes this
seem unlikely, but the fact is that some
fifteen witnesses looked in at the Ford

station during the critical hour, and yet
not one saw the man leave or taken away.”

“Well, whichever it was,” said Chief
O'Donnell, “I want the case cracked, and
quick. I don’t suppose there have been
any leads on discovery of a body?”

“Not a thing,” Pitt answered. “ym
going to place a homicide detail on this
case right now, and, Chief, I would appre-
ciate it if you would contact all sheriffs in
surrounding counties and have them make
a special hunt for a body.”

O’Donnell promised to comply with the
request, and that night he sent telegrams
to the sheriffs of ten counties and to the
head of the state highway patrol, enlisting
their aid in the case of the missing Denver
man.

pasta Pitt relieved all other officers
from the case and assigned it to his
senior homicide team—Detectives Joseph
Duffy and Joseph A. Holindrake. Duffy
joined the Denver police force the same
day his friend Chief O’Donnell did—June
1st, 1922. For the last eighteen years he
has been on the detective force, most of
that time working homicides. During
the war, he was a provost sergeant Jn Den-
ver for the Army. More than 300 men
worked under him, and Denver is famous
for having been a well-regulated soldier's
town,

Holindrake has been Duffy's partner for
the past seven years. With nineteen years’
police service, Holindrake is himself no
youngster in investigative work. When
this pair is handed a case, they are given
an absolutely free hand, and their superiors
never doubt that a solution will be forth-
coming.

Duffy and Holindrake are careful, thor-
ough workers. At least half of file 101308
on the Ford case carries their signatures.
They started to work on the case on the
morning of September 23rd. They both
told this writer that after reading the file
they had absolutely no new ideas on how
to proceed. “And so,” said Duffy, “when
in doubt start with the victim.”

“1 couldn't tell you what it tastes like because I never cat
the food they have here”

Mitre

The detectives drew up a chart with a
square for every hour of every day from
September Ist to the 20th. With tireless
persistence they interviewed family,
friends and customers of the missing man
until they had filled in their chart and had
a detailed picture of Ford's activities in the
three weeks prior to his disappearance.

In the course of this phase of the investi-
gation, the officers talked to an old friend
of Ford who had his car serviced at the
station early on the evening of the 20th.

“Frank seemed very preoccupied,” said
the friend. “I went away kind of worried.
I knew he had been sick, and thought
maybe he was getting worse.”

The detectives interviewed Dr. Joseph B.
McClosky, Ford’s physician. The doctor
explained that Ford's heart was in very
bad shape. In fact, the missing man had
to take digitalis all the time to stay alive.

“Do you think he might be the victim
of amnesia?” Duffy asked.

“No, there is no mental complication in
his illness,” stated the doctor. “His health
is good other than the heart condition.”

“What would happen if Ford didn’t take
his medicine regularly?”

“He would be all right for about a week,
or even for two weeks if not active,” an-
swered the physician. “After that he would
start to suffer, and within a week he
would dic.”

“That means he must replenish his medi-
cine supply if he is still alive?” queried
Holindrake.

“Absolutely,” answered the doctor.

The detectives learned from Mrs. Ford
where the missing man got his drugs, and
they left word at the pharmacy that they
were to be notified if anybody came in
for a refill on the Ford prescription.

\ ORKING with Jack Ford, the detectives
next started digging into the missing
man’s business affairs. They found that he
had $1,100 in a joint account with his
wife. No money had been withdrawn from
this recently.

Ford’s books showed that several persons
bought gas and oil on credit. Everyone
who had ever owed him money was con-
tacted. Many of these were personal
friends, and gave the officers further in-
formation on the missing man.

One man said that the slaughter house
job which Ford had held so many years
had seemed to prey on his mind. Another
friend, Joe Popish, told the officers that
Ford seemed in his usual spirits at 9:30
on the night of the 20th at which time
he had had his car greased. At least twenty
persons were contacted on _ this phase.
Each cleared himself as a possible suspect,
and each added some small item of opinion
to the detectives’ store of information con-
cerning the missing man. Duffy and Holin-
drake probably know Ford's history better
than does his own wife.

Several soldiers stationed at Fitzsimmons
Army Hospital had traded with Ford, The
oMeers traced them all down and learned
of thelr whereabouts on the fateful night.
No leads were uncovered.

It was learned that Ford had once sued
a man for an overdue bill of $380. Paul
Hentsell, an attorney in the Midland Sav-
ings Building, had handled the case for
the service station operator.

The detectives talked with Mr. Hentsell,
who told them that the defendant had
beyged Ford to drop the suit, and he
had done so after receiving a promise that
the account would be settled. "Since that
time, the man has been paying on the
bill regularly so far as I know,” said the

vor yak

attorney. “Once
bounced, but }
He is rather ar
but I'm sure |
violence.”

Duffy and H
perience that i
judge what typ
violence. They
the activities of
drop it until
that he was in
on the night «

Another man
gasoline came
officers. Howev
doubt that he wu
20th.

A cab driver
came forward
strange-acting
downtown Der
Boulevard on

“He was mic
he went out o°
that he had a
said the cabbic
The officers w
else who knew
tion.

Among the :
on the afternc
one with the 1
was the forme
tion, accordin

When inter
he had been :
bought gas on
must have pu!
books on the
correct.

Fortna was
cerning the bi
Ford just two
old accounts .
tory and desc:
books that h
his conversat
mentioned th.
least one or
he ran the s:

“I'm pretty
same,” said F
you a lead.”

ACK FORD
his father
for customer.
any before I
20th,” said th:
“Have you
your father :
asked Holinc
“No,” answ
“Then part
could have t
“Yes, of cc
“Has anyb«
they cashed :
asked Duffy.
Again the
hadn't thoug)!
“Startin
customer,” s'
can tell wha’
That after:
cen days aft
when the nev
quarters bea:
team for ne
case, Duffy
angle. “If y:
publicity tha
checks cash«
week before
possibly get
is almost fut
cash a check
happened bx
Both Deay
item in the

are he’s been
ie’d break his
int,” son said

le as a fancy
and dark in

» been almost
‘ed Donovan.

tectives spent
interviewing
ound both of
om hangovers
more than a
it was about.
ie to the con-
no connection
Ford Service

ctly from the
n observed to
aly suspect is
abscond with
a murder or
iomicide boys

1 better start
round, and I
vife.”
(rs. Ford ex-
band’s disap-
woman had
‘ way to hys-
uestions with
‘ers were as-
would abso-
»wn accord.
; of married
iled to let me
» be late com-

3
on

“In twenty-three years of married life, he never failed to
let'me know when he was going to be late,” explained missing
man’s wife, Mrs. Frank Ford, shown above with their son, Jack

ing home,” said the wife. “And I did
the same for him. I feel certain that
something terrible has happened to him.”

Mrs. Ford emphasized the delicate
condition of her husband’s health, but
she insisted that his ailment could have
no mental effect. “Frank is not a victim
of amnesia, I feel certain,” she stated.

Donovan and Moody returned to head-
quarters late in the afternoon. They re-
ported to Detective Sergeant Charles
Burns and to Captain James J. Pitt, chief
of detectives. The captain gave orders
that he wanted a team assigned td the
Ford case throughout the twenty-four
hours until it was clarified. Detectives
Fred Pizzichino, E. W. Hammons and
E. E. Bryant, as well as Donovan and
Moody, worked on the mystery during
September 22nd. .

About noon, Warren Mervin, who had
left his car at the Ford station, was
found and brought to headquarters. His
statement, taken at 1:50 p.M., shows that
he met a friend, Alva Williamson, at the
Circle Bar on the night in question.

“We left the Circle Bar at about ten
minutes past nine,” Mervin stated. “We
used Al’s car and visited several dance
halls and inns on the highway toward
Brighton. I got back to pick up my car
at 2:15 in the morning, and I found

. Jack Ford at.the station. I learned about

Frank’s disappearance then.”
As a routine matter, officers checked

~--with Williamson and with several of the
places the two men said they had visited

during the night. Many persons cor-
roborated their statements. .

Joe Baker, the part-time worker at
the Ford station, was interviewed. It
was definitely established that he had
arrived home by bus at 11 p.m. He stated
that nothing unusual had happened dur-
ing the five hours he had been on duty
at the station. —

“I did a couple of grease jobs and
one wash job,” he said. “And I cleaned
up the ramp. When I left, Frank was
getting ready to close up, but he hadn’t
turned the lights off yet. That was at
10:25, and I had to run for it to catch
my bus.”

In a report filed with Sergeant Sawyer
at 11:30 p.m. on the 22nd, Detectives
Pizzichino and Moody detailed the re-
sults from canvassing the neighborhood
of the Ford station.

Roy E. Kent of the Highway Fruit
Market at 1715 E. 46th Avenue recalled
that a car had driven out of the service
station during the fight in front of thé
Circle Bar.

John Slezak, janitor at the Circle Bar,

remembered seeing a tall and a short
man near a 1931 model Ford coupe in
the alley behind the. Ford station at
4:30 on the afternoon of the 20th when
he came to work.. “They looked sus-
picious,” stated Slezak, ‘‘and the tall one
who was wearing overalls gave me a
dirty look when I walked by.”

Richard Fogino, who formerly lived
at 4600 Brighton Boulevard, told

Sheriff Erna Brown ( right), whose search party discovered
body, shows Washington County D. A. William Paynter, who
successfully prosecuted the case, evidence found at’ scene

the officers that he drove by the station
at about 10:15 on Saturday night. He saw
two men in a dark blue sedan talking to
Ford. When he returned that way at 11
o’clock, the car was gone, but the inside
lights were still on.

And so the reports went. At least fif-
teen persons had taken a look at the
Ford Service Station between 10 and
11 o’clock on the night of the 20th. And
yet, although it was certain that the
proprietor had disappeared during this
time, not a person had seen him leave.

Homer Parnell, clerk at the Mor-
rison Drugstore at 4690 Brighton Boule-
vard, gave the officers a lead on Jim
Bertram. The suspected youth and a
companion had bought tickets for the
Motorway Bus at the drugstore which
is a suburban substation for the bus
company. cee

“They bought tickets number 8077 and
8078 for Cheyenne, Wyoming, on Sep-
tember 19th,” stated the clerk. “They
purchased a pint of Sunnybrook whiskey
at the same time.” ee

“What bus did they catch?” asked
Moody.

“I presume the 1:40 that same day,”
answered Parnell, “but I have no way
of knowing for sure that they even used
the tickets.” :

The bus company was unable to verify
immediately whether the tickets in
question had been picked up, However,
shortly after Sergeant Sawyer -came on
duty for the (Continued on page 98) .

46

44

spare him because of a heart condition.

=

SAPPY e2

P

Ea

With no mercy ‘in’ his heart, the killer ignored his blindfolded captive’s plea to

Here, between Det. Duffy and Capt. Pitt

(pointing), he stands near bridge under which he bludgeoned his helpless victim

“Any suspicions as to who might have
done it?” queried Nelson. -

“Nothing for certain,” answered Ford.
“But there is a kid by the name of Jim
Bertram who has burglarized the sta-
tion twice. Dad never did prefer charges
against him, just warned his parents to
watch him. He’s only seventeen.”

‘Know Bertram’s address?”

The youth hunted through a desk
calendar and found the address—a few
blocks from the service station.

Wells, Nelson and Fritts returned to
headquarters and reported to Sergeant
Sawyer. Since it was about time for the
three detectives to go off duty, the ser-
geant told them to write up their report
and he called Detectives Frank Dono-
van and Chester Moody of the robbery
detail into his office.

“You men work.on the Ford case, a
service station robbery,” he ordered. “It’s
not an ordinary case, and Ford has
disappeared, so dig hard on it.” The
sergeant told them to see the three de-
tectives who had just reported in off

- the case for details.

Donovan and Moody decided that the
lead needing the quickest action was the
suspected youth, Jim Bertram. “If this
kid did it, we need to be getting on his
trail fast,” Donovan commented. “If he
is innocent, the sooner we eliminate him
the better.”

The officers drove to the Bertram home
and interviewed the youth’s parents.
They learned that Jim had gone to

Cheyenne two days before with a friend.
The two boys had a job promised them
there,

“Are you sure he left on Friday?”
Moody asked the mother.

“Yes, they left that night,” she an-
swered. “At least he hasn’t been back
here since then. I have to admit that I
‘have a little trouble keeping track of
Jim, He’s not really bad, you understand,
just high spirited.”

The detectives immediately sent a
message by police radio channels to
Cheyenne requesting that Jim Bertram
be picked up and questioned as to his ac-
tivities on the night of the 20th. They
then proceeded tothe Ford Service Station.

Here they went over the situation with
Jack Ford again, and then started check-
ing with shops in the neighborhood
which were now beginning to open for
the day’s business.

They questioned the owner of the Cir-
cle Bar closely concerning the fight
which had occurred the night, before at
10: 30—which, as near as could be ascer-
tained, was also the time of the robbery.
They got the names of the principals in
the brawl.

The man at the fruit stand next door
to the Circle Bar was questioned. He
recalled that a car drove into the Ford
station just after the floodlights in front
were turned off. However, at almost ex-
actly the same moment, the fight had
started in front of the bar, and the
witness turned to watch that. He could

(Above) Frank Ford. “I’m sure he’s been
kidnapped. The only way he'd break his
routine would be at gun point,” son said

only describe the automobile as a fancy
sport model of late design and dark in
color.

“This fight seems to have been almost
too well timed,’’ commented Donovan.
“Let’s check that out.”

Moody agreed, and the detectives spent
the next hour tracing and interviewing
the participants. They found both of
the gentlemen suffering from hangovers
and bruises. Neither had more than a
hazy idea of what the fight was about.
The detectives quickly came to the con-
clusion that the brawl had no connection
with the happenings at the Ford Service
Station.

“Looking at this job strictly from the
robbery angle,” Moody then observed to
his partner, “the most likely suspect is
Ford himself. If he didn’t abscond with
his'own funds, then this is a murder or
kidnapping case, and the homicide boys
should be on it.”

Donovan agreed. ‘“We’d better start
looking into Ford’s background, and I
suggest we start with his wife.”

‘The detectives found Mrs. Ford ex-
tremely upset by her husband’s disap-
pearance, but the comely woman had
not allowed herself to give way to hys-
terics. She answered all questions with
emphatic clarity. The officers were as-
sured that Frank Ford would abso-
lutely not have left of his own accord,

“In twenty-three years of married
life, my husband never failed to let me
know when he was going to be late com-

“In twenty-thre
let*‘me know wh
man’s wife, Mrs

ing home,” sai
the same for
something terri!
Mrs. Ford «
condition of hi
she insisted th:
no mental effec
of amnesia, I f«
Donovan and
quarters late in
ported to Det:
Burns and to C:
of detectives. '
that he wanted
Ford case thro
hours until it \
Fred Pizzichimn
E. E. Bryant, :
Moody, workec
September 22m
About noon, *
left his car at
found and brou
statement, take:
he met a friend
Circle Bar on t
“We left the
minutes past ni
used Al’s car a
halls and inns
Brighton. I got
at 2:15 in the
Jack Ford at.th
Frank's disapp:
As a routine

-» with Williamso:

places the twor


vith a
from
ircless
amily,
: man
id had
in the
ice.
ivesti-
friend
at the
2 20th.
” said
orried.
hought

seph B.
doctor
n very
in had
’ alive.
victim

tion in
health

”

s medi-
queried

or.
‘-s. Ford
igs, and
iat they
‘ame in
n.

‘tectives
missing
that he
vith his
wn from

persons
iwweryone
vas con-
personal
‘ther in-

or house
ay years
Another
vers that
: at 9:30
ich time
st twenty
s phase.
» suspect,
{ opinion
tion con-
ad Holin-
ry better

zsimmons
vord. The
d learned
ful night.

ynce sued
80. Paul
land Sav-
case for

Hentsell,
dant had

and he
unine that
Since that
g on the
* said the

attorney, “Once a $50 check he gave Ford
bounced, but he later made that good.
He is rather an unsteady type of person,
but I’m sure he would never resort to
violence.”

Duffy and Holindrake knew from eX-
perience that it is almost impossible to
judge what type of person will resort to
violence. They began a careful check of
the activities of the debtor, and they didn’t
drop it until it) was definitely proved
that he was in another part of the state
on the night of the 20th.

Another man heavily in debt to Ford for
gasoline came under the scrutiny of the
officers. However, it was learned beyond
doubt that he was in Juarez, Mexico on the
20th.

A cab driver by the name of J. A, Felkey
came forward with information on &
strange-acting fare who had ridden from
downtown Denver to 46th and Brighton
Boulevard on September 18th.

“He was middle-aged, well dressed and
he went out of his way to explain to me
that he had a bill to pay out that way,”
said the cabbie. “He paid me a big tip.”
The officers were unable to find anyone
— who knew of a man of this descrip-
tion,

Among the slips for gas sold on credit
on the afternoon of September 20th was
one with the name Larry Fortna. Fortna
was the former owner of the service sta-
tion, according to Jack Ford.

When interviewed, Fortna denied that
he had been in the station that day. “I
bought gas on the 18th,” he stated. “Frank
must have put the charge through on the
books on the 20th." This proved to be
correct.

Fortna was a mine of information con-
cerning the business which he had sold to
‘ord just two years before. He went over
old accounts and gave the officers a his-
tory and description of each person on the
books that he knew. In the course of
his conversation with the detectives, he
mentioned that he had always cashed at
least one or two checks every day when
he ran the station.

“I'm pretty sure that Frank did the
same,” said Fortna. “Maybe that will give
you a lead.”

JAS FORD verified the fact that he and
his father often cashed salary checks
for customers. “But we hadn’t cashed
any before I left on the afternoon of the
20th,” said the son.

“Have you any way of telling whether
your father cashed any after you left?”
asked Holindrake.

“No,” answered the youth.

“Then part of the $211 taken in loot
could have been checks?”

“Yes, of course,” answered Ford.

“Has anybody come in to tell you that
they cashed a check here that afternoon?”
asked Duffy.

Again the answer was no. “But I
hadn’t thought to ask,” said the youth.

“Startin right now, you ask every
customer,” suggested Duffy. “You never
can tell what might break a case.”

That afternoon, October 8th, 1947, elght-
een days after the strange disappearance,
when the newspaper reporters on the head-
quarters beat jumped the veteran detective
team for new developments on the Ford
case, Duffy told them about the check
angle. “If you would give it front page
publicity that we want information on any
checks cashed at the Ford place in the
week before the disappearance, we might
possibly get some results. I admit that it
is almost futile to hope that a crook would
cash a check taken ina robbery, but it has
happened before.”

. Both Denyer dailies carried the requested
item in the next issues. The immediate

at fire

result was that Duffy and Holindrake had
to run down tips given on ten checks—
without results.

At this point in the case, Duffy and
Holindrake had to report to Captain Pitt
that they had no place to go in the investi-
gation except back over ground already
covered. “Maybe some place we have
missed something,” Duffy said wearily.
“There has got to be a lead some place.
A man just doesn’t disappear without
leaving some slight trace.”

Captain Pitt assured the men that he
would back them in whatever action they
wished to take. “Incidentally,” said the
captain, “the highway patrol and various
sheriffs have reported that they have
found no sign of violence along any of
the highways, and all tips of such have
so far proved to be false.”

There is no point in recounting the re-
ports turned in by Duffy and Holindrake
for the next two days. They worked as
hard as ever, but it was all over ground
they had covered before, and they found
nothing new.

T WAS a discouraged pair of detectives

who separated to go home on the eve-
ning of October 10th. However, at 6 P.M.,
Holindrake got a call at his home from
Jack Ford that brought him bouncing to
his feet. The lead on the checks had paid
off. ‘“‘I'wo men are here now about a
check that Dad cashed on the afternoon of
the 20th,” said young Ford. “And not only
that, they have learned from the bank
that the check has just come in for pay-
ment,”

Within minutes, Holindrake called his
partner to meet him at the police station,
and he was speeding to the Ford station
to pick up the customers. He found the
two men to be Elmer Bloom, who had
cashed the check, and John W. Green of
the Reed and Green Planning Mill, who
had written the check for $40.57 to Bloom
for wages.

“Bloom works for me only occasionally,”
explained Green. “This afternoon we got
to talking about Ford’s disappearance, and
I mentioned that the police wanted to
know about checks cashed at the station.
Bloom got to figuring back when he had
cashed the last check I had given him at
the station here, and he decided it was on
the afternoon of the 20th. I called the
bank, and they said the draft had just
come in from Pikeville, Kentucky for col-
lection.”

At headquarters, Duffy took over the
task of reducing Bloom’s and Green’s state-
ments to writing. Holindrake called to
locate an official of the Central Bank and
Trust Company of Denver who could go
to the bank and get the check in question.
He located John Fitzpatrick of the book-
keeping department and arranged to get
the check at once. Within half an hour
he had signed a receipt for the draft and
had it in hand.

The check was made out to Elmer Bloom
who had endorsed it on the back. Under
his signature was a second endorsement.
Paul J. Schneider wag the name. Duffy
and Holindrake compared this signature
with samples they had of Frank Ford’s
handwriting. It did not match.

“The signature of a murderer, I’ll bet
on it,” exclaimed Duffy. “We are on the
trail at last.”

The officers immediately wired Sheriff
D. C. Moore of Pike County, Kentucky,
asking him to piek up the person who had
signed himself Paul J. Schneider. They
told the sheriff that full information was
following.

The next day, the detectives airmailed
a complete report oon the cane to the
Kentucky officer. Undersherlf? Robert B.
Doak, an extremely fine officer in the

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who killed three garage men. : re PG 4 th MeCan


opinion of Captain Pitt, answered the let-
ter by calling the captain long distance
on October 12th. He informed the Denver
officer that he had investigated in the
absence of Sheriff Moore, and he had
learned that Schneider was a young
man, blond, about twenty-four years old
who drove a new car. He had placed
the check with the Pikeville National
Bank and Trust Company for collection,
and said he would return for the money
in a week or so.

“I have checked around town,” said
Doak, “and I find that Schneider stayed
at a local hotel for two nights last week,
but he has since checked out and I can
find no trace of him. While he was here
he was inquiring for a young woman who
married and left years ago.”

The  undersheriff assured Pitt that
Schneider would not escape capture if he
returned to Pikeville.

EANWHILE, the Denver police de-

partment inquired of the FBI identifica-
tion bureau for information on Paul J.
Schneider. They got an immediate answer
that he was wanted on two counts of ab-
duction and car theft in Los Angeles.
Although only twenty-four, he had spent
three years in San Quentin for robbery.
He had received a dishonorable discharge
from the Army for desertion and armed
robbery, and he was wanted in Salt Lake
City, Utah, for. violation of probation. A
sear on his forehead made Schneider easy
to identify.

Circulars were ordered on Schneider
for suspicion of murder in Denver.

On October 17th, 1947, Schneider re-
turned to Pikeville. He did not imme-
diately go to the bank, but while he was
eating in a small downtown restaurant,
Vernon Sanders, the Pikeville assistant
chief of police, spotted him,

Sanders is a cool, fearless man who car-
ries a number of scars, mementoes of his
battles with criminals. He leaned over
to the waitress and grinned. “You better
yet out of here. I'm going to arrest that
kid over there, and maybe he might de-
cide to take a pot shot at you or me.”

“Go ahead,” retorted the waitress, “I'll
watch you.”

Sanders, not bothering to draw his gun,
walked up to the blond youth and said,
“You are under arrest, Schneider,” and as
he spoke, with a rapid movement, with-
drew a_ nickel-plated revolver from the
suspect’s shoulder holster before he could
protest.

At the courthouse, Schneider admitted
his identity to Sanders and Doak, but
denied that he was guilty of any crime.
This statement was proved false as soon
as his car was found and brought to the
courthouse. It was a black 1946 Windsor
Chrysler convertible coupe which had
been reported as stolen from Los Angeles,
California.

Schneider then admitted that he had
stolen the car, and he told the officers
that he had been driving all over the
country in it for almost a month. When
encouraged to name the places he had
visited, Denver and Detroit, Michigan,
were among those mentioned by the sus-
pect.

On the stolen automobile, officers found
a set of new tires; and in the back, a great
deal of new equipment, including a radio,
chrome-plated horns and fog lights. There
was also a tire-pressure gauge such as the
one missing from the Ford service station
in Denver.

Doak wired Captain Pitt that Schneider
was in custody, and that he denied robbing
Ford, but he had admitted being in Denver
around the 20th of September.

When, after three days of interrogation,
he still made no confession, it was decided

100

that Denver could be of assistance in the
sessions. Captain Pitt and Holindrake
left Denver via United Airlines at 12:25
on October 21st. They were met at Lex-
ington, Kentucky, by an FBI agent, who
drove them to Pikeville.

That same afternoon, the Denver officers
questioned Schneider in detail concerning
his actions in the Colorado capital, The
youth refused to admit anything and asked
for time to think it over.

At this point the case took an un-
expected twist. In Lexington, an INS
wire service man by the name of Jim
Galloway had been handling the copy on
the arrest of Schneider in Pikeville. De-
tails of the Denver crime also came across
his desk. In the course of processing this
material, Galloway noticed that the mys-
terious disappearance of the Denver man
was almost identical with two cases in
Detroit, Michigan, on October 8th.

James R. Hall, twenty-one, and Donald
Dusseau, twenty-eight, had both disap-
peared mysteriously from service stations
in the Detroit area. Both stations had
been robbed, and among the items stolen

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were a set of new tires, a radio and several
accessorics,

Galloway had a hunch that he had un-
covered a_ sensational development and
he was right. He had made a smart
deduction. Quickly, he moved to verify it.
He got in contact with the INS bureau in
Detroit and asked that serial numbers
of some of the stolen articles in the Michi-
gan cases be relayed to him. On the
morning of October 22nd, he was able to
hand proof to the officers in Pikeville
that Schneider had something to do with
the disappearances of Dusseau and Hall.
The serial number of the radio stolen from
Dusseau’s station was identical with the one
found in Schneider’s car.

Armed with this evidence, the officers
again questioned Schneider. He admitted
the two robberies in Detroit, and he
confessed to killing both missing men, In
both cases, his method had been the same.
He had forced the victim to get into his
car and drive with him into the country
where he had them get out and blindfold
themselves. He then struck them in the
back of the head with an iron bar, and
left them where they fell. The bodies
were later found, and both had died of
skull fractures.

Perhaps aware that there was a death
penalty in Colorado, while none in Michi-
gan, Schneider hedged for some time con-
cerning the disappearance of Ford. Finally
he admitted that he had robbed the Denver
man.

“But he was alive when I left him,”
the vicious killer remarked coolly.

Schneider said he drove into the Ford

epPae’

station at exactly 10:30 on the night of
September 20th, with the idea of robbing
it. It was a coincidence that a fight broke
out across the street at the same time
and drew all attention away from the
service station.

At the point of a gun, Schneider forced
Ford to give him all cash on hand. He
then made the operator get into his car
and drive it away from Denver on High-
way 6.

After going about 50 miles, Ford was
ordered to stop the car and get out. He
did as he was told without a word.

CHNEIDER forced the ailing man into

the trunk of the car and drove on.
About 30 or 40 miles further, the abductor
noticed that he was running low on gas.
He stopped and called to Ford that he
was going into a station to buy gasoline.
“If you make any noises,” threatened the
youth, “I’ll kill both you and the at-
tendant.”

Ford didn’t make a sound. After driving
another 60 miles or so, Schneider again
stopped the car on a lonely stretch of
road near a bridge. He released Ford
and made him tie a rag around his eyes.
Now, for the first time, the frightened
victim spoke. He told Schneider of his deli-
cate heart condition, and asked that he
take it easy.

But Schneider had no mercy. He picked
up an iron bar from the car and led Ford
down under the bridge. Ordering him to
stop he took a firm grip on the fron bar
and brought it down on the helpless man's
head. Ford dropped.

But the victim wasn’t dead yet although
he had been given a terrific blow. He
twitched a moment, then staggered to his
feet. A truck approached along the high-
way, and Schneider ordered his victim to
He down, He did so, but as the truck
came nearer, the wounded man staggered
to his feet again and tried to attract the
driver's attention. He failed, and as the
truck passed, Schneider started shooting
at Ford. ‘The mortally wounded station
operator staggered on into the dark.

Schneider returned to his car and drove
away. He visited relatives in Nebraska
the next day, then proceeded to Pikeville
where he had hoped to renew an ac-
quaintanceship of several years before with
a girl. Unable to find the young woman,
and running low on money, the killer
could not resist an attempt to cash a
check he had taken in the Ford station.
He thought it would be safe since he had
read no account of the man’s disappear-
ance in any newspaper he had seen.

The bank at Pikeville, however, would
not cash the check. They told Schneider
that they would put it through for collec-
tion, and if he would return in a few
days, they would have the money. He
endorsed the draft and identified himself
with his Oregon driver’s license.

While awaiting the money, Schneider
drove to Detroit where he spent the next
week, and where he committed two mur-
ders on the same night.

After the killer gave his statement, Cap-
tain Pitt called Chief O’Donnell and told
him the approximate location where Ford
was slugged. Detective Duffy left Denver
with a squad of men, and Sheriff Erna
Brown of Logan County, Colorado, started
working southwest from Sterling, Col-
orado. The officers stopped at each bridge
and hunted in a wide circle.

Brown’s party found the body. It was
located 179 feet from Highway 6, just 14
miles north of Brush. The body was in a
ditch, and tattered clothing indicated that
Ford had torn himself badly trying to flee
through a barbed-wire fence.

An autopsy was performed by Dr. W.
A. Adams and Coroner Donald Gordon

of Washi:
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of Washington County—1n which jurisdic-
tion the body was found. No bullets were
found in the body, and cause of death was
determined to be a skull fracture.

Schneider signed a waiver of extradi-
tion to Colorado. He was returned in
chains by train on October 25th by Holin-
drake and Captain Pitt. On October 29th,
he was taken over the route he had gone
with Ford to the death scene, An official
stenographer took down every word he
said during the re-enactment. After he had
given all details of the crime, he was taken
to the Washington County jail at Akron,
District Attorney William Paynter of Brush
immediately filed an information charging
the youth with first degree murder. In
Colorado, the law says there shall be an
automatic plea of not guilty entered to
such a charge.

While awaiting trial, an escape attempt
by the killer was thwarted on December
18th when two Washington County treas-
ury workers, Mrs. Maurine Lane and
Mrs. Marijane Keim, informed Sheriff
S. B. Lewis that they had heard a scrap-
ing sound that appeared to come from
the cell block. The sheriff found that two
bars in Schneider's cell had been almost
sawed through. Six pieces of hack-saw
blade were discovered secreted about the
cell.

It was never learned how the slayer
got them.

Schneider's trial opened on January
19th, 1948 in the district court of Judge
Raymond Sauter at Akron. Backed by his
family from Hubbard, Oregon, the youth
was ably defended by J. Corder Smith and
Royal C. Donnen.

The defendant himself put on a show of
cowardice that has seldom been equalled
i a Colorado courtroom. He alternated

between crying and quoting from the
Bible. And, as the damning evidence built
up against him, he feigned illness in an
attempt to stop the trial. He refused to
walk back into the courtroom after a
recess. After two physicians had exam-
ined him and pronounced him sound, he
was told he would be carried into the
court if necessary. He finally walked from
his cell—sniveling.

On January 24th, the jury of twelve
farmers found Schneider guilty of first
degree murder and fixed the penalty at
death, Before passing sentence, Judge
Sauter allowed the customary twenty days
for the defense to move for a new trial.

On February 14th, Schneider’s motion
for a new trial was denied, and sentence
was passed. It was ordered that he be
taken to the penitentiary at Canon City,
Colorado, and there, sometime during the
week of May 22nd-29th, 1948 be put to
death in the lethal gas chamber. How-
ever, due to legal technicalities, the con-
victed man received a total of eight stays
of execution and reprieves before he finally
paid the full price for the murder of Frank
J. Ford.

At 7:59 p.M., December 17th, 1949, more
than two years after his callous crime,
Schneider was executed.

Eprror’s NOTE:

The name Jim Bertram, as used in
the foregoing story, is not the real name
of the person concerned. This person
has been given a fictitious name in
order to protect his identity. Photo-
graphs of Paul Schneider appear on
page 43, second from right, and page
44, second from left.

Saturday's Nightmare

(Continued from page 41) other piece of
property I told you about. Like many
older persons, they didn't put much faith
in banks and kept their money in the
house. There was $500 in cash and it’s
gone.”

Hesitantly, Otto told them about the
bullet holes and the stains on the kitchen
floor, and then suggested that the entire
group, including Mr. and Mrs. Groves, £0
back to Tacoma to report to Sheriff Croft.

It was daylight when they arrived at
the Pierce County courthouse. Davelaar
went on to the county hospital with the
scrapings from the floor, and the two slugs
taken from the kitchen walls were turned
over to Captain Lyle Lathrop of the iden-
tification bureau. They were found to
have been fired from a .35-caliber gun.

After hearing Otto’s report on what
they had found, Croft ordered the detec-
tive to return at once to the Easley house
to continue the investigation.

Detectives Dave Ward and Leo Tonetti,
and Lathrop and Davelaar were assigned
to go with Otto, Undersheriff Luther
Wright and Captain John Kendersi would
remain at headquarters, Croft continued,
and question Mr. and Mrs. Groves and the
Skinners again.

“We can’t be absolutely sure,” Croft said,
“that the story Groves told you wasn’t

‘carefully rehearsed. But they may be

perfectly on fhe level, and anyhow it
might be a good idea to keep them both
here in protective custody for the time
being at least.”

Croft also cautioned Otto about releasing
any publicity to the press at this time lest
the impostor using Howard Fasley’s name

learn from the papers that he was being
hunted and_ begin using another name.
Otto agreed this was the best policy. Short-
ly after, he and the other officers started
back to the Easley home.

Ward and Tonetti were dispatched at
once to check on Groves’ story with the
service station operator at Puyallup. Lath-
rop went through the house dusting for
fingerprints while Otto and Davelaar
checked the doors and windows to de-
termine if someone had forced entry. Fin-
ally the detectives went outside to the
garage. They found nothing of importance
there.

A short distance from the garage there
was a small shed. There were no lights
inside, but Davelaar got a flashlight from
their car and by the beam they saw the
rows of canned goods Groves had men-
tioned earlier. In one corner were sev-
eral empty cardboard cartons and a few
pieces of discarded furniture. Otto set
these aside. Underneath lay what ap-
peared to be a pile of old rags. Piece by
plece the detective sorted them out.

“These are not rags!” he exclaimed sud-
denly. “These are women’s dresses. And
here are some towels. But look what’s on
them!”

Davelaar brought the light closer and
saw that the garments were smeared with
a crusty, crimson substance.

“Someone used them to mop up the
blood on that kitchen floor,” Davelaar said.

While Otto continued to probe about in
the shed, Davclaar took the bundle of
stained articles to their car. Returning,
he found that Lathrop had finished his
work in the house and had joined Otto.

RA EN! DoYou Suffer

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BOX I

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209 &. State St., Dept. 742, Chicago 4

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35 years’ Detective Experience. Former U.S. Gov. Spe-
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:
*
¥
‘

ster,” he
matically,
canning a
the sound
end of the
arply and
hat official,
oward had
‘sy chair and
e notes his
idly scrib-

iff was say-
nat? When
at time did

Officials tried to trace mysterious visitor to
this home of the Sillimans, house of tragedy.

you get there? Yes—right away.”

Loter wheeled around from the.

window as Foster, replacing the re-
ceiver on the hook, signalled the
operator. He was calling Coroner
Ivan Joss.

“Ivan,” the sheriff said tensely,
when he got the medical officer on

the phone, ‘“‘Doctor-Montgomery just

called. A woman and child are dead
at 667 South Federal Boulevard—
just outside Denver—a few blocks
south of the city. They were dead
when he arrived there at 7:45.
Name is Silliman. Poisoned, he

thinks. We'll meet you there.”

Foster made one more call—to
the Colorado Highway Patrol—then
turned to his subordinates. “Looks
like we’re in for a night’s work,”
he announced. ‘Doctor Montgomery
says the circumstances are suS-
picious.”

The three men quickly donned
greatcoats and, pulling the collars
up around their ears, stepped out
into the storm. Pausing only long
enough to brush the snow off the
windshield, they got into the sher-
iff’s car and drove swiftly to South

Solving Colorado's
TRIANGLE of DEATH

Federal Boulevard, streaking past a
row of neat, small houses until they
came to number 667. Arnold Pinney
of the Highway Patrol, who had
been informed by radio from head-
quarters, was close behind in his
cruising Car.

Stamping snow from their boots
and brushing the fine flakes from
their coats, the men hurried to the
door, which was opened by Dr. A. H.
Montgomery. He motioned them to
the living room.

There, sprawled on the floor, were

the bodies of pretty, blonde Esther 35

ee

maybe trying to get rid of
some evidence

minutes later, they had the
trouble remedied, and had found plenty

Quickly,
color of the lipstick with that which
had belonged to Esther &

“I think I know
now why those two girls at that Penn-
sylvania Street address

when we were talking with them. Come
rend going to make a couple of

“go “later—after we're suré.” ~~~
Miss Parker

racing pigeon clubs throughout the
East. It would not be too difficult.

Lieutenant McEnroe returned to Ja-
maica with the silver band and a sense
of frustration,

It was by luck more than anything
else that Lieutenant McEnroe had rea—
son to mention his strange clew in a
friendly conversation with Frank

Wen ti-

\

arrested immediately. Foster took Miss
Parker to the jail at Littleton to ques-
tion hér, and Miss Jenkins was left in
the jail at Denver for questioning by
authorities there.

Foster was more interested in Miss
Parker than in her friend because he
found that her lipstick was the same
color as they found on the er-
chief ‘which he and Pinney had gotten
at the Silliman home. i

It was an hour before she decided to
talk. But after that, she told every-

she said, “I’ve been going
Silliman. So what? I
me to, I’ll go
. tossed head of
blond hair haughtily to one side
to emphasize her point. “5
“You don’t mind, even if he murders
his wife—so he can go with you?” Fos-

daughter have been
Soned. And we have a pretty good

“She was
probably going to see you to try to get
you to leave her husband alone—or had
she already seen you?”

“NO. SHE hadn’t—I didn’t know—I
never dreamed that anything like
Foster had her in the right mood
now. She'd tell him everything she
knew about the case. And she did,
spilling it forth in a confusion of words
which

Helen Parker said that Silliman had
slipped away from his job at four
o’clock that Saturday afternoon and
had come to her apartment—a thing
which he frequently did. He had got-
ten a friend to cover for him on his job
and sign him out at 7:10. Silliman had
taken her to look for an apartment in
another section of town later that eve-
ning. He had left her at 6:30 Satur-
day, saying that he would be a to

FOSTER was convinced that Helen
Parker had not known of Silliman’s
murderous intentions. She and Miss
Jenkins were released from jail imme-
diately when it was established that the
Parker woman had been telling the
truth about Silliman slipping off from
work at four o’clock that Saturday
afternoon. :

Ving ani
crime, and said that someone had tried
to frame him. :

But the next day when Robert J.
Booth, the clerk at the U. S. Drug and
Sales Company, who had sold the Ppoi-
son on the day of the murder, identi-
fied Silliman as the man who had got-

tended to himself, too, but he lost
“We were tired of living,” Silliman

a $14,000 Safe (Continued trom Page 20)

leg of one bird and it’s released. The

~ Association either sends out another

boat or notifies the Coast Guard about
the trouble.”

Keating explained that FBA pigeons

oe

There was, he was informed.
“Get that list,” Lieutenant McEnroe
ordered crisply. “Get the name of

* everybody they have who chartered a

boat during the past season. Something
may turn up.”

quarter of them were from Queens, and
Lieutenant McEnroe concentrated first

“You weren’t so
Foster exclaimed.

T°? BRING
together, and make the

manager, Was a person whom coinci-
—_ had brought into the investiga-
on.
Hollerin was located at Cheyenne. .
po a capas, been to Denver that week-
end.

Silliman led the officers to the spot -
cmiy borat baie ie
emp’ le. e- .
brandy leit tn tire bottom of the bottle
contained traces of rd cme

Silliman was charged mur-
der of his wife and daughter, but on
March 8, 1944, he was brought to trial,
only for his se a ex 7 case
was District Attorney
Richard Ht £ Simon at Littleton District
Court, presided over by District Judge
Harold H. Davies.

pealed the Supreme
Court of Colorado as OFFICIAL DE-
TECTIVE §TORIES goes to press.

Read I¢ First In

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

there? Was it dropped by someone?”
Lieutenant McEnroe ed.
“That’s the screwy part,” he said.
“It’s almost like a plant.”

Mr. X,

that pigeon band. Maybe it fell off the
bird’s leg. or maybe he took ft off, out


4 |
1

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a
3
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:

F
te
ag
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5
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f
E

|
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Bk
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il
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g

2
i
Z

Hil
E
le

quickly. Phillips was on the phone
ten minutes. When he hung up, he
turned to Green and Kelly.

but I guess you never got them. I'll.
be there in the morning.”

When Doyle arrived the next day,
he showed the mug shots of Riggs and
Skawinski to Markwith and Croop, the
employes at the chain store where Rob-
erts had been murdered.

“That's him — that’s the guy who
shot Roberts,” Croop said, pointing to
Skawinski’s picture.

Markwith nodded. “And the other .

3 had Sere with Brandy Until Col

active in church work and club activi- .

ties and had been voted “Most Popular

Hollerin was somewhat of a mystery.
No one knew much about him. He was
@ bachelor and kept pretty much to

himself. At the present time, he was
pony oe to be in Wyoming,
on

“Better Hollerin,”

one.”

It remained for Deputy Loter, how-
ever, to set off the charge of dynamite
that rocked the whole case, ‘

the
“Okay, Chum.
keep your hands up high!”
the
under

To Gorman, Foster said, “Keep in-
vestigating this Cheyenne trip that
was supposed to have made.”
In the midst of all this excitement,
the apartment hove at ie" Beste tt
that man remember a black,
1936 Ford sedan being at the apart-
ment house.

iq.
on
ie
BE

ua

i‘ Read It First |
d (Continued from Page 37) opriciat petenie "STORIES

declines nist


DP adhe shins abred echen de” shes the he 9

34

HE night of Satur-
day, January 15,
1944, was cold and
windy in central Colorado, and
snow had been falling since the
middle of the day. At a few minutes
before eight, Sheriff Charles Foster
of Arapahoe County was seated in
his office at Littleton, finishing some

routine business before going into

nearby Denver.

Undersheriff Ben L. Gorman had
pulled a straight chair out from the
corner and sat astride it, one arm
folded comfortably across its back,

Ne ae

By J. HOYT CUMMINGS

while he blew smoke rings ceiling-
ward from an after-dinner cigar.
Chief Deputy Joseph Loter stood at
the window, silently watching the
snowflakes swirl softly to the
ground.

The telephone rang. The sheriff
swung slowly forward in his swivel
chair and, without looking up from
a sheaf of papers he was reading,

placed them on the desk and reached

for the receiver.

De VECTUVE

ath - F450

“Sheriff Foster,” he
answered automatically,
his eyes still scanning a
typewritten page, but at the sound
of the voice on the other end of the
wire he looked wip sharply and
caught Gorman’s eye. That official,
aware that something untoward had
happened, sprang from his chair and

_ went over to peer at the notes his

superior officer was rapidly scrib-
bling on a pad.

“Both dead?” the sheriff was say-
ing. “Now where is that? When
did they call you? What time did

REST PH

iy

Officials
this hon

you get
Loter \
window a
ceiver on
operator.
Ivan Joss
“Tvan,"’
when he ;
the phone,
called. A:
at 667 So
just outsi:
south of t!
when he
Name is

i
%
%


Colorado (Montezuma) 6=20-19)1.

STEPHENS, James ('Mancos Jim"), white, 76, asphyxiated

e m4 ; ioe 4 eat -
. % 4 - #1
< : y BS oy 4
5 Bek recy ’ ‘ 5 : §
: ‘oa: ,
. ae i * . | P = a
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oS F ef : € , fates

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TRI HTH aal4

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a 4


‘HANS JI
OANOTLA
* HSLASTHILE

heed Slayer Will Be

“he * Carried to Gas

Chamber

* Canen City, Cole. June 20.—
*‘Mancos Jim’ Stephent, 76-

, ‘year-old Colorado range rider,

‘condemned to die Friday night
in the lethal gas chamber at the

state peniténtiary here, will be unable
to walk that “last long mile” fromhis

~eell in “death row” to the execution
chamber on top of the hill.

Ton old and feeble to walk, he will
make the grim journey, which ts
usually made in a procession on foot,
either in the arms ef prison guards

~ or in @ wheelchair.

“J don't think the old man will be
able to walk up the hill from his
prison cell to’ the execution house,”
Warden Roy Best ga wer the execu-
tion. hopr_t approached. e are mak-

* {ng ‘arrangements either to carry him |

or wheel him ina ‘chazs.”

dm STILL HOPES

FOR REPRIEVE. ?

“2 Reveraing his attitude of the last

week, Mancos Jim, who is under a

death sentence for the murder of a
_Mancos, Colo. police officer, clung

to a slender hope that Gov. Ralph
L. Carr would grant a last-minute
reprieve or, commutation.

Governor Carr, who. is attending’ a
atockmen’s convention ‘in Alamosa,
_ announced _at noon. however, that he

would not interfere.

In a statement the governor aaid:
_- This is “the moat difficult thing I
have ever done, either in private or

- pubhe hfe.

: “after making/s careful study of
the case and talking with the defend-
ant personally. [ discussed the matter

with courts and enforcement officials. ;

a. "I then caused an independent in-

“vestigation to be made of his mental”

status... I, was afivised that he knew
pgnettoms Lif
“by the” “ffine gh age Aeh
might influence..the degree of his’
responsimlity.
- “The circumatances of the killing +
,were such that unless it were shown !

s Bicoes me that the man was incapable of

nowing what he was doing I would

“not feel that 1. have the right to}
,

interfere.

“J should have been much h pine
today 1f I could conscientiously: bave
intervened hut J é¢annot do at.”

Mancos Jim. who yar givenathis
nickfiame by the townspeople of
Mancon, where he ved more than
a half-century. speypt Friday in con-

“atant conference yith relatives and
the Rev. Albert halfer, the prison
chaplain, who iil administer. the
last rites of the\Cathole church.-

DAUGHTER AN
VISIT CONDEMN
The condemned man w an visited
Friday morning by one daughter and

‘Hela: seca - whey che.

British Warships Used.
Ships of the British navy plowed deep furrows into the Atlantic an they

toward the German battleship Bismarck for the dramatic engagement May 2

: hich the mighty Nazi vessel was sunk after it had blown up H. M. S. Hood. .
highlights of that engagement are shown below in the first original pictures of
action Scenes en It will be recalled that the Bismarck encoun

ye

——— hae * Se ree
Oe On ow z — t: 4 i
x ioe ‘ . . gos ¥
LS aay oe see $ e
ek ca ie :
uae : 7 2. x iF:
v ait | Bact” ry
ge ef, ;
ah ee %
eat eh» os 4:
ahd Seat ‘
e a 22

' 4%
}

RIT [Senso tha Beha pager Mofo few at ta Brmarc k

CLUB OWNER BEATEN
IN WATKINS TAVERN

Tex Wilson Js in Denver Hospital With Fractured| MBP;
Jaws Inflicted, He Says, by Seven: i
Youths in Fight.

Tex Wilson, 40, of ‘1209 Pennsylvania street, reputed owner
of a Watkins, Colo., gambling establishment known as the Cotten
‘ elnb, was in &t. Joseph's hospital Friday suffering from fractures!
of both jgms, which were supposedly incurred Tuesday night ;

t:to-the aid of Mrs. Lulu Minshall, owner of a Wat-
xinn tavern, Seto” “was endeavoring to} After: the; fight, ‘the seven youths The Brush battleship 1
;quect seven youths and Rix girls from; and their #ix girl companions fled ia

>

{her place for creating @ disturbance. | two automobiles, the license numbers
Interviewed in the hospital Friday | of which were obtained by Mrs. Min-
by Detectives Clarence Jones and | shall.
*Ru :

dolph Herrmann, Wilson said one
iof the vouths struck him in the face
with brass “knucka” and the other
‘six heat and kicked him as he lay
on the floor of the tavern.

‘IT was passing the tavern when
Mra- Minshall called to me and asked
me if I would help her eject the
!squths, who, she said, were cteating
a disturbance and making @ nuisance
of the umselves because she. refused to
vserye them: anything to. drink,* Wil
son tokl the’ officers. “When 1. en-
tered,°one of the boys floored me
with brass khuckp and the test
pounced upon me.”.

+

scons

:
3

Sheriff Herman Fahrney of Adame
county and District Attorney Rich-
ard H. Simon of the firet judicial
district said Friday they had issued
pickup orders for the two cars.

Mrs. Minshall's ver<on of the fight.
tthe authorities’ said, coincided in
every detail with Wilson's.

aw Gaance when she refused to
serve them anything to drink because
she beliewrd they were under age.
She maid that one of the boys. in ap
parent retaliation: for her refusal,
began overturning chaira anf tables
It was at thie point that she called
to Wilson to alt her, she said,

raid the youths started the.

MAY B

Museum: Archeologt
‘On Hogback; P
Man and

Bones of an ancient

“Mra Minshall said after the youths !

hillside burial mgy have

: P rs i ali cH. Remon o 7 CCR:
- “J should have been much happier; “!% heat and kicke@ him as he lay} district sfid Friday they had
“today if § could conscientiously nave {On the floor of the tavern. pickup ers for the two cara. |

. intervened but I cannot do it.” T was passing the tavern when| Mrs. Minshall's version of the fight,
 Manecos Jim, who was givenethis Mra Minshall called to me and asked ; the authorities sald, coincided: és

nickname “by the townapenple cof ,™* 'f I would help her eject the every detail with Wilson's. i

» Mancos, where he lived more than’ }0uths, who. she said. were creating | c-9 said the youths started the
a half-century, spert Friday in con-. 8 4:sturbance and making a nuisance | jege Chance whens shack ¥oTened?.06
stant conference with relatives and Of themselves becaune she refused to) sory. them anything to drink because
the Rev. Albert Schaller. the prison | Ferve them anything to drink,” Wilk] sine believed they were under age.
chaplain, who will: administer the #7" told the officers. “When TI en-i che said that one of the boys, in ap
Jast rites of the Cathothe church. tered, one of the boys floored me* parent. retaliation. for her refusal,
~ DAUGHTER AND SONS with’ brass trucks and the rest’ pecan overturning chairs and tables.
VISIT CONDEMNED MAN. PEP SS -CPOR. Me It was at thie point that she called

: ’ : _
The condemned man was Visited see seveereve ‘ sees | tO Wilson to alr her, she sald: | hillside burial may have oc
Friday morning by one dauchter and + °Mrs: Minshall said after the youths y 5a

two sons and several other relatives, a had departed, she telephoned the | found Thursday near Gok
2 0 p Cop e : Adams county sheriffs office and the ' radg Museum of Natural Hi

all of whom refused to dreclose their
>’ state highway patrol. giving them the*
Are Saying

names or pisces.of resilience . .
license numbers of the two autome- of Denver and three
€ Be International Newe Seriice }

Manens Jim chose the Catholic re-+
: Jigion several mor’hs aga biles involved. fully sifting each handful: of
Warder Rest) who has supervised Simon gad Friday he algo planned they still were unearthiag 4_F
more than a score of executions, 6aid | an investization to determine wheth-| The akeleton of an sdpft
, he regarded Friday. nigh’s aseign- er there has been any. gambling in: being. lying on its sidg@ with
ve ment as the’ toughest one ever given, Rocheater, N. ¥.—Prime Minister: Wilson's Cotton club. drawn up, and he rocks
me , Winston Churchill accepts by radio) “We raided the club March 21 and 'around-and above te form
However, the Iaw has spoken andthe honorary degree of doctar of at that time Wilson agreed to clone ‘apparently was once a crude,
_ the mandate of the courts must be taws from the University of Roches- the Cotton club and keep it closed,” | lay four and gne-half feet be
. carried out” He-t declared. - | ter and concludes a plea for unity:! Simon said. ‘ present surface of the steep
= During their last week in “death | «United we atand, divided we falt.|

row.” it customary to let con- Divided the dark ages return. Unit-:

Gemned men cider anything to eat! og we can guide and save the world”! ;
they desire, but Mancos Jim hasbeen | 6

unable to partake of any solid foods, Atlanta, Ga.—Representative Hat-|

- ! bec2use he has no ‘teeth. , ton Sumners (Dem.) of Texas warus $ . 3
His diet haa consisted principally | that: strikes and ather evidence of : K Ee L E * O he 8) F 15 j
{ f :

of fruit juices, eggs and other soft, national dinunity imperil the future

fonds. ;of America: “The most. drendful .
di tare rguian atin ies, Seal CENTURY CONQUERC
Cortez Dec. &. 4439. af the murder | is ta see this great nation walking Pap

* of Lynn Dean, 25, Mancos town mar-| in the footsteps of. France, walking
shal, will be the oldest person ever | toward the common doom: of democ-
executed for a crime in the United ; racies of the world.”
States. according to Warden Rest

PIP

.

eh.

2

Weersoccecesageves
ee

O8eteer coe eeocececezes

| Mostow, June 20.—(A. P.)—The magnificent tomb of
. heat F - | / }lane—the lame Timur—at Samarkand in southwestern As:
Jet on a drunkenness charge wnen {PILOT UNINJURED | been opened: and Soviet archedlogists examined Friday a sk

the rolvi : ;
shes Trent drew. a Ac Sek sod IN WYOMING CR ASH, they. said dispelled legends that the great oriental conqu
et Bos : ie Mah EEE a A pA: eS apes < Sa pa satay -: : ei Lave i vs
DEATH PENALTY: 4 ‘: pi | ee body had" been removed by: Persians.
FIXED BY JURY. : Cheyenne, Wyo. June 20—Anarmy. The musty crypt of the Mongol; The archeologists» reported
; par i “arcs =e) senvicted hy a pilot escaped uninjyred Friday when empire builder who led legions “of or found in the tomb the rke
ury ic wed punishment at ag United -States- army P-43° pursult " . ,of Tamerlane'’s two sons and t
“< @eath, and this» verdict was upheld = plane cracked up ag 1 wan cabins off shousanasnorse; from, thes Polgaryert a gtandson, Ulug Reg. great of
by the Colorado supreme court. — * : from Cheyenne Muricipal airport. to the Persian gulf and from the’ astronomer of the fifteenth ce
In denying, Stephens’ application’ — The plane. en royte from the fac- Hellespont to the Ganges in the four: | Tamerlane died of a fever F
for clenfenct several weeks ago Gov- | tery at Farmingdale. ‘1.. 1. to Port- teenth century was opened Thurs-. 1403. on the far side of the Sy
ernor Carr said: : land. Qre. jJeft the runway. and. 44Y- | river while leading his armie
“However. the conditions surround-| plowed into the field, damaging the: Prying into Tamerlane’s coffin. the projegted invasion of China.
ing the actual commission of the | richt wing. when the undercarhiage! 8tcheologiats found bones they said! He had just completed. his
_ ¢rime, the attitude of mind of the  collapeed. ; fitted the description of the ruler+a! notable conquest, @ campaig
defendant and his cenduct thruout | The pilot. Lieut. Alex €. Jameson, >108d-shouldered man with the right , brodght under his control Ba

the evening preceding the killing. the | was the only’ occupants | leg Shorter than the left. ; | Damascus, Aleppo and Ankar.
manner in which he aftacked the i :

= perp sean ot aances and on! BRIDE FLIES TOJOIN +
even for his extréme exe. to justify CAPTAIN ROOSEVELT i EW YO RKERS START

4

WINSTON CHURCHILL |: sina». »-| FOR AIR RAID WA
ede lt eee Guardia that “This ts not a clam- | devote a long time te tra
Martinsville, Ind.. June 20.—(A.|fdrmer Romelle Schneider. His wife; Yorkere begap. enrolling Friday
fice. The yeung man, who says he; ‘I haven't the slightest. idea: when
daauary. - he will be in New York."

; ' é ae York pf’ ai tp. is en route to ns .
oe < ‘ New York p€ air to rejoin her hus-| i. it. mon ; ;
oe if REGISTER IN DRAFT mr: aon Zot the pirsidentiaadeed <q ee  e ds arrd thet “The: peoples.
: S ee s j e He left for the orient two months
_. P.)—Winston Churchill will regiater|said phe last heard: from him in a| £0F Sig Fald warden servire.
believes he is a distant relative: of | I will return.” Mra: Roosevelt said.
@ % eo}

@ modification of the sentence.”
‘Warned'in adtance by Mayor:La- |) take this training seriously
ago. shortly after his marriage tothe| Dake or a pinochie party,” New
3 “, after Jaly 1 for selective army serv-|cablegram from Lisbon Wednesday.
‘the British prime minister, was 21 - “nor dg Jimmie: or ¥ know how long


ordered 5
2 ie

° : ' we pes \" @
"powers against this cquntry. B
Colonna smid thet esa-}

Fee ara i

man-Turkjeb frie

is, 80 eald he

 tauneh:

Highly. pinged in London ‘quma county. cowpoke, died here: Friday;

Sorin ane pare ‘athal, gas chamber.

ve said they ex
guch &

29

| Since:

> and Italy. hav
— eonsulates.shut up

—(

=e yada; =:
a ‘arden Roy

—) reliable foreign source said
a secret clause

= nounced that Un

ANC

38

——
é

ing of the Italtan com-| ©
perve HO Gestravdie}—

States:

‘ ordered to.

‘tries. and. the. territory they. have)

i occupied. ra ee BS

t- of the Axis: consulates) oe iar
} loeed were |":

-tho ewark:|> -

{| Ata

-\the Guard may.
| more than fifteen

asp

Canon City, Colo.. J
to utter an Indian war wh

ing him to the death chair, ""M

?

| dre wag executed ‘for the murder of

shell, who. had attempted to arrest

“Mancos Jim™ in southwestern Cole,
. Roy Rest, who took “Man-
‘Jim".from the death row.to the

eagCU LOR, ebamber his: au

Lyn. Dean, 35, Mancos ‘town mar-

him for drunkenness... For fifty years
he: had been a: character known as.

jin case of & pation

-- 1 elared by congress.”

_. Special authority fo
‘woted

< mobile ‘hecause the: prisone was. 100:
pa oe to walk, said:it was the “tough-
est” assignment he had ever carried.
oO pSipeg Ne ORO 4 ES ES :

AY) Seon ec ere, ss Saige
> Beat himself. pulled the lever, in the
presence of half a: dozen witnesses,
that released the cyanide exes inte ai p
vat of acid. The rising ‘cyanide fumes” Official indica

took ““Mancos Jim's". life... Ss the ‘ehief : exgcat

Tura te Page 5—Col., act promptly 08 the


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El

(CONFRONTED by this amazing and ir-

refutable reconstruction, John: Sullivan

soon confessed to the brutal rape-slaying
of pretty Carrie Winona Culbertson.

In a calm, low voice he gave full details
of his crime. ts -

The matron had phoned him on Friday,

asking him to come over and perform

some last-minute chores. She came down

to the cellar to talk with him while he
was working. Overcome by a sudden surge
of passion, he had stabbed her in the back
with the letter opener which was lying
nearby. He then ravished her, ‘after which
he went up to her bedroom to pilfer her

money. When he fied, he left the front

door unlocked.

Fearful, the next morning, that the letter
opener’ with his fingerprints might in-
criminate him, he returned to the house.
In attempting to pull the weapon from the
body, it had snapped in his hand. Pocket-
ing the handle, Sullivan wandered through
the cottage. Seeing the bread and ham on
the cupboard counter, he made himself a

sandwich and threw the crusts out
window. mee

When he left the house the second time,”
Sullivan made sure to snap the padlock ©
on the front door. This he did in order”
to bolster the story he needed to. explain
the presence of his footprints.in the fresh-
fallen snow. ee

Sullivan’s fingerprints were formally
checked at police headquarters, and it was
discovered that he had a criminal record, —

out of

Leavenworth for tampering with the 3
United States mails, while a resident of a

. Kansas City. Later, in 1933, he’had been =
convicted in Minneapolis on a charge of in

grand larceny.

7m u) ; pag oy
Arraigned on February 9th, 1942, and Be

charged with the brutal sex slaying, Sullivan
was brought-to trial on March 24th. A day
later, he was found by the jury to be guilty

_ of first-degree murder. He was sentenced ~~

to die in the gas chamber at Canon City, —
and the sentence of the court was carried _
out on September 20th, 1943. oye ‘fee

TNT. SPELLS MURDER o

(Continued from page 27) dea tay

McDowell whom he had not seen for long,

dragging days.
Faking tremendous excitement, he said:

“A man just ‘talled me to say he knows

who killed Exa! He wouldn't give his
name, but he said for me to meet him at
midnight tomorrow in front of 234 Wil-
low Street.”

Always level-headed, always practical-
minded, the chief asked: “Did he give any
reason for the call? I suppose he wanted
money?” as

“He told me to bring five hundred dol-

lars in old used bills of small denomina-

tion. He warned me to come alone.”
“Do exactly as he says,” McDowell told
Payne. “And don’t worry. I'll have men
planted there where ‘he’ll never see them.”
.The ‘chief knew. the Willow Street neigh-
borhood—an isolated, lonely section where
trees and shrubbery lined the street.
_ McDowell’s answer couldn’t have pleased
Payne more. When nobody appeared at
the appointed time to give him the in-
formation and to collect the money, he
could say that the police had evidently
been spotted and that the man had been
frightened away. Then, the detectives
would at least have something to work on.
Any vague’ finger of suspicion would be
pointed even more remotely from him.
The lawyer arrived at the phony
rendezvous a full hour before twelve. He

paced up and down, as if waiting. His -

watchful eyes could see no sign of the
chief's men, but he knew somehow that
they were there.

Half an hour after midnight he hurried
to police headquarters, still carrying his
package of money. Chief of Police Mc-
Dowell, Sheriff Thompson and District At-
torney Thomerson were waiting for him.

He related rapidly the futility of his
vigil. Nobody had come. “Something must
have scared him away,” he said.

“Let us know at once if the man calls
again,” the chief said, his eyes shrewd and

somber. “It’s not likely he’ll drop matters,

having gone this far.” SAR
He dismissed - Payne without further BS

comment. oad ae

Ri

HOWEVER, when the lawyer, highly

. ~~ pleased with the success of his ruse,

had gone, the three officials. went into a —
protracted huddle. sai ies

“Something’s wrong here, terribly wrong, —
the chief said. “What fool would be will-
ing to sell information like that for five .
hundred dollars when Payne himself is —
offering five thousand dollars?” cee

The same question was in all three
minds, and it was unanswerable. Either
they were dealing with a crackpot, or....
Here again there was a single thought
occurring simultaneously to all three. Be-
cause of the utter nonsensicality of the
business, for the first time Payne was caus-
ing the law to wonder if perhaps they had
investigated him as thoroughly as they
should have. Perhaps his strained mind
was causing hallucinations. It seemed un-
thinkable still that he could have been in-
volved in his wife’s killing, but yet, if he
had made up a cock-and-bull story now,
almost anything was possible. And a case
that had been lying dormant now cried for

-further action.

Quietly the authorities began an investi-
gation on entirely new lines. They sént to
Dallas for Frederic. Wright, a special in- |
surance investigator representing the com-
pany that had paid the large policy on Mrs.
Payne’s life. aia Sf

Almost at once they had reason to be-
lieve that they were on the right track.
Whereas their preliminary routine investi-
gations had uncovered the fact that Payne
had told friends that Mrs. Payne’s in-
surance had been in effect for years, now
they learned from Wright that it had been
taken out only a couple of months before ~
her death. fy i

Spurred on by this discrepancy in stories,

. pve at Reh ca ie ee as
ae aS MEE erg, te 8

oe

4
He’ had served a year and a half in ~~

ae ne Seine al

District Attorney Thomerson redouble
undercovering inquiry into the lav

The attorney’s personal habits, . bj:
‘less as they had always seemed,

Payne, who had been accustomed
drive the ill-fated car to his office da
had been walking to work for two we

I tragedy, the investigat
discovered. Now, the sheriff, looking i:
Payne’s past life, learned about the ma
proficiency in chemistry and his wizarc

_ With what they had now found out-
is remarkable how closely their revelatic
dovetailed with the monumental confessi
the attorney wrote later—the Police we
drawing the net tighter and tighter. Bh
so far, it was all circumstantial evidenc

dozen angles pointed at Payne—b
there was nothing that, by itself, wou
link him directly to the crime. If _ the
could find only one clue connecting hi:
reer acide with the Tigging of th

THOUT realizing what was happer
ni nae avon gta: again to scheme fo
YS to improve his position, He was sti
delighted—because he didn’t Sige r
facts—with the way his trick in the matte:
of the Willow - Street red herring hac
worked out. But the fears that hauntec
him were still -a long way from being dis-
pelled. si

State of mind he was slowly and labo-
riously printing out a crude letter to Chief
of Police McDowell. :
‘The idea that he had dreamed up was
as melodramatic as anything in a chéap
novel. Purporting to be the master-mind of
a gang of safe-crackers, he was explaining
to the chief that his men had bungled the
delivery of a load of explosives a few
weeks before. They had been instructed
to place them in a certain parked car but, |
stupidly, they had gone to a car on the
wrong side of the street. Only now had he;
the anonymous leader of ‘the gang, found
out that it was in Albert Payne’s car that

. they had placed the stuff. It was un-

doubtedly the cause of the fatal explosion.
Payne outdid himself in this piece of
fiction. He went into detail, mentioning
the nitro, the TNT caps, the phosphorus,
etc. that had made up the load. He, -the
mythical cracksman, would say nothing
else except that he wanted to clear up
the matter of the “accident.” He might
be a criminal, but he didn’t want any in-
nocent person to be blamed for an error
made by his boys. 0 wae
Finished with his composition, the law-
yer was now certain that he had put the

ig


orraine

s filed

ent at
fficials
ermine
ible of
iow 23
to. the
caring.
1 con-
e since

iearing
ly 200
t them
is face
juite a
»orters

icantly
e than
n psy-
-s, but
iy that
made
was in

Judge
ediate
> ruled
Rernin
1e
ie
A trial
- again
t bail.
73, the
£state-
Judge
efense
as was
rraine.
as was
ie legal
ime he

urt ac-

‘re the
r three

ned in
‘ounty
-of the
s: Born
was in
ng boy
places
ws,
ith his
Israel
from
id then
cnistan,

ent to
‘Te, ace
my, he
\ccor-
“rist, in
using a

Jy oe ae a es TRB se tee tla

increase the rate of the heartbeat.

One psychiatrist said in court, accor-
ding to the transcript: “He (Tobias) states
that he has been a heavy drug user for ap-

- proximately five years and apparently

has used a wide variety of different
drugs. These include heroin, cocaine,
opium, hashish, LSD, mescaline,
amphetamines and marijuana.”

This same pschiatrist testified further
that Tobias “had been a heavy user of
marijuana for a few days and that he had
been using LSD on one or two days prior
to the actual offense.”

Then the testimony of the psy-
chiatrists went into what they believe
Tobias thought shortly before and on the
day Lorraine Redinger was murdered.
“He has an extensive delusional system in
which he feels he is a priest and that
Moses talks directly with him,” stated one
psychiatrist. :

Dr. Robert E. O’Toole, a psychiatrist
who diagnosed Tobias as suffering from
schizophrenia, paranoid type, said the
defendant “feels that women are respon-
sible for much of the evil in the world and
that since Eve was the first woman that it
was only logical that she be destroyed in
her reincarnated form.” |

Dr. O’Toole continued his testimony
and said that when Tobias thought of the

- actual murder, he did not regard it as an
’ illegal act, “but rather it was an act of

vengeance and justice, since he con-
sidered her [the victim] to be the reincar-
nation of Eve and that he was ordered to
destroy her. He feels also that sexual con-
tact between people is quite bad and that
basically women aré responsible for this.”

oe expert testimony indicated
that Tobias thought he was on a “divine
mission,” that he was acting on “orders
from above” to kill. According to one
psychiatrist’s testimony, Tobias set out on
his mission by seeking contact with

Lorraine Redinger who, he said, he had
known during his earlier years at the un-

iversity.

“He found Lorraine Redinger, whom
he had previously known, and the voices
told him this was the woman to be shot,”
the court testimony reads.

The girl who had been slashed with a
knife earlier, according to the court
record, was not regarded as a reincarna-
tion of Eve but was thought only to be an
evil woman. Once again, according to the
psychiatrists’ testimony, Tobias was hear-
ing “orders from on high” when he started
slashing with his knife.

Further court testimony during the
trial showed that Tobias used drugs for
“consciousness raising,” and that “he
thought the world would come to an end
on December 24, 1970, a few weeks after
Lorraine was killed.

A story that could not be divulged at
the time of the killing emerged in the

4 courtroom when police officers testified

about questioning the subject shortly

Re

before the first hearing was held, the one
that resulted in his commitment to
Matteawan. .

Tobias was, according to this
testimony, completely unaffected by the
death of Lorraine and his exposure to a
possible murder conviction “because he
was convinced the world would come to
an end and he would never stand trial,”
one police officer witness stated.

The trial came to an end aftér two
days, and Judge Morton retired to his
chambers to consider the verdict. Within
an hour, he convened the court to an-
nounce the verdict: “Not guilty by reason
of mental defect.”

Judge Morton, however, informed
the defendant that he could not be sent
back into the community because of the
danger that the voices from above might
once again command him to kill. The

judge instructed that the state Depart-
ment of Mental Hygiene was to place
Tobias in the State Mental Hospital in
Rochester.

Judge Morton said, “Theoretically,
this is for life,” although petitions must be
made each year to keep Tobias there.

When and if Tobias is released to
return to live in the normal community
will depend on the testimony of psy-
chiatrists, a factor that was figured
promimently in his history in court. ¢ @ ¢.

EDITOR'S NOTE:

Donald '‘LaDeau, Mary Beth
Dunne, and Linda Snyder 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 in the iden-

tities of these persons.

Sign Here...and Die
(Continued from page 45)

he had seen a car drive into the gas station
just about the time the fight erupted in the
tavern next door. Ie paid no attention to
it, he said, and he had not seen any other
car pull in till the first police car showed
up. He could give only a very vague
description of the car, and it was useless
for investigative purposes. ‘

Through a hasty bu’-thorough check,
probers ruled out the possibility that
Frank Ford had disappeared because he
himself wanted to disappear. His family
was convinced that “something terrible
must have happened to him.”

By 10 o'clock that Sunday morning,
detectives had put together a con-
siderable body of information on the
case, most of it provocative, but not con-
clusive. The 17-year-old youth Ford had
suspected had a perfect alibi. He was in
Cheyenne, Wyoming, where he. had
begun working on a new job two days
earlier. The owner of the car in thestation
lot was found and questioned; he said he
had last seen Frank Ford at 9 o’clock
Saturday night, and he could account for
his movements thereafter until well after
the station owner's disappearance was
reported:

The part-time attendant who had
worked with Ford Saturday night said
he’d left at 10:25 p.m. “Business had
begun to taper off,” he said, “and Frank
said [ might just as well go home. He was
getting ready to close up as I left.”

Detectives located a man who had
also seen the car reported by the fruit
stand clerk when it was driven out of the
station. His information was even more
useless than that of the first informant
simply because, by his own admission, he
was drunk.

. “I just happened to see the car,” he
said, “but I didn’t pay much attention to
it. | was pretty well juiced, and I was anx-

ious to get the hell out of the tavern
because a fight had just started there.”

Officers found a regular customer of
Ford's station who said he happened to
drive by about 10:15 and saw Frank talk-

ing to two men in a dark blue sedan. ~

Another tavern patron told ‘police he’d
seen “a suspicious looking car” parked
behind the station at 4:15 Saturday after-
noon. But when he was asked why he
thought it looked suspicious, he shrugg-
ed, saying, “It just did. I just thought it
looked suspicious, that’s all.”

In the meantime, after a conference at
headquarters between detectives and
Police Chief John F. O'Donnell and Cap-
tain James J. Pitt, Chief of Detectives, the
case was assigned to Detectives Joseph A.
Holindrake and Joseph Duffy. The chief
and Pitt had a strong hunch that Ford had

. been kidnaped and quite likely had

already been slain. That was why they
picked Holindrake and Duffy, two of the
best homicide investigators in the depart-
ment. ‘

The two detectives talked at length
with their counterparts who had been
working on the case, and they studied all
the reports compiled thus far.

“The only thing that sticks out here,”
Duffy said afterwards, “is that there were
quite a few people around the place last
night. If there was any unusual activity
there—like a stickup or a scuffle, say—
someone should have seen it.” ;

“You'd think so,” Holindrake agreed,
“but if anyone did, they're not talking
about it. The boys couldn't find a sign of a
scuffle or a fight, though. No signs ef
gunplay, either—certainly no shots fired.
I see they checked the possibility the fight
in the tavern may have been staged as a
cover for the stickup, but they’re pretty
certain there’s no connection. The prin-
cipals were a couple of respectable guys
who got into a beef whenthey were load-
ed.” i

Detective Duffy shrugged, then
quoted an adage which had served the in-
vestigative team well in numerous other
probes. “When in doubt,” he said, “start
-with the victim.”

The two officers drew a huge chart

; 57

sctaoe eet aie

eR Ratt


ked
obe

ds ot
SONS,
ag in-
re of
nto.
ling

the

the

‘ated

ictim .

slain.

Ye |
;

and back again before they handed the

‘prosecutor a package they were sure

would withstand the most determined
onslaught of any defense attorney. And as
a backstop, they turned up two more

bodies than they had bargained for.

It all began in the most routine way

imaginable, when Denver Police Head-
| quarters received a report that the owner
% of the Ford Service Station at Brighton
# Boulevard and 46th might be missing.

The report was logged at 12:30 a.m. on

q@ Sunday, September 2lst. Less than a

minute later, a two-man radio car team of
officers was ordered to proceed to the gas -
station and investigate.

The Ford Station, located in the in-
dustrial section of the city, was ablaze
with light when the officers arrived. Ap-
parently it was open for business, save for
the disturbing fact that there was no sign
of the proprietor, Frank Ford, or any
other attendant. Mr. Ford’s car, with a
bag of groceries sitting on the front seat,
was parked beside the grease rack;
alongside was another car.

Mr. Ford’s partner arrived as the
patrolmen were going through the place
seeking some sign of life. He had been
notified by Frank’s family when the man
had not arrived home more than an hour
after he was expected and there were no
answers to telephone calls made to the.
filling station. The call to headquarters re-
questing police to check on the station
had come from the family.

Their greatest concern at this juncture

q was that Frank Ford, who had a serious

cardiac condition, might have suffered a
heart attack. Buta quick check of the cash
register at the station soon suggested that
the place had been robbed.

Ford normally left $25 in change in the
till. It was not there. The register tape
showed $211 in receipts for Saturday
night’s business; there was no sign of this
money, either. Ford’s partner said Frank
usually took this money home with him
when he worked the night shift. The
partner was frankly fearful that Frank
had been robbed and kidnaped by a
holdup man.

After brief questioning of the missing
man’s partner, one of the officers radioed
the first report’ to headquarters, con-
cluding with what he had learned of the

missing man. Frank Ford was described °

At scene of the murder, Detective Joseph Duffy (I.) and Captain James J. Pitt (r.)

flank suspect Paul Schneider, who was tripped up when police traced a certain check

as a slender, 47-year-old man of medium
height, dark hair and eyebrows, angular
face, wearing glasses with thin metal
frames. He did not drink. He was known
to be sober, steady and dependable. This
was the first time he had ever failed to
arrive home before midnight.
Detectives dispatched to Ford’s gas
station quickly established several things.
The second car parked in the station lot
belonged to a customer who left it there
frequently. In the bar across the street, no
one had noticed anything unusual at the
gas station that night. Frank Ford was not
a patron of the bar, but people there
knew him. The man whose car was park-
ed in the station beside Ford’s had spent
about an hour in the bar earlier; he left
around the time a fight had broken out in

inns manana

the popular neighborhood watering hole.
Did Frank Ford have any enemies?
Apparently not, as far as probers could
ascertain. They did Jearn Ford had enter-
tained suspicions that a local 17-year-old
had burglarized the gas station twice, but
he had never reported it to police. In-
stead, Ford had spoken to the youth’s
parents about it.

“Let’s run a check on this kid,” said ,

one of the detectives when they had ob-
tained his name and address. Another of-
ficer was sent to the youth’s home. Other

detectives were already canvassing the -

neighborhood to pick up any scrap of
pertinent information.

At a fruit stand next to the tavern
across the street, a clerk told the probers

(Continued on page 57) |

45


ee

.

or eer eee

.

and blocked it off in large squares. At the
top of each square they wrote a date—
like a calendar—beginning with
September Ist and ending with
‘September 20th, the last day Frank Ford,
the missing man, was seen. Then, using
the “shoeleather approach,” they con-
" tacted everyone who knew Frank Ford—
members of his family, tradesmen,
customers, friends, acquaintances, casual
contacts and the like—and tried to trace
the missing man’s every movement for
the three weeks prior to his dis-
appearance. It was slow, tedious work,
but eventually they filled the square un-
der each date.

EF... the outset, they found confir-
mation that Frank Ford was a sober,
steady, eminently respectable man. They
were sure he had not suddenly decided to
abandon his family and responsibilities.
Prior to buying the filling station, Ford
had worked for a meat-packing company
for 27 years, quitting only when his heart

condition made it advisable for himtodo ~

less demanding work.

One of their most significant inter-
views, with Frank Ford’s doctor, left no
doubt about the gravity of Ford’s heart
condition. The physician said he'd
prescribed digitalis, which had to be

_ taken regularly to keep the patient alive.
In response to Detective Duffy’s ques-
tion, he dismissed the possibility that the
missing man might be an amnesia victim.
. “What would happen to Ford if he
failed to take his digitalis regularly?”
Detective Holindrake wanted to know.

The doctor shrugged and frowned.
“He might be all right for about a week,”
he answered, “maybe even a couple’ of
weeks—if he remained very quiet, with
no activity or physical exertion. After
that, he’d begin to suffer. In another
week, he would die,” said the doctor.

The detectives’ reaction was im-
mediate, and Duffy voiced the thought

; which had occurred to both: “That means
he has to replenish his supply of digitalis if
he’s still alive. Correct?”

“Indeed it is,” the doctor said. _

“Do you know where he has your
prescriptions filled?” ,

~ When the doctor gave them the name
of the pharmacy, the officers drove there
at once and impressed on the druggist
that it was imperative they be notified if

, anyone appeared and attempted to have

Frank Ford’s prescription refilled.

A study of Ford’s.books showed that
he had a joint bank account with his wife
with upwards of $1,000 in it; no
withdrawals had been made for a long
time. Detectives Duffy and Holindrake
also-ran a meticulous check on Ford’s
credit customers, but they found nothing
in this area to aid them in their investiga-
tion. The.same was true of inquiries they

' made into a large number of Ford’s

customers who were soldiers stationed at
Fitzsimmons Army Hospital.
Checking on the possibility of dis-

58

gruntled customers who might have nurs-
ed a grievance against the gas station
owner, the detectives heard that Ford
had none. They were openly incredulous.

“I never heard of a business that didn’t
have at least a few chronic complainers,”
Duffy commented.

Viewed that way, it turned out that
Ford did have a few cranky customers.
They were checked out and eliminated
from suspicion. It appeared that Frank
Ford was a remarkably well liked busi-
nessman and had a serious problem
with only one of his customers, a man he
once had to sue for payment of a $380 bill.

Investigators Duffy and Holindrake
checked) with the lawyer who had
handled the matter for Ford and learned
the case never went to,court. Mr. Ford
had insisted that the man be allowed to
pay his debt over a matter of weeks, and
he did so. The man was most grateful for
Ford’s consideration and the two remain-
ed good friends, the attorney said.

“Let’s check him out anyway,” Duffy
said to his partner.

They did, but it got them nowhere. It
took them less than an hour to learn the
man was in the hospital the night Frank
Ford vanished; he had to have an
emergency appendectomy that after-
noon.

At this point, Detectives Duffy and
Holindrake had to admit that, despite
their diligent efforts, their endless round
of interviews with hundreds of persons,
they had failed to tum up even a single
suspect. Moreover, they. still had no way
of being sure whether they were working
on a murder, a kidnaping, or 4 missing
person case. Both officers confessed later
it was “about the most frustrating case”
they had ever handled.

As it so often happens when in-
vestigations seem to have reached a dead
end, however, the hard-working detec-
tives suddenly turned up what struck
them as a potentially significant bit of in-
formation. Exasperatingly, too, it was in-
formation that had been readily available
from the very beginning, but no one had
thought to mention it.

The new development came about
during a discussion with the previous
owner of the gas station, the man from’
whom Frank Ford had purchased the
business. In the course of the conversa-
tion, the earlier owner happened to men-
tion that he used to cash a lot of checks, as
an accommodation to his patrons.

“I’m pretty sure Frank did it, too,” the
man added.

The detectives hurried to the missing
man’s partner and asked him about this.
He confirmed that Frank Ford and he
had continued the accomodation of
cashing checks for their customers, but he
had no way of knowing whether Frank
had cashed any checks on September
20th—the last day he had worked at the
station—or if any part of the missing $211
had been in checks.

“Has anybody come in to tell you that
they cashed a check here that afternoon

or evening?” Detective Duffy asked.

The answer was no, but the young ~~

man admitted that he hadn’t thought to
ask any of the customers that question.

“Beginning right now,” Detective
Duffy urged, “make a point of asking
every customer you know.”

“It could be very important,” Holin-
drake added.

Seventeen days had passed since the
disappearance of Frank Ford when this
happened, on the afternoon of October
8th. That very afternoon, Detective Duf-
fy contacted the Denver newspapers.and
asked them to publicize the fact that
police were seeking information on any
and all checks cashed at the Ford Service
Station during the week preceding the
owner's disappearance. Both the Denver
Post and the Rocky Mountain News

published the request for several days in

front page boxes in all editions.

The appeal resulted in reports of a
dozen such checks; however, investiga-
tion of each one contributed nothing to
the probe. But this stalemate changed
abruptly when one check popped into the
open on the afternoon of October 10th.

Two men had come to the filling sta-

tion to report ona check Frank Ford had —

cashed for one of them late on Saturday
afternoon, September 20th. Even more
important, it was discovered soon
atterwards trom bank officials, the check
had just come in for payment.
Detectives Duffy and Holindrake met
at once with the two men. One was the
owner of a Denver factory; he was the
man -who had written the check. The
other was an employe of the factory
owner, and the check was made out to
him, for overtime pay, in the amount of

$40.57.

I he latter had recalled that he cashed
the check at the Ford Service Station, and
he mentioned it to his boss when he notic-

ed the request for information in the.

Denver newspapers. The factory owner,
in turn, had checked his stubs, found the
number of the check, and queried his
bank, only to lear that the check had just
been received for payment from the
clearing house. ys

The detectives sped to the bank seek-
ing further information. Examination of
the check showed that it bore only two

. endorsements, neither of them by Frank

Ford. One was that of the employe who
had cashed it at Ford’s gas station. The
other was the signature of one “Paul J.
Schneider.”

A comparison of the latter signature
with handwriting specimens of the miss-
ing man showed no similarity. It was clear
that Ford had not written the Schneider
endorsement on the check, which had
come in for collection from the Pikeville,
Kentucky.

In a hasty exchange of com-
munications with Pike County Un-
dersheriff Robert B. Doak of that city,
Detective Duffy learned that Schneider

was report
man, abo
The unc
Schneider
two night
not been

also learn:

* quiries ab |

elsewhere
years bef |
Detec' |
Doak to |
showed u
vestigatic |
charge “
somethin
requeste:
on any P;
in their f1
Denver ¢
disappea
they we:
suspect.
Acco!
Schneide
abductio
Three o!
San Que
discharg
Army fo
He was
Utah, fo
Den.
once orc
circulars
suspicio!
scarcely
when th
ed abru}
Assistant
reported
restaura!
just retu
knew w
Schneid:
of a re
shoulde:
In q
that S«
Chrysle
Los Ans
mercha)
the like-
new wl
Schr
admitte
been d
nearly
Denver
Althou;
around
that he
tion.
Cay
drake |
suspect
knowl
disapp
owner
Schne«
police
admit
shaker

devel

Su thie ler»

3CHN

G “pH

Hi ~d Ps whit
dt ale dds Ig Paul, WOLUE, ais

~. When probers on the cross-country investigation

put it all together, it seemed clear that the |
clever crook they were seeking might well have
-gotten away with three murders, except for one

rather serious mistake: He got too greedy...

- by HENRY HANEY

Vicious gunman who kidnaped filling station owner Frank Ford
(below) after robbing him ignored victim’s pleas for needed
heart medicine, mercilessly bludgeoned him and then shot him

i

Washington County DA Paynter (left) and Sheriff Brown worked
together closely during the long cross-country murder probe

x

the Denver Police Department for a number of reasons.

For example, it is a truly classic illustration to young in-
vestigators of the old precept that warns probers to “Beware of
simple cases, because you never know what youre getting into.”
On the surface, the Ford Case started out as a simple filling
station heist, deviating from the routine pattern only by the

station’s owners. ;

From that it progressed to a case of murder—on the educated
guess of a couple of veteran detectives—long before the victim
was found, or even before it could be proved he had been slain.
And from that point the investigation developed more twists and

a

turns than a Chinese maze, taking probers across half the country -

disappearance—and_ suspected abduction—of one of the ~

%

p>

HE FORD Case holds a very special niche in the annals of ;

ve

and back :
prosecutor
would wit
onslaught «
a_ backsto}
bodies tha:
It all b:
imaginabk
quarters re
of the For
Boulevard
The repor
Sunday, ‘
minute lat
officers w:
station anc
The Fi
dustrial se
with light
parently it
the distur!
of the pr
other atte
bag of gr
was_ par
alongside
Mr. F
patrolme:
seeking s'
notified F
had not a
after he \
answers
filling sta
questing
had com:
Their
was that
cardiac ¢
heart att:
register :
the plac:
Ford
till. It w
showed
night’s b
money, «

. usually t

when h:
partner
had_ bec
holdup 1

Afte:
man’s p:
the firs
cluding
missing


£cieo s
2 al ont Ths sr pe

scoundrels to waylay and rob our
trains.” ;

It took Gaedtke one month to the
day to find Jeb Sobel. He was lurking
in the semi-soddy ofa give-it-up settler
in Homan’s Park (valley) on the
western slope of the Sangre de
Cristos.

He was charged with murder—a
passenger, W.G. Milner of Salt Lake
City had died in the trestle wreck—
tried and convicted to be hanged.

Officials of the railroad, the bank
in Cripple Creek and various lawmen
pleaded with him to reveal the loca-
tion of the gold ingot. “It won’t do you
any good,” Jeb agreed, “and I would
gladly tell where I cached it if them
Cripple Creek honyockers hadn’t
been so sneaky.” '

It was a very dishonest thing, he

said, melting that gold into an ingot.
Author’s Note: The execution by
hanging of Jeb Sobel at Saguache on
Friday, September 21, 1894, brought
public attention to the miserable min-
ing working conditions and wages
which had incited the little man to
become a train robber. This was an
important factor in subsequent labor
strife which climaxed in June, 1904
with the deaths of 33 persons, injuries
to many others and the imposition of
martial law in Cripple Creek. At the
end of this bloody ‘labor war’, the
miners were awarded better wages
and working conditions. This was,
the grateful miners said, a corollary
benefit to Cripple Creek’s bloody gold
train robbery for which they were

grateful to their dead colleague.
: END

NOTORIOUS ROBBERS -
(Continued from page 11

Brocious; Johany Ringo; Frank and
Tom McLowery; Frank Stillwell, Pete

Spence, Swing Hunt, and Bill Grounds.

{daho had a cannibal, Boone
Helm, who ate two of his “pardners”
and bragged about it; he later joined
the infamous Henry Plummer at Ban-
nack and Alder Gulch at what was
then Idaho Territory, (later Mon-
tana); and Nevada had its Milton
Anthony Sharp, “Big Jack” Davis,
Tom Laurie, and the last of them all,
Ben Kuhl of Jarbidge.

These are just a few—a small
minority of those whose names have
survived their crimes. Fifteen hun-
dred others found oblivion in un-
marked graves. No record remains to-
day to say how many. It can only be
guessed at by projecting an estimate
from such existing statistics as those
taken from the Wells-Fargo “Thacker-
Hume” report of 1884 which was
prepared by the Company’s Chief

‘ Detective, J.B. Hume in collaboration
with his First Assistant, John N.
Thacker. tea Negi “ee

In this report, two hundred and six
court cases of bandits CAUGHT AND
CONVICTED of robbing Well-Fargo
stagecoaches in the five year period,
1875-1883, are documented. No record
exists of those not caught and con-
victed; but Hume himself believed
that for every one caught, three got
away. So, if two hundred cases are ac-

tually recorded for only those five

years and three hundred more
reputedly escaped capture, then the
previously projected total of fifteen
hundred is certainly not an un-
realistic guess except that it may be
far too conservative. .

What manner of men were these
robber barons?

What manner of man would risk a
bullet in his brain or a noose around
his neck for a reward so puny that he
could have earned twice as much with
a pick and shovel? Was it the thrill or
the risk itself? Was it the challenge of
gambling one’s life against a possible
quick fortune? Or was it just plain and
stupid indolence? A way of life for
men too lazy to work?

_ Who knows? Thereis no yard-stick
to go by. Every one that was ever cap-
tured proved to be every bit as distinct
a personality from others of his
profession as are individulas in any
other walk of life. They followed no set
pattern. They bore no common
denominator.

Just take a look at the record.
Charley Smith, for instance; the first
one. He stepped out of the brush that
November day in 1851, a faceless
nobody and disappeared the same
way. Nor was the second one,
“Reelfoot” Williams—much better
known except for the knowledge that
he got away with $7,500.00 in his one
recorded haul, and that his Chief
Lieutenant in the caper was the later
and better known “Rattlesnake
Dick”, self-styled “Pirate Of The
Placers”.  « SB a ba ts

The Rattlesnake was an enigmatic
character who wrote his infamous
sobriquet in blood from the Trinity
Mountains in the north to the Mother
Lode of the Sierras. He acquired his
nick-name from Rattlesnake Bar, a
short-lived ‘“diggin’s’’
American River north of Auburn,
where he had tried his luck at honest
mining but had failed. His tender
hands fit a pistol-grip better than they
did a pickhandle. .

His real name was Richard Barter,
son of a British army officer from
whom he inherited an addiction for
fast company. It proved his nemesis.
He was accused of horse-stealing,

on the

and, though acquitted, the stigma had
stuck.

“Since they call me thief,” he ~

declared, “a thief I will be.” And a
thief he was. He first joined up with
“Reelfoot”’ Williams, but, angered by
his short share of the loot, broke away
to recruit his own gang.

It was the most scabrous bunch of
cut-throats that ever roamed the
Sierras; “fast guns” like George
Skinner and his brother Cyrus;
“widow makers” like “Big Dolph”
Newton and Nicorona Romero. They
rode high, wide and handsome;
murdering, robbing, and raping for
seven years until, on a dark and stor-
my night in July, 1859, the
esaagcascer crimes caught up with

im. rin
He tried to out-run a fusilade of
lead from the guns of a sheriff’s posse

near Auburn, but his horse wasatrifle -

slow. Two bullets caught the
“Rattlesnake” in the back, but didn’t
kill him. He hung desperately to the

saddle pommel for half a mile before .

falling off. The posse found him the
next morning sagged against a tree
trunk; a self-administered third bullet
through his head. His biggest caper
was an $80,000.00 haul in the Trinity
Mountains about twelve miles out of
Whiskeytown on the old mule trail to
Yreka; a haul from which he never
profited a thin dime; and half of
which still lays buried where his

Chief Lieutenant, George Skinner, ~~
hid it. George himself died a couple of

weeks later in a shootout with Wells-
Fargo detective Jack Barkeley before
he had achance to tell his boss whic
rock to dig under. _

A contemporary of the...
“Rattlesnake” was Tom bell, who -

died at the end of a lynch mob’s rope

in September of 1856. Furthermore, ; ’
“Rattlesnake Dick”, the name, “Tom

Bell”, was also a pseudonym. Tom is i
“Hodges”—

Bell had been born
Thomas J. Hodges, and he had been

an excellent physician and surgeon” __
back in Rome, Tennessee, and had

ee

also been a combat officer in the Mex-"

ican War.

However, though a man of en- yay :
viable attainments, he had one loose ote

nut in the king-bolt of his character; to
wit: he loved his liquor; a craving that
cost him his practice and disfigured

his nose. Half tight, he gotitsmashed _ 2 fe i d
beyond repair in a bar-room brawl, °
leaving it a shapeless blob that

changed his life. It also changed his
name and his means of livelihood.
From scalpel to six-gun. From respec-

table, capable Dr. Thomas J. Hodges, ~ =
Physician & Surgeon, to Tom Bell, ee

bandit.

he <

He was doing fairly well at this é 3 ie

new profession ‘until ‘a ‘trusted «-

henchmen, Bill Gristy, played Judas.

Bill betrayed him to the Vigilantes ‘ae


Workmen (above) begin ingenious counterplan which was design-
ed to foil any attempt to steal gold shipment from the train.

a SSS ee aaa
Gold miners at work. Coming of railroads meant that more of
the precious metal could be transported, and at cheaper rate.

any foofawin’ around the different times people have tried
to dingle it.” rpitahe Bite gts
' He never would forget that last time, he said. “I fired
both barrels of my little ol’ double-barrel 8-gauge, it being
loaded with steel buckshots, at this big greaser who was
doing the mouthin.’ ivi
“His whole head went a splatterin’ and he sat thereon
his nag, blood bubbling up out of his neck fora good five

seconds before he fell off.”

- It was, Slater said, the weirdest thing he had ever seen.
18

/]

- problem for a man who had worked for seven years ona ~
_ rough section crew for the Chicago, Rock Island & Pacific

‘and soul together. “All of a sudden,” Fogel wrote, “Jeb

cipher. He became cheerful and friendly with everybody pe.

lower class saloons, bordellos and chance halls were

GOLD TRAIN ROBBER = /.
et TR rR ET REET : A

“I blowed that bugger’s head off slicker’n a whistle. You
couldn’t a done a better job with a axe.” eg eR

Sobel wasn’t listening. He was thinking. And what he . 4
was thinking about was robbing the Denver & Rio
Grande’s Canyon City spur train of one of its gold
shipments. Be :

Its baggage car wouldn’t be as safe as Slater thought.
Not if the train were wrecked while it was crossing that
trestle they were building down near Anaconda.

| Wrecking the train at this specific place would be no

Railroad back in. Henry County, Illinois before he got the
Colorado gold fever. iA
All he’d have to do would be to pry up several rail
spikes and move one of the rails just a little bit. The train
would derail and topple off the trestle down into Cripple
Creek—the little mountain stream after which the town
had been named. Then, if the crash hadn’t broken the |
baggage car open he’d blast its door with dynamite, |
swoop up the gold and take off... ish Fg ee
-The whole thing wouldn’t take any time at all. In fact
he’d be well on his way to easy living while the train’s © t
passengers and crew—those who were still alive—were a.
wondering what had happened. ‘Re a
“We should of put two and two together,” Sobel’s co- | ’
worker, Ash Fogel, wrote of the robbery’s details, serializ-
‘ed in Tutt’s Monthly Illustrated Gazette, a St. Louis
publication. Fogel, like many another Cripple Creek
miner, was a fairly educated man—he’d been a Hamilton
County, Ohio boot drummer—who had gone broke
prospecting and had taken a jobin the mines to keep body

quit complaining about having to hard-luck his living. He
began to talk about the train coming to Cripple Creek and
how glad he was to see it come.
“") “We asked him what difference this train would make
to a nine-dollar-a-week miner and he said ‘You bungheads
Just might be surprised’.”’ pd ES Sha i EE
They were more than surprised. As Fogel put itin his ©.
article, “We didn’t think he had itin him.” . 2+ He
Jeb was a different man after his palaver with Slater. ©
He no longer carried on like he was a social and economic

and no longer grumbled about the miners getting the
short end of the stick. "42 Pees rarer e

“He quit spending nearly all of his non-working timein ©
the saloons on Myers Avenue on which Cripple Creek’s

located, this street becoming at its far end, Poverty Gulch,
a crib area. 3) one ee Si ih ltt Pe Wan Es oP
"Instead of frequenting these establishments as much
as his meagre earnings afforded, Jeb began to saddle up
after work and on Sundays and ride down toward a
Florence to see how the railroad’s track-laying was
progressing. pet eee BS Sen RUMEN PAIS ag
He took a particular interest in the building of the tres-
tle and when construction supervisors asked him why he
spent so much time watching the erection of the trestle *
and laying of the tracks he explained that he just liked to
get away from all that sin in Cripple Creek. “It does a
body good,” the garrulous little man said, “to watch this.
good clean work out here in the pure outdoors where there
ain’t anybody shooting at you or sinful women trying to
lead a man down the primrose path.” -«2°%#2is 4%;
“We figured,” General Superintendent Milburn ae
Chadwick is quoted in Tutt’s, “that he was an eccentric 4

‘

a i mre eatin photos
% but harmless man. How mistaken we were, not suspecting
E that he was in truth a cunning and ruthless man who
—_, lusted for gold and therefore measured our progress in
terms of his evil scheme.” te ae
: The construction crew’s progress seemed tormentingly
slow to Jeb, who could practically taste the wealth he was
going to acquire. ‘Them honyockers,” he complained to
Slater, ‘‘is slower’n molasses in January. aN
3 “There ain’t,” he added, “any call for anybody being so
tarnation slow.” ae
Slater asked him why he was so impatient for the train
4 to come to Cripple Creek. “I got personal reasons,” he ex-
a plained. ‘
He had decided to rob the first gold shipment.
Nothing, he calculated, would be gained by waiting fora
later one. He had already waited long enough. He filched
two sticks of dynamite from the mine, sneaking them out
in his work-jacket, and cached them under a pull-out
4 board in the horse barn at the rear of the Bennett Avenue
mo rooming house where he and about 30 other miners ob-
Brg tained their keep, each man getting a sleeping cot, two
tables and one take-to-work meal and found for his horse
for a dollar a day.

Since the rest of Jeb’s scheme had been worked out
there was nothing to do but wait for the tracks to be lain
on into Cripple Creek.

By the last of June 1894 the track layers were less than
k two miles from their goal. Jeb was elated. It wouldn’t be
4 long before he would be a rich man. The syndicates
shipped at least a hundred thousand dollars worth of
nuggets every time—at least they had on the stage. No
reason why it would be less on the train. With that much
money a man could live a very elegant life.
Jeb’s joy would have been considerably diluted if he
had known that the coming of the Denver & Rio Grande’s
PG spur to Cripple Creek had caused Rodney Leeds, chief
= 3 teller at the Gold District Depository & Trust to have a
i dreadful fear. cag act Sk
be This was the outfit that prepared the shipments of
i nuggets to the Denver Mint, the Denver Fine Metals
a Smelting Co., and the Mountain Mining & Brokerage
Syndicate, a Denver firm in which gold from the high
4 country camps—and lone prospectors—was offered for
e 4 bid in an operation similiar to modern stock exchanges.
= Cripple Creek’s gold barons comprised the Board of
Directors of the Gold District: Depository & Trust Bank
: and Leeds said to these men, most of whom were also sub-
4 ‘ stantial stockholders in the bank, “Naturally we will ship
4 the mines’ gold to Denver on the train. But lately there has
a been an increase in the number of train robberies
= @~—__ throughout the West. However, this need not bea concern
ej -of ours if we melt each shipment’s nuggets into a single in-
got, which would be too heavy to be carried on a horse, so
ae heavy that swift flight in a wheeled vehicle would be im-
es | possible, and much too heavy to be carried away by even-
. 4 two of the sturdiest outlaws.”
uF. a While not every gold baron was a reader of the period’s
ae, newspapers, some being illiterates who by one stroke of
luck or another had. achieved riches, others were quite
aware of the number of success of the train robberies in
- the regions west of the Missouri River. They told Leeds to
make arrangements to melt the nuggets into one ingot,
each mine’s share being properly weighed and recorded,
of course, before this was done.
The train came into Cripple Creek on July 1, 1894. The
next day it would leave the teeming mining town, retur-
ning the third day and so on. “Every citizen of importance
' and the usual dregs and nonentities appeared to welcome
the train,” Editor Chester Woolward wrote in the weekly,
Straight Teller. “Many a good roll of money was exchang-
ed in payment of wages based on the hour and the minute
that the locomotive would (Continued on page 56)

ut

\

mh

Railroad detective Frank Gaedtke tracked down thief but Jeb
went to gallows without revealing the location of his cache.

*

ee | £,

Rodney Leeds was bank official who conceived brilliant idea.
He had failed, however, to reckon on Sobel’s resourcefulness. — «~

ERMA ie. a
~ 19 {
oe 5

bina
Ra Ree OIA


“romance of the old west.

body into the courthouse, sent a man
after the coroner. The runner took his
time, probably feeling as most of the
citizens; justice had been donein spite
of the judge.

Judge Bowen, apprised of the
lynching, arrived at the courthouse
early on the morning of April 28.
Although spared the sight of the body
hanging from the window, the judge
had a shock of his own in store. When
he entered the office he found on his
desk, neatly coiled, a length of rope,
complete with a hangman’s noose.

Judge Bowen decided that enough
was enough. He went back to his
room, packed his law books and clean
shirt and left without even the for-
mality of adjourning the Spring Term
of court. All he really wanted out of
Fairplay was just that, out, and soon.
Even in later years when the judge
ran for the Senate, he never cam-
paigned in Fairplay or Park County.

One of the old timers in Park Coun-
ty, quoted nearly fifty years later ina
Denver paper, said that the judge
probably felt he was in a land of
heathens who had no respect for
human life, citing the fact that the
judge could have remembered the
Carmody case and the summary trial

-held earlier in the year.

It seems that Sam Porter, after

having emptied a bottle of buck-and-.
_a-quarter red eye decided that it would

be fun to shoot the first man he saw.
The man happened to be Caromdy
who, at the moment Porter made his
decision, walked out ofa livery stable.
Porter killed Carmody with one shot
between the eyes. The folks felt that

‘Porter had had enough of a life of

crime, so they hung him out to dry on
a crossarm nailed ten feet above the
ground on the jail wall. Porter killed
no more.

The Hoover lynchers. 1 never did
return for Simms, allowing him to be
legally hung. That hanging didn’t at-
tract the attention that Hoover’s had,

_ being sandwiched in between an ad

for a Chinese laundry and a notice
from a man who wanted all of the peo-
ple around town who owed him
money to pay...and now.

Fairplay, the town named by agun
tough, once noted for its wild deeds
and rich mines, is now just another
quiet country town located at the junc-
tion of two highways. Even the ski
fever hasn’t brought another boom to
Fairplay. And aside from the aban-
doned headworks that dot the moun-

‘tains around town, only an aban-

doned dredge lying in the South
Platte gives any indication that
things were once better, or worse, if
you count the shootings and
lynchings, in this collection of old
buildings that were once part of the

56

Sac -END

CRIPPLE CREEK’S
~ GOLD TRAIN ROBBER _
pete aks rom page 19)

%,
.

arrive, the hanging tree on Goldfield
Avenue being the point of measure.”

Some hard arguments which
developed into shootouts occurred,
Woolward wrote, as a consequence of
disputes between bettors as _ to
whether the winning minute meant
when the whole train had puffed and
came even with the hanging tree, or

whent he whole train had puffed and ,

wheezed past this point.

Jeb Sobel had told the foreman at
the Four Jacks tunnel what he could
do with his job. It would be stupid to
spend this whole day working in that
dark, gloomy tunnel when, tomorrow
at this time, he would be fabulously
wealthy. Besides he wanted to see the
excitement, particularly the train for
whose arrival he had waited so long.

During the night he rode out of
town, heading along the railroad
tracks toward the trestle. He was
carrying a steel jackbar he had stolen
from the mine, the two sticks of
dynamite together with their caps
and fuses, and ‘provisions’ which in-
cluded jerky, canned beans and two
quarts of whiskey. Enough to enable
him to ‘lay low’ while he hid out in the
rugged Sangre de Cristos (Blood of
Christ) range southwest of the trestle
until posses gave up looking for the
man who had stolen the baggage
car’s gold.

He pried up spikes with the
jackbar and used it to force-drive the
west rail a couple inches further west.
Then he spiked it onto crossties and
went down into the little canyon
below the trestle, and upstream about
a hundred yards and bedded downina
clump of pinions. Nothing to do until
the train toppled off into the rocky
stream bed below the trestle.

The next day the train, consisting
of its locomotive, baggage car and two
coaches—which were filled . with
passengers making a sight-seeing
ride, came to the trestle. The time was
a little after 10 a.m. - ‘

The locomotive’s wheels Veoced off
the tracks and the baggage car and
coaches pitched off the trestle, the
locomotive, somehow, remaining on
the trestle.

It was a horrendous fears and im-
mediately there were screams from
the injured. It was a scene of great
chaos. The passengers who were un-
injured were milling around, trying to
get the injured out of the coaches.
Crewmen were shouting and running
about, contributing to the confusion.
No one noticed when deb Sobel

slipped into the crowd, pretended to
help extricate an injured man, then
darted over to the baggage car.

Its door had crunched open. No
one was inside except an unconscious
guard, his leg broken, its bones
protruding through his pants. The
other guard, if there had been two,
was somewhere else. Probably help-
ing to get screaming women out of the
coaches.

There. were two canvas mail
pouches in the baggage car, several
crates, and a wooden chest. This was
the chest which contained the gold,
Jeb knew. He had seen this very same
chest loaded on the stage. |

It wasn’t even locked. Jeb opened
it. Then he cursed, as he said later, “a
blue streak.”

“There was this big long bar of
gold in that box,” he said. “I couldn’t
hardly lift it out and after I did I know-
ed I couldn’t carry it to my horse
without being saw, and even if I could
it wouldn’t do me a particle of good
because there isn’t a horse that was

ever foaled could haul that load any ~

distance to speak of.”

But maybe his horse could carry it : B

a little way. Far enough to cache it in
some secret place to which he could
return later and saw it into transpor-
table sixes.

He ran down to the pinions and

came back with his horse, thumping
him to the baggage car. He jockeyed
the ingot onto the saddle, the position
of the toppled car making this possi-
ble, then easied himself onto the sad-
dle back of the ingot, whose ends he
gripped with his hands, balancing its
weight on the center of the saddle and
directing his horse with heel thumps.

The load was too great for the

horse to climb up out of the creek bed © ™
so the determined thief thumped it up- _i4

stream, because a bend was closest i in
this direction.

“Some of them honeyockers, Pia : a
ing what I was doon, shot at me,” he: © a

said, “and some athem chased me but

ea | kept them back with my .44 until I

got around that bend after which I

‘told ol’ Billy to keep a goingandI'd

make him the happiest horse there
ever was.”

A little later Jeb ‘trumped his Sic a .
going horse upadraw, outofthecreek

bed, onto more or less level land.
Then,
region’s rock fissures, or perhaps un-

der a rock, he cached the ingot. ~~, ia

By the time word of the disaster
and theft reached Cripple Creek and

posses could be organized, Jeb was in }

the Sangre de Cristos.

“I was determined to apprehend
him and bring the rascal to justice,”
said Denver & Rio Grande Chief of
Detective Frank Gaedtke, very slowly.
“Otherwise the success of his evil

somewhere in one of ‘the ©

deed would be an incentive to other :

bisa dictonase ait A AS
pet ee:


had been out for scme time.

“Come on,” Banks said, “let’s dig
the ashes out of this fire bowl and
See if we find something.”

Deal shrugged his shoulders. “It
won't do any harm.” He picked up
a shovel lying on the floor, opened
the furnace door arid went to work.
A minute later the room was filled

with dust stirred up from the
ashes.

Suddenly, Banks called a halt
and dropped down on the floor,
coughing, trying to get the dust
out of his throat. He had spotted
something among ‘the ashes—an
unopened letter!

Banks picked it up and he and
Deal went back upstairs where
they could examine the message in
a clearer atmosphere. f

“This is‘ funny,” Banks said.
“Why do you suppose she’d throw
a letter away without opening it?”
He tore the envelope open, and the
two officers read the message.

Both were extremely disappoint-
ed with its contents. It was only
a short note, from a lady friend
residing in Denver, saying that she
was glad to know Mrs. Culbertson
was coming back there and that
she had many interesting things
to talk over with her as soon as
she arrived.

“Looks like we had a lot of ex-

B™ Deal took the envelope from

the police chief's hand and
studied it carefully. Suddenly he
grabbed Bank’s arm. “Look, Dave,”
he said, “this letter is addressed to
Mrs. Culbertson all right, but the
street address is Spencer Avenue.

That's not this address. That’s the.

aunt’s home.”

The envelope was postmarked at
midnight, January 8, in Denver.
That meant it had been delivered
Friday afternoon—the day of the
murder. : ;

Deal and Banks jerked up simul-
taneously and looked at each oth-
er. Each had a strange gleam in
his eye. ;

“T think,” Banks said with a wry
smile, “that we're both thinking
the same thing.” ’

“Then what are we waiting for?”
Deal said, grabbing his hat. “John
Sullivan lives down at the other
housc—not here!”

They found the tall, slightly-
stooped Sullivan in the basement
stoking the furnace. He turned
around suddenly to face them,
more nervous this time, but still
wearing that calm, friendly look
on his face. uf

“What do you want this time?”

he asked, amiably enough.
Banks said, holding out the en-
velope, “Maybe you can tell us,

Sullivan, how this letter which was.
delivered here the afternoon of the_.

murder got unopened into the fur-
nace of the Culbertson home?”

Sullivan licked his lips and swal-
lowed hard. “I don’t knew a thing
about it,” he said. “This is the first
time I’ve seen the letter.”

“Are you sure?” Deal snapped.

“Of course I am.” But Sullivan
was backing away from the officers
like a frightened coyote. The sud-
den surprise the officers had pull-
ed on him had caught him com-
pletely off guard.

“It was delivered here,” Banks
went on, following Sullivan into

the corner of the furnace’ room,
“because that’s the address on the
envelope. You said you were here
all day and that you didn’t see
Mrs. Culbertson. Then how did she
get that letter and why was it un-
opened in her furnace?”

“I don’t know, I tell you,” Sulli-

van. stammered. “I tell you I don't
know a thing about it.” .
“You do, .too, know something
about it,” Banks snapped. “When
Mrs. Culbertson telephoned you
Friday afternoon, it wasn’t to tell
you that she was going to Denver,
but to ask you if she had any mail.
You told her that she did and that
you would bring it up to her. So
you took it up to her Friday after-
noon after making careful plans to
murder her. She didn’t suspect the
devilish scheme you had .in your
mind, so you stabbed that knife
rd her back when she wasn't look-
“Stop it! Stop it!” the caretaker
cried. He pressed his hands hard
against his ears to shut out the
words of the accusing officer:
“Don’t say any more. I killed her
all right. Of.course I did. I had a
good reason, too!” :

“All right,” Banks said. “Let’s
hear it.”

“About two years ago, I. didn’t
have a penny to my name. I was
down town in the streets of Col-
orado Springs, broke and hungry.
I didn’t have ‘a home, no place to
go. Then Mrs. Culbertson’s aunt
came along and offered me a job
taking care of her house here in

Manitou Springs. She was awfully |

nice. She’s a very, very good wom-
an. She paid me good wages and
gave me a nice place to stay. That's
all I ever wanted, but this Culbert-
son woman—she wasn't good to
her aunt. She said bad things to
her. She insulted her and it’ made
me mad, awfully mad. That's why
I killed Mrs. Culbertson.”

, then, was the real motive
for the crime—Sullivan’s hatred
for Mrs. Culbertson, for the fan-
cied wrong she had done her aunt,
the woman he idolized because of

.the kindness she had shown him.
It was one of the strangest mur-
. Gers in Colorado criminal history.

Sullivan was taken immediately
to'the jail at Colorado Springs and
locked up.

When the aunt was told what
Sullivan had said, she expressed
complete surprise and said that she
knew of no difficulty she had had
with her niece. The only way that
she could explain it was that Sul-
livan had heard her and Mrs. Cul-
bertson in a friendly argument at
some time or another, and in his
wild imagination had thought that
Mrs. Culbertson had insulted her:

Wilson was found a few hours

after Sullivan’s arrest, but he was -
_completely cleared of all suspicion

e case through his own state-
ment about his actions that after-
noon of the murder and through
Sullivan’s confession.

For one month after the crime,

Sullivan was held at the state
asylum at Pueblo, where. he was
given a thorough examination. The
doctors’ report showed that Sulli-
van was mentally deficient, but
was. legally sane. ;
On March 24, 1942, Sullivan came
to. trial before Judge John M.
Meikle, charged with the first: de-
gree murder of the woman he had,

in his twisted mind, grown to hate
so intensely. He was prosecuted. by
District Attorney Foard with the
help of Assistant District Attorneys
Foard and Edwin J. Pond. Two
days later, he was found guilty as
charged and his punishment was
death in the state prison gas

chamber.

Editor’s Note: The names Wilsor
and Carlton, as used in this story
are fictitious in order to protect
the identity of innocent person:
and save them from all possibk
embarrassment.

RETURN’ OF,
St Be Continued
tPA Pia ey péeker ce

+ Seas’
rt " ae

ne

THE MAFIA! .

erty

“but when I get double-crossed and
Somebody tries to knock me off in
the bargain, they're not goin’ to get
away with it!” ., . : :
“You're using good serise, Willie,”
Carey said. “Who was it?” '
“Two punks who'd | slit their
grandmother’s throat for a. dime—
Ernest Rupolo, the guy we call The
Hawk, and Rosario Palmieri. They
both live in the Bath Beach sec-
tion, but they‘ve probably taken it
on the lam until the heat on this
job blows over.” He laughed hol-

lowly. They think [I'm

dead,
though, so maybe they're stickin’
around.” ;

“Why did they shoot you?” Carey
Cemanded. “What’s all this about
a double-cross?”. _ hia

ALLO'’S tongue was well-oiled

now, but he still was cautious.
“Cd be a dope to tell you every-
thing. Right now you haven't any-
thing on me and when I pull
through this, I'll walk out.of here
free.” mies :

“We're not trying to pin anything
on you, Willie,” the captain said,
“But we know you ran around. with
Ferdy Boccia, The Shadow. You
know what happened to him?”

“Yeah. He was rubbed out last
night a few hours before they took
me for a ride.” s, ‘

Carey caught his breath at thé

' inference. “Do you mean the same

gunmen plugged you both?”
Gallo smiled grimly. “No, The
Hawk and his pal told me they'd
been hired especially to bump me
off. They picked me up outside an-
other joint in Williamsburg where
I'd just heard about what happen-

ed to The Shadow. The Hawk’

shoved a rod in my ribs and forced
me into the car. I asked him if
they’d got Boccia, but he said no,
The Boss hired somebody else for
that.” ’

“You're way ahead of us, Willie,”
Carey observed. “Who’s The Boss,
aad why were they out to get the
two of you?”

“I don’t know who The Hawk
meant by The Boss. It might have
been a lot of guys. That’s for you
to find out. All I can tell you about
the reason they ‘were after us is

this—Boccia and I were very close, :

and Boccia had squawked because
he was paid in peanuts for a job
that should have rated heavy
dough. I stuck up for him. Then,
instead of getting a break, we get
the works, That’s the double-
cross.”

With this vague statement, Willie
Gallo shut up like a clam, and all
efforts to pry further. information

.from him were to no avail.

But the detectives, acting swiftly
on his accusation against Rupolo
and Palmieri, both police charac-
ters although only 20, picked them
up at their homes as they were pre-
Paring to leave town.

Rupolo, who had lost one eye in
a shooting fray and whose eagle-
beaked nose had won him the nick-
name The Hawk, was trapped first.
In his inside coat pocket was a 32
caliber revolver. Palmieri was also
armed with a-similar gun. j

The prisoners were taken to
headquarters and the guns rushed
to the ballistics squad for tests.
Hours later, the report was return-
ed to Carey. The bullets used to
shoot Gallo had been fired from
Rupolo’s gun!

. Grilled for hours by the detec-
tives and Edward A. Heffernan,
veteran assistant to District At-
torney William F. X. Geoghan, Ru-
polo and Palmieri steadfastly re-
fused to admit their guilt, even in
the face of the evidence. Instead,
they waited silently for their pals
to send them a lawyer, who never
arrived.

Indicted for first degree assault
with intent to kill, defense counsel
was appointed for them and their
trial was scheduled. But before
trial, on the.advice of their con-
federates transmitted to them via
the grapevine, they pleaded guilty.
Both . were promptly sentenced
to 9 to 20 years in Sing Sing.

Now that Rupolo and Palmieri
had been convicted, Heffernan and
the detectives made a concerted at-
tempt to learn from them who had
ordered Gallo shot. But true to the
code, they refused to squeal.

Gallo had recovered and been
discharged from the hospital, still
reluctant to talk further about the
“deal” which had led to the double
shooting or to give clues which
might lead to identification of The
Boss, The slaying of Ferdinand
Boccia remained: unsolved.

Ass.stant District Attorney Hef-
fernan had a theory which he dis-
cussed with District Attorney Geo-
ghan, ;

“f think we’re dealing here again
with the Unione Sicilone,” he said
earnestly. “As we know, the Unione
never died with Perino’s murder,
but went further underground. The
reluctance of Rupolo and Palmieri
to squeal suggests fear of the
vengeance that only the Black
Hand could wreck upon their
eventual release from prison.”

“I agree with you,” Geoghan re-
plied. “If we can find out who or-
dered the Boccia’s murder, we'll
know who’s been leading the Black
Hand here, and vice versa. I’d sug-
gest you go after Lupo the Wolf.
He's still on probation, you know,
and apparently he’s been going
straight. But I’ve heard rumors
about other activities, and it’s time
we put ‘a close watch on him.”

Heffernan, in co-operation with
the police, carried out Geoghan’s
orders, Lupo was placed under con-
tinual surveillance and his business
connections thoroughly investiga-
ted over n period of 14 months.

25


in ip te treats clas ete lN Le ei a NEE tS Ae ee ee

He returned to the scene of his
crime to cover up his perfidy-—
but he was actually steering a
course to his own destruction!

By JONAS BAER

The killer went back to the murder house
to get this bloody letter opener se that his
fingerprints wouldn’t be found on weapen.

23

led Stone and told hm

in Sebring. That’s all. :

traced the call.”

immediately got in
the Slidell authorities.
hal John R. Elliott, of
Deputy of Tammany
vey A. Rousseaux, set

iately to locate the

along the road out-
Slidell they kept sharp

‘ars. They slowed down.

‘cached a tourist camp.
uusseaux said, “Look, a
dan.” He flashed his
2 license plate. “With
amber, too!”
‘ckly jammed on_ the
the officers leaped out.
h yourself,” Rousseaux
ese guys are bad medi-
a mile-long: record
m, murder included.
eyes peeled.”
e cautiously walking
‘ar when ‘suddenly the
of the cabins opened
‘ard hurried footsteps.

voice, with an accent, ©

% a warning to some-
‘| Somebody’s: here!”
d

spotting her, sprang
mped his hand: over
and pushed her aside.
f sight or you'll get
vised roughly.

ip!” Blair demanded
ugh the~deor’with a
c drawn in readiness.
v the officers he snarl-
ind his automatic spat.

usseaux answered the
lair crumpled to the
|

n screamed, and Elli-
| been edging his way
, had Jarvis cornered
came to the door with
; 38 in his hand.

t Marshal’s warning
the air. “Stop where
fis, or I'll drill you full

‘op that weapon and.
ids up.” The order was ~

s glance murdefous,
gun and moved like a
blazing and his face
ith fury.

pin anything on me,”

1 June Gordon were
New Orleans and the
orities were s nosis of

the capture.

Sheriff Pearson, Chief ‘of Police
Tilden Davis and Deputy Garner
lost no time in reaching New Or-
leans, Jarvis was brought before
them,

“Well, Jarvis, you better sing,”

Pearson stated. “We have a lot -

against you—including the murder
of two Sarasota women.”

“You can’t touch me on that,”
Jarvis sneered. “E was there, sure,
but Blair killed them. I didn’t.”

Pearson spoke tersely, ‘That's

“about as thin as anything I’ve ever
heard, and I've heard plenty. We

have proof, Jarvis, that you were
the one with the gun in your
hand.”

‘Jarvis snapped back, “I didn’t
kill them! Blair and I did meet
them at a tavern one night. We

‘ both got tight and talked too

much. The next day Blair got -to
wondering about the dames, He
was afraid they would spill what
we told them. So he killed them.”

“What were you afraid they
pene spill?” Pearson asked quick-
y-

Jarvis, not liking the idea of the
hot seat in Florida, confessed to
the Dryades Bank robbery. He said
they had bragged to the girls how

. easily they got away with it. Then,

he said, the next day Blair got
panicky and shot them.

Brought to trial, Jarvis was sen-
tenced in the Orleans . Parish
Criminal Court to 18 to 28 years.

June Gordon swore she knew
nothing of the murders. She was
released after being reprimanded
for keeping bad company.

Clark and Stone also were prov-
en innocent of having anything to
do with the crime and were clear-
a Beet
Governor Sholtz of Florida, be-
gan a fight for the surrender. of
Jarvis. After a lot of legal hag-
gling, he finally won the extradi-
tion ahd Martin F. Jarvis was
brought: back to Florida. There it
was proven that. the cold-blooded
murderer was guilty. Knowing they
had him, Jarvis, under cross ex-

- amination admitted his guilt. «
He was convicted of the horrible

crime in May,. ak and on April
2, 1935, he died in the electric
chair.

‘Editor’s Note: The names Stone,
Clark and Gordon, as used in this.

story, are fictitious in order to pro-
tect the identity of innocent per-
ne ee
sible embarrassment, 4

aitter how shopworn it
from repetition, it is
t an ounce of preven-
1 a pound of cure. It
to keep a child from
criminal than it is to
afterwards. 4

nough, it is the police
nt years, have recog-
id taken the most ac-
the prevention fight.
ne by both. uniformed
detectives were looked

upon generally as being tough,

- hard-hearted, interested only in

convicting and: sénding to jail as
many people as possible in order
to make a record which would lead
to promotion. Every boy, law-abid-
ing or otherwise, considered the
cop on the beat his natural enemy,

“actuated only by desire to keep

him from having a good time. The

idea that a policeman should try —

to prevent young boys and girls

‘(and adults too, for that matter)

from becoming criminals wasn’t
thought ridiculous; it just. wasn’t
thought of ‘at all.

This attitude about the police
.was entirely. unfounded. I have
only known an infinitesimal few
out of the hundreds I have met
who tried to “make cases”. Prac-
tically all of them were sincerely
glad when a criminal went

’ straight. On numerous occasions I

have known them to dig down in
their’ pockets to help, such persons.
ANY cities now have an entire

bureau of the police depart-.
ment devoted solely to the preven-
tion of juvenile delinquency. The

one in New. York City, the Police’

Athletic League, is more or less

_ typical of that in other places. The. -

aim of the League is not to kill
‘the gang spirit in boys—a spirit

which seems to be born in them— °

but to turn it into channels which
will satisfy the boy’s desire for ex-
citement, competition and adven-
ture, y

This they do by holding baseball
and other athletic contests be-
tween groups of boys in the same
and different neighborhoods; by
arranging baby shows,.in. which
the boys enter their little brothers

_ and sisters for prizes; by special

entertainments on Christmas, New
Years, Hallowe’en and other holi-
days. They agitate constantly for
‘more playgrounds and swimming
pools, arrange. for swimming les-
sons, hold swimming and diving
contests, and generally endeavor to
keep the boys so busy that they
can give no time or: thought to un-
lawful activities.

They’re doing a swell job with
little recognition and without hope
of or desire for reward, other than
that which comes from the inner
satisfaction. of performing a duty
well. Their efforts have undoubted-
ly saved hundreds of young boys
and girls from taking the path
which can end only in misery,
degradation, or even death in the
electric chair or on the gallows.

The more intelligent students of
human behavior contend that. nei-
ther the police, civic. and private
organizations, nor public-spirited
individuals can hope to. abolish
juvenile delinquency in its entirety
xopernene ie even Bal pat cent

of it. There are too many deeply-
under-lying causes not as yet un-
derstood. Perhaps some of them
never will be until scientists are
able to tell what is going on in
the heads of these young people,
who are so like the general run
of girls and boys on the surface,
yet so different in their inhibitions,
frustrations’ and grievances—emo-
tional sores which fester in young
minds until they finally express

themselves in some shocking crime. .

-What organizations and individu-
als can do, however, say these
more intelligent ones, is to recog-
nize the fact that considerable
numbers of such delinquents are
past reform. And, recognizing it,
to face up to the fact that these
unfortunate ones should be con-
fined in some suitable institution

- for. life—or until, with the advance

of science, a cure may be found.
The proponents of this course of
action contend that it would take
“off the market” each year a con-
siderable number of those who will
in all probability be criminals for
life. This would naturally, as time
went on, reduce the number of
juvenile delinquents able to prey
on the public, and by the same
token, the number of crimes these
confined ones would have commit-
ted had they been left at large.
It would also—and the advocates

of the “off-the-market” plan: say .

this is even more important—en-
able those working with juvenile
delinquents to use their time, mon-
ey and energy on the more hopeful
cases, with a correspondingly bet-
ter chance of: success.

This is but one of many ideas
which have been advanced for the
handling of the juvenile delinquen-
cy problem. Some sound logical and
sane, some downright silly and
stupid. But all of them undoubted-

ly do good in one way. That is,.’

they continue to focus attention on
this widespread evil, and to keep
the public informed of the nature
of the twisted threads which go
into the making of its fabric—each
thread representing a _ possible
‘cause of ‘delinquency, but all of
them so ‘interwoven that it is im-
possible to segregate them in order
to show which is primarily. respon-
sible. : :

was aaa
“Well, keep’ checking, ” Banks

said. “We’ve got to find him now...

There’s just no turning back.” .

With a pickup order out for the
handy man, Banks and Sam Deal,
along with District Attorney Foard,
went once more to see Mrs. Cul-
bertson’s daughter to learn if she
had been able to contact her fa-
ther. She said she hadn’t.

“The telephone company, how-

you as soon as they

Doe at the morgue, Banks and
the other officers found that Dr.
Haney had completed his examina-
tion of the woman’s body. He lo-
cated the broken point of the knife
in a cavity, in her left lung. The
knife, he said, had not pierced her
heart...

“She probably lived for an howe.

after she was stabbed,” he explain- ~
ed. 4

When the victim’s aunt arrived
at police headquarters from Den-.

ver that night, she was in a state. -
of near collapse, so shocked was .

tensified. “Officers went to every
bar, dance. hall, and pool hall in
Colorado Springs and Manitou, but
nowhere could they find a trace of
the man.

. Deal and Banks, impatient, re-
turned once more to the Culbert-
‘son. home to give the place an-

other thorough going-over on the |

possibility that they might have

‘overlooked something.

For two hours they searched.
through every drawer and box, ex-
amined every paper in the house—

with no results. Then they return- '
. ed to the basement.

The furnace was cold. The fire

a

at

Ch tas

it
1

22

SULLIVAN, J.hn, white,

REAL DETECTIWE, March, 1953.

HERE WAS AN open pickup truck at the gas pump. Al
Gingrich was holding the nozzle in the tank as Town
Marshal Dave Banks stamped the snow from his overshoes
and walked into the gas station. The~marshal had removed
his gloves and was warming his hands at the pot-bellied stove

when Gingrich came in.
~ “Looks like we might have more snow,” the owner said. “They
were saying something about it on the radio.”

Banks nodded. “AI,” he began, “you know Mrs. Culbertson—
that Denver lady who has the summer house outside of town.”

“Sure. ”

““Did you sell her a bus ticket to Colorado Springs in the last
day or so?”

Gingrich, whose. gas station doubled as a bus stop in Manitou
Springs, shook his head. “Can’t say I did, Marshal. Anything
wrong?”

Banks pulled on his gloves. “Maybe not,” he said, “but her
folks up in Denver are kind of worried about her. She was sup-
posed to take the train from Colorado Springs this morning, and
she didn’t show up.”

“Maybe she’s on the night train,” Gingrich ventured. “She could
have gone out to Colorado Springs in a cab.”

This seemed unlikely to Marshal Banks. He was somewhat
worried as he bucked the icy wind on his way back to his office.
Carrie Culbertson’s Denver relatives had been telephoning her
summer home persistently since seven o’clock on Friday night,
getting no answer. When the woman failed to get off the train at
Denver on Saturday morning, her concerned relatives bécame
anxious.

When Banks reached his office, he found that the mystery sur-
rounding the whereabouts of Mrs. Culbertson had deepened. Night
Marshal John Corley was talking with Slim Sullivan, one of
Manitou Springs’ three taxi drivers.

“Listen to this, Dave,” Corley greeted him. “Slim, here, got a
call from Mrs. Culbertson yesterday afternoon. She told him to
stop by and pick her up at eight o’clock this morning.”

Banks turned to the hackie. “What happened, Slim? Did you
pick her up?”

Sullivan tipped back his chauffeur’s cap. “She said she was
going to Colorado Springs when she talked to me on the phone.
But when I got up there this morning the house was shut up.
There was even a padlock on the front door. I banged on the
door a couple of times, but nobody answered. I figured she must
have got a lift from somebody else.”

“No sign of her at all?” Banks asked.

The driver shook his head. “Come to think of it, there was
fresh snow and no tracks in it,” he offered. “Maybe she took last
night’s train.”

There had been a light fall of snow at five o’clock that Saturday
morning of January 10th, 1942. By dawn, when it stopped,
mountainous El Paso County was covered with a three-inch
blanket of white. Sullivan’s observation was therefore interesting.
It was also ominous.

“We better drive out to the Culbertson house, John,” Dave
Banks said to the night marshal. “Sure as shooting, there’s some-
thing wrong.”

MOoO8Licut GLITTERED coldly on the snow-covered cottage
of Mrs. Carrie Winona Culbertson when the two officers
pulled up on the road shortly after 7 p.m. The house was in dark-
ness. The wide expanse of crisp snow stretching to the front porch
was broken only by two lines of footprints, evidently those Slim
Sullivan had made in the morning when he came to call for Mrs.
Culbertson.
With their flashlights, the officers verified that all the tracks,

asphyxiated Colorad (Fl Paso

County) on 9=Z0-19);3,

AD SLAYER

leading to and from the front porch, had been made by one man.
Walking a parallel course, Banks and Corley reached the porch
and knocked heavily on the padlocked front door. There was no
answer.

The officers found that the back door was ‘also securely bolted.

“Looks like we'll have to break in,” Banks said.
of ‘the windows.”

With the butt of his service revolver, the marshal tapped in the :
glass pane of a side window and reached in to release the catch. &
A moment later, he and his colleague climbed over the sill into
the Culbertson living room. In the darkness the sheet-draped ©
furniture was ghostlike. (Continued on page 52)

The body of the slain Mrs. Culbertson was found «=
in cellar of this house in Manitou Springs, Colo.

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coffee with him. At this time they were

still driving the red Mustang and also
this was the time when Woolums men-

tioned that they were going to drive to.

Oklahoma, Johnson said,

He admitted that he might have’

heard the word bank during his conver-
sations with the three men but repeated
that no specific bank was mentioned.
He said he did know that Woolums
desperately needed money and that he
was being sought by Illinois state autho-
rities.

Then Johnson recalled something
else that intrigued the agents, He said
that sometime during December when
he was in Woolums’ room at the YMCA,
he observed several length of wire, pos-
sibly two or three feet long. When he
asked Woolums about the wire, the lat-
ter just laughed and said something to
the effect that “you never know when
you may want to wire up something.”

Johnson was shown a photograph of
Woolums. and he identified him as the
man he knew from the penitentiary and
said that he was the man he talked with
in Fort Scott. He was shown numerous
other photographs of known bank rob-
bers, but he was unable to ‘identify the
men with Woolums from the mug shots.

In checking out the license number
which the Fort Scott businessman re-
called from the January 19th incident,
the FBI learned that it was an Illinois
tag issued to Donald Wayne Eblen. The
tag was for a 1958 Mercury, and Eblen’s
address was listed in Rushville, Illinois.

When he was called back for another
interrogating session the ex-convict’s
memory improved even more. He said
this time that he believed that the big
man was called Don, but he still insisted
that he’d never heard his last name.
Then, turning to the younger man in the
group, Johnson said that he now recall-
ed that his name was Maddocks and that
he was from the Greater Kansas City
area.

A few minutes later Johnson told the
agents that he was certain that the
younger man was Kenneth Lane Mad-
docks. He subsequently was shown a
picture of Maddocks and he identified
him positively as the youth with the
two older men.

“Bob, you seem to have forgotten
some pretty interesting details about
that evening. Maybe if you tried real
hard you could remember some more,”
an agent suggested dryly.

Johnson hesitated again and then ad-
mitted that he might have some more in-
formation that would help the agents.
However, he still insisted he knew noth-
ing about the Arma bank holdup itself,
other than what he read in the news-
papers.

He said that during the conversation
at the pool hall, ‘Voolums asked him if
he had a frier1 whose car they could
borrow to “cruise around town in.”
Johnson told them he had a friend who
had a Ford with a Bourbon County li-
cense plate and, for a few dollars, the
friend just might let them use his car for
the evening.

They drove to the friend’s house in
Don’s red Mustang and after talking

with the friend, a deal was arranged so
few hours for $10. The car was picked
up'by his friend at his (Johnson’s) house
‘lums, Maddocks and Don left in the

‘ Johnson repeated, that they were head-
. ing for Oklahoma.

‘was obvious from the descriptions that

, Don’s license number on the registration

‘Donald Wayne Eblen, a convicted bank

that the men could use the Ford fora

the next morning, around 9 o’clock.
After drinking a cup of coffee, Woo-

Mustang... Woolums said at this time,

In checking out Johnson’s account of
the, car transaction, the agents learned
that the men used the vehicle when they
registered at the motel. The license plate
on -the Ford corresponded with the
number ‘‘Huitt” gave’ when registered. It

Huitt .actually was Earl Woolums. The
men ‘apparently did not want to have

card.

But, because of the Fort Scott busi-
nessman’s alertness in remembering the
license number on the Mustang after he
recognized Johnson, the FBI had good
reason to believe that ‘“‘Don”’ was in fact

robber.

Photographs of Eblen, Woolums and
Maddocks were shown to the Arma
bank employes and to the owner of the
Fort Scott motel. All tentatively identi-
fied them as the suspects in the holdup.
A widespread search was launched for
the three men.

In Kansas City, Kansas, FBI agents
started at the roofing company where
Maddocks once was employed. They
learned that the youth had not been
seen in the area for at least a month.

But, they did pick up information
that Maddocks was believed to be living
with a girl friend either in El Dorado,
Kansas, or Wichita, Kansas. The last
time he was seen in Kansas City, Kansas,
agents were told, he was driving a 1960
model Dodge.

Then, on February 1, 1971, federal
agents traced Maddocks to a trailer
home in. North Wichita, At dawn the
trailer was surrounded and an agent
knocked on the door. A sleepy-eyed
Maddocks opened the door and when
the agents identified themselves he
didn’t hesitate in admitting that he was
Kenneth Lane Maddocks. He surrender-
ed without incident and was taken to
Wichita police headquarters for ques-
tioning.

He was advised. of his constitutional
rights and informed that he was charged
with participation in the Arma bank
robbery of January 20th. Maddocks ad.
mitted that he was involved and then
implicated Earl Woolums and Donald
Wayne Eben as the other two bandits!

Maddocks said the other two were
the brains of the caper and that all he
did was stand guard at the door. He was
not armed, he said. He told the agents

that he became acquainted with Woo
lums at the YMCA in Kansas City, Kan-
sas, in December, 1970. He said he took
orders from Woolums_ because
thought Woolums was the kind of ma
who would cut him in on some easy
money. On January 6th, Woolums intro-
duced him to Eblen. Later, the men de-
cided to drive to the Fort Scott area
looking for robbery targets.

i

ee od Seas %


“¥

... the $40 Death Warrant

Again the detectives went back to
the crime scene neighborhood and re-
sumed their questioning. Now they
found a man who had seen the car re-
ported by the fruit stand clerk when it
drove out of Ford’s station. This witness
was of little help, however. He had fleet-
ingly noticed the car as he was making a
hasty exit from the tavern when the
fight started.

“Besides,”’ he said candidly, “I was
drunk as a skunk—I’d been drinking
since early afternoon when I went to a
wedding.”

He could remember nothing about
the car he’d seen. For some strange rea-
son, it just stuck in his mind that he’d
seen a car pulling out of Ford’s gas
station a few moments after he left the
tavern.

One of the gas station’s steady custo-
mers told the detectives he happened to
be driving by at 10:15 and saw Ford
talking to two men in a dark blue sedan.
Another tavern habitue told them he’d
seen “a suspicious looking car” parked
behind Ford’s station a little after four
o’clock on Saturday afternoon. He saw
no people near it, just the car.

Why did it look “suspicious” to him?

“T dunno,” he said. “It just did.”

There was nothing in any of this in-

formation which the homicide team -

could regard as a solid lead by any
stretch of the imagination.

“The only thing that sticks out
here,” Duffy said as they discussed the
reports, “is that there were dozens of
people in the general vicinity that night.
If there had been any unusual activity
there—like a stickup or a scuffle, say—
someone should have seen it.”

*“*You’d think so,’’ Holindrake
agreed, “‘but if anyone did, they’re not
talking about it. The boys couldn’t find
any sign of a scuffle or a fight. Not a
thing to indicate there was any gunplay,
either—certainly no shots were fired.

“I see they checked out the possi-
bility that the fight in the tavern might
have been: staged as a diversion for a
stickup, but they’re pretty certain
there’s no connection.

“The pe who got in a fight were a
couple of respectable types who just got
into a beef when they were loaded.”

Duffy sighed a long sigh, and then
quoted an old adage which had served
the team well on numerous other suc-
cessful investigations.

“When in doubt,” he said, “start
with the victim.”

Without further ado, they proceeded
to draw a large chart, blocked off in
large squares. At the top of each square
they inscribed a date, beginning with
September 1st and ending with Septem-
ber 20th, which was the last day the
missing man had been seen. Their plan
was simplicity itself, although both were
aware it would involve a staggering
amount of work and “shoeleather pro-
cedure.”

With infinite patience, they set out
to question everyone who knew Frank
Ford. Hour after hour, day after day,
they interviewed members of his family,
716

(from page 61)

relatives, customers, tradesmen with
whom he did business, friends, acquaint-
ances, and people who lived in, or fre-
quented the neighborhoods of his filling
station and home.

At the outset, they found ample con-
firmation that Ford was a steady, sober
individual, certainly the most unlikely
person in the world to disappear sud-
denly—and_ voluntarily—without any
word to his family. Prior to buying the
filling station, he had worked for 27
years in the same job, as an employe of
a meat packing concern. He had given
up this job only w: 2n-his cardiac trou-
ble made it inadvisable for him to con-
tinue in such physically demanding
employment.

The filling station, which he ran with
the assistance of his junior partner and
another employe, seemed like a happy
compromise for a man of 47 who,
though his health was impaired, still had
an active mind and had no wish to retire
as an invalid.

When Detectives Holindrake and
Duffy had finished their round of inter-
views, each large square in their chart
was filled with notes. Viewed as a
whole, they had compiled what amount-
ed to a detailed diary of all of Frank
Ford’s ascertainable activities for every
day of the three weeks preceding his dis-
appearance.

Thus ended the first phase of their
investigation. One of their most signifi-
cant interviews had been their meeting
with Ford’s personal physician, who left
no doubt about the gravity of his heart
disease. He had prescribed digitalis, he
said, which had to be taken regularly to
keep him alive.

“Do you think,” Detective Duffy
asked the doctor, “that he might have
been the victim of amnesia?”

The doctor shook his head negative-
ly. “I never found anything in my
examinations of him—which were fairly
frequent, I might add—to suggest any
such possibility. He had absolutely no
mental complications. Other than his
heart condition, his health was good.”

Detective Holindrake raised another
point. “What would happen to him if he
failed to take his digitalis regularly?”

The doctor shrugged. Frowning, he
said, “He might be all right for about a
week. He might even be all right for a
couple of weeks if he remained very
quiet, with no activity or physical exer-
tion. After that, he’d begin to suffer. In
another week, he would die.”

Duffy'and Holindrake reacted quick-
ly to this. Duffy voiced the thought in
both their minds. ‘That means he has to
replenish his supply of digitalis if he’s
still alive. Is that correct?”

When the doctor assured him this
was so, Duffy asked if he knew the
pharmacy where Ford had his prescrip-
tions filled. The doctor did, and gave
them the name of the drugstore. They
promptly drove there and told the
pharmacist it was imperative that they
be notified if anyone appeared and at-
tempted to get a refill on Frank Ford’s
prescription.

A study of Ford’s books disclosed
that he had $1,100 in a joint bank ae-
count with his wife. Bank officials re-
ported there had been no withdrawals
for a considerable time.

Detectives Duffy and Holindrake
devoted considerable attention to the
filling station’s credit customers. Some-
times separately, sometimes together,
they interviewed every customer who
ran an account with Ford. That they
found nothing helpful to the investiga-
tion was not due to any lack of effort.

When they learned that the filling
station had a number of customers who
were soldiers stationed at Fitzsimmons
Army Hospital, the officers made a
special point of finding out who they
were and talking to each one. As in the
case of the charge patrons, nothing per-
tinent was developed from this line of
inquiry.

The investigators now explored the
possibility of disgruntled customers who
might have nursed a grievance against
the missing man. They were told that
Ford had no disgruntled customers. This
seemed incredible to them.

“T never heard of a business that
didn’t have at least a few chronic com-
plainers among their trade,” Duffy said.

Stated that way, it turned out there
were a few “cranky” regulars. But
everyone connected with the filling
station insisted Frank Ford never had a
serious argument over service with any
of his customers.

The closest he had ever come to this
was the disclosure that he once had to
sue a man for payment of a $380 bill,
Duffy and Holindrake at once sought
out the lawyer who had handled the
case for Ford.

““Frank has always been a real
softie,” the attorney told them. “After
we served the debtor with papers, Frank
felt sorry for him and wanted to drop
the whole thing. I persuaded him to let
me talk to the man. The summons had
thrown a scare into him, and I got him
to promise to pay off the bill over a
period of weeks. One of his checks, for
$50, bounced, but he made it good
within a few days.”

A quick check on this debtor by the
probers eliminated him as a suspect; he
had been in Omaha on business for two
weeks bracketing the period of Frank
Ford’s disappearance.

At this point, Holindrake and Duffy,
who later would admit it was “about
the most frustrating case” they’d ever
handled, were forced to concede they
had run out of leads. As so often hap-
pens when investigations seemingly
reach a dead end, however, they sudden-
ly turned up what struck them as a
potentially significant bit of inform.
ation. Exasperatingly, too, it was infor-
mation which had been readily available
to them from the beginning, but no one
had thought to mention it to them.

Quite by accident, they learned that
as an accommodation to his customers,
Frank Ford frequently cashed checks,
The homicide detectives now tried to
learn whether any of the $211 stolen
from the station the night Ford dis-
appeared had been in checks. There was

(Continued on page 91}

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+ eee

On January 19th, they drove into
Fort Scott in Eblen’s Mustang and went
to the pool hall where Woolums met an
old friend from his days in prison. It
was arranged to pick up another car to
use while they were in Fort Scott look-
ing for a good score. They found noth-
ing that appealed to them and next
morning after they returned the Ford
pe, drove to Pittsburg.

n the way they drove through
Arma and noticed the First State Bank.
They agreed that it would be easy to
rob the bank so it was decided to do it.
Woolums went into the bank on the pre-
tense of obtaining some quarters and
case the interior of the building.

Then, they drove to Pittsburg, where
they stole a dirty old Ford station
wagon parked on a street with the keys
in the ignition. They left the Mustang in
a parking lot and drove back to Arma in
the station wagon.

They went into the bank, and on
Eblen’s instruction, he remained by the
front door as a lookout, Maddocks said.
He knew that Eblen was armed with a
-45 caliber automatic but he did not
know if he displayed it during the hold-
up. Woolums, he said, always carried a
rare with him which he thought was
a .38.

After Woolums bound the employes
with some lengths of wire he had, they
took the money, got into the old station
wagon and returned to Pittsburg. During
the ride, Maddocks said, he was told to
take of his blue stocking cap and lie on
the floor so that it would appear that
there were only two men in the car.
They parked the station wagon in the
parking lot and got into Eblen’s Mus-
tang. :

They drove Maddocks to the bus de-

-pot in Pittsburg and told him to take a

bus to Kansas City, Kansas. They told
him to register at the Holiday Inn near
the bus depot there and they would
contact him the following day.

‘What about your share of the
take?” Maddocks was asked.

The youth told agents that when the
other men put him out at the bus depot
they gave him two $20 bills. They said
they would give him the remainder of
his share when they got together at the
Holiday Inn. After waiting several days

and hearing nothing from the older.

men, Maddocks figured he’d been taken
and went to Wichita to see his girl
friend. He told the agents that he hadn’t
seen either man since the day of the
holdup. He said he was afraid of them,
so he felt just as well off that he hadn’t
seen them.

Under further interrogation, Mad-
docks said he guessed that Woolums
would eventually show up again in
Kansas City, Kansas. He said Woolums
had friends there and usually hid out
there when he was on the run. As for
Eblen, Maddocks said he’d never heard
of him before Woolums introduced
them in January a week or so before the
Arma holdup. He said he had no idea
where Eblen would hide, but he thought
he was kind of a loner who wouldn’t
stay with Woolums long.

Even while Maddocks ‘ was being
1 ie aa by the authorities in

Wichita, FBI agents in Kansas City,
Missouri, received a tip that Woolums
was hiding in a house across the Kansas
River in Kansas City, Kansas. He
reportedly was at the home of George
William Turley on North Kighty-fourth
drive.

Knowing that Woolums might be
armed, and not wanting to risk injury to
others in the house the agents establish-
ed a stakeout around the residence. At
1:30 o’clock that afternoon, February
Ist, agents observed Turley and Woo-
lums leave the house and get into Tur-
ley’s 1964 maroon Plymouth.

Just as the car started to pull away
from the curb the agents converged on
the vehicle and quickly placed Woolums
and Turley under arrest. Both were
advised of their rights and then trans-

ported to the FBI office at the Federal ;

Building in Kansas City, Missouri, for
questioning.

Agents also searched Turley’s Ply-
mouth—with excellent results. On the
front floorboard just under the seat
they found a white cloth bank bag with
“The National Bank of Pittsburg” im-
printed on it. It contained rolls of coins
totaling $392.

The agents also found two stamped
Postcards in the car. One said “Hi,
Pedro, this is about it,” and signed Don;
the other said “Hi, Pedro, Tennessee is
the place,” and signed Don. There were
no addresses on the cards, but it was
obvious the “Don” was Donald Wayne
Eblen.

When they arrived at the Federal
Building, both men were photographed
and fingerprinted. Woolums immediate-
ly refused to discuss the Arma Bank
robbery or answer any questions asked
by the agents.

Turley denied any knowledge of the
Arma bank job and asserted that he had
no idea how the bank bag full of change
happened to be in his car. He later was
shown a photograph of Donald Eblen
and said only that he might have known
him casually a few years back.

When they searched Turley’s home,
agents found a shotgun without a stock
and a .45 caliber automatic, along with
a quantity of ammunition for both wea-
pons. They also found another bank bag
containing $490 in coins which -also
bore the inscription “The National Bank
of Pittsburg.” Between the mattress and
box springs of a bed in the master bed-
room of the Turley home, agents found
numerous bank coin wrappers.

On February 19th, a federal grand
jury in Topeka, Kansas, returned an in-
dictment charging Woolums, Maddocks
and Eblen with the Arma Bank robbery.
The same grand jury also returned an
indictment accusing Turley of posses-
sion of money he knew was taken in the
bank robbery and with harboring a fugi-
tive.

On March 12, Woolums entered a
plea of guilty and on March 29th, was
sentenced to 15 years in prison in the
United States District Court in Wichita.

' Maddocks and Turley entered pleas of

not guilty and Donald Eblen successful-
ly continued to evade capture.

On the morning of May 13, 1971,
Mrs. L.E. Putman, whose husband was

vice-president and cashier of the Turner
State Bank in Kansas City, Kansas,
answered a knock on the front door.
When she opened it two men pushed by
her into the house. One was a tall man
in his 40s, with a husky build. The other
was smaller and younger.

While one of the men stood guard
over Mrs. Putman and her 5-year-old
son, Mark, the other ransacked the
house apparently looking for money.
Then he ordered Mrs. Putman to tele-
phone her husband at the bank and tell
him that she was in trouble.

When the terrified woman had Put-
man on the telephone the tall, husky
intruder grabbed the receiver ‘from her
hand and told Putman he wanted
$100,000 in exchange for the wife and
son. He told Putman to take the
$100,000 to a car wash near Fifty-fifth
Street and Kansas Avenue, not far from
the bank.

The men then bound Mrs. Putman
and the boy with adhesive tape and hur.
riedly left the house. Mark was able to
assist his mother in removing the tape
from her wrists and she ran to the tele-
phone to call her husband. She caught
Putman before he left for the rendez-
vous and he called police.

A stakeout was established around
the car wash and a police helicopter
hovered overhead: But no one appeared.
After several hours of waiting the police
untis were withdrawn. The FBI was ad-
vised of the attempted extortion plot
and entered the case on a liason basis to
determine if there was a federal viola-
tion.

There was no trace of either of the
exortionists but a few days after the
abortive attempt the authorities re-
ceived a tip from an informant that
Eblen was one of the men involved. The
informant said he had been in the area
several days planning the extortion
scheme.

On the basis of this information, a
photograph of Eblen was shown to Mrs.
Putman and she identified it as resembl-
ing the tall man who held her and her
son captive. A complaint accusing Eblen
of the attempted extortion then was
filed by Kansas authorities.

The FBI continued to receive tips
that Eblen was occasionally in and out
of the Greater Kansas City Area but
either the tips were false or Eblen: was

‘always a step ahead. Information also

was received that he was in Los Angeles
and in the Chicago area. ‘But although
every lead was methodically checked-
out Eblen continued to elude the FBI.

Then on November 15, 1971, the FBI
got a tip that Eblen would be at a house
in the 5700 block of Halsey in Shawnee,
Kansas, a Kansas City suburb, later that
night.

Ni dawn the next morning FBI
agents moved into the area. After the
house in which Eblen was believed hid-
ing was surrounded agents quietly con-
tacted residents of the neighborhood and
evacuated them to avoid any injuries
should there be a gun battle.

After the neighborhood was cleared,
Leon Gaskill, Assistant Special Agent in
Charge of the FBI in Kansas City, took
a bullhorn and ordered Eblen to come

out of the
head.
Within
from the
arms up.
When t!
found a .:
caliber re
when he y
agents. He
fused to
about any «
On Feb;
found guilt
from the /
harboring ;
Eblen was ,
robbery.
Judge We
tion of sent
ing a pre-sen
Earlier,
probation fc
in the bank
docks on pr:
- his youth, |
when the ro
told him he
chance to bec
Although
the indictme;
and Eblen de
was tried firs
LL

we W

_ Then, in «
light shifted,
liam M. Gild:
murder of Pat)
der and now a
ton’s Suffolk S

The trial go
Chief Justice \
Massachusetts <
ordered Gilda,
tache he had ¢
he spent at Wz
ing trial.

Judge McLa:
Sponse to a mo
since the feelin
would hamper
Gilday.

To: ALL MA

A Retail |
display allow
Permitted to
“OFFICIAL
TECTIVE.”

To obtain }
to Macfadden
Street, New Y,

Under the
fulfillment of
request, you
Cover price pe
Issues of maga:

your written a
received and ac.


-s

e Turner

Kansas,

at door.

ished by
tall man
he other

od guard
-year-old

‘ked the

money.

. to tele-

~ and tell

had Put-
il, husky
‘rom her

wanted
wife and
take the
ifty-fifth
far from

Putman
and hur-
is able to
the tape
the tele-
ie caught
e rendez-

d around
i1elicopter
appeared.
‘he police
I was ad-
tion plot
n basis to
‘vol viola-

f the
aur the
rities re-
nant that
oived. The
) the area
extortion

mation, a
vn to Mrs.
5 resembl-
-r and her
sing Eblen
then was

ceive tips
a and out
Area but
Eblen was
ation also
os Angeles

although

checked-
» the FBI.
1, the FBI
at a house
Shawnee,
later that

rning FBI
After the
lieved hid-
uietly con-
rhood and
ly injuries

8 vas cleared,

al Agent in
City, took
‘n to come

eKackigtte,

<2 Nndieet OR teak Shee

out of the house with his hands over his trict Court in Wichita by Judge Wesley

= head. ~ Brown. The jury deliberated only brief-

Within a few minutes Eblen emerged ly before returning verdicts of guilty
from the 2-story frame house with his against. Turley for receiving money

arms up. taken in the Arma bank robbery and for
When they searched the house they harboring a fugitive.
found a .38 caliber revolver and a .22 The following week it was Eblen’s

caliber revolver. Eblen was unarmed turn. The result was the same. ‘After
when he was searched by the arresting deliberating only a few minutes the jury
agents. He admitted his identity but re- convicted Eblen of robbing the Arma
fused to make any other statement State Bank. Judge Brown deferred im-

about any case. position of sentence pending a pre-
On February 18, 1972, Turley was sentence investigation.
found guilty of receiving money taken Then, on March 2, 1972, the two

from the Arma bank robbery and for men were taken before Judge Brown for
harboring a fugitive. Four days later sentencing. The jurist wasted no time. He
Eblen was convicted for the Arma bank sentenced Turley to a total of 12 years

robbery. on_ his convicitions. Turning to Eblen
ae Wesley Brown deferred imposi- Judge Brown emphasized the serious-
tion of sentence on the two men pend- ness of bank robbery and pointed out

ing a pre-sentence investigation. that Eblen was a hardened criminal with
Earlier, Maddocks was placed on years of experience as a bank robber. He
probation for a 3-year term for his role then sentenced Eblen to a 20-year term

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' in the bank robbery. In placing Mad- in a federal penitentiary. Se
_. docks on probation the trial judge cited
- his youth, he was only 19 years old EDITOR’S NOTE:
when the robbery was committed, and Bob Johnson is not the real name
told him he was going to give him a of the person so named in the fore-
chance to become a decent citizen. story. A fictitious name has been
Although Woolums pleaded guilty to used because there is no reason for
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_ Then, in early February, the spot- Gilday listened to the judge’s order,
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liam M. Gilday Jr., charged with the “This is your game,” he shouted to
murder of Patrolman Walter A. Schroe- the judge, “and I won’t play by your
der and now about to go to trial in Bos- rules.”
ton’s Suffolk Superior Court. “No more comments from you,” the
The trial got off toa fiery start when judge stated curtly, “or I'll remove you
Chief Justice Walter McLaughlin of the from the courtroom.”

Massachusetts Superior Court, presiding, Gilday muttered, but although he
ordered Gilday to shave off the mus. continued to be rebellious, it was to no
tache he had grown during the months avail. In due course he appeared in the
he spent at Walpole State Prison await- courtroom wearing a gray business suit,
ing trial. ; ; pink shirt and blue necktie—and no
Judge McLaughlin’s order was in re- mustache.

sponse to a motion by the prosecution, But Gilday was by no means sub-
since the feeling was that the mustache dued. .

would hamper witnesses in identifying He next made a personal plea to the
Gilday. court to be allowed to serve as his own

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. 81



. SOBEL,
at

‘Robber waited behind rocks for the gold
train to round curve and derail. But he
=. had a grisly surprise in store for him.

FRONTIER WEST, Auge, 1973.

A
FY e

ee
“+

EB SOBEL had become despaired while he worked

a prospect hole in the Four Jacks tunnel in Cripple
Creek. ‘I ain’t getting anywheres,” he complained.
“Time I draw my wages and then pay for my keep and a
little saloon hoorayin’ I ain’t got nothing left.

a dollar fifty for ten hours a backbustin’ work whilst them
dudes that owns the mines is living high off the hog.” .
Making millions, the owners were. Mansions up on

_. Cordell Hill with color glass windows and back-east
__ bathtubs. Shiny black and red buggies with tasseled tops
-and matching horses. Darky servants to wait on them
hand and foot. Fancy food all the time. Elegant women.

aattigy 3 a a PIES Geek ne age oes

white, hanged

Sagauche, Colorado,
i eee.

on September 21, 189h,.

by Gene Cobler

INCREDIBE femmes
[DFO

CRIPPLE CREEK'S
~ BOLD TRAIN

For months he’d planned it

down tothe last detail.
But he hadn’t figured on a_
railroad man’s act of fear. = —

ee ant 3
aye EEO leer
Faget fa

a eae Sys

. .- he’d do a little high living himself.
“Tt ain’t right that us bungheads don’t get any more’n

Emporium on Myers Avenue.

= SU
mt I)

MT)
y

\

So:
ee

:

a iy

: lip

Decent whiskey. Everything a man could possibly want.
- “Someday,“ Sobel said, “I’m a gonna think a
something.” | 6.8 tase the ie to Da
Then, he told the other men in the Four Jacks tunnel,

, “We laughed at the stupid bugger,” Ash Fogel said.
“Which made him madder’n a wet hen.” = 0) 2):

‘They shouldn’t have ridiculed the unhappy miner
because he “‘thought a something” less than a year later.

It had its inception while he was palavering with
Royce & Langley Stage Lines guard while both were
bellied up at the barin the Lady Luck Saloon & Good Time.

i)

i J BESS ;
cia

Robber waited behind rocks for the gold
train to round curve and derail. But he

d had a grisly surprise in store for him.
“FRONTIER WEST, Auge, 1973.

CRIPPLE

4

etme -~
“+

a prospect hole in the Four Jacks tunnel in Cripple

Creek. “I ain’t getting anywheres,” he complained.
“Time I draw my wages and then pay for my keep and a
little saloon hoorayin’ I ain’t got nothing left. y

J EB SOBEL had become despaired while he worked

. adollar fifty for ten hours a backbustin’ work whilst them
oe _— dudes that owns the mines is living high off the hog.” -
3 Making millions, the owners were. Mansions up on
; - Cordell Hill with color glass windows and back-east
_ bathtubs. Shiny black and red buggies with tasseled tops
‘and matching horses. Darky servants to wait on them
hand and foot. Fancy food all the time. Elegant women.

SOBEL, white, hanged
at Sagauche, Colorado,
on September 21, 189h.

by Gene Cobler

THE :
NGREDIBE eam
PIN oe

Tar |

GOW

For months he’d ‘planned it Es

Pa ae See J
: é ‘pied
Pe; » ar:
Hee
AS eer
f #

m™ down to the last detail.
# But he hadn’t figured on a_

. . he’d do a little high living himself.
“Tt ain’t right that us bungheads don’t get any more’n

Emporium on Myers Avenue, cae ei ese as

oe

:

—
Cee

ne
*
4

aoe
a>.
oo.

,
mie
ne ny

——

GO
gw

3

Se"

£

=

NN
' | ‘\\ 1
UN liu 3

————————

Decent whiskey. Everything a man cou!d possibly want.
- “Someday,“ Sobel said, “I’m a gonna think a
something.” | 6.0) tasie ie ieee ioe Ds a
Then, he told the other men in the Four Jacks tunnel,

“We laughed at the stupid bugger,” Ash Fogel said.
“Which made him madder’n a wet hen.” — 6) 2
‘They shouldn’t have ridiculed the unhappy miner
because he “‘thought a something” less than a year later. -
It had its inception while he was palavering with
Royce & Langley Stage Lines guard while both were

bellied up at the bar in the Lady Luck Saloon & Good Time

AAR AKT
Yj; Sy

=

\ \

Ane

LS

S
x

PS a ZZ
Ee igee

Nearly everyone in Cripple Creek turned out to watch first

train arrive. Sobel had already formulated a wild scheme.

= os

a =

ee (lis
Sl

ll

m= Sketch shows injured and dying passen-

\ ee Gers being removed from the wreckage.

Nis At this point, Jeb Sobel (above) was in
baggage car and ready to steal the gold. §

author’s photos _

The conversation got around—like many another
dialogue in Cripple Creek in 1893—to the laying of
railroad tracks to the burgeoning mining camp. “I ain’t
exactly eager to see a train come,” the stage guard, Rolly —
Slater, said. “It’s gonna cost me my job.”

“No longer would Cripple Creek’s gold be transported -
by stage. It would be hauled in the train’s baggage car.’
“They won’t only need a couple guards since the door'll be

locked and barred from the inside; besides which thetrain

will naturally be moving right along,” said Rolly. — .
Anybody with ideas would play heck getting his hands

on a gold shipment. “Of course,” Slater continued, “they

ain’t had any luck with thestage, either, usboysnotdoing = _™


No one knows exactly how long
the slayer stayed on the scene of
the crime; no one can tell exactly
when the woman died. It is known,
however, that the lustful brute re-
turned the following day, long af-
ter his victim had found solace
in death, and perpetrated the most
horrible acts upon her corpse.

David Banks, town marshal of
Manitou Springs, Colorado, was
spending a quiet day at home on
last January 11. It was Sunday,
and the usually quiet town, al-
ways peaceful and law-abiding, was
quieter than ever. It was the lull
that comes before the storm and
was suddenly ended by the stac-
cato jangle of the marshal’s phone
bell. An agitated female voice spoke
from the other end.

“This is Mrs. Baldwin speaking
from Denver,” the voice said. “I've
been trying to call my niece in
Manitou Springs all day long and
there’s no answer. I'm sure
she’s there and something has hap-
pened to her!”

“What is your
the marshal asked.

“Mrs.. Carrie Culbertson,” the
woman in Denver replied. “She
lives right on top of the hill.”

“Don’t you worry, now,” Marshal
Banks assured the aunt. “I'll go
right up there and investigate;
there’s probably nothing wrong.”

Nevertheless, Marshal Banks did
not feel the optimism suggested
in his words to Mrs. Baldwin. On
the contrary, something had hap-
pened the, previous day that filled
him with misgivings.

On the Saturday afternoon be-
fore, Mrs. Martin Ohlander had
called the marshal at his office in
Manitou Springs. She, too, had
been unable to reach Mrs. Cul-
bertson by phone and had become
alarmed. Marshal Banks had gone
up to the house on the hill and
had found it locked up, apparently
for the winter. Finding nothing
amiss, he had decided that the
alarm was the figment of some-
one’s imagination. Now, Mrs. Cul-
bertson’s aunt in Denver was afraid
that something was the matter.
The marshal determined that this
time he would break into the home
if necessary.

It was now seven in the evening
and Night Marshal John Corley was
on duty. Together, the two men
drove up the hill to the Culbertson
home. The place was still locked
as it had been the previous day.
The officers removed the screen
from a porch window, broke the
pane and entered. The living room
seemed to be in order; so was the
kitchen. However, the door leading
down to the cellar was open and
the two marshals decided to start
searching the basement first.

They didn’t have far to look.
Lying on her back before the fur-
nace, her rayon house dress torn

that
LAL

niece’s name?”

to shreds, her face covered with’

blood, was what remained of pretty
Mrs. Carrie Culbertson. A cursory
examination showed that life had
long since fled; the corpse was
cold and stiff from rigor mortis.
A’ minute search of the cellar
floor presented some baffling incon-
gruities. A trail of blood led from
the tool closet to the coal bin;
impressed in this smear of blood
were smudged footprints lined with
coal dust. If the woman had been
killed in the tool room, as the
blood indicated, then dragged feet
first to the coal bin, why was her

body now in front of the furnace?
And the smudges made: by heavy
shoes on the blood trail leading
to the coal bin were pointed in the
wrong direction. The marshal and
his aide sat down to try to recon-

nally Marshal Banks exclaim-
ed: “I’ve got it. She was killed in
the tool closet, all right. Then,
while she was still alive and bleed-
ing, the killer dragged her to the
bin. Her blood would then have
covered his tracks, if he made any.
Now here comes the tough part.

After she had lain in the coal bin & 4

for awhile, the murderer must have
carried her back to the furnace.

That's how his footprints got into

the bloody smear and they’re head-
ed that way. If he dragged her
back he’d have wiped out the
prints. And. another thing,” the

marshal concluded. “She must have’

been dead when he carried her
back; otherwise, there would be
some blood around her head now.
You can see there isn’t any.”

Night Marshal Corley examined
the concrete floor around the wom-
an’'s head. “You're right,” he said.
“There’s not a drop of blood there;
she must have been put there long
after she was dead.”

Marshal Banks studied the posi-
tion of the body for a moment.

“From the looks of her face I’d
guess that she died from a frac-
tured skull. Let’s go upstairs and
call the coroner; while we’re wait-

ing we might see if the killer left

any clues.”

After putting through a phone
call to Dr. L. O. Haney, the county
medical examiner, Marshal Banks
and his aide began a systematic
search of the house. In the kitchen
wood bin the first thing to arrest
the official’s attention was an axe,
its blade covered with — stains,
Could it be blood?

In a bedroom the men found

an open suitcase, its contents scat- }

tered over the floor. An open purse
was on the dresser, empty. The
keys, compact and other feminine
accessories had_ evidently been
dumped out beside it. There was
evidence that someone had also
rifled the dresser drawers. It be-
gan to look as though robbery was
the motive for the crime.

When County Coroner Haney ar-
rived he dispelled all doubts as to
the real motive, however. After a
preliminary examination of the
body he remarked: “This woman
died from a stab wound in the

back. You couldn’t see it, Banks, |

because, of course, you didn’t want
to move the body. The blade of
the knife is broken off in the
wound, But worst of all, this wom-
an has been raped!”

The officers searched the entire
house for the broken handle of
the lethal weapon but it was not
found. The killer must have taken
it with him.

“When do you suppose she died?”
Marshal Banks asked the physi-
cian.

“It’s hard to say,” the coroner re-
torted. “The blood came almost
entirely from her mouth—the
broken dagger plugged the wound
—so I’d say she died from a lung
hemorrhage. In other words, she
bled to death internally and some-
times that’s a slow process. How-
ever, from the condition of the
body now I’d say that she died
Friday night or early’ Saturday.”

The body was removed tw the

morgue for autopsy and Marshal
Banks, now joined by Police Chief
L. B. Bruce of Colorado Springs,
examined the outside of the house.
The sun had long since set behind
the Rockies and the men used
flashlights. i

Marshal Banks walked slowly
around the house, pointing the
beam of his light at every win-
dow. Then he came to the door
leading into the basement. He stop-
ped, gave vent to an exclamation
of surprise. Then he shouted to
the other officers:

“Just take a look at this!” he
exclaimed as the men ran up.
“Here’s a broken pane in the door
and there’s a padlock on it. When
I came wp here last night that
glass was certainly intact and
what’s more that lock wasn’t
there!”

It could only mean one thing:
The murderer had returned to the
scene of his crime!

investigation into the rape-
murder of Mrs. Carrie Culbert-
son swung into immediate action.
County Sheriff Sam Deal, Marshal
Banks of Manitou Springs and
Chief Bruce of Colorado Springs
all lent their efforts to track down

the savage killer. The first obvi-
ous move was to learn all they
could about the victim, her habits
and acquaintances.

Mrs. Leonard Baldwin, the dead
woman’s aunt, was summoned from
Denver and questioned concerning
her niece’s movements.

“Carrie has been living in Denver
for the past six months,” Mrs.

‘Baldwin told the officers. “She used

her home here in Manitou mostly
as a summer place. Last week she
came here to see if the house
needed any repairs. I know she
planned to return to Denver Fri-
day night or early Saturday. That’s
why I got so excited when I could-
n’t reach her by phone.”

“Where is Mr. Culbertson?” Sher-
iff Deal asked.

“He’s, a postal inspector in Chi-
cago,” the victim’s aunt replied.
“I sent him a wire as soon as you
called me. He should be here to-
morrow.”

“You say that your niece came
here to see if the house needed re-
pairs,” Chief Bruce _ interposed.
“Maybe that will give us a lead.”

“I can tell you one thing,” said
Mrs. Baldwin. “I have a summer
home here too. I employ a care-
taker and sometimes my niece used

17


foulest, most revolting creatures
ever born to woman. Dead or alive,
he must be found and brought to
justice!

Two o’clock on Monday morning;

six hours after the ravished body
had been found. The scene, the
office of Marshal Banks in Manitou
Springs.

There was an excited tension in
the office as Undersheriff Roy Gla-
sier walked in, herding a strange,
unkempt man before him.

“This is the fellow,” the under-
sheriff announced. “This is the man
who put up the window-boards.
His name is Ollie Tracy.”

The carpenter was fingerprinted,
then brought back for questioning.
A man of about forty, he was by
turns sullen, angry and defiant. It
soon became apparent that truth
was not part of his ugly make-up.

“Sure, I boarded up the win-
dows,” he shouted. “It was on
Thursday, not Friday.”

“But you went back there Sunday
morning to put the padlock on the
door, didn’t you,” the marshal
stormed.

“I did no such thing,”. the man
retorted angrily. “I was there
Thursday and that’s all.”

“It’s not all by a long shot,”
Sheriff Sam Deal put in. “We know
that you saw the woman late Fri-
day; we’re sure of it.”

It was a telling shot, straight
for the target. “Maybe you're
right,” Ollie Tracy answered weak-
ly. “Maybe I got the days mixed
up. But I didn’t hurt the woman.”

“There’s one way to find: out,”
Marshal Banks said. “You come up
to the house with us right now
and show us just what you did.”

The suspect seemed terror-strick-
en at this suggestion. “No,” he
wailed. “No! There was a murder
there! I can’t stand it! Do any-
thing you want but don’t take me
there!” ‘

Nevertheless, Ollie Tracy was
taken back to the house of death.
By the faint glow of lanterns car-
ried by the officers he showed a
pile of sawdust where he had cut
the boards to length. He admitted
having been in the cellar to get
some water, but only for a mo-
ment. Just then Marshal Banks
had a happy inspiration.

“When you passed the furnace,
did you notice if it was lit?” he
asked.

“I know it wasn’t,” Tracy an-
swered. “The door was wide open
and I saw the fire was out. It was
cold in there too.”

“What time did you leave here?”
Banks asked. “Think hard, now,
and no monkey business.”

“T don’t know what time it was,”
the carpenter said. “Maybe five,
maybe earlier.”

Whether or not the man was tell-
ing the truth, the marshal well
knew the importance of the, an-
swer. The furnace was warm when
he had found the body hours be-
fore. The fire was out now, but it
still showed signs of heat.

Upstairs in the house, the walls
and furniture were dusted for
prints. Particular attention was
given to the opened purse and the
rifled dresser and suitcase. The of-
ficials knew that it was a hope-
less gesture, and it was. There were
no prints that even remotely re-
sembled those of Ollie Tracy. The
sadistic killer had obviously worn
gloves.

e7) piece

Lett to right: Roy C. Grader: @ ndersheritt; Irt- Foard, cane aRaHan, Soho Sullivans “Sherif Samuel J. Deal; Manitou
Springs Marshall David Banks; Coroner Dr. LO. Haney; M. J. Vasseur,

There apparently was nothing
left to be done in the summer
home that a raping murderer had
turned into a house of carnage.
Marshal Banks and his men pre-
pared to take Tracy back to the
office for further questioning. Just
as they were leaving, Marshal
Banks turned to one of the under-
sheriffs and said:

“Before we go let’s call the
sheriff and see if there’s anything
new.”

The call was put through and
the answers were all negative.
Charlie Downs had been thorough-
ly checked; his alibi was foolproof.
He had no knowledge of the mur-
der and was completely eliminated
from suspicion. The stained axe
found in the wood bin was rusty;
it bore no signs of blood nor fin-
gerprints. It looked as though Ollie
Tracy had a lot of explaining to
do..

Again, Marshal Banks started to
leave the house, but something in
the back of -his mind stayed his
steps. Hastily, he reconstructed the
crime in his own thoughts. |

The woman had been attacked
sometime Friday afternoon or eve-
ning after Charlie Downs had fix-
ed the leaky toilet. She had died
several hours later, possibly Satur-
day morning. If Ollie Tracy were
to be believed, the furnace was
out when the woman was last seen.
On Saturday afternoon, Banks
mused, he himself had visited the
house and found it locked. The
window pane in the cellar door was
unbroken and there were no hasps
nor padlock on the door itself. The
murderer, then, must have return-
ed either on Saturady night or
Sunday morning. That being the
case, the marshal deduced, the sec-
ond criminal assault mentioned by
the coroner’s report must have oc-

curred during the killer’s second
visit, at least twenty-four hours
after the pretty matron was dead.
The slayer had let himself into the
cellar by breaking out the glass
so that he could reach in and open
the bolt. On the way out, he had

. fastened the hasps and padlock

to the door to prevent anyone else
doing the same thing and finding
the corpse. The killer was not only
a lustful fiend; he was clever, too.
Maybe Ollie Tracy would break if
he were questioned on these points
long enough. Once more, Marshal
Banks started for the front door.
Then: “Wait a minute, fellows,”
he said, “I’m still not satisfied that
we’ve seen all there is to see here.
Wait until I take a last look in the
basement.”

Then it came to him, The fur-
nace! The furnace had been lit
while the woman lay before it, dead.
Possibly the killer had tried to
burn the handle of the paper
knife? Or some other bit of evi-
dence?

Switching on the light at the
head of the cellar stairs, the
marshal made his way to the fur-
nace, shook it down and raked out
the ashes. There were many bits
of unburned wood there, any of
which once may have been the
handle of a knife. Then his prying
eyes saw the letter. Most of it was
burned away but the post-mark
was still readable. It said Denver,
Thurs, Jan. 8, 6 P.M. This innocent
looking stamp was a sign that
would accuse the foulest killer
Colorado’s hills have yet to see!

Upstairs in the house of death
all was excitement when the
marshal showed his weary aides
the remnants of the letter. For
part of the address was still legible.
It read: “Care of John Sullivan,
234 Spencer Ave., Manitou Springs.”

deputy sheriff; Roy Foard, ass't. district attorney.

That was the address of the
Baldwin home!

There was but one answer to
the puzzle. If that letter had been
mailed in Denver on Thursday af-
ternoon, it would have arrived in
Manitou the following day. Mrs.
Culbertson had received and evi-
dently read it, for the envelope
was open, apparently slit with a
letter opener. But Sullivan had
sworn that he had not seen the
murdered woman at any time!

Moreover, the ravished woman
had been killed with a letter open-
er!

The mystery was as good as
solved, and only eight hours had
elapsed since the discovery of the
body. Ollie Tracy, the unkempt
carpenter, was all but forgotten in
the officer’s haste to get to the
Baldwin home. They all had the
same’ thought in their minds. Mrs.
Baldwin was spending the night
there. The guilt now pointed
strongly at her caretaker. Was an-
other fiendish murder taking
place?

Marshal Banks, Sheriff Deal and
Undersheriff Glasier all breathed
a sigh of relief when Mrs. Bald-
win answered the bell. Her hired
man, she said, was in bed, and it
was there that the officers found
him.

“Just one question we want you
to answer, Sullivan,” the marshal
shot at the man. “How did Mrs.
Culbertson get this letter sent in
care of you on Friday if you didn’t
see her?” As he shot this damning
query at the quiet man the marshal
waved the burned envelope before
his eyes.

John Sullivan began to stutter,
his piercing eyes roaming appeal-
ingly from one of his accusers to
the other. Finally he sat back on

(Continued on page 32)

19


oo ost aces SAL Se

-# ‘ Fits f
Ck A RS

fs
a eal? sre of

Home of the victim Mrs. Carrie W. Culbertson. She was killed and raped in the basement.

John Sullivan and a police officer reenact the crime.

18

him as a handyman around her
place. His name is John Sullivan.”

Marshal Banks knew the care-
taker of the Baldwin summer
home. He was a sober. and industri-
ous man, quiet and unassuming.
He was in the kitchen of the
house when the officers arrived
there.

“Did you see Mrs. Culbertson
since she came back?” Marshal
Banks asked the man.

“No, I didn’t see her but I did
talk to her on the phone,” Sullivan
answered. “She asked me to send
up a plumber to fix a leaky toilet.”

“Did you do that?”

“Yes,” the caretaker replied. “I
got Charlie Downs to go up there
Friday. I haven’t seen him since.”

If Sullivan’s story was true,
Charlie Downs was the last known
person to see Mrs. Culbertson alive.
The officers hurried to the plum-
ber’s home, despite the fact that
it was midnight.

Charlie Downs was home in bed.
When awakened by Marshal Banks
and Sheriff Deal he began to fidget,
muttering to himself as he donned
some clothes.

“So far as we know, you are the
last man to see Mrs. Culbertson be-
fore she was murdered,” the Mar-
shal began. “Tell us what you know
about it.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” said
Downs, a puzzled expression cloud-
ing his unshaven face. “John Sulli-
van called me Friday morning and
told me to go up to Culbertson’s
to fix a toilet. I got finished just
before lunch time and went right
back to the shop.”

“Are you sure you didn’t return
to the woman’s house later?” the
Sheriff snapped.

“Of course I didn’t; I had no
reason to. Anyhow, I can account
for every minute of the rest: of
the day.”

The plumber’s alibi was written
down and an officer sent out to
check it. Then Marshal Banks re-
sumed his questioning.

“Did you see anyone else around
the house while you were there?”
he asked.

“Outside of the lady, not a soul,”
the plumber replied. “She did tell
me that someone was coming up
later to board up some windows
and put a padlock on the door.”

“Did she say who it was?” the
Sheriff snapped.

“No, she didn’t say and I didn’t
ask,” was the laconic answer.

Nothing further could be gained
from questioning Charlie Downs.
Somebody, possibly a carpenter,
had been at the house after the
plumber had left. Marshal Banks
recalled that some of the win-
dows had indeed been boarded up.
But the padlock on the basement
door! That had been placed there
after the woman had been raped
and killed!

Who might know who the car-
penter had been? Why, John Sulli-
van, the Baldwin caretaker, of
course. If Mrs. Culbertson had ask-
ed him to send a plumber, she may
also have told him to call a carpen-
ter. All the officials were of the
Same mind. If they could find the
man who boarded up the windows
on that fateful Friday afternoon,
they probably would find the
raping killer. It seemed that the
case was about to break.

A few minutes later the officers
were knocking on the door of the
Baldwin home. Sullivan greeted
them with a smiling, “Don’t you
fellows ever sleep?”

“We hate to bother you again,
Jack,” the Marshal said. “Do you
know who made the boards for
the windows on the north side of
Mrs. Culbertson’s house? The same
man put hasps and a padlock on
the outside door leading to the
cellar.”

“You’ve got me there, Mr.
Banks,” the sleepy Sullivan said.
“The lady didn’t say anything
about that when she phoned. She
just said to send up a plumber,
which I did.”

It was now one a. m., on Monday
morning. Nevertheless, the officials
sent out a radio alarm for the miss-
ing carpenter. They had no de-
scription of him, of course, but a
request went out to check on all
carpenters within a radius of twen-
ty miles. The entire police forces
of Manitou Springs, Colorado
Springs and the sheriff’s deputies
all were enlisted in the search.

Meanwhile, Dr. Haney had com-
pleted his autopsy; the cause of
death was now Official. The comely
matron had died from a_ stab
wound in the back, and had bled
to death internally. The coroner
had removed the broken blade
from the victim’s back. It wasn’t
a knife as he had at first supposed.
It was a needle-sharp stiletto that
had been fashioned into a letter
opener. But the most ghastly part
of the coroner’s report was con-

_tained in the last paragraph:

“The woman was criminally as-
saulted while she was dying; there
is also Physical evidence to suggest
that she was again attacked after
rigor mortis had set in.”

The officers were appalled when
they read these words. So shocking
was the evidence that it was al-
most beyond belief. However, all
the detectives knew that the re-
port was true; Dr. Haney was an
expert practitioner long skilled in
criminal procedure. Whoever killed
Mrs. Culbertson was one of the


70

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DETECTIVE SCOOP OF

THE YEAR

E CASE OF THE SEX-MAD WEREWOLVES
Coming in the

September issue of

SECRET DETECTIVE CASES

testimony alone, Brady,” said Cap-
tain Engle, “we’ve reconstructed
this drinking party of yours from
the ground up, and according to
our evidence you were the last
man seen with Mrs. Atkins before
her body wag found out on Dresher
Road. You might just as well tell
us the whole truth.”

“Alright, I’ll tell you the truth,
the whole truth!” cried Brady. “I
didn’t know Mrs. Atkins was dead
until I read it in the papers!
Whitey and I drove her out to the
place on Dresher Road because
Whitey had lived out around there
and knew that the house was emp-
ty! He drove the three of us out
there in his car after we left Ca-
therine Meahand off at her home
near Broad Street!”

“In other words, Brady,” persist-
ed Captain Engle, “you and Earnest
took this woman out to Dresher
Road, criminally attacked her and
left her there to die!”

“It’s not true!” sobbed Brady,
“it’s not. true! Whitey took her in
the house and I went in with them,
‘but when they went upstairs to-
gether and began fighting I went
out and sat in the car! I didn’t
beat her up that way!” Brady was
almost hysterical as Captain Engle
continued, saying:

“I believe you’re telling the truth
at last, Brady. So Earnest took
her upstairs alone?”

' “We were all drinking,” contin-
ued Brady more calmly. “It was a
wild party, allright, but I didn’t
realize what kind of a guy Earnest
was until I heard the fighting up-
stairs. I ran out to the car and

fell asleep. After a while, I guess ©

it was early in the afternoon ...we
went out there early in the morn-
ing ... Whitey came out of the
house. I could tell something was
wrong by the look on his face. I
asked him where she was and
he said ‘let’s get out of here. I
had to hit her!’ Then Earnest
drove me back to town and the
next thing I heard about it was
the story I read about her body
— found the next Biwi.” Mid

FREERIDE RE Ne: eS: aR:

EXCLUSIVE

Brady was almost incoherent as he
finished talking. *

Five hours later, William J.
Earnest confessed to the Coroner’s
Jury that he had killed Mrs. Ethel
M. Atkins. Coldly, without feeling,
he reenacted the crime as he was
taken, handcuffed, to the lonely
house on Dresher Road. When the
Coroner pointed out the unnatural,
fiendish nature of the crime, Earn-
est sneered laughingly.

As evidence, Dr. Simpson testi-
fied that not only was the woman’s
skull crushed, but that her body
had been horribly maltreated and
that two of her front teth had been
knocked out, and her lower lip
nearly cut off her face. As the hor-
rible evidence of the Coroner’s re-
port began to pile up, Earnest
suddenly shouted:

“I did it! I hit her! I hit her!
Something happened inside me and
I went crazy! I hit her! I killed
her! I hit her!” ;

Suddenly, quite calmly, Earnest
told the story of his attack on
the drunken, helpless woman, mak-
ing no apologies. As the Jury heard
the accusation he smiled as the
clerk read:

. that William J. Earnest did
feloniously, maliciously, and with
malice aforethought, assault one
Mrs. Atkins and kill and murder
hers,

Mrs. Earnest, the innocent wife
of the slayer, was carried from the
court in a dead faint as the jury
condemned her husband to die.

On October 27th, 194%, at 12:31
A. M., William J. Earnest walked
calmly to his death in the electric
chair at Western State Peniten-
tiary, Bellefont, Pennsylvania.

Thus ended the life of one of the
coldest blooded murderers who ever
perpetrated a crime upon the per-
son of a drunken woman. Thus
ended one of the most baffling and
most tedious investigations in the
annals of Pennsylvania law en-
forcement.

The names Catherine Meahand
and Thomas Westerval are ficti-
tious, to protect innocent persons.

ar Sx ea EO aE Bag EE AQT CRORE FORT AG er

The, The Raping Monster of Manitou Springs, iccie

“(Contin

iets

the bed, unable to find an explana-
tion, any explanation, which would
clear him.

“I don’t know,” he finally said
weakly. “I don’t know how she got
that letter. I never saw it before.”

“There’s no point in denying it, ©

John,” the sheriff put in gently.
“You were all alone in this house
on Friday when the letter came.
All we have to do is check with
the postman. He’ll tell us you got
it. Either Mrs. Culbertson came
here for it or you took it up there.
We know you took it to her be-
cause you found her starting a

| fire in the furnace. She opened the

envelope with the same knife that
you killed her with!”

The big caretaker and handy-
man collapsed like a struck bal-
loon.

“You're right, sheriff,” he said.
“You’ve got me. I did it! I thought
the letter would burn up when I
threw it in the furnace. I killed
her! I couldn’t help it! I wanted
her!” }

Then there poured forth from
John Sullivan’s mouth the most

sordid story ever heard by any of
the officers present.

According to his confession, Sul-
livan was in the Baldwin home
when Mrs. Culbertson called, ask-
ing if there was any mail for her.
When she was told that a letter
had arrived from Denver, she asked
the caretaker to take it to her
house on the hill. It was then
about seven o’clock Friday night.
Sullivan said that he found the
lady starting a fire in the furnace,
handgd her the letter, and waited
untilf she read it. Then he asked

“to row some garden tools. She

replaced the letter opener on a
table and went to the tool closet.
Sullivan picked up the knife and
plunged it into her back.

“She couldn’t speak,” the killer
told the officers. “Blood was com-
ing from her mouth but she was
fully conscious. I uta her over
to the coal bin and . :

“Never mind that, ” Marshal
Banks put in. “We know what you
did to that poor woman. What did
you do afterwards?” .

“Why, I closed up the house and


ort.
‘hed

y.
ped.
w it

silli-

and
the
had
fter
haauyy
urt-
had
cally
OUS

Miss
tness
vy jail
home

yorld
r in-
» fed
iman.
*, but

You
soned
n hor-
them
1 you
to be
man’
them
‘Its a
owas

Foster
Jane

ifr abies

Reynolds that afternoon and left her
at 6:30. She told us that whole story.”

The man blanched. Foster quickly
produced the stained handkerehicf,

“Ever see this before?” the officer
demanded. “This clinches it. We know
you tried to get rid of it, but it stuck
in the plumbing and we got it out.”

Silliman looked as though he had
seen a ghost. “All right,” he said,
finally. “It’s mine. I did give them the
poison, but_ it was a suicide pact.
Esther and I were unhappy. We de-
cided to end it all. I gave them the
dose—and then lost my nerve. I
couldn’t take it myself.”

Foster snapped a pair of handcuffs
on the confessed killer. “Now show
us where you hid the bottle,” he
directed.

Taken back to his house, the hus-
band led the officers to a concealed
crevice near the furnace. He pulled
out a brandy bottle.

Despite the man’s confession, the
authorities left nothing to chance.
Silliman was positively identified by
the drug clerk” as the “Charles
Howell” who had purchased strych-
nine the day of the crime. Drops of
brandy remaining in the bottle were
found to contain traces of strychnine,
Mrs. Lambert and Miss Reynolds were
completely absolved of complicity in
the murders, when their stories were
proven to be true, and later during the
investigation, it was brought out that
the woman and child who had visited
Mrs. Silliman were Mrs. Katherine

Davis and her three-year-old daugh-
ter Barbara Ann.

Silliman was charged with the mur-
der of his wife and daughter, but
was brought to trial on March 8,
1944, in the Littleton Distric. Court,
for his wife’s murder only. District
Attorney Richard H. Simon prose-
cuted the case.

On March 16th, the jury found
Silliman guilty and he was sentenced
by District Judge Harold H. Davies
toe die for his brutal slaying of two
innocent persons.

Editor’s Note: The names Jane
Reynolds, Frances Allen, Mrs. Ma-
thilda Lambert and Robert Drake are
fictitious, to protect innocent persons
involved in the investigation.

REAL

DETECTIVE

who she is,” mused Chief Smith as the
medical examiner went to work ex-
amining the corpse.

The elderly man, Martin Dryden,
was a photogs tet and the owner of
a small studio on the boardwalk. He
moved in closer, his cycs steadying on
the girl’s face. Suddenly a strangled
groan » twisted Dryden’s lips as he
swayed and stumbled back, his face
the color of bleached parchment.

“Hey,” cried Hughes, jumping for-
ward. “What in-the world’s the mat-
ter with you?”

“I know her, I know ‘her,” cried
Dryden. “Oh, my God. Stella! Poor
Stella. What an awful thing to happen
to her.”

“Stella who?” asked Chief Smith.

“Stella Pomkella. She worked for
me atimy studio.”

Dryden further stated that the girl
was twenty-one, and that her home
was at 196 High street in Lawrence,
and that she had shortened her last
name to Kale. Dryden was 80 broken
up that he was unable to answer any
further questions. Chief Smith told
him to compose himself, but not to
leave the scene.

The medical examiner stated that
the girl had been strangled to death;
also pointed out that she had battled
furiously for her life. As to the reason
why she was slain, he remarked that
an autopsy was required before he
could issue any statement, And when
the police finished with the body, it
was removed to O’Donnell’s undertak-
ing parlers in nearby Amesbury.

oN THING bothered Chief Smith.

The victim’s left wrist was bruised
and lacerated, unlike anything that
could have been made by human
fingers. He walked over to Dryden,
and asked:

“Did this girl wear any jewelry? A
watch, maybe.”

Dryden nodded, “Yes. She wore a
Waltham watch, and a gold ring with
a red stone.” tg
That, to Smith, explained the con-
dition of her wrist. The watch was
missing, and so wis the ring. So what-
ever the actual motive of the crime,
which Smith felt would be shocking,
robbery was also included.

With Hughes and Kelly, Smith
questioned Mrs. Blythe who boarded

Beauty on the Beach

(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 33)

at a cottage near the Venetian Gar-
dens. Mrs. Blythe told her story, de-

clared she hadn't touched anything
after stumbling across the body. —

The assistant medical examiner was
just leaving when Chief Smith stopped
him, and asked:

“Flow about the time of death?”

“Well,” was the answer, “seeing that
her clothes were dry, and keeping in
mind that the rain storm stoppe
shortly after ten o’clock last night,
it’s safe to assume that she ‘was
strangled to death shortly after the
rain let up.” tye

There wasn’t much to be done at
the scene after a probe failed to
divulge any other evidence. The Law-
rence Police Department. was con-
tacted, told to inform the girl’s parents
of the tragedy. Smith studied the
brown tortoise shell glasses for sev-
eral minutes before he leveled his
glance at Dryden, saying softly:

“Dryden, tell us every: bit of in-
formation that you may know about
Stella Pomkella.”

Dryden was on the verge of speak-
ing when State Officer Richard Griffin
and Selectman George R. French hur-
ried up. Griffin, a brilliant detective
and now a lieutenant, suggested that
they take Dryden to headquarters for
questioning. Further, in accordance
with another suggestion by Griffin lest
too much time be wasted, Smith
ordered Hughes and several other
officers to question all residents within
shouting distance of the scene to de-
termine if any sides 9 sounds had
been heard the night o July 5th when
pretty Stella was strangled.

At headquarters, Dryden told his
story—a story full of food for thought.
Dryden related:

“T first met Stella Pomkella last
winter when she called at my studio
in Haverhill, soliciting advertising for
a Polish paper in Lawrence. During
our conversation, T happened to men-
tion my summer studio here on the
boardwalk. Stella said she was looking
for work, asked whether or not I could
use her services on the beach.

“P made no definite promise at the
time. She dropped in on me again
last March, and asked about the job.
I said that T thought I might be able
to use her, About a month later she
wrote me a letter. I replied and told

her to show up at the beach by
May 30th.”

“What were her dutics and salary?”
asked Griffin.

“Her job was to wait on trade, sell
film, finish colored pictures and to
keep the studio tidy,” answered Dry-
den as he lapsed into nervous silence,
chewing his lower lip. “Now about
her salary—frankly, there was no set
amount and as yet, I haven’t paid her.”

Griffin stared steadily at Dryden.
“Why wasn’t the question of wages
settled?” he asked bluntly.

“Well, it was like this,” replied the
photographer, glancing around the
eyes leveled at him. “I figured I’d pay
Stella according to the run of my
business during the summer. She had
no objection to this.”

“ET see,” murmured Griffin, “By the
way, Dryden, if the pirldidn't receive
any money from you, then where did
she get money to pay for room and
board on the beach?”

The photographer’s face reddened
as he squirmed uneasily in his chair.
“You see,” he sort of stammered.
“Stella lived above the studio with

“Qh,” exclaimed Griffin. “Did she?”
The rest of the officers in the room
showed their surprise as they inched
closer to, Dryden, who must have
sensed the trend of their thoughts
because he suddenly jumped to his
feet, and cried indignantly:

“Don’t get me wrong. Don’t get me
wrong now. There are three rooms
above my studio. I used the front
chamber, and Stella was in the pack
room with the kitchen between us.
Stella was a fine girl, and I would
never do anything to breach the trust
and faith she had in me.”

“All right,” said Griffin as he lit a
cigarette, a speculative gleam in his
narrowed eyes. “Now, tell us all about
Stella’s movements yesterday—say, UP
to the time you saw her last.”

“Yesterday, being Sunday,” | ex-
plained Dryden, “Stella attended- the
nine o’clock mass at_ the Catholic
church in the North End. Upon her
return, we had breakfast, Then she
prepared a chicken for dinner, Dur-
ing the afternoon, she had company,
two young couples. They stood out-
side the studio and talked. Naturally,

being in the stucio mysclf, I couldn’t
67

pens _ _ = gibi

back to the Silliman house to search
for the missing brandy bottle. In the
meantime, Foster assigned a deputy
to check Mrs. Lambert's statements.

A thorough examination of the
premises around the bungalow de-
veloped no clues as to the source of
the poisoned liquor, however, but the
men did discover that the bathroom
plumbing was stopped up.

That started Foster on another line
of thought. Maybe somebody had
tried to dispose of some evidence and
it had clogged the pipes. He ' called
a plumber, who quickly extracted a
large white handkerchief. It had lip-
stick marks on it and in one corner
was an embroidered initial “C.”

Comparison of the marks with the
lipsticks Mrs. Silliman had in her
purse and bureau drawers showed it
was not hers. Could it have been Mrs.
Lambert's? Or did it belong to the
unknown woman who had been seen
by the nurse and the grocery boy?
Had this woman pretended to drink
a poison potion with her hostess and
then carefully wiped off her own lips
so as not to partake of the lethal dose?

The officers discussed these possi-
bilities and also considered the initial.
It could be Charles. But Charles Silli-

man’s alibi seemed ironclad. ‘Ad-
mittedly baMled, the investigators set
about probing this new angle.

s TOPPING in his office to check de-
©¥ velopments, Foster found a mes-

sage to call Robert Drake, a tenant of
the Pennsylvania Street apartment
house,

“Sheriff,” this informant blurted
out excitedly, “I was talking to the
manager here and he said you were
trying to find’ out if Mrs. Silliman
knew anyone in the building. Well,
I just got the Sunday papers and saw
a picture of Mr. Silliman. I don’t
know about his wife, but I’m almost
positive he comes here once in a
while to see a Miss Jane Reynolds,
who lives with Miss Frances Allen.
I’d even go so far as to say I saw him
Mane here Saturday afternoon about

“Great guns!’ Foster exploded to
his aides when he put the receiver on
the hook. “This case gets more com-
plicated every minute. Come on, Pin-
ney, we’re going back to that apart-
ment house.”

Jane Reynolds, an attractive blonde,
was surprised to sce the officers. She
opened her round blue eyes wide in
amazement when they told her they
suspected that Charles Silliman had
visited her Saturday afternoon.

“Whoever told you that must have
mistaken my brother for him,” she
exclaimed, and poing into the bed-
room returned with a picture of a
dark-haired young man.

“That’s my brother John,” she ex-
lained. “Does this Mr. Silliman look
ike him?”

The officers had to admit there was

a striking likeness. The sister’s de-
scription of her brother’s height and
weight also convinced them that
Drake could have been mistaken.
Nevertheless, they obtained John’s
address with the intention of checking
his sister’s statement.

When the investigators got back to
the office, however, they learned
something which put Jane Reynolds’
brother in the background. Lotcr re-
ported that Mrs. Lambert had bought
strychnine in Denver a week before

ce the crime. The druggist said she got

*

some there every six months, to kill
rats.

Foster called the Denver police.
“Have you anything on a Mrs. Ma-
“hilda Lambert,” he wanted to know.
“Call me as soon as you find out.”

In five minutes the answer came
back. The woman was, indeed, known
to them. She had received a_sus-
pended sentence for petty larceny five
years before. She had come to Denver
from Spokane, Washington, and once
had been’ committed to a state insti-
tution for a mental disorder.

‘Foster and Pinney raced to the
woman’s home, taking with them the
lipstick-smeared handkerchief.

Mrs. Lambert hotly denied any
connection with the crime. She ad-
mitted her past record and burst into
tears when they suggested she quite
possibly had killed Mrs. Silliman and
Patty because of resentment over an
accusation which they now knew
might well have been true.

The officers took a look around the
house. They found no liquor or empty
bottle. There was rat bait in the cellar,
which the nurse admitted contained
strychnine. But of the four different
brands of lipstick discovered among
the woman’s possessions, none
matched the sample on the handker-
chief.

They still did not have enough evi-
dence to arrest Mrs. Lambert, the in-
vestigators knew, so warning, her to
remain available for further question-
ing they returned to Littleton to re-
view the case.

By the time they got back Loter
had called again to say that a Charles
Howell of Watkins, Colorado, had ob-
tained a few cents worth of strych-
nine for rats at a Lawrence Street
drug store the day of the crime. The
clerk who made the sale was out of
town for the week end, so the deputy
was unable to get a description of the
buyer.

“Check Watkins on a _ Charles
Howell,” Foster said to Gorman, and
while the undersheriff was under-
taking this task the sheriff sat down
at his desk to try to sift the informa-
tion he had thus far.

Could Charles Howell have been a
false name given by the grocery boy?
No, the youth’s alibi had been sub-
stantiated. Could it have been a man
who lived at the Pennsylvania Strect
address? If so, he was unknown to
Charles Silliman, who had failed to
recognize a name among the list of
tenants. A new report, from the
deputy checking on Mrs. Lambert's
movements, made it fairly certain
that the nurse had left the Silliman
house before six.

“We've got to find that other woman
who visited Mrs. Silliman,” Foster de-
clared, and picking up the phone
called the apartment house manager.
He wanted to know if a woman with
a three-year-old girl had visited any-
one there recently. The manager said
he didn’t think so. ,

As the sheriff cradled the receiver
he seemed deep in thought. Suddenly
he had an idea. He would talk to
Robert Drake again.

“We questioned Miss Reynolds,”
Foster told the tenant. “She said it
was her brother you saw there yes-
terday afternoon.’

“Oh, no!” the man said emphati-
eally. “I know her brother. He was
here yesterday, too, but the second
guy wasn’t him.”

The official hung up and knit his
brows. He took from his desk Gor-

man’s lengthy report on the Sillimans
and read it over again and again.
Finally, his eye settled on one sent-
ence: “Charles Silliman had excelled
in dramaties.”

“Play-acting, eh?” the sheriff blurt-
ed out, calling the attention of his
associates to this phase of Silliman’s
career, “I never saw a more grief-
stricken man in my life—but could he
have been putting on a show?”

“But there’s his alibi,’ Gorman put
in. “He punched a time clock at
110,”

For answer Foster phoned the
trucking company superintendent at
his home. It was improbable, but pos-
sible, that executive admitted, that
someone else could have punched
Silliman’s time card for him.

Spurred by this information, Foster
and Pinney hustled back to Jane
Reynolds’ apartment.

“Mind if I see your lipstick?” the
sheriff inquired.

The girl handed it over. It matched
exactly the marks on the tell-tale
handkerchief.

Foster knew full well that the lip-
stick, a popular brand, was probably
worn by hundreds of girls in Denver.
But he decided to take a chance.

“You are Charles Silliman's
swectie,” he Said. “His wife was killed,
and you know something about it.
Tell us what you know or we'll arrest

you as an accessory before the fact.”
the young woman went white and
leaned against a chair for support.

She was trembling and she clenched
and unclenched her fists nervously.

“Mrs. Silliman—killed!” she gasped.
“T didn’t know—I don't know—how it
happened—”

“But you do know Charles Silli-
man?” he sheriff insisted.

“Yes,” the girl whispered, and
hoarsely told the investigators the
sordid story. She and Silliman had
been rh together. Silliman, after
getting a friend to sign out for him
at his office, had come to her apart-
ment at 4 o’clock Saturday. He had
left her at 6:30. She emphatically
denied any knowledge of murderous
intentions on the part of her lover.

Foster saw everything now. He saw
why Esther Silliman had had some-
thing on her mind. She had learned

of her husband’s infidelity. She. had.

found Jane Reynolds’ address and was
going to see her.

HE sheriff decided to hold Miss
JZ Reynolds as’ a material witness
and after taking her to the county jail
he and Pinney sped to the home
where Charles Silliman was staying.

‘T kill my wife—and—and—my
little girl?” Silliman stammered and
his voice broke. “They were-—every-
thing I had in the world. You're
crazy to—”

“Everything you had in the world
—besides Jane Reynolds,” Foster in-
terrupted sneeringly, ‘and we’re fed
7 with your dramatics, Silliman.

ou’ve put on a good act so far, but
that stuff won’t go any more. You
gave your wife and child poisoned
brandy and watched them die in hor-
rible convulsions. You watched them
writhe in agony on the floor and you
reveled in it. You were going to be
free to carry on with another woman.”

Charles Silliman stared at them
wildly. “Stop! Stop!” he cried. “It's a
lie! I couldn’t have done it! I was
working until 7 o'clock.”

“Oh, no you’ weren't,” Foster
snapped. “You were with Jane

Reynold
at 6:30. :
The pn
produce
“River
demana:
you trie
in the ;
Sillim
seen a
finally. ‘
poison,
Esther «
cided to
dose—a:
couldn’t
Foster
on the
us. whe:
directed.

who she
medical
amining!
The e
was a pl
a small
moved in
the pirl’
groan «ty
swayed ;
the colo:
“Hey,”
ward. ‘\
ter with
“T knc
Dryden.
Stella. W
to her.”
“Stella
“Stella
me at'm
Dryder
was two:
was at 1!
and that
name to |
up that |
further ¢
him to c
leave the
The m
the girl |
also poin!
furiously
why she
an autop
could issi
the police
was remo
ing parle:

NE T!}
The:
and lace:
could ha
fingers. H
and aske«
“Did
watch, m.:
Dryden
Waltham
a red sto:
That, t
dition of
missing, :
ever the
which Sr
robbery
With
question:

EQ SRwY semar

o

——
«

_Aleages test Let GEO Oe

SIMS, Cicero Se ATA : ae ae ee

. (Fairplay, Colorado) "..Cicero Simms, a sway gering. young

troublemaker who shot down his best friend on the nain
‘Street of Alma, It seemed to be the end of. the..line for
the skinny 19-year-old boy from Tennessee, for he. had
bragged of the killing and also bragged of killing -2~men
on his trip west. He had'come to join his two older. «:.-

brothers in S outh Park.sebliereti@eelic was sentenced to

_~be hanged, and here a legend begins. Young Simns. always

boasted he was too thin to be hanged, and this adddd
color to the incident 3 So thousands gathered to watch the
public execution, It came off as expected. Althouch
there was no evidence that the prope and fall had broken
Simms' neck, he was pronounced dead, and most of the town |
paraded by the coffin to view his body. After the ex8cu-
tion his two older brothers 3» who were locked up durigig the


Sar a oe

.

thidl and the hanging +o avoid any possible. trouble, -- .

flere released from the Fairplay jail, A stage driver--
named McCarthy claimad that later that night he was hail

. ed by two men with an injured boy just outside of town

band forced at gunpoint to take the three men to Leadville

Stage driver McCa rthy iden®ified the injured youth ab
Cicero Simms. The, roneinder, of. the story is cloudkd by
rumor and legend, and although nothing official was ever
heard of the 3 men again, some old thers swear that Cice-
ro lived long enough to get into even more trouble in
Cripple Creek many years after his hanging." ,
REAL WEST Fei ruary, 197h. "Playing Fair in Fairplay" by
Cy Martin. Page LO : : :

« (Probably occurred in 1868)


FRIEND °

< inter-
cd at the

he speaker’s
message.
rned from the
year and we'd |

octive.

stayed here long if

visit her husband’s
ad. Had a vacation

| a couple of weeks
We'd put him on
as anxious to work

Then his expression
it there by the name
at the institution for
acket of letters lying

x leather bag he had
s, he noted, all ended

RI

WIFE

HUSBAND

FRIEND e WIFE HUSBAND FRIEND

.
yy
‘

Was it mad
jealousy that
split this pleasant

three-way friendship ?

with either one of two endearing phrases.
The earlier ones, dated 1938, ended with the
scrawled phrase, “All my love, sweetheart—Mart.”
Those of later dates were signed, “Your loving hus-
band.” The handwriting was the same.
A moment later the veteran detective’s countenance fell
‘ as the voice came again over the wire. After he thanked
the doctor and hung back the receiver, Bruce turned to
Coroner Coughlan.
zy “They never heard of Russell.”
Early that afternoon Police Chief H. D. Harper received the
: try coroner’s official report.
id ) Marie Essex Sukle, attractive twenty-three-year-old brunette and a
Be: graduate of Colorado Springs High School, had died as the result
of a bullet entering her head. Death occurred sometime early Monday ‘
evening, probably between 5:30 and 7 o’clock.
© The girl’s body bore numerous ugly welts and bruises, her left eye had
been struck a cruel blow and the lower jaw was fractured. Either a man’s
nard fists or some heavy but flexible instrument had been used in administer-
ing the beating. A second bullet had grazed her skull, passing just over the ’
right ear.
Contents of the stomach showed traces of alcohol, but not in sufficient quantity to |
indicate intoxication at the time of death. Her clothing, both outer and undergar-
ments, was badly torn and splattered with blood. . ”
Rigor mortis had set in only after the body had been placed in the driver’s seat of the

“RIM

' >

ee

BY HAL WHITE

‘


wheel,
rating,
slored.

ent in Pueblo, and
two weeks. Bruce
nen would be found

iff Jerry O’Driscoll
>. Eppler, a rancher
teen miles northeast

last weekend in an
n which they found

“Said they wanted
. them there was. no
e one who was driv-
‘ap ’em. I told them

and headed for the
Two hours later I
out of the window,

O’Driscoll drove out
ed horses and started
vard.

ed as the group ap-
yards from the spot

the horse had shied.
body of a man. In
t hole, and a felt hat
2 officer that the body

‘ear-old carpenter and
lis wife Marie. The
signs of struggle in-
‘rom a distance of at
alking away from the
ched the linked chain

was being examined

ARROW shows body of Jack Russell ex-
actly as it was found by officers. Detec-
tive Sergeant Robert Wraith (right) points
to Russell’s hat, fifteen feet distant.

THE DEATH CAR was parked at spot marked by
arrow for almost twelve hours before a passerby
noticed a woman sitting in it, and investigated.

by O’Driscoll and his possemen, Inspector Bruce was talking
over long-distance telephone with state prison authorities at
Deer Lodge, Montana.

Fingerprints found on the Russell automobile had been
rushed to the Federal Bureau of Investigation at Denver.
That morning Inspector Bruce learned from the FBI that
they had been made by Martin Sukle, a former prisoner at
the Montana penitentiary, whom the federal authorities had
arrested two years previously while investigating a white
slave ring in Ohio.

Sukle had served three years of a six-year term in the
Montana prison after being found guilty of attempting to slay
his first wife. with an axe!

Later, acquaintances and relations in Colorado Springs
were to recall that since his return there early in 1938 Martin
Sukle had been very reticent about talking of those years of
his wandering.

With the finding of Russell’s body the search for the former
engineer at the sanitarium was intensified. Police received
a message from the City Welfare Department at Cedar
Rapids, Iowa, informing them that a man who had just come
to Iowa from Colorado Springs had revealed he’d heard
Sukle threaten to slay Russell the week before.

Mrs. Mary Buchan, another aunt of Sukle living in Lead-
ville, Colorado, came forward to report that on the previous
Monday her nephew had called upon her. His face was
scratched and bloody and he had told her he’d been in a

fight, she reported. And there was something else, too.

Mrs. Buchan showed the authorities a letter, written by
Martin Sukle. In it he told of his jealousy over his wife’s
affections and ended with the cryptic threat: “I regret it all
but I must do something tonight.”

The letter was dated Saturday, September 1, and had
been received.the following Monday, Mrs. Buchan said.

Bullets taken from the bodies of both Marie Sukle and
Jack Russell were found to have been fired from the same
gun, a .38-caliber automatic pistol. A’ weapon of that caliber
was purchased from a Colorado Springs second-hand _ store
early the previous Saturday by a man who answered to the
description of Sukle, investigation revealed. He had paid
$3.50+for the gun.

The day after Marie was buried in a Colorado Springs
cemetery, her mother, Mrs. Ida Hirt, called city police and
informed them she had seen Martin Sukle on a street near

9

~s

her home. This was immediately after she had returned from
attending her daughter’s funeral services.. He was wearing
a gray sweater and light slouch hat, Mrs. Hirt said. He
appeared exhausted and haggard.

“I believe Martin saw me as I got out of a street car,”
reported Mrs. Hirt. “I had just time to get a good look at
his white face before he turned and ran down the street
toward the business dis-
trict.”

The next day services
were held at the Colo-
rado Springs Mortuary
for Jack Russell. Officers
in plain clothes were on
hand, mingling with the
crowds. They more than
half expected to see
Sukle turn up for the
ceremony. In no other
manner could they ac-
count for his apparent
failure to leave the city
when he must have
known that scores of po-
lice were searching for
him.

‘But Sukle failed to
show up either at the

thought at last I’d found one decent, square-shooting woman.
We were married and I got the first steady job I’d had since
they let me out of the big house over in Montana four
years ago. ;

“We didn’t have many friends, but we were happy. Then
I met Jack Russell, and both Marie and I took a liking to
him. He was just about our only friend—a quiet sort of
guy, the kind you natur-
ally trust. The three of
us used to have good
times together.

“Three weeks ago I
was returning to the
sanitarium. I had a box
of candy for Marie un-
der my arm. Suddenly
I saw Jack’s car parked
under some trees nearby.
I approached it from the
back, never. . suspecting
anything wrong.

“But as I neared the
car I heard my wife
laughing. It was more
like a giggle, but even
then I didn’t think any-
thing about it. I looked
through the rear win-

funeral parlors or the COLORADO SPRINGS' famous sleuthing team of Chief H. D. Harper (left) dow, and there in the
graveyard in Florence, and Inspector I, B. Bruce were largely instrumental in solving the Sukle riddle. back seat were my wife

Colorado, where Rus-
sell’s bullet-torn body
was laid to rest. Where was the man hiding out?

Early Monday evening, exactly a week after Marie Sukle’s
body had been left in the parked automobile, a haggard,
gaunt-featured man walked into the Hollywood - gasoline
station on the outskirts of Colorado Springs.

“T want to give myself up,” he mumbled to Glen Sarvis,
the attendant. “I want to give myself up.” ‘

Sarvis gave one look at the vacant-eyed stranger, -ecalled
the hunt for Martin Sukle, and went quietly to a telephone.
A few minutes later Deputy Sheriff Roy Glazier drove up,
covered the man with a gun and placed him. under arrest.

It was Sukle. He appeared dazed, and made no resistance.
Glazier searched him and found that he had a small .38
caliber revolver, now empty, thrust inside his belt beneath
the gray sweater.

Sukle’s shirt and trousers bore bloodstains, his face was
unshaven and his drawn and unkempt features had aged ten
years in a single week.

Taken immediately before Inspector Bruce and Sheriff Sam
Deal, the former convict was unable to talk coherently. He
appeared half-starved, and later admitted he had had nothing
to eat for days. No further effort at questioning him was
made that day. ah

Early next morning Sukle .asked to be taken once more
before the officers. ‘I want to tell ’em all about it—all about
how I killed the skunk that was trying to steal my wife from
me. How I killed her too, because she had been two-timing
me with my best friend right before my eyes,” he shouted
excitedly.

In a twenty-five-page confession Martin Sukle revealed
the events of the bloody weekend before. His story, told
without hesitation in the presence of Chief Harper and a
score of police officials, follows in substance:

“FoR FIFTEEN years women have brought me hell.
They’ye made me do crazier things than any of those
whacks out at thenut factory ever thought of doing. They’ve
put me in jails and the penitentiary—even had me in trouble
with the G-men. :
“When I came back home two years ago I made up: my
mind I was off of ’em for good. Then I met Marie and I

10

and my best friend in
each other’s arms, If I’d

had a gun I’d have let ’em both have it right then.
“I didn’t wait to see any more. I couldn’t stand it. In-
stead, 1 went back downtown and got half-drunk. The next

‘day I told Marie I had a chance for a better job over at

Pueblo. All I wanted was to get away—never to see either

_of them again.

“T went away but the look on Marie’s face stayed with me.
I kept seeing her laughing lips as they met his, and I knew
that they must have been talking about me. What a sucker
I was! I knew I’d never sleep again until I killed that ——!

“It got worse and worse. A week ago last Saturday I
phoned my wife and told her I wanted her to get off a few
days, to call Jack and meet me near the sanitarium. I knew
what I was going to do, and when I met ’em I was able to
act just like nothing was wrong. For a while it seemed

almost like the whole thing was just a dream. Jack acted °

like he always did, kind of kidding in that quiet way of his,
and when Marie put her arms around my neck and kissed me
it was almost more than I could stand. .

“That afternoon we went to several beer joints. I wanted

them to get feeling good—maybe they’d give something away.
Of course, I was already sure, but it seemed only fair to give
them a chance to make just one slip right while they was
with me.
_ “But nothing happened. It was like it’d always been. We
left Jack in Colorado Springs and Marie and I went over
to Pueblo in his car to see my aunt. On the way I kept
kind of hinting at things but she just got quiet." I knew she
was thinking—wondering how much I knew.

“Saturday night we stayed in Pueblo. Sunday we got up
late, had a few more beers and Marie said she’d like to drive
out the Corley Mountain scenic highway near the Springs:
But it was the next day before we took that ride. I told her
I was feeling too bad. ;

“When we got back to the Springs I left her at Jack’s
place.. Jack and I got in the car and drove out toward the
Black Forest. He said he’d like to get some squirrels, and I
showed lim the little revolver I’d bought.

_ “We stopped at some farmer’s place. Jack told him he had
a trap and would try to get some squirrels that way after
the man said we. couldn’t shoot a (Continued on page 55)


%

automobile. That fitted in with information obtained. from:
residemts of the neighborhood who reported to police they
had seen the car standing at the corner of Pueblo and Weber
Streets at about nine o’clock the previous evening. The
street at that point was poorly lighted, and the woman’s dark
hair, concealing the side of her face and neck, had protected
her from the eyes of passersby until Nelson came along.
Chief Harper’s men were already attempting to learn more
about Jack Russell and the dead girl’s husband, Martin Sukle.
At the sanitarium they found that Sukle and his pretty young
wife had spent very little time away from the hospital since

he had gone to work there some ten months before. Neither ”

had ever been known to drink on their jobs, although the
husband was reputed to be a “man who liked his beer during
off hours.”

Police Chief Harper immediately ordered a canvass of
Colorado Springs taverns and beer parlors that sold the brand

contained in the cans found in the Russell automobile. Before-

the afternoon was over they had found three places where
both Russell and Sukle were known by name.

Few Saturday nights had gone by during recent weeks
when the two men hadn’t appeared at one or the other of
these places together. No one had ever seen them intoxicated.
They usually came in, ordered ‘their beer at the bar, then
went to a table where they spent an hour or so in conversa-
tion.

At each place it was reported that the engineer was the
one who invariably paid for the beer. Sukle, a man of
slender build and thinning brown hair, had frequently become
excited during their arguments over politics and religion, and
his voice could be heard throughout the barroom. Russell,
on the other hand, although apparently the older of the two
and a man of husky proportions and heavy features, had
never been known ‘to raise his voice.

Though their arguments had frequently become heated, the
two had always appeared to remain the best of friends, it was
recalled. At the last place visited, a small tavern on the
north side of the city, police learned that Russell had come
in the Saturday before and ordered half a dozen. cans of
beer to be taken out.

While his men were investigating the past history of the
two men now sought for questioning, Inspector Bruce was
conducting his probe along other lines. Among the letters
found in Mrs. Sukle’s bag was one addressed to her husband
in care of Mrs. Agnes Yaklovich, an aunt living in: Pueblo,
Colorado. On Wednesday morning Inspector Bruce went to
Pueblo to question the woman.

Mrs. Yaklovich told the detective that Sukle and his. wife
had visited her home the previous Saturday evening. “I
could see that they’d both been drinking, but they seemed
to be in good humor,” she reported.

“Martin said something about having been celebrating his
new job with a friend of his. Before leaving they said they
planned to meet this friend later and continue their party.
Martin was carrying a roll of bills, but I didn’t worry as I
knew Marie never drank to excess and I felt sure she would
be able to take care of him.” :

Sukle born thirty-two years before in ,Gelorado Springs

of Slovenian parents, had spent his easly years’ there. When

a young man he had gone to Montana and rethained ‘until ©

two years before, when he returned to the city of his birth.

For several months after his return, Bruce learned, Sukle
had apparently lived on money saved during his earlier: years.
Then he met Marie Essex, and after a whirlwind courtship
they were married on November 18, 1938. Almost imme-
diately after that Sukle had obtained his job at the sanitarium
where his bride was employed.

Russell was known around Colorado Springs as a sober,
steady worker. For the last few years he had traveled be-
tween half a dozen Colorado cities taking carpenter work
wherever it was offered.

For two days city and county officers combined in their
search for the missing men. Inspector Bruce had been unable

8

PUSHED BACK from its position over the wheel,
Marie Sukle’s body showed signs of a beating,
and one eye was swollen and discolored.

to locate Sukle’s new place of employment in Pueblo, and
Russell had not been working for about two weeks. Bruce
expressed the belief that only one of the men would be found
alive.

_Early Thursday morning Deputy Sheriff Jerry O’Driscoll
received a telephone call from Charles E. Eppler, a rancher
living in the Black Forest country seventeen miles northeast
of Colorado Springs.

“A couple of fellows drove up here last weekend in an
automobile of the same make as that in which they found
the Sukle girl’s body,” Eppler reported. “Said they wanted
to hunt squirrels on my land and I told them there was no
shooting allowed. Then the big guy—the one who was driv-
ing—asked if it’d be all right to try to trap ’em. I told them
to go ahead.

“They drove on through my place and headed for the
heavily wooded region north of here. Two hours later I
heard their car returning. I glanced out of the window,
but saw only one man inside.”

Hastily organizing a posse, Deputy O'Driscoll drove out
to the Eppler ranch. There they obtained horses and started
off along the narrow lane leading northward.

An hour later O’Driscoll’s horse shied as the group ap-

' proached a clump of pines a hundred yards from the spot

where the little-used trail ended.

O’Driscoll dismounted and saw why the horse had shied.
There, lying face downward, was the body of a man. In
the back of the bared head was a bullet hole, and a felt hat
lay fifteen feet away. One look told the officer that the body
had been there several days.

It was Jack Russell, the thirty-five-year-old carpenter and
closest friend of Martin Sukle and his wife Marie. The
position of the body and abserice of signs of struggle in-
dicated that he had been shot down from a distance of at
least several yards while apparently walking away from the
slayer. - Russell’s right hand still clutched ‘the linked chain
of a small gopher trap...

At the very moment. Russell’s body was being examined

THE D
arrow
noticed

by O'Driscoll
over long-dis
Deer Lodge,
Fingerprint
rushed to th
That mornin;
they had bee
the Montana
arrested two
slave ring in
Sukle had
Montana pris
his first wife
Later, acqi
were to recall
Sukle had be:
his wanderiny
With the fi
engineer at 1
a message f
Rapids, Iowa
to Iowa fro1
Sukle threate
Mrs. Mary
ville, Colorad
Monday her
scratched an


4

deep in the woods,
man hunting party.

i
eat

; ‘ a ye

’

“Unless,” Coughlan suggested, “knowledge of this
woman’s death was important to teach someone a lesson.”

The dead‘woman appeared to be in her early, 20s. Her
wide-set eyes, high cheekbones and sensuous mouth gave
her face an exotic cast. Her skirt had been yanked up, ex-
posing her white thighs above the rolled tops:of her silk
stockings. She had been shot in the head’and chest: «

On the seat beside her was a small black zippered bag.
Bruce took a quick look inside and saw that it was. filled
with letters addressed to a woman in a man’s handwriting.

A search of the car revealed no weapon. But on the
floor of the rear seat the officers found six empty beer cans
and three discharged shells from a .38 caliber pistol. One
bullet had passed through the woman’s body and lodged in
the upholstery of the rear seat, from which Bruce dug it out.

“Tf we ever find the murder gun,” the inspector said, ‘we
should have no trouble pinning the crime on the owner.”

Coughlan nodded at the empty cans. “Better. look ‘for
somebody who likes beer,” he suggested.
“T hardly think the woman drank all six
by herself. The killer must have helped.”

The police were sure they would find another

BY DAVID R. GEORGE

/ Below left: Marie Sukle, whose body was found slumped in car parked downtown.
Below right Confessed slayer, third from left, flanked by Colorado Springs officers.

Lt

bs body, but when they did the

The coroner estimated that the victim had been dead for
about 12 hours. It was then 6:45 a.m. Tuesday, October 3,
1939, and his estimate would place the time of the crime
as early Monday evening.

“Tf the murder took place here, someone would have
heard the shots,” Bruce pointed out. “Evidently it occurred

entire trend of the investigation was changed its

somewhere else and the killer drove the body to this spot.

But why here?”

“T still think,” Coughlan repeated, “that the slayer wanted
to be sure someone around here knew about this girl’s
death just as soon as possible. The body may have been
left as. an object lesson, like the Black Hand does.”

From the condition of the young woman’s clothing, it
appeared that she might have been raped. But this was
a question which could be determined only by an au-
topsy.

While the coroner had the body removed to the morgue.
‘Bruce’s technicians began going over the car for finger-
prints and the inspector returned to head-
quarters with the bag of letters.

Seated at his [Comtinued on page 50]

25


r In
House”

n page 29)

3 said.
i conversation, and
ed Haas to have
The fighter agreed,
at a Chinese res-
- had a few drinks.
| him to stay over-
aid. Being low in
the two men went
1 East Fifth Street.
ig for bed in the
3 aM. Engelberg
ned nightshirt, and
m another.
Dr. Engelberg be-
which could have
‘ed, the fighter told

qued, and in des-
m a light blow on
z pleaded with him
hen, Haas said, he
wung hard, then
. nearby table and
t repeatedly.

him with?” Kern

it was,” Haas re-
{ grabbed the first
1’t remember what

| hurriedly, wiped
and left. For al-
d nervously back
: house, not know-
he fled, eventually

his real name is
and that his home
mother still lives.
ighting in Canada
ie Haas, and had
spring to see the

ing, stands a mur-
ent in New York
slaying created a
ronted New York
sblem, caused con-
Berlin, and wound
Haas in Toronto.
any international
the police feel that
solved the crime,
yy the doctor’s ab-

ied from Toronto
rial.

se” on East Fifth
dwelling housed
Dr. Engelberg.

| i

ee EE

Colorado's Double
Love Crime

(Continued from page 10)

gun around there.

“A couple of miles from the house Jack
stopped the car and got out. He had the
trap in his hand, holding it by a chain.
He was looking around for a squirrel hole
when I got out.

“I never said a word to him. I just
pulléd the gun and aimed it steady at the
back of his head. Then I fired and he
fell to the ground without making a sound.
I treated him the same way he'd treated
me—didn’t give him a chance. I did it
from behind his back when he wasn’t sus-
pecting a thing.

“T left him lying there, got back in the
car and returned to the Springs. Marie
was waiting for me. I told her we hadn't
got any squirrels but I’d shot a skunk.
bee didn’t even ask what had become of
ack,

“The next night shortly before dusk, we
were back together in the car. We were
taking that ride out along the scenic high-
way like she’d wanted. Just as the sun
went down Marie asked me to park by
the side of the road. Said she had some-
thing to tell me.

“That was at Point Sublime. Right after
our marriage we used to drive out there
lots of times. It brought back a lot of
memories to me, but I kept thinking of
‘how she’d looked in Jack’s arms.

“We opened a couple of cans of beer and
drank without either of us talking. Then,
I knew the time had come. I turned sud.
denly toward her and said, ‘Marie, I’m
going to ‘kill you.’

“She didn’t even seem surprised, I
reached into the glove compartment in the
dash, pulled out the little .38 I’d bought
the day before and pointed it at her head.

“Marie kind of leaned over with her
head close to my lap. She was crying.
Just before I pulled the trigger I heard
her say, ‘Goodbye.’

“T fired twice to make sure, then I pulled
off my sweater and spread it down over
her head where it lay across my lap. All
the way back to town she lay there.

“I don’t even remember where I parked
the car when we got back. But I hated to.
leave her lying down across the seat like
that. I wanted someone to find her soon
and take care of her. So I pulled her
head’ up and rested it on the steering
wheel.

“After I_got out of the car I started
walking. I walked forty-four miles to
Pueblo and got there early Tuesday morn-
ing. I slept almost all that day—for the
first time in more than a week. I slept
in a_ haystack.

“That night I hid out in an old empty
basement at the Bessemer Steel Works
near Pueblo and the next day bought
some food off a bunch of Mexicans that
lived near there. Then I came back: to
Colorado Springs. Since then I’ve been
walking—walking and trying to get things
straightened out in my mind.”

Or OCTOBER 11 District Attorney
Clyde L. Starrett formally charged
Sukle with the first degree murder of his |
wife and Russell. The same day Sukle
announced his intention of pleading ‘guilty
and asking for death in Colorado’s lethal
gas chamber. ~
But when Martin Sukle appeared in El
Paso County District Court on November

7 to answer for-the murder of Russell, a

plea of not guilty was entered in his be-

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INSIDE DETECTIVE

half. Attorneys - announced they would
base their defense on the “unwritten law.”

It required just two hours for the State
to present its evidence. Rancher Eppler
told of the two men’s visit to his place—
the visit from which only one returned.
Deputy Sheriff Glazier told of arresting
Sukle and disarming him. Dr. Coughlan

five days” when found. ‘Two bullets had

entered his body, one: through the back of

the head.

That same afternoon’ Sukle- took the
stand in his own, defense. He swore that
he had warned Russell to “stay away from
my wife.” Before he killed‘ his erstwhile
friend, Sukle testified, he told Russell to
i gn or.die.” + , ;

“The prosecution pointed out that- there
was no evidence that any illicit attachment
existed between Russell, a man of excel-
lent reputation, and Mrs, Sukle,"a woman
of equally good repute. This attachment
existed only in the jealousy-inflamed mind
of Sukle, it was charged. - Furthermore,
the two slayings were not committed in
the heat of passion, but were coldly and
cleverly plotted with cledr premeditation.

Twenty-three hours after Judge John’ E.
Little turned the case over to a jury of
twelve men, a verdict of guilty of murder
in the first degree was returned.

asked the judge whether the defendant
would. be eligible for parole if a life
sentence (mandatory if a recommendation
for mercy is made)’ was imposed.

Receiving an ‘affirmative answer, the
jurors retired again and: took a single
ballot which sealed. Sukle’s doom,

So Martin Sukle, who had staked every-

tected so many killers, lost.. And the man

who couldn’t stay away from women, al-

though he blamed them all for his troubles,

will die of cyanide gas early this year in

Vea little steel death chamber at Canon
ity. ;

Three Fatal -
Words’...

(Continued from page 15)

“T don’t trust him. If I were you, I’d
have a talk with him, Maybe he can tell
you a thing or two.”

The youth would explain no further,
and the sheriff was inclined to consider his
hint as merely idle: rumor. Nevertheless,
he decided to talk. with Raymond Glasco
again, and he drove over to his house.

Glasco was not at home, the sheriff was
told. . He was out of town on business,
but would “be back soon.”

So once more the sheriff went to the
Stewart home, on the faint chance that he
might unearth one more lead. He found
no clues, but he did encounter one of the
neighbors whom he knew. More to make
conversation than anything else, the. sheriff
asked him if he knew Rivwand Glasco.

The neighbor nodded. “Sure—I just saw
him a little while ago.” _.

“Saw him? Where?” :

“Well, he came to the Stewart house
here, and then he went.down the street to
Grandma Kelly’s house——”

“Grandma Kelly’s house!” .

“Yes, he left there just a few minutes
ago.

RUT ALREADY Sheriff Edgmon was off,
and in a turmoil of suppressed excite-
ment. For one thing, Glasco was supposed

to be. out of town, For another, the

testified Russell had been.dead “four or -

A few minutes before reporting, the jury .

thing on the “unwritten law” that has. pro- ©

familiar name of Grandma Kelly was com-
ing into the case again.

A minute later he was knocking at the
aged widow’s door. She let him in.

“Now, listen, Mrs. Kelly,” he began
sternly, “I want to know——” F

She cut him off with a wave of the
hand. “Yes,” she said. “I'll tell you.
Sit down.”

The sheriff sat down. .

“I promised I wouldn’t tell,” the widow
began in her quavering voice. “Gladys
made me promise, but I’m afraid not to
now. Oh, the things that man did. af

“What man?” demanded the sheriff.

“Raymond Glasco! He’s dangerous, I
tell you! And after Ted was killed, he
got worse. ;

“Gladys and I ‘were very good friends,”
she resumed. - “She was a fine girl—the
best there ever was. She had a good hus-
band, too. But she was afraid to tell him
how Raymond Glasco was threatening her.”
““What did ‘he threaten her about?” asked
the sheriff, staggered at this characteriza-
tion of a man who had always enjoyed a
good reputation and held a responsible state

job.

“Raymond Glasco threatened to kill
Gladys if she ever married anyone else!”
The officer’s. eyes opened wide. Glasco,

‘then, was the writer of the threatening

“Don’t marry Stewart” note to his own
former daughter-in-law !
“But why didn’t he want her to marry
anybody else?” he queried, still puzzled.
“Because he wanted her to come and
live with him,” Grandma Kelly snapped.

- “That’s why.”

“But he’s married.!”

“Of course,” she said, “but that made
no difference to him! Why, he kept that
girl in constant fear. He even accused her
of being responsible for his son’s death.
He said it was her fault for letting him
go to the dance hall where he was killed.”

Sheriff Edgmon had heard enough. Hur-
rying to his’ office, he telephoned all nearby
towns, siving the officers a complete de-
scription of Glasco and the car he would

probably be in. He called the state high- -

way patrol’ headquarters in Oklahoma City,

‘ gave them the same information, and asked

them to broadcast it at once. Then he sat
back to wait. ;

Fifteen minutes later Sheriff Edgmon
learned that Glasco had been spotted driv-
ing south on U. S. Highway 77. He also

‘learned that the suspect had a sister living

* Lawton, Oklahoma, and it appeared that
lasco might be headed there.
Quickly Sheriff Edgmon telephoned
Police Chief A. B. Bowling at Lawton.
Ten minutes later Bowling called back.
“Hello, sheriff! Raymond Glasco just
surrendered to me. ‘ He has-confessed the

‘ crime.”

“Fine,” said the-sheriff. “Hold him there
for me. . I’ll be right over.”

But Oklahoma citizens who had hoped
to learn the full details of Glasco’s infatua-
tion for his own former daughter-in-law,
were. doomed to disappointment. For on
November 9, 1939, before District Judge
Tom P. Pace, Raymond Glasco in a sur-
prise move pleaded guilty to two charges
of murder—the murders of both Stewart
and his wife. :

And for his cowardly campaign of ter-
rorism against an innocent woman, for his
‘brutal slaying of her and her husband; and
for his immeasurable crime against their
orphaned. six-year-old child, Glasco . was
sentenced by Judge Pace to spend the rest
of his life in prison. Can anyone say he
does not deserve it? ‘

To prevent embarrassment to innocent
ersons, the names “Grandma Kelly” and

‘Jack Bantor” in this story are. not actual

but fictitious.

|

Caug|
A Cox

(Continued {

window of Miss G
sandy substance you
livan’s bed and on tl
home, is vegetable m
of the same content
this town.”
“Then that means
Chief. Degnan replied
“One more thing,”
citedly, “Miss Pand.
said she had read abou
on the blanket coveri:
found a cocklebur stu:
gown, too.” He took
and displayed it in t
“There it 1s, chief.”
For the first time i
nan smiled. “The ins
said. He turned tow:
stood waiting. “This
Into the cellblock |
ter. He stopped befor
cells containing the
peered through the s
her eyes to dim ligh

“Chief Degnan’s arm

away.

“That’s the man!’
as they hurried out «

“That man” was J«
two, of Windsor, an
of the Cone Automati
He was a paroled cx
eighteen months, six
assault on a young gi

Chief Degnan’s inv:
that of a_half-doze
Detective Brown, h:
gether this informatic
actions on the night

He had been dri:
drunk he acted like a
had been determined
that particular Satur:

Beyond that the in
ing of Winters’ acti
admitted he was “to
what had happened
that I woke up at hi
ing.”

Winters lived on tl
sor with his wife anc
wife was expecting

. six weeks. Beyond

sometimes drank h
language was of the
he lived a normal, ev:
work well at the ma

“This is definitely
State Detective Brow
damning evidence ag:
the killer, than his acc
That in no way ties h

‘of Miss Gulliyan or

Pandjaris, though it

“We'll question eve
with Winters,” Chief
if we can tie up Mi
him.”

Forthwith the inve:
Cone plant and talkec
the man who worked
one occupied by Wi

“Did Winters ever
to you?” Degnan ask

Hockstein scratche
his eyes brightened.
bad-minded man,” he
ing stories about won
and Miss Gullivan c
inspecting the plant,
‘You know, Otto, tl


UKE Martin 4x COS p

They sat in his car, unaware that they were
observed by a man with hatred in his heart.

I, was an odd place to leave a corpse. In fact, the. killer hardly could

“Unies

have done a better job of advertising the girl’s murder, short of com- | woman’ s
mitting it in public. For the death car was parked in the very heart. I The cd
of the city with her buxom body propped up in the, front seat. | wide-set
She was slumped against the right door, her sightless brown eyes Fess her face :

turned toward the window. Blood matted her long dark hair and. posing

covered the front of her torn. dress. Around her shoulders was an stockings
expensive fur coat. } On the
A passerby had spotted the body shortly after 6 o'clock that crisp *. Bruce to
ie October morning in downtown Colorado Springs, Colo, He had with lett:
glanced idly into “the black sedan at the corner of Pueblo and Weber A sea
Streets and was startled to see the blood-smeared face of the dead: i floor of |

woman: Then he had called police. i and thr
Inspector I, B. Bruce rushed to the scene with two detectives and: | bullet ha
Coroner Thomas J. Coughlan. They were struck at once by the fact ' the upho
that the killer apparently had madeno effort to keep the young. MYT E we
woman’s body from. being discover ec nor “to cores her iden- should |
tity. By | Coug]
“Obviously the slayer was’ in al great hurry to get away) ’ Bruce a some bot
observed. “That would be the only logical reason for not trying to - Dolice sought Jack Russell deep in the woods, “T hard)
dispose of the corpse.’ after learning about a two-man hunting party. by herse

24

*
<

Signe

‘
i

4
2

Fe ee al


ag tee

“T didn't kill her,” Drumgoole said,
when confronted with this evidence. “It
was Raber. He made me do it at the point
of a gun. It was his fault—I didn’t really
do it.” é

Having used Cleo Sterling to such good
advantage before, Koening now brought
her in to see Raber. He was not happy

. about it.
“Leave me alone, you double-crosser,”

he shouted angrily.

“Sam, Honey,’-Cleo pleaded, “I didn’t
tell them a thing. Sammy, I love you—I
wouldn't talk.”

Raber’s only answer was to comment
on Cleo’s profession. He refused to even
look at her and she folded up like an
empty gunny-sack.

“I'll talk,” she sobbed to Koening, “T’ll
tell everything about that bum.”

Cleo confessed that it was she who had
told Raber and Drumgoole about the
jewelry and money which Cherry kept in
her room, though she insisted she didn’t
know they planned to murder her..

“T didn’t even think they would rob her,
to tell you the truth,” she said. “They
talked about it a lot but I figured they
were just doped up. Anyway, I didn’t
care if they did. Cherry had made a big
play for Sam and I was mad at her.”

Cleo told them that when she leit the
Cherry Club at 4:30 the morning Cherry
died, it had not been to go on a house call
at all. She had gone to spend a few hours
with. Sam. The fact that Drumgoole
would be in the same room, in fact the
same bed, apparently didn’t’ bother her
maidenly modesty. Sam had been in a
bad temper, however, and in no mood for

romance. He told her to get out and when |

she pleaded to stay, he started to beat
her. She took the hint and went back to
the Cherry Club but had been in bed but
a. short time when Raber and Drumgoole
came to her room. Raber had promoted a

key to the Club, so no one saw them:

enter. He was wearing his gray whiskers
as a disguise.

“We're going to rob Cherry,” he told
Cleo.

‘“Don’'t do it, Sam,” she said. ‘It’s al-
ready daylight: You'll be seen.”

“I’m smarter than,that.” :

“Don’t hurt her, Sam,” Cleo said as the
two men got ready and she saw that
Raber had a gun. They laughed at her.

“One peep out of that dame,” Raber
said, “and Jack will give her wings.”

Cleo. tried to reason with them but
got a bust in the mouth for her trouble.
Raber took some corks out of his pocket
and burnt them under a blanket to keep
the smoke from spreading, then mixed
the blackening with some of:Cleo’s cold
cream and smeared it on both Drumgoble
and himself. He was still wearing his
whiskers. They then went across the hall
to Cherry’s room and while Cleo cowered
in her bed, she could hear the sounds of
the struggle. There was one scream from
Cherry before Drumgoole’s hammy hands
choked the life out of her. ©

When they returned, Sam was very
upset because Jack had killed Cherry, but
‘the fighter didn’t seem remorseful; in
fact, he had rather enjoyed the experi-
ence. After touching up their faces with
more blackening—either Sam forgot he
had been wearing the beard which had
come off during the struggle or else he
didn’t think it important enough evidence
to go back for it—the two murderers had
left the Cherry Club in broad daylight,
sure that they ‘were being very clever.
Cleo went to sleep. She had had a hard

night and it took more than a murder to’

keep her awake,

Raber was the first to be tried. It was
short and sweet and the twelve good men
and true—who in those days also set the

-sentence—filed in and pronounced him
guilty and that he be hung by the neck

until dead. ‘he sentence was carried out
at Folsom Prison on January 2, 1914.

The lawyers defending Jack Drumgoole
were somehow able to convince some of
his jury that he had been a weak-minded
tool in the hands of the scheming Raber,
sgmething more or less true, probably.
Anyway, the jury voted ten for life im-
prisonment, two for hanging and a new
trial was ordered.

Cleo Sterling was then brought to trial,
charged as an accomplice after the fact.
It took days to get a jury because none
of the men called would agree that they
would sentence a woman to death if she
were found guilty. When a ‘jury finally
did get put together, Cleo was acquitted
because there was no proof that she had
helped plan the murder.

Therefore when Jack Drumgoole was
ready to be tried a second time, the chief
witness against him—other than his own
stupidity—was Cleo. His lawyers knew
that with her evidence there was a good
chance the ex-fighter would get stretched
too, so they talked him into pleading
guilty, He got life and was sent to San
Quentin where he died a few years later.

After all the publicity of the trial was
over, Cleo Sterling was set free but she
seemed to have lost her enthusiasm for
her trade. She kept at it, having no other,
but she was not the same carefree girl.
Sam’s rejection of her and his enforced
demise did something to her mainspring
and she left Sacramento as soon as she
could lay aside a few bucks for trainfare.

While she had never been very high
up on the social ladder, Cleo began to slip
right down to the bottom of it. She wan-
dered over into Arizona where she began
to hit the bottle and other stimulants,
plying her trade for whatever the market

would bear. She began to go to pieces and

soon looked twice her age. Broken spir-
itually, morally and physically, she died
before the end of 1914.

The Wrong Man Was Dead

[Continued from page 25}

desk, Bruce went through them carefully.
All of the letters were addressed to Mrs.
Marie Sukle, which undoubtedly was the
victim’s name, They were personal and
each was signed, “Your loving huskand,
Mart.” oe

All but one was addressed to Mrs. Sukle
in care of the Colorado Springs Sana-
torium. The remaining letter was sent in
care of a woman at Pueblo, some 45 miles
to the south. The contents of’this letter
indicated that the woman was an aunt of
Mrs. Sukle’s husband.

Bruce summoned Detective Cameron
Westcott and assigned him to check with
the relative in Pueblo. Then the inspector

drove out to the sanatorium seeking con-—

firmation of the victim’s identity and in-
formation about her background. |

The superintendent of the institution
listened to Bruce’s description of the dead
woman, which he said left no doubt that
she was Marie Sukle, 23, who had been
working in the psychopathic ward there
for.more than a year. She had been a
reliable and efficient employe, and to the
best of his knowledge, she was a woman
of good character who got along well

with the others on the staff He was cer-.,

tain she did not drink beer or liquor, since

this was forbidden to all employes, |
“When was, she last on duty here?”

Bruce asked. ‘

T

“Three days ago,” the superintendent
replied, looking up at the calendar. “Her
vacation started’ Saturday evening, and
she was not due back for two weeks.”

“How about her husband,’ Bruce in-
quired, “Does he work here, too?”

“He did, up until the middle of last
month. He was our chief engineer for
over a year, but two weeks ago last Satur-
day he resigned to take a job down in
‘Pueblo that paid more money. We haven't
seen him since.” if ’

The superintendent said that Martin
Sukle and his wife got along splendidly.
They had been married about the time
both started to work at the sanatorium.

» He was nine years older than Marie, but
they. were considered an ideal young
couple and never Had been known to
quarrel. et i

There was nothing in this background
to suggest that the slaying was 'a marital

tragedy, Bruce reflected, although Sukle’s

“aunt in Pueblo might be able to provide

additional information: He would have a’

better idea of the possible motives when
he heard from Westcott. Meanwhile, the
inspector went down to the morgue for
the autopsy report. © oe ay
The coroner found that Mrs. Sukle had
been shot three times. One bullet pierced
‘her heart and emerged from her back. The
second slug ‘lodged near her brain, and the
third only» grazed the top of her head,
splitting open her scalp. She had .been
‘brutally beaten before she died.’ Ugly
bruises covered: Hee pod, and her left
jaw was broken in’ several places.

“Either a man struck her a powerful,

blow with his fist,” Coughlan said, “or
she was hit with a heavy, blunt instru-
ment. There were traces of alcohol in her
stomach, but not enough to cause intoxi-
cation.” J

Although her undergarments were
badly torn, there .was no evidence of
criminal assault. Her skin was scratched
and clawed, however, indicating that she
had put up a fierce battle with her at-
tacker, possibly fighting off an attempt
at rape.

Back at headquarters, Bruce learned
that the technicians had been successful
in their search for fingerprints on the
death car. They had found clear prints
of a man’s left hand on the dashboard,
and from the rear-view mirror they lifted
prints of a man’s right hand.

The inspector immediately ordered the

prints air-mailed to the Federal Bureau:

of Investigation at Washington for

checking with those of known criminals

in the national files.

Shortly before noon, Detective West-
cott returned from his interview with
Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo. Bruce listened

_intently as Westcott reported what he

had learned.
The aunt said Martin and Marie Sukle
had visited her the previous Saturday

evening. They both seemed relaxed and

in good spirits. Sukle had told her that

he managed to get a week off from his
‘new job so that he could be with his wife

on part of her vacation.
Was anybody with them?” Bruce

- “asked.

“Not while they were at the aunt’s

house,” Westcott sa)
to. pick up another
drive out to the mou:
a cabin and rough 1t

They didn’t tell her )

were or just where

Westcott said he
Pueblo garage wheré
and Jearned that the
reported back for
out something else
friends there,” the ¢:
a week ago Sukle
and his wife were
one of Marie's

“What kind
manded.

“He didn't say. B
been going pretty s!
up until a year ago,
After a whirlwind
married and she a
cold.”

The informant
suitor’s name. All
was that he lived
But the situation b:
Bruce, for jealous)
the motive.

The aunt had to!
more about Sukle’s
Colorado Springs
tana as a youth |
lands there. He hi:
while he accumula
of money. But he
of this life and re
home. Soon aite:
Hirt and married

There was no (
that the ex-boy tr
most promising lc
mediately assigne:
tives Homer Beatt
to the task of ch
former admirers.

From Marie's ir
unable to get the
whom she had “g
met Martin Sukle
ever, that she ha
men—Ballard Ni
both residents 01

Bruce ordered
quarters at once
be picked up. Hi
28 with heavy te:
Resentment show
led in to be que

“I'm afraid I c:
you,” he told Bru
before she was 0
friends and went
met Sukle, she
really fell for hin

“When did yor
spector asked.

“At least six n
plied. “I happen
street and we st
minutes. I asked

along. She said
Martin were ver
was all.”

The young m:
the truth, but
“The coroner \<
slain some tim
o’clock last eve
-were you betwe

“T got through
“went straight
up. At about 6
restaurant and
I went to a mo\
show was over
and hit the ha)

Norton gave
_ store where he


FRONTIER JUSTICE wi

Tite Jack Reilly was one of those
rugged unsung men who finally tamed
the west. As Justice of the Peace in
Tombstone, Ariz., when that town be-
came the repository for most of the
criminal element in the southwest, he

knew he was in a spot where law and!

order had taken a terrible beating. But
his sense of justice was a very straight-
forwarded thing.

It refused to wander through the
devious bypaths of legal maneuver-
ings for, to tell the truth, Judge Reilly
was a little short on textbook learn-
ing. Up until the time he was fifty
years old he had been a mule-skinner.
Then he studied law and passed the
bar examination. But hé had a natural
ability. It was said he practiced law by
ear. Anyway he knew right from
wrong. And from his long trail-driving
days, he knew the element he was
dealing with, /

At the outset of his career, as a

judge, clever lawyers perceived that .

the only way to avoid stiff sentences
for their clients was to “hoke” up the
trials so they could be appealed to a
higher court and thrown out on tech-
nicalities. The judge was outraged at
this practice and decided to have it
stopped once and forall. Criminals
should be punished.

One morning a character named
Jack Gallegher, was brought before
him on a charge of horse stealing. The
judge had freighted with Gallegher,
and had a good-notion that the fellow
was guilty. Gallegher’s lawyer told
him to bait the explosive vad 9 aed ‘and
get a mistrial.

As the trial got under way, Judge

Reilly sensed it was taking on the

familiar pattern, He did his’ iseat to”
uphold the dignity of American juris-
prudence as practiced in the more
civilized sections of the country. But
the whole business blew up into a
farce when a jackass gave three loud
brays outside the window | under the
prodding of a defense cahoot, Jack
, Gallegher said, “What was that you
said, Your Honor?! I didn’ t Hans un-
derstand you the first time.”

As the courtroom Woattatort howled
with laughter, the irate judge shouted:
“You should know. the jackass lan-

- guage better than that of respectable.

human beings. You'live with them
more. And let’s have no more of your
jackass language in this court, you
thieving mule-skinner,”

That did it. The spunky judge knew
that neither Tombstone nor the higher
court would approve of that last state-
ment. He had pre- dudged va defend-
ant.

So when Galleghersadded™ insult to.
injury by drawling: : “I’ ve known a
thousand jackasses that would make
a better judge than you,” he decided.
to take the business away from the
higher court altogether. i

“Courtiis recessed for. fifteen min-
utes, while I teach the defendant some
respect for the: law,” he. announced.
Then he leaped over. “the bench and
propelled the surprised Gallegher out:
the door. .When Judge Reilly walked

back into the'courtroom there was a.

thoroughly cowed defendant crawling’

along behind. And as far as ‘he was »

‘concerned, a punished criminal.

‘To keep the whole affair on the local |

books, he said: “Case dismissed for
lack of evidence.” 4 —Jack Quinn

.

where he ate and the theater he attended,
While his story was being checked by the
detectives, Westcott’ returned to head-
quarters with important news.

“Can’t find Jack Russell anywhere,”
he told Bruce. ‘“He’s been gone from his
apartment since Saturday—the day Marie
Sukle started her vacation.”

“Anybody know where he went?” the
inspector asked.

Westcott nodded. “The apartment
house manager said he saw Russell on
the way out about 4 o’clock Saturday aft-
ernoon. Russell spoke about the good
hunting weather and said he was going
into the mountains and shoot some
squirrels.”

From the apartment manager, West-
cott had obtained a description of Russell.
He was a big, good-looking man, six
feet tall and about 180 pounds, with dark

_ hair and eyes. When he left, he was wear-

ing dark brown trousers, black shoes and
a brown suede jacket.

Bruce ordered this information sent
out immediately over the police radio
and all broadcasting stations in the area
with a request that anyone knowing
Russell’s whereabouts notify head-
quarters at once.

“This may explain why Martin Sukle
hasn’t shown up,” the inspector pointed
out. “Maybe he’s been murdered, too.
Or he’s tied up in a cabin somewhere in
the mountains, being tortured before he
dies for stealing another man’s girl.”

~Against this possibility, Bruce added
a description of Sukle and the black
sedan to the broadcast, with an appeal for

_ any information regarding them.

But Jack Russell was the chief object
of the search. ‘Bruce assigned six detec-
tives to try and pick up his trail after he
left his pennant the previous Saturday
afternoon. While this hunt was in prog-

“ress, the inspector telephoned Sukle’s

aunt in Pueblo, brought her up to date

and asked if she knew Russell. 4

The'aunt could not recall his name, but
said that if he was a friend of Martin and
Marie, she might have met him. She re-
peated that she did not know the names
of the couple that Martin and his wife

were planning to pick up Saturday night.

“Asked if the Sukles had any other rel-
atives in the area, the woman said that
Martin had another aunt living in Lead-
ville, Colo. She said Marie’s mother, Mrs.
Ida Hirt, lived in Colorado Springs.

“One more question,’ Bruce said.
“When Martin and Marie were at your
home that evening, were they in their
owt car?”

Her reply raised the inspector’s eye-
brows. “They don’t own a car,” she said.

“They were driving a borrowed sedan.”

From the first, Bruce had assumed that
the death car was the one in which Martin
and Marie Sukle had left on vacation and
that it was, their own. Nevertheless, he
had started a routine check on the license
tag and serial number with the motor
vehicle authorities. Now this check sud-
denly became of vital importance, and he
ordered Westcott to speed it up.

An attempt to reach Sukle’s second
aunt in Leadville by telephone was un-
successful, and Bruce assigned Boat-
wright to follow through on this angle.
Then the inspector went in to see Police
Chief Hugh D. Harper and brought him

up to date on developments.

“Looks like Jack Russell’s the man you

“want,” Harper agreed. “Better make the

alarm statewide.”

» The chief ‘accompanied Bruce to the
home of Mrs. Hirt, the grief-stricken
mother of the victim. She was shocked

at their suspicion 0:

knew quite well.
“T just can't belie
thing like that,” sh
still on good term
Marie. So far as I k:
jealousy or hatred !
As for the report
former boy. friends
trouble, Mrs. H irt
who this could be
confided in her and
anything of the kinc
The victim’s mot
knew Ballard Nort
sion that Marie had
and went out wit!
When Bruce and
to headquarters, M
the report from th
bureau. The black
Jack Russell!
“Any doubt in
Russell?” Harper
“Not the feast?
in this thing up to

The inspector
radio dispatcher
stations be reque
description of the
Martin Sukle, app
from anyone who |
weekend.

Less than an }
broadcast brought
ing in the Black
northeast of Col
call for Bruce. 7
sure the two men
cast were the one
ranch late Satur
could hunt squirr

“When I told t

shooting,” he sa
drivin asked wt
drove on up in th
some rats. I told

The driver was
Bruce surmised
Sukle was a sk
height.

“They didn’t
long,” the ranch«
gone probably a
an hour. It was
car came back to
my house., I tho
—at the wheel.

I wasn’t too cl
I just couldn't § 3!
now I wonder.”

So did Bruce
alone, then what
Had he been m
Black Forest? °
to find out.

Since the are
limits, the inspe:
J; Deal and ask
a search for Sv

Early next 1
other city offic
sheriff Roy Gl
O'Driscoll at t)
men last had be
the party back

direction Russe

For almost i
tinued without
from O’Driscol
to the clump of
pointing at the

A man’s bod:

a gunshot wou:

Bruce gave a !

was the big m:

The officers
this developme
they had been


: was carried out
nuary 2, 1914,
Jack Drumgoole
:onvince some of
na weak-minded
scheming Raber,
3 true, probably.

{ ten for life im- >

iging and a new

brought to trial,
ce after the fact.
iry because none
| agree that they
n to death if she
2n acjury finally
eo was acquitted
oof that she had

Drumgoole was

id time, the chief ©

aer than his own
s lawyers knew
here was a good
uld get stretched
n into pleading
was sent to San
few years later.
of the trial was
set free but she
- enthusiasm for
having no other,
me carefree girl.
ind his enforced
) her mainspring
) as soon as she
*ks for trainfare.
been very high
‘leo began to slip
n of it. She wan- ‘
where she began
ther stimulants,
tever the market
go to pieces and
ge. Broken spir-
sically, she died

ighlan said, “or
vy, blunt instru-
of alcohol in her
to cause intoxi-

garments were
no evidence of
n was scratched
licating that she
tle with her at-
off an attempt

Bruce learned
been successful
erprints on the
und clear prints
the dashboard,
urror they lifted

tely ordered the
Federal Bureau:
Vashington for
<nown criminals

Yetective West-
interview with
Bruce listened
ported what he

and Marie Sukle
‘yious Saturday
ned relaxed and
id told her that
‘ek off from his
be with his wife

them?” Bruce

it the aunt’s

Sopierme emma
AS
Bet

house,” Westcott said; “but they planned
to. pick up another couple ‘that night, -
drive out to the mountains with them, get
a cabin and-rough it for five or six days.
They didn’t tell her who the other couple
were or just where they were going.” :
Westcott said he, had gone to the
Pueblo garage where Sukle was employed |
and learned that the husband had not yet

‘reported back for work. “But I. found

out. something else from one of Sukle’s:
friends there,” the detective added. “Only
a week ago Sukle mentioned that he

‘and his wife were having trouble with

one of Marie’s former: boy friends.”

“What kind of trouble?” Bruce de-~

manded.
“He didn’t say. But it seems Marie had
been going pretty steady with this fellow

up until a year ago, when she met Sukle. .
After a whirlwind. courtship, they were |

married and she dropped the other guy
cold.” aks | Wigs

The informant didn’t know the jilted
suitor’s. name. All, Westcott could learn
was that he lived in Colorado Springs.
But the situation began to make sense to
Bruce, for jealousy could easily have been
the motive. :

The aunt had told Westcott something
more about Sukle’s background. Born in
Colorado Springs, he had gone to Mon-
tana as a youth to work on the ranch
lands there. He had remained for 13 years
while he accumulated a substantial sum
of money. But he finally had grown tired

of this life and returned. to his boyhood ©

home. Soon afterward, he met Marie
Hirt and married her.

There was no doubt in Bruce’s mind
that the ex-boy friend angle provided the
most promising lead. The inspector im-
mediately assigned: Westcott and'Detec-
tives Homer Beattie and Earl Boatwright
to the task of checking on, the. victim’s
former admirers.

From Marie’s friends, the officers were
unable to get the name of any man with
whom she had “gone steady” before she
met Martin Sukle. They did learn, how-
ever, that she had frequently dated two
men—Ballard Norton and Jack Russell,
both residents of Colorado Springs.

Bruce ordered them brought to head-
quarters at once. Norton was_the first to
be picked up. He was a husky man of
28 with heavy features and reddish hair.
Resentment showed in his face as he was
led in to be questioned.

“I'm afraid I can’t be of much help to
you,” he told Bruce. “Sure, I knew Marie
before she was married. We were good
friends and went out a lot. But when she
met Sukle, she gave me the air. She
really fell for him hard.”

“When did you see her last?” the in-
spector asked. f

“At Jeast six months ago,” Norton re-
plied. “I happened to meet her on the
street and we stopped to chat for a few
minutes. ] asked her how she was getting
along. She said just: fine—that she and
Martin were very happy together. That
was all.”

The young man appeared to be télling
the truth, but Bruce took no chances.

“The coroner told us Marie Sukle was.

slain some time between 5:30 and 7
o'clock last evening,”.he said. \“Where
were you between those hours?”

“T got through work at 5,” Norton said,
“went straight to my room and cleaned
up. At about 6 o’clock I went out to a
restaurant and ate dinner. From there
I went to a movie at about 7. When the
show was over I returned to my room
and hit the hay.”

Norton gave Bruce the name of the

store where he worked, the restaurant

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5)


he attended,
ecked by the
ed to head-
78,

anywhere,”
one from his
he day Marie

: went?” the

apartment
Russell on
Saturday aft-
ut the good
e was going
shoot some

ager, West-'
on of Russell.
1g man, six
ls, with dark
1¢@ was wear-
-k shoes and

mation sent
police radio
; in the area
ne knowing
tify head-

fartin Sukle
ctor pointed
rdered, too.
»mewhere in
‘d before he
’s girl,”

Bruce added
{ the black
in appeal for
em.
chief object
‘d six detec-
rail after he
us Saturday
vas in prog-
ned Sukfé’s
up to date
ell. ry
is name, but
Martin and
im. She re-
vy the names
nd his wife
urday night.
1y other rel-
in said that
ng in Lead-
another, Mrs.
prings.
Bruce — said.
ere at your
rev in their

ector’s eye-
” she said.
wed sedan.”
ssumed that
hich Martin
ication and
I ess, he
1 the license
the motor
check sud-
ince, and he
up.

‘le’s second
ne was un-
zned Boat-
this angle,
see Police
rought him

e man vou
sr make the

ice to the
f-stricken
hocked

EBiEnun ode cn ee

‘

at their suspicion of Russell, whom she’
knew quite well. + :

"T just-can’t believe Jack would do a’:
thing like that,” she declared. “He was >
still on good terms with Martin and
Marie. So far as I know, there wasn’t any
jealousy or hatred between! them.”

As for the report that one of Marie’s
former boy friends was giving the couple
trouble, Mrs. Hirt said she had no idea
who this could be. Marie had always
confided ih her and never: had mentioned
anything of the kind:

The victim’s mother said she scarcely
knew Ballard Norton, but had the impres-
sion that Marie had cared little about him
and went out with him only occasionally.

When Bruce and Chief Harper returned
to headquarters, Westcott handed them
the report from the state motor vehicle
bureau. The black sedan was owned by
Jack Russell!

“Any doubt in your mind now about
Russell?” Harper asked.

“Not the least,” snapped Bruce. “He’s
in this thing up to his neck!”

The inspector immediately called the
radio dispatcher and ordered that all
stations be requested to rebroadcast a
description of the death car, Russell and
Martin Sukle, appealing for information
from anyone who had seen them over the
weekend. ;

Less than an hour later, the second
broadcast brought results. A rancher liv-~
ing in the Black Forest country, 20 miles
northeast. of Colorado Springs, put in a
call for Bruce. The rancher said he was
sure the two men described in the broad-
cast were the ones who had come to his

ranch late Saturday and asked if they ~-

could hunt squirrels on his property.
“When I told them’I didn’t allow any
shooting,” he said, “the man who was
driving asked whether I minded if they
drove on up in the hills and tried to trap
some rats. I told him to go ahead.”
The driver was a big fellow, he said, and

Bruce surmised that was Russell, for ,

Sukle was a slender man of ‘medium
height.

“They didn’t stay on my. place very
long,” the rancher went on. “They were
gone probably a half or three-quarters of
an hour. It was growing dark when the
car came back to go through the gate near
my house. I thought I saw only one man
—at the wheel. That seemed strange, but
I wasn’t too close and I decided maybe
I just couldn’t see the other fellow. But
now I wonder.”

So did Bruce. If Russell came back
alone, then what had happened to Sukle?
Had he been murdered and left in the
Black Forest? There was only one way
to find out.

Since the area was beyond the city .

limits, the inspector called Sheriff Samuel
J. Deal and asked his help in organizing
a search for Sukle’s body.

Early next morning, Bruce and the
other city officers joined Deal, Under-
sheriff Roy Glazier and Deputy ‘Jerry
O’Driscoll at the ranch where the two
men last had been seen. The rancher led
the party back into the mountains.in the
direction Russell and Sukle had driven.

For almost four hours the hunt con-
tinued without success. Then, at a cry
from O’Driscoll, the officers rushed over
to the clump of pine trees where he stood
pointing at the ground.

A man’s body lay sprawled face down,
a gunshot wound in the back of his head.
Bruce gdve a low whistle in surprise. It
was the big man—Jack Russell!

The officers were stunned at first by
this development. Up until that moment
they had been sure that Russell, crazed

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ve


What was Jack Russell's connection with the crime?

a grisly human cargo. Nor had
anyone heard shots fired.

Detectives I..B. Bruce and Detec-
tive Sergeant Robert Wraith found,
embedded in the seat cushion, a
-38 slug. In the glove compartment
they found a box containing seven-
teen .38 pistol cartridges.

“She was shot by her companion
as they sat together in the front
seat,” Inspector Bruce said after
examining the fatal wound.

He concluded that the head
wounds could have been inflicted
by the butt end of the Pistol which
the killer had used to blast the life
from his victim. Tools were scat-
tered in the back seat, but there
was no evidence to indicate that
any of them had been used as a
bludgeon.

At the door of the car owner’s
residence at 707 Weber Street, the
detectives were greeted by an at-
tractive, dark-haired woman whose
eyes were swollen from crying.

“Does Jack Russell live. here?”
inquired Inspector Bruce.

The woman gasped as if she had
been wounded by a sharp thrust.

“Yes,” she replied nervously. “He
is my husband. And I’m terribly
worried about him because I haven't

The body of a beautiful girl found
in this car started the man hunt.

seen him since Saturday!”

Russell was a hod carrier and
plasterer, the officers learned, and
his wife said that she was employed
at a local café. Jack didn’t have
to work Saturday and she supposed
that he had spent the day uptown.
But he didn’t return home that
night. Nor did he return Sunday
or Monday.

Mrs. Russell volunteered the in-
formation that Jack was a grand
husband and had always been good
to her and their two little children.

‘I simply cannot understand his
absence,” she said with agitation.
“He’s never done anything like this
before!”

“We found his car this morning,”
Inspector Bruce said casually. “It
was parked up the street by the
Methodist church. It had been there
since ‘seven o’clock last night.”

Mrs. Russell seemed to be such a
fine, sensitive woman that he was
reluctant to cause her further
worry. But he knew that even-
tually she would learn the ugty
truth, so he told her that a dead
woman had been found in her hus-
band’s car.

“She was murdered,” he said.

A sob raked the woman’s throat.
It was several moments before she
recovered from the shocking news.

She said she had last seen her
husband at 11:30 Saturday morning
when she left for work at the café.
About 6:30 that evening Martin
Sukle, an acquaintance of the Rus-
sells, dropped into the café and told
her that Jack was going to drive
him up to Cripple Creek, rich gold
mining camp forty miles west of the
city.

a en

“That was the last I saw or heard
of Jack,” she said.

“Have you seen Jack’s friend
Martin Sukle since Saturday?”
asked the officers.

“No, I haven’t,” she admitted,
“and that’s what puzzles me all the
more. He’s missing, too!”

She explained that Sukle was a
stationary engineer employed at the
Colorado Springs Psychopathic Hos-
pital at the southern edge of the
city. Sunday morning, and again
Monday, she tried to get in touch
with Sukle, but officials of the hos-
pital informed her that the man
had not returned to his quarters
since he left for the day early
Saturday.

“Martin was supposed to be on
duty Monday morning, but he didn’t
show up,” she éxplained.

During a search of the residence
the officers discovered a photograph
that showed Russell to be a hand-
some chap about thirty-five years
old.

It was found that neither Martin
Sukle, 37-year-old plant engineer
at the hospital, nor his pretty 23-
year-old wife Marie had been in
their apartment on the hospital
grounds since Saturday.

“Our records show that Mr. Sukle
has no relatives living in the city,”
a hospital clerk advised Inspector
Bruce, “but his wife’s parents are
living here.”

Marie Sukle’s father was Guy
Essex, he said, and lived at 407
South Nevada Avenue.

A large crowd had gathered
around the parked machine and
more people were coming from all
directions as news of the tragedy

33


pte Ree Nice

io
:
,

with jealousy, had slain both Sukle and
his wife. But now it was Russell they had
found dead—and Sukle still was missing.
The switch called for a sudden reversal
in their thinking.

From all reports, there had been no
trouble between Martin and Marie Sukle,
and her mother had said that they con-
tinued to regard Russell as a good friend.

But perhaps the Sukles’ marriage had‘not’

been going as smoothly as they led their
friends and relatives to believe. As a
former suitor, Russell would have been
on Marie’s side. He was the one with
whom Sukle had been having trouble.

The next conclusion was obvious, It
was not Russell who -had been mad with
jealousy, but Martin Sukle!

Coroner Coughlan examined Russell's
body at the scene and found that he had

been shot only once. The bullet had en-'

tered the back of his.head, pierced the
brain and almost emerged from his fore-
head, where it protruded just under the
skin. Coughlan removed the slug and
identified it as a .38 caliber—the same
size as those which ‘had killed Marie
Sukle. :

“We'll send all those bullets to the state
laboratory at Denver,” Bruce told Cough-
lan. “The experts there can tell us if
they were fired from the same gun,”

While Russell’s body was being re-
moved to the morgue in Colorado Springs,
the city officers returned to headquarters.
There Boatwright was waiting for them
with the report of his visit with Sukle’s
second aunt in Leadville.

“Looks bad for Sukle,” the detective
said. “His aunt said that on Monday night
he came.to her home, all scratched and
bloody. He told her he had been in a

fight and that it had something to do with |
his wife not being true to him. But the’

aunt at the time didn’t think it was seri-
ous. She thought Sukle had been in a fist

fight with some man who was sweet on

Marie.” $ ; :
The aunt had no idea where Sukle had
gone from her place. She said he cleaned
up and changed his clothes there, then
left that night. She had assumed he was
returning to Colorado Springs.
Bruce ordered word sent to all officers

in the: Leadville area with a description.

of Sukle, asking them to be on the look-
out for him. While this hunt was being
pressed, the ballistics report came back
from Denver on the bullets removed from
the bodies of Marie Sukle and Jack Rus-

’ sell, All had been fired from the same

weapon—a .38 caliber automatic pistol. :

Detectives were assigned to visit all
hardware and sporting goods stores and
pawn shops in Colorado Springs to de-

termine whether such a gun had been.
sold there recently. Detective Beattie.
finally found a pawn shop where the sale,

of a 38 caliber automatic had been made
on the day Russell was slain. The man
who bought it answered the description
of Sukle.

As the chain of evidence closed tighter

around the dead woman’s missing hus-

band, a startling disclosure came in the.

report from the FBI on the fingerprints

taken from the death car. The FBI was

able to identify them as those of Martin

Sukle because his prints already were in

the national files as an ex-convict.
Much to the surprise of those who

knew him in Colorado Springs, Suklé had.

done time in-the Montana State Peniten-
tiary. He had served three years of a
six-year sentence after being convicted of

-trying to kill his first wife with am ax,

They since had been. divorced, but his

friends in Colorado never even knew that,

he had been married before.

ce

~

“crawled ou

Moreover, the FBI record on Sukle
showed that he had been arrested in
Montana soon after. his release from
prison by Federal authorities investigat-
ing a white slave ring operating out of
Ohio. Somehow he had managed to con-

ceal all this when he returned to his native

state, 7 ON G

Mrs. Hirt, mother of the slain girl, was
certain Marie knew nothing of Sukle’s
black past. At the sanatorium where he
had been employed, the records showed
only that he had worked on a ranch dur-
ing the many years he was in Montana.

‘By this time, a huge dragnet had been
spread over Colorado and adjoining states
where Sukle might try to flee. Deputies
guarded all roads leading ‘out of Colorado
Springs and stopped every car leaving
town, while city and county officers be-
gan a block-by-block search for the fugi-,
tive. The alarm was repeated every half

~hour on the police radio and all broad-

casting stations, warning that Sukle
might be armed. BN

Reports and tips streamed into head-
quarters by the score. All were carefully
run down, only to prove unfounded. But
at last a call came to Inspector Bruce
from the operator of a gas station on the
northern outskirts of Colorado Springs.

“A*man stopped here for a drink of ,

water a few minutes ago,” he reported.
“Said he was hitch-hiking up to Denver.
He had a heavy beard, but he looked like
this fellow Sukle.”. ‘

Bruce and his men sped to the station
from. which the call had come. The
operator told them the hitch-hiker had
been unable to thumb a ride there and had
started walking north on the main high-
way. But now he was no longer in sight
anywhere along the road. Either he had
‘succeeded in getting a ride, or he had
sh haa a foot into the heavy under-

rush,

Roadblocks were set up within a radius.

of 25 miles to stop all cars, while Bruce’s
‘men spread out into the wooded areas

along the highway where the bearded

man last had been seen. The hunt con-

tinued for almost two hours without re-

sult.

Then the inspector and his party came |

across a small abandoned cabin in a clear-
ing,. the only shelter. within miles.
Through the front window, Bruce caught
sight of someone moving around ‘ihside.

‘Moving cautiously with guns drawn,
the officers surrounded the cabin. “We

know you're in there, Sukle!” Bruce.

shouted. “Come on out with your hands
up!” ’

A gun cracked twice in reply, and
Bruce ducked as the slugs whistled over
his head, The officers returned the fire
and dashed into the cabin just as a shabby

figure dived out a rear, window and

vanished into the brush behind the build-
ing. ‘ ee.

of the searchers running to the spot. Join-
ing Bruce and his men, they advanced

‘into the woods close behind the fugitive.

For 20 minutes more they beat through
the brush, taking cover behind trees and
exchanging shots with a quarry they
could not see, At last the grim chase
reached a second clearing and the fugitive
was-forced to make another run for it.

With the police hot on his’ heels, the
man dashéd for the nearest cover—a huge
piece of crooked drain pipe, some four

feet in diameter. He/made it and dived

inside, but now he was trapped. The

officers ‘approached the big pipe from

both ends, and Bruce barked another 9
“order to surrender. 05 “07 Bue

At the second “command, the man

The sounds of gunfire brought the rest:

He raised=his hands and

faced the officers. It was Martin Sukle,
dirty, unshaven and hollow-eyed.

Bruce quickly searched him and from
his left hip pocket took out a .38 caliber
automatic. “Is this the gun you used to
kill them?” the inspector demanded.

“That’s the one,” Sukle nodded. “I did
it because Marie was cheating on me.”

Taken to headquarters, the prisoner
made a long statement. He told how three

weeks before the slaying he had come . '

across his wife and Russell in a parked
car, locked in each other’s arms. He de-
clared that he saw. enough to convince
him Marie was unfaithful.

“It hit me hard,” he said, “but I didn’t
disturb them. I just left them there, went
downtown and got drunk. The next day
I told Marie I had a better job in Pueblo
and that I was going down there and take
it. I didn’t tell her what I knew. But
right then I made up my mind to kill her.”

. Two weeks later, when Marie got her
vacation, Sukle said he bought the auto-
matic and decided to get Russell fifst. On
the pretext of going hunting, he per-
suaded his rival to drive him out into the
Black Forest. ,

“T waited behind Jack when he started
to set his rat trap and shot him in the
back of the head,” Sukie said. “He never
knew what hit him. He fell over on his
face and didn’t even groan.”

Sukle said he drove back to Colorado

“Springs and took his wife down to see

his aunt in Pueblo. Marie was not sur-
prised that he had Russell’s car, because
they had arranged to borrow it for their
vacation, They spent the weekend to-
gether.
"On Monday, he drove Marie out in.the
mountains and stopped on a lonely road.”

“T told her I knew what was going on
and that I was going to kill her,” he said.
“She started crying and leaned her head
over in my lap. I put the pistol against
her head and pulled the trigger. Then I
pushed her back in the seat and shot her
twice more. She slumped down and I left
her there all the way back to Colorado
Springs, where I ditched the car.”
_ But the officers were sure Sukle had not
told the full truth about his wife’s slay-
ing. Her fractured jaw, the ugly bruises
on her body and her torn clothing showed
that he must have beaten her brutally.
This beating probably was inflicted*out-
side the car, where the shooting also
could have occurred.

Further, the officers were unable to find

_ any evidence that Marie Sukle and Jack

Russell had been more than good friends.
If jealousy was the motive, the basis must

have existed only in Sukle’s . morbid

imagination,

On. October 11, 1939, District Attorney
Clyde L. Starrett formally charged Sukle
with the first degree murders of his wife
and Russell. On November 7 he went on
trial on the single charge of killing Rus-
sell, while the state held the other charge
in reserve. He pleaded not guilty, basing
his defense on the unwritten law.

But the jury found Sukle guilty and
fixed the penalty at death. Judge John
E. Little sentenced him to execution in

the state’s lethal gas chamber.

Sukle’s attorneys appealed the case to
the Colorado Supreme’ Court in a legal
battle which lasted three years. The court
finally reversed the decision and ordered
a new trial.

Once again Sukle was found guilty and
sentenced to die. This time the Supreme

Court upheld the conviction. On May 22,

1942, he was put to death.

(The name Ballard Norton is fictitious to protect
thé identity of a person innocently involved in the
murder investigatton.—T he Editors.) ,

1. Then !

The Miss

[Continued

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spread. Detectives Bruce and Wraith
elbowed through the crowd just in
time to see a_ fifteen-year-old
schoolgirl peer .through the car
window and break into sobs.

“It’s Marie!” the girl shrieked.
She collapsed into the arms of a
middle-aged woman at her side.

Inspector Bruce learned that the
girl’s name was Doris Mae Essex,
a step-sister of Mrs. Marie Sukle.

The girl’s father, Guy Essex, had
sent his daughter to the store to get
a loaf of bread for breakfast. She
was attracted by the crowd around
the parked automobile and had
gone across the street to find out
what was causing the excitement.
As she peered into the car window,
she had the horrifying experience
of looking into the dead face of her
step-sister Marie.

Quickly the victim’s father was
called at his residence on Nevada
Avenue, only a block and a half
away. Guy Essex, a quiet-man-
nered man. of fifty, broke down
completely and could give no in-
formation whatsoever to explain the

mystery of his murdered daughter.
- “Do you know Jack Russell, Mr.

Essex?” asked Bruce.

“T’ve never heard. of him,” the
man replied brokenly.

Within an hour the men working
under Chief Hugh D. Harper had
uncovered rumors that for weeks
Jack Russell had been very atten-
tive to the hospital engineer’s wife.

They learned that Martin Sukle
had complained ‘to intimates that

friend, was forcing his attentions
upon Sukle’s young wife Marie.
‘One informant advised them:
.“Sukle told. me, ‘I’ve asked Jack
several times to stay away from my
_ wife, but he just laughs in my face
d tells me to go to hell.’” .
at: Russell was a. bully and
openly taunted ,the husband of the
lrony played a hdnd in Marie's murder.
34

Russell, .who pretended to be his.

woman he wanted hardly fitted with
characteristics attributed to him by
co-workers on the new high school
construction job where he worked.

Several of these men admitted

that Russell was “a handsome and
likable .cuss” who drew sly glances
from many. young women who
passed on the sidewalk, but that he
minded his own business.

Examining the body more closely
in the morgue, Dr. Coghlan discov-
ered that the. young wife had been
shot twice. The second slug had
entered the back of the head.

“That shot possibly did not kill
her instantly,” he explained to the
officers, “so her slayer cracked her
over the head a couple of times
with the butt of his gun. Then he
fired the shot into her heart.”

At 8:30 Mrs. Ida May Hirt, the
murdered girl’s mother, came to the
morgue. Her eyes, swollen with
tears, turned to the marble slab on
which rested the body of her
daughter. She uttered a wail of
grief and for a moment she held the
mutilated body fiercely in her arms.

It was several minutes before
Chief Harper and Inspector Bruce
could question her.

“Did your daughter ever mention
.Jack Russell?” asked the chief.

“No,” answered the grief-stricken
woman. “I do not know him.”

“When did you last see Marie?”
‘he asked.

“Saturday afternoon until about
eight o’clock,” she replied. ‘Marie
was visiting with me. Martin called
with a fellow they called ‘Butch’
and took her away.”

When she described this man
“Butch,” the officers knew definitely
that he was not Jack Russell. She
finally recalled that the man’s name
was ‘August Kucera and that he was
employed at the county farm.

“Did they say where they were
going?” asked Harper.

“Yes. Martin said his -Aunt
Maggie was seriously ill in Pueblo

;and that he and Marie were going

She said (Continued on page 39)

if down to see her.” ‘


SuUI<ts,

COLORADO'S

ae 6€RIDDLE

| OF
CRIMSON
PASSION

By
Jesse Tf.
Simmons

ire. Coufea

arlire,

PS TREN gr say

They laughed at him! With
the unwritten law in one
-hand,-a .38 in the other, jeal-
ousy paints a gory revenge.

HE chill of autumn was in the
Rockies on that Tuesday morn-
ing of October 3,.1939, as George
Nelson, an out-of-town rancher,
hustled along Pueblo Avenue in
Colorado Springs toward the busi-
ness district. It was 6:15 a.m.

As Nelson approached the cross-
ing at Weber Street, he saw a V-8
sedan parked at the east side of the
old brownstone Methodist church on
the corner. His attention was

front seat.

sleeping.
“Looks like some of the town’s

high society couldn’t make it home

Apparently she was

self.
Nelson decided to awaken the
young woman. No doubt she would

*) be grateful for being roused before

an addict of the candid camera hap-
pened along. He rapped: on'‘the car
window but the ‘girl did. not move.

Suddenly he realized that her

pale features instead of being re- ©

-laxed in peaceful slumber were

- frozen in an expression of terror.

He peered from another angle and
saw a crimson streak across one
cheek.

He jerked open the car door and

The cops wanted Martin Sukle, too.

Ee g

Benetton OF Se OS

drawn to a-young woman in the,

last night,” Nelson chuckled to him-

-

touched the body. With horror he
realized that the girl was dead.
Evidently she had been dead for
nus for her body was rigid and
cold.

.. Breathlessly he. raced- to the

police station and informed the desk
sergeant of his gruesome discovery.

While Doctor J. T. Coghlan, El
Paso county coroner, was being
summoned at his home, Officers Earl
Boatright, Cameron Westcott and
Homer Beattie sped to the death
scene.

They saw instantly that the young
women had met violent death. Her
brown curls were matted with blood
indicating that the head had been
bludgeoned. But she had suffered
a more deadly injury.

“She was shot through the heart,”
Doctor Coghlan muttered grimly.

He ‘pointed to a powder burned
bullet hole through the dress di-
rectly. over the left breast.
wound had bled profusely. ;

‘He estimated that the girl was

- about twenty-three years old. At

ARN MRICS eS 8 Ni Ni ehh kia ct sv

the moment her identity was a
mystery. Her purse contained mis-
cellaneous cosmetics and less than
a dollar in change but nothing that
would indicate the name of its
owner. :

“She’s been dead about twelve
hours,” the coroner said tersely.

weir

The .

The end of the search for Jack Russell.

“Obviously it’s a case of murder.”

He telephoned for the police pho-
tographer and Colorado Springs’
noted homicide detectives.

Officer Boatright examined the
registration certificate and saw that
the car was registered to Jack Rus-
sell of 707 South Weber Street—
only four blocks south from the
parked machine!

A woman who lived directly
across the street said that she had
seen the sedan parked there at one
a.m. when she returned from a
movie.

Mrs. Fred Bishop, also a neighbor,
said she saw the machine pull up
beside the church and park about
7 o’clock Monday evening.

“Just as soon as it stopped,” she
related, “a man jumped from be-
hind the steering wheel and hurried
away.”

She said she could not see his
features because it was dark and
expressed the opinion that it would
be impossible for her ever. to iden-
tify him. He had walked rapidly
south on Weber Street.

No one else in the neighborhood

seen the parked sedan and
neither of the two women who had
noticed ‘it realized that it contained

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conFressions

she asked them how they were
going, because she knew that Mar-
tin and Marie did not own a car.
Martin waved toward the street
and said he had rented a car.

“Do you know what kind of car
that was?” asked the chief.
ay It was a two-door Ford

Jack Russell’s car! At least, that’s
the way it added up in Chief Har-
per’s mind. Russell’s car was a
two-door V-8.

He called Sheriff Lewis Worker
at Pueblo, informed him of the
murder and asked him to locate, if
Possible, Martin Sukle’s “Aunt
Maggie.” A slender clue indeed, for
Pueblo is a city of approximately
50,000, but Sheriff Worker promised
that he would put every man on his
force at the difficult task.

Harper was grateful, for he knew
that it was highly important to
learn whether or not Jack Russell
had accompanied the Sukles to
Pueblo. He saw a Possibility that
one murder had been committed on
or perhaps shortly after that trip—
that the killer had held Marie in
captivity until Monday night and.
then slain his second victim.

Then he called the county farm
and learned that August J. Kucera,
known by the nickname of “Butch,”
had been sent Monday by welfare
authorities to Cedar Rapids, Ta.,
where he had relatives.

It was while following this lead
that he stumbled upon startling in-
formation.

“Butch” told another inmate of
the county farm before he left that
he spent an hour or so with Martin
Sukle Saturday evening. This other
inmate said “Butch” told him: ~

“Martin said he was going to kill
Jack Russell last Saturday night.
He showed me a loaded pistol, and
said: ‘I’m going to kill him because
he won’t leave my wife alone. He
just laughs at me, but I’ll make him -
laugh on the other side of his
face.’”’

“What!” exclaimed a perplexed
patrolman when this story came to
the police station. “Is the guy that
we think is one of the victims going
to turn out to be the killer?”

Chief Harper wired Cedar Rapids
authorities, asking them to locate
Kucera at once and question him
regarding the incident.

In the meantime, Sheriff Sam
Deal of Colorado Springs had sent
Deputy M. J. Vasseur to the Sukle
apartment to investigate.

Everything there was in order.
He returned to the sheriff’s office
with only one clue—a letter which ’
had been pushed under the apart-
ment door. It was addressed to
Mrs. Mary Bucher, 201 Elm St.,
Leadville, Colorado.

Sheriff Deal ripped it open and
discovered that it contained two
short notes written in a foreign
language.

“This is Chinese to me,” growled
the sheriff as he puzzled over the
mysterious contents.

“It might be Russian,” suggested
the deputy. “They told me at the
hospital that Sukle said he was a
Russian Slav.”

“Perfect. Bring in Father Tkoch.
He'll figure this out for us.”

QE

Pp oat

crime CONFESSIONS

r

TALULA RIDDLE OF CRIMSON PASSION

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 34

A few minutes later the Rev.

Father
brought to the office.

Joakim V. Tkoch was
He quickly
identified the foreign language as

ought to,” he said. ‘“Let’s see what

she has to say about this.’
They went to Mrs. Hirt’s home
and she told them that “Albina”

THANKSGIVING

Mrs. Margeret Brite, 72, renders tanks after having saved her two sons from “hanging
until dead" on the gallows, after they were found guilty of a triple murder.

Russian and made a literal transla-
tion, as follows:

“Dear Aunt: I, Martin, wish to
write you a few words which you
will write Albina. Will you send
her the birth certificate. I will do it
tonight. It come to me and her be-
cause I worked it out with the God-

father with evil thought. Please
forgive me. Regards to all.
“Martin.”

The second note:

“Dear Albina: I wish to write a
few words to let you know I can’t
come to you because I am in trouble.
I went with them but they lied to
me. I see now that I have lost you.
I saw that before. I have nothing
more to write to you. I send best
regards to you and Sam Sonito.

“Martin Sukle.”

“YERY interesting,” commented the
sheriff. ‘But who the devil is
Albina?” Whoever she was, Sukle
seemed to be very devoted to her. |
Deal decided to confer with the
police.
Chief Harper eagerly pounced
upon the notes.
“If anybody knows about Martin
Sukle’s affairs, his mother-in-law

was Martin Sukle’s former wife who
was living in Montana.

“T can hardly imagine why he
would write to her, though,” she
said, “‘because he told Marie that he
tried to kill her one time and was
sent to the Montana penitentiary.”

“Did Martin and Marie ever
quarrel?” they asked the mother-
in-law.

“Yes,” she replied. ‘He was al-
ways reminding her what he had
done to his first wife. She didn’t
know that he was an ex-convict
until he threatened her after their
marriage.”

She explained that Martin was
thirty-seven, fourteen years older
than her daughter. Martin had
courted her ardently for a short pe-
riod and the girl married him be-
fore she knew very much about
him. They had been married less
than a year.

After securing a poor snapshot
and a complete description of Sukle,
the two officers left and quickly
broadcast to other officer$ through-
out the state that the missing hus-
band was wanted for murder.

The terse description of Sukle
flashed from county to county was

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ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

sight. She was slumped down in

the right jside of the front seat of
the car, leaving the top of her bloody
head barely visible through the door
window.

The front of her face was smeared
with blood and a heavy crimson stain
ran down the left side of her dress
into her lap, where it formed a small
pool.

She was clothed fully. She wore no
hat, but was clad in an expensive fur
coat.

Beside her in the front seat was a
black satchel. Inspector of Detectives
I, B—Dad—Bruce zipped the bag open
and glanced inside. It was filled with
personal letters.

Bruce muttered thoughtfully, “Looks
like whoever killed her wanted us to
be sure and know who she was.”

That was the strange thing about the
case, noticeable from the very begin-
ning. The killer had made no attempt
whatsoever to try to hide the identity
of the woman or to keep her body from
being discovered.

The 1938 black sedan was parked at
the corner of Pueblo and Weber Streets
in Colorado Springs, Colorado, famous

10

T:# woman’s body was a gruesome

resort center of the West. This was a
busy section of the city, yet the killer
deliberately had placed the car here.

A citizen first sighted the body and
reported it to the officers at 6:15 that
morning of October 3, 1939.

Inspector Bruce picked up three of
his men and came to the spot immedi-
ately.

Looking for clews, they found four
empty beer cans on the floor of the
rear seat of the car and three empty
-38 caliber pistol shells. One .38 caliber
bullet had passed through the woman’s
body and lodged in’ the upholstery of
the rear seat, where Inspector Bruce
dug it out.

The officers were unable to tell how
many times the woman had been shot
or exactly where. But Coroner Thomas
J. Coughlan had the body removed im-
mediately to the morgue so that he
could make his autopsy.

Then Inspector Bruce took the sat-
chel, full of letters, back to Headquar-
ters where he could examine them
carefully, undisturbed, and the finger-
print men went to work on the death
car.

There seemed little doubt that the
name of the victim was-Mrs. Marie

Lelyat L

Marie Sukle: At the time her body was found investigators had no way of
Knowing that they’d have to find another body to get a lead to the killer

Sukle. All of the letters were addressed
to her and were of a personal nature.
All were signed, “Your loving husband,
Mart.”

Most of the letters were addressed
to the woman in care of the Colorado
Springs Sanatorium. One of the letters,
however, was. sent in care of a woman
at Pueblo, Colorado, 44 miles south
of Colorado Springs. Bruce zould
tell. by the letter’s contents that the
woman was the aunt of Mrs. Sukle’s
husband. So he immediately put Officer

Cameron: Westcott to work checking

the Pueblo relative.

Inspector Bruce turned to the Sana-
torium for his first information re-
garding the pretty young victim.

The superintendent there told Bruce
that Mrs. Sukle was 23 years old, and
had been working in the psychopathic
ward of the institution for more than
a year. She always had given them
good service and, as far as he knew,
she was a woman of outstanding char-
acter—honest, pleasant and easy to get
along with.

Bruce gave the superintendent a
description of the woman just to make
sure they had the right murder victim.

“That’s her, all right,”’ the man said.

“Did she use liquor?” Bruce asked.

“Certainly not. We don’t keep any
one on our staff who drinks.”

The superintendent said that the last
time Mrs. Sukle had been at the Sana-

Valter (94 2


After the Discovery of a Slain Woman
Police Thought They Knew the Killer.

in a Car in Colorado Springs, Colorado,
And Then They Found Another Victim

When I'm Licked’

torium was the previous Saturday eve-
ning. Her body had been found three
days after this—on Tuesday.

“Didn’t you wonder why she didn’t
come back to work?” Bruce asked.

“Not at all. Her vacation started
Saturday evening and she was not to
report back here for work for two
weeks.”

“What about her husband?” Bruce
asked. ‘

“Martin Sukle was chief engineer at
the Sanatorium for over a year, but
two weeks ago last Saturday he re-
signed his job with us to take a higher-
paying position in Pueblo. I haven’t
seen him since then.”

“T see.” Bruce hesitated a moment.
“How did he and his wife get along?”

“Splendidly. They were married
about the time they started to work
here. He was nine years older than she,
but I always considered them the
model young couple.”

This all sounded well and good to
Dad Bruce. He hadn’t found a thing
that would indicate the slaying was a
marital tragedy. He’d know more what
to think though, as soon as Westcott
had a talk with Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo.

In the meantime, the Inspector
dropped down to the morgue to get the

Coroner’s report. Mrs. Sukle had been
shot three times. One shot pierced her
heart, going entirely through her body.
A second shot lodged near her brain,
and the third bullet only grazed the
top of her head, splitting open her
scalp. Before her death she had been
beaten brutally. Her body bore numer-
ous ugly bruises, and her lower left
jaw was badly fractured.

“A man must have hit her an awful
blow with his fist,” Coroner Coughlan
said, “or else she was struck with a
heavy, blunt instrument. Her stomach
contents showed traces of alcohol but
not enough, I would say, to cause in-
toxication. Her underthings were badly
torn, and her skin scratched and
clawed.”

T= finger-print men had been ex-
tremely successful. They found clear
prints of a man’s right hand on the
rear-view mirror of the car. On the
dashboard they picked up prints of a
man’s left hand.

“Send them into the FBI,” Bruce
ordered, “and we'll see if they have
any record of the guy.”

Westcott had nothing startling to re-
port when he came back from his visit
with Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo. Sukle anc

Police dug In the upholstery behind the body of Marie
Sukle, right, to find the bullet which passed through the

victim, as shown in the official police photograph below

his wife had been to see her the previ-
ous Saturday evening. They were both
in good spirits, laughing and joking.
She said Martin had managed to get a
week off so that he could be with his
wife on part of her vacation even
though he’d only been on his new job
a short while.

“Were they by themselves?” Bruce
asked.

“Yes, while they were at the aunt’s
home,” Westcott said, “but they

planned to pick up another couple that
night, and all four drive out to the
mountains, get a cabin and rough it
for five or six days.”

“She didn’t know where they were
going, I suppose.”

Westcott shook his head.

“And Sukle hasn’t showed up back
at work yet?”

“No. I went down to the garage
where he was employed, and found out
from one of Sukle’s friends there, that
only a week ago Sukle told this man
he and his wife were having trouble
with a former boy friend of Mrs.
Sukle’s. She had been going pretty
steady with this guy. Then she met
Sukle a year ago and after a whirl-

1]


40

as follows: “Age, thirty-seven;
weight, 155 to 160 pounds; slender,
six feet tall; light complexion;
slightly stoop-shouldered; talks
with slight accent.”

By long-distance telephone Har-
per learned from Montana authori-
ties that Sukle was convicted of
attempting’ to murder his wife Al-
bina with a pistol and an ax. He
was given a six-year prison term,
but was released on parole on Feb-
ruary 8, 1935, after serving three
years and one month in the state
prison at Deer Lodge.

Mrs. Russell came to the police
station Tuesday afternoon and ex-
pressed the conviction that she
“knew” Jack was dead.

“He wouldn’t be alive anywhere
on earth and leave me in such
anxiety,” she told Chief Harper
tearfully.

Early Wednesday morning Mrs.
Russell revealed that Jack had
told a friend of his Saturday after-
noon that Sukle had offered him
five dollars to take him on a trip
to the Black Forest, a rolling
wooded region approximately fif-
teen miles northeast of Colorado
Springs.

That afternoon Mrs. Russell and
her husband’s parents, Mr. and Mrs.
James P. Russell, who had come

from the little town of Portland .

above Cripple Creek to assist with
the search, also went to the Black
Forest. With sheriff’s deputies
they covered miles of road in the
hilly area but found nothing.

At Pueblo, meanwhile, Sheriff
Worker’s men had located Mrs.
Agnes Yaklovich, an 87-year-old
woman who admitted that she was
Sukle’s aunt Maggie.

“He was here Saturday night
with his wife,” she confided. “He
treatéd her very polite but he told
me in our language which she
couldn’t understand that. she had
been living with another man.

“He said, ‘I killed him this after-
noon and maybe I will kill her,
too!’ ”

; Hrsg spent the night at her home,
she said, and left on Sunday morn-
ing for Leadville to visit another of
Martin’s aunts, Mrs. Mary Bucher—
the aunt to whom one of the notes
was addressed.

“But he returned again at 9
o'clock this morning,” the old
woman told Sheriff Worker fear-
fully. She said that he had been
walking and was dirty.

He stayed at her home only five
minutes, she said, just long enough
to clean up. But in that short visit
he confessed to her that he had slain
his wife. He said he shot her Mon-
day night after they returned to
Colorado Springs from Leadville,
and left her bullet-riddled body on
the street in her lover’s car.

She said she pleaded with him to
give himself up at once and he re-
plied: “Maybe that is best.”

“You’re sure he was afoot?” asked
the officer.

“Yes,” replied the aged woman.
“He said he had walked all the way
from Colorado Springs, following
the railroad tracks.”

Sheriff Worker quickly relayed
this information to Chief Harper,
then began to shake Pueblo apart in
a determined effort to trap the con-
fessed double slayer.

Harper called officers at Lead-
ville, who reported that the Sukles
had spent Sunday night with an
aunt there and had left late Monday
afternoon, driving a two-door V-8
sedan, bound for Colorado Springs.

win

CRIME CONFESSivin~

In the foreign language which the
unsuspecting Marie could not un-
derstand, Martin told the Leadville
aunt practically the same things he
had told the Pueblo relative. ‘ She,

ATURDAY afternoon, between two
and three o’clock, he said, a sedan
drove into his thickly wooded ranch
and he hailed the driver. A man

‘climbed from the car. When in-

too, had pleaded’ with’him:’ to: give~-formed- by the rancher that he was

himself up. :

Late Wednesday night a railroad
section worker, after reading in a
Colorado Springs newspaper that
Sukle was wanted for murder, re-
ported to the. police that he and
other workmen had talked with a
“hobo” Tuesday morning on the
right-of-way south of the city.

This transient greatly. resembled
the description given of Martin
Sukle. He said that he was headed
for Kansas and inquired about the
schedules of freight trains. i

Thursday morning the manhunt

trespassing, the man offered him a
drink and said he was hunting
squirrels for an Eastern museum.

“Sounded fishy to me,’’ spat the
old man, “but I let him go on. I
was suspicious, though, so I took
down the license number.”

About fifteen minutes later, he
said, he heard two shots and di-
rectly afterward the same car came
speeding past the ranchhouse.

“Last night I put on my ear-
phones to an old radio set and lis-
tened to the. news broadcast,” he
continued. “I heard a long spout

IN THE TOILS

Leonard Hoyt, 15-year-old Miami school boy, being questioned by officers. He
admitted that he attacked his half sister, Patricia, with a hammer while she slept.

was spread over Colorado and Kan-
sas. The Cedar Rapids, Ia., police
telegraphed Colorado Springs that
“Butch” Kucera had been located,
that Sukle had told him Saturday
evening that he was going to kill
Jack Russell and showed him a .38
pistol which Sukle said he had pur-
chased that day at a Colorado
Springs pawnshop.

An hour later Sukle’s fingerprints
and ‘prison “mugg” arrived in the
mail from Montana authorities.

Armed with the “mugg,” Detec-
tive Sergeant Wraith covered the
local pawnshops. He was soon re-
warded. Gus Bucky, proprietor of
the Bucky Loan Office, identified
Sukle as the man who had pur-
chased a .38 Harrington and Rich-
ards revolver and twenty-five car-
tridges Saturday afternoon.

At 10 o’clock that morning
Charles E. Eppler, a wizened old

rancher from the Black Forest dis-:

trict, walked into Sheriff Deal’s
office.

“It’s information I’m after,” said
Eppler. “Who owns a car with
license No. 4-15647?”

Sheriff Deal checked his records
and replied: “Why, that license be-

longs to Jack Russell, a fellow that:

we are trying to locate.” ’
“Just as I thought,” retorted the
old man, clanking his hands upon

about this murder case and got sus-
picious. And I’ll tell you why.
Ever since Saturday my horses have
been raising Cain in the pasture.
They snort and run around like
they’ve got devils in them. Now,
my idea is that there might...”

“I get it!”-cut in Sheriff Deal.
“And I believe you’re right. Let’s
go!”

With Undersheriff Roy C. Glasier
and Deputy Jerry O’Driscoll he
raced for the Black Forest with the
old rancher as guide.

Eppler’s property was located in
the heart of the forest. All morn-
ing the three officers combed
through fields of pines and scrub
oak without success. At noon they
borrowed horses and saddles from
a neighboring ranch and con-
tinued the search, going systemat-
ically over every foot of ground.

Late in the afternoon Deputy
O’Driscoll’s horse suddenly stopped
in the thick woods at the northern
end of Eppler’s pasture and could
not be urged on. His mount snorted
and trembled.

Fifty feet ahead, among the tall
pines, the deputy discovered the
body of a man. It was handsome
Jack Russell. :

He had a bullet hole in the top of
his head. His hat, located about
fifteen feet from the body where the

his knees. Then he told his story.-~-wind evidently had blown it, also

was pierced with a powder-burned
bullet hole. .

There were no evidences of a
struggle.

Sheriff Deal examined a three-
inch scalp wound on the back of the
dead man’s head and concluded that
the victim had been knocked un-
conscious and, after he had fallen,
shot in the top of the head.

Doctor Coghlan was called to the
murder scene and estimated that
the man’ had been dead nearly a
week.

Friday afternoon at three o’clock
Martin Sukle, haggard and un-
kempt, walked into the Hollywood
Service Station at the southern edge
of Colorado Springs.

“I don’t want to be killed,” he
whimpered. “Call the officers and
tell them to come and get me!”

The two amazed attendants, Dick
Hays and Glen Sarvis, could see a
pistol bulging from beneath the
man’s trouser belt.

Undersheriff Glasier rushed to
the service station, disarmed the
slayer and took him to El Paso
County jail.

“About three weeks ago,” he told
Chief Harper, Sheriff Deal, District
Attorney Clyde L. Starrett and a
dozen other officers, “I caught Jack
Russell in a compromising position
with ‘Marie.

“They were parked in his car on
a lonely. mountain road near the
hospital where I worked. When I
came upon them, Jack ran away. I
took Marie home and warned her
against going out with Jack ever
again!”

E said that his
laughed at him.
“That made me mad and I sus-

young wife

. pected that the same thing was hap-

pening again and again,” Sukle
confessed. “I warned Jack several
times to stay away from my wife,
but he just laughed in my face and
told me to go to hell. Then I de-
cided to kill them both and end it
all by killing myself.

“IT got the first two jobs done, as
you have found out, but I fell down
on the last one. I guess I didn’t
have nerve enough to kill myself.”

He ended the interview by dictat-
ing a 25-page typewritten confes-
sion to the two murders and
signed it.

Unwittingly, he had signed his
name to his own death warrant. He

- evidently expected to go free by in-

voking the unwritten law. But he
forgot that he had planned double
murder, calmly, deliberately.

Four weeks later he went on trial
charged with Russell’s murder. On
November 10 a jury in Judge John
A. Little’s District Court, after
being closeted for almost twenty-
four hours, sent its foreman to
Judge Little’s chambers.

“If we assess the penalty at life
imprisonment, will it mean that at
some time in the future Martin
Sukle will be eligible for parole?”
asked the foreman.

“Yes,” answered the judge.

The foreman returned to the jury
room. - Ten minutes later the jury
filed out with a verdict of guilty of
first-degree murder, with no recom-
mendation. That meant that Martin
Sukle must die in the lethal gas
chamber at Canon City.

It is believed by Colorado officials
that Sukle is the first murderer in

. the history of the state to plead the

unwritten law and be doomed with
the supreme penalty.

His date with death is set for
March 22, 1940. —


as he’
»
n J.
oner’s
Ethel
eling,
> was
onely
1 the
tural,
Sarn-

testi-
nan’s
body
and
been
r lip
hor-
s re-
rnest

her!
2 and
xilled

rnest
k on
mak-
leard

the

t did
with

one
irder

wife
1 the
jury

12:31
ilked
-ctric
iten-

f the
ever
per-
Thus
and
the
en-

tand
ficti-
s0NnS.

ido

y of

Sul-
come
ask-
her.
-tter
sked
her
then
ight.
the
ace,
cited
sked
She
na
set.
and

iller
ym -
was
over

shal
you
did

and

we

went home,” was the answer. “I
started worrying about it Sunday,”
the prisoner continued. “I went
back up to the house, broke the
pane in the basement door and
let myself in. I dragged her out
of the coal bin... .”

“Was she dead then?” the sher-
iff asked.
* “Oh, yes, she was stiff and cold.
I dragged her in front of the
furnace and . i

“And then you attacked her body

again, you Be cane brute!’ one of

of Dr. Holmes, the coroner. Mrs.
Atterberry had fought for her life,
he told his audience. But her killer
had quieted her with blows on the
head with a blunt instrument.

The testimony of Grant Dickin-

son, garage owner of the town, was
damaging. It betrayed the fact that
Dr. Atterberry had ordered a thor-
ough washing of his car on the
morning following the murder. And
a tradeswoman in the town, Mrs
Rose Arrighe testified that she her-
self had sold Mrs. Atterberry the
red dress, still missing, the dress
(it was made clear) that Dr. At-
terberry had disposed of after mur-
dering his wife.

Dr. Atterberry sat unmoved
through all this, his pale eyes dry,

his long tapering hands—the
hands .of a strangler—crossed in
his lap.

The climax came when Hoffman
took the stand. His story left not
a whit of sympathy in the heart
of even the most casual spectator
in the crowded courtroom.

Five days after the trial opened,

the undersheriffs said with acri-
mony.

“Yes, I did,” the confession end-
ed. “I did everything you accuse
me of. I don’t know what came
over me.”

After three months of observa-
tion by alienists, John Sullivan was
declared mentally weak but legal-
ly sane. He went on trial on a
charge of first-degree murder in
Colorado Springs on March 24,
last. He was speedily convicted and
sentenced to life imprisonment.

the case went to the fey. The
hour was eleven a. m. The jury
turned in a verdict of guilty of
murder in the second degree. Judge
Cooper pronounced sentence. Dr.
Atterberry was committed for a
term of thirty-four to thirty-seven
years in the state penitentiary.
The drama of the case was not
quite over. Three days later, pan-
demonium broke out in the jail
where the prisoner was held, pend-
ing an appeal decision. The ex-

- citement was due to the attempt

of the prisoner to end his life by
slashing his throat and wrists. He
was found in a pool of blood. He
survived, thanks to a blood trans-
fusion, with a fellow prisoner the
donor. The appeal, however, was
denied.

So, in the state penitentiary at
Canon City, the disgraced osteo-
path took up his grim abode, in the
same city where some four years
earlier he had come with his bride
to start what might have been,
under different circumstances, a
successful and happy life

Size of

book is

- * 9'2 x 612
NOTE: This f°} inches:
book will 8s beautifully

printed in
clear ty pe;
151 pgs. with
illus trations ;
HARD COVER;
cloth binding.

not be sold
‘] to anyone
below 21
years,

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“SECRET:

OVE and MAR!

Daringly Re
Edited by Dr. Edwa

This is an enlightened ag
those, still afraid to know :
many intimate questions of +
are you one of those who ¢!
all’’—and is actually unaware
facts and pleasures. Do you
a complete, vigorous and deli;
you know your part in the ga
happy marriage is based. t
a happy sex life. But how
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man with a woman! Are you
you expected, that vou drean
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Or are doubts and difficulties
troubling you, holding you
erything.

Offers a Liberal
in Sexual Sci

p———PART OF CON

Introduction by Edward Podo!
Foreword by James Parker

Need tor sex understanding
hess—book offers key to true
Chapter 1—Married Men Shc
Tustinet is tet enong! t
perpetuating the honeymioor
and body ino marriage relati

can overcome timidities
Chapter 2—tLove Problems o/

Why marriages tail wife
appointed—husband shoul
Telations——set rentine grow
the under-sexed witc how ¢

ro performing
Tinge sex program fae of su
frequency of rele

Chapter 4—Functions of Sex
x fu

fakes phice
thighs, neck mane f '
ing highest piteh in eoniparit
Chapter se Art of Marrie
The imports of prepar
courtship
Coits—man
climax .
develop mute ern rhoyrhon
together—women often umrsat
Physieal mismatching —--over
culties.
Chapter 6—Secrets of Sex A
What) does aman notier
charm aned appres choosing
to complexion, figure and pe
Chapter v~-Danens of Pettin
Ix it wise 1 to be yw

bodies and ‘i lips dange

sires diffientt t

Chapter 8—Choosing a Mate
Why children resembht in

of selecting proper life's 4

for mere than phys eal reason
Chapter Seovmireh Control
Aoomort issn
faver and BEN Ineat li
jeal contrivane _
ned -— awe methed ide
Chapter 10—What is Steriliza
Many misinforment on snbie
individual -vdvantage to soc
simplified today
Chanter ah Fertilization

Why hiring vonid: be
—Uperstition irding preg
ization aceumplished. in sex ts
fertilization onder normal con
infertility.

Chapter 12—Pregnancy

Changes following fertilize
tions of pregnaney—care of yore
abortions and miscarriages ——da
—preparations for birth preg
approximately
Chapter 13——New Test:

Need for prompt dingo iv

fest is made—-combination te:
Chapter 14——Can Sex of Unbor:
Science investigating variou
tain methods
Chapter 15—Motherhood
Actual pro f wih Vhirt)
instructions ian operat
ver—summary prospect ive
Chapter 16—Methods of Easy
Seleet doctor yon have comy
—follow his instructions ome
minish labor pains withent in
Chapter 17—Intimate Questior
Overcoming same ymMon
how te attain control’
longed courtship. —effe of fre
——overcoming frigidity in wive
impotent—cun impotenecy he
deficiencies—varions faults
Chapter 18—Intimate Question
Importance of free disenssior
avoid haste——be spatient —striv
Sex a mutnal matter -abstinen
intimate women problema
Chapter 19——Feminine Mygiens
How to develop your charn
Chepter 20—Reducing Diets
How to diet. Complete 1
Hollywood 1S day diet

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sia: ra »

OLICE Chief David S. Banks
and Night Marshal John Cor-

broke the glass window of the log
house and worked their way in-
side.

The room was stuffy and the
smell of death was in the air.
Banks’ torch played upon the rich
furnishings; the carpeted floor.

“No. sign of her in here,” he
said. “Let’s take a look around
the rest of the house.”

The beams from their torches
darted about like serpents as they
inspected every room on the first
floor, then started down the stairs
to the basement.

Suddenly Banks stopped. The
body of a well-dressed, middle-
aged woman lay. near the foot of
the stairs, directly in front of a
huge furnace.

TRO-LUFE

By WALTER VERNON

The victim’s own letter-opener
in the commission of the dastardly act.

was used

Her face, bloodstained, pre-

sented a sight not nice to behold.
ley, flashlights in their hands, ..

Quickly, Banks flashed his light
around the furnace room. A chair
was knocked over, two  hoxes
kicked. to. the center of the floor,
and a saw-horse turned over on
its side almost against the wom-
an’s head.

down the stairs. Banks felt the
woman’s hand. It was cold and
stiff. She had been dead for at
least several hours.

ANKS turned to Night Marshal.

Corley and told him to tele-
phone the officers in‘ nearby Col-
orado: Springs, and ask them to

- come to Manitou to assist in the ©

investigation.

Police Chief Banks knew now
that relatives of Mrs. Carrie Wi-
nona Culbertson had been justified

Carrie Winona Cetbertson: intended closing her house
and visiting friends. but Death had plans of its own.

THE POLICE AND SHERIFF OF MANITOBA
SPRINGS, COLORADO, JOIN FORCES IN
ORDER TO IDENTIFY THE MURDERER OF
BEAUTIFUL CARRIE WINONA CULBERTSON

in their fears regarding the wom-
an’s safety. :

On the previous. evening, Mrs.
Culbertson’s daughter,:who lived in

.the famous resort town of Manitou

Springs, Colorado, had telephoned
Banks, and told him that she was
worried aboyt her mother. She had
disappeared from her home, locked
the house, and the daughter didn’t
know where she had gone.. Banks
made a note of the case, but
thought no more about it until the
following afternoon.

At that time—Sunday afternoon,
January 11, 1942—he received an-
other telephone message from. Mrs.
Culbertson’s aunt, who lived in
Denver, Colorado, 90 miles north.
The aunt, too,,expressed her anxi-
ety concerning the whereabouts of
Mrs. Culbertson, remarking. that
the latter was to visit Denver the
previous Friday night, but had
failed to do so.

Banks and Corley had, therefore,

driven out to the Culbertsons’
Spanish-type home loc&ted high on
the mountainside on the northwest
corner of Manitou and broken into
the house, determined to get at the
bottom of this deepening mystery.
It was then that they discovered
the cold-blooded murder.

-Banks thought of the woman’s
husband. Where was he? Had he,
too, been murdered? Was his dead
body lying about the house some-

_ where?
Adjoining the: furnace room was-

the coal room. In it was a large
pile of coal, some logwood for the
fireplace, und an assortment of
garden tools. The rake lay in the

DE feat Us Jit |

middle of the room and _ severa
spots of blood were smeared on th
handle.

Finding no ‘other clues, Bank
returned to the main floor just i:
time to meet:Corley at the hea
of the stairs.

“The boys over at Colorad
Springs,” Corley said, “are on thei
way. They said they’d pick up th:
coroner.”

Banks nodded and went on t
the woman’s bedroom. Colorad
Spriigs was. only six miles to th:
east. He wouldn’t do anything i
the basement until the others ar
rived.

He fixed his attention on some.
thing that had only mildly inter
ested him when he entered th
house. It was Mrs. Culbertson’s ex.
pensive leather suitcase. A larg:
hole had been cut in the side am
the clothes and personal article.
pulled out. onto the floor.

The woman's pocket-book lay o1
top of the dresser. Its contents, in.

: cluding $6.00 in change, lay on th

lace cover,
Banks looked thoughtfully at th
money. “It’s a cinch the killer was.

n't looking for her money,” he said

“Maybe it was letters or valuablk
papers of some kind,” Corley sug-
gested.

ANKS admitted the possibility

A thorough checking with the
woman’s relatives might shed some
light on that angle. Or was it pos-
sible that sex was the chief reasor
for the woman’s. murder? Bank:
didn’t think so. A common se)
fiend would have stolen the mone)

A194 é

n the purse and the two expensive
liamond rings which Banks had
1oticed still on Mrs. Culbertson’s
ingers.

Contacting the telephone opera-
or, Chief Banks asked her to check
ul calls made from the Culbertson
1ome on Friday and Saturday,
fanuary 9th and 10th.

It was only a few minutes later
that Sheriff. Sam Deal, Under-
Sheriff Roy C. Glasier, Deputy M.
f. Vasseur and District Attorney
trl Foard arrived at the Culbert-
on home, followed by the County
Zoroner, Dr. L. O. Haney, police
ghotographer. Fred Baker, and
3uperintendent of the police iden-
sification- department, Carl Math-
2ws.

Baker’s camera started snapping,
flash bulbs giving the place the air
of being enveloped in an electrical
storm, while he photographed the
body from every direction. Math-
ews, meanwhile, went to work on
fingerprints, but he might have
spared himself the trouble. The
killer had worn giloves!. While Ba-
ker and Mathews busied them-
selves taking photographs and
searching for fingerprints, Sheriff
Deal, District Attorney Foard and
the other officers conferred with
Chicf Banks in an effort to get the
preliminary details on the case.

Out of it all came this one dom-—

inating fact—the murder had been
very carefully planned and’ exe-
cuted. It was not a spur-of-the
moment affair, Someone hated
Mrs. Culbertson intensely enough
or had felt it necessary to get her
out of the way, violently and bru-
tally. for ath

Coroner Haney offered the opin-
ion that the murder had occurred
some time early Friday night.
Death seemed to have resulted
from a fractured skull but when
ambulance attendants started to
remove the body, Haney for the
first time caught sight of the
handle of a bronze letter opener

sticking out between the woman’s ---

shoulder blades. Quickly, but care~-
fully, he removed it and discovered
that it had been buried about 4
inches deep in her back.

The shocking discovery: opened
up two new possibilities—that fin-
gerprints might. possibly be on the
knife and that identification of the
death instrument might prove an
invaluable piece of evidence.

Mathews soon discounted the
first possibility. There were no fin-
gerprints, another indication of the
care with which the murder had
been planned. But there was still
the matter of the ownership of the
lethal weapon. ;

Seeking an answer to this the
officers went first to see the vic-

tim’s daughter after Banks had

telephoned the aunt at Denver and
asked her to come immediately to
Manitou.

The attractive young woman was
obviously shocked by the news of
her mother’s death but she did ad-
mirably, Banks thought, in com-
posing herself and answering the
officer’s questions,

She told the officers that her
mother had been living in Denver
since May 9, 1941. She. explained
that the mother and father had
used the Manitou Springs home
only as a summer place. She said
her mother had returned to Mani-
tou the first week in January, 1942,

10

to ‘stay for a couple of weeks and
visit old friends.

“Oh, it’s so. terrible!” she cried,
suddenly breaking the calm com-

posure which she had tried so des- ©

perately to. hold. “Mother was
planning to leave the very night
she was killed. If she’d only gone
a little sooner!”

“your father,” Banks. said.
“Where is he now? Did he come
down here with your mother?”

“No, he’s a postal inspector and ©

he’s away from home much of the
time. He’s in Chicago: right now.”
“How long has it been since he
was down here?”
“I don’t know exactly. I can’t
recall right: now. This is all so...
so terrible.”

Banks hesitated a’ moment. “You

say your mother was planning on

leaving here Friday night.: Where.

was she going?”

“To Denver.”

“Alone?” :

The woman nodded and raised
a handkerchief to her tear-stained
eyes. as

The daughter went on to explain
that her mother’s aunt had moved
to-Denver and liked it so well that
she had. persuaded Mrs. Culbert-
son to move there also. The aunt,
too, had a summer home at Mani-

tou, at Spencer Avenue, a few.

blocks down the mountainside
from the Culbertson place.

“Any other children besides
yourself?” Banks asked.

The daughter said there was a

‘son, employed in an aircraft fac-

tory in’ Los Angeles. He was the
only other member.of the family.

“other was always so kind and
gentle,” she added. “She had

friends by the dozens all over.

Manitou Springs. No.one, as far as
I know, disliked her. I... just

“can’t understand it.”

“Do you know how we can get

in ‘touch with your father?” Banks ~

asked. “Perhaps he would have

© some explanation for the crime.”

“tT don’t,” the young woman ad-
mitted, “but I'll start right now,
checking several places where he
might be. I'll let you know as soon
as I find him.” | | ee

There was only one other thing
the knife. Banks drew it from
his pocket. The young woman drew
away, horrified.

“Your mother ‘was killed with
this,” Banks said. “I want you to
‘look at it closely and tell me if
you ever saw it before.”

“Oh, yes... yes,” she creid.
“That was Mother's. She got it as
a present several years ago. Oh,
I don’t. understand it—”

Banks and the others left the
daughter and started back to the

Culbertson home. They weren’t as.

optimistic as_they had been a few
hours previous. The knife angle
had already played itself out.

Night. Marshal . Corley had al-
ready received the report from the
telephone company on four calls
made from the Culbertson home on
the Friday of the murder. None
had been made on Saturday. Fri-
day morning about ten o’clock, one
call had been made to the home
of Mrs. Culbertson’s daughter, at
two o'clock to the Clyde Carlton
plumbing office, and at 2:30 a call
had been made to the aunt’s home
in Manitou Springs.

Banks glanced up at the other
officers. That’s strange,” he said,

Above photo shows Mrs. Culbertson’s murderer, left, with

. Sheriff Sam Deal, center, and City Marshal David Banks.

puzzled. “The aunt is living in
Denver. I didn’t think anyone was
at her home’ here.”

“Maybe she has her house rent-
ed,” Sheriff Deal suggested.

“But she told me she didn’t,”

Banks said thoughtfully. “What

about the fourth call, Corley?” |
Corley said it had beenomade at

three o'clock to the home of Kent

-Wilson in Manitou Springs.

“That was the last call made
from the house?” p
Corley. nodded. ig

ANKS immediately, dispatched
officers to check on the calls

made to Wilson and to the Carlton

plumbing office. Then he and Sher-
iff Deal walked down the winding
mountain road to the aunt’s home.
It, too, was a pretentious place and
gave evidence of being well cared
for. Now, however, . it appeared
lonely and deserted. There was &
light burning in only one room of
the big house. gar

_ “Well,” Banks said with 4 shrug
of. the shoulders, ‘“‘there’s someone
here all right.”

Banks pushed the buzzer and the
officers stood back to see what
would happen. A moment later a
tall, slender man of about forty
years and with slightly graying
hair, opened the door and peered

out at the two officers.

“Hello,” he said. His voice was
calm and friendly. “What can I do
for you?” Fae

“We're officers,” Banks — said.
“we'd like a talk with you.” -~

The fellow smiled broadly. “Come
in. Come in by all means,” he said,
and when the officers had entered
the house and .the man had closed
the door behind them, he contin-
ued. “What’s the purpose of this
visit? Is something wrong?”

“Plenty wrong.” Banks took off
his hat and sat down. “Do you
know a woman: named Mrs. Cul-
bertson?” { Nite ri8

“Certainly,” the man said: His
brow wrinkled in a frown. “Why
do you ask?” — . oe:

“She’s been murdered.”

“Murdered!”

Banks nodded. “We found her
body earlier this evening in the
basement of her home, Someone
stabbed her in the back with a
knife.” hah

“No!” the man gasped. “This is
horrible. She’s related to the wom-
an I work for.”

Banks leaned : forward in his
chair. “Oh, you’re employed by the
aunt?” :

“Yes, I'm caretaker of her house.
I stay here all winter while she’s
up in Denver.”

a?

‘This garden rake,

bearing tell-tale stains, was discovered

lying near the woman's body in the Culbertson basement.

“I see.” Banks hesitated a mo-
ment. “Did Mrs. Culbertson tele-
phone you Friday?”

“Yes, she did. Why?”

“About what time?”

“Oh, the middle of the after-
noon, It must have been about
2:30 or 3 o’clock, I guess.”

“What.did she tell you?”

“She said she was going to leave
her house that night and go back
to Denver. She said that if any
of her friends wanted to know
where she had gone, to tell them
to write to her at Denver. And she
said to keep a lookout at her place
every once in a while just to see
that everything was getting along
all right.”

“Is that all she said?”

“That's all.”

“What's your name?” Banks ask-
ed suddenly. :

“John Sullivan. I’ve been work-
ing here for nearly two years.”

Banks asked Sullivan if he had
any idea who could have murder-
ed the wealthy Manitou Springs
woman, but the caretaker shook
his head,.He said Mrs. Culbertson
was a very nice woman and had
many friends there in the resort
town. —. : i

“Did you see her any time Fri-
day?” -Banks said.

Sullivan shook his head. “I was

*yery busy ‘all day long. I guess
that’s why she telephoned me.”

“$F
EAVING the house, as puzzled

as ever over the mystery,

Banks and Sheriff Deal now
launched out on a bell-ringing
campaign, going from one neigh-
pbor’s house to another seeking in-
formation on the murder... They
picked up only one ‘fact, however,
which was of any value to them.
One of Mrs, Culbertson’s neighbors
had been out on a two weeks’ trip
and had returned to Manitou
Springs at four o’clock Saturday
morning. The neighbor noticed
that Mrs. Culbertson’s porch light
was burning and had mdde some
remark about it to his wife.

- The officers hurried back to the
Culbertson home. The porch light
was off now and the bulb wasn’t
burned out. This was interesting.
It meant the killer had returned
to the scene of the crime sometime
Saturday, had discovered the light
and turned it off.'

¢ While the officers were still pon-
dering the significance of the dis-
covery, Under-Sheriff Glasier sum-
moned the plumber whom Mrs.
Culbertson had telephoned only
five hours before she was murder-
ed

Carlton, tall, well-built man with

The crime; occurred in the: Culbertson summer home, fore-

ground, overlooking the city of Manitoba Springs, Colo.

dark, heavy hair, acknowledged re-
ceiving the telephone call.
“What did she want?”
asked.
“Mrs. Culbertson said she was
going back to Denver and she
wanted me to come up to her home

Banks

_and shut off the water. She said
she was afraid the pipes would’

freeze if it wasn’t done correctly.”

“How soon did you come here
after you got the call?” é

“Right away. She said she was
in a hurry, so I just dropped every-
thing and beat it right on up.”

“And how long were you here?”

Carlton rubbed his chin. “Not
very long; not over thirty minutes
at the most.” .

“Anyone else here?”

“No, just Mrs, Culbertson.”

“Did you talk with her?” -~

“Of course.”

“What about?”

“Nothing in particular, just one
thing, then another. But mostly
about her returning to Denver, She
seemed awfully anxious to get
back,” ;

Banks asked Carlton if the wom-
an had appeared worried or nerv-
ous about anything while he was
there, but Carlton said that so far
as he could tell, she was perfectly
happy.

“Did you hear her call anyone

while you were here?” Banks ask-

ed.

Carlton shook his head. ‘“How-
ever, while I was shutting off the
water, I noticed a broken window
in the basement. I called Mrs. Cul-
bertson’s attention to it. I told her
she’d better have it fixed before
she left or it might rain in and
fill the basement with water.”

“I see.” Banks hesitated. “Do you
know .anyone named Kent Wil-
son?”

“I know of him. That’s all. He's
a handy man and carpenter; does
odd jobs for people.”

Banks was pleased with the in-
formation. Wilson was the last
man Mrs. Culbertson had’ tele-
phoned. Since he was a_ hand)
man, she had probably called hir
to fix the basement window. So fa
as ‘the officers knew, he: was the
last one to come to the Culbertsor
home.

Meanwhile, Carlton had taker
the officers to the basement anc
showed them the window whicl
had been broken, It was now care-
fully repaired!

To further complicate matters
a telephone message from Deputy
Vasseur informed Banks that Wil.
son was now missing from hi:
home. In fact, the whole famil:

(Continued on page 24)


clear himself but the experience so in-
censed him that he swore to “get” the
killer,

He haunted Ogden's tavern row on 25th
street for night after night and finally he
spotted the phony “Jack Stallings” who
had sold him the stolen car. Mares had
drifted back in via the highway and his
thumb, returning to Colorado.

If he had killed another motorist or two
in the meantime, their murders are still
unsolved, for we could never trace back
his route. Mares was arrested on the in-
formation from the first suspect and on
questioning he confessed ‘the crime.

He was found guilty of first degree
murder and is still on “death row” of the
Utah state pen sentenced to die before
a firing squad and living on borrowed time
that his lawyer has won through con-
tinuing delays and appeals.

Meanwhile, he’s no exception. It keeps
on happening day after day.

Just sitting here without referring to
records I can think of so many cases it
almost «frightens me. A young man. was
‘ . shot to death in the center of his home
town, Richfield in southern Utah. An-
other killed at Beaver in a service station
by. two young hitch-hikers. A Mrs. Wil-
liams from California murdered for a
Pin 1929 Model A Ford near Vernal, Utah.
Ag ‘“s Charles Cairns, a prominent Idaho sheep-
te man murdered by a hitch-hiker he had
} ota hired and befriended. A well known young
i he ‘ Salt Lake salesman killed by a hitch-hiker

: near Iron Springs west of Cedar City. An
Iowa business man slain at Cokeville,
Wyoming by Don Wilde, a paranoic killer
he had picked up by Pine Bluffs. Five
murders’ committed in late years in
Nevada by persons who were hitch-hiking
‘through the state. Four in Wyoming.
Seven in Colorado that I can think of off
hand. Is there no end to it?

You bet there is. The end is when you
stop picking potential murderers up.

Also, when state police organizations

are given the men to handle the jobs

properly, and the full authority of law to
arrest all hitch-hikers on sight.

Admittedly, this will be rough on the

college boys hitching home for holidays,

but not half as hard as the murders are

on the families of men who stop for killers

under the misapprehension that they are
- picking up innocent students. But some
hitch-hike killers are.college students, too,
and don’t forget that, either.

The most dangerous ages in hitch-
hikers are between 16 and 24. Those
“kids” you tend to feel sorry for,
especially if they are wearing part of a
uniform. You think “a soldier just out of
the army, I’ll give him a lift.” Don’t for-
get that a lot of them are: AWOL, or army
prisoner escapees; and that uniforms can
be bought cheaply anyplace in the USA.

Contrary-wise, the safest group on the
road are the older men—hobos, or
transient workers on the move. They are
usually dressed in (Continued on page 65)

a

Le Roy Ritehey was partner of
Roedl and is now in jail for life.

Lo,
Ley

33


x

b.

“I knew I
y conscience
stand living
ted dog. I'd
ars,”

‘onfession of
ad shot and
ies E. Smith,
e an armed

Sgt. Lowell
Knight have
» return the
He has in-
» attempt to

Xoanoke po-
t you can’t

of the Mor-
hatcher and
‘re fictitious.

tE

‘e told him.
ve'd like to

help,” Con-

ou can tell
1 that killed

t before he
un. But I
it.”

nry Beattie
That's as
and turned

ely unpre-
This threw
ry Beattie,
ie father of
incredible.
ied a state-
ourchase of

nfront the
d his state-
s located at
orter Street.
and Henry
when they
larters with

are of Tom
asked him
oting. This

vancies be-
d the one
, but young
heem con-

10ow do you
e was shot

in the left side of her face?”

Henry Beattie, Jr., could not answer the
question.

At that point the murder gun was
was brought forward and young Beattie
was asked if he thought it was the one
used to kill his wife.

“I can’t be sure,” he replied. “But it
does look the same.”
At. that moment Detective Luther

Scherer, who had been checking into the
young husband’s personal background,
came into the room. He asked permission
to question Beattie.- This was granted.

“Are you acquainted with a young
woman named Myra Schilling?” the of-
ficer asked. ,

Henry Beattie, Jr., looked up quickly.
“Yes, I know Myra Schilling,” he said.

“How long have you known her?”

“A couple of years.”

“Are you in love with her?”

“No,” young Beattie answered bluntly.

The detective flashed a piece of paper.
“I have here proof that you have been
intimate with Myra Schilling since before
your marriage,” he shouted. “What’s more
we have proof that your marriage did not
stop the affair with Myra Schilling. You
have met secretly and you were out with
her earlier on the very night your wife
was murdered.”

* The paper in the detective’s hand showed
that a baby boy had been born in North
Carolina on July 24, 1909. The infant
had died later—but his father was Henry
Beattie, Jr. and his mother was Myra
Schilling.

The accused man denied everything; but
detectives worked around the clock to
prove that he was the cold-blooded killer
of his young wife.

It was finally shown that Mrs. Beattie
had been standing beside the car when she

was shot; and that she was not sitting in-
side as her husband insisted. Also it was
shown that Henry Beattie, Jr., had hidden
the shotgun near the scene of the crime
where he could get it when he needed it
later that night.

Evidence mounted as Henry Beattie, Jr.,
paced the narrow cell of Henrico jail.
Then a coroner’s jury heard the informa-
tion and indicted the young husband for
murder of his wife. . :

The small courthouse in Chesterfield
County was overcrowded for the sensa-
tional trial. One of the most damning bits
of evidence was produced by the prosecu-
tion when Tom Conners took the stand.
“Two days after Mrs. Beattie was shot,”
this man testified, “Henry Beattie came to
me and confessed everything. He said he
wished he hadn't done it. He told me that
Louise had married him for his money
and that she didn’t love him and he didn’t
love her. But he said he wouldn’t have
killed her for a million dollars. He asked
me to stick by him. I said I'd have to tell
the’ police the truth if they came to me.”

Another damning bit of evidence was
provided with the appearance of a madame
from Norfolk’s red light district who testi-
fied that Henry Beattie, Jr., and Myra
Schilling had often met at her place.

“The woman wanted Mr. Beattie to get
rid of his wife,” this witness stated. “And
he said he would do it if it took him a
year.”

The jury heard the evidence and then
returned a verdict of guilty of murder in
the first degree.‘ Henry Beattie was
sentenced to die in the electric chair on
November 24, 1911.

The young man who, on the surface, had
seemed to have everything anyone could
desire, walked the last mile; but he never
confessed.

MURDER THUMBS A RIDE

(Continued from page 33)

work clothes, sometimes aren’t shaved.
You think, “Boy, there’s a tough cus-
tomer. I won’t pick him up.” Statistics
show that you are a hundred times safer
with a “bindle stiff’ in your car, than
picking up a fuzz-faced kid of 16 or 17
years.

Also, the real psychopathic killers who
can knock off motorists at the rate of one
a week, are usually caught and executed
by the time they are 24 years old. So, the
older they are the safer they are except
when travelling with a young woman who
is probably money and clothes hungry.

The only reliable rule is: drive on!
Lock your doors on the inside, whether
you are in your home town or on the
road, so that a gunman can’t open the
door and step in while you are held up by
a red light. If one does, wreck your car
at once.

There is no “safe way” that I know of
to handle a-hitch-hiker in your car, short
of putting him in a strait-jacket, hand-
cuffing him to the dash board, or sitting

(SERRE Renn REITER EERERERERRERE ERIE

behind him with a gun in his back while
he does the driving.
_ If you think he needs a ride badly
enough to justify such means as this, then
by all that’s good and holy you should do
the only practical thing under those cir-
cumstances—buy him a railroad ticket to
his destination and give him money to pay
for food on the way.

That’s the cheapest, safest and best way
for you to “help out” a hitch- hiker on the
road.

The other way you are inviting mur-

der. Your own murder. Why. flirt with such
a gruesome fate when the odds are always
against you and you have absolutely
nothing to gain and your life to lose?

These are the hard—but true—facts
about hitch-hiking as experienced police
Officers know them. Don’t “go soft” the
next time you see a weary looking indi-
vidual thumbing rides on ‘the highway. Do
yourself and your community a big favor
—and just keep right on going down that
road.

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65

. KEETER

lice Dept.
>» Arentz

lowing true
dly drivers.

Psychopathic killer Henry N.
McCandless murdered motorist.

OU say he’s a nice looking kid? He’s young? Fairly well
dressed? Maybe in uniform? He’s got his thumb sticking
out, standing there beside the highway, asking you to let
him in your car. Asking you to allow him to intrude on
your journey.

If he came to your office or your home and asked to be let in,
you'd probably deny his request. Why let him in your car, then?

Don't let his looks fool you. The “best looking” ones are
sometimes the deadliest. At least one, out of five is a. marginal
risk, 30% of them have psychotic leanings of one sort or other,
and 10% of them are downright dangerous—deadly. If not to
you, then consider yourself luckier than the next man. Luckier
than Jack Stallings who was murdered in ‘cold blood for an old
car near Echo Canyon, Utah.

Stallings was a 21-year-old navy veteran on his way to Los
Angeles. He met Elisio Mares, of Colorado, at a garage in Raw-
lins, Wyoming. Mares was bemoaning his bad luck.

“That doggone car of mine,” he told Stallings, “It must be the
brother of the famous One Hoss Shay—just falls apart all at once
on me. And, at the worst possible time, when I’m on my way to
a new job and short of funds.” ¢

Mares turned to the garage owner. “I'll have to leave it here
for now,” he said. “You get it fixed up right and running good.

Frank J. Ford was one of Paul Schneider’s victims.


32

+ I’ve got to be on the job day after to-

morrow, but I'll either fly back and pick
it up or have you sell it for me. Depends
on whether I can buy another car on the
west coast or not.”

This was while cars were scarce follow-
ing the war, and both Stallings and the
garage man agreed it seemed a_ logical
idea.

Then Mares turned to Stallings. “I’ve
got to head west anyhow, Sailor, why not
let me share your expenses on that car.
I'll buy half the gas and we can save
money by taking turns and driving right
along all night.”

It was late evening then, and __this
sounded like a good idea to handsome
young Jack Stallings. Mares was a young
man, too, and the fact that he was driving
a big Packard, and heading for a job also
helped the sailof. decide that Mares might
be a good guy to know out there in
California. After his navy career, Stall-
ings was looking for a job also.

What Jack didn’t know, what the gar-
agemen didn’t know, and what you can
never tell about a hitch-hiker was that
Elisio Mares had a long record as a juve-
nile delinquent, that the fancy Packard
was a stolen car which had temporarily
broken down because Mares had over-
driven the road getting away with a hot
vehicle.

Stallings also didn’t know that Mares
was carrying a gun in his pocket and was
a psychopathic killer with a car mania.

That’s something you can’t tell, either,
about the hitch-hikers you see along the
road. They don’t have any buttons on
them that say, “I need the ride and can

‘be trusted,” or, “I’m a.dangerous killer

and I hate your guts just because you have
a car and I haven't.”

And believe me, I’ve seen enough mur-
derers to know that you can’t spot them
by looks or. by their talk. The coldest
killers I’ve known are just the kids you'd
pick out of a police line-up as “nice young
men who need a helping hand.”

That night, about three in the morning,
Stallings and his “friend” stopped beside
.the highway in Echo Canyon, Utah.

Stallings stepped outside the car for
a moment and Mares stayed inside.

He drew a .32 caliber revolver and slyly,
secretively and without provocation, shot
the young navy veteran in the back of the
head, killing him instantly. He threw the
body in a canal later and drove on into
Ogden where he sold the car the next day
and collected a telegraphic money order
that had been sent there for Jack Stallings.

Then he took off—hitch-hiking as usual,
leaving another young man in the danger-
ous and unhealthy position of driving (and
having paid for) the car of a. murdered
man, whose body was found a few ddys

Jater in the vicinity of Coalville, Utah.

It was this innocent fellow who was
arrested in Logan with Stallings’ car a
month later, and charged with suspicion
of murder. Fortunately, he was able to

James Roedl executed for hitch-
hike killing of Abagail Williams

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“Then I went upstairs and scooped
up the jewelry,” he continued. “I
sold some of it in the Bronx and
the rest in Jersey. I was a damn
fool to peddle it.”

“Why did you kill Emma Mac-
Donald?” demanded Lewis.

“I had been leading her on by
telling her I was going to get her
a job,” Kelly said. “And when _ she
found out that I was just leading
her on she started crying, saying: she
was no good and couldn’t face her
family anymore. She begged me to

shoot her. So I took her down by
the sand pit and shot her.

“Then I took her clothes so nobody
would know who she was. I dragged
her body down into the pit and hurried
away. I threw the gun into a vacant
lot and burned the clothes later in the
garbage incinerator behind our house.”

“You're lying!” barked Lewis. “Mrs.
MacDonald was a respectable woman.
You tricked her.”

“I told you the truth,” insisted the
prisoner, and he steadfastly stuck to
his story.

On the following day, District At-
torney Lewis went before the Kings
County Grand Jury and won the
swift indictment of Kelly on a charge
of first-degree murder.

Kelly pleaded not guilty.

On January 7, 1920, a jury before
Supreme Court Justice Isaac Kapper
found Kelly guilty as charged. He
was sentenced to die in the Sing
Sing electric chair the following
month.

An appeal of the conviction, later
denied by the Court of Appeals,

highest in the State, delayed execu-
tion of the sentence for another six
months.

But on the night of August 23,
shortly before midnight, Frank Kelly
was led into the death chamber.
Snarling defiantly and struggling with
his captors, he was strapped into the
ao hy Three minutes later he was
dead.

The name Sarah Leiner as used
in this story is fictitious to protect
an innocent party from embarrassment.

"Don't Shoot—I Know When I'm Licked" (Continued from Page 13)

if they drove on up in the hills and
tried to trap some rats.”

“You say that was the big fellow
which made that statement?” Bruce
asked.

“That’s right—the big fellow. He
was driving the car.”

HAT must have been Russell, then,

Bruce surmised, for Sukle stood only
five feet ten inches and was a slender
fellow weighing 150 pounds.

“How long did they stay on your
ranch?” Bruce asked.

“Not very long,” Eppler said. “They
drove on out in the mountains and were
gone probably thirty or forty-five min-
utes. When the car came back to go
through the gate by my house, I was
just going out to do my evening chores,
and it looked to me like there was only
one man in the car. I thought that was
rather queer, but I wasn’t close enough
to get a good look, so I figured maybe
I just couldn’t see the other one.”

Maybe that was the situation and
maybe the second man wasn’t in the
car. Maybe he still was out there in
Black Forest—murdered!

Since the Black Forest country is,
of course, out of the city limits of
Colorado Springs, Inspector Bruce tele-
phoned Sheriff Samuel J. Deal and
enlisted the assistance of him, Under-

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38

sheriff Roy Glazier and Deputy Sheriff
Jerry O’Driscoll to help the city offi-
cials look for Sukle’s body.

The search started early the next
morning with the combined City and
County forces participating. Eppler led
the men back into the mountains in
the direction which Russell and Sukle
had driven that Saturday afternoon.
But they hunted four hours before
Deputy O’Driscoll suddenly shouted,
“There he is—over in that clump of
pine trees, lying on his stomach!”

All the officers within hearing dis-
tance made a rush for the spot, but
when they saw the body, they all
stopped in amazement.

“T’ll be damned!” exclaimed Bruce.
“Look, this isn’t Sukle. It’s Jack Rus-
sell—the big guy.”

For a moment, all the officers stared
at one another bewildered. They had
been certain up until this moment that
Jack Russell, angry with jealousy, had
killed Sukle and his wife, but now,
they found Russell dead—and Sukle
still was missing.

if econd called for a sudden readjust-

ment of their thought processes, and
the whole case for a moment was
thrown in reverse.

The mother of Marie Sukle had said
that Sukle, Russell and her daughter
had continued to be good friends.

Maybe everything in the Sukle fam-
ily had not been as quiet and serene
as the couple’s friends and relatives
had been led to believe.

And Sukle was the one who was mad
with jealousy—not Russell!

Coroner Coughlin, after a_ brief
examination of Russell’s body in the
forest, said he had been shot only
once—in the back of the head. The
bullet protruding under the skin from
the man’s forehead was removed. It
was a .38 caliber slug—same type of
bullet with which Marie Sukle had
been shot.

“Have those bullets sent to the State
Laboratory at Denver,” Bruce ordered
the Coroner, “and see if they were
fired from the same gun.”

Then the body was moved back to
the morgue in Colorado Springs.

When the officers returned to Head-
quarters, Boatwright had returned with
his report from Sukle’s aunt at Lead-
ville.

The woman said that on the pre-
vious Monday night—the night Marie
Sukle was murdered—her nephew had
come to her home, scratched and
bloody. He told her he had been in
a fight. He said his wife was not be-
ing true to him and he had done
something about it.

“But the aunt at the time didn’t
think it was very serious,” Boatwright
said. “She had an idea Sukle and the
man of whom he was jealous had en-
gaged in a fist fight.”

“Did she know where he went after
he left her place?” Bruce asked.

“No. He cleaned up there and
changed his clothes, then left that
night. She supposed he was coming
back to Colorado Springs.”

“Get word to all the officers in the
Leadville area, give them a descrip-
tion of Sukle and tell them to be on
the lookout for him.”

When the report came back from the
State Laboratory on the bullets re-
moved from the bodies of the young
woman and Russell, it disclosed that

they both had been fired from the
same gun, a .38 caliber automatic
pistol.

So officers were dispatched to the
loan shops and hardware stores in
Colorado Springs to find out whether
such a gun had been sold there re-
cently.

Officer Beattie found the place. It
was a loan shop, An automatic pistol
which fitted the description of the
death weapon had been purchased the
day Russell was murdered by a man
who fitted Sukle’s description.

But the really hot news—the thing
that startled everybody—came in the
report from FBI on the finger-prints
taken from the death car. The finger-
prints were those of Martin Sukle. The
FBI already had finger-prints of Sukle
in their files, much to the surprise of
all the people in Colorado Springs who
knew him.

Sukle had been a former prisoner at
the Montana State Penitentiary. He
had served three years of a six-year
term there after having been found
guilty of attempting to slay his first
wife with an ax. They had since been
divorced. But this was the first that
Sukle’s many friends in Colorado
Springs knew he ever had been mar-
ried before or that he had spent three
years in prison,

And further, the FBI record on Sukle
showed that he had been arrested in
Montana soon after he got out of
prison by the Federal authorities who
were investigating a white slave ring
operating out of Ohio.

When Mrs. Hirt, mother of the mur-
dered girl, was told these facts, she
said she hardly could believe it and
she was sure Marie had no knowledge
whatsoever of this black chapter in
Sukle’s life. The Sanatorium for which
Sukle had been working said the same
thing. Their records showed that Sukle
had been employed on a ranch in Mon-
tana all the many years he was gone
from his native state.

A huge dragnet soon was spread
over Colorado and adjoining states
where officers thought Sukle might try
to flee.

Bis Sheriff’s force blocked all roads

leading out of Colorado Springs and
stopped every car leaving town. Then
every man on both the City and the

County forces started combing that.

famous resort place.

The radio was brought into play,
both the police and the commercial.
Everyone was asked to be on the look-
out for Sukle, a dangerous gunman.

Out of the many telephone calls
coming into Inspector Bruce’s office,
most of them false leads, of course,
was one from Glen Sarvis, who oper-
ated the Hollywood filling-station on
the northern edge of Colorado Springs.

“Sukle’s out here,” Sarvis said ex-
citedly. “He’s hiding in a big drain
Pipe, close to the station.”

This time Bruce: made certain that
Sukle wouldn’t escape. Cautiously the
officers surrounded the long piece of
crooked pipe, about four feet in diam-
eter, and Sukle was ordered to sur-
render.

The second command brought re-
sults. Sukle crawled out, dragging
with him some old clothing he appar-
ently had used for a bed He raised
his hands in the air. He was unshaven,
dirty, and looked as if he hadn’t slept

in a week.
whipped man.

“Don’t shoot,” he said. “I’ll give up.
I know when I’m licked.”

Inspector Bruce quickly frisked the
man and found in his left hip pocket a
38 caliber automatic pistol.

“Is this the one you killed them
with?” Bruce asked, holding the gun
up in front of the man’s bloodshot
eyes.

Sukle nodded. “That’s it.”

“Why did you do it?” Bruce asked.

“Because she wasn’t true to me.”

He told how three weeks before the
slayings he had come upon Marie and
Jack in a parked car. He said what he
saw convinced him his wife was un-
faithful.

Sukle said he left them alone, went
downtown and got drunk. The next
day he told his wife he had a better
job in Pueblo and that he was going
down there and take it. He didn’t let
her know what was wrong. Right then,
however, he decided to kill her. And
two weeks later, when Marie got her
vacation, he bought the .38 caliber au-
tomatic and decided to get Russell first.

“We went out in the Black Forest,”
Sukle said, “and I waited behind Jack
when he started to set his rat trap
and shot him in the back of the head.
He never knew what hit him. He fell
over on his face, didn’t even groan.”

Sukle said he came back and stayed
with his wife until Monday. Then he
took her out in the mountains.

“We stopped out on a road in a se-
cluded place up there. I told her I
knew what was going on and that I
was going to kill her. She started cry-
ing and leaned her head over in my
lap. I took the revolver, put it against
her head and pulled the trigger. I left
her lying in my lap all the way back
to Colorado Springs.”

The officers were certain Sukle was
lying. He must have beaten his wife
furiously before murdering her because
of the bruised spots on the girl’s body
and her torn underthings.

And the ofiicers, in checking thor-
oughly on Marie Sukle and Jack Rus-
sell, were unable to uncover any evi-
dence whatever that the two had been
more than friends. They were both
good friends and that was all.

District Attorney Clyde L. Starrett
formally charged Sukle with first-de-
gree murder of his wife and Jack Rus-
sell on October 11, 1939. Sukle came
to trial on November 7 of the same
year, charged only with the murder of
Russell. The State was saving the other
charge for an emergency.

Sukle entered a plea of not guilty
and based his defense on the “un-
written law.”

But the jury brought in a verdict
of guilty and fixed his punishment at
death in the Colorado lethal-gas cham-
ber. He was formally sentenced by
Judge John E. Little.

For three years, Sukle’s case was on
appeal to the Supreme Court. The
Court finally reversed the decision and
ordered a retrial. Sukle again was
convicted and sentenced to death.

Martin Sukle’s case went again to
the Colorado Supreme Court, but they
denied his motion for a new trial.

He was executed on May 22, 1942.

He was a completely

The name Dwight Hillery is ficti-
tious to save embarrassment to a per-
son innocently involved in this story.

4D 4

Pinata 5

in their own car when they were at
your home that evening?” .

“They don’t have a car,” the woman
said. “They were driving a borrowed
car.”

Bruce thanked the woman and hung
up. “Good Heaven!” he muttered.
“We've been letting a clew set around
in our laps and not doing a thing about
it.” He turned to Westcott. “Get down
to the police garage, Cameron, and
check on that license tag and serial
number on the death car. I want to
know who it belongs to.”

Bruce then tried to contact Sukle’s
aunt in Leadville, but he was unable
to do so by telephone so he handed the
lead to Boatwright.

Then the Inspector had a confer-
ence with Police Chief Hugh D. Har-
per, laying all the facts before him.
And Harper agreed with Bruce that
Jack Russell should be picked up.

hed when they went to see Mrs.
Hirt, mother of the murder victim,
she was amazed at their deduction and
said she had known Russell quite well
and that he was a young man of very
high character.

“Was he still on good terms with
them?” Bruce asked.

“Yes; they were all good friends.
There wasn’t any jealousy or hatred
between them.”

Bruce told Mrs. Hirt what one of
the officers had uncovered in Pueblo
—that one of Marie’s old boy friends
was giving the couple a lot of trouble.

With the discovery of this slain
man, these officers had to revise
their theory of the case. Sher- ©
iff Deal is third from the left

“I have no idea who it could be,”
the mother said. “Marie certainly
never told me about it, and she was
always very confiding.”

“What about this fellow Dwight Hil-
lery?” Bruce asked. “Did you know
much about him?”

“Very little. I don’t think Marie
went with him many times or was
very crazy about him. That was the
impression she always gave me.”

Westcott had Headquarters sizzling
like a hot steak off a camp fire when
Bruce and Chief Harper returned after
their conversation with the mother of

Westcott

had
checked the license and serial num-
ber of the black sedan. It belonged to
Jack Russell!

the murder victim.

OLY mackerel!” Bruce muttered,
‘and he grabbed the telephone and
asked the local radio station, KVOR,
to again broadcast a description of
Russell’s car, of Russell, and Martin
Sukle, asking information from anyone
who had seen any of them over the
week-end. This time he got results.
It was not more than an hour before
Charles E. Eppler, a rancher living in

shown at

One story of the double murder already had been proved
a lie when this picture was taken.
right and Chief Harper

The investigation was well under way before police discovered that
the death car shown here with Marie Sukle’s body was itself a clew

the Black Forest country, seventeen
miles northeast of Colorado Springs,
telephoned Bruce the big news.

Eppler had heard the broadcast with
the descriptions of the car and two
men. He was sure they were the ones
who had come to his place the pre-
vious Saturday afternoon about 4:30
or 5 o’clock in the evening and asked
if they could hunt squirrels on his
ranch.

“I told them

I didn’t allow any

shooting,’ Eppler said, “so one of them
—the big fellow—asked me if I minded
(Continued on Page 38)

Bruce is
beside him

Inspector
stands

13


OES

we

1

“\3was the body of a young woman, ” Teaned. close, looking for

=) Ns propped ‘against the inside of the
“right front door. The dress, hair,
*> throat and shoulders. wer stai

~ South Weber ‘Street in -Colorado'”
“Springs. It aroused the interest of ©

© business. -

‘“Perhaps the driver ran out of .

"-meared the'car, he walked to the

. .tion escaped his lips and he step

F Mort

TYNE black sedan covered ‘with’ -ed. It was obvious at a glance that
the frost of an early October ‘the woman had. been murdered,

morning, was parked atthe - ;
corner of Nevada Avenue and: \/JILTON: ran to the nearest phone
and. reported “the. discovery to

Acting Sergeant Harold Greenhoe at po-
i lice’ headquarters. It was’ then just 6:25
: Tuesday. morning, October 3, 1939.

a. My:
“Greenhoe took the address and order-

Arthur Milton- and his ‘wife.
they approached on their way.
“< “Queer that it should be park-:
ed in-front of the church at this”
‘hour of the morning,” Milton.
emarked.: (96) .207 3, ayes
His wife frowned,’ then’ said, '

cruiser arrived. Then he flashed word of
“the crime on the air and dispatched of-
ficers Earl Boatright and Cameron West-

‘phoned: Chief of ‘Police Hugh. Harper
and Detective Chief I. B. Bruce at their
“homés advising. them: of the discovery.
It was ‘only six blocks and .Boatright
nd Westcott’ were;-at: the scene in less
Paar . 7 than a minute.) 0
curiosity still unsatisfied, As he ‘They found that the girl had ‘been
shot twice,

gas.and. walked on to.the service.
station.” 98% rg sak ies
». *Probably,”: Milton agreed, his

curb and looked: in, An exclama- :
‘ “2° bad flown, freely ‘from both wounds, but
here -was no indication of a strugg
“She must have died instantly,” Boat-
right’ “commented, noticing Boney _
ar ae og A perry): powder mar!
~The body lay in a semi-upright © pear the wound. These,.he found, were

ped back in sudden consternation.
‘Lying on the front seat of the car~

© ‘position, head leaned and shoulder.” quite noticeable...

“Tn that case,”, Westcott said, “her
killer must have .been’ driving. - She
uldn’t have been shot from . outside,”

oe
ai

te

Vital DETECTIVE Cashes, July, 1945,

scott to the scene. Next the sergeant

SUKLE, Martin, white, asphyx., Colo. SP (El Pa

tans Det. RO
icians Otho nas

d: Milton to stand-by the car until:a

once over the left’ ear and —
gain through the . left breast. Blood.’

le. don’t know. who she

. it carefully.

so Co.) on 5/22/1942

BY BOB ARENTZ
AN EXCITING MYSTERY IN WHICH THE —

©9399
ba

_ SOLUTION TO THE MURDER OF A BEAU. ~
TIFUL WOMAN DEPENDS UPON THE FIND-

ING OF ANOTHER

“As Boatright stepped to the cruiset
‘to radio for Coroner Thomas Coghlan,
Westcott ° interviewed. Arthur Milton
and his wife about ‘the discovery of the

body. oy :

‘Milton’ related how he noticed the
car because of its unusual parking place.
>-“We've never before seen a car park-

_ed here this early in the morning,” he =~

told Westcott. : :

“Have you ever seen “this car before,
anywhere else?” the officer asked. _
“No,” Milton replied, “‘but I am sure
that I’ve seen the woman. in town, I
is, but the face
is familiar.?-": 2 62° 3
‘#Do you remember who you've seen :
her with?” |:

Milton said no, adding that he could
not ‘be too sure of the identity.

“Westcott picked the dead. woman's: °

purse from the floor. and went through:

hai ‘

~ sell is ‘the man we want.”

-. the car might have been stolen. At
for the. Chief, the officer’ wheeled
-- Russell. ai

He grunted with disgust. . . Russell,

VICTIM'S BODY.

“There's. no identification,” he told

the kille
name a secret as long as\possible.” ~~
Boatright pointed to- the - registration #
receipt on the Ford sedan’s steering
post. “There’s the. name we want.” -~*5
He slid ‘into the seat and read the”
slip..{It’s-made_out to a Jack Russell,"
he announced. “The address is just.
south of here—four blocks. . Jack Rus-2

“Could be,” Westcott admitted, “but
anys

rate, we'll soon find: out.” *
“While his partners stood by

patrol car around and went to the ad-
dress listed under the name of Jacks
roa eye * Be

He talked for a few minutes to a
woman who identified herself as Mrs.)
then came back to the scene ~

ew

~
ov


Jack Russell: His dis-
appearance added an-
other puzzle to the case

wind courtship they got married and
she dumped this other guy flat.”

“Interesting enough,” Bruce said.
“Go on.”

“Well, that’s about all there is to it.
I couldn’t get the fellow’s name. All I
could learn was that he lived in Colo-
rado Springs.”

Bruce tapped his pencil nervously
on his desk. Here was something that
made a little sense—a trail leading into
the inner lives of these two young peo-
ple. And here, Bruce felt, lay the secret
to the whole mystery.

From the aunt, Westcott had learned
some more about Sukle’s background.
He was born in Colorado Springs of
Slovenian parents. As a very young
man he had gone to the ranch lands of
Montana to work. He had stayed there
for nearly thirteen years making a
goodly sum of money. But he had
grown tired of the northern state and
returned to his boyhood home. Shortly
afterward, he met Marie Hirt and
they soon were married.

HE boy-friend angle, Bruce real-

ized, was the only point that indicated
a possible motive to the crime. He
immediately put Westcott and Officers
Earl Boatwright and Homer Beattie to
work checking on the men in the life
of the victim before she met Martin
Sukle.

This investigation gave the officers
two leads—two possible suspects. They
were Dwight Hillery and Jack Russell.

The officers were unable to get from
Marie’s friends the name of any
“heavy” steady she had before she
married Sukle. Hillery and Russell
had gone out with her frequently.

Patrolmen were sent out immedi-
ately to pick them up. Hillery was lo-
cated first. He was a slender man
about 28 years old, with thinning hair.
But his smile was warm and friendly.

Hillery didn’t give the officers much
help. He admitted knowing Marie be-
fore she was married and said he was
a very good friend of hers and that
they had dated on many occasions.

“But when she met this Sukle guy,”
Hillery said rather bitterly, “she
dropped me like a hot potato. She was

12

This old pipe held the answer to the slaying of two people.
The killer stands beside it holding a piece of his worn clothing

with him every night. I never saw a
gal fall so hard for a guy.”

“When was the last time you saw
her?” Bruce asked.

“Oh—it must have been at least six
months ago, and then I just happened
to meet her down on the street and
said ‘Hello,’”

“Did you talk with her at all?”

“A few minutes, yes.”

“Did she say how she was getting
along?”

“Just fine. She said she and Martin
were crazy about one another and that
they were very happy together. That’s
about all,”

Bruce looked at the young man
thoughtfully. He seemed to be telling
the truth all right, but Dad Bruce al-
ways likes to be doubly sure about
every point. The Coroner had said
Marie Sukle was murdered some time
between 5:30 and 7 o’clock, Monday
evening, October 2.

“What were you doing between these
hours on that day?” Bruce asked.

“I got off work at 5, went to my
apartment and cleaned up about 6
o’clock. Went down to the cafe, ate and
then went to a show about 7. After
that F went back to the apartment and
turned in for the night.”

Bruce obtained the name of the place
where Hillery worked, the cafe where
he ate his meals and his apartment
number, Then the young man was
allowed to go. :

When Westcott returned from his
search for Jack Russell, he came empty

handed and what he had to say put the.

police office in an uproar. Jack Russell
had been missing from his apartment
since the previous Saturday—the day
Marie Sukle started on her tragic
vacation.

“Did the apartment manager know
where Russell was going?” Bruce
asked.

Westcott nodded. “Said he saw Rus-
sell about 4 o’clock that Saturday af-
ternoon when the man was going out.
Russell told him that since it was such
a pretty day he was going into the
mountains and shoot some squirrels—
and maybe a rat or so.”

“A rat, huh?” Bruce mused. “The

trail, it seems, is growing warmer.
Did you get a description of this Rus-
sell?”

“Certainly. He’s a big fellow, weighs
about one eighty, stands six feet tall,
and when he left his apartment he
was dressed in dark-brown trousers,
black shoes and a brown suede jacket.”

“Put that information on the police
radio and the near-by commercial ra-
dio stations,” Bruce ordered, “and ask
that anybody knowing the whereabouts
of Russell contact us immediately.”

UT where was the woman’s husband,
Martin Sukle? Had he been mur-

dered also? Or was he being held
captive in some cabin hidden back in
the mountains and tortured by a jeal-
ous fiend whose girl friend he had won
over a year before?

Considering this a possibility, a de-
scription of Sukle and the black sedan
was broadcast and anyone having any
information regarding them was asked
to contact Inspector Bruce’s office
immediately.

The chief search, however, was for
Jack Russell. Five detectives were put
on his trail trying to follow him from
the time he left his apartment at 4
o’clock the previous Saturday after-
noon.

While this hunt was in progress, In-
spector Bruce telephoned Sukle’s aunt
in Pueblo, told her the progress they
had made on the case and asked her
if she knew Jack Russell.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” she said, ‘not
by name, anyway. If he was a friend
of Martin’s and Marie’s, I may have
seen him sometime, but I don’t recall
his name.”

“And you don’t know the name of
this couple that Martin and his wife
were planning to pick up Saturday
night after they left your home?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

“Did Martin or Marie have any other
relatives in this area?”

The woman said that Martin had
another aunt who lived at Leadville,
Colorado, Marie’s mother lived in
Colorado Springs. Her name was Mrs.
Ida Hirt.

Bruce said, “Were Martin and Marie


ad

ind the last one seen driving the Rus-
sell car was Richard Hastings."

“No trace of either: Russell or Suk-
le?” Harper asked,

“Nothing since Saturday. Hastings is
the only one who’s been ‘seen since...
and IT don't know what to think.”

“It secins we've got another body or
two to turn up,” the Chief of Police
hazarded. ,

“Quite likely,” Bruce: agreed. “Those
four shells leave two shots unaccount-
ed for...” his voice trailed off and
he .eyed Harper wonderingly. “Do you
suppose a man died from each shot?”

HAT was a question upon Which
neither man cared at the moment
to .speculate. ,

Bruce sighed and rose from his chair.-
“I'm going home,” he announced. “It's |
past midnight and we can’t do much
until we hear from the authorities. in

Iowa. Let’s hope they locate Hastings.” . Be

Early the next morning Bruce again
took up the thin trail to Marie Sukle’s
unknown murderer. To his great sur-
prise, the notes found in the Sukle
lodgings were not innocuous letters
from friends. Miss Dorothy’ Kem
brought back two of the most weirdly
written statements that the Colorado
Springs inspector (now Chief of Po-
lice) had seen in a life of detective.
work that has gained him national fame
as a sleuth. =

The first note was addressed to a
woman at Leadville, Colorado, two-
hundred miles from Colorado Springs.
It read: :

of |, B. Bruce
Inspector, NOW Chief, the case-

z + in
played an active part!

“I, Martin, wish to write to you a
few words which you will write to
Grace. Will you send her the birth cer-
tificate? I will do it tonight. It came to
me and her because I worked it out
with the god-father of ‘all evil. Please
forgive me.”

Signed: Martin.

The other note was equally baffling.

“Dear Grace: I want to write you

a few words to let. you know that

I can't come td you because I am

in trouble. I’ went with them, -but

they lied to me. I saw that before.

T have nothing more to write to you.

I send my best regards to you and

George Hoffman.

Signed: Martin.”

Bruce looked at Miss Kem. “Why,”
he exclaimed, “the man that wrote
these Jetters was insane!”

She nodded silently. Bruce studied
the notes more carefully. Was this the
key to the mystery? This madman’s .
drivel?

a, wen

Colesids Highway patrolmen cooperating with sheriffs and deputies on horseback,

Mem

i"

brought the fugitive to bay after he had hidden in the brush like a coyote.

What had the writer worked out with
the god-father of all evil? Who was
Grace? What was the trouble? Who had
he gone with and what had “they” lied
to. him about? And, who were “they”
——his wife, perhaps? And who else? Jack

. Russell?

Bruce noticed that the letters were

dated Saturday, three days before Marie -

Sukle was found murdered.
Bruce phoned Leadville.and got Sher-
iff Charles Calvert on the wire. He

-. quickly outlined his needs and Calvert
, promised , immediate - action.

*The operator was holding another call
for him when that was completed. It
was the Towa sheriff.

“We've “got Hastings here,” he re-

-ported, “and according to. his story,

Martin Sukle had the black sedan. Hast-
ings doesn’t know where he got it. After
they left the mother’s place, Sukle took
him back to the poor farm.” f

“Did he: tell Hastings where he was
going?” Bruce asked:

There was a hum of conversation at
the other end. Then, “Hastings says that
Sukle said something about going to
Pueblo and then to Leadville. Anything
else?”

“Yes. Did Sukle tell him where. he
had been with the car before Hastings
saw him?”

Again the delay, followed by, “Noth-
ing for sure, but he remembers some-
thing about the “Black Forest.” Does
that make sense?”

“Yes,” Bruce said decisively. ;

“Do you want us to hold the man?”
'-“No,” Bruce replied. “He is innocent.
A lot of angles have suddenly righted

‘ themselves, Hastings couldn’t possibly

have had -anything to do with it. Be
sure .to thank him for the help.”

Bruce. dropped the phone and con-
centrated on the police detail. checking
local pawn shops. It wasn’t long until
Sgt. Kaltenberger called in.

“We've found the right place,” he re-
ported, naming a local second-hand store.

“A .38 caliber gun and halfa box of
cartridges were sold Saturday morning
to Martin Sukle. It was an old model
I-J. The shells were in a brown paper
sack.”

Bruce immediately dispatched two
detectives to circulate around town ask-
ing. .about Jack Russell and Martin
Sukle. At a bar ‘they met a man who
stated that he had seen the pair togeth-
er about one thirty p.m. Saturday. They
were going to the Black Forest, he re-
ported.

“How do you know?” the detective
asked.

“Because,” the men’ replied impa-—

’ tiently, “I heard Martin offer Dick ten

dollars to take him out there.” How-
ever, the informant had no idea of what
Sukle’s purpose was.

Armed with this information, Bruce
immediately requested newspapers and

_fadio stations to broadcast the fact that

the police were seeking information con-
cerning any. black sedans seen driving
through the farm region skirting the
west side of Black Forest, a tree-clad
mesa land some twenty miles north of
Colorado Springs.

It wasn’t long until the two detec-
tives scouring the taverns for clues call-
ed in again.

“We heard that Russell and Sukle
have had trouble over the girl,” they
reported. “Sukle ‘seems to have been
extremely jealous.”

“Okay,” Bruce ordered, “stay with it.
We're on the right track now.”

As Sukle had been seen as late as
six p. m. Saturday, while Russell had
not been seen since one-thirty, Bruce
was now convinced that Sukle had re-
turned from the Black Forest alone.
The ten dollars was only to lure Rus-
sell to the scene of his death. . F

Sheriff Sam Deal was advised of the
situation and gave orders at once for
a body hunt in the forest. Deputies

were dispatched to contact. farmers -
‘along the forest’s edge, to make sure

that the newspapers and radio did not.

miss the one man they wanted to hear
from—the man. who saw the black sedan
enter the forest. ‘
Sheriff Calvert put the last piece in
the puzzle. He called to tell Bruce that
Martin Sukle and his wife had been
seen in Leadville, where the Austrian

miner was well known, as late as Mon- .

day morning.

The note had been addressed to one
of Martin’s relatives and the one to
Grace was to Sukle’s ex-wife,-who was
married to the unknown George Hoff-
man and then living in another part of
the country. °

“What else do you know about him?” -

Bruce asked.

“Plenty!” Calvert. replied. “I looked
up his record just on a hunch, He’s been
in jail back east for white.slavery and
attempted homicide.”

Thanking Calvert for his cooperation
Bruce got busy organizing one of .Colo-
rado’s biggest man hunts. It wag really
two hunts.. One posse seeking the body

of Jack Russell in the Black Forest

and the other scouring the country
south of Colorado Springs for Martin

 Sukle.

Sheriff Lewis. Worker of Pueblo, and
the chief of police there, J. Arthur
Grady, put their staffs on a full time
lookout for Sukle who was known. to
have many friends in the Bessemer dis-
trict where steel workers lived, and a
24 hour watch was placed on the houses
of Sukle’s relatives, ‘

HEY found Russell first. On Thurs-

day afternoon, Undersheriff Roy
Glasier and Deputy Sheriff Jerry O’Dris-
coll contacted a rancher named Charles
Eppler whose place bounded the Black
Forest.

Eppler said, “I noticed that black
sedan very well because as it drove up
my lane I stopped it. There were two
men in the car and one of them offered

(Continued on page 54)

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me a drink.”

Glasier showed Eppler a picture of
Sukle. :

“That's the man that offered the
drink,” the rancher replied. “They drove
on to the timber and walked into it. I
thought they might hit a horse if they
were hunting rabbits, so I rode down
and took the license in case something
happened.” ‘ \

The rancher gave Glasier the license
number. It was the number on Jack
Russell’s Ford sedan! :

Eppler lead a posse to the region
where the car was parked and a sys-
tematic, criss-cross hunt began. It was
not long until the horse ridden by Jer-
ty O'Driscoll caught an odor of death
on the air and shied violently, nearly
throwing the deputy, though he is an
expert rider.

The- shouts of O’Driscoll brought
Sheriff’ Sam Deal, Coroner. Thomas
Coghlan and other deputies in a hurry.
Russell's body was lying face down in

He had been shot directly through the
top of the head, and another shot had

me, once you started checking back. I
was hoping maybe you'd pick up some
hot lamster checking back and if he shot
it out and got killed, you'd write the
case off as being solved.” :
He lay back down and continued. “I
don’t care, though. I’m just sorry I
didn’t kill myself while I was at it. I
thought I had, in fact, when I threw
that knife away. But the ambulance
got ‘there sooner than I. expected. So, I

myself,”
He added that he had hoped the
fight in the cafe could prove a- false

fy

man and said, “This car, with Alloway
driving, was seen parked a few yards
from the Bournemouth Station at 7:30
the night of Tuesday, December 23rd.
Does that jibe with your records?”
The old man took his pipe from his

there was no offense in his tone. “Who-
ever told you this car was at the sta-
tion Tuesday night was either a liar or
a fool. It was right here, locked up in
this garage. F got the only key. This car
is in my charge and I know every move

it was.” .

Garrett knew the old man was telling
the truth, Wild horses couldn't swerve
him from his statement.

Just then Alloway came in. “Hello,
Pop,” he said. Then pointing to the four-
seater he had left outside. the door,
“Shall I drive her in?”

“Never mind, Son.’ I'll take her my-
self.” A mischievous gleam lit his blue
eyes. “Couple of fellows here say you
and the car were up at the station Tues-
day night. Better. tell ‘em different.”

Alloway stared at Garrett and Salem,
He was a slight man. His face was boy-
ish and made him appear much younger

i than he was. He had a ready smile but

something about it. rubbed Garrett the

wrong way, and he felt a tingling at the
base of his spine as he took in the young

a bed of pine needles-under a tall tree.

that old case would crop up against

decided to. make up a story ‘to clear,

te read. He turned slowly to tne old

mouth, He ‘spat. “Mister,” he said, and .

it makes. I say it was here, and_ here *

grazed his skull. :

The body was removed to Colorado
Springs and the hunt with each passing
hour for Sukle grew more intense.

Chief Grady’s men missed Sukle in
Pueblo when he tried to sneak ‘into a
friend’s home, and later that same night
he managed to evade two of Sheriff
Worker’s deputies at a farm house some
miles out of town. -

The state patrol and all available of-
ficers from the region concentrated on
the area between Colorado Springs. and
Pueblo.

Shortly after day break on the morn-
ing of October 9, 1939, not quite a
week after his wife’s body was found,
Martin Sukle was cornered in an auto-
mobile station on the outskirts of Colo-
rado Springs, by Undersheriff Roy Gla-
sier and two deputies.’ :

They found the .38 caliber revolve
on him and ballistics tests proved it to
be the gun that killed both Marie Sukle
and. Jack ‘Russell. ee

Sukle confessed both shootings stating
that he killed his wife as they drove
through the mountains Monday evening

.

Site's oe

A formal statement was taken by a
reporter and transcribed. Russell signed
it dnd was charged on the Sth of Janu-
ary with Ist degree murder. A prelim-

sisedes d from g 8 F
chauffeur’s dark features. In every last
detail he tallied with the description of
the man who had met Irene Wilkins at
the station. The voice was low and a
little slurred, his height, weight, general
appearance ‘dovetailed perfectly.

But Garrett was wary. The old man’s
statement had at the very outset put
a blockwide rock in his path. “Just for
the record,” Garrett said, “can you tell
us where you were that Tuesday night?”

Alloway smiled. “It’s about that mur-
der isn’t it?” he asked. “I understand
all of the boys have been getting a bit
of a going over. All right. Here it is
straight. I quit work that day at 5:30.
I had had a bit of a row with my wife
that morning so I decided to go into
town and have dinner: there. Maybe
shoot a game of pool later. But I never

got around to it. Too late.. Got horne |

at about half past nine.” He grinned
widely. “Going to lock me up?”

Garrett smiled back easily. “Tell you
better after we have a look around your
room,” he jibed. He knew that Alloway,
like all chauffeurs in similar set-ups, had
a room over the: garage where on oc-
casion they slept ‘overnight.

“Sure.” Alloway was jovial. He led
the two officers upstairs to a tuny room.
There was oniy one chair. Salem took
it: Alloway sat on the bed while Garrett
poked around with open inquisitiveness,
On the washstand was a snapshot of Al-

on their return from Leadville. He gave
as the reason his jealousy, over her inter-
rest in Russell.

A long and involved series of trials
and stays of execution followed, with
‘Sukle continuing to beat the law for
nearly three years.

But on the night of May 22, 1942,
Sukle marched to his execution in the
Colorado State Penitentiary’s gas cham-
ber, walking so rapidly that his guards
had to restrain him. He was laughing
and joking as they strapped him in and
his last words were, “Well, I almost
beat you out of it at that.”

Martin Sukle was right. He was far
gone in active tuberculosis despite ex-
pert care and -attention when it was
found that he had suffered from it for
years, and another six months’ stay of
execution would probably have seen
Sukle dying in bed.

Editor’s Note: The names, Milton
Stark, Hastings Hoffman and Grace, as

used in this story, are fictitious in order .
to protect the identity of innocent:

persons and save them from all possible
embarrassment,

‘inary hearing was held on the 20th be-
fore City Judge Reva Beck Bosone.

Brought to trial in Third District
Court on March 15th before Judge Al-
len Crockett, he was found guilty by a
jury that did ‘not recommend mercy,
This made a death sentence mandatory,
and the case was appealed to the Su-
preme Court.

A new trial was granted then and on

April 12th, 1944, Russell pleaded guilty ©
to a charge of 2nd degree murder and _

was sentenced to life imprisonment.

Editor’s Note: The nagnes Slim Adams
and Frank Mulhern, as used in this
story, are fictitious in order to protect
innocent persons from all possible em-
barrassment, ;

loway, enlarged. Scribbled across it in

- his handwriting was the legend: “Best

of Luck, Alloway.”

“Nice,” said Garrett. “Good likeness.
Mind if we take it along?” What the
desperate Garrett wanted badly was the
sample of Alloway’s handwriting. He had
no right to take the picture. Alloway
could refuse to give it to him without’
even making the refusal appear sus-
picious.

But Alloway waved his hand. “Take
it,” he said generously. “Add it to your

* Gallery. Maybe it'll scare the profes-

sionals,”

The officers left a few minutes later.
They dashed to the Boscombe post of-
fice, procured a copy of the original
telegram sent to Irene Wilkins and com-
pared both handwritings, They - were
identical. : ‘

_ Garrett still had to proceed warily.
Except for the sample of Alloway’s writ-
ing: he had nothing on him. Murder
juries want a substantial amount of evi-
dence to convict,

But before Garrett could proceed fur-

. ther, Alloway made his own maneuver.

He quit his job, deliberately packed his
Suitcase, shipped his’ wife and small:
daughter off to relatives in Reading,
while he went to live in nearby Kil-
burn. The slightly built suspect made no
eittempt to hide from the police. In-

‘stead. he seemed to deliberately flaunt

his presence in the new surroundings.
He spent money at the race tracks and
pool halls. °


OOOO

of the crime at. top speed. Here he
found Chief Harper and Detective Chief
Bruce waiting his report.

“Tt’s Jack Russell's car all right,” he
told them. “And it’s almost a cinch that
Russell was driving it.”

“Why do you say that?” Bruce asked.

“Because,” Westcott: replied eagerly,
“Mrs. Russell told. me that she has not -
seen her husband since right after noon,
Saturday. And he told her at that: time
that he was going to Cripple Creek for
a job and wouldn’t be back for several
days.”

“Was he going alone?” the Chief in-
quired.

‘No. He was going with a man named -
Martin Sukle, a friend of his. Or so
he. said. The girl was evidently .some-

thing his wife didn’t “know anything have a detail of plainclothesmen™ check”

about. At any rate, she told me that.
she had-no knowledge of any friend-
ship Jack might have had with another
woman.” ‘ }

“Well.” Bruce stated flatly, “the first
thing we’ve got to answer is: Who is
this. dead woman? After that, we can
seek her connection with Russell.”

Two officers were detailed to question
people living in the. neighborhood to
see if anyone heard. shots. fired during
the -previous -night.-One-man was de-
tailed to find out who Jack Russell’s -

‘empty beer cans and four empty car-

tridges. . .

_ “They are ..38’s,” Kaltenberg an-
nounced, examining the shells closely,
“Shorts—probably fired from one: of
those ‘knuckle-busters’ that break open.
on a hinge.” -

“It’s a good lead,” Bruce_ replied.
“That’s the kind’ of gun that sells for
practically nothing at a pawn shop. A
man who keeps guns and knows any-
thing about them, wants a better gun
than that around. A person who wants
a gun to kill someone buys the cheap-
est he can get, figuring on throwing
it away... .”

Acting on the hunch that the killer
might have bought the gun for murder _
alone, Bruce instructed Kaltenberger to

the records of every pawnshop in the’
‘city. : : :

detective and a resident of. the
neighborhood approached Bruce.
“This is Mrs. Sidney Stark,” the de-
tective said. “She saw the car being
parked here last night.” :
_ “What time was that?” Bruce in-
quired of the woman.
“About seven o’clock,”. Mrs. Stark
replied. “A man was driving. He stop-
ped ‘here, got out, and walked on up

companion ~was~to~be ‘on~the~ proposed ~~town. I-thought -it~was~funny: at -the~

trip to Cripple Creek. The name, Martin ~

Sukle, itself meant nothing. If they
could find the man, then. they would
know if Russell had lied about going
to Cripple Creek, the mining camp

some thirty miles .from Colorado ~

Springs.

Bruce, Chief Harper, and Detective
Sergeant Kaltenberger, the department's
identification expert turned their atten-
tion to the car. ;

In the back seat they found several

nonce

NRE =

The body of Mrs. Marie: Sukle as it was found-in parked car two

time that he should leave the car way’
over here.”

“Was he alone?” Bruce asked.

“He seemed to be,” the woman an-
swered. “At least, I didn’t see anyone
else. The light wasn’t too good.”

. “Have you seen the man before?” ;

Mrs. Stark nodded emphatically. “I
have, but I don’t know his name. He
is just an average sort of person, medi-
um build with dark hair and skin.”
By this time Detective Sergeant Kal-

SD Ate i

blocks from the heart of downtown Colorado Springs, Colorado.

tenberger had finished _ fingerprinting
tests on the car's interior and asked
permission to have it moved.

' “The coroner will be here in a min-
ute,” Bruce informed him, “and’ as soon
as he has inspected the body, you can
take the car up to town. Any luck?”

Kaltenberger- handed the detective
chief a small paper sack. Bruce hefted
it. “Heavy as lead.”

“It should be,” the sergeant replied.
“There’s seventeen more «38 caliber .car-
tridges in that sack. It was in the glove
compartment on the dash-board. We
got a_few prints, too,” he added. “It
looks like there were at least four sep-
arate sets. All fresh.”

The chief of detectives whistled
softly at this startling information.

““Two™” women ~and~ two: men?” *he~

hazarded, guessing. ‘

. The sergeant said, “No,” decisively
and continued: “I'd say the other three
were positively those of men. The only
woman’s prints belong to the victim.”

Giving orders to move nothing until
Coroner Coghlan gave permission, Bruce
then left with Boatright to interview
the wife of Jack Russell.

However, they learned little more
than Cameron Westcott had already
told them. Mrs. Russell worked in a.
cafe downtown, where she was Satur-
day afternoon. - ee

The last information’ she ‘had from
her husband, he was going to Cripple
Creek with Martin Sukle to get a job
around the mines. He was supposed to
phone’ her by Monday, but had not
done so. She could not explain the pres-
ence of the car, nor her husband’s dis-
appearance, nor give them a clue to
the identity of the murdered girl.

In a quandary over the conflicting
clues and the total lack of motive for

: "

the crime, Bruce went back up town,
his head alive with unrelated ideas.

The coroner had removed the body
and soon turned in his report, The girl
was not more than twenty-two or three,
and had. been instantly killed. One shot
penetrated the brain, the other cut -one
edge of the heart. There was no evi-
dence that she had fought with her
killer,

“Talk about a crime without motive,”
Coroner. Coghlan exclaimed, speaking to
Chief Harper and Inspector Bruce,
“how do you like the looks of this
one?”

“There’s a motive, all right,” Bruce
countered. “It will turn up, probably
when we find out. who. she is.”

The phone rang and Bruce picked it

on Martin Sukle was on the line.

“T’ve traced the guy to the psycho-
pathic hospital,” he reported. “Sukle
and his wife have both been working
here, but neither of them has been seen
for several days.” : :

“What kind of a person is Sukle’s
wife?” Bruce demanded as a suspicion
grew on him suddenly.

“Well, Chief,” the detective replied, °
“from a picture of her here, I’d ‘say
positively that she was the girl in the
car—Russell’s_ car.”

Bruce. slammed the. phone down. and -

left on the run, He was still running
when he leaped from his car and hur-
ried into the office of Dr. E. J. Brady,
who supervised the psychopathic hos-
pital. :

The detective met him there and
handed him a picture. Bruce knew at
a glance it was the murder victim. But
what had Russell been doing with Mar-
tin Sukle’s wife—it was Martin himself
who was supposed to have been going

(Continued on page 34)

The object of an intensive manhunt, this callous murderer tried

unsuccessfully to evade justice by hiding -in an abandoned flume.

a

atten c Gate Ye ALOR SAR To ee Barta:

=

JEALOUSY PAYS OFF IN CHAMBER ..

wen +3

“up. The detective assigned to-follow-up--~—»———

ne
Pee
©

oy


The blockade to

to Cripple Creek. Had something hap-

* pened to the husband,. too?

“What do you know about this
couple?” he asked Dr. Brady, .

“Very little,” the psychiatrist replied,
“except that they are average employ-

ees—tairly good workers.. They were.

here several months and very satisfac-
tory. But lately they seem to have had
a lot of trouble over something.”

“Over her interest in another’ man?’”:

Bruce demanded.

“Dr. Brady shrugged: “That I couldn't
say,” he replied. “They both left here,
Friday evening .and neither has return-

“Left for good?” Bruce asked..

“I doubt it,” Brady replied. “They
said*hothing about: leaving and all their
personal: property is still in the employ-
ees’ quarters,” | ?

Bruce remained only long enough. to’

obtain the address of the girl’s relatives
and then hurried back. to town. . Passing
the court house, only three blocks from
the spot where the body had been
found, Bruce stopped in to see Sheriff
Sam Deal.” °°

“I wish you would have a man take
a warrant and seach through the Sukle:
belongings at the hospital,” he told the
sheriff, after outlining the case. “That's
outside the city limits and in your juris-
diction,” he explained.

“Tll_ do that!” Sheriff Deal. answer-

ed and as Bruce left: to interview the:

Victim’s mother, ‘the sheriff dispatched
Deputy M. J. Vasseur to the psycho-
pathic hospital to inspect the living
quarters of Martin Sukle and his’ wife.

As Inspector Bruce stopped his car -
before the home of the victim’s moth- .

er he found a hundred confusing ques~
tions disturbing his .mind. If ‘Martin
and Marie Sukle had been having troub-

-le, was it over. her interest in the miss-

ing Jack Russell? Had Russell deter-

mined to get rid of the‘ husband at any " ~

34.

maeaninbianemiendaaieed ce ee

Prevent escape of the killer extended into the mountainous
Pike's Peak area where troopers used field glasses to scan the open country, :

cost? Bruce knew well enough that you
could hide. a thousand bodies on that

lonely mountain road. between Colora-

do Springs and Cripple Creek.

Then, tod, the girl had been shot
twice, but-on the rear seat of the car
Kaltenberger «had ‘found four empty
‘cartridges. Who had stopped the other
two bullets? It was a cinch that Mrs.
Sukle’s killer had not missed twice at
such close range. Then, there were

. three sets of male prints in the death:
car! Bruce growled to himself, swore ©

silently and asked the impassive dash-
board on his car: “Why would Jack
Russell be taking. Martin Sukle to Crip-

’ ple Creek for a job three days before
that same Martin’s wife was found
dead in a car?”

(F"HE, dash-board didn’t answer and
Bruce climbed. out of the car. A
minute later, he was marveling -at the

way news can travel in a small town.

He ‘found Marie Sukle’s mother weep-
ing over her daughter’s death.
“We heard about the girl in the black
sedan,” she ‘explained, “and I hadn’t
heard from Marie~ since Saturday. So
a friend of ours went down and identi-
“fied her,” pies eS
“Do you have any idea of who the
murderer could be?” Bruce asked.
The woman shook her’ head.
“None at: all?” Bruce persisted. “No
one jealous of her‘marriage to Martin?
No one trying ‘to win her affections?”
“Not that.I know of,” the woman
“ replied. aes
“When did you see your daughter
last?” Bruce asked abruptly. :
“About three p.m.” she answered.
“Saturday.”
’ “Where?”

- “Here. She and Martin came down

here together. They—”

Bruce interrupted the woman. “Your’

daughter and her husband were here
Saturday; together?”

“Yes. They came with another man
in a black sedan:”

“That's the first sure lead we've had
that they were both with the possible

killer,” Bruce exclaimed. “How late did

they stay?”
“Until about six o'clock.” ;
Bruce tried to conceal. his  excite-
ment., “Now tell me—have “you seen

Jack Russell with your daughter at any ~

time since Saturday?”
“Who?” the woman asked with aston-
ishment.

“Jack Russell,” Bruce repeated, per-

plexed at the’ woman's question. “The
man who drove them ‘over here in the
black Ford sedan.” EN Sy

The woman shook her head decisive--
ly.. “It wasn’t Mr, Russell, she said.
“It was.a man from the poor farm.
His name is Richard Hastings.”

“What?” Bruce. said in amazement.

“That’s right,” Marie’s mother insist-
ed. “I know him. He's an old’man who
lives. at the poor farm. He and Martin
are good friends.”

“What was he doing with ‘a fairly
new car, if he lives at a poor farm,”
Bruce demanded.

The woman replied: “That’s what I
wondered. But no one mentioned it so
I didn’t either.” = «

Bruce picked up the. telephone and
dialed headquarters, :

“T’ve finally got a line on that. third
set of fingerprints in the death car,” he
reported to Chief Harper. “They may
belong to a man named Richard Has-
tings who lives at the poor farm. Send
Bob Wraith and Homer Beattie down
there to bring him in for questioning.”

‘On the way .back, however, Bruce
again passed. the sheriff’s office . and
stopped by -to see what Sam Deal’s

deputy, Vasseur, had found at. the

Stukle lodgings.

: ‘Beattie on the way out.

‘of his chief's desk. “Hastings left for:

, found in Jack Russell's car,

‘port of a widespread search in the-™

description.”

“pending that day was the* murder job,
: But, there's: three ‘men -involved now, 4

“Not much,” Deal said, handing «a
Kew papers over to the inspector, “ere
are a couple of letters written in Greek,
or something,”

Bruce glanced at the handwriting. It
was done in a fine, delicate ‘hand, “I
think that's Austrian," he exclaimed,

“Perhaps they are from a friend, or
even a crelative, Sukle iss an Austrian
name, isn't it?” .

- Nodding slowly at the way ‘the mys-,
tery was piling up and growing more

dense instead of thinning outwith each
“new cluc, Bruce stuffed the letters in
‘his pocket. : ;

Back in his office he called Miss Dor:
othy, Kem, the department's social ins:
vestigator. He handed her. the. notes,
“Recognize that writing?”

“It’s Austrian,” Miss. Kem’ replied. .

“Can. you get it translated?” Bruce:
asked. ‘ ‘

“The Reverend Joachim ‘Tkoch, ‘has ;
helped us a lot in delinquency cases,” ©
‘the’ girl ‘replied. “And I. know: he will 4
translate them for us'if he can.” She \
left. at once to -interview the beloved
and helpful Austrian priest “about. the”?

ime

-Mysterious handwriting. She passed de-

tectives. Robert’ Wraith and Homer #

ali

_Wraith sat down heavily on the edge -

Iowa _ yesterday,” he told ‘Bruce.
“Where'd he get -the money?” Bruce —
asked. oy
“I. asked’ at the poor farm but they =
didn’t. know,” Wraith replied. . “They
thought relatives of his might have sent ;
it.” : 4

Sie ta Se iat

di
h Adams | 4
eich hemmed in the

Captain
blockade

He placed a slip of paper on the'desk. ~
“Here's the address.” _ y
Bruce. phoned the sheriff of the coun-
ty in which Hastings’ people resided .
and asked that the man be picked up. -
The case limped along the rest of
the day. No more information. was turn- 1
ed up relative to any of the three men, -
nor their associations with the victim: 3

Earlier. in the. day they had called :
Cripple: Creek’ and that evening: the re-

community came in. “Not‘a thing,” 4
said the deputy. “We talked to a man a
who knows Russell, but he said he hasn't:
seen him. And no filling station em-: :
ployee remembers seeing a car of that

“I'm convinced of one thing,” Bruce: ©:
told Chief Harper, terminating the call ©
from Cripple Creek. “Russell wasn’t go- |
ing up there for a job. ‘The only job


Police went hunting for suspect
killer Jack Russell but learned
a surprise truth.

seat the officers found six empty beer
cans and three discharged shells from
a .38 caliber pistol. One bullet had
passed through the woman’s body and
lodged in the upholstery of the rear
seat, from which Bruce dug it out.
“If we ever find the murder gun,”’
the inspector said, ‘‘we should have
no trouble pinning the crime on the

owner.”’
Coughlan nodded at the empty cans.

“*Better look for somebody who likes
beer,’’ he suggested. ‘‘I hardly think
the woman drank all six by herself.
The killer must have helped.’’

The coroner estimated that the
victim had been dead for about 12
hours. It was then 6:45 a.m. Tuesday,
October 3, 1939, and his estimate
would place the time of the crime as
early Monday evening.

‘‘If the murder took place here,
someone would have heard the shots,”’
Bruce pointed out. ‘‘Evidently it
occurred somewhere else and the killer

‘She started crying and
leaned her head over in my
lap,’ he told police
officers. ‘That’s when I put
the pistol against her head
and pulled the trigger.’

drove the body to this spot. But why
here?’’.

“*T still think,’’ Coughlan repeated,
‘‘that the slayer wanted to be sure
someone around here knew about this
girl’s death just as soon as possible.
The body may have been left as an
object lesson, like the Black Hand
does.”’ |

From the condition of the young

woman’s clothing, it appeared that she
might have been raped. But this was a
question which could be determined
only by an autopsy.
- While the coroner had the body
removed to the morgue, Bruce’s
technicians began going over the car
for fingerprints and the inspector
returned to headquarters with the bag
of letters.

Seated at his desk, Bruce went

through them carefully. All of the

letters were addressed to Mrs. Marie
Sukle, which undoubtedly was the
victim’s name. They were personal and
each was signed, ‘‘Your loving
husband, Mart.’’

All but one was addressed to Mrs.
Sukle in care of the Colorado Springs
Sanatorium. The remaining letter was
sent in care of a woman at Pueblo,
some 45 miles to the south. The
contents of this letter indicated that
the woman was an aunt of Mrs.

Murder victim Marie Sukle. A
mink coat enwrapped her half-
naked corpse.

Sukle’s husband. ;
Bruce summoned Detective Came-

ron Westcott and assigned him to
check with the relative in Pueblo. Then
the inspector drove out to the sana-
torium seeking confirmation of the
victim’s identity and information

(continued on page 48)


be with his wife on part of her
vacation.
‘‘Was anybody with them?’’ Bruce

asked.

‘‘Not while they were at the aunt’s
house,’’ Westcott said, ‘‘but they
planned to pick up another couple that
night, drive out to the mountains with
them, get a cabin and rough it for five
or six days. They didn’t tell her who
the other couple were or just where
they were going.”’

Westcott said he had gone to the
Pueblo garage where Sukle was
employed and learned that the husband
had not yet reported back for work.
‘But I found out something else from
one of Sukle’s friends there,’’ the
detective added. ‘‘Only a week ago
Sukle mentioned that he and his wife
were having trouble with one of
Marie’s former boy friends.”’

‘‘What kind of trouble?’’ Bruce
demanded.

‘*He didn’t say. But it seems Marie
had been going pretty steady with this
fellow up until a year ago, when she
met Sukle. After a whirlwind courtship,
they were married and she dropped the
other guy cold.”’

The informant didn’t know the jilted
suitor’s name. All Westcott could learn
was that he lived in Colorado Springs.
But the situation began to make sense
to Bruce, for jealousy could easily have
been the motive.

The aunt had told Westcott something
more about Sukle’s background. Born
in Colorado Springs, he had gone to
Montana as a youth to work on the
ranch lands there. He had remained for
13 years while he accumulated a sub-
tantial sum of money. But he finally had
grown tired of this life and returned
to his boyhood home. Soon afterward,
he met Marie Hirt and married her.

There was no doubt in Bruce’s mind
that the ex-boy friend angle provided
the most promising lead. The inspector
immediately assigned Westcott and
Detectives Homer Beattie and Earl
Boatwright to the task of checking on
the victim’s former admirers.

From Marie’s friends, the officers
were unable to get the name of any
man with whom she had ‘‘gone
steady’’ before she met Martin Sukle.
They did learn, however, that she had
frequently dated two men — Ballard
Norton and Jack Russell, both
residents of Colorado Springs.

Bruce ordered them brought to
headquarters at once. Norton was the

man of 28 with heavy features and
reddish hair. Resentment showed in his
face as he was led in to be questioned.

‘*1’m afraid I can’t be of much help

_to you,”’ he told Bruce. ‘‘Sure, I knew

Marie before she was married. We
were good friends and went out a lot.
But when she met Sukle, she gave me
the air. She really fell for him hard.”’

‘“When did you see her last?’’ the
inspector asked.

‘‘At least six months ago,’’ Norton
replied. ‘‘I happened to meet her on
the street and we stopped to chat for
a few minutes. I asked her how she
was getting along. She said just fine
— that she and Martin were very
happy together. That was all.’’

The young man appeared to be
telling the truth, but Bruce took no
chances. ‘‘The coroner told us Marie
Sukle was slain some time between
5:30 and 7 o’clock last evening,’’ he
said. ‘‘Where were you between those
hours?”’

‘I got through work at 5,’’ Norton
said, ‘‘went straight to my room and
cleaned up. At about 6 o’clock I went
out to a restaurant and ate. dinner.
From there I went to a movie at about
7. When the show was over I returned
to my room and hit the hay.”’

Norton gave Bruce the name of the
store where he worked, the restaurant
where he ate and the theater he
attended. While his story was being
checked by the detectives, Westcott
returned to headquarters with impor-
tant news.

“Can’t find Jack Russell anywhere,”’
he told Bruce. ‘‘He’s been gone from
his apartment since Saturday — the
day Marie Sukle started her vacation.”’

‘“‘Anybody know where he went?”’
the inspector asked. ,

Westcott nodded.‘‘The apartment
house manager said he saw Russell on
the way out about 4 o’clock Saturday
afternoon. Russell spoke about the good
hunting weather and said he was going
into the mountains and shoot some
squirrels.”’

From the apartment manager,
Westcott had obtained a description
of Russell. He was a big, good-looking
man, six feet tall and about 180
pounds, with dark hair and eyes. When
he left, he was wearing dark brown
trousers, black shoes and a brown
suede jacket.

Bruce ordered this information sent
out immediately over the police radio
and all broadcasting stations in the

knowing Russell’s whereabouts notify
headquarters at once.

‘‘This may explain why Martin
Sukle hasn’t shown up,”’ the inspector
pointed out. ‘‘Maybe he’s been
murdered, too. Or he’s tied up in a
cabin somewhere in the mountains,
being tortured before he dies for
stealing another man’s girl.”’

Against this possibility, Bruce added
a description of Sukle and the black
sedan to the broadcast, with an appeal
for any information regarding them.

But Jack Russell was the chief object
of the search. Bruce assigned six
detectives to try and pick up his trail
after he left his apartment the previous
Saturday afternoon. While this hunt
was in progress, the inspector tele-
phoned Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo,
brought her up to date and asked if
she knew Russell.

The aunt could not recall his name,
but said that if he was a friend of
Martin and Marie, she might have met
him. She repeated that she did not
know the names of the couple that
Martin and his wife were planning to
pick up Saturday night.

Asked if the Sukles had any other
relatives in the area, the woman said
that Martin had another aunt living in
Leadville, Colorado. She said Marie’s
mother, Mrs. Ida Hirt, lived in
Colorado Springs.

‘“‘One more question,’’ Bruce said.
‘“When Martin and Marie were at your
home that evening, were they in their
own car?”’

Her reply raised the inspector’s
eyebrows. ‘‘They don’t own a car,”’
she said. ‘‘They were driving a
borrowed sedan.”’

From the first, Bruce had assumed
that the death car was the one in which
Martin and Marie Sukle had left on
vacation and that it was their own.
Nevertheless, he had started a routine
check on’the license tag and serial
number with the motor vehicle
authorities. Now this check suddenly
became of vital importance, and he
ordered Wescott to speed it up.

An attempt to reach Sukle’s second
aunt in Leadville by telephone was
unsuccessful, and Bruce assigned
Boatwright to follow through on this
angle. Then the inspector went in to
see Police Chief Hugh D. Harper and
brought him up to date on develop-
ments.

(continued on next page)

49

= Aen rao ncaa

aor


ee ee ee ee ee ee Se eee re ee eee ee
women red Mis Nungry Hatcnet

(continued from page 47)

leaving the hospital. A bandage had
been applied to his ankle and he was
signing hospital forms for his release
when two police officers tackled him
in the waiting room and put him in
handcuffs.

Detectives picked up the prisoner
and brought him back to Lancaster
where he reportedly gave a lengthy
confession.

“I didn’t want to kill those women,”’
he allegedly said. ‘‘But I got angry at
Donna and the other two knew me.”’

He said he and Donna got into an
argument Saturday afternoon about
his drinking and his romantic affair
with Laura Owen. ‘‘I took a shine to
Laura,’’ he said. ‘‘We were getting it
on real good and Donna didn’t like
it.’’

He reportedly said the argument
escalated into a fight and ended when
he grabbed a knife from the kitchen
and drove it into her chest.

‘I then got the axe from the back
room and finished her off,’’ he

allegedly told detectives.

Dalpha Jester heard the struggle
from her bedroom and let out a
scream. But she was blind and con-
fined to her bed and wasn’t going
anywhere. ‘‘I hit her a bunch of times
with the axe,’’ he told police. ‘‘She
stopped screaming.’’

Long said he then waited for his

. girlfriend, Laura Owen, to come home

from her job at 5 o’clock. When she
stepped through the door, he allegedly
drove the axe into her skull, then
landed 20 more for good measure.

“‘I took Donna’s car and got out of
there,’’ he said. Six hours and many
drinks later, he was arrested in
Buffalo, Texas.

At a press conference following the
arrest, Sheriff Whitehead said Long’s
confession matched physical evidence
in the house and that ‘‘we’re sure bey-
ond a shadow of a doubt that he’s the one
that committed the murders.’’

Long was charged with the Lan-
caster murders and ordered held

W4tssyul VUMU. FAC LOPOLleCUaly Mas
cooperated with investigators and
confessed to unsolved murders in Bay
City and San Bernardino, California.

“I’ve got something inside my head
that clicks sometimes,’’ he told
reporters on October 25. ‘‘I don’t
know what it is. I don’t blame society.
I thought I’d get better but it appears
I’m getting worse. I am about ready
to call it quits with my demented
personality.’’

Long said he had nothing against
the death sentence and said it might
be the best for everyone. ‘‘I don’t
belong in this society. I never have. I
think I need to go ahead and leave. I
like to call it being put to sleep, kind
of like they do to animals.”’

Since the District Attorney’s Office
says it will seek the death sentence,
Long may get his wish.

But until he has had the opportunity.
to defend himself in a court of law,
David Long must be considered
innocent of all charges against him. *

(Editor’s Note: Ned York and Trish Merrill
are not the real names of the persons mentioned
in this story. Fictitious names have been used
to protect their identities.)

Trail Of The Wrong Killer

(continued from page 19)

about her background.

The superintendent of the institution
listened to Bruce’s description of the
dead woman, which he said left no
doubt that she was Marie Sukle, 23,
who had been working in the psycho-
pathic ward there for more than a year.
She had been a reliable and efficient
employe, and to the best of his
knowledge, she was a woman of good
character who got along well with the
others on the staff. He was certain she
did not drink beer or liquor, since this
was forbidden to all employes.

““When was she last on duty here?’’
Bruce asked.

“‘Three days ago,’’ the super-
intendent replied, looking up at the
calendar. ‘‘Her vacation started
Saturday evening, and she was not due
back for two weeks.’

**How about her husband,’’ Bruce
inquired. ‘‘Does he work here, too?’’

“‘He did, up until the middle of last
month. He was our chief engineer for
over a year, but two weeks ago last
Saturday he resigned to take a job
down in Pueblo that paid more money.
We haven’t seen him since.”’

The superintendent said that Martin

48

Sukle and his wife got along splendid-
ly. They had been married about the
time both started to work at the
sanatorium. He was nine years older
than Marie, but they were considered
an ideal young couple and never had
been known to quarrel.

There was nothing in this background
to suggest that the slaying was a marital
tragedy, Bruce reflected, although
Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo might be able
to provide additional information. He
would have a better idea of the possible
motives when he heard from Westcott.
Meanwhile, the inspector went down
to the morgue for the autopsy report.

The coroner found that Mrs. Sukle
had been shot three times. One bullet
pierced her heart and emerged from
her back. The second slug lodged near
her brain, and the third only grazed
the top of her head, splitting open her
scalp. She had been brutally beaten
before she died. Ugly bruises covered
her body, and her left jaw was broken
in several places.

“Either a man struck her a powerful
blow with his fist,’’ Coughlan said, ‘‘or
she was hit with a heavy, blunt
instrument. There were traces of

alcohol in her stomach, but not enough
to cause intoxication.’’

Although her undergraments were
badly torn, there was no evidence of
criminal assault. Her skin was scratched
and clawed, however, indicating that
she had put up a fierce battle with her
attacker, possibly fighting off an
attempt at rape.

Back at headquarters, Bruce learned
that the technicians had been successful
in their search for fingerprints on the
death car. They had found clear prints
of a man’s left hand on the dashboard,
and from the rear-view mirror they
lifted prints of a man’s right hand.

The inspector immediately ordered
the prints air-mailed to the Federal
Bureau of Investigation at Washington
for checking with those of known
criminals in the national files.

Shortly before noon, Detective
Westcott returned from his interview
with Sukle’s aunt in Pueblo. Bruce
listened intently as Westcott reported
what he had learned.

The aunt said Martin and Marie
Sukle had visited her the previous
Saturday evening. They both seemed
relaxed and in good spirits. Sukle had
told her that he managed to get a week

(continued on next page)

Bape leat Seer gs et


v ) May 22 .
PEE ARCHIVES OF CRIME Se |
» &

tas by GEORGE LAVORATO

t was an odd place to leave a corpse. In fact, the killer hardly could have done a better
q E job of advertising the girl’s murder, short of committing it in public. For the death
\ front seat.

car was parked in the very heart of the city with her buxom body propped up in the
\X She was slumped against the right door, her sightless brown eyes turned toward the
\\_ window. Blood matted her long dark hair and covered the front of her torn dress. Around

SUKLE, Martin, white, asphyx. Colorado (#1 Paso Co,

\. her shoulders was an expensive fur coat.

A passerby had spotted the body
shortly after 6 o’clock that crisp
October morning in downtown Colo-
rado Springs, Colo. He had glanced

of Pueblo and Weber Streets and was
startled to see the blood-smeared face
of the dead woman. Then he had

called police.
Inspector I.B. Bruce rushed to the

scene with two detectives and Coroner
Thomas J. Coughlan. They were
struck at once by the fact that the killer
apparently had made no effort to keep
the young woman’s body from being

\ idly into the black sedan at the corner

se

discovered, nor to conceal her identity.

‘“‘Obviously the slayer was in a great
hurry to get away,’’ Bruce observed.
‘‘That would be the only logical reason
for not trying to dispose of the
corpse.”’

‘‘Unless,’’ Coughlan suggested,
‘‘knowledge of this woman’s death was
important to teach someone a lesson.”’

The dead woman appeared to be in
her early 20s. Her wide-set eyes, high
cheekbones and sensuous mouth gave
her face an exotic cast. Her skirt had
been yanked up, exposing her white
thighs above the rolled tops of her silk
stockings. She had been shot in the
head and chest.

On the seat beside her was a small
black zippered bag. Bruce took a quick
look inside and saw that it was filled
with letters addressed to a woman in
a man’s handwriting.

5 A search of the car revealed no
* weapon. But on the floor of the rear ;
iz

When they found another body, “
the real murder mystery began

Lawmen with the killer they tracked down, third from left. He
was soon on his way to the gas chamber.

dt

Po, duly, 1987,


— ll

—

; Fi eal ‘WRPPRRCRE

lifeless form of the woman. She lay

face up on the dusty furnace-room
floor. Her hands were at her side in
a gesture of helplessness. Her eyes
were staring up. at Night Marshal
David Banks. The lower part of her
dress had been ripped to shreds.

Banks bent down and touched the
woe hand and found it cold and
stiff.

Glancing up at his assistant, John
Corley, Banks said, “Good thing we
got that call from Denver to come
down here and investigate.”

Corley nodded. “She must have
been dead for quite a while. Feel the
furnace. Fire’s been out for hours.”

Tite rays of the torch fell upon the

10

Marshal Banks stood up, still star-
ing at the silent figure. “Get upstairs,
John,” he said, “and telephone the
Colorado Springs officers. Tell them
to bring the coroner and get out here
fast as they can.”

An hour earlier that Sunday eve-
ning of January 11, 1942, Marshal
Banks had received a telephone mes-
sage from a woman named Mrs. Leon-
ard E. Baldwin from Denver, Colo-
rado.

Mrs: Baldwin explained to Banks
that she was fearful for the welfare
of her niece, Mrs. Carrie Culbertson,
and asked Banks to-go to the Culbert-
son home located on the mountainside
near the northern edge of Manitou

This posed picture shows the position the
body was in when officers first came upon jit

Springs, Colorado, and see if ‘anything
was wrong.

Mrs. Baldwin told Banks that her
niece was supposed to have returned
to Denver Friday night but had failed
to do so,. She explained that she-and
Mrs. Culbertson both had homes in
Manitou Springs located just a block
and a half apart but that they spent
the Winter months at Denver, 78 miles
north, .

In her conversation Mrs. Baldwin
mentioned that Mrs. Culbertson had a
daughter, Mrs. Martin Ohlander, who
lived at No. 1315 Wood Avenue in
Manitou Springs. Mrs. Baldwin said
she also had been unable to contact
her and she was extremely worried.

By Harlan Mendenhall

Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

hould |

| a Friend?”

Undersheriff Roy Glasier: He
looked for a man with a hammer

So Banks and Corley had gone im-
mediately to the Culbertson home, lo-
cated at No. 400 Spencer Avenue.
Finding the front door padlocked and
all the other doors and windows locked
securely, the officers had broken in a
window of the spacious home. They
searched the first floor and finally
descended to the basement, where they
found the murdered woman.

While Banks was waiting for Corley
to reach the officers in Colorado
Springs, the famous mountain resort
eight miles east, the Marshal glanced
hurriedly about the basement to get
his bearings. To the left of the fur-
nace-room was a small door which
led to the coal-bin. In here was kept
coal, wood, some old furniture and
garden tools.

Making sure he didn’t touch any-
thing until the Colorado Springs offi-
cers arrived, Banks, with only a glance
at the woman’s bloody head, assumed
that she had died of a fractured skull:

Blood by the coal-bin door suggested
to Banks that the woman probably:
first had been struck there and her
body dragged six feet to the right im-
mediately in front of the furnace,
where she was attacked by the fiend-
ish killer. Apparently she had not
put up much of a struggle. Probably
the killer was someone she knew and

AD—4


Why Did Investigators Know That No Stranger Had Killed This Manitou
Springs, Colorado, Woman? Who Was the Killer She Had Trusted?

usted. Of course, the killer could
we been hiding behind the furnace
id, when she. came downstairs, he
ould have slipped up behind her and
ruck her down.

With a slightly nauseated feeling in
ie pit of his stomach Banks turned
vay from the ghastly scene and
alked back up the stairs to the main
sor of the house.

When he reached the landing above,
orley met him there and informed
m that the Colorado Springs men
ere on their way out.

Banks nodded his approval and,
rning once more to stare down into
e basement room, said, “What do
wu think of it, John?”

“A sex case,” Corley said. “Couldn't
: anything else.”

Deputy M. J. Vasseur: He
looked for a man with a wrench

carrie Culbertson’s slaying in this Su

Banks took a cigarette from his
package and tapped the end of it ner-
vously on his thumbnail. “I’m not so
sure. Mrs. Culbertson was a middle-
aged woman, you know. Attractive
all right. Still—I wonder if maybe all
this business wasn’t just a show to try
to throw us off the main trail.”

Corley shrugged. “Okay, say you’re
right. Then what was the motive?
Sure it wasn’t robbery. Didn’t you see
the diamond sparklers on the woman’s
hand? Two of 'em—worth a fortune.”

“I'd say more likely extreme hatred
or revenge,” Banks said. “If a com-
mon sex fiend did it he’d have taken
her rings before he left.”

Investigators wondered why the killer took time to scatter the con-
tents of this purse over the dresser-top, when he didn’t take anything

mmer home appeared to have been

aused by a sex attack until officers found too many contradictory clews

4

During the next few minutes, while
the two Manitou Springs oflicers were
waiting for help from the better-
equipped police force of their neighbor
city, they had made a search of the
entire house.

And Corley said, as he flicked on
the light in the richly furnished liv-
ing-room, “Wonder.where the woman’s
husband is. Do you suppose they got
him too?”

Banks shrugged his shoulders and
the two men continued their search
of the place.

Finally, in one of the bedrooms,
they found a woman’s purse lying on
the dresser with the contents strewn

about in a big circle. Six one-dollar
bills, some letters and other personal
articles used by women, but so far as
the officers could tell nothing had been
stolen. A strange fact, Banks thought.

On the north side of the bedroom
lay an expensive leather suitcase. In
the side of it had been cut a large
round hole about four inches in diam-
eter. The leather lay on the floor near
by. Clothes and other articles had been
pulled from the suitcase and were
strewn ‘about.the room.

Banks turned around to his assistant
with a puzzled expression on his face.
“What the Devil do you suppose the
guy was looking for anyway?”

This letter-opener
sealed forever the
lips of the victim

a

IE Bate Ba lf PIN IE ERE I ae Ge.

;
alneatemnnenene

aa

‘Saullo: Raiders Loe

tighter around the dead woman’s
missing husband, a startling disclosure
came in the report from the FBI on
the fingerprints taken from the death
car. The FBI was able to identify them
as those of Martin Sukle because his
prints already were in the national files
as an ex-convict.

Much to the surprise of those who
knew him in Colorado Springs, Sukle
had done time in the Montana State
Penitentiary. He had served three years
of a six-year sentence after being
convicted of trying to kill his first wife
with an axe. They since had been
divorced, but his friends in Colorado
never even knew that he had been
married before.

Moreover, the FBI record on Sukle
showed that he had been arrested in
Montana soon after his release from
prison by Federal authorities investi-
gating a white slave ring operating out
of Ohio. Somehow he had managed
to conceal all this when he returned
to his native state. a.

Mrs. Hirt, mother of the slain girl,
was certain Marie knew nothing of
Sukle’s black past. At the sanatorium
where he had been employed, the
records showed only that he had
worked on a ranch during the many
years he was in Montana.

By this time, a huge dragnet had
been spread over Colorado and
adjoining states where Sukle might try
to flee. Deputies guarded all roads
leading out of Colorado Springs and
stopped every car leaving town, while
city and county officers began a block-
to-block search for the fugitive. The
alarm was repeated every half hour on
the police radio and all broadcasting
stations, warning that Sukle might be
armed.

Reports and tips streamed into
headquarters by the score. All were
carefully run down, only to prove
unfounded. But at last a call came to
Inspector Bruce from the operator of
a gas station on the northern outskirts
of Colorado Springs.

*‘A man stopped here for a drink
of water a few minutes ago,’’ he
reported. ‘‘Said he was hitch-hiking
up to Denver. He had a heavy beard,
but he looked like this fellow Sukle.’’

Bruce and his men sped to the
station from which the call had come.
The operator told them the hitch-hiker
had been unable to thumb a ride there
and had started walking north on the
main highway. But now he was no
longer in sight anywhere along the

road. Either he had succeeded in
getting a ride, or he had vanished on
foot into the heavy underbrush.

Roadblocks were set up within a
radius of 25 miles to stop all cars, while
Bruce’s men spread out into the
wooded areas along the highway where
the bearded man last had been seen.
The hunt continued for almost two
hours without result.

Then the inspector and his party
came across a small abandoned cabin
in a clearing, the only shelter within
miles. Through the front window,
Bruce caught sight of someone moving
around inside.

For 20 minutes more they beat
through the brush, taking cover behind:
trees and exchanging shots with a
quarry they could not see. At last the
grim chase reached a second clearing
and the fugitive was forced to make
another run for it. ;

With the police hot on his heels, the
man dashed for the nearest cover — a
huge piece of crooked drain pipe, some
four feet in diameter. He made it and
dived inside, but now he was trapped.
The officers approached the big pipe
from both ends, and Bruce barked
another order to surrender.

At the second command, the man
crawled out. He raised his hands and
faced the officers. It was Martin Sukle,
dirty, unshaven and hollow-eyed.

Bruce quickly searched him and
from his left hip pocket took out a
.38 caliber automatic. ‘“‘Is this the gun
you used to kill them?’’ the inspector
demanded.

‘*That’s the one,’’ Sukle nodded. ‘‘I
did it because Marie was cheating on
me.”’

Taken to headquarters, the prisoner
made a long statement. He told how
three weeks before the slaying he had
come across his wife and Russell in
a parked car, locked in each other’s
arms. He declared that he saw enough
to convince him Marie was unfaithful.

‘It hit me hard,”’ he said, ‘‘but I
didn’t disturb them. I just left them
there, went downtown and got drunk.
The next day I told Marie I: had a
better job in Pueblo and that I was
going down there and take it. I didn’t

. tell her what I knew. But right then I

made up my mind to kill her.”’

Two weeks later, when Marie got
her vacation, Sukle said he bought the
automatic and decided to get Russell
first. On the pretext of going hunting,
he persuaded his rival to drive him out
into the Black Forest.

“‘I waited behind Jack when he
started to set his rat trap and shot him
in the back of the head,’’ Sukle said.
‘“He never knew what hit him. He fell
over on his face and didn’t even
groan.”’

Sukle said he drove back to Colorado
Springs and took his wife down to see
his aunt in Pueblo. Marie was not
surprised that he had Russell’s car,
because they had arranged to borrow
it for their vacation. They spent the
weekend together.

On Monday, he drove Marie out in
the mountains and stopped on a lonely
road.

“I told her I knew what was going
on and that I was going to kill her,’’
he said. ‘‘She started crying and leaned
her head over in my lap. I put the pistol
against her head and pulled the trigger.
Then I pushed her back in the seat and
shot her twice more. She slumped
down and I left her there all the way
back to Colorado Springs, where I
ditched the car.”’

But the officers were sure Sukle had
not told the full truth about his wife’s
slaying. Her fractured jaw, the ugly
bruises on her body and her torn
clothing showed that he must have
beaten her brutally. This beating
probably was inflicted outside the car,
where the shooting also could have
occurred.

Further, the officers were unable to
find any evidence that Marie Sukle and
Jack Russell had been more than good
friends. If jealousy was the motive, the
basis must have existed only in Sukle’s
morbid imagination.

On October 11, 1939, District
Attorney Clyde L. Starrett formally
charged Sukle with the first degree
murders of his wife and Russell. On

November 7 he went on trial on the

single charge of killing Russell, while
the state held the other charge in
reserve. He pleaded not guilty, basing
his defense on the unwritten law. .

But the jury found Sukle guilty and
fixed the penalty at death. Judge John
E. Little sentenced him to execution
in the state’s gas chamber.

Sukle’s attorneys appealed the case
to the Colorado Supreme Court in a
legal battle which lasted three years.
The court finally reversed the decision
and ordered a new trial.

Once again Sukle was found guilty
and sentenced to die. This time the
Supreme Court upheld the conviction.
On May 22, 1942, he was put to
death. *

51


Irail UT Ine wrong Killer

(continued from page 49)

“Looks like Jack Russell’s the man
you want,’”’ Harper agreed. ‘‘Better
make the alarm statewide.”’

The chief accompanied Bruce to the
home of Mrs. Hirt, the grief-stricken
mother of the victim. She was shocked
at their suspicion of Russell, whom she
knew quite well.

“I just can’t believe Jack would do
a thing like that,’’ she declared. ‘‘He
was still on good terms with Martin
and Marie. So far as I know, there
wasn’t any jealousy or hatred between
them.’’

As for the report that one of Marie’s
former boy friends was giving the
couple trouble, Mrs. Hirt said she had
no idea who this could be. Marie had
always confided in her ‘and never had
mentioned anything of the kind.

The victim’s mother said she
scarcely knew Ballard Norton, but had
the impresion that Marie had cared
little about him and went out with him
only occasionally.

When Bruce and Chief Harper
returned to headquarters, Westcoit
handed them the report from the state
motor vehicle bureau. The black sedan
was owned by Jack Russell!

*‘Any doubt in your mind now about
Russell?’’ Harper asked.

*“‘Not the least,’’ snapped Bruce.
“‘He’s in this thing up to his neck!”’

The inspector immediately called the
radio dispatcher and ordered that all
stations be requested to rebroadcast a
description .of the death car, Russell
and Martin Sukle, appealing for
information from anyone who had
seen them over the weekend.

Less than an hour later, the second
broadcast brought results. A rancher
living in the Black Forest country, 20
miles northeast of Colorado Springs,
put in a call for Bruce. The rancher
said he was sure the two men described
in the broadcast were the ones who
had come to his ranch late Saturday
and asked if they could hunt squirrels
on his property.

“‘When I told them I didn’t allow
any shooting,’’ he said, ‘‘the man who
was driving asked whether I minded
if they drove on up in the hills and
tried to trap some rats. I told him to
go ahead.’’

The driver was a big fellow, he said,
and Bruce surmised that was Russell,
for Sukle was a slender man of

50

medium height.

“‘They didn’t stay on my place very
long,’’ the rancher went on. ‘‘They
were gone probably a half or three-
quarters of an hour. It was growing
dark when the car came back to go
through the gate near my house. I
thought I saw only one man — at the
wheel. That seemed strange, but I
wasn’t too close and I decided maybe
I just couldn’t see the other fellow.
But now I wonder.’’

So did Bruce. If Russell came back
alone, then what had happened to
Sukle? Had he been murdered and left
in the Black Forest? There was only
one way to find out.

Since the area was beyond the city
limits, the inspector called Sheriff
Samuel J. Deal and asked his help in
organizing a search for Sukle’s body.

Early next morning, Bruce and the
other city officers joined Deal,
Undersheriff Roy Glazier and Deputy
Jerry O’Driscoll at the ranch where
the two men last had been seen. The
rancher led the party back into the
mountains in the direction Russell and
Sukle had driven.

For almost four hours the hunt
continued without success. Then, at a
cry from O’Driscoll, the officers
rushed over to the clump of pine trees
where he stood pointing at the ground.

A man’s body lay sprawled face
down, a gunshot wound in the back
of his head. Bruce gave a low whistle
in surprise. It was the big man — Jack
Russell!

The officers were stunned at first
by this development. Up until that
moment they had been sure that
Russell, crazed with jealotsy, had slain
both Sukle and his wife. But now it
was Russell they had found dead —
and Sukle still missing. The switch
called for a sudden reversal in their
thinking.

From all reports, there had been no
trouble between Martin and Marie
Sukle, and her mother had said that
they continued to regard Russell as a
good friend. But perhaps the Sukle’s
marriage had not been going as
smoothly as they led their friends and
relatives to believe. As a former suitor,
Russell would have been on Marie’s
side. He was the one with whom Sukle
had been having trouble.

The next conclusion was obvious.

At Wad 110L MUSSCH WHO had Oeen Mad
with jealousy, but Martin Sukle!

Coroner Coughlan examined Rus-
sell’s body at the scene and found that
he had been shot only once. The bullet
had entered the back of his head,
pierced the brain and almost emerged
from his forehead, where it protruded
just under the skin. Coughlan removed
the slug and identified it as a .38
caliber — the same size as those which
had killed Marie Sukle.

““We’ll send all those bullets to the
State laboratory at Denver,’’ Bruce
told Coughlan. ‘‘The experts there can
tell us if they were fired from the same
gun.’’

While Russell’s body was being
removed to the morgue in Colorado
Springs, the city officers returned to
headquarters. There Boatwright was
waiting for them with the report of his
visit with Sukle’s second aunt in
Leadville.

“‘Looks bad for Sukle,’’ the detective
said. ‘‘His aunt said that on Monday
night he came to her home, all
scratched and bloody. He told her he
had been in a fight and that it had
something to do with his wife not being
true to him. But the aunt at the time
didn’t think it was serious. She thought
Sukle had been in a fist fight with some

-man who was sweet on Marie.’

The aunt had no idea where Sukle
had gone from her place. She said he
cleaned up and changed his clothes
there, then left that night. She had
assumed he was returning to Colorado
Springs.

Bruce ordered word sent to all
officers in the Leadville area with a
description of Sukle, asking them to
be on the lookout for him. While this
hunt was being pressed, the ballistics
report came back from Denver on the
bullets removed from the bodies of
Marie Sukle and Jack Russell. All had
been fired from the same weapon —
a .38 caliber automatic pistol.

Detectives were assigned to visit all
hardware and sporting goods storgs
and pawn shops in Colorado Springs
to determine whether such a gun had
been sold there recently. Detective
Beattie finally found a pawn shop
where the sale of a .38 caliber
automatic had been made on the day
Russell was slain. The man who
bought it answered the description of
Sukle.

As the chain of evidence closed

(continued on next page)

i i i ne Ma Nas i An

lab bs i .


As soon as the Colorado Springs
oMcern arrived Sheri! Sam Deal lave
medintely sent the County Coroner,
Doctor L. O. Haney, Finger-print Man
Carl Mathews, and Police Photographer
Fred Baker to the basement to com.
plete their preliminary work. Then
Deal, Police Chief I. B. Bruce and
District Attorney Ir! Foard had a hur-
ried conference with Marshal Banks
to get the known details leading up
to the discovery of the body.

When Banks had told them all he
knew District Attorney Foard said
he'd get on the telephone, contact Mrs.
Baldwin and get her to come to Mani-
tou Springs to offer whatever assist-
ance she could in the solving of the
murder.

“Have you had any complaints about
a man molesting women over here in
your town?” Deal asked, turning to
Marshal Banks.

The Manitou Springs officer shook
his head. “This is the first mess like
this we’ve had around here in ages.
That’s the reason I can’t believe it’s
just an ordinary sex case.”

“Where’s the woman’s husband?”

“Don’t know. She has a daughter
living down here on Wood Avenue,
though. Maybe she can help us.”

Deal nodded. “But first.” he eid,
“you'd better cheek the telephone cous
pany here and try to trace all cialis
made from this house during the list
three days. ‘That'll give us somethin
to go to work on.”

ND while Banks was tolling: on the

telephone Coroner Haney shouted
up to Deal from the basement. “Come
down here, Sheriff,” he said.

When Deal reached the flight of
stairs Haney said, “This woman did't
die of a fractured skull. That blood
came from her nose and mouth. She
was stabbed to death!”

“What?” Deal snapped and hurried
down the steps.

“That’s right.” And Haney held the
woman’s body up so that the Sheriff
could see about one inch of the handle
of a letter-opener sticking at an angie
from the left side of the woman’s back.

“Well I'll be darned!” Deal hesi-
tated a moment. “Handle it easy, Doc.
May be finger-prints on it.”

After a brief examination of the
letter-opener Deal returned back up
the stairs amidst the flashing of the
flash-bulbs in Baker’s camera. Mar-
shal Banks was just cradling the tele-
phone-receiver, a sparkle of enthu-

sinsm in his even. He turned te Deal
wed osaid, "Mour calls were made
from this house Friday, Sam, and
none on Saturday or Sunday, One
Melday morniig to Mera Culbertson's
daughter; at 2 p.m. to the Burt Swish-
er Plumbing Company; at 2:30 to Mrs.
Baldwin's home here in Manitou
Springs, and at 3 o'clock to a Jack
Franklin,” "

Sam Deal gave orders to his depu-
ties to get busy on the telephone calls.
He turned to face Banks again. “Da-
vey,” he said, “didn't you tell me this
Mrs. Baldwin was in Denver and lived
there during the Winter months?”

Banks nodded.

“Then why in the Devil do you sup-
pose Mrs. Culbertson was telephoning
to the Baldwin house at 2:30 Friday
afternoon?”

“Beats me. Maybe we'd better go
down and see if we can find out.”

District Attorney Foard broke in on
the conversation to say that he had
contacted Mrs. Baldwin at her home
in Denver, informed her of Mrs. Cul-
bertson’s death and asked her to come
to Manitou Springs immediately. The
aunt said she would.

Stopping at the basement door Deal
called to Doctor Haney and asked him

District Attorney
Ir! Foard: “They
never think of
everything .
Something always
trips them up”

When officers re-
moved the ashes
from this furnace
they uncovered a
letter which never
had been opened

a

how lone age tee theveht Mew Cul
bertson had been murdered. Haney
said that it had happened sometime
Friday evening and that he would
place the time of the murder tenta-
tively at about 7 or 8 o’clock.

Then Deal, Foard and Banks left
the Culbertson place and drove down
the steep, rocky road to No. 234 Spen-
cer Avenue, the address listed for Mrs.
Baldwin's Summer home.

Deal led the other officers to the
front porch of the big building. He
rang the doorbell and stepped back
for a moment. He received no response,
so he rang it again. This time they
could hear the shuMling of feet as
someone made his way to the front
door. The porch light snapped on and
the door opened. A tall, slender fellow
about 40 years old, with stooped shoul-
ders and a heavy head of hair, peered
outside and asked the men what they
wanted.

“Who are you?” Deal asked.

“My name’s John Sullivan.”

“What are you doing here at the
Baldwin house?”

“I manage the place for Mrs. Bald-
win. I’m her caretaker. And why are
you asking me all these questions?
Has something happened to her?”

“No, not to Mrs. Baldwin,” Deal said
significantly. Then he asked the man
if they might come in.

“Sure,” Sullivan said, “come on in-
side. I recognize you,” he said, talking
to Deal. “I’ve seen your picture in the
paper. You're the Sheriff in Colorado
Springs, aren’t you?”

Deal nodded.

“Then what’s wrong?” Sullivan
asked, puzzled. “Why are you coming
here to see me?”

Deal, watching the man closely, said,
“Do you know anyone named Mrs.
Carrie Culbertson?”

“Yes,” the caretaker said, still per-
plexed. “She’s the niece of the woman
I work for. They have a home
Spencer Avenue about a block and a
half but she’s not there now. She’s
in Denver. She went up there last
Friday night.” .

“That’s where you’re wrong. She
may have planned to go to Denver last
Friday night but someone upset her
plans. She was murdered!”

aD—4


bined

4

“Murdered!” The man’s’ mouth
ropped open and he stammeéred be- Blood on this rake
ore he formed the word on his lips. gave police a valu-

“She was the best woman I ever able clew and start-
‘new—next to Mrs. Baldwin. No one  ¢4 the investigation
vould hurt her.” off on another angle

“Someone did. They stabbed her in
he back with a letter-opener.”

After a moment of breathless still-
ess in which Sullivan looked first at
ne officer, then the other, apparently
ot knowing just what to say, he fi- °
ally turned back to Deal and asked,
Why did you come here to see me?
‘ou surely don’t think I had anything
9 do with it, do you?”

“We didn’t say that,” Deal said. “But
ve learned that Friday afternoon about
:30 Mrs. Culbertson made a telephone
all to you and we want to know what
he had to say. It was you she talked
», wasn’t it?”

SULLIVAN nodded his head. “She

called me, all right. She said she
vanted to tell me that she was getting
2eady to go back to Denver and that
‘any of her. friends came here want-
ig to know where she was, to tell
vem how they could reach her.”

“That’s all she said?”

“That’s all.”

“Did you see her any time Friday?”
“No, Sir!”

Deal said, “Where is Mrs. Culbert-
yn’s husband?”

“I don’t know,” Sullivan said. “I
on’t have any idea.”

And that was as far as the officers
ot with the caretaker. They thanked
im for the information he had given
rem, then made their way on down
ito Manitou Springs to Wood Avenue,
yhere Mrs, Ohlander, the daughter of
1e murdered woman, lived.

The officers told the attractive young
roman that her mother had been mur-
ered. Still sleepy, she shook her head
yhen she heard the news as if it were

Every citizen in the town of Manitou Springs was
aroused by the brutal killing of Mrs. Culbertson

daughter had to do all she could to to leave that evening to go back to
help them catch the cold-blooded Denver.”
killer. Mrs. Ohlander said her mother had

Mrs. Ohlander, still in a daze, nodded appeared perfectly normal that morn-
her head and said she would assist in ing and did not give any indication
any way possible. that she was worried about anything,

other than making sure that the house

IRST, Deal wanted to know about was in proper order before she left it

her father. : for the remainder of the Winter.

“He’s in Chicago now,” Mrs. Oh- Then Deal told the daughter about
lander said quickly. “You see, he’s a_ the torn-up bedroom, the opened purse
postal inspector for the Government and the locked suitcase with the big
and has to be on the road much of the hole cut in the side.
time. I heard from him just this last “Plainly,” Deal said, “whoever
week and he said that probably for the killed her wasn’t looking for money.
next ten days he would be headquar- They left all that and also her ex-
tering there.” pensive rings. Now, do you have any

Deal said, “Your mother been living idea what they were searching for?
all by herself up at the home on Did your mother have any valuable
Spencer Avenue?” papers that someone might want aw-

“Just for the last two weeks. She’s fully bad?”
been in Denver all during the Fall Mrs. Ohlander thought a minute,
and Winter. She came down: here the then shook: her head. “Oh, I don’t
first week in January to visit some of know what they could have been look-

ll a nightmare which soon would dis- her old friends and to have the house ing for! This is all so terrible. I don’t
ppear. cleaned up.” think I can stand it. Please leave me
She said it just didn’t seem pos- * “When was the last time you saw alone now, won’t you? I can’t talk -
ible that her mother could be dead— John Sullivan: “She was the her?” about it-any more.”

urdered. She said it must be some ‘best—woman | ever knew “Friday morning. I went up to tell The officers took their hats and
iistake. But Deal assured her that no her good-by. She had almost every- made ready to leave. “You'll notify
listake had been made and that the thing packed then and said she planned (Continued on Page 44)


=

And so once more the officers started
another thorough search of the house,
looking through papers, letters and pic-
tures, trying to get some lead on the
killer.

They had no luck upstairs on the
main floor, so again they returned to
the basement, still splattered with the
life-blood of Mrs. Culbertson. In the
coal-room, the keen eyes of Sheriff
Deal spotted a small stain of blood on
the handle of the rake. The rake was
in the center of the coal-bin and sepa-
rated from the remainder of the garden
tools which still were propped up
against the west wall. This looked as
if Mrs. Culbertson had started to pick
up the rake when she was stabbed in
the back. She probably had coughed
and spit up some blood, some of which
had landed on the rake handle.

But why was she reaching for the
rake? Surely not as a weapon. It
wouldn’t be very effective for that pur-
pose. Maybe the killer had asked to

“What about the furnace?” Banks
asked. ‘Do you suppose the guy who
killed her would try to burn up any
evidence in there?”

“No harm to look,” Deal said.
on, let’s dig out the ashes.”

The men started to work and three
minutes later they had dug out a very
interesting bit of evidence—a letter ad-
dressed to Mrs. Culbertson. It was
unopened and had been scorched only
in a few places around the edges. Ap-
parently the blaze in the furnace was
almost extinguished when the letter
had been thrown into the fire-bowl.

The officers opened the letter and
read through it hurriedly, but the con-
tents of the message offered them no
encouragement. The letter was from
a woman friend of Mrs. Culbertson
in Denver and was nothing but a short,
friendly note.

Deal looked up, his brow furrowed.
“Why do you suppose she threw
it in the furnace before it was
opened?” «

‘““Maybe she didn’t throw it in there,”
Banks suggested. “Maybe the guy who
killed her did and he was afraid
that—”’

Suddenly Deal’s attention focused on
the envelope and he grabbed Marshal
Banks’ arm. ‘‘Look at this, Davey. .The
letter was sent from Denver on the
night of January 8, the day before the
murder. And look—it is addressed to
Mrs. Culbertson, all right, but it was

‘borrow it:

“Come

This Is the Monster | Married

sallow and ugly—and the face I once
considered distinguished was loath-
some to me. His eyes slid over me and
he said, easily, “I want you back, Kid.”

“How dare you think I’d come back
to you?” I said. “T hate you—I despise
you!”

He didn’t move or change his expres-
sion. He just looked at me. He said,
“Then your husband’s damn sure.going
to find out what you were doing in
Shreveport. And about you living with
me. Everybody in town will know what
you are when I’m through, just a cheap
hustler.”

Please don’t judge me too harshly.

_I went back to Bob Pearson with my
_eyes wide open and with my heart full

of deadly loathing.

Thad tn on T aniildn’t drag my hice

sent to 234 Spencer Avenue—Mrs.
Baldwin’s address.”

Banks snapped his fingers. ‘Oh,
sure, why didn’t I think of that. The
Baldwin house is as far as the mail
is delivered up Spencer Avenue. It
would have to be sent there. Probably
he Culbertson came down and got
i on

Deal was staring off into space, his
eyes half closed in thought. “I won-
der if she did. Sullivan, the care-
taker, told us he didn’t see her all day
Friday, remember? Then how did she
get her letter?”

“Say, maybe this Sullivan wasn’t
telling us the whole truth, after all,
huh? Maybe that’s the reason Mrs.
Culbertson called him Friday after-
noon—to see whether or not she had
any mail. He told her she did have
and he’d bring it up to her.”

Deal grabbed his hat. “Come on,
Davey. We’re going down and pay that
fellow Sullivan another visit.”

Sullivan’ was in the basement firing
Mrs. Baldwin’s furnace when the offi-
cers located him. He looked up, sur-
prised to see them.

Deal spoke up quickly, taking ad-
vantage of Sullivan’s bewilderment.

“Sullivan,” he said, “why did you
kill Mrs. Culbertson?”

Sullivan dropped the long iron poker
he held in his hands and took a step
away from the officers. “Don’t be
silly,” he said. “Of course I didn’t kill
her. She was a good friend of mine.
Why should I kill a friend?”

Deal said, ‘You hated her, hated her
intensely for some reason or another,
and you made up your mind you were
going to get rid of her. You waited
until what you thought was exactly
the opportune moment. You had
everything planned out perfectly—and
you stabbed her in the back with the
letter-opener she asked you to get so
she could open her letter from Denver.”

ULLIVAN’S face was white. ‘She

didn’t get any letter from Denver.”

“Oh, yes, she did,’ and Deal drew
the letter from his pocket. “Here is
the envelope and the letter. You
thought you’d burned them up, didn’t
you? But you didn’t know how low
the fire was when you threw them in
the furnace. That’s the thing that
tripped you up, Sullivan, and that’s the
thing that’s going to convict you for
the murder of Carrie Culbertson!”

“T never saw that letter before!”
Sullivan shouted. “You’re just trying

tell him, “I’m just tired of being mar-
ried—I want my freedom.” I know that
he was hurt and bewildered and I felt
inutterably cheap. My only consolation
was in knowing that I was saving him
disillusionment far worse.

Robert Pearson and I were married
in November. I don’t know why except
that he wanted it. I didn’t care—and
I was afraid, mortally afraid of him.

“It isn’t going to be as bad as you
think,” he told me. “I’m sick of the
kind of messes. I’m always in. I’m
ready to settle down. You’re a good kid,
Vi, and I guess I gave you a raw deal.”

Sometimes, in an attempt to lessen
my coldness toward him, he’d even try
to make me believe again that he loved
me. I never pretended to believe him.

6Wo11 don’t love anvone hit vor.

to frame me, that’s all. You’re just
trying to—”

“Stop that lying,” Deal snapped,
“and tell us the truth. Why did you
kill her, Sullivan? Why did you drive
that letter-opener into her back? And
where is the new pair of shoes you
wore when you went up there to mur-

- der her? We found one of your heel-

prints that you overlooked, under the
woman’s body.”

Sullivan dropped onto a box in the
furnace-room and, staring up at the
men, he finally spoke.

“All right, you want the truth,” he
said. “T’ll give it to you. I killed her,
all right.

“T hated that woman more than any-

one because she said mean things to-

Mrs. Baldwin. No one can say mean
things to Mrs. Baldwin. She was my
friend. Sixteen months ago I was
penniless, homeless and hungry, and
she gave me a good job and a place to
stay. I swore then that nobody ever
would hurt her. And when that wo-
man said mean things to Mrs. Baldwin,
I made up my mind to kill her. When
she called Friday to find if she had
any mail I told her yes, and that &
would bring it over. .

“T went over to her house with the
letter. She asked me to get her letter-
opener. I did. Then I asked to borrow
her rake and when her back was
turned I stabbed her. I then went up-
stairs and took a five from her purse,
and left six so you wouldn’t think
anything was stolen. Then I cut a
hole in a suitcase and upset things
in the bedroom to make it look like
someone was hunting for something.
The next day I saw the porch light
still was burning, so I went back and
turned it off. You know the rest.”

The officers took Sullivan to the jail
at Colorado Springs and from there he
was taken to the State asylum at
Pueblo, where doctors reported that
Sullivan had a “hero worship” com-
plex and was of a low mental caliber
but that he was legally sane.

District Attorney Foard then charged
him with the murder of Mrs. Carrie
Culbertson, and Sullivan came to trial
on March 24 before Judge John M.
Meikle.

On March 26

Sullivan was found
guilty of murder and received the
death penalty.

The name Jack Franklin in this story

is fictitious to save embarrassment to
an innocent person.

(Continued from Page 19)

the rotten things you want me to do?”

He shrugged. “I just wouldn’t want
you to fall for any other man,” His
grin was crooked. “The customers—
well, you ought to know there’s no
danger of your getting sentimental
over them.”

I don’t know how I stood it. Day in
and day out it was the same—I moved
in a daze of unhappiness, unable to
believe that such a thing could be
happening to me. Yet I knew inside me
that I wasn’t. going to try to escape.
Until the day I died I’d pay the terri-
ble price before I let the disgrace of
my folly be brought down on the heads
of my family and friends. And I was
eternally and painfully aware that if

I crossed Pearson he would take a
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e whole case. We’ve got two suspects
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"Why Should | Kill a Friend?" (Continued from Page

your father, won’t you?” Deal said as
he opened the front door.

“Yes,” the daughter said brokenly,
“T’ll telephone him right away.”

Outside the house Marshal Banks,
adjusting his hat and pulling his coat
around his neck to guard it from the
cold wind, said, “Well. Sheriff, what
do you think now?”

“Darned if I know,” Deal muttered.
“I’m as puzzled as ever.”

Foard suggested they get on back
to the Culbertson house again and see
if anything new had been uncovered
there. The house was now brightly
lighted and stood out vividly against
the mountainside.

BAKER had finished his pictures and

the Coroner had removed the body
to the morgue in Colorado Springs for
a more complete examination. Mathews
still was going over the place but he
had very little encouraging news to
report.

“Whoever killed that woman,” he
told the officers, “had it pretty well
planned out some time in advance. He
didn’t leave a finger-print of any de-
scription but he did overlook one
thing.”

“What’s that?” Deal asked quickly.

“Under the edge of the woman’s
body in the coal dust was the clear
marks of a man’s heel-print. The
print was made by a new shoe so it is
quite distinguishable.”

“Good. Did you get a copy of it?”

“Sure.” He handed it to Deal.

Mathews’ report made one thing
stand out more clearly than ever—the
crime definitely was premeditated. Sex
crimes usually are committed on the
spur of the moment. This again made
it appear that the attack on the wo-
man was only a cover-up for the real
motive.

When Mrs. Baldwin arrived from
Denver a short time later the officers
hoped to get from her some bit of
sinformation that would shed new light
on the case—something that would
give them an angle to begin work on.

But the aunt disappointed them. She
said she had no idea who could have
killed her niece and, as far as she
knew, Carrie Culbertson had no ene-

44

Outside they could hear thi ited
baying of the bloodhound. Th mal
was moving fast and coming nearer
and nearer the officers.

mies in Manitou Springs, Denver, or
anyplace else.

Deal showed her the letter-opener
which had been used to snuff out Mrs.
Culbertson’s life. But the aunt only
glanced at it, then turned away horror-
stricken at the sight of her niece’s
blood. on the instrument.

“Ever see it before?” Deal asked.

Mrs. Baldwin nodded. “That was
Carrie’s ‘letter-opener. She got it as a
present several years ago.”

“Then that lets the opener out,” Deal

said half disgusted. “Whoever killed:

that woman thought of everything.”

“They never think of everything,”
the District Attorney spoke up. “They
always leave something behind. Some-
thing always trips them up.”

“But what?” Deal said. “We can’t
find any finger-prints.”

“We'll just have to keep looking.”

To make absolutely sure no slip-up
would occur Deal took the letter-
opener and went back once more to
see the murdered woman’s daughter.
But Mrs. Ohlander, too, said that it
had belonged to her mother for some
time.

Deal asked her if any other children
were in the family besides herself. She
said one other, a son, James Culbert-
son, who at that time was working
in an aircraft factory at Los Angeles,
California.

Deal then got the names of some
of Mrs. Culbertson’s close friends in
Manitou Springs and, with the aid of
Foard, Marshal Banks and Officer Cor-
ley, looked up these persons, talked
with them for several minutes about
the crime but was unable to uncover
any new evidence. Everyone was
shocked by the tragedy and no one
had any idea who could be responsible
for it.

But Undersheriff Roy Glasier in-

jected considerable excitement into
the investigation when he returned to
Headquarters to report on the tele-
phone call, made by Mrs. Culbertson
to Jack Franklin.

Franklin, he said, was a carpenter
and a handy man and worked at odd
jobs on the people’s homes there in
Manitou Springs and Colorado Springs.

chews Thy epee avCivtdtic Was ULlilp-
ing the dog to the jail after the animal
had been unable to make progress
from the scent of the high-heeled foot-
prints. At the jail where Heath had

Because he was the last one known
to be at the Culbertson home before
the murder—or at least to be called
from the Culbertson home—his promi-
nence in the case took a decided leap,
and with this information Deal ordered
him picked up.

Then Deputy M. J. Vasseur returned

‘from his check of the call made to the

Burt Swisher Plumbing Company. He

brought back Burt Swisher, proprietor

of the shop.

Swisher, a friendly mannered, heavy-
set fellow of middle age, told Deal
and the other officers that: he had re-
ceived a telephone call from Mrs. Cul-
bertson Friday afternoon and that
he had gone to her home, arriving
there around 2:30 or a little later.

“What did she want you for?” Deal
asked.

“She told me that she wanted me
to come up to her place and shut off
the water and see that all the pipes
in the house were drained properly.
She said she was leaving that evening
to go back to her home in Denver and
she wanted to be sure that her water-

lines didn’t freeze up while she was

gone.”

“And did you fix the pipes all right?”

“TI did.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Not more than thirty minutes.”

Deal looked at Swisher thoughtfully.
“Did anyone come to the house while
you were there?”

“No, Sir,” Swisher said, shaking his
head. “Mrs. Culbertson was there by
herself.”

“Did you talk with her much?”

“A little. I was too busy, though,
to do much gabbing. I told her that
the basement window in the coal-bin.
was broken and that she’d better get it
fixed before she left. She said she was
glad I told her and she would call a
carpenter that afternoon and have him
come out and fix the window.”

Deal turned suddenly to Banks and
Foard. They nodded Silently. That
must be where Franklin entered the
case. He was a carpenter. Mrs. Cul-
bertson had called him and he had
come to the home—after Swisher left—
to repair the window.

Once again the pick-up order for the

te
=

to protect a man not
case.

ved in this

For other pictures with this story
turn to Page 38.

13)

carpenter was broadcas
that area but with n

throughout
ing results.

At the morgue Deal, and the
District Attorney, in ‘qd ing with
Doctor Haney the aut report,

learned that Mrs. Culbertson probably.
had lived for one hour after she had
been stabbed

point of the letter-opener, which had
broken off after Striking one of the
woman’s ribs.

“You made certain that she was
attacked?” Deal asked.

Doctor Haney nodded.
about it.”

With still no news on the where-
abouts of Franklin the officers returned
once more to the Culbertson home and
questioned again the neighbors living
in that territory.

This time they uncovered an inter-
esting fact which before had not been
mentioned to them. A neighbor of Mrs.
Culbertson told Deal and the others
that he and his wife had been out of
town and had not returned until 4 or
4:30 o’clock Saturday morning. They
noticed the porch light on the Cul-
bertson home still was burning and
thought it very unusual because they
knew that Mrs. Culbertson always
turned it off each evening before she
went to bed. The rest of the house
was dark. But the man said he was
not too alarmed for he supposed Mrs.
Culbertson had forgotten about the
light that evening.

The porch light had not been burn-
ing the Sunday night the body was
discovered. Both Deal and Marshal
Banks were certain of that.

“No doubt

of the crime sometime Saturday or
Sunday—perhaps to make sure that he
had not left any telltale prints behind
him—and at that time noticed the
porch light burning and turned it off.

That again made it appear that the
killer was someone quite familiar with
the Culbertson home. ;

AD—4a