§ Charles H., white, hanged at Eureka, Calif., on 9=22=1893,
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60
number of the car I wrote down is the
same as the number of your circular.”
Important. information. But strange
to say the officer who took the message
romptly forgot all about it. Hours
ater someone remembered to tell me
about it. ;
I managed to get Constable Harris
on the telephone and confirmed his re-
rt. :
Y Realisit that it would be useless to
ask. the Police Department for aid,
where finances were concerned, | got in
touch with W. R. Williams, superin-
tendent of the Western: Union.
“Take this telegram,” I directed.
‘ William wrote down the message.
“Send that telegram to every Western
Union office in Southern California be-
ginning at Niland, and then through
Arizona, New Mexico and Utah,” was
my next order. ae
“Man alive,” ejaculated Williams,
“do you know what you are doing.
That means: thousands of offices. The
bill will be terrific.” . ;
“Send it, charge it to the Automobile
Club of Southern California,” I snapped
back.
“QO, K.” said Williams, “thanks for
the business.”
THEN calling my friend, Fred Phil-
lips, chief special agent of the Santa
Fe Railroad, | said: :
“Fred, | am asking a big favor. |
want you to have the dispatchers send
out a telegram to every station along
the Santa Fe through California, Ari-
zona and New Mexico. Have copies
delivered to every engineer, fireman,
conductor, brakeman and porter.”
“No. trouble at all,” assured Wil-
liams, and then he took down the mes-
sage giving Wendell’s description and
the car in which he was fleeing.
Thus started a manhunt which ranks
with the greatest ever launched in the
Southwest.
While officers in every town and ham-
let along the Santa Fe trail were as-
sembling posses, word came from
Yuma, Arizona, that a man, believed
to be Wendell, had stolen a set of
Arizona license plates and was headed
East.
Then came a flash from Oatman,
Arizona, that a car answering the de-
scription of Wendell’s coupe had passed
through the town. ; i
“It’s only a matter of time until we
have him,” I said to my partners, as I
icked up the phone and called Chief
Deputy Attorney William L. Doran,
now a Superior Court Judge of Los
Angeles.
| explained the nature of the case to
him and asked if he could get a suffi-
cient number of Grand Jurors tdgether
in an hour or so. ;
“1 want to bring the four prisoners
before the Grand Jury. Two of them
have ‘confessed to us. Maybe they'll
repeat their confessions, and the other
two may talk.” :
Doran was frankly skeptical. He
doubted that the accused men would
talk to the jurors. a
“Leave that to us,” I insisted. “All
you have to do is assemble the jury.”
He finally consented. But he was
still doubtful. Experience had shown
The Master Detective
him that while men accused of murder
might confess under police grilling,
they seldom talked before a group of
twelve to nineteen members of a
Grand Jury, who, unacquainted with
the facts in the case, were in no posi-
tion to ask questions.
Within an hour Doran had assem-
bled nineteen jurors.
Erven, Hickok and I, reinforced by
Secretary Mitchell of the Auto Club,
hig the prisoners from the city
jail. . ‘
One by one they entered, the Grand
Jury room. Thompson and Brinkhurst,
still sullen and silent, absolutely re-
fused to talk.
Rowell and Wheaton repeated their
confessions in detail.
And when nearly three months later,
Rowell and Wheaton went to trial,
their,attempts to repudiate their con-
fessions to us on the ground that they
had been subjected to a merciless third
degree, fell flat.
he stories they had told the Grand
jury were identical with those they
ad told immediately after their cap-
ture. And they had not been intimi-
dated by the Grand Jurors.
Less than an hour elapsed before we
had copies of indictments formally
charging Thompson,’ Brinkhurst,
Wheaton and Rowell, and the fleeing
Wendell, with murder.
With this formality concluded we
were ready to devote all our efforts to
the pursuit of Wendell. Hopping into
our machine we started at high speed
for San Bernardino to overtake a Santa
Fe train which a few minutes earlier
had left for the East.
Arriving at San Bernardino ahead of
the train, I telephoned to Sheriff W. P.
Mahoney at Kingman, Arizona. Briefly
I conveyed to him the message I had
received from Oatman.
“There’s a train pulling out of here.
in a few minutes heading East and {ll
get my deputy ‘Red’ Harris and get
vow
goin’,” replied Mahoney.
WHILE my partners and I, with a
couple of Los Angeles newspaper-
men, were racing Eastward on one
Santa Fe train, Minis and Harris
were heading into the desert country
aboard another.
As the first train rumbled along
through the Arizona wastelands, Ma-
honey and Harris kept their eyes cen-
tered on the road which skirted the
railroad right of way.
Suddenly a Ford coupe, its top cov-
ered with bedding, loomed in the dis-
tance.
“That's it,’ shouted Mahoney to
Harris, as they came closer and saw
the coupe apparently stalled at the
side of the road.
And reaching for the emergency air
cord overhead, Mahoney pulled it.
As the brakes were manera applied
the speeding train began to fs. like
a drunken man. Diners piled among
dishes which crashed to the car floor.
Passengers sprawled in the aisles and
mail clerks were piled up among the
letters they had been sorting.
But M ahousy and Harris waited for
no explanation.
As the train slowed down two hun-
dred yards beyond the section house at
Pinevita, the lone dwelling in that vast
expanse of sand, cactus and sagebrush,
Mahoney and Harris, with drawn re-
volvers, jumped off and advanced to-
ward the coupe.
Five or six Mexican track workers,
led by J. P. McNeil, section foreman,
drawn from their labors by the sudden
stopping of the train, stood apparently
rooted to the spot as they saw the
officers, coming toward them.
Approaching the coupe, Mahoney ob-
served that it was empty.
“Where’s the driver of that -car?”
Mahoney shouted to McNeil.
“Up at the section house getting
something to eat. He stopped and
asked for food and | told my wife to
feed him,” answered the foreman.
“Go in there and tell him to come
out, to come out with his hands in the
air,” Mahoney ordered.
But before McNeil could comply,
Mahoney and Harris saw the figure of
a man framed in the doorway.
An instant later, a woman, she was
McNeil’s wife, dashed screaming in
terror from the house, dragging two
children with her.
The figure in the doorway had dis-
appeared. Mahoney and Harris, slowly
advancing, were less than twenty-five
feet from the house. Passengers piling
off the train, were cautiously trailing
the officers.
GUDDENLY four shots rang out
within the section house. Then all
was still,
As Mahoney and Harris dashed into
the house, Jess Wendell lay upon the
floor, a gun by his side.
Blood streamed down his shirt front.
A twisted grin seemed to belie the
agony he was suffering. -
“T cheated the old rope, they can’t
hang me now,” he whispered as Ma-
honey bent over him.
Four shots had been directed at his
heart. How a man could, live after
those wounds couldn’t be explained.
But as Mahoney ripped open the
man’s shirt, he found that at least one
of the bullets had first struck a wo-
man’s watch which Wendell carried in
his breast pocket.
The first shot had caused a severe
wound, but unnerved by it, Wendell
oe pumped three more bullets into his
ody.
While the tragic scene in the section
house was being enacted, the train
crew herded the passengers aboard and
the Limited sped Eastward to make
up time.
Mahoney tried to start Wendell’s
car but the machine had run out of
gasoline. There was no other automo-
bile available.
But luck was with the officers. A
West bound train was due in less than
an hour and Mahoney gave orders to
the section foreman to flag it.
Mahoney and Harris gave what aid
they could to the wounded man, and
tried to get a statement from him.
Just before he lapsed into uncon-
sciousness, he summoned all his
strength to say:
“I didn’t do it—it wasn’t me.”
Wendell was alive when he was
1
?
1
e
‘as
May, 1933
placed on board the West bound train.
But when Mahoney and Harris stepped
from the train at Kingman, Arizona,
to greet Erven, Hickok and myself, they
informed us that Wendell was dead.
After taking the dead man’s finger-
prints and getting 4 hotograph as
nearly lifelike as possible, we returne
to Los Angeles.
There was nothing left for us but to
prepare our cases against the men We
had in custody, but | could not refrain
from making another visit to Curly
Thompson. J
“1 said I’d show you Wendell, or his
picture, in a day or two. Well, here's
his picture after he committed suicide
in Arizona.” 5
William L. “Wild Bill” Clark, Assis-
tant District Attorney, had prepared
what appeared to be a perfect hanging
case—perfect in all except one detail.
The gun used to kill Officer Brett,
the policeman’s own revolver, was
missing. According to the confessions
of Wheaton and- owell, this was the
gun which had been buried in a lot at
Fifty eighth street and Compton.
It was there the gang had separated,
Thompson and Brinkhurst and Wendell
oing afoot and by street car to
Vheaton’s room at 616 West Eighth
street.
Wheaton had continued in the car
with Rowell, and before rejoining their
companions, they had parked the ma-
chine downtown, and Rowell had
mingled with the crowd outside the Re-
ceiving Hospital and Jearned that the
two policemen were dead.
THE two then went to the Eighth
Street room and Rowell reported
what he had learned at the hospital,
after Rowell and Wendell drove to their
bungalow at Hermosa Beach where
Mary White and Rhea Barnett
awaited them.
When I learned where Wheaton had
been living, | made inquiries around
the place and came across George Bo-
gul, who operated a lunch room, the
kitchen of which was directly under a
window of the room occupied by the
prisoner.
According to Bogul, the morning
after the double murder, three men ap-
peared at the window. Attracting his
attention, one of them asked him to
send up three orders of ham and eggs.
He delivered the order, and then was
asked to buy three packages of cigar-
ettes and a newspaper.
“One of the men said he heard there
had been a murder and told me to be
sure to get the paper with the murder
in it,” declared Bogul.
Later, as a witness at the separate
trials before Judge Pat Parker, who
had been brought from Mono County
to preside, Bogul positively identified
Thompson, Brinkhurst and Wheaton as
the men who had appeared at the win-
dow.
Wheaton and Rowell, the men who
had signed the confessions, faced a jury
first. Despite their confessions, the
testimony of Bogul and other wit-
nesses, and the fact that Mary White
and Rhea Barnett, who had_ been held
as “material witnesses” testified against
them, the jury brought in a verdict of
The Master Detective
61
But Hell Soon Eat
Everything
He Likes
when he hears > bout TUMS'
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had acid stomach, a sour burning sensa-
tion, or a gassy fullness after meals. The
very foods he Tikes best seem to disagree
with him. He can’t seem to smoke without
heartburn. And drinking coffee frequently
causes unpleasantness.
But a nice surprise is in store for Roy. A
friend is going to tell him about Tums, @
new candy-like antacid mint that quickly
relieves acid indigestion. Then Roy will cease
to be a slave to a “Fussy
Almost 7 out of 10 Americans complain of
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e
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62
guilty with a recommendation of life
imprisonment. ,
e were terribly "ig Like ft but
in discussing the verdict Erven, Hickok
and I figured that if we could have
produced Officer Brett’s gun, the jury
“ have voted to hang.
ith the cases of Brinkhurst and
Thompson coming up, we decided to
make one more effort to locate that
missing gun, Visiting the lot which
Rowell and Wheaton had described we
had barely started our search when a
Negro mammy approached us.
hen she learned the nature of our
work, she told us that a revolver had
been found in that lot weeks before by
a girl who had handed it over to the
police. —
We drove to Central Station and
there found the long lost gun. I traced
it through almost a dozen hands from
the time it was taken from Officer
Brett and turned on him.
Shortly after the murder, Laura
Manby, 12 years old, at play with
other children, unearthed the weapon.
She gave it to a woman, who in turn
notified the police. An officer called for
it and took the revolver to the Univer-
sity Station.
TPHERE it lay for days. Later the gun
was sent to Central Station where it
was carefully stowed away with other
unidentified weapons.
At the trial of Brinkhurst and
Thompson, that revolver played an im-
portant part, and the jury after brief
deliberation, ordered the men hanged.
While the jury was out, one of the
bailiffs called my attention to a court
spectator, whose actions might have
been termed suspicious.
Backing the man into a corner, |
“frisked” him. A quick search brought
forth a 45 caliber revolver.
“Who are you?” | demanded.
“My name is W. H. Cook, and I am
a relative of Brinkhurst by marriage.
I came here for one purpose, to see
that the jury does its duty.”
“What do you mean?” | asked.
“Just this,’ Cook replied coolly,
“when Brinkhurst was released from
the Utah Penitentiary I took him into
my home. I told him | would find
work for him if he would go straight.
One evening I returned home and
found my wife unconscious on the
floor. Brinkhurst had attacked her,
taken every cent we had in the house,
and fled. :
“If the jury don’t hang him, I’ll do
the job the State should do.”
] induced the man to leave quietly.
After the hanging verdict had been re- °
turned, he visited me, and said:
“You need not worry any longer
about me. I’m:on my way back to
Utah. I’m satisfied with the verdict.”
Following these convictions Erven,
Hickok and I were the recipients of
praise from city, county and state.
Every civic organization in the city
struck off memorials commending our
work.
Each of us received a solid gold
badge bearing a big diamond in the
center. These badges were presented on
May 4th, 1922, as the combined token
of the Los Angeles Realty Board, the
The Master Detective
Los Angeles Chamber of. Commerce,
Los Angeles Clearing House Associa-
tion, Better American Federation, the
Merchants and Manufacturers’ Asso-
ciation, William M. Garland, Walter
P. Story and W. W. Mines for “faith-
ful service performed in the arrest of
the five outlaws who killed Police Offi-
cers William L. Brett and Harry Cles-
ter.”
As a result of the work I had done,
I was offered the post of Chief of De-
tectives in the District Attorney’s office,
and reluctantly, I resigned from the
Theft Bureau of the Auto Club.
ad friends tendered me a banquet
on the night of April 21st, 1924, and
ay a coincidence, Brinkhurst and
hompson had gone to their deaths on
the San Quentin gallows that day.
Originally their hanging had been
set for April 18th, but that date fell on
Good Friday, and Governor Richard-
son, in deference to many requests,
changed the time of execution.
It was the first double hanging in
California in more than a decade, and
that fact, coupled with the prominence
of the case generally, attracted wide
attention,
Neither Brinkhurst nor Thompson
confessed. To the last Brinkhurst was
silent. Thompson broke his long silence
by making the strangest request the
San Quentin death house has known.
“Is there any request you would like
to make?” said the warden solemnly as
he visited Thompson’s cell just before
the march to the gallows.
“Just one, warden,” he replied. “Let
me see you put the noose around
Brinkhurst’s neck and the black cap
over his head.”
There was a reason for that request.
Brinkhurst, partner of Thompson in
many crimes, had betrayed fis pal,
and I knew it.
PAROLED from the Utah Peniten-
tiary some years before, Brinkhurst
had come to Los Angeles. Soon he was
joined by Thompson who had escaped
from a road gang.
There was a reward of $50 offered
for the apprehension of Thompson.
Brinkhurst knew it and tipped off the
Los Angeles police. The reward was
pas. $25 to the police, and $25 to
rinkhurst, and Thompson completed
his sentence.
He rejoined Brinkhurst in Los An-
geles, but he did not know the name of
his betrayer until I told him. In an
effort to “break” him, or at least in-
volve Brinkhurst in the killings of the
policemen, I informed him that his
pal had turned him in to the Utah
authorities for a paltry $25.
Then. I showed him the official re-
ceipt signed by Brinkhurst.
But if Thompson felt any bitterness
over that revelation he never betrayed
it to me.
With the case having taken its place
in the criminal history of California,
the question of who was entitled to the
$10,000 reward offered by the Los
_ Angeles City Council came to the front.
Objection to the payment of the re-
ward was raised on the ground that
Erven and Hickok were members of the
regular police department and had
| eR rainy 9 2 REI AA: V EASE A MW RN ON
merely been assigned to the Theft Bu-
reau of the Auto Club.
But no such objection could be made
in my case. At the time of the arrests
and conviction I was employed by a
private organization and was not on
the city payroll.
Legal objections from various
sources questioning the right of the
City Council to offer such a reward
finally threw the case into such a tangle
that I retained Milton Cohen, one of
the leading lawyers of Los Angeles, and
directed him to file suit if necessary.
In the meantime Erven and Hickok
had filed affidavits with City Attorney
Jesse Stephens, setting forth that they
did not make claim to any part of the
reward. Both credited me with having
trailed the bandit-murderers to their
hiding place, and of unearthing the
evidence on which two were hanged,
two sent to prison for life and the one
driven to suicide.
The city finally decided to pay, me
the reward and on April 30th, 1925, I
experienced one of the greatest joys of
my life.
When the warrant for $10,000 was
handed to me, and duly receipted for,
I‘ hurried to the city treasurer’s office
and cashed it. I asked for ten crisp one
thousand dollar bills. They were
handed to me.
I! was then 10 o’clock in the morn-
ing. Going to the City Hall, I ar-
ranged with Mayor Cryer to be in his
office at 2 o’clock that afternoon with a
group of city officials who had been in-
terested in the case.
I told the mayor that | intended
dividing my $10,000 reward between
Mrs. Brett and Mrs. Clester and _re-
quested that he make the presentation.
He readily agreed.
sWhile Erven drove out to get one of
the women, Hickok went for the other.
Neither woman was told the nature
of her visit to City Hall, merely that
Mayor Cryer had requested her pres-
ence.
It was a distinguished assemblage
which greeted the widows of the slain
policemen.
Addressing the women, Mayor Cryer
spoke glowingly of the heroism of their
husbands, and then in my behalf, pre-
sented five one thousand dollar bills to
each.
I’ve had some happy moments in my
life. That was one of the paperest.
What Erven, Hickok and | thought
was the concluding chapter of the case
came when a banquet was given in our
honor and each of us was presented
with a document such as probably no
other peace officers have ever received.
It was an award of merit signed by
the Mayor, Chief of Police, Captain of
Detectives, the Supervisors of Los An-
geles County, the County Clerk, the
City Council, City Clerk, the Sheriff,
Secretary of State Jordan and Gover-
nor Friend W. Richardson.
But that wasn’t the end. Soon after
word was brought to us that Jim
Wheaton, driven insane by the enor-
mity of his crime, had been transferred
from San Quentin to the State Hospital
at Stockton, California, and had died
there a raving maniac.
GCN ERNE NT
May, 1933
was ome closest to the policeman,
grabbed the officer and took his gun
away from him. nce
“They must have pointed the weapon
at him, for | heard him call out, ‘For
God’s sake don’t do that—don’t do
that.’
“Then two shots rang out and the
policeman, who was still sitting on the
door, fell into the street.
“There were a couple of more shots
from the back of the car and Thomp-
son fee out and started to run.
“By that time the wigs machine,
with’ Clester driving, had pulled up
right behind us. The policeman jumped
out and ran around our car and kind of
out in front of it.
“Thompson was running across a va-
cant lot and the policeman called out
for him to halt.
“Thompson turned and fired and his
first shot hit the policeman. Then there
was a lot more shooting from the back
of the car, and Rowell ran forward and
backward. I guess he was excited. |
don’t know if he deliberately ran over
the policemen who were lying dead on
the ground, or not.
“Then we started away and some-
body’s hat blew off. We stopped, and
Thompson came running up and picked
up the hat and jumped in the car.
Neither Rowell nor myself fired a shot.
“THEN we drove away as fast as we”
could and when we got to Fifty
eighth Street and Compton, Brinkhurst
and Wendell got out of the car and
buried the policeman’s revolver which
Tompson had taken from him.
“After they had buried the police-
man’s gun we decided _to separate and
meet in my room on Eighth Street. A
few days after, I decided to give up my
room and live .with Rowell and Wen-
dell at Hermosa Beach.
All through the confession Wheaton
was insistent that neither he nor Rowell
had fired a shot. He_was positive
Thompson had killed Officer Clester.
He did not know whether Wendell,
Thompson or Brinkhurst had_ killed
Brett. :
Before being returned to his cell,
Wheaton explained that he and Wen-
dell and Rowell had suddenly given up
their beach home to be. closer to
Thompson and Brinkhurst in Los An-
geles. F
Another day passed. Detectives
Bean, Smith, Robert and Beaumont
maintained their vigil at the room in
which Thompson and Weaton had been
captured.
rven, Hickok and | watched Brink-
hurst’s house and also kept an eye on
the apartments where the gils, Mary
White and Rhea Barnett, had rented
rooms.
It was not until late the next day
that another break came. Bean and
Smith were sitting in Thompson’s room
when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” called out Bean, and the
visitor stepped forward to find two
guns leveled at_him.
He was Cal Rowell. He was hustled
to Headquarters and booked to the
Auto Club detectives.
Six arrests had been made and not a
word had leaked out as to the nature
The Master Detective
of the captures even at police headquar-:
ters.
“Just some of Raymond’s auto
crooks,” was the way they figured it
out among the sleuths and newspaper
men at headquarters.
Notified that Rowell had been picked
up, Erven, Hickok and I raced to Head-
quarters and began grilling him. He
was harder to work on than Wheaton,
but finally he came ‘clean’ and his con-
fession was substantially the same as
Wheaton’s.
Later when he went to trial, he
charged that he had been subjected to
a “third degree” and was forced to con-
fess to escape being beaten to death.
But when we gave him his “grilling”
he was more than anxious to tell us
what he knew. He clearly figured that
by throwing most of the blame on his:
companions, he could save his own neck
from the noose, a belief which later
came to be well founded.
Neither Brinkhurst nor Thompson
could be induced to talk. Not one of
the men we had trapped knew of the
capture of the others.
Bo I tried to get Thompson to open
up by convincing him that we had the
whole gang locked up.
He sneered, and turned away.
“All right,” 1 said, “I'll prove it to
Taking him from his cell, I escorted
him along the corridor. First we
stopped at Brinkhurst’s cell, -Not a
word passed between them. Then |
showed him Wheaton behind the bars.
And finally | gave him a good look at
Rowell.
Still silent, he walked back to his cell
and I locked him in.
“Didn’t | make good on cis done
= an you the gang?” I said boast-
fully.
is lip curled into a sneer as he ut-
tered the first words since I had seen
im.
“No you didn't. Where’s Wendel?”
Then, as if realizing he had prac-
tically proved his own guilt, he be-
came the same old sullen, silent Thomp-
son.
‘We'll have him in a day or two
and I'll bring him, or his picture to
show you,” was my parting crack.
WE tried to grill Brinkhurst. It was
a failure. Like Thompson he was
sullen and silent.
“Smart cops,” was all he would ever
say. “I’ve got an alibi. On the night
ou claim [ killed them ‘bulls’ I was
elping my wife do the washing. Ask
her if it ain’t so.”
We located Mrs. Brinkhurst at the
laundry where she worked.
Facing her husband at Headquarters,
the tired, care-worn little woman was
asked if her husband spoke the truth.
Brushing the tears from her eyes, she
turned to her husband and said:
“Bill Brinkhurst, I’ve lied for you the
last time. I lied for you time and time
again in Utah. I'll do it no more. You
were not home that night.”
With an oath the prisoner turned his
back upon the woman who had sacri-
ficed everything for his love. It was
their last meeting.
Thea it was that Erven, Hickok and
59
I decided to make public the fact that
we had captured the slayers of Police-
men Brett and Clester.
The story burst upon the city like
a bomb-shell. Newspapers issued ex-
tras extolling the great work done by
the Auto Club detectives. Everyone
seemed anxious to praise us. Even the
police admitted we had done a good job. .
_ But Erven, Hickok and I weren't en-
tirely satisfied, One of the slayers was
still at liberty. The job wouldn't be
complete until we had Jess Wendell,
dead or alive.
On December 23rd, we got a tip that.
Wendell’s estranged wife was living at
Compton, California. She was willing
to aid us. She ventured the opinion
that Jess would try to reach Oklahoma
where he had friends. She gave us a
picture of her philandering husband,
and the number of his Ford coupe.
_With this, and a complete descrip-
tion of the man, we drove to Los An-
geles and appealed to the Police De-
partment to send out 20,000 circulars
announcing the $10,000 reward, and
aus co-operation in arresting Wen-
ell.
We were informed, regretfully, that
the police were without funds to pay
for such circulars.
U-. looked as if we were up against it
just when things looked bright for us
to pet on the trail of the fleeing Wen-
dell. Every minute counted and we
wanted action.
It was then | remembered the in-
structions issued by Secretary Mitchell
of the Auto Club.
“Permit Raymond to draw any
funds he needs,” was Mitchell’s order.
It was the day before Christmas
when I began making a search for a
printer who could turn out a rush job
on 20,000 circulars. Shop after shop
refused the work, couldn’t ask men to
labor on Christmas Eve.
Finally I found a printer willing to
Fag pik He went_to work and then
I asked the Police Department to as-
sit us to the extent of sending twenty
traffic officers who could be spared, to
the Auto Club to help our staff get the
circulars in the mail.
That night 20,000 “fliers” were on
their way to police chiefs. Next day
was Christmas and no word came.
But on December 26th, a telephone:
message came from Niland, California,
on the edge of the desert. It was from
Constable Harris, who was in charge
of a gang of prisoners working on the
road,
He called Los Angeles Police Head-
quarters. To the officer who answered,
he ci
“The man you are looking for pass
through Niland the day batons ses
day. He was driving a Ford coupe, all
covered with bedding. He drove up
and asked for something to eat.
“I told him that as soon as | had fed
the prisoners, | would give him some
food if he cared to wait. He appeared
scared and said he was in a hurry. |
became suspicious and took down his
car number as he drove off. :
“The post office was closed esterday
on account of Christmas and I didn’t
get your circular until today. The
coffee in
October
the coffee
two wait-
ish eat-
him the
1.
t because
of times
ven know
it he’s al-
more time
vy at you.”
“T guess
ie he eats,
all right.
because I
”
DARING
“What’s his line?” asked the blonde.,
“I mean, what doés he do for a liv-:
ing when he’s working at it?”
“He told me once he was a glass
blower,” Merle said.
The blonde giggled and started’ to
offer a comment on glass blowers
when the little man. got up to pay
his check. He smiled briefly at Merle
Ells as she took his change and then
hurried out. J
When it was time to quit for the
night; Merle Ells almost felt tempted
to stop in next door at La: Monica for
a dance or two before taking the long
street car ride into Los Angeles. But
she thought of little Billy, her two-
year-old son, sleeping by himself in
the big bed. So she turned her back
on La Monica and the jazzy strains
floating out to her.
When she reached home on East
99th street, the young mother quietly
entered the glassed-in front porch
which served as a bedroom for her
and little Billy. Florence and Her-
man Cannon, her sister and brother-
in-law with whom she lived, had gone
to bed.
DETECTIVE
112
whom he had never seen before—for-a_
promised monetary fee!
We found it difficult to believe that the
man who faced us was speaking of him-
self as the chief actor in this tragic drama
in which the desire for money had meant
the difference between life and death for
Merle Ells, so greatly was Brown’s appear-
ance at variance with one’s usual concep-
tion of a hired assassin: large serious
brown eyes; a high forehead that gave him
an intellectual aspect; a chin unusually
narrow, it is true, but suggesting weakness
of will and character, rather than vicious-
ness—the chin of a man whom one would
suspect of a rabbit-like timidity rather
than murderous tendencies. ‘
As soon as Brown’s statement ‘had been
transcribed, Emery Ells was’ ordered
brought down from his cell.
At this point, Inspector Davidson once
more assumed full charge of the investi-
gation, and the history of this case is con-
tinued in his words.
—_0-—-
By Inspector DAVIDSON
AS pre-arranged for dramatic effect,
Emery Ells was suddenly brought face
to face with Brown.
Not a flicker of recognition appeared in
Ells’ eyes at sight of his hireling, who sat
across a small table from him.
- I broke the silence with the remark:
“Ells, you've met this man before, I be-
lieve?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Ts it possible you've already forgotten
the acquaintance of a man who rendered
you a rather unusual service a few nights
ago?” I asked sarcastically ,
““T never saw him before,” was the surly
reply. ©
“No? Well, perhaps this little state-
ment he’s just made to us will refresh your
memory. I’ll read it to you.”
The last vestige of color drained from
Ells’ face as he listened to the words that
accused him of the crime of hiring another
man to kill the woman who had been his
wife and who had borne him a child.
. When I had finished reading, he sat for
a moment without speaking, while the mus-
cles of: his face: twitched spasmodically.
His eyes, burning with hatred, held
Brown’s and he seemed to be tensing
his body for a spring at his accuser’s
throat.
To prevent possible violence, Officers
Baggott and Filkas posted themselves be-'
hind the table across which Brown and
Ells faced each other. ,
“Well, Ells, what do you say now?” I
asked.
“Nothing. He’s said it all.” :
“Are you willing to sign a statement to
the effect that what Benjamin Brown con-,.
fessed here is true?” :
“I guess so. That’s about. the way it
happened.” . eben ei
' Questioned as to. his motive in wishing
his ex-wife put out of. the, way. forever,
Ells admitted that it was solely ‘because he
~ desired custody of their baby, Billy Ells.
We were inclined to doubt this statement,
inasmuch as he had been known to have
expressed the opinion that she knew too
much about his affairs for his ’ safety.
However, the motive in this case was no
longer of paramount importance. °
With both Brown’s and Ells’ signed con-
fessions in our possession, there remained
True Detective Mysteries
only a few odds and ends of the investi-
gation to be cleared up.
For one thing, the autopsy surgeon’s
examination of the body of Merle Ells
failed to reveal that she was suffering
from any “incurable, contagious” disease,
capable of being communicated to her
child.
Ralph Moulton’s statement regarding
target practice in the river-bed was veri-
fied when Filkas and Baggott visited the
location in question and there found a num-
ber of discharged twelve-gauge shotgun
shells. These they brought in and boeked
as evidence.
The Powell brothers were re-quizzed
regarding any knowledge they might have
that would tend to connect Emery Ells
with the crime. Both finally admitted that
shortly after the murder of Merle Ells,
Emery had brought to the café a box par-
tially filled’ with twelve-gauge shotgun
shells and asked that they be hidden away
somewhere.
Asked why they had withheld this infor-
mation when first questioned, Oscar Powell
naively explained that inasmuch as Emery
had worked all night and couldn’t have
committed the murder himself, there was
“no use getting him in a jam by mention-
ing those shells.”
On November 14th, 1930, Emery Ells
and Benjamin Brown appeared in court for
their preliminary hearings. Ells pleaded
not guilty, while Brown entered a double
plea of not guilty and not guilty by rea-
son of insanity. ~
Emery’s relatives rallied to his side and
employed Attorney William T. Kendrick,
Jr., to defend him on the murder charge.
His trial was set for December 22nd, 1930.
Brown declared himself “without a penny
to my name,” whereupon Superior Court
Judge B. Rey Schauer appointed Public
Defender G. A. Benedict to represent the
accused on January 12th, 1931, when he,
too, went on trial for his life in what the
newspapers termed “The Two Dollar Mur-.
der Case.”
URING the early stages of Emery
Ells’ trial, there seemed a strong pos-
sibility that the tide of Destiny would turn
in his favor and that he would evade pay-
ment of any penalty whatever for his in-
famous crime. This was when Defense At-
‘torney Kendrick almost succeeded in bar-
ring from the records. the confession of
his client! Kendrick based his fight to pre-
-yent the introduction in evidence of this
damning statement on Ells’ declaration that
the: confession had been forced from him
only after he had been “starved, kicked and
beaten” over a period of four days—an ab-
solute falsehood.
However, any visions of freedom which
Ells may have entertained were rudely
' shattered. when Officers -Filkas and Bag-
| gott, who were aiding Prosecutor Bonner
| Richardson in the case, subpenaed George
| White, newspaper reporter for the City
| News Service, as a prosecution witness.
White took the stand, and in a calm,
matter-of-fact, plainly unbiased statement,
' testified that’ he had interviewed Ells and
’ Brown regarding the murder of Merle Ells
shortly after the two prisoners had made
| their confessions to officers of the Police
Department.
| “Both Ells and Brown talked freely,”
White declared, “and voluntarily admitted
the crime.” |
“Were there any marks of violence upon
the defendant, Ells, when you interviewed
him?” Deputy District Attorney Richard-
son asked.
“None whatever. And,’ White added
significantly, “had there been the slightest
indication that any form of torture was
employed to bring about the confessions of
the two men, that would have made a
much better story for my paper than the
confessions alone made!”
Shortly after George White left the
stand, Judge Schauer ruled that Ells’ con-
fession of guilt might be read to the jury
and incorporated into the records of the
case.
AS a result, on January 8th, 1931, Emery
Ells was found guilty of first-degree
murder. He escaped the death penalty,
however, when the jury of nine women and
three men recommended life imprisonment.
Ells, seated beside his attorney, nattily
dressed and with his black hair sleekly
smoothed, paled visibly when the verdict
was about to be read. When he grasped
its full import, he turned to Kendrick and
grinned broadly.
“A lucky verdict !”
Ells was sentenced to life imprisonment
at San Quentin Penitentiary on January
12th—the same day that his hireling, Ben-
jamin Franklin Brown, appeared for trial
before Superior Court Judge Marshall F.
McComb.
In pronouncing sentence on Ells, Judge
Schauer expressed his disapproval of the
jury’s verdict in the following words:
“I would like the record to show that
if the death penalty is not to be entirely
disregarded in this state, it should have
been imposed in this case. Ells not, only
meditated over this crime, but was. too
much of a coward to commit the deed him-
self, and hired another man to do it. I
trust ‘that the Prison Board will consider
the evidence well before granting such a
man a parole,” :
The court’s excoriation of Emery Ells
was evidently not without effect upon the
Public Defender: When Benjamin Frank-
lin Brown appeared in court to answer for
his part in the slaying of Merle Ells, it
was to withdraw his original plea of not
guilty by reason of insanity. He substi-
tuted a straight plea of guilty, and threw
himself on the mercy of the court.
However, on January 16th, he was sen-
tenced by Judge Marshall F. McComb to
“hang by the neck until dead!” .
Brown, slack-mouthed and shifty-eyed,
apparently had no fear that he might re-
ceive the death penalty as he arose before
Judge McComb. Public Defender - Bene-
dict had made an eloquent plea for him;
and Deputy District Attorney Charles V.
Kearney, prosecutor, had not insisted upon
the extreme penalty.
At Judge McComb’s words, Brown half-
staggered. His face contorted in fear.
“Have you any friends or relatives?” the
Judge inquired.
“None that’ll have to be told about this,”
whimpered the killer tearfully.
Thus has society avenged the murder of
Merle Ells, a defenseless woman whose
husband cold-bloodedly plotted her murder.
The man who conceived and engineered the
killing is to live; his admittedly weak tool
is to drop at a rope-end—unless Governor
“Jim” Rolph sees fit to commute his sen-
tence to life imprisonment.
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HE little man gulped his doughnuts and coffee in
what ‘appeared to be nervous haste.that October
evening in 1930, From the other end of the coffee
‘shop counter on the Santa Monica pier the two wait-
resses discussed the customer in undertones.
“Never saw your boy friend so anxious to finish eat-
ing,” observed the blonde, “You didn’t give him the
gate, did you, Merle?” :
’ Merle Ells, dark-haired and pretty, frowned.
“He’s not my boy friend,” she said. “Just because
I’ve danced. with him at La Monica:a couple of times
doesn’t mean anything. Why, he doesn’t even know
my name or where I live.” ’
“Well,” drawled the blonde, “up until tonight he’s al-
-ways taken his time to eat, so’s he could have more time
to talk to you, or even just sit and look moony at you.”
“Benny’s just a lonely little guy,” Merle said. “I guess
he hasn’t got any friends. “And from the little he ‘eats, |
I don’t think he’s got any money. But he’s all right.
He’s got manners, Doesn’t try to get fresh because I
danced with him after work a couple. of. times.”
Bie cs ’ DARING
Merle undressed and slipped into
bed. She was tired, for it had been
a long day at the coffee shop and a
Saturday too, when Los Angeles folk
slip down to the beaches and pier at
4 Santa Monica. She drifted off to
a sleep. Hours slipped by.
1s “Merle .... Merle.”
The voice sounded far away, and
yet it seemed as if the name had been
whispered right there on the sleeping
porch. Merle turned over, but con-
tinued to sleep.
“Merle... Merle ....”
This time the call was hoarser .
louder. -She roused-out of her slum-
ber and thought she saw a shadow
move across the porch. Suddenly she
sat bolt upright.
d Then death struck. °
The raucous roar of a shotgun
reverberated through the house.
22 «
¥rom the cruel, distorted
mind of the man at the left
came the hideous plot that
resulted in the murder of
Merle Ells, He is shown
giving his yersion of the
crime to Attorney Willian
Kendrick. eS
Herman and Florence Cannon
tumbled out of their beds. In the hall
they encountered the toddling figure
of little Billy. He was weeping.
Cannon snapped on a light and his
wife screamed as she saw the face of
the little chap.
It was covered with blood!
Husband Is Accused
ALLING her sister’s name, the ter-
rified Mrs. Cannon rushed out to
the sleeping porch. /
“Merle! What has happened?”
There was no answer. And when
Cannon switched on the porch light
—they saw.
Merle Ells was dead. A charge
from a gun lying on the floor of the
porch had .been used to blast the
young woman into eternity. The full
charge had been emptied into her
breast.
Police Officers Young and_ Sor-
enson answered the alarm. Her-
man Cannon, white-faced but grimly
calm, answered their questions.
“There won’t be much trouble fig-
uring out who did this,” he told the
officers. “Emory Ells did it. He's
her divorced husband. He threatened
to kill her when the judge awarded
Merle custody of Billy. He hated her
as much as he loved his little boy.
See how’ careful he was not to hurt
Billy? It’s Emory all right. That’s
only Merle’s blood on Billy’s facé.
When you find Emory Ells you'll find
the killer of my sister-in-law.”
The shooting occurred about 3 a.m,
on Sunday morning. When Lieuten-
-ant Joe Filkas, dean of the homicide
squad, arrived for work on Monday
morning thete [Continued on page 69]
DARING
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DETEC
where the woman slept, and both times lost
his nerve and drove away.
The third time he. steeled himself. He
called the woman’s name—‘Merle!”—after
briefly flashing the light to line up his sights.
As he anticipated, she sat up, which enabled
him to fire without endangering the child, the
weapon kicking out of his hands. He left it
there.
He drove to a billboard on Firestone
Boulevard and searched for the $2000 which .
Ells had said would be deposited there by the
doctor. It wasn’t there and Ells instructed him
to “stay hidden” until the money could be
raised. _
Ells gave him a handful of nickels “on
account”—44 nickels in all! The $2.20 was all
he ever received. Subsequently he discovered
the “doctor’s wife” was in reality the former
Mrs. Ells.
Brown said he hid out and never returned
to Santa Monica.
The fantastic confession recorded, Emory
Ells was ushered in. He listened to. its read-
ing in bleak silence. Then he admitted his
complicity.
‘He said, first of all, that Jack Frenchy, the
handyman, was totally innocent and in no
way’ connected with the slaying.
Ells admitted he figured that because of
their association, the man would be wrong- :
fully suspected of having committed the
actual crime for him.
In an attempt to sidetrack such suspicion he
had deliberately provided the big man with a
ready-made alibi, by urging him to invite
Donald over for the night.
Naturally, he had not bothered to tt
Frenchy why. .
“IT wanted my son more than anything in
the world, even if it meant Merle’s life. But
I didn’t think Brown had the moxie to go
through with it.”
Frenchy was, of coursé, promptly released.
”
) Eprror’s Norte:
Ells went to trial first, repudiating his con-
fession. But.a jury found him guilty of first-
degree murder with recommendation of mercy.
On January 12, 1931, he was sentenced-to life
imprisonment at San Quentin, where he
served 20 years. In 1951 he was paroled.
Little Benjamin Franklyn Brown, the Scrip-
ture-quoting dupe, won ‘no recommendation.
He died on the gallows on July 31, 1931.
Lieutenant Joe Filkas. received a letter
from the condemned man, written only 15
minutes before the hanging.
“When I realized I had killed that girl,”
the letter read, “life lost all attraction for me.
I wonder if I didn’t get the lighter sentence,
after all. Pid
The name Jack Frenchy
is not the actual name of the person who was
in fact a participant in the events described in
this article. The name is used to prevent em-
barrassment to this innocent person.
Wanna Buy a Gun?
continued from page 51
counter, taking his time, studying this cut and
that, looking for something he could afford.
Violence had never touched John Mobley in
his seventy-odd years. Never before.
Louane Bromley was there, dawdling on the
way home from school. She was probably the
least surprised, because ‘she was young and not
surprised at anything. Louane was eight years
old; she had a quick, bird-like way of glanc-
ing this way and that, swinging her long silky
blonde hair. She was in Hall’s Grocery to
browse through the big comic book rack. She
liked Mr. Hall because he never said a cross
word, no matter how many funny books the
kids thumbed through.
Hall was there, of course, lawroiice E. Hall,
owner and operator of the little store at 1828
East El Camino Avenue, right near the swanky
new Town and Country Village development.
Hall was such a young-looking man that a lot
of his customers didn’t believe he was 37
years old and married, with three children.
Some of them thought he was a student,
working part-time in the store.
Sometimes, just for the fun of it, Hall would
bring his family out from the living. quarters
behind the store and introduce them around:
“My wife, Dorothea; my girl, Janice, she’s 12;
and Larry Jr. here, nine years old, and Sher-
man, going -on six.”
People would shake their heads. He. just
didn’t look that old. What fooled them, prob-
ably, was his almost frail build, his eager
friendliness. Hall had brought his family there
from Iowa 11 years before. He relished his
life among the canned soups and fresh vege-
tables and cold cuts. He didn’t have a big
trade; the store was too small. But he didn’t
care about that; he liked shoating the breeze
with the customers. Conversation always went...
free with any purchase at Hall’s Grocery. Hall
liked people.to call him Larry.
Kenneth Pearce was on hand at 2:45 P.m.,
just in time to be drawn into the circle. Pearce
had bought a sackful of groceries a moment-
before. He was just putting them into his car
outside.
Then there was the service station man
down the street. He rubbed on the fringes of
22 the group, strictly by chance. He sold some
gas to the man in the old sedan shortly before
2:45 PM. j
The County of Sacramento rounded out the
group with its official representatives, the
coroner’s men, the sheriff’s deputies, like
George Louderback, and Cal Florence, and
George Mayberry, and Mel Reese, and George
Munizich.
At 2:46 p.m., the man in the old sedan
committed himself. He parked in front: of
Hall’s Grocery in the space just ahead of Ken-
neth Pearce’s car. He got out with the sawed-
off shotgun in his right hand. A couple of
passersby glanced curiously at the gun. The
man. looked right through them and walked
woodenly into the store.’
Louane Bromley darted a glance at him
over her comic book. A man with a gun?
Well, that was nothing in the funny book
world, She went back to reading.
Kenneth Pearce was gathering his sack of
groceries into his arms at the counter. He
didn’t really see the man because his back was
turned. As Pearce walked out, he heard a
man’s voice: “Gimme a sack of Bull Durham,
Larry.”
JoEN Mobley was tilting down the last
swallow of an orange soda, his favorite
drink, when the man reached the main counter
of the grocery. Mobley spotted the shotgun
immediately. His oldster’s curiosity aroused,
he sidled up just as Larry Hall laid a sack of
Bull Durham on the counter.
The man looked sideways at Mobley. “Want
to buy a good shotgun, Pop?” .
Mobley didn’t have his glasses on, so he
bent down and took a good close look. “Kinda
short for a shotgun, ain’t it?”
“Yeah, it got broken. The barrels were
smashed in shipment, so I cut off the bent
' part. It works okay though. You can have it
cheap.”
Old John grinned slyly and dine his head.
“Nope. Not me. I got no use for a piece of
goods like that.” Mobley turned his back and
sauntered over to the meat counter. As he
walked away he heard the stranger. ask Hall
if he wanted to buy the gun. He heard Hall
laugh and say. no.
_ labored and rapid. “Call the police, somebody,
It might have been 15 seconds, it might
have been a full minute before the store
seemed to shake with an explosion. —
Louane: Bromley stared around, her comic
book forgotten in her hand. The man with the
gun was walking toward the door, not run-
ning, just walking like any other customer
who had bought what he wanted. He still had
the gun.
Louane couldn’t see Mr. Hall at first. Then
she heard him screaming and she could see his
legs on the floor behind the counter, writhing
and twisting. Mr. Hall kept screaming, ‘Let
it go! Let it go!” Louane didn’t know what
he meant.
John Mobley looked around just after the
shot was fired. He saw Hall clutch at the
counter, then fall heavily. The man with the
shotgun lowered his weapon and looked silent-
ly down at Hall for a second. Then he turned
and walked to the door. When he got outside,
he ran toward an old sedan at the curb. Mob-
ley saw that much.
Kenneth Pearce heard the shot from out-
side the store, just .as he was getting into. his
own car. He thought he’d had a blowout at
first. He saw the man come out, leap into his
old’sedan and drive away. The car was very
conveniently parked for a quick departure,
Pearce realized; it was backed into the curb
with the front end angled out.
Pearce got out and went back into the
store, followed by a neighbor woman. Hall
was in a bad way; anybody- could see that.
A big red stain was spreading across the front
of his white shirt and blood was fidwing
beneath him on the floor. His breathing was
”
Pearce said. @
_ The neighbor woman placed the call at 2:50
p.M. The deputy on the communications board
in the sheriff’s office took fhe address, then
called Cal Florence, the resident deputy in the
area. Hall was dead when Florence arrived at
2:55 p.M. Florence rounded up the witnesses,
locked the store to keep out the curious and-
telephoned for assistance.
Sheriff’s Lieutenants Louderback and Reese,
cruising on Auburn Boulevard about two miles
away, were dispatched to the store by radio.
Lieutenants May!
out from the «
quarters.
Louderback st
deputy made an e
hadn’t had a cha
gaping hole in hi
dark with powder
blank range.
Louderback op
contents—almost
been disturbed. 1
buttoned down ir
additional cash in
counter.
“T don’t get it,
like a typical hol
no robbery. Say, -
John Mobley. “\
say, the one with
Mobley repeat:
‘about selling the <
“You’re sure he
register, or give h
like that?”
“Nope. They did
I said, I heard Mr
didn’t want the gu
were any more wo
“Did they know
“Couldn’t say.”
Kenneth Pearce,
tion, nodded vigor:
did. Least the ma
him call him Larry
of Bull Durham, L
Lieutanant Rees
' “He wanted Bull
take it with him y
sack of tobacco an
for roll-your-owns
register.
The officers tur
“Did you hear any
Hall and this man
“NO: I was lookir
I wanted to |
great big bang. Fir
cracker. Then I sz
with the gun.”
The girl said aft
she became frighte
store.
“Did you see the
“Yes, it went ove
Pearce said,’“She
pass. I saw him, 1
Highway 40 and tur
his way to Reno.”
Pearce told how
right in front of }
backed into the cu
getaway..He must
he did.”
_ Witnesses agreed t
1940 or 1941 Oldsmo
long, unwashed.
“Did anybody get
There was embarr:
heads.
Detective Maybern
why it is, but the <
ever, ever gets the li
did he look like?”
Eight-year-old Loi
old man, middle-aged
Old John Mobley
“quite a young man,
peer:
f Sr
cree
neta
a
A terrified glance told them Merle Ells was already dead.
In hysterical panic, Mrs. Cannon gathered up the crying
infant while her husband telephoned the police.
Detectives. R. V. Savage and C. W. Fruitt of the nearby
77th Street Police Station arrived first. They had hardly
-*.. started their examination of the room before Inspector of
‘Detectives D. A. Davidson and Lieutenant J.
P. Filkas
of Central Police Headquarters entered.
Davidson notified the coroner’s office and while they
awaited his arrival police photographer V. Wintermute
‘shot the details of the room from every conceivable angle.
Mrs. Ells’s body lay crosswise on the bed.. Her head
hung over the edge so that her long hair swept the floor.
‘ Congealed blood made a circled frame for it on the light-
colored carpet.
Inexplicably, the killer had tossed the murder weapon
on the floor a scant few feet from the bed. Was it sudden
. terror or just plain contempt for the abilities of the police
that had prompted him to do it?
Lieutenant,‘Filkas» picked it up, being careful not to
smudge any possible tell-tale fingerprints. Not that he .
was any too hopeful on that point.
The gun was carefully wrapped and shipped off to the
.Bureau of Criminal Identification for laboratory analyses.
No obvious.attempt had been made at robbery. Mrs.
Ells’s wrist watch and several other objects of value were
-still lying in full view on the little maple night table. Her
purse and wallet, containing several bills, were untouched.
At the moment, at least, the motive ‘for the strangely
savage act seemed an obscure one.
| Seat the thoroughly frightened Mrs. Cannon, the
police learned that the murdered woman was divorced
only recently from her husband, Emery Ells, a restaurant
worker.
Emery, a handsome youth of twenty-six, had married
the red-haired, extremely attractive Merle after a whirl-
'- wind: courtship lasting only several weeks. But from the
very first it seemed plain that their marriage was headed
for the rocks. Quarrels and petty bickering between the -
two became a daily routine. At last, hopelessly mired in ~
unhappiness, they decided to go their separate ways.
. Relating the story, Mrs. Cannon wiped tears and hugged
the baby closer to her. “Even the arrival of Billy couldn’t
keep them together,” she sobbed. “Their divorce came
through last September.”
36
COTTAGE
A murderer expertly jimmied the front
victim, and with cold- blooded uncon-
cern walked out again. ©
“Does Ells live here in town?”
“Oh, yes.
regularly.”
“Were he and Merle on speaking
terms on these visits?”
“Of course! I think they were bet-
fore.”
vealed a small snapshot, somewltat
faded, tucked away in a corner of the
‘lining. It was the picture of a youth,
dark, swaggeringly ep caearias about
twenty-four.
Davidson asked.
Mrs. Cannon shook her head slowly.
her eyes narrowed in what Davidson
judged was real’surprise. “I don’t know who that is,” she
said.
“Perhaps someone she was interested ts," suggested the
officer.
Mrs. Cannon was resentful.
snapped.
Davidson eyed her shrewdly. “Your sister was a mighty
attractive woman,” he pointed out. “Isn’t it natural she
should have had admirers?”
“Merle was a married woman.”
“She was divorced since September.”
Mrs. Cannon shrugged, unconvinced.
Before the police were ready to leave the house of
tragedy the doorbell rang and Alfred Ells, stocky brother
of the slain woman’s husband strode in. He was big,
brusque, incisive in manner.
Davidson and Filkas knew him slightly, having run into
“Of course not!” abe
him once or twice before. Alfred Ells was a Deputy Con- —
stable in Maywood.
“I just got the flash on the police teletype,” ‘he ex-
plained, “and I beat it right over.” He walked to the bed
and gazed at the slain young mother. Instinctively his
right hand swept his hat from his head. “Poor kid,” he
murmured, “poor kid. She certainly didn’t have this’
coming to her,”
His somewhat cryptic remark passed unchallenged. But
Davidson eyed him steadily. “Your brother know about
this yet?” he asked.
Deputy Ells shook his head. “No,” he said, “and I hate
to think what this will do to him!”
“T’d appreciate your letting me come along when you
question the boy,” he added. “It will soften the shock a
little.”
i Sgerrad Ells was still asleep when Davidson, Filkas and
Alfred Ells entered his upstairs two-room apartment
in Southgate, a suburb of Los Angeles. The youth wel-
comed them sleepily and supposing that his brother had
brought a couple of cronies around for a casual visit,
waved his hand vaguely towards chairs.
But the seriousness of his older brother’s expression
startled him into attention. “What is it, Al?” he demanded.
“We just heard th...” the husky deputy started to
say but Inspector Davidson cut in sharply.
He said, “How long you been asleep, Ells?”
door of this little house, calmly commit- °
ted his crime, gloated over his helpless”
He came to see the baby %
ter friends after the divorce than be- . 4
A search of the victim’s wallet re- |
“Is this her husband?” Hadieeotor
sacramento item
ie data
?
The apparently bewildered youth glanced at the clock.
> 1 ft
BROWN ,
~.., lid
Benjamin F,, white, hanged Calif. (LA) 7-21-1931y5,5,
By JACK SLATER
HE man tip-toed into the bedroom. He stared for
several seconds at the woman lying on the bed. She
- _ was asleep and the man’s eyes, bright with unnatural
excitement, took in every detail of her long lithe figure,
soft mouth, red hair,
A gurgling sound, distinctly unpleasant, rattled in his
throat. .
He aroused himself and raised the double-barreled
shotgun he gripped so lovingly. His left eye squinted into
the open sight so that a white spot of forehead just be-
. tween the. woman’s eyes became a target.
He nodded, lowered the weapon and from his pocket
extracted a powerful flashlight. Again he took aim, this
time with the light pointed so that it nuzzled the barrel
of the gun.
The man licked his lips and a slight shiver of anticipa-
tion shook his body. He was in no hurry.
Now! He grinned and called across the darkened room:
“Wake up!”
“‘The-woman stirred at his command. Her eyclttsTatet on
fluttered, then shut tight in terror at the sight of the man
and the gun leveled at her head. :
Her throat muscles tightened to emit a sound, but in
that precise split second the man fired. Her slim body
jerked as though struck by a heavy club.
Even now the killer was in no hurry. He fired again.
His evil little eyes blazed as he watched the blood gush
from the hole torn in the dying woman’s throat.
34
ee,
HAPPIER DAYS
A month after this picture was taken, divorce broke
up this little family. Six weeks later, a horrible death
claimed the titian-haired young mother, Merle Ells.
An erie sound came from his own throat, like the soft
» purring.of a cat! :
A cry startled him out of his sadistic reverie. It came
from the far corner of the bedroom just outside the re-
vealing circle of light. The man whirled, pointed his
flash in the direction of the cry. It spotlighted a baby’s
crib..
. Little Billy Ells, eighteen-months-old son of the mor-
tally wounded woman was bawling at the top of his lungs. wut i
The killer strode over to the crib. He stared at the ON oF aig }
child but now his cold and twisted features relaxed into : si
a smile.
“Hello, sonny,” he whispered, then turned, walked out
and disappeared into the night.
X another room of that neat, white bungalow at 323 East
99th Street, Los Angeles, California, an older sister of
Merle Ells, Florence, and her husband, Herman Cannon,
heard the shots and came running into the porch bedroom.
HIRED KILLER
Deriving perverted pleasure from his nefarious deed, this
gunman fatally shot the young victim while she lay asleep
in the porch bedroom below. He received $2.20 on account
for his services.
ee : Was It a Mad Love or a Mad Hate Which Prompted
orce broke
a The Vicious Slaying of the Pretty California Gil?
Lie
Ll
HE “Mother Lode” district of
California is often thought of as
a section: of the West in which
violent death has occurred regu-
larly in every community, es-
pecially in the years between 1849
and’ 1900. But it was not until
September 28, 1942, that Colfax, a
railroad and mining town in the
Mother Lode, was to be stained with
the stigma of murder. .
By midmorning of that day, neigh-
bors of Mrs. Ada Belle Turner were
beginning to wonder why they had
not seen her bustling around her
house. It was.her practice to work
in her flower garden each morning.
Finally Mrs. Scarborough, who
daily exchanged greetings with Mrs.
Turner, decided that her friend might
be ill and in need of help. ‘Her knock
at the Turner home went unanswered.
Since the doors were unlocked, she
entered. But she found no trace of her
friend. 1
Then it occurred to her that Mrs.
Turner might be washing clothes in
the basement, it being Monday
morning. .
Getting no answer at the basement
door she stepped into the dimly lit
basement room. After a few seconds,
her eyes adjusted to the light. What
she saw brought shrill screams from
her lips: Mrs. Turner, one of her
dearest friends, lay dead on the con-
crete floor of the basement!
It was a hysterical woman's voice
that came over the phone to Chief of
Police Walter Viscia that morning in-
forming him of the’ gruesome dis-
covery,.
“Quiet down,” the Chief said, “and
listen carefully. Get everyone away
from the scene if you can. Don’t let
anyone touch a thing or tramp around
all over the place. . Tell them it may
mean the difference between catchin
the killer or not catching him. Il
be right out.” ;
Before leaving his office, Chief
Viscia phoned Sheriff Charles Silva
at Auburn, the county ‘seat of Placer
County, asking him for assistance.
When the chief arrived at the
scene, one woman_stepped out from
a group of several persons standing
at the street in front of the Turner
home and greeted him. “T’ll show you
where it is,” she offered. She took
This footprint was left by the fleeing slayer in an orchard near the house in
which Mrs. Turner was murdered, and it helped convict him of the ghastly crime.
SOUGHT-AFTER RIFLE—
What part did this rifle play in the gruesome
tragedy of mystery, hatred and brutal murder?
him to the basement door but re-,
fused to go in herself. .
Viscia opened the door and entered,
flipped the light switch and viewed
the scene. Mrs. Turner lay sprawled
in a far corner. She was wearing a
flowered housecoat and a white slip.
A closer inspection revealed that the
face was battered and bruised almost
beyond recognition. A pool of blood
made a spreading blotch on the other-
wise clean floor. There was a long
slash in her throat. There was a
bruise’ mark above her left eye, in-
dicating a heavy blow.
Chief Viscia decided to wait for
Sheriff Silva before making a further
inspection of the room. He pulled
the door shut behind him and walked
to the street where a half dozen
women were still talking.
“Tell me,” he said, “do any of you
ladies have any idea who could have
done this?”
“No,” the woman who had taken
him to the basement door said. “Ada
had no enemies that I know of. Of
course she had a heart of gold. As you
know she was always feeding some
hard-up miner or cowboy, or lending , -
ESCRIBED “SLAYER—
Coroner West, who said that the bloody *;
‘slaying was the work of a cruel fiend.
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Clue of the
Yellow Ticket
(Continued from page 25)
and receipts in a tin strong box and then
‘lock it up in that steel case. The laundry
toom is fireproof.”
Silva nodded. “Tell me, did she carry
the key tied to an old shoelace?”
“Why yes, she did.”
Key Is Found
“What else did she keep in the locker?”
“Well, you know how these old cow-
hands are. If someone wanted to borrow
ten dollars, he might put up his boots or
his pistol or whatever he had that he
thought of value, and she took it. Belle
said it made the boys feel better. Every-
thing she got went in that locker.”
“Do you think we might find a duplicate
key in the house?”
“Yes, and I’ll tell you where to look.
She lost her key a year ago, and had two
or three new ones made. She kept the
extra ones in that sugar bowl with her
grocery money in the kitchen cup-
board.” :
Sparks volunteered to get the key. He
did and Sheriff Silva was about to insert
it in the lock when he paused.
Then he dropped the key into his pocket.
“I'm going to wait,” he said, “until Kes-
sel gets here. If I’m right there Will be
fingerprints inside and we don’t want to
muss them up.” He turned to Viscia.
“What did you get from the neighbors?”
“Most of them don’t know anything, but
I talked to a woman who was visiting at
a house two doors from here. She saw a
man turn into Mrs. Turner’s gate just at
dusk Sunday.”
“Did you get a description?”
' “This was a young fellow, wearing over-
alls, work shirt and heavy shoes, about
six feet tall and slender. The woman didn’t
see his eyes or the color of his hair, but
she thinks she would know him.”
Silva nodded. “Better go to work on it.
Notify the Southern Pacific officers. Check
the hobo jungles and the trailer courts.
Now’ let’s go down to the orchard and
around the barn and see what we can
find,” he suggested.
Belle Turner had been at sixty an active
woman, She had kept two-saddle horses
and personally administered the operations
ea the cattle ranch Bob Turner had left
er.
Between the- house and the stable the
' ground was packed hard, There were no
' tracks. There was nothing amiss in the
f barn. Sparks and Silva went on into the
orchard. Here in the soft soil they found
| a broad, square-toed, rubber-heeled track
| left by a heavy man.
| The tracks headed down between the
' trees, and then petered out. -
They were ready to turn back when
| Sparks bent over and picked up something
' from the grass. It was a small yellow
_ cardboard stub.
‘i Trail Gets Hot
There was a number stamped. on one
side in red ink and one of the edges was
perforated. “Looks like a claim check,”
he said, handing it to the sheriff.
Silva turned the tag over. “August 22,
1942,” was stamped on the back, That
was a month ago, but the tag was in good
condition. It showed no sign of weather.
There were no creases.
They walked back to the house in si-
lence. Finally the sheriff observed, “I've
| got an idea this lead is hot. Whoever
¥
tshe
made the tracks in the orchard knew his
way about. He had been here before. |
figure whoever killed Mrs. Turner had
been here before, too.”
The district attorney agreed.
“If he was the killer and he went out
at night and knew where the gate is—
that fits in.”
“What about the tag?”
“That’s what I’m’ coming to. I think
whoever killed Mrs. Turner wanted to get
something out of that steel locker.” Silva
took the tag out of his billfold. “If this
was issued August 22, it’s been in a safe
and place ever since. It wasn’t carried
around in someone’s pocket and it wasn’t
lying in the orchard. That steel locker
is a nice dry place, It doesn’t seem rea-
sonable someone would kill Mrs. Turner
soe to get the tag, but that might be part
of it.” :
At that moment State Criminologist
Owen Kessel drove up to the curb. He
came up the walk loaded with two suit-
cases full of his scientific equipment.
They all went down to the laundry. The
sheriff handed Kessel the key to the locker.
“Now let’s see what's inside.”
The identification bureau expert took a
photographer’s flood lamp from one of
the suitcases, plugged it into the washing
machine’s wall socket and focused it on
the cabinet. :
The ‘tin strong box \was there where
Mrs. Scarborough said it would be. The
shelves were filled with an odd assortment.
There was an old-fashioned frontier model
Colt revolver, a pair of fancy butterfly
design cowboy boots, a coiled grass rope,
and a silver cup, third prize at the Salinas —
eo.
Kessel dusted the box, then slipped his
fingers underneath and lifted it out. “There
are some good prints here,” he said, “but
figure you want to see what’s inside.”
Silva nodded. .-
The inside was disappointing. There
were some notes for amull jokin, scraps of
per with notations, a bank folder of
cancelled checks and sotme old letters. It
was hard to tell if anything had heen
disturbed. . ; ;
Suspect Appears
As Sparks and Silva stepped out of the
bloodstained laundry room a squad car
rolled up. There was a lean-faced, dark-
eyed man in the back seat with Shannon.
His hands were cuffed together.
“We found him by the railroad, sheriff,”
Viscia said. “He won’t talk.” .
Shannon pushed the man from the car
and Silva studied the prisoner. He matched
the neighbor's description all right. The
sheriff extended a package of cigarcttes.
“Smoke?” .
The man took one.
Silva held the match. “Let’s get out of
the sun, shall we?” :
They moved back in the shade of a
giant elm. “What were you doing on the
railroad, son?” tt gio
The man shook his head.
“Ever been to this house before?”
“T ain't talking.”
“Mind walking around back with me?”
“Okay.”
Before the laundry door the sheriff hesi-
tated. He glanced sidewise at the man’s
face. No emotion was visible.
Silva stepped inside. The prisoner fol-
lowed.
“Somebody killed an old lady in here
last ‘ night,” Silva said. His voice was
friendly. “According to the neighbors it
was a fellow about your size and looks.
pated those bloodstains on your pants,
gon ”
Kessel step forward. “I’d say they
were blood, sheriff.”
. (Continued on page 40)
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(Continued from page 38)
“Sure they're blood,” the prisoner
shouted. “I shot a deer, so what?
“So I think we'll hold you on suspicion
of murder,” Silva said grimly. “Maybe
when you get ready to talk we will change
our minds, Come:‘on.”
The sheriff detailed Shannon and Dolce
to transport the suspect to jail at Auburn,
then he returned to the basement.
Kessel spoke slowly, “I think she was
’ slugged with a gun butt, sheriff, a rifle.
Here is a splinter of walnut I found on the
floor.”
“Can you tell us anything more about
it?’ : ;
“No, but if you find a gun you can iden-
tify it with this.”
Sparks interruted. “The only good prints
on the box were left by Mrs. Turner.”
Silva produced ‘the yellow tag which had
come from the orchard. “If you fellows
will go back to Auburn and question that
‘boy I sent over, I'll go after this ticket.”
Pawn Shop Located
Sparks.and Kessel left for the county
seat. The sheriff and Viscia spent the next
three hours combing the business section
of Colfax, There was no pawn shop in
the town. They tried the electrical appli-
ance repair men, cleaners, and shoe shops
without success.
Dusk was settling over the peaks of the
Sierras when Silva finally returned to his
Auburn office.
Sparks and Kessel were waiting. They
reported the suspect still refused to talk,
“I sent his pants in for analysis with the
rest of the stuff we got,” Kessel said.
Silva nodded. “We didn’t get anywhere
in Colfax, Pll try here in town tomorrow
At 9:25 Tuesday morning Silva entered
a pawn shop in lower Auburn. He had
already been working since seven o'clock
without success,
“Tl be there in a minute,” the proprietor
called from somewhere in the rear of the
building.
“All right.” Silva’s eyes wandered over:
the collection of junk. They lingered at
a box half filled with printed yellow
tickets. The color matched the one he’d
picked up outside the victini’s house, and
the printing was identical. There was an’
ink pad on the counter and a rubber date
stamp. bey
The proprietor emerged from the gloom.
“What can I... Oh, hello, sheriff.”
Silva handed over the stub. “This is
one of yours, isn’t it? What is pledged
on it?” ‘
“Sure, it’s mine. Just a moment.” The
man thumbed through a dog-eared ledger.
“Mohair clippers with electric motor and
shaft drive. Ten dollars I loaned on them,
to a young: fellow named Brown.” :
Goat clippers. Mrs. Turner never had
owned goats. What was the connection?
“Glenard Brown works for Bixler on
the river. He was in Saturday to get them,
but he didn't have the ticket. I told him
I couldn’t redeem merchandise without a
ticket and maybe have someone come in
later to claim it again.”
“What ‘did he say happened to the.
ticket?”
“Well, he says he lost it. You go ask
Bixler about him.”
“I will, but first let me look at the
clippers.”
- The machine was heavy, well made and
in good condition. Obviously it was worth
more than ten dollars. But how did this
ticket and Glenard Brown fit into the Belle
Turner murder?
“If this Brown comes in, call the office.
I’m going out there now and I don’t want
to miss him.”
, (Continued on page 42)
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_. + (Continued from page 40)
- The Bixler ranch was a huge place.
Silva drove down to’the bunk house and
entered the cook shack. An old man with
a flour sack tied around his middle was -
fussing over the stove.
“Glenard Brown work here?”
Borrowed some soap to do some washing.”
The old man didn’t look up.
“What does Brown do here?”
. “Tends the goats.”
“Why isn’t he doing it?”
“T ain’t the foreman. Ask him,”
“Never heard of: a ranch hand taking
time ‘off in the middle of the day to do
the washing,” Silva persisted. ;
“Well; I heard someone say he was to
do the clipping, but the clippers is gone.”
End of the Trail
“There was a wash tub on the rack out-
side the bunk house. A slender, dark-
haired fellow Silva judged to be in his
eco was building a fire under the
tub.
“Are you Glenard Brown?” ;
The boy: looked up. His eyes centered
on the sheriff’s badge. “Yeah.’
Silva held out the ticket. “Is this what
you were looking for, Brown?”
The boy held out his hand, then drew
it back swiftly. “No, I never saw it before.”
Silva peered into the tub, “What are
you washing?”
= “Some old clothes.”
“Take a stick and lift them out, quick.”
Silva’s: voice had an icy edge to it.
Brown lifted out a pair of levi trousers,
a work shirt without pockets, some socks
and some underclothes. “Is it against the
law to wash your clothes?”
“No, but murder is.”
An hour later Glenard Brown was seated
in the con room of the Auburn county
sheriff’s office. Kessel had examined the
clothes and reported finding bloodstains.
Sparks and Silva were taking turns ques-
tioning the suspect. Brown steadfastly: de-
nied any knowledge of ‘the murder.
For the tenth time Silva asked, “Wha
did you hit her with?” .
“I didn’t.”
“Yes you did, Brown, and I'll tell you
why. You borrowed money on, Bixler’s
equipment. Then you borrowed money
from Mrs. Turner and gave her the pawn
ticket as security. She wouldn’t give it
to you so you killed her.”
Deputy Shannon entered the room. “His
shoes fit the footprints, sheriff: And we
found this in his room.” Shannon held out
a sturdy, long-bladed knife. “He used it on
the’ goats.”
Silva felt the edge. It was razor sharp.
“You slugged her with the butt of a rifle,
Brown. Then you dragged her out of the
way to get in that locker. You cut her
throat with this knife. You took the stub
and ducked out through the orchard. You
lost the ticket when you climbed the
”
right. I did it.”
“Where is the gun?”
I'll show you where.”
On-November 24, 1942, Glenard Brown
was convicted of first’ degree murder in
the Placer County superior court. Judge
A. L. Pierovich pronounced the death
sentence.
The case was reviewed by the Supreme
Court of California and the sentence con-
firmed. On February 15, 1944, the killer
who was caught by a pawn ticket died
in the lethal gas chamber at San Quentin
prison.
The first suspect arrested along the rail-
ate. :
Quite suddenly the prisoner broke. “All _
“Tf hid it in some brush by the river.
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MINAL RULES
FOR A.D. MINER |
OCCUR TODAY
Arthur D, Miner, Gridley deputy
police officer who died Wednesday
morning ata local hospital from pneu. |
ritonitia following upon:
chest wounds sustained last Saturday
monia and
afternoon when the Gridley man was
stabbed by J. C. Baulton, ex-convict,
i The services|
will be held at 2:00 o'clock from the)
will be buried today.
memorial building and Gridley bust:
ness houses will close from 2:00 ty
3:00. Local citizenry, county officials
and representatives of the state fish,
and game association will join in con. ,
|ferring final honors upon the well.
‘known Gridley man whose death con. |
stitutes a tragedy of major propor. |
‘tions to the community.
In State 16 Years
The deceased had been a resident of |
California foc 16 years, He workeu,
for a time as a baker in Sacramento:
and then secured an appointment as
a deputy game warden. He served
in this capacity for about six years,
three years at Quincy and three years
in Gridley. About three years ago he
resigned as‘a game warden to accept
a position as engineer-driver of the
Gridley fire department. Succoss of
the regattus held on the Gridley)
bridge course of the Feather river the!
past xeveral years was largley due to
Miner’s enthusiasm and leadership as
commodore of the Gridley Boat club, |
Council Will Bear Casket
‘Dr. R. A, Moon will deliver the fu-
neral sermon and the Block Funera!
Home will be in charye of the inter-
ment to take place in the Gridley.
Liggs cemetery, Caske. bearers will
be the five councilmen and city cler!:
of Gridley as follows -- Mayor K,
Munter, J. BE. Frazier, ©. M. Gilleece, |
W. A. Walden, J. R. Shaffer and ©.)
F. Craig. Selections will be sung by
an malo quartet consisting: of ives
Todd, Jny Farr, ©. R. Pierce And.
Holmes Higgins,
\
Crisis Tuesday Evening
| Hope for Miner's recovery was
abandoned Tuesday evening when it
became apparent that pneumonia had
set in and was making rapid headway.
A call to Dr. Leo Elvesser, San Fran-
cisco dene who, assisted by Dr,
Leslie Freudenthal, had performed an
operation Monday evening which re-
lieved lung congestion and revived
hope for recovery, brought a reply
that everything possible had ;,be
done. : {
‘Miner was conscious up to the ti
in death, hospital attendants
Sia axis his confinement he had
ked doetors to give him treatment
that would ease tho terrible pain with
The deputy cons
Gridley’a most popular officers and
fh bi- to acked. |
“which hls rtf eg was one of |
he was wel
Sacramento valley. _ a
‘ton, William C., Brown and J. C. Bol-
1 known throughout the |
The deceased was born in the atate
of Ilinoin November 12, 1881 and wan
62 years, 11 months and 1 daya old
ut the time of denth.
resident of the state of Calilornve for
16 years, of Gridley for six years. He
in survived by hin wife,-Mrs, Harriet |.
Miner; ao son nnd daughter, Carl
Miner of Gridley and Mra. Eleanor
DeMott of Marysville; hin) mother, |
Mra. W. H. Miner, of Perry, Town;
two grandchildren; one sister, Mise)
Myrtle Miner and two brothers, Earl
H. and Clyde R. Miner, all of Perry, |)
Iowa.
Grand Jury to Indict
In the meantime, steps have been
taken to lay the murder case before
the county grand jury. This would
obviate the necessity of bringing Baul-
ton to Gridley for a preliminary hear- |
ing.
To Sce Jury Foreman
C. A. Walker, district attorney said
that he had telephoned Grayson Price,
assistant district attorney, in Chico
and had asked Price to take up the
question with ©, (. Richardsong of
Chico, grand jury foreman. de
Slayer Is Identified |
Tdentification of Baulton as a sus-|)
pected “punch board slicker’ was}
made. Wednesday when a report on}
fingerprints sent to the state bureau
of criminal investigation
mento was received at the eheriff's
office.
Sheriff C. W. Toland said that Brul-
ton had admitted that he had served
18 months at a federal prison at Mc.
Neil island, but did not reveal the of-
fense.
Had Aliases
The prisoner has been known vari-
ously ts J. C* Boulton, Jess C. Boul-|
ton.
On February 28, 1930, he*was ar-
rested in Groat Falls, Mont., on a
drunk and disorderly charge and an
alleged attempt to “roll” an ac-
quaintance. He was committed for
failure to pay a $50 fine.
Arrested In Seattle
Iie was arrested ten months later
in Seattle as an alleged “punch board
artist’? but was released two days
afterward. In 1931, according to ree-
ords, he was arrested in Twin Falls,
Idaho, for investigation, and in Yaki-
ma county, Washington, for petty lar-'
ceny, for which he paid $50 and costs.
Ho was arrested in Portland, Ore., in.
1932 as a vagrant when he and a,
companion had in their possession a
number of articles they claimed to
have won on a punch board, but Baul-
ton was released under a 60-day sus-
pended sentence.
Baulton was taken from the Butte
county jail Monday. His whereabouts
were not disclosed, but one report
was that he was removed to Sacra-
mento county jail.
Ho had been al)
in Sacra-| ~
!
i
NT
2:00 tou 3tW o'clock thia @:
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Association
during funeral
Hempstead, president of the 4.
y Merchan:,’
_@ vices of the late A oD. Miner, ac-
‘@ cording to announcement by I. @
@ Griddle
nementininignass
@ i.
BOULTON SEEKS
TO RETAIN CHICO
ATTY. AS COUNSEL
Slayer of Gridley Man
Arraigned In Butte
Superior Court
J. C. Boulton, charged with the
murder of A. D. Miner of Gridley in
a complaint sworn to by M. J. Engle-!
field, chief of police of Gridley, was
arraigned yesterday morning in the!
Butte county superior court follow-
ing a preliminary examination held
the same morning before Justice of
the Peace Harry H. Hills of Oroville.
At the preliminary — examination
James Wm. Morgan of Chico acted as
Boulton’s counsel. Boulton was held
to answer to the superior court.
At the superior court arraignment
Boulton asked for a week's continu-
ance and asked that Allison Ware of
Chico dofend him. The continuance
was granted und it is presumed that
before accepting the case Ware will
get in touch With Bortton's brother in
Colorado. \
Handeuffed, und closely guarded
because of reported lynching threats
in the Gridley section, Baulton was
arraigned in justice court at Oroville
Friday, brought there from the Marys-
ville jail.
Hearing Set
His preliminary hearing was set
fur 1:30 p. m. Monday when he was |
informed that the hearing could not
be waived unless he had an attor-
ney.
Justice of the Peace Harry S. Hills |
asked the defendant whether he under-!
stood the complaint that was read to
him by the court.
“I don't understand it outside of
that I'm accused of killing somebody,”
said Boulton.
“Are you going to have a lawyer?”
asked Hills.
“How could I do that when I don’t:
have any funds?” Boulton sald. |
Nervous In Court
When Juatice Hills said that he
would net the cnse for 1:30 p. m. Mon-
day, the defendant sald: .
“Make it for this afternoon — it
makes no difference. I'm here. I
know how you feel about this thing.”
“You don't know a thing about it,”
sald Hills. “It ja a matter of proce-
dure that has to be followed.
Boulton, his hair hanging over hin
eyes, and shifting his weight nervous-
ly on his feet, looked at the floor dur-
ing the court proceedings. He wore
prison overalis and was hatless.
Toland Prepared For Mob Action
Warning that any attempt to re-
move J. C. Boulton, alleged slayer of
A. D. Miner, from the county fall,
would be met with shotgun fire was
issued Saturday by Sheriff C. W. To-
land as rumors of lynch action con-
tinued to prevail.
“There are a lot of threats of lynch- |
ing and about taking Boulton out of |
tho jail,” Toland said. “If anyone
tries it there will be a lot of cripples
around. a
“Let Law, Take Its Course”
“I feel tho same way about this
case an anyone else, but let the law
‘take ita course. I have a right to
protect my own fail.
“If anyone takes Boulton out of
here it will be over my dead body.”
Toland admitted that Boulton was
boing kept at the Oroville jail but
xnid that every preparation has been
made to protect him. ,
Boulton broke down and cried when
informed by Sheriff McCoy in Yuba
county jail that Miner had died, it was
given out Saturday.
Miner's death was imparted to the
prisoner Thursday before he was
brought to Oroville for arraignment.
Prisoner's Attitude
The prisoner professed ignorance ||
of the whole affair at Gridley...
“I don't know why I did what they
say I did in Gridley,” he said. “Never
_in my life have I resisted an officer
lor had trouble with an officer. I don't
‘remember a thing about it. I had
heen drinking.”
Prison Term Denied
He denied that he had served a term |
in MeNoil island penitentiary.
The defendant asked what had be-
come of a grip he had before his ar-
rest,
“It contained my life’s work,” he
The news of;
peald, “I'm a poet and all my writings
Ponape Foie eee ewer Be wh
B90) BF y. eee
["PULPA MURDER TRIAL
‘Mob Threats Stories Unfounded
Constable Thos. Elliott of Gridley, OF BOUL |
me of the four men atabbed by J. C. ; TON SET |
“oulton, stated this morning that} ‘
‘tories in regard to lynching senti- FOR NOV 14TH
ment in the Gridley ‘district are as °
far as he knows without foundation. A ens ae
J. C. Boulton, slayer of A. D. Miner
few remarks to the effect that the tof Gridley ;
man “ought to be lynched” were to/: me gs Pa Del ag aaa
be heard the day of the stabbing and entered a plea of “Not guilty” and
the day following. eae The eee by reason of insanity.”
Newspaper stories built around the: Marten of Chis as ihe a. =
theory that Gridley citizens are plan-, ‘date of trial was fixed at Setenke
ning a necktie party seems to be sen- ldth. Boulton has lost mere than 10
xational publicity without foundation. Pounds since his confinement in. th
P y _ |county jail at Oroville and areagie
The general sentiment seems to be! to be broodin
; g constantl
that Boulton will get his just deserts | burder charge » i far hie, scorns
at the hands of Judca Delrnn (- +%- to officers.
— = |
The Gridley Herald
Friday, November 2, 1934
Slayer of Deputy page 1, column 7
Ordered to Hang|
Speciat to The Chronicle
‘ OROVILLE, Jan. 17—J. C. Boul-
ton, Gridley, was found sane by a
Butte county jury today and must
hang for the murder of A. D. Mincr,
a deputy constable, last October.
Boulton attacked Miner with a
knife as he was being placed under
arrest after assaulting a youth at —o—
Gridley City Park. He had entered ‘KILLER TO BE HANGED
| pleas of not guilty and not guilty} . J. C. Boulton, killer of a Gridle
‘by reason of insanity, and was policeman, went to San Quentin
found guilty in November. ite one yesterday, to be
anged March 29. Sentence w
: as
5 imposed—yesterday in the Superior
San Francisco Chronicle Court at Oroville, and Boulton was
sent immediately to condemned row.
Friday, January 18, 1935
page 2, column 3
\ ceramic
San Franciseo Chronicle
Saturday, January 26, 1935
i Page 15, column 7 |
BOULTON,
Ja Cay
Hanged
San Quenti
(Butte) -
6-5-1936 e
These items all from CHICO ENTERPRISE-RECORD.
<=
DEATH IS ‘TRUMPS
(Continued from page 53)
his face he grappled with the gunman,
received a second hlow which sent him
sprawling on the lobby floor,
After swiftly rifling the hotel till the
two bandits had fled. Climbing to his feet,
the manager staggered to the door, saw
the bandits running down the street, gave
chase but lost them between Clay and
Washington Streets. Finding a policeman,
he reported the attack and robbery. An
hour later, Inspectors William Marshall
and J. J. McMorrow picked up the trail
of the bandits when they found witnesses
who had seen them run into the Eureka
Hotel on Eighth Street. A swift search of
the establishment uncovered a_ blood-
stained revolver in a waste basket on the
second floor.
Checking with the desk clerk, the of-
ficers were told that two men—who fitted
the description of the Oaks Club killers
in a general way—had signed in that
morning, giving the names Don Meers and
Al Cohn, both from Arizona. Unfortu-
nately, the two men were not then in their
room but since the two bandits had been
seen entering the hotel, and since the
bloodstained revolver had been found
there, the officers were reasonably sure
that they were the men who had raided
the Baldwin. Two patrolmen, Charles
Wood and Raymond Hahn, were staked
out at the Eureka. They were in street
clothes and Wood was armed with a
sawed-off shotgun. At four that afternoon,
Meers and Cohn showed. Just as they
were about to enter their room, they were
accosted by the two officers. Instead of
submitting meekly to arrest, they sped
in Opponite directions down the long cor
ridor.
“Halt—or we'll shoot!” called the officers.
The men raced on.
Hahn fired a shot over the head of one,
who promptly stopped and threw up his
hands. The other kept going. Wood shouted
a second warning—a third. Then as the
suspect was about to disappear around a
turn in the hallway, he let yo with the
shotgun, ‘The man crumpled in his tracks.
He was dead.
Taken to headquarters, Al Cohn pro-
tested that neither he nor his dead com-
panion had had any part in the holdup
of the Baldwin Hotel. As to why_ they
had fled when accosted by the officers,
he elaimed that they had mistaken the
cops for stick-up artists.
Held on suspicion of armed robbery,
Cohn was locked in a cell while the hotel
manager was rushed to the morgue to view
Meers’ body. Here he positively identified
the dead man as the bandit who had
slugged him. But a half hour later, when
confronted with a police line-up, he was
unable to single out Cohn as the second
robber.
Chief of Police Robert Tracy ordered
his men to dig decper into the case. But
the more they dug, the more convinced
they became that neither Cohn nor his
dead) partner were the Hotel Bandits.
Though Officers Hahn and Wood had only
been doing their duty, it was felt that the
shooting at the Eurcka had been a tragic
error.
All that had transpired four days be-
fore. And now at the Oaks Club, standing
at the bloodstained sidewalk where Officer
Haas had fallen, Inspector Perry was won-
dering whether the Hotel Bandits had
struck again—this time with a sub-ma-
chine gun.
“The only way we'll find out,” Farina
said, “is to nab them. We’ve got to go to
90
work on this thing as soon as possible.”
And work they did. Every officer in the
county worked around the clock for the
next 48 hours, but at the end of all their
labors they had little to boast about. To
make it worse, what little they had
turned up was all negative. A canvass of
the military establishments in the bay
nren had failed to uneover evidence that
a sub-machine gun had been stolen; no
pair of desperate gunmen had been snared
in the hundred roadblocks that criss-
crossed the state. And neither the club
manager nor Turner, who spent hours
poring over the rogues gallery of known
criminals, were able to put their fingers
on the two bandits.
One thing at least was accomplished. A
thorough check on the movements of
Cohn and Meers proved conclusively that
they had had no part in the Baldwin Hotel
job. Cohn was released with apologies.
Clearly the Hotel Bandits were still at
large, as were the killers of Officer Haas.
The police brass was convinced that the
same two men were involved in both
crimes. But unfortunately their convic-
tion was not backed up by a single tangible
clue.
Another fruitless day passed. A coroner’s
jury absolved Patrolmen Wood and Hahn
of any blame in the shooting of Meers.
And out in Emeryville the entire village
turned out for George Haas’ funeral.
“We're a rotten couple of cops,” Farina
said bitterly, as he sipped black coffee in
the chief’s office. He and Mann had just
fe HEART foe
: FUND :
returned from the funeral. With tired eyes
he stared out the window at the milling,
crowd. “It’s been four days now since
George was blasted down and we haven’t
stot a single, lousy clue.”
“LT know," Mann said) wearily. “But
something will break.” He paused a mo-
ment, then added fervently, “It’s got to.”
Almost as if in answer to his words, the
phone on the denke rang, rattecously. Te
snatched up the instrument. A whispered
voice came over the wire to him and
though the words were almost inaudible,
he stiffened in his chair. “Pick up King
and Moore. They pulled the Oaks job and
the Baldwin Hotel job, too.”
“What’s their first names?” Mann de-
manded.
For answer, a sharp click sounded in
his ear as the wire went dead.
Passing the tip on to Farina, Mann im-
mediately had the call traced and found
that it had originated from a pay station
in the bus terminal in Oakland. That did
not help much. Nor did a swift check of
the files. There was no record of either a
“King” or “Moore.”
“Let’s try Oakland,” Farina suggested.
A short 20 minutes later they were at
the Oakland Police Headquarters. And for
the first time in four days they yot a
break. Both Craig King and Joe Moore
were in the files, showing long and im-
pressive records for armed robbery. The
word was flashed out and within a mat-
ter of minutes, two score cops throughout
the city were on the lookout for the two
suspects,
There should have been 200 cops, for
that night King and Moore pulled off an-
other job. At the corner of Hobart and
Webster they held up a wealthy local
merchant, just as he was about to step
into his car.
Shown pictures of the two wanted men,
the victim was sure that they were the
pair who had just relieved him of his
watch and wallet. But even more im-
portant, when Turner, the cab driver, was
shown the pictures he pounced on King’s
mug photo and stated that it bore a
striking resemblance to the laughing,
shirtsleeved killer who had lifted $6000
from the Oaks Club.
“How about the other picture?” In-
spector Jewell asked, punching a hard
finger at the photograph of Moore.
Turner studied the photo for a long mo-
ment, then shook his head. “It don’t click,”
he said. “The punk who used the tommy-
gun had a thin mustache.”
“He could have raised one since this
picture was taken,” Mann said. “Take an-
other look.”
Turner studied the photo again. “Well,
maybe,” he said doubtfully. “The guy on
the picture and the killer both have thin
faces—they’ve both got black hair.”
“Wait a minute,” Farina said. Taking
out a fountain pen he drew a thin mus-
tache on Moore’s upper lip. “How’s that?”
Studying the doctored picture, Turner’s
eyes now lit up. “It helps a lot,” he said.
“Yeah, it could be him.”
Radio and teletype warnings now blan-
keted the West Coast states. King and
Moore were wanted men—wanted for the
coldblooded murder of a cop.
The rejuvenated efforts of the police
paid off almost at once. The following
morning, while directing traffic at 21st and
Telegraph Avenue, Officer H. H. Craig
spotted a man whose face was suspiciously
familiar. The fellow had just swung. aboard
oy bus that was plunging Cheough the in
tersection and without an instant’s hesita-
tion, Craig swung up after him. His gun
was out and it jammed hard into the man’s
ribs as the startled driver slammed on
the brakes.
“Take it easy, King,” Craiy said, as the
bus ground to a halt. “This is the end of
the line—you get off here.”
“What's it all about?” said King. “You
vol me wrong, copper.”
“You're Craig King, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. So what?”
“So they want you over in Emeryville
for killing a cop. Get going.”
There was elation at headquarters when
Craig brought King in. And a short time
later, when Mann and Farina arrived on
the double from Mmeryville, the suspect
was put on the griddle. He was a hand-
some fellow, despite the obvious fear in
his eyes. His most distinguishing char-
acteristic was a pug nose which fitted in
precisely with Turner’s description of the
laughing killer. But something puzzled
Mann and Farina as King protested his
innocence. Instead of speaking in a soft,
Southern drawl, his words were clipped
and tough.
“1 don’t care what you guys say,” he
snarled. “I didn’t kill no cop.”
“We've got people who've identified
your picture.”
“They're nuts.”
“Where’s Moore?”
“I don’t know. But don’t get no fancy
ideas. He didn’t kill that cop either.”
“How do you know?”
“Because we—" King cut himself short
and refused to amplify. For five hours he
stood up against a barrage of questions,
stoutly maintaining that neither he nor
Moore had had any part in the Oaks Club
slaying. He as stoutly maintained that he
did not know where Moore was. ;
Shifting the attack to the Baldwin
Hotel job, t!
a swift con
explained h«
after shaki:
into the Fu
the bloody
the second
roof. From °
roof of the
made their
street.
“How abo
night at the
ster?” Inspx
King nodcd
on that, too.
The admis
The officers
was pulling
confessing t
rather than
Later that
a line-up. °
stick-up vic:
ing him out
robbed ther
when Turnc
the officers -
Marching
tinizing eact
was unable -
“But you
self,” protes:
“T can’t h
recognize ai
I'll never |
killers.”
At an ord
men in the
words. Ag:
“This laugh
spoke with
“None of th:
With the n
to explode,
efforts to lo
on Kiang’s
letter to dn
Salinas, was
and to the p
He is going
he wants yo
Lieutenant
Salinas, 100
with the he
Bordges, ar
readily adm
that he had -
ber of robb:
Hotel job. 1
denial that |
cardroom co
“Where we
the 8th?” as!
Moore the
his head.
some place.”
“Were you
“Could be
Wednesday
pool at Bar:
then we had
stairs.”
“What tim:
“Around 2
“Boy, I ho;
ber you,” \
we're going |
While Wel!
to Oakland,
session of hi
opposite him
faced young
U. S. Navy.
“What mak
of yours?” ;
you any proo
“Not proof,
“But a coup!:
told me he
cardroom. H«
but I told h
ops, for
off an-
irt and
y local
to step
ed men,
cre the
of his
ore im-
ver, was
. King’s
bore a
auughing,
‘d $6000
ee” In-
a hard
re.
long mo-
i't click,”
tommy-
ince this
Take an-
in. “Well,
© guy on
have thin
hair.”
i. Taking
thin mus-
w’s that?”
. Turner’s
* he said.
now blan-
King and
ed for the
the police
following
it 21st and
H. Craig
ispiciously
ing, aboard
th the in-
it's hesita-
). His gun
» the man’s
immed on
aid, as the
the end of
ing. “You
»)”
ou?
Emeryville
ters when
short time
arrived on
the suspect
as a hand-
sus fear in
hing char-
ch fitted in
stion of the
‘ng puzzled
rotested his
in a soft,
ere clipped
cys say,” he
4
identified
‘ot no fancy
ather.”
nimself short
ive hours he
of questions,
ither he nor
he Oaks Club
ined that he
Vas.
the Daldiwit
a
Hotel job, the officers were surprised to get
a swift confession from the prisoner. He
explained how he and Moore had _ escaped
after shaking off the manager. Running
into the Eurcka Hotel, they had ditched
the bloody gun in the waste basket on
the second floor, then proceeded to the
roof. From there they had jumped to the
roof of the adjoining building and then
made their way down a fire escape to the
street.
“How about stickinys up that man_ last
night at the corner of Hobart and Web-
ster?” Inspector Jewell asked.
King nodded. “Yeah. You can book me
on that, too.”
The admission came almost too easily.
The officers were convinced that King
was pulling an old underworld dodge—
confessing to a series of minor offenses
rather than face a murder rap.
Later that morning he was thrown into
a line-up. The hotel manager and the
stick-up victim had no difficulty in pick-
ing him out as one of the men who had
robbed them. But a few minutes later,
when Turner entered the line-up room,
the officers were in for a shock.
Marching up and down the line, scru-
tinizing each face in turn, the cab driver
was unable to put his finger on any man.
“But you identified the picture your-
self,” protested Farina.
“I can’t help it,’ Turner said. “I don’t
recognize any of these men. And I’m sure
VI never forget the faces of the two
killers.”
At an order from Inspector Perry, the
men in the line-up cach spoke a few
words. Again Turner shook his head.
“This laughing killer I told you about
spoke with a Southern drawl,” he said.
“None of these birds talk that way.”
With the murder rap against King about
to explode, the police redoubled their
efforts to locate Moore, An “eye” was put
on Kiny’s mail with the result that a
letter to him, written by a woman in
Salinas, was intercepted. It stated simply
and to the point: “Joe is staying with me.
He is going to lay low for a while and
he wants you to do the same.”
Lieutenant Leo Wells sped at once to
Salinas, 100 miles to the south, and there
with the help of the local sheriff, Alex
Bordges, arrested Moore. The prisoner
readily admitted his identity, admitted
that he had worked with King on a num-
ber of robberies, including the Baldwin
Hotel job. But he was emphatic in his
denial that he had been involved in the
cardroom cop-slaying.
“Where were you on Wednesday night,
the 8th?” asked Wells.
Moore thought a moment, then shook
his head. “I don’t know. Just around,
some place.”
“Were you with King?”
“Could be. Yeah, I was with King
Wednesday night. We shot some Kelly
pool at Barney’s place on Eighth Street,
then we had chop suey in the joint down-
stairs.”
“What time did you leave the place?”
“Around 2 o’clock.”
“Boy, I hope those waiters can remem-
ber you,” Wells said grimly. “Come on,
we're going back to Oakland.”
While Wells was returning his prisoner
to Oakland, Farina was having a little
session of his own in Emeryville. Seated
opposite him in his office was a_ sober
faced youn man in the uniform of the
U.S. Navy.
“What makes you suspect this shipmate
of yours?” asked Farina sharply. “Have
you any proof?”
“Not proof, exactly,” the sailor replied.
“But a couple of weeks back this fellow
told me he was thinking of sticking up a
cardroom. He invited me in on the deal
burt To toldl bin Po owanted mo part of it.
He said the place would shake down for
$5000 or $6000.”
“Did he mention the Oaks Club?”
“Not by name, but he said the place
was in Emeryville. He said he had it all
cased—that it was a cinch—and if I
wouldn’t go along he’d get someone else.”
“Did he get someone clse?” Farina
asked.
“T don’t know.”
“What’s this shipmate’s name?”
“Ben Whitson. He's a baker, second class,
at the air base where I'm stationed Ala-
meda.”
“What does he look like?” Farina asked.
“He’s thin and dark, with a little pen-
cil-line mustache.”
Farina’s hands knotted into hard fists.
“We'll look into it, sailor,” he said, trying
to fight down his excitement. “Don’t say
anything about this to anybody. And
thanks—thanks a million for coming in.”
An hour later, Farina, Chief Mann and
Turner arrived at the Alameda air base.
The commanding officer was surprised on
hearing the name of the suspect. Accord-
ing to the records, Benjamin Whitson was
26, an ex-jockey from Kentucky. He had
served five years in the navy and_ his
record was excellent. More than that, he
had been cited for heroism for diving into
a raging sea to rescue a sailor who had
been swept overboard.
Turner was sent to an adjoining room,
so he would be able to observe the inter-
view without beings seen by the suspect.
Then Whitson was brought in. He was a
tall, thin sailor with a dark, saturnine face.
The air of cockiness about him was em-
phasized by the pencil-line mustache that
ornamented his thin upper lip.
Coolly, he sat down opposite the two
officers, eyed them warily. His reply to
the first casual question was given in a
terse, crisp voice. There was no hint of
a Kentucky drawl in it. After a few min-
utes’ sparring, Mann got around to the
Oaks Club. Whitson admitted that he
knew the place, stated blandly that he
had played cards there on several occa-
sions.
“When did you decide to knock it off?”
Farina asked.
“T don’t get you,” Whitson replied coldly.
“You get me, all right. IF mean holdings
up the place.”
Whitson laughed harshly but there was
no humor in his voice. “Who was telling
you that fairy tale?” he asked.
“Never mind. Where were you last
Wednesday night?”
At first Whitson seemed unable to re-
call his movements on the night of the
killing, which was in his favor as most
criminals jump at the chance of supply-
ing an alibi no matter how false. Then
after a moment’s thought he did come up
with an alibi. “That was the night that
cop was killed over in Emeryville, wasn’t
it?” he asked brazenly.
“You named it,” Mann said.
Whitson lit a cigarette with steady
fingers. “I remember, then,” he said evenly.
“I went over to my sister’s place in Oak-
land that night. We made the rounds of a
‘couple of bars and I didn’t get back to the
base until after 2.”
“You and your sister?”
“Yoah. Her husband was along too,”
Whitson said.
“What’s his name? Where does he live?”
Whitson butted out his cigarette. “Stop
shoving, me around,” he said in al nasty
voice. “Leave my sister out of this.”
“We’re not interested in your sister,”
Mann said. “We’re interested in you and
in your brother-in-law. What’s his name
and where does he live?”
The sailor shrugged. “Have a good time
for yourselves. His name is Tom Brig-
ance. He lives at 575 Twenty-sixth Street
fo Oakland. Phat af you think he and 1
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ground a dozen times, questioned a hundred men. All
“We'll check,” Mann said grimly. “It’s a chance.”
i they had come up with were 12 slugs dug out of the Questioning the manager of the club, the officers
se. He woodwork of the card room and 18 empty shells. learned that over $6000 had been taken by the bandits.
augh- “The other six slugs are in Haas’ body,” Mann ex- “Quite a haul,” Perry commented. “They can go far
booth plained. on that if they don’t go haywire and give themselves
t's go “What about the other fellow who was shot?” asked away by throwing their money around like a couple of
, Perry. drunken sailors. Tell me, from the way they pulled the
ds the “He was lucky. He’ll live. A local boy named Cecil job did you get the idea that they had the place cased?”
+ they Walker. He’s over in the Berkeley Hospital with a shat- “That's right. No lost motions. They knew their way
: door tered left arm.” around, knew just where to look for the money.”
e. The “Any description? Anybody recognize the killers?” “So they’ve probably been customers of yours before.”
id tets Farina shook his head. “They were masked, except for “Could be.”
the cab driver. And from the way the act was pulled, he Jewell swiftly described Turner’s two passengers but
irrow- was a stooge. We got to locate that cab driver—if he isn’t the manager shook his head. “I couldn't say,” he replied
ing lot already dead.” helplessly. “The club is always crowded. Hundreds of
ig ten “He isn’t dead and we've located him,” Jewell said. fellows are coming in and out all the time. Maybe if I
- they “He came into headquarters. Cut up pretty bad, but he saw them.”
“You'll see them, all right,” Farina said grimly, “if
ie ha
a tins cna
gave us a description.” Swiftly he passed _on the details
of Turner’s story. “We've alerted Sheriff Gleason and
flashed an all-points bulletin. Something ought to break.”
“Haas was a good cop,” Mann said darkly. “Something’s
got to break.” He hefted a half-dozen spent shells in the
palm of his hand. “All these are government issue. What
do you think?”
“It’s a good bet,” said Jewell crisply. “It could be that
the tommy-gun was stolen from one of the army or navy
bases in the bay area.” |
“Or maybe it wasn’t stolen,” Farina said thoughtfully.
“Maybe it was just borrowed, just borrowed for tonight.”
“You mean a couple of enlisted men?” Pe asked.
Farina shrugged. “From all accounts, that fe low knew
how to use the gun. Those boys are used to killing.”
it takes me all year.”
A thought suddenly occurred to Inspector Perry. “I
wonder,” he said, “whether the two killers could be the
Hotel Bandits?” He referred to a tragic occurrence that
had taken place several days before. On the previous
Saturday, March 4th, two men had stalked into the
lobby of the Baldwin Hotel at 529 Eighth Street, Oakland.
One had stuck a gun into the ribs of the hotel manager,
while the other announced that a stick-up was in prog-
ress.
With more courage than wisdom, the manager, despite
his 50 years, grabbed for the gun. With a curse the bandit
snatched it away and crashed it down on the manager’s
head. With blood streaming down (Continued on page 90)
Chief Mann (I.) and Asst, Chief Farina vowed they would find slayers of fellow officer
{ to let
‘ir own
he butt
Perry
y were
1e build
ommy-
He was
in eyes
r, a real
ig nose.
ke in a
racks.”
int, In-
ver the
3, while
County.
te-wide
ll roads
s mjght
y drove
unately,
inn and
ver the
52
Were a sailor (r.) and his brother-in-law (1.)
the two masked thieves who held up Oaks Club
card room (above) wounding one patron and
killing a cop-—or was it the “Hotel Bandits?”
me to drive them out to the. ball park. I got going—with
that gun breathing down my neck. But they changed
their minds again. Before we reached the ball park over
in Emeryville, they told me to pull up near the corner of
Park and San Pablo. First they tied me up on the rear
seat, then they changed their minds again and yanked
me out of the hack. ‘You’re coming along with us, buddy,’
‘the guy with the gun said. ‘You’re going to lead the way.
One phony move and Ill open a hole in your back you
can P ae your cab through.
“Where we going?’ I asked.
“To the Oaks Club. Right down the street there. We’re
going to take the joint.”
While Turner had watched with ever-mounting fear,
the two bandits adjusted masks over their faces and
ordered him to march. “I knew I was in a spot,” he went
on. “I had seen their faces before they put on the masks.
And I was wondering what they were going to do with
me after they pulled the job.”
With the yun at his back, Turner had led the way into
the club. “It was like a movie,” he said. “The place was
jammed. There must have been a hundred players there.
At first when this guy with the tommy-gun says it’s a
stick-up, they didn’t believe him. This made him sore.
He blasted a round of slugs over their heads and that
gave them the idea pretty fast. Everybody sticks their
hands up as ordered. All but one fellow by the rear door.
He started to edge out, but he didn’t get far. That killer
knew how to handle that gun. With one burst he blasted
the guy down before he had moved a foot. You could have
heard a pin drop. Nobody moved after that.
“The other punk now headed for the cashier’s cage. He
was waving a big revolver and so help me, he was laugh-
ing. No one tried to stop him. He came out of the booth
a minute later. He was still laughing. He said: ‘Let’s go,
pal. It was just like taking candy from a baby.’
“The guy with the tommy-gun shoved me towards the
door. He warned everybody not to try anything or they
would get it. We went out of there and right at the door
we run smack into this cop. He never had a chance. The
killer jabs the tommy-gun up against his chest and lets
_go—just like that.”
The rest of Turner’s experience was equally as harrow-
ing. After driving the two killers back to the parking lot
in Oakland, he had sweated through an agonizing ten
minutes while the two bandits debated whether they
should kill him or not. They had finally decided to let
him live but in order to effect their escape in their own
car, they had slashed him across the face with the butt
of the revolver.
“Did you see their getaway car?” Inspector Perry
asked.
“No. I was out for a few minutes.”
“Can you describe these punks?”
“You bet. I’ll never forget those two guys. They were
both young, in their early 20s, Both about the same build
and height. Medium, I'd say. This mug with the tommy-
gun had a thin black mustache and black hair. He was
wearing a gray hat and a dark suit. He had mean eyes
and a mean voice. He looked and acted like a killer, a real
tough guy. The other punk was blond, with a pug nose.
He was in his shirtsleeves, with no hat. He spoke in a
kind of Southern draw] and he liked to make wisecracks.”
Wasting no more time on questions at that point, In-
spector Jewell immediately broadcast an alarm over the
police radio, giving a description of the two killers, while
Perry contacted Sheriff H. P. Gleason of Alameda County.
An all-points bulletin was flashed over the state-wide
teletype system and roadblocks were set up on all roads
leading from Oakland on the chance that the killers might
try to run for it.
These preliminaries attended to, Jewell and Perry drove
swiftly to the Oaks Club in Emeryville. Unfortunately,
there was not much for them to do there. Chief Mann and
his assistant, Frank Farina, had already gone over the
ground i:
the tom
bases i
“Or 1
“Mayb«
“You
Farin
how to
blazing December sunshine and began carousing in the surf.
While his companions watched them, Raymond entered the
cottage with a master key. What he found made him whistle in
sheer surprise. Two loaded .45 revolvers, an automatic, two
sawed-off shotguns and a veritable arsenal of ammunition were
placed where they could be grabbed up quickly,
Raymond touched nothing but hurried to the garage. There
was the old Ford: with a new windshield. On a shelf was the
old one, a jagged section broken from its corner. Raymond
fished out the glass fragment he had found. It fitted the bullet-
made opening.
He rejoined his partners and they held a council of war.
“We've got enough on them for an arrest,” he said, “but
I’ve got a hunch there’s more to this than car-stealing. What-
ever it may be, we want an air-tight case.”
They talked to a friendly elderly couple in the next cottage.
“Certainly you can watch from our windows,” they told the
officers. “They’re a pretty wild crowd, next door.”
HEN next day the five went swimming, Raymond again
entered the house and concealed a dictograph, running a
buried wire back to his watching post. With this the officers
listened in on choice conversation of the gang. The men were
spoken to as Jim, Cal and Jesse.
“Well,” said one, yawning, “Bill and Curly will probably
drop down tonight and we'll get lined up.” He went on to
address the girls by name.
He was right.. After the evening meal the watched group
had a visitor. “Hi’ya, Curly!” they shouted. ‘About time
you showed up.”
Curly growled an answer. “The town’s sure hot. Coppers
everywhere.”
Someone cursed the police and suggested they get, started on
another job.
Each one had a choice plan to unfold for either a holdup or
a robbery.
“Nuts!” Curly said finally. “Quit arguing. Better wait
and talk it over with Bill tomorrow night. He'll know what’s
best. I’m going back to town now.”
With that he walked to the suburban railway and boarded
a car. But he was not alone. Three seats behind, the in-
defatigable Raymond seated himself, and behind he stayed
until he saw Curly disappear into Room 17 of a dingy flat
on South Grand avenue.
When Raymond got back to Hermosa, the cottage gang
were drinking and arguing. Their words came over the
wire with startling clarity: “Let’s-get busy and stick up a
place or two... Christmas ... we need money... since we
drilled the two cops in Boyle Heights, .. .”
Last of the fatal five, Jess Wendell was cor-
nered in this lonely house near Peneveta, Ariz.,
by Sheriff Mahoney of Kingman, after the en-
tire West was blanketed by wanted circulars,
yet the bandit-killer still held an ace trick,
46
The three listening officers could hardly restrain their anger.
Instinctively they reached for their guns. ‘‘Let’s break in on
them,” said Erven.
Raymond shook his head. “Nothing I’d'Tike better,” he said,
“but we must get this Bill person. He seems to be running
the outfit.”
“Somebody’s going in there now,’
was watching.
“Hello, Bill!” a chorus of greeting came through the wire.
“Our women need money .. . how about a few jobs?”
“Sure!” said Bill. “I’ve got some peacherinos lined up.
But we’ve got to get together on them. I need a drink...
thanks.” age
“All right now, you birds,” he went on, “everybody be here
tomorrow night and I don’t mean maybe.”
“Okay, Bill... Sure, Bill... That’s the stuff, Bill!’
Bill went out and also boarded a car, closely followed by
Raymond. In Los Angeles he went to a ramshackle rooming
house at Georgia and 12th, where he let himself into a second
floor room, Raymond’s gaze had never left the man.
Next day was a repetition of the events of the days before.
The three detectives chafed at the delay.
They grew hungry as they maintained their dull watch. As
meal-time came one suggested that two should go out to eat
and leave the other on guard. But since the gang of gunmen
had no inkling that they were being watched and gave no
indication of being ready yet to start out on another foray, the
three investigators decided to go out to eat togeher. There
was no need for one to wait. The three officers went to a
nearby restaurant for a hurried meal.
When they returned to their watching and listening post,
the next door cottage had an appearance that stunned them.
It was empty, deserted! The birds of evil had flown!
Had the gang of gunmen discovered the dictograph planted
in their hide-out? The officers had no way of knowing. Per-
haps the bandits had merely decided to make a quick move.
But in that disastrous moment the elderly couple whose
house the detectives were using, came forward with valuable
information. They had seen the group next door leaving
and had copied down the license number of the expressman’s
van that did the moving. This they now handed to the detectives.
When found late that night, the expressman said he had
taken the baggage to a Hope street address in Los Angeles,
at the instruction of a woman.
The officers: went to the address. Every light was out in
the old frame rooming house when the detectives aroused the
woman manager. ‘“That’s the girl’s room,” she said, indicating
a door, “She just came this evening.”
The new tenant had retired, but she answered the knock at
the door.
’
announced Hickok, who
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rang of gunmen
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ctograph planted
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xt door leaving
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1 to the detectives.
man said he had
; in Los Angeles,
light was out in
ctives aroused the
he said, indicating
vered the knock at
“Oh!” she gasped, quickly slipping on a robe.. ““Who are
you? What do you want?”
Raymond explained briefly. “And,” he added, “we want
names and addresses.”
“How should I know?” she evaded.
“That's up to you,” she was told. “Somebody’s going to
swing for killing the two patrolmen in Boyle Heights. Rather
than get mixed up in that, it would be better for you to talk.”
‘At that she burst into frightened crying and between inco-
herent sobs she told a sordid tale. Once she had been a regis-
tered nurse, with a good hospital job. When she lost that, she
began living with an ex-convict who introduced her to “the
gang.” She gave the officers her name.
“Yes,” she said slowly, brushing the tears from her eyes
as she answered Raymond’s questions, “I’ve heard the boys
talk about killing the policemen, They even laughed about it.”
“Who are these friends of yours ?”
SHE took a deep breath. “Well,” she began, “there’s Cal
Rowell, and Jesse Wendell and Jim Wheaton, and Bill Brink-
hurst and Curly—that’s Willard Thompson. They all have
bragged of being in jails.”
“And your girl friend?” Raymond asked.
She gave the other girl’s name and also her address on
nearby South Olive street. Beyond this she could tell nothing.
“Ail right,” Raymond told her, “You've helped us plenty.
But just to be safe, we'll keep you to yourself at the University
police station. Get dressed now.”
The second young woman was angry at being rudely awak-
ened from sound slumber. “Talk?” she repeated. “Don’t make
me laugh.”
But shown how desperate was her position, she considered
it best to talk. However, beyond giving the address where
Brinkhurst lived with his wife and family, she only repeated
what information the first girl had given. However, she too,
was held “on suspicion.”
Dawn was streaking the Cailfornia heavens before the three
tired officers gathered in the musty dark hallway before Willard
“Curly” Thompson’s room. On the other side of that ominous
door marked “17” was a dangerous wanted criminal.
With flashlights and guns held ready, three iron-hard shoul-
ders made a battering ram that carried the door from its
hinges in a fierce sudden-lunge.
Curly Thompson sat up in bed, confused by sleep and the
noise.
“Get your hands up !” Raymond ordered. “And quick about it.”
With a ‘deft movement he snapped handcuffs about the
man’s wrists. Beneath the pillow lay a loaded .45 revolver.
[Continued on page 80]
pi Ro ro : oO 4
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Wiveg ei : ig* COTTA
Detective Raymond, above, then a special investigator
for the Automobile Club of Southern California,
avenged the slaying of his friends. Acclaimed by the
public, diamond-studded gold badges were presented
to Raymond and Detectives Erven and Hickok.
47
iurder, Chief
organized the
le policemen,
‘med citizens
500 men drew
cted to watch
it the injured
1 the Mexican
notified to be
ficers engaged
= movie studio
n the road and
{ the wreck in
\
the San Bern-
-spattered car,
e Loma Linda
is were stained
stolen from Los
y the bandits to
: organizations,
double murder.
ely. That very
| voted for 200
n expert Indian
hotel on North
he thin line of
through the old
my near Sunset
surrounded and
less.
lesk. A witness
s last words. “I
ve gota warrant
were the words.”
Jalley road camp,
warrant. But the
iad been in camp
rhway near Santa
as the gangsters
as, freshly carved.
ngible, as had all
Two days later the Los Angeles city council met again and
voted a $10,000 reward for the killers’ capture. Public senti-
ment rose to fever pitch in a clamor for the desperadoes’ arrest.
The search for the five men was redoubled. Descriptions of
two of the gang were given out everywhere, but it was the
somewhat hazy remembrance of people who had witnessed
the killers’ work in the dark.
The shocking murder was made doubly baffling by the lack
of clues. But though there was not a single definite lead to
start on, brother officers worked’ night and day to avenge the
slaying.
Foremost among friends anxious to see the policemen’s
killers captured, was Harry Raymond, night chief of the theft
bureau of the Automobile Club of Southern California. He
was an “ace” plainclothes man, and had solved many cases by his
phenomenal ability to recognize stolen cars. City Detectives
Harry C. Hickok and Jesse Erven were now assigned to work
with him on the murder case. These three, cooperating with
Brett and Clester, had broken up several auto theft rings.
1 ageherwaree could not agree with newspapers and many
policemen that the killings were the work of an out-of-
town trigger mob. Raymond’s long experience led him to
another theory.
“Newcomers,” he reasoned, “would not bother with such small
time pickings as offered by the straggling Boyle Heights suburb.
Those fellows live right around here, somewhere.”
Although concerned particularly with auto thieves, his
friends’ murder continually intruded on his thoughts. After
his regular work, he revisited the death scene neighborhood
and talked with any witness who could volunteer the slightest
bit of information. At last he, found one who declared he saw
a bullet drill the bandit’s windshield.
“The man who ran,” the witness said further, “had thin
blond hair and a loud checkered suit.”
Here, finally, was a definite clue to the gunner who had
dropped Officer Brett. Still Raymond was not satisfied. On
his hands and knees he searched the street at the murder scene
and was rewarded with finding a small triangle of thick glass.
“Looks like windshield glass, all right,” he thought as he
aes
seen eenee air k
yevwere
saw it was not the type from the police car. “Not a bad two
hours’ work.”
But it did not give him much to work on. Thieves who
usually worked overtime around Christmas, now laid low
since Los Angeles was “too hot.” Finally, however, a big
gambling den was stuck up and one of the gunmen had worn
a flashy checked suit.
“T’m glad he’s sticking around town,” Raymond smiled grimly
to himself as he thought these bandits were the sought-for
gunners.
Six nights after the double killing, Raymond was driving
through the city’s poorer section when he spotted two men
stealing a tire from a car. A confederate waited for them in a
battered Ford touring car, the engine running.
Raymond parked with his lights off and watched them toss
the stolen tire into the Ford. A block farther, they started
stripping another car. Detective Raymond unlimbered his gun,
turned on his lights and speeded down on the trio. But as he
neared them, his headlights picked out the Ford’s windshield.
Upon it.was a paper sticker that dealers placed on new car glass.
Like a bomb the thought burst upon him: “Battered car...
windshield drilled with a bullet . . . the slain officers.”” He pushed
down the gas and drove past. When the thieves finished their
night’s work and drove away, Raymond hung on their trail
like a tenacious ghost.
Through sleeping suburban villages they passed, and by dark
orange groves, bearing to the southwest. Soon Raymond smelled
the ocean and wraith-like fingers of sea fog brushed his face.
In Hermosa Beach the car ahead swung suddenly from the
street and into a cottage garage.
Lights burned inside where someone evidently waited for
them. Raymond parked his car in the shadows of a giant
pepper tree and tiptoed forward. He could hear men and
women laughing and talking inside the cottage. Raymond
noted the address and then telephoned Detectives Erven and
Hickok.
The two detectives asked no questions, but got into their car.
They arrived in the beach resort town some two hours later and
joined in watching the now darkened house. The stin climbed
to nearly mid-day before the occupants appeared. Then three
men and two women in bathing suits stepped forth in the
Following the clue of a broken wind-
shield, this trio of manhunters brought
solution to the murder enigma and
trapped the killers. Left to right, the
detectives are Harry J. Raymond, J. E.
Erven and Harry C. Hickok.
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80
going with us whether you like it or not.”
Frank Jenner looked at his powerful
hands and then at the two detectives.
“All right,” he blurted out. “You got
me. I killed her because I needed money
and she was so well dressed I figured
she had money. I went over for Lucy
to take care of the kids’ lunch. They
didn’t come home and I got thinking how
I could lure Mrs. Ames out of her house.”
Then calmly, coolly, he recited his
‘murder of Mrs. Ames, a story that caused
even the police veterans to shudder.
He had gone to the Ames house and
told Mrs. Ames that somebody wanted to
see her in the kitchen of the neighbor’s
home. Mrs. Ames went unsuspectiigly
and when she was in the kitchen, he hit
her over the head with a chair and then
choked her to death. He found the potato
sack and wrapped her body in that and
then put the cord around her throat. He
carried her up in the attic. After that he
went to her house and found her pocket-
book.
The prisoner was taken back to Syra-
cuse. His explanation’ éxonerated Lucy
Martin and the police were convinced
that she had no remote suspicion that her
friend was a murderer.
On Apr. 26, 1939, he was brought to
trial. The jury took two votes and found
him guilty of murder in the first degree.
Judge Frank Malpass sentenced him to
die in the electric chair.
As this is written he sits in his cell in
the death house, at times staring mutely
at his powerful hands, the hands that
proved the one weak link in his perfect
murder plan.
Midnight Gunners
[Continued from page 47]
Raymond’s heart beat rapidly, for Thomp-
son’s hair was light and thin and draped
over a nearby chair was a bright check
suit. Here, according to a witness, was
the vicious gunman who had slain Patrol-
man Brett.
But Thompson was a stir-hardened
criminal. To all questions he replied only
with a sneer. He was taken to jail and
locked up in solitary.
“Now for Brinkhurst,” said Raymond,
“and he’s another tough baby.”
It was broad daylight now, and the
chance of a surprise raid less probable.
Therefore the aid of four hand-picked
city detectives was enlisted, Jim Bean,
Chester Smith, Frank Roberts and Frank
Beaumont.
Raymond stationed them outside Curly
Thompson’s room, with orders to arrest
any visitors who came. “I don’t think,”
he predicted, “that you'll find things so
slow.”
_ Brinkhurst’s address proved to be that
of a small frame house. “We can’t knock
him off while his wife and children are
there,” said Raymond. So, hidden by a
building across the street, the officers
waited until a woman with a small boy
and girl left the cottage by the back door.
“Tt’s now or never,” said Hickok. They
drew their guns as they rushed across the
street and into the back entrance.
Brinkhurst, who lay sprawled on a bed,
found himself suddenly staring into the
black muzzles of a sawed-off shotgun and
two pistols. He was handcuffed before
he realized what was happening. But
Raymond’s suspicion of the man being
tough was true. Under his pillows were
two loaded .38 revolvers.
No sooner had Brinkhurst been jailed
than Detectives Bean and Smith appeared
with Jim Wheaton. He had walked non-
. chalantly into the trap at Curly Thomp-
son’s room.
Erven, Raymond and Hickok had for-
gotten what sleep was like. But events
were happening too quickly to allow time
out for even a nap. Jesse Wendell and
Cal Rowell were still free, and there were
three men to be questioned.
Wheaton, however, was the only man
who would talk. After a long interview
he confessed fully in an effort to save him-
self, He insisted that he and Cal Rowell
had been in the front seat, and neither had
fired a shot. He declared that Thompson
had run, only to turn and kill Brett with
his first shot.
“Clester’s gun,” he added, “we buried
at Compton and 58th, but I wouldn’t
know the exact spot. I didn’t get out of
the car.”
He insisted he knew nothing of the
whereabouts of Rowell or Wendell, and
officers were convinced he spoke the
truth. There was nothing to do but
keep an alert “stake-out” on the rooms
of Thompson and the girls. Sure enough,
to Curly’s room sauntered Cal Rowell.
He was covered before he had time to
draw his gun.
Rowell also figured that confession was
good for the soul and body. His state-
ment was almost exactly like Wheaton’s.
Both men vowed that their companions
had done all the shooting.
Brinkhurst and Thompson were tight-
lipped. No amount of coaxing or ques-
tioning would bring forth any informa-
tion.
So far not a word of the desperadoes’
capture had reached the newspapers or
public. Now the news suddenly leaked
out and blazed in giant headlines across
the daily papers. Praise and congratula-
tions showered down upon the weary
Raymond, Hickok and Erven.
But these men were a long way from
being finished. Two days before Christ-
mas a telephone call found Raymond at
the auto club, “I see by the papers,”
drawled an anonymous voice, “that you're
looking for Jesse Wendell.”
“Yes,” said Raymond.
“Well, his wife left him,” went on the
mysterious voice, “and she’s living out
in Compton. Merry Christmas!” The
receiver clicked.
“Fair enough!” Raymond chuckled to
himself, “but you might have waited until
I thanked, you.”
He went at once to Compton at the
southern edge of Los Angeles.
“You can catch Jesse for all I care,”
the wife told Raymond when he found
ther. “He and I are through.” Her pretty
face clouded at her memories.
“Can you think of where he might be?”
Raymond urged gently.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I believe
he’d try to get back to Oklahoma where
his friends are. Here’s his picture and the
license number of his Ford coupe. I
don’t know any more than that.”
‘Raymond thanked her and hurried to
police headquarters. He was still the
avenger of Brett and Clester.
“We've got a chance to catch Jesse
Wendell,” }
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or)
Ge,
to the little boy. Then I spoke her name
a little louder. I moved closer to the
bed.
“Suddenly she sat up. That was my
chance. I pushed the shotgun right up
against her chest. Before. she could
scream, I pulled the trigger. I was care-
ful to fire downward, too, so as to not
hit the little fellow.
“T left the gun there and ran out. Then
I drove to the lunchroom. Ells was still
on duty. I told him I’d done a good job
_ of it. He said that was swell. Then I
asked for my $20,000. -
“Ells said the doctor would leave it
‘behind a signboard on Atlantic avenue.
in a day or so, and I could go and pick
it up in an old cigar box. But I was
broke and needed some money right
away. I'd spent my last cent at the coffee
shop on the Santa Monica pier. So Ells
went to the cash register and got a roll
of dimes. He broke them open and gave
me a handful. He said I could consider
that much as on account. When I counted
them later there were twenty-two dimes.
Two dollars and twenty cents! That’s
all I ever got for killing her.
“The thing I feel worst about is that
I killed an innocent woman who had done -
no harm. An innocent woman I didn’t
even know.”
All but the last sentence of that amaz-
ing confession was the truth. Brown
a ar 7 or err, ab Ah A ea gh CN ae Qe ee
vee ‘ Cr z ' ¥ it, :
We at! eats
. a
did know the woman he killed, even if
he didn’t know he was killing Merle Ells. —
And so it was that on the night Merle
Ells met her horrible, brutal fate, she
served coffee and doughnuts to her killer.
She exchanged a friendly smile with a
little man she had felt sorry for, a lonely.
human for whose sake she had borne the
jests of her fellow workers. She had
danced in-the arms of the man who was
destined to kill her, danced with him be-
cause he was a friendly little man and
seemed so lonely.
“Before he died on the gallows’ on July
31, 1931, at San Quentin prison, Detec-
tive Filkas told Benjamin Franklin
Brown he had slain the woman who had
befriended him. +The little man seemed
to suffer more from this knowledge than
ae fear of the fate that was meted to
im.
Emory Ells, the man who plotted the
murder of his ex-wife so that he could
regain custody of his son, staged a
terrific legal battle when he was brought
to trial. Unlike ‘the little glass blower,
Ells was able to afford a good lawyer.
He was found guilty of murder, but the
jury recommended mercy. He is serving
a life sentence in San Quentin.
(The name Karl Macker is fictitious to
protect a man who was not convicted of
any crime.)
Wisconsin’s Riddle »
of the Slain Gambler
[Continued from page 52]
weighing about 220 pounds.
“2 That robbery was the motive.
Schill, by the nature of his horse buying
business, was obliged to carry large sums
with him and apparently had several hun-
dred dollars on him when slain.
“3 That the unidentified person who
called Schill out of his home on the night
of the murder knew Schill, for the nick-
name ‘Hans’ was used only by his inti-
mates.”
But Captain Prohaska and his men
were working fast. The. stories of the
persons questioned were ‘being checked
and rechecked. .
At the same time the truck driver
known as “Curley” was arrested at a
horse auction in Janesville, brought to
the Milwaukee detective bureau for ques-
tioning, and released after he had given
a satisfactory account of his activities on
the night of the murder. He could shed no °
light on the slaying of Schill.
Uncover Valuable Lead
MARY INTERESTING facts were
discovered during a four-week hunt
by Prohaska’s men. It was learned that
Mrs. Schill did not get along well with
her husband and was planning to divorce
him, and that Schill seldom took his wife
out but was frequently seen in the com-
pany of other women. :
An important lead was disclosed after
tireless work on the part of Captain Pro-
haska. Realizing that the key to the
baffling crime probably lay among Schill’s
friends and associates, he started a care-
ful investigation of all who had known
the murdered man.
From a friend of the victim he learned
that Schill had occasionally dropped into
a neighborhood tavern. It seemed likely
that in conversation at the tavern Schill
might have said something that would
lead the officers to the man who had
killed him.
But Prohaska realized that going di-
rectly to the tavern and questioning the
owner and employe might put them on
their guard. He had to work in a circle,
secretly, hitting at the outer edges but
always keeping the tavern employes at
their ease.
He plunged into the case with renewed
vigor and it was soon learned that the
tavern was run by Harry Moore, 54-year-
old former Kentuckian.
One day early in July Detective Her-
man Kuhfeldt walked into the tavern be-
longing to a friend 6f Moore. After the
usual routine questions, Kuhfeldt casu-
ally asked:
“By the way, there have been lots of
robberies around the city lately.. You
keep a gun for protection, don’t you?”
“Ves, I do,” said the proprietor.
“Mind if I see it?” asked Kuhfeldt.
“Why, no.” The owner reached under
the counter and handed Kuhfeldt the gun.
The detective quickly examined it. Sud-
denly he held his breath.
The gun he was holding was a .25
caliber automatic!
“How long have you owned this gun?”
shot Kuhfeldt.
“About 5 years.”
“Did you ever lend it to anyone?”
- “Yes, I loaned it to Harry Moore about
two months ago.”
Kuhfeldt’s heart skipped a beat. Here
at last, he thought, was the clue that was
to solve the murder!
He leaned across the bar.
“Just when did you lend Moore this
gun?” he asked.
“Moore came in one day late in April,”
explained the owner, “and asked me if I
had a gun to sell. I showed him this gun.
“Well” he says, ‘I’m going up north.
Y'll take it along and try it and if I like
it I'll buy it’
“About three weeks after I gave it to
Beeman’
Ie AIDS DIGESTION...
at MEER
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Wuen ANSWERING ADVERTISEMENTS, PLEASE MENTION JUNE DarinG Detective 75
be in
o see
e de-
cker’s
out of
vate!”
istak-
“ilkas
im to
‘J
I was
stache
it be-
you?”
[ told
inner.
| let’s
<as.
said,
Em-
e two
inold
t out.
work
e and
inting
used
ctives
could
But
s and
sulton
o In-
derer
going
vared
vector
group
stairs
con-
d we
said.
reful.
chine
offi-
»wn’s
‘ilkas
ice,
said
saw
lowly
them.
1iome-
hair.
ndles
old-
r lip
rched
tound
out (ad
if the
visit was explained. And Filkas was be-
ginning to feel uncomfortable under the
quizzical glances of his chief and his
fellow detectives. No Chicago machine
gunner had ever looked like this. How-
ever, they ordered Brown to dress and
took him back to the city with them.
En route Brown talked about religion.
All the way to the Central Station he
quoted Scriptures and “forgave” the offi-
cers for “the serious insult I’m suffering.”
As they drew up at headquarters, the
little man was saying: :
“I think you gentlemen should do more
than apologize to me when you realize
the mistake you’ve made. I think you
owe it to me to attend my church on
Sunday. You must come in a body.”
Police Are Chagrined
HAGRIN was beginning to fill the
officers. Nevertheless, they ques-
tioned their strange prisoner once they
had him inside. They plied him with
questions galore, especially after the little
man reluctantly admitted he had once
met Emory Ells. They were careful, for
the time being, not to mention the name
of Macker or the expedition to the river
with the old shotgun, But for two hours
the little man parried their questions
with only the merest trace of agitation,
an agitation that was to be expected even
from an innocent man.
“I assure you gentlemen,” he reiterated
again and again, “I am not a Chicago
gunman. Somebody at the hotel said that
about me once, but it was just for a joke.
I’m a God-fearing man and I’ve never
harmed a soul in my life.”
“What do you do for a living?” he
was asked.
The little man laughed sheepishly.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I’m not
working just now, there isn’t much doing
in my line in this city.”
“And what is your line?”
“I’m a glass blower,” he said.,
Filkas quietly left the room.
what discouraged with the results of
Brown’s capture and the subsequent ques-
tioning, he decided it was time to play
his ace card—Macker.
If Brown could prove his innocence,
then decidedly there was something fishy
about the entire behavior and statements
of Macker, the nervous marathon cigar-
Some- .
wy, Bs hy Eee
a
ette smoker,
“Did you get Brown?” was Macker’s
first. question as Filkas reached the cell.
“Yes, we got him.”
“Was there any shooting?” asked
Macker. And as Filkas shook his head
Macker seemed worried. Then he said:
“Well, you were lucky. That Brown is
dangerous.”
“Macker,” said Filkas angrily. “I
think you’ve gone far enough. I want
the straight story. from you and I don’t
want any more fairy stories or wild
goose chases. Now come clean.”
“But I told the truth,” protested the
man in the cell, “You found Brown
where I said he was, didn’t you?”
“We found him all right. But if that
man’s a Chicago machine gunner, then
I’m a—I’m a glass blower. That’s what
Brown said he is.
met Emory Ells only once in his life and
he isn’t sure whether he’d know him
again or not if he saw him.” nite
“Listen,” shouted Macker. “Don’t let
Brown fool you that way. Ask him about
the trip to the river with me and Ells
with the shotgun. And here’s something :
else to ask him. See if he can remem-
ber the time he and Emory Ells planned
to hold up a Huntington Park theatre.
Ask him if he and Ells didn’t plan to
take the cashier’s fur coat as well as all
the money. He’s a liar when he says he
only met Emory Ells once in his life.”
The vehement sincerity of the man,
plus his willingness to confront Brown
when requested, impressed the detective.
Filkas returned to the room where the
others still were’ interrogating the little
man. He stood for a moment outside the
door to catch the trend of questions. At
an appropriate moment he burst in with
a suddenness that startled even the offi-
cers, :
“Listen to me, you dirty little bible-!
backed hypocrite,” foaned: Filkas, ad-
vancing menacingly toward the prisoner!
“Tell us about the time you and Ells}
planned to rob the theatre and steal the
cashier's fur coat, and tell us about the
trip you took with Ells and Moulton to
the river to try out that shotgun. And’
when you've done explaining that, tell
us why you murdered Emory Ells’ wife.”
The little man instantly shed his mask
of innocence, Into his eyes crept a look
And he also said he ~
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Wuen ANSWERING ADVERTISEMENTS, PLEASE MENTION June Darine Detective 73
.
BROWN, Benjamin F., white,
Are RRR Re ee
7/21/1931
Who Would Want
44 ERLE... Merle...”
Mrs. Florence Cannon,
lying in bed beside her
sleeping husband, heard a voice.
“Merle...”
The name of her sister came clearly
through the still night air to Mrs.
Cannon. It seemed to come from out-
side in a hoarse whisper. As Mrs.
Cannon wondered who could be call-
ing Merle at two o’clock in the morn-
ing, a tomblike silence settled over the
house once more. She must be dream-
ing, she thought.
Merle Ells, who shared a bed on the
sleeping-porch in the front of the
house with her own eighteen-months-
old son, Billy, was not in the habit of
having nocturnal visitors who came
iround calling her name in the dead
of night. I must have been dreaming,
‘hought Mrs. Cannon.
“Merle...”
This time Mrs. Cannon knew she
vasn’t dreaming. She sat bolt up-
‘ight in bed. Herman Cannoh stirred
n his sleep but did not awaken. His
vife groped in the dark for her slip-
hanged sal que
PAE (NG tee ah RE ey at ar a aa AN atest
as She Lay Abed
By Inspector D. A. Davidson
Los Angeles Police Department, as Told to
Mark Gibbons
pers, threw a dressing robe around
her shoulders and started for the I
sleeping-porch. little boy.
Suddenly a blast rocked the house, “Billy, what are you doing out of
Herman Cannon tumbled from the bed?” exclaimed Mrs. Cannon, and
bed as the explosion came. then as her husband snapped a wall
“What the devil was that?” he cried. switch, she screamed:
He switched on the bedlight and “Herman—look!
blinked at his wife. with blood!”
“I heard somebody calling Merle,” The whimpering baby’s face and
she began in a terrified whisper, and nightgown were smeared with great
then both of them jumped as the splotches. Mrs. Cannon dropped on
front door slammed. For a brief mo- her knees beside her nephew as Can-
ment they gazed, fearfully at each non strode down the hall to the sleep-
other, and then the next sound they ing-porch. She was trying to find the
heard was a childish ery and the pat- wound on Billy when her husband re-
turned to her side, white-faced.
“I think Billy’s all right, dear,” he
said huskily. “It’s Merle’s blood on
him. Merle is—she’s dead.”
The brutal and wanton murder of
lovely Merle Ells was a bold chal-
lenge to the Los Angeles police force
in general and to the Homicide Detail
in particular, And I, as Chief of that
F division, bitterly: realized the fact. As
. soon as word of the slaying reached
me, I put every resource at my com-
mand into. the case. summoned
every available man under me.
- “I want this case cleaned up in a
hurry, boys,” I told my men, “By
this tomorrow every newspaper
in town will be demanding vengeance
on Merle Ells’ killer. And it’s up to
us to find that killer. Here’s the case
in a nutshell:
“Officers Young and Sorenson, who
responded to the alarm sent in by
Herman Cannon, said they found the
ter of little feet. Together they rushed
into the hall and almost fell over a
Billy Ells was loved by
his parents above any-
one else in the world
He’s all covered \
we,
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of fear, of horror, and then an expression
of puzzled rage.
“Officer,” Brown said, “will you tell me
that again?”
“Tell you what?” asked Filkas.
“Did you say that it was Emory Ells’
wife who was killed?” the little man
asked.
Filkas nodded. It was the detective’s
turn to be puzzled.
Killed Wrong Woman
FROWN sprang to his feet. Cords
stood out on the scrawny neck and
a mottled purple started to creep over the
wide forehead of his gnome-like skull.
The eyes snapped like points of fire. *
“The dirty rat!” he breathed at last.
“The rotten, filthy dog. His wife you
say? Then it was Ells’ wife and not
the doctor’s.”
The little man swung around so that
he could face all of his inquisitors. A
tenseness filled the room.
“Gentlemen,” he said quietly now. “I’ll
tell you the whole story. Everything.
And when I’m finished I won’t be alone
in this thing. Not by a long shot. Give
me a pen and some paper and you'll get
your confession.”
It was one of the most amazing docu-
ments ever penned. Judas Iscariot be-
trayed for 30 pieces of silver. But when
Merle Ells was slain it was for less than
that. Twenty-two pieces of silver was
the amount paid for her brutal assassina-
tion. Twenty-two silver ten cent pieces.
Murder at bargain prices! This was the
little man’s confession:
“My name is Benjamin Franklin
Brown. I'am not a Chicago gunman, I
only fired a gun once in my life.
“When I came to Los Angeles from
Oregon in search of work, I was broke.
I hung around the: place where Emory
Ells works as a night waiter. I let him
think I was a big shot killer from Chi-
cago to impress him in order that I could
get coffee and doughnuts on the cuff.
“Some time ago, believing I was a Chi-
cago killer, Ells asked me if _I’d like to
make a lot of easy money. He told me
he knew a doctor who wanted to have
@e AWE BUY OLD IRON » @
his wife killed because she was afflicted
with a horrible, incurable disease. Ells
said the doctor was afraid his wife would
give the disease to their little boy.
“I must have been out of my mind to
take the job. But somehow it didn't
seem like ordinary murder to me. I sort
of figured that I would be doing a merci-
ful thing to kill the doctor’s wife. So I
agreed. -
“Ells got the shotgun for me. Also a
pair of gloves so that I wouldn't leave
any fingerprints. He said: ‘And if you're
as good a gunman as you claim to be,
there’s $20,000 in this for you. The doc-
tor will be glad to pay that much if you
do a good job.’
“Last Saturday night I stole an auto in
Huntington Park. I drove to Ells’ place
in South Gate and picked up the gun and
the gloves. I also drove Ells to work.
He told me the address. He said to wait
until 1 or 2 o’clock. The doctor's wife,
he said, would be sleeping on the tront
porch with their little boy. He warned
ae to be careful and not hurt the little
oy.
“T had quite a bit of time to waste, so
I drove down to Santa Monica to the
pier. I went into a coffee shop I some-
times visit and had some coffee and
doughnuts. Then I drove around for a
couple of hours.
“l kept driving around until I knew it
was well past 2 o’clock in the morning.
Then I drove over to 99th street. The
lights were all out in the house I thought
was the doctor’s. I parked the car quite
a distance away and crept up to the
house.
‘The front door was unlocked, the way
Ells said it would be. It was pretty dark
on the sleeping porch, but after my eyes
got accustomed to the dark I could see
two forms on the bed. One was that of
a grown person. The other was a child’s.
“T remembered Ells told me the doc-
tor’s wife’s name was Merle. So I
whispered .it. I was afraid I'd hit the
boy if I shot her as she was lying then.
I said: ‘Merle... Merle...’ but she
only turned over in her sleep. It was still
too dangerous to fire. She was too close
ME:
\
ae eS
to the little |
a little loud:
bed.
“Suddenly
chance. I p
against her
scream, I pul
ful to fire di
hit the little
“T left the ;
I drove to
on duty. It
of it. He s:
asked for m:
“Ells said
behind a sig
in a day or
it up in an
broke and
away. I'd sp
shop on the
went to the
of dimes. H
me a handiu
that much as
them later t!
Two dollars
all I ever go
“The thing
I killed an it
no harm. A
even know.”
All but the
ing confess)
weighing al
“2. That
Schill, by 1]
business, wa
with him an
dred dollar:
“3. That
called Schill
of the murd
name ‘Hans
mates.”
But Capt
were worki!
persons qué
and recheck
At the s
known as
horse aucti:
the Milwaul
tioning, and
a satisfactor
the night of
light on the
Un
ANY
disco\
by Prohask:
Mrs. Schill
her husbanc
him, and th
out but was
pany of ot]
An impor
tireless wor
haska. R¢
baffling crin
friends and
ful investig
the murder:
From a f1
that Schill |
a neighbor]
that in con
might have
lead the o
killed him.
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UNCENSORED DETECTIVE
SHE NEVER KNEW
WHAT HIT HER
Continued from page 29
ference with Davidson, the officers re-
ported their day’s work, which in-
cluded a report from the fingerprint
bureau that no prints were found on
the gun, and the only prints found in
the room belonged to the victim and
the Cannons. “Which just about
leaves us where we started,” Baggott
explained. ‘Palmer, Alfred Ells, or
one of the Cannons had opportunity
to commit the crime. Emery defi-
nitely couldn’t have committed it since
he was miles away and never left the
cafe all night.”
“From what we've learned -of the
Cannons,” Davidson decided, “I. think
we can definitely eliminate them. As
for Alfred Ells, I don’t like his atti-
tude. Still I have a hunch that he’s
telling us the truth. That leaves only
Palmer and Emery. Emery couldn’t
have committed the crime, and Palm-
er couldn’t have had any motive—as
far as we can see.”
“Well, I can’t picture Palmer as the
. trigger man,” Filkas said definitely.
“Why not?”
“He’s too much of a weak-sister
type. I don’t believe he’d have the
courage to commit a murder.”
Davidson smiled. “Don’t let looks
deceive you. When you’ve seen as
many of these cases as I have, you'll
always be ready for the impossible to
become the possible. Maybe the very
fact he is a weak-sister type is the
reason he committed the crime. He
| was egged into doing it.”
“By Emery, who may have had a
motive,” Baggott added. .
“Looks that way to me,” Davidson
said.
‘T'll admit,” Filkas said, “that
Palmer seems to be holding back
something.”
“Then we'll keep someone talking
to him until he cracks,” Davidson
promised.
With the theory that Palmer would
crack and tell more than he had al-
ready told, several officers took turns
uestioning him. But it wasn’t until
that night that he varied from his
original story. It was when Lieuten-
ant Frank Condaffer took over the
questioning. Condaffer, who had ‘a
flair for getting suspects to tell all
they knew, got Palmer to admit that
he did have an idea who might have
had something to do with the crime.
“But I don’t want to tell it to any-
one except Mr. Filkas,” he said. “He’s
been nice to’me.”
“That’s Pre enough for us,” Con-
daffer told him. “I'll get Filkas to
come down to see you right away.
You're doing the right thing—telling
all you know.”
Filkas, pleased with Palmer’s com-
pliment to him, got out of bed to hurry
to the Central Jail. “Okay, Palmer,”
he handed him a cigarette, “I’m ready
to listen.”
UT Palmer’s readiness to’ talk had
cooled between the time Condaffer
had talked to him and the time Filkas
arrived at the jail. “Well, really, Mr.
Filkas, I don’t know nothing.”
“Don’t give me that sort of line
again,” Filkas snapped. “I. got out
of bed to come down here. Are you
trying to make me the laughing stock
of the force?”
Palmer drew hard on his cigarette.
“I guess that ain’t right,” he said
slowly. “I’ll tell you what I was
oer But it may be nothing at
a Pied
“Let me decide that.”
“Well, I just was thinking that Em-
ery ain’t such a good guy. I don’t
know what all he’s mixed up in, but
I know there’s a guy called Brown
who comes to see him. And I'll bet
a good deal that this Brown ain’t much
good either.”
Filkas studied Palmer with frank
skepticism. “What is it you’re trying
HELD IN REEFER RAID
Los Angeles, Calif.—Marie Dubrowa, left, and Jean Johnson, shown
with her, were seized with three male companions in one of a series
of marijuana raids. Captain Francis Kearney, chief of Los Angeles
narcotic squad, reported marijuana cigarettes found in their home.
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UNCENSORED DETECTIVE
to tell me? What’s this Brown got to
do with the whole thing?”
“Maybe he ain't got mothing to do
with it, Mr. Filkas. All I know is
that Brown and Emery went down by
the river a couple of weeks ago. They
went down to practice shooting a
shot un,”
otgun!” Filkas exclaimed. “You
think they were practicing for this
murder?’
“I don’t know, Mr. Filkas. I don’t
know anything more than that. I
know that I heard this Brown say he
was good with any kind of guns.”
However Palmer could give no in-
formation as to Brown’s full name,
where he might live, or anything else
about -him. When Davidson heard
Filkas’ report, the next morning, he
was frankly doubtful. “It: doesn’t
make good sense. Looks to me as
though Palmer may be trying to di-
rect suspicion somewhere else, to keep
it away from him. How are we going
to find a ‘Brown’?”
“You may be. right, Inspector,” Fil-
kas said. “Palmer says he’ll know the
man if he ever. sees him again.”
“What does he want us to do, let
-him out to look for a mysterious
‘Brown’?”
“He didn’t say that,” Filkas replied.
“But, you know, I’ve ‘got a hunch that
that’s the thing to do.”
“Let Palmer loose?” Davidson
snorted. “You don’t mean it, Filkas?”
“Not exactly, loose. But I’d like
to take him with me and make the
rounds of possible spots, in the-hopes
that Palmer can spot this Brown.”
“You really think that Palmer is
telling you something? How do you
know. he’s not trying to get away from
ou?”
“That’s the chance I’ll have to take.
But we can’t know whether Palmer is
giving us the run-around until we
try him further. If he’s willing to
oint out the ; and if there is a
rown who held d target practice with
Emery Ells, then we've got to play it
along that way.”
“I suppose we do have to play it
out,” Davidson conceded. “You've
my permission to try it.”
Further questioning of Palmer
brought forth the fact that he had re-
membered hearing Brown and Ells
talking about the Brown Jug Cafe, a
cafe in eastern Los Angeles. ere. i
Palmer, we'll take a run out there. If
you’re stalling me I'll soon find out
about—and, my friend, I won't appre-
ciate being made a sap!”
Palmer vowed that he was telling
Filkas the truth. “But if we see him
anywhere,” Palmer begged, “don’t
you let him see me. I don’t want him
or Emery to know I’ve told you any-
thing.”
During the afternoon Filkas accom-
panied Palmer on a tour of cafes in
the ‘section of the city where the
Brown Jug Cafe was located. But
nowhere did Palmer see, anyone who
looked like the man he had seen with
Emery. Filkas was beginning to be-
lieve that Palmer’s whole story was a
hoax. “Look,” Palmer said; “maybe
this fellow lives around here. I know
I’ve heard him and Emery talk about
meeting at the Brown Jug, just like
it was near where Brown lived. Why
don’t you try some of the rooming
houses?”
Deciding to give Palmer one more
chance to or he was not kidding
the police, Filkas started out with him
to canvass rooming houses and small
hotels in the section. All that he
could do was to inquire of each place
whether or not they had a Brown reg-
istered. It seemed a rather hopeless
procedure.
At the third hotel, which was on the
second floor of a building, they were
climbing the stairs, when Palmer sud-
denly stopped, stared for a moment at
a man climbing the second flight of
stairs to the third floor. Palmer looked
at Filkas and then turned and hurried
back down the stairs. He nodded his
head and pointed toward the figure on
the other flight of stairs.
For a moment Filkas could not de-
cide what to do. He wasn’t sure
whether Palmer was trying to duck
QUIZZED IN SENATOR’S DEATH
Jackson, Mich.—The unsolved murder of Michigan State Senator
Warren Cooper got back in the front-page headlines with the tak-
ing into custody of four men anda woman in Detroit. Shown as he
appeared for questioning by the police officials is Mike Selik.
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him or not. If the man dicen aring
up the other stairs was really the man
he wanted, he couldn’t afford to let
him out of his sight until he had a
good look at him. If he followed the
man, then Palmer had a free chance
to escape. He made the decision
quickly. He decided to trust Palmer,
and ran up the steps to see the man
enter room 302. Then, satisfied that
the man could not get away for the
moment, he hurried back to where he
| had left’ Palmer.
Palmer was , Waiting for him.
“That’s the guy,” Palmer exclaimed.
Acting Fe Filkas phoned head-
quarters for help while he watched
the entrance to the hotel. Three uni-
formed officers 1esponded within a
few minutes. He left Palmer with
one of them and took the other two u
the stairs to the hotel. At the des
he asked for a guest named Brown.
The clerk said that there was a B. F.
Brown in Room 302.
Three minutes later Filkas pounded
on the door, while the uniformed men
covered -him. “Who is it?” a voice
answered.
“Just want to talk to jyou,” Filkas
said. “A friend sent me.’
Much to Filkas’ surprise the door
suddenly opened and a slight, sandy-
haired young man in a_ bathrobe
looked at him. The questioning look
on his face suddenly changed to sur-
prise when he saw the officer.
He gave his name as‘Benjamin F.
Brown and said that he knew an
Emery Ells slightly. However he ex-
pressed surprise when asked about
the murder of Ells’ wife. He agreed
to go immediately to the station for
questioning.
At the Homicide Bureau, Filkas
enjoyed a laugh at the Inspector’s
expense. “Palmer wasn’t kidding us.
or two. hours Brown answered
questions calmly. He admitted know-
ing Emery and of having been at his
house on one or two occasions. But
denied he knew anything about
Merle Ells, or of her murder.’ He
admitted that he had gone to the
river and practiced shooting a shot-
gun with Emery. His _ statements
were apparently straight-forward.
The officers were about to termi-
nate the questioning when, without
any change in his quiet, open man-
ner, Brown turned to Filkas, and said,
“Yes, I did it. Give me a pencil.”
No officer in the room could believe
what they were hearing. They
couldn’t believe that Brown reall
intended to confess the crime. tt
wasn't until Brown took the pencil
and sketched a plan of the pea |
porch and, as calmly-as he had denie
the murder, related how he had stood
by the door, aimed the gun.
out to her. I said, ‘Merle, wake up.’
I wanted her to raise up so I would
not hit the kid. She. raised up, and I
let her have one barrel. It was a
perfect shot.”
The officers didn’t try to stop him.
They let him tell the incredible story
his own way. “Emery was to give
me two thousand bucks for the job.
But he ran out on me. I only got
two dollars twenty.”
When Brown had completed his re-
cital, Emery Ells was brought into
the room to face him. Ells looked at
Brown and said, “Who’s he?”
When the officer began reading back
Brown's statement Emery’s face
paled. Suddenly he leaped up and
started toward Brown. Baggott. re-
strained him. Later Emery said,
“Okay, that’s the way it was.
On January 8, 1931, Emery Ells, in
a separate trial, was found guilty of
first degree murder and sentenced to
life imprisonment. Eight days later,
Benjamin F, Brown was found guilty
of first degree murder and sentenced
to death,
All other persons who had_ been
‘questioned during the thorough po-
lice investigation including Alfred
Ells, Ray Palmer and Mr. and Mrs.
Herman Cannon were completely
exonerated and the Los Angeles au-
thorities expressed their gratitude to
them for aiding in the solution of
this case,
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Continued from page 33
a tough spot. This woman implicates
you in a murder.”
“T_ wasn’t with them,” he. anxiously
rotested. “That old woman hasn't
een in my car for two years.’
Luella was brought in. She smiled
at Jamison and he glowered. Burns
asked if she knew him.
“I sure do. He drove my mother
and me to the farm the night daddy
got beat up. Didn’t you, Jack?”
He didn’t answer; he couldn’t. He
seemed paralyzed, with frightened
eyes fastened to the girl’s eyes. Burns
locked him up for investigation:
Beck and Critchell scoured day and
night through the slums of Battle
Creek and throughout two Michigan
counties, seeking trace of the myste-
rious Fred Alberts. Detective Bion
Hoeg relentlessly checked the A
ploye’s badge number 2012, hopin:
run down Fred Alberts as one 0
possessors.
Burns and Ashdown combed the
backwoods of Branch County and
questioned scores of hillbillies, but
none knew Fred Alberts. Burns,
Critchell and Ed Rose, Indiana State
Police detective checked house to
house in Indiana towns where Mrs.
Shellenberger once lived, without
getting a lead on Alberts.
aad Sunday night, August 8, Prose-
cutor Ashdown and Sheriff Burns
discussed the case in the jail office.
“This case megpe getting screwier,”
said Ashdown he women are pro-
bir a friend or relative and he is
possibly Fred Alberts. Let’s see what
we can get out of them.”
Burns brow ht Mrs. Shellenberger
to the office. e sat down and primly
folded her end: She was asked if
Alberts were living or dead.
“He is a living man, all right,” she
replied. “He was a friend of Jim.”
“Why should Jim’s friend beat him
to death?”
“T don’t know.”
“From what we have learned, you
were away from Jim more than with
him. Always off to Detroit or to Battle
Creek. Is that true?”
“Yes, on account of heavy ong
and vere. He insulted us an
said Luella ran around with every-
thing just like her mother. I’m not
that kind of a lady.”
“Well, who did she run with?”
“Just Bob Manwarren. He was her
boy friend and they wanted to get
married.”
Ashdown said,
Where does he live?”
“Well,” en “he was work-
ing in Marshall. Whether he is work-
ing in Battle Creek now, I don’t know.
Jim told me he might work at Shef-
fields.”
A day or so later, Luella told officers
she was mistaken in identifying Jami-
son as having a hand in the fatal
beating.
“It was Harry Cooper,” she said.
“He lives in. Battle Creek.”
A few days later when police had
roved the truth of Jamison’s claims,
e was released. He had no connec-
tion whatever with the crime.
Cooper was picked up for investiga-
tion. He told a straightforward story
of befriending the women recently in
Battle Creek. He bought them grocer-
ies and in return, Mrs. Shellenber, wed
washed his laundry. He was held
checking.
Detective Victor Beck and Prosecu-
tor Ashdown went over the high-
lights of a mass of statements given by
the women and the various men who
had been questioned concerning the
crime
“We've left the main track some-
where,” said Beck, “overlooking some
clue that’s just crying to be recog-
nized. I believe Robert Manwarren
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PACIFIC REPORTER
VOL. 141, SECOND SERIES
PEOPLE v. BROWN.
Cr. 4486.
Supreme Court of California.
Sept. 15, 1943.
1. Homicide €=289
In murder prosecution, where the evi-
dence would support conclusion that homi-
cide within meaning of statute had been
perpetrated in an attempt to commit rape,
the giving of an instruction defining rape
was not error, even though there was no
evidence that rape had been committed.
Pen.Code, § 189.
2, Criminal law ©~703
In murder prosecution, where the evi-
dence would support conclusion that the
homicide had been perpetrated in an at-
tempt to commit rape, district attorney’s
reference to a “sex motive” in his opening
statement was not error, even though there
was no evidence that rape had been com-
mitted. Pen.Code, § 189.
3. Criminal law ©=823(!)
In murder prosecution, giving of an
instruction defining rape was not error,
where, in another instruction, jury was
properly admonished to disregard the rape
instruction if it concluded that the homicide
was not perpetrated in an attempt to com-
mit rape. Pen.Code, § 189.
4, Criminal law €782(1), 785(1)
An instruction as to the rule in deter-
mining weight and credibility of the tes-
timony of, witnesses should be stated in
general terms, and the jury should be left
without suggestion of its application to any
particular witness.
5. Criminal law €=823(12)
Instruction to consider defendant’s
position and interest in the case in deter-
mining the weight and credibility of his
testimony was not reversible error, where
141 P.2d—1
the court gave a general instruction applic-
able to any witness and directed jury to
consider defendant’s testimony as_ they
would consider that of any other witness.
6. Criminal law C-1186(4)
An instruction to consider defendant’s
interest and position in the case in deter-
mining weight and credibility of his tes-
timony was not reversible error, where the
court gave a similar instruction. applicable
to all other witnesses. Const. art. 6, § 4%.
——_—_—__——-
In Bank.
Appeal from Superior Court, Placer
County; A. L. Pierovich, Judge Assigned.
Glennard Brown was convicted of mur-
der and an appeal was automatically taken
under Penal Code, § 1239.
Affirmed.
Charles A. Tuttle, of Auburn, for ap-
pellant.
Robert W. Kenny, Atty. Gen., and T. G.
Negrich, Deputy Atty. Gen., for respond-
ent.
PER CURIAM.
Defendant was accused by information of
murdering Ada B. Turner in Placer County
on September 27, 1942. We entered pleas
of not guilty and not guilty by reason of in-
sanity. A jury found against him on both
pleas. The verdict on the general issue de-
termined the homicide to be of the first de-
gree and carried no recommendation. This
is'an automatic appeal from the judgment
imposing the death sentence.
‘The evidence as summarized in defend-
ant’s opening brief adequately revcals the
circumstances surrounding the homicide.
On September 27, 1942, Mrs. Ada Turn-
er, a widow seventy-eight years of age, was
living alone at her home in Colfax, Placer
County, California. She was seen that day
in her yard by neighbors. She was seen in
the rear yard of her home with defendant
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on the same day, and defendant was carry-
ing a gun.
The body of Mrs. Turner was discovered
in the basement of her home the following
morning, and shortly thereafter, county and
state peace officers were at the scene. The
basement where the killing occurred
showed blood on the floor, walls and furn-
iture. There were large smears of blood on
the floor indicating that the body of Mrs.
Turner had been dragged about. Mrs.
Turner’s body was practically nude.
Dr. Smith made a post-mortem examina-
tion of the body and examined all wounds
as well as the vaginal tract. Eight knife
wounds were found; also one wound on the
face made by a blunt instrument. The blow
producing this last wound was of sufficient
force to fracture the jaw bone. The cause
of death was hemorrhage due to multiple
lacerations. There was no evidence of
trauma in the vaginal tract; the vagina
_was dry and there was no evidence of rape.
On October 1, 1942, defendant made a
statement to the district attorney and peace
ofacers. In this statement defendant ad-
mitted the killing and asserted repeatedly
that he did not know why he had done it.
The rifle and knife used by defendant in
the killing were found by officers at places
designated by defendant.
Defendant testified that he drank large
quantities of intoxicating liquors the day
of the killing; that he was “rymdum” as
a result of such drinking; and that he was
eighteen years of age at the time of the
killing.
There are other circumstances tending
to connect defendant with the commission
of the homicide but we need not specify
them in view of his admission that he com-
mitted the crime. Defendant does not chal-
lenge the sufficiency of the evidence to sup-
port the judgment but contends that two
instructions given to the jury were prej-
udicially erroneous. He first urges that the
trial court erred in giving the following in-
struction: “Rape is an act of sexual inter-
course accomplished with a female, not the
wife of the perpetrator, where she resists,
hut her resistance is overcome by force or
violence, or where she 1s prevented from
resisting by threats of great and immediate
bodily harm accompanied by apparent pow-
er of execution. You are further instruct-
ed that rape and attempt to commit rape
are felonies.”
141 PACIFIC REPORTER, 24 SERIES
[1,2] In light of the testimony of the
autopsy sturgeon, referred to above, that
his examination of the aged victim dis-
closed the vaginal tract.to be free of trau-
ma or other evidence of rape, défendant
contends that the giving of the forcgoing
instruction constituted prejudicial error
particularly when coupled with the district
attorney’s opening statement to the jury
that in killing the deceased defendant was
“actuated by a sex motive.” Defendant
inquires, “Why should the court give a
‘rape’ instruction, unless rape is involved
in this murder case * * *?” He con-
cludes that “with the giving of that imstruc-
tion the defendant was thereby deprived of
any chance of the jury fixing his sentence
at imprisonment for life.” .
Section 189 of the Penal Code declares
that: “All murder which is perpetrated
by means of poison, or lying in wait, tor-
ture, or by any other kind of willful, de-
liberate, and premeditated killing, or which
is committed in the perpetration or attempt
to perpetrate arson, rape, robbery, burglary,
or mayhem, is murder of the first degree;
* * *” There is evidence in the record
from which the jury reasonably might have
inferred for one or more of the reasons
designated in the statute that the homicide
was of the first degree. We shall, however,
confine our discussion to the evidence tend-
ing to support the propricty of the instruc-
tion here challenged. The battered and
lacerated condition of the seventy-eight
year old victim, coupled with the evidence
of the practically nude state of her body,
would support a conclusion that the homi-
cide, within the meaning of the statute, had
been perpetrated in an attempt to commit
rape, which attempt was frustrated either
by the struggle of the victim or other ex-
traneous and deterring circumstance. The
absence from the vaginal tract of trauma or
other evidence of rape, stressed by de-
fendant, indicates only that a rape was not
actually perpetrated. It does not establish
that rape was not intended or attempted.
Under the entire evidence, the jury rea-
sonably could have concluded that such an
attempt had been made. It was not im-
proper, and certainly not prejudicial, there-
fore, for the district attorncy to refer im
his opening statement to a “sex motive” or
for the court to give the above challenged
instruction.
[3] Morcover, the court further
charged the jury that: “Tf any instruction
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PEOPLE v. BROWN Cal.
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141 P.2dl
given you is applicable only in the event a
particular situation or state of facts exists,
and you should find that no such situation
or state of facts exists, then you should
disregard such instruction in your delibera-
tions, nor will you consider the giving of
any instruction as an indication from the
court that an offense may or may not have
been committed.” By this instruction the
jury was properly admonished to disregard
the rape instruction if in its deliberation
upon the evidence it concluded that the
homicide was not perpetrated in an attempt
to commit rape.
[4,5] Defendant’s second and final con-
tention is directed at the following instruc-
tion: “The defendant has been examined
as a witness on his own behalf. This it is
his right to be, and the jury will consider
his testimony as they will consider that of
any other witness examined before you.
It is proper, however, for the jury to bear
in mind the situation of the defendant, the
manner in which he may be affected by
your verdict, and the very great interest
he must feel in it, and it is proper for
the jury to consider whether his position
and interest may not affect his credibility
and color his testimony, but you are to
weigh it fairly and give it such credit as
you think it ought to reccive.”
Defendant cites People v. Maughs, 149
Cal. 253, 262, 263, 86 P. 187, 191, to support
his claim that prejudicial crror resulted
from the giving of this instruction. The in-
struction involved in the Maughs case dif-
fered materially from the one here given.
The instruction in the cited case directed
the jury’s attention to the defendant’s inter-
est in the outcome of the trial by stressing
“the consequences, inducements and temp-
tations which would ordinarily influence a
person in his situation.” Nowhere did the
Maughs instruction inform the jury, as
did the instruction here given, to “consider
his [defendant’s] testimony as they will
consider that of any other witness ex-
amined before you” and “to weigh it fairly
and give it such credit as you think it
ought to reccive.” In the later case of
People’ v. Ryan, 152 Cal. 364, 369, 92 P.
853, 855, it is declared that an instruction
containing language equivalent to that just
above quoted from the instruction in this
case “is not so objectionable” as the in-
struction condemned in the Maughs case,
adding that “It states to the jury a rule re-
garding the consideration of the defend-
ant’s testimony, which every intelligent man
upon the panel would doubtless keep in
mind, without being reminded of it by the
court, and, aside from the fact that it di-
rects attention particularly to a single wit-
ness who is a party to the action, it would
be covered by the rule laid down in People
v. Wardrip, 141 Cal. [229] 231, 74 P. 744,”
and other cited cases to the effect that an
instruction on a commonplace matter within
the general knowledge of the jurors is not
reversible error.
In People v. Bartol, 24 Cal.App. 659, 665,
142 P. 510, 513, an instruction was given
which, as here, informed the jury that it
was proper “to consider whether the posi-
tion and interest of such defendant may not
affect her credibility and color her tes-
timony.” (Italics ours.) In declining to
reverse the judgment because of such in-
struction, the court there declared that “As
sensible men, the jurors would take that cir-
cumstance into consideration in weighing
the testimony of defendant, and they needed
no such admonition from the court. And it
is perfectly apparent that they had a legal
and moral right to consider ‘the position and
interest of the defendant’ in determining her
credibility. That is one of the tests that
must be applied to all witnesses. And, of
course, without any intimation from the
court, the jury understood the ‘position’ of
defendant and knew her ‘interest’ in the
outcome of the case. The vice of the in-
struction is, though manifestly, in calling
particular attention to the testimony of the
defendant. The danger of such practice
lies in the possibility that the jury may in-
fer that the judge of the court intends to
discredit the testimony of the defendant.
The principle covered by the instruction
should be given in general terms, and the
jury should be left entirely without sugges-
tion of its application to any particular wit-
ness. * * * It is to be observed that the
instruction here is much less objectionable
than the one considered in the Maughs case.
There the court referred to the ‘induce-
ments, consequences, and temptations’ of
the defendant. Here it is more nearly a
mere commonplace, the ‘position and in-
terest’ of the defendant.” This court de-
nied a hearing in the Bartol case. See,
also, People v. Will, 79 Cal.App. 101, 116,
248 P. 1078.
74
mean some fellow came and murdered
Mrs. Turner just to get this ticket?”
“Sounds crazy, doesn’t it? Yes, it’s
pretty far-fetched. But anyway, we’re
going to trace that ticket if we possibly
can.”
Sparks and Kessel left for Auburn,
while Silva and Viscia began their
quest in Colfax. Being a town of less
than 1000 population, Colfax had no
pawnshop, but the two officers spent the
rest of the day checking shoe shops,
second-hand stores and other dealers.
No one recognized the yellow ticket.
Next morning, Silva started out on
the same sort of round in Auburn.
After an hour of fruitless work, he
entered a pawnshop just off the main
street. The proprietor was in the rear,
but the sheriff noticed with rising ex-
citement that there -was a cardboard
box on the counter half filled with
yellow tags just like the one he had
found. Also on the counter was a date
stamp and an ink pad.
The pawnbroker. emerged from the
rear room. “Hello, sheriff,” he grinned.
‘“Can I interest you in some used
merchandise?”
“Not today,” Silva said. He shoved
the yellow ticket at the man. “This is
yours, isn’t it? Maybe you can tell me
something about it—who you issued it
to, what’s pledged on it,
“It’s mine, all right. Let’s see.” The
man thumbed through a soiled ledger,
then nodded. “Goat clippers, with an
electric motor and flexible shaft drive.
I loaned ten dollars on them to a young
fellow named Brown,” |
“Goat clippers,” the sheriff mut-
"tered. That puzzled him. Mrs. Turner
had never owned any goats. “Brown,
you say? What’s the first name?”
“Glenard Brown. He works for Ed
Bixler down by the river. Brown came
in here Saturday to get them, but he
didn’t have the ticket, I told him I
couldn’t redeem any merchandise with-
out a’ ticket because somebody might
come in later to claim it again, and then
where’d I be?”
“What did he say he did with the
ticket?” =,
“Said he lost it. Looked all around for
it and. couldn’t find it. Say—there’s
nothing wrong is there?”
“Not particularly. Let’s see those
clippers.” .
The proprietor brought them out. It
was a heavy, well-made machine, obvi-
ously worth much more than ten dol- °
lars. Glenard Brown, whoever he was,
must have needed money quite badly.
“If Brown comes in,” the sheriff said,
“telephone my office. I’m going out to
the ranch now, and I’d hate to miss
him,” 18
Silva got into his car and drove out
to the huge Bixler ranch, about five
miles out of town. He pulled up at the
‘cook shack, seeing smoke issuing from
the chimney, and walked inside. An
elderly man, with a towel suspended
from his belt in lieu of an apron, was
vigorously rolling bread dough.
“Glenard Brown work here?” the
sheriff asked.
“Shore does,” the cook grunted.
“That is, when he can’t get out of it.”
“Where is he now?”
“Over by the bunkhouse, washing
some clothes.”
“Washing clothes? That’s a funny
thing for a ranch hand to be doing in
the middle of the day, isn’t it?”
The cook slammed the dough down.
“Guess mebbe it is,’ he admitted.
“What he really ought to be doin’ is
clipping them goats, but he says the
clippers is lost.”
Silva walked outside and strode
around the bunkhouse. At the far end,
a young six-footer was just lighting
a fire under a washtub suspended on a
rack. He looked to be 24 or 25, and he
seemed to start almost imperceptibly
when he saw the sheriff’s badge:
“Your name Glenard Brown?” Silva
asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” the youth said.
“Why?”
The sheriff handed out the yellow
ticket. “I found something you lost,” he
said casually,
Brown was about to reach for it,
then he withdrew his hand as though it
had been burned. “No, there’s some
mistake, That ain’t mine. I never saw it
before.”
Silva knew better. He peered into the
tub. “What are you washing?”
“Just some old clothes,” Brown said
uneasily,
“Get ’em out of there,” the sheriff
snapped. “Quick!”
™ BROWN REACHED in and pulled
out a pair of levi trousers, a work shirt,
some sox and underwear. He laid them,
dripping, on the rude bench beside the .
tub.
“Holy cow,” he growled, “is it even
against the law nowadays to wash a few
clothes?”
“Young fellow, I’m not out here to
bother you about washing clothes. It’s
the fact.that some of Belle Turner’s
blood happens to be on those clothes
that interests me. Now, you take the
duds and get into my car.”
There was a hard edge to Silva’s
voice, and Brown didn’t argue. He
climbed into the car, was handcuffed, ©
and the two drove to town. There Silva
sent Deputy Shannon out to the ranch
to make a search of Brown’s belong-
ings in the bunkhouse. The sheriff then
sat down and told Glenard Brown a
story.
‘I don’t know why you needed
money, kid,” he said, “but you sure
must have needed it bad. You pawned
your boss’s goat clippers for a measly
ten dollars. Then you borrowed some
more money from Belle Turner and
you gave her the pawn ticket as secur-
ity. Well, shearing time came and you
knew you had to get those clippers back
or lose your job. You had the ten dol-
lars to pay the pawnbroker, all right,
but you didn’t have the money to pay
back Belle Turner.
“She was a good judge of human
nature, and she knew better than’ to
give you that ticket before getting her
money. Money didn’t mean much to
ther, but she just hated to be played
for a sucker. So you killed her, Brown.”
* “You're crazy!” the youth shrilled
excitedly.
“You killed her for that yellow ticket.
And then, when you were sneaking
away through the orchard, you lost the
ticket.”
“It ain’t so,” Brown insisted. “I never
even heard of a woman named Belle
Turner.” :
Several things happened during the
next few hours that made Brown
change his mind. Shannon came back
from the ranch with a keen, long-
bladed knife used for killing goats,
which had traces of blood on it. Crim-
inologist Kessel tested the blood and
found it to be human. He also found
spots of human blood in the levis
Brown was about to wash. Finally, the
fingerprints on the steel strong box
were those of Glenard Brown.
That did it. “I had a girl here in
town,” Brown whimpered. “I wanted to
get her a ring—a gold ring with an
imitation ruby in it. It cost $25, and
that’s why I needed a little money so
bad.”
He told how Belle Turner had re-
fused him the pawn ticket, how he had
first slugged her with the butt of a
rifle, then cut her throat with the knife.
Even Glenard Brown seemed to realize
he had committed the most senseless
murder on record. He had lost the
ticket for which he had slain Mrs. Tur-
ner. Even the ring with an imitation
ruby wasn’t going to do anybody any
good any more, unless it was Brown’s
girl friend. .
It certainly didn’t do Brown any good.
On November 24, 1942, the young ranch
hand was convicted of first degree mur-
der in the Placer County superior court,
and Judge A. L. Pierovich pronounced
the death sentence. Brown fought for
his life via an appeal, but lost. The
case was reviewed by the California
Supreme Court and the sentence con-
firmed. On February 15, 1944, the
foolish young killer paid for his crime
in the gas chamber at San Quentin
Prison.
N \
Eprtor’s Nore: To prevent embar-
rassment to an innocent person, the
name Joe Pierce, as used in this narra-
. tive, is fictitious.
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<
= Species ‘te The Chrenicte
.. * GRIDLEY, Oct. 20—Four officers |
= ~6™WERS , O
here today by A man: who head bene:
“arrested in the fest room of the
City park adjothing the Southern
-ONific Aevct.
Tt ee ey -
~Yieved to be an exconvict, was
hustled ‘to os Jail at Oro-
ville to thwart_a ling mob that
stormed the .Gridley Vall, threaten-
Minor—and Soares had arrested
the man ahd Were driving to"
the Gridley jail when the captive.
suddenly whipped out a short-blad- |
ed knife, stabbed Minor, who was |
_jn_the, front seat with him, then
reached back and slashed Soares.
QVRIED.TO FLEE 7 |
“He attempted to‘fleé, but a crowd
eathered and held him until the)
errival of Elliott, who took him to.
_7 the Jail. Here a mob formed, yell-
age “Lynch him!" Eliott. aad
ing to invoke lynch law and later
pulled. the captive. from offi-
cers’ car, orly'to be again d rike
of their prey. A companion of
captive escaped and is being sought:
werner. orm ONSTABLE . HURT .._... al
The wounded..are A. D. Minor, |
deputy constable and engineer of:
the Gridley fire department, ex- |
pected to die from a knife wound in
the lung; A. D. Soares, fireman, cut |
across stomach; Constabie--Tom-£1--
Nott, stabbed in the abdoman, and
_ Assemblyman Jack Frazier, who is
-@ Deputy Sheriff, om across one
hand:,
Conviet Appeals
Death Sentence
J. C. Boulton will be allowed to,
live a little longer. . ; |
He was to have died tomorrow
morning at San Quentin for the
murder of A. D. Miner in Butte |
county last October, but the filing |
of an appeal automatically served |
‘as a stay of execution pending court ||
Geriston,
' San Francisco Chronicle
| Thursday, March 21, 1935
Nage 274 anata:
-- slashed EDiott-2
b
struck the stru
Frazier . took tee Disceer out the
back way and started In an alito-.
mobile for the Butte County Jail
~ at ope
At "a down town corner they
stopped for gas. The-prisoner sud=
denly produced anotHer knife and
trol of the car,
several other mach 4
- Prazier-grabbéd Billott’s gun -end
prisoner, who.
was handcuff Tliott, on the
head. iss
San Francisco Chronicle
Sunday, October 21, 1934
page 1, column 1
Stabbed Consiable_|
bOn Verg e of Death
Special te be Chronicle
’ D> Mtner,
e and Fire Chief of
_Gridley, who was stabbed in the
day in arresting a)
“Imzn--who- had- dragged—a -boy -into
night was on the verge of death.
Peritonitis was spreading and four
physicians attending -him- gave up
~hope- of-his-recovery— —
he knife wielder, who was taken.
he Oroville jail when threats to
lynch—him_ were made, today gave
“his name as J. C.-Baulton.
—o—
San Franciseo Chronicle
Tuesday, October 23, 1934
page 7, colum 1
ee ae
VORUNME LAN
GRIDLEY OFFICER
SERIOUSLY HURT
BY KNIFE ATTACK
Condition of Miner Is
Critical, Specinlists
In Consultation
AY. Miner, depnty police officer |)
of the City of Gridley and also ad
deputy constable, is inion criticonl con. |
ditien at the Gridley -Unarrison hos. |)
pital bewause of a knife wound suf. |
fered Saturday afternoon when the
reltce officer was stabbed by a trans-
ient whom he had arrested for making
improper xdvances toward a small
buy.
Condition Grows Worse
Miner's condition became somewhat
more critical yesterday when it
seemed apparent that the knife blade
had pierced the diaphram and it was |
possible that the liver had been pune-
tured as well as the lung. Peritonitis
hadiaer te Dr BOR. Gray of Marys-
ville is in charge of the case. It waa:
understood vesterday afternoon that
beth Dr, Kusel of Oroville and Dr.
Von Geldern of Sacramento would be
called into consultation on the ease. |
|
Arrested at S. BP. Depot
Miner was called to the Southern)
Pacific depot by a telephone call put!
through by Joe Lopez, caretaker of
the city park. Miner, accompanied,
by A.D, Soares, arrested the man at.
the depot, Miner makings a quick
search for a yun, They then walked
their prisoner through the park to the
Gridley Hoiel where he was placed in
Miner's car to complete the trip to the
city jail.
Stabbing Takes Place In Car
The prisoner, who Inter gave his
name as Poleski and stl later as J.
C. Daulton, was seated in the rear
seat with Soares when he suddenly
leaned forward with a knife in’ his
hand and reaching over Miner's
shoulder (Miner was ato the wheel)
stubbed the police officer viciously in
the lower chest. Poleski (or Daulton)
then struck at Soares, stabbing him
olso in the chest but inflicting a minor
wound. }
Miner was placed on the sidewalk
amd Dr. WoOS. Lavy summoned fron
across the street. Piret aid treatment
given and the injured officer removed
to the Gridloy Harrison hospital In|
the meantfine the knife-wielder had,
been placed in the city jail. Here he
was searched and a yecond knife taken |
from him. |
— amt teapot
Thos. Eiett
|
; p strbder |
Kearing mob violence ¢ onstiabde |
and Assembly ruin aeeFe
we lequaty cherift, decided to
rte the eounty jail at
roville. Pole sky, handenffed in
wae placed tn the front seat
of the minchine with ElLor at the
wheel, Frazier get inte the back seat.
Needing, grsoline, they filled up nt
the Ambrose service station and
started enst on Hazel street for the:
highway. They had gene butia Mock
it falt the thrust of a knife
Ho relensed the wheel
avier what had bay
Frazier,
take the prison
front,
when EM
antes bia stele.
nnd ndvisedd Fa
pened, The deputy sheriff immedi
ntely clubbed the prisoner inte sub
veinge ao opistol batt. In the
desta, ie
4, 2
mesntime the car had sudeswiped the
rane ends of neveral
The Gridley Herald
Tuesday, October 23, 1934
page 1, column 1~7,
cara and had
| prisoner from the car and would have
BOULTON, J. C., white, 8, hanged Calif. (Butte) June 5, 1936.
~~
ww eww wwe = ae wre et rte ig
come to a halt opposite the Gridley |
Pharmacy. —
As the car came to a stop, Joe
Lopez, the Mexican who had_ first
summoned the officers, jerked the
used his own knife on Paulesky had it
not been for timely interference by
Eliott and Frazier, The prisoner
was thrown into the rear part of the
car and the trip to Oroville completed
| with: Elliott holding the handcuffed
i hands of the man the entire trip.
Frazier sustained a cut on the hand
when he grappled with the prisoner
‘nfter he had stabbed’ Elliott. It is
presumed that Daulton secured the
third knife from a secret pocket in the
sleeverof his coat.
coo
OROVILLE, Oct. 22.—J. C, Daul-
ton, alias Peter Poliski, held here for
| safekeeping after he had stabbed three
officers and a deputized city fireman
jin Gridley Saturday following his ar-
rest for molesting a small boy, is be-
‘lieved to have a previous criminal
record,
| The prisoner’s fingerprints have
‘heen taken and will be checked with
the state fecords in an effort to de-
termine his identity and record. It)
ig believed here both the name Daul-
‘ton and that of Puliski, variously
piven by the prisoner, are fictitious.
Prisoner Wan Defiant
Following his arrival in the Butte
county jail lute Saturday the prisener
expressed regret he had net again
stabbed his victima in Gridley. "
| *E would have stabbed the — again]
lif Bo had the chance. 1 would eut your]
uta out, too, if 1 had the chance,” he
raid te Jailer Ren French,
Changes His Attitude
The officers said) Daulton had
calmed considerably Sunday afte:
‘a night in jail and claimed hia actions
lrenulted from drunkenness, The jailer
denied Dautton was drank when he
Was received at the local jail.
em ee ee re ie
|
|
'
.¢ remembers
scription.”
for him, per-
id the other.
the spot for
n again he
vv, Remem-
‘e of a part-
is any ever
nia was soon
Angeles po-
n into the
ie city was
ing cars on
nad stations
) and north
d to be on
ie could be
pany imme-
5,000 for his
uuncing this
scriptions of
sent broad-
ates.
il charge of
“ermination,
yn—the un-
ted in him
was at his
long after
ing reports,
g orders to
“eusa
cclared
during
ind On
vatch. Now
oes watch-
d ring.”
secretary.
e went on,
‘elry is go-
’ be found
p in Ken-
ant it ap-
it. That
ill get our
etary and
vt new in-
housands,
ie Union,
where to
ewelry—a
-the-wisp
{ himself
to them,
cigar and
on your
tuff’s too
» hot to
o he has
‘indelon’s
to ques-
to accept
m went
that did
a phone
ect. One
had him
1e, And
pricked
cks after
ber 13th.
in,” he
in hig
eyes told me that something big had
broken.
“You have—where?” he shouted, grab-
bing a pencil.
I watched him scrawl an address—a
number on Third Street.
“Meet you there in five minutes,” he
exclaimed, and his receiver came down
with a bang.
Like a flash he was on his feet, reaching
for his hat. “Come on, Dan—quick—
they’ve got the watch!”
We scrambled for a cab and on the way
Kindelon told me that San Francisco po-
lice detectives had just located Mrs.
Murphy’s stolen timepiece in a pawnshop.
“Then our man should be here in town
—or not far away,” I ventured.
“Precisely,” said my chief.
A few minutes later we were in the
place. Half a dozen upper office men
already were interrogating the propri-
etor. Among them were Detectives John
Manion, Jerry Dinan, Ed Wren and James
Regan, who had been making an untiring
search of pawnshops for the stolen
jewelry.
HE shop’s register showed the watch
‘ had been pawned there the day before.
It was recognized, of course, by its number.
The man who pawned it signed himself
“A. Manning” and the name was written
in a nervous scrawl.
For an hour we questioned the uneasy
pawnbroker, plying him with questions.
“How many times do I have to tell you
I can’t remember what he looked like?”
he repeated again and again. “’Course I
want to help you. This time I can’t.”
We adjourned to the detective bureau
to map our next move.
“Chances are he’s still hiding out in
San Francisco,” Kindelon began.
Then he turned toward me with a sly
look in the corner of his eye.
“What did I tell you, Dan, about that
watch showing up?” he asked.
“Right again,” I acknowledged.
“But there’s this to it,” he went on.
“Having unloaded the watch, he won’t try
to ditch the ring in San Francisco. May
have gone across the bay, or,.down the
peninsula, perhaps. We’ve got to comb
this whole bay region as we’ve never done
before. And we'll need every copper in
San Francisco and the bay cities to do it.”
That night and through the following
day, every watch in every police station
throughout San Francisco and for miles
around listened to orders that called for
action—orders to search for a man of the
lone bandit’s description in every cheap
hotel, every dive, every known hangout
that might harbor the killer.
Eagerly the police swung into the hunt,
determined and courageous.
Ten hours later some 200 suspects had
been rounded up, checked against the de-
tailed description of the wanted man,
questioned, and turned loose.
The next few days praduced the same
results—still more suspects; still not the
hunted man.
Pawnshops were checked anew. No trace
of Mrs. Colen’s diamond ring was found.
But the Colens, like the rest of the
world, were thinking of Christmas. By a
strange quirk of fate they picked the
afternoon of December 23rd to do their
holiday shopping. The holdup with its
tragic climax had unnerved them both.
So they wailed until the last minute, de-
ciding that they would try to put that
nightmare behind them and get into the
spirit of Christmas.
Sauntering from their home, — they
walked to Mission Street. Men and women
were hurrying by, loaded with bundles.
Yuletide was in the air, Store fronts were
Kity Wilh evergreens and trimmings.
The Colens moved along leisurely,
True Detective Mysteries
gazing into store windows, checking their
shopping list, chatting over their needs.
They came to Eighteenth Street, the
heart of the Mission district’s busiest busi-
ness section. Shoppers were bumping into
them, shoving them as they strolled along.
“Let’s go in here,” Mrs. Colen suggested,
heading for a jewelry store.
Her husband started through the crowd.
But he never reached the store.
A few steps—and his gaze fell on a pair
of eyes that sent cold shudders down his
spine. °
In the midst of that surging crowd,
Colen stood stock still—electrified—staring:
wildly at a figure in the throng.
Mrs. Colen elbowed her way back to her
husband’s side.
“What’s the... .?” she began.
Colen threw his arm about her waist.
“Look,” he whispered. “Look over there
—but don’t dare say a word. See him—
those gray’ eyes—it’s him—it’s him, I tell
you. I'd...”
“God—yes!” the woman gasped.
“Be still!” her husband warned. “We’ve
got him—we’ve got him. Those eyes—I
could pick them out in a million.”
Colen grabbed his wife by the arm. His
heart was thumping like a trip hammer.
And through his mind flashed a picture
that had haunted him for nights—the
vision of a gunman in a Pullman car, a
murdered man lying at his feet.
Like football players bucking the line,
the Colens forced their way along—mov-
ing quietly, trying not to be noticed.
A minute more—and they were within
touching distance of the gray-eyed man;
looking him full in the face.
Colen’s eyes shifted to his wife. She
nodded. * co
He caught her thought and confirmed it
silently.
They edged away a few steps, their
gaze fixed on a single man moving in a
crowd. Colen put his lips close to his
wife’s ear. “T’ll follow him,” he whispered.
“You stay here—it’s safer.”
It was a time for coolness. Colen knew
he must keep his head. He had stared at
the features of the bandit in the train—
stared at him hoping for such a time as
this. Now that it had come he would
not lose thé chance of a lifetime—not if
cunning and quick thinking would help.
“Can’t let him see he’s watched,” Colen
told himself. “I’ll let him get a way ahead.”
E loitered, stood still, then barely
moved, giving the man a slight head-
way—playing a game of caution. But his
eyes were glued to the figure moving be-
fore him—the only person he had eyes for
in that motley crowd of shoppers.
They came to the corner of Nineteenth
Street; then slowly continued on their way
—over Mission Street, toward Twentieth.
Near that corner Colen saw the figure
slip aside; watched him as he edged his
way into a saloon.
Colen’s pace quickened. He was think-
ing fast now. One wrong move and he’d
lose his chance. But again luck was at
his side.
He glanced at the show window next
to the saloon. It was Scheppler’s jewelry
store. The proprictor was his friend.
An instant later he was bolting into the
place. Scheppler was standing inside the
door.
“Pye got him—the train robber!” he
whispered to the jeweler. “He’s inside—
next. door. Watch the place. If he leaves
—follow him. VI use your telephone.”
Three minutes later Chief Kindelon was
racing to the scene. So was the patrol
wagon from the Mission police station, a
few blocks away.
Colen reached the sidewalk ino time. to
see the man step out from the drinking
place, walk fo the eurb, and light on
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108
cigarette. He puffed it leisurely, his back
turned to the police patrol drawing up a
few hundred yards away!
Before Policeman Timothy Connell
could spring to the sidewalk, Colen had
him by the arm, pointing out his man.
There was a tense moment—and a heavy
hand dropped on the shoulder of the man
at the curb.
“Come with me,” Connell ordered, and a
pair of handcuffs clicked.
They rushed him to Headquarters at
the Hall of Justice and emptied his
pockets. In one of them was a pawn
ticket for a diamond ring. ges
“Check this quick,” Kindelon ordered,
handing me the paper.
I sent an agent hurrying to the pawn-
shop. Then we began questioning our
man.
e Y name’s John Bistick,” he told us,
“and if you think I held up a train or
anything else you’re crazy.”
But we were certain that we had the
right man. He fitted the description of
the bandit in every way.
We still were plying him with questions
when our agent came back from the pawn-
shop.
From his pocket he drew a diamond
ring and dropped it on the desk.
Colen eyed it closely. “It’s my wife’s,”
he exclaimed excitedly. “The ring she
gave the robber in the Pullman.” :
“And you’re the man who stole it,”
shouted Kindelon, pointing an accusing
finger at the prisoner.
“T tell you I am not;” the other insisted,
and he burst into a crying spell. He was
sobbing like a baby, a trapped murderer
playing for sympathy. :
“You're a coward,” Kindelon snapped,
and he held out a gold watch taken from
“John Bistick’s” pocket after his arrest.
“The boys have just checked the num-
ber in this watch,” the Chief told him.
“That’s the watch you took from Brake-
man Robbins. What have you got to
say to that?”
Like a craven, the man burst into a new
flood of tears.
“Only that I’m innocent,” he whimpered.
“Honest, I don’t know how I got hold of
that watch or that pawn ticket.”
True Detective Mysteries
Next day Sheriff TWammell of Los An-
geles arrived in San Francisco for our
prisoner. It had been decided that he
should be tried there for the murder of
Passenger Agent Montague. Our con-
tinued efforts for a confession 'had fallen
flat. Yet with Colen’s identification, the
stolen jewelry, and matching description
we knew we could convince any jury that
there was no mistake.
“T’ll tackle him on the train,” said the
Sheriff as he started for the depot. “They
sometimes break in traveling. And any-
way, in this case, sitting in a Pullman may
bring back memories, that he’ll find unset-
tling to his nervous system. We'll try.”
Next morning came a wire from Ham-
mell. “Have full confession, details com-
ing.”
Once in the southern city, they hurried
the prisoner to the Sheriff’s office and
called a stenographer. And for an hour
“Bistick” told every detail of his two
train holdups, ending with the wanton
murder of Montague.
Veiled remarks in his story led the
officers to suspect that he might be Ralph
Farris, who once had worked for the
Southern Pacific in Bakersfield as a call
boy. This he at first denied but later he
admitted his true identity.
But Farris was not to quit so easily. .
He knew the tricks of, cunning criminals.
He decided to play on the sympathies of
prison welfare workers; to resort to tears
to save his neck.
He feigned an air of repentance and
sent for newspaper reporters. With tears
rolling down his cheeks he told them the
story of his life, coloring it for the occa-
sion with a picture of his old mother, sick
and heart-broken. “And I really didn’t
mean to kill that man,” he insisted.
His plea aroused the contempt of the
newsmen.
“Tf you didn’t intend to kill him,” one
of them demanded, “why did you stand
over his body and say, ‘I guess that will
hold you for awhile’?”
Farris could not answer.
On December 27th he was taken before
Superior Judge Young at Los Angeles,
arraigned on a first degree murder charge,
and remanded to the Sheriff. A day later
he pleaded guilty before Superior Judge
Craig and asked for an immediate sen-
tence.
“Stand up,” the Court ordered the pris-
oner.
“Tt is the judgment of this court. that
you be taken to the State prison at San
Quentin and there hanged by the neck’
until you are dead—and may God have
mercy on your soul.” ‘
Farris was taken to the penitentiary,
but again cowardice overtook him and he
decided to try to escape the noose. He
had expected a life sentence because of
his plea of guilty.
A well-known criminal lawyer was en-
gaged to represent him and _ affidavits
were filed with the court, asking for a
reduction of sentence on the ground that
Farris was insane.
On January 2nd of the following year
Judge Craig questioned a number of wit-
nesses to the murder and decided he had
heard enough. He again sentenced Farris
to be hanged, fixing the time at not less
than 60 days or more than 90 days from
the date of sentence.
And then a strange thing happened. A
group of social workers, impressed by
Farris’ tears and feigned repentance, ral-
lied to his support.. They even appealed
to Governor Hiram W. Johnson to com-
mute his sentence to life imprisonment.
They said he was a misguided soul who
never had a chance.
STATE-WIDE campaign for signa-
tures to a petition asking the Gover-
nor for clemency was started. Appeals
were taken to higher courts. —
And all the while Farris, his death stayed
by legal technicalities, sat in a condemned
man’s cell, weeping at appropriate times.
It was not until a year later—on Janu-
ary 15th, 1915, that the law caught up with
him and he went to the gallows.
Colen, whose memory for a pair of eyes
made Farris pay society’s debt, collected
the rewards offered by the Southern
Pacific. He still is in the service and
today is locomotive engineer on the
Southern’ Pacifie’s crack train, “The Day-
light”, luxurious, ultra modern stream-
liner running between San Francisco and
Los Angeles and which has broken all
speed records.
FIRST PRIZE—$15.00
Tamis La Chance, 132 Lincoln Street,
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Miss Helen Pfeffer, 1701 Chaparral, Corpus Christi, Texas;
Daniels, Highland Creek, Ontario, Canada; Joseph Miller, 2068 W. 45th St., Cleveland, Ohio; D. C. Altman. 708 Holly-
wood St., Spartanburg, S. C.; Mrs. Harold Bump, 1526 Kansas Ave., Atchison, Kan.; Frank E. Mock, 132 Lincoln St.,
Savannah, Ga.; William D. Gregory, 425 Jefferson Ave., Buffalo, N. Y.; Miss Nannie Mae Skinner, 907 Martinique,
Dallas, Texas; H. J. Lynch, 2005 Scenic Highway, Baton Rouge, La.; Mrs. Elmer A. Bosler, R. D. No. 2, 43rd Logan
Ave., N. W., Canton, Ohio; Mrs. P. M. Sauer, 3109 Woodland, Wichita, Kan.; Miss Emma H. Johnson, P. O. Box
361, Cresskill, N. J.; Purnell Mastin, 1439 High St. Paris, Ky.; Mrs. Blanche Antritter, 1901 South Duluth, Sioux Falls,
S. D.; W. C. Moore, Pocahontas, Tenn.; Thomas C. Bradley, President, Security Banknote Co., 55th and Sansom Sts.,
Philadelphia, Pa.; Mrs. M. F. Gavett, 2 Elsmere Ave., South Portland, Me.; George F. Brietz, Jr., Bolling Field, Dis-
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Demfster, Room 305, 122 S. Hill St., Los Angeles, Cal.; Edwin F. Rowles, 4420 Livingston Ave., Dallas, Texas.
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SECOND PRIZE—$10.00
Norbert Max Ellis, State Sanatorium,
Norton, Kansas
Mrs. Maurice Phillips, Box 73, Santa Ana, Cal.; W. H.
pleaded not guilty, The trials were split so that Bringhurst and Thompson would be tried
together and Wheaton and Rowell toge her, According to the testimony of 7 witnesses, the
murder of Brett and Clester occurred as. follows: On December 6, 1921,. Rowell met Wendell
at Hermosa Beach where they both were staying anddrove to Los Angeles, where they
picked up the other three on a street corner, After discuss ing various places they
might rob that night, they drove, out Stevenson Ave, and stopped before a hardware store
where one suggested some guns were easy to stealy
"They were frightened away by a man appearing acorss the street and jumped in their ma-
chine and 4$4H made off, Near Fifth and South Lorena Streets, Brett and Clester, in
a police automobile, atopped them, their appearance and answers arousing the officers!
suspicions, . Commanding the bandits to drive to the police station, one of the police-
men jumped on the running-board of their car, while the other prepared to follow in the
police car, Thompson, according to the testimony, then pulled a gun, The officer
pulled his , but it was seized by Wendell and Bringhurst, In the battle that followed both
policemen were mortally wounded,- dying in the Receiving Hospital a. few minutes after they
were taken there," TIMES, Los Angeles, CA, -21-192) (3-1) (Part IT)
ROT NOU cam
DIAL INGSLUR L 4
William
April 21, 1924.
HOW
Here is the full
inside story of
the super-
detective work
which solved
Los Angeles’
atrocious
double murder
Los Angeles, on the night of December 6th, 1921.
Hundreds of officers resplendent in their evening
clothes, were there with their wives and sweethearts.
Dignitaries of city, county and state graced the occasion.
It was a gala event, All was laughter and gayety.
The grand march led by Mayor George E. Cryer and his
partner, with Police Chief Charles E. Jones and his guest
just behind, had started.
Before they had circled the hall once, the telephone in
Mosley’s office rang.
An attendant hurried to an officer who was viewing the
grand march from the sidelines, and whispered:
“Important call for Chief Jones from Headquarters.”
As the Chief and his partner swung by, the officer called
him aside.
On went the march as the Chief excused himself, and
6
HE annual police ball was in full swing at Mosley’s
Auditorium, Grand Avenue and Sixteenth Street,
&
NG
c
t
7
-
3
2
~
oO
re
5
@
Q
OQ
AsP (Los Angeles) on
| TRAPPED the
OF THE LOS
hastened to the telephone. A few moments later he emerged,
his face grim and pale. é
The orchestra was playing a lively air as Chief Jones
ascended the stage at the rear of the hall and motioned for
silence.
The music ceased. The laughter was stilled. Every eye
was focused on the Chief.
“Brother officers,” he said, “it is my sad duty to an-
nounce that | have just been notified that two members
of the Police Department have been murdered. This as-
sembly will be dismissed.”
AS the half sobbed words of the Chief swept through
the hall, scores of formally dressed officers thronged to-
ward the platform,
There were tears in the Chief’s eyes as he said:
“Bill Brett and Harry Clester have been killed, murdered
in cold blood. Headquarters says the killers made a clean
Wd Amy
e HIVE
By
HARRY J.
RAYMOND,
Former Chief of Detectives,
Los Angeles County,
California
As told to
WILLIAM
DUTTON SMITH
merged, (Above and left) The arrow
points to Detective Harry J.
ef Jones Raymond, the hero of Los
oned for Angeles’ most famous man-
hunt. -Also pictured are the
: members of the gang of desper-
very eye ados whose round up won Ray-
mond undying fame. 1—
Jess Wendell; 2—Jim Wheaton,
y to an-
ex-convict and fugitive; 3—
members William Brinkhurst, ex-con-
This as- vict; 4—Cal Rowell, fugitive;
5—Willard Thompson, ex- (Left) Harry J. Raymond,
convict author of this story, who was
i h hailed as the master detective
be ciad of the Pacific Coast after his
mnged to- superb work in the case here
described by him in all its
fascinating detail. (Above)
Gold badge set with diamond
murdered awarded to Detective Ray-
a clean mond by his superiors and
grateful fellow citizens
221 PACIFIC 897 (See also 220 PACIFIC 151 for accomplices' appeal.) .
BRINGHURST, William,.and THOMPSON, Willard, whites, hanged at San Quentin Prison (Tos
Angeles Gounty) on April 21, 192h.
"The bodies of William A, Bringhurst and Willard Thompson, who died on the gallows at
San Quentin prison yesterday for the murder of 2 Los Angeles policemen are being held by
prison authorities until relatives advise as to the disposition of the remains, Tele-
grams were sent to Bringhurst's widow here and to Thompson's sister at Salt Lake City.
Unless otherwise directed the bodies will be buried in the prison cemetery, The 2 men
paid-the extreme penalty for the murder Dec. 6, 1921, of Police Officers W. J, Brett
and Harry Chester, The 2 murderers, impassive and unfaltering, left the death cell at
San Quentin at 10:1) asm. at the same time, Both walked quickly through the short
corridor leading into the death chamber, They were accompanied by Warden James John-
ston and Julian M, Alco, a Christian Science practitioner,,.
"Looking straight ahead, the two condemned men walked up the thirteen steps to the
double gallows and stood without a tremor while the nooses and black caps were adjusted,
They did not break their silence when asked if they wished to make a last statement, A
little more than a minute after they had left the death cell, hidden guards sprung the
traps and the 2 killers dropped together, At 10:27 asm, both men were pronounced dead
by physicians. In their last hours of life the 2 men who had vowed to kill each
other on sight patched up their differences and walked to their death as friends, Late
last night, with the hours of their life slipping by, they shook hands and became
friends agains However, they exchanged no greetings when they stepped together from
the death cell, Bringhurst and Thompson were members of a band of five which shot down
the officers when the latter attempted to arrest them,
"One member of the band, Jess Wendell, sent a bullet through his brain near Pineveta,
Arize, as a posse of citizens and officers were closing in about him, Two others, Cal-
vin Rowell and James Wheaton, are serving life sentences at San Quentin, The officers
stopped the cunmen near Fifth and South Lorena Streets onthe night of the murder, One
of the officers stepped on the running board of the bandit machine and told the driver
to proceed to the police station, The other officer followed in a police machine, The
bandits after driving a few blocks turned on the officers," TIMES, Los Angeles, Calif,
April 22, 192) (2-1,.) (Part II)
" seelhe death of the two men will end two criminal careers that stand out in Tos Angeles
police records, Bandits, burglars, gunmen, they climaxed their careers with coldsblooded
murdey When they ruthlesslg shot and killed Patrolmen Harry Clester and W. L, Brett,
attempting to arrest them after a robbery, they made widows of two women and orphans of
3 children, All this the law considered and then decreed the sentence to be carried out
todaye
"..,Those officers who watched the stolid, unflinching demeanor of the 2 when they were
ontrial here, who marveled at the stoicism with which they received the death sentence,
today are wondering if their nerve at the last minute will forsdke them, ‘hen Bring-
hurst and Thompson are dead, it will make the third bandit who died for the murder of
the two officers, In one of the most thrilling bandit hungs ever donducted in the
Southwest, thexr pal and an accomplice in the murder, Jess Wendell, committed sutcide late
in December, 1921, when surrounded in a seciton house near Pineveta, Arize
"He was attempting to escape by automobile, Posses were closing in on him from all
sides. Sheriff Mahoney of Oatman, Arize, one of the old West two-gun types, was close
on his trial, Mahoney caught up with him at the section house. Crying out that he
would never be caught alive, Wendell ran into the house and shot himself ], times, 3 of
the bullets passing near his heart, He died on the train to Los Angeles near Kingman,
Arizona, on Dece 28, 1921, Two others, Calvin Rowell and James Wheaton, also members of
the bandit gang are serving life sentences at San Quentin, The 5 were indicted by the
grand jury on 12-27-1921, on two counts of murder, Four of them were arrested a few
days later at a rendezvous near Fifth Street and Grand Avenue, Wendell escaping. Their
arrest came bhout in a most peculiar manner, A restaurant employee overheard a conversa-
tion between a woman and several men, indicating that they knew something about the
murder. A large reward had been offered, The restaurant employee followed the woman
to her house. Then he told Deputy Sergeants Raymond Hickock and Erven, at that time,
working with the Automobile Club of Southern California, Working rapidly, but cleverly,
the detectives one by one arrested the suspects and lodged them in jail, Wendell
alone becoming alarmed by the absence of his companions, The four were arraigned and
er!
lls!
VO
PY.
ned at
livering
3 pretty
2 covers
tection
e shoul-
nfolded
1e word
re failed
ing this
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ificance
imper-
3 sister,
a
d, Mrs.
man who, for a mere handful of silver, wantonly snuffed
November. This striking photograph was taken by a police
murderer cracked and spilled the works,
RIDDLE
Street
By D. A. DAVIDSON
Inspector of Detectives, and
J. P. FILKAS
Detective Lieutenant, both of Los Angeles
Police Department
As told to MADELINE KELLEY
were covered with a red, sticky substance!
A red, sticky, substance....
Quickly, Mrs. Cannon shoved the little boy under the
covers, and ran to the front of the house.
A second later, Herman Cannon was aroused from slumber
by his wife's piercing scream.
“What's the matter?”
Florence Cannon, her face a ghastly white, stumbled
through the bedroom door.
“ ERLE'S dead! Murdered!’ she gasped, and collapsed
in her husband’s arms.
Officers Young and Sorensen of the Seventy-seventh
Street Police Station were the first to respond to Mr. Can-
non’s frantic call. They were joined shortly afterward by
Detectives R. V. Savage and C. W. Fruitt.
“T don’t see how it could have happened without me and
my wife hearing it; of course there’s three rooms ,between
our bedroom and the sleeping-porch, but even so it seems we
should've heard that, shotgun when it went off. Still, I just
finished working an eighteen-hour shift and I guess I must
have been sleeping pretty soundly. We didn’t know a thing
about it ull the baby came into our room a little while ago.”
After making a superficial examination of the body of the,
dead woman Detective Savage at once notified the Coroner's
fice and Central Police Headquarters with a request to the
“This is how I did it!”
The killer, at the crime
scene, explains to Detective
Bill Baggott how he entered
the sleeping porch of a resi-
dence at 323 East 99th
Street, Los Angeles, shot-
gun in one hand, flashlight
in the other—and com-
mitted the crimson atrocity
for which he received two
dollars and twenty cents
nm
latter to send investigators to the scene of the crime.
After further brief questioning of Herman Cannon,
Policeman Young was told to “stake” at the place
until the arrival of other officers. Detectives Savage
and Fruitt and Officer Sorensen then left the house,
accompanied by Cannon.
I, at that time in command of the Central Homi-
cide Squad, was routed out of bed at six-thirty
o'clock and told by the operator who called me to go
at once to 323 East 99th Street where a murder had
been committed.
At the address,I found a deputy from the Coroner's
office, together with Detectives Jerry Hickey, Wil-
liam Baggott, and Frank Ryan of the Central
Homicide Squad already there.
“In here, Inspector,’ Detective Hickey greeted
me. ‘Nothing's been touched.” He led the way toa
glass-enclosed sun-porch, meagerly furnished with a
single bed, a dressing table and a chair.
N the bed lay the body of the young and beau-
tiful woman who had been brutally shot to
death. At the base of her bare white throat, on the
left side, was a hideous gaping wound where a charge
of buckshot had struck her. The sheets were
drenched by the stream of blood that had gushed
from the wound, and finally formed a wide pool.on
the floor.
_ Apparently the murderer had crept stealthily upon
Mrs. Ells while she lay asleep, and without warning,
fired the fatal shot. Then, as though flinging a
contemptuous challenge to the law, the assassin had
thrown the instrument of death—a double-barreled
sawed-off shotgun—on the floor a few feet from his
victim’s head.
Police Photographer V. Wintermute, who had been
summoned, took charge of the weapon, using the
utmost caution not to obliterate possible finger-
prints. He then photographed the body from
several angles.
We questioned Mrs. Florence Cannon as to any
theory she might have concerning the identity of her
sister's slayer.
“Find Emery, her husband,” she said wearily.
“He's the only enemy Merle had.”’
TARYN LETTS PS RENEE RRR RN OC gr
6 True Detective Mysteries
“Tl take my medicine,” says the killer (left) to
true detective mystery. This picture, snapped
the murderer drawing a diagram of the 99th Street
the details of his
“Where-can we find him?”’
“At home, I guess. I think my husband went
with some of the officers to show them where he
lives."". Mrs. Cannon seemed half-dazed from
shock, and hardly able to grasp the full meaning
of the tragedy that had befallen her sister.
Shortly afterward we were notified by a
motorcycle officer that Detectives Savage and
Fruitt, with Officer Hamilton of the Southgate
Police Department, had arrested several suspects,
all of whom were being held at the Seventy-
seventh Street Police Station.
Leaving the Coroner’s deputy in charge of the
body, Detectives Hickey and Baggott and I
went at once to the station in question.
There we
learned that
The police photographer was
right on the spot for this, one
of the most stirring scenes of
the entire investigation! Here
you see the man who plotted
the murder (extreme left),
facing his accuser—the actual
killer (extreme right), while
Detectives Filkas and Bag-
gott look on, taking in
everything
Emery Ells, his
brother Alfred.
and a man named
Ralph Moulton—
a friend of the
Ells brothers—
were in custody.
All three had been
found asleep at
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APPEALS
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EXECUTION
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Benjamin F., white, hanced |
TRUE ETECTIVE, May, 1931
The pretty victim, whose
murder proved to be one of
the most bewildering mys-
teries encountered by Los
Angeles detectives in a
blue moon. The woman
was shot to death while in
bed with her infant son,
Billy
fs
7%
T nN
as
Staring at you from above are the cold, piercing eyes of the
out the life of Mrs. Merle Ells, Los Angeles housewife, last
photographer a few minutes after the
THE RED
of 99th
The crime: First degree murder!
The victim: Beautiful Merle Ells!
The hired killer’s reward: TWO
DOLLARS AND TWENTY
CENTS!
ITTLE Billy Ells, eighteen-months-old, awakened at
dawn on the morning of November 2nd, 1930, shivering
with cold. For some unaccountable reason, his pretty
mother, with whom he slept, had dragged all the covers
to her own side of the bed, leaving him with no protection
from the chill air, except for his flannelette gown.
Billy crawled to his mother’s side, touched her bare shoul-
der with icy little fingers, but no soft, warm arms enfolded
him.
“Mama! Mama!’ Several times, he called the one word
that constituted his entire vocabulary.
Still no response from the one who had never before failed
him.
Billy slid to the floor. He looked about investigating this
strange state of affairs.
His: baby mind could not comprehend the full significance
of the horrible sight. He stared for a moment, then, whimper-
ing, toddled into the room occupied by his mother’s sister,
Florence, and her husband, Herman Cannon.
At sight of the child’s trembling lips, blue from cold, Mrs.
Cannon held out her arms.
“Sh!’ It was Sunday morning: Mr. Cannon liked to sleep
late. ‘‘Why, Billy!’ she whispered, “you're frozen! Get in
bed with Auntie, and stop crying.’
It was then, as she lifted Billy from the floor, that she made
the startling discovery that the feet of his sleeping-garments
yf
om
eee ae atalecainennenee - seater - ‘ sesaresiarannininieliiaitalialaaiaidhiaaainilianaaih
was from Medford, Oregon, that he
was a glass-blower by profession and
had come to Tos Angeles in search of
work. From his talk we yathered,
also, that he was a devout church-
poer, Te was still prattling in his
funny, timid voice as we reached
Headquarters.
“You gentlemen have made a very
serious mistake,” he was saying as we
stopped the car. “And when you find
out that you are wrong I think you
owe it to me to come to my church
on Sunday. You must all attend in a
body, That's the least you could do
to atone for this grave injustice to
me.”
I thought I heard Baggott chuckle
at this last remark. Filkas looked
glum. As for myself—
That conviction of error deepened
as we questioned Brown. He stead-
fastly and calmly d ied all the ac-
cusations we could hurl at him. He
denied knowing Emory Ells.
Certainly he did not look like a man
who would break into a house in the
dead of night to slay a woman with a
shotgun. For hours we questioned
him.
Finally I said to Filkas: “Go and
ask your friend down the hall to step
in, Lieutenant.”
‘When I heard the footsteps cf Filkas
returning with Moulton, I watched
Brown’s face. Not a flicker of rec-
ognition was visible as the trembling
Moulton entered the room. I glanced
at Moulton, and unless he was a con~
summate actor, genuine recognition
and terror were stamped all over his
features.
“Well?” said Filkas. He pointed to
Brown. “Is that your Chicago bad-
man?”
Moulton’s face was ashen. For a
moment he couldn’t speak. He seemed
paralyzed with fright.
“yes—that’s him,” he said finally.
“That’s the fellow who went with
Emory Ells down to the river with the
shotgun.”
“The gentleman must be insane,”
said Brown quietly. “I never went to
the river with anybody, much less
somebody with a_ shotgun. I never
heard of Emory Ells in my life.”
Moulton glanced at us, as if to re-
assure himself that he was protected.
His courage seemed to be returning.
Our frightened witness spoke up a
trifle bolder.
“Youre a liar,” he said. “You know
damn well you know Emory Ells.
How about the time you and he talked
about holding up the movie theater
in Huntington Park? The one where
Ells said you would also be able to get
the cashier’s swell fur coat to send
back to one of your dames in
Chicago?”
Brown shook his head and smiled
sadly.
“The poor fellow is demented,” he
said at last with unmistakable pity in
his voice. He had no rancor toward
his accuser.
“Oh, yeah?” yelled Moulton, whose
aplomb was returning in rapid strides.
“Pm nuts, am I? You can’t fool me,
or these detectives, either. They
think you killed Emory Ells’ wife—
and so do I!”
The three of us had been watching
Moulton, actually looking for traces of
the dementia the little man had:
suggested. But just as Moulton men-
tioned the name of the slain woman, I
heard a strangling cry.
Brown sprang to his feet. He had
made that eerie noise. Now our eyes
were glued on Brown. In turn, Brown
had transfixed Moulton with an awful
look and his eyes burned like livid
coals. The bland smile had been
wiped from his face as if by magic.
When he spoke, the gentle voice sud-
denly had become a husky, grating
noise, like a stricken man’s death
rattle.
“So it was Ells’ wife!” Brown said
at last. “Now I’m beginning to un-
derstand.” oan
We waited. Tense silence hung like
a pall over my office. Only the
rhythmic ticking of a clock on the far
wall disturbed the sudden calmness of
the place.
AD2
voiced little man, “T am going to tell
alone in this mess.”
Our eyes swung b
“He's i it, too?” asloed Bagotl.
Brown shook his head.
“No, gentlemen, he i
thing he has said here
but he has told only a part of it.
Moulton is just as innocent of any
guilt in the murder as any of you
other gentlemen.”
ack to Moulton.
tonight is true,
AKE your time, and start from the
busy with his nail file.
“Pm not a,Chicago gunm
I was never in Chicago.
I’ve only fired a gun onc
He shuddered as he m
statement as if the recollection was a
“I met Emory
here he works.
e in my life.”
Ells in the lunchroom w
Just to impress him, I told him I was
Mrs. Florence Cannon,
her nephew, Bobby, who lost his mother by murder
a gangster from Chic
was the sort of
ho is impressed by killers
s—and, well, I was broke.
He used to stake me to coffee and
sandwiches while I told hi
tales of my life
In fact, for near]
food I’ve eaten to spea
to me by Ells and—”
For the first ti
“_and, who else
soft voice while its owne
an index fingernail.
“Jt—it doesn’t really matter, gen-
but it is a young lady who
ffee shop at Santa Moni-
ffee and sand-
because I said I
ut because she felt
*t lie to her like
as a Chicago g
y six weeks the only
k of was given
?” prompted Filkas’
xr rounded off
works in a co
She gave me co
wiches sometimes,
was a gangster, b
or me. I couldn
J—I think too much of her.”
“Girl friend, eh?” Baggott couldn’t
hook his head em
“J only wish she—
then switched abruptly. “No, sir,
” he began and
ingt Lilee Coal We don't even Ibnow
cach other's name, Qnty we allel Dave
a couple of dances together in the pier
hattroome met door to where she
worked. PF saw het There one night
after I'd eaten in her place. But that’s
all there wan fo it, exeept that later,
when my funds gol very low, she
seemed to realize it and when I or-
dered just) doughnuts and. coffee she
would fix me up a big, healthy sand-
wich--then forget to put it on my
check.
“ft guess I sort of fell in love with
her and sometimes Td dream about
the day when Thad a good job and
money to spend and be able to take
her out and show her a good time.
I know that sounds foolish, gentle-
men, but that’s the way I feel about
her—”
His eyes became dreamy and _ his
voice started to trail off. But he gath-
ered himself and resumed his story in
that quiet monotone he had.
“About three weeks ago, Emory Ells
sister of Merle Ells, consoles
said he could put me in the way of
$2,000. He frightened the life out of
me when he told me what I had to
do to get it and it’s a wonder he didn’t
realize right then that I’d been kid-
ding him about being a gunman.
“Ells said he knew a doctor who
wanted his wife put out of the way
and that it would be a cinch for a
man like me. He said the doctor’s
wife had a horrible disease, that she
only had a year or so to live, anyway,
and the doctor was afraid she would
Sanne the disease to their little
oy.
“The more I thought about it, gen-
tlemen, the more courage I got. First
of all, I told myself that I was really
helping to rid_the world of a danger-
ous person. Then, too, I thought of
what I could do with all that money.
I could sect myself up in business. I
thought of her—the girl in the coffee
shop.
“J finally agreed to do the job. Just
as Mr. Moulton here has told you, I
went to the river with Ells and he
tried out the shotgun to see if it still
worked The prayes seve cee geet of plovea
to wear so that t wold h Leave ny
finger-prints behind and a key to the
porely choad
“ils warned me to be careful ane
not to shoot the little boy. He said
the doctor loved the boy dearly. THe
gave me the address of the doctor's
house and told me that the first name
of the woman, the doctor’s wife, was
Merle.
“Last Sunday, along about two
o’clock in the morning—”
We let him finish, but we knew the
rest. Of how he had crept into the
porch where the sleeping, girl and her
baby son were in bed. How he had
called her name, “Merle .. - Merle
... Merle...” the name Mrs. Can-
non had heard him call.
Yes, Brown had been careful not to
shoot the little boy. That is why he
deliberately awakened the young
mother by calling her name so that she
would sit up in the darkness. When
she finally aroused out of deep and
peaceful slumber, it had been only for
the fleeting moment while her assassin
pulled the trigger of the gun with its
muzzle against her breast.
The little man’s story had a grim
sequel. :
Ells, of course, had nothing like $2,-
000 to pay for the murder of his wife.
There is no doubt that he knew from
the start of their acquaintanceship that
Brown was not a professional, or even
an amateur killer. He figured that
Brown would not be suspected of the
crime and certainly would not be fool
enough to proclaim his guilt when he
failed to get his pay for the killing.
“After I killed Mrs. Ells,” Brown
told us, “I went over to the lunchroom
and told Ells the job was done.”
“Good,” said Ells. “The Doctor will
be pleased.”
“How about my money?” asked
Brown.
“Oh, yes,” said Ells, “in a day or so
the Doctor will leave it behind that
big Firestone tire sign on Atlantic
Boulevard. You can go around there
and pick it up.”
“But I’m flat broke now,” protested
the slayer.
Ells laughed and went over to the
cash register. He picked up a handful
of dimes and gave them to Brown.
“Here’s something on account,” he
said. “You can pay me back out of
the $2,000—when you get it.”
Our Brown counted the dimes.
22! Two dollars and twenty cents
for a human life. Cut-price murder!
When we confronted Ells with
Brown and the little man’s signed con-
fession, he brazenly sneered a denial.
“You haven’t got anything on me,”
he said. And he elected to stand trial
for what the newspapers dubbed the
“dime murder.” He fought for and
won a separate trial from Brown’s.
After a terrific legal battle, waged by
one of the most brilliant criminal de-
fense attorneys on the Pacific Coast,
Ells was convicted of first-degree mur-
der, but so hard had the defense
fought that the jury recommended life
imprisonment. Ells is in San Quentin
today.
Benjamin Franklin Brown’s | trial
followed. He had no money, not even
one of the few paltry dimes he had
been paid for the killing. He was
unable to engage counsel and he threw
himself on the mercy of the court.
Once during the brief trial I heard
him utter that same strangling cry,
that death rattle-like noise he had
made in my office when he learned
that he had killed Merle Ells—not a
mythical doctor’s wife.
That strange, eerie cry, which
startled the whole courtroom, was
wrung from his lips when for the first
time he saw a picture of the victim
he shot in the dark.
There, in court on trial for her mur-
der, he recognized the girl in the coffee
shop—the girl whom he timidly hoped
to marry with $2,000 in blood money—
Merle Ells who forgot to add his sand-
wiches to the bill.
Brown gladly went to the San
Quentin gallows July 31, 1931.
45
BROWN, Benjamin Franklin, wh, hanged CA (LA) July 21, 1931
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE, September, 1940
Left to right: Detective Lieutenant
William Baggott, Benjamin Frank-.-
lin Brown and Detective Lieuten- .
- ant Joseph Ellkae. ae
In the glass enclosed sleeping
porch of this East 99th Street
house, a paid killer snuffed out the
life of pretty Merle Ells.
ean Ells ‘met : Benjamin Franklin Brown ta, ¢ cat
“shown at left for : the Gras, Sime Out of thie. necting -
came planned, £9 cold-blooded st
HE nodded her blonde head. “At first I thought I
had been dreaming,” she told the officers. “But
Pm sure it was a voice calling my sister that woke
me up.”
“Had she quarreled with anyone lately?” asked
Sorenson. “Is there a possibility of a jilted suitor?”
_ “Why no,” said Florence Cannon, thoughtfully. Her
blue eyes which had been downcast, lifted quickly to
meet those of her husband. “Well, come to think of
it, there was Emory.”
“Who is he?” asked Sorenson quickly.
“That’s Merle’s ex-husband,” explained Herman
Cannon. “He threatened to kill her once.”
“When was that?”
“When she divorced him and got the custody of the
baby. Emory cared more for that baby than he did
for his wife.”
“Did he ever give her any trouble?”
“Yes, you see, Merle worked in a coffee shop down
at Santa Monica Pier,” Cannon continued. “Emory
started a big quarrel with her there. She had him
arrested for assault and he got sixty days in jail.”
Sorenson turned to his partner. “Whoever did this
killing,” he said, “seemed to be mighty careful of the
child.”
“Yes, Ma agreed Young. “If the killer called Mrs. Ells
by name, naturally she would sit up in bed. That
way, she provided a perfect target. Yes,” he added,
“it looks as if the child was not to be harmed.”
“Where does Emory Ells live now?” asked Soren-
son.
The murdered woman’s sister gave his address as
Number 8153 Elizabeth Street in nearby Southgate.
“Emory lives there with his brother and another fel-
low,” she stated. “He works nights as a waiter in an
all-night cafe on Slauson Avenue,” she explained.
“T think he gets off at six in the mornings.”
By the time the officers had finished questioning
Mr. and Mrs. Cannon and had turned in their routine
report at headquarters, a warm California sun was
burning away the remnants of sea fog. Members of
the city’s homicide squad were checking in for their
day’s assignments.
Inspector D. A. Davidson, in charge of the investi-
gation, quickly scanned the Ells report. Then he called
a team of his ace investigators, Joseph Filkas and Wil-
liam Baggott, whose clever sleuthing has cracked
many baffling Los Angeles murders.
“Merle Ells was a very beautiful young woman,”
the inspector told his detectives as they discussed the
case. “So we'll proceed cautiously. Maybe her ex-
husband killed her, maybe-not. It occurs to me that
there may be an unrequited love angle somewhere.
Pick up Ells and the others for questioning,” he ad-
vised, “and then see what you can find out about
Merle Ells’ private life.”
“Any prints on the murder weapon?” asked Bag-
gott, pointing to the weapon which lay on the inspec-
tor’s desk.
“Not a whorl,” replied Davidson. “Obviously the
killer wore gloves. We'll make an attempt to trace
ownership.”
He handed them Ells’ name and address. “First,
bring this fellow in,” he said. “Let’s hear what he has
to say.”
The two detectives left the Hall of Justice and
drove hurriedly south through the vast railroad yards
and manufacturing districts in the suburban area of
Southgate, twelve miles distant. Before a small,
frame bungalow they braked to a stop.
In answer to their ring, the door was opened by a
young man in shirt sleeves. Beyond him the detec-
tives could see two men seated at the table eating.
“Emory .Ells?” asked Filkas, showing his badge.
One of the seated youths stopped chewing long
enough to answer, “Right here!”
Without invitation, the officers entered. Clothing
and dishes in disarray, magazines on the floor, gave
evidence of bachelor quarters. Filkas strode over to
the dark, beetle-browed young man and said quietly:
volleys
“Bra
don,”
fished
arette.
“You
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with him, ‘ideal , i1te.-
+ ajtet Sp 3 fis F Myer te Sigh
‘Glenard ‘Brown’: 49, “was @xe-
cuted‘at San Quentin prison Tues-
Mrs. Ada Belle ‘Turner, aged Col-
"| fax, widow, in September, 1942).
' His last-hope for clemency ex-
pired Monday afternocn'whei the
Sy74 | state supreme court refused to in-
*'the Japanese force their will
vidly'shown in the above photo-
£ Korea, by-Night Officer Frank
~*poeities the Japanese. ecom-
“back as 1904-05. Frank
psental Consolidated Mining
rs, during which time he per-|
3s hanging and numerous other |
we Devils?” from’ Japan. :
ean natives shown in the back —
lered by: the Japs to view this
ny demands of the Japs or suf-
a yr
,
Hon: is: . wateatral: worship, and
mrial of their dead. They have
noose a. “good place,’ the choic- }
HePhen if bad luck ever takes ,
esters are. not resting comfort-
'é them’ to another place.
the railroad through | ‘Korea’ to
t ‘railroad they disregarded the |
the natives time to move them,
‘trerstrung up with their hands |
ite strangle. ~
ma old print by Perry Studio. .
5 adi es ae ae
Song fer February. .Primary room
At the Box Office Window -.1
WL ne Oo vow sens Mrs, Stella Frink:
A play—"The Squander Bug” ;
fie eeese.- Fourth and fifth grades
Bond report '
. saee...0..Mrs, Thelma Hamilton!
Sarnho’s Bean......Shela Watson
Jemus Runs’ - Away
.Mrs. Carolyn Dow
Flat® solo........... Bill Ormsby!
Presentation of Boy Scout
. Patrol ........
There Are Many Flags...
Presentation of Flags..
Acceptance .
Star Spangled Banner {
Ter evone
oe
veee Mr, Keeler No. 40 in- the same
tervene.. Governor Farl’ Warren
of California also. refused clem-
ONCY... ce er eg eeu es
“Brown was led ‘s thes ‘gas: cham-
ber; seated ‘at 10:02 a.'m. and..was
pronounced dead eight ‘minutes
later by the prison physician, -ae-
cording’ to: the: office. of. Warden
Clint Duffy. of. San Quentin,...
:His body had not. been claimed
Tuesday afternoon, and it was
rexpected he: would -be ‘buried in
the prison Braveyard, «| oa
Brown, was convictéd: of :fitst}
degree murder in. Auburn in:.the
Pierovichof Amador county. Dis-
prosecuted ‘the’ case, and Charles
Tuttle defended: Brown, and: car-
ried the original appeal. .te >the
boi the ainda wenere: “was affirmed.
Ration
Table
MEAT, : open ,&: CANNED
FISH, ‘CANNED MILK, BUTTER
AND ‘OILS—Brown stamps V, W
and X in Ration Book 3 are valid.
through February 26th. Stamp Y
is .valid through March 20th.
Stamp Z will be gaan next Son~
day. : :
PROCESSED. FRUITS. ‘AND
VEGETABLES—Green:;stamps.G,
. through next Sunday.’ Stamps K,
LL. and: M are valid ‘and will re-
main good through March 20th..
| SUGAR—Stamp 30-:in..Rati
| Book 4 is good for five pounds. of
| Sugar. through March 3lst..Stamp
hook is good
‘School for five paunds extra for canning
Col, True through Felruary 28,. 1945. .
o 4 ae ode Duane Frink,
SHOES—Stamp No,.18 in 1 Ran
(tion Book 1 and ‘Stamp No. lon
ere cage ne
day morning for they murder” of |
}fall of 1942 before Judge ‘A. Ey
‘trict’ Attorney Lowelli:L. Sparks(
}suipreme court, where’ judgement;
Hand. J. in. Book. 4 are good |
“Hntaies "9 |
Continues.
In Forums
tA “ondititig ‘and... ‘ddtereating
Coramunity . forum. - meeting | was
held Jast. Sunday evening, with all
available -seating capacity taken
in the Congregational: Guild hall,
Fon the subject of “How to Make
Auburn a Better Place for Youth.”
| Quite a: number. of, young: high
{ school people were present to hear
--The meeting was. opened. by
‘Wendell Robie, with. Rev. Phillips
of the Methodist ‘church. giving
a: prayer, . Orrin Lowell,,.member
“af .the Placer’ Unions highschool
sion, and ‘speakers »were.. Bruce
Wenison of the high. school’: fac-
fulty.and Miss Jeanne Herboth and
Miss «. Patricia an open eatin igh
school students. 0.37
shawn. most...emphasis.’ has. been
have: been. made in’ this: ‘branch,
‘but perhaps. more. attention ‘cayld
i
problems of youth..
said. Lowell, “we have- not had a
particularly: serious. situation as
far.as youth:is-concerned, hut it
would. be well to: consider. then)
uation. arising”. Wel Meagg AAT fal
' Denison. was introduced“. cand
a discussion: on’ the problems. of
youth in Auburn<was’ that there
seemed to be a:feeling that'recre-
ational activities; éspecially, have
been neglected, and that the-meet-
ing. could well result in commu-
nity cooperation to. consider. them
and help -the students to plan -for
some dean of recreation. Sates
to them. . .
' Miss Joahne Herboth. pe on
the alarming increase all over the
nation in juvenile delinquency, on
account of exeitement created: by
| the war, and: unguided young peo-
tole whose: parents are too busy
and are delinquent themselves in
assuming -the responsibilties -of
parenthood. Miss Patrieia Rich-
ardson spoke of the need for: in-
creased -responsibility for youth,
suggested the formation of a jun-
ior chamber of:commerce, in order
Pt ME
_ dalph,
and participate in the discussion, °°
DeWitt General. pipe with. ay
board of trustees; led the: discus- FeeVar SCHR les.5: note
“At the hospital stops. will be made,
Lowell: stated . that ators! ‘hig
placed...on- the.. méntal ‘education ;
of. youth, and wonderful: advances.
be. paid. to. moral and ‘physical!
“In Auburn,’ ‘tn operation’. this week: ¢alls: for
from ‘Auburn: 7:30: a mm; 10"; sees ore
D: m.,; and 12 piimte eco Sayeed
in order ta prevent serious sit- H
pital: 9 as m:;
“p.m; 4:45 p. m5 he Te» Binet 340]
said: that the purpose of: having}.
Tin cans. shquld. be. ‘reared Gi cer
the usual manner and .shatild. ah
; placed. ad, the DTOREr HY. line. att 12,
[seme time,. ‘ ete ts
“Red” Warner. BAL’ ‘Rani.
Bart: Lukens, ‘Bilt: ‘Beach,
Fred Knudsen, Jess Colt: and the,
Boy Scouts. of. troop 10- were“ag~
sisted by Harry White’s: city, crew
of' Frank Anderson and S:: Nick-
erson in making: the. Reber eal
lection. ;
Bus 0 Op meraien
Between DeWitt
And Auburn: a
‘A bus has fe praced | in oper:
ation. between’: Auburn and? the
In “Auburn ‘the Sia will ‘Map ‘ar
the Freeman hotel;: city: halk and
Shell station: in Lower: Auburn,
7
at. the .administration’: ‘building, |
warehouse: road: and baracks.: a ;
‘The bus will’ opérate on 262mm
ute Schedules’ except, tHe» ‘first: trto
in the morning from Auburn when:
&. 25-minuter : allowance. for’: “the:
trip. will be: ‘made. + i 1
‘:The schedule which: was placed
the “folowing” ‘departing’ dimeal
2p. m.; 4:15 p. my 5:15 p. m.; G2
Departing times. from’ ‘the- hos
Tt: 1330. a. ms -2:40:
p.m... Byes Z PE eb
A. 20 cent’ single tare: hag: been
ie igs 1 Sts x ure Sean
The bus franchise ‘ is elas “byt
the: Nevada Narrow" * Gauge, sy
Pa
rabie 7
; The first: spition in: San--Mateo ie
was. John iB. Cooper, ‘a deserter |.
from the British navy in: 183Swho }
lived in a booth -of” ‘brushwood |
huilt’ under an-oak tree; yiéar ‘the >
‘| adabe ‘hospice. guilt. for travelers ;
from. Mission Santa. Clary, t to. Mis- }
sion’ Dolores. °°... -: an ies "§)
of the pa-
ug Stores,
jay schea-
y October
it be open
2 v ae P. M4
2 day... The
ave posted
» open for
ove ‘to “be
who. have
emergency
ternoon of |
Hatetsar, Hee
beginning
hes
ag the’,
aunty who
corfhe anm-
p fOr. pres
cn ne thef
many,
Kinin
te dovcln|
on sho}
ining, Tea
Gpabilities.
: hoping that he is alive and will
+] Soon, bé removed from the “missing
fin action”
be the navy he had worked for His-
; evening ‘follows! “,
: Ovtober G1 ,
‘eh subject ‘of aviation.
‘s
GILMAN. DUNN.
é an Sn
his Tmany ‘frends’ in? Auburn» are
list.’ Before ‘entering
lop's.. Jittle’ Chapel of. the. Hills,
fs the . State. Theatre ‘and the Union |
Oil: Company i in Auburn.:
‘The telegram received hy: his
mother’: insAubarn on oe
Washington, Diy i+
‘| December .26,) 1942.
su Meg, ‘Kathryn’ Pring:
Auburn, ‘Calif. ‘ ?
‘ope! ‘Navy, ‘Department: deeply
regrets : ito Inform,’ you. that your
‘soriy’ Gitmani ‘Clarence ‘Dunn; Sea-
man: Second’ Class, is Missing fol-
lowing action’ }n. the performance
of ‘his duty and, ‘in’ the ‘sérvice of
' "4
Hi
preciates’ yout, gréat anxiety,, but
Getails not:now “available and de-
tay in‘ receipt’ ‘thereof: must, nec-
essarily’ be expected.. :
ir Rear ‘Admiral’ Rinndalt: Sacobs,; *
sr ‘of. ‘Naval: Personnel: sd
vii
gly
\ Y: ngtructor in
1 ground ° schoah: “work a
ede junior, college, will ad
dress the / ‘Colfax. pein “Tyesday,
‘oe
meeting. ”
. Weaver recently: returned do ihe
one daynpas:: ‘from; Alturas."where. he
“., |instracted'in agrourid’ schoal ‘for }.
PN the ‘élvilian’ ‘pilot training, program
cerville: and
\uburn’ havé
Tahoe Sugat
ile* and: the
me: “company
a
“ehpeets to
savith’ a, eas
hae feet. bee
: st thé “federal: government. °
% cotlege,”; “but “his, .
* Stirce” restrictions “on flying ap-
py: td: all: points wittiin .150 miles |
fot: the! ‘pacific’ coast,‘ Alturas and
"1 Susanville have ‘been, ‘eonducting
ying classes". a ab btine
‘ Weaver’ also: teaches geology! and
édvaphy * at the Placer junior
‘mining . “«chagses
have been discontittued for the
-fyear due toa tact of students in-
‘camels in the, maple
Diamond ©
Match Mes
‘H.W; Hayes of Sacramento has
beer named manager of the. Dia-
mond Match Company at ‘theit
branch yard in: Aubufn. :
, Hayes will ‘take, the: Ted: left
tl vheant by George’ Schmitz... who
ire
+
ae
Cie
Ireeehtly resigned to enter the ser-
vice of the ‘armed forces, -°
% y.
i the officers.
‘Mrs,
} break under’ questioning by the
4through his efforts and those of
this: country. The, ‘department; ap+
{officers-cowld net ,sclive a crime.
“tgreat victor# for those in charge
‘I tigation .by Sheriff Charles Silva
.}and District . Attorney Lowell L.
OL
Brown ; is scheduled to appsar’” :
fore Justice of the Peace P. N.
Aith in Aus Sur this ;
for arrignment for the
Ada Turner,
A compiaint charging Brown
with mprder had been filed b
Sheriff .Ciarles Silya.a. few mo-
ments after he had signed his con-
fession.
Browh: sent tor District Attor-|
j hey Sparks this,morning and on|
) o'clock and of talking briefly wit>
questions trom ‘Sparks he gave
out the confession, He. failed tol
officers; yesterday.
The ,confession. of Brewn is a
great victory for the law enforce-
ment officers of Placer county,
ICottatand-ihe state Of \Califor-
nia: who had merged all of their
effortg on the case. As soon as the
case was first reported to Sheriff
Silva he called: Chief. Stone of the
State ‘Criminal Identification Bu-
reau and asked for assistance.
Witain a’ » few. ‘moments, Chief
Stone’s ace 'man,. Owen: Kessel,
‘was on‘hils. way to Colfax. Kessel
remained on the job constantly and
Sheriff Silva and his deputies and
District Attorney Sparks a close
net was being being woven around
Brown, A Giga’ which was found
under’ the ‘body’ of Mrs. Turner
was playing an. important part in
the case. Officers found that this
same kind: of ¢igar had been pur-
chased in Colfax.by Brown a short
time: befora Mrs, Turner was
thought to ave ‘peen murdered.
investigation “/il80, disclosed that
Brown. had - bragged’ that “hick”
His clothes: Witte had. been: soak-
‘ing all.day in'iwatet were taken to
Sacramento. tor investigation as to
humdn blood: coritent. Every inch
of. ground) wae, being searched for
he mis sing invenigon3: All in ‘all
the: iconfdsston. of Brown was a
=
of . the ‘case,
The’ murdered body of Mrs.. Ada
Belle. Turner, 78, was found in
aer. Colfaxi home’on Monday
morning. Mrs, , Turner’s blood spat-
tered body) ‘stripped, of c.othing
except: for::Shoes atid stockings;
was found if the basement of her
‘nome by: a: nelghbory Mrs. J. M.
Scarborough.
Her throat’ had been cut, sev-
ering the’ juglar véin; other knife
slashes were visible ‘on her neck,
her ‘jaw had-been broken and she
thad been. stabbed. on the left
‘oreast, the wound ipa her
lung. , bok oe
Mrss. Turner’ Wgs: the widow of
the late R. L, Turner, Colfax city
councilman’ and retired mining
operative, 3
ploye of Colfar'-who claims to be
18 years of Age was placed in thc
Placer cotinty jail shortly after the
crime was discovered when inves-
Sparks uiiebvered clues which tend
to’ connect him‘ with the murder.
The. officers received tips, that
Brown ‘had ‘seen seen on the Tur-
ner place im the early afternoon
NUT SearCD GY blood stains ne
,claimed to
‘and clothes
afternoon mento }
murder of ' st
.teau who has
viff
¥ were also taken from the sus
ne says he shot thas been found by
/
(
Glenard Brown, goat farm em-.
received
deer
koled.
2 taken to Saer 2Q-
;
by a conve ‘entative of the
ate Criminal Identification Hu-
Wen
which
yacking iNew oi
been assisting Sher-
the case. Scrapings
pect’:
Silva in
fingernails,
Sheriff Silva reports the youtn
admitted having visited the Tur-
ner home or. Sunday at about 1
Mrs. Turner. The officers stressed
tne fact that the route the sus-
pect said he toNowed in leaving
the place covered a mile or more
when he could have left directly
by a route of 100 yards.
Neithor the knite with which
Mrs. Turner is believed to have
been killed nor the one Brown
said he used in skinning the deer
the officers. The rifle Brown used
in killing the deer and which he is
toought to have been carrying
when he was seen leaving the Tur-
ner home also remains unfound
after hours of search by officers.
Owen Kessell of the state bu-
reau has ‘been working closely with
Sheriff Silva and District Attor-
ney Sparks in uncovering the mys-
tery. The three questioned Brown
for two hours shortly after his
arrest in the office of Coronet
Francis West in Colfax.
He told the officers he was born
in Denver, Colo., April 18, 1924
which would make him 18 years of
age. His record wheh he was ‘an
(Continued on Page 3)
Lincoln
Pioneer
Mrs. Emma Ellen Jansen, 81
widow of the late Walter Janser
of Lincoln and mother of Wilfres
E. Jansen of Auburn died at her
home in Lincoln on rnentay, eve-
ning. :
Services will be held Friday aft
ernoon from the Farnsworth Mor:
tuary in Lincoln.
Mrs. Jansen was born in Sadie
son, Amador county, the daughte:
of the late Mr. and Mrs. Wallacc
Kay,’ who settled in Amador ir
the 1850’s. Her father was a pi-
oneer photographer.
- Fifty two years ago, Mrs. Janser
moved to Lincoln where her lat:
husband, Waiter Jansen, foundec
the Jansen and Sons grain anc
feed business. She was a charte:
member of the Golden Star Chap-
ter of the OES which was formec
in Jackson sixty years ago.
- Forty years ago she joined the
Friendship Chapter No. 67 of Lin-
roln and became affiliated witt
the Lincoln Parlor of the Na-
jive Daugters of the Golden West
he Lincoln Lodge of Rebekah:
|
he lburn Montcon ore
The water | will
Wilkinson,
Montgomery
hie bay district befp
moted to the
ed asiztant Mmasrog:
Serve. under
Barnes held a powltiad
Ward ff
Auburn s
He has a wife and on
they have rented 2 ho:
ange street,
Tire Peri:
Issued “3
Ray Carlisle, exeeut:
lary of the war price ans,
boards of this section: <
nia announces fhat: ni
the Placer county’ box
been changed as follow’
Auburn area board—J
Roseville board 254-2
Colfax board—25-3.:"
Lincoln board—23-4 |
The Lake Tahoe boart
as a sub board out-of 4
Thé following tire pen
issued out of the Auburn
fice this past week:: «°
New Truck Tite
C. F, Brunkhorst, Ap}
Sam Gailbreath,;Aubi
G. Cavigli, Auburn; -£
Union Ice Company, %
E. 8. Nepper,’ Auburn
Wm. 8. Beach; “Aub
‘ ; ruck Tubes
Ben F. Snider; Aubun
Floyd ‘T.. Bastian,’ No
Sam Gailbreath;.. Aub
Union Ice Company? .
_. Passenger Reca
Albion A. Sargent, Al
Charles Negus, Aubur
Helen M.. Swyney; A
Mina Jordan, Lincoln
Harry -A. Eaton,.New:
Auburn ere Exch ets.
“2.
Arthur’ r Volder, ‘te
‘Geo. B. iKnoff, Auba
W. L. Blewett, Aubut
; Truck Reco
Ben P. Snider, Aryl
Archie A. Goidsberry
Union Ice Companyy
he Dias, Gold Hil}
A, Halliker, Loorg
st ey Banltesy’ Dag
333
‘ W. Zimdars, Fotest
John Boyington, Loon
Pacific Gas and. Ele
burn, 1. . i
Floyd T, paskiont ie
Emory Addison, Aube
Passenger Tub
Virginia Breek, Aubu
Ira N. Hulbert, Aubl
George Kessler, Loon
George B. Knoff, Aut
Obsolete. Tire
Ira N. Helbert, Aub
George Kessler, Lod
———_———-
TOR SALE— Mining k
aes
ye
3.
9
a
(Continued on Page 2)
tices, at the Jowmnal.«
i
ae
S. Guy Lukens Sigurd
Jof Sunday and later at-a point
yigod on hié shirt. At the time he}
was ‘placed’ in’ custody, Brown
ye stoutly tente he killed the aged
iG
rin
about a‘hife {rom tbe house, wit! |
|
{ 144 Reamer St.
Vettestad —
Lukens-Vettestad- Bryan’
Funeral Home -
AMBULANCE SERVICE
“Auburn
ed
f BROWN, Glennard, wh, gassed CAP (Placer) February 15, 1944,
Sete - ' s f-
sme saa
e
The pleasant shingle and stucco. home of
well-to-do Mrs. Ada Belle Turner, in Col-
fax, Calif. Just inside the door leading to
the cellar to the right of the steps, a
furious blow to the skull felled her.
“Mrs. Turner was murdered,”
Coroner Francis West repeated
briskly over the long distance telephone
from Colfax, Calif. ‘Knife and hatchet
or ax, looks like. Must have happened
some time yesterday.”
“Any idea what the motive was?” I
asked. “Everybody in the county loved
her.”
“No. I can’t tell you a thing more ex-
cept a woman neighbor found her dead in
the basement of the house out on Auburn
Street here in Colfax.”
“Okay. I’ll call the D. A. and get un-
der way.” I hung up.
Yes, I'll get under way, I thought.
Mrs. Ada Belle Turner, widow of Robert
L. “Bob” Turner, prominent mining op-
erator and Colfax city councilman for
many years, was my friend. In fact, she
was the friend of everybody in Placer
County.
Mrs. Turner had been one of the out-
standing women in our rugged Mother
Lode mining and cattle country. After
her husband’s death some years before
she had carried on alone. In spite of her
advanced age she still could ride a horse
better than a lot of young men and
20 .
CO" anger pounded through me.
STARTLING DETECTIVE
By
SHERIFF CHARLES H. SILVA
(right)
Placer County, Calif.
as told to
FRED DIEFENDORF
women, She managed her own affairs
and was financially independent, living
alone in her comfortable home.
With these fleeting thoughts I picked
up the telephone, informing D. A. Lowell
L. Sparks and calling two of my capable
deputies, John L. Shannon and Charles
Dolce. I put through a long distance call
to Sacramento and soon was talking to
Charles Stone, chief of the State Bu-
reau of Criminal Investigation.
“Charlie,” I said after explaining our
case, “send up Owen Kessel, if you can
spare him, direct to the scene. We'll leave
everything as is until he gets there.”
At Stone’s promise I felt a grim satis-
faction. Kessel was one of the best
technical men and investigators in
California. And since the murder had
occurred anywhere fromtwelvetotwenty-
four hours earlier, the slayer had a long
head start. We would need all possible
help starting out on a cooling trail, I knew.
Sparks and his assistant, C. E. Tindall,
went in one car. Shannon, Dolce and I
picked up F. E. Perry, my*official pho-
tographer, at his Lincoln Way office in
Auburn, and raced along the highway
toward Colfax on up into the timbered
Sierra hills,
MAGAZINE, May,
It was
28, 1942,
the car fe
made the
appear al
We pu!
road con
rectly thr
toward t)
skirts of
bungalow
beside se
Coroner
Walter |
were in t
my own
out from
“The |
Biscia sa
limp hanc
a slope to
a level wi
“Any «
He sto;
the wom:
home unt:
Corone
door, sho
open care
over his
ness of
nothing.
West r
tric light
walked 1
though p!
much coo
suddenly :
The box
concrete
stained tl
near the e
beside the
corner we
ing out to
another b
Shades o:
Pere VS ee
DETECTI
STARTLING
ity Republican
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 1, 1942
oN to ‘Dunh was seaman second class
»: entered the, United States Navy a
. ‘Teint days i ‘after’ the attack by the
cm,
a} islands. Gitman suffered: the loss
“dof a finger when a torpedo his ship}.
‘s[iwas. launching: slipped.
PHO}
£2
TELE E 237
{Missing
: In Action -
3 Mrs, Ka tiryn Dunn of Auburn has
EEN
diwith: ihe navy. ‘at the time ‘of the
_| Missing In Action
Gilman Dunn
* “4
s (eicnie Clarence Dunn, son of
Deen ‘reported missing in action by
che United States Navy.
‘with the Units States Navy. He
Japanese on Pearl Harbor. He was
quick to. see. action as 4 member
i the United States. Navy, being
attack on the Gilbert and Marshall
* Duan: ‘was a fine young man and
a BY
Piety
his many a is in Abbi: &: are
hoping that he is alive and will}
‘| soon be removed from the “missing |
in action” list. Before entering.
the navy he had worked for His- |
lop's. little Chapel of the Hills, |!
the State Theatre and the Union
Oil Company in Auburn.
The .telegram received by his}
mother in Auburn on Saturday
evening follows:
Washington, D.C.
December 26, 1942.
Mrs. Kathryn Dunn,
Auburn, Calif. ;
“The Navy Department. deeply
regrets to inform you {hat your
son, Giiman Clarence Dunn, Sea-
mayg/Second Class, is.Missing fol-
lowing action in the performance
j ‘ments after ‘he, had signed his con-
4 fession.” “
q ney Sparks this morning and on
%4 out the confession. He failed to
‘break under questioning by: the
‘officers yesterday.
|was on his way to Colfax. Kessel
Brown Confesses
Colfax Mu
Confession Of Brutal Murder Of |
Colfax Woman Was Given To Placer
County Officers T
“DON'T KNOW WHY HE DID IT”
* Quick Solving Of Crime Was Result
Of Close Cooperation Between —
County And State Officials
Glen wr ‘Baw: of Colfax
brutal. murder of Mrs. Ada Bell
ment ‘given before Distriet Atto
Charles Silya, Deputy Sheriff Jack Shannon and Court Reporter
Ceeil Coughlin.
When asked by Distriet Attorney Spar ks as to why he had
killed the woman, Brown replied,
jin ais .confession he stated he@—
killed ‘the woman with’a knife. He
stated that he did not know where
“he had put thé. knife and agreed
. to take the sofficers to. Colfax this
f -afternoon’ ta? aid: in‘ locating his
;Tifle which hie chad hid and which
was the cause: for muca search by
_the officérs. » +s)
Brown; is stheduitd to. appear *
before Justice :of the Peace P. N.
Smith in’ Alburn this: afternoon |
tor arrignment. for the murder of '
Mrs. Ada Turner.
2A scompiaint charging Brown ;
with murder. had been filed by
Sheriff Charles, Silva a few mo-
’ Brown, “sent. for District Attor-
questions from: Sparks he: gave
» The confession of, Brown is a
_ | Sreat victory for the law enforce-
ment officer's of Placer county,
~ | Colfa¥and:thestate. Of Califor-
nia who had merged all of their
efforts on-the cdse. As soon as. the
case was first reported to Sheriff
Silva he called: Chief Stone of the
State Criminal Identification Bu-
reau and asked for assistance.
Within’ a few. moments, Chief
Stone’s ace man, Owen Kessel,
remained on the, job constantly and
Sheriff Silva and his deputies and
District Attotmey Sparks a close
net was being being woven around
Brown, A cigar which was found
under the ‘body’ of Mrs. Turner
was playing am iraportant part in}
the case. Officers found that this
same kind: of tiger fad been pur-
fe his te cand-in the service of
; <¥. ”
the says he shot has been found by
through his efforts and those of|'
c hased in Colfax by — a camgueaned
rder
his Morning
this mornine confessed to the
e Turner of Colfax in a state-
rney Lowell L. Sparks, Sheriff
“T'dén’t know w hy T dia it.?” dus
weman,
When ‘taken into custody the
cfficers found a pail of water in
which Brown was soaking clothes.
Brown told the officers that he was
soaking ‘his ‘clothes to remove]:
, blood stains he
‘packing
received. when
illegal deer which ‘he
claimed to have ki.led..The water’
and clothes were thken to Sacra-
_mento ‘by a representative of the
State Criminal Identification Ru-
reau who has been assisting Sher-
iff Silva in the case. Scrapings
were also taken from the suspect’s
fingernails.
Sheriff Silva reports the youth
admitted haying visited the Tur-
ner ‘home or. Sunday ‘at about 1
o'clock and of talking briefly witi>
Mrs. Turner. The officers stressed
the fact that the route the sus-
pect said he followed in leaving
the place covered a mile or more
when he could have left directly
by.a route of 100 yards.
Neither the knife with which
Mrs. Turner is believed to have
been killed nor the one Brown
said he used in skinning the deer
the officers. The rifle Brown used
in killing the deer and which he is
thought to. have been carrying
when he was seen leaving the Tur-
ner home also remains unfound
after hours of search by officers.
Owen Kessell of the state bu-
reau has been warking closely with
Sheriff Silva and District Attor-
ney Sparks in uncovering the mys-
tery. The three questioned Brown
for: two hours shortly after his
, struction at Placer
JCP
Attendance at the Pi
college passed the 15%,
terday. The enroliment
day was set at. 153 by
registrar.
Thé Placer Union higi
attendance on the s
590 by Clifford Wie:
cipal.
The breakdown by
high school its Seniors,
142; sophomores, i53
160. ; “s
Ss. M. Berpoeeary
je
announced today that
is the final. date’ on which 2. st
dent may’ register at. Place?. ny
ior college for a complete
program. . .
Some students wi itt be deni
after that date ‘on the “basis at
part time program.. ‘
R. a
Assistant ©
At. Wards: .:
R, E. Barnes: was paste iy na
éd assistant :marrager-ai the 4
burn Montgomery, Ward Siote:'
will serve under j Man :
Wilkinson... 3." *
*Batnes held a positio
Montgomery Ward -Com=
thé bay district before
moted to the Auburn siore
He has a wife and oné th
they have rented ‘a home
ange street.
‘3 aoa ®
Be he
Tire Permits 3
Issued ©
Say Carlisle, executive “see
tary of the war price and rationi
boards of. this .section of, Calif
nia announces that. numbers;
the Platet ‘county boards hag
been changed as follows? os Sh
Auburn area board—25-1l
Roseville board 25—2 .
Colfax ‘board—25-3
Lincoln board--25-2 !
The Lake Tahoe board opera}:
as a sub board out of arg ie
The following tire permits we
issued out of. the Auburn ration 9 ow
fice this past week: -<
New Truck Tires’ Re
Cc. F. Brunkhorst, ArplesaterG
Sam Gailbreath, Ausurn, 2 =
chee g
3 er pers Kaha ~
sy
arrest in the office of Coroner
Francis West In Colfax.
He told the officers he was born
in Denver, Colo., April 18 1924
Q. Cavigii, Atburt, 4.
nag Tee Company,
. S&S. Nepper. Aubare o e
Wak Bo Benth, Avera 4
Z Lig 7 tac® wher a
Wich: woul onde hie 9% vere of
Lae Sater. Auburn. T
“ ‘
4 Cal. 141 PACIFIC REPORTER, 2d SERIES
The vice of the instruction here given is
in calling particular attention to the tes- McCARTHY v. CITY OF OAKLAND et al.
timony of the defendant. The rule covered | Civ. 12480.
by the instruction should be stated in gen-
eral terms and the jury should be left with- District Court of Appeal, First District,
Division 1, California,
out suggestion of its application to any pat-
ticular witness. People v. Bartol, supra, Sept. 24, 1943.
24 Cal.App. 665, 142 P. 510; see also, Hearing Deni
65, ; ; sec ed Nov. 22, 1943.
Nichole v. Pacific Electric R. Co, 178 Caley Gonstituti . ‘i :
630, 632, 174 P. 319; Juchert v. Tenent, © onstitutional law €>700)
Though public policy is sometimes de-
126 Cal.App. 216, 217, 14 P.2d 617; Hough- ake ue
ton v. Pickwick Stages, 87 Cal.App. 669, clared by judicial decisions, specific provi-
674-677, 262 P. 770. In the present case sions relative to pension rights enacted by
the trial court did give such a general in- a Iegislative body having jurisdiction over
struction, charging the jury that: “In de- such rights establishes the “public policy”
termining the credibility of any witness with respect thereto, so that courts may not
x * * you may also consider x « * interfere.
See Words and Phrases, Permanent
their interest or absence of interest in con-
ection with the results of the issues before Eiition, for all other definitions of
you; * * *? “Publie Policy”.
[6] The Bartol case further disting- 2. Constitutional law C= 162(2)
Though a pension law may be repealed
ighs case, relied on by de-
at it was decided or modified, when one becomes eligible to
ction 41% of be and is in fact placed on a pension roll, a
vested right accrues of which pensioner
uishes the Mat
fendant, by pointing out th
prior to the adoption of se
article VI of the Constitution. Under this
section “No judgment shall be set aside may not be deprived.
* * * on the ground of misdirection of
the jury" * * unless, after an examina- 3. Officers C=94
tion of the entire cause, including the evi- The vested right of a pensioner who is
dence, the court shall be of the opinion that eligible to be and has been placed on a pen-
the error complained of has resulted in a sion roll is not to a specific sum, but pension
miscarriage of justice.” We cannot say may be increased or decreased in accord-
that a miscarriage of justice resulted in this ance with rank of pensioner at time of re
case from that portion of the challenged
instruction which singled out defendant’s i
testimony. The record contains substantial 4, Constitutional law 190
evidence tending to connect defendant with An amendment to a pension law may be
the homicide. As stated above, on the day retroactive if the intent that it should so op-
of the homicide the deceased was seen in
the rear yard of her home with defendant, 5. Municipal corporations C>!76(3)
who was carrying a rifle. Upon his subse- Amendment of city charter so as to
quent arrest defendant directed officers tO hrovide for forfeiture of right ko solice
the places where he had concealed the rifle jensio eile 4 dd f bel :
and knife used in the homicidal assault. Ce ont pan Nie coe te ze . 7 ons
Defendant admitted that he had perpetrated rieht of _ °° c ps s° as aap a
the crime and it is not claimed the confes- Bos © previously deceased police officer s
sion was improperly obtained. In addi- widow nosh name had already been placed
on pension roll. St.1911, p. 1610, § 96(3).
tion to the instruction now under considera-
tion the trial court correctly directed the 6. Municipal corporations C>176(3)
jury on the principle announced in the chal- Deceased police officer’s widow whose
lenged instruction. The jury also was in- name was placed on pension roll when city
structed that it was the exclusive trier of charter provided for forfeiture of pension
yy a member of police depart-
the facts. Under the evidence and the rights only |
charge as a whole, prejudicial error did not ment receiving a pension upon being con-
result from the improper reference in a yicted of a felony, could not be deprived
single instruction to defendant’s “position of pension on account of subsequent con-
and interest” in the case. viction of a felony and amendment of city
The judgment is affirmed, charter so as to provide for forfeiture by
tirement,.
erate is clear.
Glee: Mi nln on NPI Ba AA ENON. poling (ad ls
sab wanna sonore a a it MOR PT EE DN (Stihaiamere apn cp LTA ett dag
NO APPEAL
BORSEL, Constantino, Italian, hanged at San Quentin (Los Angeles) on 9-11-1908,
"To avenge a fancied insult to his wife, Constantino Boresci yesterday morning shot
to death Emilia d'Eramo, an employee of the United Casting Company, He was captured
after a desperate struggle with J, E, Mahoney and Jd, A. Fuchs, who leaped upon him,
wrested the revolver from his hand, and bound him with ropes. Boresci is 3li-years-
old and a good-looking man, He married a beautiful little Italian girl some years
his junior and brought her to Los Angeles, She became the belle of the Italian
colony, Admirers loitered about her home when her husband was away, hoping for a
glance from her soarkling black eyes for for a word of encouragement, Boresci's
friends informed him that d'Eramo, young and handsome, was spending too much time
near the Boresci home and that Michaelo Moranda, 17 years of age, was also too de-
voted to the young wife, The husband took his bride to Italy, Then he returned
alone, A mad desire for revenge inflamed him, He felt he must wipe out the supposed
stain that had fallen upon his name, When he arrived in Los Angeles Thursday night,
his friends received him and told him that dtEramo was working for the United
Casting Company, at Wilson and Violet Streets, and that Moranda was also there,
Early yesterday morning, Boresci went to the works and found the men working side
by side, He approached the foreman and asked for work, but was told there was none
for him, He turned, walked swiftly foward d'Eramo and Moranda,y and opened fire, ‘The
first shot, according to witnesses, was at Moranda, who dropped to the ground,
feigning death, though unwounded, Then Boresci leveled his revolver at d'Eramo who
faced him calmly, Three times the husband pulled the trigger arid 8'Eramo dropped to
his knees and fell forward on his face, He was dead, Mahoney and Fuchs seized the
murderer and someone telephoned for the police, An inquest will be held today,"
TIMES, Los Angeles, CA, Feb. 1, 1908 (12/1&2),
4
‘ Bae ey fun J LA CO. )
b
19 a5
on “arch .15,
OUTHERN Pacific train No. 5, speeding between Porta
Costa and Oakland Pier, California, was crowded with
passengers. It was November 14th. On the rear plat-
form of the Pullman car, “Amazonia,” Brakeman E. T.
Wright stood chatting with Pullman Conductor William
Ames. Casually the brakeman glanced upwards, then sent
his elbow jabbing into the ribs of his companion.
Ames caught Wright’s eye and saw him point to the top
of the car. The conductor looked up. A man’s leg was
dangling above them. —
“Hey, you, come down from there,” Ames commanded.
From the roof of the car, a man dropped slowly to the
platform and stared angrily at the pair.
“What’re you doing up there, anyway?” the brakeman
demanded.
“Ridin’—what d’you suppose,” the other snarled.
“Who are you?” asked Conductor Ames.
For an answer the man whipped out a revolver from his
. pocket and leveled it squarely at the trainmen.
“Get your hands up—and turn around—quick,” he ordered.
It was obvious that he meant business. Two pairs of
hands shot into the air.
slow—as if nothin’
Now at the merc
<r RE Nera
2
FSS £
SOG yo
BY CHIEF SPECIAL AGENT =“
DANIEL O'CONNELL =“.
Southern Pacific Railway
As told to I
EUGENE B. BLOCK
Pd
and_ brakeman stepped into the Pullman wondering what
would happen next, eager to forestall a train holdup, yet
powerless to avert it. .
Waving his gun, the robber Wwalked_to_the_seat_occupied
by Mr. and Mrs. A. B. Gulick, an elderly couple, and quickly
secured Gulick’s wallet containing $50.
Again he addressed the men in uniform. “Get in this seat
—the two of you,” he ordered, “and don’t any of you make
a sound.”
Ames and
Gulicks.
Frederick Young was the next passenger to be menaced
Without a. word he handed over $190
and a pocketbook filled with a collection of unset emeralds,
Z
Ck Lite.
Wright dropped to the cushions beside the
f
aisle. The others, cowed behind her,
on fearfully, sensing
trouble. Resistance to the
Axtale. WMicaLer ¢
Cos
Me Aetna
ep LCE ae LEV:
bp nbrbretia nt ha, i RESIDENCE raf ; GEN
DATE
la-L- /9/2
| METHOD
Pe ai
APPEA
SA [ae fece fo
LAST WORDS
EXECUTION
4 Tanto Woflg(s
PRANK NEWTON OFFIEE GuPeiv—poTHaN
Aen ecrama Be iifplase
Li
Me [E-2 2h |
AGE } METHOD
ey
LA
AMA AR 1f0 Sion a
VA
pris poser on fe ceatei pn n preceding “night, Boss was a agreed in an pa hep mre herang es-
Reine to Sibkad car hen Cavey ran in pursuit. ae tained and shot banat bullet ering: in head.
They were captured in Albany, Ore,, and denied being in Sacramento at time of robbery. SACRAMENTO
BEE, 1-7-1930; 1-8-1930; Miss Hester Wilcox who lived an apartment with them located at 1801 Six-
teenth St., Sacramento, testified at trial as did Miss Zona Sales who also lived there, said they
admitted killing Carey when they turned home with Davis accusing Boss of firing shot and said that
et was a perecerys. 2 do oe She said oes Davis ee boasvdet pak they vtitrace shoot’ it —.
tne Da = eV ew e-saw
Clerks a atone "3
Ighile boee sented up money. @0arey ieee wien they left aT Oves ‘BEE, 1-9-1930; Decided to flee,
* Sacramento when they saw in paper that Carey was dead, Defense offered no evidence, attorneys :
pleading for life in summation to jury. Captured in SXXXR4HH St. Francis Hotel, Albany, Vregon,
BEE 1-10-1930; Jury convicted following 59 minutes of deliberation , BEE 1-11-1930; Both heard
death sentence unflinchingly. Boss flushed slightly as he stook before court while only emotion
showed xe Davis was when he eecaee at aaah ee while sentence being pronounced, Immediat ely
*s sey
auged ght Meueedt 1.22, Lied lieu Tesusonisringy tacltig Cigulle un Dl
EXECUTION
92
pulled that cardroom: job you're erasy.”
Chief Mann eyed him coldly. “We haven't
said that, yet. But we’ll have to ask your
C.O. to hold you till we check your story.”
Whitson lit another cigarette. “Suit your-
self,” he said. “VI be around.” Without a
backward glance he left the room.
A moment later Turner entered. His
face was flushed with excitement. “That's
one of them,” he exclaimed, “The one who
shot down the cop.”
“Are you sure?” Mann asked.
“Positive. I'll never forget those mean
eyes, that little trick mustache of his.”
A short time later, accompanied by an
Oakland officer, Farina picked up Brig-
ance at his home. The first thing the of-
ficers noted was that he spoke in a soft
Southern drawl and in contrast to Whit-
son’s sullen behavior, he was almost jovial.
He joked with Farina on the way to
headquarters. He was still joking when he
was.confronted by a battery of grim-faced
cops in Inspector Jewell’s office. “Just like
in the movies,” he said. “Where's the rub-
ber hose?”
“Now I'll ask you one,” Mann said.
“Where’s the gun?”
“What gun?”
“The tommy-gun Whitson used to kill
that cop.”
“You guys are joking,” Brigance laughed.
“Why ask me?”
“Because you were with him when he
used that gun. It’s no joke. And the laugh
is on you.” Opening the door, he beckoned
with his hand and ‘Turner stepped into the
room. Slowly, the cab driver stalked up to
Brigance. He stared long and searchingly
into the laughing face. Then his lips curled
back in a snarl. “You lousy punk,” he
said, “I’ll never forget those ten minutes
I sweated through when you and your pal
were trying to make up your minds to kill
me. And [ll never forget that laughing
puss of yours.” He turned to Chief Mann,
“T's him, all right.”
Brigance denied that he and his brother-
in-law had pulled the Oaks Club job and
backed up Whitson’s alibi. It was immedi-
ately checked and proved to be partially
true, Whitson, Brigance and his wife had
made the rounds of several night spots
on the night of the murder. But they had
last heen seen leaving, the Silver Dollar
at 11 o’clock. From that time on their
movements were unaccounted for.
An official order was issued and Whit-
son was turned over to the police by the
haval authorities. Both suspects were sub-
jected to further grilling, but neither
cracked.
Sure that he had the right men, Mann
realized that he had to strengthen the case
against them to get a conviction. Thus far,
all he had was the unsupported testimony
of Turner to back up the murder charge.
The missing sub-machine gun was vital.
If that could be found, the case would be
far more air-tight.
Brigance’s home was searched from attic
to cellar. No tommy-gun turned up, but
the search party did find a dark suit of
clothes, a white shirt and a pair of cordu-
roy pants that were identified by patrons
of the Oaks Club as similar to the clothing
worn by the bandits. That was something
but not yet enough. The search for the
sub-machine gun was pressed with re-
newed vigor.
It was found several days later by a
plumber. Of all places, it was tucked com-
fortably under the arm of his 8-year-old
son. His eyes bugged out. That was the
most realistic toy machine gun he had
ever seen, “Come here,” he called to the
hoy. “Let me see that gun?”
Proudly his son offered the weapon,
The plumber grabbed it and gulped.
This was no toy-—it was the real thing.
“Where did you get this?” he demanded.
The boy turned around and pointed. “I
found it in the empty lot next door. Under
an old wash boiler.”
“When?”
The boy was not exactly sure but he
thought that he had stumbled on his trea-
sure four or five days before.
The plumber’s suspicions were confirmed,
Ile reealled the slaying of Ollicer Tliaas.
The papers had been full of it. It had taken
place just about a week before. Despite
the wailing protests of his son, he con-
fiscated the deadly weapon and hurried
with it to the Oakland headquarters.
Later that morning the plumber’s boy
showed Farina where he had found the
“Deal me out, while I step outside and get some more money.”
Hun. ‘The spot was LOO feet fron the hick
door of the Brigance house in Oakland.
Ballistics tests were immediately made.
The slugs that had cut Haas down had
heen fired from that gun.
SUll hoping to surprise a confession out
of Brigance, Farina told him that the sub-
machine gun had been found. He drew a
blank.
“Swell,” grinned Brigance, jovial as ever,
“Now all you got to do is find the real
killers and let us go.”
Farina tried the same approach on Whit-
son.
“Huh,” the sailor snorted. “So what?”
“It was right in Brigance’s back yard.”
“What does that prove?”
“That’s pretty close to home.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Whitson
said disdainfully. “There’s plenty of those
guns laying around since the war. I can
show you one myself.”
“Where?”
“Out at Brigance’s place.”
“Let’s go take a look,” Farina said.
Taken to the Brigance home, Whitson
made good his boast. In a cleverly con-
cealed hiding place behind a panel in the
living room wall was a second sub-ma-
chine gun, identical with the one that had
killed Haas.
All unwittingly, Whitson had gone a
long way toward convicting himsclf. Why
he had revealed the second youn was never
determined, unless he thought he would
confuse the issue by giving the police two
weapons to puzzle over, But he accom-
plished directly the opposite. Mann and
Farina had felt all along that the murder
gun had been stolen from an army or navy
establishment. Now Whitson had as much
as admitted that he had stolen not one,
but two guns.
With the two weapons in his possession,
Chief Mann was ready to go to trial. It
fot under way in Alameda County Su-
perior Court on June 7th, before Judge S.
Victor Nagler and an all-woman jury.
The State presented a strong case. Among
its chief witnesses were the sailor whom
Whitson had first broached on the Oaks
Club robbery, cab driver Turner, who
dramatically identified the defendants as
the slayers, and a_ ballistics expert. The
latter established the damaging fact that
the sub-machine gun found in the lot back
of Brigance’s home was the one that had
cut down Haas.
The defense was palpably weak. It re-
lied chiefly on a sentimental appeal to the
women on the jury, some of whom had
sons in the service. Whitson, who appeared
in court in uniform, was lauded as a hero.
The flag) was waved, But it was all to no
avail. The women jurors could not be
side-tracked. The real issue was that a
policeman had been slain in cold blood.
After a brief deliberation, they brought in
their verdict. Both Whitson and Brigance
were found guilty of murder in the first
degree. There was no recommendation for
mercy
The trial over, King and Moore were
swiftly indicted for the Baldwin Hotel
job and were subsequently sentenced to
long terms in the penitentiary.
The defense lawyers for Whitson and
Brigance exhausted all legal means to save
the two killers. But their appeals were
overruled one by one. Incxorably, the final
day of judgment arrived. On September
14th, 1945, the machine-gun killers gave
up their lives in the gas chamber at San
Quentin prison.
Epiror’s Norte:
The names, Felix Turner, Don Meers,
Al Cohn, Craig King and Joe Moore, are
fictitious.
A
Rhine
Maiden
Golden
Hued
Handle
aunttennnaiiamemaanlll
FRE!
GENU!!
LEATH:
Not ordin
fine leath:
your choic
ed model;
taking car
NOW to
knife is fi
back, Firs:
aaneninniaieemmesmettn
u
: : ; ’ A + 9 10h0
BRIGGS, Maurice Louis, wh, gassed CA (LA) August 7, 1942
ot
NS
VE
SLAYING
‘ were tone. The girl’s hat
2re missing.
lot around here,” remarked
We'll make another search,
going to be tough going with
‘ss to tell us who she is.”
teeth,” suggested the ser-
the teeth,” repeated Mc-
e can find out the dentist
rked on them. But to do
nost got to find out who she
she comes from.”
hed the ground even more
it were not abla to add any-
to the evidence. Back in
the corporal awaited the
t with eagerness while he
omplaints made during the
the hope of finding some-
missing who might turn
nameless skeleton.
il report was soon forth-
skeleton was that of a
at 30, of medium build, and
‘om the holes in her dress,
‘rom the tears made by an-
been shot six times, once
id five times in the breast.
ght lavender dress with a
nd a white belt trimmed
beige stockings. Her hair
st black. An upper and a
“re missing. Another was
‘on, the sum total
! ication, McClung
broadcast the de-
< newspapers in sev-
play it up. He shrewdly
of the data, such as the I
the dental chart. “These,” ‘
ociates, “we'll hold for a :
-e’ll be several who'll rec- 4
lls Case runs true to form,
a skeleton. And it’s going 3
‘prove claims unless we’re |
arn Identity
out. The bones and the
“recognized” by several
z-held fears at rest. But
belt and missing teeth
ns out as mistakes. ;
Oct. 14, 1934, a week
ery of the skeleton, the
they had something, A
the Morgantown head-
ed to see the remains and
1e had read the descrip-
paper and thought the
be a missing relative.
‘ i dcuffs, was charged by
une, and said her home Maurice L. Briggs, 25, shown in han
e, Va. But, when shown
2 shook her head.
g more,” muttered Mc-
ess of his grin of resig-
z that he really had had
time the identification
len rather casually he
ng about the woman’s
as the reply. “Nell had
es and one of her
sage 61]
Los Angeles with the murder of Nat Ross, former
ee cas iane pe director. Briggs was estranged from i
wife, above, to whom he had been married only two mon io
prior to separation. Police investigating the shooting, quot
Briggs as saying: “I killed him because he was gots “te
with my wife. I’m not sorry I did it. I‘d do it again if I coul -T'm
ready for gas or whatever they give you here in California.
a
—— _
BRIGGS,
T WAS murder. Murder of a peculiar-
I ly horrible sort. Murder as ruthless,
as deliberate, as coldly calculating
—and as tragically futile—as any mur-
der I’ve ever encountered in all my
police experience.
It came with bewildering suddenness.
Nobody was expecting it. The victim
least of all.
The victim was going about his busi-
ness as usual, whistling blithely as he
worked. He had good reason that night
to feel unusually happy.
He was ‘superintendent of the Cotton
Products Company at 1627 South
Broadway, Los Angeles, and his real
name was Nathan Rosenberg. Long ago,
however, he had dropped the last three
letters from his first name and the final
six from his last and became Nat Ross.
That was the name everybody knew
him by.
Everybody liked Nat Ross. He was
the sort of fellow who would go out of
his way to do you a favor. Just to do
a kindness for a guy gave him a feeling
of pleasure. It was his belief that there’s
some good in every person, if only you
know how to bring it out, and he was
always trying to prove it.
And it was this belief,
enough, that led to his murder that
night.
He hadn’t been long with the Cotton
Products Company; only a few weeks, in
fact: His real job was in the movies, and
in his day he had been one of the
best producers in Hollywood.
A colorful character, this Nat Ross.
He got his start in pictures, years ago,
when he walked into the office of Stan-
ley Nasbaum, New York chain theatre
owner, and said:
“Mr. Nasbaum, what you need is a
fellow like me, who represents the pub-
i
MAURICE L.,
ironically _
white
J
v
casp
aos Angles) August 7, 1942
JEALOUS-MAD
MURDERER
Detective
JANUARY
"| CAPTURED CALIFORNIA'S JEALOUS-MAD
Cases
Veli l- No.3
CONTENTS
MURDERER" - - - - -
By RADIO OFFICER C. A. HARRIS
Inside
story of a bizarre, triangle of death.
SINNER’S LOVE AFFAIR. - - -
-
By BUD MARTIN
By RADIO OFFICER
CHARLES O. HARRIS
ag hs the dead woman in the hotel room? Why was she
KILLERS ON HORSEBACK - -
"Thrilling
TRU-LIFE D
detective work in the Old
CASES is
By J. VICTOR BATE
THE SECRET OF THE PASSION-CRAZED BOARDER - -
By ALLAN CARTER
People said there were | ghoots in the woods—but officers
found violent death there
West
’ DEATH'S RENDEZVOUS IN LOVER'S LANE
: E ‘ By HUGH Vv. HADDOCK
i ge jerers.
THE UNHOLY CRIME OF THE CHEATING WIFE - -
By WALTER R. DOUGHERTY
Woman's desire turns a youth into a cold-blooded
ADRIAN B. LOPEZ, Editor
monthly
ETECTIVE by T
Inc., at 103 Park Avenue, New Inc." Entered Volume 1, Number
1941, by
Post
price 10 cents;
Trysack Publications,
Office, New York, N. Y¥. under the
killer
yearly ye mene Myst
As told to
Edwin Baird
lic, to watch your pictures and report
to you what the public likes.”
Mr. Nasbaum thought that was a
smart idea and gave him a job on the
spot.
After learning all he could about mo-
tion pictures in New York, Nat Ross
packed up and came to the place where
they are produced, Hollywood.
Here he met Irving Thalberg, who
was also just starting his career, and
the two shared a small apartment. Ross
got a job as secretary to Carl Laemmle,
president of Universal Pictures, who
later made him a director. Thalberg
then took his place as Laemmle’s sec-
retary.
As a producer, Ross was a brilliant
success. Many a young player became
a screen star because of him. He started
the dynamic Clara Bow on her sensa-
tional career. He directed Jack Holt.
He signed Constance Bennett for a
series of pictures. There were many
more. One of his last stars was the
beauteous Betty Grable.
He stayed with Universal for a mat-
ter of fifteen years and during a part
of that time he directed twelve pictures
annually. Among his productions were
“The Leather Pushers” and “The Col-
legians.” His last picture was “Acci-
dental Father,” made in 1940 for
Columbia.
He traveled abroad for Columbia and
M-G-M and produced several pictures
in one of his London productions.
MEANTIME, in 1936, he had married
Audrene Ethel Brier, beautiful
blonde screen star, whom he met at the
old Christie Studios while directing pic-
tures there. She later played second lead
, in London for both studios.
Although Nat Ross got his start 4n
123 PACIFIC (2nd) 33.
fi
BRIGGS, Maurice Louis, white, 26, asphyxiated California (Tos Angeles) August %, 1912.
NEX=PRODUCER'S SLAYER EXECUTED. = ANGELENO CONVICTED OF NAT ROSS MURDER GOES TO DEATH CALM=
LY. = San Quentin, Aug. 7 (AP) = Maurice I. Briggs, 26, of Ios Angeles, was executed today
in the San Quentin Prison gas chamber for murder of Nat Ross, former film producer. Briggs,
who once $ald the Board of Prison Terms and Parole that he would rather die than have his
sentence commuted to life imprisonment, went to his death caamly. As the doors closed on
the airtight chamber Briggs raised one hand in final salute to witnesses. The guards had
failed to strap down one arm, The door was opened auicly and the hand secured, He was
prnounced dead in nine minutes, ‘oss was killed at Los Angeles in February, 191. Rriggs
told police he shot ase because his bride, Betty Susan Briggs, 21, had 1 ft him for the
former film director,"
TIMES, Los Angeles, California, August 8, 192 (1:8:5.)
igeles police
yp speed to
Jones was
were known.
been quickly
he neighbor-
tly what had
‘here was not
killers might
illed the Hol-
clock. It was
from a call
Streets.
two young
heir darkened
‘ena and Fifth,
the call box.
mobiles, both
rs, going north
ite of speed. A
»r, the machine
iy. The second
yehind it.
could halt, two
car in front and
nbled from the
ry dust of the
had been Brett.
nan, believed to
srang from the
ran forward.
‘yom the first car
| across a vacant
heard some one
‘hen guns began
ell with the first
,t roaring. Bullets
darkness and
attered dwellings
ying seconds the
i forward, then
id forward again,
-ostrate bodies in
oward the corner
first jumped from
TRUE DETECTIVE
;
of a action, expert shadowing, clever detection
g a vicious gang of cop-killers to justice
* They held their wild part
in the privacy of the shad-
owy hideout—unaware that
FEBRUARY, 1943
a tiny "mike" was their guest
51
body in that and
id her throat. He
uc. After that he
tound her pocket-
sen back to Syra-
exonerated Lucy
were convinced
suspicion that her
e was brought to
o votes and found
1 the first degree.
sentenced him to
sits in his cell in
es staring mutely
the hands that
ink in his perfect
dded, “we buried
but I wouldn’t
didn’t get out of
nothing of the
or Wendell, and
d he spoke the
thing to do but
it” on the rooms
rls. Sure enough,
ered Cal Rowell.
> he had time to
at confession was
body. His state-
y like Wheaton’s.
their companions
ig.
ipson were tight-
coaxing or ques-
rth any informa-
the desperadoes’
1e€ newspapers or
suddenly leaked
headlines across
2 and congratula-
upon the weary
Erven.
a long way from
iys before Christ-
und Raymond at
by the papers,”
voice, “that you’re
dell.”
I.
im,” went on the
she’s living out
“hristmas!” The
nond chuckled to
have waited until
Compton at the
ngeles.
e for all I care,”
| when he found
ugh.” Her pretty
ories.
ere he might be?”
htfully, “I believe
Oklahoma where
lis picture and the
Ford coupe. I
than that.”
‘r and hurried to
Te was still the
lester.
e to catch Jesse
Wendell,” he said, relaying the informa-
tion that the wanted man was probably
heading East. “With twenty thousand
circulars, giving his picture and license
number, somebody ought to see him.”
Time was precious and Raymond had
to think fast. The auto club saved the
day. They had told him he could draw
any amount he needed. But would they
authorize an immediate expenditure for
printing the circulars? They would and
did.
On Christmas Eve, while the happy
crowds of Los Angeles shopped and pre-
pared for the morrow’s holiday, a printer
finished the last of 20,000 forms carrying
the grim word “Wanted!” above Jesse
Wendell’s picture.
A battery of stenographers addressed
envelopes into which a score of policemen
stuffed the circulars. By midnight they
were in the mail.
Christmas day passed quietly. But
when mail was delivered throughout the
land the next day, the circulars brought
action, swift and prompt. From a
prisoner’s road camp on the shores of
Salton sea, that great inland salt sea in
the California desert, came the telephoned
word that the wanted man had passed
through there on Christmas Day. He
had acted odd, and Constable Harris in
command of the camp, had jotted down
the license.
Again Raymond went into action and
called upon the resources of the auto-
mobile club. With their funds, he flooded
the wires with messages to the vast area
of Southern California, Utah, Arizona
and New Mexico. It was a gigantic, ex-
pensive task but he realized that Wendell
must be stopped at all costs.
Next, through the aid of the Santa Fe
railroad he flashed a wire, describing
Wendell and his car, to each railway
depot along the line clear through New
Mexico. On every train, no matter
where it happened to be, the same tele-
gram was handed to each porter, brake-
man, conductor, fireman and engineer.
MioRE persons were on the lookout for
Wendell than had ever before joined
a posse. Such an enormous, far-reaching
net was bound to bring results, Yuma,
Ariz., officers soon sent a wire that a man
as described in the circular had stolen
license plates there. Oatman, Ariz. re-
ported that a small Ford coupe had been
seen heading east.
Detective Raymond stared at an Ari-
zona map while he pounded a table. “If
Wendell ever gets into the wilderness
around the Black Forest,’ he groaned,
“there’s a million places for him to hide.”
But he reckoned without that astute
old-time gun slinger, Sheriff Mahoney of
Kingman, Ariz. Mahoney and a deputy,
sure that the fugitive would folloy the
main road that in those days pafalleled’
the railroad tracks, had boarded a Santa
Fe train to overtake him.
From the speeding train window they
watched, eagerly scanning the vast desert
wastes. Then an isolated section house
near Pineveta flashed into view. Beside
it stood a Ford coupe with blankets
roped to the top.
“Brace yourself!” Mahoney cried, and
leaping to his feet he jerked the emerg-
ency cord that controlled the air brakes.
Instantly there was confusion.
As if shot from hidden springs, the
passengers in each car were thrown. for-
ward. With a grinding screech of protest
the wheels slowed and Mahoney and hae
deputy jumped from the moving train.
They ran quickly forward, pulling out
their guns.
“Who does that car belong to?” they
shouted to the section foreman. For a
moment he was so amazed at seeing the
limited train stop that he could not
answer.
“Inside,” he finally managed to say.
“Eating.”
Even as he spoke, his wife and two
children ran from the little section house.
Before they reached the officers, four
pistol shots ripped the quiet desert air.
Then Mahoney and his deputy closed in
on the house.
As they broke in the door, Jesse Wen-
dell staggered back, both hands raised in
token of surrender. Then the outlaw’s
knees buckled and he sank to the floor as
a thick spurt of blood welled from his
khaki shirt.
With iron nerve the killer had fired all
four bullets into his body.
The sheriff propped him up against the
wall and tried to staunch the flow of
blood.
..a..pencil,” Wendell gasped through
thick agonized lips, his usual florid face
now ashen.
On a piece of paper, then, the desperado
feebly scribbled a last message of fare-
well to his mother.
In an hour he was put aboard a west-
bound train which, according to
Mahoney’s orders, would stop at the first
town with a hospital. But when the
train reached Kingman, Ariz., Wendell
had died, ending one of the West’s great-
est manhunts.
Jim Wheaton and Cal Rowell had
signed complete confessions. The two
girls gave damaging testimony against
the mob. A jury found them guilty and
recommended life sentences.
Bill Brinkhurst and Curly Thompson
had,‘day in and out, maintained a stony
silence, But testimony against them, by
their former pals, was overwhelming.
They were sentenced, by Superior Court
Judge Pat R. Parker, to be hanged. Their
attorney made an appeal, but it was use-
less. The pair were hanged.
Praise was showered upon Raymond,
Erven and Hickok. Prominent civic
groups got together and presented each
detective with a diamond studded badge
of gold. It was a token of gratitude from
a grateful city.
In the matter of the reward money,
Raymond, Erven and Hickok again
showed their sterling character. These
three officers assigned all their rights in
the $10,000 to the widows of the slain
officers.
When Brinkhurst and Thompson
walked to the scaffold, it made a total of
three bandits who had died for the police-
. men’s murder. But there was another to
follow. Jim Wheaton brooded in his cell
until he went into convulsions. He was
transferred to the state mental hospital,
and there he died, a madman.
It left Cal Rowell the only survivor of
the killer crew. A few years later he
informed the San Quentin warden that
prisoners were hiding guns inside the
acess walls in preparation of an escape
plot
But investigation revealed that Rowell,
himself, was the instigator. He had used
the trick to win the favor of the warden
and the parole board. For this he got
“solitary” for a while, then he was trans-
ferred to a different part of the prison.
Otherwise he might have been killed by
enraged. fellow convicts.
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* (From lett to right
) Officers surprised Jim Wheaton, William
Brinkhurst, Cal Rowell and Willard Thompson with a neat trap
it, wheeled, picked up his hat and The posse expected a fight from
caught the auto as it swung on to Fifth
Street and disappeared.
It had been too dark for either of the
young women to observe the gunmen or
to note the license number of their car.
They were not even sure how many
men had been in the gang. They only
knew that there were men in both the
front and back seats—at least four,
maybe five or even six.
From these scanty facts it seemed
probable that Brett and Clester had
halted the carload of men on suspicion.
Just where could not be told. Appar-
ently they had some reason for order-
ing them to drive to the station. Brett
had confidently climbed into the ma-
chine with the gang to direct them
while Clester followed in the police car.
The news of the vicious double mur-
der spread like wildfire throughout Los
Angeles. Soon newspaper boys were
crying, “Extra! Extra!” on the streets.
Shocked citizens stood in little groups
on corners repeating the sketchy de-
tails to one another. Others got up from
their beds to snap on lights to read the
incredible story.
When Raymond heard the news he
felt sick. “To think it was only last
night,” he muttered. Hurrying to Chief
Jones’ office he volunteered his services
in any way he could help.
“Thanks, Harry,” Jones told him.
“We'll need your help—everybody’s
help. You know the Department as well
as any of us. I leave it to you. Any
way you want to work you'll have the
support of regular officers.”
The huge dragnet thrown around the
city that night failed to turn up any-
thing. Scores of suspicious-looking
characters were brought in. But none
could be linked to the brutal murders.
In the light of the following day
another careful search of the scene of
the double murder was made. But the
loose dirt of the unpaved street didn’t
even hold a clear tire tread. Further
questioning of residents of the section
revealed nothing of importance. No-
where could a clue be found.
Judging from the bullgt marks on the
bodies, torn places in the hard ground
and bullet-holes in houses, officers rea-
soned that at least twenty-seven shots
had been fired. The corner of one house
held nine slugs. The number of known
shots indicated that at least five guns
52
Jess Wendell (right) and weren't
prepared for what actually happened
* Los Angeles wanted action and
offered this reward to get it
had been used, and led to the assump-
tion that there were probably five men
in the gang.
A significant development of the day
was the discovery that Brett’s weapon
was missing. This indicated that he had
doubtlessly been disarmed as he rode
in the killers’ car and before he was
shot. Revelation of this possibility made
officers, already fighting mad, burn
with hatred for the merciless murderers.
For four days and nights the hunt
for clues went on without results. An
aroused and impatient citizenry began
to criticize the Police Department,
angrily demanding effective action.
“The only thing I can figure,” ex-
plained Chief Jones, “is that this was
done by an Eastern gang—a gang un~-
known to us here. Knowing full well
we’d be after them, they blew town
immediately after the shooting.”
Assigned to work with the Auto Theft
Detail of the Automobile Club were
City Detectives Jesse Erven and Harry
‘ G. Hickok. In discussing the case with
* (Top) Harry Clester forgot
caution when fighting crooks
* (Bottom) Just as fearless was
Clester's buddy, Officer Brett
TRUE DETECT?
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FEBRUARY, 1943
Ne nn CE
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BRINKHURST, William & THOMPSON, Willard, whites, hanged CASP (Los
April 21, 1924
Angeles)
eee en ea
was a little amazed as he watched
Patrolmen William L. Brett and
Harry Clester booking a pair of auto
thieves at the Hollenbeck Police Sta-
tion. They had caught the unshaven
men in the act of stripping a car in the
Boyle Heights section of Los Angeles.
While Brett filled in the booking
forms, Clester searched the prisoners.
“Do you mean you’ve waited until
now to frisk these birds?” Raymond
frowned.
Clester grinned at him. “Sure, why
not?”
Raymond, then Chief of the Auto
Theft Detail of the Automobile Club
of Southern California, a private or-
ganization which worked closely with
the Police Department, shook his head.
“Too much of a chance. Suppose they
were armed?”
Brett crossed the double “t” on his
signature. “We can take care of the
tough ones,” he smiled. “We can handle
them.”
Raymond, who had known the officers
for several years, was aware that
Brett’s remark was not a careless boast.
He and Clester had the reputation of
being two of the finest officers in the
city. They were fearless.
“Okay, boys,” Raymond said. ‘I’ve
been handling auto crooks a long time.
Take it from me, some of them are
plenty dangerous. Watch your step.
‘he Department needs fellows like you.
But you'll be of no use if you get your-
selves full of lead some night.”
Barely twenty-four hours later, at
eight-fifteen on the evening of Decem-
ber 6th, 1921, Bill Brett and Harry
Clester lay in the dust of Lorena Street,
near Fifth, with a dozen bullets in their
bodies. :
One bullet had blasted “out Clester’s
life by driving straight between his
eyes. Another had torn through Brett’s
heart, snuffing out his life instantly.
Gives stocky Harry J. Raymond ©
Both officers had been run over re-
peatedly by an automobile.
At that same moment the Annual
Policemen’s Ball was in full swing at
the old Mosley Auditorium, Sixteenth
and Grand Streets. Every police officer
who could be spared from duty was
there. Mayor George E. Cryer and
Police Chief Charles E. Jones had just
led the Grand March. Hundreds of
policemen, stiff in their formal attire,
were turning to their ladies for the
first dance.
Chief Jones had taken only a few
steps when an attendant threaded
through the dancers to touch his elbow.
“Important telephone call, sir. Very
urgent.”
Excusing himself, Jones hurried to
the phone. A shocked expression spread
over his face as he listened to the terse
report from Headquarters of the shoot-
ing. “Rush every available man to the
District,” he ordered. “We'll stop the
ball. These murderers are going to be
caught,” he added grimly.
A moment later he was climbing to a
stand in the ballroom. The music
stopped. A hush rippled across the gay
gathering as the Chief cleared his
throat and spoke in a voice thick with
emotion.
“Two of our brother officers have just
been murdered,” he said. “Shot down
in the line of duty. The killers, a band
of several men, escaped. Bill Brett and
Harry Clester, whom you all know and
respect, are dead.”
A strange silence hung over the vast
ballroom as the officers stood staring
at their Chief. Then an angry wave of
sound spread through the crowd. The
Chief continued:
“JT want to ask every officer to
report immediately to his post. We shall
not rest until these lives have been
avenged.” Then he left the stand. His
tall form pushed toward the doorway.
Within a few minutes the great hall
* Suddenly a new voice crackled
over the wire—suspense reached
fever pitch for the listeners
I
was empty. Every Los Angeles police
officer was rushing at top speed to
report to his assigned post.
At Headquarters Chief Jones was
given what meager details were known.
The scene of the crime had been quickly
examined and people in the neighbor-
hood questioned. But exactly what had
happened was not clear. There was not
a single clue as to who the killers might
have been.
Brett and Clester had called the Hol-
lenbeck Station at eight o’clock. It was
a routine check-in made from a call
box at First and Indiana Streets.
Fifteen minutes later two young
women were sitting in their darkened
home at the corner of Lorena and Fifth,
eight blocks away from the call box.
They noticed two automobiles, both
Model-T Ford touring cars, going-merth
on Lorena at a normal rate of speed. A
short way from the corner, the machine
in front stopped suddenly. The second
car moved up quickly behind it.
Before the second one could halt, two
shots rang out from the car in front and
the form of a man tumbled from the
back seat into the gray dust of the
street. Apparently this had been Brett.
At the same moment a man, believed to
have been Clester, sprang from the
second machine and ran _ forward.
Several figures leaped from the first car
and one of them dashed across a vacapt
lot.
The young women heard some one
call, “Halt! Halt!” Then guns began
blazing. The officers fell with the first
volley but the guns kept roaring. Bullets
zinged through the darkness and
thudded against the scattered dwellings
of the neighborhood.
After a few terrifying seconds the
car in front jerked forward, then
backed up and ground forward again,
bumping over the prostrate bodies in
the dirt. It lunged toward the corner
and the man who had first jumped from
BY MALDEN GRANGE BISHOP
50
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a lil
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TRUE DETECTIVE
sores orate en
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FEBRUARY, 1943
lan
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE 19
“Ells, did you know that your wife has been murdered?”
“Murdered?” Ells looked up quickly. “Did you say—mur-
dered?” ' . -
“Yes,” replied Filkas. ‘‘Know anything about it?”
“T only know she should have been murdered long ago,”
Ells said flatly. “I’m not surprised. Not surprised at all. And
I can’t say that I’m sorry.”
“Suppose you tell us where you were last night,” sug-
gested Baggott. :
“I was working,” replied Ells, pushing back his empty
plate, and lighting a cigarette. ‘I worked all night long.
Haven’t been home here but a little while.”
“You can prove. you were at work, all night?”
Ells inhaled deeply. “Sure I can prove I was working.
The night man will vouch for me. Our regular customers
will too. So what?” His tone’ was insolent.
“So I think we’ll take a little look around, if you don’t
mind,” replied the detective. “And ask a few questions.”
“Fire away!” Ells replied easily.
“Who are your two friends?”
“This one’s my brother, Alfred,” Ells said, indicating a
well-built man who plainly resembled him.
“Sure,” the man agreed. “Maybe you’ve heard of me. I’m
a deputy constable over at the Maywood station. I’m sorry
to hear that Merle’s dead,” he added. “She was a.sweet kid.”
Filkas shot a glance at
the last member of the
trio. He was obviously ner-
vous. The hand with which
he smoothed his pompa-
dour trembled visibly. Was
it fright that gave his eyes
that shifty, haunted look?
“What’s your name?”
volleyed Baggott.
“Brandon, Earl Bran-
don,” the man replied. He
fished unsteadily for a cig-
arette.
“You been here all
night?”
“Sure, me and Al both
been here together. Ain’t
that right, Al?”
Alfred Ells nodded
agreement.
ILKAS sauntered
through the house and
went out on the back
porch. A moment later he
called back. ‘“‘Whose trou-
sers are those on the line?”
Brandon dropped his
cigarette. “They’re mine,”
he said. “I washed ’em
yesterday. Grease all over
them. Say, what. a
“You'll all three come in
for questioning,” Filkas advised them. ‘Maybe you can talk
better at headquarters. And there’s a few alibis that could
stand checking.” ; ‘
Both Alfred and Emory Ells remained unperturbed.
Brandon was visibly agitated over his incarceration. And
it seemed that he had good reason to be. The corduroy
trousers found on the line admittedly belonged to him.
“And I believe these are bloodstains,” Filkas stated as he
handed the garment to the inspector.
“We'll find out,” replied Davidson. “Now get hot on
Emory EUs’ alibi. Shoot out to the lunchroom and make
sure there is no chance for a slip-up.”
The night manager of the cafe at 2411 East Slauson Ave-
nue was rousted from his bed. “Emory Ells couldn’t have
had anything to do with his wife’s murder,” he assured
the officers. ‘“‘He was on duty all night long. He wouldn’t
have had the least chance.”
The cop on the Slauson Avenue beat the night of the
murder was questioned. He, too, assured the detectives
that Ells was “clean” in so far as having had an oppor-
tunity to commit the crime was concerned. The cop had
Emory Ells bargained with an alleged Chicago
gangster to murder a,“doctor’s wife.”
seen Ells on all of: his rounds. Several regular customers
of the cafe confirmed Ells’ alibi.
“Looks like that eliminates the ex-husband,” Baggott
told his partner. “In spite of the fact that he threatened
her and isn’t sorry she’s dead.”
“You’re right, I guess,” Filkas replied. “But there’s Al-
fred and the fidgety one. And maybe Brandon’s got some-
thing to fidget about. We’ll see.”
They sped back to headquarters. Inspector Davidson had
a bit of news for them. “The weapon used in the killing
was stolen from the Maywood police station,” he told them.
“We'll mug this trio on the chance that the buckshot was
purchased especially for the murder. One of these guys
ought to know something,’ he reasoned. “If they won't
talk it’s up to us to build a case and crack them.”
“Any report yet on the trouser stains?”
“No, not yet. Now get busy on the love life of fhe
divorcee. Don’t pass up a single bet.”
Since it appeared that the murder weapon had been con-
veniently “lifted” from the Maywood police arsenal, did
that connect Alfred Ells directly with the crime? He was
grilled for hours, yet he denied any knowledge of the stolen
weapon of death. Nor could it be proved that he did.
Since Merle Ells had worked for several months at the
coffee shop on the Santa Monica Pier, Filkas and Baggott
queried other employees
there.
“Merle was a sucker for
a hard-luck story,” a
blonde counter - girl told
them. ‘Many’s the time
Merle took an order for
coffee and served a sand-
wich or a piece of pie
without billing the cus-
tomer. Not that she wasn’t
honest,” the waitress has-
tened to explain. “She al-
ways made up the differ-
ence out of her own pock-
et. But she sure was soft!”
“Was she in love with
any of the customers?”
Filkas asked.
The blonde paused
thoughtfully. ‘‘Well,” she
replied. “There was one
little fellow, sort of insig-
nificant and shy - looking
that always sat at the
counter with his heart in
his eyes. He was one of the
guys that she sort of
helped out. I—I think that
she saw him outside.”
“Outside?” echoed Bag-
gott. “You mean she dated
him after working hours?”
“Maybe not dates exact-
ly,” the girl replied. “But one night I saw them dancing
together at the Casino.” She giggled. “They looked so
funny,” she explained. “Merle was always so pretty and
full of life and the little guy looked like the original skinny
man. But I know that he liked her. A girl can always tell
by the way a fellow holds his partner when he dances with
her. Kind of respectful-like, if you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I know,” Filkas replied. ‘But did Merle ever talk
about him much?”
“Well, some,” the girl admitted. “But I’m sure she wasn’t
in love with him, even if he might have been with her. I
don’t think Merle had it in her to love any man but: the
husband she divorced. After that deal she was pretty well
soured on love. I think that she only felt pity for the shy
little man.”
Others in the coffee shop had observed the lovesick,
silent courtship of the unobtrusive little man. He was de-
scribed as blond, with a high, bulging forehead, prominent
eyes and a thin, taffy-colored moustache.
“He’s so meek-looking you almost expect him to kneel
and pray,” was the way the cashier described him.
Sh
t
iy
But what of the attractive divorcee? Had she cherished
secret dreams about this admirer who was so different from
the arrogant, abusive husband she had divorced? Had she,
too, carried a torch? :
Tirelessly, the detectives sought out the slain woman’s
friends. From her closest friend and chums they learned
that Merie had recently talked much about a certain shy
boy-friend. “But I’m not in love with him,” she told her
intimates. “I only pity him. He’s so alone and shy and lone-
some, I can’t help feeling sorry for him, Besides,” she
added, “‘a good friend is worth having!”
Her “dates” if they could be called such, were a few
casual dances at the public Casino after work. Nothing
more. She had never seen him at her home. “The fact is,
I'd rather he didn’t know where I live,” she had confided
to a friend. “With Emory still so possessively jealous of
| me and all, it would be sure to cause trouble.”
“Maybe he found out where she lived, after all, came
| to see her and demanded 3
a show-down,” Baggott rea-
! soned. “If you remember,
| Mrs. Cannon was sure some-
|
|
~~
one called Merle by
just before the shooting.”
“That's right,” agreed Fil-
kas. “Maybe the shy little.
man wasn’t so shy after all”. Sincas
Filkas telephoned Inspec-.
tor Davidson at headquar-
ters. wren
“Brandon’s yelling ‘his ~
head off about being’
framed,” the inspector in-’
formed him. “He keeps.
wanting to know if it’s\ a7
crime because he happened ~
to know the ex-husband of
a woman who got bumped
off. Man, that fellow’s a ner-
vous wreck!”’ ;
“Tll be right down!” Fil-
kas replied.
“You’d better,” retorted
the inspector. “It’s you he
keeps yelling for.”
| No news could have been
| more welcome to the quiet
detective. He knew full well
the trio could be held only
a short time unless evidence
could be uncovered which
would directly connect them
to the crime. Was Brandon
| the guilty one? .Was he in
Possession of guilty knowl-
edge? Or, was he merely be A
worried about his trousers? Filkas was smart enough -
know that it is common fear among some people that there
was danger of a frameup. This supposition’ seems rather
general among the uninitiated, ma
et
O* THE drive back to headquarters Baggott and Filkas
thoughtfully discussed the various angles of the case
over their last two cigarettes.
“Remind me later to get a fresh pack,” Filkas told his
partner as he strode through the jail entrance.
Earl Brandon was trembling and gripping the cell bars
when a jail attendant, unlocked the iron door. A cigarette
hung loosely from his lips.
“What they trying to do?” he demanded. “Frame me?”
“What gave you that idea?” Filkas asked quietly, seating
himself on the bunk.
“Those stains on my pants.” Brandon blurted out. “They
want to make everyone believe they are bloodstains.”
“Well, if you’re sure they’re not, you’ve nothing to worry
| about.”
j “T know, but they’ll frame me, sure as fate!” Brandon
paced the cell floor nervously, running nicotine-stained
fingers through his dark hair.
“Brandon, if you know anything at all, be smant and spill
20 FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
it! Don’t hold back if you have a single fact or even any
suspicion in your mind. Were you three in on this to-
gether?”
“No! No!” Brandon screamed out. “I tell you I don’t
know anything!” :
“Then I’m wasting my time,” Filkas retorted. He began
going through his pockets. “Say, have you got a smoke you
could spare?” he asked.
Reluctantly Brandon proffered his dwindling pack. Mum-
bling his thanks, Filkas accepted one, lighted up and sig-
naled the jail attendant to let him out of the cell.
Before leaving the jail floor he paused long enough to
leave an order with the chief jailer. “No more cigarettes
for Brandon,” he said. “No matter how loud he yells for
them. Understand?”
The procedure of placing stoolies in the cells of each of
the th was followed. Surely, one of the trio must
wiedge of the crime. Investigators felt cer-
: tain of it. Hadn’t the door to
the sleeping porch where
the murder occurred been
unlocked by someone who
knew the type of key used?
/ But then, maybe Merle Ells
had carried a key and lost
it. Had her admirer come
into possession of it?
Alfred Ells seemed the
calmest of the lot. And his
sorrow over the death of his
sister-in-law seemed genu-
ine. Yet Alfred and Emory
Ells were persistently ques-
tioned while Brandon was
kept in seclusion with a
fast-dwindling supply of
cigarettes,
Hours later, well past mid-
night, Brandon was banging
on his cell door. ‘“Ciga-
rettes!” he yelled. “Give me
some cigarettes! I’m going
nuts!”
“Sorry, but no more ciga-
Mm rettes for you,” the attend-
ant replied curtly. “Orders!”
“Say, what is this?” de-
manded Brandon. “Call Fil-
kas. Tell him I’ve got to see
im. Tell him anything, but.
Bet him here!”
~~ When the news of Bran-
"s request reached him,
ilkas hit the floor with a
thud. The detective lost no
“h ait time in reaching the cell.
‘Give’me a cigarette—please!” was the prisoner’s first
equest.
Filkas handed over his pack and watched the prisoner
as he lighted up and inhaled. The man’s face was drawn
and haggard. Smoke filtered from the dim half-light of the
cell into the corridor. A few cell doors away a prisoner
muttered in his sleep. Farther down the cell block the
measured tread of pacing feet could be heard going back
and forth, back and forth.
Brandon shuddered, “Listen to that,” he whispered. “Did
you know there were fellows in here just to get me?” he
confided.
“You're talking nonsense!”
“Oh, my God!” Brandon groaned. “It won’t do me any
good to talk. I’m a dead man if I open my mouth and I’m
a dead mani if I do!”
“Meaning what?” Filkas asked.
“Oh, nothing much.” Again Brandon shrugged. “I guess
. I’m just going stir-crazy,” he decided. “Goodnight, Lieuten-
ant!” '
“Goodnight!” Irritation gave a tinge of disgust to Filkas’
voice. Had he made a dash to the jail simply to satisfy a
man’s craving for a smoke and a few lines of puzzling
chatter? As the detective turned to leave, Brandon’s thin
fingers suddenly clutched at him (Continued on page 31)
<p
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——
Blood Money
(Continued from page 20)
through the bars of the prison cell.
“Give me another cigarette before
you go. Please!” he begged.
The detective complied, watching
hit, with puzzled eyes. Suddenly
Brandon said in a hoarse whisper,
“Lieutenant, I know something that
might help a little. But I’m afraid to
talk. You'll have to give me protec-
tion!”
“Protection? Who from?”
“From those Chicago gangsters!
They’re out to get me. You've got to
look out for me. You must!” Hysteria
choked him.
“Tll take you where nobody can
find us, if you’ll talk,” agreed the de-
teotive.
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
“Tl talk,” Brandon promised.
Filkas escorted his prisoner by
means of a private elevator to a huge
storeroom in the basement of the tow-
ering Hall of Justice.
“These walls are absolutely fire-
proof and there isn’t a soul around
this hour of the night,” Filkas ex-
plained. “Now, what’s on your mind?”
“First tell me about Emory EUs, Is
he still in?”
Filkas thought fast. “No, he’s out,”
the detective replied. “His alibi
seemed air-tight. Didn’t see a chance
in the world that he held guilty
knowledge of the crime.” He paused.
“You understand the meaning of
‘guilty knowledge’ don’t you, Earl?”
For a moment Brandon stared
thoughtfully at the cement floor. Then
he said, “You mean that if a fellow
knew something, anything at all about
a crime, and didn’t tell, he’d have
guilty knowledge?”
vy “Exactly!” Filkas spoke quickly.
““Not only ‘that, but he could be
31
brought to trial on charges of ob-
structing justice!”
HERE was an interval of silent
smoking following this disclosure.
Suddenly Brandon was _ pleading,
“Don’t let them get me! Protect me
from them!”
“No one can get at you here,” Filkas
reassured him.
“But those gangsters have ways of
getting guys,” Brandon whined. “You
don’t seem to understand. Those Chi-
cago gangsters are tough—especially
this one!”
Filkas hitched his chair closer.
“Listen, Earl,” he said. “If you know
anything, spill it. If you don’t we'd
better both be getting some sleep.” He
stood up.
“Don’t go! Don’t leave me!” Bran-
don pleaded, trembling. “I'll give you
a hint, -but I’m afraid to do more
than hint. They'll shoot me down.
They’ 1]——_”
“Spill it!” Filkas said in disgust, “or
I’m off to bed!”
Mother Kills Six Children With Gas
Members of the New York City Police Emergency Squad
are showr working vainly to revive the! six children of
Mrs. Louise Nicossia in the rear of their home in the
cree psliosten-'aae
a
EE ry a RS
Bronx. Mrs. Nicossia, suffering from a mental ailment and
desperate after years of adversity, tried to kill herself
along with her children with illuminating gas.
SS eae
32
“Emory Ells hung out with a tough
mob,” Brandon confided then. “With
a mob of killers—Chicago gangsters!”
The man seemed sincere and the
excitement in his voice seemed un-
feigned.
“Where was this? When?”
“Lately, in Huntington Park. There’s
a whole gang of toughs. I—I could
show you where, only I’m afraid of
Brown, the machine gunner, He’s
plenty tough!”
“You know—a killer?”
“Only by sight. Like I told you, his
name is Brown. I don’t even know his
first name but Emory told me all
about him. And I saw him and Emory
together in a pool hall just a few
days before Merle was murdered!”
“If you want me to, maybe I could
point him out to you—if we could lo-
cate him,” Brandon continued. “But
he mustn’t see me, or I’m a dead
man!”
Filkas was quick to take the bait.
‘““What’s your proposition?” he asked.
“T'll go with you tomorrow, to Hun-
tington Park and look in Brown’s
hangouts for him. Then I’ll point him
out to you and you can arrest him.
And, remember,” Brandon warned, “I
haven’t said Brown did the shooting.
But he has a bad reputation and Ells
was with him a lot before the mur-
der.”
Filkas considered the proposition in
silence.
“And you'll have to show confidence
in me and let just the two of us go
together. And I must not be hand-
cuffed!”
“Sounds screwy to me,” the detec-
tive admitted frankly. “But I’ll sleep
on the idea.”
Discussing the proposed plan next
morning with Inspector Davidson and
Baggott, the whole idea sounded like
nothing so much as an escape plan.
Was there really a gangster named
Brown? And if there was, could Bran-
a be trusted to lead Filkas to his
air?
“Pll have another talk with Bran-
don,” Filkas announced, striding out
of the room. After half an hour with
the prisoner, Filkas again conferred
with the inspector.
“PH admit the whole situation
sounds wacky,” he admitted. “And I
can’t completely figure the thing out.
But there’s one thing I’m sure of.
Brandon knows something and he’s
scared because he does know. And,”
he added, “his story shows promise of
some interesting angles.”
Davidson looked up. “You mean
new angles?” he asked.
“Yes. He tells me now that he’s
pretty sure this machine gunner friend
of Ells was also a friend of Ells’ wife.”
“A likely story!” Davidson retorted.
“Maybe,” admitted Filkas. “But it
has potential possibilities. We could
check on it—through Brown maybe,
if we could find him!”
The_ detective’s implication’ was
clear. In a city as large as Los Angeles
locating a’ mystery man bv the name
of Brown was as impossible as locat-
ting the proverbial needle in a hay-
stack, But, if Brandon knew the ma-
chine gunner’s hang-out, wasn’t it
worth the possible risk of losing a
prisoner to have the finger put. on
Brown? Filkas argued the point—and
won! He knew what would happen if
he lost his prisoner. But it was a risk
he was willing to take.
All the way to Huntington Park,
Filkas wondered if he was a fool to
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
gamble his badge against Brandon’s
word of honor that he would make no
attempt to escepe.
“Tf I get loose from you in any mix-
up that might take place, I won’t run
out on you,” Brandon promised. “I’ll
run back to jail. I’m not exactly a
coward,” he explained, “but I don’t
like the idea of Brown shooting me
down in cold blood.”
After Brandon led Filkas from one
spot to another, Filkas began to doubt
the man’s sincerity, They trailed from
Awaits Fate
Robert Burgunder, Jr., Arizona col-
legian convicted of the murder of two
Phoenix automobile salesmen jast July,
is shown in his prison ceil. He has
gained forty pounds since convicted.
one crowded tavern to another, into
pool halls and smelly flop-houses.
“Brandon, I’m beginning to suspect
that all you.wanted on this trip was
fresh air,” Filkas told his prisoner
sternly as they got back into the car
and were driving up Pacific Avenue.
“Oh, no!” Brandon contradicted.
“Now there’s one more place where
he might be.” They came to Randolph
Street. “Turn here,” Brandon said
quickly. “Now, park here!”
Filkas followed directions.
“There’s a hotel here where Brown
might be stopping,” he said. “I’ll go
up with you, but behind you. If he’s
here, he may start blasting his way
out!” \
T= HOTEL was located on the
second floor of a business block.
Stores and shops fronted the street
and the hotel lobby was reached by
means of two flights of stairs. The
two men started climbing. Filkas had
his holstered gun in readiness, the
safety catch released.
They reached the first landing,
turned and started up the second
flight. Half-way up the flight they
came into view of the lobby. Suddenly
Filkas heard Brandon leap to the first
landing and turned in time to see ‘his
prisoner disappear from sight. Why
was Brandon running away? Should
he give chase? Was there someone in
the lobby Brandon feared or was he
simply taking a run-out powder?
Filkas debated over whether he
should pursue his prisoner or con-
tinue into the lobby in search of
Brown. But the detective was more
than a little curious and he remem-
bered that Brandon had given him his
word of honor that he would not es-
cape. Filkas continued up the steps
into the lobby.
A clerk sat behind the desk. Beside
him stood a small, thin man. Obvious-
ly theapproach of Filkas had caused
a break in the pair’s conversation.
‘I’m from Chicago,” Filkas began,
thinking fast. “Just blew in and I’m
canvassing the hotels in this burg try-
ing to locate a friend of a friend of
mine.” He paused and eyed the clerk.
“What's your friend’s name?” the
clerk asked.
“Brown,” answered the detective.
“But darned if I can remember the
chap’s first name!”
The clerk and his friend exchanged
glances. ‘“‘What did this guy Brown
look like?” the clerk asked,
“Oh, he was a bull-moose of a man,”
Filkas explained. “Tall, dark, could
take care of himself any place. Lives
on the South Side of Chi,” he ex-
plained.
“Well, I guess nobody answering
that description lives at this hotel,”
the clerk replied.
“Well, thanks anyway,” murmured
Filkas, He turned and left the build-
ing. His brain seethed with indigna-
tion over the fact that Brandon had
played him for a sucker and that he
had permitted it to happen. Now, what
would ‘the penalty be? Filkas envi-
sioned demotion, fines, the loss of his
hard-earned badge.
But as the detective hurried toward
his car, his prisoner sat there await-
ing his return. Brandon was trem-
bling violently. “Excuse me for run-
ning out,” he apologized, “but I had
to skip. That little guy up there, well,
I owe him some money. I was on the
spot and had to skip out. I don’t think
he saw me. Hurry and let’s get back
to jail,” he begged. “I’m scared!”
Filkas was anxious to go back and
report the situation to his chief. Da-
vidson, too, was “stumped.” Brandon’s
behavior had been most unnatural,
his excuse for leaving too thin.
“Try going into another huddle,”
Davidson advised.
Filkas did so and it was an hour
later when he reappeared.
“Okay, Baggott,” Filkas told his
partner. “You and I are going out to
shy lL
talkin
unreq
after
Bag
a first
case,”
goose
better
“Lis
don’s
scarec
might
his sk
U
The man stepped inside without pro-
test now, glanced curiously about him—
and showed complete unconcern. “You
got me wrong, Mister,” he finally said.
“T might shoot a deer but I ain’t a mur-
derer.”
This had me puzzled, this complete
change in the suspect: If he were guilty
of the murder, he was a skillful actor.
Finally I ordered him locked up as a
John Doe when he still refused to give
his name, tell anything about himself or
account for his movements of the pre-
vious twenty-four hours. |
“Give him a change of clothes,’ I in-
structed Shannon. “We'll compare the
blood on his clothes with that -at the
scene. And take his prints.”
Shannon left with the prisoner
securely manacled and the rest of us
drove on into the investigation, beating
the tangled willow jungles for the mur-
der knife or rifle, searching pasture land
and brush along the path from the Tur-
ner orchard. We found nothing.
At last, when it grew too dark to see
longer, we knocked off. With Owen
Kessel, who had found no prints of value
at the scene, we drove to the Placer
County jail. We walked into a cell.
The suspect sat on a cot in a clean pair
of coveralls. He’d washed the grime off
his face, had shaved, just finished a good
dinner and was rolling a smoke.
“Well, son, how do you feel now?” I
asked. 2
“Okay. I still ain’t talking,” he
growled.
I tossed him a pack of cigarettes.
“Have a smoke. I'll see you in the morn-
ing,” I said as we left.
Early the next day, after breakfast,
he still wouldn’t tell us a thing. His fin-
gerprints, we learned, showed no crim-
inal record. I was puzzled by his
attitude.
I’d lain awake hours analyzing the case
during the night. The important clues
included that gun stock sliver, cigarette,
the matches and the cheap cigar.
24
We had to find the rifle which the
walnut sliver fitted; a knife with blood
traces which could have made the lethal
wounds, and if possible witnesses who
could positively identify. the murderer
and place him near the scene. If I could
find a cigar store where the suspect had
bought the smokes, too, I felt we’d be
getting somewhere.
After the state chemist analyzed blood
stains on our suspect’s clothing I’d know
if this were human blood, and if so,
whether it was the type of the slain
woman,
I sent Shannon and Dolce to work with
Chief Biscia and if necessary requestion
every resident of Colfax in a search for
witnesses; and if that failed, again to
search every inch of the area where we
thought the lethal weapons might have
been hidden. As they left, I said, “I'll
check stores in Auburn and Colfax.”
Before leaving my office I called the
coroner, learning officially what I al-
ready believed, that death had come from
the throat and head wounds. The jaw
had been broken. Mercifully, death had
come swiftly. Somehow I felt better,
knowing this.
I began with Auburn stores, method-
ically talking to every clerk who during
the preceding week had sold either those
two-for-a-nickel cigars or that certain
brand of cigarettes to anyone who might
fit the description of the murder suspect.
Not a single person in the city could pqs-
itively say he had sold cigars to our
John Doe.
Hastening on to Colfax, I once more
took up the tedious task of questioning
all persons selling tobacco. I walked into
a store on a main thoroughfare and be-
gan with my usual questions.
“Well,” the proprietor said, glancing
down at a partly filled box of cigars in
the showcase between us. “I’ve sold to
several people over the week end. Let’s
see...”
His brows knitted in concentration.
_ “T’ve got a couple of regular customers.
g P g
So savage was the assailant of Mrs. Tur-
ner that he also resorted to using this
knife after bludgeoning her. Deputy
Shannon indicates bloodstains on_ it.
But not many people regularly smoke
both cigars and cigarettes. The only
such person is a fellow named Brown.
He works on a goat ranch out southwest
of town.”
The store owner described this ranch
hand, and surprisingly he fitted both the
descriptions of the suspect in the Placer
County jail and the man seen leaving the
murder scene. I considered this, walking
slowly toward my car. One of the two
might be the murderer. Or, could they be
the same man?
I had figured the suspect in jail would
soften up after a couple of days in which
to think it over, while bloodstains on his
clothes were being analyzed. If the an-
alysis eliminated him, I’d not have wasted
unnecessary time grilling him. I’d see
what Brown had to say.
Abie stopping in at several ranch
houses I learned at which ranch
Brown worked, five miles southwest of
Colfax. I drove on into the rolling foot-
hill country, studded with chaparral and
scattered manzanita, turning into a rough
dirt road. As I drove nearer, several
goat kids frisked across the road in front
of the car, bounding off into brush sur-
rounding the clearing in which the ranch
house stood.
The three-room, gray clapboard house
was in need of paint, I noted as I parked.
Passing a water-filled bucket containing
soaking clothes, I turned the corner and
came upon a woman bending over a
washtub on a bench. She glanced up,
with the back of one sudsy hand wiped
the hair out of her eyes, and smiled.
“Hello,” I said. ‘Does Brown live
here?”
“Yes, He’s out with the goats,” she
‘said, gesturing off into the brush. “I
don’t think. he’s over a quarter of a mile
away.”
“Are you his wife?”
“Oh, no,” she explained quickly, “He
just works here and has a room with
us.”
“I’m Sheriff Silva,” I said. “May I
see his room?”
“Certainly.” She dried her hands and
led the way into the house, pointing to
one bedroom. ‘Help yourself.”
I went through the room fast but thor-
oughly. A battered suitcase beneath the
rickety bed, cigarette-stained table,
dresser and straightback chair. Nothing.
I left the room as I found it, returning
to the living room.
“What clothes did Brown wear Sun-
day?” I asked quietly.
The woman shot me a surprised look.
“Why,” she said instantly, “he always
wears the same thing. Black levis and
blue denim shirts. I think he put some
wash to soak in a bucket outside a day or
so ago.”
I stepped out to the bucket I had
passed, and picking up a stick stirred the
soaking clothes. There were two faded
STARTLING
3 \ Se
_ i lll
denim shirt
ter. There
Cigarettes, ;
fall out. Px
I put the b:
locking the
find Brown
As I walk
sand to the
several doz
the brush 1
their heads
I stopped, :
of the goath
figure stretc
of a bush, |}
asleep.
I felt my ;
sand deaden
walked slow
around behi
as I neared.
“Brown,”
He sstirre
whirling in ;
bearded fac:
I couldn't be
“T’m Shei
him, hoping
confession.
Turner ?”’
His mout
wildly about
nue of escaj
volver in its
subsided.
“T ain't «
whined. “I
week.”
It was my
unshaven, di
murder vict
more than |}
him over th
readily admi
Turner seve
friended him
He clainx
knife recent
stolen.’ But |
ject of murd
After mor
back to the
DETECTIV!
STARTLING
It was hot that Monday morning, Sept.
28, 1942, and the breezes whipping into
the car felt good. Shimmering heat waves
made the winding highway ribbon ahead
appear almost indistinct.
We pulled into the little mountain rail-
road community of Colfax, driving di-
rectly through pleasant, tree-lined streets
toward the Turner home near the out-
skirts of town. As I parked near the
bungalow type shingle and stucco house
beside several other official machines,
Coroner West and Colfax Police Chief
Walter Biscia hurried forward. They
were in their shirt sleeves. Sweat made
my own shirt stick to my back as I slid
out from behind the wheel.
“The body’s here in the basement,”
Biscia said, wiping his forehead with a
limp handkerchief. He led the way down
a slope toward a side door opening in on
a level with the outside grounds.
“Any developments?” I asked.
He stopped. “No, except that I asked
the woman who found the body to go
home until we needed her.”
Coroner West opened the side screen
door, shoving the paneled wooden door
open carefully with one foot. I glanced
over his shoulder into the dark-
ness of the interior and could see
nothing.
West reached inside, clicked an elec-
tric light switch and stepped aside. I
walked into the basement which, al-
though plenty hot, seemed by contrast
much cooler than the outside. I stopped
suddenly at the scene before me.
The body lay sprawled face up on the
concrete floor across the room. Blood
stained the otherwise clean floor both
near the entrance door where I stood and
beside the body in the far corner. In that
corner were two other doors, one lead-
ing out to the backyard, the other toward
another basement room of the house.
Shades on the several windows were
DETECTIVE
— WE TRAPPED CALIFORNIA’S
BLUDGEON SLAYER
pulled down, making the electric light
necessary.
Gingerly I went on in, followed by my
deputies and the other officials, stepping
carefully toward the body. I made men-
tal notes as I knelt to examine the corpse
more carefully.
The arms were outstretched; the legs
were turned slightly to the left side and
sprawled out. Mrs. Turner wore black
cotton stockings and a pair of low-heeled,
rubber-soled shoes. Her other garments
were a light, flowered kimono and a black
slip.
Coroner West stepped toward me and
knelt on the other side. “That slash on
the left side of the neck,” he said quietly,
pointing, “severed the jugular. Looks as
though the back of the head was severely
injured too, Either wound would have
been fatal.”
NODDED speculatively, regarding
other bruises and cuts around the
throat and shoulders.
“Tt looks as though she put up a stiff
fight before she was killed,” the coroner
remarked, voicing my own thought.
I stood up, noting an iron wedge and
an iron maul, sharp on one end, lying
near the head. Half a dozen burned
matches scattered about, a small penny
box of matches and several cigarette
butts ground out on ,the concrete floor
within a radius of several feet of the
body all indicated that the murderer
had remained some little time.
Slowly I walked around, studying
the room carefully for additional
clues. “Look at this,” I exclaimed,
stooping low. The garden hose,
coiled several times, lay on the floor
across the room. Inside the coil was an
unsmoked cigarette. The lettering on it
was that of a popular brand.
At this moment Shannon cried out,
“Sheriff ! Come here!”
I turned to see my deputy kneeling
near the door through which we had en-
tered. Walking toward him I said,
“What do you find, Jack ?”
“Tt’s a sliver of wood. Looks like wal-
nut to me. Probably off the stock of a
rifle.” ;
Sure enough, when I examined it
closely as it lay there, one side showed
the smooth, polished surface wood takes
on after it has been long handled, while
the other side showed a clean break in the
rough, hard grain. The sliver was about
three and one-half inches long, thinning
down to a point from about an eighth of
an inch wide.
“Any idea what sort of rifle it would
come from?” I asked.
“No. I’ll compare it with some of our
guns when we get back to the office,”
Shannon volunteered.
Deputy Dolce also pointed out a half-
eaten peach which lay near the side door.
After asking Dolce to check with the
woman who had discovered the murder,
Shannon and I covered the lower floor,
then went on upstairs while Perry began
work with his photo equipment. We went
hurriedly through the pleasantly fur-
nished house: bedrooms, living and din-
Charitable, lovable Mrs. Turner, above,
was one of the outstanding women of the
rugged Mother Lode country. Left, her
body was found in this ce (cross) ;
arrow points to a clue, a cigarette.
21
ing rooms and kitchen. The shades were
mostly pulled low, in partial protection
against the heat.
Contents of several dresser drawers
were mussed, but it was not possible to
determine for certain if they had been
ransacked. Otherwise the house seemed
spotless. We found nothing in that first
hurried examination which seemed
likely to provide a clue to the perpetrator
of the first murder to occur within the
Colfax city limits since the town was
incorporated thirty-two years before. In
fact, I recalled, this was the fourth mur-
der in Placer County during the past
sixty years.
I led the way toward the front door.
There on a hall table I saw a woman’s
black leather pocketbook. It might have
been missed by the criminal in the dim-
ness of the corridor if robbery had been
the murder motive. Holding it with my
handkerchief, I dumped the contents of
the pocketbook out on the table: a lace-
bordered handkerchief, dainty little gold
compact, several keys and a purse con-
taining five silver dollars and some loose
change.
We had so far uncovered no clue of °
_ importance outside the basement room
and I quickly organized a routine police
“investigation. Chief Biscia took over,
guarding the scene. Shannon hastened
_to help Dolce question other neighbors.
The coroner made arrangements for the
autopsy to be performed as soon as pos-
sible by Dr. Lynn Smith at a local funeral
parlor. And District Attorney Sparks,
Tindall and I began careful search of
22
Deputy Sheriffs John L. Shannon, left, and Charles Dolce
poke through the brush of the Turner pasture, where one
of the death weapons was later found. Right, Shannon points
to the incriminating nick in the criminal’s rifle stock.
the grounds. We found a
number of fragmentary
tracks, some made by the
same type of shoes worn by
Mrs. Turner, others by
larger masculine shoes. But
the ground was dry and partly covered
with yellowing autumn leaves from trees
in the yard so that not one print was clear.
As we finished going over the im-
mediate backyard, Dolce turned the cor-
ner of the house. He strode toward us.
“The neighbor can’t help much,” he ex-
plained. “She came over to visit, got no
answer at the front and looked around
the orchard in back. Then she remem-
bered Mrs. Turner usually washed Mon-
day mornings, went to the basement and
found the body.” :
HAT moment Shannon appeared,
walking fast. ““A woman across the
way,” he said, “was talking over her
back fence to a friend yesterday after-
noon, Some guy who looked like a hobo,
she told me, cut out of the yard here, He
had a rifle under his arm. The S, P. is
about a quarter mile,” he jerked his
thumb in a southwesterly direction, “over
there.”
I knew that the main line Southern
Pacific tracks were near by and this
seemed like a good bet. Only a human
derelict of the worst sort could have
slain this kindly woman. As though
reading my thoughts, Shannon volun-
teered, “The neighbors say Mrs. Turner
always gave handouts to every down and
° eee 1
outer who came along. We'd better beat
the jungles, Sheriff.”
“Yes. Of course, the murderer’s got
better than half a day’s start. Not likely
he’d hang around Jong. But we might
get some lead. What did this hobo look
like ?”
“In his twenties, maybe five feet nine,
one hundred and fifty to one hundred and
sixty pounds, Needed a shave and hair-
cut and wore dirty black pants and a
very dirty hickory shirt. No coat.”
I jotted down the description as Shan-
non tatked. ‘Phone that to Sacramento.
Have a statewide teletype put out with a
request to hold anybody who seems to
be acting suspiciously, especially a man
with bloodstained clothes. Ask every de-
partment to cover all trains.”
As Shannon left I turned to Dolce.
“You and Chief Biscia beat the jungles
here. The photographer can guard the
house. On the way let’s look over the
orchard for footprints.”
Half a dozen of us fanned out through
the rows of heavily laden peach, pear
and apple trees, walking slowly through
the dry soil. It was Chief Biscia who
first spotted the trail.
STARTLING
“Here, Sk
We all h
side. Sure
footprints, n
The prints
in deeper th:
indicating t’
had been ru:
“Good,” J
my eyes the
the Turner
toward a ro\
fence severa
the direction
“Dolce, brin
boxes here t:
can make ca
When Do
I had selecte:
ered each wi
tunately, the
at the end o
Shannon,
beat through
back toward
state B. of |
from his car
as I appro
friendly salu
“Looks lil
said, outlin
walked tow:
“From wh
replied thou
was well off
motive. Esp
here.”
We went
finished with
putting his e
proached thi
intently. Jot’
pencil stub,
room, placin;
mind in its >
a whole. At
inary.
As we talk
of the blood
wood from t
DETECTIV]
ong. We'd better beat
ff,”
se, the murderer’s got
day’s start. Not likely
long. But we might
hat did this hobo look
3, maybe five feet nine,
ifty to one hundred and
eded a shave and hair-
‘ty black pants and a
shirt. No coat.”
1e description as Shan-
ne that to Sacramento.
teletype put out with a
inybody who seems to
nusly, especially a man
clothes. Ask every de-
‘all trains.”
ft I turned to Dolce.
Biscia beat the jungles
grapher can guard the
vay let’s look over the
rints.”
i us fanned out through
vily laden peach, pear
valking slowly through
was Chief Biscia who
vail.
STARTLING
' a
“Here, Sheriff,” he called out.
We all hurried to the Colfax chief’s
side. Sure enough, there was a set of
footprints, made by a man’s heavy shoes.
The prints were wide apart, each toe dug
in deeper than the rest of the impression,
indicating that the owner of the shoes
had been running.
“Good,” I exclaimed, following with
my eyes the trail which led away from
the Turner house, through the orchard,
toward a row of scraggly willows near a
fence several hundred yards distant in
the direction of the railroad right of way.
“Dolce, bring a few of those empty fruit
boxes here to cover these tracks until we
can make casts.”
When Dolce returned with the boxes
I had selected three plain prints. We cov-
ered each with an inverted crate. Unfor-
tunately, the trail ended in the dry grass
at the end of the orchard.
Shannon, Dolce and the chief left to
beat through the jungles and I hastened
back toward the house. Owen Kessel, the
state B. of I. expert, was lifting a bag
front his car when I arrived. He turned
as I approached, raising a hand in
friendly salutation.
“Looks like a tough one, Owen,” I
said, outlining developments as we
walked toward the basement.
“From what you say, Sheriff,” Kessel
replied thoughtfully, “since Mrs. Turner
was well off, robbery was probably the
motive. Especially since she lived alone
here.”
We went into the room where Perry,
finished with his photographic work, was
putting his equipment away. Kessel ap-
proached the body, studying the scene
intently. Jotting down brief notes with a
pencil stub, he moved slowly about the
room, placing each article and clue in his
mind in its relationship to the scene as
a whole. At last he finished this prelim-
inary.
As we talked, we decided from position
of the blood spots, the sliver of walnut
wood from the rifle stock near the door
DETECTIVE
and other clues, that Mrs. Turner had
first been slugged while eating a peach,
probably with a rifle, near the door
through which we entered. She had fallen
to the floor, tried desperately to battle
with her assailant, rising to her knees
or maybe even getting to her feet before
being stabbed and knocked down again.
She had been dragged by the ankles
across the floor to the corner where the
body now lay. From the crushed out
cigarette stubs and matches, the mur-
derer—or murderers—had spent at least
half an hour or an hour with the corpse
in addition to whatever time might have
been consumed ransacking the house
proper.
Kessel took several samples of blood
from various places in the room and
carefully picked up each burned match
and cigarette stub, the unsmoked cig-
arette, the box of matches and walnut
sliver, labeling each. Then he approached
the outstretched right hand of the corpse.
‘l’m going to scrape the fingernails,
Sheriff,” he said. “We agree she must
have put up a battle. I might be able to
get fragments of skin of the murderer,
or something else important.”
I nodded as the criminologist set to
work with a clean knife. He carefully
scraped under each nail with a shiny
blade, placing each scraping in a piece
of clean paper which he folded and
labeled.
With the arrival of a hearse and dep-
uties, Kessel and I helped with the
stretcher. ,
As we lifted, Kessel cried, ‘Look.
There.”
I glanced down. Beneath the small of
the back on the concrete floor lay a cigar
still in its unbroken cellophane wrapper.
Kessel and I examined it. It was a well-
known two-for-a-nickel smoke.
Now we searched the house exhaus-
tively for clues, finding nothing more of
value. Then, while Kessel began work-
ing with dusting powders and camel’s-
hair brush for fingerprints, I double-
checked the neighbor women ‘who had
seen the transient leaving the Turner
yard the previous afternoon, and the
housewife who found the body. They still
could add nothing to what I already knew.
Nor could a single resident in the vicinity
supply a clue of value.
I started back toward the Turner home.
Rounding the corner a block away I saw
officers alongside my car. They sur-
rounded a man who was gesticulating
wildly despite handcuffs.
I started walking faster. Shannon saw
me and left the group. As I neared he
spoke in a low voice. “We got this lug
in the jungles. Had blood spattered on
his clothes and ¢ouldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell
us where he-was yesterday.”
I glanced at Shannon’s earnest face.
“He claims he killed a deer out of season
and got the blood that way.”
My deputy’s face crinkled in a grin at
my reference to the hoary timber country
alibi. “He does that, seriously.”
= about his footprints? Do they
fit?” '
“About the same size shoes. Had no
knife or gun. And those two neighbor
women aren’t sure if he’s the man they
saw cut out of the Turner yard yester-
day. Not much help.”
“No,” I agreed.
N EARING the car, I sized up the sus-
pect. He looked me over slowly,
from head to foot, as I approached. I
knew right away that I didn’t like him,
either.
In his early 30’s, the fellow’s eyes were
bloodshot. He reeked of cheap wine.
His sullen, sweaty face was black with a
three-day beard. He wore a dirty, faded
khaki shirt and disreputable pair of bib-
less levis. Obvious blood spots spattered
his clothes.
“What’s your name, son?”
“What’s it to you?” he snarled.
I restrained myself and said, “How
long you been in town?”
Again he glared at me and was
silent.
“That blood on your clothes. How’d
you get it?”
“Killed a deer.”
“How?” I thought of that walnut
sliver from a rifle stock.
“Not with a bow and arrow,” he
growled.
In my twenty-five years as a peace of-
ficer I’ve gained the ability to judge
men fairly well.
Something told me this was no really
bad hombre. But he was frightened for
some reason.
To Dolce and Chief Biscia I said,
“Let’s take him into the basement. He
might want to see it again.”
Each officer took an arm and marched
the man toward the doorway, despite his
protests. Strangely enough, as he neared
the door, he fell silent. I led the way,
snapping on the light, and turned so that
I could see his reaction as he entered.
Success crowned their efforts: left to
right, Sheriff Silva, Owen Kessel, crim-
inologist, and D. A. Lowell L. Sparks.
23
ame by 4
ty feet |
ith gee |
°
lif 4
wrying
fe had
cheock
Men began to pour from the card room.
One of them noticed two youths on the
sidewalk. He bent down and drew
Haas’s revolver.
“You dirty killers!” he cried.
Frightened, the youths ran to their
coupé. As they were driving away, the
man fired three shots, one of the bullets
passing through the windshield near the
driver’s head.
Later, the boys identified themselves
as William Skyrme and Charles Peterson.
They had been visiting their girl friends,
and had been attracted by the excite-
ment as they. were passing the card club
on their way home.
An ambulance rushed the wounded
policeman to Highland Hospital, but he
was dead on arrival. Three slugs had
gone through his chest, near the heart.
Cecil Walker, the other victim, was
found to have a shattered arm. He was
taken to a Berkeley hospital.
ETA NC ee EE IED —
Meanwhile, Anthony Davilla escaped
with his life. He appeared at Police
Headquarters in Oakland and told his
story. The bandits had been undecided
about his fate, and his life had hung in
the balance until the last moment, when
they decided to let him go.
“They made me drive them back to
where I had first picked them up,” he
related. “As soon as I heard a‘car start
up in the Sears-Roebuck parking lot, I
beat it.”
He described the killers. Both were of
medium height and weight. The one with
the sub-machine gun had a pencil-line
mustache and had been wearing a gray
hat, dark jacket and dark trousers. He
wasted few words and was plainly a
tough customer.
His companion was somewhat blond,
and had a pug nose. Wearing a blue
shirt and light corduroy trousers, he had
been hatless and in his shirt sleeves. He
When police showed this picture to eye-witnesses of the crime,
almost a dozen card players identified the man as one of bandits
spoke with a drawl and liked to crack
jokes.
“They could be the hotel bandits,” In-
' spector L. M. Jewell remarked; and the
other Inspector, William Perry, nodded
quick agreement. The attempted rob-
bery of the Baldwin Hotel, only four days
earlier, was uppermost in their minds,
and might well have a bearing on this
case. .
An alarm was broadcast over the police
radio, giving the descriptions Davilla had
furnished. Sheriff H. P. Gleason of Ala-
meda County was notified, and his depu-
ties immediately joined in the hunt. An
all-points bulletin was flashed over the
statewide teletype system, and the high-
way patrol posted officers on all the roads ~
leading from Oakland, in case the slayers
should attempt to leave the city. ray
Everywhere the word was spread: Two
bandits had cold-bloodedly mowed down
a fellow policeman; and everywhere the .
response was, ‘‘Get the cop killers!”
N EMERYVILLE, where the murder
had occurred, Assistant Police Chief -
Frank Farina launched an investigation.
The victim had been his close friend and
his death was a tragic blow; yet Farina
soon discovered that he was handicapped
by the scarcity of clues. :
There were plenty of witnesses, but
only Davilla had actually seen the ban-
dits’ faces. Even he admitted that he
might be mistaken in some of the details
of their descriptions, for the only illumi-
nation had come from street lights.
A total of fifteen shots had been fired
‘in the card room, with three more taking
the life of George Haas. Farina ‘recov-
ered most of the slugs, as well as the
eighteen empty shells. One of the latter
bore what seemed to be a fingerprint; it
was turned over to experts for study.
Of apparent significance was the fact
that the cartridges were .30-caliber, Gov-
ernment-issue shells. It seemed likely
that the sub-machine gun had been
stolen from one of the many Army and
Navy establishments in the Bay area, and
Police Chief Louis Mann sent inquiries to
the authorities in an effort to learn
whether there was a record of such a
theft, and whether any suspects were
known.
The manager of the Oaks Club, Emil
Bedenbeck, discovered that the bandits
had taken slightly more than $300 in
currency and silver.’ He had no idea
who the holdup men were.
“They went straight to the cashier’s
booth,” Farina pointed out, “‘so they must
have known the layout of your club. They
must have played cards here at some
time.”
“Yes,” Bedenbeck agreed, “but I can’t
place either of them. We have a lot of
fellows dropping in occasionally, you
know.”
Farina questioned all the card players,
with the same negative result. Because
of their masks, the bandits escaped iden-
tification completely. The drawling voice
of one of them led to several vague tips,
and Farina patiently ran each of them
down. When they all proved false, the
Assistant Chief found himself without a
single suspect.
The Oakland police were co-operating
closely with the small Emeryville force,
VO ieads, fhey were LOownineY tor two
hotel bandits, whom they suspected of
being the murderers.
During the afternoon of Saturday,
March 4th, two men had entered the
lobby of the Baldwin Hotel, at 529 Eighth
Street. The manager, Walter Iffert, was
sitting near his desk reading a newspaper.
The men came toward him, and one of
them drew a revolver.
“This is a stickup,” he said. His com-
panion was already behind the desk,
opening the cash drawer.
Iffert slowly raised his hands, then
made a grab for the gun. The bandit
jerked it away, cursed him, and struck
witnesses who had seen the fleeing ban-
dits enter the Eureka Hotel, a rooming-
house at Eighth and Washington Streets.
Searching the hotel, they found a 38
revolver in a trash can on the second
floor; it had fresh bloodstains on the
handle,
The hotel clerk told them that two men,
who seemed to fit the general descrip-
tions given by Iffert, had just checked
in that morning. The suspects had signed
the register as Frank V. Hill and Sam
Duram, both from Chloride, Arizona.
Hill and Duram were not in their room.
Whether they were the bandits or not,
the bloodstained gun was proof that the
| Mis pad. the ollicers were in plain-
clothes, and Wood wags armed with a
sawed-off shotgun,
Several hours passed, and then the
officers saw two men coming down the
hallway. They resembled the suspects,
and they seemed about to enter. the room
of Hill and Duram. The officers stepped
out and accosted them.
“Put up your hands,” Wood com-
manded. ‘‘We’re police officers.”
Instead of obeying, both men turned
and ran, each in a different direction.
“Halt!” Wood cried. “Halt, or I'll
shoot!”
As the men continued to run, Hahn
fired a revolver shot over the head of one,
him on the head with the gun butt. Iffert
lunged forward and tried to grapple with
his assailant; he was knocked to his knees,
and another blow stretched him out on
the floor.
The bandits searched his pockets and
ran outside. Iffert, stunned and bleeding,
crawled to the doorway and shouted for
help. When no one responded, jhe stag-
gered to his feet and out to the sidewalk.
He caught a glimpse of the Pair as they
disappeared around the next corner,
In spite of his injuries, the 50-year-old
hotel manager began to run in pursuit of
holdup men had come to this hotel.
The two Inspectors requested the patrol
division to send officers to watch for the
suspects, and Patrolmen Charles Wood
and Raymond Hahn came to the hotel
and staked out in a room near that of the
and he stopped and threw up his hands.
The other man was still running. Wood
shouted a second warning, then a third.
Just as he was about to disappear around
a corner in the hallway, Hahn fired at
him with the revolver, and Wood turned
Bi
| the bandits. He followed them to Sev- al:
| | enth Street and was Overtaking them
1! | when they saw him coming. They began: his
' to run, and because of the crowd on the th
| sidewalk, Iffert lost sight of them, They ca
| | had vanished somewhere between Clay he
Mi and Washington Streets. of
I Iffert found a policeman, who sum- on
| i moned an ambulance and reported the
ii . crime to Headquarters. At the emer- th
a gency hospital, where the victim was ha
being treated for severe scalp lacera- ins
tions, Inspectors William Marshall and
aT J. J. McMorrow obtained his description pi
; of the assailant and his companion. Vv
a ii _ The hotel cash drawer was empty, and ‘
tH
ERS - Iffert believed that the pair had got away
with some $500 in cash and checks. Later,
however, he remembered that he had left
vm... ..the money in another coat upstairs, and
the bandits had got nothing.
The two Inspectors soon got on the trail
Sila! Sauce eee a
“District Atty. Hoyt (left) and Asst. Chief Farina ques-
tion one of accused who studies tommy-gun, part of the
evidence leading to arraignment o slayers (above}
ney, Whe see
uestioning the
Davilla,
= es evident that, more than anything else, his The Oakland police were notified, and In- erent Chief, th:
- fear of the murder charge had induced him _ spectors William Marshall and Eugene Mur- see and the cab a!
E AMBLING WITH to confess to the lesser crime, an old story phy went to San Francisco to assist in ir ‘station.
: oe in police experience. questioning the suspects. . a When he heard |
_ DEATH 7 At any rate, one thing was now clear: After several hours of interrogation, the Lap 6 ommanding |
- The Arizona miners, Duram and Vigil, had prisoners continued to maintain their asser- Benjamin 1 W!
a been innocent of the hotel holdup, and an tions of innocence, and the officers didn’t . be rds, was tw
pr: unfortunate mistake had been made when know what to think. okey from Ken
(Continued from page 21) Vigil drew the policemen’s fire by running The terms of their parole forbade them ae Francisco, 2’
away. to possess firearms, sO Beltowski and piece r, second ¢
Sam Duram was released. He was wholly Castropil were held as parole violators, me only was |
. when Crag saw a face that seemed sus- guiltless, and had been the victim of an pending other charges. peen cited for
piciously familiar. unusual set of circumstances. Thus, with two pairs of known bandits tians campaign.
| “Look, isn’t that one of them?” he de- Iffert’s identification of the body in the in custody, five days after the machine-gun 1 qd saved the ii
manded. morgue as that of one of the bandits had murder, the police of both cities were faced an Whitson was
Smith stared at the man, who was cross- been completely misleading, but now the with the problem of trying to uncover more Davilla was gi
ing the street. “Looks like it,’ he agreed. reason for the mistake was explained. The conclusive evidence. a r. While th:
“Tet’s nab him.” photograph of Tom Sullivan showed a On the same day, Monday, March 13th, ove “asking a
The suspect was taken to Headquarters, strong resemblance between the missing there were two, almost simultaneous, de- Parina drew th
where he admitted that he was William bandit and the slain man. As Inspector velopments. aeWell?” he 2
8 Hyman. He denied any connection with Marshall put it, “Vigil was a dead ringer for The Oakland police were watching Hy- Da villa had
' the Oaks Club tommy-gun slaying, the Sullivan—a strange coincidence, but true.” man’s mail, hoping that Sullivan, if he had ect, evider
hotel robbery attempt, or the robbing of The next day, while the search for Sulli- left the city, would try to communicate susp “oe at th
Zimmerman. He professed to be ignorant van continued, William Hyman was placed with his confederate. As a result, they CrThat’s hin
of Sullivan’s present whereabouts. | on the line-up platform with several other intercepted a letter from a young woman “pe’s the one
Hyman was only twenty, and he ex- prisoners, and a number of witnesses of the in Salinas, a hundred ,miles away. «me little
plained why he was not in the armed forces Oaks Club robbery were asked to pick out “Tom is staying with me,” the letter said, —sa thing.”
' py confessing that he had been “kicked out” the bandit. They all failed. in part. “He’s going to lie Jow for a while, every
of the Navy for bad conduct. He could not Later, Anthony Davilla confronted Hy- and he wants you to do the same.” ARINA re'
explain how he was obtaining the money to man, and he shook his head doubtfully. The Salinas authorities were requested to E ‘lor We
support himself and his wife. “He looks a little like one of them,” he said, pick up the suspect. At the address men- sal d to e2
tioned in the woman’s letter, they arrested rere 4 that
A checkup with the Federal authorities “but the bandit had a mustache.”
disclosed that he was on probation after A small mustache was painted on Hy- a man, who denied that he was Tom Sulli- tucky, t!
having taken a stolen car across a state line, man’s lip, but the taxi driver was still in van. -egsggicr? ed
a Federal offense. doubt. “I don’t think it was him,” he said Police Lieutenant Leo Wells immediately neo iteort
The suspect was questioned for five hours, at last. went to Salinas to question the prisoner, 4 . t the
: and finally he broke down and confessed While this was going on, the San Fran- who then admitted his identity. car phe c
- that he and Sullivan had staged the holdup cisco police were following up a tip they “What do you want me for?” Sullivan had q un:
at the Baldwin Hotel. had received on Sunday night. Two In-_ asked. gions the
“But I had nothing to do with killing that spectors from the robbery detail went toa “You ought to know,” the Lieutenant re- been © hai
cop,” he protested, “and neither did Tom.” hotel on Market Street and surprised a pair torted. somew ort
Hyman explained how they had eluded of suspects as they were sleeping in their Sullivan denied having been involved in are ge
the police after shaking off the pursuing room, They also took into custody their the card-room robbery and murder, but he ever ati
hotel manager. They had slipped into the two women companions. confessed to his part in the hotel slugging, aes —
Eighth Street rooming-house, where Sulli- The men were John Beltowski and Tony and his statement agreed with that made by ae vel
van had thrown the bloodstained revolver Castropil, both on parole from San Quen- Hyman. He was brought back to Oakland, Te ve _
into the trash can; then they had gone to tin. Besides a considerable amount of “hot” where he and Hyman were charged with . h
the roof of the building, from which they goods—typewriters, radios, cartons of ciga- assault and attempted robbery. spots, - ,
Hires had crossed to another building and then rettes, rolls of coin still in the bank Although Hyman had actually been iden- ah in
h _-. made their way down a fire-escape. wrappers—the police found a small arsenal tified as one of the killers, when his pho- —
1 : The prisoner denied that he and Sullivan in their room. tograph was shown to witnesses, the fact > a i
Hes had robbed Zimmerman. . The firearms consisted of three revolvers, that these same witnesses had failed to i 4
ieee “You might as well come clean on the an automatic pistol, and a shotgun, with pick him out of a police line-up had weak- supP ra
i Oaks Club job,” Inspector Marshall told plenty of ammunition for each weapon. ened the case against him and Sullivan. It a eae 4)
Be Siete him. “A lot of the card players have al- There was no sign of a sub-machine gun, was still possible that they were the tommy- : € t
ib = ready identified you, from your picture.” but it was to be expected.that the killers, if gun slayers, but as yet there was not enough aman
; “They're crazy,” Hyman retorted. “You they were smart, would have got rid of the evidence to support a murder charge. a <
>= _ can’t pin that killing on me—lI’m no killer!’ murder gun. The second development consisted of an-> _ The *
Be He continued to deny the accusation, al- Both of the suspects vehemently denied other tip. A young Navy sailor walked into a bum t
though he was unable to provide a satis- having taken any part in the holdup slay- Headquarters at Emeryville and told his ge ;
factory alibi for Wednesday night. Itseemed ing, but their alibis were decidedly flimsy. story to Farina. The Assistant Chief was ev
: somewhat dubious. ‘
“You say you suspect a shipmate of yours
of the. murder,” he said. “Have you any
proof?” ”
“No,” the sailor admitted, “but this fellow :
‘once told me he was thinking of holding
up a card room, and that it would be worth
at least four thousand dollars.”
Farina almost smiled. This sounded like
the tip that had sent him and Chief Mann
to Mare Island on a wild-goose chase. But
they couldn’t afford to pass up any clue,
however doubtful, so he nodded. encourag-
ingly. ,
“Go on,” he prompted.
“Well,” his informant continued nerv-
ously, “he offered to take me in on the deal,
but I told him nothing doing. He said he
would get somebody else, and bragged that
this was only one of several big jobs he had
in mind.” .
“Did he specifically mention the Oaks
Club?”
“No, but he said it was in Emeryville.” —
“What's this fellow’s name?”
“Whitson,” the sailor supplied. “Ben
Whitson. He’s a cook at the Alameda air-
base, where I’m stationed.”
“We'll look into it,” Farina promised. He
reported the conversation to Chief Mann.
The Chief telephoned the District Attor-
Cecil Walker rests in Berkeley hos-
pital after being treated for wounds
loose with the shotgun. The man fell.
Both shots had hit him, and he died
almost immediately.
The dead man’s companion identified
himself as Sam Duram, and explained
that he had tried to run away only be-
cause he at first mistook the officers for
holdup men. He denied any knowledge
of the attempted robbery and the assault
on Iffert.
He said the other was Frank Hill, that
they were both miners from Arizona and
had arrived in Oakland only that morn-
ing.
A search of the body, however, yielded
papers which bore the name of George
Vigil; and a draft card, issued in New
Mexico, classified a man of ‘the same
name as “4-F”” and” bore a’ description
which matched-the~ physical character=
istics of the. dead man. 2
Duram was held on suspicion of at-
tempted robbery, and the body of Vigil,
alias Hill, was taken to the morgue. The
next day, Iffert looked at the body and
asserted that it was that of the bandit
who had beaten him. ;
However, after making this identifica-
tion, the hotel manager was unable to
pick Duram out of a police lineup. The
suspect was held, pending further in-
vestigation; but although Police Chief
Robert Tracy upheld the two patrol-
men and said they were but following
out their duty, there was now doubt that
the hotel bandits had been found.
This was the situation when, four days
after the hotel holdup and subsequent
shooting, the Emeryville robbery was
staged and Officer Haas was slain.
In most respects, the descriptions fur-
nished by Iffert and Davilla were simi-
lar, even to the drawling voice of one of
the bandits. Sam Duram didn’t speak
with a drawl, and his dead partner hadn’t,
either, Along with other circumstances,
this increased the doubt in the officers’
minds concerning the men’s guilt.
Two days after the murder, while the
Oakland police were trying to round up
new suspects, and at the same time to
obtain definite proof against Sam Duram,
or else to clear him, Chief Louis Mann
received a tip at Emeryville. .
Mann’s informant named a sailor in
the Navy who, after playing cards at the
Oaks Club one night, had remarked that
it would be easy to “knock off” the place °
for several thousand dollars. The sus-
pect was supposed to be stationed at the
Mare Island Navy Yard, and Mann and
Farina drove there at once.
After some difficulty, the naval officials
helped them to locate the sailor, a ma-
chinist’s mate named Erwin Holt, who
stoutly* denied any connection with the
hgldup slaying. He had made the remark
in jest, he said.
. “Anyway, I can prove I didn’t do it,”
Holt asserted. “I was out in Vallejo on
Wednesday night with another fellow
and a couple of girls.”
He furnished their ‘names, and the
,officers found the witnesses and ques-
tioned them closely. In most respects
their stories substantiated Holt’s alibi:
The Chief and his assistant returned to
Emeryville, convinced that the sailor was
‘innocent.
Nothing had come of their attempt to
have the fingerprint on the cartridge shell
‘identified; it was a faint impression, and
badly smudged. ‘
Similarly, the various military and
naval establishments all reported that
they had no record of a stolen sub-ma-
chine gun. Any hope of tracing the
killers by this means had to be aban-
doned. j
Farina conferred with the Oakland |
police. A coroner’s jury had just absolved:
the two patrolmen, Wood and Hahn, of
any blame in the shooting of George
Vigil, and the officers were commended
for fulfilling their duties. If, in spite of
Iffert’s identification of the dead man
as one of the bandits, Vigil had been:
innocent, he had brought on his own
_death by, failing to halt after. repeated...
oaae
warnings,
———~Vigil’s™ ‘fingerprint ~¢lassification had >
--been.sent tothe FBI in.-Washington,-and-+-
word had just been réceived that the
Bureau had no record of the man. The
Arizona and New Mexico authorities had
reported that neither Duram nor Vigil
had ever been in trouble with the police,
so far as their records showed.
“We’re beginning to think the hotel
bandits are still at large,” Chief Tracy
told Farina, “and there’s a strong likeli-
hood that the same bandits killed Haas.
I’ve assigned my best men to the case,
and sooner or later a definite lead will
turn up.”
“Let’s hope so,” Farina said fervently.
“All our tips have turned sour. As things
stand, we haven’t a single clue to work
on.”
With the investigation virtually at a
standstill, Farina crossed the bay to San
Francisco and conferred with inspectors
of the robbery and homicide details. They
revealed that they were already combing
-the city for suspects.
“We'll never give up until those-killers
aré found,” they promised grimly. ‘“No-
body murders a policeman around here
and gets away with it.”
“Tt was deliberate murder,” the Assis-
tant Chief declared. “Haas had been talk-
ing with a friend, ‘and they heard a noise
but didn’t recognize it as gunfire. As he
came around the corner, the bandits had
the drop on him. They could have dis-
armed him and spared his life. Instead,
they killed him on sight.” :
There had been no break in the case
when, on the following day, George Haas
was laid to rest in the presence of a large
crowd of mourners. The colorful strong
man, a veteran of almost twenty years
as a policeman, had been a warm-
“hearted and lovable person, and _ his
tragic end filled his many friends with
bitterness. .
Determined that his death should not
go unavenged, but handicapped by an
almost total lack “of clues, the Oak-
land police sent out “feelers” in under-
world quarters; and that same after-~ ~
noon, Saturday, they received a telephone
tip from a source .that was usually
reliable. —
“If you want to know who pulled that
job at the Baldwin, and maybe killed ‘:
Haas,” the tipster said, “pick up Hyman
and Sullivan.”
-The records showed that William
Hyman and Tom Sullivan had been ar-
rested a month earlier on suspicion of
robbery.
strong evidence against them, their vic-
Although there had -been .
tim, a merchant seaman, had declined to ~
prosecute, because his ship was about to
sail.
Following this new tip, -officers
throughout the city were instructed to
be on the lookout for the suspects. And
» that night Hyman and Sullivan were
linked with a new crime, when Garrett
Zimmerman, a man in his late sixties,
was held up and robbed at Hobart and
Webster Streets.
Zimmerman had been playing cards at
the Labor Temple, and was about to enter
his car, shortly before midnight, when -
two thugs accosted him. As they forced
him to hand over his wallet and a gold
approaching. > 7 oe
“Act natural,” one of the holdup men
warned.the victim, “or-I’11-kill -you!”?.....
The two thugs began to behave as if
Zimmerman were an old friend of theirs,
and the officer strolled past them without-
suspecting what was happening.
As soon as the holdup men had walked
away, Zimmerman ran to the patrolman,
Frank Ivaldi, and told him what had
occurred. Ivaldi.searched the neighbor-
hood, without result. :
However, he had: seen the faces of the
pair, and when he made his report at
Headquarters, the photographs of Hyman
and Sullivan were shown to him.
“That’s them,” Ivaldi said. “I’m sure
of it.”
Meanwhile, other sets of the same pho-
tographs were being shown to various
witnesses of the Oaks Club robbery, and
with’startling consequences. Almost a
dozen of’ those interviewed picked out
the photograph of Hyman as that of one
of the tommy-gun bandits.
Radio and teletype warnings now car-
ried the police descriptions of this pair,
and efforts to locate them were redoubled.
These measures bore fruit the following
day. Two traffic officers, H. H. Crag and
M. C, Smith, were watching at the inter-
-watch,..the.. bandits.-saw~a policeman"
. .
section of Twenty-first Street and Tele- ‘
raph Avenue (Continued on page 84)
21
getaway.” The Chief found it hard to finish.
Nearly every officer there knew William L.
Brett, married, the father of a ten-year-old
boy, and Harry Clester, also married, father
of a boy of seven and a girl of two.
Both policemen were attached to the Boyle
Heights Station. They worked together,
cruising nightly in their auto, in the sparsely
settled east side section of the city.
Hurried farewells were said, and from the
dance floor sped the-veterans and rookies of
the force in a dash to Central Station at First
and Hill Streets.
Already the raucous cries of leather-lunged
newsboys were echoing in the streets:
“Wuxtry, wuxtry, two policemen murdered,
wuxtry!”
[NTO the milling crowd which surged about
the doors of the Receiving Hospital adjoin-
ing the police station, swarmed hundreds of
officers in evening dress.
Inside lay the bodies of the murdered police-
men. Each had been struck by a dozen or
more bullets. And both had been crushed and
mangled by the wheels of an automobile which
had been: driven back and forth over their
bodies.
Brett, the elder, had been shot through the
heart. Clester’s death wound was caused by a
bullet which had struck him squarely between
the eyes.
Outside the crowd grew denser. The shriek-
ing of sirens as police cars that dashed to and
fro attracted thousands. The night was still
young and downtown Los Angeles had drawn
its usual evening throng.
Eager-eyed policemen scanned many faces
in that excited mob. But no one paid much
attention to a shifty-eyéd fellow, who re-
peatedly inquired:
“What has happened? Are the policemen
_dead? Are you sure?”
Hundreds of others were asking these same
questions. So no one bothered about this
shifty-eyed individual,
“Boys,” said Chief Jones, as members of
the Department were gathered before him,_
“two brother officers have been murdered
while in full uniform. The killers are criminals
of the most vicious type. Never have we had
a more atrocious murder in this city.
“And | am sorry to say we are without a
8
(Above) Corner of Sth and
Lorena Streets in Boyle Heights
where Policemen Brett and
Clester were murdered on the
night of December 6th, 1921
(Below) House near 5th and
Lorena Streets showing bullet
holes following gun battle be-
tween bandits and police
single definite clue to work on.
“We have these facts. Brett and
Clester were working out of the Boyle
Heights Station. At eight o’clock to-
night they reported from a call-box at
First Street and Indiana Avenue.
Twenty minutes later they lay mortally
wounded in the roadway at Fifth and
Lorena Streets, eight blocks from the
scene of the call-box report.
“Two young women, Alma and Mary
Paige, report having witnessed the
murders. But neither secured a view
of the killers, and due to fright they
failed to observe many important de-
tails.
“The girls, sitting near a darkened
window, observed two automobiles go-
‘ing north on Lorena Street. A few feet
from the corner they noticed the first
machine come to a sudden stop.
“This, we believe, was the murderers’
car.
“A moment later two shots were
fired from inside the first car. Then a
man, it must have been Brett, fell from
the machine to the pavement.
“This would indicate that Brett and
Clester had stopped the murder car for
some reason, and that with Brett rid-
ing inside, and Clester following in the
police car, were on their way to the
Boyle Heights Station with their men.
“The girls then saw a man in the
second car, evidently Clester, jump
from the machine, and with drawn re-
volver, run around the front of the
murder car.
“At the same time a man jumped out
of the rear of the murder car and ran
toward a vacant lot. ;
“The Paige sisters heard the second
officer call to the fleeing man to halt.
His answer was to turn and fire. His
shot evidently found a vital mark.
Clester fell and lay still.
“Then the driver of the murder car
started his motor. Heading toward
Clester’s prostrate form he drove the
machine to and fro over his body.
Then he ran the car over Brett, ran it
over him several times.”
Oaths that the slain officers would be
avenged interrupted the Chief.
He pleaded for silence.
“After running the car over the
bodies the driver stopped the machine,
while someone in the car continued to
pour bullets into the men who already
‘must have been dead.
“We figure that at least twenty-seven
shots were fired.
“That’s all we know. We do not
know the make of the murder car. We
~ a oe
Me Pe as hig a AS hy
. Py / { . i * 4 v4 * 5
<a] 4 ee 2 oe ee to
ea Ss oe FOL, SA oe : ;
7 eee me ee thts ¢ AN ae
i 4 . 7 4 4
HS yt ties ¢
aN ESS.
(Above) Corner of Stephenson
and Indiana Avenues in Boyle
Heights where Policemen Brett
and Clester first sighted the
bandits’ [car and started’ in
pursuit
(Below) Hole in vacant lot on
58th Street where bandits
buried Policeman Brett’s gun
do not know how ‘many men were in the car.
We are up against one of the most baffling.
crimes the city has ever known.
“I want every man to devote all his efforts
to the capture of these fiends. Bring them in
alive, if you can. But take no chances. Shoot
first, and let the coroner ask the questions.”
Within a few minutes the manhunt was on.
Despite lack of clues the prediction was made
that the very force of the search would trap
the slayers within a few hours.
But the hours passed into days, and the days
lengthened into weeks without a clue being un-
earthed.
In the hope that a large reward would bring
results, Chief Jones induced the City Council
to offer $10,000 for the capture of the slayers.
Before that reward was authorized, the
Theft Bureau of the Automobile Club of
Southern California, of which | was the Night
Chief, had joined in seeking a solution of the
crime.
Associated with me were City Detectives
Jesse Erven and Harry C. Hickok.
It had long been the policy of the Auto
Club, under the direction of its secretary,
Standish L. Mitchell, not only to work for
its members, but to give assistance to every
motorist. °
The murder of Bill Brett and Harry Cles-
ter struck me as hard as any of their brother
officers. "We had worked together on several
cases and I listed them among my intimate
friends.
“I'd rather capture the murderers of Brett
and Clester than any criminal [| have ever
brought in,” I said to Erven and Hickok as
we discussed the ‘case the morning after it had
‘shocked the city.
OST of the Headquarters men were con-
("= vinced that the slayers were an “outside
“mob”, and had “blown” the city immediately
after the killings.
‘| refused to accept this theory. I figured the
slayers must have been hard pressed for funds .
or they would not have been working in a
thinly settled and comparatively poor section
of the city.
They had selected a district poorly policed,
a sure sign to me that they needed some
“quick dough”.
If my theory was right, the slayers would
9
LR
10 The
be forced to attempt another job before fleeing to a hide-
out.
While Erven, Hickok and | were about our usual work
of hunting auto thieves, the Brett and Clester murders
were ever on my mind. Fi ;
“Somehow, I feel a sort of responsibility in this case,” I
told:my partners. ;
The night before the murders 1 dropped into the Boyle
Heights Station just as Brett and Clester were going on
duty.
“Come along with us and we'll
show you how to arrest auto
thieves,” said Brett in his kidding
way.
| had seen Brett and Clester
bring in auto thieves and I had
warned them they were careless in
handling prisoners. So I replied to
Brett’s crack, by saying:
“No thanks, I don’t want to go
out with you fellows. One of these
nights you'll run into an auto
thief and fail to search him. Then
you'll find yourself sprayed with
lead confetti.”
Brett laughed, and called back
as he and Clester started to drive
away:
“All right, Sherlock Holmes.”
THE next time I saw Bill Brett
he was in the morgue.
Sometimes with my _ partners,
and sometimes alone, | visited the
scene of the killings.
I couldn’t make myself believe that twenty-
seven shots had been fired even in that sparsely
settled neighborhood and that nobody had ob-
served more than the Paige girls saw.
As near as we could fix the time, the murders
had been committed about 8:15 on the night of
December 6th. On December 10th I decided to
make a night trip to the neighborhood.
I went from door to door as I had done a day
or so before and my quest again seemed fruitless
until | was greeted by C. S. Thrapp, an old
Arizona miner, who lived at 517 Lorena Street.
He worked long hours and never had been at
home when other detectives and I visited his
house,
“Yes, I saw the shooting,” calmly admitted
Thrapp, “but you are the first officer to ask me
about it.
“I was sitting on my porch smoking a good
night pipe when | saw the two cars, traveling
north on Lorena Street, stop directly under the
arc light about ten feet from the corner.
“T noticed the first car was an old and dilapi-
dated affair. I’m not sure, but it may have been
a Ford. The other car, | later learned it was the
police machine, was behind.
“My attention was attracted when I heard
someone in the back seat of the first car, cry
out, ‘For God’s sake, boys, don’t do that.’
“Then there followed two shots in rapid suc-
cession. A man, it proved to be Brett, fell out of
the back seat on to the roadway.
“The man in the rear car, that was Clester,
jumped out of the machine and started running
and at the same time circling the front car until
he was directly in front of it and right in the
glare of the headlights. '
“While the officer was running up, a man
Master
Detective
jumped out of the back seat and started toward a vacant
lot.
“I saw him distinctly. He wore a light checkered suit—
what I’d call a gambler’s suit. He was bare-headed and in
the rays of the arc light which were directly on him, | no-
ticed that his hair was light and very thin.
“I’d know him again if I saw him.
“The policeman, Clester, called to this man to halt.
“With that the fleeing man turned and fired, and I saw
Clester fall. A moment later there was a shot from the
back of the car and [ heard sounds
of shattered glass.
“T don’t know how many shots
were fired. More than twenty, I’m
sure of that.
“My guess would be there were
four men in the murder car.”
The old man explained that he
always minded his own business .
That is why he had volunteered no
information while a city full of
police was seeking it.
I thanked Thrapp and returned
home. Next morning I drove to
the murder scene again. The
ground had been well explored,
Patrolman Harry Clester, ap-
pointed to the Los Angeles po-
lice force on August 18, 1918,
and murdered in performance of
his duty on December 6, 1921
: a x MGMT aay see + pre .
i GaN a RR PGA He es A ID SIE 8
lea Rie ic,
i Vacant
d suit—
{ and in
m, I no-
alt.
d | saw
rom the
d sounds
ny shots
‘aty, I’m
ere were
ar,”
that he
business .
teered no
full of
returned
lrove to
n. The
explored,
T, ap-
les po-
1918,
ance of
. 1921
How I Trapped the Five Murderers of the Los Angeles Policemen 11
but I figured another search might add something to our
knowledge. | was examining a handful of refuse which |
had gathered along the curb when my eyes fell upon a
small irregular piece of glass.
Thrapp had told me of hearing shattered glass. This, |
thought, might be a piece from the windshield.
I was hopeful as [| dropped into Police Headquarters and
turned my find over to the late Captain Flammer, then
Chief of Detectives.
“Great work,” said one of the boys of the homicide squad,
“now all you have to do is find an
automobile to fit this splinter of
glass.”
But I was more joyful than
usual when I went home that night
to have a good sleep, the only real
rest I was to have in the next
eighteen days.
The police had been busy and
crime had dropped to a minimum.
The only robbery of importance
that had. been reported was the
daring hold-up of a gambling
house just beyond the city limits.
‘The players had been linéd up
against a wall and-robbed. One of
Patrolman William L. Brett,
who became a Los Angeles
policeman on June 17th, 1917,
and was killed by bandits three,
and ‘one half years later _
:
rs
™
Detective Harry J. Raymond in
front of the house at 330 Tenth
Street, Hermosa Beach, California,
to which he trailed three members of
the desperate murder band
the victims had reported that while one gunman wearing
a light checkered suit, and having very thin light colored
hair had held a gun leveled at the group, a second bandit
had robbed him of his deputy constable’s badge.
On the night of December 12th, Erven, Hickok and |
were on our usual hunt for auto thieves. It was dull busi-
ness. Thieves usually active at the approach of the holiday
season, had taken to cover. The police aroused by a com-
munity demanding arrests for the murders of Brett and
Clester were working twenty-four hours a day.
Erven and Hickok had been on
duty since early morning. As the
night wore on they grew weary.
“We're going to call it a night,”
said Erven as | stopped the car
near a restaurant. Hickok agreed
with him.
“All right,” I said. “I'll circle
around for a while and-come back
here to pick you up.”
Through ‘quiet streets I drove
for half an hour without a thing of
interest popping up. Then some-
thing happened.
As I swung my car into Central
Avenue at Fortieth Street, the
very heart of the Negro section of
Los Angeles, | caught a glimpse of
a dilapidated car standing at the
curb. A man was in the driver's
seat and the engine was running.
A few feet away two men were
working at the rear of another
car, apparently taking off a tire.
I swung my car around the next
corner, turned in the middle of the block, and
drove back to Central Avenue, with my lights
out. I stopped at a point which gave me a clear
view of the men.
As I watched they ripped a tire from the
machine on which they had been working and
tossed it into their ancient car, a Ford. They
started to drive away, but after going half a
block they stopped. Then they cautiously drove
up behind another parked car, and began strip-
ping it of tires.
I set my sawed-off shotgun in a handy position
and decided to bear down on them, cover them
with the gun, and make the arrests.
Ff LASHING on my lights, I turned the corner.
As the glare of my light fell upon the old
Ford, the rays were focused on a piece of paper
about two inches square in the lower left hand
corner of the windshield.
It was a “sticker” such as would be placed on
a new windshield.
Instantly the Brett-Clester murders flashed
through my mind, the dilapidated car, which
Thrapp had told me might be a Ford, a shattered
windshield, and a murderer whose hair was light
and very thin, and who wore a checkered suit.
Part of the ‘picture’ was there, the dilapidated
Ford, with what was undoubtedly a new wind-
shield, but none of the trio was attired in a
checkered suit.
The thought raced through my mind as |
slowly advanced, perhaps he is the fourth mem-
ber of the mob. Thrapp had guessed there were
four men in the murder car.
Already | had made my decision. Instead of
attempting the arrests, I continued past where
the men were at work, and turned into the next
True Detective Mysteries
Help the Man Who Is Down!
(Continued from page 18)
that he would be damned if he knew.
With or without poverty we shall always
have crime. But relieve situations such as
the foregoing incident illustrates, and the
harvest will be an appreciable decrease in
crime.
Crime is not committed just ‘by people
who are born to be criminals, who ‘have
different shaped heads or different colored
hair. ;
The Red Riddle of 99th Street
Temptation, need, utter dismay, inability
to get legitimately. what they actually need
for themselves and their families—these
are the things that lead to crime. ©
The providing of at ‘least the bare neces-
sities of life for those unfortunates who
soon may be driven to’a criminal solution is
a problem on which we must all work...
We must all do our. share to help the
man who is down. pe
)
(Continued from page 57)
Santa Monica Beach where she was run-
ning a hot-dog stand, and tried to get her
to come up to Los Angeles to see the baby.
She said she was too tired, or too busy or
something, so I tried to force her into my
car. Someone called the cops and I got a
jail sentence.”
“When was that?”
“Last July. I served twelve days.”
“Is that why she divorced you?”
“No, I don’t think so. She blamed our
troubles on my mother. Said my mother
came first with me.”
“Then, your mother and your wife ,
weren't on good terms?” :
“Oh, Mother liked her well enough. She
tried to get her to come back to me.” ';
“Well, who, besides yourself, could have
wanted Merle out of the way?”
“That’s something I can’t answer. But
you've picked the wrong guy if you think
I killed her. I can prove where I was all
day yesterday and last night and this
morning. What more do you want?”
“We want you to tell the truth,” Savage
replied. ‘“You’ve told only part of it. . I
happen to know that you had a possible
motive in wishing to get rid of your ex-
wife. For one thing, the courts gave her
custody of the baby, and you've been try-
ing to get the baby. In fact, several
months ago, you kidnapped the child, didn’t
you?”
“I took him to Arizona with me. He got
sick and I brought him back to his mother.
But about that other, you're all wet! I was
allowed to see the baby whenever I pleased.
I didn’t have any motive for wanting Merle
bumped off.”
LFRED ELLS, next questioned, stated
that he was a Deputy Constable in
Maywood, and that he’d spent the previous
night patrolling his district in an official
car. He said that he had “dropped in” at
Powell’s Café twice during the night to
see his brother Emery.
“Why did you do that?”
“Well, you see, it gets pretty monotonous
riding around all night looking for car
strippers, so I usually drop in at the Café
once or twice every night to get a cup of
coffee and kid with the fellows around
there. Besides, I have to leave my car
there for Emery to ride home in. There’s
no street-car or bus service out our way
that early in the morning. I go off duty
at four in the morning, and Oscar Powell
brings me home in his car. He lives just
a few doors from us.”
“Who do you think killed Merle?”
“T don’t know any more about it than
you do.” :
- “You know your brother’s had trouble
with his wife?”
“I know they didn’t get along very well.”
Meanwhile, a careful examination § of
the shotgun used in the murder had failed
to reveal a single fingerprint.
Detective Savage recalled Alfred Ells’;
facetious remark made at the time of his
arrest.
“Why did you laugh this morning when
I told you the shotgun was being, exam-
ined for finger-prints?” Savage asked.
“Did I laugh?” was Alfred Ells’ reply.
“Well, I don’t remember laughing.”
“It isn’t possible that you knew the mur-
derer had worn gloves, is it?” Savage's
voice was tinged with sarcasm.
“T DIDN’T know nothing about it.”
“Do you own a shotgun?”
“Sure, but not like that one. I’ve got a
shotgun and a revolver, both. I carry a
revolver in my work, just like you fel-
lows do.”
“Have you any shotgun shells at home?”
“Some ten-gauge shells. Not twelve-
gauge, like that gun would take.”
The interview was then terminated. Al-
fred Ells was placed in a cell far removed
from the. one occupied by his brother,
Emery.
Ralph Moulton was next brought in for
questioning.
Incidentally, if the “appearance of guilt”
counted for anything, Moulton’s actions
would have marked him as the murderer
of Merle Ells, before he opened his mouth.
He had none of the bravado that char-
acterized the attitude of Emery and Alfred
Ells. His seamed face had taken on a
grayish hue, and he glanced from one to
the other of us as though in mortal terror
that some immediate harm was about to
befall him. i
Seated, he placed his hands on his knees,
in an obvious effort to halt their trembling.
“Whaf’s the mattér,° Moulton?” I asked.
“What makes you so nervous?”
“Damned if I know,” he afiswered jerk-
ily. “This thing’s got my goat.”
First, he was asked how it happened
that he was living with the Ells boys.
“T’ve been out of work for quite awhile,
and lately I’ve been staying with Alfred
and Emery—taking care of Alfred’s car,
driving Emery to work, keeping the lawn
mowed—things like that. In return, they
let me sleep in the garage and eat my meals
with them.”
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(left) to
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| by a
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The Red Riddle of 99th Street S7
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ey
Detective J. P. Filkas, co-author of this thrilling
shortly after the killer’s dramatic “I did it!” shows
residence, preparatory to pointing out to sleuths
shocking crime
Alfred Ells’ residence in Southgate, a suburb of
Los Angeles. :
Of the trio of suspects, Moulton was the only
one who appeared to be concerned over his ar-
rest. His hand shook as though with palsy, and
at frequent intervals he mopped beads of per-
spiration from his forehead with a blue bandanna
handkerchief,
I judged him to be about forty years old.
In marked contrast to Moulton’s evident
nervousness was the cool composure manifested
by the Ells brothers.
In an aside, Savage informed me that Alfred
Ells, in particular, seemed to regard his arrest
somewhat in the nature of a joke. When first
told that his sister-in-law had been shot to death,
he had remarked
flippantly:
“Well, that’s An actual police photograph
just too bad. Did of the murder chamber, ar-
pie’? ] tist’s drawing showing the
they find the position of Mrs. Ells’ body
gun?” when it was found by her
“Ves,” Savage sister. A shotgun charge had
had replied “ond plowed through the pretty
5 : " young mother’s neck. The
its being exam- weapon was found a few feet
ined now for away —
i
fingerprints.” At this, Alfred had laughed heartily.
“Good!” he exclaimed. “That will show who the
fellow was.”
He had been sternly admonished by Savage to
cease any further expressions of levity.
Emery Ells, husband of the slain woman, was
questioned first. He was a short, sturdily-built man
of a somewhat pugnacious cast of countenance,
exactly the type of young “‘tough”’ that any policeman
would feel called upon to “shake down” on sight,
with the expéctation of finding a concealed weapon.
He gave his age as twenty-six and his occupation
as waiter in Powell’s ‘‘all night’ restaurant.
“Tell us exactly what you did yesterday from the
time you got up until you went to bed,” Lieutenant
Savage ordered. ‘Speak slowly, so the stenographer
can get it.”
“That's easy. My day begins at six o'clock in
the evening, when I report for work at the restaurant.
Yesterday, I got up late in the afternoon, stopped
at my mother’s house for a few minutes, then went
to the restaurant. I wasn’t out of the place till six
o'clock this morning, when J went home.”
“Can you prove that?”
“T CAN,” was the indifferent answer. “All you've
got to do is ask Oscar or Fred Powell where |
was. You'll find ’em at twenty-four-eleven, East
Slauson Avenue—Powell’s Cafe.”
“From all indications, your wife was killed some
time around midnight, or very early this morning.
Are you sure you didn’t leave the cafe at any time
during the night?”
“As sure as I am sittin’ here. Besides, why would
I want to kill my wife? She’s not my wife, anyway.
We're divorced.”
“I'm informed that you've threatened her life on
several occasions.”
“I suppose Herman Cannon told you that. Well.
it’s not so. We've had spats, like any other couple,
but that’s all.”
“Isn't it a fact that you were arrested for beating
your wife one time last Summer?”’
“Well, I didn’t exactly beat her,’’ Emery said
calmly. “I went down to (Continued on page 105)
——$<$—$<—$$$$ eae
106
“Do you get a salary for your service?”
“No. Alfred gives me a little money
sometimes,”
Moulton was then told to account for
his actions on the previous day.
“I rode around with Alfred in his car
before he went to work. We drove to
his office and got his pay-check. Then, we
bought some groceries and went home. I
didn’t leave the house again all evening.”
“Did anything unusual happen during the
evening ?”
“No. I sat up with Donald Ells—that’s
Al’s kid brother—till about one o'clock,
listening to the Arizona Wranglers on the
radio.”
“TY\ID anyone else come in?”
“Not a soul.” Again Moulton
mopped his damp brow.
“What do you know about this murder?”
I asked. “Have you ever been in the
house at Three thirty-three East Ninety-
ninth Street?”
“Never been inside of it. I went over
there two or three weeks ago with Emery
when he went to see his baby, but didn’t
go inside. I sat out in the car and waited.”
“Did Emery ever discuss his domestic
difficulties with you?”
“Not much, except the trouble at Santa
Monica last summer.”
“He felt very bitter toward his wife
about that, didn’t he?”
“Well, he thought she had ought to let
him have the child.”
' “Did you ever hear him say he wished
Merle was dead?” 4
“No, never did. I don’t think he felt
very strongly toward her, one way or
other.”
I was morally certain that this man was
withholding information vital to our case.
His answers to questions propounded to
him during the ensuing half-hour savored
strongly of “coaching”, and at the end of
the interview I was convinced that he had
either committed the murder himself, or
that he had guilty knowledge of the slayer’s
identity. However, it was impossible to
elicit any such admissions from him, and
we decided to lock him up incommuni-
cado for the time being. a:
“That bird’ll crack before long,” Bag-
gott said to me. “All he needs is a little
time.”
I was in accord with this theory, for it
was apparent that Ralph Moulton lacked
the moral fiber to resist for long the temp-
tation to “get it off his chest”.
PINIONS as to the killer’s identity
differed. One officer was convinced
that Emery Ells, the husband, had com-
mitted the crime and that his “iron clad”
alibi, when investigated, would be punc-
tured. Another pointed out that Alfred
had had ample time and opportunity to
have “pulled the job” during-the night.
Personally, I suspected Moulton of be-
ing the murderer.
Our case appeared to grow more and
more complicated as the hours passed. It
was evident that much concentrated detec-
tive work would have to be performed be-
fore we lifted the veil of mystery with
which the crime was enshrouded.
This would necessitate questioning of
many persons, and inasmuch as Seventy-
seventh Street Division stenographers
were already “snowed under” with state-
ments, Police Stenographers E. J. Bechtel
>
True Detective Mysteries
and F, Sullivan of Central Homicide Squad
were pressed into service.
Incidentally, these two young men—both
important adjuncts to the Squad—then en-
tered upon one of the most strenuous as-
signments they had ever undertaken. For
seventy-two hours, during which regular
work-shifts were forgotten and sleep be-
came a much-to-be-desired luxury, they
wrote with cramped fingers, recording and
transcribing the testimony of various sus-
pects in the case.
When interviewed, Oscar and Fred
Powell, owners of the café where Emery
Ells worked, stated positively that Emery
could not have committed the murder, in-
asmuch as he had been on duty at the res-
taurant continuously frim six Pp. M, on
November first to six a. M. on November
second. This statement was verified by a
half dozen habitués of the place. Appar-
ently, Emery Ells was definitely eliminated
as the slayer of his wife.
And Alfred’s story, when checked, was
found to be substantially true. He had re-
ported to his office by telephone from va-
rious locations in his district at regular in-
tervals throughout the night. At each of
these locations he had been there at the
time specified.
Donald Ells, fifteen-year-old brother of
Emery and Alfred, was requested to tell
where and how he had passed the previous
evening,
“I stayed all night with Ralph Moulton,
over at Alfred’s place,” the boy said
frankly. “We sat up till one. o'clock, lis-
tening to the Wranglers play and sing
cowboy songs.”
“Where did you sleep?”
“There’s two cots in the garage. I slept
on one, and Ralph on the other.”
Asked whether or not he frequently paid
such visits to Moulton, he replied:
“N°: he don’t invite me over very often.
But yesterday, he came over to my
house to ask me to come and keep him
company last night.”
This last chance remark, made inno-
cently and with no thought of putting his
friend “on the spot”, convinced me that
Ralph Moulton had had a definite motive
in asking young Donald to “keep him com-
pany” on the night of November 1st!
Was it not possible that the invitation:
was part of a well-planned alibi, to be used
in the evént that he, Moulton, should be
suspected of the murder of Merle Ells?
By keeping Donald awake far past his
usual bedtime and thereby assuring himself
that the lad would sleep soundly until
morning, Moulton could have slipped out
of the garage without the boy’s knowledge,
committed the murder and returned before
daylight.
A few hours later, we received informa-
,tion from a relative of Merle Ells that ap-
peared to lend credence'to this theory. This
was to the effect that Emery Ells had been
heard to remark that he would “hire some-
body to kill her!”
From Mrs. Jerry Cavadas, another sis-
ter of Merle Ells, we learned that the
dead girl had several times declared that
she feared death at her ex-husband’s hands.
“Why? Had he threatened to kill her?”
Mrs. Cavadas was asked.
“Yes; that is,” she amended, “I’ve heard
him tell her he’d ‘get’ her, sooner or later,
‘And I’ve seen him strike her.”
“When was that?”
“Well, last July, Merle and I were run-
ning a little lunch-stand down at Santa
Monica Beach. One night Emery came
down there and told her he wanted her to
take a walk with him so he could talk to
her. I heard him say, ‘Come on, so I won't
have to hurt you!’ She finally went with
him.
“When they’d been gone quite awhile, I
got worried and went to look for her. I
met her running down the street toward
me, crying, and took her to our apartment
where she’d been living with me and my
husband. She told us that Emery had
tried to push her over the Palisades cliff!
Her hips and legs and shins were terribly
bruised in her fight to keep him from
killing her.
“Then, even after that, he came to the
apartment a little later and tried to drag
her down the steps to his car. We called
the police. That’s the night they arrested
Emery.”
“BU why should he want to kill his
wife?”
“He wanted her out of the way because
she knew too much about some jobs he’d
pulled!”
Asked what kind of “jobs” she referred
to, Mrs. Cavadas declined to amplify her
statement, and gave as her reason the fact
that she “didn’t want to get in any
trouble.”
At 6 o'clock that night, I ordered the
three suspects, Emery and Alfred Ells and
Ralph Moulton, transferred to Central
Station. t
On the following morning, Detective Bag-
gott and Stenographers Bechtel and Sul-
livan accompanied Emery Ells and Ralph
Moulton to the County Morgue, there to
view the body of the murder-victim.
It was interesting to observe the reac-
tions of the two suspects when, in turn,
they stood before the slab on which lay
the slender, lifeless form of Merle Ells.
Maulton, perspiring profusely and trem-
bling all over, appeared to be on the verge
of collapse when asked to identify the re-
mains.
“I—I guess that’s Emery’s wife,” he
said, once more bringing the blue ban-
danna into play. “Sa-ay . . .’—between
chattering teeth—‘she sure looks horrible,
don’t she! I wish’t I knew who done it!”
But Emery Ells evinced no sign of ner-
vousness, grief, remorse or any other hu-
man emotion when asked whether or not
the body of the deceased was that of his
former wife.
“It’s Merle, all right,” he said coolly.
“You seem to take this pretty calmly,”
Baggott said, a note of sharpness in his
voice. “Don’t you even care who did it?”
“Why—” Ells stammered, “sure I do.
It’s too bad.”
deni tough, to have to die like
that at her age,” Bechtel remarked.
“Yeah, sure is,” Ells said cheerfully ;
and without a backward glance at the fea-
tures of the girl he had once loved, turned
and walked from the chamber of death.
We spent the afternoon interviewing
relatives and friends of the dead woman,
all of whom pictured Emery Ells as a
brutal, ill-tempered husband. One woman,
a near neighbor of the Cannons, declared
that Merle Ells lived in constant fear of
death, because she “knew too much” to
suit her husband.
oF.
The outstanding development of the day
was the finding by Officer Hamilton of the
Southgate Police Department, of a blood-
flecked flash-light in Alfred Ells’ auto-
mobile.
Informed of this discovery, Alfred ad-
mitted the flash-light was his and stated
that he always carried it in his car. How-
ever, he professed to be unable to account
for the blood spots. The light was booked
as evidence, together with the shotgun
that had been found at the scene of the
crime.
Intermittent questioning during the day
of the three suspects availed us nothing.
Each man refused to deviate one iota from
his original story.
The next morning, November 4th, we
learned that a pair of freshly laundered
corduroy trousers had been found hang-
ing on the clothes-line at Alfred Ells’ resi-
dence. Examination of the garment re-
vealed brownish stains which had refused
to yield to soap and water. Moulton ad-
mitted ownership of the trousers, but
claimed the stains were made by grease.
T was at this stage of our investigation
that Detective J. P. Filkas, an energetic
young officer attached to the Homicide
Squad, joined our ranks, having just com-
pleted another assignment. When he had
familiarized himself with all the facts so
far known in the Ells case, he proceeded
to interview the Ells brothers and Moul-
ton in the hope that one of the three might
inadvertently drop a hint as to who‘ had
actually killed Merle Ells. In this attethpt,
he met with no more success than we had.
But Filkas refused to acknowledge de-
feat. He decided to concentrate on Moul-
ton, whom we all considered the most vul-
nerable of the suspects. He told Moulton
that the corduroy trousers pointed to him
as the murderer, and suggested that if he,
Moulton, had in his possession information
which might clear him of the charge, it
was to his advantage to tell the whole
truth without further delay.
“Blood is thicker than water!” Filkas
reminded Moulton. “The Ells boys’ll stick
together like mucilage through this thing,
and if you don’t want to be put in a hot
spot, you'd better tell what you know.
We're going to have those stains on your
corduroys analyzed, to see whether they’re
grease—or blood!”
With perspiration rolling down his face,
Moulton swore he had had_ absolutely
nothing to do with the killing.
“But, you know who did do it!” Filkas
insisted.
“I don’t ...I swear to God I don’t!”
At frequent intervals, Detective Filkas
would abruptly switch the conversation
from the murder topic to another subject
in the hope of winning Moulton’s confi-
dence. They discussed politics, religion,
the unemployment situation, and anything
else that Filkas’ agile mind could suggest.
But always, the officer sooner or later re-
verted to the subject of Merle Ells’ death.
For hours, this game of wits went on,
with Moulton’s morale gradually wearing
thinner and thinner.
Finally, in desperation, Moulton said:
“Maybe I do have my suspicions, but
what I think wouldn’t help you much.”
“You don’t know whether it would, or
not,” Filkas replied instantly. “Tell me
something . . . anything for a lead!” He
- was almost pleading with the man.
True Detective Mysteries
Moulton finally made a_ suggestion.
He told Filkas to bring him a_ copy
of the typewritten statement he had made
when first questioned regarding the crime.
“We'll read it over together,” he said,
“and maybe you'll find the tip you’re look-
ing for in it.”
The officer promptly brought forth the
statement—only to find that Moulton had
recovered his nerve and had no intention
of divulging any information. The state-
ment itself contained nothing not already
known to Filkas, and the most careful
reading between the lines failed to suggest
any clue as to the identity of the murderer.
“You're giving me the run-around,” Fil-
kas accused Moulton, “but I’ll leave you
alone for a while to think over what I’ve
told vou. If you want to talk to me at any
time, day or night, just tell the jailer and
T’ll be johnny-on-the-spot.”
At 9 o'clock that same evening, Lieu-
tenant Frank Condaffer telephoned Filkas
at his home:
“Come on down to the office, I’ve been
having a_ heart-to-heart talk with your
friend Moulton, and he says he’s got some-
thing to tell you. Won't talk to anybody
else.”
Fifteen minutes later Filkas was in my
office, jubilant over the message Condaffer
had sent him. He went directly to Moul-
ton’s cell.
There, the prisoner told him that while
he had nothing definite upon which to base
his suspicion, he believed that Emery Ells
traveled with “pretty tough company” and
that it might be well to investigate some of
his pals.
Pressed for specific details, Moulton fi-
nally mentioned a man named Brown whom
he’d seen at Alfred’s house on several oc-
casions.
“I don’t even know this fellow’s first
name,” Moulton declared, “but he’s a young
man with sandy hair and a moustache.
Hangs out at the ‘Brown Mug’, a coffee-
house in Huntington Park.” With these
words, Moulton closed up like the pro-
verbial clam, and no amount of pleading
could elicit another word from him.
BVIOUSLY disappointed by the re-
sults of the interview, Filkas repeated
this conversation to me in my office.
“D’you suppose it’s worth anything, In-
spector?” he asked, at length.
I was forced to admit that I felt skep-
tical. “Brown” was too common a name to
mean much in a case of this kind.
However, by the next morning, Filkas
had regained his enthusiasm and was de-
termined to make every effort to run down
the slight clue given by Moulton the night
before.
He asked permission to take Moulton
with him to Huntington Park where he
intended to check the “Brown Mug” and
every hptel in the suburban city, if neces-
sary, on a still hunt for a man named
Brown.
I expressed some doubt as to the expe-
diency of taking Moulton out.
“But I’ve treated that guy white!” Fil-
kas argued. “Why should he double-cross
me now?”
“All right,” I replied, “but you’re taking
a long chance. You know what it means
if your prisoner gets away from you.”
In Filkas’ own private car—a_ small
coupe—he and Moulton set out shortly af-
terward. And as Filkas is the only person
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his hands trembling. Filkas held a match
for him.
“Thanks, lieutenant,” the man said. Then
his eyes narrowed. “This a trick?” he asked.
“You trying to trap me into saying some-
thing you can twist around?”
“Let’s get something straight,” Filkas said.
“I’m a cop, and I’m on the level. Nobody’s
trying to frame you. If you’re an innocent
man, we'll fight to clear you.”
“But I am innocent!”
“About your pants, now,” Filkas said. “It
shows how lying can get you in trouble. You
didn’t have any nosebleed. Those stains are
car grease. You worked yourself into a lather
over nothing.” ' \
“W EAH,” Frenchy nodded. “I don’t know
why I lied about that. Suppose—I’m not
saying I do—but suppose I suspected some-
thing about the shooting. . . .”
“Uh-huh.”
“. . . and I had nothing to do with it my-
self. Where do I stand with the law?”
“T don’t follow you.” '
“What I mean’is, can I get sent up for not
telling what I suspect?” ~
“That’s:a good question,” Filkas said. He
realized he was about to hear something im-
portant—if he supplied the right answer.
“Let’s put it this way: you suspect who did
the shooting. There’s nothing to worry about.
But—But if you’re obstructing justice, that’s’
another matter. And there’s still another angle:
if you suspect someone and the killer thinks /
you might put the finger on him—well, he
might turn around and pin the rap on you.”
Much of this, Filkas realized, was double
talk, but he felt justified in using it. :
His hopes, however, were promptly doused
»
when Frenchy plunked himself on his cot and
said, “I was just asking... . I don’t know
anything.”
Filkas left the cell a few minutes later and
sought out the jailer. “I think Frenchy’ll be
‘hollering for me soon,” he said. “He wants to
\
talk but he’s afraid. No matter what time it
is, get in touch with me.”
At five o’clock Tuesday morning, the lieu-
tenant’s home phone rang. It was the jailer.
“This guy’s going nuts, Joe,” he said. “He’s
got “half the jail awake. Keeps yelling for you
—says he’s got to see you right away; that he
needs protection,” :
“Protection? In jail? He must be crazy!”
“He sure is. He keeps raving about gangsters
and how his life won’t be worth a plugged
nickel. There’s something on his mind, some:
thing big.” ;
Filkas got dressed and rushed to the jail. He
found the prisoner in a state of near hysteria.
“What’s eating you, Frenchy ?”
“Look, lieutenant.” Frenchy grabbed Filkas’
* jacket lapels. “Indo know something. But if I
speak up, you got to protect me. You got to -
promise you won’t let ’em get me.”
“Won’t let who get you?” . .. Now sit down
and try to pull yourself together.”
“Okay, okay. Now the reason I wouldn't
talk before is, I’m just plumb crazy scared.
’ Where’s Ells?” ; .
*“Locked up.” ;
“Good. You see,” Frenchy said, “Ells worked
in another cafe, over in Huntington Park, a few
months ago, before he got the job at this
cafe. A lot of tough hoods came in there.
One fellow especially. A man named Brown.
I don’t know his first name. I only met this
Brown once but Ells told me later he was a
torpedo—a machinegunner from Chicago.”
“And you suspect Brown killed -the girl?”
“Yeah.” :
“What’s this Brown look like?”
“Short, thin, bushy hair, maybe 35. A sort of
quiet-talking guy. Ells said he was bad—that
he’d kill anybody at the drop of a hat. I think
he still hangs out in Huntington Park. Ells
mentioned him the other day.”
® “Suppose we take a look around over there,
Frenchy,” Filkas said.
Frenchy agreed—but with conditions. He
must not be handcuffed, there must be only ~
the two of them, and they must not use a
police car.
Filkas smiled. “You wouldn’t be dreaming
of taking a runout?” he. asked.
“Lieutenant,” Frenchy said, without even
half a smile, “if Brown spots me in a police
car or wearing cuffs, he’ll know I’m helping
the law. And I don’t want to be handcuffed
if he starts shooting.”
“You make it sound reasonable. I’ll let you
know.” :
Fixas went out and had breakfast. Then,
later, he consulted Inspector Davidson.
“It’s a risk,” the inspector conceded. “But
if you feel he’s giving it to you straight, go
ahead.”
Frenchy was returned his civilian clothes
and then the pair drove to suburban Hunting-
ton Park in Filkas’ Buick coupe, and launched
a Canvass of eating places, hotels, pool halls
and other places where the mysterious Mr.
Brown might possibly hang out.
They stopped briefly for lunch, with Filkas
wondering more and more if Frenchy hadn’t
engineered this apparently aimless pilgrimage
simply to get himself an outing.
Shortly after 4 p.m. they started up to the
first floor office of a small hotel on Randolph
Street. The lobby came into view as they
neared the landing. Behind a desk sat the
clerk and nearby, reading a book, a man in
.a threadbare brown suit—a. bushy-haired in-
dividual with a mousy mustache and a high
forehead.
From Frenchy’s description, this was al-
most certainly the man they were looking for.
Almost at the same instant, Filkas made
another discovery. Frenchy, he saw, was
clattering down the stairs and on his way out!
‘The detective was on a spot. If he pur-
sued Frenchy, then the man“in the lobby, if
he was Brown, might sense trouble and beat
it. On the other hand, if he continued up-
stairs, he might find himself returning to head-
quarters without anybody—Brown or Frenchy.
Filkas climbed to the lobby.
“I’m looking for a pal of mine,” he told the
clerk evenly. “Fighter named ‘Slapsie Sam’
Brown, from Chicago.”
“Sorry,” the clerk said. “Only’ Brown we’ve
got here is Ben Brown—and he doesn’t fight.”
Filkas hurried downstairs. He now could ‘put
his hands on the machinegunner. But, he won-
dered, would he be as successful with Frenchy ?
He found Frenchy, pale and trembling
seated in the coupe! Relieved, to say the least,
the detective got in and started the car.
“That was Brown in the lobby, wasn’t it?”
he asked. “That why you took a powder?
We'll pick him up later. I agree with you—he
doesn’t look much like a tough torpedo, but”
then you never can tell.”
“Lieutenant, I got a confession to make.”
Frenchy closed his eyes. ‘
“Veah ?”
“That was Brown, all right. But the only
reason I ran out was because I owe him
money. I gave you
you he was a killer
The nearest that
tommygun was at
Filkas’ jaw tight
terig about gangste
—that was an act,
bed at five in the
“No, that was 1
around with a bu
scared, But the stuf
The officer sped t
returning Frenchy t
his report to Inspe
“Funny thing,” F
dead certain French
-Merle Ells.”
“Let him stew a v
“Then work on him
can’t keep a secret.’
It was near midr
the lieutenant out o:
in 19 hours.
“Now what’s eat
wearily.
“He says he abso
And the way he’s <
another, he’s stinkin
Filkas hurried do.
“All right, Frenchy
said,
The prisoner sque:
another. “About B:
this afternoon.”
“Which lie are yo
“T mean about my
beat it because I wa
thing I told you ea
“Frenchy, I wou!
stack of Bibles!”
“You got to, Liew
I’m straight. A coup
went down to the :
test a, shotgun and
“Describe the gun.
“Tt had a couple 1
was an old, double-
gauge... .”
It was 3 am., We
Baggott and Filkas s
of the hotel on Ran:
upstairs and asked th
room number.
Benjamin Franklyr
was in room seven.
Davidson knockec
opened and there
striped shorts, yaw
little man with pipe-
as unlikely looking a
as one could imagin:
Their doubts multi;
productive search of
him to central homicic
identify himself as
blower, former Sund
son of a minister.
Brown readily adn
with Emory Ells, but
because Ells had bee:
him to free meals wh
luck. As to being a Ch
ster, he had told the
because Ells seemed {
because, in a strange
obtain handouts.
After all-night que
Brown frequently re;
with Scripture quota
ready to concede the:
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continued from page 49
Ells, a good-looking, copper-haired young
woman, lay on‘her back, in the bed, her eyes
open, a great, gaping hole—large enough to
take a man’s ‘fist—in her JJeft shoulder. Her
powder-burned nightgown, the bedclothes, the
walls and’ Venetian blinds—all were dyed with
her blood. On the floor at the foot of the bed
lay a shotgun, and near it, a few inches from
the front. door, a‘ skeleton key. ‘
It was clear, even to the horrified pair, that
Merle had: been blasted at point-blank range,
by someone who'd virtually stood over her,
and that the killer had.gained entrance to the
sun. porch by. means of the key on the floor.
Cannon led his wife into the living room,
quieted ‘her, then reached’ for the phone. His
summons: brought: Detective Lieutenants C. W.
Fruitt and R: V; Savage from the nearby Sev- ,
enty-seventh Street Division. They were fol-
lowed’ by the print men and -police ~photo-
graphers, an ambulance, the man’from the cor-
oner’s office—and four men-from Los Angeles
-Homicide downtown; Inspector .David .A.
Davidson and , Detective -Lieutenants Jerry
‘Hickey, William Baggott.and Frank. Ryan.
Uniformed officers roped off the lawn. and
the sides of the house, to. preserve possible
clues from obliteration under the feet of gath-
ering neighbors jerked from slumber by Mrs.
Cannon’s cries and the. wail. of sirens.
There was little. the Cannons. could tell the
investigators about Merle .Ells’.death. Both
had gone to bed early Saturday night, and had
not heard her come in. ~She had ‘been making
her home with them since separating from her
husband, Emory Ells, ‘whom she: had divorced
a little-more than two months ago. :
Merle had.no enemies and no close men
friends, as far as’ the Cannons: knew. © The
divorce, ‘granted on the ground of incom
patibility, had’ upset’ her:cansiderably and she
had rarely gone out. She. worked five nights
a week, including last night, in an ocean front
Santa Monica restaurant. Her whole life
seemed. to be wrapped up in little Billie, who
was looked after by Mrs. Cannon when. Merle.
was working. .
“What about>this. ex-husband?” Inspector
-Davidson asked. “Could he have any reason
for wanting.to kill her?”
Mrs. Cannon pressed her nephew close and
glanced at her. husband. ‘Then she nodded.
EL: she said, had fought bitterly, but in
vain, for his son’s custody. Once, before the
divorce, he-had spirited Billie away to Arizona,
but the: boy’ had become sick—so sick that
_Ells’, concerned for the boy’s life, had rushed
“him back to his mother.
“Then Ells really loved the: boy?”
“Yes, there was nothing Emory wouldn’t
‘do for-him: Billie was -his whole: existence,
just as he was Merle’s.”
“In that case,” the inspector said, “it’s un-
likely Ells had anything to do with this busi-
ness. He obviously knew the boy and mother
slept. together. and that a:shotgun; blast would
almost certaihly kill or wound the youngster
as well. ‘I still don’t understand how the child
escaped without so much as a scratch. It’s
a miracle.” _ r
The detectives returned to the sun porch.
“The killer wore gloves, Inspector,” one of
the print men said to Inspector Davidson.
“And the: shotgun’s been wiped clean as a
whistle.” :
The homicide officers studied the ancient
12-gauge Remington. Only the right barrel
had been fired; the left still retained its charge
—a Peters high-velocity shot load.
The skeleton key, which readily worked the
tumblers in the door opening onto the porch,
was another interesting exhibit, if not a sig-
nificant one. The key was a homemade af-
fair, filed down and hollowed out, one which
would probably trip a variety of simple locks
like the lock in the porch door.
Although Herman Cannon had not discov-
ered anything missing from the house, the
“possibility that Merle Ells had been the’ vic-
tim of a trigger-jittery would-be robber was
not overlooked by the police. The girl, they
thought, could have surprised the intru-
der and the intruder could have blasted away,
discarding the weapon in his flight.
But there appeared to be one serious flaw
in such thinking: no thief would be stupid
-enough to: prowl around toting a shotgun.
“WEL talk to the ex-husband and to all
of her friends and. see what they know,”
Inspector Davidson said. “Also, we need a line
on her movements last night: what time she
quit work, what she did, what bus she took
home. She was a pretty girl and some guy
could have been crazy about her, jealous...
jealous enough to kill her, somebody her sister
didn’t know about.”
The detectives left the house and began a
canvass of the. crowd huddling beyond the
roped-off. section.
Several of the neighbors recalled hearing
what they had: believed to be a backfiring car
—presumably the same sound which had
awakened Florence Cannon. But no one re-
‘membered hearing a car itself, nor seeing any-
-one acting suspiciously in the area.
But if they were vague on these points, they
were not at all. uncertain as to their feelings
regarding. the identity of Merle Ells’ killer.
’ “Jt was Emory—her -ex!” several inform-
ants stated positively. —
-A: mfonth before,.one woman said, Emory
himself: had told her that Merle would “never
retain custody. of. my son.” ~ ;
Still another neighbor quoted Ells as say-
ing he “would ‘find a way—a smart way—to
‘get rid of Merle and get back my boy.”
. Mrs. Cannon had described Ells as a cafe
counterman and had. given the detectives his
- home address in neighboring South Gate.
It was almost 10 a.m. when Savage, Fruitt
‘and Baggott pulled up in front: of Ells’ white
stucco bungalow. “Ells had been sitting in his
living room, reading the Sunday funnies. He
showed no surprise when the men at the door:
identified themselves as policemen.
Ells, a stubby, brown-haired, powerful man
of 26 with a pushed-in nose and heavy brows,
invited them in and asked what they wanted.
“Merle’s been murdered,” Baggott said.
“Ts that so?” Ells said. He shrugged. “Too
bad it didn’t happen sooner. What do you
want from me? She’s not my wife any more.”
“You made threats against her life!”
“Lots of people make thréats.” He shrugged
again. “I didn’t kill her.”
He worked, Ells said, at a cafe on the cor-
ner of Slauson Avenue and Santee Street, sev-
en miles from the Cannon home. His hours
were from 6 P.M. to 6 AM. He’d arrived
home at 7 A.M. :
' “J didn’t leave the cafe for a minute.”
“We'll check,” B
The detectives sh
carefully went ov
found no bloodstai:
picion.
They had returne
the front door op
dered man in tan sl:
walked in. At the
shot a glance at
started to walk «
stopped him.
“We're police off
know Merle Ells?”
“Sure he knows
ing. “He’s... .”
“We'll do the ta
and turned back to
dividual of 40 with
hair and big-knuc!
name?”
“Jack Frenchy,”
nervous.
“You live here,
HE man noddec
Ells’ garage in
formed about the |
Where had he bi
In his room, Fre
radio until about
bed. Donald _ Ell
brother, had spent
“Oh?” Detective
the boy now?”
“He left soon a
“He lives with my
town. I'll give you
Savage, who had
over, asked, “What
on your pants le
blood to me.”
The man noddec
nosebleeds. I got
. Savage said uh-}
both you fellows i:
alibis. Let’s go.”
“Okay by me,” |}
looked over at J:
nothing to worry a
But Frenchy’s n
ward the door, wa
Ells was booked
Frenchy as materia
signed a separate c
Later, at the ca
officers learned tha
truth, that he’d be
o’clock Saturday n
morning.
Was the jittery |
Ells’ trigger man?
Emory’s younge:
at home, readily ac
‘night in Frenchy’s
The boy said he en
tales of the mercha
quently visited him
“There was som
terday though,” D
invited myself ove
came all the way o
to spend the night
to this time, but h
The boy estimat
about midnight.
“You slept sor
Frenchy go out?”
“T didn’t hear ar
“Where was Fre
/
- Davidson.
clean as a
the ancient
right barrel
‘d its charge
worked the
» the porch,
not a sige
memade af-
, one which
simple locks
not discov-
house, the
een the vic-
robber was
he girl, they
the intru-
lasted away,
t.
serious flaw
d be stupid
a shotgun.
d and to all
they know,”
e need a line
iat time she
us she took
d some guy
jealous...
dy her sister
ind began a
beyond the
led hearing
ackfiring car
which had
no one re-
° seeing any-
‘points, they
their feelings
Ells’ killer.
eral inform-
said, Emory
vould “never
Ells as say-
1art way—to
y boy.”
lls as a cafe
letectives his
th Gate.
avage, Fruitt
f Ells’ white
sitting in his
funnies. He
1 at the door
a.
owerful man
heavy brows,
they wanted.
‘ott said.
agged. “Too
Vhat do you
fe any more.”
life!”
He shrugged
2 on the cor-
e Street, sev-
His hours
He’d arrived
inute.”
“We'll check,” Baggott promised him.
The detectives shook down the premises and
carefully went over the man’s car. They
found no bloodstains, nothing warranting sus-
picion.
They had returned to the living room’ when
the front door opened. A big, stoop-shoul-
dered man in tan slacks and grey leather jacket
walked in. At the sight of the strangers, he
shot a glance at Ells, turned around and
started to walk out. A call from Savage
stopped him.
“We're police officers,” Savage said. “You
know Merle Ells?” '
“Sure he knows her,” Ells said, interrupt-
pc Aiiiaat «(Sa
“We'll do the talking,” the officer snapped
and turned back to the man, a brown-eyed in-
dividual of 40 with an immense shock of brown
hair and big-knuckled hands. “What’s your
name?”
“Jack Frenchy,” the man said. He was
nervous.
“You live here, Frenchy ?”
THE man nodded. He occupied a room over
Ells’ garage in return for odd jobs per-
formed about the house and grounds, he said. .
Where had he been the night before?
In his room, Frenchy said, listening to the
radio until about I a.m., when he’d gone to
bed. Donald Ells, Emory’s 15-year-gld
brother, had spent the night with him.
“Oh?” Detective Baggott said. ‘“Where’s
the boy now?”
“He left soon after I came in,” Ells said.
“He lives with my mother and father across
town. I'll give you the address.”
Savage, who had been looking the big man
over, asked, “What are those brownish stains
on your pants legs, Frenchy? Laoks like
blood to me.”
The man nodded, wetting his lips. “I get
nosebleeds. I got one yesterday.”
Savage said uh-huh. Then, “We're taking
both you fellows in until we check out your
alibis. Let’s go.”
“Okay by me,” Ells said nonchalantly. He
looked over at Jack Frenchy. “We've got
nothing to worry about.”
But Frenchy’s manner, as he shuffled to-
ward the door, was anything but carefree.
Ells was booked on suspicion of murder and
Frenchy as material witness and each was as-
signed a separate cell in county jail.
Later, at the cafe where Ells worked, the
officers learned that Ells had been telling the ‘~
truth, that he’d been there steadily from six
o’clock Saturday night to six o’clock Sunday
morning.
Was the jittery Jack Frenchy, then, Emory ~
Ells’ trigger man? ;
Emory’s younger brother, Donald, located
at home, readily acknowledged he’d spent the
‘night in Frenchy’s quarters above the garage.
The boy said he enjoyed listening to Frenchy’s
tales of the merchant marine and that he fre-
quently visited him. :
“There was something strange about yes-
terday though,” Donald said. “Always I’ve
invited myself over there. But yesterday he
came all the way over to my house to:ask me
to spend the night with him. I didn’t want
to this time, but he insisted.” .
The boy estimated that he’d fallen asleep
about midnight. |
“You slept soundly? You
Frenchy go out?”
“I didn’t hear anything,”
“Where was Frenchy when you awoke?”
didn’t hear
/
tim outside, no one could recall.
“He was in bed, he looked like he was asleep.”
Slick alibi?’ Or the innocent attachment of
a lonely man for a boy who-shared a com-
mon interest in ships and the sea?
The detectives pondered those questions en
route to Santa Monica where they discovered
that if Merle Ells had any suitors, jealous or
otherwise, it was not known to the girls with
whom she worked.
As far as the other girls knew,, Merle had
been very unhappy over the way her mar-
riage had—or rather hadn’t—worked out and
the nearest thing to a man in her life had been
a scrawny little fellow of about 30, name un-
known, -who dropped in now and then to
moon at her over a cup of coffee and a sand-
wich. ;
Merle had confided to one of the girls that
she felt sorry for the\man, that he appeared
so pathetic and lonely. But other than that
she had kept her thoughts pretty much to her-
self.
The waitresses were of the opinion, how-
ever, that Merle had felt a stronger bond of
affection for the strange, lonely-looking little
fellow—because of her own loneliness, prob-
ably—than she’d let on,
The man had been in the night before and
one of the girls had overheard him say some-
thing about going dancing on the pier. But
whéther Merle had left with him when her
shift was over at nine, ot whether she had met
Saturday
night was rush night and. there wasn’t much
chance to do anything but work.
In sum, all the waitresses were agreed that
it was impossible to conceive as a killer this
always gentlemanly customer, so meek and in-
offensive, with eyes like a sad lost calf.
The detectives walked over to the ballroom
on the pier, where an employe identified a
portrait of Merle as that. of a girl who had
been in the night before—dancing with a very
strange-looking man. He recalled the inci-
dent distinctly because of the ludicrous pic-
ture the pair had made. The girl, he said,
was tall and shapely and pretty. Her part-
ner was a -skinny little fellow whose slick,
pompadour came no higher than the girl’s
shoulder. They’d only stayed for two or three
dances. P
There Merle’s trail ended and the officers
returned to Los Angeles, where questioning
of the dead girl’s friends failed to shed light
on any male attachments she might have
formed.
Monday morning Inspector Davidson sum-
moned Detective Lieutenant Joseph P. Filkas
to his office.
The crime laboratory, the inspector said, had
processed the trousers of Jack Frenchy, the
handyman, and the stains had been found to
be grease.
“Bat Frenchy himself admitted the stains
- were blood,” Filkas said.
“Sure. .He even said he’d had a nosebleed
ahd that’s just the point. Only a man with
some guilty knowledge would have done that.
He was worried and he said the first thing
that popped into his head.
“Go see what you can do with him, Joe.
We haven’t a darned thing—no line on the
shotgun, no leads, nothing. Just two prisoners
and we won’t have even that unless we dig
up a better reason for holding them.”
A man with a knack for winning confidences,
Filkas found the stoop-shouldered prisoner
pacing his cell and mumbling to himself.
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‘69
Ned the girl?”
ep?
be 35. A sort of
was bad—that
f a hat. I think
‘ton Park. Ells
rund over there,
conditions. He
>» must be only* ~
must not use a
vt be dreaming
ced.
, without even
me in a police
iow I’m helping
o be handcuffed
able. IT let you
breakfast. Then,
tor Davidson.
conceded. “But
you straight, go
civilian clothes
burban Hunting-
ipe, and launched
hotels, pool halls
mysterious Mr.
out.
unch, with Filkas
f Frenchy hadn’t
imless pilgrimage
iting.
started up to the
otel on Randolph
to view as they
| a desk sat the
. book, a man in
bushy-haired in-
tache and a high
ion, this was al-
- were looking for.
tant, Filkas made
ry, he saw, was
id on his way out!
spot. If he pur-
nin the lobby, if
e trouble and beat
he continued up-
returning to head-
-Brown or Frenchy.
yby.
mine,” he told the
med ‘Slapsie Sain’
‘Only Brown we’ve
id he doesn’t fight.”
;. He now could put
unner. But, he won-
sssful with Frenchy ?
ale and trembling
ved, to say the least,
arted the car.
e lobby, wasn’t it?”
su took a powder?
agree with you—he
tough torpedo, but ”
onfession to make.”
right. But the only
because I owe him
money. I gave you his description and told
you he. was a killer, but that was another lie.
The nearest that fellow ever came to a
tommygun was at a movie.”
Filkas’ jaw tightened. “Then all the hys-
teria about gangsters and needing protection
—that was an act, too? You got the out-of
bed at five in the morning to. : . .”
“No, that was no act. Honest. Ells ran
around with a bunch of cons. I’m really
scared. But the stuff about Brown is phony.”
The officer sped to the jail in stony silence,
returning Frenchy to his cell. Then he made —
his report to Inspector Davidson.
“Funny thing,” Filkas concluded. “I’m now
dead certain Frenchy does know who killed
Merle Ells.” &
“Let him stew a while, Joe,” Davidson said.
“Then work on him again. That kind of man
can’t keep a secret.”
It was near midnight when the jailer got.
the lieutenant out of bed for the second time
in 19 hours. ‘
“Now what’s eating him?” Filkas asked
wearily. me
“He says he absolutely must see you, Joe.
And the way he’s smoking, one cigaret after
another, he’s stinking up the joint.”
Filkas hurried downtown.
“All right, Frenchy. It’d better be good,” he
said.
The prisoner squeezed out a cigaret and lit
another. “About Brown, Lieutenant. I lied
this afternoon.”
“Which lie are you referring to?”
“[ mean about my owing Brown money. I
beat it because I was scared to death, Every-.
thing I told you earlier about him stands.”
“Frenchy, I wouldn’t believe you on a
stack of Bibles!”
“You got to, Lieutenant. Look. I'll prove
I’m straight. A couple weeks ago Ells and I
went down to the river bed. He wanted to
test a, shotgun and we each fired one sho Pes
“Describe the gun.”
“Tt had a couple nicks in the. stock and it
was an old, double-barreled Remington, 12-,
gauge... .” r :
It was 3 A.M., Wednesday, when Davidson,
Baggott and Filkas stopped their car in front
of the hotel on Randolph Street. They went
upstairs and asked the clerk for a Mr. Brown’s
room number.
Benjamin Franklyn Brown, the clerk said,
was in room seven,
Davidson knocked. Presently the door
opened and there stood Brown, wearing
striped shorts, yawning sleepily—a - sickly
little man with pipe-stem arms and legs and
as unlikely looking a machinegunning badman
as one could imagine.
Their doubts multiplied when, after an un-
productive search of the room, they hustled
him to central homicide and heard him timidly
identify himself ag an unemployed glass
blower, former Sunday School teacher and
son of a minister. nei
Brown readily admitted being acquainted
with Emory Ells, but only caswally-and only
because Ells had been kind enough to stake
him to free meals when he was down on his
luck. As to being a Chicago torpedo and gang-
ster, he had told them whopping falsehoods
because Ells seemed fascinated by them and
because, in a strange way, they helped to
obtain handouts.
After all-night questioning, during which
Brown frequently reproached the detectives
with Scripture quotations, the police were
ready to concede they had‘ blundered again.
- Baggott stared at the mild little glass
blower—and then something clicked.
“Brown,” he said. “You were in Santa
Monica last Saturday night. You had coffee
and a sandwich in a restaurant near the
pier and then you and one of the waitresses
went over to the ballroom and danced.”
“That’s quite true,” Brown said, blushing.
Baggott handed him the portrait of Merle
Ells. ia
“Do you know this girl?” : :
“T saw the picture in the papers. It’s the
murdered woman, isn’t it?” .
“It certainly is. Look close. Have you ever
seen that face?”
“Well, there’s something oddly familiar. . . .”
“There should be, Brown. She’s the girl you
took dancing!”
The detectives watched’ as the disbelief
_ exploded in Benjamin Franklyn Brown’s grey-
brown. eyes. They watched as the photo
slipped from his fingers, and as he uttered a
choked cry and slumped over in a faint.
“T don’t get it,” Filkas grumbled. “You'd
think he didn’t know that was the girl he
blasted |”.
When Brown was revived, he whispered |.
that he was the killer.
HE had killed her, he said, fighting ‘back
the tears—and he had not known that his
victim was a girl he had worshiped; the girl
he had:taken dancing only a few hours before.
It was one of the most incredible con-
fessions in criminal history. . : ;
Brown said his own concocted story of
being a tough gunman finally caught up with
him when Ells insisted he “do a job.” The
job was supposedly this: to ‘murder a doctor’s
wife who’d stepped out on her husband and
contracted a disease. The doctor was fearful
his child would contract the disease.
Payment for killing would be $2000.
Brown had tried to talk himself out of the
dilemma, but Ells wouldn’t let him. Finally
he agreed to go through with it. ~~
Ells drove him~- past “the house on East
Ninety-ninth Street,” presumably the “doc-
tor’s,” to acquaint ‘him with the layout.
Brown was told the prospective victim’s
name was Merle, and Ells warned that no
harm must come to the child—“or you don’t
get paid.” :
Date for the job. was set for early the-pre-
ceding Sunday morning.
On Saturday night, with time on his hands,
Brown went to Santa Monica and dropped in
at the beach restaurant. In the dozen times
he’d been there he’d come to love the. girl
who waited on him—a love she didn’t suspect.
He didn’t know her name, and she never of-
fered to tell him. And he never told her’ his.
addressed her as “Dream Girl,” sort of in
fun, but the name burned like a candle in his
heart, warming away the loneliness. :
That Saturday night, when she was through
work, they strolled over to the ballroom—the
first time they’d ever talked away from the
clatter of dishes. They had a couple of dances
and then he saw her to the bus stop. She
wouldn’t let him see her home, and he knew
only that she lived in Los Angeles.
About midnight he returned to Huntington
Park where he stole a car, as Ells had in-
structed. Then he drove to Ells’ home and
in the tiny playhouse constructed for his son,
he obtained the shotgun, shells, gloves, flash-
light and a skeleton ‘key cached there by
Ells.
. Twice, Brown said, he entéred the sun porch
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71
assailant of Mrs, Tur-
esorted to using this
eoning her. Deputy
3 bloodstains on it.
ople regularly smoke
cigarettes. The only
fellow named Brown.
it ranch out southwest
r described this ranch
agly he fitted both the
suspect in the Placer
2 man seen leaving the
sidered this, walking
car. One of the two
erer. Or, could they be
e suspect in jail would
ouple of days in which
hile bloodstains on his
z analyzed. If the an-
im, I’d not have wasted
grilling him. I’d see
to say.
ig in at several ranch
irned at which ranch
ve miles southwest of
n into the rolling foot-
led with chaparral and
ta, turning into a rough
drove nearer, several
across the road in front
ing off into brush sur-
ring in which the ranch
1, gray clapboard house
int, I noted as I parked.
filled bucket containing
turned the corner and
oman bending over a
‘nch. She glanced up,
one sudsy hand wiped
or eyes, and smiled.
id. ‘Does Brown live
it with the goats,” she
off into the brush. “I
ver a quarter of a mile
wife ?”
explained quickly. “He
and has a room with
Silva,” I said. “May I
she dried her hands and
) the house, pointing to
Help yourself.”
1 the room fast but thor-
red suitcase beneath the
cigarette-stained table,
ghtback chair. Nothing.
as I found it, returning
om.
s did Brown wear Sun-
uietly.
hot me a surprised look.
id instantly, “he always
thing. Black levis and
ts. I think he put some
a bucket outside a day or
it to the bucket I had
-ing up a stick stirred the
There were two faded
STARTLING
denim shirts in the crimson-stained wa-
ter. There were no flaps on the pockets.
Cigarettes, cigar and matches could easily
fall out. Pouring part of the liquid out
I put the bucket in the back of my car,
locking the doors. Then I started out to
find Brown.
As I walked cautiously through the dry
sand to the brow of a rolling hill, I saw
several dozen goats scattered through
the brush 100 yards away. Some raised
their heads and looked at me curiously.
I stopped, scanning the brush for sign
of the goatherd. A moment later I saw a
figure stretched out in the partial shade .
of a bush, hat over his eyes, apparently
asleep.
I felt my gun against my hip, then, the
sand deadening sound of my footsteps, I
walked slowly in a semi-circle to come
around behind the man. He didn’t move
as I neared.
“Brown,” I called. “Wake up.”
He stirred, then leaped to his feet,
whirling in a half crouch to face me, His
bearded face mirrored surprise or fear,
I couldn’t be sure which.
“T’m Sheriff Silva, Brown,” I shot at
him, hoping by surprise to obtain a quick
confession. “Why did you kill Mrs.
Turner ?”
His mouth opened wide. He glanced
wildly about as though seeking some ave-
nue of escape. He couldn’t miss my re-
volver in its holster, though, and at once
subsided.
“T ain’t done anything, Sheriff,” he
whined. “T ain’t seen the old lady for a
week,”
It was my turn to be surprised. If this
unshaven, dirty goatherd had known the
murder victim, he probably knew far
more than he was willing to tell. I put
him over the hurdles right there. He
readily admitted that he had known Mrs.
Turner several years, that she had be-
friended him.
He claimed he had lost his pocket
knife recently and his rifle had been
stolen. But he dummied up on the sub-
ject of murder.
After more than an hour I took him
back to the ranch house. There he ad-
DETECTIVE
mitted owning the two shirts soaking in
the bloody water.
“Sure, they’re mine,” he said. “I
killed a goat couple of days ago. That’s
where the blood came from.”
I locked Glenard Brown up at the
county jail in Auburn for further in-
vestigation after both neighbors who had
seen the man leaving the Turner home
said he resembled that suspect. Unless
we were able to obtain a confession,
sciefice would have to determine which
suspect murdered Mrs. Turner, if either
had.
District Attorney Sparks and I took
turns questioning the two men who re-
sembled one another so much they might
have been poured out of the same mold.
And we got exactly the same results—
nothing.
The following day, however, David
Burd, the state chemist, reported that
blood on the clothing of our
first suspect was not human
but animal. This seemed’ to
back up his story and since
my deputies’ investigation
had developed a_ positive
alibi for the man, Sparks and
I decided to release him.
This left only the 19-year-
old Brown. We concentrated
on him,
For the next forty-eight
hours we drove ahead. Chief
Biscia and my men placed
Brown near the Turner
home. We traced his move-
ments to the Keck Corner at
Towa Hill, a colorful old
mining town twelve miles
from Colfax at the top of the
American River Canyon; to
Lippincott’s restaurant by
the famous snake farm.
There we found two women
who had talked with the un-
kempt goatherd. He had
been broke and tried unsuc-
cessfully to borrow money.
This seemed to make money
the motive for murder.
Brown’s movements all day
in relation to our estimate of the murder
time worked out perfectly.
When he had not been able to obtain
money elsewhere, Brown must have gone
to Mrs. Turner’s home. Had the woman
refused to lend or give him money? I
believed she had, and the cold-blooded
murderer had smashed his friend down
with a rifle, then callously used his knife
much as he would have in killing a goat
out on the range. Then, after the hei-
nous crime, he had fled without obtaining
the money he originally sought.
Our case, however, was far from com-
plete. We had not yet obtained results
of the last blood tests. Plaster of Paris
casts of footprints in the Turner orchard
fitted shoes worn by Glenard Brown.
And the Colfax cigar store man had sold
Brown ten cigars and a pack of ciga-
rettes of the same brands as those found
[Continued on page 65]
A cast of this footprint
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matched the shoe of
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With a signed confession, the authori-
ties of Hartford County quickly secured
an indictment charging the youth with
murder in the first degree. After the in-
dictment had been filed, DeCaro ad-
mitted to the detectives that he had lied
and that he had hidden the cash in a
park in Springfield. He led them to the
spot and they found $1,508 buried in a
roll behind a tree.
Early in December DeCaro went on
trial for his life before Judge William
H. Comley and a jury in Criminal
Superior Court in Hartford. The prose-
cutor was Hugh Meade Alcorn, Jr.
During the trial, DeCaro repudiated
his confession and claimed that he had
killed Bonelli in self defense. After pick-
ing up Bonelli on the morning of the
murder, he said, they got into an argu-
ment as they were driving to work,
“Ts that when the shooting took
place?” asked his counsel.
“Yes, sir,” De Caro responded.
On Dec. 16, 1943, the case was given
to the jury. Despite DeCaro’s plea of
self defense, the jury deliberated only
three hours before deciding that he was
“guilty as charged.”
Judge Comley at once sentenced him
to die in the electric chair at the State
Prison at Wethersfield. As this story is
written the date for DeCaro’s execution
has been set for May 3, 1944, or within
five days thereafter.
(The name Henry Barker is fictitious in order to
protect an innocent person from embarrassment.—
The Editor.)
We Trapped California’s Bludgeon Slayer
[Continued from page 25]
at the scene Sunday, the day of the
murder.
But for a clearcut court case we posi-
tively had to have the murder knife and
the shattered rifle stock from which the
walnut sliver had splintered.
District Attorney Sparks and I once
more went over every facet of the case.
“You and I are both satished that Brown
murdered Mrs. Turner,” he said, “but
you'll have to find the knife and gun be-
fore I can convict him in court.”
Again and again I went over our evi-
dence and my grilling of the murder sus- .
pect. As I analyzed Glenard Brown, I
suddenly realized that he believed he was
a lot smarter than “The Law.”
Carefully I worked out every detail in
my mind. Then I went to the jail cell,
unlocked it and walked in.
sc HOUGHT you might like to see
some photographs,’ I remarked,
pulling some pictures of the murder scene
from my pocket. He glanced at them,
scowling. But he intently studied one
photo showing the cigar in its unbroken
cellophane wrapper.
“I spoke to the storekeeper who sold
you ten of those cigars the day you mur-
dered Mrs. Turner,” I said quietly.
“We've got plenty of evidence.”
I watched him closely as I continued.
“You've made a fool of us, all right, up
till now. You killed her. Now, how about
showing me where the knife and gun
are?”
I studied his face. His psychological
reactions seemed to be what I had hoped
for. But was I right? He was silent a long
moment. Then he spoke abruptly.
“Yeah, I killed her,” he said matger of -
factly. “She wouldn’t give me any dough
and threatened to call the cops. I let her
have it alongside the head with the rifle
butt. She screamed and started crawling
across the floor. Then I got out my
knife.”
I nodded, controlling myself with diffi-
culty. That was the way I’d figured.
“Where's the gun?”
“T hid it in the willows along the pas-
ture fence.”
“And the knife?”
“T stuck that in a gopher hole under a
manzanita bush.”
With Dolce and Shannon, I put him
in a police car. We drove swiftly to the
Turner home at Colfax. With Brown at
my side, I walked around the house,
through the orchard and into the pasture,
followed by my deputies. “Show me
where you hid the rifle, Brown.”
He grinned that mirthless grin again
but walked unerringly toward a clump of
willows. He knelt beside a thick growth
and scratched around in dried leaves with
one hand, while I stood intently over
him. An instant later he brought out an
old lever action Winchester rifle.
I reached for the gun, flipped it over
and looked at the stock. A sliver of wood
was missing from the polished walnut.
At Brown's directions we next drove
to the ranch where he had lived. He dug
out a rock which had plugged up a gopher
hole, reached his arm in and brought out
a rusty, bloodstained pocket knife. I put
this beside the rifle on the car floor and
we drove back to the Auburn jail where
I locked him up again.
E HURRIED into my office. I took
the wood sliver from a drawer and
placed it on the walnut rifle stock. It
slipped into place perfectly.
Within four hectic days from the dis-
covery, our case—signed confession and
all evidence—was complete, with word
from the state chemist that blood on the
knife and on Brown’s clothes was the
identical type of the murder victim.
The trial began before Superior Judge
A. L. Pierovich at the Auburn court-
house. For the first time in Placer County
since gold rush days, because of the short-
age of available men who were working
in defense industries, three women were
selected on the murder jury. +
We had a cold case, and on November
24 the jury found Glenard Brown guilty
of murdering his benefactress, Mrs. Ada
Belle Turner, without recommendation
of leniency.
Under California law a death sentence
is automatically appealed to the State
Supreme Court. And that body, after
mature deliberation, upheld the death ver-
dict. I brought Glenard Brown back
from prison. On Oct. 25, 1943, nearly a
year later, Judge Pierovich re-sentenced
Glenard Brown to be executed in the
San Quentin prison lethal gas chamber
on Jan. 14, 1944,
Brown, however, did not go to his death
on the appointed date. He was given a
last-minute reprieve, until February 15,
when he paid the penalty for the brutal
slaying.
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65
jagged wounds about ‘the head and throat. Then he lifted
the old lady’s slight body to examine the brown and crusted
pool beneath her left shoulder.
“She’s been dead’about twelve hours, sheriff.”
Silva glanced at his watch. “That means she was killed
last night between nine and ten,” he estimated.
“You can have an hour one way or the other, not more.”
“What was the immediate cause of death, doc?”
“The bone is splintered around that head wound. She was
slugged with something pretty heavy, maybe a flat iron or
a big hammer.”
“Killed by a blunt instrument, eh?”
wnticket wa
ef To id for let
harles§
1 ranch ne
of Police Walt:
helped probe the
Mutder Case to
1e Colfax, Calif®
vein is severed clean through. That was done with a Shey
long-bladed knife.” ©
Silva nodded, He’d have to remember that—a long- bladed
knife. It was missing, so the killer still had it in his
possession.
As they carried. the body of the late Mrs. Turner out
Mrs. Ada Belle Turner, white haired widow—would her
reputation for generosity produce a murder motive?
= Re
r
eg
The young nanch: banal suspect (left wt tried desperately
to brazen his way out fas capture—but it was too late.
r
“BELLE TURNER'S BEEN
MURDERED! HER THROAT
IS CUT! PLEASE HURRY!”
“Still, I’m not sure. Her throat was cut too, the jugular.
into the sunshine the sheriff noticed for the. first time a
broad smudge on the soft fabric of the housecoat between
the shoulders. He stared at it a moment, frowning.
' Just then, District Attorney Sparks came down from up-
stairs, where he had been searching for clues. “One thing
we're sure of,” he said, “she wasn’t murdered for money. I
found a hundred dollars in her purse on the hall table and
there is another fifty dollars in a jar in the kitchen cupboard,
probably for groceries. The place is full of valuables, jewelry,
two watches and three of Bob’s guns in a case in the front
bedroom. A robber .wouldn’t have overlooked all those
things.”
Silva agréed, and the two men began a close. examination
of the murder room.
' Against one wall stood’a long table. In the corner an
electric washer crowded two stationary tubs. Near the door
was a steel locker of a type frequently used by sportsmen
to store fishing tackle.
No Signs of Struggle
Silva squatted on his haunches just inside the coe? ‘T'd
like to know what she was doing down here last night at
nine or ten o'clock,” he said. “Funny place for a woman
to be on Sunday night. is
“Maybe the killer carried her down or forced her to come
down here.”
“There wasn’t any’ mnigele” Silva pointed to half a
dozen open boxes of soap powder on the long table. “That
stuff is easy to spill. I think she came down here with the
murderer never expecting to have any trouble. It was
someone she knew pretty well.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” Sparks asked.
“Her being here, and the way her throat was cut. She
was slugged first, hard enough to kill her, but she didn’t
die right away, so the slayer took that. long-bladed. knife
and cut her throat. Which makes it look like. revenge or
hatred was the motive, only Viscia says she didn’t have
any enemies.”
“He might be wrong.”
“We'll check it. What’s bothering me now ‘ts why the
back:of her housecoat is dirty. Let’ s look around some more.
We must have missed something.”
Sparks shot a questioning look at the sheriff then joined
him in studying the floor. “There is some. blood by that
locker,” he pointed out.
Silva’s eyes found the spot. “That’s it. She was slugged
right here, just inside. the door. Then somebody drag
her feet first across to where we found her and cut
throat. That’s the only way to explain the stains on her ees
and I don’t see how it makes sense.’
The sheriff’s thoughtful eyes studied the floor, then trav-
eled up to the locker door. “Will you lie down here a min-
ute, Sparks? I want to prove something. Stretch out with
your head near these blood spots.”
The district attorney complied with the’ request.
“That’s the answer,” Silva snapped. “She was in the
mee way. Whoever moved her wanted to get into this.
ocker. : :
Sparks lifted his head. “But why?” as
“We've got to figure that out.”
The sheriff led. the. way. outside. An cadets ‘was
standing with West beside the body.
“There's nothing in. her poniets. ” the deputy coroner
said, “except this piece of a broken shoelace.”
Silva held out ‘his ‘hand eagerly for the clue: “Let’s find
Moses I want to talk to the woman who discovered the
ody
They found the Colfax police chief questioning a elahkor
three doors away. At Silva’ s request he took them to Mrs.
Scarborough’s home.
Silva acknowledged the chief’s introduction. “You eae
Mrs. Turner’ quite well, didn’t you?”
“We've. been neighbors for nearly thirty years,”
“Do you know. what she kept in that steel locker in the
laundry room?”
“Why, yes. You see, Belle has grubstaked " ‘a lot of
cowboys and miners since Bob died. Bob’s friends can get
almost anything they want from her. She has the money,
so that doesn’t matter much, but she keeps track of every-
things 3 She used to put her ‘notes (Continyeces on s page 38) 95
van
BROWN, Glenard, wh, gassed CASP (Placer) 2/15/1944,
erie
nA cana cama
~
C
pr eet oly eee Pies ot
HE TELEPHONE jangled for attention. Police Chief
Walter Viscia could hear it in the corridor outside his
office as he adjusted his key in the lock. —
Striding across the room to his desk he glanced up at the
clock ‘on the wall. It was exactly 9:01 a.m. Someone had
business with the law bright and early that morning of
September .28, 1942,
The chief lifted the instrument from its cradle and a hys-
terical voice greeted him. “This is Mrs. Scarborough. I’m
at Belle Turner’s. She’s been murdered. Her throat is cut.
Please hurry out here. What'll I do?”
“Don’t touch anything. We'll be there in about five
minutes.” ‘ .
. It had happened at last—the first murder in the history
of Colfax, Calif. But why should anyone have wanted to
kill the elderly widow of Bob Turner, prominent mine
operator and long-time city councilman? She had lived in
her husband’s death she had interested herself in the affairs
of her church and local charities,
The chief telephoned an appeal for help to Sheriff Charles
Silva at Auburn, then scrambled into his car and raced to
the Turner home...
Mrs. Scarborough, obviously overwrought, was waiting for
him at the curb. .
“I went over this morning to ask Belle if she was goin
to the Circle with me,” the woman said. “I rapped an
called like I always do. She didn’t answer and the front
door was locked. I thought. she might have decided to do
a wash so I went around to the laundry. ...” She broke
off, sobbing.
The chief followed the woman around to the back of
the building. She paused before a freshly painted white
door and took a step backward, “I’m afraid to go in again,”
she said nervously. . ;
Viscia threw his. weight against the white, el and the
door swung inward. A shaft of daylight illuminated the
room, the blinds of which were tightly closed.
The body of Belle Turner was sprawled in the far corner.
She was wearing a flowered housecoat over a white slip.
There was a long slash at the base of her throat, and on
Ln forehead above her left eye was the mark of a heavy
ow. : ;
Sheriff Takes Over
Viscia quickly tested the slain woman’s-arm muscles for
rigor mortis. Ada Belle Turner had been dead for some.
time.
Stepping out of the room, the chief pulled the door shut
after him. “Tell me, Mrs. Scarborough,” he said to the woman
waiting tensely outside, “have you any ideaA—?”
-_ The housewife shook her head. “I’ve been trying to think.
Belle didn’t have an enemy in this world.”
“Whoever killed her was no friend,” observed Viscia
wryly. “Did you see any strangers around the place: yes-
terday?”.
' “I don’t remember. She had lots of company. Every cousin
Jack the Mother Lode knew he’ could count on her for
a meal.” ae
.. At this point Sheriff Charles Silva arrived, accompanied.
by District Attorney Lowell Sparks. Deputy Coroner Francis
West pulled up in an ambulance behind them. :
Viscia outlined the case to Sheriff Silva, a quiet-voiced,
gray-haired veteran of many investigations, who then took
charge.’ He immediately telephoned the identification
bureau at Sacramento for Owen Kessel, fingerprint ex-
pert. .
West, meantime, knelt beside the body and studied the
vLU
bal
the northern California ‘community for thirty years. Since °
.
A lost pawnticket was 9) jaggy:
a payoff lead for alert the «
Sheriff Charles Silva pool
in the ranch mystery. fh
Chief of Police Walter last
Viscia helped probe the -
first mucder case to | a
intrigue Colfax, Calif. Shcig
ab
vei
oF lon
ae S
“Se ; kn:
BY 3 é aie
"Strong man" Haas
was killed after
card room holdup
It was a game with high stakes, and the bandits dealt the hand,
but when the pay-off came the Law held an ace up its sleeve
NTHONY DAVILLA, a Yellow Cab driver, was cruising along Tele-
graph Avenue in Oakland, California, at about one-thirty on the
morning of Wednesday, March 8th, 1944, when a voice hailed him:
“Hey, taxi!”
Davilla swung over to the curb and looked around. Out of the dark-
ness near the Sears-Roebuck parking lot, two figures appeared. Davilla
gave the men only a casual glance as they got into the cab. Later he
recalled, with good reason, that one of them had been carrying an object
which he. shielded from the driver’s view.
“Where to?” Davilla asked, starting the meter.
“Twelfth and Broadway,” one of the
pair ordered. He spoke with a Southern
accent. He was bareheaded and blond,
and there was a humorous tilt to his nose.
His companion, Davilla noticed, was dark
and had a thin mustache.
Arriving at the address they had given,
Davilla slowed down, but his passengers
seemed to change their minds.
“Keep going,” the drawling voice called
out. “Turn right and continue on up
Twelfth Street ”
This was strange, Davilla thought, but
he turned as directed. A moment later,
at Grove Street, he was told to turn and
go to San Pablo Avenue. Again he
obeyed, but his suspicions were mount-
ing.
There was something sinister about this
pair, an air of tension in their manner,
and Davilla didn’t like the way they were
conferring in muttered tones. Abruptly
he made a decision; he stopped the cab.
“Now, look—” he began, twisting
TRUE = LETECTIVE.
around in the seat. He broke off, starting
violently. He was staring into the muzzle
of a sub-machine gun.
“Get going, or I’ll cut you in two!” It
was the one with the mustache; his face
was hard, his eyes cold.
“Okay,” Davilla said hastily, “okay.” .
He started the cab again. “Only what-
ever you guys are up to,” he exclaimed,
“T don’t want any part of it, see?”
“Listen to him,” the gunman’s com-
panion drawled. “Next, he'll be teHing
us he’s got a wife and six kids.”
After that, everything happened as in
a nightmare. Davilla, a prisoner with a
tommy-gun at his back, drove to San
Pablo Avenue and went north.
“Take us to the ball park,” was the
next instruction
“Okay,” Davilla replied mechanically.
and wondered what his fate would be
when they got there.
But once more the directions were
changed. Instead of continuing on to the
Wot. /7¢S-
BRIGANCE,Thomas, and WHITSON, Benjami
ny whit
asphyxe Calif. (Alameda) We hi-191)55 ; is
n Gas Cell
: Mell ant 4 t
Brigance, Whitson
Executed Together
For Killing Officer
Pipi s aoe: RERS OF OPF 1CER
AN OUENTIN ’ a ee Oakland men! wer extel
2 Peek QUENTEN PRISON, Sept. 14.' cute Ffom the munderan Emery mad
ee ter a Sleepless night, during eed on Ata tome: 8 1944, ot Crearbe Tas
Which they waited hopefully for a apaibde bait elderly’ specie’ mice otticer,
meéssage’ of ‘elemeney,: Thomas. E ; Stays NECULION, be RAE IV ER “ ghen
heBrigance. aa This " aed ! Yast-miip reprig ty, PEToOre BAL.
ia Besley, OV, AIC Zi1S brother-in- Ramat, ‘ yA Ay by Saas yi at eas (rain ti
Jaw. Benjamin Bi, on. 28. went s Goveriorsorn ays court thats Gourd
_ Atoutheix®: death today, in» the: lethal wee Poe gaye. thepy again, cat
as chember here. Ge he 23 aruict nian,” Mgt | dart
es ot RHriganee, who has beet the calmer
The -“kinsmen. cnteredo the) gas Dot the two fronk the beminning
schamber. together at 10:03 aan. ‘ played ‘Checkers with “the prison . ra s
Rance was prone niced dead eight chaplain, Harty ©. Wanwick, iit :
: ~ minutes later) at Toil, and Whitson, .) worked fros ries pussist eebbee eg
‘ “ : ont oyervousiy smoked crears and ot
y fon ig i Satened to radio music | :
+ “Both men: went “to the) , ie scinen LIPTTLE CON RS ATION
Rcanly. Neither asked- forya Bad A “ ff srom ut t hike Avis tt
“fold, ‘and neither 1ost{his nerye when! push! he spoke ith his chYother in:
thre ugh fhe whaden shat, tha:
ithe guards locked the chair straps, Lf : ‘ ‘
rand sealed the. ch i ; “ cas Lenk se0tTS, eT He: ‘death
amber. ‘| ery watch” ee Rahn wrritched the wen
Bae) Oty UAE CEE d Bane fend thpaeh, thatbey hed tile,
: ‘The two Oakland men were exes; WIVETSALION white They soe yg for. ne DASA ee i
3! cuted for the murderin Bnieryvillé: iv Lendegvousayy' th the gust
on "March? 87 1944," of George: Haas:
elderly’ cpecial police officer. 7 ae ai
2 Stays of exeention had given them “QU STON A Os forcnce, fers danana
“Yast-minute, reprieve, before; » bul cream pie. He requested it for din- | ie
paner fast! right with’ fried chicken, gt
iy his last hours, showed : eyo "
today there was no-word from the” y iets 21
‘Governor “or: any cor that tould a vegetable salad fred popatoes andy
them baal i milk.. Howe this. morning, ‘he:
Neither. man. isi¢ ast. “night asked only: for the pie orange jaice: ] ‘
_Bfrigance, who nes ch nethe calmer and milk, for bre: akte wb. «
of” the two. fron 2the i beginning: soe Me) oy Whitson, who’ wan aniy coffee
played eheckérs with pee prison : it he va tS Abd ad dinner TASt night; wedtpested ha
chaplain, Harry C. Wa wick, sand; 3 @- ev break fu: trot Wacohrend -ekas,
worked crossword puzzies.. Whitson ig Ne heath orange Juice. toystand colfee tree |
nervously smbked cigate® andy lise” Jeg Sans hours. be: teh : ;
tenra to “radio music..* £ ; } The seuards cesiG 3 Seam)
z r Aes ehait- eA iotrarets valb night. as
LITTLE CONV ;RSAFIO. 2 eda ae He plavec ¥y: Whi Son, played
From. dime. ‘to time ing the, Ah Peas Sones solitaire in the Writhe cel ane
hight he spoke witht his Begther-in+ «An hie aS fj eeantic SH the omen
law throveh, the wooden™srats that sh oe RR TE aa etd Beat ae ed sh he
separated their pelis-= The ‘desth Bia Serr ae ; ’ wer@oticread ton the Fado
watch” guards who w: ‘iched the nreti Naeeren ee ak her
said. théugh. that they® had little ‘
conversation while sthey eee for
their rendezvous with the gas i)
ber. :
Brigarice, in his last hours, cg me
a, strong ecdategeay for banana.
He cp dae it for mad
= pe. Mat
eins de nn “3 : mo milk. However,
en Naas Peels Seon asked only for the pig: of
sR eh Sa ® and milk for sk Si at E
e : is 5 2° Whitson,:who wan 1h; ; ett i :
f5r dinner fast eat is . . : : as Pia f
avy breakfast of baco ‘i pe tie si
ange juice, toast and cotfee Oreee ER RAD ma Ren 4
hours before he died: .0: o> , : fuses von d RE
os ‘The \.guards said that® Bric: iéek!
jinssmoked ‘eigarets all night as’
: Sof execu
wethem Dy <li 3
Gove Freat
in the abst
Bit. the
Lona SS
baseball park, the home grounds of Oak-
land’s Coast League team, the pair com-
manded him to stop the cab a block away.
This was near the corner of San Pablo
and Park Avenues in Emeryville, just
beyond the limits of Oakland.
The one with the tommy-gun got out
first, and ordered Davilla from the cab,
“Get in the -back seat,” he snapped. He
had a harsh voice and clipped his words.
Davilla obeyed. They tied his feet to-
_Sether with a rag, then removed his belt
and used it to truss his hands behind him.
As he surveyed their handiwork, the
gunman shook his head,
“No soap,” he announced curtly. “He
goes with us.”
The other nodded, and proceeded to
untie their captive. “Come along,” he
drawled, “and da what we tell you. Also,
one peep out of you, my friend,” he wise-
cracked, ‘and them six kids of yours’ll
be looking for a new daddy.”
‘““What’s the idea?” Davilla demanded.
“See that card room over there?”
Davilla nodded. It was the Oaks Club,
a popular rendezvous for card players,
and it was still open. “AN right, you’re
going in ahead of us, and if anything goes
wrong we'll shoot you first. Got that?”
“Sure,” Davilla Said, “a stickup.”’
“Get going,” the gunman retorted,
prodding him with the sub-machine gun.
With his captors at his heels, Davilla
walked toward the card club. They
stopped him near the entrance and
stepped into the shadows to tie rags over
the lower parts of their faces.
When he saw the Masks, Davilla ex-
perienced a sudden premonition. They
hadn’t bothered : to conceal their faces
from him!
“Go ahead,” the gunman ordered,
Davila walked on, with the feeling that
- he was walking to his own funeral. He
'. entered the card room with the bandits
close behind.
The place was filled with players, some
thirty or more, who were laughing and
talking, and no one seemed aware of the
newcomers. The bandit with the tommy-
gun faced the Players, while his com-
panion stepped forward with a drawn
revolver,
-“All right, you guys, this is a holdup!”
he announced.
Two or three heads turned, but the -
hum of conversation, the click of chips
_and the slap of cards continued. Gradu-
~-ally the din subsided, and all eyes turned
toward the bandit with the sub-machine
gun. Meanwhile, his confederate had
stepped into the cashier’s booth.
“Put your hands up,” the machine-gun
_ bandit ordered, “but stay in your seats.”
Themen at the tables began to raise
_their hands. Some were bewildered,
others had taken a few drinks too many,
and their. slowness to comply seemed to
enrage the gunman.
“If you think I won't. shoot, you’re
” crazy!” he warned.
A voice from the back of the room
- taunted him: “Aw, you wouldn’t shoot.
You don’t know how to handle that gun!”
For answer, the bandit raised the ugly
weapon and fired a burst over their heads.
As the deafening sound died away, the
« acrid smell of gunpowder mingled with
» the haze of tobacco smoke, and the card
room was suddenly as still as death.
Three men had risen from their chairs
and were standing near the rear doorway,
their hands upraised. One of them took
a step toward the door, and the bandit
instantly fired a short burst. The man
spun around and fell to the floor,
“Anybody else?” the gunman invited
harshly. No one moved. A low moan
came from the man on the floor.
The other bandit reappeared and mo-
tioned with his revolver. “Come on, pal,”
he ordered, and herded the reluctant taxi
driver toward the door. The tommy-gun
bandit brought up the rear, keeping the
card players covered.
As they reached the sidewalk, two men
rounded the corner, some thirty or forty
feet away. One was a policeman, a spe-
cial officer of the Emeryville force. His
name was George C., Haas, and he was
known as “the strongest cop in the
world.”
A few years before, during a firemen’s
‘The Oaks Club, popular rendezvous for card players, and scene
celebration, Haas had won local fame by
pulling a nine-ton fire engine fifty feet
with his teeth; smashing rocks with his
fists; tearing two decks of playing cards:
bending horseshoes in his teeth; lifting
720 pounds with one hand; and carrying
four husky firemen at a time. He had
been the top marksman on the Hitchcock
Patrol, and was an expert at jujitsu.
But for all his prowess, the fifty-five-
year-old veteran policeman didn’t have
a chance.
“What’s the trouble in there?” he
called out. :
“Look out—a cop!” Davilla’s captor
warned softly.
The other bandit Swung the tommy-
gun around and riddled the approaching
officer with bullets. Haas pitched for-
ward, groaned once, and lay still.
Forcing Davilla to accompany them,
the bandits ran to the taxicab and
escaped.
Without a single clue, Emeryville Chief of Police, Louis Mann (left),
and Assistant Chief Frank Farina made good their vow to crack case
of the robbery which was followed by brutal tommy-gun slaying
Me:
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Two Oakland. men, convicte of |
the murder of taxi: driver Arthur
js
Nichols, 27, two years ago, Te Bais.
| executed together today in the San |
» Quentin Prison gas chamber). (=i) °
| hey were -Maxwell: Bowi
and Henry Williame 95. 6° ae
' Both entered the gas chamber al i
10:05. a.m. Bowie was. pronounced §
dead at 10/14 ‘am. and Williams at.
eROLTT I bie es Beta Sigs
They were convicted of the mrt
_ der of Nichols after confessing that
they attempted to rob him follow-%
ing, a marijuana smoking party FA
Bowie could be’ ‘seen praying |
aloud yafter he ‘entered the cas,
chambegr He had. spent’ his” Hast, siaseap itl
_ nisht listening fo religious frecor
and talked this: morning ‘with R
Edward Mattson, - Lutheran minister,
Ol Berkeley yh git 3i 00 eons Sen ae
Rey, Dallas Giatson, prison chap: | ies
2 Tain, was With Williams ‘last night [ae
‘and this morning. Stag biiosa
Both’, Williams and’ Bowié were
Negroes. if f i
Previously Slated to die last Octo-
her i, the men won reprieves during
_ bppeals to the State. Supreme Court’
and <WS. Supreme Court. :
~ Nichols, a veteran of 20 years as
Griver for the Yellow Cab Company.
was’ folind dead in his cab. at eo
_and- Union Streets in January, 1987.)
_ He had been shot three times with |
- 829 galiber pistol but apparently
“had steered his cab into a fire alarm
sDOX Ina dying effort to summon
élp. : a
SNR UPS
A ASE.
12 The
street. 1 stopped and watched the men at their work.
Completing their work and tossing the tires from the
second car into their machine, they continued on their way.
] followed them, part of the time with my lights out.
They drove south along Central Avenue to Slauson Avenue,
West on Slauson to Redondo boulevard to Redondo Beach
and then straight to Hermosa Beach where | saw them
turn in at 330 Tenth Street.
Evidently their visit was expected. Lights were on in
all the rooms although it was long after mid-night.
Leaving my darkened car | approached the house, a typi-
cal beach bungalow. Inside [ could hear voices, and’
laughter, of men and women.
RETURNING to my car, I watched the house until the
lights were turned out. It was then past 4:30 o’clock.
Driving to Redondo, | telephoned to the Theft Bureau
of the Auto Club. Before I could speak, the operator in-
formed me that Erven and Hickok, worried over my failure
to rejoin them at the restaurant, had caused the police to
send out a general alarm for me.
“T’m all right. Soon as you can reach Erven and Hickok
have them meet me at the Redondo Station,” | said.
They arrived at the beach about seven in the morning
and | told them | had located a gang of auto thieves, and
that they looked like “losers” to me.
Master
Detective
After breakfast we drove over to Hermosa and took a
“spot” on the house. About 11 o'clock three men and two
women, attired in bathing suits, came out and started to-
ward the beach, four blocks away. It was December, but a
hot California sun was shining.
We waited until they had crossed the railroad tracks and
were approaching the beach. Then | told Erven and Hickok
to keep watch and I went to a rear door and let myself in
with a pass key.
I saw plenty, but didn’t disturb a thing.
In a bureau drawer was a varied assortment of revolvers
and automatics, a sawed-off shotgun and lots of ammuni-
tion.
Satisfied with this quick inspection, | stepped outside,
locked the door, and entered the garage adjoining the
house.
There was the dilapidated Ford which | had trailed
from Los Angeles, with its new windshield and ‘sticker’.
On a narrow ledge which ran alongside of the garage was
an old windshield.
1 took one quick glance at it and my heart jumped.
There it was, with a jagged aperture in the lower left hand
corner, :
“This looks like something bigger than auto thieves,” I
said as I rejoined Erven and Hickok. “This may be the
gang that killed Brett and Clester.”
Four of the bandit killers photographed in jail. They are, reading from left to right; Jim Wheaton, William
‘ Brinkhurst, Cal Rowell, Willard Thompson
A a
an
tal
ea}
ige
ho
u-
it-
May, 1933
The Master Detective
ee ae . a
57
How I Trapped the Five Murderers of the Los Angeles Policemen
the mob. He told them of several
swell ‘jobs’ he had picked out. But the
others had some ideas, too, and they
couldn’t agree on what to try first,
.‘Let’s all get together tomorrow
night and agree on something. Christ-
mas will be here in a couple of weeks
and we've got no dough. I’ll get that
eleven o'clock car and be back tomor-
row night with Curly,”
Bill had been doing the talking. Sure
enough, he caught that eleven o'clock
car. So did I,
He alighted at Pico and Hill Streets,
and | “tailed” him to a dingy frame
house in Twelfth Street near Georgia,
and watched him ascend the creaking
steps to the second floor and let himself
in. I waited long enough to assure my-
self that Bill was home for the night.
Then I returned to Hermosa.
The next afternoon we watched to
see the usual bathing party start to the
beach and then we got our first big sur-
prise. Instead of five, there were only
four, two men and two women, One of
our boys was gone,
WE figured he might show again that
night when all had agreed to meet.
But we were disappointed when €urly
and Bill arrived Bout seven and the
other bird wasn’t with them. 5
The four men and the girls talked
and laughed. Then the men engaged in
a long discussion over ‘jobs’. All needed
the money, but they couldn’t agree on
what to pull first.
Everybody be back tomorrow night
and we'll decide on that Wilshire job
was the decision.
Before the party broke up, Erven
and Hickok arranged to beat Bill back
to town and be waiting at Pico and -
Hill when he alighted. I was to fol-
low Curly, —
As expected, the two men caught the
eleven o'clock car. When Bill alighted
at his accustomed place, I spotted
Erven and Hickok as they trailed him
along Pico Street.
I remained to shadow Curly and
again saw him enter the South Grand
Avenue house,
The disappearance of the fifth mem-
ber of the gang worried us, We thought
by “tailing” the two men we could get
a line on Rica, but it availed nothing.
I met Erven and Hickok later and
we decided to knock over the mob the
next night, no matter who was there.
During the afternoon we again saw
the two _men and two girls go to the
beach. They returned about 4:30 and
hadn’t been in the house long before
Curly and Bill arrived.
“We'll get an early dinner and raid
them while they’re eating,” I suggested,
“Maybe the fifth fellow will be back
then.”
Erven and Hickok assented and we
hurried to a restaurant,
We were gone less than an hour, but
when we returned we were to get the
surprise of our lives. The bungalow we
had so carefully watched, was deserted.
pie quarry had fled, four men and two
girls,
(Continued from page 13)
Were we downcast? Worse than
that. But a ray of hope came when the
elderly woman whose house we had
been using, came into the room and
said:
“They ail left less than fifteen min-
utes ago, A baggageman came and
took their: stuff away, and they all
piled into an old Ford.’ I took down:
the name on the expressman’s truck «
and the license number. Here they
are,”
It was after ten that night when. the’
expressman returned to the beach,
He said he had received a telephone .
call, had gone to the house, and that a
young woman had directed him to take
some baggage to South Hope::Street,
Los Angeles, He gave us the number
of the place, a spacious dwelling which’
had been converted into a hotel.
The Hope Street house was shrowded
in darkness when we reached it,
We awakened the landlady,
“You rented a room this evening to
a young lady. Which room is it?” She
pointed out the room. I knocked on
the door,
“Who is it?” answered a shrill voice.
“Only a friend of Jess’,” | replied.
“What do you men want?” she de-
manded as Erven, Hickok and I en-
tered. . ‘
“We want everyone who was in that
house at Hermosa Beach.”
“I don’t know a thing about them,”
she answered with a fine show of de-
fiance,
“All right, young lady,” I said, “we're
going to arrest you as an accessory in
the murder of those two policemen your
boy friends shot over on Boyle
Heights.”
She was stunned. Steadying herself,
she tried to smile but it was a weak
effort.
wat in the Theft Bureau of the Auto
ub.
“Now, young lady,” | said, “it’s up
to you. You can tell us the truth and
Save yourself, or you can lie and we'll
convict you just as we’re going to con-
vict the rest of your gang and send
them to the gallows.”
Tears flowed as she said she was
Mary White, a trained nurse. She had
come from the Pacific Northwest. Un-
able to find work, she ‘took up’ with
Ralph Pontius, who later was arrested
and sent to Leavenworth as an auto
thief,
Through Pontius she had met the
group, ‘which she admitted, had killed
Policemen Brett and Clester,
Curly, she said, was Willard Thomp-
son, and Bill was William Brinkhurst,
Both had criminal records in Utah.
The others she desctibed as Pky
Wheaton, Cal Rowell and Jess Wendell,
All had served time. Two were fugi-
tives. ,
She said the boys had become suspi-
cious and left the beach house at a
moment’s notice. She did not know
where they had gone after reaching the
city.
SHE dressed and in a few minutes
Cl
She gave us the name of her girl
friend, Rhea Barnett, and said she had
one to a rooming house in South
live Street. .
Taking Mary White to the Univer-
sity station, we sped to the Barnett
girl’s apartment. We routed her out
of bed and she was indignant when we
made her dress and accompany us to
the Theft Bureau.
‘We persuaded her to talk, and finally
she said:
“The: boys have gone and you'll
never -get them.”
She became more communicative as
the night wore on and Erven, Hickok
and I questioned her. Then she, too.
like Mary White confessed.
She knew all about the killings of
Policemen Brett and Clester. The boys
had often talked about the crime, and
had always laughed heartily over the
futile efforts of the police to solve the
case,
“I don’t know where the boys have
gone,” she insisted. “They just said
they'd get in touch with us later.”
e booked the Barnett girl at the
Boyle Heights station on “suspicion of
grand theft”.
NOT a policeman, newspaperman or
others who inquired about the ar-
rests of the girls knew the motives be-
hind them. All concluded they were be-
ing held in connection with an auto
theft case.
With the girls jailed, Erven, Hickok
and | decided to start our clean-up by
raiding the room of Curly Thom son,
and the hotel in which Bill Brinkhurst
lived,
We started with Thompson,
Dawn had just begun to break when
we awakened the landlady at the South
Grand Avenue rooming house.
Dressed in a night gown, she an-
swered the bell.
“What room does Willard Thompson
ont we asked.
“Who wants to know?” was her in-
dignant demand, at which the three of
us displayed our badges.
“Oh, the Law,” she sneered. “Well, I
ain’t telling the Law nothing. Find out
for yourselves.”
“hats all right with us, lady,” |
said, as I pushed her aside and picked
up a blanket from a couch. Throwing
it over her shoulders, we hustled her to
-,our machine and before she realized
what was happening she was on her
way to Central Station a few blocks
gen
e booked her on “suspicion” and
left instructions that no one was to
communicate with her.
Returning to the house, we tip-toed
to the rear of the hall until we came to
Room 17. I thought it was the room
I'd seen Curly enter, and we were will-
ing to take a chance,
With a crash we flung open the door.
As we dashed in with guns drawn, a
surprised and startled Thompson,
awakened from a heavy sleep, made
a half conscious effort to reach a Te-
volver on a chair beside his bed,
ook a
id two
ed to-
but a
ks and
Hickok
yself in
volvers
mnmuni-
outside,
ng the
trailed
:ker’.
age was
jumped.
2ft hand
eves,” |
be the
Wednesday, December 14, 1921
PROCLAMATION
To The People of Los Angelés, Grectings:
‘Pursuant to the provisions of Ordinance No. 42,881. (New Series) 1 hereby, on behalf of” |
the Cify of Los Angeles, offer a reward of ten thousand dollar
and conviction of the person or persons who on December 6, 1921, shot and. killed
Harry Clester.and Patrolman .Wm. L. Brett, Police Officers of the City of Los Angeles. Provided,
however, that said reward shall not apply in. the e
person or persons incarcerated at the time of the
Series). Said reward to be paid out of the
The offer of this reward shall continue for
‘
7’.
December 14, 1921. e
GEO. E. CRYER, Mayor.
’
$10,060.00 Reward Proclamation for the capture of the killers of Policemen Brett and Clester which was broad-
cast to the people of Los Angeles and to police authorities throughout the entire country
We agreed that Erven would maintain a spot on the
house while Hickok went to the Auto Theft Bureau for a
dictagraph and I went to ‘Police Headquarters to get the
piece of glass 1 had turned over to Captain Flammer.
We were back at the beach in a few hours. We waited
until dark and then went to an adjoining detached bungalow
and asked if we might use a room to watch the next door
neighbors.
An aged man and woman, who occupied the house, said
they would be pleased to co-operate with us and that their
place was at our disposal.
The next afternoon the same three men and two women
we had seen the previous day left’ the house in bathing
suits and started toward the beach.
WHEN they were a safe distance away, we entered their
place again with my pass key. It took only a moment
to install the dictagraph behind a curtain, run the wire
out of the window and under the soft beach sand to the
house next door.
This completed, I locked the door, and went to. the
garage. Taking the splinter of glass from my pocket, I
placed it against the jagged opening in the old windshield.
It fitted like the proverbial glove.
When the bathing party returned, we were. in our bun-
galow room, with our dictagraph ready for business.
We listened in while they dined. They talked and joked
and laughed. The men were addressed as Jim, and Cal
and Jess.
Finally one of the men said:
“Curly and Bill ought to be down tonight to talk
things over.”
About seven o’clock one of the expected guests arrived.
We spotted him as he entered.
He was greeted as “Curly”. All seemed glad to see him.
He entered freely into the conversation. Mostly they
talked of jobs, but couldn’t agree on any. All appeared
eager to talk things over with Bill.
It was nearing eleven o’clock when Curly said he would
catch the next Pacific Electric car to Los Angeles.
When he boarded the car at Redondo and took a seat
well forward, | hopped aboard and found a seat in the
rear. He alighted at Hill and Fifth Streets, and I was a
short distance behind him when he entered the rooming
house at 518 South Grand Avenue.
| waited a few moments and then walked quietly to the
end of the hall. There was someone moving about in Room
17. This, | concluded, was Curly’s room.
Catching the 1 A. M. car from Los Angeles, I was back
in Hermosa with Erven and Hickok an hour or so later.
The lights were on next door, so | pinned my ears to the
dictagraph.
The three men we had seen with the girls were up.
Evidently they had been drinking. One was in a quarrel-
some mood.
“We've got to get busy, Cal, and get some dough!” he
shouted. “We've got some good jobs lined up and we'd be
getting the dough if you had any guts.” .
“1 ain’t, eh?” came the defiant blast from the other.
“What do you mean? | ain’t? I had plenty of guts the
night we bumped off them two coppers. over on Boyle
Heights. Didn’t | go down to the hospital and come back
and tell you guys they were both dead. An’ you say I
ain’t, eh?”
“THESE are the fellows who killed Brett and Clester,”
I gasped.
“Let’s knock ’em over now,” said one of my partners.
1 felt that way, too. But we debated the matter.
“We've got these fellows any time we want them. Let’s
find out who Bill is,” I suggested.
We took turns snatching a little sleep and listening in the
next day. We learned nothing of importance, but we felt
repaid that evening when another stranger arrived at the
house, and was warmly greeted as Bill.
Bill seemed to be the leader of (Continued on page 57)
ars ($10,000) for the apprehension —
Patrolman
vent of the apprehension and conviction of any
adoption of said Ordinance No. 42,881 (New
General Fund of the City of Los Angeles.
a period of one year from and after this date.
58
We snapped the cuffs on him,
dragged him to his feet and under the
menace of revolvers forced him to
dress.
He was either too stunned, or too
surprised to speak. Not a word did he
utter as he looked into the guns of
Erven and Hickok, and | stepped to a
closet to get his clothes.
In the dimly lighted room I: saw a
checkered suit, such as Thrapp, the
miner, had described. I told Thompson
to put it on.
hen for the first time I had a good
look ‘at his hair. It was light and thin,
exactly as Thrapp had told me.
Taking another. suit from the closet,
| tossed it into our car as Erven and
Hickok brought out the manacled
Thompson. Later | made him exchange
suits at the jail, and stored the grey
outfit away as an important bit of evi-
dence.
It was useless trying to get Thomp-
son to talk. So we placed him in a cell
at Headquarters with orders that no
one be permitted to see him. |
Before leaving to pe Brinkhurst,
we obtained the aid of four city detec-
tives and took them to Thompson’s
room. The men we selected were Jim
Bean, later head of the homicide squad,
Chester Smith, Frank Roberts and
Frank Beaumont.
“WE are looking for three men,
Rowell, Wheaten and Wendell,” I
said. “We expect them to visit this
room. Arrest them, or anybody else
who enters here.”
I then told the sleuths the exact na-
ture of our case. They were the only
members of the Police Department
who knew what was going on.
- It was agreed that Bean and Smith.
would form one watch, and_ that
Roberts and Beaumont would be the
other.
Dawn had brightened the sky when
Erven, Hickok and | arrived at Brink-
hurst’s house. We had learned that he
had a wife and two children and we
were cautious.
In the shadow of a street car barn
across the street, we waited. Almost
an hour elapsed before a woman left
the house. Another long wait, and
then a bright faced boy of about
twelve, and a laughing girl of around
ten, came down the rear steps.
As the children turned the corner,
Erven, Hickok and I hurried to the
rear of the house and made our way
up the squeaking stairway.
One lunge forced open the door. As
we dashed in with guns drawn, there
was Brinkhurst reclining on a cot, his
eyes peering at the ial and. his
hands folded behind his head.
“Don’t move,” I shouted as Erven
stuck a shotgun in his ribs.
With, his hands still clasped, the cuffs
were adjusted and we pulled him to his
feet. Then I shoved my hand under
the pillow and brought forth two 38
caliber revolvers.
“What's the big idea?’ demanded
Brinkhurst, who unlike Thompson,
wanted to know what it was all about.
“What's the rap now?”
“Tell me you don’t know,” I shouted.
“This is the last rap you'll ever take,
The
Bill. We’ve got you right this time for
the murder of those two policemen over
on Boyle Heights.”
Brinkhurst cowered and lapsed into
silence, a silence which he refused to
break throughout his trial.
He was wearing a bathrobe when we
nabbed him and he still had it on when
we locked him up at Headquarters, We
took his clothes with us and later he
dressed in his cell.
Again we asked that no one be per-
mitted to talk to our prisoners.
Driving to the University.station we
again quizzed Mary White. She in-
sisted she did not know where Whea-
ton, Wendell and Rowell had gone, but
finally ‘thought’ Rowell might have
gone to San Diego where he had a
riend, an ex-convict.
With the girl in our machine, we
Master Detective
Started. for San Diego more than a
hundred miles away. We hadn’t gone
far when our machine broke down. A
call to the Auto Club brought Carl Mc-
Stay, field secretary of the organization,
and he agreed to drive us to San Diego.
It was a welcome relief. We had plenty
of sleep due us.
A traffic jam on Torrey Pines cost
us an hour’s delay, and a chance to
capture Rowell in the southern city.
He had been there, and, heading back
to Los Angeles, had passed our car on
a partly flooded section of a new road.
etusning to Los Angeles, we again
locked up the White girl, and proceeded
to Thompson’s apartment in the hope
that Rowell would appear there.
As we entered the house Bean in-
formed us that Jim Wheaton, the fel-
low who had given us the ‘slip’ at Her-
mosa, Was in custody,
Wheaton had walked into Thomp-
son’s room without suspecting a trap
and had offered no resistance when
covered with guns held by Bean and
Smith.
The detectives had taken their pri’-
‘oner to Central Station and had booked
him as “wanted” by Auto Club officers.
THANKING Bean and Smith for
their work, we dashed to the station.
Taking Wheaton from his cell .we
started a grilling designed to secure
from him, if possible, the whereabouts
of Wendell and Rowell.
Wheaton swore that he did not know
where they were. But there was some-
thing about this man which convinced
us that he might come through if
handled right.
For more than two hours we grilled
_ him. And when we returned him to
his cell we had his signed confession.
Seeking to save himself, and throw
the blame on his companions, Wheaton
laid bare every detail of the double
murder, and the motives which lay be-
hind the crime.
A stenographic report of his confes-
sion reads:
“At about 6 o’clock on the night of
December 6th, 1921, I was standing on
a downtown corner when .! met Bill
Brinkhurst. He wanted me to go to
Hollywood to see about a diamond job.
“We started to walk to a car when
Cal Rowell, Jess Wendell and Curly
Thompson drove up in a Ford.
“All of us previously had been en-
gaged in a hold-up.
“Rowell offered to drive us out to
Hollywood, so Brinkhurst and I got in
the machine. Brinkhurst and Thomp-
son looked over the place in Hollywood,
but things didn’t look right, so we de-
cided to go to Boyle Heights, Curly
Thompson said there was a hardware
nem on Stephenson Avenue that looked
good.
“When we arrived at the hardware
store, Thompson and Brinkhurst got
out of the machine and went to the
back of the store to look it over.
“In a little while Thompson came
back and if we could get a screw
driver out of the tool kit, he could pry
open the rear window and get a lot of
guns which he knew were there.
“Just then we noticed a man in a
street car man’s uniform looking us
ove and we decided to abandon the
job.
“We couldn’t afford to be arrested
because Rowell and myself were
wanted for an automobile _ theft.
Thompson and Brinkhurst also had bad
records in Utah where they came from.
“Rowell started to drive away. |
was in the front seat with him. Thomp-
son, Brinkhurst and Wendell were in
the back seat.
ONE of the fellows in the back seat
said he thought someone was fol-
lowing us in a car. Rowell turned north
when we came to Lorena Street and
pulled over to the curb, saying he
would wait and see if we were being
followed.
_“The other machine pulled up_be-
side us and we saw it was the law.
There were two policemen in the car,
both in full uniform.
“The man we later learned was
sClester, was driving. The. other man,
tater known to us as Brett, got out and
‘“came over to us.
“What are you guys doing’? he said.
“Rowell said he was looking for a
cousin but that didn’t go so good be-
cause Rowell didn’t know the names of
any streets out there and couldn’t an-
swer as to where his cousin lived.
“The policeman said he would have
to take us to the station. With that
he climbed in the back and sat on the
door.
“Although we all had revolvers on
us the policemen never attempted to
search any of us.
“Rowell drove on about four blocks
and then stopped.
“When we first thought we were be-
ing followed, Rowell said he was not
going to submit to arrest. He said if
the men following us stopped us, we
should over-power them and tie them
up and toss them in some vacant lot.
“We couldn’t do that because only
one policeman came over to our ma-
chine. The other stayed in the rear car
and we were afraid he might have a
gun trained on us.
“I looked back and saw that the
olice machine was about half a block
fiehind us and just then Rowell said:
“We are not going to the station.’
Then he stopped the car.
“1 don’t know just what happened in
the back of the car, but from what |
gathered afterward Thompson, who
spector Davidson, my partner Bill Baggctt,
and several other officers still on duty in
the Homicide Squad room.
I informed them of what Moulton had
just told me, and had the satisfaction of
seeing them all “come to life”.
“Davey”, as the Inspector is affection-
ately called, at once ordered a car and pre-
pared to accompany Baggot and me to
Huntington Park, to bring in the suspect
Brown, if possible.
In the quiet little suburban city we went
directly to the Police Department where
two uniformed officers were detailed to
accompany us to the Randolph Street
rooming-house.
“Joe, you go up with the boys here,” In-
spector Davidson said to me. “This is
their territory, and since you're the only
one who'll recognize this bird Brown, Bag-
gott and I’ll wait in the car.”
yWreoe the two Huntington Park offi-
cers, I ascended the stairs to the sec-
ond floor and knocked on the landlord’s
door. The blond-haired youth already de-
scribed responded, and I saw that he recog-
nized me.
I said: “I’m a police officer. Which
room is occupied by that young man I saw
here yesterday morning?”
The boy took one look at the two husky
officers in full uniform who stood beside
me, and answered:
“Over there—second door to your left.”
As we started to move away, he called
us back. wor
“Be careful,” he warned. “Knock first
and say that Whitey says it’s all right.”
I nodded, and went on down the hall.
A sleepy voice responded to my loud
knock.
“Who is it?”
“A friend of Whitey’s,” I called back.
“Let me in.”
TRAPPED!
True Detective Mysteries
The party inside told me to wait a min-
ute while he “got something on.” A few
seconds later, the door opened and a slight
young fellow with sandy hair and a mous-
tache stood staring at us. He had wrapped
himself in a blanket.
My first words were: “Have you got a
gat around here?”
He looked surprised, and slightly
shocked.
“You mean a gun? No, I have none.”
“Get your clothes on,’ I ordered.
“You're under arrest on suspicion of mur-
dering Mrs. Merle Ells.”
Without further ado, Brown—he gave
his full name as Benjamin F. Brown—
hurried into his clothes and made ready to
accompany us. He appeared to be per-
fectly cool, and confident that his arrest
was a case of mistaken identity.
While he dressed, I made a_ hurried
search of his room, but found nothing
that could connect him up with the crime
of murder.
Then, after thanking the Huntington
Park officers for their assistance, I brought
my prisoner to the police car where the In-
spector and my partner were waiting. I
took the wheel, with the suspect beside me.
The other two officers sat in the rear seat.
URING the ride back to Los Angeles,
the subject of murder wasn’t even
mentioned.
: At the station, Brown was placed in a
small room under guard, while Davey,
Baggott, and I went into another office to
discuss the new suspect.
I caught my superior officer and my
partner exchanging covert smiles, and
forthwith accused them of handing me the
“razzberry”.
“I can’t help it,’ the Inspector laughed
outright. “That little guy looks about as
much like a murderer as I do.”
Detective J. P. Filkas (extreme left) and W. M. Baggott (extreme right) confront
the man who killed for a handful of silver (he’s looking at Detective Filkas) and
the man without a soul, who worked out the details of the murder of Merle Ells
‘ure’, wi
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the sud-
aly stare
Baggott
of us
ars.
iurderer
and I
pencils
Brown,
man in
he said
e house
waited
sy with
‘d up.
‘hy and
Never
narra-
t it was
feeling
‘port of
hter of
, plans
is early
ore the
e knew
ed off,”
ne with
ogested
a
Ber: |
he fact
iand in
oyment
there-
1€ pro-
Id that
iflicted
lisease,
ed. “T
asked
ready
> was,
e past
Street,
“mery
x like
hat it
it, but
it my
two
et as
night
*\in to
al in-
g the
care-
@. pair
a re-
ed to
lend”
“stony,” whereupon Emery fished from his
pocket a handful of silver. Brown counted
the money. There were twenty-two dimes
—two dollars and twenty cents—doubtless
part of the crop of tips that Ells had har-
vested during the evening from patrons of
the restaurant where he worked.
Brown told us that he had followed di-
rections to the letter. His first move, after
leaving Ells, had been to “stick up” the
driver of a Chrysler coupe on a quiet side-
street. The man at the wheel had tried to
bargain with the gunman.
“Leave this car here when you're
through with it, and I won't report the
theft to the police,” the owner proposed.
“Ts it a go?”
To rid himself of the driver without fur-
ther parley, Brown had agreed to this
plan. He then drove the stolen car to the
Ells brothers’ residence in Southgate.
“As I passed the house on the way to the
garage,” Brown said, “I looked in at the
window and saw Moulton sitting in a chair.
His eyes were shut, like he was asleep. I
went around to the kid’s playhouse in back
of the garage, and found the shotgun and
shells that Emery’d said he’d leave there
for me earlier in the evening.
“T CARRIED the gun and shells out and
put ‘em in the rumble seat of the
Chrysler. From there, I drove straight to
the house Emery’d pointed out to me. J
parked the car a few doors down ‘he
street. Left the motor running, oecause 1
didn’t know how to start the damn ‘thing
if I turned it off.
“With the shotgun in one hand and the
flash-light in the other, I walked up to the
sleeping porch and looked in. I saw a
woman lying in bed asleep, with a little
kid beside her. Emery’d told me he’d kill
me if I harmed a hair of the kid’s head, so
I had to be careful. I realized I’d have to
make the woman sit up in bed, or else I’d
hit the baby when I let her have it. I had
the flash-light on her face all the time, so
she couldn’t see me. God! I was nervous
as hell!”
We mentally noted that whatever may
have been the state of the assassin’s nerves
at the crucial moment, he was able to de-
scribe his reactions with a very slight show
of emotion!
“T said, ‘Merle! Wake up!’
“She raised up in bed and whispered,
“What’s the matter?’ like a person will
who’s half asleep.
“Then, I did lose my nerve! J didn’t an-
swer her... just ran back to the Chrysler,
True Deiective Mysteries
got in and drove around for maybe half
an hour. When I ‘thought I could go
through with it, I went back again. And,
by God, for the second time, I didn’t have
the guts to shoot! :
“I took another short ride. Then, a few
minutes later, something in me seemed to
snap, and I knew that this time I’d do it.
I went back, opened the door to the sleep-
ing-porch, a little way, and flashed the
light on the woman again. I whispered,
‘Merle! Get up and come outside!’
Emery’d told me her first name was Merle,
y’see.
“Then, when she raised up, I let her have
one barrel... right through the neck!
Never touched the kid!”
The killer seemed almost to expect to be
congratulated upon his expert marksman-
ship.
“T dropped the gun on the floor and left
it there. Emery said it had been washed
with gasoline, and I’d worn gloves every
time I'd handled it, so we weren’t afraid of
finger-prints being found on it.”
“Where did you go after the murder?”
“T drove back to the café and called to
Emery to come outside, I said, ‘The job’s
done. Where’s my two grand?’ He told
me it was behind a billboard out on Fire-.
stone Boulevard, near Alameda Street. Be-'
fore I left to get it, Emery took the re-
volver and the flash-light away from me;
said I could keep the gloves. I told him
ae’d better jeave the revolver with me so
I could wash out (commit suicide) if I
got caught, but he said there wasn’t any
danger.
“Then, I went to the place on Firestone
Boulevard to look for the money. I hunted
everywhere, but there wasn’t a cent! I
figured maybe it’d be there the next day,
so I ditched the Chrysler down there some-
where and went on back to my room on
Randolph Street in Huntington Park. I
felt perfectly safe because I didn’t think
anyone but Emery knew what I’d done,
and I knew he wouldn’t squawk. Jeez! You
could’ve knocked me over with a feather
when I saw you guys there tonight!”
Throughout Brown’s astounding recital,
Inspector Davidson, Baggott and I sat
spellbound. In all our official knowledge of
murder. committed under strange condi-
tions and for curious motives—perverted,
sordid, trivial—there had never come to
our attention a more soul-sickening in-
stance of human depravity and seemingly
deadéened sense of right and wrong than
this: of a man who calmly told us that
he had shot to death a defenseless woman
you think of the stories it contains.
in mind?
Address your opinions to the Judges o:
The three awards will be made promptly.
No letter will be returned.
Second Prize $5
Fred H. Gray
117 Division St., Hudson, Michigan
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WHEN you have read this issue of True Detective Mysteries Magazine, let us know what
Which story is best? Which do you like the least? Why? Have you any helpful suggestions
id
Ten dollars will be paid to the person whose letter, in the opinion of judges in charge of these
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Award, ¢/) TRuE Detective Mysreries, 1926 Broad-
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Prizes for Opinions on the
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True Detective Mysteries
“Well, a sanctimonious expression
doesn’t necessarily mean that he’s a Sun-
day-school boy,” I retorted.
However, I was beginning to be a little
uneasy. My search of Brown’s room had
failed to reveal a weapon of any kind, or
any other evidence that might tend to
connect him with the case at hand. If fu-
ture developments proved that I’d dragged
an innocent man out of bed and to jail at
two o’clock in the morning, I would be the
laughing-stock of our Bureau.
However, having gone this far, I was
determined to play my hunch all the way.
We had our prisoner brought to the
Homicide Squad room, and for*two solid
hours took turns at questioning him. He
appeared more than willing to talk, and
told us what purported to be his life’s his-
tory. But, when the Ells case was men-
tioned, he assumed a blank expression and
declared that aside from having met Emery
and Alfred once in the “Brown Mug”, he
did not know them.
At 4 o'clock in the morning, I ex-
cused myself and went to Moulton’s cell,
He was wide-awake.
“Did you get him?” he whispered.
“He’s in the office now, and he swears
he’s only seen the Ells boys once in his life.
Now listen: I want you to do something
for me. Tell me one thing—just one little
thing—that will enable me to tie him up
with the Ells. I don’t care how trifling
it is. Give me something so I can go back
and prove to him that I know he’s a
damned good friend of Emery and Alfred
Ells. Will you do that?”
IMME aa cigarette,” was the reply.
“Here, take the pack,” I invited,
and he accepted the package with a hand
that trembled like an aspen leaf.
‘He took two or three deep pulls on a
cigarette, then:
“Remind him of that time he was over
to the house when him and Emery talked
about holding up a certain theater in Hunt-
ington Park ... one they was fixin’ .to
rob.” '
. I. grasped Moulton’s damp hand.
“Thanks, old man!” I said fervently, and
rushed back downstairs to join the little
group in the Inspector’s office,
I seated myself, and for perhaps ten
minutes listened to Brown repeat his de-
nials of all knowledge of the murder of
Merle Ells, in answer to questions hurled
at him by Inspector Davidson and Detec-
tive Baggott. He clung doggedly to his
assertion that he knew the Ells brothers
only casually.
Finally, I could stafid it no longer. I
leaned forward in my chair and commanded
Brown to look me in the eye.
“Now,” I began, “have you told all the
lies you can think of? Are you ready to
tell the truth?”
“Why—” he began.
“What about the time you and Emery
were over to the house planning that Hunt-
ington Park theater stickup?”
A deathly pallor overspreading his face,
Brown gripped the ‘arms of his chair, half
rose, then sank back.
“What about it”. I repeated. “And what
about the murder of Merle Ells!”
. The suspect buried his head in his hands
for a moment. Then he straightened: up .
and looked from one to another of.us as
though he were seeing us for the first time.
“I—I did it! Give me a pencil!” -
Almost knocked off my feet by the sud-
denness of his confession, I could only stare
at him dumbly. The Inspector and Baggott
were similarly affected. Not one of us
could believe the evidence of our ears.
“A pencil,” the self-confessed murderer
said again.
Mechanically, Davey, Bill, and I
reached for our pockets. Three pencils
were laid on the desk in front of Brown,
who was now the most composed man in
the room.
“Before I start my story,” he said
calmly, “I’ll draw a diagram of the house
where I killed her.”
For several minutes, while we waited
with bated breath, Brown was busy with
pencil and paper. Finally, he looked up.
“Well, here goes... .”
He then proceeded to tell us why and
how he had murdered Merle Ells. Never
have I listened to a more hideous narra-
tion, all the more horrifying in that it was
told with no more display of human feeling
than would have accompanied the report of
a business deal involving the slaughter of
an animal.
According to Brown’s statement, plans
for the killing had been discussed as early
as last August—three months before the
deed was actually committed.
Emery Ells had told him that he knew
a man who “wanted his wife bumped off,”
and who would pay liberally “anyone with
guts enough to pull the job”.
Brown, broke at the time, had suggested
that he, himself, might be interested in a
proposition of this kind.
He told Ells he had formerly been a
high-priced gunman, and lamented the fact
that the best wages he could command in
Los Angeles at legitimate employment
were a paltry three dollars a day!
At intervals of every week or so there-
after, Ells and Brown talked over the pro-
posed slaying. Brown was finally told that
the intended victim was a woman afflicted
‘with an incurable contagious disease,
which her husband feared would be com-
municated to their child, and for that rea-
son he wanted his wife “croaked”. He
was willing, Emery said, to pay $2,000.00
for the job.
O definite arrangements were made
until last week,” Brown declared. “I
saw Emery Ells in Powell’s Café and asked
him whether or not his friend was ready
to do business. He told me that he was,
and the next night Emery and I drove past
the house on East Ninty-ninth Street,
where he said the woman lived.
“When I asked who she was, Emery
said her name was Ellis—something like
his own, I had my suspicions then that it
was his own wife he was talking about, but
didn’t say anything. It was none of my
business, and besides, I needed the two
thousand berries Emery said I’d get as
soon as it was over with.”
At about eleven o’clock on the night
of November first, Brown went again to
Powell’s Café and there received final in-
structions from Emery Ells regarding the
proposed murder. Every detail was care-
fully planned. Ells then gave Brown a pair
of leather gloves, a flash-light and a re-
volver—the last named item to be used to
persuade some luckless individual to “lend”
his automobile to Brown for. the occasion.
At the last. moment, Brown called
Emery’s attention to the fact that he was
e
108
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True Detective Mysterves
who can accurately report the ensuing
ride and search, I shall let him tell in his
own words just how he “played his hunch”
—and the astounding result:
—o—_
By Detective FIrKas
We drove down the main drag of Hunt-
ington Park—that’s Pacific Avenue—and
looked in at the “Brown Mug”. No one an-
swering Brown’s description was in the
place, according to Moulton.
Then, while I kept a watchful eye on
my companion, we began a search of the
hotels and rooming-houses. We went in
and out of a half-dozen places, with no
success, and finally entered a rooming-
house on Randolph Street, just two blocks
from the “Brown Mug”, the suspect’s
known hangout.
The office of this building is on the sec-
ond floor. As Moulton and I started up
the stairs, we saw a man of youthful build
standing near the rail on the floor above.
His back was toward us at the time.
At sight of this figure, Moulton stopped.
“T’ll wait downstairs for you!” he whis-
pered, and at once began a hurried descent
of the stairs.
I DID some quick thinking. If I fol-
lowed my prisoner, to forestall his tak-
ing it on the lam, I would arouse the sus-
picions of the man who still stood at the
top of the stairway. Because of Moulton’s
peculiar actions, I suspected this fellow of
being my quarry.
I decided to take a chance on Moulton’s
honor, He was penniless and couldn’t get
far away. I signalled him to wait for me
below, and then proceeded to the second
floor. A blond-haired youth was in charge
of the desk.
“Is there a man named Brown living
here?” I asked, as casually as I could. ~
Meanwhile, the young fellow who had
been standing nearby had moved down the
hallway—but not before I had time to ob-
serve that he wore a moustache!
“No,” the clerk replied, after a second’s
hesitation.. “What does he look like?”
“Oh,” T lied, “he’s a middle aged man—
an old friend of mine. Harry’s his first
name.” :
“Nope. Nobody here by that name.’
“All right, thanks.” It was with ise
and some misgiving that I took my depar-
ture and went to look for Moulton.
My trust in him had not been misplaced.
He stood just outside the door, sweating
profusely,.as he invariably did when under
mental strain.
“Was. that Brown?”
“By golly, I.don’t know whether it was
or not! But. it looked something like him
from the back, and God knows I didn’t
want him to see me!’”
I decided. to’ park across the street for
awhile, in the hope:that Brown, if it were
he, would emerge’ from the building and,
afford Moulton a-better,look at him. For
the next two hours we sat. there, watching
the.- door: of. the- rooming-house, but our
man failed to appear, |
‘In the: -meanwhile, I had begun to doubt:
that-he was the Brown to whom Moulton
referred. The fellow we'd seen was below.
medium height, of slight build and about
‘as far. romoved from my’ conception of a
cold-blooded murderer as a man could be.
We returned to the station, where I saw
Moulton to his cell, and then went to re-
port to Inspector Davidson.
At the end of my account of the morn-
ing’s happenings, the smile on the In-
spector’s face was even more skeptical than
the one he’d worn the night before. |
could not convince him that Moulton’s
word was to be trusted. However, I did
get his permission to work on this angle
of the case until my belief in Moulton
should prove justified—or otherwise.
That afternoon, I visited Moulton again,
and escorted him to a restaurant where he
partook of a good meal. Back in his cell,
we conversed on various subjects not re-
lated to the murder, and I believed, when
I left him, that I'd managed to impress
him with the idea that I would “shoot
square” with him.
I was of the opinion that he would
“break” if detained long enough to be-
come thoroughly imbued with the fear that
he would be charged with the murder of
Merle Ells, He wasn’t the type to keep
bottled up within himself indefinitely any
knowledge that might tend to direct the
finger of suspicion away from him.
At ten o'clock that night I was once
more summoned to his cell. And this time,
when he showed signs of again evading
the issue—doubtless in the hope of being
taken out for a fancier meal than the jail
chefs served to the city’s guests—I adopted
a stern tone with him.
“Now, Moulton, I don’t intend to be led,
on any more wild goose chases, If you’ve
got anything on your mind, speak up!”
“Well,” he began weakly, “that fellow
we saw this morning looks a lot like
Emery’s friend, Brown.”
“Looks like’ isn’t enough!” I flared.
“Was it Brown we saw—or wasn’t it?”
“It was!” he said, in a barely audible
whisper, and immediately slumped down on
his cot as though utterly exhausted.
I waited a few moments for him to re-
cover, Then:
“All right, Ralph,” I said briskly, “that’s
what’ I’ve been waiting to hear. Come on,
tiow. We'll go get. some.pie and coffee
and talk this over.”.
Gratefully, he rose to accompany. me.
N the little restaurant next door to the
station, we discussed the matter. Moul-
ton was reluctant to accuse Brown, but it
was evident that he, definitely connected him
with the murder of Mrs, Ells.
“T’m not sayin’ he did it,” he insisted,
“not at all,. Maybe he’s as innocent as I
am, but I overheard him and Emery
talkin’ one time, and this .fellow Brown.
said he was a gunman; that he knew how
to handle machine-guns and ever’ kind of
a gun that was made. Besides, Emery and
I went down in the river-bed about a week
or ten days ago and tried out that old
twelve-gauge shotgun.of Emery’s! Some-
how, I kind of connected the two things—”
“Can you take me to the place in the
river-bed where you and Emery went?” I
asked eagerly.
“Sure can,. You'll find the empty shells
there, where we practiced. Now, mind you,
I’m not sayin’ that had anything to do with
this here murder—”
“I know, I know,” I put in impatiently,
“but it’ll bear looking into. Are you ready
to go back?” I could hardly contain myself
until Moulton .was safely in his cell once
more, and I was free to relay this latest
information to the Inspector and the other
boys working on the case.
It was then about midnight. I found In- .
acco
Troon
x
spec
thei:
one
gott
_!
34
culiar squeaky and nervous voice.
Brown explained that he was a glass
blower by trade and that since work
in his line -had been slack he was
killing time in California. “A ‘line’
helps a fellow get chow sometimes
when he’s hungry,” Brown explained.
“Tall stories make good listening.”
“Not this one!” the inspector roared.
Then he ordered Brandon brought
into the room.
Fearfully Brandon told his story.
Not once did his frightened eyes leave
Brown’s peaked face. He told of see-
ing Brown and Ells together, of plans
he had overheard them making to rob
a theatre in Huntington Park. He told
how the two had gone to the river to
try out the murder weapon.
“Of course we tried it out,” Brown
put in, blandly. “We planned a hunt-
ing trip. We wanted to be sure the
gun was in good condition.”
“So you admit knowing Emory
Ells?”
“Of course,” replied Brown. “He
staked me for food lots of times.”
“And knowing Ells, you knew his
wife by sight?”
‘{'m sorry to say that I never met
the woman. And after all, I can’t pos-
sibly see——”
“Did you know his wife’s name?”
Davidson asked.
“Why, no,” Brown faltered.
“They called her—Merle!” Filkes
fairly shouted the name.
Brown’s face paled. He swallowed
convulsively. “That was her name—
the other woman’s name!” he gasped
getting to his feet.
“What other woman’s name?”
“The doctor’s wife!” Brown re-
plied. “Emory Ells hired me to kill
her. He said she was sick and that her
husband wanted her put out of her
misery. Oh, my God!” he moaned as
he sank into his chair and covered his
face with his thin hands.
“Tll make a confession,” he said at
last. “God knows I didn’t mean to,
but I must have killed Ells’ wife!
Anyway, the woman’s name was
Merle.”
Inspector Davidson took a picture
of .the murdered woman from a
drawer and shoved it across the desk
to Brown.
“That is Ells wife,” Davidson said.
Brown blinked and covered his
eyes. “Oh, no!” he screamed. Then he
slumped in a dead faint.
When he was revived officers
learned the reason for his strange re-
action. Only when he saw the picture
did the killer realize the true identity
of the woman he had slain. She was
the pretty Santa Monica coffee shop
waitress with whom he was in love!
With her he had been shy and wor-
shipful. Because of her kindness to
him, Brown had come to love her.
But he never knew her name. She had
wanted it that way, he said. Besides,
“Dream Girl” was the only name that
fitted her.
Briefly, Brown’s story was this:
Broke and out of work he had con-
cocted the gangster background be~
cause it enabled him to obtain an in-
terested audience—and free meals.
He had hung around Emory Ells at
the cafe and Ells, he said, had finally
propositioned him to murder a wo-
man. For this job, Ells told Brown the
“doctor” was willing to pay $2,000.
cash.
Ells, according to Brown’s confes-
sion, took care of all details such as
pointing out the house where the wo-
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
man lived, supplying him with a key
to the porch, furnishing gloves and a
gun. Brown then committed the crime
as instructed, calling the woman by
name to awaken her so that she would
sit up and make a perfect target.
“I didn’t want to hurt the baby I
knew would be in bed with her,”
Brown explained. “Besides, Ells told
me to be careful. But I didn’t know it
was his wife or his baby! I swear I
didn’t!”
After the murder was committed
Brown returned to the cafe where
Ells was working and asked for an
advance on the $2,000. promised for
the crime. Ells gave him a total of
$2.20 and assured him that the “doc-
tor” would deliver the fee for his
services and ‘secrete it behind a sign-
board on Atlantic Avenue. But no
further payment was ever made,
Brown said.
Ells denied Brown’s account of the
murder which was thought to have
been planned for the purpose of help-
ing Emory Ells obtain custody of his
child.
Both men were given separate
trials. Emory Ells, who was tried first,
was convicted of first degree murder.
But the jury recommended mercy and
on January 12, 1931 he was given a
life sentence in San Quentin.
Benjamin Franklin Brown paid with
his life for the murder of the woman
he loved. He went to the gallows at
San Quentin on July 31, 1931.
Alfred Ells and Earl Brandon were
completely absolved from any connec-
tion with the crime.
In the parlance of gangland, every
crime has its payoff. But little did
Benjamin Franklin Brown suspect
that for blood money he was unwit-
tingly to take the life of the woman
he loved.
To protect the identity of an in-
nocent person, the name “Earl Bran-
don” is not actual, but fictitious.—
Eprror.
Held After Raid
S| eee ey hes
a Sesh Pa.
Neh tanta sl oh de ite tat il
“Dr.” Anna Swift is shown with New York City officer after police raided her
“Institute of Massage” at 8 West 70th Street. Dr, Swift was held on several
charges, including operating a massage parlor without a license. See caption
page 21.
The
(Cor
He pick
_& floor and
All fou
his hand,
magazine.
os dated Fel
placed o1
December
J Charlie’s |
fact-detec
Watermar
could see
{ crime just
patient de
“T wonc
zine? It’s
for us to
see if we
“They’r
For the s
swooped c
2 Brown
“Tll go
. If he’s
his way
“N
on tae
s block.
e street
ched by
irs. The
kas had
ess, the
landing,
second
ht they
uddenly
the first
see his
it. Why
Should
eone in
was he
or?
her he
or con-
arch of
s more
remem-
him hfs
not es-
e steps
Beside
bvious-
caused
ition.
began,
nd I’m
rg try-
end of
> clerk.
?” the
tective.
ver the
langed
Brown
man,”
could
Lives
le ex-
wering
hotel,”
mured
build-
digna-
m had
nat he
, what
envi-
of his
oward
await-
trem-
c run-
I had
. well,
yn the
think
back
k and
f. Da-
idon’s
itural,
ddle,”
hour
i his
sut to
Huntington Park together—now!”
“You_mean you’re not taking Bran-
don?” Baggott teased.
_ But Filkas was in no mood for josh-
ing.
“That skinny little guy in the hotel
lobby was Brown,” he said, as if try-
ing to convince himself that it was so.
“It must have been Brown. And Bag-
gott,” he continued. “Do you know
what I believe?”
“No, what?”
“Darned if I don’t believe the de-
scriptions of Brown and Merle Ells’
shy little admirer don’t sound alike.
That is,” he added, “it would seem so
if that little guy in the lobby was
Brown. And I believe he was.”
Baggott scratched his head. “I don’t
Savvy, Joe,” he said.
“You wouldn’t!” Filkas retorted. But
Brandon is sure he saw Brown eyeing
Ells’ wife. He hinted that he saw them
talking together. Maybe there is an
unrequited love angle in this case
after all!”
Baggott laughed. “Brandon’s making
a first-class monkey out of us on this
case,” he argued. “After one wild
goose chase it looks like you’d know
better——”
“Listen,” Filkas broke in. “Bran-
don’s put us on the right track. He’s
scared, sure. A lot of other fellows
might be scared, too, if they were in
his shoes. But I know we’re on the
“FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE
right track. He’s even identified the
murder weapon. He says Brown went
with Emory Eils to try it out one Sun-
day to be sure it worked.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so in the
first place,” Baggott replied. “What
are we waiting for?”
They raced to Huntington Park and
entered the hotel lobby to which
Brandon had led the detective earlier
in the day. The lobby was vacant.
Filkas tapped the night bell. This
time the night clerk appeared.
“We're looking for Brown, the
runty, sandy-haired man with the
bulging forehead who lives here,”
Filkas stated bluntly. “We're detec-
tives.”
“Let me warn you that ‘runt’ as
you call him, is. plenty tough,” the
clerk warned. “He may not look it,
but he’s a bad egg!’”
He directed them to Brown’s room.
“Now, watch your step,” he reiterated
’as he ducked out of sight.
Baggott banged on the door and a
split-second later a man’s voice called
out, “Who is it?” ~
“Friends of the night clerk,” Bag-
gott answered. “Let us in.”
A moment later a key turned in the
lock and the door was opened by a
skinny little man in his underwear.
“Mr. Brown?” .asked Filkas.
The little man began to shake like
a leaf in a windstorm. “Yes,” he fal-
33
tered, as his eyes shifted.
“You're under arrest,” Baggott
stated. “Now, hop into some clothes!”
Brown appeared bewildered. “You
can’t arrest me,” he protested. “I’ve
done nothing—absolutely nothing!”
The detectives made no reply but
began searching the room. There was
nothing among the man’s belongings
to indicate his profession as a machine
gunner.
Brown pleaded with the officers to
tell him the reason for his arrest. But
they maintained complete silence. All
the way back to headquarters he
talked to them of the atonement God
would call upon them to make for
“this grave injustice against an inno-
cent man.”
“T’ll take you both to church with
me Sunday morning,” he announced.
“That will clear your souls of this
terrible injustice!”
Am two hour’s questioning the
suspect, who gave his full name
as Benjamin Franklin Brown, had ad-
mitted nothing beyond the fact that
his name was Brown.
“Yes, I might have said I was a
machine gunner,” he admitted finally.
“But the other fellows around the
hotel talked like big shots and I might
have said I was a gangster just for
the fun of it. But, actually, I wouldn’t
harm a soul,” be confided in his pe-
Diagram of World’s Fair Bombing
ye
BOMB-FILLEO
SulT CASE
FOUND HERE
Liste : 2
*
PAVILION
omeenaainmaiiice
HALL OF Socials
BVENTS/acporPony Ate
r
‘Ll |
LAGOON OF
| NATIONS
:
ee
Here is a diagramatic version of the shocking World’s
Fair bombing that took the lives of two officers. (A) Suit-
case containing bomb was discovered in British Pavilion
by Electrician William Strachlin at 3:30 on the Fourth of
July. (B) Bomb Squad Detectives Joseph Lynch and Fer-
beet HAN LON
dinand Socha carried the suitcase from the Pavilion past
the Italian Building to a deserted spot behind the Polish
Building. (C) Bomb detonated as Lynch and Socha at-
tempted to render it harmless. Lynch and Socha were
killed outright; five others injured, two critically.
a
a
| HANDFUL
Benjamin F., wh, hanged
© Lagan a eee
He never dreamed they were the
same woman: the one he
worshiped, and the one he.
promised to murder , . .
FOR AD
OF NICKELS ©
amare er
= =
u Nearest thing to romance in Merle’s life was
scrawny man who mooned at her over his coftee.
a 48
i 2
bates tt we aa, wate iad A hE Cia i L8G mm owe
FRONT PAGE DETECTIVE,
March, 1954
by CALVI!
@ Floren
naw and
awakened
clock on
sound—n:
husband |
asleep, or
The w«
pillow wh
month-olc
rushing d
She rea
“What’s
The res
boy ran ji
covered w
The we
ened her
gether the
was no si
The wor
She scoop
husband t
Cannon
flicked the
which Me
“Oh, m)
tried to sj
seen. But
screaming
Twenty-
“When I r:
by CALVIN C. DEWEY
™@ Florence Cannon had been asleep. But she stirred
now and rose up on her elbows, wondering what had
awakened her. The phosphorescent hands of the
clock on the dresser showed 3 A.M. There was no
sound—nothing but the deep, steady breathing of her
husband beside her. Los Angeles was wrapped in fog,
asleep, on this Sunday, November 2,, 1930.
The woman had hardly lain her head back on her
pillow when she heard the sobbing of her sister’s 15-
month-old boy and then the sound of his little: feet
rushing down the. hall.
She reached and snapped on the light and calles out,
“What’s wrong, Billie? Tell Auntie Florence. . . ”
The rest of the words caught in her throat as the
boy ran into the room. _ From head to foot, he was
covered with blood!
The woman sprang from bed. Her scream awak- ©
ened her husband. He got out. of bed, ‘too, and to-
gether they ripped off the child’s nightclothes. There
was no sign of an injury on the boy.
The woman gasped. ‘Merle! My sister!” she said.
She scooped up her nephew and stumbled after her
husband to the front of the house.
Cannon, a red-headed, wide-shouldered man of 30,
flicked the wall switch in the big glassed-in sun porch
which Merle and her son used as a bedroom.
“Oh, my God!” Cannon cried-out. He turned and
tried to spare his wife from seeing what he had just
seen. But he was too late and she swayed against him,
screaming hysterically, Billie still cradled in her arms.
Twenty-one-year-old Merle (Continued on page 68) .
“When. I realized I had shot that girl,” said the wispy gunman, writing his confession, “life lost all attraction for me.”
Detectives Baggott and Filkas hold old, nicked shotgun
which Brown and Ells, seated, test-fired at the river.
ne
ut re-
ntered,
viewed
rawled
ring a
te slip.
iat the
almost
£ blood
other-
a long
was a
ye, in-
~
east
ait for
further
pulled
walked
dozen
eas a
of you
id have
1 taken
. “Ada
of. Of
As you
ig some
lending ,
‘
t,
OFFICERS WHO SOLVED THE
Participating in the case were
he bloody .
‘uel fiend.
a Sh RH cS Ae Beh j . J
a geen On pedis
é
ak e
HORRIBLE MURDER—
(1. to r.) Investigator Kessel, Police Chief
Viscia, District Attorney Tindall, Constable McCleary, and Deputy Shannan.
Robbery was not the motive for this
bloodthirsty crime of violence and
murder—what was the hidden reason?
them money. It’s just possible that
— one she helped out killed
er.”
_Chief Viscia, realizing it would be
some time before Sheriff Silva could
arrive, decided to question nearby
neighbors. He found one woman liv-
ing six houses down the street who
gave him the only lead.
“I was on my way up town last night
around dusk,” she told him. “I saw
a rouns fellow turn into Mrs. Turner’s
gate.” :
“Can you describe him?” Viscia
asked.
“He was young. I would say slender
and at least six feet tall. I noted he
was wearing blue overalls or jeans,
~-a blue work shirt, and work shoes.
His hair was dark and hung down
over his collar. That’s about all.”
“Would you recognize him if you
saw him again?”
“Yes, I think so.”
Figuring that it was nearing the
time for the arrival of officers from
Auburn, the Chief went back to the
Turner home., He spent the next few
moments inspecting the living quar-
ters above the basement.
et
5 “
i
‘ Pipe ie
T was a few moments later that
ned. -
p some .help ‘on this,”
Silva said as he surveyed the murder
scene. “There should be fingerprints
in here. I’m going to phone the state
bureau of criminal identification in
. Sacramento and have them send up
Owen Kessel to take over the scien-
tific end of the investigation.”
The Deputy Coroner knelt beside
the body and studied the wounds on
the head and throat.
“Sheriff, this is the work of a fiend,”
West exclaimed. “She was beaten
with some heavy object. Her throat
has been cut with a very sharp knife.
It looks like she struggled con-
siderably, After her assailant did
his worst, he dragged her by the heels
across the floor to this spot. She’s
been dead about twelve hours.”
“She was killed last night around
ten,” the Sheriff estimated as he
looked at his watch. “I suppose there
ae.
av,
KINDLY VICTIM—
Mrs. Ada Belle Turner—what was the
hidden motive for her savage slaying?
is some leeway to your estimate of
time.”
“Not more than an hour one way
or the other,” West saidas he con-
tinued with his investigation. “She
was slugged with something heavy,
because the bone is splintered around
the head wound. The jugular vein is
severed. That was done with a long
bladed and exceptionally sharp
kn ife.”” .
The Sheriff made notes as West
talked. “What kind of object do you
think she was slugged with?” he
asked.
vA hammer of large size or a pipe.
It's hard to tell just what it might
have been.”
After the Coroner removed the body,
Sheriff Silva and the District Attorney
stood surveying the murder room.
SLAYER'S MOUNTAIN HOME—
Ranch house where killer lived. Here
his blood-stained clothes were found.
ae
In one corner an electric washer
crowded two stationary tubs. A long
table stood against one wall. A
wooden cupboard was against another
wall.
- “This is a funny place for a woman
to be around 10 o’clock on a Sunday
night,” the D. A. remarked.
“You're right, and I was wondering
if the killer didn’t force her to come
down here,” Viscia said, “but the
more I think about it, the less I think
that likely. I think she came down
here with the murderer, never expect-
ing to have any trouble. It was no
doubt some one she’ knew.”
“Why do you think that?” Sparks
wanted to know.
“I looked around upstairs. There
was no sign of a struggle up there.
I’m sure it was not done for robbery:
I found $100 in her purse on the hall
table. There was about another $50
in a jar in the cupboard. Jewelry,
two watches and three valuable guns
are in the front bedroom. All are
of considerable value. A_ robber
wouldn’t have missed all those things.”
“It seems logical,” Sheriff Silva
agreed. “No struggle upstairs and
apparently none down here. Every-
thing seems to be in place. Of
course the killer could have forced
her to come down here at the point
of a gun or the point of a sharp knife.”
“But what gets me,” Sparks said,
“is what was down here that anyone
would want.”
“I don’t know the answer to that
one,” the Sheriff said. “Of course it
could have beeh for revenge or hate.
West said she had been dragged across
the floor. It’s easy to follow the trail.
The body lay in front of that cup-
board and ‘then was dragged over
to here.”
a | Sparks agreed. “It’s a
good bet that she was slugged first,
but she didn’t die right’ away, so the
killer took his knife and cut her
throat. But why did he drag her al-
most across the room?”
Being careful not to touch anything
in the room until Owen Kessel could
arrive and dust prospective areas, for
‘when he tried _ to force her.
fingerprints, the officers began u
search for the murder weapon, but
no trace was found of either a knife or
an object that could have been used
to club the woman with. Viscia left
to carry on further questioning of
the neighbors.
“Well, well,” the Sheriff suddenly
exclaimed. “It looks like the slayer
was here for some time. Here are
three cigarette butts near this table
leg.”
“Maybe they both were here for
some time,” i almig suggested. “If
there was something down here some-
one wanted, he may have been trying
to talk her into giving it to him.”
“Possible,” Silva agreed, as _ he
crawled along the floor peering into
every dark corner of the room. “Well,
T’ll be darned, here’s an unsmoked
cigar. It was against the leg of the
cupboard.” He retrieved it and held
it up for Sparks to see. They placed
‘the cigarettes and cigar alongside
each other. “I'll bet that fell out of
the pocket of the killer when he
stooped over to drag the body.” Both
were —- brands and thus would
be hard to trace to any certain
person.
“This certainly opens up a new
possibility,” Sparks said.
“What do you mean?”
“It isn’t customary for a man to
smoke both cigarettes and cigars, so
it’s ible that two men were here
at the time of the murder.”>
“You're right on that. If two per-
sons were here, it may make it easier
to get them. The murderer must have
been in a rage about something,” the
Sheriff estimated, “and the more I
look at that cupboard, the more con-
vinced I become that it figures in the
case, ‘The use of the weapons .took
place in front of it, and the Killer
dragged the body away from it. There
was something inside he wanted, and
Mrs. Turner refused to open it, even
: x. He lost
his head and clubbed her. But what
was in there he wanted?” :
Sparks tried to open the cupboard
doors but they were securely locked.
“We'll have. to find the key or
break...” .
“IAPHAT goes on here?” a voice broke
in. It was Owen Kessel, and close
behind him were a mf Sheriffs
John L. Shannan and Charles Dolce.
“Oh, hello, Owen,” Silva said as
he nodded his head to Shannan and
Dolce. “We’ve got a good one. One
of the county’s most prominent
women was murdered. The Coroner
has removed the body.” He explained.
in. detail what he knew about the
case. “We think that locked cup-
board had something to do with it.
We were just going to see if we could
out what she kept in it, and a
key to open it.” oe
“All right. While you are doing
that, I'll see if I can find some finger
prints. Dolce can help me.”
“Let’s find Viscia. He should be
able to take us to one of the neighbors
who might know.”
Viscia took the Sheriff, Shannan
and Sparks to Mrs. Scarborough’s
home where he introduced the of-
ficers. “How well did you know Mrs.
Turner?” Silva asked.
“She was my best friend,” the
woman replied.
“Can you tell us what she kept in
the “eg te in the laundry room?”
“Belle has become known over these
hills 4s a person who took care of
began a § Bob’s friends since he died,” the
apon, but woman began. “Her husband always
a knife or p did before. She carried on the prac-
een used tice. She has grubstaked a lot of
Tiscia left cowboys and miners. Belle kept
ioning of f = track of everything. _She used to
= notes and receipts in a tin strong
suddenly x. Then she’d put the box and the
he slayer things the men left with her in the
Here are ; Cupboard.
his table You'll find most of the men she
helped insisted on leaving something ,
here for f 48 Security. . If-a man wanted to bor-
sted. “If row ten or fifteen dollars, he might
re some- put up his boots or something else he
en trying considered of value. She didn’t want
hin A to take these things, but she did be-
as he eave she figured it made them feel
“ : - er,”
eT “We haven’t found a key to it.
nemoked Do F seg know where she kept it?”
g of the “Yes. She carried one key on a
ind held string. She had a couple of extra
y placed ones,’ They should be hanging on a
longside nail in the kitchen cu board.’
Hl out of “Thanks, Mrs, Scarborough. We
shen he haven’t seen anything of a key on a
»”” Both string. The murderer probably got
5 would that one. We'll try one of the upli-
contain cates. If hy think of anythin else
which might help be sure to te me,”
a new | Silva said as they took leave.
“Fingerprints in here are all
smudged,” Kessel told Silva when the
man to weriit_ came down from the kitchen
gars. so with the duplicate keys to the cup-
e here board. “Dolce and I found something
else that should interest you.” He
vo per- handed Silva a splinter of wood,
: aoe highly polished on one side.
‘ gs, A ?? ;
rie ‘That splinter has been broken off
xe % the stock of a rifle,” the investigator
te Cokes told him-- “I bet you will find the
; in the ; killer hit the woman in the head with
1s tank his gun, and = it broke that splinter
” iller off the stock.” .
There “Sounds reasonable,” Silva agreed.
sd, and ‘Now that I study it, there is no
. oean doubt this is part of &@ gun stock. It
de lost doesn’t look like we will find either
t what weapon around here.”
“ that way,” Kessel agreed.
board “Let’s see what is in the cupboard
tooled before we decide what next to do,”
ie ae Silva to’ iscla as Sparks returned.’
y and handed him a key. Silva gave
f =oit to Kessel. “You open it,” he said. KILLER LOSES HIS LONG, CURLY LocKks—
broke Pg ces what you want to dust The long-haired murderer of Mrs. Ada Belle Turner gets a-much needed haircut
: Seer There was an odd assortment in the. from barber William Brown and seems to find the whole process vastly amusing.
Dales cupboard .On the shelves were the tin
aid as box, a pair of fancy butterfly design the description of the one entering The two saddle horses which she had
n and cowboy boots, a coiled Brass lariat, the gate Sunday night. If he was a often ridden were found in the barn,
One a Colt revolver, a pair of silver spurs, stranger, he would probably try to but nothing to indicate a. killer had
ainent a miner’s pick, and a silver cup won get a ride out on a train, or thumb been around was discovered.
yroner by some one as an award at a rodeo. a ride on the highway. Check with .Let’s see if we can find any foot-
lained. Kessel dusted the box. Several good the Southern Pacific officers—maybe prints,” Kessel suggested. “This area
it the prints were reproduced. Carefully he they can help. There’s a fair size around the barn is packed hard, so
cup- opened it so as not to blur the prints. hobo jungle here. Look into that. let’s work out in a circle.”
ith it. The officers crowded around Kessel. Talk with the Service station and auto They soon found themselves in an
could a There were some notes for small loans court operators. One of them may orchard behind the. barn. About a
and a and a bank folder of cancelled checks. have seen our man leaving or enter- hundred feet away from the house
“Sure not much there,” Silva said. ing town. I want to look around the they found two tracks left by a hea
doing _“No. These notes don’t even men- house, -yard and barn.” The Sheriff man. They were broad, square-toed
finger tion names,” Kessel said. “I doubt also Sprnied in detail all known and rubber heeled. “They look like
if there is a thing in here that will facts of the case, so to insure the they were made with heavy work
d be help us.” He read the notes. It took best possible’ results. shoes,” Kessel said. “What’s on the
hbors but a few seconds to discover that other side of the orchard?” The of-
pm were for the items found on the - @ILVA, Sparks, and Kessel entered _ficers slowly worked their way up the
nnan shelves. “If any one killed her to get § the house and made a survey. hill. .
ugh’s into this cupboard to get something .They found everything in order A fence bounded the orchard. A
Na P back he had borrow on, he took As Viscia had said, theré were mioney- gate gave entrance to a hilly field
“Mrs. both the item and the loan note,” and other valuables within easy reac spotted with mountain brush. Be-
he said, . of anyone who had been intent on yond that pasture lay the railroad.
the “Looks that way,” Silva agreed. robbery. Nothing had apparently “Those ootprints were headed
“That seems to be about all we can been disturbed. This fact, all agreed, Straight toward this gate,” Sparks
let out the robbery theory. said. “The Perpon who killed Mrs.
At sixty years of age, Mrs. Turner Turner left during the night. If he
had been ‘an active woman. The came through the orchard to this
well-kept yard developed no clues. ate, he had been here before, and he
4i
Ee f
aR
LED PROSECUTION— ‘ SHREWD DETECTIVE— ;
Former District Attorney Lowell Sparks (who is now Judge of Sheriff Charles Silva, who deduced that mere robbery was not
Placer County Superior Court) won his case vs. the killer. the motive. behind ‘the bloodthirsty slaughter of Mrs. Turner,
knew his way around., I think our the other hand, a man riding a freight morning and my nose ‘bled all over.
killer lives in this area.” train doesn’t carry a rifle.” I don’t know what this is. all about.
“If he didn’t,” Silva agreed, “he “Don’t forget the cigarettes and But whatever it is, I don’t know a
probably jumped a freight and’ beat cigar,” Sparks interposed. “They in- thing. I came in on a freight about
it.”’ : dicate two men were on the job. Let’s two hours ago.” .
assume some fellow came to Mrs. “Son,” the Sheriff said, “there’s been
N the meantime, Viscia, Dolce and .Turner’s for a handout. She gave an old lady murdered here. You fit
] Shannan, assisted by officers from him some money with which to buy the description of the man who was
Viscia’s department and. the a meal. After he left, he got to seen going in here last night. We'll
Southern Pacific Railroad, were at- thinking about robbing her and see what the party says who. saw the
tempting to pick up the trail of any picked up a fellow to help him. ‘The man.”
person answering the description of rst man was a stranger, but the ‘
the visitor to the Turner home or a second one was a local man, and he HE protesting youth _Was_ soon
person carrying a gun. used his rifle for the job.” ' J viewed by the neighbor. “Sheriff,
The hobo jungles were empty. “Don’t forget the money we found “he looks like the man, yet I am not
Business places along the ‘state high- upstairs and that the house wasn't entirely certain,” the woman said.
way developed no clues, but at an ransacked,” Viscia said. “Your theory _The prisoner was locked up while
eating place near the rai road,. Viscia won't hold water. The pieces of the Silva pushed the investigation. The
struck the trail of the man. : puzzle just don’t fit together.” suspect's shoes fitted the tracks in the
. “A man answering that description “We can’t form any definite theory orchard so well that officers felt more
ate breakfast in here early this from what facts we have so. far,” certain than before that he might be
morning right after I opened up,” the Silva said. : ; : their man. Kessel made preparations
owner told him. “He was a Shaggy ~ As they discussed the various phases to make a scientific test of the blood-
fellow, had long black hair that hung of the case, endeavoring to dovetail stained clothing.
to his shoulders, wore an-old slough one fact led to another, Shannan and . The-next day Kessel’s report re-
hat, and walked with a shuffle.” police officers drove up with four vealed that the blood from the
“Did he have a gun?” . men they had picked up. clothing was the same type as that of
“Didn’t see one. As a matter of “This fellow looks like the best. Mrs. Turner, but it was also the same
fact, he didn’t even ane a bundle.” bet,” Deputy Shannan Said, as he as that of the Suspect. The three
2id he smoke any?” Viscia asked. pushed him forward. “There are other prisoners had eventually proved
“Yes, one cigarette after another. blood stains on his shirt and pants.” airtight alibis. Officers again searched
‘He was lighting one as he walked off The officers looked at him: and the Turner home, the barn, the or-
toward the railroad.” : ‘were pleased to note that he fitted the chard, the brush covered field back of
Viscia returned to the Turner home description of the hunted man almost the orchard, and the hobo jungle along
and reported his discovery, after he perfectly. He was a tall young man. the railroad tracks. Not another clue
had ordered the other officers to con-. Dark hair hung over his collar, He did they find.
tinue the search and pick up any sus- wore overall jeans and a blue work- “The only thing we haven’t tried
picious characters, shirt. His shoes were heavy. to do anything with is the cigar and
“Tt appears,” Silva began, “that our Kessel looked at the bloodstains. cigarettes,” Silva told S arks. “Be-
man made his getaway on a train, “Where did you get them, fellow?” ing well known bran Ss, probably
but what about the rifle? He could he questioned. every merchant in town handles
have hidden it until after he ate. On “I had a fight in Reno yesterday them.”
106
The gunman’s eyes fell on her diamond
ring. “That’s what I want,” he snapped,
stripping it roughly from her finger.
Other passengers caught the move, and
realized for the first time that a holdup
was under way.
he train roared on while a score of
men and women, too terrified to leave
their seats, edged about trying desperately
to conceal their valuables.
Trapped in the speeding train they real-
ized their helplessness; realized that none
could escape from the armed man in com-
mand.
Would he go berserk and shoot? Would
someone resist and add bloodshed to their
horror? :
Systematically, the robber went from
one passenger to another, like a conductor
gathering tickets. Mrs. I. L. Doty emptied
her handbag in his hands. W. J. Brown
gave up $10—all he had. The Pullman
conductor parted with his wallet. Not
a person in the car was overlooked.
We the last victim had given up his
coin, the lone desperado swept his gun
from side to side in a bold, menacing
gesture. He still was in command of the
situation.
There were a few moments of terrifying
silence. And then Brakeman Robbins
spoke.
Duty was calling him in the face of dan-
ger. A seasoned railroad man, he put his
train ahead of his life.
“We're coming to a crossing,” he said
softly. “I’ve got to get out and flag it.”
“What kind of a game is that?” growled
the robber.
“Honest, old man,” the brakeman
argued. “It’s got to be done.”
For a moment the gunman hesitated.
Then with an oath, he told Robbins to
hurry along.
“Your life won’t be worth much if you
try any monkey business,” he warned.
The trainman dashed to the rear of the
car. An instant later there’ was a hissing
sound that sent shivers through the cowed
passengers in the car. Robbins, risking his
life, had tugged twice on the air emer-
gency cord—a signal to the engineer to
come to a stop.
A curse fell from the lips of the bandit.
Like a flash he bolted for the vestibule.
“Give him a ‘go’ signal or I'll kill you,”
he ordered.
Robbins felt the end of a gun pressed
into his back. He obeyed.
Then came a new complication for the
desperado.
Into the Pullman from the opposite end
stepped H. BE. Montague, a company
passenger agent, carrying a bag in his
hand. He moved forward quickly, un-
aware of what was taking place.
Half way through the car the bandit
came dashing madly toward him, his gun
in hand, pointing at the newcomer. Mon-
tages stopped short, too startled to pro-
ceed..
“Give me your wallet,” was the order.
The passenger agent reached for his
pocket.
Then, as though he had suddenly gone
mad, with one, wild grab the gunman
seized Montague’s vest front in his hand.
Instinctively, the other raised his arm,
fearing a blow.
There was a blinding flash. Montague
reeled with a bullet in his head, stumbled,
and crumpled to the floor—dead.
Panic gripped the car. Women shrieked.
Men sat trembling, afraid to move.
The killer glanced for a moment at the
prostrate form beside him; then leveled
his gun again at Montague.
A second shot rang out—whizzing
through the speeding Pullman, crashing
into woodwork.
. through crowded coaches.
1rue Detective Mysteries
With a wild stare he looked again at
the still form on the floor.
“T think that will hold you for awhile,”
he sneered at the man he had murdered,
Now his gaze switched abruptly to
Brakeman Robbins.
“Come on, you,” he commanded. “Give
them the signal to stop.”
Robbins walked to the rear vestibule,
the slayer at his heels.
few_moments later the train slowed
down. Then back into the car—alone—
came Robbins. “He’s gone,” he shouted
to the horrified passengers. “He jumped
off—he got away.”
With the train at a dead stop, con-
ductors and brakemen came running
toward the’ Pullman, curious to learn the
cause of the sudden signal, suspecting
trouble. Like wildfire the word went
Passengers
rushed out, hurrying to the murder scene
Have You
a Story?
If you have in mind any
fact case, with actual photo-
graphs, deemed suitable for
publication in the magazine,
Please address the Editor,
TRUE DETECTIVE MyYSs.-
TERIES, Chanin Building, 122
East 42nd St., New York City,
and ask for our “Letter of Sug-
gestions,” covering full infor-
mation relative to writing the
accounts of fact crime cases
for this magazine.
for a view of the dead man, and to get
particulars.
Meanwhile the alarm had been sounded
from a near-by telephone. Quickly it was
relayed to the Southern Pacific special
agents at Los Angeles, to the sheriff’s
office there, and to peace officers closer to
the scene. I got the word in my San Fran-
cisco office and hurried south. /
When I reached the scene in record time,
I found hundreds of officers, sheriff’s depu-
ties and railroad police converging in a
manhunt that spread over all of Southern
California.
“There’s no doubt that the killer was
the same bandit who held up No. 5 last
November,” our agent told me as we sat
dqwn to go over details, “The descrip-
tions fit to a ‘T’, Every passenger and
trainman who saw the bandit yesterday
has described him—the same slender build,
the same brown ha‘r. And above all,
those same gray eycs—narrow eyes, deep
and_penetrating—the eyes that the people
on No. 5 were so careful to describe. A
nervous worker, they say—nervous like the
man in that first stickup. But desperate
and cold-blooded.”
“Any line on him?” I inquired anxiously.
The agent shook his head,
“None whatever,” he answered. “We
couldn’t even trace the footprints where
he left the train. Not far from there is a
street car line that runs into Los An-
geles. We thought he probably hopped a
car for the city. We've interviewed every
man on that line. And not one remembers
seeing a passenger of that description.”
“A confederate was waiting for him, per-
haps,” I suggested.
“Wouldn’t be surprised,” said the other.
“Seems as if he had picked the spot for
his getaway beforehand—then again he
seems to be a solitary operator. Remem-
ber, we couldn’t find any trace of a part-
ner the last time.”
A manhunt as thorough as any ever
organized in Southern California was soon
under way. The whole Los Angeles po-
lice department was thrown into the
search. Every section of the city was
being watched.
Deputy sheriffs were stopping cars on
the merest suspicion. Railroad stations
were guarded. San Francisco and north
state points had been warned to be on
the lookout. Still not a clue could be
uncovered.
The Southern Pacific Company imme-
diately offered a reward of $5,000 for his
capture. New circulars announcing this
offer and bearing detailed descriptions of
the murderer were printed and sent broad-
cast throughout the United States’
Chief Kindelon took personal charge of
the case. I marveled at his determination,
his systematic mode of operation—the un-
usual characteristics I had noted in him
so many times before. He was at his
desk from early morning until long after
midnight, day after day, reading reports,
interviewing officers, dispatching orders to
one point and another,
“The pawnshops are bound to give us a
lead—some time or another,” he declared
at one of the office conferences during
those hectic days. “We’ve had them on
the lookout for Mrs. Murphy’s watch. Now
we’ve got to put them on their toes watch-
ing out for Mrs. Colen’s diamond ring.”
He pressed his buzzer for a secretary.
“GOME one of these days,” he went on,
“one of these pieces of jewelry is go-
ing to turn up in pawn. It may be found
in California. It might show up in Ken-
tucky—anywhere. But the instant it ap-
pears we’ve got to know about it. That
moment we’re on a lead that will get our
man, I don’t care where he is.”
Kindelon turned to his secretary and
dictated an order. It called for new in-
structions to be printed by the thousands,
to be sent to every state in the Union,
calling for pawnbrokers everywhere to
keep alert for two pieces of jewelry—a
ring and a watch—that a will-o’-the-wisp
gunman would be likely to rid himself
of as he fled from his pursuers.
“You don’t think he’ll hold on to them,
though?” I suggested.
Chief Kindelon put down his cigar and
stared at me impatiently. “Not on your
life, Dan,” he retored. “That. stuff’s too’
hot for any man to keep—too hot to
hold on to a minute longer than he has
to. You just wait and see.”
I had seen too many of Mr, Kindelon’s
predictions borne out in the past to ques-
tion his judgment. I was willing to accept
his theory again.
Days rolled by and with them went
blasted hopes. Scarcely an hour that did
not see some message, a wire or a phone
call, announcing capture of a suspect. One
had our man in Oregon. Another had him
cornered near the Mexican line, And
every flash evaporated like a pricked
balloon.
So it went until nearly two weeks after
the holdup.
‘It was the afternoon of December 13th.
I had just pulled up a chair to Mr. Kinde-
lon’s desk. He snatched the telephone at
the first sound of the bell, ‘impatient at
the interruption.
“What’s that? Say that again,” he
snapped excitedly, and the look in his
eves
bro!
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gunman’s commands, they realized, would bring disaster.
dragged her back, forcing her roughly into her seat. “More
of that and you'll be sorry,” he snapped. “Now what ya got?”
sapphire ring, a watch and her purse containing $9 in cash.
open and Train Conductor J. Watson stepped into
(Extreme left) Chief Spe-
cial Agent Daniel O’Con-
nell, co-author, points to
the circular in which the
Southern Pacific Company
offered $5000 for the cap-
ture of the murdering bandit
(Below) As train No. 9
sped toward El Monte, Cal-
ifornia, two men in: the
smoking room were sud-
denly menaced by a gun-
wielding phantom. “Stick
’em up,” the intruder snarled
With an oath, the holdup man seized the terrified woman,
Nervously Mrs. Murphy handed over a diamond. and
At that moment the rear door of the Pullman swung
a
the car, entirely unaware that a holdup was ——o
being perpetrated by a daring gunman. ms
Instantly Watson found himself ty 9
face to face with the bandit, * dhl
who stood with gun out- aie
stretched. “Come
up here to
ae True Detective Mvsteries , (
me,” the latter commanded. “And no monkey business.”
Watson moved forward, thinking fast. And an idea slipped
through his mind. He would try to edge by the robber,
gain the rear platform, and sound the alarm.
But he was outwitted as the gunman caught his move,
stopped him with an ugly threat, and ordered him into a
seat beside Conductor Ames.
The train now was moving at a faster clip, gaining speed,
nearing the end of the run.
Dr. A. B. Clark, elderly and deaf, next stepped into the
car. He did not hear the robber’s order and the threat
accompanying it. But he caught sight of the gun and turned
back for the door. He was grabbed.
“He’s deaf,” Conductor Watson shouted. “I’ll make him
understand.”
Ys stan yelled at the doctor. Confused and shaken
the elderly man contributed another $20 to the gun-
man’s pocket.
After the final victim, Pullman Porter T. R. Clark, had
been relieved of a few dollars, the holdup man turned to
Watson and:asked if the train stopped at Richmond Station.
“No,” the conductor told him. “Our next stop is the Six-
teenth Street Depot in Oakland.” The bandit evidently had
reckoned wrong.
“Then you trainmen get to the rear and turn the emer-
gency valve,” he directed. “I’m getting off—getting off as
fast as I can.”
_' The four men bolted to the rear of the car, failed to find
the valve, and were ordered to pull the emergency cord for
a stop. There was a hissing sound; then a grinding of
wheels. With a jerk, the train came to a sudden halt oppo-
site the Pullman shops at Richmond. '
With a menacing swing of his gun, the desperado backed
his way through the car and leaped from the platform: A
" moment later he was out of sight.
Trainmen came running back, wondering what was the
cause of the sudden stop. They rushed to telephones and
gave the alarm. In less than an hour officers were going
over the ground, hunting for clues, seeking some trace of
the vanished bandit.
In the office of Chief Special Agent Patrick Kindelon at
San Francisco, particulars of the train holdup first reached
me, At that time. IT was Kindelon’s first assistant.
‘Together we phoned the sheriffs of Alameda and Contra
Costa counties; rushed orders to our officers along the way.
Then we made for the scene together.
On our arrival we found that passengers and trainmen
agreed on a description of the fugitive. His age seemed to
be between twenty-five and thirty; his weight about 155
pounds. He had brown hair, gray eyes, a pointed nose and
a sallow complexion. He was slender. His dark suit and
brown derby, they declared, were much the worse for wear.
And his gun looked like a .38 with a black handle and four-
inch barrel.
Of still another point all of the passengers were certain.
The bandit was extremely nervous throughout the robbery,
they said, and his manner was tough. They felt he would
have killed anyone who showed resistance.
Around the Richmond shops the country had been searched
for miles. No footprints or tell-tale clues had been found.
No one had seen a fleeing man. The trail was cold.
Some thought the robber was hiding close by, waiting for
a getaway. Others guessed he had hopped a train or a
passing car. It was all conjecture.
Our next days were crammed with feverish activity. By
telephone and telegraph descriptions of the wanted man
were broadcast from one end of the state to the other.
Police everywhere threw themselves into the manhunt,
watching railroad depots and highways, searching rooming
houses. In every large city underworld hangouts were
combed. Not a stone was left unturned.
Suspicious characters were picked up, questioned, and
allowed to go. And still not a trace had been found of the
man we wanted.
In San Francisco we were busy along another line. We
took the holdup victims, both passengers and crew, to the
identification bureau at Police Headquarters. We let them
pore for hours over pictures of known robbers, ex-convicts
who might be capable of such a job. Not a single photograph
was identified as that of the bandit.
A reward of $500 for information leading to the robber’s
capture was offered by the Southern Pacific. This offer was
printed on circulars, bearing the fugitive’s description and
bare details of the crime. By hundreds we sent them. from
one end of the country to the other, (Continued on page 105) <
Se ere ee
(Below) Locomotive Engineer Arthur M. Colen, in the cab of
the crack Southern Pacific train, “The Daylight.” His quick
eye and retentive memory brought about the gunman’s capture
“That will hold you for awhile,”
sneered the lone bandit (above) as
he fired a second shot into the body
of his defenseless, prostrate victim
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After ten minutes had passed without
a sign of life from inside the house. Motor-
cycle Officer Carl McGill crawled up on
the front porch, then went inside the house
—but the tear gas forced him outside.
Detective Buster Kern tried to get in but
also was driven out.
The policemen borrowed gas masks from
a company of firemen who had been called
to fight any possible blaze and with these
they went inside.
hey went warily up the stairs, after
searching the downstairs rooms, their tom-
my guns and pistols held in readiness.
The upstairs front rooms were searched
first but nothing was found. Then the
door of the back bedroom was opened—
there on the bed lay a man in lavender
underclothing, a shotgun on one side of
him, a .45 caliber pistol on the other.
"PES was & gaping wound in his left
breast where a charge of buckshot had
snuffed out his life. And ‘there was an
old bullet wound on his right cheek.
Detective Kern took one look at the
prostrate man and ran to the window,
leaned out and yelled:
“It’s him! He’s killed himself!”
Caution was thrown to the winds by the
mass of officers who went into the house
to look at what was left of Lawrence Rea.
Even though several officers: recognized
the man immediately, having seen his pic-
tures in the police identification rooms, his
identity was not official until Houston
fingerprint men had compared the prints
of the dead man with those of the hunted
killer, which were on file in every Texas
police station.
Somehow, during his flight after the
Austin killing, Rea had dyed his hair jet
black. :
Beside the outlaw on the bed was a
newspaper which headlined a story telling
of his flight to Houston with the three
kidnaped Austin men. He had evidently
been reading the story as officers closed
in around him.
Justice of the Peace Tom Maes was
called to conduct an official inquest and
True Detective Mysteries
ruled that Lawrence had committed sui-
cide—Lawrence Rea, the bad man who
could dish it out but couldn’t take it!
Both Mrs. Starke and Billingsley were
taken to Houston Police Headquarters for
questioning but little was learned from
them, the man maintaining that he did
not know Rea at all, and the woman say-
ing that Rea had been to the house before
to place bets on horse races which were
accepted by her husband, a bookie. She
said Rea was known by her and her hus-
band under another name. He had asked
her for a place to take a nap after mak-
ing a $5 bet Monday morning, she said.
Immediately after the suicide, Carver
telephoned his superior in San Antonio,
telling him the news. Meeks telephoned
me and I rejoiced with him that our
officers had had something to do with
ridding Toxas of one of the cruclest and
most daring bandits that our state, with
all its history of bad men, had ever known.
After Carver, Klevenhagen and Heard
returned home, to be praised on every
side by fellow officers and newspapers all
over the state, we all settled down to a
search, which we hope will not be long,
for the smaller-fry members of Rea’s ban-
dit gang.
We are certain that they will not dare
begin another series of holdups without
their cunning and murderous leader to
guide them.
Although officers in San Antonio, Hous-
ton and Austin have spent many weary
hours looking for the loot of Rea and his
gang. none has been recovered except the
relatively small amount left in the car
which Rea abandoned at the Claremont
Street house in Austin prior to the Pay-
ton shooting.
G-men are still working with us on the
Rea case as we search for those who har-
bored the criminal during his mad dashes
across the state, from holdup to holdup.,
Mrs. Payton and her son recovered
from their wounds and were soon able to
join their family which, due to the cold-
blooded act of a despicable: killer, is now
without a father.
Murder on Southern Pacific Train No. 9
(Continued from page 22)
enlisting the aid of officers in every state.
The hunt now was nation-wide.
We had another angle, too, that called
for the help of police throughout the con-
tinent. Mrs. Murphy, one of the Pullman
passengers, was able to give us the num-
ber of her watch, taken by the robber.
She had jotted it down in a notebook in
case it ever should be lost. Now we hoped.
the timepiece would show up in a pawn-
shop. It might lead to the fugitive.
We sent the watch number to police in
hundreds of citics and towns, asking that
pawnshops be watched. The watch, we
suggested, might even show up on the
person of someone arrested for another
crime.
A week passed and two. The third
week had nearly gone when the unex-
pected happened.
Another Southern Pacific train holdup
by « lone bandit—a, robbery similar to the
first! Only this time it was in Southern
California, nearly 500 miles from the
scene of the other.
Working in defiance of the far-flung
manhunt, the gunman hid himself aboard
No. 9. As the train sped toward the little
station of El Monte, thirteen miles south-
east of Los Angeles, he appeared suddenly
in the rear smoking compartment of the
Pullman car “Hondo.” ;
Arthur M. Colen, locomotive engineer
of the Southérn Pacific, traveling on his
honeymoon, was the first to spy the in-
truder. Before *he could warn Brakeman
A. Robbins at his side, the two were
looking into the muzzle of a revolver.
“Stick ’em up,” the robber commanded.
“Both of you.”
For a split second Colen hesitated. In
his hip pocket was a loaded gun, carried
for just such an emergency.
“Shall I try it?” he asked himself,
thinking fast. The bandit sensed the de-
lay and edged up closer.
Colen’s hands went up. But through
his mind raced a single thought. He'd
get as vivid a mental picture of the robber
as he could.
“ AND if I ever see him again—lI’ll know
him,” he thought. His eyes were
fixed on the gunman’s face.
Quickly the bandit searched his two
victims. Colen’s gun was snatched from
his pocket.
“Now turn around—face the wall,” they
were ordered. “And keep your hands up.”
They were searched a second time and
their money taken.
“Get moving down the car—I’ll follow
you,” the robber now directed, starting
toward Mrs. Colen, seated a few yards
away in the crowded Pullman.
“But I have no money,” the bride pro-
tested a few moments later, opening her
handbag to prove her plea.
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pete meninane
in jail they wrote notes to each other
on’ the backs of chewing gum paper.
Some of them follow:
—Annie, don’t be mad because I put’
it all on you. I had to tell something.
Keep your mouth shut Annie and we'll
get out of this. I don’t care if you
are mad, Annie, I got another girl.
RALPH
Mrs. Willow replied:
My dear Ralph—Don’t act so mean
to me. Write to. me and love me like
you did before, because we hain’t here
long any more.—We have to take what
we get and that is about twenty years
but Ralph that don’t worry me. It
worries me about you, that you don’t
have no love for me any more. If you
don’t I like you anyhow. Write and
tell me if you don’t like me any more
and if you are mad at me—I bought
you a lot of things. But that’s all right
if you wouldn’t go back on me. And
yet Ralph you have me in trouble. That
means something to get me in such a
way and then don’t stick to me. That
is what worries me so. That we have to
cut our love in two.
Now Ralph, remember your dear little
child to your mother’s if that will suit
you—from your loving friend Anna, to
my dear loving friend Ralph.
Ralph wrote:
Now Annie, if you are in trouble
it happened the last time I was at
home. If you are that way, why my
mother will take it after it is born.
Just send it out to my mother. She
will take care of it well, Annie, if it
should happen that we have to leave
each other ask your lawyers if I dare
come down that I would like to talk
to you. I want to kiss you and hug
you good-bye for the last time. I just
think it would break my heart in two
if we have to leave each other, Annie,
I could not sleep the first five nights
I heard you when they fetched you in
and I had to cry all day because I made
you lots of trouble and I pity the poor
children that they have no mother to
take care of them nor father. Good-bye
and a kiss for you.
RALPH
Well Annie, if I would knowed that
»you would get penned up why I would
killed that long necked Francis Gember-
ling and Fox. They just come up there
to find out things Annie. Don’t give me
away.
Well Annie, how are you feeling this
morning. Hope alright. I am feeling
good. How do you like your new home?
I guess we have to like it. It don’t go
like I thought it should go. Annie I
have to cry just to think that we have
to cut our love in two. Still, if they
take me off I love you just as I did be-
fore and I want you to write to me.
Good-bye and a kiss for you.
RALPH
Now Annie I feel sorry the way
things are but when we get out then
we will take the children and go off
where people don’t know us. Now Annie
don’t worry yourself, that I don’t have
no love for you. I love you just the
same as I did before and a little more
because I made so much trouble but I
have to suffer too. So Annie you are my
best friend and when we get out of this
then we will get married. Annie, stick
up for me so they don’t kill me.
RALPH
Well Annie, how are you feeling this
afternoon? Annie I know I told. things
about you that ain’t true but will make
that alright with my lawyer. Well, Annie,
I must close for this time. Giving best
wishes to you from your loving friend
Ralph to Annie.
RALPH
The little Pennsylvania Dutch com-
munity was shocked and amazed at the
developments of the sensational love .
murder. Religious folk held prayer
services in the jail for the accused wom-
an and the paramour.
But on October 7th the Grand Jury
returned true bills against Anna Willow
and Ralph Shadle.
The hired man who had become. in-
fatuated with his empleyer’s wife was
the first to go to trial. He was repre-
sented by Attorney H. Francis Hilbert
and_ex-Judge Jeremiah N. Keller of
Miffintown. These men. attempted to
show that Shadle, who had pleaded
guilty was mentally subnormal and the
tool of the older woman.
On October 10th the jury deliberating
a little more than an hour, returned a
verdict of murder in the second degree.
This -was rendered on the youth’s
eighteenth birthday. The judge sentenced
Shadle to serve from ten to twenty
years in solitary confinement in the
Eastern Penitentiary at Philadelphia.
Welfare workers secured a change here,
however, when they showed that condi-
tions in the Quaker City prison were
crowded and the convicted youth was
later taken to the Western Penitentiary
at Pittsburgh.
Albert W. Johnson and Emanuel E.
Prawling represented Anna Willow when
she went to trial on October 14th. She
pleaded guilty and the youth whom
she had told officers once would do
anything she asked him to took the
stand against her.
Six hours after the case was given to
the jury they filed back into the court-
room and rendered a verdict of guilty
of murder in the second degree—the
same that had been meted out to the
actual killer.
Judge sentenced Anna Willow to
serve from ten to twenty years in the
Allegheny County Workhouse in Pitts-
burg.
At the time of the trial no woman nor
any minor had ever been executed in
the state of Pennsylvania. 4
County Detective Francis Gember-
ling received $400.00 of the $1000 re-
ward offered by the county commission-
ers. The State Troopers were not eligible
for participation in the reward. but
Trooper Arthur R. Fox received a ci-
tation for his excellent work from Major
Lynn Adams, head of the Pennsylvania
State Police. Shortly after the close of
the case Fox was made a corporal.
Thus ended the strange case of the
middle-aged woman and her youthful
paramour—climaxed by the murder of
Harvey Willow, the first crime of its
kind in the peaceful little Pennsylvania
Dutch county in thirty-four years. Had
it not been for the untiring efforts of
County Detective Gemberling and State
Trooper Fox there is little doubt that
this baffling murder would never have
been solved and it would have gone
down on the records as the “perfect
crime.”
a Captured California's
Jealous-Mad Murderer
Continued. from page 7)
at the plant ‘has been discharged at
Ross’ request. No experienced girl has
been discharged ‘since we first opened
in April, 1940, and no girl ever com-
plained to me of Ross’ attentions tw
her. There certainly was— no undue.
familiarity toward the girls on Ross’
part.”
And the consensus of all the girls un-
der Ross’ direction was this:
“His conduct was always above re-
proach. All the girls liked him because
of that.”
Mike Briggs, who sat through both
hearings with bored disdain, was held
to the Superior Court by Judge Taplin
. and remanded to the County Jail with-
out bail.
As he left the courtroom he stopped
beside his weeping wife to say:
“You won't need to get a divorce
now.” ‘
The sneer in his voice, the snarl on
his face, drove her to a fresh outburst
of tears.
To the rest of us he said in his
belligerent manner:
“I don’t care what you do to me, so
long as you don’t send me to the pen.
I don’t want to rot my life away in
prison. I’d rather go to the gas cham-
ber.”
By an ironic fidget of fate, he was
bound over for trial by Judge Ben-
jamin Scheinnman, who, five years be-
fore, had united the victim of his
murderous rage, Nat Ross, and the
glamorous screen actress, Audrene Brier,
in wedlock,
On May 16, 1941, Briggs was brought
before Superior Judge Charles W.
Fricke. His counsel, Deputy Public De-
fender William Neely, told the court
he had been displaying symptoms of
mental unbalance and, because of his
queer behavior, had been removed from
the County Jail to the prison ward in
General Hospital for observation.
“Because of this,” said the public
defender, “I beg that the trial be post-
poned and ask leave to enter an ad-
ditional plea of not guilty by reason of
insanity.”
Judge Fricke continued the trial to
June 25 so that a board of three alien-
ists might report on Mike Briggs’
mental condition.
Briggs had said to us that he would
rather get the gas chamber than a prison
sentence. It is devoutedly to be hoped
he gets it.
This has been an unusual case in
many ways. Not the least of its unusual
features was the speed with which it
was cleared up—precisely eight minutes
to be exact. But most predominant of
all is the cold-blooded ruthlessness of
the murderer, Mike Briggs.
Never have I met a killer so callous
and brutal as he. I hope I never meet
another such.
Read
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31
New York, he was a native Californian.
He was born in San Francisco on June
13, 1904. His family moved east when
he was a child and he was only thirteen
when he got his: first job with Stanley
Nasbaum. :
When he returned to Hollywood from
London it was his intention to continue
producing pictures, and he started sign-
ing up stars, among them Connie Ben-
nett, for future productions. .
But Fate decreed otherwise. His
cousin, Joseph Rosenberg, chief owner
of the Cotton Products Company, asked
him to take charge of the plant, which
was running full blast, double shifts,
filling Government contracts for Na-
tional Defense. Ross, who owned an
interest in the plant, agreed to put his
— aside and take over temporari-
ly.
That brings us down to the night of
the murder. Specifically. to ‘10 o’clock
Monday night, February 24, 1941.
Ross, a handsome, dashing figure of
a man, seemed to be everywhere at
once, as he moved among the employees
on the night shift, directing their work,
speeding up production for the big Na-
tional Defense order. Twenty-five girls
were on the night shift, working like
beavers. °
None objected to his urging. He had
a smile and a pleasant word for all. As
usual, he was in amiable spirit.
But he had a special reason that
night to feel unusually amiable. In his
pocket was a fat movie contract, effec-
tive March 1. Five more days, and he
would be back again im the work he
loved best, the thing that was nearest
his heart, the production of motion pic-
tures.
Meantime, he must do his bit for Na-
tional Defense by getting out the present
rush order for the U. S. Navy.
As he rushed busily about the plant,
smiling and whistling, nothing was fur-
ther from his thoughts than death. He
must have felt, indeed, that he was
just beginning to live. Yet death, sud-
den and violent, was creeping stealthily
upon him through the night.
The skulking figure, slithering silently
through the shadows, was little more
*than a shapeless blur. In the enveloping
darkness one could scarcely have told
whether it ‘was man or woman.
With shoulders hunched and head bent
forward, the shadowy shape crept on
through the night and came to a door
at the west side of the ‘building on
Seventeenth Street.
Against the brick wall on this side
there was a deep tangle of grass and
shrubbery. The figure stooped and
groped through this snarl of vegetation,
seeking something he had hidden there.
He found the thing, an oblong ob-
ject, and propped it against the wall.
Then he lifted his fist and rapped loud-
ly on the door. i
The knocking was heard within by
one of the employees, George Ecken-
boy, a young man of twenty-five, who
walked over to the door and swung it
open. He peered through his spectacles
into the outer darkness.
“Who’s there?” he called.
A voice answered from - the night:
“Tell your boss I want to see him.”
“What do you want.to see him about?
Mr. Ross is pretty busy right now——”
“Tell him it’s a matter of life and
death. Hurry!” .
“Okay,” said Eckenboy, and turned
and walked back into the plant.
He stopped beside Nat Ross, who was
directing a line of girls at one of the
rag-sorting tables.
“Mr. Ross, there’s a man outside who
wants to see you. He says it’s terribly
important. He’s waiting at the side
door.”
Ross, impatient: of even a moment’s
delay on the work in hand, yet never
one to refuse to see a visitor, walked
briskly toward the door.
E figure lurking in the darkness
watched him approach across the
lighted floor. Then he gripped the long
object. propped against the wall and
stepped through the doorway to meet
him.
Ross, his mind pre-occupied, stopped
short with a gasp of astonishment. He
saw a thick-set man confronting him
with a rifle.
The man moved forward, holding the
butt of the rifle against his- hip. The
muzzle was pointed squarely at Ross’
chest.
Involuntarily, Ross reached out to
seize the ‘rifle barrel and fling it aside.
But he hadn’t a chance. There was an
explosive ‘roar, echoing thunderously’ in
the walled-in space, and Ross staggered
back, clutching his chest. His knees
buckled. He sank to the floor.
Victim Nat Ross with bride, Audrene Brier, at wedding. Judge 8. Scheinman performed
ceremony. Five years later Scheinman bound Ross’ killer over for triaf.
eens
Maurice Briggs fumbles nervously at venetian blind during arraignment.
The man with the rifle stepped nearer
and stood over him. Then, with cold
deliberation, he ejected the empty shell
from his weapon and fired a second
shot into. the body of the prostrate Ross
writhing helplessly on the floor. Ross
ceased to move. He lay still.
Not a word had been spoken on
either side. The murder had been com-~
mitted coldly, calculatingly, in sinister
silence.
The shots, however, had alarmed the
others in the place and there was a quick
flurry of excitement; hysterical screams
from. the girls and a panicky scramble
for cover. ;
The bespectacled young Eckenboy and
a fellow worker, Frank Anderson, em-
ployed at the baler, came running to-
ward the scene of the shooting.
But they were stopped abruptly by
the man with the gun. He backed to-
ward the open door, menacing them
with his rifle.
“Stay where you are,” he ordered,
“or you'll get the same thing he got.”
He moved backward through the
doorway and vanished in the night.
But not before Eckenboy and Ander-
son got a good look. at his face.
It was then twenty minutes past ten
o’clock. Two minutes later news of the
murder was flashed to police. headquar-
ters, and in another minute a fast call
was crackling over the police radio:
CaHing all cars. . . Shooting and kill-
ing at 1627 South Broadway. . . . Look
for young man armed with repeating
rifle. Sturdy build; kinky hair; age about
twenty-five. . . Approach-with caution.
This man is dangerous. A cold-blooded
killer. . .-: That ts all.
My partner, Radio Officer D.A. Holt,
and I were cruising along Figuera Street
between Wilshire and Sixth, when we
picked up the call. We immediately
headed our car in the direction of Sev-
enteenth and Broadway.
“We'll keep our eyes peeled,” says
Holt, “and maybe we’ll pick up the kill-
er. He may be hiding somewhere about.”
“Not a chance,” says I. “He no
doubt lammed in a car and he’s prob-
ably miles away by now Me
I broke off suddenly. Something had
caught my eye. We were in Hope Street
now, near Seventeenth.
“Stop here,” I said to Holt.
Holt brought the car to a stop. We
were both watching a man moving jerk-
ily about in the shadows near the Sev-
enteenth Street corner. He was striking
matches as he moved about and the
flashes of light in the darkness gave
him a sort of eerie look—like a huge
firefly.
I told Holt to keep me covered while
I got out and questioned the man. As
I walked toward him, moving in such
a manner as to give Holt a clear bead
on him, I saw him strike another match,
then slump to the curb. I didn’t draw
my gun from its holster, but I kept
my hand on it, ready for instant action
in case any trouble started.
The man, however, didn’t even look
up when I stopped in front of him. He
just sat there, holding his head in his
hands and staring at the ground. An
unlighted cigarette dangled from the
edge of his mouth.
I said to him: “You seem to be hav-
ing trouble lighting your cigarette.”
He looked up at me, then, and I saw
he was a young fellow, not more than
twenty-five, with a thick neck and
fleshy face. He wore no hat and his
coarse hair stood straight up from his
head in a kinky snarl. He was clad in
dirty slacks and rusty coat and looked
5
Detective Lieutenant Lloyd Hurst,
generally unkempt and unwholesome.
His U-shaped face was strikingly pug-
nacious.
He muttered something, I hardly
know what, and returned his stare to
the ground, paying no further attention
to me.
I decided to chance a shot in the dark:
“Why did you kill that man?” I de-
manded. “What did you shoot him for?”
He looked up again, started to speak,
then clamped his lips tightly on his
cigarette and remained silent.
That strengthened my hunch. I was
pretty sure now I had the “dangerous
killer’ whom I had been warned to
“approach with caution.” ‘
I reached into my pocket and pulled
out a set of handcuffs. Holt had stepped
from the car and was standing by, his
hand resting on his service revolver.
“Stand up here,” I said to the young
man.
He stood up silently, the unlit ciga-
rette still clamped between his lips and
I snapped the handcuffs on him. He
offered no resistance. Holt slapped his
pockets for weapons, found he was
unarmed.
“Well, let’s get going,” I said, and
took his arm and led him toward the
squad car.
His proximity brought an unpleasant
odor. He not only was trampishly dress-
ed; he was also trampishly dirty. He
smelled like a fetid flophouse.
We piled him into the car and con-
tinued on our way to the scene of the
murder.
T WAS precisely twenty-eight minutes
past ten o'clock. Just eight minutes
after Nat Ross had been shot and killed.
Fast work!
At the cotton products plant we found
left, and Lieutenant Miles Ledbetter.
everything in confusion. A group of
girls and other employees were milling
about the dead body of the boss, where
it lay on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Two or three of the girls had fainted.
Others were half hysterical. All, girls and
men alike, were frantic with excitement.
The thing had happened so swiftly, so
unexpectedly, that it left them all in
a state of jitters.
As Holt and I walked in with our
prisoner, Anderson and Eckenboy point-
ed at him and shouted:
“That’s the fellow! He’s the guy that
shot Mr. Ross! We saw him do it. How
did you officers get him so quick?”
From the confused chatter we man-
aged to get, bit by bit, a clear account
of what had happened. There was no
doubt now that we had caught the
murderer, and that settled the most
important question—namely, who had
committed the crime? But it immediate-
ly raised another, much more mystify-
ing:
Why had this oafish young lout, clad
in soiled rags and reeking of the gutter,
deliberately murdered the fastidious ex-
movie mogul, just as the latter was on
the point of making a big comeback in
Hollywood? What sinister secret. was
behind this strange murder? ;
I turned to the sullen young tramp
and asked him his name. “Maurice L,
Briggs,” he said, staring stonily at the
body of the man he had killed. “But
everybody calls me Mike.”
“Why did you kill this man?” It
was the same question I had asked him
before, only now I got an answer: .
“T had a damn good reason to kill
him,” he muttered. “I wish I could
kill him again.”
“What was your reason?”
“It’s a long story,” he said. “A dirty
one, foo. Of course, if. you want to
hear it. . .”
* We were interrupted at this point by
a noisy commotion from another part
of the plant, and one of the men said
to me:
“Some of the girls ran into the wash-
room. Looks like they locked themselves
in and can’t get out.”
I walked across the floor to the wash-
room and managed to get the door open.
Several girls were huddled inside, all
panicky with fright.
“Has he gone?” they wanted to know,
peering fearfully around the edge of
the door. “Is it safe to come out now?”
“Come on. out,” I told them.
One of the girls was a_ slender
brunette, with a mass of black hair and
flashing dark eyes. Her name, I learned,
was Mary Saunders and it was she who
had herded the girls into the safety of
the washroom when the shooting started.
Also, she had witnessed the murder.
Another was somewhat on the plump-
ish side, with an oval face and a school-
girlish bob combed back from her wide,
white brow. She seemed the most badly
frightened of the lot. There was a look
of terror in her eyes when she saw my
handcuffed prisoner. :
“Don’t let him come near me!” she
cried, shrinking back among the other
girls as if for protection. “He'll kill
me, too!”
“Take it easy,” I soothed. “He can’t
hurt you now. You know this fellow,
do you?”
“Know him!” she said, with a shrill
little laugh of hysteria, “He’s my hus-
band! Or was.”
“Then perhaps you can tell me,” I
said, “why he came here. tonight and
killed your boss.”
She vigorously shook her head. “It’s
too terrible to talk about! He imagined
all sorts of horrible things. I can’t dis-
cuss it. Make him tell you.”
I went back to the manacled young
vagabond.
“You were going to tell me,” I said,
“your reason for killing Mr. Ross.”
E WAS standing with lowered head,
scowling from under his brows at
the pretty girl I had just left. Without
looking at me, he growled from the side
of his mouth:
“Why don’t you make her tell you?
She knows more about it than I.”
This sort of double-talk wasn’t get-
ting us anywhere. I decided to put the
matter aside for the moment and come
back to it later.
Meantime, there was another matter
of importance: that needed clearing up:
“What did you do with your gun?”
I asked.
“Threw it back in the spot where
I hid it before.”
“And where is that?”
He led me outside and pointed to
the tall grass against the west wall. I
felt through the grass and found the
rifle. It was a long-barreled Winchester
repeating rifle of 25-25 caliber, such as
hunters use for deer, and when I picked
it up and examined it I found it was
cocked, with four loaded shells in the
magazine. a
Holt had called headquarters, and De-
tective Lieutenants Miles Ledbetter and
Lloyd Hurst of Central Homicide Bu-
reau arrived to take charge of the in-
vestigation. While they went about the
business of questioning all witnesses and
getting their names, Holt and I took
/ ‘
Robert Hartman, part owner and assistant to Joe Rosenberg in management of, the
cotton plant, points to exact spot where Nat Ross was shot down.
our loutish young prisoner to Central
Station. :
» There we brought him around again to
the motive for his cold-blooded crime.
“This .thing began,” he said, in
answer to our questions, “soon after I
married Betty. Betty’s that pretty girl
you were talking with. I was head
washman at the plant when Betty came
to work there. That was last summer,
long before this fellow Ross showed up
as superintendent.
“Before that, I was night watchman.
I been working at that plant since it
first opened for business, in April last
year.
“Betty started to work there last
August. Right away we got stuck on
each other and in September we got
married. I quit my job as night watch-
man and went on the day shift as
washman so’s I could be with Betty
nights. We lived just across the street
from the plant. Betty was on a different
shift and she would bring me my lunch
and sit beside me on the loading plat-
form while I ate. We were sure happy
then and everything was swell.
“And then, along in the early part of
last December, this guy Ross showed
up—and everything was changed.
“He had charge of all the girls and
could fire ’em whenever he liked. Right
away he began telling ‘em what a big
shot he’d been in Hollywood and all
about the big things he’d done in Eng-
land. He told ’°em how he was going
back to the movies pretty soon, and
I guess some of the girls thought he’d
get ‘em in pictures.
“He was a good-looking guy and a
swell dresser, the sort of guy girls fall
for. A lot of ’em did fall for him. If
a girl wouldn’t give him what he wanted,
all he had to do was to threaten to fire
her. That usually made her give in to
him. In one way or another he made—
I don’t know how many—girls at the
plant.
“Then he started in to make Betty.
Betty told me all about it; how he
tried to date her up and all the argu-
ments he used. That got me plenty
hot. I went straight to Ross and told
him to lay off my wife.
« “So what happened? I was fired!
That’s all my squawk got me.
“So I went to the big boss, Joe
Rosenberg, and told him what was go-
ing on in his plant; how Ross was
making the girls and all. about it. I
got my job back, but it wasn’t long
before I was fired again.
“Then Betty and I split up and went
our separate ways. That was along about
last December 20. I kept brooding on
what Ross had done to me and I made
up my mind to rub him out.”
E pugnacious youth paused and
sat, scowling at his brawny hands.
“T thought at first,” he muttered,
I'd choke him to death with my bare
hands, but decided that would be too
much trouble. So I decided to use a
gun on him.”
“Where did you get the gun?”
“I bought it in a pawnshop.” :
“Where have you been living,” I
asked, “since you and your wife sep-
arated?” ;
He shrugged and waved his hand.
“Nowhere in particular. Mostly I been
sleeping in flophouses.”
“You haven’t been working?”
“Naw. I been nothing but a bum since
I lost Betty.”
“Today I got an unemployment fund
Maurice Briggs looks on as Detective Miles Ledbetter holds murder rifle.
Pretty Mary Saunders—star witness for the state in Briggs’ case.
check for ten dollars. I cashed the
check and bought the gun for $8.35.”
“At which pawnshop?”
“Somewhere in Skid Row. I don’t
remember the name.”
Later, Detectives Ledbetter and
Hurst located the shop.
The scheming young murderer had
. gone there that day and spent $8.35 of
his last $10 for the deadly deer rifle.
Then he had gone to a nearby hard-
ware store and ‘bought a box of shells
for 50 cents, which left him $1.15.
And for weeks he had been going
hungry and sleeping in 10-cent flops!
Unperceived, he had stolen to the
cotton products plant and _ concealed
the weapon in the grass. That night
he had returned to use it on the man
he hated with venomous fury. He had
planned everything to the last detail.
For days and nights, even weeks, he
had plotted the crime. Lying awake
with the cooties in his filthy bed, his
scheming, devilish brain had concen-
trated ‘on only one thing—murder!
I said to him: “Aren’t you sorry
now that you killed Mr. Ross?”
We at headquarters have often put
such a question to killers, and in-
variably the killer has shown remorse.
But not this killer.
“Sorry?” he snorted, with the first
flash of spirit he had shown. “Yeah;
I’m sorry. Sorry I can’t kill him all
over again!”
Such was the caliber of man we had
in -custody. In reality he had murdered
Nat Ross, once. In his diabolic mind
he had murdered him a dozen times.
“Y'll probably get the gas chamber,”
he went on, “but I ought to get a medal.
Killing was too good for that. so-and-
so! I’d ’a killed him long before I did,
only I didn’t have money enough to
buy a gun.”
That the killing was wholly unjusti-
fied was brought out at the inquest
conducted by Coroner Frank Nance, and
later at the preliminary hearing before
Municipal Judge Irvin Taplin.
Mary Saunders, one of our star wit-
nesses, gave a graphic description of the
murder and told how she had rushed the
young murderer’s bride, Betty Briggs,
into the washroom—“in order to pre-
vent his killing her”’—and then Betty
took the stand and told of her unhappy
married life with him and his insane
jealousy.
“He had no cause whatever to be
jealous,” she said. “Mr. Ross never
made any advances to me. He drove
me home once, but that was long be-
fore I met Mike, and then Mr. Ross
talked only about his wife. It was
impossible to live with Mike. One night
he went berserk and beat me up. That
was when I left him.”
Other girl employees at the plant
testified similarly concerning the fine
character of Nat Ross, and this was
corroborated by his grief-stricken widow
“He was always a faithful husband,’
she said, “and the kindliest man that
ever lived. He helped hundreds get
their start. He often said there was
good in everybody, and he was always
trying to bring it out. It was his
philosophy that the only reason people
went wrong was because they hadn't
been shown the right. He was opposed
to violence of any sort and there was
never the slightest reason to question
his fidelity. Only two weeks ago,” she
sobbed, “we celebrated our fifth wed-
ding anniversary.”
Joe Rosenberg added to all this by
saying:
“The records show that not one gir!
(Continued on page 31)
y Clester forgot
fighting crooks
ust as fearless was
idy, Officer Brett
TRUE DETEC
these officers, Raymond remarked, “I
think Chief Jones is wrong on this one.”
“Why?” Erven questioned.
“It’s a mob all right,” Raymond
tapped his desk with a pencil, “but a
local one. They’ve been in trouble here
and that’s why they committed murder
to keep from going to a local police
station where they might have been
recognized.”
Hickok nodded. ‘“That’s logical.”
Raymond went on tapping his pencil
thoughtfully. “Why would they be out
in the Boyle Heights section? Nothing
big out there. They must have been
about to pull a job or they would not
have all been armed. Still they picked
a poor section. Why?”
Hickok pinched his chin. “Needed
cash badly and couldn’t afford to take
the chance of a big-time job,” he sug-
gested.
“You’re thinking right,” Erven
drawled. “It must be a local gang and
they must be in town somewhere. Look
here, we’re pretty well caught up with
our own work. Why don’t we take a
crack at this thing?”
“It’s a deal,” snapped Raymond.
Raymond consulted with Standish L.
Mitchell, Secretary of the Auto Club.
“Anything you can do on the case,”
Mitchell told him, “you do it. It’s to the
interest of law and order everywhere
that this gang be caught.”
Due to the pressure of enraged citizens,
the City Council met and
voted a $10,000 reward for
the apprehension and con-
viction of the person or
persons who killed the two
patrolmen. This threw hun-
dreds of amateur detectives
into the search for clues and
information. But the dozens
of leads which turned up
resulted only in fruitless
work for the police.
It was on the night of
December 12th that Ray-
“mond, Erven and Hickok
found time to make a trip
to the death scene. The area
had already been combed
several times but they de-
cided to go over it again.
They left the lights of their
car burning and drew out
their flashlights.
* Fury of the gunfight is
shown by the many bullet
holes in the house (right)
FEBRUARY, 1943
Raymond’s light, playing along the
edge of the street, caught a flash of
something bright. Squatting, he raked
his fingers through the dust and found
a sliver of glass. He held it up and
looked at it closely. It was a thick piece.
Into his mind leaped the thought that
it might have come from a windshield.
Could it have come from the wind-
shield of the gang’s car? With bullets
flying thick and fast, it was possible
that one had crashed into their wind-
shield. It was only a possibility but Ray-
mond decided to pass by nothing. He
stuck the piece of glass into his vest
pocket, A
In questioning people in the neigh-
borhood the trio found C. S. Thrapp,
a retired miner, rocking on his porch.
“Yep, I reckon I did see that shootin’,”
he drawled as he pulled on a huge pipe.
“But you fellers are the first to ask me.”
It developed that Thrapp was not
usually at home and had been missed
by the many other officers who had can-
vassed the neighborhood. “I seen them
two cars but I didn’t think nothin’,”
Thrapp explained. “Not ’til I heard a
feller in the back seat kinda cry out,
‘Fer God’s sake, boys, don’t do that!’ ”
Thrapp paused. The officers waited
breathlessly for him to go on. “Right
then there was two shots.”
“That must have been when they
snatched Brett’s gun,” Raymond said,
speaking more to himself than to the
* This is Harry J. Raymond,
famous detective who planned
a trap for the phantom five
others. “He didn’t have a chance.” To
Thrapp he said, “Did you see any of
them well enough to give us a descrip-
tion?”
Thrapp lit his pipe again. “Yep, I
reckon I did one of them. He run out
on that vacant lot over there. Had on
a checkered suit. Like a dude or
gambler. Run right in front of the head-
lamps. Didn’t have no hat and was
mighty nigh bald. But I’d say he had
light hair.”
“What about the others?” Hickok
asked hopefully.
“Never seen ’em very well. There was
four or five of ’em. I ain’t sure.”
When the trio reported the results of
their evening’s work to Captain Flam-
mer, Chief of Detectives, and turned
over to him the splinter of glass, he
beamed. “Good work, boys. This’ll help
us. Now if you haven’t anything else
to do, run out and get me the car that
fits this piece of glass.”
Hickok laughed. “Might do that, Cap-
tain.”
Two nights later the three auto de-
tectives were making their usual patrols
of the city. But business was dull. With
practically every member of the Police
Department working overtime, the city
streets both downtown and in the out-
lying districts swarmed with officers
hoping for a (Continued on page 65)
* (Below) The crime that
shocked Los Angeles oc-
curred at this intersection
53
he lies os atic
lie collie pb
Trail of the Phantom Five
(Continued from page 53) break. As a
result the auto thieves had taken to cover.
“What'd you say to a sandwich and cup
of coffee?” Erven suggested.
Hickok nodded. “Could use one.”
Raymond decided he would rather wait
until he got home before eating. “You
fellows go on,” he said. “I’ll drop you
off and then make a swing around Central
Avenue. That’ll cover the whole town for
tonight. Then I’ll pick you up and we'll
check in.”
B@ DOWN CENTRAL AVENUE Raymond
drove leisurely along, his eyes alert. He
had gone a couple of miles, to 40th Street,
without seeing anything unusual and he
was about to wheel around. Then sud-
denly his sharp eyes noticed an old Model
T standing at a curb.
The motor was running and a man sat
hunched at the wheel. The car lights were
out but Raymond knew the setup all too
well. In the shadows ahead he saw the
forms of two men working at an auto
parked beneath a low-hanging pepper-
tree.
Apparently paying no attention to the
scene, Raymond drove on past them, then
swung around and came back. This time
he was looking, from all appearances, for
an address on the other side of the street.
He halted a short way from the men and
climbed out—but kept within easy reach
of the sawed-off shotgun in the front seat.
By this time the thieves had finished
their work. The pair loaded a spare tire
into the Ford and joined their com-
panion. The car rumbled down the street.
Raymond turned and followed them.
A few blocks farther on they drew up
behind another car. In a moment they
were again at work. Raymond decided to
take them singlehanded. He again passed
them, wheeled about and headed toward
them. It was then that his whole plan
was suddenly changed.
As the lights of his machine swept the
two cars, he saw one of the men clearly.
He was a tall, unshaven fellow. And he
wore a checkered suit and had thin light
hair! “Brett! Clester!” Raymond stiffened
and automatically his eyes reached for the
windshield of their car.
There was only a split second. But in
that second he saw something else. There
were no bullet holes in the windshield.
But in the lower lefthand corner there
was a tiny paper label. It was the label
of a new windshield! In that split second
Raymond made a decision.
Instead of stopping, he drove by and
twisted into the next street. Quickly he
pulled around and parked just behind the
corner. Climbing out he watched the
strippers, while his blood churned with a
new excitement. He was certain he was
watching men who were more than petty
auto thieves.
Heaving another tire into the rear of
their car, the men continued down Cen-
tral. The detective followed at a respect-
ful distance this time, sometimes turning
off his lights and swinging to the curb to
give the impression he was parking. But
he didn’t let the machine out of his sight
as it rattled on to Slauson. There it turned
west and didn’t stop until it reached
Redondo.
Here the car paused for a minute as
though the driver was making a decision.
Then he twisted onto Redondo, headed
straight for 330 Tenth Street, Hermosa
Beach, and there he parked the car.
Although it was nearly 2 a.m., lights
burned brightly in the beach bungalow.
And when Raymond had parked and crept
closer to the house he heard the laughter
and voices of several men and women in-
side. His pulse raced. This, he felt sure,
was the hang-out of a gang.
He watched the house until one by one
the lights snapped off and all was quiet.
Then he headed back toward Los Angeles.
At the first all-night drug store he stopped
to phone the Auto Theft Detail.
“For heaven’s sake!” exclaimed the op-
erator at the switchboard. ‘“We’re look-
ing for you. Erven and Hickok have re-
ported you missing.”
Raymond chuckled. “Am I? Well, tell
them they are the ones missing right now.
Get hold of them at once and tell them
to meet me at the Redondo Beach police
station.”
WM IT WAS after daylight before Erven
and Hickok joined Raymond. Quickly
he outlined what had happened. “If these
monkeys are not the ones who killed Brett
and Clester, then they are connected with
them.”
Deciding to look the place over in day-
light, the officers parked their cars a couple
of blocks away and scattered. From dif-
ferent directions they approached the
bungalow, observed it closely and walked
by. Later they spotted a convenient hedge
across the street and up the block. They
crouched behind it and studied the house.
It was nearly 11 a.m. when three men
and two women, in scanty bathing suits,
left the house and started toward the
beach a few blocks away. Raymond whis-
pered to Hickok: “This is our chance to
look the joint over inside.”
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65
meena.
“Providing that’s all of them,” Hickok
muttered. ‘Might be more of them still
there.”
“lll take that chance,” Raymond re-
plied. “I've got a pass-key. You fellows
stand a lookout for me and I'll go inside.”
Cautiously letting himself into the house
the detective saw, standing in a corner,
two sawed-off shotguns. On a bed lay a
38 revolver. In a dresser drawer were
four other revolvers!
Careful not to touch or disturb any-
thing, he let himself out and locked the
door again. Turning to the garage, which
was built onto the house, he saw some-
thing which clinched his suspicions that
they had discovered a gang of dangerous
criminals. The old Ford he had followed
was there with its newly labeled wind-
shield. Along the side of the garage was
an old windshield—with a hole smashed
through the lower lefthand corner.
Raymond cursed his luck in not having
the sliver of glass with him. He hurried
out to join Erven and Hickok. “This is
the gang, fellows. I’m sure of it, now.”
“Then let’s knock them over,” Erven
urged.
“Not yet,” Raymond cautioned. “We've
mly seen three, but five or six killed
Brett and Clester. First we’ve got to
find out who they all are. We'll have to
shadow them for a while.”
“Yes, you're right,” Erven agreed. “How
about wiring the house?”
“A swell idea,” Raymond replied. “Sup-
pose you fellows stand watch while I go
to Los Angeles and get equipment?”
It was shortly before noon the next day
that the same party of three men and two
women left for their swim. But this time
the officers were ready. They had made
arrangements with an elderly couple liv-
ing next door to use a bedroom of their
house. While the suspects were cavorting
on the beach the officers neatly installed
a dictograph in the bungalow, leading
the wires through the loose sandy soil
to the room next door.
Thus began a vigil which was to last
for days—days in which the trio slept in
snatches while they took turns gluing their
ears to the receivers. One by one they
identified the voices of the five people
with their names. They heard only the
first names—‘Jim, Cal and Jess” for the
men and “Flo” and “Gerty” for the women.
mw IT WASN'T until late afternoon of the
second day that they heard more than
the usual chatter between hardened
criminals and their molls. It was then
that two new names came over the wires.
“Curly and Bill ought to show up to-
night,” Jess said.
Erven, who was listening, jotted the
names on the scratch pad. ‘‘Something
had better happen soon,” Flo chirped.
“We're about out of dough. And I want
something really nice for Christmas.”
“You'll get plenty, babe,” Jim said
soothingly. ‘“We’re going to pull a real
job.
It was shortly after eight that evening
that a new voice crackled over the wire
and all three of the officers pressed around
the phones to listen. It was Cal’s voice
that identified it for them when he greeted
the new arrival with, “About time you’re
coming around, Curly. Where’s Bill?”
“Same place,” Curly replied. “We can’t
all be hanging around this joint too much.”
“Yeah,” Jess growled. “I ain’t in favor
of staying here too long. We gotta get
some cash and blow.”
“Well, me and Bill have got two places
cased,” Curly explained. “That café on
Wilshire Boulevard and that bank on
South Main.”
For more than three hours the officers
listened to the four bandits discuss the
pros and cons of the holdups. They
66
didn’t reach a decision since they agreed
they’d have to get Bill’s final word. Shortly
before midnight Curly took his last drink
and left the house.
Raymond was right behind him. When
Curly boarded a street car for Los An-
geles, Raymond slumped behind a news-
paper on the same car. He followed him
off at Fifth and Broadway and along Fifth
until he entered a rooming-house at 518
South Grand Avenue. Waiting a few
minutes, he sauntered into the rooming-
house. He saw a light coming from under
the door of Room 17 and pressed his ear
to the panel to hear someone moving
about inside. Satisfied that he had spotted
the room of the fourth member of the
gang, he hurried back to the Hermosa
Beach bedroom.
“If we can locate Bill,” Raymond told
his companions, “we'll have all we know
about.”
The officers were rewarded for their
tireless efforts the very next night. Bill
showed up. But he pleaded he could only
stay a minute. There was‘no definite dis-
cussion about the holdups then since Bill
said, “Curly and I will both be down to-
morrow night.”
Again Raymond tailed a man back to
Los Angeles. This time the trail led to
a cheap rooming-house on 12th Street,
a block from the Georgia Street Police
Station.
@ THE NEXT night the officers forgot
their heavy eyelids and cramped mus-
cles when both Curly and Bill appeared
at the bungalow. While Hickok listened
over the dictograph, the five men ruled
out the bank job as too dangerous and de-
cided to pull the holdup of the Wilshire
café.
“This is our chance to knock them all
over at one time,” Hickok told the others
as he repeated the conversations.
“Now, before they have a chance to start
the job,” Erven agreed. “Let’s wait until
they’ve sopped up a few more drinks and
take them.”
Satisfied that they virtually had the
gang in their hands, the officers decided
to go out and get a good meal before
making the raid. It was about four-thirty
in the afternoon when they left the house.
They were back within an hour and
Erven picked up the dictograph earphones
to listen.
But all they got was silence!
The trio stared at one another. They
were stunned. What had happened?
Then the elderly woman tapped on the
door. ‘Them people all left,” she said.
“Just a minute ago. Bag and baggage.”
“In a car?” Raymond asked.
“No, sir, a baggageman came after them.
I thought you might want to know. So
I put down the truck’s number.”
“Bless you, grandma,” Raymond ex-
claimed. “I’ll make you a detective and
recommend a diamond-studded badge’ for
you.” f
It was after ten that night before the
officers could locate the expressman. He
told them that he had seen only a young
woman and had taken her to a hotel on
South Hope Street in Los Angeles.
@ DETERMINED NOW to take no further
chances, the trio sped to the address. As
soon as the landlady pointed out the room
she had rented that evening to a pretty
blonde girl, the three barged in without
knocking, their guns drawn.
“What’s the big idea?” snapped the
blonde.
“Where’s your boy friends?” Raymond
demanded.
She denied she knew anything about
any boy friends. “Okay then, sister,”
Hickok ordered, “you’re coming with us.”
At the Central Jail the young woman
identified herself as Flo Jurgens. She
remained defiant until Raymond told her
what they already knew and then added,
“And were charging you with being an
accessory in the murder of Brett and
Clester.”
“No, no,” she pleaded, “you can’t do
that. I’ll tell you what I know.”
Sobbing, she told how she, a trained
nurse, had become mixed up with a crimi-
nal gang in Oregon and later with the
gang who had killed the two policemen.
She named the five killers as: Willard
“Curly” Thompson, William “Bill” Brink-
hurst, Jim Wheaton, Cal Rowell and Jess
Wendell. She also gave them the name
The captured bandits are photographed with the men who caught them.
(Left to right) S. L. Mitchell, Secretary, Auto Club; Detective Harry Raymond;
Bandit Jim Wheaton; Bandit William Brinkhurst; Bandit Cal Rowell; Bandit
Williard Thompson; Unidentified Officer; Detective J. E. Erven
TRUE DETECTIVE
warnin
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FEBRUARY, 1
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Dmmond;
Bandit
RUE DETECTIVE
of Gerty Southern, the second girl in the
beach bungalow, and said that she had
gone to a South Olive Street hotel.
Leaving Flo at the jail with orders
that no one was to see her, the officers
hurried to Gerty’s room. She proved to
be a defiant red-head with a tough man-
ner. But her attitude didn’t disturb the
officers.
In ten minutes she, too, was in jail.
To keep their work secret until they
had a chance to swoop down on the killers
themselves, they booked Gerty at the
Boyle Heights jail and Flo was changed
to the University Station. Not a single
police officer or newspaper reporter had
the slightest inkling of what was hap-
pening. So far as they knew, the women
were involved in some auto theft matter.
Starting first with Thompson’s room,
which was Room 17 at 518 South Grand,
the three detectives smashed in without
warning. Curly awakened from a sound
sleep and reached for his gun which was
on a chair. His hand halted as he saw
the weapons of the three detectives lev-
eled at him.
Hickok snapped the cuffs on his wrists.
It was then that Raymond noticed with
satisfaction that Curly had a head of thin
light hair. Erven reached into the closet
for Curly’s clothing, and came out with a
checkered suit!
Efforts to extract information from
Curly were useless. An ex-con with a
long criminal record, he relied on the
moth-eaten phrase: “I don’t remember.”
He was booked at the Central Jail as
merely: “Wanted by Auto Club Detail.”
Realizing that they could not handle
the work alone, the trio enlisted the aid
of four trusted City Detectives, Jim Bean,
Chester Smith, Frank Roberts and Frank
Beaumont. Divided into pairs, these offi-
cers were asked to stake out on Curly’s
room twenty-four hours a day on the
theory some of the others might call there.
Raymond, Erven and Hickok raced to
Brinkhurst’s room on Twelfth Street. En-
tering quietly they had him covered be-
fore he got his eyes open. When he awoke
his mouth fell open too. Under his pillow
were two loaded .38’s.
Brinkhurst, like Thompson, had a fail-
ing memory.
Booking him in the same manner, the
officers went back to the University Sta-
tion and talked to Flo again. This time
she added to her first information the
“guess” that the others had gone to San
Diego. She gave them an address.
Without halting for rest, something
they had not enjoyed for more than
seventy-two hours, the trio started out for
San Diego. But when they arrived their
quarry had gone. They later learned they
had passed Rowell returning to Los An-
geles as they drove to San Diego.
™@ BUT OTHER results lightened their
disappointment. Wheaton had unsus-
pectingly walked into Thompson’s room
while Bean and Smith trained their guns
on him. Better still, Wheaton was in a
talkative mood.
In less than two hours he signed a com-
plete confession. In it he filled in the
picture of the ruthless double murder.
The gang, he said, had been about to
break into a hardware store in Boyle
Heights when they were frightened by
the approach of Brett and Clester.
The officers had stopped them because
their car only had one headlamp burn-
ing. They ordered them to drive to the
station and Brett had climbed into their
car. The bandits had decided before that
they would never go voluntarily to a
police station. All had records and
Wheaton and Rowell were wanted by
Utah officers.
Rowell was driving. When he stopped
FEBRUARY, 1943
suddenly Thompson grabbed Brett’s gun
and the shooting began. Wheaton swore
that neither he nor Rowell shot either
of the policemen. Brett’s gun, he said,
had been buried at 58th and Compton
Streets in a vacant lot—where it was
later found.
The next day Bean and Smith were
again on duty in Curly’s room and made
their second arrest. Rowell walked into
their arms and he was hustled to the sta-
tion. Faced with Wheaton’s confession,
he signed a similar one.
With four of the desperadoes in jail,
booked on minor charges to prevent their
true identity from leaking out, an inten-
sive search was launched for Wendell,
But two days of this brought no results.
It was not until an anonymous phone
call to Captain Flammer said that Wen-
dell’s wife lived in Compton that any
real lead developed.
The thin, work-weary woman was glad
her worthless husband was about at the
end of his trail. She gave officers a pic-
ture of him and the number of his old
Ford coupé. “He’s heading East,” she said.
“I hope you get him. You can have him
for a nickel.” :
The news of the developments was re-
leased to the newspapers and thousands
of Los Angeles citizenry heaped praise
on the hard-hitting officers. But the de-
tectives didn’t pause to listen to the praise.
They still had to get Wendell.
The Auto Club, happy about the work
of its officers, volunteered to pay for the
printing of 20,000 circulars bearing Wen-
dell’s description. The printer who
printed them worked Christmas Eve to
get them out. Traffic officers from the
police force took their holiday to help
fold and prepare the “fliers” for mail-
ing.
The day after Christmas, Constable
Harris of Niland, California, telephoned
the Los Angeles police that he had seen
Wendell’s car the day before he received
the circular. Wendell had bummed a
meal from him. He said there was bed-
ding flung over its top.
™@ WITH THIS lead on Wendell’s route,
Raymond called on the Auto Club to
give him funds to send a telegram to
every Western Union office in Southern
California, Arizona, New Mexico and
Utah. The Club told him to go ahead.
In addition, Raymond induced his friend
Fred Phillips, Chief Special Agent of the
Santa Fé Railroad, to send a like message
over company wires to each depot, water
tank and section house.
Thus was organized one of the great-
est man-hunts in the history of the great
Southwest—and in a day before radio
came to play its part in communications
and before high-powered automobiles and
endless miles of good roads were avail-
able.
The next report came from Oatman,
Arizona, saying that Wendell’s car had
passed through that town a few hours
before. Raymond leaped to a phone and
called Sheriff W. P. Mahoney at Kingman.
“There’s a train pulling out of here in
a half-hour,” Mahoney told him. “I'll get
some help and catch it. Maybe we can
overtake the car.”
An hour later Raymond, Erven and
Hickok were boarding an eastbound train
from Los Angeles to Arizona. At the same
time Mahoney and his Deputy, Red Harris,
were leaning out of the window of an-
other eastbound train across Arizona, their
eyes squinting against the desert sands of
the highway running along the railroad.
At the tiny Pinevista section house in
the desert, Mahoney spotted a coupé with
bedding flung across its top. Instantly he
reached up and pulled the air-brakes of
the train. Before the startled passengers
and crew of the train could collect their
thoughts, Mahoney and Harris were rac-
ing toward the lone house in the sea of
sand, sagebrush and cacti.
“Where’s the driver of that car?” Ma-
honey demanded of Foreman J.P. McNeil.
“In the house,” McNeil replied, “eating
lunch. Stopped for a bite and I told my
wife to fix it for him.”
“Go tell him a friend wants to see him,”
Mahoney ordered, reaching for his gun.
Before McNeil could reach the house
his wife suddenly bolted from the door,
dragging her two children and screaming.
At the same moment four shots banged
into the desert air.
Mahoney and Harris ducked. They
waited and no other sounds came from
the house. They started to approach,
their guns ready, and keeping low to the
ground. A few feet from the door they
rushed the house. No bullets greeted them.
Inside they found Jess Wendell slumped
against a wall, four holes spurting blood
from his chest. The cornered criminal
had preferred suicide to capture.
M@ BACK IN Los Angeles, a Grand Jury
listened to the repeated confessions of
Wheaton and Rowell and the testimony of
the officers. They returned two murder
indictments against the four gangsters.
Wheaton and Rowell were tried first
and a soft-hearted jury found them guilty
but recommended life imprisonment.
Thompson and Brinkhurst remained
stonily silent as they faced a jury that
found them guilty but made no recom-
mendations. As dawn broke over the
walls of San Quentin Prison on April
2ist, 1924, the pair of cop killers were
hanged until dead. Neither of them
spoke a word of confession.
A couple of years later Jim Wheaton’s
harassed mind cracked. He had to be
transferred from San Quentin to the State
Hospital at Stockton. He died a few
months later a raving maniac.
Only Cal Rowell, of the five killers, re-
mained alive—to waste away behind the
grim prison walls.
After the cases were all completed there
came a question of claiming the $10,000
reward. Some contended that the money
had been illegally voted by the City
Council and could not be properly paid.
Erven and Hickok, members of the Los
Angeles Police, signed over to Raymond
their claims on the reward. Raymond, a
private officer, filed suit to collect the
money.
It wasn’t until April, 1925, three years
and four months after the double mur-
der, that a check for $10,000 was handed
to him. He promptly cashed it and asked
for the money in $1000 bills. Then Erven
went out to Bill Brett’s widow and asked
her to come with him to the City Hall.
Hickok went for Harry Clester’s widow
at the same time and asked her to appear
also. Neither woman understood why.
In the office of Mayor Cryer, they were
each handed five $1000-bills by the Mayor
in behalf of the officers.
It was all that Raymond, Erven and
Hickok could have done for the grieving
women. They couldn’t bring back their
husbands, but they had avenged their
deaths and then gave the entire reward
to the widows.
“Okay?” each of the three detectives
muttered to the memory of their dead
brother officers as the money was pressed
into the hands of the women. That was
their way of checking out on a job they
had been determined to finish and on
which they had made good.
Note: The names Flo Jurgens and
Gerty Southern as used in this story are
fictitious. Neither was charged with any
crime in connection with this case.
67
charge of buckshot in
ever had a chance
her baby’ boy. And
she slept beside
rte Billy escaped
‘a miracle that
thout a scratch,
‘Cannon told the
another chap
three of
uth Gate at No. 8153
We've got them over
. '“That’s what I thought,” I said
grimly, “until Baggott checked Ells’
“What alibi, Chief?”
“Emory. Ells,” I replied, “went to
work at, six o’clock last night at Han-
cock’s All-Night Lunch Roo:
Slausen Avenue,
o’clock this
o’clock.””
"\W/HAT about Ells’ brother, or the
other fellow, Moulton?”
“More alibis. And ones. Be-
sides, there’s nothing to indicate they'd
have any reason to want to kill the
girl. No, fellows, we've got to look
farther than that, Now, here’s what I
want you to do.” :
Swiftly, I outlined the various as-
signments. One man was to concen-
trate on the shotgun the killer had
left on the floor. Already I knew that
there were no finger-prints on the
weapon. The killer probably had used
gloves. But there was always the pos-
sibility of tracing the owner,
© of our ablest investigators were
to delve into the private affairs of
the slain 22-year-old divorcee. They
‘were to determine, if Possible, if she
had had any admirers who might have
' reason for wanting to do away with
her. From the Cannons I had already
learned that since her divorce Merle
had devoted virtually all her time to
her little boy, but there was always
the possibility of a secret love affair.
Another man was instructed to look
for footprints around the Cannon
home. From the way we had re-
constructed the crime, the killer had
waited outside the East Ninety-Ninth
Street bi was sure
and fled. Both Mr
recalled hearing the screen door slam
after the roar of the shotgun had died
One by one I sent the men out on
their grim errands, were ad-
monished to work fast. .
In a few minutes every one of my
cept Lieutenant
“away, .
plays about Joe’s lips was not absent
I turned to
A remarkable
When Merle and Emory Elis got Billy they were supremely happy
seem a bit impatient or annoyed. be-
cause he had been left to the last.
For a moment he appeared to be con-
centrating on manicuring his always
immaculate hands. ,
“You've got a hunch—Davey.” Joe
spoke softly,
question but a direct
any other man on
the detail it might have suggested just
But not from
Joe Filkas, We understood each other,
and fellow
in a common bond of
seeing that a cold-blooded killer was
brought to justice,
§tVES, Joe,” I said finally, “I’ve got
a hunch.” , :
“The brother or the other fellow?”
“Alfred seems to be in the clear
His record is clean, he’s well
ard his brother when Emory lost
the divorce decision and custody of
the youngster.” ..
“And what’s-his-name, the other
fellow who was picked up with the
Ells brothers?” Filkas asked, still in-
tent on grooming his nails, ,
“Ralph Moulton. Well, of the three,
he would seem to have the least rea-
‘son of all for wanting to kill Merle
Ells. And the alibi he’ gave is even
won't be a thing
on him.”
ee ee
ot en tenn A SSS ak ah ne,
Benjamin Franktin’ Brown: was’ a@ tittle man shyly tn
love; with. a ‘girl who went. dancing: with Aim |
" man, down in tington Park that
the complexity |of the man’s al- Emory Ells knew pretty well,” he
st incoherent was not said. “His name is Brown and he’s a
sted on Filkas. _. machine er from Chicago. Maybe
i, murderer. went'o
_earcled ‘gloves and. this
urs. I ‘want ion to take
oulton out of and down to
Huntington Park. I need him to help
me look for this he’s
about.”
“Sure thing, Joe. You can take
Hickey, Baggott, Ryan—”
Filkas shook his head.
“No dice, Davey. Moulton won't
stand for any guests. Says he won't
go unless I’m all by myself. Says we
ong time over road for a thing
e that.” : Reaae
iE man smoked|in silence for a
bit. Suddenly he) said: ;
fgg! Hg ony Poe bln al
7s. Real tough angsters
i, and—even a er from
Herman, Look! He's All Covered |
with Blood." The Whimpering Baby's |
_ Face and Nightgown. Were ——
prefeny- inns torte une wd great oe
out -
ee estes i bis loch i ‘fitted a thousand other men. . And tee
te, was sending great billows of name Brown was no help. Not in a
oke out through the bars. Several ng, eco oe Ree Be
suddenly detec’ office. He told me he had just left .
Dbed 2,08 ial Be : SF wn he got away from you? You
0
’ Moulton and what he had learned.
Get me out of this cell i -. “Don’t know whether we've got
epetad. Remit 5 ly, “pn | ro gol bemped ae wee den ad cen png
f ‘ou were dea
vat win bas’ x xi oes Save But he’s sincere about
*ilkas seciod tims pathetically. le rown.” .
Moulton out of the cell and took Filkas was waiting in my office the
a downstairs into a storeroom in the next morning.
tren oane iheot ehh a ta Weighianee te wie wren renews
‘You coul your lungs eyes, a ess
‘e,” he. said. . PThere isn’t a soul had seen before when Joe was aroused.
3 ‘ aM 5 “ ‘ mahal ; t ea Vieira
ER dE iat Seal aaa i ee
The usual quizzical
can’t even go in a wes car. I've
| eee caps own bus. On top of
—_ * stand for handcuffs
ag you crazy, Joe?” I demanded.
“He'll ead you into a trap. Sup-
w what that would mean. Even I
couldn't save your shield if you lost a
witness in a homicide case. Besides,
even if aS mecen' don of may boat
friends, I wouldn’t risk the life of any
man like that.
“No: ”
Filkas went into action. He em-
Atle all the Peay for which he was
this time I was the tar-
get for his guile. Before I knew it I
found myself in a battle of wits with
my subordinate. The of it es-
caped me at the time, but I had many
a chuckle over it later. I suspected
that Joe did, too. In the end, he won.
parting words, “this has got to be a
one-man show. Don’t have a riot
exactly a fool, and if he suspects I’m
double-crossing him, he’ll close up like
aclam, Your word on it, a
ar aia agreed, But I had
misgivings. Ten minutes after
hed driven off with his nervous com-
panion, I called myself every kind of
a fool. I'd have traded a month’s pay
. to get him back.
I don’t believe I've ever gone
through five such hours, — for
Filkas and Moulton. Finally I de-
cided to pick several of the boys to
go out with me on a searching party.
They weren’t getting any place on the
other angles. Then, of course, Filkas
walked into my office. Joe’s face was
the epitome of baffled rage and disgust.
“I had to get out of his company in
a hurry after I locked him up in his
cell again,” he agen
“False alarm?" I asked and made
very little effort to conceal the relief
I felt at seeing him back safe
“Played me for a sucker,” ‘oe said.
He told me the whole story.
After driving into Huntington Park,
a suburb of Los Angeles, Moulton had
suggested a dozen or so places where
‘Brown might be found. Coffee shops,
pool rooms, corner saloons—but no lit- .
tle guy named Brown.
Then Moulton suggested the Ran-
dolph Hotel. He ogee the place
casually enough, ‘ilkas suspected
the other’s casualness was deliberate.
(Continued on Page 44)
33
t
ete
Protecting Women from Crime (Continued from Page 11).
from years of experience that no less
than 99 per cent of all prowlers or
Henebi would vive the job up onee he
Cound the chain-bolt in’ use.
This chain-bolt has another advan-
foe: Th daaken dh possible for yous to
open your dvor to see who it is that
has knocked on your door or rung
your bell, without any danger of the
person outside forcing his way in.
Tf there is an inner bedroom, such a
chain should also be in use on the
inside of that door. A good strong
bolt would also serve if the chain: is
undesirable. It should be emphasized
that all bathroom doors should contain
similar chains or ordinary strong bolts.
Check up on your own habits, or ob-
serve the habits of your women friends
and, without fear of contradiction, T in-
sist that you will find nearly all of
them fail to lock the bathroom door in
any way. They may feel safe be-
cause the main door is known to be
closed and locked, but recent American
criminal history has proved that that
is not enough.
Remember the tragic case of Helen
Clevenger and protect yourself.
During a thunderstorm on July 16,
1936, Helen Clevenger, pretty nine-
teen-year-old college sophomore, was
alone in her room in the beautiful
Battery Park Hotel in Asheville, North
Carolina. She was vacationing in the
South with her uncle, a professor. His
room was some distance away. Around
1 a.m. a man entered Helen’s room.
Next morning the girl's dead body
was discovered by her uncle. She had
been clubbed in the face and shot in
the breast. Investigation showed that
she had screamed when the man en-
tered; this scream was heard by others.
But guests at hotels and apartment-
house occupants mind their own busi-
ness. And so, in a fashionable hotel,
full of guests, a pretty girl died with
help close at hand
The case was sensational and baf-
fling. But it was solved nenarly three
Weelot tater nme the hibler, a Negra
named Martin Moore, confessed, was
fried and convicted: gad: sentenced to
death. Well, a good maciiy suehe bathers
are caught. But this does not stop the
horrible toll of women’s lives cut short
by murderers and) rapists.
Here is the tragic point:
During investigation, if was found
that there were twelve pa
Helen’s room, in the possession. of
various employes of the hotell One
of these keys was found in the outside
of the lock on Helen’s door, although
Moore said he found the door un-
locked. In either event, he got in and
murdered the pajama-clad co-ed. Had
the chain-bolt which I have described
been in use, no one could have en-
tered, even though the door had been
unlocked, nor could anyone have en-
tered by using a key. I fail to under-
stand why hotels and apartment houses
do not equip all doors with these in-
expensive devices, but they do not.
i haa also the number of duplicate
keys.
September 21, 1937, Thomas Mc-
Call was arrested in Chicago on the
complaint of Natalie Ortuso, when she
saw him prowling on her fire escape.
He confessed the rape and assault of
Virginia Austin in the same _ hotel
August 15. Does it amaze you that
he had three pass-keys to other rooms
in his possession, accumulated during
five years of residence in the same
hotel?
Windows are no better protected
than doors.
Most windows are invitations to en-
ter. Nearly all of them contain locks
but these, in most cases, are rarely
ever used. And even then they do not
provide fool-proof protection. The
lock, usually small, and held in place
by smaller screws, is easily “sprung”
by a “jimoy”
Nearly everyone makes cerkiin at
night that all downstairs windows are
Foeloed: Dat they think tb tiameeensany
fo dock windows oo the typper toons,
This is a grave mistake. Criminal
history concerning “second. story men”
alone would fill thousands of volumes.
Second-story workers will steal the
first andy ladder they ean find; they
will climb trees, rain-spouts, water
pipes: small sheds, outbuildings, kiteh-
enosheds; they wilh use boxes, barrehs
and other such aids. Or two tall sec-
ond-story men will get in by simply
boosting one on the other’s shoulders.
It is part of the psychology of
criminals that they will not knowingly
enter a bedroom; for they do not know
whether a sleeping man lies there, or
whether the occupant will have a gun
handy and shoot them. It may take
“nerve” of a sort to be a burglar or
prowler; but none of them has the
courage to take deliberate chances of
incurring his own death. In_ short,
criminals take greater precautions to
safeguard their own lives than do the
citizens who are their victims. If our
citizens, and women in particular, had
the same respect for the law of self-
preservation and followed it just as
religiously as the criminal does, there
would be far fewer crimes.
Consider the Guild case. On the
morning of May 9, 1936, the nude and
dead bedy of Mrs. Lillian Guild was
found in her bedroom of a Y.W.C.A.
hotel in a busy section of Chicago.
The 58-year-old woman’s skull had
been crushed by blows from a brick
and it was plain that a sex maniac
had committed the ghastly crime. He
had entered through the bedroom
window. While an intensive investi-
gation was under way, a sex maniac
entered a nurse’s home a few blocks
from the scene of the Guild crime and
atlemipted: ta rape ceonuese ase she lay
Dh ded Se wae Peete Bbehet Pte
screams caused) the rapist to flee, after
he Tiel frightened senccrad ofbver grarrsern:
The gasie Trae entered beer woardow
OME days later detectives arrested
‘Thomas Starry a big Negro, im ean.
nection with the Guild case. Starr
confessed to having attempted the rape
on Nurse Ricket. Later, through oa
ruse employed by detectives, he con-
fessed to the anurder and attempted
rape of Mrs. Guild, admitting that
he had torn her night clothing off
after he had crushed her skull. Ife
got 199 years in Statesville prison, But
hundreds of such crimes have been
committed since the Summer of 1936;
more will follow unless stringent
measures for prevention are adopted.
Starr, incidentally, confessed he had
entered ,by the windows in both cases.
The best protection for windows is
to use a_ sawed-off broomstick or
bamboo stick, wedged between the
lower and upper window frames in a
slant-wise direction. This is for those
windows that can be kept closed at.
night. Protecting the windows which
must be kept up at night to admit
fresh air is more difficult. That will
be taken up in a later article.
Let me repeat—the women of this
country can write the swan song for
a large proportion of our criminals,
both active and potential, by taking
normal precautions and by installing
simple, but highly effective devices
and gadgets, none of which are ex-
pensive. The average small home, for
instance, can be made reasonably
burglar proof for the small sum of two
or three dollars plus a little time.
Surely, this is the cheapest insurance
in the world.
Are your lives and your property
worth it?
Murder for Twenty-Two Dimes (Continued from Page 33)
The detective parked the car around
the corner from the hotel.
“Listen, Lieutenant,” said Moulton.
“If there’s any shooting and we get
separated, don’t you worry about me
trying to get away. I’ll be sitting
right in this auto when you come back.
And if you don’t come back, I’ll go
right on down to the city jail again. I
won't try any funny stuff with you.
“But be careful with this guy Brown
if you find him. He’s a killer. He’s
only a little guy, a skinny bird with a
funny mustache and thin, sandy hair,
but he’s dangerous. You’d better have
your gun where you can reach it ina
hurry, Lieutenant.”
fTLRAS was amused, but he prom-
ised his prisoner he’d be careful.
Together they entered the place.
The lower floor of the building was
given over to shops. There was a long
flight of carpeted stairs leading to a
landing, a turn and then another long
flight of steps to the second floor and
the desk of the hotel. Together they
walked up the first flight. They
turned the corner at the landing and
were two-thirds of the way up when a
sound behind him caused Filkas to
wheel. He was just in time to see
Moulton disappearing around the
landing, taking six steps at a time.
The detective was in a quandary.
For a split second he was tempted to
give chase. Then he remember Moul-
ton’s words—“I won’t try any funny
stuff. I'll be sitting in the car after
the shooting is over.”
Filkas went on. Slipping the safety
catch from his service gun, but keep-
ing it 'in the holster under his coat, he
continued up the stairs. A youthful
clerk lounged behind the desk. Near
by was another man. A short sandy-
haired person with a small mustache.
Apparently the two had been chatting.
They were silent as Filkas appeared.
“lm visiting here from Chicago,”
said the detective, sparring for time.
44
“Some friends of mine back there have
a relative here by the name of Brown,
and they told me to look him up.
They gave me his address, but I lost
it. All I could remember was that it’s
a hotel in Huntington Park.” Filkas
thought he detected suspicion gleam-
ing in the clerk’s eyes. “I know
Brown’s a pretty common name. There
were several of them in every hotel
I’ve visited. The Brown I’m looking
for is—” Filkas looked over at the
little sandy-haired man—‘“a big, dark-
haired chap. Fellow about six feet
and weighs around two hundred. Got
a Brown registered here who fits that
description?”
“Sorry, Buddy,” said the clerk.
Filkas, with that disarming smile of
his, thanked the clerk and left. As he
walked down the two long flights, he
wondered how many months’ pay he’d
be fined for losing a prisoner.
“You can imagine,” Filkas conclud-
ed, “how I felt when I turned the
corner and saw Moulton right where
he said he’d be! I couldn’t drive away
from there fast enough.”
“What do you make of it, Joe?” I
asked.
“Nothing—yet, but I’m going to get
at the bottom of it right now. I had to
wait and cool off before I went to
work on him. When I asked him what
the big idea was, he said he thought
he saw somebody he owed money to.
“He denied that the little fellow talk-
ing to the clerk was this Brown he’s
been babbling about.”
Filkas went out just as a boy
brought in the late papers. Before I
opened them I knew what the front
pages would be like. They would be
full of the Merle Ells murder case and
each account would end with:
“The police hope to announce an
early arrest. According to Inspector
D. A. Davidson, there are several un-
explained phases to be cleared up.”
Unexplained phases. I pushed the
papers away.
The only unexplained phase that
worried me was the name and where-
abouts of the killer. It looked bad.
We'd run down every possible clew
that had presented itself. We hadn’t
overlooked a single bet, yet we were
no closer to a solution than we were
when we first heard about the killing.
Lieutenant Baggott came into the
office, but one look at his face was
enough to convince me I could hope
for nothing promising as the result of
his day’s efforts. Before he could
even open his mouth, however, the
door opened and a cyclone blew in.
The cyclone was Joe Filkas.
“Grab your hats, boys,” he said.
“We’re going after a murderer. I
know who he is, where he is, and what
he looks like. Moulton has come
clean. It’s that little fellow in the
Randolph Hotel, after all. I sweated
it out of Moulton. He was afraid to
pick him out for me when we were
down there because he thought Brown
would start shooting and perhaps plug
Moulton.”
“How do you know it isn’t just an-
other stall, Joe?”
“Well, for one thing, he’s identified
the gun that killed Mrs. Ells. Said he
saw it a week or so ago when Emory
Ells and this little Brown guy took it
down to the river to try it out. It
was so old Ells wanted to be sure that
it still worked. . They fired a couple of
shells to test it out.”
“Let’s go!”
Five minutes later we raced out to
Huntington Park.
“T still can’t believe a funny little
runt like this Brown could be a
Chicago gangster,” mused Filkas as
we tore along. “But I’ve been fooled
before, I’m not taking any chances this
time. When I was talking to the clerk
before, I thought there was something
fishy.”
There was no clerk on duty when
we reached the hotel desk. Filkas
rang the night bell.
“We're police,” he announced. “This
afternoon I was in here and saw a
little fellow with sandy hair and a
mustache.”
“That must be Brown,” said the
night clerk who had answered the
bell. “Well, if you’re the police I
guess I don’t need to warn you that
he’s dangerous. He doesn’t make
much of a secret of the fact that he’s
a tough boy from Chi. His room is
right down the hall there.”
Cautiously and with drawn guns we
went down the hall. Filkas knocked
on the door.
“Who’s there?” presently came a
sleepy voice.
Filkas nudged me. In sign lan-
guage he indicated that he didn’t want
to betray himself with his voice that
the little man might recognize from
the afternoon’s encounter with the
“visitor from Chicago.”
“We're friends of Whitey, the night
clerk,” I called out. “Let us in, will
you?”
HE door opened and we jumped
him. A six-year-old child could not
have been overpowered with more
ease. We almost hurt each other as
we seized the little man. He had on
only a pair of shorts and I can’t re-
member when I’ve seen a smaller bag
of human skin and bones. A puny
little runt,
“What in the world is the matter
with you, gentlemen?” he stammered
when he could recover his breath.
We hustled him into some clothes
and searched the room for the arsenal
of a gunman. We found nothing more
dangerous than a toothbrush. We
said nothing to him about the murder.
“Whatever it is you think I’ve done,”
he said, as we drove him back to the
city, “you gentlemen are all wrong.
I haven’t done anything.”
All the way back we let him talk
without once answering him. He
chattered on anyway, telling us he
AD2
ut away the nail file. The
same aha lingered around his mouth.
‘The hunch, Davey. You haven't told
ne about your hunch yet.”
For a fleeting moment an uncom-
‘ortable wave of something akin to
mbarrassment swept over me.
“To tell you the truth, Joe, that’s all
( have got. A hunch. I don’t think
(d mention it to anyone else but you.”,
Filkas waited patient ently.
“This chap Moulton,” I said, “acts
When I spoke to the three
if them, the brothers were as cool as
ce. Emory Ells is arrogant. Alfred
seems genuinely sorry the girl is dead,
out he doesn’t feel that he’s likely to
2 involved in this thing. Now Moul-
‘on, on the other han looks as if
1e’s ready to drop d
3 course, an innocent man can be~-
ray more signs of guilt than a dozen —
ictual killers. So— :
“Joe, I want you to work on Moul-
on. Maybe it’s just a waste of time.
Maybe not.” :
The phone on my desk jingled. One
of my detectives had a report to make.
—_ I hung up the receiver, I felt
Tat was Jerry Hickey,” I told Fil-
cas.: “He’s been looking over the
lace in South Gate where these three
virds live. He says he found a pair
#f corduroy trousers on the. clothes-
rody’s ben Soe trying to wash blood spots
ff them. Son f belong to Moulton.”
Moulton had no known. reason to.
cil Merle, but now we had the pants.
joe anyway, we had to start some-
lace.
Still wearing that half-smile, Filkas
trolled over to the door.
rou, Davey, I wouldn’t feel ashamed
f that hunch. Now what cell did you
ay Moulton was in?” :
32
with fright.
affably.
“If I were:
Filkas spent several hours with
Moulton. He found that I hadn't ex--
aggerated when I said Moulton was
nervous. The man was trembling all
Filkag chatted amiably for a
time with the prisoner, asking him
about the Ells brothers and their
habits. With jerky replies, Moulton
told him the Ells boys were honest,
upstanding citizens, that they had
never been in trouble. He added that
Alfred Ells was a deputy constable in
South Gate. He was quite sure the
itpts Moulton could only soream :
* clgarettes when te
earned of the tragedy, but: Alfred Ells, right, liked his
sister-jn+law. and. ‘was ‘gonuinely. ‘gorry: when ehe.sdied
the clothesline out at South Gate,
Moulton? The brown corduroys with:
the bloodstains you tried to wash off?”
A slap in the face could not have
upset the prisoner more.
“Blood!” he shrieked. “I’m being
framed,” he wailed. “Sure they’re my
ants. But that isn’t blood on them.
hat’s grease — automobile ease.
Honest it is, Lieutenant. If there’s
per on them now the police put it
ere.”
Filkas saw Moulton wilting fast.
"Get Me Out of This Cell.
Take Me
Where We Can Talk in Private ...
I'll Get Bumped Sure if I Talk.Here"
lice had made a mistake in arrest-
them.
“And why are they holding me,
Lieutenant?” he said with considerable
agitation. “Is it.a crime to know the
ex-h of a ‘woman who gets
shot?”
“Mere routine, Ralph,” said Filkas
“Sometimes .we have to take,
er—unconventional steps during a'
murder investigation. Material wit-
er
‘ust the same, I don’t see why I’m
Maal Moulton began when Filkas
demanded:
“What about those pants of yours on
Keen psychologist that he was, he
didn’t press the matter. Instead, he
invited P Moulton to go out and have
dinner with him. During the meal, he -
observed that Moulton smoked seven
cigarettes. And for all of. the detec-
tive’s casual chatter, the other man
was on the borderline of a nervous
breakdown,
“By the way, Davey,” Filkas said
when he came into my office a little
while later, “I wish you’d leave in-
structions that Moulton is not to have
any cigarettes. He’s got less than half
a package now, but he’ll soon use them
“One of those kind, eh?” I answered.
A
“Trying to keep up his nerve. O. K.,
Joe, I’ll pass the word out.” ;
I worked late that night on the vari-
ous reports my men had turned in. I:
wouldn’t have given a dime for the
whole lot, but I knew I couldn't
blame the men. The murder gun, on
which I'd secretly Pi inned much hope,
was an old one. he serial number
on it, if it ever ~~ had one, was rusted
or worn off. There seemed little
chance of tracing it. We were
doing the normal routine things that
should give us a break. But nothing
happened.
JAIL attendant poked his head in
my door.
“Excuse me, Inspector, but this fel-
low Moulton is kicking up an awful
fuss. We refused to get him cigarettes,
and now he’s insisting that we call up
Lieutenant Filkas. Says he wants to
talk to him right away. I told him I
would see if you could talk to him.
But he says he won’t talk to anybody
but the Lieutenant. Of course, I know
Lieutenant Filkas is not, aolae to get
out of bed at this hour and—”
“That’s where you’re wrong, son,” I
said. “You just go back and tell Mis-
ter Moulton that Lieutenant Filkas is
on his way down here.”
When my phone call aroused Joe out
of a sound sleep, he wasn’t surprised.
Thirty minutes later he was in Moul-
ton’s cell.
“For the love of Heaven, ae,
gimme some cigarettes,” pleaded the
man as Filkas entered.
beaded with sweat and his agitation
had increased tenfold since the detec-
tive had last seen him. With hands
that trembled violently, he lit the
smoke Filkas proffered and puffed
furiously in’ silence for several min-
utes. The detective waited patiently.
eres 2 Spi til ce ae To 2
£5 TC RRC a ne.
The killer's voice called out in the night.
Hig nervous fingers waited . . . and then
bullets of death splashed fresh blood -
on the baby sleeping beside the victim
The Herman Cannons aided police investigation
but they heard no sounds on the night of murder
varticularly around the door. Then
ie took the prints of Mrs.: Cannon
ind the baby to compare with those
ie had found in the room. The shot-
‘un was carefully wrapped and tak-
in to.the Fingerprint Bureau for
‘xamination. “We’ll send Cannon in
or printing as soon as he gets back,”
Javidson promised
Further questioning of Mrs. Can-
ion revealed that the victim was
wenty-four; that she had married
tmery Ells about two years previ-
uusly. The couple had had trouble
rom the start of their marriage; and
iad separated several times. For the
vast few months, Merle and the baby
iad been living with the Cannons.
Juring that time Emery had made
everal attempts to get his wife to
‘ome back to him. On one occasion
1e had struck her and threatened to
ake the baby away from her.
“Merle wouldn’t go back to him,”
he explained. “She was afraid of
iim. He was mean to her. And Merle
vouldn’t let him have the baby. We
oved that baby like our own, too.”
“Is there anyone else who might
iave had a motive for murdering
‘our, sister?”’? Davidson asked. .
“I don’t know who it would be..
iveryone liked: Merle.”
A telephone call from the 77th ©
itreet Station reported that Savage
nd Fruitt had found Emery Ells
it his home. ‘We found him and his
rrother, Alfred,” Savage explained
o Davidson. “We also brought in
nother guy who lives at the same
‘lace. Named Ray Palmer. I didn’t
ike his nervousness when we men-
ioned a murder. We’ ve got them all
ere now.’
“Good work,” Davidson grinned.
I’ll be over in a few minutes.”
Davidson detailed Ryan and
lickey to continue the examination
f the scene. “Look around the side
too,” he instructed.
all the neighbors you can find. A
shotgun blast in the dead of night
should be heard by some one in this
quiet neighborhood.”
At the 77th Street Station, David-
son and Baggott found Savage. and
Fruitt with the. two Ells brothers,
Palmer and Cannon. “What about
Cannon, Inspector?” Fruitt asked.
“Do you want to talk to him any
more?”
’ “I’m not sure of anyone at this
point,” Davidson admitted. “It seems
. very strange that he didn’t hear that
gun blast.”
“I think so too,” .Fruitt said.
“However, he explains that by say-
ing that he had just worked an
eighteen-hour shift: and was dead
tired.”
“That could be,” Davidson nodded.
“Get his prints and then let him go
back home. I want to see what these
other fellows have to say.”
“T’d like you to look over this fel--
low Palmer first,” Savage suggested.
“I don’t know just what his place
in this picture is, if anything, but,
@ seems scared to death.”
“Okay, bring him in and we'll
see.”
Palmer’s hand trembled and he
wiped perspiration from his fore-
head with a bandanna handkerchief
as he sat down across the table from
Davidson. “This is a terrible thing,
Chief,” he said unevenly. “That
young. woman getting killed. I don’t
know nothing to tell you.”
“We'll see,” Davidson said. “Why
are you so scared?”
“I’m not, Chief. It’s just a shock,
that’s all.”
“Did you know Mrs. Ells?”
“No, I didn’t. I’ve seen her of
course. She was very pretty. It’s a
shame to be shot with a shotgun.”
“Then -talk to.
Davidson studied the man. Care-
fully he changed the subject from
the victim to Palmer himself.
“You’re not working now? What
was your last job?”
Palmer explained that he had only
had odd jobs for several months. He
had. been in California about a year,
and by chance had met Emery Ells.
“He told me I could live in his
garage if I took care of his brother’s
car. I have been doing that. Both
him.and Alfred have been good to
me.”
S Palmer talked about himself,
Davidson led the conversation
down to the previous night and day.
“Well, I didn’t do much yesterday.
Just loafed around the house. In the
afternoon I went with Al to get his
paycheck. We bought some grocer-
ies. Then we came home.
“And last night?”
prompted him.
“Well, I didn’t do anything spe-
cially then either. Al let Donald—
Davidson
‘that’s his kid brother—sleep out
with me in the garage. The kid likes
the radio. So we listened to the
Arizona Wranglers until maybe one
o’clock. Then we went to sleep.”
“Until one o’clock?” Davidson re-
peated. He was remembering what
the Deputy Coroner had said. “Did
you leave the garage at any time
during the evening?”
“No, Chief, I didn’t leave it once.”
When Palmer continued to deny .
any knowledge whatever of the
crime, Davidson terminated — the
questioning. Palmer was then
booked on suspicion of murder. “As
I see it,” Davidson reasoned, “this
guy could have very well left the
garage, committed the crime and
returned while the kid was asleep.”
“This kid being in. the garage
looks funny to me,” Savage sug-
gested. “Could that have been a
planned alibi?”
“It could have,’ Davidson agreed.
- “Of one thing I am sure, Palmer is
not telling everything he knows.
He’s scared of something. As yet
there is no motive for his commit-
ting the crime, but what is he fright-
ened about?”
“Maybe someone else—one of the
Ells boys, for instance, had the mo-
tive,” Fruitt offered. ‘‘Palmer is ob-
ligated to them. He pulled the job
for them.”
“We're thinking along the same
lines,”” Davidson nodded. “The hus-
band is the one most likely to have
a motive—she wouldn’t come back
to him, or she wouldn’t give him
‘ the baby, or she had insurance.”
“The more we know about the
husband before we take a crack at
him, the better,” Fruitt said. “Let’s
try the brother, Alfred, next.”
Alfred Ells was as easy and un-
concerned about the matter as Pal-
mer had been nervous. “I don’t know
what you want me in here for,” he
said. “I don’t know who killed Merle,
and I’m not interested.”
Davidson tried to take the bravado
out of him by snapping, ‘“We’re
about to book you on suspicion of
murder. That ought to make you
interested in who killed Merle Ells.”
“Itdoesn’t,” Ellscountered. ‘“That’s
your job to find out who killed her.
I didn’t do it, and I know nothing
about it. Book me if you want, but
it won’t get you anything.”
Ells confirmed the unhappy mar-
riage of his brother and the victim,
but indicated that any trouble was
caused by the victim and not his
brother. He scoffed at the suggestion
that either he, his brother, or Palmer
had any connection with the crime
whatever. He also confirmed Pal-
mer’s. statement about going for his
r
ETECTIVE R. V. SAVAGE, of
the 77th Street Police Station,
Los Angeles, took one look at
the body, and turned away
shaking his head slowly.. It
wasn’t a pretty sight. “She never
knew what hit her,” he said to his
partner, Detective C. W. Fruitt.
The body was that of a very at-
tractive young woman. It lay on an
iron bed on the rear sleeping porch
of 323 East 99th Street. Through the
left side of her smooth throat there
was a jagged hole, where a charge
of buckshot had torn its way. Over
her thin nightgown, and across the
covers of the bed, were crimson
blotches of blood, where it had
spurted from the hole in her neck.
The eyes of the two officers swept
the small room, observing each sig-
nificant detail. It was an ordinary
glassed-in porch. All the windows
were closed. The victim’s clothing,
along with a set of tiny garments,
lay in a neat pile on the one straight
chair.
“Nothing’s disturbed,” Savage
said thoughtfully. “Whoever killed
her must have come for: that one
purpose. And shot her while she
slept.”
Fruitt nodded agreement. “There’s
what did the job, I’ll bet.” He point-
éd to a double-barrel. shotgun flung
in a corner near the door. He pulled
out a handkerchief, reached down
and raised the end of the barrel to
his nose. He sniffed at the muzzle.
6": been fired recently.”
Outside the one door to the sleep-
ing porch stood the man who had
admitted them to the house. The
officers turned to him. He identified
himself as Herman Cannon. His face
was haggard; his voice was tensed.
“She... there*on the bed,” he
pointed a nervous finger, “she’s my
sister-in-law. Her name’s Ells,
Merle Ells. That’s my wife you saw
with the baby when you came in the
sfront. We didn’t know anything
about it until the baby came in.”
“What do you mean?” Fruitt
asked sharply. “When what baby
came where?” _ .
“When the baby came in to us...
and blood was all over it,” Cannon’
brushed the front of ‘his clothing
with his hands. “Blood all up and
down its nighty.”
“You mean the baby belongs to
the victim? It was with her?” Sav-
age asked disbelievingly.
“Yes, that’s it,” Cannon replied
hurriedly. “We were asleep. The
baby crawled into our room. When
Florence—that’s my wife—saw the
blood, she came out here and found
Merle—found her like that in there.”
“You didn’t hear any shot?”
Cannon shook his head. “Didn't
hear anything.” ;
“We'd better talk to your wife
first,” Fruitt said.
“Don’t make her come out here,”
Cannon begged. “This is plenty hard
on her. Don’t make her look at
Merle again.”
Cannon led them to the front room
and introduced his wife. Her nervous
hands clutched at the baby she held.
in her arms. Her eyes were Tred, and
she kept wiping them with the hem
of the baby’s dress. “I can’t believe
it,” she half sobbed. “I can’t believe
that Emery would go this far.”
“Compose yourself,” Savage said
soothingly. “We want to know about
Emery, but we want to get the story
straight from the beginning. Just let
us ask the questions and you,answer
them.”
But before the officers could begin
Detectives J. P. Filkas and William
Baggott stand by as Emery Ells and
mystery-man Brown come face to face. "
’ :
‘ rrte®, bie
to question Mrs. Cannon, a'police car
‘ braked to a stop in front. Inspector
David A. Davidson, Detective Lieu-
tenants William Baggott, Jerry Hic-
key, and Frank Ryan of the Central
Homicide Bureau, hurried inside.
Within a few minutes Savage and
Fruitt had told the Inspector all they
had learned. Davidson viewed the
death room, and ordered Ryan to
notify the Coroner’s Office. “And
call the Bureau, too. Get a photog-
rapher and a fingerprint man out
here right away.”
ACK in the front room, Davidson
i took charge of questioning the
Cannons: Both stated that they had
heard no shot during the night; that
they had first become alarmed when
they saw the baby with blood on its
“clothing.
“Now this Emery you mentioned,
who is he?” Davidson asked.
“He’s Merle’s husband,” Mrs. Can-
hon replied. “They were divorced.” '
- ‘Why do you think he had any-
thing to do with this?”
“I don’t know that he did,” Mrs,
Cannon said. “I just know he was
mean to Merle. They’d had a let of
trouble. He beat her up once.”
‘“Do you know where we can find
him?” -
Mrs. Cannon did not know the ad- .
dress. “I don’t know the number,”
Cannon volunteered, “but I can take -
you there. It’s over in Huntington
Park.” ° :
Davidson. detailed Savage and
Fruitt to accompany Cannon to
Huntington Park, a city adjdining
Los Angeles’ eastern border. “Stop
at the Huntington Park Police Sta-
tion,” he instructed.. “Ask them to
send one of their officers with you.”
In ,the meantime the Deputy Cor-
BY MALDEN GRANGE
oner’ arrived at the scene. It :
shortly: after 8:00 o’clock. '
Deputy estimated that the vic
had been dead about eight ho
“That would make it around m
night,” Davidson observed.
As soon as the police photograp
had made his photographs of
body and the death room, the Dep
ordered the’ body removed to
County Morgue. Then the fing
print expert went to work in
room. “I’m doubtful we'll get <
prints,” Davidson said, “except
that gun. From ‘the looks of thin
the killer opened the door and tc
a step or two into the room, tt
fired, dropped the gun, and left.”
“How he kept from killing 1
baby is a mystery to me,” Ryan sa
“I don’t think it was an accid
that he didn’t,” Baggott offered. “
knew that baby was there, and
didn’t want to kill the baby.”
Davidson pinched his ch
thoughtfully. “You may have som
thing there. The only person 1
know about who wouldn’t want
kill the baby is the husband.”
“Not necessarily,” Hickey cc
rected. “It still isn’t explained w
the Cannons did not hear the bl:
of a shotgun when they were on
a few feet from this room.”
“I see what you're thinking
Davidson said. “The baby cou
have been the motive. What we’
got to do here is find out all the
is to know about Mrs. Ells’ marit
life, and how much she thought
that baby, and how much oth
people wanted to get the baby aw:
from her.” .
A minute examination of the roo
failed to reveal a single clue of in
portance. The fingerprint expe
dusted all objects in the room ar
Baby Ells emerged from death chamber covered with
blood from wounds of mother who slept beside him.
paycheck and buying groceries
the afternoon.
Ells said that he was Deputy Con-
stable in Maywood, a community
adjoining Huntington Park. “I pa-
trol all night. I was on duty last
night until about six o’clock. Then
I took the car down to the Powell
in
Cafe and left it for Emery to use >
to come home in. Another guy al-
ways takes me home, so I leave the
car for Emery.”
Davidson soon decided that if Al-
fred Ells knew anything about the
murder of Merle Ells he was not
going to admit it. It was a waste of
time to question him further until
more vital information on the case
had been uncovered. He ordered Al-
fred booked.
Next Emery Ells was brought into
the room. A chunky-built young
man of twenty-six, Emery had the
easiness of his older brother, Alfred,
but lacked his bravado.
“Y’m sorry about this whole thing,
of course,” he said. ‘‘But there isn’t
much I can help you fellows with
in finding out who killed her.”
To questions, Emery readily ad-
mitted that he had had a very un-
happy married life with the victim.
He also admitted that he had tried
to get her to return to him, but
denied that he had ever threatened
her life.
“A few months ago I met her in
Santa Monica,” he related. ‘I wanted
er to come to Los Angeles with
, and she didn’t want to come.
anted to see the baby, and I
Sabbed her and started to push her
in the car. She screamed and a cop
came. She had me arrested for hit-
ting her—which I didn't do. It was
just one of those things.”
“Yes, we've heard about it be-
fore,” Davidson said.
“You would if you've talked to
Herman Cannon,” Emery said blunt-
ly. “The Cannons have tried to cause
trouble between us all along. Don’t
believe anything Herman Cannon
tells you.”
“Now tell us where you were all
last night.” E
“T worked all night,” he replied.
“IT work every night at Powell’s cafe
on East Slauson.”
“You never left the cafe at any
time?”
He smiled. “You’re thinking the
wrong things. I-wasn’t out of the
cafe all night. You can check that
by talking to the boss. Besides, In-
spector, I had no reason to kill
Merle. I didn’t love her any more,
but I didn’t hate her enough to kill
her either.”
“Well, that’s your story,” David-
son said. ‘“We’ll prove or disprove it
later. In the meantime, we’ll have
to book you along with the others
until we straighten out this tangle.”
Emery stood up. “I realize that.
It’s okay by me. If there’s anything
I can help you with, I'll be glad to
do it.” :
URING the remainder of the day,
Sunday, November 2, 1930, vari-
ous teams of detectives dug into the
past lives of the victim, the Can-
‘nons, the Ells brothers, and Palmer.
The statements of each of the wit-
nesses were confirmed, but nothing
was found which would strengthen
suspicion toward any one.
It wasn’t until the following day
that new developments appeared. It
was then that Davidson formally
assigned the case to Baggott and
Detective Lieutenant J. P. Filkas,
who had not. been on duty the day
of the crime. In order to familiarize
Filkas with the facts and the people
concerned, the two officers went over
the ground again, and again ques-
e\\s 4
SHeurenants
tioned the Cannons, the two Ells
brothers, and Palmer.
Nothing of importance was. dis-
covered until a neighbor of the Ells
reported that she had seen Palmer
washing a pair of trousers the morn-
ing before. ‘He hung them on the
line very early. I thought it was
strange that he’d be washing his
clothes so early on Sunday morn-
ing.”
A thorough search of the garage
where Palmer lived revealed two
pairs of freshly laundered trousers.
Both were taken to the Crime Lab
for examination.
“T think we’d better work on this
guy Palmer,” Filkas suggested.
“He’s a No. 1 sugpect, and he’s a
weak sister. Unless I miss my guess
he’s about ready to crack.”
By the time Baggott and Filkas
had returned to Los Angeles they
found another development. A check
of police records had revealed that
Emery Ells had spent twelve days
in jail for striking his wife, and that
she had complained on another oc-
casion that he had kidnapped their
baby. “Looks like we’ve got two
guys to work on, instead of one,”
Baggott observed.
But several hours of intense ques-
tioning of both Palmer and Emery
failed to bring forth any important
admission. Palmer readily admitted
washing his trousers early Sunday
morning. “They were dirty, that’s
why. You can look them over. You
won't find anything on them.”
Emery admitted that he had
served the jail sentence. “That was
over the Santa Monica affair. I felt
pretty badly about it. So I just
pleaded guilty and let it go at that.
As for that. kidnapping’ business,
there was nothing to it. I -took the
baby for a drive. Then I suddenly
decided to take him to Arizona to
let my mother see him. Merle knew
it all the time. She got excited after-
wards and made that complaint. I
brought him back in a couple days.
I wasn’t going to keep him from
her.” :
In a con- (Continued on page 34)
29
—*
42,
>
YELLOW, YELLOW TICKET continued
an unkempt petitioner knocked at her
door. “I don’t give a hoot if a man’s
clothes are all patches, but I’ve got no
patience with.an unwashed face and a
mess of whiskers.”
Her friend and associate in ‘the local
Church Circle, Mrs. Estelle Scarbor-
ough, once asked her if she did not
get nervous about having strange men
knocking at her door at all hours.
“Nervous?” Belle Turner shrugged.
“You’ve only got so long to live, and
there’s no use fretting all the time
about what might happen. I remember
once, a nasty-looking customer came
to my door. I didn’t like his looks so
I told him to run along. He pulled out
a gun and aimed it at me—said I'd
better give him some money. I just
stared at him and said, ‘Well, shoot
if yowre going to, but that’s the only
way you'll get anything out of me, you
skulking coyote.’ He stood there for a
minute, not knowing what to do. Then
he ran off and I never saw him again.”
That was typical of Belle Turner.
i, “it
rs Py oe
*
Ada Belle Turner—she had .money, she had a kind heart, and she believed
Mrs. Scarborough, who lived in the
next house on the same street, ceased
to worry about a woman who had that
much spunk. ;
At 8:30 on Monday morning, Sep-
tember 28, 1942, Estelle Scarborough -
finished her household chores and went
out into the brilliant autumn sunlight.
’ She walked over to the Turner house,
only 100 yards away, and knocked. at
the front door. She wanted to find out
if Belle would accompany her to the
Circle meeting as usual that day.
There was no answer, so she went
around to the back. Since it was Mon-
day morning, perhaps Mrs. Turner was
doing the washing in the streamlined
laundry she had installed in a rear
room of the house.
The shades in the laundry windows
were drawn clear down—something
Mrs. Scarborough had never seen be-
fore. She knocked at the back door.
No answer, though Belle’s horse Turk
was neighing in the barn and it was
clear that the mistress of the place
in giving a helping hand. But she flatly refused to be played for a sucker.
was not out on her rounds of the ranch.
A little nervously, Mrs. Scarborough
opened the laundry door and peered in.
As her eyes became accustomed to the
comparative darkness, she saw Belle
Turner lying on the floor. Her throat
had been cut and there was blood all
around....
‘ml WHEN POLICE CHIEF Walter Vis-
‘cia got the alarmy his first move was to
telephone Sheriff Charles Silva at
nearby Auburn, the county seat, and
ask his help. In all its history, Colfax
had never had a murder until now,
and Viscia wanted an experienced
homicide man to work on the case.
When the chief reached the Turner
place a few minutes later, he found
Mrs. Scarborough waiting for him in
front.
“She’s in the laundry,” she said,
white-faced. “I didn’t touch anything
—just looked inside and then called
you.”
Viscia walked around and entered
the laundry door. The body was in the
far corner, clad in a flowered house-
coat over a white slip. There was a
six-inch knife slash in the throat, and
a wound in the forehead that seemed
to have been caused by a heavy blow.
The chief flexed the slain woman’s
arm and found it quite stiff. Belle
Turner had obviously been dead for
some time. He looked around the
white-painted room, but there was no
sign of a knife or any other weapon,
so apparently the killer had carried it
away with him: Viscia went outside,
where Mrs. Scarborough was waiting,
hard put to repress her tears.
“Belle didn’t have an enemy in the
world,” she said. “It must have been a
robber, don’t you think?”
“It’s possible,” the chief agreed.
“Every miner in the Mother Lode knew
she was ready to dish out a meal just
about any time. It could be that one of
them decided to take what he could
find.” He paused. “Did you notice any
callers around here yesterday?”
Mrs. Scarborough shook her head.
- “I was gone all evening. But I know
that hardly a day went by without
some man stopping in. She was so
kind-hearted!”
Viscia went into the living quarters
of the rambling house and made a
methodical search. In the hall he found
Mrs. Turner’s purse, which contained
some twenties, tens and singles—$106
in all. In a kitchen cupboard was a
—_
“I
tw
dusk on Sunday.
’“Any description?” Silva asked.
“Yes, a pretty good one. She said he
was a young fellow, maybe 25 or so,
wearing overalls, a khaki work shirt
and heavy shoes. Slender, and about six
feet tall. The woman couldn’t tell any
more about him, but she thinks she’d
know him if she saw him again.”
“Good. Better notify the Southern
Pacific detectives to be on the lookout
for him, and check the hobo jungles
and the trailer courts.”
The telephone rang. It was Deputy
Coroner West, calling from Auburn.
“We looked in the pockets of, her
housecoat,” he said. “Nothing there but
a lace handkerchief and a four-inch bit
of shoestring.”
“Shoestring!” the sheriff echoed. “A
man’s shoestring?”
“Looks like it.”
“Peculiar, isn’t it? Why would she be
lugging around a useless bit of shoe-
string? Well, we’ll look into it. Thanks.”
He swung around to District Attorney
Sparks. “The puzzle of that locker is
getting me. Let’s go over and talk to
Mrs. Scarborough, the woman who.
found the body.” .
They walked across the well-kept
lawn to the Scarborough place and
introduced themselves to the neighbor
woman.
“We want to know as much about
Mrs. Turner as possible,” Sheriff Silva
explained. “You knew her quite well,
didn’t you?”
She nodded sadly. “I should say I
did. We’ve been neighbors for close to
30 years, and good friends all of that
time.”
“Well, there’s one thing we can’t un- :
derstand—that big steel locker in the
laundry. Do you know what it’s for?”
“Why, yes. You’ve heard how tender-
hearted Belle was. She gave free meals
to any number of fellows, and she even
loaned money to some of them. Most of
them—particularly friends of her hus-:
band—she’d give money to without any
security or even a receipt. But there
were some who insisted on giving her
some kind of security—maybe a pair
of boots, or a gun, or something like
that. It seemed like they felt better do-
ing it that way.
“Then, too, there were a few out-
and-out strangers she’d take security
from. She didn’t want to, but she knew
that otherwise she’d be likely to be
imposed upon.”
“IT get it,” Silva said. “You mean she
kept those things she took for security
in that locker?”
“That's right. The locker would
sometimes contain the strangest assort-
ment of things you ever saw. She kept
it in the laundry because that room is
fireproof.”
The sheriff thought this over. It still
didn’t quite make sense. It still didn’t
seem that there could have been any-:
thing in the locker of enough value to
motivate a murder.
“Did she by any chance keep the key
to the locker tied to an old piece of
shoelace?” he queried.
« “Yes, she did. Did you find it?”
“We found the shoelace, but not the
key.”
“I think I can help you there,” Mrs.
Scarborough said. “Belle lost the key
some time ago, so she had _ several
duplicates made. She kept the extra
ones in that sugar bowl in the kitchen
where she had her grocery money.”
Thanking Mrs. Scarborough, Silva
and Sparks returned to the Turner
house. Sure enough, two locker keys
were at the bottom of the sugar bowl
among bills and coins.
“So now we've got the key,” the
sheriff grumbled, “but we still can’t
open that locker for fear of ruining
fingerprints—fingerprints that might
“not even be there.”
“Kessel ought to be getting here any
minute,” the district attorney said.
“He should. Meanwhile, let’s take a
look around outside.”
™ THEY WALKED out the back door.
In the barn, they stopped to feed Mrs.
Turner’s horse, Turk, who appeared to
be hungry. Outside the barn, where the
earth was soft, they found a couple of
footprints—male footprints. The sheriff
bent down and studied them.
“Big, square and blocky,” he said.
“Rubber heel. Size 11 or so—just about
the size a big man like that woman saw.
would wear.”
They moved on in the direction the
footprints pointed. In a narrow wagon
road going through the orchard, they
found another one of the same prints.
They continued on through the orchard,
but here the turf was thick and there
were no marks. Nevertheless, they
strode on through the trees, hoping to
pick up the trail again, and eventually
they came to a fence beyond which
cattle were grazing.
“No use looking any further for foot-
prints, that’s plain,” Sparks said.
So they walked back again. As they
approached the spot where they had
found the print in the wagon road, the
district attorney suddenly bent over
and picked up something.
“What’s this?” he murmured. “A
yellow cardboard tag with a number
printed on it in red.” He handed it to
YELLOW, YELLOW. TICKET
(Continued from page 43)»
the ‘sheriff.
Silva examined it. “Looks like a claim
check of some kind. See—it’s got a date
stamped on 'the other side. August 22,
1942. That’s almost exactly a month
ago.”
“It hasn’t been lying here a month,”
Sparks remarked. “It’s as fresh and
clean as if it had just been issued.”
“It’s a cinch it was dropped here very
‘recently,’ Silva agreed. “You picked it
up only a dozen feet from that foot-
print. Now, there’s a chance that the
man who made those prints is the killer.
There’s also a chance that he dropped
. this ticket. Just a chance, and a mighty
slim one, but we’ll work on it.”
As they returned to the house, State
Criminologist Kessel drove up,, and
they were uncommonly glad to see him.
Silva briefed him quickly on the case.
“There’s a locker we’ve been just
itching to get into,” he said, “but we’ve
been afraid to touch it until you check
it for prints.”
Kessel grinned as he hauled a suit-
case filled with scientific equipment
from the car. “Sorry to hold you boys
up,” he said, “but it takes a little time
to get here from Sacramento.”
They escorted him into the laundry,
where he took a camel’s hair brush and
dusted the locker door with powder.
“The joke’s on you,” he said. “No
prints there after all—at least none
that are worth anything.”
Muttering to: himself, Sheriff Silva
slid the key into the lock and opened
the locker. A pair of fancy butteffly
design cowboy boots fell out as the door
swung open, and the investigators gazed
at a queer collection of oddments.
There was a fringed leather jacket,
a coiled grass rope, an old frontier-
model Colt revolver. There was a pair
of binoculars, an ornate belt with gold
buckle, and a silver loving cup whose
engraving proclaimed it to be third
prize award at the Salinas rodeo.
“Off hand, I don’t see anything prom-
ising in this stuff,” Silva said. “But look
-—there’s a steel strong box on the
shelf.”
Kessel dusted the box and found
two clear fingerprints on it. The box
was then opened. It contained a receipt
made out to Mrs. Turner for a $10
loan, another receipt for $15, a couple
of scraps of paper bearing notations, a
bank folder of cancelled checks and
a few old letters.
“I can’t see anything significant here,”
Sparks sighed.
“Nor can I,” the sheriff admitted. “It
beats me. There’s no doubt in my mind
that the killer opened that locker and
took something out of it. What he took,
&
sugar bowl containing $52 and some
change—probably grocery money. In
Mrs. Turner’s bedroom was an assort-
ment of valtable jewelry including a
pair of diamond earrings that must
have been worth at least $500. In the
bedroom of the late Bob Turner was a
solid gold watch engraved with his
name, and a case containing three ex-
pensive guns. :
All in all, the chief got the idea that
whoever killed Belle Turner had not
done so for robbery—or if he had, he
must have been downright blind. :
At that moment, Sheriff Silva drove
up, accompanied by District Attorney
Lowell Sparks. Behind them, driving
an ambulance, came Deputy Coroner
Francis West: Viscia joined the other
investigators, led them into the laundry
and outlined the facts as far as he knew
them.
“Nothing seems to be disturbed in
the rest of the house,” he said. “No
drawers pulled out, no sign of ran-
sacking. And there are plenty of valu-
able items there, including some
money.”
Sheriff Silva, a gray-haired veteran
of many investigations, nodded and
took over. His first move was to tele-
phone the identification bureau at
Sacramento and ask if Owen Kessel, a
fingerprint expert, could come at once.
West knelt down and examined the
body, studying the wounds, peering
into the eyes and taking a close look at,
the pool of crusted and congealed blood
near the head.
‘Yd say she’s been dead about 12
hours,” he announced. “That’s an esti-
mate and could be off an hour or so
either way.”
“‘Tt’s 9:30 now,” the sheriff said. “That
would place the murder last evening
sometime. Just what would she be.
doing in the laundry on a Sunday eve-
ning?”
“Search me. Anyway, there are two
wounds, both of which could have
been fatal. She was slugged on the,
forehead with some heavy weapon—’
maybe a hammer or flatiron. It broke
her skull. Also, there’s this: long cut
in her throat, which severed the jugular
and must have been done with a sharp,
long-bladed knife.”
When the coroner had finished, they
lifted the body and carried it out to the
ambulance. It was then that Silva
noticed that the back of Mrs. Turner’s
housecoat was smudged with dust—a
point that at first puzzled him. While
West drove away with the body, and
Chief Viscia left to question the neigh-
bors, Silva and District Attorney
Sparks reentered the murder room.
Except for the blood on the floor,
it was a remarkably clean and efficient
laundry, a room typical of Belle Turn-
er. There was a long white-topped
table against one wall, and in a corner
a double stationary tub of gleaming
porcelain. Next to this was the electric
washer, while a few feet away was a
large, green-enameled steel locker.
Silva eyed the locker.
“It’s locked,” he said, peering into
the crack next to the door. “I’m not
going to mess around with it until
Kessel comes and looks for finger-
prints. Now, just what sort of valuables
would she be keeping in the laundry?”
“It doesn’t seem to belong here,”
Sparks agreed. “Look—there’s -some
blood on the floor right in front of the
locker.”
“So there is,” the sheriff said in sur-
prise. “How can that be? We found
her on the floor about ten feet away.”
m@ THEY BOTH puzzled over this point
for a moment. “I think I have’ it,”
Silva said at last. “The locker’s right
next to the door leading from the
kitchen. That’s where she was slugged,
and she fell to the floor. Then the
killer, for some reason, dragged her
body away to the spot where we found
it, and cut her throat.”
“But why did he drag her away?”
“IT don’t know yet, but it explains
that smudge on the back of her house-
coat.” The sheriff frowned as he pon-
dered this seemingly inexplicable item.
Then his face cleared. “I think I have
it. When she was lying here, she was
in front of the locker—in the way of
the door. The killer pulled her away
because he wanted to open the locker
door.” _
‘Sparks gazed at him queerly. “Which
makes it seem that there must be
something important in that locker.”
“Something important enough to
cause murder—and we can’t touch it
until Kessel comes and looks for
_Rrints!”
They. made a careful search of the
rest of the house, and verified Viscia’s
assertion that nothing had been dis-
turbed or taken. A few minutes later,
Chief Viscia himself returned to re-
port that one neighbor had seen a.
strange man turn into Mrs. Turner’s
gate around (Continued on page 72)
Sheriff Silva—a locked steel locker
gave him a weird idea.
The killer—he was busy washing
clothes when the sheriff called.
—
undoubtedly, is the clue we need.”
Kessel found a few more fingerprints
around the. room, and at length the in-
vestigators left, locking the house. As
they walked out to their cars, Chief
Viscia drove up with Deputy Sheriff
Jack Shannon. In the back seat with
Shannon was a young man wearing
handcuffs.
“We found him down by the railroad
tracks,” Viscia said. “He was just about
to hop a freight. Looks a lot like the
man the neighbor woman saw.”
He did. Shannon brought him out of
the car and Sheriff Silva looked him
over. The suspect was perhaps 27, and
he answered the description very close-
‘ly except that he wore a blue work
shirt instead of a khaki one—an item
the woman might easily have been mis-
taken about.
“Your name?” the sheriff asked.
“Joe Pierce,” the man said sullenly.
“Say, what’s this all about, anyway?”
“A little matter of murder. Where
are you from?”
“Murder?” Pierce laughed. “I don’t
go for that stuff. I been working at a
mine about 20 miles east, and I quit the
other day and am heading south.”
“Where were you last evening?”
“I camped down there by the rail-
road yards—couldn’t get a freight out
until today.”
“Anybody see you there?” the sheriff
asked.
Pierce shook his head. “I suppose not.
I’m going it alone. Look—dammit, I
ain’t done nothing!”
= THERE WERE A.FEW small spots
on Pierce’s trousers that looked like
blood. The sheriff looked at the bottoms
of his shoes, but they bore hobnailed
heels instead of rubber ones and were
clearly not the ones that had made the
footprints. Still, Silva couldn’t bank on
those footprints being the killer’s.
The woman who had seen the man
entering the Turner home was brought
over to view Pierce.
“I don’t know,” she said nervously.
“He looks a little like the man I saw,
but I think he’s heavier.”
There was nothing to do but hold
Pierce for further investigation, and
Shannon took him away to the lockup
in Auburn. :
“That leaves us with the yellow |
ticket,” Silva said, telling Chief Viscia
the circumstances of its discovery.
‘Viscia looked it over. “It’s new and
clean. It sure hasn’t been out on the
_ground any length of time.” -
“No,” Silva agreed. “And you'll no-
tice it isn’t frayed or bent, either. It
hasn’t been carried in someone's pocket
for a month, that’s sure.” He frowned.
“I wonder if it could have been in the:
locker.”
“The locker!” Sparks echoed. “You
(Continued on next page)
: i hd ial xo ° A» 2 ae
~In New York, the moguls of the police department figure it's almost as bad
for a policewoman to appear on duty with a shiny nose as to be without her
service revolver. So they provide her with a kit containing two kinds of powder
—-for the gun and for the face. Kit is shown above, with cosmetic department
on right containing powder, rouge and lipstick. Below, Irene Peters, director
of the bureau of policewomen, wears the kit as she talks to a policewoman in
plain clothes.
i
BORGAS, Rite, Mexican, hanged Folsom (Kern County) January 21, 1916.
(hee defer. Casptiins
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Diet latte Le tonne tf feed Mb a3 Pk Me! FO Loop tn
ee ar few Cocid glia ebals
Ty secon ta es a ag doh é
Atued re, 7 La bad eye nd of eortel foreleiths
Liming: Pitas, loli ttity 7 Litres, eaelgenf seer brn
Awd J Orit! gous hit S Mes - Chass hat Paces a
Ane © Oe os. hy Gftste lhicet Hhag hadik; Loe (bert.
APPEALS
EXECUTION
Boke nefit bald ys [146 7 vk (i
ba TE ABI OBE
|
Pic BRE
a7
Lene
COMPLETE A ASSOC TATED PRESS SERVICE
a
WARERSFIELD. CALIFORNIAS PIUDANY EAN \. oY ata Zs
anti ie a ae beaeeanite msiie ayes tow forane ers ln on penta 6 ’ mee a a Rinne em NR a ee mI oR eR ee te RNR tL ea ome teen. me
| SH
mk reese ote ip ee dk
ye a |
! é ee ve ‘ |
TES Late Photographs of General Villa, Reported Captured, and |
| Gren. Jose Rodrizuez, Executed Recently For Slaying Americans |,
4 i
|
: : r ae a * H
3 eit adn pers r ame ee Po te manent poten 5 H
Z PS mmmmnstian tomes 2 SRE oy et LO ! « |
i * pois ght te Ga 7 d sy : : ‘ ; . Saf
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8 i bs ye SS : : ; 4 Be ek 4 Nosh sah, : x ‘ i
* af ‘= : aa ia Gy Le ht nat age peri. {
& ; me aE “ES Geen ‘ ae |
A s { i tee ao he > 4
Carraé
“Chi
well Streams
‘ections Are
Biated
AND Ooo
PT FLOODED:
spree
ist Spr ead
Borgas Merced Ir ¢
ag :
Pe ge
oa <i lowa and f D b] ep Tal
: Gene: i ‘ ve
@@ \issourt. or a Ou e who
ey ff rf ‘ . 4 5 .
Pee |) Murder Herel.
xe : Soli ¢. Ae the } Ue J ur e r e re depart
a H rae H F
Mt conttatsts FS tie i : togete on the &
: e pee everiowe ; ' y \ we tf 3 |. - ¥ \ Villa w
chated a seorecat i +4 ei epenadive Grersales Is Now sperm
Noobs scat dite re j.% ‘ ‘ ge ope : _night’s &
Seat cataweer tant “ ! Somving Liles Tere kore} vasa
cdreud Ginetta | ros ear, Set ae oe kta Pg Anoth
sicietnsbaeet Byes His | ‘1 11) Crime, ben pie
cite cat phe tes Pe ; wrhe !ed to he
a
we SOCROV MEN TOM: Dine ot Waites er. ed the
"Pus a Deeiged: ab Petsare prison today | been br
" cuted t
r spread Tar eaveer
ree His hedaghte dn}
Testhet xcbrere throat
trees woepee iced ed
, Tor the teaeder of frank Amador and}
| Copp bigte € haves ip Iwern county. be HERRE
te i ge ee : ‘
ites ga eine: ee : shoetethem fromcatbustoas they were VILLA
Mugu and beats.
tobe cpt oalokeed PassiMe UN a akon with Pom iniqie: oe ee
} f Uhavexs” mother. with whom Borcgaxs tte feete
‘ ‘ .
Wa tofatunted Death was proneune.| recetye
ee PE Kee ce nee i
4g eer St. Charheact Meron Setatghns: ed Ts oininntes and bo seeand . after the | ported
trap Was sprung. re pee “} positives
H Teported tigseh | ARO ea a mh ies : : se : , : :
ee esuthinat | PLAN SOM Governor Calls oo pe ; tad be
Trinidad CGanwiles, aecomplice: af] was rec
1¢
vastern oMissours, te eg J ‘e ; ° ;
Hitt Aah cad I urther Impedes | Attention to the Rergan in the bental double murder Neate
> which occurred at Semi Tropie on duty | Wexica
Railr oad Trafic: J0wish HeHOt Plans yyy coon danced cnporviea inet: tertort.4
‘- ont ee am ‘tente in the state peniteptiary. >) A peoneert
ALN ' KOH, Rar E Jan ep OE Tenny-| SACHA MENTO, Cato Jane rb ~ Rate. The trial of the twoormen in jthe ost The ¢
continental trattie over Cee Atetison. itive te the movernient for the cellet of perior court here left a oumber of cir [Of the
pai ke Ae Ee Si eet Der ed by jUie stricken: people at the: Jewish race euhstanees surrounding tie rime iin | fernied
food conditions mi Arsena, was far cin Borope Governor Hiram We John explained. The motive: presumed: to} akainst
Foy river and?
Uters> rtperves |
tricts in oe.
H
|
H
River.
t
1 fron their)
Maya t Ye ter inpeded today br oneavy saan fait con tend: rodssaed the dathowinsgs proche bave- bees joulottsy : : ed den
ta Foal pide ‘ In Coeovidtnity of Gloria nortioast- of finationote Cre people oof Califernta: wieetie ite ae iat tell
TSS Fede There Trem paysencer: trains arr ve MAT Cie sired lon of tee irtive fe | in. that tog
ek esi} ? og és , ' Aes . v1 iat ”
ee ported stalled there aud: three weer lin pros idins wiel far the de: titute fn aint, 000 De erease in Deeg
crteatiny wells bound trains are ter
ne held here bes Purbpe Lhereby direct the attention ol the Bank Cle arings ta Juare
she enn? hecctit: Washonts in Yrezona Ap tlie d the peoptes af California tacthe prect trecler
river oA sour local Santa Fe offiees ap owas anid, it} mation et the President of the United ran offi
ak UAeert¥ Vp Was uncertain when tarough tye Mtites designatiiesThyaredayy daninary in Bakersfield as” Compared With captite
" ISESTIVOR cotkd by ; Sead hoe Eh ie Ag dat Se oer Clearinga for Bante Wee ue tee
As Water SUD be wuse of
fe Meraipeyrargd
oat :
Ee
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ee 2 PAGES”
“~< -
ae ne a ae Se
Lae Jeti :
‘COMPLETE ASSOC!
ee ance es
S ‘VOL. aad cli
mG
7
TH
oh
vad
+
Be MAES is,
fhe
P, MORG
__. BAKERSFIELD, CALIFO!
SS A te
aware Ca OR
Le IS OF WON
AYERS TO ESCAPE: MAN HUNT |
__ STARTED BY POSSEFROM WASED
| “rank WC aor and Chavas
Land Company. Ranch Are Dead as a Result of |.
Double Shooting Affray Last Night; Trinidad
Gonzales and Reto Borgus Are at.Large; Jeal-
ousy Over Woman Revives Old Feud.
s Bay of Ken Couns
\oipan and a bev are dead and a we-
- iman and another inan are suffering
trom wounds an the result of two sep
ebate shooting alfrays near Seni
Vropie fast night. Trinidad Uonzaltes
wud Reto RBorgus, the slayers, escaped
oberss under Constable Bud Weil. of
Wasco by a clever ruse after they had
beea run to earth in a midnight man
Juan i
be oe dead are Frank Amador, a Mex-
aN the si-vearaid son of a Mrs. Cla-
vas. Jusnn Rivera,
a Guillet wound through hig neck and
abother sound In Nis leg. Mrs. tua-
Veo, Who Wis wiso wounded, Hes at
tie home oof friends bere sutrering
om a wenn im ner arms.
An O'd Feud.
The trouble is Uiought to be the ot:
some ol w tuba, originating tn the Gow
fondness for other mey's wives,
sothauge me aefinite motive could be
learned from the Mexicuns who were
sap (18 aalinir:
news of the taurder of Amador
(haven bey was brought te
cr. 8 FM
ews ot
Ths
’
and. lie
Wario taut night. Well, Henry
Bebiede oo Wasson attorney, and op: o4
the Matuian heya filly armed tmine-
tety
jean jaborer at the Semi Tropic ranch, !
the wounded tan,’
ts now jn the county hospital here with
tet far the serve of the slot
oo A
{The Dead and os
the Wounded in
Last Night’s Affray
: q
The dead as the result of last
nights shooting near Semi-Tropic
are.
Frank Amador, a Mexican tabor-
er on the K. C. L. Co. ranch. 4
Chavas, a wey about 6»
years old.
The wounded: :
Mrs. Chavas, shot through arm.
Juan Rivera, shot through neck
and legs.
The alleged slayers now being
Bought:
, Reto Borgus.
Trimidad Gonrates.
4
-—— Stitt’
4
a ~~.
and anoteer through his legs. Pour
shots were fred, but only two took ef
tect. bie wounded man says Gap
rales’ bryther was present when the
shooting occurred
Riven: wmeserts that when th
AN our 0
re a At ee
bse
t
i
i
THREE DAYS OF JOY
é
&.
sestitenathiantelieiiedtheeaibadie
a eee
F DANGE
S Kem County Celebi
~ Sentiment. of
PPP AP
& wna ~ re m orn FE
ERN COUNTY coleln iy ihe nati
ein half a score of w idely scattered
-veslerd: wand the observance: ofl
continuing in sever ral towns foday.. Greal
from Bakersfield to-Tehac hapi-ei arly Sun
“and while a majority ofthe merrymakers
night many nore ski aed ¢ over r for the « con
Progra 22 es oo
Baseball games, hor se rac ing ‘and On
lests, pienic dinners, dancing “and \patri
were offered! for the entertainment oft
various towns, among which were Tel:
copa, McFarland, Glenville; Randsburg
Ordend os a
Many picnic kine crowds left B: sparen
biles Saturday afvernoon and Sunday
Democral Springs, Lebee and the Kern Ris
WV Today’s Pro
poecar
Same 2
-—-
Sracticslly the &
ing followed at “tl
bration today — ax
Bryant of the UU:
‘department of the
fornia was the ¥}
Tita morming, tak
ttopics, There wax
at the barbecue 0)
much ment being
dav. :
Al THE MA
CELEBRA
Auto Races Thrill: Carnival
Spirit Prevails at Grand :
This afternoen |
Ball. dancing, bronche ?
: se igame wh? prove?
MATUICODA, July $.-- The West Side
ad
COPA |.
7! erowd assembled
Fourth of July celebration bhecun infiowy > The Taft
this cit. with «band CON eer oaris ul Pa hi
nine
t
OM Ma aelinite medeve Could be
icarmed from the Mexicans who were
reeds ON ad Ce@ WIhAIT.
The news of the murder of Amador
and the Chavag Boy Was brougit te
Waseo tant night. Well, Henry
schinidt, a Wraee attorney, and our o1
the Mahutan beya filly armed tmine-
diately lett for the scene of the stioot
ing in an automobile.
In the middle of a ficld of sane
brush about one mile fram Semi Trop
a wagon waa found, Across the front
seat lay the body of s\inguor, iti yor
as he had died, and crumpled up on
the back seat was the body of the
thavas bow. Bath bodfes had beer
puuped fall of bullets from a 44 vali
ber revolver. naa ati PINTO.
: Shot Without Warning.
¢ According to the almost incoherent
‘tory of the Hitde Chavas girl and her
mother, who were in the wagon when!
the shooting eccurred, Gonzales and
Jorgus drove uo beside them in a cart
pod began shooting without warning.
“The horse driven by Atnador started
_ fo Tun awa and broke wildly saeross
“the: fleld. Following closely the man;
women and two little children in their
nad fight, came Gonsales and Borgus}
firing as they drove. Finally the wa-
gon shaft snapped and while the horse
kicked Idasetf free from the velnicle
the murderers finished their victims,
Leaving their gruesome — find t+
ounce, the Wasco posse took up the
cart (racks ToltowiIng them with lt-
(ie difficulty Ulrongny re ignel H
old dnge place. just east of the Halt
tanch, lore a simall colony of Mext
caus Hyed. As the men started tor
drive inte-1—strd ehere-n-eabin—wat — py
_-_Jucated. Uies were warned by a Mext
* «att woman 10 keep away from the. thought that he wilt rec he will recover. |:
were barrT.-
shot-
-honse, that theo two men
caded fnside and armed with
guns, rifles wid revolvers,
Had House: Surrounded.
A careful ceconnofter showed (hat
the horse driven by the murderers |
‘had been turned out to pasture a
that their cart was in the ‘barn.
» The men kept the house searcnbesiet ens
At every move toward it the Mexi,
@n women se! up such a wild xcream-
gz that the officer and his two I
its decided to walt until daylight.
As soot, a> it began to grow ligt:,!
Neth and Maniuian, leaving Schinide
areuarding the back entrance, broke in-
wie Cabin, and with revolvers drawn,’
Made a search “hich disclosed that
hey had bern Suarding an empty
house while Uo stayers had gatned
several hours in whic h to. make their
Rebaway. =
Witte on guard they found that Ri
vera had been, -ot at the Inge place.
He inty town curly “Ts
Wits brougat
ay by Deputy Sheritfs _Bdpar and
_ Chaney
Ney, Canes
“Veritabie ri ige) ake
Gonzales wits wtinenibed as oa veri:
uble tigersgnan by Rivera, whe told it
CALIFORNIAN ceproscntetive what
he Knew of the attair at. the hospital
sthdsd ittterneen, Romeo
ink us interpreter. Gonsalea, Rivera
said, was in the babit of treating
young children sclously ead Of abun
ing both men and women,
About Tt o'clock Gongales and Bor:
KUS APpearcd at te Inge ranch, Rivers
suid. Havers and bis wife, who went
to Bemi-Tropie frout Law Angeles about
three weeks ago, had been bourding
Gon sules’ ehifaren with the tunder-
standing that the latter should puy $5
H Month Tor the keep Of the two little
youngsters, the eldeat ef which is
only our cears old. Rivera demande t
aa been
E
Blavens aci-|
}
“4
and anotear through iis lags. Four
shots wern fred, but only two-took ef
tect. Tie) wounded man says Gan
bryther wre present when the
shooting occurred,
Rivet aosertsx that when the Boreus
and Genzales heard the automobile
thev wer Stil in the bouse, They es.
eaped, lic tiectured, through the back
entrance and out across the fields,
Attorpt to Soard Train?
It was reported today that twa men,
TMawertic the description of Gonzales
that Boros, has made an unsuccessful
tempt to board aotrain: at Delane
his mornine. That distriet is being
rearched this afternoon by deputy
shehifts, Y
The whole attalr js clouded with a
grest deal of mystery, but Wasco res-
dents are inclined to believe that it
fx the resuit of some trouble over a
won. Gonzales, it ix sald, was. both-
ering the wives of other Mexicans in
the distriet several weeks ago and
about a mouth ago a complaint was
sworn against trim.
Apparently afraid to press: the case,
the witnesses falled to appear” and
Judgo Fowler allowed Gonzales to go
with a@ reprimand.
~
Wife Left Him.
“Bonie Tine azo the wife of Gonzales
left Nim. Rivera sald this afternoon
that this occurred before he came to
the connty and that jealousy could not
bave prompted Gonwales to shoot him.
Rivera said he did not know where
AAG PRN TET
Spirit Prevails ;
Ball.
‘uA, July
MARK
Mourth of July eines
this efty with acbend eo
and grand ballon’ Sat
and continuing with al
program of sporting ci
day, is still in full swi
and the whirt of annuec
end until well after the
tonlgbht. From--BSatumiv
there has not been » dul
the crowds hera have
feature of the celebratio
The parade, half ap
held at 19 o'clock Yest
nnd a targe number
Noats were entered, Sp
due to the school child:
prize was awarded to
housewives, Speciai
Kiven the float “Califor
by W. HL. Thornton.
An friteresting event ©
was tire sinw> auto race
won by a car enteréd
fellow and driven by J. (
21 minutes, 21 seconds;
Side garage car, driven
ter, time 18 aninutes
tlird, Fred Robert's ¢:
Black, UUme 17 mitutsg,
The Hon, Stanley RB.’
Angeles, a well known
und an speaker of note,
eloquent oration tn the
Mrs) Gonzaley wus--—-
Pavers 6: wife and - chitdren: are at
asco. Though badly wounded it Is
NS
. Wasco
RICKENBACKER \
“OMAHA. AUD
IND
Average: Speed 91.07 hliles
Per: Hour; O'Donnell |
second, Orr Third.
OMAHA, Neb., July 5.--Eddle Rick-
‘wnbacher won the 300 mile automobile]
race today. Time, 3: 17:37.29, Aver-
vee OL.07. Riekenbacher led from the
start and this, advantage was never In
SUNY 1 hs ene oie amcncenintn dat
O'Donnell waa second, Tom Orr third
rnd oH. Donaldsom fourth. Ueker.
bacher’s share of the. , ae 000 prize
irones was $6,500. -) -
a te
TACOMA’ RACES, ©
TACOMA, Wash. July 6 tn the
juter+ ite ch00> mile pace on the Ta
cor: speedway this forenoon Parsons
finished first, Ellfott) second, Barsby
third) Parsons’ thue 1:28:27. 2-8.
~Parsens made the 190 tiles without
rab
yee
.
.
iu
neces ill Alii ers
Business Houses
ai Taft Are Closed
“TART, July S.No celebration was
held here today, but nearly all. the
business houses of the city are clos-
ert,
‘held.
beaten. by
A numberof Taft .residenta: left exting
on plenicking trips, yesterday, but the | othor, sports were featy
Eptlowing the literary
‘Maricopa baseball team
the Taft Owls. the-loe
‘a 16 to 2 sc
teries were: -Marieopa-
ny. and Robinsont Tati
Downey.
‘Clay Pigeon 8
Later in the afterno
pigeon shoot was held.
The first event, a 20.
wees won by Harriy, who
1 birds. On the sho
event Harris, Dusent:
Cutchen tied es 19 t
MeCutchen.
The second oF enty aise
portant, was won by
‘birds with a handicap of
up. for this event Was
Thompson, Doudini an
Third event won by }
19 birds; scratched thr
FourtlY event, a “mb
event, won by Harris.
Fifth event. a “miss @
won by Mec prelew wl
ond,
athletic gas
This morning. Taces,
Gove. rg Traces,” three:
sack races, fat men's
to those over 216 poun
nall driving contests fo
Horse raciog and
ing ure features of tle
this afternan. CC, 3. Gr
and Phil Kiipstein are
At 4 o'clock thia af
barbecny is being serv:
ald Re aurden building a
of Matin rtreet.
Tonlaitt the. concert
will bring the celebrat!
Glennville Giv:
Interesting
“GLENNVILLE, July *
of July is being Celedit
a big picnic and @& sch
events. © Horne
When they left the house Gonriles tuajority attended the big. celebration ; and tonight » big dance
ayment, and Gonzales, he sald, asked
im te step out aide, telling hin that
© Would settle the DH or.
Gonzales Opena Pirs....
Bes bed fire onending @ be throws
; sivern’s " Wwek, just under” he jaws,
o* sae A i aia ?
. x oR an :
+4 SSH PAC
cr ‘
nt Maricopa WORD | began . pfaturday
night, | yi he
ak Tallest LD apie pe 4
if cip
al
The celebratloaA degan
wed and 6 big. chowd <
ng the
ed the
- when
i run-
{ come
yed in
surious
drawn
nce to
-e men.
; bare-
isted a
iled in
her he
iniform
igh the
savage
t. The
THE KILLER JABBED THE
TOMMY-GUN AGAINST THE
COP’S CHEST—AND FIRED
strongest cop in the world was dead before he smacked
the sidewalk.
There was a patter of running feet, the roar of an
engine kicked suddenly into life, the screech of tires as
a car carcened around a corner. There was silence for
ten seconds as the starlight glinted down on Haas’ body—
on the service revolver still nestling in his holster.
Then -the silence was broken as a hundred men surged
out of the club to the sidewalk. With angry cries they
gathered around the body of the dead officer. In the
distance a siren wailed, coming closer, ever closer. Two
minutes later Emeryville’s chief of police, Louis Mann,
and Assistant Chief Frank Farina, arrived on the scene.
Swiftly, they brought order out of chaos and began pick-
ing up the threads of the saddest case they were ever
to work on.
Eighteen minutes later, across the line in Oakland, a
man in a chauffeur’s uniform staggered into police head-
quarters. His name was Felix Turner. He was a cab
driver. Blood streamed down his face from an ugly gash
on his cheek bone; his eyes were wild and terror-stricken.
“lve just seen two men mowed down in cold blood,” he
gasped to the sergeant on duty at the desk. “At the Oaks
Club, over in Emeryville. One was a cop.”
This startling announcement merited: the attention of
the high brass and a few moments later Turner was
spilling out his tale of terror to Inspectors L. M. Jewell
and William Perry. It had all started an hour before
when, cruising down Telegraph Avenue by the Sears
Roebuck parking lot, he had been hailed by two men.
He had given them but a casual glance when they climbed
into his cab but after he had driven them to three suc-
cessive destinations, finally to be told to drive to a fourth,
he had become suspicious and twisted around in his seat
to protest.
“And there I was, staring into the biggest gun I’d ever
seen. It was a tommy-gun. This goon who was holding
it said he would cut me in two if I didn’t get going. Told
51
a
i
50
ie fo ee 8 VG ‘vip ry a
DALGANGR, tNOMles ee
l
a
‘
TE tata ih
+. Kelas
tes
Se
. ie oti ee
oAKa,
CLUB aide . |
al
At door (center) to Oaks Club deadly surprise awaited Emeryville Policeman George C. Haas
BY TONY FIELD
TS LITTLE TOWN of Emeryville, just across the line
from Oakland, California, was celebrated for two
things: the Oaks Club and George C. Haas. At the club,
a man, if he were so inclined, could wager on anything
from the turn of a card to a cockroach race. And the sky
was the limit.
And George C. Haas was something special, too. At 55
—with 30 years service on the force behind him—he was
known as the strongest cop in the world. And he had
proved it, too. Ata state-wide firemen’s convention just a
few months before, he had pulled a nine-ton fire engine
50 feet with his teeth; smashed rocks. with his bare fists,
torn two decks of playing cards, lifted 750 pounds with one
hand and to top it all, had carried four husky firemen
down a 30-foot extension ladder.
On the night of Wednesday, March 8th, 1944, both the
Oaks Club and Haas crashed the front page headlines
at the same time.
It was still a few minutes short of midnight, a quiet
night with a star-studded sky overhead, a pale moon
and a warm breeze coming in off the bay. Making the
last round of his tour of duty, Haas had just turned the
corner at San Pablo and started down Park Avenue when
he heard what sounded for all the world like a kid run-
ning a stick down a picket fence. The sound had come
from the Oaks Club, whose lighted windows glowed in
the dark just a few paces ahead. 2
Curious, Haas increased his stride. Instead of curious
he should have been cautious. He should have drawn
his gun. But he did not. He arrived at the entrance to
the club simultaneously with the emergence of three men.
The first wore a peaked cabby’s hat; the second was bare-
headed, in shirtsleeves and laughing. The third boasted a
pencil-line mustache over snarling lips and cradled in
his arms was a sub-machine gun.
Haas never had a chance. It is doubtful whether he
ever knew what hit him. The brass buttons of his uniform
made a perfect target in the light that shone through the
club’s windows. The sub-machine gun erupted into savage
life. A half-dozen slugs slammed into his chest. The
strongest
the sidew
There
engine k
a car ca)
ten secon
on the s«
Then t
out of t!
gathered
distance
minutes
and Ass
Swiftly,
ing up |
to work
Eighte
man in :
DEATH sm | I
Suspect
quarte
driver.
on his :
“T’ve j
gasped
Club, «
This
the hi
spillin
and V
when.
Roebt
He ha
into }
Cessi\
he ha
to pr«
“AY
seen.
it sal:
Dakland police were notified 1
nd ¢ » and a
ra yo Marshall and Eugene Mun a
we an Francisco to ass Ee
ion q annie ~ a.
er several hours of interrogation, th
fs sg eirenalpntg to maintain their asse :
ocence, and i
what renin f the officers didn’t
erms of their parole forbad *
_— ah so BeHowski per ”
) were held as i 7
ng nag charges, ee 4
‘s, with two pairs of known bandits
totly, five days after the rhaohine wad
B bial my = both cities were faced
e em of trying to un
wg evidence, : gies sag
the same day, Monday, March 13th
were two, almost si 1 :
a simultaneous, de-
Oakland police were watchin
>. * & H 4
mail, hoping that Sullivan, if he had
ie city, would try to communicate
us confederate. As a result, they”
2pted a letter from a young woman
mas, a hundred miles away. :
a is staying with me,” the letter said,
He’s going to lie low for a while
Bc wine feel to do the same.” .
salinas authorities were requested to
9 the suspect.. At the address men-
in the woman’s letter, they arrested
who denied that he was Tom Sulli-.
‘e Lieutenant Leo Wells immedi
u ediatel
i) Salinas to question the prinnat:
en admitted his identity.
at do you want me for?” Sullivan
ought to know,” the Lieutenant re- .
van denied having been invol . :
ASI yohbery and murder, bet he a
et “~ part in the hotel slugging cs
os t agreed with that made by *
he ana rl gadbanyga he esr
7 :
in els ie Aad a bese
yman had actuall i -
> one of the killers, hus te ree
was shown to witnesses, the fact
ese same witnesses had failed to *
o out of a police line-up had weak-
* case against him and Sullivan. It
possible that they were the tommy-
ers, but as yet there was not enough
» to support a murder charge.
-cond development consisted of an--
. A young Navy sailor walked into
gia : gh bso and told his
SS aa e Assistant Chief was
say you suspect a shipma
aurder,” he said. amclag hint 6 ‘a
‘he sailor admitted, “but this :
i me he was thinking of Herth
‘ room, and that it would be worth
pod pom dollars.”
almost smiled. This soun i
nat had sent him and Chie Mann
‘sland on a wild-goose chase. But
idn’t afford to pass up any clue
doubtful, so he nodded encourag-
i prompted.
is informant continued nerv-
offered to take me in on the deal
{ him nothing doing. He said he me
somebody else, and bragged that
nly one of several big jobs he had
: ‘specifically mention the Oaks
it he said it was in Emeryville.” 3
th’ ow’s name?” ; 2
n, sailor supplied. “Ben
He 20k at the Alameda air-
re I’m stationed.”
ok into it,” Farina promised. He
he conversation to Chief Mann
‘f telephoned the District Attor-
ney, who sent one of his deputies to aid in
questioning the suspect. Farina located
Anthony Davilla, and an hour later the
Assistant Chief, the Assistant District Attor-
ney, and the cab driver arrived at the naval
air station.
When he heard the name of their suspect,
the commanding officer expressed surprise.
Benjamin H. Whitson, according to the
records, was twenty-six, and a former
jockey from Kentucky. He had enlisted at
San Francisco, and now held the rating of
baker, second class.
Not only was his record good, but he had
been cited for heroism. During the Aleu-
tians campaign, he had dived into icy water
and saved the life of a drowning sailor.
Whitson was brought to‘an office, where
Davilla was given a.chance to look him
over, While the Assistant District Attorney
was asking a few preliminary questions,
Farina drew the cab driver aside.
“Well?” he asked.
Davilla had turned pale at sight of the
suspect, evidently recalling his perilous ex-
perience at the hands of his kidnappers. —
_ “That’s him!” he whispered excitedly,
“FIe’s the one that handled the tommy-gun
—saime little mustache, same cold eyes and
everything.” | .
ARINA returned to the questioning. The
@ sailor was self-assured and reserved. He
replied to each question briefly, and Farina
noticed that although he was a native of
Kentucky, the usual soft drawl was missing;
he clipped his words. - _
Whitson admitted that he had played
cards at the Oaks Club, but denied that he
had been one of the bandits. At first he
seemed unable to remember where he had
been on the night of the murder, which was
somewhat in his favor, since most criminals
are eager to provide some sort of alibi, how-
ever false.
Presently he said he recalled the night in
question, and that he had been visiting
relatives in Oakland.
“We made the rounds of some night
spots,” he related. “Didn’t go home until
two or two-thirty.”
“Who are these relatives of yours?”
Farina asked.
“My sister Alma and her husband.” He
supplied their address: 575 Twenty-seventh
Street, in Oakland.
“We'll have to ask your commanding
officer to hold you,” Farina said, “until we
can check on your story.”
The sailor shrugged. “Somebody gave you
a bum steer,” he asserted. “I'd like to know
who it was.”
“Never mind,” Farina assured him, “we’ll
have you released as soon as you're in the
clear.”
Accompanied by an Oakland officer,
Farina went to the address on Twenty-
seventh Street. Both the brother-in-law,
Thomas E. Brigance, and his young wife
were at home.
Brigance was about thirty, and said he
worked at one of the shipyards. He seemed
eager to co-operate, and if his story was
true, Whitson was with him in a night club
at the time of the slaying.
“Is there anybody who can prove you
were both there?” Farina asked. ‘Besides
your wife, of course.”
Brigance chuckled. “About thirty or
forty people,” he retorted, “if they happen
to remember us.”
“No one who knows you personally?”
“Offhand, I can’t say. One of the bar-
tenders might remember us. Why don’t you
talk to them?”
“We will,” Farina promised. Something
about the man’s flippant manner rubbed
him the wrong way. “In the meantime,”
he added, “I’m taking you to Headquar-
ters.”
“Just like in the movies,” Brigance
drawled.
Farina remembered that one of the ban-
dits had a drawling voice and that, accord-
ing to Davilla, he had been inclined to jest,
even while talking of murdering him; and
now he looked at Brigance’s slightly pug-
nosed face, and he was sure that he had the
second bandit in custody.
Later that day, Anthony Davilla picked
Brigance out of a police line-up. ‘“T’1] never
forget that face,” he said, “or the other
bandit’s, either.”
After a formal request had been signed,
the naval authorities surrendered Whiison
to the police, and he was held in the county
jail, where Brigance was. The two pris-
oners were not allowed to see each other,
and each was grilled for several hours.
The result of the questioning was that
the sailor “clammed up” and refused to an-
swer any questions at all, while his brother-
in-law merely repeated his stubborn, half-
humorous. denials of every accusation.
Investigation of their alibi disclosed that
they had told the truth, up to a point. They
had witnesses to account for their where-
abouts until about twelve-thirty on the
night of the murder, but not thereafter.
.. Besides this hole in their alibi, there was
evidence that Whitson had been wearing
civilian clothes, in. violation of wartime
regulations. Brigance admitted as much;
and clothing similar to that worn by the
bandits was found in his home.
There was no trace of the sub-machine
gun, however, and the police intensified
the search for the missing weapon. The
Alameda naval authorities insisted _ that
they had no record of such a weapon having |
been stolen. The search went on for days,
to no avail. ,
While the trial was pending, Harry
Anderson, a plumber, noticed his small son
playing with some other boys on a vacant
lot, They all had wooden guns, broomsticks,
and other substitutes for the real thing.
All except Anderson’s son, that is. He
was playing with the cleverest imitation of
a sub-machine gun that the man had ever
seen. ‘
“Let me see that thing,” he said. “Where
did you get it?”
“Found it,” the boy said proudly.
Anderson examined it, and his eyes
widened in surprise. He didn’t know a
great deal about sub-machine guns, but this
was certainly not a toy.
PHE boy insisted that he had found the
gun in an ash heap on the vacant lot, and
his playmates verified this. It had been
under an old trash can, they said. Over-
joyed with his find, the boy had said noth-
ing about it to his parents, hoping to keep
it to play with.
“How long’ve you had it?” the plumber
asked.
The boy wasn’t sure, but he thought he
had discovered the gun four or five days
before. He begged to be allowed to keep
it, as a real sub-machine gun made their
“war” more exciting.
“No,” Anderson decided, “kids shouldn’t
play with guns.”
He took the weapon to his shop. It ap-
peared to have been well cared for, but he
decided that it couldn’t be any good, else
what was it doing in an ash heap?
He put the gun away, intending to ex-
amine it more closely later on. But he was
a busy man, and he had forgotten all about
it when, the following day, a neighbor
dropped in to chat.
“Say, isn’t that one of those tommy-
guns?” the man inquired. Anderson nodded,
and told how he had acquired it. The
neighbor looked at him strangely.
“Wasn't that Emeryville policeman killed
with a gun just like that?” he asked.
Anderson didn’t know, but he became
alarmed. He hastened to the City Hall with
the sub-machine gun.
Farina was notified immediately, and the
the largest selling t
pouch in the U.S.A
3
\
tavern, in Missouri. He had been parviced
after serving thirty-two months of a i
prison term for second-degree murder. tT REA!
The defense attorneys ridiculed the testi-
” Ww ” In the midst of the investigation aero 3" Davilla, whe was admit soe
Grapes of rath trict Attorney Anthony Brazil advanced a og eS venant Line a8 oh (Cont
Mystery theory of his own. It was possible, he said, Whitson wore his uniform in court, and
. ; _ that someone had puried the young womah his counsel lauded his patriotism, appeal-
A baffling enigm? confronted the author- - in order to save the expenst of a funeral. ng to the maternal instincts of the twelve happened th
ties of Monterey County, California, when This sounded like something out of John _ women come of whom had sons in the hired a prival
the body of a youns woman was disco"™ Steinbeck’s famous novel, The Grapes Of ~ armed ‘sorces. He made the utmost of his jives of tht
ered near King City, in the Salinas Valley, Wrath. Steinbeck was reared in the Salinas client's record of heroism. Three day’
on April 1ith, 1945. : Valley, which is the locale of several of his Assistant District Attorney Laurence Sam and De
Chester Davis, a ranch workman, was in- novels. Dayton replied to all this by pointing eal café on Fort
vestigating an obstruction in a drainage Brazil’s theory was immediately scoffed that while Whitson was undoubtedly brave, a window “
ditch when he found the body, which had at, just as Steinbeck’s portrayal of the dust- he was equally ruthless, and a cold-blooded trance to 4
been washed from a shallow grave, about bowl refugees and their harrowing experi- killer , In a few
forty feet from Highway 101, by the pre- ences had been ridiculed. It was pointed Thus, after eight days of legal fireworks, out the W!
ceding rainfall. out that, even if there had been some basis the trial ended. As they retired to consider doll gettin:
Wrapped carefully in a quilt, which was for Steinbeck’s controversial book, such _ the evidence, the Court instructed the jurors you reco’)
tied with heavy cord, the body resembled conditions had disappeared since the war that they might make a disinction between “sure,” ©
a mummy, with only the face showins. The and there was now work for everyone, at the man who had actually fired the fatal poard at !
woman was about twenty-five years old: high wages. shots and his confederate, py recommend- when I £°
slightly over five feet in height, and weighed Bury a dead woman to avoid paying for ing life imprisonment for the latter. and the P
between 114 and 118 pounds. She had been a funeral? Ridiculous! But the jury after deliberating less than “Right.”
dead about two weeks. But the alert youns District Attorney waS = an hour returned the same verdict for both somethin:
An autopsy revealed no evidence of vio- not satisfied until he had sent the dead defendants—guilty of robbery, and guilty the Hook
lence, and it was suspected that she was woman’s vital organs to San Francisco, of murder in the first degree. There was Cc note 2 |
the victim of a rare poison, inasmuch as where Dr. Joseph Swim, a noted toxicologist, no recommendation of leniency. i |
the common poisons all leave traces on the performed a series of tests lasting ten days. ‘A week later, on June 22nd, the convicted
lips or in the mouth, throat OF stomach. According to Swim’s findings, the woman _—slayers returned to the courtroom and heard
Her description did not match any in had died as a result of a self-administered themselves sentenced. For the robbery,
the various reports of missing persons. sleeping powder. Murder was completely Judge S. Victor Wagler sentenced them to
Blonde and shapely, she had evidently been ruled out. The amount of the drug was sO life imprisonment, and for the murder of
quite pretty, with a slightly upturned nose excessive that its taste could not have been George Haas, to death in the gas chamber.
and a small gold inlay in a front tooth. disguised in any food or drink. Whether When Judge Wagler added that the sen-
Her hands were somewhat calloused, which by intention or otherwise, she had poisoned tences would run concurrently, Brigance
led Sheriff Alex Borges to deduce that herself, with the same drug that recently laughed aloud.
she might have been employed in the field took the life of ‘Aimee Semple McPherson, “Well,” he drawled, “that’s a break!”
or in one of the many packing sheds in the evangelist. . . The prisoners were asked to supply cer-
the vicinity. This vindication of Brazil's theory by tain information about themselves, as re-
However, although Borges sent her finger- modern science is vital to the unknown quired by the State Prison Board.
prints to the various bureaus and sought grave-digger, who, if found, might other- “Go to hell,” Whitson said, looking the
to trace her through dental records, her wise be charged with murder. part of the killer that the prosecution
identity was never solved. Whoever he is, he now has little to fear had portrayed. Throughout the trial he had
The circumstances pointed to murder, but in the way of punishment. Under California worna sullen scowl. Brigance, on the other
the autopsy surgeons asserted that she had law, it is not a crime to bury a dead body hand, was in an excellent mood.
not been criminally assaulted; nor was there without penefit of legal formalities. It is “Fire away,” he invited genially. And
evidence of an attempted abortion or of only a misdemeanor, and the penalty is a when, as one of the questions, he was
expected motherhood. small fine. ——GEORGE EDWARD CLARK. asked whether he had ever been in an
- accident, he chuckled. “Not until now,”
wisecracked the man who had just heard
his sentence of doom. 1
3 : c That afternoon the tommy-gun killers |
plumber took him to the vacant lot. The he simply could not resist the chance to were taken to San Quentin Prison, there to ‘
ash heap proved to be less. than 500 yards show them that they weren't so clever, await the result of their appeal. 1 |
from the home of Thomas Brigance- after all, has never been determined. Hyman and Sullivan, the hotel bandits, a |
Farina took the gun to Sacramento, and At any rate, he had unwittingly strength- had meanwhile received prison terms, as ¢
also the slugs and cartridge shells’ he had ened the evidence against himself and did the parole violators, Beltowski and
recovered at the scene of the murder. He Brigance. The police had felt all along that Castropil.
then returned to Oakland to await the re- the murder weapon must have come from
sults of the: ballistics tests. ~~: an Army or Navy establishment, and now ie due time the State Supreme Court
The officers were still hoping for a con- the sailor had virtually proved that he had upheld the verdict against the slayers of
fession from Brigance, but when they told taken, not one gun, but two or more. George Haas, and April 20th, 1945, was set
him that the murder gun had been found Farina and District Attorney Ralph E. as the date for the execution of the death
he only laughed, ; Hoyt questioned him about both guns, but penalty.
“Good - for you,” he ‘applauded. ®*“Now, the suspect had nothing more to say- The An eleventh-hour reprieve until May 18th
maybe you'll find the murderers, and let police could think what they liked, he wasn’t was granted by Lieutenant-Governor Fred-
us go.” he ea ae talking. erick Houser during the absence of Gov-
Whitson wasn’t talking, but Farina tried Ordinarily, such a theft would not have ernor Earl Warren, who had previously an-
the same announcement on him. gone unnoticed; but Whitson had undoubt- nounced that no executive clemency would
. “So what?” the sailor retorted.: . edly managed to “lose” the weapons during be forthcoming. Meanwhile, exhausting 4 |
“yt was near your prother-in-law’s the turmoil of battle conditions in the every legal device to save the condemned
home,” Farina pointed out. ; Aleutians. os pair, their attorneys secured a second stay
“That doesn’t mean anything,” ‘Whitson ~ Whitson and Brigance went on trial in of execution by filing petitions for review
sneered. “There’s a lot of those guns the Alameda County Superior Court on of the case by the United States Supreme
around, since the war. If you want to see June 7th. An all-women jury heard the Court.
4 sub-machine gun, I can show you one, testimony of twenty-four witnesses for the When the highest court in the land re-
myself.” prosecution. fused to review the evidence, Judge Wagler
He was given the opportunity, and led Among these was Marshall Jones, a young again sentenced Brigance to death, the
the officers to the Brigance home. Sure sailor, who told how Whitson had invited execution to take place on September 14th.
enough, from a cleverly concealed compart- him to participate in the card-room robbery; The fate of Whitson, meanwhile, was placed
ment behind the paneling of a wall, he Anthony Davilla, who identified the de- in the hands of a board of alienists pre-
produced a dismantled sub-machine gun. fendants as the bandit-slayers; and a bal- paratory to a sanity hearing, which has
It was identical with the first one. listics expert, whose testimony established since declared him sane.
This, the only time that Whitson broke the fact that the sub-machine gun recov- Whitson will be resentenced to death.
1 _ his sullen silence, did more to reveal his ered from the ash heap was the one used
guilty knowledge than anything the officers in the murder. Avutuor’s NOTE: The names Erwin Holt
had anticipated. Whether he hoped to con- The prosecution also proved that Brigance and Harry Anderson are fictitious, to pre-
fuse the issue by giving the police another had been involved in another murder, when vent embarrassment to these innocent
sub-machine gun to puzzle over, or whether he killed his employer, the owner of a persons.
86
ee
May, 1933
This left Cal Rowell, the sole sur-
vivor of the murder band, a “lifer” at
San Quentin.
I was amazed when | learned two
years ago that an effort had been
started to obtain a pardon for Rowell.
He had gone to the Warden with a
story of a prison plot and had directed
a search which revealed that guns had
been planted in the garden outside the
prison walls.
Investigation disclosed that Rowell
had hatched the “plot”, and instead
of being freed he was removed to the
“Old Man’s Home”, a prison block
where aged and crippled inmates live,
to keep him safe trom convicts who
swore vengeance when they learned of
his attempt to cast suspicion on fellow
convicts.
The Master
Should an effort ever be made to
pardon him, a. wave of opposition
would rise in Los Angeles to defeat
such a movement.
The women in the case—what be-
came of them?
The rooming house landlady, who
went to jail in her night gown, with
a blanket over her shoulders, was re-
leased as soon as we had accounted for
the murder mob,
Mary White and Rhea Barnett, who
had lived with the slayers, and who
helped us clinch the case against them,
are happily married.
They have lived down a seamy past,
and their secrets are safe with me.
But they have lived to see the truth
of that oft repeated line—
Crime never pays.
Detective
Pontiac’s Amazing Passion Murder
(Continued from page 31)
its household into custody. Lula Mc-
Crumb, her daughter Wilma, Jerry Del-
ahanty, and his wife Clara were all
taken to Headquarters for questioning.
Lula was first. One question after
another was shot at her in rapid suc-
cession. It was the same dogged ques-
tion and answer investigation which
had failed to wring from Delahanty.
any admission of his knowledge of the
crime. We continued to question hes,
but she still maintained she knew noth-
ing.
The questions were then turned to
her past and intimate life, the revela-
tion of which brought out one of the
most tangled of any domestic relation-
ships I had seen disclosed in my several
years of detective work.
GHE was born in the little town of
Fenton, 25 miles north of Pontiac,
and was educated in the Fenton schools.
On December 13th, 1913, she was mar-
ried to Elton Fisher of South Lyon,
Michigan. They made their home in
Pontiac, and were the parents of three
children of which Wilma was the
second,
One day Edward McCrumb applied
for room and board at the Fisher
home. He was taken in and made a
member of the household. Things went
off all right until McCrumb exhibited
a fondness for Mrs. Fisher. The atten-
tions grew stronger, and Fisher com-
plained. The result was, that on De-
cember 5th, 1925, while McCrumb was
still a boarder in their home, the
Fishers were divorced. Shortly after
the divorce was granted, Lulu Fisher
and Edward McCrumb eloped to
Toledo, Ohio, and were married.
McCrumb, like his wife, had pre-
viously been married, and was the
father of a Ce by this former
marriage. In 1916 this daughter was
married to Tom Delahanty, and they
moved to New York state where they
were later divorced. It was the search
for his wife that first brought Dela-
hanty to the home of Lula and Edward
McCrumb in 1926.
Mrs. McCrumb admitted that Dela-
hanty had frequently visited at her
home, and that she had prepared meals
for him in the absence of her husband.
On one occasion she said she had ac-
companied Delahanty to Lansing where
she stayed for a time at the home of
Mr. and Mrs. Jerry Delahanty. Later
the Jerry Delahantys moved to Pon-
tiac and made their home with the Mc-
Crumbs,
She told of having trouble with her
husband, that he never gave her money
for clothes, and that a friend was
obliged to purchase her shoes. Her
husband, she said, had insurance poli-
cies totaling more than $2500.
This new and startling change of
front by Mrs. McCrumb brought out
swiftly moving developments, but |
was still dissatisfied with the story she
told. Her attitude since the tragedy,
certainly was to do her no good. She
showed no signs of emotion now, as she
talked freely of the crime. It had been
but a few short hours before that her
emotions were uncontrollable as she,
for the first time, answered questions
concerning her husband’s death,
Again ‘we switched our questions to
Tom Delahanty, but his story re-
mained unchanged. A quick trip to the
hotel verified his statement of being in
bed at the time the murder was be-
lieved to have taken place,
FEELING assured that we had struck
a stone wall in our investigation, we
left for the funeral home where Dr. B.
M. Mitchell was pee an autopsy
on the body. Doctor Mitchell’s de~
cision, however, was practically the
same as that made by Coroner Voor-
hees when he first examined the body.
This left us again without further clues
upon whith to work.
After we hastily obtained lunch, As-
sistant Prosecuting Attorney Curt W.
Augustine and a stenographer, were
called in and statements taken from
both Delahanty and Mrs. McCrumb.
Almost four hours was required in ob-
taining these statements, but neither of
the suspects swerved from their former
stories.
While these statements were being
taken, a hot tip was received from the
office of the Friend of the Court. The
Friend of the Court had care of the
63
HE one male juror’s horrible
pipe was the motive. Even in the
most sensitive gatherings of women,
a well-tempered pipe with mild tobac-
co will earn a verdict of not guilty.
Women love pipes..... but they
. must be mellow, friendly ones that
give out sweet, friendly smoke. That’s
where Sir Walter Raleigh’s mild mix-
ture of rare Burleys comes in. It is
full bodied and flavorful... yet in its
whole life of phenomenal popularity
it has never brought about a jury-
room murder—not even a domestic
squabble. Try it.
Brown & Williamson Tobacco Corporation
Louisville, Kentucky, Dept. B-35 °
Send for this
FREE
BOOKLET
1R WALTER | |
H |
eee ae
It’s 1 5 %—anD IT’S MILDER
B)
RID
SE RTE
prowl carts, auto. s
or police work by the two
ngeles officers when they.
brutal death throug!
YGHURST, William and THOMPSON, Willard,
April 21, 1924
eecepmacn erm poprn
whs, hanged San Quentin (Los Angelesd
By ROBERT JAMES GREEN
parked auto as a Los Angeles police
car, moved past them in a dimly-
lighted street in the Boyles Heights sec-
tion. The motor of the motionless car was
running and the beam from only one
headlight pierced the gloom.
Five necks were held stiff as the men
Po men sat strangely still in a
glimpsed the official auto. All were quiet,
hoping to escape attention. .
“That set-up looks funny to me,” said
Patrolman Harry Clester, noting the mo-
tionless group.
“The single headlamp is a good excuse
for quizzing them,” said Officer Bill Brett
as he braked the prowl car and swung it
around to a stop beside the suspicious
auto, parked in front of a hardware store
closed for the night.
Clester threw his flashlight beam on
the five men. As they blinked he went to
their car and examined the driver’s li-
cense. Then he stepped up on the running
42
board and threw one leg ‘over the door.
“Drive ahead to the Boyle Heights sta-
tion,” he ordered.
As the suspected car pulled from the
curb, Brett, driving the police auto, fol-
lowed behind. j
“What's the matter with you guys?”
growled one of the group from the back
seat as he jerked erect. “We can’t stand
a frisk at the station! Stop!”
The driver jammed on the brakes.
Clester jerked his gun from its holster.
Quick hands seized his wrists and twisted
the revolver about until the muzzle was
‘turned in to his stomach.
‘Suddenly the pistol roared and a heavy
slug tore through the blue uniform and
into the officer’s abdomen,
Shocked at the impact, Clester stared
wildly about as the tearing pain flashed
its fearful message to his brain. Waver-
ing a bit, he toppled from the running
board and then crashed heavily to the
DARING DETECTIVE,
January, 1940.
ground. One of the fearful five sprang
from the car and raced across a vacant
lot as Officer Brett jumped from his car
with drawn gun and shouted a curt com-
mand to halt.
Then the echoing roar of Brett’s gun
stabbed the night with a spurt of orange
flame. The runner stumbled and spun
halfway around, tugging out a revolver.
He fired from the hip, seemingly a chance
shot, but Patrolman Brett’s gun fell from
nerveless fingers as he pitched face down
into the street, a bullet through his heart.
At the first shot the four seated rene-
gades had pawed frantically for their
guns. For a second they hesitated, fingers
frozen to triggers. Then Clester rolled
over on his back and fired a wild shot
upward, Guns thundered then in a blazing
volley and bullets thudded thick as hail
into the two prostrate forms.
A chorus of curses dripping from their
foul lips, the bandit-killers drove their
i
mach
dying
away
satiat
Sle
first «
terrif
all w
from
and «
Al
finis}
alari
cers
to th
In
they
dist
faces
for |
At
lice |
fund
slai
On 1
trott
whe
the ;
M
stoo
Liet
nou!
plan
The
in g
‘ful five sprang
across a vacant
ed from his car
ated a curt com-
: of Brett’s gun
spurt of orange
nbled and spun
z out a revolver.
emingly a chance
tt’s gun fell from
yitched face down
hrough his heart.
four seated rene-
itically for their
- hesitated, fingers
ien Clester rolled
fired a wild shot
machine back and forth over the two
dying policemen. Then the car roared
away, their brutal lust for revenge
satiated.
Sleeping residents were startled by the
first closely-spaced shots followed by the
terrific fusillade of barking guns. Then
all was quiet save for the cries of help
from the dying officers.
A man living nearby heard the shots
on that night of Dec. 6, 1921, and ran to
the street as the killer car raced away.
He saw it stop at the corner of Lorena
and Eagle streets to pick up the wounded
fugitive before it sped on. He saw it turn
west, toward the city’s business district
and disappear into the night.
Another resident also saw the battle’s
finish. He frantically telephoned the first
alarm to the Boyle Heights station. Offi-
cers there dropped all work and rushed
to the spot.
In a little circle of awed bystanders
they found the two policemen, their bodies
distorted and mutilated, uniforms and
faces smeared with blood and dirt, gasps
for breath barely detectible.
At Moseley’s Hall, the gay annual po-
lice ball was in full swing. Staged to raise
funds for widows and children of officers
slain in line of duty, it was well attended.
On the dance floor, laughing couples fox-
trotted to the catchy tune, ““Dardenella”
when, like a galvanic shock, the news of
the patrolmen’s fate was received.
Music hushed abruptly and the dancers
stood like frozen figures as grave-faced
Lieut. Nicholson made the tragic an-
nouncement. For a moment after his ex-
planation there was a stunned silence.
Then officers deserted their partners and
in grim determination obtained their re-
volvers to hurry out and join in the man-
hunt.
Meanwhile investigators who had
speeded to the death scene had been inter-
viewing witnesses.
“The first shots woke me up,” said one.
“T Jooked out the window just as the
bandit car wheeled to the corner, picked
up a man, and drove away. At the corner
of Fourth, another car turned around in
the middle of the street and followed
them.”
“The two cars stopped right in front
of my house,” said another witness. “I
heard shots. I saw a policeman get out
and walk around in front. A man jumped
out and ran. Then there were more shots,
at least 30 or 40.”
b Gricvege: details were’ meager enough,
but all witnesses agreed that there
were five men and that the killers had
used a dilapidated Model T Ford touring
car and that it had but one light.
Then a confusing item. was added. One
witness remembered that a civilian, rep-
resenting himself as an officer, had picked
up Brett’s revolver. It was a strange act
-for whoever picked up the gun had kept
it.
As the wondering group stood about
the bullet-riddled police car with its
smashed windshield, an ambulance with
screaming siren rushed the two officers
to medical aid. But they were beyond
help. Both died in the receiving hospital
without having regained enough con-
sciousness to talk. Brett had been shot
through the lungs, heart and scalp, while
Clester had been shot through the ‘left
temple and abdomen.
ded in darkness this quiet, Boyle Heighte-etreet ed
"| became ‘the scene of a blazing gun batts ter which -
tartled residents fourid the ¢ ea and riddled bodies “+
.d then in a blazing
jded thick as hail
forms.
ripping from their
cillers drove their
"of two men dying.in the dust.
Tyee
an
—*
|
‘Bitterly aroused by the slaying of
the two officers, Los Angeles
posted rewards for the capture of
the killers who were later trapped
by officefs led by Harry Ray-
mond, séen above, standing before
the Hermosa Beach hide-out of ,
the murderous crew.
Four of the five murderers are
shown here as they appeared after
their captures. From left they are
Jim Wheaton, Bill Brinkhurst,
Cal Rowell and Willard “Curly”
Thompson. All were armed when
police overpowered thern.
44
Within a few hours after the shocking double murder, Chief
of Police Jones and Sheriff William Traeger had organized the
biggest manhunt in the city’s history, All available policemen,
deputy sheriffs, special deputies and enraged armed citizens
were enlisted in the search for the gang. Fully 1,500 men drew
a gigantic net about the city. Garages wete instructed to watch
for a bullet-riddled car; doctors were warned that the injured
bandit might seek aid. A double guard was put on the Mexican
border. All cities and towns in California were notified to be
on the alert.
Shortly before dawn next morning, a squad of officers engaged
in a running gun fight with men in a car near the movie studio
town of Culver City. The suspect car hurtled from the road and
careened into a ditch, but before officers located the wreck in
the darkness, thg-occupants escaped.
Lae in the morning, a message came from the San Bern-
‘ardino police, They had found a blood-spattered car,
wrecked and abandoned, in shrubbery near the Loma Linda
highway. Seats, upholstery and running boards were stained
with blood and liquor. The machine had been stolen from Los
Angeles, and was believed to have been used by the bandits to
take their wounded man to a country hideout.
Newspapers, public officials, leaders of civic organizations,
and residents were thoroughly aroused by the double murder.
Mayor Cryer demanded more police immediately. That very
day the city council met in special session and voted for 200
additional policemen.
_ Chito Johnson, a special deputy sheriff and an expert Indian
trailer, found blood spots in an alley behind a hotel on North
Broadway. . .
With Johnson leading, officers followed the thin line of
blood, The crimson trail led several blocks through the old
Fort Moore district and into the foreign colony near Sunset
and Broadway. The district was immediately surrounded and
a house to house search was made. It was useless.
Reports of suspects flooded Chief Jones’ desk. A witness
suddenly believed he had heard Officer Brett’s last words. “I
-heard one patrolman call, ‘Come back here! I’ve got a warrant
for your arrest |’” he said. “I’m certain those were the words.”
This clue led to the desert, to an Imperial Valley road camp,
where a man worked for whom Brett had a warrant. But the
man proved he was working every day and had been in camp
that night.
Two youths were arrested on the coast highway near Santa
Ana. They had a revolver the same caliber as the gangsters
had used, and in the handle were two notches, freshly carved.
But again the lead frayed. out to nothing tangible, as had all
the others.
Wee F fk yo
~
«4
Two
voted a
ment r¢
The se
two of
somew!
the kill
The
of clue
start oO!
slaying
Fore
killers
bureau
was an
phenon
Harry
with hn
Brett a
RY
pc
town t
another
“Nev
time pic
Those
Alth
friends
his reg
and tal:
bit of 3
a bullet
“The
blond |
Here
droppe
his har
and wi
“Loc
reful to
furious _
ior him
Macker
than it
to him.
of the
ded the
atiently
igarette.
Filkas
> finally
iis lips,
it that
breath
i tough
ul tough
‘s.. Out
of tough —
guy in
ho used
er. He
isgtA:
ied Mrs
r "id
abrupt-.
e puffed
Filkas
t of the .
er had
o hours
im, but
seemed
h as he
ad went
vlacker’s
“he first
a cigar-
all out —
r. Right
Macker
et some.
v things
d Filkas
Se
NY
we
“%
Sa
aye find this mysterious: Brown.
‘Just one thing, anid the.
lentlessly. “Preente se’ me - you'll
findthis Brown and ait
load of smokes.”)").
"TT can’'t+I can’t!” cried M
wh afraid of him. -I’d- bé- scared
'“Macker,” said Filkas, “th
thing you'd better get-through
“I told: you last ee ht: the’ la
a man for simply. nowing, abott a
' It’s not his: fault
~he had anything to ‘do’ the it or not!
that!”
>The. detective’s? ruse worké ‘‘ Macker
was in a very bad spot, and» he: knew it.
suburb of Los. Angeles, and help Filkas
‘rst, how-
ever; the prisoner. imposed certain condi-
Then, finally, Macker said:
“You needn't be afraid of
Lieutenant. If we get separated when
the .shooting Starts, I won't run out on
you. Maybe it’ll.seem like I'm :
get away, but you'll have to:
Now it was Filkas who!
“quandary. In a city of more.
. lion persons, hunting for a man named
- Brown would
Macker’s assistance. was absolutely, es-
sential., On the other hand, itjwas risky
’ business. to take a prisoner. out -of the
city jail—and perhaps lose himy It would
be. worth Filkas’ job. And Fitkas was
'- aware of it.. Few detectives “Would have
taken the chance.
~ “All right, Macker,”. the detthrive said.
“I’m going to accept your terms.”
They drove out to. Huntington Park.
becoming highly. nervous ‘a ain. At
Macker’s suggestion, they visited vari
ous places in Huntington Park, . ‘Hotels,
restaurants, pool rooms. The ‘mysterious
- Brown was not in evidence. Suddenly
Macker said:
REO
Then, seemingly at random and with a
show of extreme nonchalance; Macker
selected a hotel. “We might take a look
in this place,” he said.
Prisoner Flees ©
HitKAS had a strange feeling. He was
sure Macker had not picked on this
spot by chance. Together they entered
the hotel. The entire ground floor was
given over to business places. A long
flight of stairs led up to a landing, and
from the landing still another long flight
led to what Filkas presumed would be
the hotel lobby and desk.
“You—you walk in front of me,” whis-
pered Macker, his voice betraying tre-
mendous excitement. “And you'd better
_ have your gun where you can reach it in
a hurry.”
The last was superfluous advice. Filkas
long since had loosened the service pistol
in his holster.
Halfway up the second flight of stairs
some flash of premonition caused Filkas
to look back.
Macker had vanished!
Filkas swore softly to himself. Here
You can ‘go to ae for a ping like /
it. od
~ He agreed -to’ go to: Huntingtoh Park, a ..
tiéns. -He insisted on being, riven to
Huntington ‘Park ‘in Filkas’y Auto. No ©
police car for him. Also, they were to -
go alone, just, the. two.of them. And £
‘Filkas was not” to cs aoe
y tricks, .
be a tremendous task.” -
Filkas observed that his companion was |
“Let’s drive over to Randolph street.” .
AS- ‘thoughtefast
just. blew in from Chicago,
ve. (“Looking for ai felloves
' Friends of hig :
ba message with
That does he, foe ae a d
tess you're in: ‘the wit g place,
buddy, ” said the clerk, an Tait
defécted a surreptitiou chauiged of
fe ‘es between the (p L “No, “such”
i mn. ever ‘been around.
g to find the murderer: of? Merle’
_ All he could think. of was \e tt
Raniforin "ain ‘a beat out in the ||
stitks. _ Probably:<a’, month's: pay, too...
What a fool he'd been! ; As h
Macher Filkas” “stopped. in his tracks.
acker was sitting in the detective’s
sha was trembling like a man with
the ague.
‘TT thought I saw a guy I owe some
money to,” was, the reply, but Filkas
knew the man was lying. -
“Did you see Brown in, there?” asked
the detective.
“No, I didn’t. see him.’ ‘That “wasn’t
Brown. Honest it wasn’t.” 9.
rther questioning was useless. Also,
Matker seemed more than anxious to
eee back to his cell, Filkas locked him
up. <Baeah ea eos
“T haven’t got any cigarettes,”
acker as Filkas- started away,
“And if I can help it,” said Filkas, “you
are not going to get any-more until you
come clean with me. So long.”
Mulling over, the recent strange hap-
penings,’ the detective went across the
street to a cafeteria. He hadn’t finished
two bites of his meal when a jail’ attend-
ant interrupted him.
“Lieutenant, that Macker guy is going
nuts. He’s yelling his head off for you.’
“Let him yell,” said Filkas. “TI’ll be
over after I’ve finished my meal. But
don’t tell Macker that. Tell him’ you
don’t know where I.am. And don’t let
‘him have any cigarettes bi
But Filkas wasn’t exactly.-as calm as
‘whined.
d parked ) this Le G
For the moment ‘he forgot he was.
e turned -|
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was a fine mess, indeed. He had gambled he pretended to be. He knew his man Name....---------------------------+--------+
on Macker and _ lost. The detective’s was cracking under the strain, and crack- MUMBO oo er igs oieene- bad dbundeuase
first impulse to plunge down the stairs in ing fast. With an effort, the detective ernie
| w i on - ~~ “Gopyright, 1997, LANDON & WARNER = ou
\ WHen ANSWERING ApvertIsEMENTS, PLEASE Mention June DAntNe DETECTIVE . . 41
Pee,
* - Menace to Health ate a
bhy or sagging stomac resulted merely in a.
F. Powers, reports: “I reduced my waistline 6 inches ~
‘iore lit, I
gun,” she
ame to the
across and .~
”
vay.
?” T asked.
even now,”
1 will kill
ver a long
to tell you
decided to-
mind clear.
irried back
courthouse
November
dotted the
oom as the
room was
ugh some-
t . trial
‘ummins, a
‘n surprise
tators. On
‘ound auto-
crude plan
aid. They
»mehow or
| witnesses -
s had been
crets were
gassa frome
ries Judge
from the
itnesses in
i, day and
-Pizzarelli,
- what was
completely
‘lack Hand
the ghosts
make that
ivia Orsino
mitting on
iore. Self-
en walking
steel of
an astute
nystery.
to the window and cursed him. When he
resented .the cursing ‘and climbed into
. Fiore’s room to administer a thrashing
Fiore had grabbed him by the’ throat and
choked him. ; Sari
Denies Crossing Arms and Legs
UCKILY, FRAGASSA said, he had a
gun with him, a .32 automatic. He
whipped it out in the struggle. Somehow
the weapon was discharged, and Fiore fell.
iin Fragassa denied ctossing the ‘arms and
eRs. i
The prosecutors hammered that story to
bits on cross examination and during re-
buttal, On Nov. 28, Fragassa was foand
guilty of first degree murder and sentenced
. to die in the electric chair. ©
Daniele was- damned by the same wit-
nesses who had faced’ Fragassa, ‘The. big»
Black Hand leader, too, was found guilty
and sentenced to die. The Supreme Court
upheld the verdict and the sentence.
In December, 19 months after they had
slain Fiore, Daniele and Fragassa walked
the last mile to the chair in Rockview.
penitentiary. :
I saw them die. Fragassa was first. The
little barber tried to make-his peace through
the chaplain at his side. He looked at me
as the electrodes were being adjusted.
“Goodbye, Mr. Dinsmore,” he said calm-
ly. And then he died. ~
Daniele’s face was livid with rage as he
down the alley and Fiore had called him ~
d into the death chamber.“ Be eee ee
é Black Hand will get you, you dirty
he shouted at me.’ ° p bait?
chaplain urged him to reperit and ‘deliver
himself to red
surged through his big frame, and he died.
andgwe urged them to stay in Washington
coufity where we could protect them. The:
agreed. But on the day he was released,
Pizzarelli went to, Indiana county to get
his family and bring them to Washington.
. Hemever brought them. He was slain from
ambush, literally blasted in two by a‘sawed-
off shotgun as he was about. to greet his
family. : ry aba
[hatever d im Pizzarelli had: done in
his life outside the law, he paid in full by
his:death. He died gman. and_a hero, as
far as I am concerned. I; believe he kne
that day when he waged an ‘inner battle
with himself as I sat across the desk from
him in the penitentiary, that the penalty of
what he was about to do to help us bring
‘the Black Hand to justice was death!
Polifrone stayed in Washington county.
He is alive today.
Daniele’s threats against me were threats
and nothing more, The executions seemed
to have broken the power of the Black
Hand in Southwestern Pennsylvania, There
wasn’t any more reign of terror, ‘The Black
Hand killings in our county have ceased— —
we hope. forever. ;
- ta
é
by, |
California’s Bargain Assassin
and the Murdered Beauty .
- (Continued on page 22)
was a message for him to report at once
to Inspector D.A. Davidson’s _ office.
ee was head of the homicide de-
tail.
“T’ve got a’ tough one for you Joe,” said
the chief. He swiftly outlined the details
of the Merle Ells murder. He related
the threats Ells had made against his
recently-divorced wife, threats which had
been corrobofated by others besides the
slain girl’s sister and brother-in-law.
“We have Ells locked up here,” said
the chief, “and a chap named Karl Mack-
er. Ells does not deny making the
threats. Even said he’s not sorry to learn
that his former wife had been killed. Ells
and Macker lived together on Elizabeth
street in South Gate. That’s where Jerry
Hickey and several of the boys picked
them all up.”
“Tf Ells admits making the threats
against his wife, and she’s dead and he’s
locked up, what’s so tough about the
case?” asked Filkas.
“Plenty. Ells has an alibi.”
“How good is the alibi?”
“Never heard of a better one, Joe. He
went to work at 6 o’clock Saturday night
and left duty at 6 Sunday morning. He
has at least a dozen reputable witnesses
to prove it, including the cop who walks
the beat on Slausen avenue. Ells works
as a waiter, at Hancock’s All-Night
Lunchroom on Slausen. The alibi’s air-
‘tight, Joe.”
“How about the other two prisoners?”
“Almost as good with their alibis. The
brother, Alfred, is a deputy constable
at South Gate. There doesn’t seem to be
any motive for him doing the job, nor
Macker either. Only Macker seems—”
“Seems what?”
“Well, this may sound nutty, but Mack-
Wuen ANsweRING ADVERTISEMENTS,
seh. Sty tah tee
er seems more nervous than he’ should.
_I know a fellow can geét rattled when
he’s thrown into jail, especially when
there’s a murder rap hanging around, but
just.the same, Macker’s:a little, too
frightened, if you get what I mean?”
“Tsthink I do,”: said Filkas.. “How
about the other two?” :
“Cool as ice. And I'll tell you, Joe,”
here the inspector’s voice grew worried,
“we've got to step on it if we’re going
to get a line on this thing from any of
the prisoners. We haven't got Shythtny
to hold them on.” -
. Denies Stains Are Blood
Jo FILKAS was what the boys on
the homicide squad called a “natural”
for ah assignment like this. On his long
list. of solved cases, Joe Filkas’ persau-
sive manner with shy or sullen witnesses
frequently had wormed out a confession.
“When you talk to Macker,” the in-
spector continued, “tell him we found a
pair of his trousers on the clothesline.
Tell him we believe he recently washed
bloodstains off them. The pants are in
the laboratory now for tests.”
Inspector Davidson had uttered no un-
derstatement when he told Filkas that
Macker “acted nervous.” Filkas found
a man bordering on a nervous break-
down.
“Those pants of yours,” Filkas began
without ceremony. “Where did the
bloodstains come from?”
“They're not bloodstains! That’s auto-
mobile grease, honest.”
Macker fairly shrieked the words. He
was an ordinary-looking individual with
nothing to distinguish him from a mil-
lion. other men of 38. To Filkas, the man
s forced him into.the chair, The |
od. A moment later the current ©
Pizzarelli_ and Polifrone ‘were paroled, -
‘he ‘knew, Py
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certainly didn’t look like a killer. But
there was no mistaking the hysteria of
the prisoner. Filkas decided on a long
patient campaign, All morning he talked
to Macker, steadily questioning the man,
By lunch time Macker was nearing a.
state of collapse. {
“I wish I could tell you something,” he
moaned. “But I don’t know a thing
about it.”
“Let’s go eat,” suggested Filkas.
During the meal the detective talked of
other things, but he never missed a word
or move made by his quarry. When they
had finished and returned to Macker’s
cell, the inquisition was resumed. Macker
smoked one cigarette after another.
And each time he lit one his hand shook .
so much he could scarcely apply the light.
Late in the afternoon when Filkas left
the cell, he had not gleaned a single clue
from his trembling and perspiring pris-
oner. t
Filkas had just reached home when
his phone rang. It was the city jailer.
“This fellow Macker is yelling for’
you, Joe. Says he wants you to come
right away.”
Filkas returned to the jail.
“Cigarette,” gasped Macker when the
detective again entered the cell. “Gimme
a cigarette, quick.’ As the detective
obliged: he mentally noted’ that the pris-
oner had consumed more than _ three
packages in the short space of time since
he had been away. Filkas knew, be-~
cause he had furnished the cigarettes.
For a few.moments, the prisoner puffed
furiously on the cigarette, but remained ;
silent. Then he blurted:
“What can they do to.a guy who knows
about a job but didn’t have anything to
do with it?” ~
Filkas experienced an inward sense of
triumph. His man was : beginning ‘to
break. Quietly, however, he said to
Macker: ne
“If a fellow is innocent of a crime and: -
had absolutely ‘nothing to do with the
planning of it, he can’t be prosecuted:
even if he accidentally learned something
;
Me
about the crime.” Filkas was careful to
accentuate the last statement.
Macker took several more furious
puffs while the’detective waited for him
to rise to the bait.
“Look, Lieutenant,’ said Macker
finally, and his voice was calmer than it
had been since Filkas first spoke to him.
“This Emory Ells, the husband of the
dead girl, he—” then terror flooded the
man’s eyes again. Filkas waited patiently
while Macker started another cigarette
going. There was a long silence. Filkas
. continued to wait. When Macker finally
spoke the words tumbled from his lips,
cascading in a rushing torrent that
caused Filkas almost to hold his breath
for fear of missing a word.
“Emory Ells knows a lot of tough
guys,” Macker said. “I mean real tough
guys. Gangsters and, and—killers. Out
in Huntington Park, where a lot of tough
guys hang out. There was one guy in
particular, A very tough egg who used
to be a Chicago machine gunner. He
doesn’t look very tough, but he is. A
guy named Brown. Maybe he killed Mrs.
Ells.”
Ruse Brings Out Story f
AAA CKEs stopped talking as abrupt-
ly as he had begun. Again he puffed
excitedly on another cigarette. Filkas
tried to get more information out of the
trembling prisoner, but Macker had
closed up like a clam. For two hours
Filkas quietly pleaded with him, but
Macker was obdurate. In fact he seemed
to have regretted saying as much as he
had, Finally Filkas left him and went
home. ; :
The detectiye was back in Macker’s
cell again the next morning. The first
thing the prisoner asked for was a cigar-
ette. ‘ :
“Sorry,” said Filkas, “but I’m all out
of smokes. I’ll get you some later. Right
now I want you to tell—”
“Listen, Lieutenant,’ cried Macker
“gimme a cigarette. Go and get some.
I’m dying for a smoke;” a
“After you’ve explained a few things
we talked about last night,” said Filkas
grimly. :
+
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finished his food without trying to. be in
hurry. He was just as anxious to see
Macker as Macker was to see the de-
i Finally he went back to Macker’s
cell, :
“Gimme a cigarette and get me out of
here where we can talk in private!”
begged Macker. There was no mistak-
ing the man’s frenzied agitation. Filkas
gave the man cigarettes and led him to
a quiet room off the cell block.
“Lieutenant,” Macker began. “T
crossed you. I didn’t want to, but I was
scared stiff.
“That little guy with the moustache
was Brown.”
Filkas said: “And you ducked out be-
cause you were afraid he’d shoot you?”
“Yes, that’s it. He’s a bad egg. I told
you he was a Chicago machine gunner.
He would have plugged me sure.”
“Let’s have the whole story—and let’s
have it straight this time,” said Filkas.
Macker Talks
‘OT BAT guy Brown,” Macker said,
“hung around quite a bit with Em-
ory Ells, Last week I was with the two
of them when Ells and Brown took an old
shotgun down to the river to try it out.
Ells wasn’t sure whether it would work
or not. Afterwards Ells told me he and
Brown were planning to go on a hunting
trip. But I saw the gun that was used
to kill Mrs. Ells. One of the detectives
who arrested me asked me if I could
identify it. I said I couldn’t then. But
I lied. That was the same gun Ells and
Brown had down at the river.”
The detective fairly hustled Moulton
back to his cell. Then he burst into In-
spector’s Davidson's office.
“I_ know where Merle Ells’ murderer
is, Dave,” said Filkas, “Who's going
with me to get him?”
A few minutes later a police car roared
out toward Huntington Park. Inspector
Davidson was among the machine’s group
of occupants.
The officers went straight up the stairs
of the Randolph street hotel and con-
fronted the blond clerk.
“We're police,” Filkas said, “and we
want Brown.”
“But I told you a while ago—” the
clerk began. Filkas brusquely inter-
rupted.
“The Brown we want,” he said, “is
that little fellow who was standing here
when I talked to you. Where is he?
And make it snappy.”
The clerk pointed down, the hall.
“The last door on the right,” he said.
“But I’d like to warn you to be careful.
Brown’s a bad customer. He’s a machine
gun man from Chicago.”
Cautiously, with drawn guns, the offi-
cers stalked down the hall. At Brown's
door they stood quiet while Filkas
knocked lightly.
“Who's there?” came a muffled voice.
“We're friends of the clerk,” said
Filkas. “Let us in, will you?”
Over the transom the detectives saw
a light appear. Then the door slowly
opened.
A skinny little man stood before them.
He was a ludicrous figure. A gnome-
like head with a thatch of sandy hair.
A scrawny neck and legs like spindles
as they stretched down from an old-
fashioned nightgown. On the upper lip
hung a moustache.
The officers closed in. They searched
the room from top to bottom but found
no trace of weapons.
“What in the world is all this about?”
squeaked the little man.
He was aghast when the nature of the
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It was a few minutes after seven o’clock. “I guess I just ©
did fall asleep. I’m on the night shift,” he explained, “I
quit at six this morning, about an hour ago.” His dark
eyes flashed in anger. “Say what is this? a quizz session?
Why all this interest in my sleeping habits?”
“Better answer questions, kid,” Alfred Ells suggested.
j “Why?” ‘ if
The deputy glanced at Davidson, got an okay and said:
“It’s bad, Emery. Merle is dead. She’s been shot.”
“Murdered,” added Filkas deliberately.
“Murdered!” The youth bit off the word as though it ©
were hot. “Who’d want to kill her?” - . -
“We thought maybe you’d have an idea,” Filkas said.
“I haven’t!” Ells snapped shortly. “Why should I?”
Filkas shrugged. “We'll take a look around if you don’t
mind.” é
He had already observed the room with sharp, experi-
enced eyes, noting its general unkempt appearance, the
clothes strewn carelessly on the floor and chairs, the lit-
tered table. Now, however, he began a more minute
search, lifting out each bureau drawer, the compartments
in the three-drawer desk.
Davidson, meanwhile, frisked the youth’s clothing.
He found nothing. Filkas’ hunt also netted a blank.
The officers prepared to go. “Don’t plan on taking any
trips for a while,” said Filkas,” we'll drop in on you
again.” 5
Emery Ells, the ace sleuths learned, worked at an all-
night diner on East Slauson Avenue. There, they found
the proprietor behind the counter.
Davidson showed his badge. “We want to check on one
" of your employees, Emery Ells,” he explained.
“Sure thing,” the small, paunchy man beamed.
With eloquént gestures he told how Emery, one of a
crew of two countermen and a eook on the night shift,
had reported for work as usual at six o’clock last night
and had knocked off at six the next morning.
“You here with him all that. time?”
“Oh, no. I relieve the boys in the morning.”
“Then Ells might have slipped away from work for a
while without you knowing it?” .
“This is a busy place,” the owner pointed out, “a guy
don’t get no chance to sneak off here, not even for a cigar-
ette.”
Nevertheless, Davidson insisted on checking with Ells’
two co-workers on last night’s shift. One was a gawky
youngster named Joe Sanford. The other was an older
man, Stewart Kennan. Both bunked together in a fur-
nished room a few blocks from the diner.
They were asleep when the detectives rang their bell.
Filkas was apologetic. “I'll only keep you boys a couple
of minutes,” he said. “We want to know about Emery
Ells. You worked with him last night?” :
“Yeah.” . "
“Straight through?”
“Start to finish. Twelve hours.”
“Emery leave you boys alone in the diner any time
during the night?”°
‘Sanford grinned. “I guess you don’t know the kind of
place the diner is, mister. No, Emery didn’t leave us for
a second. Any more than we could have left him. He was
there all right, every minute!”
A further check with the night cashier proved con-
clusively that the young husband had an iron-clad alibi.
INSTIGATOR
Lieutenant R. V. Savage and his colleagues could not prove
that the suspect (right) had fired the murder gun found on
the scene of the crime. Despite his perfect alibi, authorities
were able to send him up for life.
In a way this was a step backwards for the investi-
gators. According to the coroner’s report, Merle Ells had
been murdered somewhere ‘around midnight. Thus, her
estranged husband, on duty under the constant eyes of
’ three fellow workers every moment of that fatal period,
could safely be eliminated as a suspect in the crime from
the very outset.
BAckK at his office at Headquarters, the veteran Chief
of Detectives found several reports on the case await-
ing him. First he scanned the autopsy statement. Stripped
of its medical phraseology it said simply that the young
woman had died almost instantly from gunshot wounds.
She had not been criminally attacked. There were no
signs of a struggle with her killer, no bruises, abraisons,
scratches. .
Davidson also found a penciled note from the coroner.
It pointed out that the victim’s eyes had been wide open,
as though she had been awakened from sleep, and a look
of abject terror was. engraved upon her features. Even
death hadn’t erased it.
“She knew she was going to die,” the coroner wrote.
“She saw her killer.”
The other reports were from the laboratory. They
added up to very little. The murder weapon was com-
pletely free of fingerprints. Comparison photographs of
the gun’s grooving failed to check with any already on file.
Enlarged shots of the scene taken by the police photog-
rapher failed to show up any details of particular interest.
Except for a beautifully clear shot of the bedroom door
showing scratches where it had been expertly jimmied.
Every indication pointed clearly to the fact that the
killer had been no bungling amateur. He had worked
smoothly and without panic. He had worn gloves and
had used a crowbar with the skill of a veteran burglar.
(Continued on page 70)
th 4 Ke
( Continued from page 37)
He had left no clue’ to his identity.
And his gesture of bravado of tossing
the lethal gun on the floor of the
murder room further stamped him as
a remarkably cool customer.
What motive lay behind the dast-
ardly killing? Detective Filkas made
a stab at the answer, “We know rob-
bery’s out,” he told Davidson in the
semi-darkness of the latter’s office late
Wednesday night, two days after the
murder.” And the same goes for any
attempt at criminal assault.”
He scratched an unshaven chin.
“Remember the coroner’s note,” he
continued, “how Merle Ells’ eyes were
wide open and a look of terror on her
face? Now who would deliberately
shoot down a defenseless woman lying
in bed only a couple of feet away?
Who would stare into a woman’s eyes
like that and still have the guts to
pull the trigger? And ‘maybe. gloat
over it too? “ag
“I think only one kind of a guy;
some one who hated her from the very
bottom of his soul. A guy with a
twisted sense of revenge who couldn’t
rest till he put her out of the way.”
Davidson nodded. “Sounds okay,”
he agreed. His mouth twisted in a wry
grin. “Now all we have to do is find
a man with a terrific grudge against
her.” Jf
“I know,” said Filkas, “and that’s no
cinch. From what I gather, she was a
nice, quiet girl. Not the kind that runs
around. Yet somewhere she must
have got tangled up with a guy who
hated her enough to want to kill her!”
A quiet, but remarkably efficient
probe was launched into the private
life of the murdered woman. From
neighbors, _ tradespeople,
from.a dozen other sources the pains-
taking Davidson and his sturdier built
aide were able to piece together the
outlines of titian-haired Merle’s pa-
thetic story. . #
Shy and gentle even as a child, she
had faced the world with the innocent
quest for thrilling romance ‘always
surging in her heart. Where other
girls dreamed of furs and jewels, ‘her
dreams. were. of soft and chivalrous |
words and knights in modern dress.
As a child, callow youths had wor-
shipped her, as a grown woman,
charming and tenderly radiant, many
men had courted her. She had her
pick and she chose Emery Ells.
The fact that her ‘marriage had
swiftly piled up on the rocks of stern
70. eae
: 5
Roos OW: cats: avec nel
relatives,
TIMELY DETECTIVE CASES
IT WAS NICE TO WATCH
HER DIE
reality might still have failed to soothe
the anger of some jilted suitor. Anger
of such a kind might easily have
fanned itself into violent hate. And to _
a killer of such a type the element of
_ time would mean but very little. He
might be a youth Merle had known
long ago and even forgotten.
Of one thing the detectives could be
absolutely certain: Merle Ells had
been a completely loyal and virtuous
wife.. She had associated with no
other men, even after her divorce.
Smoking out a known quarry is one
thing. Digging up a ghost from the
past is quite another. The investi-
gators faced their task with some mis-,
givings.
They had the faded snapshot found
in the girl’s wallet to work on for the
present, at least..The picture was
blurred, indistinct, and probably
taken years ago. The subject’s appear-
ance might have altered considerably.
But Davidson had a plan. In that
afternoon’s editions of all the Los
Angeles newspapers he had a story
published in which the authorities
admitted they had in their possession
a snapshot of a former admirer of the
murdered woman, a clue which they
considered of the utmost importance.
Further, on the strength of this photo,
they expected to make an arrest
within forty-eight hours.
The trap thus baited, the wily -Dav-
idson awaited developments. Mean-
time there were plenty of routine
angles on the case to keep him busy.
s* days dragged by without re-
sults, On the seventh, the evening -
of Monday, November 16, exactly two
weeks after the brutal slaying, David- -
son got a strange telephone call. The
caller was a man. He requested a
personal interview with the chief. He
would give no reason for the request.
“Make your own time,” invited
Davidson.
“Tl be up in an hour,” said the man
and hung up.
Exactly an hour later, a tall, square-
jawed youth with handsome but .
pinched features, entered Davidson’s
office. His eyes narrowed a bit at the
sight of Filkas sitting there too, but
he said nothing.
“T’'m the man
he blurted. —
Filkas and Davidson looked up, but
you are looking for!”
from their impassive gaze it was im-
possible to discern their impatience
and anxiety. Both had recognized the
tall visitor as the unidentified youth
of the snapshot!
The stranger gave his name as John
Burroughs and his address as twenty’
blocks from the slain young mother’s
bungalow. He spoke with a swift rush:
of words as though it was. a relief to
talk.
“I came soon as I heard
looking for me,” he said.
Davidson gave the man no help.
“Well?”
“Well, this. You’re on the wrong
track. I don’t know how you got me
mixed up in this, but I got an idea.
Anyhow, you’re wrong.”
“About what?”
“About trying to pin the.murder of
Merle Ells on me!”
“You knew her?” ;
“Of course, what does that prove?”
“Nothing.” Davidson grew suddenly
confidential. He drew his chair closer
to the angry youth. He leaned for-
ward. “You want us to catch the murs
derer of Merle Ells, don’t you?”
“Certainly.”
“Okay, then. Look at it this way.
We had your picture and it looked’
like a lead and we followed it up. If
you can prove you're in the clear, fine,
we'll drop it as far as you’re con-
cerned. We have to work like that on .
any scrap of a clue.
“All we want from you is a state-
ment covering your movements on the
night of the murder, November 2nd.”
“An alibi?”
“For your own protection.” :
Mollified, the youth looked up.
“That'll be easy,” he said.
Burroughs was able to give the de-
tectives a straightforward story of his
movements on the night of the trag-
ery. He had been in the company of
several persons up to, and beyond, the
hour of midnight. He gave their
names and addresses to Filkas who
jotted them down.
The detective glanced kindly at the °
youth’s tired, sagging features. “If
you've told the truth you have nothing
to worry about from us,” he said.
The young man relaxed. He. ac-
cepted a cigarette proffered by David-
son and lit it. ,
“My relationship with Merle Ells
was one of those strange affairs,” he
volunteered. “It was all one-sided, I
don’t belieye she ever realized I cared
for her. When she met Emery Ells
and married him I doubt that she
even remembered me at all!”
“You stopped seeing her?”
you were
i
_“Oh, yes, even before her marriage.”
The youth started to go. Davidson
eld out a halting arm,,
“Just a moment. Maybe you would
like to tell us something on your own
hook, any idea you ‘have on this. mur-
der. For instance, who hated Merle
enough to want to kill her?”
If the veteran detective expected a
hedging answer to his chance question
he was due for, a pleasant shock.
There was nothing subtle about the
slim visitor’s retort... 4
“Merle had only one enemy,” he
snapped, “her husband!”
Davidson showed his surprise. “But
they were divorced,” he pointed out.
“Except for their baby she had appar-
ently gone out of his life completely.
What possible motive could he have
for wanting to kill her? He consented
to the divorce.”
Burroughs arose. Fora fleeting sec-
ond his face took on a look of queer
intensity. His lips were silent but his
eyes burned.
“Maybe I’m just prejudiced, ” he
said finally.
A LIGHT snow had enay begun
to fall that day of. November 17th,
when Davidson and his ace assistant
Filkas set out for a visit to the home
of Emery Ells. It was late afternoon.
The youthful restaurant worker had
several hours yet before reporting to
work, :
He showed no. surprise at the de-
tectives’ visit. In the’ past several
weeks the two had dropped in often.
“What’s on your mind?” he said,
buttoning a freshly laundered shirt.
Davidson dropped his little bomb-
shell. “Emery,” he announced, “I think
-you’re a liar.”
Emery continued to ‘dress calmly.
“What brought that on?” he de-
manded.
“You’re in on that ie i job up to.
your neck.”
“Look,” Ells turned ‘and. faced his
two visitors squarely, “once and for
all I didn’t kill my wife. I had no
reason to. She and I had no hold on
each other. We were good friends.
We just couldn’t agree. That’s the
worst yoy can say happened between
us.”
“You’re getting custody of the baby,
I understand.
“Yeah,”
’“You like that a lot, don’t you?
You're pretty fond of the boy.”
-For the first time resentment
showed in the young widower’s face.
“What’s strange about that? I’m its
father.”
“Yeah, it’s nice to have the baby all
to yourself,” Filkas persisted.
“Is that why I’m supposed to have
killed my wife?”
“It’s a motive,” Filkas hammered.
72,
TIMELY DEYECTIVE CASES
- Ells started to say something,
checked himself. “Okay,” he said
-shrewdly, “it’s a motive, so what. You
know I couldn’t have killed’ her. I
was working every minute that.night. -
You dicks know that as well as I do.”
Filkas’ answer was frank. “Sure,”
he admitted, “we know it. We checked
your story back with a dozen honest
people and it sticks.”
“So what’s all this quizz about?”
“I’m afraid it’s a little more than
just a casual quizz, Ells,” Davidson cut
in. “The D.A. thinks he can build up
a a eat good case against you despite
your abili. Anyway, he’s willing to.
chance it. We'll be along with an in-
vitation to his office in a couple of
days.”
Flabbergasted, Filkas stared at his
chief. But Davidson’s face was a mask
of innocence. “Come on, Filkas,” he’
said, and the two detectives, left the
apartment.
Out on the sidewalk Davidson spoke
sharply. “Let’s get back to the office,”
he. snapped. “I want to get a tail on‘
Ells. He’s worried plenty, and if he’s
really guilty he’s liable to make a
wrong move. He’s scared enough
right now to give himself away.”
Davidson’s ruse proved a dud for
twenty-four hours. Then came a de-
velopment that brought a slim hope
to the weary officers. One of the trio
of detectives detailed to shadow the
suspect submitted his report.
“Twice within the past twelve hours
Ells visited a man named Harry
Brown who lives in a cheap Randolph -
Street rooming house. I got a quick
‘look at the guy. I didn’t recognize him
for sure, but I think he’s a mug with
a record.”
Filkas and Davidson rushed down
to the Bureau of Criminal Identifica-
tio. A quick search of the rogues’ gal-
‘ley under the name Brown brought
results. While there was no listing
under the first name of Harry there
was a long dossier for Benjamin
Franklin Brown. He was a convicted
gunman and his'specialty was the ex-
pert handling of any known type of
firearm.
His last known address in Los”
Angeles was Randolph Street!
Now, at last, the police were ap-
proaching bed-rock. Filkas and Dav-
idson lost.no time getting down to the .
Randolph Street rooming house. A
frowsy clerk tried to stall them but
the two ace sleuths were in no mood
to be side-tracked. They knocked on -
Brown’s door. There was a pause and
a sleepy answer. “Who's there?”
“Exterminator,” said Filkas.
“Come back later,” the voice said.
“Can’t. Boss’ orders.”
A low mutter and then, “Just a
minute.” In a few seconds the door
opened. Quick as a flash the two de-
tectives were inside and had a firm
grip on the room’s occupant. _
“Hello, Brown,” said Filkas, “we got
a message for you from your pal Ells.”
“Message?” The pint-sized shirtless
‘Doles who, with his scrawny arms,
flat chest and sallow cheeks looked
more like a stable-boy than a desper-
ate gunman, stared: at the two a
‘askance.
“Say, what’s the matter with you
coppers,” he demanded, “are you
nuts?”
“Ells tagged you as the killer of his
wife.”
“Yeah?” Brown sneered. “Did he
‘tell you I poisoned Little _Bo-Peep
too?”
Esconced in a cell at Headquarters,
the tiny gunman was given. several
hours to think things over. The police
were in no rush. They had nothing
on Brown and their best bet was to
get him to open up through sheer
funk.
But Brown, tough as a gutter rat
despite his anaemic huild, proved he
could well match wits with the police.
Repeated questioning elicited no re-
_sponse from him. other than that he
had never even heard of Merle: Ells
or her husband. He admitted he
wasn’t working but insisted he was
seeking a job. A check of the em-.
ployment agencies he claimed to have
visited provéd he was telling the
truth, at least in that detail.
FTER several days of this cat and
mouse game, Davidson was defi-
nitely worried. Despite his belief that
the cool and self-possessed Benjamin.
Franklin Brown was in some way
mixed up with the slaying of Merle
Ells, he knew he couldn’t hold the
man forever. A specific charge would
have to be lodged against him.
As further cause for- pessimism, a
report came in from other detectives
working on the case saying that a
complete and thorough check on the
alibi of John Burroughs proved be-
yond any question of doubt that the
youth had absolutely no connection
with the crime.
In his dilemma, the adroit Davidson
again resorted to a ruse. . Except for
a constant tail on Emery Ells. the
police had left him strictly alone. So
far as they knew he hadn’t the slight-
est inkling that Brown had. been
picked up.
At six o’clock on Se morning of
November 27th, Filkas rapped on: the
restaurant worker's apartment door .
and bundled him off to headquarters.
' In Davidson’s office, Ells found a small
group awaiting his arrival. Besides
the chief, there was an assistant from
the District Attorney’s office, a uni- .
‘formed guard and a police stenogra-
pher seated with an open notebook. .
— gt
Gravely, Ells: was led to the empty
chair opposite the stenographer. With-
out prologue, Davidson began firing -
questions at the now thoroughly
frightened youth.
Presently Filkas arose and walked
out of the room leaving the door wide
open. He hastened to Brown’s cell
and led him to the upstairs corridor.
Skillfully, Filkas maneuvered his un-
suspecting prisoner past the open
door where the sweating and thor-
oughly mystified Ells was blurting out
answers.
As . they Jerounataa the door,
Brown heard the sound of voices and
turned his head.. He saw-the agitated
youth dictating to the police stenog-
rapher, saw the grim-faced Davidson
listening to every word, recognized
the District Attorney’s assistant.
He stopped dead. in his tracks,
wrenched himself loose from the de-
tective, and ripped out. a shout that
started even Filkas. With a twisting
sideways movement he made a lunge
for the office but the restraining hands
of Filkas held him. + :
He yelled like a suddenly aroused
demon. “Don’t believe the squealing
rat. He’s the guilty one, he made me
do it! It was his idea, I didn’t even
know his wife till he. told me ‘about
her!”
It was over! The task now was to
take down Brown’s confession as fast
as he rattled it off. The story as it
. dropped from his’ dry lips was the
most sordid any of the astounded offi-
cers had ever heard.
“I was in town trying to get some
honest work when this guy Ells looks
me up and says he has an easy job
lined up for some easy dough. I re-
fused but he said this was something
different. An act of mercy, he called
it. Some woman friend of his, he tells
me, is suffering from an incurable
(Continued from page 25)
the motive, all right—jealousy.”
Cunningham scrutinized the paper.
“Silver tone words you'sling aplenty,”
he read. “But get wise to yourself.
Don’t let me catch you around Amelia .
Robinson’s house, ‘especially after
dark, or there will be a scrubup
around Criders Corners,”
The state policeman: handed back
the missive with a grave look. “There
was a scrubup,” he commented drily.
“No doubt about that. J guess all we
got to do is find a heart interest.”
74
TIMELY DETECTIVE CASES
disease. She begs him to kill her but
he hasn’t got the guts. He wants me
to do the job. As a favor to. this poor
woman.
“111 give you two thousand bucks’
the rat told me. I needed some cash
right away. He reached in his pants
pocket and fished up a handful of
dimes, tips, I guess. He counted them
out, there was two bucks and twenty
cents. He told me he’d get the rest
from the woman and give it to me
after the job was done.
“I got a flashlight, a jimmy and a
double-barreled shotgun. He made it
easy for me, gave me a perfect layout
of the house. About midnight I let
myself in.
“Ells told me where the bed was. I
expected to find some old dame,
feeble, skinny. Instead, there was this
good-looking gal, healthy as a picture.
I knew something was screwy, right
there. Especially when she opened
her eyes and looked at me after I
woke her up. But two grand is a lot
of dough...
“Anyway it was too late to back out.
You got to get keyed up for a job like
that and I certainly was set for it. It’s
a question of nerves, I guess, selling
yourself on the idea, and then going
through with it, with your mind and
your muscles quiet and relaxed.
“Anyhow that’s the way it was with
me when she looked at me. I had to
kill her. I got real pleasure out of it!”
The sweating little gunman paused.
For a couple of minutes he had caught
the glow of his own excitement, now
he quieted down.
He continued:
“I started to skip out when I heard
the baby crying.. I remembered what
Ells told me, that if I so much as
scratched the kid he’d kill me with his
bare. hands.
“Like he wanted, I didn’t harm the
TWO CORPSES
In that direction, Louise could give
the officers not the least lead. During
her residence in the neighborhood, she
had heard of no one with any romantic
attachment for Mrs. Robinson.
There were several more anony-
mous letters, all in a threatening vein.
One admonished Kestner not to leave
‘ his booze in Mrs. Kestner’s home; an-
other assured the Pittsburgh electri-
cian he wasn’t “so smooth you can’t
be ironed out”; and still another ad-
vised, “I am leaving it up to you.
Play safe and be wise.”
gun and from admitting other hunters
kid. I beat it the same way I came
in. I figured I’d have a better chance
for a getaway if I got rid ofthe gun
before I hit the street so I: tossed it
near the bed. I wore. gloves,— --any~
how.”
Eyes filled with hate Brown glared
at Ells. He said, “I contacted Ells
that night and asked for my dough.
He said I’d find it buried in a shoe
box behind a billboard on Firestone
Boulevard. But he was lyin’, and the
double crosser’s been stalling me
since!”
On January 12, 1931, Benjamin
Franklin Brown went on trial for his
life. Because he was penniless, Su-
perior Court Judge B. Rey Schauer
appointed as his lawyer Public De-
fender G. A. Benedict. He pleaded
guilty and threw himself upon the
mercy of the court. The jury, how-
ever, was not disposed towards mercy
for the hired, sadistic slayer of the in-
nocent young mother. On January
16, he was sentenced by Judge Mar-
shall F. McComb “to be hanged by the
neck till dead.”
The instigator of the foul deed,
Emery Ells, fared better. On January
8, 1931, he was found guilty of first
degree murder, but he escaped the
death penalty when his, jury, com-
prised mostly of women, added a
recommendation for mercy. Judge
Schauer sentenced him to life im-
prisonment at San Quentin Peniten-
tiary.
Thus the handsome, but cowardly
youth will have plenty of time to re-
member the day he bartered the life
of lovely Merle Ells‘for a handful of
dimes!
The name John Burroughs, as used
in this story is fictitious to protect the
identity of a person innocently in-
volved in.a murder investigation. - The
Editor.
“This brother of Mrs. Robinson,”
Doolan inquired, “Does he live near-
by a”
Beeler’ 's all the family she had that
I-know of,” the girl replied. She de-
scribed the brother, as an old eccen-
tric who lived in a cabin on a big
game preserve owned by a group of
Detroit sportsmen, about five. miles
from Criders Corners. He obtained
his living from his garden, with his
into the private reservation at three
dollars a head.
—
een
BROWN, Glennard, white, gassed Calif. SP (Placer County), on February
a»
wal
os ee
ss
As it turned out, the killer ee
might as well have left his name and
address at the murder scene
e@ EVERYBODY in Colfax, Cal., said the town couldn’t operate
| without Ada Belle Turner. That was perhaps a slight ex-
' aggeration, but it was true that she was one of the stoutest
1 pillars of this quiet Northern California town, and a peppery
| and unforgettable character to boot.
i Mrs. Turner was the widow of Robert Turner, who was still
remembered as a prominent mine operator and perennial city
| councilman who spent most of his spare time and also some of
| his cash for the welfare of the community. He had left her in
circumstances townspeople called “well fixed.” Her cattle ranch
at the edge of town was a valuable property, and she adminis-
tered it personally, being as much at home in the saddle as most
| women are in a beauty parlor. There was nothing pioneer-like
| about her home, however, for it was equipped with all the latest
gadgets, even including an automatic dishwasher. She didn’t
| want to waste time fooling around with housework when she
had plenty of charity enterprises and church work to attend to.
Belle Turner had no time for floaters and loafers, but she
had a soft spot in her heart for miners and cowboys who needed a
grubstake. She never forgot that her husband started out as a
penniless miner, and if a man looked decent and talked decent he
could. stop at her place and be sure of getting a home-cooked
meal or even a loan. If he had been even casually acquainted
with Bob Turner, he could get practically anything he wanted.
It got to be pretty well known around Placer County that if
you were down on your luck, Belle Turner was a good person to
see—but not if you were dirty and needed a shave.
“You run along and make yourself presentable,” she’d snap if
3
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cousins. Four companies had under-
written the olicies, and the bene-
ficiary on eac olicy was either Mrs.
Ehalfy. They worked
together and "ee the profits,
The death o Andy Allas had netted
them $11,000. Another $11,500 worth
of insurance that they had applied for
Shortly before his death had
fused. They had collected $1,500 when
oO
pos mortem had failed thus far to
ring out any traces of poison. Police
recalled, suddenly, rumors of a little-
known Poison, once used in Czecho-
scoffed at the rumor. He hadn’t yet
finished his tests.
Presently Professor Lowy came up
with the solution to the mystery and
identified the fatal chemica as a form
large-enough: doses and in swift-
¢ Caused certain
death, without leaving much resid ue,
This was the Secret of the “hiue
death!”
Mary Chalfa and Anna Allas took
their arrest with characteristic sto-
lidity. They moaned once or twice as
they were led to their cells, but other-
wise their impassive Slavic -faces
scarcely changed.
At their trial Gazella Young turned
state’s evidence and was star witness
for the prosecution. Stella Chalfa
testified she had been offered money
to disappear so that she could not be
called as a witness. Her husband,
Joseph, related that during a brief
period in which he lived with his
cousins, he got “queer stomach
Mrs. Gazeila Young was absolved of
all guilt and released.
HEADQUARTERS
clothes soaking. I have to wash them
-myself.”
“How did you get the blood on these
clothes?” he demanded...
“It’s sheep blood. I have to work
on them, you know.”
“We'll take these clothes and the
~— along to town also,” the Sheriff
Said.
a.
ACK in Colfax, excitement ran
B nigh among the police Officers,
— tted exactly onto the splintered
stock, :
Brown admitted it was his rifle, but
he still denied he had left his rifle
there, insisting someone had stolen
it and apparently had hidden it again
after amaging it. Z
. Quickly “the evidence
against the man. The nei
' be pa quickly and conclusively iden-
tified him as the man she had seen
he cafe waiter ‘identified him as
the man who ate breakfast in his
restaurant on M
‘That placed both Cigarettes and cigar
in the possession of Brown the ay
rd
rushed to Sacramento where Owen
LONESOME WIDOW
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 43)
revealed that there were no finger-
prints on the rifle except those of
rown, .
the two foot rints' found in the or-
chard. His 5 Oes fitted those tracks
perfectly,
With all this mountain of evidence
Pointing to Brown as the murderer,
the officers released the itinerant from
jail after exonerating him of any con-
nection with the crime,
Even with this evidence staring him
in the face, Brown refused to admit
he killed Mrs. Turner, He admitted
she had helped: him out. “She was
kind to me,” he said, “so why should I
kill her?”
It was the Pictures taken at the
death scene which finally broke down
As each picture was shown
inally he covered
te face and moaned, “That’s enough.
Sheriff demanded
“She loaned me money on my knife.
“The knife is in a fopher hole near
the ranch cabin. I ll show you where,”
The knife was located and the blood
received
On Ja:
second r
hart—th
Adams
to accep
Everhart
them to
them to ;
Althou;
at the car
ing. A bi:
with Judg:
for a chan
George
attorney, y
lator, then
which pro:
from an att
during the
lature.
Judge Li
Postponed v
sion,
But, less
later, Evert
break from
Everhart,
Neely a
overpowered
e Sunday
Immediate
out northeas:
and once aga
ter of a mig}
Shortly aft
through a re
f was not
i» Turner.
all over.
dl about.
know a
‘ht about
-re’s been
You fit
who was
it. We'll
»> saw the
vas soon .
“Sheriff,
I am not
1 said.
up while
ion. The 7
2ks in the
felt more
might be
:parations
he blood-
eport re- -
‘rom the
as that of
the same
‘he ene
ly prove
. searched
i, the or-
id back of
igle along
other clue
en't tried
cigar and
ks. “Be-
probably
handlos
“And probably = svi!
them,” the D. A. addeu.
“They are the only bet we have
left, so I am going to see what I can
plenty of
. develop on them.”
“Sheriff, another thing occurs to
me,” Sparks began. “If we could
find that gun from which the splinter
came, -we probably could find the
killer.. The lunch counter man said
the fellow we picked up was not the
one who ate at his place, so it leaves
us with another guy of the same
description, who is no doubt the killer.
He didn’t have a gun at the restaurant,
so he must have. hidden it somewhere.
He presumably left the Turner place
through the orchard and cro the
field toward the railroad. Early the
next morning he ate at the place by
the railroad. What did he do with
his gun? He knew’he had to get rid
of it, so he hid it. What place would
be better’than somewhere in a bush
in the middle of that field behind
the orchard? He wouldn’t hide it
around the Turner place, around town,
or in the hobo jungle.” Z
“Sparks, you’ve got. something
there,” the Sheriff agreed. “How
about you and Viscia getting a group
of men together while I go after the
cigar and. cigarettes. Block off one
section of the field at a time, then
make a foot by foot search.” :
“That’s a big field,” Viscia said,
“but I think it can be done. It’s
probably a. thousand to one chance
the gun is there, the same as it is of
your finding someone who can identify
the murderer from those cigarette
butts and cigar.”
The waiter who had fed the man
who fitted the description of the sus-
pected killer the morning the body
was found had been away for a couple
of days, and it was not until- now that
Silva was able to have him look at
the man under arrest. :
‘Tll admit he looks something like
the fellow I fed that morning,” he:
said, “but he isn’t the same man. The
fellow I fed was taller, and his hair
was longer.”
This was the first break in favor
of the suspect. The officers felt, how-
ever, that although he could not be
released despite his protestations of
innocence, neither could he be booked
for murder until there was more
proof against him.
Silva started the rounds of the
town’s few merchants who sold
cigarettes and cigars. Indignation
over the killing was high, but they
could help little for the brands. were
too popular. ;
“Give me a list of the pecule you
sold these brands to during the
twenty-four hours preceding the kill-
ing,” Silva told the merchants. “Take
a while to think it over. I’ll be back
in a couple of hours. As you write
down each man’s name, try to remem-
ber if he was dressed in workman’s
jeans, a blue shirt, had long and
shaggy hair and carried a rifle. This
is very important.” :
Two hours later Silva returned, and,
finally, as one merchant handed him
a list, the merchant said:
“I sold Glenard Brown a cigar like
that on Sunday afternoon. It was
the only one I sold that day. This
Brown was dressed like you de-
scribed, and his hair was long. He
wears it that way all the time.”
“Who is Glenard Brown?”
“He works on Jay McDonald’s ranch
out in the hills. Ile said he was
teady to leave town when he came in
here. He warited to catch a ride
home.”
“Maybe he came back to town?”
“Could be. But it don’t seem Vee
sible. There’s not much travel from
the ranches with gas rationing on. It’s
a long walk to where he works.”
“Does he come in here very often?”
“Just occasionally.”
“Tell me this. Can you remember
his having bought both cigars -and
cigarettes from you?” —
“I know he buys a cigar occasion-
ally, and I think he has bought ciga-
rettes from me. I know I have seen
him smoking them. As a matter of
fact, he was smoking one when-he
bought the cigar.”
“One more question. Have you
ever seen Brown eer ying a rifle?”
“Yes, I have. He’s had it with him
a time or two when he came here.
He didn’t have it Sunday though.”
HERIFF Silva hurried to find Chief
Viscia and Sparks to impart this
news to them.
“Brown may be our man,” he in-
formed them, “but we better check
these other names to see if there is
anyone on the list: who fits the descrip-
tion of our man or who does not have
an alibi for Sunday night.”
“I know a lot of the people listed
here,” Viscia_ said, as he looked at
the lists, “so I’ll start the ball rolling
on that.”
‘In the meantime, we'll see if we
can find out anything more about
Brown and his movements,” the
Sheriff said.
But very few ple knew Brown,
and Silva found it impossible to trace
his movements. No one could say
if he had been in town late Sunday
night or early Monilay morning.
With little gained from hours of
contacting people who might shed.
light on Brown’s movements, and with
. each of the persons who had bought
the particular brand of cigars and
cigarettes crossed off the lists, Silva
decided the next step was to have a
talk with Brown, _
It was ten miles to the McDonald
ranch in the Sierra mountains. It
was developed at the ranch that
Brown was a sheep herder and was
now out with the flock. A little more
investigation also turned up the fact .
that Brown owned a rifle which he
carried with him almost constantly,
but he had not been seen with it
since last. Sunday when he went inta
Colfax. SS
Silva located Brown tending the
flock. As he approached, he noticed
the long. black hair falling over the
shirt collar. He,noticed also that the
clothes Brown was wearing were not
like the ones described by the woman
who had seen a man entering the
Turner place. : :
The sheepherder stated vehemently
that he knew nothing of the murder
but admitted being in Colfax Sunday.
oo you own a rifle?” Silva asked
im.
“f did, but. someone stole it. I
generally carry it with me when I
walk into town. I have a’place where
I hide it, and I did Sunday. It wasn’t |
there when I started home Sunday
afternoon.” : :
“Why didn’t you report the theft?”
didn’t think it would do any
“Come to town with me,” Silva
ordered. “I want to show you a few
things.” .
They stopped at the old ranch
house where Brown and other work-
men lived so Brown could leave word
where he would be. It was behind |
this building that Silva spotted a
tub with clothes soaking in it.
The Sheriff looked at the clothes
more closely. They fit the description
of those worn by the man at the
Turner home. Another thing that
made the Sheriff’s heart. race faster
was the red coloring of the water. __
“What are these?” he asked Brown
“Just some (Continued on page 88)
SCENE OF MYSTERIOUS, BRUTAL SLAYING— a
The home of Mrs. Ada Belle Turner, the unfortunate victim. Why did the killer
force her to go downstairs into the cellar of her home before he murdered her?
nrystery and
il as a form
inistered in
in swift-
ed certain
ich residue.
the “kiue
Allas_ took
eristic sto-
or twice as
3, but other-
jlavie -faces
oung turned
star witness
‘elia Chalfa
ered money
could not be
er husband,
‘ing a brief
-d with his
er stomach
e jury found
lfa guilty of
» and recom-
ch they. are
-ennsylvania
for Women.
absolved of
W
i)
®
‘e no finger-
ept those of
ence placing
house were
d in the or-
those tracks
: of evidence
ve murderer,
tinerant from
a of any con-
e staring him
sed to admit
He admitted
t. “She was
why should I
taken at the
’ broke down
2» was shown
y he covered
hat’s enough.
f demanded
on my knife.
she wouldn’t
a refund “of
‘e argued for
tting madder
iit her in the
ook her key,
and got my
so I cut her
the key away
ig to leave on
-r waiting. all
lind and re-
oe? Where is
her hole near
vy you where.”
and the blood
Fi aerated ltlalianateieenieeleae emia
on it matched that of the murder
victim.
District Attorney Sparks filed mur-
der charges against the 19-year-old
sheepherder at once..
Glenard Brown was tried before
Judge A. L. Pierovich in the Superior
Court at Auburn, Placer County, No-
vember 24, 1943. The jury found him
guilty of first degree murder. He was
sentenced to die in San Quentin’s gas
chamber January 14, 1944. A reprieve
delayed the sentence, but February
15th, a month later, Glenard Brown
paid for his ghastly deed, when the
death sentence was carried out.
Eprror’s Note: The name of Jay
McDonald is fictitious.
HEADQUARTERS
DETECTIVE}
after his return to Tulsa, Everhart
and Neely were arraigned before
Common Pleas Judge William N. Ran-
dolph. Both were charged with the
Cormack killing. They both pleaded
not guilty, and their preliminary
hearings were set for-October 20.
When these hearings were called,
both men waived them, and they were
ordered bound over to district court
to await trial.
The luck of the mad killer, Ever-
hart, continued to run low. On Janu-
ary 3, 1947, Detective Ben -Johnston
dropped dead of a heart attack at his
home, a short time after being re-
leased from the hospital. .
Dr. Homer Ruprecht, his physician,
told County ttorney Elmer :
Adams that the detective’s death had
been caused mostly by the wounds
received in the gun duel.
On January 15, 1947, Adams filed a
second murder charge against Ever-
hart—this time for Johnston’s death.
Adams said that he would refuse
to accept guilty pleas from either
Everhart or Neely but would put
them to trial in the hope of sending
them to the electric chair.,
Although Tulsa officers were elated
at the capture of Everhart, their hopes
were dashed when they found out
that he could not be connected with
the slaying of St. Clair. A murder
charge filed against him for St. Clair’s
death was dismissed when the gun-
man provided an iron-clad ‘alibi that
he was in Richmond, Indiana, the day
of the officer’s ‘killing.
On February 1, 1947,. Everhart was
taken before Pleas Judge Leslie
W. ‘Lisle for ‘his BP geo crag i hear-
ing. A bitter legal battle developed
with Judge Lisle overruling a motion
for a change of venue.
George W. Campbell, Everhart’s
attorney, who was also a state legis-
lator, then resorted to a state law
which provides legislative immunity
from an attorney having to try a case
during the session of the state legis-
lature.
Judge Lisle ordered the hearing
postponed until the close of the ses-
sion.
But, less than twenty-four hours
later, Everhart led a desperate jail
break from the Tulsa county jail.
Everhart, his crime-partner Jamés
O. Neely and four other prisoners
overpowered two jailers and fled on
the Sunday morning of February 2.
Immediately peace officers through-
out northeast Oklahoma were alerted,
and once again Everhart was the cen-
ter of a mighty hunt.
Shortly after noon, a taxicab raced
through a road block thrown up by
RECKLESS COP-KILLERS
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 25)
Highway Patrolmen Marion Son,.Carl
Pugh and Benny Klutts, forty miles
east of Tulsa. The patrolmen started
in pursuit.
early a half-mile down a dirt road
a tire on the taxicab blew out. The
patrol car braked to a stop.
woman was suddenly pushed
from the car by a man who with a
drawn revolver was forcing her to act
as a shield for him. Then the officers
caught a glimpse of the» man’s face.
It was Everhart!
The cab driver, Lester Hughes, sud-
denly sprang out of the cab, knocked
the gun from the killer’s hand and
shouted to the woman, who was his
wife, Lois, to run. Although fearful
for her husband’s safety, she ran
across the field, away from the killer.
Everhart hastily grabbed the gun
and forced Hughes to stand in front
of him. But just then the patrolmen
advanced, firing at Everhart. One
bullet tore into Everhart’s chest and.
one into his leg.
He to
ending his sensational career of crime
and murder! :
Hughes, miraculously enough, re-
ceived only a slight flesh wound. A
solitary amusing footnote was added
to the grim gun duel when it devel-
oped that Lois Hughes had been
grabbed. by a trooper as she raced
across the field and had been hand-
cuffed. The trooper, seeing a woman
running away from the scene of the
shooting and not knowing who she
was, had decided to take no chances.
When the confusion was cleared up,
the trooper unhandcuffed her and
apologized. Hughes told police that
Everhart had commandeered his cab
at gun point and had forced Hughes
and his wife to help him flee. police.
Meanwhile, Neely, Edgar Mayhugh,
who was being held for trial on an
auto theft charge, and James P.
Billbe, held for trial for forgery, were
recaptured by Tulsa Police Officers
Jimmy Jackson, Lozier Brown and
Alfred DeMoss in a small cafe at
Beggs, Oklahoma, fifty miles south-
west of Tulsa.
‘On February 10, 1947, Neely sent
word to County Attorney Elmer W.
Adams that he wanted to make a full
confession.
Two days later, on ws etrg 12,
Neely was taken before District Judge
Eben L. Taylor, where he pleaded
guilty and threw himself on the mercy
of the court.
. Judge Taylor sentenced Neely to
life imprisonment at the state peni-
tentiary at McAlester, ending one of
the bloodiest chapters of crime in the
annals of the southwest.
pled to the road—dead—thus |
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