New York, B-C, 1869-1977, Undated

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44/ True Mystery Detective — June 1975

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BIG 3 ENT. 132 Nassau Strest, Dept CM-12.Y. N.Y. 10838

“Hands MesThe: Hammer!

“UlPHave

To Hiti Her: Again!

‘ontinued.from page 13)

was dead, according to police, decided
that he had “better clean up the mess.”
So he picked up Mrs. Gresh’s body
from the floor and placed it in the

combination bath- and washtub in the |

tenement kitchen.
For several days after that the young

lovers played host at a series of beer ~

parties.

Snyder, police said, had added
plaster of paris to the water in the tub.
in the hope of stifling the odor. and
warned guests to keep out of the kitch-
en.

For two weeks, while Mrs. Gresh’s
body lay nearby, Theresa and Snyder
continued to live in the flat. Then the
pair left. Theresa going to visit rela-
tives in New Jersey and Snyder joining
the Marines under the name “Byers.”

Not until neighbors began to wonder
about Mrs. Gresh’s disappearance, and
complained that they thought something
was “‘wrong” in the house, did police
investigate and discover Mrs. Gresh’s
decaying body.

Theresa was taken into custody. But
at first she insisted she had not seen
her mother since March 4th when, she
said, Mrs. Gresh told her that she was
going to Florida to visit a man friend.

The cops‘didn’t buy this story, how-
ever, and questioned the girl for 13
hours, until she finally broke down and
confessed.

The trail then led to Snyder. who was
arrested in the Marine base mess hall.

When Theresa was brought into court
for arraignment. nonchalant and chomp-
ing away on her chewing gum. Magis-
trate Cullen ordered her sent to Bellevue
Hospital for psychiatric examination.

And down in South Carolina, mean-
while, the Marines still had custody of
Snyder and he still had possession of
his murder mystery.

“I just left him in his cell,” Captain
A. M. Young. Provost Marshal, told
newsmen, “and he said he was feeling
wonderful, He was positively jovial. He
expressed no sorrow—no desire for for-
giveness—and has no regrets. All he
does is laugh.” i

Several months later. the young
lovers went on trial for murder. They
were found guilty and convicted of
murder. They are still serving long
sentences in prison. THE END

H)
air
in

at Bull's
He wa
looked g
cheerful)
But f
smiling
lence an
From
heard tl
“Hel;
Frigh
store to
instant,
the spr:
A se
dash fr:
He gav
streets
railroa:
cars on
“Ho!
He «
the fug
blocks
Mea
postal
huddle
shop.
were {
enter t

ew York’s

| SHOT OFF BY

andthe —73
SCARLET
- SHOWDOWN

by CARL WALL

y
. CACCAMISE whi |
, CCAMISE, Ross, white, elec. NYS (Monroe) June 14, 1934
9 /Tte

Socie
enter¢
| anyth
amo}
the n
At

, TanwSen , 1.” ana" ~~ \ :
‘ h, ( Re 4 es

sais | ooh ON Sete -

WOU May nave

+ STAMPS | :
: : 4 sir’

AT Apty Te
; Ff % j as

DYNAMIC DETECTIVE, August, 1938.

Re tte meee

a ee ee! ee — oe

pyRD, James Montague, black, 26, electrocuted Sing Sing (Ulster) on 7-22-1920,

"James Montague Byrd, negro slayer of pfficer James Lawrence of the local police force
paid the death penalty for his crime in the electric chair at Sing Sing prison short-
ly after ll o'clock Thursday night. Coroner N. D. J. Murphy and Jack Newkirk, who
reported the Byrd trial for THE FREEMAN were the only two men from Ulster County to
witness the execution, At 11:30 o'clock Byrd appeared through the (green door’ into
the deatzh chamber and walked to the chair without a tremor, During the performance
of strapping him in the chair that was to send him to the death, the negro maintained
the same apparent indifferent pose that characterized his calmness during the trial
in the county court house last year, From the time that he left his cell in the
death house until the straps held him bound in the grasp of the deadly current he did
not speak, Keepers claimed that he went to his death calmer than anyone since the
|

ex ecution of Charles Becker, The first shock was administered to the condemned
slayer at 11:38 and a second one at 11:k3, At 11:5 Byrd was pronounced dead by the
prison physician, Prison attendants said that Byrd was the best behaved and most
contented prisoner ever confined in the death house and that he was a model prisoner,
As one keeper expressed it, 'He never howled like some of the others and he never
made a complaint of any kind,' From the time of Byrd's arrest and conviction he was
forsaken and friendless, The only aid and comfort he received while in his condemned
cell was rendered by the chaplain and priest at Sing Sing. In the late afternoon BHES
when he was told that his friends were fighting for a last minute reprieve, Byrd re-
marked 'Isure would rather do a life "bit" than die in the chair,' However, when
Warden Laews asked him to select his last meal on earth, the negro replied that 'TI

am satisfied to go, I never thought that I had a chance of getting a commutation,

I had been drinking and that's how I got mixed up in that crime,' As Byd had no kin,
his body was buried this morning in 'gallery 25', the prison name for the convict
burial grounds outside the wall," DAILY FREEMAN, Kingston, NY, July 23, 198 0 (1)

a
ara Pew a

[ORS “(CADIEUY'S ¥
ISON SEEKS TONUDENE

Ilinois e6als * An His. Wite Was * Already - ‘Being!
word... from |
aber “Ne; Var,

di lola now i

; Eimer Cadieux of - New York tity;
ab Mia attempted to claim Mrs. Her-
T8 yesterday '
an Bigler of Newburgh as his wife
a statement , \
ale action | , as she. was “entering her. own home
: with her own husband ‘on Bunda,

se of the dase
1d, parosena beyps sued by “th ont wife,

nudresiern | Lavina Newk#¥k,-~for. “annulment of:
ed toa dan-! Ser marriage to Aim on the “Rrownd:
pay sci ‘that both of them were under: the

are of, “consent at ‘the ® “time | “they

hite Houee, |
in Little like. Were married in New York ‘city on
iri the

taking any. May 23, 1912: The papers
u a ans ‘action tor. annulment were servetl
Rs stand PE Cadicux in .New York city .on
he atrikes of. Jn’ 6, Brinnier; Canfield & Bria-
llinela — flatd . ler” ae attorneys for Mrs. Cadieux.
apparently Thi situidtion, | whieh “became |
cing Jargcly *Rown today, guakes the conduct ‘of
wnd.sothat.= sit Awdeux mo id co babes more
‘remarkable 4han Das firat he story

eeON er UME Nie uttempy 40 cats MeN Bigrer
Nee is watch. : ag his: wife, which was published.
the’. sitikes Ja ‘The’ Freeman dn Tiesday “éven-
was learned: tre, created much interest both. in|
Ni ghis city and im Port. Ewen, © where

rE ane whe Mrs Bleler-rewided hefore her. mar-
‘niet attorneys: attxe to Vigter three: ‘months (AgO-
rghere {a evi, re. “Higher before her “marriage
2» reBirict pine: “wae Miss. Margaret Lyon. Mr. and
hes heter att, “Ore Higler and. Mr. DBigler's father
ction by the: “apent Sunday with | Mrs. Bigier’s
Chetleved f¢otamily at Port Ewen and awhile
eee cine: nt the West Shore | atation

Sa eatin iis ve

ta
if BPicers,

Mon Who Claimed Another Womar' Ex-Corolhe P “Mo

1 Raed By cAls_ Wite,” Levina New-|

\chair at Sing Sing prison shortly af-. f #2

| went, to “bia dea

yee

Freemait “Reporter:

‘ James Montague Hytd. here?
slayer of officer James Lawrence. gf
the lotal.police force, paid the death
Tenalty for his crime-m- the alectria. . engin

Termes

ter ‘Thursday gight. sae tt 6

Coroner 8.” D.J,, Murphy” sad Jack; —
Newkirk, who reported.” the “Byrd, pee

trial ‘for The Freeman, were the only. .
two men trom - Ulster: county te: wit | ;

Way
ee

Pyré ’
throug “green. door” into, the
death chamber “and ‘walked to’ ne
chair without a tremor During
Pourrotmance of strapping him in the”
chair-timt was to wenden im:
death,’ uid negro”. maintained
same &
coat ited bis:
the tris! int count
dast.. xear.... From the time: ‘that, ;
left his cell,in the death lita oh,
tie. straps beld..tttm:benhd..teath
i grasp, of the. deadiy curtent: she ile
not speak....Keey “el i

e3A

ecker. sc Bekrdl 7 get

The. first :-shock wan Uadmnini
to ‘the condemned. slayer*at 31
and @ second one at‘'11:43204%
Byrd) was. pronounced, dead. py 1
prison paysician. : ee
Prison attendants aafd that Byrd”

heat this cite Sunday evening for. "43
areata tor, Newburgh. they . noticed

Cadigis - “who wan ‘watching them
4 intently.” Aix intarest -increased on

NAT

the train. and finally Mr. Biglet |?

1 watned ‘Cadienx ta’ leave ‘them

-8) ets oe ajoue, .Cadinux, however. meee
ROO tenem from the train and they

ean bort, “Asay oacere abaut toenter their nonce: he

member’ ‘of the! «jaimed” Mrs. Bigler as his wife.

ett: whi hain? ‘Yau Mater told the palice- he had seen

otise, vat, Bhelache’ his Wife entering a hotel with two
“tor
the

TOT ‘a0

eit ae Se
der.) BFTES afterward

Taeier, family appeared at New
burgh . polier headquarters
prodfs of their pwn identity
the marriage certificate.

“by Ae ERGOT
i robbed. Mr...
ing, tronw othe
da “the: road
up wre when.
usee um 7! and:

*Pexy Hedy.
na” oa ae | dieux os hia wife hors no

@ jrevowepae and blanee to Mrs. Bigter. tind
atopy hin ctiumds yb atdwriting was not similar.

with
and

A photograph produced by “Ca:
renem-
Abetr

was the best behaved and most:con-: |
tented ver eonfined. tw. i
| the Seth Crane and that be was & it
model prisoner... ..As one. mk.

préeaned It, Her never: howled

some of the others and, be never i.
made a spaapialor, of. apy kina

and convietion he want
pring. ~ The only “aid. i
@ -recelved while in ‘hin eon! het
denned, cel], waa, rendered by. athe s is
chaplain and priest at Sing Sing.
Tn the late afternoon whgn be wan? fs
told that bin friends. were fighting «*~
tor a ‘last minnte reprieve’, Byrd (+)
remarked “I sure would rather doy

a life ‘bit’ an aie io : Tr.
o RR et

him to arlect hia Inst meal eo. earth’ E
the negro replied that, “J am astis-.

j wey “tho ae
had a-charce of: Rettteg a comet”

comply? tminedte i
8 bn ‘aim and inet’ ais Ry in New OK city 19

a no , aE. t

VCadiens wat married on May 23:
Levinu

satina, : 1 wad Y
Als Frou mixed :

Marjory Jeanne Logan: With a bullet
in her head and another in her throat
she walked a quarter-mile to get help

BXEAMARZ CARAWAY, Ward Beecher, Ble, elec. NY (Nassau) July 3, 194755,

eateditenietadtlll

Hunt tor Long

Here Is the First Full Story of the
Intensive Search for the Killer Who Shot
Two Defenseless Women on a Swank

Nassau County, Long Island, Estate

By Jack Fayer

Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

on the telephone said.

A double shooting on Long Is-
land's fantastically wealthy Gold
Coast.

Lieutenant Harry Farmalette wiped
perspiration from his forehead—per-
spiration not caused entirely by the
pode heat of that morning of July 24,

946.

“Start all over again,” he said into
the phone.

The man on the other end said, “A
girl came walking up here a few min-
utes ago, all bloody. She said she’d

I’ WAS a double shooting, the man

been shot and her mother was killed.”

“Who are you?” Farmalette asked.
“My name’s Johnson, Earl Johnson,”

the man answered. “I’m a painter.”
“Where are you?”
“I'm at the home of Charles Sper-
pa Johnson said. “But the girl isn’t
ere.”
Farmalette said, ‘Where is she?”
“I don’t know,” Johnson said. “I
— her to a doctor. My partner took
ier,”
“Okay,” Farmalette said. “You just
sit tight. We'll be right out there.”
Farmalette clicked the receiver up
and down on his telephone, and in a
few minutes he had notified Head-
quarters of the Nassau County Police
at Mineola. Then he hurried out of
his office; in Roslyn.
He had not needed to ask Johnson

A SS SS SS NaN Eatin

the second floor of her home, The man took from her a roll of bills which she had
’ in her hand, Miss Logan said, and the attack followed, The young woman ran screaming
from the house in her underclothes after the atotack, A painter working on a nearby
i home rushed her to the hospital, Enroute, they passed her attacker, who was, walking
along the roadside, but they did not stop. An intensive police search followed,”

NEWS, Jackson, Mississippi, August: 2, 1916 (1:7)

; f , ‘ ‘
q : et ¢
be . g 4 ¢

Php sng ia si ; .
et e

: q r : a emcee . J Ag

Island's Logan Slayer

the location of the Sperber place. It
was one of the numerous estates that
make up the Flower Hill section of
northern Nassau County, and Farma-
lette was familiar with it.

Crimes of violence were rare in that
swanky part of the county, although
now and then a thief would stake out
a claim and operate for awhile until
he was finally apprehended.

UCH a thief was currently at work—

the Matinee Burglar—and Lieuten-
ant Farmalette wondered if a connec-
tion existed between the reported
shooting and the series of daylight
jewel robberies that were plaguing
North Shore residents. :

The answer to that question could
wait, Farmalette decided as he drove
up to the Sperber estate. There were
more immediate and pressing prob-
lems.

He saw immediately that the trouble
Johnson had reported had not origin-
ated at the Sperber estate. It was
empty, save for the painter, surrounded
by ample evidence of the work he and
his partner had been doing.

His partner, Theodore Klick, was
gone.

Johnson explained that Klick had
driven the wounded girl to a doctor,
just which one he did not know.

But where had she come from?

Johnson was able to report only that
she had appeared from a northerly di-
rection along Bonnie Heights Road.

Detective John Gesell and several
other detectives from Headquarters
drove up then and with Farmalette,
they set out down the road, back-track-
ing the girl.

The estate immediately adjacent to
Sperber’s on the north was that of
Vincent Turecamo, a building con-
tractor,

sees Eas Bast

The Lieutenant rang the front door-
bell and as he did so, Detective Gesell
exclaimed:

“Look at that!”

He pointed to a dozen drops of dark
red on the stoop, drops that cried
“Blood!”

Further speculation was interrupted
by the arrival of a maid.

She identified herself as Camelia
Briskie. . { .

Had she observed anything unusual
during the preceding few minutes?

Yes, she had. :

She was working upstairs, alone in
the house, when she had heard a faint
knocking on the front door. By the
time she reached the front hall, who-
ever it was who knocked had gone.

Farmalette, Gesell and the other
detectives continued northward along
Bonnie Heights Road. They were
joined by Captain Theodore Blunt and
Sergeant Charles Wesser of the Homi-
cide Squad, who had answered a radio
call.

Their next stop was at the estate of
William John Logan, a retired banker.

The big, red-brick Georgian house

William J. Logan, right, father
of one victim, husband of the
other, with Attorney R. Brosman

Death and horror came togeth-
er to this peaceful, large Flower
Hill home, the Logan residence

sat far back from the road, hidden
from traffic by a magnificent stand of
trees and shrubbery.

They approached the house and
knocked. No one answered.

After some seconds had _ passed,
Captain Blunt grasped the handle of
the big door.

The door was open just a crack, and
he pushed it:all the way in..

Before their eyes was a sight that
set the officers back on their heels.

A well-dressed, middle-aged woman
was sprawled on the floor of the hall,
making weak but anguished noises that
were unintelligible.

Her face was masked in blood, which
still was spurting from an ugly wound
in her forehead. :

Even as Captain Blunt bent forward
to do what he could for the suffering
woman, she shuddered once and was
still, She was dead.

Footsteps pattered on the back stairs,
but Captain Blunt ignored them as he
looked for a telephone.

He called Detective Captain Stuy-
vesant Pinnell, Chief of all Nassau
County detectives. It was a killing, he

told Pinnell, a vicious killing and they
would have to set in motion a monu-
mental manhunt.

The footsteps that sounded on the
stairs as Captain Blunt spoke into the
telephone materialized into a slight,
middle-aged woman who spoke a mix-
ture of English and rapid French.

She was near hysterics, and the offi-
cers handled her gently.

Her name was Mrs. Suzanne Delebar.
She was a woman of about 45, who said
ees was a domestic in the Logan house-
hold.

PATIENTLY, Captain Blunt extracted
her story, which did not seemingly
add much to what his own eyes could

take in.

Mrs. Delebar had been sewing in an-
other part of the house. At about
10:30 a. m., she had heard her em-
ployer—Mrs. Marjory Vose Church
Logan—talking to her daughter, Mar-
jory Jeanne. The sewing-machine
made some noise and prevented Mrs.
Delebar from hearing more than a
scrap of what was said.

Then, Mrs. Delebar said, she heard a

> Lyi NR ER ROE ei ds SOR Sam i Oe as

ys
» MURDER

NE woman (1) was discovered by
police strangled in her home,
another woman (2) was crimi-
nally attacked in her bedroom
and shot twice in the neck, a
third woman (4) was wounded
by two gunmen who shot to death
her fiancee (3), and a fourth woman
(5) disappeared from a dance hall
and was found dead floating in a three
foot deep cranberry bog.

Well known as an ardent lobbyist at
the Massachusetts State House, where
she tirelessly advocated revision of
medical regulations, Mrs. Annie Dixon
Brown (1) was found strangled to
death in her home at Salem, Mass.
Mrs. Brown’s only son, Thomas Henry
Brown, 27, an overseas veteran, was
charged with the crime. Police said
they found Mrs. Brown’s body on a
daybed after they received a tele-
phone call saying “I have just mur-
dered my mother. I had been thinking
about it for some time. Come over
and you'll find something funny. I
did it for the welfare of the citizens
at large.”

Twenty-six-year-old former WAC
Marjory Jeanne Logan (2), a member
of New York society’s Junior League,
was criminally attacked and shot twice
through the neck by the same gunman
who robbed, shot and killed her
mother, Mrs. Marjory Church Logan,
52, in their fashionable Flower Hill,
Long Island, home.

In Chicago, twenty-seven-year-old
Louis J. Zeinz (3) was shot to death,
and his fiancée, twenty-three-year-
old Ingrid Larsen (4), was wounded,
when they were fired upon by two
gunmen while sitting in a parked car
in a secluded lovers’ lane. Miss Lar-
sen said the gunmen approached the
car and demanded Zeinz’s money and
watch. . As he was about to comply,
one of the gunmen opened fire, the
bullet passing through Zeinz’s body
and then wounding Miss Larsen in
the hip.

After combing the woods and shore
near Onset, Massachusetts, for several
days, more than 100 searchers found
the body of pretty, twenty-five-year-
old Ruth McGurk (5) floating in three
feet of water in a desolate cranberry
bog reservoir in Carver, Mass. The
auburn-haired beauty vanished from
an Onset dance hall with a man known
only as Frank. Her mother (6),
shown holding a picture of her mur-
dered daughter, was overcome with
grief when she heard the news.

Troutdal:
away.”
“None v
“Not as
cover.”
“What d
they sto]
“Thre
the tracks
the same !
“How a
method?
“Becau
the tra
things like
looked. P
where the
“Have \
‘fenced’ the
“No, I!
hard on th
able to fir
all that
guys wh
“Tt may
swered e)
He had
to commu:
had beer
from the
was brok;
mitted. N
the other
stolen g
backtrack
the murd

stolen an
he summ«¢
“Yes, as
answered
“Tt sear
that afte:
thieves \“
away befo
“No,
mitted.
“And sir
within a
yards, it's
they want
where in
Again
of the ar
“And,
the Albin
thieves

“Correc’
though |
to get tne
figured t!
and that
as a blin
away

“I dou
crooks art
in severa
far away
of detect:
take that

Two
closest
known 1+
shifty -lo

‘ry, the Logan.
from the road

f the big house
ounded on the
ver. Holding a
neck in a vain
‘ blood, she re-.
started for the
veral hundred

yainters there.
looked up in

e.in a mo-

- clad girl,

, still fight-
peared: before
ers, Theodore
questions and
‘into his auto-
loctor’s office.
short distance
screamed:

id a man was
ispered, “don’t

ing... He was

adly wounded

cream,” Klick

irectly at the f

him down, but
> right man or
a him down I
ughter.”

ccelerator and I

to drive from |

ington, where

-o the office of |
ing the same f,
ed her before, —

assistance and

he physician’s a

painters. had

and Detective &

of the Nassau
cé, responded.

Bia ee

Across this quiet lawn the in- 2
truder stealthily approached

With siren open, their patrol car drew up
in front of the Logan mansion. The offi-
cers pounded on the door and received
no answer. Entering, they found. Mrs.
Logan lying on the floor near the French
windows, with a bullet wound in her
forehead. She was still alive and ‘Cap-

tain Blunt said later she tried’ to ‘speak, °

without succéss. She died a few minutes
after the policemen arrived.
The officers soon found the only other

occupant of the big house when tragedy -

struck, Mrs. Delebar, the maid. She was
in her room, hysterical. She explained
that the noise of the sewing machine and
the fact that the doors were closed made
the sounds seem far away when she heard
“two loud noises.” She decided to in-
vestigate, however.

She discovered Mrs. Logan on the floor
where she had fallen, her face covered
with.blood, mumbling incoherently. Mrs.
Delebar ran screaming back to her room,
too frightened to act.

Miss Logan had been taken to the Naw
sau Hospital in Mineola, New York, and
detectives sped there to question her.
She was in a critical condition but: was
still conscious and they knew that if they
did not talk with her immediately they
might never know what had occurred
that tragic morning.

Although suffering intense pain ’.the
courageous girl slowly and carefully re-
counted what had happened. The detec-.
tives wrote down the description she
gave of her assailant before anxious phy-
sicians advised them to leave. Later, Dr.
Lawrence Poole, famous Manhattan brain
surgeon, and Dr. Everett Jessup, physi-
cian of the late J. P. Morgan, removed a
.32 caliber bullet from the sinus region
of Miss Logan’s cheek bone. They also
took out a second bullet from her neck.
The surgery kept her on the operating
table for five hours.

While the surgeon prepared to operate,
Nassau County law enforcement agencies
organized a widespread manhunt. A cen-
tral headquarters for sifting information

Inspector | Stuyvesant

to hunt for

men

A.. Pinnell
(right) assigned nearly a hundred
the murderer

“There he is!” the girl said to Theodore Klick (above) as the car in which he
was driving her to a doctor passed a walking man. “But don’t stop!” she begged

was established under the direction of
District Attorney James N. Gehrig and

his assistants, Frank A.Gulotta and Philip

Huntington. Inspector (then Captain).
Stuyvesant Pinnell, and his assistant, De-
tective Lieutenant James Farrell, along
with Sergeant Henry Koehl of the Homi-
cide Squad, marshaled every available
man for the hunt. At the peak of the
search nearly a hundred:-men were as-
signed -to it and some of them worked

around the clock without sleep for

days.

Inspector Pinnell was in direct charge
of the case and one of his first actions was
to send out a teletype alarm to police de-
partments of thirteen states, based on the
description of the murderer given by

Miss Jeanne Logan. It read as follows:

' Arrest for murder, assault and
robbery a medium-colored Negro, 25
to 35 years, five feet nine inches to

_ six feet one inch, slim build, starey
eyes, black hair pompadour fashion
puffed up in front; was wearing
brown trousers, has nickel-plated
revolver. May attempt to change
$50: bill, which was part of Proceeds
of crime.

Miss Logan had eqinbesived the glazed,
“starey”. look in the man’s eyes. This

-part of her description was to play an

important role later in the solution of the
case. - (Continued on page 80)

35.

~The Mystery of Flower Hill

(Continued from page 35) Within twenty-
four hours after the alarm went out, the
Nassau: County investigators were electri-
fied by a call from Police Chief John Glea-
son of Greenwich, Connecticut. Gleason said
he had in custody a man who answered the
general description given in the alarm. A
patrolman had spotted him sitting between
two'cars of a freight train that paused in

Greenwich, and had arrested him on sus-,

picion. He identified himself as William H.
Hopkins, thirty, of Philadelphia, and the

Greenwich police said he admitted to a

record of burglary, bootlegging and assault.

“This may be it,” Inspector Pinnell said
to Sergeant Koehl as he hung up the tele-
phone.

The Greenwich suspect agreed to accom-
pany Nassau detectives from Connecticut
to Long Island, waiving any legal question
if they quashed a charge against him of
trespassing on railroad property.

He was brought back to Mineola and
Klick, the house painter who had seen the
killer while driving’ Miss Logan .to the
physician’s office, looked him over.

“He’s not the man,” Klick said. Hopkins
was released. -

“We had to depend entirely on Klick at
that time,” Inspector Pinnell told this writer.
“Miss” Logan’ was in such’a critical ‘condi-
tion we couldn’t even talk to her, much

less have her go through the ordeal of try-.

ing to identify suspects.”

Meanwhile, extensive. publicity in both.

press and radio was given to the fact that
the killer was believed to have in his pos-
session a $50 bill, part of: the money he had
taken from the green purse, and might at-
tempt to change it. Banks, large food mar-
kets and other business establishments were
alerted to be on watch for such a transac-
tion. Re »

ND THEN ‘something happened that left

. Pinnell shaking his head in dismay. It oc-
curred at the First National Bank of In-
wood, just south of Flower Hill, where the
Logan home is situated. ‘

W. Frank Rhinehart, the president of the
bank; stopped on his way to work to talk
with a Nassau County policeman sta-
tioned across the street from the bank. They
discussed the Logan case and the officer
mentioned the currency clue. The banker
made a note to warn his tellers. Back in his
office, he attended to some business and
then, looking up, saw a man of about the
size mentioned in the description of the
killer leaving a teller’s window.

Mr. Rhinehart immediately went over to
the teller, Walter Wallin. ‘

“Have you been told about watching for
a colored fellow with a $50 bill?” he asked.

“No—but I just changed one for that
man,” the teller answered.. He had missed
the widespread news and radio reports day
after day about the $50 bill. Also, if the sus-
pect had been a few minutes later in calling
at his window, he would have known about
it from Mr. Rhinehart and would have been
on guard.

Mr. Rhinehart rushed from the bank and
called to the policeman with whom he had
been chatting just a few minutes before.
But by that time the suspect was out of
sight. A bus line runs past the bank and
he could have taken one in either direction
—or he could have had his own car. Police
cars quickly gathered in the neighborhood,
but hours of search proved fruitless.

It was about this time that the investiga-
tors learned that their first alarm giving
notice that the killer might attempt to
change a $50 bill was incorrect; Miss Logan
at first thought she had given him a $50

bill, but a careful check later revealed that
she had given him about forty dollars, in
ten-, five- and one-dollar bills, in addition
to the ten dollars he obtained from her
mother.

“But we let the alarm stand,” Inspector
Pinnell told this writer. “We were getting
a lot of tips and were able to look over a
lot of suspects.”

As the hunt for the killer went into its
third day, police still had no clues to work
on beyond the discovery of a few strands of
hair at the scene of the slaying. Detectives
borrowed a mine detector from the Consoli-
dated Edison Company of New York and
went over every foot of the Logan estate
in the hope of finding the .32 caliber pistol
the murderer had used, but no weapon was
found. Police water craft also were active
in the case, being used to check on the pos-
sibility that the killer might have stolen one
of the many pleasure boats anchored in

’

Acquaintances
‘said this man
liked easy money

Long Island Sound waters near the Logan
home, and made his getaway.

On the third night, residents of Port
Washington, about three miles from the
Flower Hill home of the Logans, complained
to police that a man was prowling around
the neighborhood, presumably raiding for
food. Fifteen minutes later, James Chester,
a Port Washington garage owner, was driv-
ing past the lonely Nassau Knolls Cemetery
when he saw a man charge across the road
in the headlights of his car and dash through
the cemetery gates.

Chester drove to police headquarters and
gave the alarm. Within a matter of minutes,
more than one hundred policemen and a
posse of scores of civilians had surrounded
the cemetery. As they advanced through it,
they were joined by Port Washington’s fire-
fighting equipment, outfitted with high-
powered floodlights. The lights were set up
at vantage points around the grounds, and
the search proceeded cautiously, since both
policemen and civilians had been warned
that the man they sought was believed to
be armed. By midnight, no trace of the
suspect had been uncovered, and the search
was given up.

Then, Inspector Pinnell received a call
from the New York City police. He called
in his assistant, Lieutenant Farrell.

“Get into the city right away,” he told
Farrell. “It looks as though they might
have him this time. Take Klick with you.”

Farrell picked up the house painter and
they drove into the city.

They met Detective Peter Golemboski
and Detective Cornelius Ryan, who had ar-
rested the suspect in Harlem. They told
Farrell they had femembered the descrip-
tion of a “starey-eyed” murderer, and when
they came across this man he was carrying
his head tilted to the right and had ‘a funny
look in his eyes.” They stopped him and
found he was carrying a nickel-plated .32
caliber revolver.

The prisoner identified himself as Fred-
erick Johnson, twenty years old, a laborer.
He admitted he worked as a farmhand at
Jamesport, Long Island, about fifty miles

east of Flower Hill, and had returned to
New York City on Thursday, the day after
the murder.’ Upon his return he had pur-
chased a new pair of trousers and had taken
a close hair-cut. The two detectives put
him in a cell at headquarters and called In-
spector Pinnell.

“Looks good,” Pinnell’s assistant said.
“Let’s talk to him.”

The two detectives ushered their visitors
into the detention room. When Farrell saw
the prisoner, he sighed inwardly. The man
had two very noticeable scars on his face—
and Miss Logan had not mentioned scars.
Klick, too, carefully looked the man over.
They went outside.

“That’s not him,” Klick said.

Johnson was cleared of suspicion in the
Logan case, but he was transferred to City
Prison to be arraigned later in Felony Court
on a charge of violating the Sullivan Law,
relating to the possession of firearms.

EXT MORNING the husband of the mur-

dered woman and father of Miss Logan,
offered a $5,000 reward for information
leading to ‘the arrest and conviction of the
murderer. Mr. Logan had been an All-
American football player at Princeton in
1912, and was a former vice-president of
the Central Hanover Bank & Trust Com-
pany, of New York City. He had retired
five years before and retained only one
business connection, as director of the
Church & Dwight Co., also of New York.
However, despite the reward offer and Mr.
Logan’s natural anxiety for the arrest of
the killer, the investigators had to admit
that with the clearing of Johnson there
were no further suspects immediately in
sight.

The tragedy had shocked and frightened
the residents of little Flower Hill. As the
.investigation proceeded without success,
precautions were taken at night and women
refrained from leaving their homes in the
evening without an escort. A mass meet-
ing to demand more police protection was

’ suggested, but failed to develop when Po-

lice Commissioner John M. Beckman moved
to put 150 new policemen into uniform,
selected from a group of 300 who already
had passed the Civil Service examination.

District Attorney Gehrig admitted that
the Nassau authorities had been handi-
capped early in the search because they
did not have enough men.

“There are a dozen square miles of coun-
try homes and woodlands in this area,” he
pointed out. “This man could have dodged
off into any woodland.” The section is hilly
and is made up largely of wooded estates of
several acres each.

All of this time the unspectacular police
work that so often pays dividends to law
enforcement agencies the world over was
under way. Pinnell had long since de-
ducted that the criminal was familiar with
local geography, because:

1. He had appeared to be on familiar
ground and to know exactly where he was
going when the house painter, Klick, had
seen him moving down the road, away from
the scene of his crime;

2. He had vanished so easily immediately
after the crime, although every avenue of
escape from that end of Long Island had
been shut off.

Pinnell conferred with District Attorney
Gehrig. They pored over a map of the
area and blocked off a twelve-mile square
with the Logan home in the center. The in-
vestigators set out to question the residents
of every home in the area, one by one. The
first question they asked was whether the
person being interviewed knew of any
young Negro domestic in the vicinity, who
was about six feet tall and weighed about
150 pounds. Other questions would follow
if the answer to the first was in any way
promising. It was hard, disheartening

work, cur
to homes
- on the firs
proved fru
The inv:
newsboys,
taxicab d:
quented t
schools th:
over year
many year:
graduate w
who could
of the ares
They tr:
mansion.
when the I
any of thes:
might hav
grounds?
twenty yea:
the crime
once when
Washington
tribution d
Board. Th
down, afte:

returned to
She had b<
elucidating
They asked
tion.of the
anyone she
a while. At !
apply to an
a month pri
feur. ;
The fath<
wealthy tex
about 300 fe
another hom
folk Count;
Island fram
chauffe
that sh
time sk
Southold anc
a suspett liv

HE detect!
suspects w
scription, bu
to .Rose’s h«
had describc
six feet tall
age. The but
peared on.-fir
inches in he
twenty-threc
have rather
short, curly
plained they
took him to
quarters in
wife, Marie.
at the same 1
ployed by R
plus room a:
At the po!
himself as V
of Charlottc
he had serv
one-half yea
Caraway
about the L:
tions slow]:
voice. The
from all ang
He said he w
employer’s |
clothes deta
The photo;
morning Ca
Hospital. U
considered
undergo the
quietly app:
her why he

{
>t eign A

pone

ad returned to
y, the day after
rm he had pur-
sand had taken
detectives put
s and called In-

assistant said.

od their visitors
hen Farrell saw
ardly. The man
rs on his face—
ientioned scars.
i the man over.

id.

uspicion in the
isferred to City
in Felony Court
> Sullivan Law,
of firearms.

and of the mur-
- of Miss Logan,
for information
onviction of the
d been an All-
at Princeton in
ice-president of
< & Trust Com-
He had retired
ained only one
director .of the
o of New York.
rd offer and Mr.
or the arrest of
rs had to admit
t Johnson there
immediately in

id frightened

Hill. As the
wawlout success,
night and women
eir homes in the

A mass meet-
:e protection was
evelop when Po-
. Beckman moved
en into uniform,
300 who already
vice examination.
‘ig admitted that
had been handi-
rch because they

ire miles of coun-
s in this area,” he
sould have dodged
Che section is hilly
wooded estates of

spectacular police
dividends to law
e world over was
id long since de-
was familiar with

to be on familiar
ictly where he was
painter, Klick, had
1e road, away from

easily immediately
‘h every avenue of
{ Long Island had

1 District Attorney
ver a map of the
twelve-mile square
the center. The in-
estion the residents
>a, one by one. The
-d was whether the
ved knew of any
in the vicinity, who
and weighed about
stions would follow
ras in any way
disheartening

work, checking and re-checking, returning
to homes where the occupants were away
on the first call, running down leads that
proved fruitless.

The investigators questioned tradesmen,

newsboys, laundrymen, postmen, milkmen,,

taxicab drivers and salesmen who fre-
quented the area. They went to high
schools throughout the county and pored
over year books of graduating classes for
many years back, in the hope of finding a
graduate who answered the description and
who could be presumed to know something
of the area.

They traced the history of the Logan
mansion. Who had occupied the home
when the Logans did not live there? Did
any of these families employ a servant who
might have become familiar. with the
grounds? Logan had owned the home for
twenty years. During the four years before
the crime it had been sublet four times,
once when Mr. Logan took his family to
Washington while he was chief of the dis-
tribution division of the War Production
Board. These former tenants were traced
down, after much difficulty, and questioned.

Reports on Inspector Pinnell’s desk piled
up.
A week after the crime, three detectives
returned to the home of Mrs. Robert J. Rose.
She had been questioned before, without
elucidating anything of value to the case.
They asked her to think over the descrip-
tion of the killer once more to see if it fitted
anyone she knew. Mrs. Rose was silent for
a while. At last she said slowly that it might
apply to a man her father-in-law had hired
a month previously as a butler and chauf-
feur. :

The father-in-law, Joseph M. Rose, a
wealthy textile man, lived down the lane,
about 300 feet away, she explained. He had
another home, however, at Southold, in Suf-
folk County, seventy miles out on Long
Island from Flower Hill, and the butler-
chauffeur was there. Mrs. Rose explained
that she had not thought of him the first
time she was questioned, because he was at
Southold and the detectives had asked about
a suspect living in the vicinity.

[peo detectives had checked many other
suspects who seemed to answer the de-
scription, but they lost no time in going out
to Rose’s home in Southold. Miss Logan
had described her assailant as being over
six feet tall and more than thirty years of
age. The butler found by the detectives ap-
peared on first view to be five feet 10 or 11
inches in height, and he told them he was
twenty-three years old. He did, however,
have rather prominent eyes and hair in a
short, curly crew cut. The detectives ex-

‘plained they wanted to question him and

took him to Nassau County police head-
quarters in Mineola, leaving behind his
wife, Marie. She had been hired as a cook
at the same time her husband had been em-
ployed by Rose—the two for $300 a month,
plus room and board.

At the police station the butler identified
himself as Ward Beecher Caraway, a native
of Charlotte, North Carolina, and he said
he had served in the Army for two-and-
one-half years.

Caraway insisted that he knew nothing
about the Logan case. He answered ques-
tions slowly, though in a smooth, calm
voice. The detectives took pictures of him
from, all angles—and then turned him loose.
He said he was going to pass the night at his
employer’s home in Flower Hill. A plain-
clothes detail was assigned to shadow him.

The photographs were developed and next
morning Captain Pinnell called at Nassau
Hospital. Until then Miss Logan had been
considered in too critical a condition to
undergo the strain of questioning. Pinnell
quietly approached her hospital bed, told
her why he was there and took the pictures

from his pocket. Miss Logan studied them
for only a short time.

“That’s the man,” she said.

Pinnell couldn’t believe that it would be
that easy.

“Are you sure, Miss Logan?” he asked.
“We had planned to show you some other
pictures, too.” .

“T’m sure,” she said.

As soon as Pinnell left the hospital, the
Nassau County law enforcement agencies
were thrown into high gear and in short
order Caraway found himself in a cell at the
Mineola jail.

That night Miss Logan’s physician de-
cided that she could endure the ordeal of
attempting to identify the suspect in person.

Assistant District Attorney Frank Gulotta
and Inspector Pinnell headed a group of
officers who led the butler-chauffeur into
the hospital room and to the foot of Miss
Logan’s bed.

“Stand up straight and look at Miss
Logan,” Mr. Gulotta told Caraway. The
butler obeyed.

“Now, Miss Logan, do you recognize this
man?” the attorney asked.

Slowly the pretty former WAC turned
her bandaged face toward the man who
had brought death and tragedy into her
home. Her voice was steady and clear:

“Yes,” .

Hegeu akong’ put his right hand to the lower
part of his face and turned his head
away uneasily. He did not speak.

“You are certain he was the murderer?”
Mr. Gulotta asked.

“There is no question about it,” the girl
replied firmly.

Back at police headquarters Caraway
continued to insist that he was innocent.

The next morning, nine days after the
crime, the final break came. All night long
Caraway had denied everything. The de-
tectives decided to take him to the Logan
home for questioning directly at the scene.
As the car rolled along they flung at him
for the hundredth or more time the question
he had heard all night:

“Where’s the gun?”

Suddenly the suspect slumped down in
the back seat.

“Turn right there,” he said wearily.

A left turn would have carried the car
to the Logan home. They proceeded along
the road td the right a short distance.

“You can stop here,” ‘Caraway told the
detectives.

All got out. Open fields lay on both sides.
The killer pointed to a field where waist-
high weeds were growing. A detective tele-
phoned headquarters and soon twenty-five
detectives and uniformed policemen ar-
rived to search the field. Twenty-five min-
utes later one of them found a revolver
barrel, and ten minutes after this the stock
was picked up a hundred yards away. The
chamber was never found, but Pinnell was
satisfied. The barrel alone would be suf-
ficient through ballistic tests to show
whether it had fired the bullets taken from
the two victims.

“You might as well tell the rest of the
story now,” Assistant District Attorney
Huntington said.

“Well, you have it,” Caraway nodded.
“That’s the gun I used.’

He was taken back to headquarters for
his confession. '

During the hot weeks of August, while
Caraway idled away the time in a cell at
Mineola awaiting trial, some of his back-
ground of crime and violence came to light.

Accompanied by two New Jersey State
police detectives, Mrs. Louis Whitehead, of
Maplewood, New Jersey, came to Mineola
and identified him as the man who had
beaten, and robbed her in her home on June
4th, 1945. Mrs. Whitehead said he knocked
at her door under the pretense of being an

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insurance agent, and struck her a blow on
the head that sent her reeling. to the floor.
He bound her with a piece of rope and be-
gan ransacking the house. When she begged
him for a drink of water he gave her one
from the dog’s bowl:on the floor near by,
she said. She fainted and when she re-
covered consciousness, he was gone.

. Assistant District Attorney Henry Root
Stern, Jr., and Detective George Erdody
were sent to Charlotte, North Carolina, to
check into Caraway’s early life there. They
reported that two women identified him as
the man who broke into their. apartment
and robbed them of two diamond rings and
about forty dollars in cash.

The Flower Hill crime had its repercus-
sions in New York City. On August 9th,
Benjamin Fielding, license commissioner,
revoked the license of the HM Modern Em-
ployment Agency, which had sent Caraway
to the home of Rose. The commissioner
charged that. the agency was guilty of
“fraudulent and illegal conduct in connec-
tion with the conduct of its business, in
violation of the State Employment Agency
law.”

Commissioner Fielding held that the
agency was guilty on five counts: failure
to inquire into Caraway’s background; fail-
ure to check his references; failure to no-
tify his prospective employer of his inex-
perience; accepting a fee of thirty dollars
without checking references; advising

Rose that Caraway’s references had been

checked.

“Our homes and families,” Fielding said,
“are not going to be left open and helpless
to a combined invasion of greedy and negli-
gent employment agency operators and per-
sons with criminal records. This department
will not relax its fixed intention to compel
full compliance with the law by every li-
censee. Chiselers and fly-by-night opera-
tors will not be permitted to take unscrupu-
lous advantage of the public.”

Under the law, the two operators of the
employment agency, Robert Morris and
Barry Marmorstein, were barred for two
years from applying for a new license.

At his trial nearly four months after the
crime, on Nov. 21st, 1946, Caraway made no
attempt to deny the essential details of the
prosecution’s account of what had hap-
pened. The State said that after driving
his employers to the railroad station that
tragic morning, he returned to their home,
went to his room and obtained the nickel-
plated pistol. He drove around for a while
and finally parked near the Logan home.

Walking up the driveway and across the
lawn, he came to the house, pushed “open
the. door and entered to find: Mrs, Logan
seated in the living-room. The shooting of
Mrs. Logan and the assault against her
daughter followed. Since Caraway was
being tried only on the charge of murdering

Mrs. Logan, no evidence was presented at
the trial on the rape charge.

Leaving the house, Caraway then re-
turned to the car, drove back to the home of
his employers, washed up, changed clothes
and then drove to the lonely spot where he
broke down the pistol and threw it away.

Joseph Rose and his. son came out to-
gether from New York City that afternoon
and Caraway was waiting punctually with
the car. They got in, talking excitedly
about the Logan case.

“Drive down Bonnie Heights Road, we
want to see where the murder took place,”
the elder Rose instructed.

“Yes, sir,” replied the chauffeur.

Then followed the strange spectacle of,

the murderer calmly revisiting the scene of
his crime. He had to drive slowly becausé
the road was filled with dozens of detectives,
policemen, newspapermen and curious per-
sons. Caraway remained perfectly poised
and none of the busy manhunters suspected
that the chauffeur then passing them was
the murderer they were seeking.

os D. C. Murray, well-known New
York criminal lawyer who was appointed
by the court to defend Caraway, attempted
to show that while in the Army the de-
fendant worked in a hospital, had access to
the drug room and became addicted to using
a certain type of sleeping pill. Murray con-
tended that on the morning of the crime
Caraway had taken some of the pills and
did not know what he was doing when he
went to the Logan home. Thus, the defense
attempted to establish that,the murder was
not premeditated and that Caraway, there-
fore, should be convicted only of second
degree murder—which would permit him
to escape the electric chair.

To support his contention that Caraway
was mentally deranged at the time of the
killing; Murray during the trial made much
of the fact that Miss Logan had described
his eyes as “staring.” With the cool courage
of a trained soldier, the former WAC an-
swered the defense attorney’s questions.

Q. (By Murray) Do you mind looking

at his eyes?

A. (Coldly) I see them.

Q. How do they appear today?

A. They’re exactly the same now as

they were then.

After all the evidence was in and both
State and defense had rested, District At-
torney Gehrig presented two surprise, re-
buttal witnesses, ;

One was Earl Allen, who had worked
with Caraway in a Trenton, New Jersey,
laundry the previous June, just a month
before Mrs. Logan was murdered. He told
of talking with Caraway during a lull in
their work at the laundry.

“Caraway told me,” Allen testified, “that
he liked easy ‘money. He asked me if I

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knew of any big people who got off the
train or any old people who carried a lot of
money. He said if he could he would get
a lot of money without working.”

But even more damaging was the testi-
mony of the other surprise witness, Frank
Moore, who also worked ‘in the laundry
with Caraway. Moore told of a conversa-
tion he had with Caraway, when the defen-
dant asked him if he had any ‘Mary Anna”
(marijuana) or if he knew where he could
get any. Moore said. he answered no.

Then, the witness said, the conversation
got around to whiskey, and Caraway said
he got “more kick out of the weeds” than
he did out of drinking. This led to the
damaging part of Moore’s testimony. He
said Caraway boasted that he could commit
a perfect crime.

“He said he could even hold up a bank
and get away with it,” Moore testified. “He
said he would escape from the scene by
car and then switch to a boat and never
would be caught. He told me, ‘If you ever
hear of a perfect crime, I did it’.”

Inspector Farrell listened with interest
to Moore’s testimony, remembering that
Caraway had hired himself out as a chauf-
feur, with a car available to him in an
area where many potential robbery vic-
tims lived and where many pleasure boats
Were moored in near-by Long Island Sound.

Defense Attorney Murray, who had
objected strenuously to the two laundry
workers taking the witness stand, moved
for a mistrial on the ground that their testi-
mony was prejudicial and came from re-
buttal witnesses who could not be properly
cross-examined. District Attorney Gehrig
explained that the evidence had only been
discovered a short time before. Judge
Henry J. A. Collins overruled Murray.

In his summation to the jury, District
Attorney Gehrig recalled Caraway’s boast:
“He did almost commit the perfect crime,”
Gehrig told the jury. “It was only by a
miracle that Jeanne Logan lived to testify.”

Inspector Pinnell fully agreed.

“Caraway said he could commit the
perfect crime and he almost did,” Inspector
Pinnell told this writer, “We know now
that he had only three bullets in his re-
volver—and he used all three of them. If
he had had _a fourth, he might have sealed
Miss Logan’s lips forever. For that matter,
we will never know what mental quirk led
him to allow her to escape.”

The jury deliberated for three hours and
returned a verdict of guilty of first-degree
murder. A death sentence was mandatory.

On December 18th, Judge Collins sen-
tenced Caraway to die in the electric chair.
Immediately afterward, four deputies and
the prisoner left for Sing Sing Prison.

Eight Negro ministers called on Judge
Collins after he had sentenced Caraway,
and thanked him on behalf of Long Island
members of their race for his fairness and
meticulous efforts during the trial to pro-
tect the rights of the defendant.

Caraway’s conviction was affirmed by the
Court of Appeals, New York State’s highest
tribunal, on May 15th, 1947. Governor
Thomas E. Dewey heard an appeal for
executive clemency on June 10th, 1947,
He refused to intervene. Caraway was put
to death in the electric chair at Sing Sing
Prison on the night of July 3rd, 1947. He
told the Reverend August W. Brustat,
Lutheran pastor: “I want to die. I have no
right to live since I took a life,”

Eprtor’s Nore:

The names, William H. Hopkins and
Frederick Johnson, as used in this
story, are not the real names of the
persons concerned. These innocent per-
sons have been given fictitious names
to protect their identity. Photograph
of the killer appears on page 80.

}
t
13
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past to

The |;

John Holbach and his wife, Helen, operated a roadhouse where grim
death awaited them after a hopeless fight for life. One of the
' / > slayers. trod Sing Sing’s death corridor above. ,

the arms to drop limply to her side and turned, grim-faced, to McInerney

“Dead,” he announced. “She must have been killed instantly.”

“T wonder how it happened ?” McInerney whispered.

“Holdup, obviously,” Palmatier answered, “but we may never know
the particulars unless Holbach regains consciousness.”

He stooped over and repeated the ritual of the pulse feeling and arm
flexing on the elderly roadhouse keeper.

“He’s still alive,” he said, “but he’s pretty far gone,”’

From outside came the sound of an automobile rolling to a stop before
Holbach Hall. Then the door opened and Dr. John Howard, medical
kit in hand, hurried in.

“What’s happened?” he queried and then saw the two blood-soaked
bodies on the floor.

A quick, professional appraisal of Mrs. Holbach showed him that the
woman was beyond human aid. He confirmed Palmatier’s theory that she
had died instantly.

“Shot through the heart,” he said. “We may be able to save John.
though, if we can get him to the hospital in a hurry. It will be one chance
in a hundred. Best I can do is try to stop the flow of blood and give him
a hypo. The bullet has torn through his liver and there’s no telling what
other internal damage it has done.”

‘The ambulance is on the way,” McInerney stated.

Dr. Howard nodded and began administering first aid.

As he swabbed the wound on John Holbach’s side, the old man Stirred
and opened his eyes.

He mumbled incoherently.

Palmatier knelt beside him. He pressed his face close to his ear,

“Who shot you, Mr. Holbach?” he asked, softly. “What happened ?”

Again there were indistinct words from the lips of the roadhouse
proprietor and once more the policeman asked his questions.

“Rock—” Holbach whispered.

“What ?”

“Rock—”

DARING

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ING

The sewage construction scene, above, is similar ‘
to one where Detective Fiaschetti queried the
jiaborers as to the whereabouts of the slayers.
The swarthy man at right is Michael Casalino.

Double Deat

As he neared it, he saw a trolley come
to a stop at the corner and Patrolman
Clayton Palmatier alight. Palmatier’s
trick ended at midnight and he was now
on his way home.

“Hey, Palmatier !” McInerney shouted.

The patrolman stopped.

“Something terrible has happened at
the Holbachs,” McInerney said. “John
has been shot!”

But Palmatier, the instincts, of \a
trained policeman instantly alert, waited
to hear no more. He raced for the road-
house and McInerney followed.

Holbach Hall was a two-story frame
structure standing back from Rockaway
boulevard. On the ground floor front was
a bar. Behind it was a small room with
tables, where customers were assured
more privacy than in the cafe. Adjoining

DETECTIVE

that room was a kitchen. In the rear was
a dance hall where community dances
were frequently held and occasional ban-
quets served. The Holbachs maintained
living quarters on the second floor,
reached by a stairway near the bar.

ALMATIER and McInerney pounded

up the steps and abruptly halted on
the threshold. An ominous silence per-
vaded the place. Where usually there was
gay laughter and not infrequently the
cheerful music of a stgigged orchestra,
now there was that eerie quiet which in-
variably goes with death.

The only sound was the faint ticking
of the clock on the far wall.

Ahead of the two men was a table with
five, empty beer-streaked glasses on it,

two broken glasses and three overturned
chairs on the floor beside it.

But it was neither the broken glasses
nor the overturned chairs which attracted
the two men. It was the ghastly sight near
the stairway.

Helen Holbach lay on the floor, her
upturned face horribly contorted, her
bosom streaked red, her eyes glazed.
Sprawled beside her, his hand clutching
hers, was her husband. Only a super-
human will to carry through had enabled
him, despite his wounds and great loss
of blood, to reach the McInerneys, sum-
mon aid and then struggle back to his
wife. But his strength had failed and he
had collapsed unconscious beside her.

The policeman bent over the woman.
Tenderly he felt her pulse, then flexed her
arms, There was no response. He allowed

ae
ID

ee ee et

Governors Alfred E. Smith and Nathan Miller, right,
of New York, each granted two respites to one of
the dark-eyed killers of Mr. and Mrs. Holbach.

The word came a second time, fainter than before. Then the
wounded man’s eyes flickered and closed. He again lapsed into
unconsciousness.

The patrolman stood up, frowning.

‘“T wonder what he meant by ‘rock,’ he said. ‘I wonder if
he was simply delirious.”

The weird wail of an ambulance siren sounded in the distance
before either McInerney or Dr. Howard could express an
opinion.

And a few minutes later old John Holbach was being rushed
back through the night to St. Mary’s. An emergency operation
was speedily performed and a .38 caliber bullet removed from
the region of the liver of the kindly roadhouse proprietor.

But when it was over the surgeons shook their heads grimly.
The odds against John Holbach’s survival were now far in ex-
cess of 100 to 1.

EANWHILE, detectives from the Jamaica precinct under
I Captain George Manuff, who had reached Holbach Hall
almost simultaneously with the arrival of the ambulance, were
making little headway.

They quickly established a motive for the murder and fiendish
attack, It undoubtedly was robbery, but beyond that they had
no tangible clues.

While an alarm had been spread immediately after receipt of
MclInerney’s telephone call to the Jamaica precinct station,
methods of criminal trapping communication were by no means
as modern or swift, in 1919, as they are today.

So, unidentified and with a half-dozen different ways of get-
ting out of South Ozone Park and vanishing among New York
City’s millions, the advantage at the start was all on the side of
the killer or killers.

DETECTIVE

A thorough scrutiny of the roadhouse revealed only three
possible clues. First, the empty, beer-streaked glasses which
were immediately carefully protected for dusting for finger-
prints. Second, three leadened slugs discovered in the wall in
back of the bar. These were probed out and set aside to be sent
to the ballistics laboratory at headquarters on Center street,
Manhattan. And last, but by no means least, the information
that a dance had been held at the hall during the evening.
Officers were immediately dispatched to find out the names of
those attending and rout them out of bed for questioning.

The motive of robbery was established after Captain Manuff
had quizzed McInerney and other neighbors of the Holbachs.
From them the police learned that the elderly roadhouse pro
prietor was known throughout the section for his generosity.
He repeatedly had made loans of varying amounts to many of
the Italian truck farmers living in the vicinity and also.to others.

‘John always kept a good deal of money around,” McInerney
advised. “He usually hid it in the icebox in back of the bar there.”

The police captain turned and saw that the icebox door was
ajar. He walked over and examined the box.

“No money in there now,” he remarked. “It was probably
the money he gave to you, McInerney. Just what did he say
when he gave it to you, and. how much was it?”

“He said, ‘Here, keep this for me. He missed it,’ and handed
me $500.” ss

“He missed it,’ Manuff repeated the words, and scowled.

He looked toward the table where the empty beer-streaked
glasses had stood and endeavored to reconcile the broken glasses
and overturned chairs with the words Holbach had gasped out
to McInerney.

The roadhouse proprietor’s statement indicated that only one
person had taken part in the murder. On the other hand, the

[Continued on page 52]

EXEXTKKEXNGY
CASALINO, Michael, wh, elec. NY& (Queens) May 5, 1921 and
ZAMPELLI, Joseph, wh, elec. NYP (Queens) MX Februay..15,..1923

—

Wa tile

fe
.

Michael Fiaschetti, above, ace sleuth of the New
York police department, cracked the baffling case.

This saloon was the meeting place where the deadly killers conceived
their diabolical plot which began with a holdup and ended in murder.

Riddle of the

HE front door of Holbach Hall,

popular rendezvous in South

Ozone Park, N. Y., burst open
and a white-haired man, his pale face
strained with agony, staggered down the
porch steps.

Blood gushed from a bullet wound in
his side. A crimson rivulet coursed down
his right forearm where a second bullet
had plowed a deep furrow. He clutched
a wad of bills splotched with ominous
red stains.

Swaying crazily he turned into Leahy
avenue and stumbled toward the home
of Mr. and Mrs. James McInerney.
Twice unconsciousness almost engulfed
him, But indomitable courage saved him
from collapse and drove him on.

The McInerney house was dark when
he reached it for it was now after 1 a. m:

By NORMAN WELLS

~He pressed hard against the bell and

kicked the door panel with his shoe. It
seemed an eternity to him before a light
showed and he heard someone coming in
answer to his summons.

A key grated in the lock and the door
opened slightly. McInerney, clad in bath-
robe and slippers, peered cautiously out.
He uttered an exclamation of horror as
he saw the blood-soaked man on the

porch.
“Mr. Holbach!”’ he cried. “What's
happened ?”

“T’ve—I’ve been shot, Jim,” the
wounded man gasped, ‘‘and so has Helen.
Here, keep this for me. He missed it.”
He thrust the soggy wad of currency into

the startled McInerney’s hands. ‘‘Call the
ambulance and the police. I've—I’ve got
to go. Helen’s—”

He turned and swayed as he stumbled
back the way he had come. His agonized
body was bent. His hands clutched his
side.

McInerney did not know the details
of the grim fate which had befallen the
kindly, elderly Holbachs, John and his
wife, Helen, who for the past six years
had operated the roadhouse at the corner.
But he could easily visualize the worst.

Hurriedly, he went to the telephone
and called St. Mary’s Hospital, summon-
ing an ambulance. Then he made a swift
call to the Jamaica precinct of the New
York police department, and also one to
Dr. John Howard. Quickly he pulled on
his clothes and dashed for Holbach Hall.

DARING

See

nts as
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sixth.
signed
street
to the
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ind his
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of his
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nd then |
fe turn-
street,
at Fif-
nue,
four-
» street
There
of the
driver
in front
Chapel,

a short distance from Lexington
Avenue, three men stood against
the wall, talking in low tones.

THE district is cluttered up with
high class night clubs, bars, and
various members of cafe society
who make the street a veritable
hangout. There is always plenty
of activity and frequently plenty
of trouble. It is not unusual for
thugs to waylay customers from
the night spots and hold them up
‘as they weave their way home.

Casey knew. this and so, ignoring
the semi-comatose cabbie, he
‘watched the three men closely as
he approached them.

In the dim illumination cast by
street lights, he could see as he
came near that they were in their
early twenties. The usual green
hats pulled over their eyes, form
fitting Chesterfield top coats,
shining black shoes. He knew the
type. Maybe harmless and maybe
not-—with emphasis on the last
maybe,

Casey was no fool and he full
well realized that this type of punk
is usually yellow—and dangerous!
Hopped up, or drunk, or cornered

they'd kill in a second if they
were sure they had the advantage.

Casey was momentarily sorry
he'd left his police positive at the
station house. But he didn’t let
hat bother him for a second. He
was &@ Cop, gun or no gun, uniform

r mufti, and he knew his duty.
He walked up to them and he did-
it bother to be gentle.

‘What are you doing here?” he

ked

em ot { *
Mey tty Net : BO ae gil Pe xh

The body of Patrolman Thom’ J. Casey. He was cold-bloodedly killed

They turned and looked at him.
The second they did, he was sure
he’d been right. They had that
cold, impersonal stare that he well
knew. And they’d spotted him for
law in a second, of that he was
sure. For a flashing moment he was
glad that O’Sullivan had taken the
cab home. If this was going to be
a pinch: and amounted to any-
thing, it would prove to O’Sullivan
and all the boys that he’d played
it smart.

No one answered him. They just
stared. Their hands were buried

‘in their overcoat pockets and they
were easy and unfrightened.

“I said,” Casey yelled, “what are
you doing there?”

The tallest of them, a slender,
weazel eyed, pimply faced youth
in his middle twenties, shrugged
his shoulders.

“Standing,” he said. “It’s free,
isn’t it?”

“Oh,” Casey drew in his breath
and his smile was as soft and
sweet as the green rolling hills
of his native Ireland. “Oh-h—-so it’s
free, is it? Well, take your hands
out of your pockets and line up
against..."

It was then that the half slum-
bering cabbie came to life with a
full start and eyes wide, He shook
his head for a second and wasn’t
able at first to tell what the sound
had been and from which direc-
tion it had come.

But the sharp explosions of the
next five shots gave direction to
his senses.

He saw the tall form of Patrol-
man Casey weave ever so slightly;

re I cee
a aa MAS a bia!

* .
watched with a stupefied expres-
sion. as Patrolman Casey turned
half way around to face the curb
and then gently, as though he had
rehearsed it many times, sag in
the middle and slump suddenly
to the sidewalk.

The cab. driver didn’t know who
Casey was nor exactly what had
happened.

He certainly didn’t know and
never could have understood the
strange series of events which had
brought Officer Casey to the very
portals of a strange Funeral Chapel
on that early dawn to meet his
fate and his death.

But the cabbie did know, at once
and instinctively, that he had just
witnessed a brutal and violent mur-
der.

From that point on, things hap-
pened with incredible rapidity. The
three figures separated even as
they started running off} ‘There
are only two directions to any
street, including East Fifty-second
Street, but the three seemed at
once to take three different routes.
They disappeared into the cimness
of the dawn as though by magic.

The cab driver shoved his clutch
in so fast that he almost sprained
an ankle and did stall his motor
His foob jammed oon the starter
and he was quivering like |
frass on a wind swept prair
he shot the car into gear

Down at the corner a second
cab's doors suddenly open and
a dark figure leaped in, ‘Phis ea

foo shot off quickly and ootily
A window directly opposive the
funeral chapel opened and suc

wer 1 me

while off duty and unarmed.

denly was slammed shut.

And a telephone box insistently
rang in downtown police head-
quarters.

The flashing ‘on of electric bulbs
lighting up a hundred apartment
house windows on East Fifty-sec-
ond Street was an early herald of
Sunday morning in advance of the
more formal dawn of day. Resi-
dents of the neighborhood who
hadn't been awakened by the pis-
tol shots, soon were when the
screaming sirens of a dozen prowl
cars rudely jerked them from sleep.
Windows flew open and the cor-
oner’s man had a wide eyed gallery
as he bent over the patrolman’s
body.

He looked up and speaking to no
one in particular, said:

“He’s dead. Apparently = shot
three times. Twice in the left side
and once through the left) arm
Beller send for the meat wapon.”

Assistant District Attorney Ja
cob Rosenblum, alresc on the

scene, turned to a grot of police
olficials.
“Cold blooded murde he said
Acting Deputy Chiet faspector
Patrick J. Kenney, in charge ot
Manhattan East detectivos, Inspec-
tor George W. Heitzmiaui in charys
Of Mourth Dtvistom tu roe
and Acting Cuaptam Cen oS
Kiernan of the Fourth serie t de
fective division, were li {led in at
close vroup.
realized what » Mrewh
A cop had been killed murderes
moparrently am coll ob | Prordiere
nwiways vive their best clear uj
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hundred and forty, fifty pounds.
Brown suit, black shoes. Black
fancy looking overcoat. No accent,
but talked tough. A regular punk.”
And that, twenty-four hours af-
ter Patrolman Thomas Casey had
been murdered, was all they had.
A green hat, a loaded gun and a
couple of descriptions. The motive .
was simple, according to the way
police reconstructed the crime. Ca-
sey had been killed because he’d
stopped the men and questioned
them.

There was a good tip in this,
however. Those birds must have
had a record. Probably out on pa-
role. Otherwise, they would have
talked polite and not stuck their
chins out looking for trouble.

MORE than ever police officials
wanted to crack this case. They
couldn't let. the killers get away
with this. You can’t go around
killing cops—or anyone else for
that matter—just for fun. There
are more than eighteen thousand
police in New York. Most of them
are good honest guys. All of them
are courageous. There are not more
than a few hundred young gang-
sters who'd be stupid enough to
rub out a cop. Certainly the force
couldn’t let this one go unsolved,
As Inspector Kenney put it:
“It isn’t only that Casey was
one of us: and was a good man
doing his duty when he was ruth-
lessly murdered in cold blood. It’s
a matter of morale. We all want
to avenge a swell guy. But even
more, we got to show them they
can’t get away with it. If those
rats think they can kill cops safe-
ly, they won’t have any respect
at all for the average citizen!”
It was a nice speech, but forty-

ing happened.

It was a tough two days for the
guys who, picked for questioning
and having no ready .alibis or else
having something to conceal,
couldn’t give straight stories. But
not one of them could be tied up
with the: crime. ,

The cops wanted a victim and
they wanted a conviction, but they
wanted the actual killers more
than anything else. They weren’t
out to quiet the newspapers—they
were out to avenge a good cop’s
death.

And then, a little more than
sixty hours after the crime, the
first break came. .

Parole Officer Sidney Gross would
have made an excellent detective.
He has had a lot of experience
with criminals and he’s smart. He
knows all the answers, keeps up
with what’s going on. .

Gross had read all about the
crime on Fifty-first Street. He felt
the same way about it that the
cops felt. He was the nearest thing
there is to a cop himself. And he
figured that angle out in no time
about the killers probably having
a record,

That’s why, on the following
Monday morning, he carefully

role who were reporting to him.

covered: that they had all been

noses clean. Gross didn’t relax.

show up on noon Monday to re-
port in, Gross began to wonder.

Castellano, 24 years old and liv-

eight solid hours passed and noth-

checked over the cons: out on pa- .
Going through his records, he dis-

pretty prompt and as far as che:
knew, they were all keeping their.

When Frank Castellano failed to .

ing at 173 East 108th Street, had >.

been released from the ,big house
back in the latter part of 1939.
He had been, taking a five year .

hanging around with the right kind:
of people, staying out of bars and ©
joints and working.

Gross figured he’d learned his f

lesson. But here it was after twelve
and he hadn’t shown to report._
Gross .waited until evening. You
never can tell—what with war news -

. and the first air raid alarms and

the general excitement, maybe he .
just got lost for a little while in

(the shuffle.

But when Castellano failed to
show on Tuesday, Gross decided to
do something about it. He went
down to headquarters and for more
than an hour was closeted with
Inspector Kenney and Rosenblum,

It was early Tuesday evening
when the dark, unmarked squad
car began cruising the district

. around One Hundred and tenth

Street and Lexington Avenue. The
cops had been smart. They had—
determined that no one was at
home at Castellano’s place without
making a formal raid. They didn’t
want to scare him off if he intend-
ed coming in. lige

A solicitor, with a brief case full
of merchandise, had repeatedly
knocked on the door, There was
no answer. And so now the squad
car cruised the neighborhood.

“Listen,” said the cop sitting next
to Gross, “you’re sure this mug
hangs around here, aren’t you?”

“I'm sure.”

“Well, if you spot him, keep out
of sight. We’ll nab him as soon as
we can without taking any chances
of his getting his gun into play.
The streets are crowded and I don’t
want anyone hurt.”

It was at exactly eight-thirty,
as the heavy sedan was rounding
the corner of One Hundred and.
eighth Street and Lexington Aven-
ue, that. Gross nudged the detec~-
tive.

His voice was high and tense,
but under control.

“See that guy half way up. the
block, walking’ alone and coming
this way? Well, that’s him.” ~

Quickly the driver slowed down.
He pulled over to the curb. And
then, just as the plain clothesmen_
were about to leap out of the car,
Castellano looked up and spotted
them. He had a great eye for cops.

He turned and dove head first
across the street, cutting danger-
ously in front of a truck. He ran
into a crowd collected in front of
a store, twisted and cut back on
his tracks.

The paroled convict almost made.

it. He got as far as Second Avenue ~
and a Hundred and ninth Street
when he had a bad break. Jump-
ing off the curb, he saw a small
delivery truck cutting down on him.
He pulled up short and tried to
twist out of the way and then his .
ankle went. Turned and he fell '
flat on his face. '
Jumping to his feet, he starte

_off..again. But the pain slowed

him up. They took him quickly,
without firing a shot.

_ Assistant D. A. Rosenblum wasted
no time. getting to the Hundred
and fourth Street precinct house,
Kenney was there too, along with
Acting Captain Kiernan and Heitz-

fall as a result of a conviction on =: ..*

an assault and robbery charge. For
two years now. he'd been keeping . ~~
out of trouble. Supposed to be™ ~

i
BS

REE NT poe Semen ak URC

ast

mah.

_* Castellano
straight backe:
no spotlight in
n't a’ piece of
room. There \
. the parolee. Ni

‘voice. T)

_< sleeves ra

-~ on. They
; But Casuua:
It was a green
him beautifull
just like the c.
wanted to loo}
“You must h
it,” Kenney s:
soft and reeki:
-. “You don’t ¢
<= that every day-
a detective ch
“That is a
hat,” another

Be have come in a)

didn’t. you?”
Castellano sa
“Listen,” Ke
honey was still
ten, the man
question. You
man. Why did:
< get it? %
Castellano k«
floor.
“Because it ¢
“Yeah. if it
where is the «
on Seventh Ave
one just like it
keeper rememb
one Gross ren
wear. Where i:
“I guess I lo
“Lost it?”
“Then maybe
This one was
Same kind of h
are like. shoes
know. If the
ee
: Castellano s}
_‘ he looked up.
“Listen,” he :
my hat. It eve:
don’t :mean a
I'm an ex-con
my hat. 7 ~~
“So tl
man—or
former: wu
knotted fist b<
ward. But. Ins;
ped in front o
“No.” he «
“Though God
blame you. On)
right. We wai
court and get
We don’t: wan

f, side mouthpiec

beat it out of
Rosenblum st
He held a sho
pistol in his hz
hi “Look,” he
it before. But
I want you t
This time he
static copy of a
prints. :
“These were
here,” the DA
Next he drew
Rallery photo. -
were even sets
gerprints.
“This,” Rose:
your photo an
it are yours.”
Castellano lo
nodded.
“So what?”
“So, I'm ne
asking you.”

4s (Continued from page 15)

murder cases. But when the vic-
‘tim happens to be a cop—they
stretch themselves a little further
‘+ than their best. ~ se

.°4. “Ill put a hundred detectives on.
~~. this at once,” Kenney promised. ~

>. uniform .men—men who were
{7 friends with. Casey here, will put
in their free time,” Heitzman vol-
unteered. ee °

se half. an ‘hour of the
«.% crime, police had turned up two
» . definite clues. . ‘
> >. First, a doorman ‘of a large
Son, sapartment house on Fifty-second
near Third Avenue, walked into the
‘precinct house carrying a green
fedora hat. He tossed it on the
lieutenant’s desk. : 7 ee oe .
“One of ‘em dropped this,” he
said. “I didn’t~ see the shooting,
but I heard it: I turned in time
to see a man fall and three thugs
~ gtart running. One of them passed
my doorway and his hat flew off.
This is it.” ° re a
. Kenney, overhearing the conver-
-"sation, questioned the man closely.
’ He was able to obtain a fairly ac-
‘curate description of the fleeing
youth from the doorman, g
» “A young fellow about twenty-

“ing. Clothes neat but sharp, I'd
-know him again if I'saw him.”
He was rushed down to head-
‘quarters . to’ begin a long and
tedious -‘search ‘through wanted

straits, > * ; j

&. Not five minutes later a uni-
formed patrolman turned up with
the second clue. He had found a
‘fully loaded. 38 calibre revolver
on the steps of St. Peter’s Luther-
“an.
‘and Fifty-fourth Street, two blocks:
from the scene of the crime.

-too ‘bulky. At first it was thought

Ye Seyi erecta ete

“3 “It could not have been the mur-:

matic, Several, shells from a gun’
of this type had been found in the:

investigation,:a, strang:
(es-taking place sonie- fifty
gaetot the station;house
: Btreet. «':
/Herman Diamond was:

-. “And you can bet that fifty more |

‘five,”. he said, “Dark, greasy look- |

cards and the rogues gallery por-_

Church at Lexington Avenue -

“the gun might‘ have been taken.
«from Casey himself and later dis-°
«@ecarded by one of his killers. But‘
it was soon-definitely proved that /
asey had Jeft. the station house |
marmed and that ‘the number of ©
; looking for you and now here you

“der pistol, either. Already a medi-
al examiner’s autopsy of the dead’
an in the morgue showed he. had’
‘been shot with a ..32.calibre:auto- -

the curb of Lexington Avenue: and,
@ Hundred and first: Street. The,

was idling but his mind was ‘not.

.Mr. Diamond was cursing the
fate which had made him a. cab
driver. He was cursing the addi-
tional fate which had lead a dead-
beat to grab his cab. The man had
ridden for fifty blocks and told
him, Diamond, to pull over and
stop. And then he had calmly
alighted and without a: smile, in-
formed him that he had no money.
- In cases like this, a cab driver
can do one: of two things. .He
_can call a cop if there is one
around and have the man arrested.
The only trouble with this was
that he, the cabbie, would ‘have
to pay the fare out of his. own
pocket anyway. Or he can take
something for security and hope
to have it redeemed. It was a bad
business in either case. i

Diamond had followed the latter
course and here he. was holding
the bag—or rather the overcoat.

, Just as he was “about to give’
up hope—the man had said he’d
be right back with a dollar for
the fare—just as he: was about to
mark off his losses and head back
downtown, the man returned. He
didn’t say anything, just shoved
' @ crumpled dollar bill at Diamond
and grabbed for the coat.

That was that. Diamond: lit a
cigarette and prepared to leave.
It was then that the. second cab
screeched around the corner. and
with the stench of skidding tires
filling the air, jerked to a sudden
and -jolting stop in front of him.
Diamond swore out loud. It was-
n't his lucky night. He reached to
' the floor for a wrench as the driver
‘-of the wildly driven car leaped to
the street and started for him. One
‘can never tell.

“Look,”. the man said. “That guy
you was drivin’. He’s a murderer!
Hear. me—a murderer.”

The man breathed heavily an
. finally - got “his breath.

'“T saw it happen,” he said. “Down
on Fifty-first Street. About half
hour back. Three guys bumped off
another guy. They ran and one of
‘em got into your heap. You was
at the corner. I came around the
block and tried to follow you. I
knew your cab, but then I lost you.
‘I was wastin’ time running around

are.” i
“He stopped for breath again.
“You say I been drivin’ a mur-
derer?” Diamond was incredulous.
‘“My God, I did hear some shots,
only I thought it was backfire.
And-I did pick that bum up at
.Fifty-second.” vy
“Listen,” the second cabbie said,
“let’s get down to the Fifty-first
station house quick. He’s gone now,
but this ain’t goin’ to hurt.”
‘, Ten minutes later, the cab driver
who had seen the crime committed,
-was telling Assistant District -At-

‘was John J. Martin and that he
‘lived at 2021 Davidson Avenue in

torney Rosenblum that his name}:

‘card of: identification ‘at the’ back:..the Bronx. He'd seen the whole
} tot his head claimed that he lived” thing, he said.
stat 334 Powers Avenue in the Bronx.+|) And then both drivers went

am Diamond had*a worried ‘and# ‘through their stories. ‘

& annoyed look on his face. And hei :{.“‘The. mug I drove,” Diamond

“held a dark Chesterfield coat: overg ‘said, “was a thin punk about twen-

=) his. lap—a coat. which,,obviously? ty to twenty-six. Dark hair, dark

; aid not’ belong to -himi.::His motor, eres nasty face. Weighed maybe a
an ee °

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(Fi in and Clip this coupor Y
2 ee ee ee es ee ee

4 man. Rosenblum now handed Castel-
2et, had . _'.Castellano was seated in a _ lano both the rogues gallery photo bb .
g house ; straight backed chair. There was and the photostatic copy of the SECRE
of 1939. 4. no spotlight in his eyes, there was-« prints taken from the gun. “You're
ive. year 4 n’t'a’ piece of rubber hose in the not too smart, but maybe you can
ction on “4. room. There wasn’t a bruise on tell.me ‘so what’ now.” OVE and Ki ARRI |
ge. For . 4 _.the parolee. No one had raised his Suddenly the ex-convict’s eyes
keeping -. voice. The cops still had their looked up full at Rosenblum. Then ‘
i to be> :; Sleeves rolled down and their coats’ they shifted rapidly from one to Darin g | y Reve
ghtkind: + on. They had their hats off. the other of the group of police ivg ve ;
vars and - -g) . 2. But Castellano had his hat on. officials. His face went very sick p book is Edited by Dr. Edward P
4. . It was a green fedora and it fitted and for a moment he lost that rion Caveat » sis oe
ned his him beautifully. Made him look tough, hard expression of calm.| [NOTE: This beautifully those gan ey empebtened age. Are
or twelve just like the cheap little punk he His cheeks literally seemed to fall | | not be sold yam peng many fertieneite que Britons of inn
» report. ‘wanted to look like. in and a thin film of moisture} }{°,22"S'° 151 pas. with att—cand is actunlle wnewate at nen
ng. You _.«“You must have felt. bad, losing covered his eyeballs. His hand] | years. Apbodgipndaol facts and pleasures. De: Fatheort
var news “ jt," Kenney said. His voice was shook so badly he dropped the stoth Meine. gue teow your par in the nein 0
rms and ‘! soft and reeking with sympathy. pictures on the floor. His voice was happy mpetings oe based, to a grea
raybe he . +: / ..“You don’t get a skimmer like a bare whisper. 4 namie de T bende nes
while in Bie that every day—or in every store,” “Don’t hit me,” he said, “and not sure, of the many. many facts ;
* a detective chirped in. I'll tell you everything. Sure, I'll scar ate eine tat ae
failed to “.- <-“That is a very, very valuable talk. Just don’t hurt me. I was you' expected. that you dreamed of-
ecided to “@ hat,” another said. “You should in it. So was...” _ GE hoe anise ene {fom yo
He went .’- have come in and asked for it. Why Two hours later, George Andrio- troubling you, holding you back.
for more . didn’t you?” : poulos, 20, was arrested at his. oryibing,
ted with : Castellano said nothing. > home at 72 East 97th Street. Before ‘Offers a Liberal Educ
ssenblum, . ~ “Listen.” Kenney said, and the he was taken to the station at all in Sexual Scienc.
evening ~ honey was still in his throat. “Lis-. he was identified by two witnesses
‘d squad ten, the man asked you a nice of the crime as having been on At last, the whole truth about p——_PART OF CONTE
district question. You should answer the _ the scene. He was remembered par- sex! The time has come to bring Introduction by Edward Podolsty, #
id tenth “man. Why didn’t you come in and ticularly because of the prominent} | this intimate and necessary Mel earn aii, nana?
nue. The ~~ wet: it?" * mole on his right cheek. Brought knowledge into the light of day— J ties»—took otters hey te Ure: ttielersta
hey had Castellano kept his- eyes to the together, Castellano and Andrio-| | into the hands of every adult man Chanter Sop Macried Mon Shovie &
was at ~ floor. poulos talked freely then. and woman who wants to lead a peravet wating Uh to
» without “Because it ain’t mine,” he said. They had started out on the pre- satisfactory, healthy, full love life. J tan overeome tinnen
ey didn’t - “Yeah, if it ain’t yours, then vious Saturday night with a third Written in simple and frank lang- Chapter 2—Love Problems of wiv
» intend- : where is the one you bought up man. His name must be kept uage—SECRETS OF LOVE AND shut “an
CaS j} —_ on Seventh Avenue in Harlem. The. secret as the police are still search- MARRIAGE explains: How to at- J fhe indersved win ttw ts heey,
case full ; one just like it. The one the store ing for him. tract the opposite sex—how to win Chapter 3—Scienife Sex Progam
‘edly keeper remembers selling you. The According to Rosenblum, they} | love—how to conduct yourself dur- =gitstrwet nr ter ettonsing a
was one Gross remembers seeing you admitted they had started out with} | ing your honeymoon. The book } fiske ws prim curt at sate pen
squad wear. Where is that hat?” the intention of robbing a bar at teaches the proper sexual conduct Chapter 4—Functrons of Sex Organ
rhood, ; “1 guess I lost it.” a Hundred and third Street and in marriage and the technique of ermgans fete sinzatis at Moth an
ting next * “Lost it?” Rosenblum asked. Lexington Avenue. But the bar had performing the sex act. The book } {jitr, wat “NUMER drmtteloe ike
his mug “Then maybe this is it after all. been crowded. They didn’t like to | explains: the problems of the wife hn li ey arlene a
vt you?” This one was found, you know. take any chances and so they de- and how to solve them—and the ive fete ite preg at
; Same kind of hat. And it fits. Hats cided to look over a Rockefeller problems of the husbands and how J fyrristin or levewsking | scouel
keep out are like shoes in one way, you Center Bar. There had been a} | to overcome them. Sometimes they | ©! mall tomar nll tens shea tot
3 soon as know. If the hat’fits you—wear money crowd there and they’d gone are actual physical disabilities, barter —numen tien pacar
7 chances it.” in for a drink. Then, just as they such as impotence, sterility, etc. J tuiie
nto play. Castellano shrugged. This time were set to start the fireworks, The book advises you on correcting Chapter G——Gecrets of Sex Appeal
id I don’t _* he looked up. Castellano, who always could spot) | these difficulties. It also dévotes a etearm auad neal clung elatiy
“Listen,” he said. “Maybe this is a cop, noticed two detectives sit- chapter to “BIRTH CONTROL”, }- Cesar P-~Btegere of, Putaing
ht-thirty, my hat. It even might be. But that ting in the far corner. And so they with reasons for and against—and tes ie ne sear?
rounding don’t »mean a damned thing, see? had left. the method of accomplishing. It sites diffiralt te eontped
dred and I'm an ex-con and maybe this is | They had headed east, then fig- features a table of “safe periods”. Ohpeter Sp Rtecing 2 Mave “han
on Aven" my hat. So what?” uring on picking up an all night It explains conception, pregnancy. of selecting prone lites partner ch
1e detec- “So this,” a heavy plainclothes place somewhere along Lexington In short, it is a complete teacher } Oy fir entenine Seve
man—one of the dead Casey’s Avenue in the night club_ belt. and guide on pYactically every ’ ts steal a
id tense, former. buddies, drew his heavy They’d been talking things over in phase of Love — Marriage — and law, here
knotted fist back and leaped for- front of the Funeral Chapel on SEX!
y up. the ward. But. Inspector Kenney step- Fifty-second Street when Casey “Secrets of Love and Marriage”
{ coming ped in front of him quickly. | had come along and bumped into is an endless source of intimate,
im.” : “No,” he ordered sharply. them. intriguing information, from the
‘ed down. 4 “Though God knows I wouldn’t Having guns on them, with first awakening of youthful love to
urb. And : blame you. Only we want this guy records, and knowing that a pickup the full flowering of grand passion
othesmen right. We want to take him in would mean plenty of trouble, they . answering many questions you
i the car, court and get a_clean conviction. hadn’t bothered to answer Casey’s hesitate to ask even your closest tg Hetitinatiat
d spotted , We. don’t: want some cheap east questions. They’d just gone ahead friends. You must know the real rie irate ater
: for cops. 4, side mouthpiece telling a jury we and killed him. facts and ways or be cheated out of J yuuamiey
resnger: Ss Rpectbuin steppe Pui coeintied toc. sewers pote | Ere ene Pencnmemammecen! rey go te tae ee
: danger- Rosenblum stepped forward then. to be indicte or murder, po ‘ook on Trial! fest ix mae--combinsation tests sah
<. He nin He held a short nosed .38 calibre ballistics expert Harry Butts re- Let Us Send You This B ey Chapter 14—Can Sex of Unborn Chi
t of istol in his hand. ported that on examination the Send no money now. Just m win ntn
ce P “ a|| the coupon. When book arrives, | Chapter 15—-mothernood
back on “Look,”. he said. You've seen ullets which had killed Casey ba a it with postman only 98¢ Actial process of childbirth fol
it before. But even if you haven’t definitely come from the same gun Sine shipping charges, under our | Writes, eaesrian cawrations
1ost made I want you to see these.” as had bullets recovered from vic- | } Monty BACK GUARANTER. You | onapter V0--Methiy of any Chi
id Avenue : This time he drew out a photo- tims of previous holdup shootings. risk nothing. Mail coupon now. _ Neleet shorten vont Bane euupete:«
ith Street static copy of a few random finger- * So, within less than pnindlion %: mise in ergata termi
ik, Jump- } prints. - two out of three of the murderers HERALD PUBLISHING CO., A-705 Sean connanens sessl
y a small “These were taken off the — of the talkative, curious cop have |] 26 Easr 17TH Sr., New York, N. Y. fen riper
yn on him. 4 here,”: the D.A. said. been picked up and New York po- Send me “SECRETS OF LOVE AND 4 sche Aer eee
i tried to Next he drew out a formal rogues lice say it won't be long until they | MARRIAGE” jin plain. wrapper. 1 will pay cco warione Halts and tn
i then his Ballery photo. At the bottom of it snag the third of the trio. I can return ~ book, if not satisfied, ond | Oe a eetinale ection
ts of thumb and fin- Patrolman Thomas’ J. Casey,|I my money will be refunded. (I am over Jp avoid inate ane ction "Strive for
d he fell were’ even. BC b tl d 21 years old.) Sex a mntnal matter abstinence an
x — gerprints. whose destiny was a rup y an 1 { intimate women hens
ae started “This,” Rosenblum went on, “is violently decided by what weird|| yin. I Chanter 19—Feimining Wyalene ane
in slowed : - your photo and the prints under combination of strange events and U phneee ecceeptmn Chepter 20—Reducing Diets
ckly, it are yours.” incidents no man can safely trace, IPRS oo osscess sees sense sees coc stecnnntnnene tte VE dew ait Came
4 Castellano looked at them: and oe: ~— oan 1941, George | | W%r ee BtAte
j mn n cember ’ , (Check here if you are enclosing $1 LISHING C(
» Hundred ono. “what?” Andriopoulos and Frank Castellano th the coupon and thereby saving C.0-D- HERALD PUBLIS
net house. . “So, I’m not telling you—I'm ’ were’ indicted on charges of first}g SON®S;onEY BACK GUARANTEE. 26 East 17th St., Dept. A-705,
dong with asking you.” ' degree murder. Las paves cuwin samc eho comm cine cine oanbe mint clic coum em

and Heitz-
a

127 NE (2) 852; 131 NE (2) 580.

BYERS, Williem Snyder, white, electrocuted Sing Sing (New York) on Jan. 12, 1956,

"William Byers, 19-yeers-old, died tonight in Sing Sing Prison's electric chair for
the murder of Mrs. Anna Gresch of New York City in 195). Byers entered the desth
chamber at 11:01 PM and was pronounced dead at 11:0). He was accompanied to the
execution by the Rev. Thomas J. Donovan, Roman Catholic Chaplain at the prison. The
youth was convicted of hammering and knifing Mrs. Gresch after she had objected to a
romance between Byers and her daughter. The daughter, Theresa, was convicted of
second degree murder and is serving a sentence of twenty years to life in prison."
TIMES, New York, NY, 1-13-1956 (7:):)

"Two detectives left by air yesterday to question a Merine recruit at Parris Island, S. C.
about the sleying of Mrs. Anna Gresch, l3-years-old of 199 Avenue B. The recruit, who was
not identified by police, was said to be an acquaintance of Theresa Gresch, 15-year-

old daughter of the murdered woman. Theresa Gresch, who was placed in a children's
shelter last week, was questioned by the police for twelve hours Saturdey night. The
body of Mrs. Gresch, 3 years old, was found last Friday in a wash tub in her apart-

ment. The police said she hed been stabbed to death two weeks before her body was

found. Her deughter, according to the police, had left home on Merch to visit a

man friend in Florida." TIMES, New York 3-29-195) (26:8). (Note: I believe thet

Mark transcribed this last sentence wrongly, as Theresa claimed that Mrs. Gresch

hed gone to Florida on March )ith to visit a man friend.)

"A seventeen-year-old Marine Corps recruit was placed under detention yesterday in
the Marine Berracks at Parris Islend, SC, after the police here said he made ea
statement in the slaying of Mrs. Anna Gresch...Two detectives returned here after
questioning the suspect, Williem David Snyder..-Lieut..Joseph Coleman, public re-
lations officer at the Marine Corps base said Snyder, who is also known as William
Byers, had signed a statement, in which he implicated the dead women's daughter,
Theresa, 15..e(Mrs. Gresch's body) was covered with a powdery substance, reportedly
plaster of Paris or lime.'t TIMES, New York, March 30, 195) (51:3)

"Fi fteen-year-old Theresa Gresch was booked at the Elizebeth Street Police Station

on a charge of first degree murder..eHe (Byers) and the girl ere charged with killing
Mrs. Anna Gresch, })3, when she surprised them at her homeee." TIMES, New York, NY;
Mar. 31, 195) (6:5)

"Theresa Grescheeewas ordera€d sent to Belleview Hospital for psychiatric examination
yesterday.s..(Her lawyer) doubted that the girl was in condition to stand trial..."
TIMES, New York, NY April 1, 195) (35:6)

"william Byers, l7-years-old, end Theresa Gresch, 15, were indicted yesterdayX on
lst degree murder charges in the slaying of the girl's mother...The indictment
charged thet the couple killed the woman with e hammer and knife..." TIMES, New

York, NY, )-8-195 (35/6.)

t..Assistant District Attorney Vincent J. Dermody said the young couple planned and
carried out the murder March h, after the mother, Mrs. Anna Gresch, 13, objected to
their getting married. Theresa was said to be the youngest of her sex ever to be

tried for first degree murder in New York County. Her attorney...esaid she was a product
of a broken home and that she had a disburbed mind and personality due to her

unusually rapid growhh."" NEW YORK TIMES, January 7, 1955.

t,.eTheresa Gresch was convicted of second degree murdere.." TIMES, New York, Jen.
al, 195) *

BYLno,

Willie

From the Star Wire Services

WILLIAM BY: |.
GENERAL ERS, 19,- died
in the electric chair at Sing
Sing prison Thursday night for
the murder of Mrs. Anna
Gresh, 43, moth-
er of his girl
friend, He was
chewing gum
and displayed no
emotion when
he walked into
the death cham-
ber. ‘The girl,
Theresa’ Gresh,
'15 at the time
‘of the murder
lin 1954, is serv
‘ing a sentence _ Byers |
‘of 20 years to life in prison.
‘She was convicted of helping
Byers kill her mother. After
the killing the two stuffed their
victim’s body in a tub and
covered it with plaster.

_— - -- ied - - ne

; to find cover as
d wait for night-

ig strip of heavy
‘even miles away
tore,

: said, “that he’s
2ods. It’s our job
ve got about three
zht to do it in.”
2s the armed army
n its advance. In
lad, square-jawed
the leadership of
of the Pittsford
eph A. Steely of

: sheriff’s deputies
ood, fearless law
vo felons in previ-

1 seven-mile front
noved across the
vard the forest.
2m was a massive
ie of the farmers.
sad of his master.
sse, some of them
iforks and clubs,

g possible death..

1ev hunted was a
fight for his
iafraid.
> shadows of

ew he was on his

might come face
ate madman who

1 the underbrush.

‘ered only a short

killed one man
> won’t make any

ptured

jumped at the
» woods as fright-
re this advancing
he wind, sighing
ees overhead, had

‘eper and deeper
dows lengthened.
spring night was
its impenetrable.

of the police dog
snce. The sound
s of the searchers.
to the dog were
»er photographer,
incent Burnett, a
outh. Both were
ding in a car over
hat paralleled the

here!” muttered

pot in the thick
om the road.

jark shape of the
f brush.

“It’s moving.”

e brakes. At the
igure of a man
and ran in head-
ntically blew his

7oods, Depu-
d Blanchard,
piauinski charged
oward the fleeing
y rau. The bursts
leir guns stabbed

fugitive blazed in

the gathering darkness. Reloading as he
ran he fired shot after shot into the ranks
of his pursuers. Wood and Woods. stum-
bled headlong and fell. Both were
seriously wounded.

The others plunged on throwing a
constant barrage of hot lead at the
shadowy figure of the fugitive. A bullet
tore through Bialinski’s coat, another
grazed Clark’s head. The mournful howl
of the police dog rose above the wild
symphony of death.

The fleeing man disappeared in the
thicket. Deputies flung themselves to the
ground 50 feet from the spot.

“Throw your gun out,” yelled Bialinski,
“or we'll kill you.”

There was no reply. The night sud-
denly silent. Bialinski, Clark and Blan-
chard could see only the crouching figure
of the police dog slinking toward the
clump of bushes. But as they arose to
their feet another red finger of light
shot out of the thicket.

Suddenly, with a ferocious growl, the
dog sprang forward. The deputies rushed
in after him. Man and dog were rolling
on the ground in a fight to the death.

“Get your dog off me,” snarled the
fugitive. “I’m done for.”

He tossed his black automatic toward
the deputies. It was empty. At a word,
the police dog backed away from his
prey, stood growling a few feet away.

Deputy Clark flashed a light on the
blood-coyered face of the hunted man.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“None of your business,” growled the
fugitive. “Get me to a doctor. I got four
slugs in me and they hurt.”

f beats bina Ai Ove ree Me

The wounded man was carried to a
trooper’s car and taken to a Lakeside
physician for first aid. Searching his
clothes, troopers found a map of Roches-
ter with the location of Van DeWater’s
postal sub-station circled by a pencil
mark. Written on the border of the map
were the words, “In a couple of hours,
I have 2 G’s.” Concealed in the soles of
his shoes they found two small files.

District Attorney Ray F. Fowler was
one of the first Rochester officials on
the scene.

“This is Caccamise all right,” he said.
“T have three people with me who can
identify him.”

“Sure I’m Caccamise,” grunted the
gunman. “So what?”

“T don’t suppose you know you're
wanted for the murder of Van De Water?”
asked the district attorney.

“Oh, yeah?” sneered Caccamise. “I
pulled this Lakeside job. But I didn’t
have anything to do with that killing
and you can’t pin it on me.”

His four wounds bandaged, Caccamise
was taken to Capt. McDonald’s office
He was questioned for two hours. But
he refused to break.

“T been out of town,” he grinned de-
spite the pain that contorted his face.

“Take him to the hospital,” ordered

Capt. McDonald. “He'll talk.”

Caccamise never talked but the evi-
dence accumulated by the forces of
scientific crime detection talked for him
more eloquently than words.

A test shot from his automatic was
fired by George W. Keenan, police bal-
listics expert and compared with the slug

picked from the door of Van DeWater’s
postoffice. They bore the same mark-
ings.

The handwriting on the map which
Caccamise denied was his was proved
the same as that in the letter received
by his half-brother.

The strands of hair taken from the cap
and those of Caccamise were the same.

The dust particles found imbedded in
the cap were similar to those found in
his clothing when he was captured.

One by one, witnesses testified that
Caccamise was the same man they had
seen running from the postoffice on the
morning Van De Water was slain.

Grinning sardonically Caccamise heard
himself condemned to death on Oct. 7,
1933, The jury deliberated only six hours
and 55 minutes.

When the jury filed in with the death
verdict the murderer made only one re-
mark: “Give me my hat so I can go
back to sleep.”

But before he died, his nerve broke.
In the death cell he feigned insanity. He
could not remember his name and mum-
bled incoherently. Six months before
the state took his life Caccamise refused
to permit prison surgeons to operate for
acute appendicitis.

“I might die,” he moaned.

He did die, but in the electric chair on
June 14, 1934,

The murder of Edmund P. Van De-
Water was avenged.

Editor’s note: The name John Stark used in
this story is not real but fictitious to protect
the identity of an innocent person.

Amazing Career Of Denver's Mad

[Continued from page 17]

Arsonist

But he always says the ‘Mister’ in
French. Somethin’ like ‘Mon-sere,’ but
he don’t say it just that way.

“But his name is ‘Carr’ all right and
I guess his nickname is ‘Bo.’ He’s a good
looking kid.”

I was about to write the name, “Bo
Carr in my notebook when Merkle, even
though his French is sort of A.E.F.,
stopped me.

“That’s just a phony name,” he said.

“What you mean,” he said, addressing

" - the girl, “is that he calls himself ‘Mon-

sieur Beaucaire.’” He spelled it for us.

“That’s the way he says it!” the girl
exclaimed.

Merkle started to tell us all about
this Monsieur Beaucaire. That is, the
original one out of the book but I intef-
rupted.

“Listen, sister,” I said to the girl, “I’ll
talk language you can understand.

“You ain’t going nowhere but right
here!

“Now I don’t think this guy, ‘Bo Carr,’
as you call him, has anything to do with
the fires we have been having, because
his description doesn’t stack up with the
kind of a nut-we think is responsible.
But just the same, I want to talk to him
and tell him to go rescue some dames in
Kansas or somewhere.”

“What do I—do?” the girl asked.

“Well,” I said, “the landlady says he
has been telephoning you ever since she
told him to scram. ‘The next time he
phones make a date with him.

“Tell him that you have been thinking
it over; that you want to get away but
you are afraid of the landlady.”

“She ain’t either afraid!” interrupted
the landlady, fire in her eyes. “Any of
my roomers can pack their duds and blow
out of here any time they want to.”

“Sure, sure, I know that,” I said.
“They can if you leave them enough to
pay street car fare to the depot after you
get through putting the gyp on them for
all the little things like the evening
clothes you sell them and the bondsman’s
fee. But I’m not on the vice squad. What
I want is for this girl to tell this fellow
that she wants to get away but she’s
afraid.

“And you, sister,” I said, again address-
ing the girl, ‘‘make it good. Give him
a line. Tell him he’ll have to meet you
some place close. That you can’t get
far away.”

“How about the joint on the corner?”
she asked.

“That'll be fine if it has.a telephone,”
I said, and sent Merkle out to check the
place. °

He was back in five minutes. *

“There’s a booth ’phone right by the
door,” he said.

“Now, listen, sister,” I. continued.
“When this guy phones tell him you can
slip out about 11 p.m. That joint is al-
ways crowded to the door about that time
and we can plant three or four coppers
in plain clothes in the place and they'll
never be noticed.

“Then at 11 p.m. you telephone the
place.

“You ask to talk to Mr. ‘Bo Carr.’
When they tell you they don’t know the
guy, you tell them who you are and that
you'll put four bits in the orchestra
‘kitty’ the next time you go in if the
leader will announce that ‘Bo Carr’ is
wanted on the telephone.

“Do you get it?”

“Sure,” said the girl. “I’ll-do it.”

As Merkle and I left, neither of us
held much hope that “Monsieur Beau-
caire,’ as he called himself, was our
fire bug. But every lead was worth fol-
lowing and anyway-the fellow might at-
tempt to burn down the house as he had
threatened.

But all thoughts of “Monsieur Beau-
caire’ and our planned coup left our
minds as we entered our car.

Three blasts of a whistle were sound-
ing over our radio.

The Denver police signals are three
chimes for police calls and three whistle
blasts for fires.

“He’s at it again!” exclaimed Merkle.

The call going out, directed half a
dozen police radio cars to cover in on
the fire at city hall.

A moment later the dispatcher’s voice
directed the men in certain cars to cover
certain floors upon reaching the city’s
new $3,000,000 municipal: building.

Three separate fires had been dis-
covered.

The most serious one, according to the

gleamed. On top of the dresser was a
small roll of electrician’s wire. He
scanned it closely.

“This is the same kind of wire we
found in Van DeWater’s store,” he said.

Examining the bathroom they found
a comb and brush. The comb held sev-
eral strands of hair.

“Tf these are the same as those we
found in the cap,” said McDonald, “we're
on the right trail. There’s not a doubt
about it.”

Questioning of the landlady revealed
nothing. She had not seen Caccamise
since early morning.

“About what time was that?” asked
Lieut. Andrews.

“T think it was about 7 o'clock or
maybe a little after,” the landlady an-
swered.

Her reply momentarily dashed their
hopes. If she was telling the truth,
Caccamise was home at the time of the
murder.

Returning at once to headquarters
after posting a detective to watch the
house, Capt. McDonald walked into the
police laboratory. :

“Examine the hair in this comb,” he
told the technician. ‘See if it’s the same
as the hair we found in the cap.”

Killer Is Identified

ie Bix chemist carefully removed one
of the hairs from the comb, placed it
on a slide alongside one of the two
strands which had been taken from the
cap. There was a long, anxious moment
as he bent over the microscope.

“They are identical,” he announced as
he straightened up. “These hairs are
from the same head.”

“That’s enough for me,” said Capt.
McDonald.

As a further test particles of dust taken
from Stark’s clothing were placed on a
slide and compared under the micro-
scope to the dust found in the cap. They,
too, were identical.

Short moments later this message was
crackling over the police teletype:

“Wanted for the murder of Edmund
P. Van DeWater in Rochester, May 18,
1933, one Ross Caccamise. He is five
feet, seven inches tall, about 24 years
old, weighs 130 to 135 pounds, is of
medium build, has thick, dark hair, chest-
nut eyes and dark complexion, When
last seen he wore a dark blue suit with
a three-cornered tear in the right sleeve.
Use extreme caution in apprehending
this man as he is dangerous and armed,”

A hasty check ok‘police records iden-
tified the hunted man as the brother of
Nelson Caccamise, Rochester gunman
who had ‘been killed two years before
during a Cleveland robbery. Ross Cac-
camise, himself, had. a record which in-
cluded two major holdups and a term in
Elmira reformatory.

“We've got to get this man and get
him quick,” Capt. McDonald told his
haggard-faced detectives. “Tf we don’t
get him quickly there’s going to be an-
other killing. This killer is desperate.

One life more or less doesn’t mean a
thing to him.”

The next clue led to Buffalo, N. Y.,
60 miles from Rochester. A man answer-
ing Caccamise’s description had held up
a gas station. Buffalo authorities said
they were checking all criminal haunts
and had ordered a close survey of all
rooming houses and hotels. All cars
crossing the international border at the

Peace bridge and Niagara Falls were
being carefully searched.

On the third day after the murder
postal authorities according to previous
instructions turned over to Capt. Mc-
Donald a letter addressed to a half-
brother of Caccamise.

The envelope was carefully opened.

“Dear Willie,” the letter read. “Amin
Buffalo and in a few days intend to head
toward Rose. By that time things will
quiet down. So there is a murder in
Rochester. By gosh it is getting a bad
town all right. R.”

A loose slip of paper accompanying
the letter read: “Will explain things
later. Don’t tell anyone where I am at.”

The envelope was re-sealed and
dropped again in the mails, Capt. Mc-
Donald dispatched two plain-clothesmen
to Buffalo to aid authorities of that city
in the manhunt.

Trail Leads To Rochester

Bu 48: hours later the trail doubled
back toward Rochester with dra-
matic swiftness.

Shortly after noon of that day, a wild-
eyed, armed gunman broke into the
general store of 77-year-old William G.
Willard in Lakeside, a few miles outside
of Rochester.

His eyes, narrow, fiery slits gleamed
as he pointed his automatic at the aging
proprietor.

“Make one funny move,” he half-
screamed, “and I’ll blow you up.”

At that moment Lawrence Bell, .an
electrician of the nearby village of
Ontario, entered the store. He found
himself looking into the unwavering
muzzle of the automatic.

“If you don’t do what I tell you,”
threatened the gunman, “I’ll shoot. I’ve
killed one man already and a couple
more won’t make any difference. Get
down on the floor and put your hands
behind you. Quick!”

Covering his victims with his auto-
matic, the scowling gunman took a small
roll of copper wire from his pocket.
Holding the gun in his left hand he
wired their wrists with amazing rapidity.

“Now lie there and keep your mouths
shut,” he snarled with a vicious: kick
at the old man’s head.

Backing to the cash register he emptied
it of its contents and fled from the ‘store
with a final flourish of his gun.

Working savagely at the wire that bit
into his flesh Bell was the first ‘to free
himself, He released Willard then sprang
to the telephone. .

Senior Trooper Albert Dudden of the
Williamson state police outpost’ was the
first on ‘the scene. From the description

Pag

given by Bell and Willard he concluded -

the gunman was undoubtedly the fugitive
murderer,» Hurrying to the phone he
flashed a general alarm.

Within an hour a posse of ‘more than
100 men crowded about the small,
country store. Many of them were
farmers armed with their own shotguns
and rifles. Their grim faces showed they
were ready for action for a fight to the
finish with this:savage marauder who
had disturbed the peace of their quiet
community. . ;

Trooper, Dudden walked out on the
front porch of the store and spoke to
the posse in a ringing voice.

“We know this killer is within a few.
miles of this. spot,” he said. ° ‘He hasn’t
a car because neither Bell nor Willard
heard the sound of a motor, The natural

thing for him to do is to find cover as
ne as possible and wait for night-
all.

He pointed to a long strip of heavy
forest than ran for, seven miles away
from the rear of the store,

“Tt’s my guess,” he said, “that he’s
somewhere in those woods. It’s our job
to smoke him out. We’ve got about three
or four hours of daylight to do it in.”

With determined faces the armed army
of law and order began its advance. In
the van were gray-clad, square-jawed
state troopers under the leadership of
Sergt. Harold Kemp of the Pittsford
outpost and Corp. Joseph A. Steely of
Troop D, Newark.

Leading one group of sheriff’s deputies
was Deputy Elmer Wood, fearless law
officer who had slain two felons in previ-
ous gunfights. ;

Spreading out over a seven-mile front
the grim-faced posse moved across the
open countryside toward the forest.
Ranging in front of them was a massive
police dog owned by one of the farmers.
Wolf-like, he loped ahead of his master.

Every man in the posse, some of them
armed only with pitchforks and clubs,
knew they were facing possible death..
They knew the man they hunted was a
killer, armed and ready to fight for his
life. But they went on unafraid.

As each man entered the shadows of
the heavy forest he knew he was on his
own, Any moment he might come face
to face with this desperate madman who
crouched somewhere in the underbrush.
The man who had muttered only a short
while before, “I have killed one man
already. A couple more won't make any
difference.”

Killer Is Captured

GC TRANES nerves jumped at the
sudden noises of the woods as fright-
ened animals fled before this advancing
wave of humanity. The wind, sighing
through the towering trees overhead, had
an eerie sound.

As they plunged deeper and deeper
into the woods the shadows lengthened.
The dusk of the early spring night was
beginning to throw its impenetrable.
cloak over the forest.

Suddenly the howl of the police dog
broke the clammy silence. The sound
sent a chill up the spines of the searchers.

The closest persons to the dog were
Dan Stone, a pg ta photographer,
and his companion, Vincent Burnett, a
19-year-old Ontario youth. Both were
unarmed. They were riding in a car over
the narrow dirt road that paralleled the
woods.

“Look, Dan, over there!” muttered
young Burnett. :

He pointed to a spot in the thick
underbrush, 150 feet from the road.

Stone could see the dark shape of the
dog circling the patch of brush.

“See,” said Burnett. “It’s moving.”

Stone jammed on the brakes. At the
sound the indistinct figure of a man
broke from the brush and ran in head-
long flight. Stone frantically blew his
horn to attract attention.

Chief Deputy Thomas Woods, Depu-
ties Elmer Wood, Bernard Blanchard,
Lee Clark and Chester Bialinski charged
out of the black forest toward the fleeing
man. They fired as they ran. The bursts
of orange flame from their guns stabbed
the dusk. .

Then the gun of the fugitive blazed in -

the gathering de
ran he fired shot
of his pur
bled hea
seriously
The others
constant barra;
shadowy figure
tore through
grazed Clark’s
of the police «
symphony of d
The fleeing
thicket. Deputs
ground 50 feet
“Throw your
“or we'll kill y
There was !
denly silent.
chard could se:
of the police
clump of bus!
their feet an
shot out of th
Suddenly, w
dog sprang for
in after him.
on the grounc
“Get your
fugitive. “I’n
He tossed |
the deputies.
the police dc
prey, stood gi
Deputy Cl:
blood-covyerec
“What's y¢
“None of }
fugitive. “Ge
slugs in me a

—

But
rent
he dou ~.
“But his
I guess his 1
looking kid
I was ab
Carr in my
“though his
stopped me
“That's }
“What y

" < the girl, “i

sieur Beau:
“That's °
exclaimed.
Merkle
this Mons
original on
rupted.
“Listen,
talk langui
“You ai
here!
“Now I
cas you cal
the fires >
his descrij
kind of a
But just t
and tell h
Kansas 0
“What
“Well,’
has been
told him
phones n

(Memo) 191 NORTHEASTERN 60
CANORA, Frank, white, electrocuted Sing Sing (Rockland) on July 12, 193).

"Suffern, Ne Ye, 1-26-1933—Aflame in a snowdrift, the body of a young white woman was disco-=
vered at noon today behind a boulder about 125 yards off an isolated Rockland County road
between Spring Valley and Suffern, N, Y, A farmer living inthe heart of the Rockland Oount
applejack belt saw puffs of smoke coming from behind the boulder while he was striding home
through the snow which blanketed the section this morning, He walked over ami saw the body
of the woman, charred and still blazing. The farmer, Alonzo Osborne, of Viola, a hamlet a
mile away, immediately notified Sheriff Thomas Farley, brother of Democratic National Chair
man James A. Farley. .
"Tonight the best answer to what promises to be as baffling a murder mystery as the region
has had in many years appeared to be that of a man and a woman murdered the woman, carried
her body to the isolated rural locale, and set it aflame after drenching it with gasoline,
he bodywas so badly burned any attempt at -identification, or any detailed description,
proved impossible tonight, But a single circlet of gold that ringed a finger of the slain
young woman's-left hand indicated that she had been married, And, in the.snow, ‘Sheriff
Farley and Ramapo's Chief of Police Abraham Stern saw the tell-tale-footprints of a man and
a woman leading from the road to and from the spot where the bodywas found, They immediate

. ely sent. out an alarm for a white truck, with New Jersey license, .which was reported as

having been-mired near the scene early this morning, . : ,
"Farley frankly admitted tonight that anybody's guess was as. good as another, but his own
theory was that a philandering New Jersey.householder and the wman had conspired in killing

-his wife to get her out of'the way for their illicit romance, Farley admitted he was glad

that Felix DeMartini, noted private detective who worked for Mrs, Frances Stevens Hall at
the time she was accused of the mrder of her husband, the Rev, Edward Wheeler Hall, and
Mrs, Eleanor Mills, happened to be at New City today, DeMartini immediately was retained

- by Rockland County and went to work on the baffling mystery, He was preparing to make a

statement after the conclusion of an autopsy which Dr, John C. Dingman, coroner of Rockland,
began at New City at 8 psm, The lack of clues which survived the flames proved the: biggest
obstacle to Sheriff Farley and police, The woman was described as about 25-years-old, five
feet tall. Because of the destruction wrought by the fire the color of her hair or eyes
could not be determined, A charred bit- of a green knitted beret and a burned piece of a
knitted dress were found near the body, The woman's bhoes were also burned, and only the
number '65' inside could be distinguished as a possible identification mark. She wore

two pairs of stockings = one silk, the other a heavy pair of golf hose,

"The footprints in the snow, which covered Rockland County to a depth of about 1 inch, were
made after dawn, The snow began before dawn today but the fall ended at daybreak, The
woman's only surviving valuables were her wedding ring and another inexpensive band of
silver, It remained for the autopsy to determine if the rings were initialed, or whether
the woman's dental work could be regarded as a clue to her identity, Osbomne,-on his way
home to Spring Valleyk noticied the smoke from behind the boulder, He investigated at the
scene, which is off a new country road off the UY, s, “ichway No. 59, at a spot about 3
miles from Spring Valley and ); miles from Suffern, Because of the quantity of gasoline
which. must have been poured on the wman, the body was still burning, Osborne promptly
notified authorities, They found the. smouldering body lying flat on the stomach, with arms
outstretched and rigid, The flames were extinguished with snow. Dr. Dingman was confident
that the woman had been killed somewhere else and carried to the scene,

"Shortly after they began their investigation Sheriff Farley and DeMartini, learned from
William Frederick, a Summitt Park, N, Y., lumberman, that he saw a man and a woman in a
small white truck mired near the boulder at 7 asm, yesterday, Frederick asked the couple
if they wanted a tow, but the man, described as swarthy by Frederick, hurriedly refused
help, New Jersey detectives have been asked to trace the white-painted truck, if possible.
The murdered woman s clothing and shoes were.well worn, and what appeared to be a cardboard
inner sole was foufid in one shoe, The neighborhood where the body was found is known as
McKelvey s Corner," TIMES-PICAYUNE, New Orleans, Lae, 1-27-1933 (1/2).

"New York, 1-27-1933=Search for a murderous maniac roaming Rockland County with a stiletto
was begun today by Sheriff Thoms Farley after the torch mrder victim whose body was found
ablaze in a snowdrift near Viola, N. Y., Thursday noon, was identified as the madman! s wife,
It is believed that the madman, Frank Canora, 57, deranged by a week-long quarrel with his

wife, slashed her throat from ear to ear, set her body ablaze, and then wandered off across
the sparsely settled Rockland county countryside, probably in search of another victim,

"ithile Sheriff Farley had not organized a posse tonight, his deputies were given strict ore
ders to keep a lookout for Canora, a resident of Lodi, N, J, The body of the torch murder
victim was identified as Mrs, lena Canora, 51, at lg York City morgue today by her sons,
James, 21, and Joseph, 17, Her wedding rigg, and bits of green knitted clothes found
smouldering besidexher body on an isolated roadside, clinched the identification, The
‘sons are convicted that, after 23 years of peaceful domesticity, their father suddenly lost
his mind after a Wabiokans quarrel with their mother over money matters. Canora was sche-
duled to appear in a Hackensack lawyer's office Thursday morning with his wife for the pure
pose of arranging a separation,

"Instead the husband, operator of a Lodi gas filling station, called at the Canora home,
207 Church Ste, Lodi, induced his wife to go for a motor ride with him, and slashed her

-thorat while she sat beside him in the, car somewhere betwem Lodi and the spot wher e her
blazing body was found, The Canora sons informed the sheriff their father always carried a
stiletto, Farley learned from farmers living near Viola this afternoon that a man answering

the descrition of the maniacal killer was seen in the vicinity of the torch murder scene as
late as this morning, Canora is 5 feet 7 inches tall, weighs 175 DeUAGH, and wore a gray :
suit and gray shirt, without tie, when last sekn." TIMES-PICAYUNE, New rleans, 1-28-1933 (3/2).

"Hackensack, .N. Jey Jan, 28, 1933='I'm Frank Canorae I have mrdered my wife.’ With this
announcement, a Souyéatiookd. man gave himself up to police who had been searching since last
Thursday for the slayer of Lena Canora, 57, who was found almost beheaded and her clothing
set afire near Sppok Rocky Spring Valley, N, Y. 'I,.am the ‘torch mrderer! you are looking
for. I want to die,' Canora told police. 'I did it because she liked her step=brother,
Andrew Columbo, better than me and we were going to separate and she was going to get all

my money,' the detectives quoted Canora as saying. Canora told detectives he invited his
wife to take a ride in his motor truck and then to ‘take a walk,' Out of sight of the road,
he hit her with his fists,.then slashed her throat with a knife and ad i gasoline over the
body and ignited it," TIMES-PICAYUNE, New Orleans, 1-29-1933 (1/7). late same sources
"Spring Valley, N. J, 1-28-19 33-Brank, Canora, who confessed he killed his wife and then set
her body afire, ws committed to,Rockland Count Jail today on a charge of ‘first-degree murder."

"June 18, 1933-Two sons of the wife whom he murdered and a daughter, by a previous marriage
will be the state's star witnesses against their father, Frank Canora, 52<year=old gasoline
station owner, who goes on trial for his life tomorrow in supreme court at New City, N. Y.
He confessed cutting her throat and burning her body, This was revealed today by District
Attorney Henry V, Stebbins of Rockland County after lawfers for the self-confessed killer
indicated that they will make an elaborate insanity defense in he desperate hope of saving
Canora from the electric chair, But District Attorney Stebbins - the s ame man who brought
about the conviction of Sidney Homewood, riding-master, for the seduction of Charlotte Ariel
Gibson, society girl - is confident that the story of the 2 sons and daughter of the defend-
ant will convince a jury that Canora knew the difference between right and wrong when he
conceived and perpetrated the fiendish crime. The gas station proprietor, a resident, of
Hackensack, N, Y., confessed that he cut his wife's throat and made a pyer of her body be-
hind a rock on the outskirts of Viola, N, Y., last January, 'I did it, ' he said when he
surrendered to New Jersey authorities following the identification of the flame-consumed
remains by his sons. 'Now, I want to die too,' The sons who will take the witness stand
against their father in, this unusual drama are James, 22, and Joseph, 20, both of Lodi, N.
J. The daughter, who will also be called by the state, is Mrs, ~ sabella. Gentillo, also.

of Lodi, Supreme Court. Justice Daniel V. McNamee, who will preside at the trial, has
ordered a special panel from which to select the jury which will have to decide Canora's
fate, Both District Attorney Stebbins and Canora's lawyers, Jo eph Haber and Morton Lexow,
have arranged to place a number of alienists on thestand before the evidence, axpected to
take a week to present, is placed in the hands of a jury. The prisoner, whowas extradited
from New Jérsey, shortly after his surrender four months ago, was described as docile and
intelligent by, Sheriff Thomas Farley, who has charge of the Rockland County Jail," TIMES-
PICAYUNE, New Orleans, Las, June 19, 1933 (5/1).

"Ossining, N, Y., July 12, 193lj-Frank Canora, Sl-years-old, was electrocuted in the Sing Sing
dbathhouse tonight for ah slaying of his wife, Canora, who madé a human “torch of his wife's
body in an effort to conceal his crime, was calm when he entered the execution chamber on

the arm of Father McCaffrey, chaplain," TIMES-PICAYUNE, New Orleans, Las, 713-193); (26=2),

ORNING sunlight bathed the

M 20-room, red brick Georgian

mansion of the Logan family

at Flower Hill, Long Island, while

this warm summery day of July

24, 1946, exuded an air of gen-
tility, serenity and security.

Yet before many minutes a
shadow was to move across its
gleaming green lawns and a pall
of violence, rapaciousness and
death was to blanket those quiet
acres. An exclusive North Shore
community was to stand appalled
—even a nation—by the shocking
events,

The routine of the household
this Wednesday had followed a
leisurely pattern. William J. Lo-
gan, retired New York banker
and former mayor of Flower Hill,
had been driven to the Plandome
Station of the Long Island Rail-
road. He boarded a commuter’s
special and headed for his New
York City office where he served
as a director of a manufacturing
firm.

His 52-year-old wife and Mar-

jory: Jeanne Logan, 26, his daugh-
ter, returned from the station and
parked the family car in the drive-
way just off Bonnie Heights Road.
Mrs. Logan worked on her house-
hold accounts at her desk on the
first floor. The housekeeper, Mrs.
Suzanne Delebra, was in her iso-
lated quarters at the rear of the
house. Marjory, who during the
war had served in the Women’s
Army Corps as a Technician, 4th
grade, in the Pacific theater, was
in a sitting room on the second
floor.

L, was ten-thirty when the daughter
heard the murmur of voices down-
stairs. Then her mother, standing at the
fcot of the stairway, called out: “Mar-
jory! Throw me down ten dollars. I
want to pay a debt.”

Marjory Logan was surprised. She
knew her mother paid everything by

check. But, obediently, the girl went.

to the master bedroom and found her
parent’s purse. From the roll cf cur-
rency which totaled $110 she took a ten-
dollar bill, walked to the head of the
stairs and tossed it down,

ina

LDL [

STARE Y-Evéo KILLER

By JOHN S. THORP

She glimpsed her mother, who ap-
peared to be calm and self-possessed.
But she didn’t see the person to whom
her parent had been talking.

Then things happened with a terri-
fying speed. :

The crash of a gunshot reverberated
from the living room. Marjory Logan,
terrified, hurried to the head of the
stairs. As the girl stood transfixed with
fear, a tall, athletic youth bounded up
toward her.

Pcinting a nickel-plated revolver, he
shcuted: “I need more money!” He
snatched the purse which Marjory still
held in her hand and scooped the roll
of bills cut of it. Then he stared at
the young woman, his eyes glittering
with the unwavering brightness of a
mad animal. .

Marjory Logan screamed. She cower-
ed back against the wall. Convulsively,
her hands fluttered to her face as though
to shield it from some horrifying vision.
But she could not avoid the terrible,
staring scrutiny of those glowing eyes.

The intruder came forward. Marjory
Logan’s mind registered an almost pho-
tographic impressicn. He was about six
feet tall, slim and muscular. His angu-
lar features, dominated by the lustrous
eyes, were those of an athlete. He wore

»s

Alek 7 G_ ZA LIL

ausa4 (G47

a light green pclo shirt and khaki trous-
ers.

In his left hand, the youth held the
tevolver. He reached out with his right.
tearing at the girl's dress. A wave of
surging terror engulfed her and she
collapsed.

When Marjory Logan fought back to
ccnsciousness, she had been violated.
The man had turned away. The girl
struggled to her feet. Now he whirled
and aimed the gun at point-blank range.
The slug seared into her face, its im-
pact spinning her around. A second ex-
plosion re-echoed through the room. The
bullet struck the young woman in the
back of the neck. She fell, and for a
moment there was a silence. The acrid
odcr of cordite stung her nostrils.

The sound of running feet, muffled in
the thick carpet on the stairs, stirred
Marjory into action.

Clad cnly in undergarments and with
bleod spurting from her wounds, she
stumbled down the back stairway and
Tan across the wocded acre to the ad-
joining home of Philip Barker. A dog
frightened her away.

She staggered toward the estate of
Barry Turecamo and rang the doorbell.
There was no answer.

Thecdore Klick, a housepainter, was

vere |

A DARK DESTROYER EXPLODES INTO
A FRENZY OF LUST AND VIOLENCE,
SHATTERING THE LIVES OF TWO

WOMEN... . FOLLOW THE NASSAU

a: “SQ COUNTY POLICE AS THEY TRACK
4 DOWN A MAD KILLER

Jean Logan, who was wounded
when her mother was slairi, was
the first to describe the killer.

at work at the nearby home of Charles
Sperber. He glanced up. startled, as the
frantic girl, bleeding and scantily-clad,
reeled toward him. She cried out inco-
herently.

Klick shouted to Sperber for help,
then assisted the young victim into his
car and started for the office of Dr.
Joseph Tita on Port Washington Boule-
vard.

As the automobile sped along Bonnie
Heights Road, past’ the Logan estate.
the girl cried out: “That's the man!”

The painter glimpsed a tall youth
hurrying along the highway. Automatic-
ally he put pressure on the brake pedal.

But Marjory Logan, bleeding profuse-
ly, shrank toward the floor of the coupe.
“Don’t stop,” she screamed. “He's got
a gun!”

Klick shifted his foot to the accelera-
tor. As he glanced in the rear-vision mir-
tor, the man obtained a clear view of

the assailant, who had turned and run
into the woods. .

At Dr. Tita’s office, a few moments
later, emergency first aid was adminis-
tered to the wounded girl. The physi-
cian was astounded. “What happened?”
he demanded.

The painter summarized the details
he had sorted out from Marjory Logan’s
incoherent words.

“The bullet wounds are critical,” Tita
said. “She’s been criminally attacked and
is suffering from severe shock. It’s ex-
traordinary that she’s retained con-
scicusness at all.” He made immediate
arrangements for the girl’s transfer to
Nassau Hospital in Mineola. Then he
called police headquarters and reported.

Meantime, at the Logan estate, the
housekeeper had heard the gunshots and
the ‘assailant’s flight thrdugh the back
dcor of the house. She hurried into the
living room. Mrs. Logan was prostrate
cn the floor. Blood welled from an
ugly wound in her forehead. She was
unconscious but still breathing.

Frantically, Mrs. Delebra telephoned
Logan at his office. The executive com-
mandeered a taxicab for the twenty-
three mile drive home.

ETURNING to the living room, the
housekeeper attempted to help the
injured woman. Mrs. Logan's features
were colorless; there was a fixed, fyight-

After double tragedy that horrified L.

ening immobility. Suzanne Delebra knew
instinctively she was dead!

The doorbell burred. Captain Stuy-
vesant Pinnell, head of Nassau County
police, led a squad of patrolmen into
the house. While a department medical
cfficer examined the body, Pinnell ques-
ticned Mrs. Delebra. The hysterical
woman was unable to offer more than
a vague outline of what had happened.

But Detective George Hutchinson,
who had been dispatched to the hos-
pital, obtained a lucid and coherent
account from Marjory Logan, still con-
scious but suffering intensely. He quick-
ly relayed the information, with a de-
scription of the assailant, to Pinnell.

Within an hour of the savage attack
a hundred detectives and uniformed po-
licemen were combing the area for the
killer. Roads were blocked; every mo-
tcrist and pedestrian was questioned.
A house-to-hcuse search of the district
got under way.

The medical ‘officer confirmed Suzanne
Delebra's intuitive judgment. ‘Killed al-
most instantly,” he told the captain.
“Apparently the bullet penetrated the
brain.”

Pinnell called his office and ordered
a squad of investigative experts sent to
the estate. He also notified District At-
terney James M. Gehrig.

., Mrs. Minton, sister, and

Dwight Church, father of slain woman, arrive at scene of crime.

worked around here since July 3, I
~ guess there isn’t anything different in
his case than the others.”

Captain Pennell stroked his chin.

“We've got to start some place,” he
said. “Let’s start there.” :

According to the information gath-
ered by O’Brien, Mr. Joseph M. Rose,
of Greenbrier Lane, Flower Hill, re-
cently had hired a couple from a New
_York City employment agency. The
man, tall and thin, weighing about 150
pounds, worked as a combination
butler and chauffeur. His wife per-

.formed domestic duties around the
house.

“I got that dope second-hand,”
O’Brien explained. ‘The Joseph Rose
home is closed, but a son, Robert J.
Rose, and his wife live near by.

“T talked to the younger Mrs. Rose,
and she knew about her father-in-law
hiring the butler and his wife. She

_ said the butler-chauffer answered the
description I gave her, and she was able
to supply me with the name of the
agency which sent them.” :

Captain Pinnell was deep. in
thought. :

“I think we ought to talk to a few of
these fellows,” he said. “We must
move carefully, extra carefully. The

employers are prominent people, and:

we don’t want to offend them, nor do
we want to be over-zealous in question-
ing the servants. But bring them in.”

EVERAL of the men were questioned,
and provided alibis. But the newest
one did not appear. O’Brien said the
chauffeur-butler was with the Joseph
M. Rose family at their Summer home
in Southold, 30 miles away, and that

e would drive out there.

e returned late in the afternoon
ompanied by a tall, thin young man
mith an aquiline nose and prominent,
although not unattractive eyes. He
was neatly dressed and soft-spoken,
his voice and: manner disclosing some
education.

Captain Pinnell questioned him care-
fully and was impressed by the butler’s
clear, straightforward answers.

His name was Ward. Beecher Cara-
way, he was 23 and a native of North
Carolina.

Yes, he and his wife, Marie, had en-
tered the Rose employ on July 3, at a
combined salary of $300 a month, plus
board and room.

They were well-treated, and entirely
satisfied with the conditions of em-
ployment.

On the morning of July 24, Caraway,
‘n his role of chauffeur, drove his mas-
ter, Joseph M., and the son, to. the
Plandome railroad station, where they
boarded the 9:03 train to New York
City. The Roses conducted a. wool
brokerage business in the city.

Caraway said he had returned to the
home of the elder Rose and busied him-
self with various duties. One of these
was to clean the Rose car and prepare
it for a trip to Southold that night.

. The day passed uneventfully, he said.
In mid-afternoon, he met the train at
Plandome and picked up the Roses.

They left shortly for Southold.

“Did you know Mr. and Mrs. Logan,
or their daughter?” Pinnell asked.

u“ N°: SIR. To my knowledge, I never
saw them in my life.”
“Are you a veteran?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Overseas?”
“Yes, Sir. North Africa.”
“Honorably discharged?”
“No, Sir.”
Captain Pinnell’s eyes narrowed
slightly.
“You mean dishonorably? What
for?”
“I got in a little trouble. They said
I stole some money and they kicked
me out.’ Caraway told the detective.
“Did you?”
r. I never did.”

EO Cane 2

o, Caraway
foming in.”
Caraway said he guessed be would
spend the night at the Rose home,
since. it was too late to return to

Southold
Pinnell watched tin po. anet piled
at the lobe of his ear

Although Caraway was unaware of
it, he had been photographed from all
sides as he sat talking to Pinnell. The
Captain waited eagerly for the prints
to be developed.

In the interval he sought out Gehrig
again, outlining the latest develop-
ments.

The prosecutor expressed a keen in-
terest in Caraway.

“So he’s a butler,” he said. “You
know, that's interesting!”

Captain Pinnell displayed some in-
terest of his own.

“I’ve been going over all the state-
ments in this case,” Gehrig explained,
“with particular attention to the ques-
tions and statements Miss Logan made
to her father in the hospital. One
thing struck me.” He flipped over
some typewritten pages.

“Well,” he said doubtfully, “it could
be the man. It looks something like
him, but gosh, Captain, the fellow I
saw on the road wore a.cap and them
Army clothes. In the picture here he’s
all spiffed up.”

“But it could be the same man?”

LICK nodded decisively.

“Yes, it could. I sure wouldn’t say
positively that it isn’t.”

Pinnell summoned O'Brien.

“T want you to go to the employment
agency which placed the Caraways,
check all their references, and find out
i ee you can about him,” he
said. : ,

He brought O’Brien up to date on the
latest developments, and urged him to
make all possible speed.

The detective just beat the 5 p. m

Could the lipstick scrawl which presaged the atrocity slaying of
Suzanne Degnan give Expert Harvey Rowley and Chicago detectives
a picture of the pathological slayer? Read the story on Page 8.

“Now note this. She tells how the
killer left the room, but what did he
Go? He grabbed the door, as if to slam
it, but instead he closed it softly, tak-
ing a precious extra second to do it
right. .Then he sprinted down the
stairs and reached the front door.

“Did he slam it? _No! Remember,
it was ajar just a tiny bit when Cap-
tain Blunt arrived.

“That door was closed softly, too. If
the door had slammed, Mrs. Delebar
would have heard it, but she didn’t.
She heard the back docr, when Miss
Logan went out.”
dtnin Pinnell got the point right

well-trained household
wuts any nd of a door, he
yes it quietly. It becomes a habit!”

Pinnell returned to his own office.
The pictures of Caraway were ready
for him and he sent for Klick.

Pinnell waited anxiously while the
painter studied the pictures, looking at.
{hemp frome all gates, wanting bo be
sure

rvant

closing at the employment agency from
which the Caraways had been hired.
The employment application record
was surprisingly bare of details.

O’Brien copied off the one reference
that Caraway had given, an A. C.
Barnes of Charlotte, North Carolina.

“We mailed a reference form to Mr.
Barnes, but it never came back,” .an
agency spokesman said.

O'Brien checked through the tele-
phone company to see if there were a
telephone at the home of A. C. Barnes
in Charlotte. There wasn’t.

He picked up the telephone again,
asked for the chief of police in Char-
lotte, and requested that this Barnes
be questioned.

- At 10 p.m.on the night of August 1,
a hurried conference was held at Po-
lice Headquarters. :

“We have to move,” Captain Pinnell
told Prosecutor Gehrig. “There’s too
much piling up against Caraway to let
him run around loose.”

Detectives found Caraway petting
ready for bed. He was calm, polite and

quite willing to answer more questions
at Headquarters. :

Back at Headquarters a more inten-
sive questioning of Caraway began.

Captain Pinnell, an excellent psy-
chologist, sent a car to Southold to
bring Mrs. Caraway in. She might be
useful. .

Caraway denied everything, nor
could they shake him.

Klick looked him over, this time in
the flesh...

“I’m pretty sure that’s him,” he said
grimly.

More questions.

Captain Pinnell went over and over
the same ground, seeking a chink in
Caraway’s armor which he could pry

‘apart. :

Shortly before dawn he received a
wire from Charlotte, North Carolina.
It gave him a new wedge against Cara-
way and he used it promptly.

“Why did you give a fake reference
to the employment agency?” the Cap-
tain asked.

‘Caraway said quickly, “I never did!”

“You worked for A. C. Barnes in
Charlotte—eighteen months, you
said?” S

“Yes, sir.” He licked his lips.

“As a butler?”

“Yes, Sir. Butler and chauffeur.”

“A. C. Barnes is your stepfather,”
Pinnell said, “a mighty fine man, well-
respected in Charlotte. We looked him
up and he said he wouldn’t cover up
for you. When you put him on the spot
that way, giving his name as a refer-
ence, he just wouldn’t answer the
agency, because he wouldn't tell a lie,
but he was loyal enough not to report
pu and for that you should thank

im.” °

Caraway said nothing.

au [er him wash up and get him some

breakfast,” Captain Pinnell di-
rected. “We've got a call to make this
morning, a hospital call.”

‘About 9 a. m., a strange procession
made its way along a corridor in Nas-
sau Hospital and stopped before the
door of the room in which Jeanne
Logan was making a satisfactory re-
covery after her operation.

By agreement with the attending
physician, only two men could enter the
room, and their stay would be brief.

Firmly clutching Caraway by one
arm, Assistant District Attorney Gu-
lotta opened the door and pushed him
inside, following.

He closed the door.

- At the sound, Miss Logan turned her
bandaged head away, as if to avert, as
long as possible, the sight of a face she
feared to see.

“Now, Miss Logan,’’ Gulotta said,
softly, sympathetically, “look at this
man and tell me if he is the one who
shot you in your home on the morning
of July 24th?”

He held Caraway so that the chauf-
feur-butler faced the bed squarely.

When Gulotta came out of the hos-
pital room he announced that Miss
Logan had identified Caraway, defi-
nitely and without question.

At 4 p.m. on August 2, District At-
torney Gehrig formally announced
that Caraway had made a complete
confession. He was prevailed upon to
make a clean breast of it, the prosecu-
tor declared, by the intercession of his
wife, Marie, who urged him to make
ey peace with God by telling every-

hing.

EHRIG added with some emphasis
that Mrs. Caraway was innocent of
any wrong-doing whatsoever, knew
nothing of the faked reference, and
knew nothing about her husband’s ac-
tivities on July 24, at which time she
was in Southold.
The prosecutor declared that in the
confession, Caraway had left no doubt

that he was the man sought for so long.
and so intensively,

“He's absolutely sane,” Geh de-
clared. “He has given us dates aces
and descriptions. He aeseribed the
downstairs interior of the Logai: house
perfectly, as well as the bedroom in
which he shot Miss Logun,

“Caraway took us to the spot where

Heo hivew> awry = the cde ei hel
having broken it with a bamm We
\;

————— -_

acon

v able to find the barrel and the
but, which is sufficient for our pur-

pose, since the rifling marks on the bar-
rel will be enough to link it to the
death-bullet.

‘One part of the gun is missing, the
chamber. Our best guess is that some-

body found it, or it was trampled into
the dirt and may never be found.”
The prosecutor explained that as an
elaborate precaution, casts were taken
of Caraway's shoes. The right one, he
said, matched the cast taken of the
footprint under the window of the Lo-
gan home. The prosecutor also said
that the prisoner, in his statement,

admitted he had “looked in the win-
dow” and had seen Mrs. Logan sitting
in the living-room.

Prosecutor Gehrig gave a condensed
version of Caraway’s confession, the
exact wording of which must wait for
the trial jury.

Be, Te peat ey

Rigdon said. “I never saw
plate before. You can try the car key
and I'm sure it'll fit.” .

The Sheriff folded the keys back in
the handkerchief and slipped them

Rigdon said,
coming in the door, but there was &
commotion out in the barn. The horses
got scared and nearly the door

night. I
the lights
when I rushed out. I was in too much
of a hurry.” -

“And you were there about Ralf an
hour and when you came back, you
neither heard anything upstairs nor
saw anybody in the house?”

J EVERYTHING was quiet and T went
back to bed and fell asleep at

: The phone rang and the Sheriff
walked to the table and answered it.
“This is Doctor Joe, Sheriff,” the
Coroner said. “I've made a prelimi-
nary examination of the body. I can’t
tell for certain until a thorough autop-
sy, but my guess is that Mrs. Rigdon
had been dead about six or seven hours
when we found her. That would place
her death between midnight and two
o'clock.”

“Find anything else important?” the
Sheriff asked.

“No, there were no bruises on the
body. Powder burns around the wound
showed that the gun had been held
close to her head. This could have
muffied the sound of the shot. She
never knew what hit her.”

“Let me ‘know at once if you find
anything else,” the Sheriff answered
and hung up.

The Sheriff turned to Rigdon, asked,
“who had reason to kill your wife?”

“Kill her? She killed herself.”

“your wife didn’t commit suicide,
Rigdon,” Porrest said. “She was killed,
and it looks like a clever plan. The kill-
er could have entered the front door
with these keys, slipped upstairs and
killed your wife when you were out at
the barn.” :

RIGDON looked confused. “But that’s
not possible. I found her with the
gun at her side. She took the gun up-
stairs with her.”
“J want to ask you about her carry-
ing that gun. Why did she do it?”
“t don’t know. I told you she'd
been: acting funny for over a week,
carrying a gun around and
about dying. I figured there was
something wrong with her mind.”

3 aiiablig,

$30, an
He

Jersey, early in June, for
climbed into the car, Gehrig said.
drove toward the Logan estate, par
his car and made the rest of the
ney on foot.

The rest of his story was substantisa!-
ly as Miss Logan had told it.

“I don’t know why I did it,” Cara-
way was quoted as saying.

At 9 p. m. on August 2 he was ar-
raigned before District Court Judge
Albert C. Moore in Minepla on a charge
of first-degree murder: Upon being
advised of his Constitutional rights,
including the right to retain counsel,
he waived a further hearing and was
held without bail for the grand jury.

Tuesday, August 13, District Attor-
ney Gehrig went before the grand jury
and obtained an indictment charging
Caraway with murder. As this issue
of OPPICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES
goes to press, that and subsequent legal

The combination butler and chauf-
feur told of having driven the elder
Rose and his son to the Plandome
station of the Long Island Railroad.
where they boarded the 9:03 for Penn-
sylvania Station.

Caraway said, according to the prose-
cutor, that he saw the Logans at the
station. The elder Logan took the same
train, and his wife and daughter drove
home. The Rose car, with Caraway at
the wheel, was close behind. He saw
them turn into the driveway of the
Logan estate.

Returning to his own ‘quarters, Cara-
way donned a jumper, the same Army
fatigue outfit that detectives subse-
quently found. He greased and gassed
the Rose car, preparatory to the trip
to Southold that night.

Then he went to his trunk, retrieved
a 32 caliber nickel-plated revolver
which he had bought in Trenton, New

(Continued from Page 36)

prog was scared of somebody, wasn’t

“I guess that’s right. She had
enemies, plenty of them right in this
neighborhood. She was strong-willed
and liked to argue. But I don’t know
who would have killed her.”

a Ww about this Norman Tracy?
Did he have trouble with your
wife?” —
“I didn’t know him very well. He
rented from my wife Jong before we |

were married.” : Fannie Shelby was his first wife
“Who around here did she argue they lived together for 26 years
with? before she died, in October, 1943, of a

heart trouble.

four times before she took Rigdon
as a husband. Her first mate was Harry
Gowdin, and the marriage didn't last

named Patterson. They lived together
until his death. She had two others,
named Hinkle and Folger, and neither
marriage was a success. f

Her ex-husbands had been looked
up by Chamberlain. Those living had
left Missouri, and as far as Chamber-
lain was able to learn had not returned
to Cass County.

Sheriff Forrest gave the two State
Troopers all the information he had on
the case. ;

“If I had gone through the front
door when I first arrived at the farm,”
he added, “I would have known whether
the keys were there then. I’m not
overlooking the possibility that those
keys could have been placed in the
door long after the killing. About
everybody in the neighborhood was
around that farmhouse.”

“We can have State Headquarters
check on this Norman Tracy at once,”
Trooper Roberts said. “We'll also have
the State finger-print men examine the
keys for finger-prints. I don’t imagine
they'll get any but we can try.”

Roberts called the barracks at Lee’s
Summit and asked that Norman Tracy
be located in Washington. The keys,
as well as the .22 rifle found with the
body of the dead woman, were sent to
the Crime Laboratory of the State Po-
lice for examination.

The Sheriff and the two State Troop-
ers returned to the Rigdon farmhouse.
Nobody was there, Rigdon having gone
to his son’s home. The three officers
walked into the silent structure. Eve-
ning was falling and the living-room
already was dark. Sheriff Forrest lit
a coal-oil lamp and the yellow rays
flickered weirdly through the darkness.

Om thing puzzled both the Sheriff
: and the State Troopers. Could a

Sheriff answered.

“You're a good liar, Sheriff,” Prey
countered. “The old lady was gunning
for somebody and got beat to it.”

“you both had some
trouble with her, didn’t you?” the
Sheriff asked. “Now I want the
straight story and no beating around
the bush.”

“we owed her three hundred dol-
lars,” Prey answered.

“Where were you last night?” the
Sheriff asked.

BATES said, “It may surprise you,
Sheriff, but we were near this place
around midnight. Maybe she was
killed about that time.”

“She was,” the Sheriff replied.

“Well, that looks bad for us, don’t
it?” Frey said. “But we didn’t come
into the house. We were just driving
home and passed here.”

“Do you have any witnesses? Any-
body see you?” ;

Prey said, “Nary a soul.”

The Sheriff studied the two men be-
fore he answered. “You could have
made that story up.” he said.

“Sure, we could,” Frey agreed, “but
we didn’t.”

The Sheriff walked abruptly out of
the house, got into his car and drove to
Harrisonville.

His first act on arriving at his office
was to put in a call for the State Police
Barracks at Lee’s Summit and ask
the sergeant in charge of the radio di-
vision to send a couple of men down to
Harrisonville at once to help him.

State Troopers M. B. Roberts and Cc.
L. Curtis, who worked in the Harrison-

_ville territory, got the radio message to
report to Sheriff Forrest. When they
arrived at the Sheriff's office, they

front door, slipped past the

where Rigdon was sleeping, and
sneaked upstairs? The front door was
about fifteen feet from the bedroom,
and the stairs were some ten feet be-
yond this. : ‘

OFFICIAL DETECTIVE STORIES

RS. RIGDON had been married *

man have entered that house, via the
bedroom

s are pending wit!
vy set. for September
1 addition to the fa! erence
given by Caraway, it was lear

he was a total of 294 dav Ww
the Army, and had served ° *
guardhouse for theft. } was di
honorably discharged fri ti ervir
on January 8, 1946.

The question of who
$5000 reward offered by Loc
apprehension of his wife's ;
held in abeyance penc
The custom in such c2
ward money goes into t! rel
of the Nassau Police Department.

The names of Murray Hamilto
Thomas Bender and Private Olne

Skinner, as used in this story, @
fictitious to protect the identities
persons absolved of any connectio
with the Logan case.

Read It First In

3 sag? 4

when he came out of the bedroor
“This house is certainly well-built. Nc
a board creaked.”

U\WVELL have to accept this as
possibility,” the Sheriff sai
“But frankly, I don’t believe Rigdc
was in that room when his wife wi

killed.”
“Where was he?” Roberts asked.
“He said he went out to the bar
Maybe that was when his wife w
killed. And those keys could have bet
slipped in that front door this mon

agreed, “but expla

importance.:

George Cankel, the closest neighb
lived within a quarter of a mile of t
Rigdon farm. The Sheriff and St:
sees vanes ae

“There were a lot of funny things ¢
ing on around that house,” Cankel ss

“Did you hear any commotion in t
Rigdon farm lot?” the Sheriff aske

Cankel shook his head. “I can’t
member that, but I remember seein:
car parked near the farmhouse ab
midnight. It might have been lov:
They do a lot of parking hereabo.
Then I saw two men near the Rigc
farmhouse.”

“What time was that?”

“Some time after half-past elev
I ain’t right sure because I wasn't lo
ing at my watch.”

“DP you see these two men?”

: “Not to recognize them, but
did look kind’a familiar. I ain’t ne
ing anybody as I ain’t sure.”

“Did it look like Frey or Bates?’

“I ain’t saying who it looked |
But they weren’t alone.”

“Who else was there?”

“Well, I saw the two men and t
I heard a woman yelling.”

“And you didn’t recognize any or

“Not to say for sure who they w
but after I got back to the hous
saw a car drive past the farm. T
ain’t any question whose car it
It belonged to Fred Castor. It was
old Ford. I ain’t saying Fred wa
it, but it was his car.”

“This woman—was she old
young?”

“I ain't real sure. I just heard
voice, I didn't see her. I got the
a ea she was old. She had a squ:
voice.”

CARI CARI, Joseph and CORRATO

(Westchester) 1/7/}3942......

HEADQUARTERS PRESS ROOM

|
i
i

eee

HAT did the desk sergeant
y, Vy, Say, son? All’ quiet? That’s
good. It’s nearly at the dead-
line and I wouldn’t want a break now.
Say, did I ever tel] you about the kill-
ing of that laundry worker in Ma-
maroneck, New York, back in 1931? I
was working on a small Paper there
then. They talk about Murder, Inc.,
and killings done at a bargain, but
even back in those days the racket
had plenty. of chiselers and double-
crossers. " :

It was about eight o’clock on a cold
January night when one of the quietest
residential neighborhoods in this little
town was. split wide open by a regular
berrage of shots. A lady heard a noise
at the window, looked and found a stray
bullet on the sill, It had stopped right
after breaking . the glass. Four kids
were playing on the floor, so she lost no
time calling police.

Headquarters sent Lieutenant Maurice
Thomas and Detective William O'Neill.
While they were looking at the bullet,
the lady’s 11-year-old son came in, all
out of breath. He’d been riding his bike
home and nearly ran over a man lying

i”

THE DOUBLE-CROSS MURDER

on the sidewalk. Thomas and O'Neill.

rushed out of the house. Down the street
they found a bod » face down, in a big
pool ‘of blood. It had thirteen bullet
holes in it, five of ’em making a neat
circle right around the heart.

Lieutenant Thomas remembered that
while they were answering the call he’
seen two shabbily dressed men walking
in one hell of a hurry toward the vil-
lage. He left O’Neill guarding the body
and began a search. He found no one
and went to Headquarters and sent out
a teletype alarm describing the Pair so
far as he was able. .

@ WHEN YOU'RE in the newspaper

business longer, son, you’ll find out
there are cops and cops. There’s some
that have been to training schools and

- know all about fingerprinting, Psychol-

ogy and ballistics, and there are some
that are just old-timers, full of horse-
sense, courage and sharpness—stuft
they can’t teach you in school. Lieu-
tenant. Thomas was One of those old-
timers and could hold his own with any
of. the vinegar-and-virtue coppers of

: girl friend he was nuts about.

the new school. . '

So Thomas, See, suddenly thinks of
looking for those two guys at the rail-
road station,
quarters, down the street and up on the
platform, and there the two lugs were,
He had ’em, 20 minutes after the mur-
der was committed. He didn’t know for
sure, but he knew he was getting pretty
damned warm when one of them
ditched a Pistol, or tried to,

@ WELL, THEY found one was narhed

Alfonso Carrato, a Brooklyn laborer,
and the other was Joseph Caricari, a
Bowery cook, District Attorney Frank

Coyne questioned them all night, and ~

next morning announced he had their
confessions, signed, sealed and de-
livered. ‘

The whole thing started with a

“ double cross. They brought

the victim, one Giovanni
Volpe, out to Mamaroneck
from Brooklyn—about an
hour’s ride—to show him
where he could find an old

They. were double-crossing
him, because they didn’t
know ‘where she was and
only wanted to get him out
in the countryside to bump
him off. Volpe, the sap, even
paid the expenses for the
three of them on taxi, sub-
way and train to get to Mam-
aroneck, ;
Their motive? In 22 years of married
life Mrs. Volpe had borne eleven chil-
dren, and now, the two prisoners told
the District Attorney, she had grown so
tired of Mr. Volpe she had hired them

. to kill the man. In addition, they said

she was in love with a guy named Jo-
seph Carboneri.

The D. A. then learned of the second
double cross.

Joe Carieari said he had been prom-
ised $500 té do away with Volpe and
had enlisted A] Carrato to. help him,
but told Al they would get only $300 for
the job—and that sum in instalments.

Later, on the witness stand, Alphonso
testified he and his pal, Joe, were plan-
ning to double-cross Mrs. Volpe by col-
lecting the money from her without

, Alfonso, whites, elec. sing

He runs out of Head- .

ntact a isaigetaetetininee, 200) ieee eee Smtr Ne IN atten ity,

aie

|
LITE

actually commiting the murder. How-
ever, Mr. Volpe, the victim, double-
crossed the two murderers. by blowing
them to a lot of wine in payment for his
expected reunion with the old girl
friend—so that by the time they got to
Mamaroneck they were all three pretty
well drunk. As a result, they got into
an argument on the whereabouts of the
girl, and Aland J oe just let him have it,
all thirteen bullets,

The police picked up Mrs, Volpe and
they picked up Carboneri. Mrs. Volpe
Swore she’d never seen Joe and Al be-
fore in her life. Carboneri admitted giv-
ing them $20 as a loan, but denied it was
for killing anybody. Al and Joe had
used $5 of the $20 to buy a gun, and a
couple of dollars for ammunition.
They’d borrowed another gun, which
was found in a clump of bushes, So, all
in all, according to them the murder
netted them a little more than one saw-
buck.

Al and Joe went to trial in April, 1931,
and | were = convicted without much
trouble. Their defense was a jumble
of having been persuaded to commit the
murder, and then having been per-
suaded none too gently by police to con-
fess it. They were sentenced to die in
the electric chair at Sing Sing the week
of June 8th. : ,

Mrs, Volpe and Carboneri were in-
dicted on April 6th by a grand jury that
did not hear Al and Joe.as State wit-
nesses, for the murderers were still
defendants themselves at the time.
‘Therefore, when the couple came up for
trial, the court dismissed the indictment
on the ground that insufficient evidence

‘had been presented to the grand jury,

The court ruled the case could be again
presented to the grand jury, and the
D. A. said next time he would call Al
and Joe as witnesses, When
the case was Presented the
second time, however, some
months later, the grand jury
returned no bill, and Mrs,
Volpe and Carboneri were
set free,

What with appeals and all,
Al and Joe lingered on in this
world. and it was not until
January 8th, 1932, a ‘year to
‘a day from the murder, that
they were executed. a

Al went first. He didn’t say

Lieutenant Thomas’ anything. to anybody, just .

| Walked over to the chair, got
in, and they turned on the juice. Joe
came along a few minutes later and
made quite a little show. He asked for
Warden Lawes and gave him a note.
Said he wanted it put in all the Italian
Papers. It said—let’s see if I can re-
member it—

1, Joseph Caricari, did not want to
kill Giovanni Volpe. I die innocent. I
pray always to God to punish the ones
that forced me to commit’ this crime,
I was betrayed.

The betrayer betrayed. There it is

again, you see, the old double cross,

_ Is that the ambulance going out? Lis-
ten?..Yep, it is, Come on, son, we’d bet-
ter beat it down the hall and find out
from the desk sergeant what’s up,
——DICK HARRIS

TRUE DETECTIVE

and a\

connivi:
if it wi
Americ:
what t:
sponden
friends
can’t be
Nazis—t
tion for

WI Fo
birth
adopted
combed
them int:
I met
ship com
another
names—h
of New G
a transmi
This offic
Detroit
muscling
to change
man-Ame:
Columnist
for embez:
The Ge:
of Nazi ag:
steamship
said he wa

SEPTEMBER, |

have known the women would be
alone in the house. If he was just out
to rob, he could’ve picked out a score
of houses closed down for the sum-
mer. I’m convinced our man 1s laying
up someplace, right under our very
noses.”

A 2-mile circle was drawn around
the Logan home and teams of Pin-
nell’s detectives were given sections to
canvass. A door-to-door search was
launched to find local household em-
ployees, friends of employees, delivery
men, canvassers. Business establish-
ments in nearby towns were similar-
ly checked. Suspects were questioned
as to their whereabouts on the day of
the slaying, and their pictures were
taken and shown to the painter and
Jeanne. .

The plucky girl’s condition was still
critical and her doctors forbade de-
tectives from confronting her with
any suspects. Permission was granted,
however, for Jeanne to look at pic-
tures. She hesitated over some; others
she summarily rejected.

“P]] never forget that face,” she
said. “Show me the right picture and
I won’t make a mistake.”

On Wednesday, July 31st, exactly
one week after the murder almost to
the hour, Detective Michael O’Brien
went to a home on Flower Hill.
O’Brien explained that the police were
making a check of all employees in
the neighborhood in the investigation
of the Logan murder.

“But we don’t have a man em-
ployee,” the housewife said.

“We know that,” O’Brien said, “but
we’ve been trying to reach your fath-
er-in-law at his summer home to ask
him about his chauffeur. We weren’t
able to contact him, so we thought
you or your husband might be able to
help out.” ;

The woman’s father-in-law resided
in Greenbriar Lane, a half-mile from
the Logan home. On July 3rd, he’d
hired Ward Beecher Caraway, an
army veteran, to serve as chauffeur-
butler.

O’Brien read off the description of
the wanted man.

“That sounds a little like Caraway,”
the housewife mused. “But he’s not as
tall and he can’t be more than 21 or
22. And he’s certainly not bulgy-eyed,
no maniac. We’ve thought of him as
the perfect servant. He’s soft-spoken,
polite, well-mannered, knows his
place. He does his work quietly and
he’s never given any trouble. No
trouble, at all.”

“Do you know what he was doing
last Wednesday?”

“Last Wednesday?” She pursed her
lips. “That was the day of the mur-
der, wasn’t it? Yes, as a matter of fact,

-1 do know. I remember later that day

Caraway drove my father-in-law right
past the Logan home.”

The young society matron related
that Caraway drove his employer to
Flower Hill in the morning. They
picked up her husband, and went to
the Plandome station. Caraway
dropped off the two men and returned
to the Flower Hill home.

“That was about 9 in the morning,”
she said. “I don’t know what he did
during the morning. He was su posed
to be doing some work at the Green-
briar Lane house.”

“Was he alone?”

“Presumably.”

The woman said Caraway picked up
the two men about 5 p.m. at the Plan-
dome station on their return from
New York. The two men talked about
the Logan tragedy, about which they’d
read in the newspapers.

“Drive down Bonnie Heights Road,”
the older man casually instructed the
chauffeur.

“Yes, sir,” Caraway quietly said.

He had to drive very slowly. The
little road was filled with police cars,
reporters and neighbors. The “per-
fect servant” showed no emotion as he
was ordered to stop for a few minutes
as the men looked over the Logan es-
tate.

Detective O’Brien thanked the
housewife for her cooperation and
then sped to her relative’s home and
picked up Caraway.

“What’s this all about,” the chauf-
feur asked.

“Just a routine investigation,”
O’Brien said. “You don’t have any ob-
jections if we take a ride back to
Mineola, do you?”

“No, sir, not me.”

Pinnell questioned Caraway for
more than two hours. He asked Cara-
way whether he needed money,
whether he took dope. He asked about
other jobs, Caraway’s army career.
The answers seemed satisfactory and
straightforward. Caraway said he re-
mained at his employer’s home all day
Wednesday, sleeping part of the time,
working in the garage the remainder
of the time. He only left to pick up his
employer at the railroad station.

“Did anybody see you at home?”
Pinnell asked.

“No, I can’t remember anyone com-

What Romance Means
to Me—By LIBERACE ~

Plus
Special stories about
JANETTE DAVIS
JACK BENNY
SID CAESAR

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ing over. Everybody knew the family
was away for the summer.

“But I was there.”

Pinnell studied the chauffeur. He
was certainly much younger than the
man Jeanne described. He_ even
seemed shorter and thinner. Jeanne
had described the slayer as “bulgy-
eyed” with a husky, rumbling voice.
Caraway seemed sane enough, and his
voice was soft and somewhat high-
pitched.

But, the inspector mused, there’s al-
ways the unseen possibility. In his
experience he had had many occasions
when a witness, overcome by fear and
panic, inaccurately described an as-
sailant with whom he was actually
face to face. In any case, Caraway was
the first Flower Hill servant found
who came close to fitting the bill. Pin-
nell released the chauffeur, but or-
dered him kept under careful sur-
veillance.

Before he was dismissed, eight pic-
tures were taken of Caraway without
any objection on his part. One with a
hat on, one without; one wearing sun-
glasses, one without. And side views
and other poses.

The pictures were mixed with 50
others and shown to Jeanne.

Pinnell sat by the bed as_ the
wounded girl went through the pic-
tures, one by one. She passed by the
first one, the second, the third. The
fourth was one of Caraway.

“That’s him,” the girl stated. She
seemed astonished, as if she never
expected to see him again. “That’s
the man. I can’t forget those eyes.”

She went through the remainder
of the pictures, and unerringly and
without hesitation picked out each
one of Caraway—even the one with
sunglasses.

Jeanne’s doctors were consulted
and, because of the circumstances,
they permitted her to confront Car-
away. “But make it quick,” one of the
doctors cautioned.

At 7 p. M. the following day, Thurs-
day, Gulotta and Pinnell led the sus-
pecs into the small hospital room

lled with roses and gladioli.

“Stand up straight and look at Miss
Logan,” Gulotta ordered.

The wounded girl, who had_ looked
away when the chauffeur walked in
—as if to delay the painful meeting
one moment more—turned slowly and
stared at Caraway.

The suspect stared at her.

The room seemed to vibrate with
a dreadful silence as the eyes of the
society girl and the servant locked.

Then Gulotta said, “Now, Miss
Logan, do Na recognize this man?”

The girl, her head almost complete-
ly swathed in bandages, slowly turned
her eyes from Caraway. Her voice
was clear and steady, as it hadn’t been
since the murder. She said only one
word.

“Yes!”

Caraway was led out.

“You are quite certain he was the
murderer?” Gulotta asked Jeanne.

“There is no question about it,” she
said.

Caraway was questioned all night
but he didn’t break. He said he didn’t
kill Mrs. Logan, that he wasn’t near
the house. And that was that, as far
as Caraway was concerned.

“We'll take him to the Logan home
in the morning. Maybe that’ll do the
trick,” Pinnell told Gulotta.

Caraway, Pinnell and three detec-
tives were driving down Port Wash-

ington Boulevard, toward the Logan

mansic
asked
gun?”
O’B:
away’¢
he did

ooreo

mansion, when Detective O’Brien
asked him the question: ‘“Where’s the
gun?”

O’Brien waited for the answer Car-
away’d been giving all night: that
he didn’t have a gun. But this time the
suspect hesitated. Pinnell glanced at
O’Brien. Was this the break? Sud-
denly, Caraway slumped in his seat.
He sighed. Sweat formed on his fore-
head. He looked out the window.

“Turn right here,” he wearily said.

A left turn would have taken them
to the Logan home.

The right turn went into Country
Club Drive. Caraway called for an-
other turn into Hewlett Lane. Near
the intersection of Farm View Road,
the chauffeur said, “You can stop
here.”

For as far as the eye could see, there
were open fields of wild grass. In an-
other few days, police would have
reached the area in their search for
the gun.

Caraway now said he had dis-
mantled the gun in three parts, and
thrown each of the parts into the
fields as he sped along in his em-
ployer’s car.

Pinnell ordered a detective to go
to the nearest phone and summon
about 25 men to the scene.

Caraway stood to the side, head
bowed, hands in power as the men
waited. The search party soon arrived
and began the search. More than 25
minutes passed before a patrolman
found a rusted revolver barrel. Ten
minutes later, the stock of the mur-
der weapon was recovered. The cham-
ber couldn’t be located, but only the
barrel was necessary to prove whether
the three bullets were fired from
Caraway’s gun.

Gulotta held the two gun parts in
his hand. “You might as well tell
the rest of the story now,” he said
to Caraway.

“Well, you have it,” the chauffeur
said. “That is the gun I used to shoot
the lady.”

But he refused to say another word
about the case.

They went back to Mineola Head-
quarters, but it seemed Caraway
wouldn’t go any further in his state-
ment. Caraway hesitated just a brief
interval, then nodded his head. He
was ready to talk.

He said he was born in Charlotte,
North Carolina, where he attended
high school. He went into the army
and served two and a half years, one
year in Africa. He was arrested for
burglary in Durham, courtmartialed,
and served a year in the army stock-
ade in Fort Jackson, South Carolina.
In August, 1944, he was dishonorably
discharged. Caraway said he pur-
chased the gun in Trenton for $35
and kept it in a trunk. After driving
his employer to the station on the
day of the murder, he returned home
and got the gun. He said he drove
to Port Washington Boulevard, parked
the car and walked to the Logan
home.

“IT saw the woman in the living
room,” he said. “She got up and stood
before me in the middle of the living
room. I got the money and then I
shot her.”

He said there were only three bul-
lets in the gun. “I used them all.”

Caraway was found guilty of first-
degree murder and on July 3rd, 1947,
exactly one year after he was hired
as chauffeur, he went to his death
in the electric chair at Sing Sing
prison. THE END

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CARLTON, Henry, white, 27, hanzed New York City, December 6, 1939,

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CASALINO,MMichael, white, elec. NYSP lloQueens) MaY5, 1921 &
ZAMPELLI, JOSEPH, WHITE, elec. NYSP lloueens) February 19, 1923

FULL MOON rode over the vil- rec]
lage of South Ozone Park in the “y
Queens section of Long Island on wait
a clear, bitterly cold night in January. “G
James McInerney and his wife lay wikac
asleep in a second floor bedroom of Th
their frame house at 12 Leahy Ave- deel
nue. Sid
Suddenly McInerney sat bolt up- Sipe
right in bed. Someone was thumping hikes
on the front door. Hastily getting into Leahy
his robe and slippers, he went down- on: be
stairs and opened the door. Binie’
“Why, Joe!” he gasped. Lying on McIne,
the porch, his head raised in agony, Enh,
was Joseph Holbach, proprietor of a stairs
Z ; nearby café-dance resort, Holbach’s . me
Hal Helen
| “Jim, I’ve been shot. So has Mrs. wife of
| Holbach!” he gasped. “For God’s sake, her, M
get help quick!” dead
Then, rising to his knees, Holbach S harks:
handed McInerney a large roll of bills. ies oar
“Keep this for me.” 2 wa for
Placing an arm around Holbach’s a trolle
shoulders, McInerney helped him to ahd’ ox wd |

BY BARTON BLACK

Fithiuarg /GHF | | ae

bi Lire Ne

“Now I’m a dead man,” he gasped.
It was not a boastful criminal that

Readily, he con fessed to Fiaschetti. He
had made it a habit of hanging around a
Poolroom and saloon, frequented by gang-
Sters, at Flatbush and Vanderbilt avenues
in Brooklyn. He had wanted to be a big
shot. While working on the sewer con-
Struction, he had heard the Holbach's
lent money and kept considerable funds
at the roadhouse. He had told the mob
about it and they had seen a chance to
pulla job. Their Promises of easy money
had beguiled Casalino,

“Rocco Bracci knew the place,” the
Prisoner said. “He knew the Holbachs
when they had a place in Astoria,”

€ was in on the murder?” Fiaschetti °

asked.

"Ves?

“Rock—Rocco,” Fiaschetti murmured,
and then nodded decisively.

It had been six years since the Holbachs
had moved from Astoria to South Ozone
Park but obviously the elderly roadhouse
Proprietor had remembered Rocco Bracci
and had recognized him as one of the
holdup mob,

There was no other explanation for
his thick, faint mumbling of the word

with the beer on top of it, I was pretty

ward us to fill our glasses again, Zambelli
whispered, ‘Now’s the time,’ and we all
drew revolvers. They-had given me a gun
before we left Brooklyn, ,

“Stick ’em up,’ Zambelli cried, but Hol-
bach wouldn’t, fle started to fight, His

foot and I shot the old man, It was the
drink. I didn’t know what I was doing. .
I didn’t mean to kill him,”

Casalino finished his recital and turned
toward Fiaschetti. “Will you do me one
favor?” he Pleaded. “Will you take me
to Brooklyn and let me see my wife and
children before you book me?”

Fiaschetti, who could be as hard-boiled
as any copper, nodded his willingness,

With the information given by Casalino,
Ricco, Bracci, Bruno, Rialto and “Little
Joe” Zambelli were rounded up in Brook-
lyn, while Fiaschetti trailed Chiusano to

murder in the Queens county supreme
court, at Long Island City, in mid-June,
1919. He was speedily convicted and sen-
tenced to die in the electric chair. Jt was
the first, first-degree murder conviction

in Queens county in.22 years, but Queens ently. He refused t
county was to see a Score of Similar con- execution of the la
victions in the years to come, topped by In the death ho
‘the sensational Ruth Snyder-Judd Gray raged.

affair, “I ain't getting

Zambelli was likewise convicted and stormed, ‘

Sentenced to die. At his trial, as well as when I went d
the trials of the others, Casalino was for the state, I

w.
use, Michael Casalino

O interfere with the

rought down fro Sing Sing: and testi- helping the state and I am not getting it
fied for the state. ith the exception of Tam getting a tough deal instead,”
Bracci—the “Rock” of old John Holbach’s And then, an hour before he was to die,

last words—the Temaining killers drew he sat down and wr
sentences ranging from 16 years to life Father W. E. Cashin,
imprisonment, Bracci, who turned state’s chaplin, and Warden La

evidence, was’ freed, but his freedom was cell just before h

short-lived. Two days later his bullet execution chamber he h

riddled body was found dumped along to the priest,

the roadside not far from the scene of I want to be certain before I die that
the double murders of Holbach Hall. this is delivered,” he said.

ecause he had turned squealer, Father Cashin Promised he would mail
gengdom had given him a squealer’s it.
ate.

And then Casalino
Twice Governor Alfred E, Smith die. As he

and twice Governor Nathan I, Miller did physician, “G

District Attorney Dennis O'Leary, of called out, “Goodby,
ueens county, who had Prosecuted the Stant the cu
Holbach Hall Slayers, he journeyed to The following da
Albany to plead ‘with Governor Miller to reached Fiaschetti
commute Casalino’s sentence to life im- tective
Prisonment. Both men felt he deserved his wife and child
it for the aid he had given the State in brought back from
clearing up the crime, Fiaschetti’s efforts to
But’ Governor Miller thought differ- tion,

“I just found another body, Ig that a clue?”

was taken away to

f f 4 was strapped in the chair he
granted Casalino a respite from the chair, said to Dr, Amos G

. Squire, the Prison

L { 1 oodby, doctor. Give me your
the same. And then again Fiaschetti hand,” They shook hands.

stepped into the picture. Accompanied by ing around and facing the

Then, Swing-
witnesses, he
all.” The next in-

Trent was snapped on.

shall st
tion. 7
gasolin

callous
The
when
reache
Marsh
vacant
Day
cation
shirt a

Un
stripy
it up
who

recline on a couch in the living room.
“Til get a doctor,” he said, “You

_ wait here.”

“Get him for Hélen first!” Holbach
pleaded. —

Throwing an overcoat around his
shoulders, McInerney dashed outside
and down the street to Holbach’s cafe,
a converted, two-story white frame
house at Rockaway Boulevard and
Leahy Avenue. Lights were burning
on both floors, but the building was
deserted. The front door was ajar.
McInerney entered.

Lying on her back at the foot of the
stairs, a crimson stain spreading over
her sheer silk nightgown was Mrs.
Helen Holbach, 30-year-old blonde
wife of the proprietor. Bending over
her, McInerney saw that she was
dead

Starting for the telephone behind
the counter, McInerney suddenly saw
a uniformed policeman stepping off
a trolley car just outside. He ran out
and excitedly called the officer over.

He was Patrolman Clayton Palma-
tier of the 30th Precinct, Manhattan,
who lived next door to McInerney.

McInerney quickly told him what had

happened. Rushing inside the cafe,
Palmatier called Jarnaica police head-
quarters two miles away, and then

put in a call for an ambulance from .

St. Mary’s Hospital.

Meanwhile, McInerney ran to the
home of Dr. John Howard six blocks
away. Bending over the body of Mrs.
Holbach, Dr. Howard shook his head.

“Too late,” he said grimly, “She’s
been shot through the heart. Death
must have been instantaneous.
Where’s her husband?” :

“Over at my house,”’ replied Mc-
Inerney. ;

Patrolman Palmatier remained with
the body while Dr.. Howard and Mc-
Inerney hastened to the stricken Hol-
bach: They found him still lying on
the couch, groaning in intense pain.
Examining him carefully, Dr. Howard
found he had .been wounded twice;

in the jaw.

unmen fired and | felt the
bullets tearing into me."
(Photo specially pored by professional

Detective Michael Fiaschetti caught
one of the fugitives by steaming
open a letter he wrote to his wife.

"I saw red and punched him

Then the other

once in the abdomen, and once in his
right forearm. (

“The first wound is serious,” de-
clared the doctor, as he administered
a hypodermic to relieve the pain. “We
must get him to the hospital at once.”

At this moment the siren of the
ambulance howled down the street
and Mclnerriey ran outside to direct
it from the cafe to his house. While
Dr. Howard was supervising removal
of the wounded man, a squad car
arrived with Captain George Kauff
and Detectives Chris Mehling and
Patrick Kehoe.

Patrolman Palmatier made his re-
port. ‘
“Were there any witnesses?” Cap-
tain Kauff asked.

“Apparently not. McInerney tells
me Holbach crawled over to his house,

so he and Mrs. Holbach were probably .

Captain George H. Kauff directed the
chase which led through two states.

alone. They usually close the place
up about this time.” .

“{ want to talk with Holbach while
he’s still conscious,” declared Kauff.
“You men look around here and see
what you can dig up,” he ordered the
other detectives. “I’ll go down to the
hospital and join you later.”

$1,000 in the Icebox

Twenty minutes afterward in the
emergency ward of St. Mary’s Hos-
pital, Captain Kauff bent close over
the wounded proprietor to catch his
feeble words.

“There were four men,” Holbach
gasped. “They were Italians, all well-
dressed and between 25 and 30 years
old. One wore a derby. The others

- had black fedoras. I’d never'seen any

of them before... .”

His face contorted as pain racked
his body, and then relaxed when a
nurse administered another merciful
shot of morphine. Soon he continued:

aoe 3 i

hitch einem

“Tt had a lot of money at the place
tonight, almost $1,000 hidden in the
icebox. Maybe they knew I had the
money, although they didn’t know
just where it was. They ordered sev-
eral rounds of drinks and took a long
time downing them. It was getting
near 1 o'clock and all the other
patrons ‘had left. Helen had gone up-
stairs to our apartment and was get-
ting ready for bed.

“| walked over to their table and
told these men I wanted to close up.
One of them asked when the next
trolley would pass and I told him it
should be coming then. He went out-
side to see. The trolley came, but he
didn’t take it. He came back inside
and all four of them went into the
lavatory. A few minutes later they
came out, each holding a revolver.
‘Get ’em up!’ the leader ordered.

Detective Louis Dardis helped catch
the gang leader in New Haven, Conn.

“{ saw red and punched him in the

- jaw. Then the other gunmen fired

and I felt the bullets tearing into me.
Then Helen came screaming down-
stairs. I heard another shot and saw
her drop to the floor. Then every-
thing went black. When I came to my
serises they were gone, and Helen was
lying there. I got the money out of
the icebox and then I started for
help... .” 7

Holbach’s face contorted: again and
the doctor motioned Captain Kauff
aside, whispering, “I’m afraid to have
him talk any more. He’s in bad shape
and may live only a few hours.”

Kauff drove back to the cafe and
told the detectives what he had
learned from the victim. |

“What have you found here?” he
asked.

“Five bullets,’ Mehling replied,
holding out a handful of slugs. * “We
pried them out of the floor~-and the
wall. From size and weight, I'd say

that they were .38’s. Am I right?”

Kauff hefted one of the bullets.

“Right,” he agreed. “Anything
else?”

“Yes,” said Kehoe, producing a
black fedora. “One of the killers must
have dropped this hat.”

“Oh-oh,” Kauff exclaimed eagerly,
“this is a good clue. Let’s have a look
at it.” a

Examining the hat, he noted quickly
that it was size 6%, apparently new,
and that the crown bore the gilt label
of the dealer and the manufacturer.
There were no initials on the sweat-
band.

“We've got to see this fellow at

once,” Kauff said, pointing to the
name and address of a hatter on Lin-
den Boulevard in Brooklyn. “I’m go-
ing to see if I can find out where he
lives. If we wait until he opens his
shop in the morning, the guy who
owned this hat may have had time to
get out of town. You men try to
locate some of the customers who
were here late last night. Some of.
them might have seen the killers come
in, because Holbach told me they
were here for some time before the
crime.”
_ Dawn came as Captain Kauff tried
in vain to find the hatter’s residence.
It was not in the phone book and
none of the all-night diner men in the
vicinity knew it. Before returning to
Jamaica, he drove down to Brooklyn
headquarters to get aid in following
up this single clue.

"| Didn't Like Their Looks”

Meanwhile, in South Ozone Park,
Detectives Mehling and Kehoe had
learned from McInerney that a local
community. club had held a dance
that night in Holbach’s Hall, The
chairman of the event had been Miss
Lottie Guth of 68 Presberger Ave-
nue.

At Miss Guth’s home, they rang in-
sistently until she came to the door.
Apologizing for awakening her, they

_ asked if she had seen the four young
bandits who remained after the other
people had gone.

“Why, yes. They came in just be-
fore midnight and were still there
when the dance broke up about half-
past twelve. We had been dancing
in the hall at the rear. To get to it
we had to go through the little room
at the end of the barroom where they
were. I didn’t like their looks.”

“Would you recognize them again?”
Mehling asked.

“T certainly would!”

Three hours later, at 8:30 a.m. on
Monday, January 20, 1919, Captain
_Katiff was waiting at the door of the

Linden Boulevard hatshop with:

Brooklyn Detectives Michael Fia-

schetti and Louis Dardis when the!

proprietor arrived,

> Picture
_ Re

_ tectives showed th

But I don

Schetti, “we 4 '

f :
igi hours if you

Some °
were gue

to th
D etor,

a prhat's the man!
“Were his nam

Bes

ell find out!”

smell of putrefying flesh which was almost overpowering.
' The superintendent’s wife identified the dead womai. as
Mrs. Anna Gresh. A neighbor mentioned Terry. “There
was a woman truant officer here several: weeks ago, look-
ing for the girl,” she said.

None of the tenants seemed to know much about Anna
Gresh and nobody had heard screams or other sounds such
as might accompany a brutal murder. Searching care-
fully through the ljtter, the officers were unable to find
anything they could identify as the murder weapon.

“Where are her shoes. and purse?” Inspector Sheridan
asked. “It’s the first time I ever saw a woman dressed
for the street, with gloves and topcoat, but no shoes or
purse.” ae

A careful search of the apartment failed to produce

either. Despite the missing’ purse, Sheridan and Deputy ..

Inspector. John Bradt of the Second Detective District dis-
missed the idea of robbery.

“I won't buy a robbery motive for this one,” said Bradt,
‘who was substituting. for Deputy Inspector Joseph Mc-
Laughlin of the Fourth Detective District on his day off.
“She was killed for revenge. Most likely by a man
friend.” .

While officers counted the beer bottles—24 beneath the
tub and two in: the adjoining bedroom—Sheridan detailed

_ made of plaster of Paris.

detectives to find Terry and to learn’ what they could about
Mrs. Gresh—her friends, her living habits, her place of
employment and general background. Forty officers. were
assigned to the investigation.

“She must have liked company with her beer,” a labora-
tory man commented as he gathered up the empty bottles
for fingerprinting. ‘ .

Dr. Benjamin Vance, Acting Medical Examiner pending
the appointment of a successor to the retiring Dr. Thomas
Gonzales, gave his opinion that Anna Gresh’s shroud was

from her body.
The corpse was photographed in the tub,.then removed

Shrinking from photographers, teenager is escorted to police car by matron and detective after lengthy questioning

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her home. Terry told her that she couldn’t go home be-
cause her mother was entertaining boy friends in their
apartment, the woman said. :

“Terry used to'come to my house all upset and she’d
mope all the time she was there,” Mrs. Bellafonte said.
“She said she despised her mother’s boy ‘friends—‘jerks’
she called them—but I think she felt jealous and neg-
lected.”

She added, “I’m surprised they found Mrs. Gresh in the’

apartment. Because, when I last saw Terry several weeks
ago, she said her mother had left her and had gone to
Florida with a man named Mike.”

Terry and her mother had spent several months last

‘year, from April to September, in Miami with one of Mrs.

Gresh’s men friends, Mrs, Bellafonte explained. She did
not know if it had been Mike. She said she’d heard that
Terry, who was a schoolmate of her daughter’s, recently
had been committed to a children’s home somewhere.’
Police officials wondered when Anna Gresh had re-
turned fromi Florida, and whether incompatibility with
Mike had caused her murder, or if she had invited another
man up to the apartment. Maybe she had not left New
York at all. Every possible lead was explored, in the
quest for further information about the victim.
Lieutenant Charles Jones, commander of the 11th Pre-
cinct Detective Squad, learned that Terry had been taken
before the Children’s Court four days ago, on March 22nd.
Judge Patrick J. Fogarty had adjudged her a neglected
child and committed her to the Children’s Shelter at 2
East 104th Street. She was allowed to continue her reg-

ular classes at school, returning to sleep at the shelter,

The girl was now brought into Judge Fogarty’s com-
fortable chambers.in the presence of Bradt, Jones and De-
tective Charles Leonard of the 11th Squad: In an informal
atmosphere, designed to look as little like a courtroom as
Possible, they were allowed to talk to her briefly. Then
Father Ford of the Immaculate Conception Church in her
home parish told her as gently as he could of her mother’s
murder,

Terry collapsed with hysterics. “I’ll kill them!” she
screamed over and over. “Let me get my hands on the
dirty so-and-so’s who did this and I’ll kill them.” She was
led from the chambers, weeping uncontrollably.

Judge Fogarty told the police officers he: would sign a
court order on Saturday, per- (Continued on .page 70)

Scrubbed knife and hammer found in flat are identified
as weapons with which Mrs. Anna Gresh (above) was slain

“Billy change

d after he met
- Repeat oe ete :

ig:
r

a= sn wen

3
ide

0 ‘On her return-she moved in with the Sny-

Tub Murder

(Continued from page 15)

mitting them to question the girl when
she felt better.

For the present the officers had learned
only that Anna Gresh presumably had
planned to go to Miami. with a man named
Mike Gabbellini and that Terry had been
a school truant from the day her mother
left her, March 4th, till she was turned
over to the Children’s Court. Her com-
mitment papers to the Shelter had been
signed by Mrs. Ellen Marie Snyder of 346
East 18th Street. The Miami police were
requested to look for Mike Gabbellini.

Mrs. Snyder told Detectives Leonard
and Zubiaurri that Terry had been
brought to her home on March 14th by
her 17-year-old son, Billy Byers. Billy,
she said, now was at the Marine Corps
boot training camp, Parris Island, South
Carolina. He had enlisted on March 14th.

Billy had a crush on Terry, his mother
admitted. “He felt sorry for her and
thought: she needed my understanding
care,” she said. “So when she told me
about her mother running away, I took
her in.”

But Mrs. Snyder thought the couple too
young to be seriously in love and when
Billy enlisted at the Marine recruiting sta-
tion in Times Square for a four-year hitch,
she gladly signed the papers of consent.

The next day she shipped him off to an
aunt in Baltimore to stay till he left for
active duty on March 22nd. Theresa re-
mained with the Snyders till he left.
Then Mrs. Snyder turned her over to the
Children’s Court.

“Mys. Snyder,” Leonard said, “we're
here because we want to find out who
killed Mrs. Gresh, and why. We've got to
identify and locate her boy friends and
we're hoping that maybe Theresa unwit-
tingly gave you some information that
would provide a clue to the killer.”

Mrs. Snyder could recall nothing that
might provide a lead. She said that Terry
had seemed under some emotional strain
all the time she had been with her, but
she believed it due. to her mother’s aban-

- donment of her.

Police officials speculated on the possi-

bility that Theresa had killed her mother:

in a quarrel. However, the apparent lack
of motive, lack of evidence of a lethal
weapon in the flat, and doubt that the girl
alone could have lifted the 165-pound
woman into the tub made them discount
that possibility.

At 10 a.m. Saturday morning, Inspector
Sheridan received Dr. Vance’s report on
the autopsy. Removal of the plaster of
Paris from the body had revealed that
Mrs. Gresh had been stabbed 21 times
in the chest and abdomen with a knife.
The lacerations of the scalp were caused
by blows with a heavy blunt-edged weap-
on. It was estimated that she had been
dead approximately two weeks.

Judge Fogarty signed a court order re-

leasing Theresa to the police for question- °

ing and she was escorted to the station
house on Sheriff Street: She was quiet
and composed and carried schoolbooks un-
der her arm.

She spoke bitterly of her mother’s af-

_.¥ fairs with men, none of whom she could
“identify by more than his first name, ex-

‘cept for Mike Gabbellini. She admitted

‘that she and Billy Byers also were having
“a rather, hot love, affair. She said that on

‘March 6thg two days after her mother went

to Florida, she went to Paterson, New Jer-

sey,-and spentja week there with her aunt.

pion as werk

Billy in

ders, five blocks away from the Gresh
apartment.

The police theorized that Mrs. Gresh
had come back to the flat after Theresa
left it on the sixth, possibly with a boy
friend. She might have become conscience-
stricken at leaving her, daughter alone.
According to the estimate of the time of
death, Mrs. Gresh had not lived more than
a few. days after that.

Additional) mystery developed when
police learned at the shoe factory on Wil-
liam Street, where Mrs. Gresh worked
eight hours a day sewing bindings on in-
ner soles, that it was generally believed
she also held a night job as cleaning wom-
an in an office building.

Nobody knew the location of this sec-
ond job. And if she worked at two jobs
to support Theresa, nobody at the shoe
factory was aware of that. Mrs. Gresh
never had mentioned to them that she had
a daughter. She had left the shoe factory
without giving notice ‘and without col-
lecting her pay.

Her foreman said, “She was a good
worker, but she’d snap your head off if
you said anything personal. And she
never asked questions of others. She
dressed well but she wasn’t one to spit at
a dollar,” he added, “and I thought it was
funny that she left the job without notice
or calling back for her pay.”

To the police, Anna’s sudden leave-tak-
ing without getting her pay suggested that
she had been killed before she could go to
Florida. And the possibility that Mrs.
Gresh had held two jobs seemed contra-
dicted by a story Theresa had told her
teachers early in December, when she
borrowed some money from them. She
had said then that her mother was out of
work and that they were in desperate fi-
nancial straits.

Her teachers had tried to arrange part-
time work for the girl, they said. How-
ever, no job had materialized right away
and, since Theresa had not mentioned it
again, it was assumed that her mother had
obtained another job.

“She’s a wonderful girl,” one of her
teachers told Homicide Squad Detective
John Cicogna. ‘“She’s full of school spirit,
interested in her dressmaking and costume
design courses, peppy, but never fresh or
arrogant.” :

She scanned the girl’s personnel card.
“She ranks well in creativeness and man-
ual dexterity—two requisites for the trade
she’s learning,” the teacher said. “Her
Intelligence Quotient is 92, which is satis-
factory.”

“Did you ever meet her mother?” Ci-
cogna’ asked.

“No, we try to get acquainted with the
parents of all our students,” the teacher
said, “but Mrs. Gresh either was not in-
terested in her daughter’s activities, or was
too busy with her job.”

The teacher lowered her voice. ‘“Con-
fidentially, Terry told me and some of
her other teachers that her mother was
completely preoccupied with men—‘over-
sexed’ was the word the girl used. It
made her very unhappy at times and,
while she’s pretty normal, it comes as near
to being an emotional problem as she
has.”

Several classmates told the detective
that Terry had confided to them that she
was married. Recently she had been
sporting a ring set with small stones on
the fourth finger of her left hand. She
had said*that her man was about to enter
the service.

To pretty, 15-year-old Dorothea Went-
worth, who also attended Mabel Dean Bac-
on, Terry’s “man” could only mean Billy
Byers. :

“About two weeks ago I met) Terry and
a grocery store,” Dorothea told

gph Modi on Ape eee

2p te

the officers. “They invited me up to the
Gresh apartment, where Terry was cook-
ing supper for him. I went up. While
Billy was out of the room, Terry told me
that they were married.”

Though Dorothea could not recall the
exact date of her visit to the Gresh flat,
police. were certain it had been after
Theresa had returned from Paterson and
moved in with the Snyders, since Doro-
thea said she recalled a distinct odor in
the apartment at the time. She had not
given the odor any particular significance,
she said. Apparently Billy and Terry
hadn’t, either. Police wondered how of-
ten they had stayed there alone.

After Miami police reported they had
been unable to find anyone named Mike
Gabbellini, Inspector Sheridan and Deputy
Joe McLaughlin questioned the girl more
closely. Additional detectives combed the
East Side for further information about
the young lovers.

Mrs. Snyder admitted that a week of
Theresa had been about as much as she

and her husband could take. The girl’s

brazen attitude with boys had started the
neighborhood buzzing with gossip and the
Snyders gladly had turned her over to the
authorities.

Residents in the old neighborhood on
East 13th Street, where Theresa and her
mother had lived before going to Florida,
differed from her teachers in their opinion
of the girl.

“Lazy, stubborn, boy-crazy,” they char-
acterized her. “Mrs. Gresh was a won-
derful woman and she was a good moth-
er,” they declared. “But Terry wouldn’t
listen to her. She was always going out
with bad boys.”

“She was too fast for me,” one former

girl friend said. “She never lacked for’

nerve and she liked to go around with the
boys. I couldn’t keep up with her. I
didn’t want to try.”

Billy Byers, it was learned, had been a
confirmed truant from school. Although
enrolled in Stuyvesant High School for 18
months, he. had completed only one grade.
He had been transferred to a parochial
school in the winter of 1953 and his grades
and attendance had picked up until the
September term. Then they slumped
sharply again. He was dismissed from the
school in November.

Billy was described as a tall, well-built

youngster. Tests had revealed that he was.

above average in intelligence and capable
of making good grades when he applied
himself. He had been fond of sports and
other wholesome pursuits for young men.
But his mother and his boy friends said he
had changed after meeting Terry.

That Theresa and Billy had used Mrs.
Gresh’s apartment since the murder was
confirmed late Saturday afternoon when
police talked to Daisy Carrington.

Daisy is five years old and lives in the
apartment building. Police had questioned
her before. Now she recalled playing and
bouncing a ball against the stairs leading
up to the third floor one afternoon.

“The door to Terry’s apartment was
open,” Daisy said. “It smelled bad.. My
ball flew over the landing and rolled into
the apartment. I ran in to get it. There
were a lot of boys. and girls in there.
They were drinking out of big bottles. I
ran out right away.”

Daisy was sure that this had been last
Sunday. “I remember because I didn't
go to school that day,” she said. “I had
on my best dress.” J

That Sunday had been the 21st, the day
Billy Byers returned from Baltimore to
prepare to leave far Parris Island on Mon-
day.

The police now were sure that Terry and
Billy must have known then of the body
in the. kitchen tub. .

BR ants ene

ne up to the
‘y was cook-
t up. While
erry told me

ot recall the
e Gresh flat,
been after
Paterson and
since Doro-
inct odor in
She had not
significance,
and Terry
red how of-
one.
ed they had
named Mike
) and Deputy
he girl more
combed the
nation about

t a week of
much as she

The girl’s.

d started the
ossip and the
r over to the

hborhood on
resa and her
ig to Florida,
their opinion

.” they char-
was a won-
1 good moth-
try wouldn’t
ys going out

‘one former

ked for

with the
her. I

. had been a
1. Although
school for 18
ly one grade.
a parochial
nd his grades
up until the
ey slumped
ssed from the

all, well-built
d that he was
and capable
n he applied
of sports and
° young men.
‘iends said he
‘erry.
ad used Mrs.
murder was
ernoon when
ogton.
i lives in the
ad questioned
i playing and
stairs leading
noon.
artment was
led bad,. My
id rolled into
set it. There
rls in there.
rig bottles. I

“ad been last

‘use I didn't
said, “I had

21st, the day
Baltimore to
land on Mon-

hat Terry and
. of the body

Late on Saturday afternoon, the 26th,
detectives found a clerk in a neighboring
hardware store who remembered selling
five pounds of plaster of Paris to a young
man resembling Billy Byers.

At 10:30 that Saturday night, Assistant
District Attorney William H. Loguen of
the Homicide Bureau announced that after
13% hours of questioning, Theresa Gresh
had made a statement concerning the mur-
der of her mother.

Instead of being returned to the Chil-
dren’s Shelter for the night, Theresa was
lodged in St. Philomena’s Training School,
a branch of the House of Good Shepherd
in Brooklyn. The next morning, Detec-
tives Charles Leonard and Saul Fuchs of
Homicide caught the 7:20 plane from La
Guardia Field, bound for Parris Island.

Billy Byers, his hair cropped close in
Marine recruit fashion, was arrested while
waiting in the chow line for Sunday night
supper. With Fuchs and Leonard watch-
ing, Acting Provost Marshal Captain A.M.
Young asked him two questions:

“Do you know Theresa Gresh?” And,
“Can you account for your movements the
past two weeks?”

Byers laughed. “I guess you guys are
too smart for me,” he said.

And then he told them the story of the
murder.

He had met Terry at a dance on Febru-
ary 18th, he said. He had been attracted
by her curvaceous figure, her bleached
blond hair and her provocative style of
dancing. When she asked him to take her
home, he broke a date with another girl
to do so.

From that time on the romance had
flamed with mounting intensity, culminat-
ing in a bedroom of the Gresh apartment
whenever they were alone.

On the afternoon of March Ist, Mrs.
Gresh had come home unexpectedly and
caught them, Billy said. She forbade
Theresa ever to see him again, but her

‘prohibition merely fanned their ardor.

“If she ever breaks in on us again, Ill
knock her flat,” Billy told Terry later.

Mrs. Gresh caught them in the bedroom
again on March 4th. She ordered Billy
to leave the house.. He told the officers he
had jumped up from the bed, grabbed a
claw hammer and chased Terry’s mother
into the kitchen. He hit her and knocked
her to the floor. Nobody heard her
screams above the loud playing of the
radio. Then Byers went back to the bed-
room.

He told the officers that soon he and
Terry heard Mrs. Gresh moaning and
thrashing on the floor.

“Bring me that hammer—I’ll have to hit
her some more,” he said he told Terry.
But the sight of the bloody hammer was
too much for the girl. Instead, he said,
she handed him the bread knife.

Billy said he had stabbed Mrs. Gresh
“about three times,” although the autopsy
showed 21 wounds. They had “cleaned up
the mess” with old rags and newspapers,
he said. Then they took $13 from her
purse and threw the purse in the garbage
with her shoes. They hoisted the body
into the tub, put the blankets and lid on
and went back to bed.

Byers left Terry his mongrel dog for
company, and she stayed alone in the
apartment for ‘two nights, before going to
Paterson.

They had used the apartment, he said,
to make love and to throw parties for
their friends while both were staying with
his mother and later when he returned
from Baltimore.

“One night,” Billy chuckled, “one of the
kids asked me what was the smell in the
kitchen.

“I said, ‘Terry’s mother meddled with
us and I had to kill her.’ The kids thought

I was joking, but they stayed out of the
kitchen like I warned them.”

Byers said he had bought five pounds of
plaster at a hardware store the next day.
He mixed it with water and poured it over
the body. He said he thought the plaster
would stifle {-.e odor.

The youth laughed and joked while he
was being questioned. After signing a
written confession, he slept 12 hours in a
solitary confinement cell.

He had told the officers that he wanted
to hurry back to New York and marry
Terry, but his mood had changed by the
next morning and he refused to waive ex-
tradition. He lounged in his cell, reading
magazines. Captain Young said-he was
the most callous prisoner that he’d ever
handled.

Leonard and Fuchs flew back to New
York to prepare papers for extraditing
Byers. They had to be signed by the
Secretary of the Navy.

Theresa, after being questioned for five
hours on Monday in the office of District
Attorney Frank S. Hogan, was taken to
the scene of the murder. She grimaced
slightly as she identified the hammer and
the knife used to kill her mother. Tested
for bloodstains, they were found negative.

“We washed the blood off,” Terry ex-
plained.

She was arraigned on charges of first
degree murder in Felony Court on Wed-
nesday, March 31st. Composed and quiet,
she wore a gray coat, checkered skirt,
bobby socks and ballet slippers. She was
carrying a mystery noved entitled, “Stand
Up and Die.” She was remanded to Belle-
vue Hospital for psychiatric examination.

“IT can’t forgive Billy, even if he’s my
son,” Mrs. Snyder sobbed, mopping her
eyes with a handkerchief. “You can’t con-
done murder. I can’t forgive him, but Pll
stick by him.”

She added, “My intuition told me some-
thing was wrong. I was afraid Billy was
involved in something. Now it looks as
if my suspicions were right, but I pray to
God they’re not.”

She showed the officers a letter Billy
had mailed on the day of his arrest. In
it he asked her not to tell anyone where
he was. He referred to a “raw deal” Terry
had given him with another youth.

The letter revealed how lightly the
brutal murder weighed on his conscience.

Neighbors in Terry’s old block on 13th
Street greeted the news of her confession
with knowing nods.

“Mrs. Gresh was a fine, hard working
woman,” they all agreed, “but that girl
lied about her to everybody, blackening
her mother’s reputation with stories about
men. Everyone said Terry wouldn’t stop
at anything. Now she’s proved it.”

But the news was a demoralizing shock
to Theresa’s teachers. “If Terry Gresh is
guilty of murder, I’ll never trust another
person,” one said.

“She had us all completely fooled,” an-
other commented.

Her aunt in Paterson said she had acted
“completely normal” the week she stayed
there with her.

“She never said she hated her mother,”
Dorothea Wentworth said.

“She lived a life of lies,” said a neigh-
bor who knew her well. o¢o¢

Eprtor’s Note:

The names, Mike Gabbellini, Mrs.
Ralph Bellafonte, Dorothea Wentworth
and Daisy Carrington, as used in the
foregoing story, are not the real names
of the persons concerned. These per-
sons have been given fictitious names

to prot¢ct their identities.

—_

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scene he went to Hackensack and slept all
night at the gas station. Early the nest
morning he got a ride to New York, and
in the afternoon returned to Passaic to
the dentist. When he left, he felt uneasy
and decided to go to Philadelphia to hide
for a while.

Taking the train at Newark, he arrived
in Philadelphia in time to be turned away
by his cousin when he admitted that he
was a fugitive. Back to Hackensack he
went, where at every turn he was con-
fronted by a police guard. He soon re-
alized that it would be best for him to
surrender. as every avenue of escape had
been cut off.

“Why did you burn the body?” | asked
him when he had finished. “Wasn't it
enough that you used the knife?”

Canora’s lips parted in a wolfish grin,
and a look of animal cunning came into
his eves.

“If she was missing, everyone would
say | did something. wouldn’t they? But
without the body.” he waved his hands.
“What could they prove? Jt would be
hard to send me to the electric chair.”

GOMETHING sly and oily in Canora’s
manner didn't ring true. | could sense
that he had a trick up his sleeve, but
what it was | couldn't fathom. | was
amazed by his disarming frankness, and
wondered why he was being so glib and
helpful. and so willing to damn_ himself.

For the next few days we were busy
gathering up the loose ends of the case.

Canora waived extradition and 1 took him
over the ground in an effort to locate the
five-gallon can of gasoline which he

claimed he had thrown in the woods after
the burning. It could not be located, and,
convineed that he was lying, | told him so
point-blank. Reluctantly he admitted that
the can as hidden at the gas station.

When | found it, | looked at the base.
It was the same width as the circular
indentation in the siow, and Canora had
placed it on the ground before lighting the
fire that was to cremate his wife's body.
| made him repeat his story over and
over, but could find no flaws. Still there
was something baffling that 1 could not
put my unger on; something in Canora’s
manner which seemed to say “Do what
vou will. but [Il beat, you yet.”

it was about this time that a dramatic
interview took place between Canora and
his daughter. She was the only one of
the family to show any interest in the
man. and one evening she visited him in
his cell at the county jail at New City.

Canora greeted her pleasantly enough,
but soon launched into a tirade of abuse
against his dead wife and accused her of
having an affair with his daughter's hus-
band. The girl stared at him, horror-
stricken. When he finally stopped, her
eves were dark with sorrow.

“She was only a stepmother to me.” said
the girl slowly. “But she was a good
mother. | am sure that | loved you both.
Now she is dead and you are alive, but
the law will take its course. and may God
have merey on your soul.”

Without further word, she turned to
go. Canora stared at her retreating figure.

From that time on he never saw his
daughter. His family shunned him as if

he were further removed than a dead
man.

It was shortly after this, with the case
against Canora practically completed, that
} was conferring with the District Attor-
nev in his office. My eve happened sto fall
on the three-inch bone-handled — knife,
tagged and ranged with the other exhibits
in the case. Casually I picked it up,
opened the blade and looked at it. | ran
the edge along my thumb and frowned.

“What's the matter?” asked Stebbins.

Master Detective

1 turned the blade over in my hand.

“1 don’t know yet.” | replied. “But I'd
like to borrow this for a while.” ;

“HIE trust you with it,” said the District
Attorney. .

That same day, | tagk the knife to a
laboratory in. New York City and asked
that it be analyzed for human_ blood-
stains. A thorough test was made and
the report came back—negative reactions
to every known test for human blood!

“1 can't understand it,” said the District
Attorney when | informed him of the re-
sults. “Canora surrendered it right away
and claimed it was the one he used.”

“The blade is too dull.” I said. “He
could never have cut the woman’s throat
with this. But | think | know why, he
wanted us to believe that he did. He is a
smarter man than you and | have re-
alized. He used to work around a court-
house in New Jersey and he knows a lot
about criminal procedure. He knows
where the real knife is and when we go
to trial with this as evidence, all he has to
do is to uncover the other one, and then
how will the case look? Ile can accuse us
of planting evidence, and can claim with
apparent justification that his confession
was extracted from him by force. and is
false throughout. That is why he has
been so agreeable in telling us everything
we want to know. He is hoping that we
will believe everything he says and over-
look the fact that he has planted a fake
knife in the case.”

“What are you going to do?” asked the
District Attorney.

“Find the real murder weapon.” I re-
plied. “And Mr. Canora is going to tell
me all about it.”

It was not going to be an easy job. but
1 felt that in a battle of wits, the silver-
haired killer was going to come out the
loser. When | went to see him in his cell
he greeted me aflably enough, but as usual
with the suspicion of a confident smirk
in his manner. 1, too, was affable as |
began to talk to him.

“Now, Frank,” | said as I offered him
a cigarette. “You lied to me about the
five-gallon can, didn’t your”

“That's right,” he admitted, flashing a
sly grin.

“Now look at me while I talk.” | went
on. “You admit that you committed the
crime and felt that you were justified in
what you did. Personally | don’t see why
you lied about the can. If you are deny-
ing one thing and admit the rest, you place
me in a position where | have to contra-
dict you.”

Al this point | took the pocket-knife
in my hand, and held it out on my
palm. I looked at Canora and smiled
pleasantly.

“You say you killed your wife with this
knife?”

There was something in my tone that
made Canora stare at me. He shied away
from the question. “Didn't | tell you
enough?” he muttered. “Why bother me
so much?”

1 smiled again. “Is this the knife?”

His face was cautious and cunning as
he looked at me sidewise from lowered
lids.

“Did you
asked slowly.

1 saw him fall into the trap and laughed
to myself. Grudgingly | admitted that |
had found the other weapon.

“Now let’s see if you are able to tell the
truth,” [ said. “Tell me how long the
knife is.”

Canora’s thick fingers indicated a length
of ten inches.

“Ts it a pocket clasp or straight blade?”

“Long blade.”

“Pointed or flat?”

find the other knife?” he

“Pointed.”

“And what kind of handle?”

“Red handle.”

“And where did you have it before you
used itr”

“In my pocket.”

A. long knife in his pocket—here was
perfect evidence of premeditation.

But | wasn't through. | wanted Canora
to find the knife for me.

“And what did you do with the knife

afterward? Did you throw it away up
there?”
“You know,” said Canora easily. “You

have it.”

He was still playing cagey, but | decided
to take him up to Spook Rock and make
another search of the ground.

Due to the fact that snow had been
falling intermittently for almost a week
we had to wait until the ground cleared
before we could start. On February 8th.
a clear, sparkling day, we went with Frank
Canora and stood beneath the brooding
shadow of Spook Rock.

| handed the man a twig.

“Make believe this is the knife.” 1 told
him. “Go through the motions and show
us how vou threw it away.”

ALF-HEARTEDLY, Canora took the

twig, walked to the base of the rock
and made a slashing motion through the
air. Then he walked a few paces to the
south side, and with a back-hand flip sent
the twig sailing across the field. It landed
in the brush one hundred feet away.

Using the rock for a center. | measured
off a radius of one hundred and twenty-
five feet. :

“Circle around this and work inward
toward the rock.” | said to the officers
who had accompanied me on the trip.

Slowly the men circled. and with each
complete trip they moved inward, Crack-
ling through the brush and stamping over
the soggy ground, they were indeed cover-
ing every inch of the surface. It was
Deputy Gleason who was the first to halt.
He stopped forty-five feet away from the
rock and motioned to me.

With Canora | went to his side.

“Do you something, Frank?” he
asked, pointing to the ground.

“Ves.’ said the prisoner.

“What is itr’

“It’s the knife,” said Canora wearily,
as he saw his trick fail.

1 picked up the wicked, glinting steel.
The ten-inch blade was razor sharp. As
| wrapped it in newspaper | breathed a
sigh of relief, Canora’s shrewd scheme of
planting a false murder weapon might
ave been disastrous if | had not played
my hunch. /

After that the case was practically com-
pleted, and in June of 1933. the silver-
aired murderer was brought to trial.
District Attorney Harry Stebbins handled
the State’s case with great skill, and the
defense was reduced to an attempt to show
that Canora was temporarily insane. On
June 29th, the case was given to the jury.
The verdict was guilty of murder in the
first degree. and spelled the chair for the
Spook Rock killer.

Taken to the death house of Sing Sing
Prison. Canora was left alone and_friend-
less. For a year no one visited him. nor
did he receive any sign that he was still
remembered in the world outside. As the
time for his execution drew near. his utter
loneliness seemed to press upon him. His
face was ashen and gaunt.

“! am alone; | am desolate,” he whis-
pered as the prison chaplain and two
suards came to his cell on the night of
taly 13th, 1934. Head bent. feet shuffling,
he. walked the dread path beneath the
harsh lights. past the little green door
from which there is no return.

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a sister in Lodi.

To the police authorities at each of these
points | sent telegrams requesting that the
houses be covered and a watch set for
Canora. | also wired the Hackensack
police, asking them to cover the gas sta-
tion. Sooner or later, | thought, he would
fall into the trap, for without underworld
connections, he would be driven by neces-
sity to communicate with his relatives.

There was only one thing more needed
to clinch the identification of the dead
woman, and that was to trace the bridge-
work of the upper jaw.

“Do you know your mother's dentist?”
1 asked the boys.

They nodded. “Doctor Joseph Torrey,
23 Broadway, Passaic.”

“We'll pay him a visit.” 1 announced.

While Chief Witty and the boys re-
turned to Lodi, | went to Passaic to in-
terview the dentist. 1 found him in his
office and he seemed startled when | asked
him whether he had the charts on Mrs.
Canora’s dental work.

“Something happen to her?’

“She's been murdered,” | replied grim-

y. : ;
“Good Lord!” exclaimed the dentist.
“Canora didn’t say a thing about it.

“QANORA!” I shot at him. “When did
you see him?”

“He was here an hour ago. I finished
some bridgework for him, but it didn't
fit. He left without it and said that he
would be back.”

This was astounding news, and some-
how | felt empty-handed as | looked
around the office.

“If he does return.” I said, “he'll find a
surprise in store for him.”

The fact that Canora had slipped
through our fingers spurred everyone to
a fever of activity. A detective from the
Passaic Police Department was — sta-
tioned in the dentist’s office to seize the
suspect in the event of his return. Then
1 went to Hackensack to check what had
occurred at the gas station.

| found the dump truck, which had
given us such important clues. parked be-
hind the station office. From one of the
helpers | learned that Canora had brought
it back the previous day, and had spent
the night at the station. Early in the
morning he left and no one knew where
he had gone. Was he still in the vicinity,
circling around for an opportunity to get
in touch with his family?

At every place where we thought he
might appear, unseen eyes were trained
like hawks upon the street, and hands of
cunning were ready to deal with Mr.
Canora in any way he might choose.

With these lines of contact established
and ready for any eventuality, | went, to
Police Headquarters and searched the files
for Canora’s record. { found that Lena
Canora had been his third wife, the other
two having died natural deaths. and that
his daughter, Isabella, was a child by his
second wife. Listed against him were ar-
rests in New York City for assaulting a
man with a lead pipe. and another in
Hackensack for attacking a man with
an axe. On both of these charges he had
received suspended sentences. | realized,
then, that we would have no easy man to
deal with. If he was well provided with
money, he could easily hide somewhere and
we would be in for a long siege. But if he
was attempting to contact his relatives for
assistance and support, the next twenty-
four hours would bring results.

All that day and most of the evening we
waited for word. None came. The next
day, January 28th, 1933, | was again at
District Attorney Stebbins’ office, planning
for alternate steps in the event that our
trap should fail to spring. But, unknown

Master Detective
to me at the time, an unexpected drama
was being enacted.

It was a gray day, foggy and raw with
cold. Out of the mist that wreathed the
street leading to Hackensack Police Head-
quarters, loomed the stocky figure of a
man, cap pulled low over his face; one
hand, chilled blue, gripping the collar
of his overcoat at the throat.

When he came to the steps at Head-
quarters. he stared for a long time at the
entrance. Then, hunching his shoulders,
he walked quickly to the door. Once in-
side, he took off his cap, exposing a shock
of silver-white hair. The Sergeant on the
desk shot a keen look at him. The man
coughed apologetically.

“I’m Canora,” he announced in a whis-
per of a voice.

The Sergeant stared. The man put his
hand in his pocket and withdrew a_bone-
handled pocket-knife. He placed it be-
fore the Sergeant and said: “There's the
knife | killed my wife with.”

His eyes were dark and unsmiling as
Detectives Nathan A. Allan and Walter
G. Frazier rushed from the squad room to
seize him. When he had been handcuffed,
the officers called me on the telephone at
New City to give me the news.

“Hold on to him,” | said. “Il be
right over.”

It was an hour’s ride to Hackensack,
and when I arrived | found Canora seated
calmly in the squad room. He was a man
of striking appearance, with a huge head
of silvery hair, iron-gray mustache, and
flashing black eyes. As I looked close, |
saw wispy traces of singed hair on the left
side of his face.

When he spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“Yes, | finished her, and I’m not sorry.
I’d do it again.”

“Why?” | asked him.

“Because she was unfaithful.”

1 looked at Canora searchingly. His
eyes were unfathomable, and his face was
set in a hard line. To me his statement
sounded like sheer madness, and with a
shock | remembered that his police record
had indicated that his previous assault
charges had resulted from his belief that
the men in question were paying too much
attention to his wife. I recalled photo-
graphs of the slain woman and the long-
suffering patience written on her kindly
features. [ found it impossible to believe
Canora’s assertion.

“MPHAT'S ridiculous,” | told him. “Your
wife was a good woman whom you
ground under your foot whenever you
pleased. Can you name one specific in-
stance when she was unfaithful to you?”
Canora lowered his eyes. “It must be
so.” he insisted. “She admitted it to me.”
“Did she actually tell you that? Look
at me when vou talk, and answer my ques-
tion.”

Canora shrugged and looked away. He
mumbled something which | did not hear.
| did not press him on the point, but went
on to glean from him the story of the
events leading up to and subsequent to
the crime.

He told how he had gone to the house
for his wife and asked her to go out for
a ride with him to talk things over. He
claimed that the truck stalled in the mud
near Spook Rock and that they had an
argument. In some way he had induced
his wife to go up to the. rock with him,
and once there he had “Mrned upon her
and cut her throat. Then he went to the
truck, took a five-gallon can of gasoline
and ignited the body. So sudden was the
ensuing blaze that Canora had_ been
singed and almost burned to death himself.

Coming back to the road he found
that he could not start the truck, and
summoned assistance. When he left the

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“It escaped burning,” explained the
Coroner, “because it was underneath the
body and the flames could not reach it.”

I fingered the worn cloth with its prayer
of hope. and looked at the golden rings,
so thin that they seemed to bend under
the slightest pressure. | knew then that
the newspaper boys had. gone off on the
wrong track. The victim of the crime
was probably middle-aged, but who she
was and why she had been so brutally
murdered, remained as much a mystery as
ever.

In the hope that the locket might con-
tain a picture, or some clue to the woman's
identity. | opened it, but there was noth-
ing inside. | recalled then that Fredericks
had reported seeing the name Lodi printed
on the truck. | determined to make the
most of this information, and telephoned
Chief of Police Henry R. Witty of Lodi
township, New Jersey, whom | had known
for many vears.

“THs is De Martini,” I told him. “I’d
like to get a line on the owner of a
Model-T, open body, dump truck. There
will probably be quite a few, but if you
can get up a list of those who run such
trucks. | would appreciate it. Also let me
know if any missing persons reports come
in on a middle-aged woman, probably an
Italian.”

“I'll be glad to check for you,” replied
the Chief, “and I'll call you in the morn-
ing either way.” :

Vith this attended to, | went out to dis-
illusion the reporters. With the debutante
angle dispelled, they saw no story. But |
was looking at the matter in a different
light. The brutal murder of the defense-
less woman had keyed me up to spare no
effort in seeing that justice triumphed, and
that as quickly as possible. While the
Coroner was cleaning up the last bit of
the examination, Sheriff Farley entered
the room. By the look on his face
could see that he had news for us.

“t found the young fellow we've been
looking for. He's outside now, and |

guess you'll want to have a talk with him.”

“Where did vou find him?” | asked.

The Sheriff smiled. “When | got back
to Mount Ivy | went to the house where
the first call about the crime was made.
The woman there told me that this fel-
low had been the one to put the call
through. His name is George Pitt and he
lives in the vicinity of Spook Rock. For
some reason he didn’t wait around to tell
us what he knew.”

1 hurried outside to see Pitt. A young
man in his twenties, he wore a plaid lum-
ber-jacket, cloth cap and corduroy trou-
sers. He said that he was a trapper and
had been out on the State road, pre-
paratory to making the rounds of his trap-
line, when he noticed an elderly man run-
ning toward him.

“His hair was silver white, and his face
and eyebrows seemed singed. He spoke
very quickly with an Italian accent, and
asked me to help him get his truck out
of the mud. | looked at the wheel, and
broke off some branches from a sapling
to put underneath. But, it wouldn't grip,
it Just kept spinning loosely. We stood
around wondering what to do next when
a truck came up the road and we stopped
it. A fellow named Fredericks ran it.

“We fastened a rope to his axle and got

the Ford out of the rut.”

“Then what did you do?”

“About ten minutes later | went into
the woods and looked after my traps.

Master Detective

The Burning Woman
(Continued from page 48)

Coming back | passed Spook Rock and
saw smoke rising over te top. Still I
didn’t think anything of it, and went home
for lunch. After lunch I came back along
the road, and when | saw the footprints
of a man and a woman leading to the
rock, | decided to investigate. When |
saw what was there, | telephoned the au-
thorities and left to pick up some traps.”
Pitt went on to say that he saw the
lettering on the side of the truck and noted
the initial “C”’ followed by some other
letters which he could not remember. We
called Fredericks in, and he quickly iden-
tified Pitt as the young man by the truck.
It was apparent that Pitt's story was a
straightforward one and that he was in
no way guiltily involved in the case.
“But you should always remain on the
spot until the police answer your call,” |
cautioned him. “You know, for a while
you looked like a suspect in this thing, and

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it might have been pretty awkward if you
did not show up.”

“Tl realize that now,” said the youth,
“but | hope that | never find anything like
that in the woods again.” His face paled
as he recalled the sight that had met his
eves.

“We may need you later as a witness,”
| told him. “Now you can go back home
and get some sleep.”

After Pitt left, District Attorney Steb-
bins, Sheriff Farley, Chief Stern, Assistant
District Attorney Frederick Engels, and |
conferred. As we went over the details
of the case, it soon became apparent that
we would have to look to Lodi, New
Jersey, for the next developments.

“When Witty calls in the morning, we'll
know where we stand,” | said as the group
broke up.

At nine o'clock the next morning we
gathered again in Stebbins’ office. Every-
one was tense and expectant, and we
jumped each time the telephone rang,
only to relapse into watchful waiting
while the District Attorney disposed of
minor local matters. Finally a call came
through—it was Lodi on the wire. | an-
swered it, and heard Chief Witty’s robust
Voice.

“I've got something for you,” he said.
“There are two boys in my office now who
report their mother missing. Her name is
Lena Canora, 207 Church Street. She has
been missing since eight o'clock yesterday
morning when she left the house.”

“Was she seen with anybody?”

“Yes, her husband, Frank Canora.”

“Does he own a Model-T dump truck?”

There was a pause and | heard Chief

Witty’s voice fade as he turned away from
the telephone to repeat my question to
his informants. | took advantage of the

interval to nod to Stebbins. “It looks
good,” | said, covering | the mouthpiece
with one hand. “The initial letter is ‘C

the same as Pitt reported.”

Every eye in the room was fastened on
me as | waited for Witty’s answer.

“Yes,” he suddenly replied. “He has a
truck like that.”

“Fine!” | exclaimed. “Bring the boys
over to New City to look at some jewelry
and clothing that we have.

“And by the way,” | added. disguising
the excitement in my voice, “bring the
husband along, too.”

1 did not intend to disclose my hand if
1 could help it, and | reasoned that il
Witty found the man and brought him
to us, it would be an easy way of taking
him into custody and thus avoid extradi-
tion from New Jersey, should he prove
to be the suspect we were seeking.

“Il see what | can do,” promised the
Chief.

But Frank Canora, who lived in Lodi.
and who operated a gas station at Summit
Avenue, Hackensack, was nowhere to be
found,

Hence, when Chief Witty arrived, he
brought with him only the two Canora
boys, Joseph, nineteen, and Vincent, twen-
ty-two, Grave-faced, with solemn, fright-
ened eyes, they looked at the array ot
jewelry, the rings, locket and chain.

“They're mother’s,” said Vincent, clear-
ing his throat.

Then he went on to describe the cloth-
ing the woman wore when he had last seen
her—a woolen skating cap, a yellow dress
two pairs of stockings, and a fur-piece.
There seemed no doubt but that the corpse
at Spook Rock was now identified. But
why had the woman been killed, and by
whom? Joseph bit his lips when | pressed
the brothers on this point.

“MPHERE was trouble at home. Father

kept mother in a terrible condition
He was miserly with money and_ she
couldn't get enough for food. They had
agreed to separate for a while, but yester-
day father came over and said that he was
sorry and asked for a chance to start life
over again. He asked her to go with him
to buy some furniture, and when she left
the house she seemed very happy. It was
the first time she had smiled in months.”

“He killed her, I’m sure,” said Vincent
bitterly. “He threatened it for a long
time,

“When was this?” | asked him.

As the boy related the story of how his
father had turned upon the woman at
whose devotion he had laughed. and how
he had answered her pleas for kindness
and consideration by tirades of abuse, hot
waves of anger mounted in everyone who
listened. After one particularly violent
quarrel, the despairing woman had gone to
the police, and as a result Canora had been
arrested on an assault and battery charge
and fined thirty dollars. When | heard
Canora’s enraged threat to his wife, |
longed to meet him face to face.

“You'll pay me back for the thirty dol-
lars,” he had told her. “I'll stab you thirty
times for doing such a thing to me.”

“It looks as though he has done worse
thaa that,” | told the boys when they
finished their story. “You had_ better
give me a list of your relatives so we can
set a trap for him.”

They gave me the names of a cousin
in Philadelphia. one in Poughkeepsie, and

April, 193

a sis
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Canora.
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it Against the Men

d of Treason Plot ©
Nolle Prossed

aristian Front’ indict-

: W. Byers.
® ' acquitted, another com-
cide during the trial, and

23 against two were dis-

ring the trial.

tion on the case, which

_ repeatedly postponed
ry disagreed on the guilt
e defendants, took little
esterday’s hearing. As-
nited States Attorney T.
Quinn: told Judge Byers
mment ..wanted to nolle
indictment and the court
assent. ;

mdants who were released
ptain John T. Prout Jr.,
old,’ 20-54 Thirty-second
storia, Queens, charged

piracy to seize. the prop-
he’ government, who was
n a New York National

urt martial in November;

Viebrock, 36, 663 Jefferson
Brooklyn, charged with

\-y to overthrow the govern-
|G. conspiracy to. seize its
William H. D. Bushnell
797 Franklin Avenue,

, charged with conspiracy
throw the. government;
Boettger, 33, of 29 Haw-
‘treet, Brooklyn, charged
ispiracy to overthrow the
ent and conspiracy to seize
arty, and William Gerald
40, formerly of 126 East
_ xth Street, Manhattan,
~ with conspiracy to over-
he government and con-

to seize its property.

was taken into custody by
tion inspectors and is ex-
> face deportatioi: proceed-
febrock later in the day

on ‘Jan. 13, a pistol for
e had no permit was found

ome.

States Attorney Harold M.
y declined to comment on
jeral Government’s action.
dealy, who represented four
nts in yesterday’s action,
ed pleasure at the ending of
se and said the prosecu-
a been “fair and consid-
in its dealings with the in-

nen, ,
j

1 Fatally Stricken at Movie
Josephine Berger of 983
enue died last night after
i become ill while attending
yn picture show at the Globe
2, Broadway ana Sorty-sixcis
Mrs. “Setger;, who | was

10 years old, apparéntly had
d a heart attack, a doctor |p’
tamined her said. She was
ed by Arthur Arnoff of the
Avenue address, her qrand-

This ad cost $2.58

dered—that is, as we 1
service. the ‘lemands grew. With

library was retarded because your
q- | budget committee was compelled to
make its allowance nearly $45,000
less than the budgetary requests.

stack space. f
on which’an addition for such might
be built. Plans are drawn not only
for increase in the space required
to house our books but also for
such rehabilitation of our present

available space as
meet the tremendous increase in
the demands which have been made
on the library in recent years.”
Committee Is Appointed

A committee of Academy Fellows,
under the chairmanship of Dr. Har-
old R. Mixsell, Dr. Goodridge an-
nounced, has been formed to raise
the necessary funds ‘‘to pe’
to go forward

the aid of the foundations we have

come this far.
Departments Short-

Foley Says He Has Cleared
Murder in 1939 of Music
’ Publisher in Bronx

been ordered :
Buchalter to kill a witness of Dis-
trict Attorney Dewey, Mr. Foley
said, Buchalter is serving a four-
teen-year term in & Federal prison
on a narcotic charge.

Mr. Foley: said the three men
were central figures in the shoot-
ing, but he refused to divulge the
names of two of the men because
they are not.in custody. However,
he did name Louis Capone, 42

14 ‘Brocklyn racketeer, who
at present is being held in $100,000
bail in Brooklyn as a material wit
Attorney O’Dwyer.
ng to the Bronx
was liaison man
who ordered the

;

i
if

Fy
H

will permit us to

{
li
f
t

)

i
z

|
[

i
|

and later to add to
academy endowment.’’ A lay cotin-
cil, or advisory committee, has been
formed as a permanent feature of
the academy organization and “‘is
rendering inestimable

terms of helpful advice,’
“Perhaps many of you do not yet
know,”’ Dr; Goodridge| said, “that
a deficit of some $18,000 for the
year ending Dec. 31, 1939, to which
I called attention’a year ago, waS

met through the generosity of Mr.
Baruch.” i

i
l

ness by District
Capone, accordi
district attorney,
between Lepke,
execution of Philip Or!
a Brooklyn mob chi
supplied the gunman.

Mr, Foley said. Orlovsky
to have given evidence
e to District Attorney
tter’s investigation
g in the clothing

rst time,” Mr.
investigation of
have a clear

i
att
ty

i
i
i
it

i
;

against Lepk
Dewey in the la
into racketeerin

stry
“Now for the fi
Foley said, “‘in our
the Penn murder we
picture of the entir
He indicated also
to be able to ask for
ments of others related

execution of Orlovsky
and the job was bungled,”

to the attitude’ of the
murder gang, Mr. Foley
laid their present predica-
Penn killing. Members
of the rival gangs who pa:
in the killing are blamin
other for the bad job they di
Mr. Foley revealed that the

r would hear evidence from
three men today. They are Joseph
Piltch, who ran the dice
the Brooklyn gang and is
as a material witness by
Abe Reles, who is under i
for murder in Brooklyn,
bert Tannenbaum, a Lepke
man, who is being held as a mate-
rial witness by Mr. O’

Mr. Foley revealed
killers spent one day
planning the murde
None. of the men
money for the shootin:
said they were ordered
chieftain to co

bey

phoned the
about 1:30. P. M.
repairs for a tenant, but

that he hoped
murder indict-

i a

il
i

‘|
;
|

g
&

detectives,
doubted robbery was
the attack as Mrs. Wi
book was untou~hed
her gold wedding ring
her finger and her rent
books contained no stubs showing
"ied om

assigned twenty-five
detectives to.the investigation.

og
$
q
af
a
z

|
|

;

wf
Fy

January dates.

[

Ses

H
att

Discussing the work of the Blood

Betterment Associa-

tion, under the auspices -of the j

which is now cooperating

New York Chap’
Cross -.

IF
ik

RS
Z
a

giraF
:

the association
‘aying the foundation for
plasma in our own

revealed that

|
|

the use of blood

ght. four detectives
ved

in the Bronx
of Orlovsky.
‘received. any
g. Mr. Foley

t the crime. To ae
i * 0 Association for Improving the
Condition of the Poor and the Chertty

Cae

4. MILLION ROAD TOLLS PAID
Collection Began on
County Parkway jn March 13

New ‘forx Truss,
Wi, Jaa
passed |

“to have re-
man slightly.

| SIFT COAL FOR DYNAMITE

PIC SOCIETING:

“i

Four million cars have

INGLISH BULLDOG puppies, sperys et
stock at bargain prices; closing of
1218 Knicke

ow Kennels.
damaroneck.

Police Order: Work After: Barge
Captain Sees ‘Red Cylinder’
While Inspector F. H. Bullitt of

through the toll gates of the Cross
County Parkway at

the: Fire Department’s bureau of
combustibles watched garefully and
a police launch stood by,

ter County Park Commission, an-
nounced ‘today. The collection of
fees on other Wesatches

s
s.

. eaeceu

Along the Bonnie Heights road, near the scene of the murder, Nassau County detectives
use mine detectors in an effort to locate the revolver which the killer had discarded

danger when a large, black sedan rolled
to a stop off the public road several hun-
dred feet away from the shaded entrance
to the Logan property. The driver turned:
off the ignition and sat for a while, listen-
ing. Then he left the car and disappeared
into the wooded area at the outskirts of
the estate. . :

A few moments later he reappeared at
‘the edge of the. clearing and stopped to
listen again, his strange, intense eyes
taking in every detail of the lawn leading
up to the silent house. .

, There was no dog to attack the intruder .

or to warn the unsuspecting women.
There was no gardener or other servant
at work on: the grounds. The nearest
house was nearly a quarter of a mile
away. The public road behind him was
silent. :

The man moved’ swiftly across the
lawn, leaving no footprints. on the dry
summer grass. At the door to the living-
room he paused. His right hand moved to
his hip pocket and when it came forward
again it held‘a nickel-plated gun. ‘With
his left hand he opened the screen door
and entered. :

MARJoRY JEANNE LOGAN had nearly

“* dozed off when she heard her mother
call to her. :

“Jeanne.”

“Yes, mother,” she answered, and rose
sleepily from the bed. She went to the
head of the stairs. ’ ;

“Throw me-down ten dollars,” Mrs.
Logan said: “There’s a young man here
and I owe him money. You'll find it in
my green purse.”

Miss Logan went down the hall to her
mother’s room, found the green purse
and took a five-dollar bill and five one-
dollar bills from it. She returned to the

head of the stairs, folding. the bills to-

gether, and dropped them down. to her
waiting mother. She did not know that
a killer stood within'a few feet of her
mother, out of'sight from the head of-the
Stairs. She‘ turned back to’ her room.

A shot rang ‘through. the house.

Miss . Logan stopped. At first she

thought a lamp ora chair had overturned.
A gunshot in that peaceful house'was so

unexpected, so foreign, she did not think ©

of it.

Then the man came running up the
Stairs. He stopped and turned his strange,
burning eyes on Miss Logan. He made
a motion with the nickel-plated revolver
in his hand. :

“Gimme money, lots of it,” he .de-
manded harshly. :

_ Miss Logan backed into her bedroom,
Still facing him, she reached for her

“No jewelry,” he ordered, “I don’t want
no jewelry.”

Miss Logan went quickly through the
connecting bath and Powder room into
her mother’s bedroom, the man following
her. She handed him the green purse.
He fumbled through it, took out a few
more bills and flung it aside. He stood
uncertainly while Miss Logan watched in
horror,

He motioned with the, pistol again.

“Take off your clothes,” he said.

It was either that or death. Miss Logan
numbly began removing her slacks.

Later, the intruder stood at the foot of
the bed, raised the pistol and fired point-
blank. The bullet struck Miss Logan be-
neath the right eye. She lunged forward
on the bed. .He fired again. The second
bullet struck her in the back of the neck
on the right side.

Miss Logan stumbled and ran from the
bedroom, down ‘the stairs, out through
the kitchen door and along a path. Blood
from the wound under her eye trickled
down her face and blood from the neck

‘wound dampened her brown hair. As she
_half-ran, half-walked she glanced fear-

fully over her shoulder.

The several hundred yards she had cov-
ered had exhausted her as she turned off
the road and into a private driveway. She

Behind trees and shrubbery, the Logan
home could not be seen from the road

went up to the front door of the big house
and rang the bell, then Pounded on the
door. There was no ‘answer. Holding
hand over the back of her neck in a-vain
attempt to stop the flow of blood, she re.

.turned to the roadway and started for the

next house, another several hundrey
yards away, ‘

A GROUP of house Painters ther
stopped their work, looked up in
astonishment and then froze.in a mo.
ment’s .horror as the scantily clad girl,
blood running down her face, still fight-
ing hysteria, suddenly appeared before
them. Qne of the Painters, Theodore
Klick, asked a few hurried questions and
then put the trembling girl into his auto.
mobile and started for a doctor’s office
They had gone only a short distance
when the girl pointed and screamed:

“There he is!” :

Fifty feet down the road a man -wa;
walking.

‘“He’s gota gun,” she whispered, “don't
stop.”

Klick heeded the warning... He wa;
unarmed and he had a badly wounded
girl with him,

“I think he heard her scream,” Klick
said later. “He looked directly at the
car. I thought of running him down, but
I didn’t know if it was the right man o

not, and I figured if I ran him down |

might be held for manslaughter.”
Klick stepped on the accelerator anj
sped past the man.

It did not take him long to drive from ;

Flower Hill to Port Washington, where
he delivered Miss Logan to the Office of

‘Dr. Joseph Testa. Showing the same

bravery that had sustained her before
she refused Klick’s ofter of assistance and
walked from his car into the physician:
Office. ’ .
Meanwhile, the other painters hai
called police. .
Captain Theodore Blunt and Detectiv;
ergeant Charles Wesser of the Nassai

County, New York, Police, responded

“You'll be assigned to Room 407, Miss LaRue.
The patient has lost his will to live” '

TRUE DETECTIVE

mg
Speig Grey

‘

“He must have been acquainted with
the area. It’s unlikely he would have pick-
ed out an isolated place like the Logan’s’
unless he knew of it. The house can’t be
seen from the road, which is actually a
small private street. It’s possible the killer
may have known the women would be
alone in the house. If he was just out to
rob, he could’ve picked out a score of
houses closed down for the summer. I’m
convinced our man is laying up
someplace, right under our very noses.”

A two-mile circle was drawn around
the Logan home and teams of Pinnell’s
detectives were given sections to canvass.
A door-to-door search was launched to
find local household employes, friends of
employes, delivery men, canvassers.
Business establishments in nearby towns
were similarly checked. Suspects were
questioned as to their whereabouts on the
day of the slaying, and their pictures were
taken and shown to the painter and the
victim’s daughter.

The plucky girl’s condition was still
critical and her doctors forbade detec-
tives from confronting her with any
suspects. Permission was granted,
however, for her to look at pictures. She
hesitated over some; others she summari-
ly rejected.

“T'll never forget that face,” she said.
“Show me the right picture and I won't
make a mistake.”

_ OnWednesday, July 31st, exactly one
week after the murder almost to the hour,
Detective Michael O’Brien went to a
home on Flower Hill. O’Brien explained
that the police were making a check of all
employes in the neighborhood in the in-

vestigation of the Logan murder.

“But we don't have a man employe,”

the housewife said.

~ “We know that,” O’Brien said, “but
we've been trying toreach your father-in-
law at his summer home to ask him about
his chauffeur. We weren't able to contact
him, so we thought you or your husband
might be able to help out.” ‘

The woman’s father-in-law resided in
Greenbriar Lane, a half-mile from the
Logan home. On Jilly 3rd, he’d hired
Ward Beecher Caraway,, an army
veteran, to serve as chauffeur-butler.

O'Brien read off the description of the
wanted man.

“That sounds a little like Caraway,”
the hdusewife mused. “But he’s not as tall
and he can’t be more than 21 or 22, And
he’s certainly not bulgy-eyed, no maniac.
We've thought of him as the perfect ser-
vant. He’s soft-spoken, polite, well-
mannered, knows his place. He does his
work quietly and he’s never given any
trouble. No trouble, at/all.”. . .

“Do you know what he was doing last
Wednesday?”

“Last Wednesday?” She pursed her
lips. “That was the day of the murder,
wasn't it? Yes, as‘a matter of fact, I do
know. I remember’ later that day
Caraway drove my father-in-law right
past the.Logan home.”

The young society matron related that
Caraway drove his employer to Flower
Hill in the morning. They picked up her:
husband, and went to the Plandome sta-
tion. Caraway dropped off the two men
and returned to the Flower Hill home.

“That was about 9 in the morning,”

she said. “I don’t know what he did dur-
ing the morning, He was supposed to be
doing some work at the Greenbriar Lane
house.”

“Was he alone?”

“Presumably.”

The woman said Caraway picked up
the two men about 5 p.m. at the Plan-
dome station on their return from New
York. The two men talked about the
Logan tragedy, about which they'd read
in the newspapers. —

“Drive down Bonnie Heights Road,”
the older man casually instructed the
chauffeur.

“Yes, sir,” Caraway quietly said.

He had to drive very slowly. The little
road was filled with police cars, reporters
and neighbors. The “perfect servant”
showed no emotion as he was ordered to
stop for a few minutes as the nen looked
over the Logan estate.

Detective O’Brien thanked the
housewife for her cooperation and then
sped to her relative’s home and picked up
Caraway.

“What’s this all about,” the chauffeur
asked.

“Just a routine investigation,” O’Brien
said. “You don’t have any objections if we
take a ride back to Mineola, do you?”

“No, sir, not me.”

Pinnell questioned Caraway for more
than two hours. He asked Caraway
whether he needed money, whether he
took dope. He asked about other jobs,
Caraway’s army career. The answers
seemed satisfactory and straightforward.
Caraway said he remained at his
employer's home all day Wednesday,
sleeping part of the time, working in the
garage the remainder of the time. He only
left to pick up his employer at the railroad
station.

“Did anybody see you at home?”
Pinne]l asked.”

“No, I can’t remember anyone com-
ing over. Everybody knew the family
was away for the summer.

“But I] was there.”

Piamet studied the driver. He was.

certainly much younger than the man the
victiin’s daughter had described. He even
seemed shorter and thinner. She had
described the slayer as “bulgy-eyed” with
a husky, rumbling voice. Caraway seem-
ed sane enough, and his voice was soft
and somewhat high-pitched.

But, the inspector mused, there’s
always the unseen possibility. In his ex-
perience he had had many occasions
when a witness, overcOme by fear and
panic, inaccurately described an assailant
with whom he was actually face to face.
In any case, Caraway was the first Flower
Hill servant found who came close to fit-
ting the bill. Pinnell released the
chauffeur, but ordered him kept under
careful surveillance.

Before he was dismissed, eight pic
tures were taken of Caraway without any

sail ee ee

objection on
one without;
without. Anc
The pict
others and s|
Pinnell sa
girl went th
one. She pas
cond, the th
Caraway.
“That's
seemed ast
pected to se:
I can’t forgé
She wen
the pictures
hesitation
Caraway—¢
Her do
because of
mitted her
make it q
cautioned.
At 7 pa
day, Gulott
into the sn
roses and v
“Stand
patient,” Gi
The we
away when
if to delay
ment more
Caraway.
The sus
The ro
dPeadful sil
girl and the
Then G
you recogn
The gir!
swathed in
eyes from (
and steady
murder. Sh
“Yes!”
Carawa
“You ar
murderer?’
woman.
“There
said.
Carawa
he didn’t br
Logan, that
that was th:
cerned.
“We'll ti
the mornin
Pinnell told
Carawa
were drivi
Boulevard,
when Dete
question:
O’Brien
Caraway'd
didn't hav
suspect he
O'Brien. \\
Caraway sl
Sw eat forn
out the wit

ane teal!

1 dur-
to be
Lane

<ed up
» Plan-
1 New
ut the
dread

Road,”
ted the

iid.
he little
eporters
servant”
lered to
n looked

ced the
ind then
icked up

hauffeur

‘O'Brien
ions if we
» you?”

for more
Caraway
hether he
ther jobs,
answers
ithorwar®
dat his
ednesday,
king in the
ie. He only
he railroad
home?”
Sone COM,
the family

er. He was.
the man the
ved. He even
+. She had
v-eyed” with
raway seem-
‘ice was soft

ised, there's
ty. In his ex-
ay occasions
by fear and
‘dan assailant
face to face.
ic first Flower
Le close to fit-
released the
i. kept under

ed, eight pic
iy without any

Sh ge Boa satan

objection on his part. One with a hat on,
one without; one wearing sunglasses, one
without. And side views and other poses.

The pictures were mixed with 50
others and shown to the daughter.

Pinnell sat by the bed as the wounded
girl went through the pictures, one by
one. She passed by the first one, the se-
cond, the third. The fourth was one of
Caraway.

“That’s him,” the girl stated. She
seemed astonished, as if she never ex-
pected to see him again. “That's the man.
| can’t forget those eyes.”

She went through the remainder of °

the pictures, and unerringly and without
hesitation picked out each one of
Caraway—even the one with sunglasses.

Her doctors were consulted and,
because of the circumstances, they per-
mitted her to confront Caraway. “But
make it quick,” one of the doctors
cautioned.

At 7 p.m. the following day, Thurs-
day, Gulotta and Pinnell led the suspect
into the small hospital room filled with
roses and gladioli.

“Stand up straight and look at the
patient,” Gulotta ordered.

‘The wounded gin, who had looked
away when the chauffeur walked in—as
if to delay the painful meeting one mo-
ment more—turned slowly and stared at
Caraway.

‘The suspect stared at her.

‘The room seemed to vibrate with a
dreadful silence as the eyes of the society
girl and the servant locked.

Then Gulotta said, “Now, Miss, do
you recognize this man?” :

The girl, her head almost completely
swathed in bandages, slowly turned her
eyes from Caraway. Heer voice was clear
and steady, as it hadn't’ been since the
inurder. She said only one word.

“Yes!”

Caraway was led out.

“You are quite certain he was the
murderer?” Gulotta asked the young
wonlan.

“There is no question about it,” she
said.

Caraway was questioned all night but
he didn’t break. Hesaid he didn’t kill Mrs.
Logan, that he wasn’t near the house. And
that was that, as far as Caraway was Con-
cerned.

“We'll take him to the Logan home in
the morning. Maybe that'll do the trick,”
Pinnell told Gulotta.

Caraway, Pinnell and three detectives
were driving down Port Washington
Boulevard, toward the Logan mansion,
when Detective O'Brien asked him the
question: “Where's the gun?”

O’Brien waited for the answer
Caraway'd been giving all night: that he
didn't have a gun. But this time the
suspect hesitated. Pinnell glanced at
(’Brien. Was this the break? Suddenly,
Caraway slumped in his seat. He sighed.
Sweat formed onhis forehead. He looked
out the window.

‘

“Turn right here,” he wearily said.
A left turn would have taken them to

the Logan home.

The right turn went into Country Club
Drive. Caraway called for another turn
into Hewlett Lane. Near the intersection
of Farm View Road, the chauffeur said,

“You can stop here.”

For as far as the eye could see, there vir Nores

our
i £ wi TR ped versal-G2/11, X16180, Bt, Lauderdale $5318.
were open fields of wild grass. Inanother SL staffing: $3518 —
‘addressed envelope, Benterprises, Box 1368-

few days, police would have reached the

area in their search for the gun."
Caraway now said he had dism

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antl ed : Exciting offer 1

the gun in three parts, and thrown each of i 00-$500.00 WEEKLY POSSIBLE from home, S00)

estment! Immediately! 50¢ refundable. Pacific2/
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the parts into the fields as he sped along in Sie ey MAICORDER WARES en Pat
mailing list.

his employer's car.
Pinnell ordered a detective to

names,
go to Texas 77035.

the nearest phone and summon about 25 el hag hot Y Loy Mearanteed Offer: 25¢, Stamp.

men to the scene.

Envelopes.
profits, B725-QM2, Belen, N.M. $7002.
T ls Big Money LOA Gift World
a: Auburn Drive, San go. 92106 ,

4
C * 5 :
araway stood to the side, head bow- $1,00, (Refundable). Lange-CIMG, °

The search party soon arrived and

the search. More than 25 minutes passed N. Ohio 43545,

before a_ patrolman found a

revolver barrel. Ten minutes later, the
stock of the murder weapon was
recovered. The chamber couldn't he

Pownliy Art Soe RNG DICTIONARY. Posnald $5.00,
ed. hands i ; as i y LANG DictI Y7 Postpaid $5.00.
ed, hands in pockets, as the men waited. | x JASONS CB STANT: ‘Auburn Drive, San Diego, Ee

began | 92105.
VLIMINATE DEBTS! Details 350. Debts (91074), 332

POLICEL INVESTIGATIVE 7
rusted 1CE! ESTIGATIVE schematics and equipment list-
t n-Q, Bor §-C4 Wash, 98

00.00, No interv: . The
, Dept, M, P.O. Bor 64889,

O - 00. Lew or endo ‘
located, but only thebarrel was necessary | person whe, naan Com OO. x won't know it's a loan. The
Finance Company

to prove whether the three bullets were

fired from Caraway’s gun.

Culotta held the two gun parts in his HK Free sales kit features | Amorice

hand. “You might as well tell the

, Signs,
rest of Calendars and other Secon t ioe used daily by business

” ‘ people. ‘Profitable repeat orders, No experience, No invest
the story now,” he said to Caraway. ment. No collections, of deliveries, Write todas. National
“Well, you have it,” the chauffeur EARN’ 81G_ COMMISSIC NS solleiting delinquent

Pie Vici dv i eine Ln ang sak
said. “That is the gun I used to shoot the | {i3p'twat a City sinned

lady.”

YNAI K yers, Coaches, F q
But he refused to say another word ONL The Hockey Smarts.” $2.00. Chalk-Talk.

about the case.
They went back to Mineola

quarters, but jt seemed Caraway
wouldn't go any further in his statement.
Caraway hesitated just a brief interval,
‘then nodded his head. He was ready to

talk.

North Carolina, where he attende

school. He went into the army and served
two and a half years, one year in Africa.

\ 5
He said he was born in ‘Charlotte,

111 Lovers Lane, Ancaster, ‘Ontario, Canada.
BULL WHIPS—HANDMADE LEATHER. Details: Whip-
Landf MA 01

Head-

d high

Ile was arrested for burglary in Durham, Promanaio 00

courtinartialed, and served a year
army stockade in Fort Jackson,

Carolina. In August, 1944, he was dis-
honorably discharged. Caraway said he

Luction 1001-MG a
in the LEP LEARNING—HY|
South ,

d orth Hollywo
MISCELLA!

purchased the gun in Trenton for $35 and Fe PUiroe at better pharmactes,
kept it in a trunk. After driving his ARE YOU LONELY? Dest photographs. iat.

employer to the station on the day

murder, he returned home and got the

gun. He said he drove to Port Wash
Boulevard, parked the car and wal
the Logan home.

“I saw the woman in the living room,”
he said. “She got up and stood before me ET
in the middle of the living room. I got the

maney and then I shot her.”

ptions, .
Women $1.00, Ladysmith, Box 5686CA, Lighthouse Point,

of the

ington millions | Tel
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the United States who employ household servants,
this case carries an object lesson. Photograph is
withheld of one of the victims who showed out-
standing courage and presence of mind and who
cooperated to the fullest extent with the authori-
ties in bringing to justice the vicious criminal
involved.

WARM, early-morning sun bathed the
countryside of Long Island, New York, that
July day in 1946, and there was virtually no

traffic on the lonely two-lane highway known °

as Bonnie Heights Road, which wound through
the big estates of the wealthy Flower Hill sec-

tion. The peace and quiet gave no hint of the ,

violence soon to come.

The mansion which was to figure in this case
could not be seen from the public road; slim
birch trees, evergreens, thickly-growing lilac
bushes and other shrubbery concealed the
house from the road—and just as effectively
hid from passersby anything that might hap-

pen within the estate. A driveway, only en-.

trance to the property, curved through ‘the

‘pirches and evergreens up to the house itself

—a twenty-room, Georgian-style dwelling of
ivy-covered red brick, set in the center of a
well-kept lawn. ;

Summer furniture was scattered about the
tiled sun porch which flanked the southern side
of the house and could be reached from the
living-room by two tall, French windows. The
windows were open, as was a door on the oppo-
site side of the living-room, facing the lawn

by Dean Dixie

As the sinister figure with the intensely staring eyes
swiftly and silently moved toward the house, the three.

defenseless women had -no sense of impending danger

The Mystery 0
Flower Hill

Eprror’s Note: To the thousands of families in

that swept down-toward the surrounding wood-
lot. /

Reclining on a sofa near the French windows
in the richly furnished living-room was a
woman, with graying hair, dressed’ informally
in slacks and a jacket. She was Mrs. Marjory
Vose Church Logan, the wife of William John
Logan, a retired banker. Mr. Logan had left
earlier that morning to go into New York City,
and Mrs. Logan was relaxing before she started
the day’s routine. It was believed she may
have been reading a Bible which later was
found opened, on a near-by table, by the police.

Half-asleep, listening to the noisy summer
insects and occasional birds about the place,
Mrs. Logan’s young daughter lay on the bed in
her room upstairs. Marjory Jeanne Logan was
twenty-six years old, a highly intelligent, at-
tractive girl with reddish brown hair and
brown eyes, and she was wearing her Army
“fatigues”—slacks and a white cotton T-shirt
—which she had brought home with her after
serving as a WAC sergeant for eleven months
in the Pacific. She had driven her father to the
railroad station and she, too, was: resting.

The only other person in the big, rambling
house was Mrs. Suzanne Delebar, an elderly
woman. employed by the Logans as a maid. She
was the only servant. Mrs. Delebar was in a
room in a distant part of the house, using a
sewing machine. Two closed doors separated
her from the other two women.

The three defenseless women in the isolated
house could have had no sense of impending

TRUE DETECT I VE MAGA ZINE, April, 1948,

20 Master Detective

time to supervise the removal of Rosello to Lincoln Hos-
pital. At the emergency ward the wounded gambler was
found to be in a critical condition due to shock and loss
of blood.

Detectives who questioned his friends obtained a meager
description of the man known as Charlie Kane. When it
became apparent that Rosello would recover he too was
questioned. He said that he had met Charlie once or twice
before at card games, and had asked him to join in a game
at his house if he cared to. Charlie accepted, with disas-
trous results.

On April 6th, Rosello was wheeled into the white tiled
operating room of the hospital. While nurses stood in silent
attendance, Doctor Herbert Kubel removed the bullet from
Rosello’s chest. It was marked for identification and placed
in the hospital safe until detectives called for it.

Two days later, in the course of departmental routine,

the bullet was brought to Sergeant Henry F. Butts, bal-
listics expert, who in twenty-five years has made over 200,-
000 tests. Microscopic photographs were made of the
markings on the slug and these were compared with mark-
ings already on file. Through painstakingly careful study,
Butts found that another bullet received by the Bureau bore
the same markings. Using a comparison microscope which
enabled him to see and compare two objects at the same
time, Butts examined the blunted metal chunks.

“The bullets,” he reported to the Detective Division,
“that were taken from De Bellis and Rosello were fired
from the same .32 caliber automatic.”

With this she paeted linking of the two crimes the police
discarded the racketeer or vendetta theory in the De Bellis
case. Now they knew that the criminals were still at work,
careless of capture. Contrary to the usual gang practise
they were using a weapon that already had been employed
in a crime and was “hot.”

The shooting of Rosello in the Bronx was but one of a
series of bold criminal raids that were taking place with
varying frequency throughout the city. In Manhattan, the
detectives of the 25th Squad at the East 126th Street Sta-
tion were investigating similar crimes. One in particular
held their attention due to the fact that the complainant,
Pedro Lopez, was positive that he could recognize his as-
sailants. Lopez, who had been running a Spanish lottery
at 72 East 118th Street had been robbed late in March by
a gang of five men.

“Tl never forget their faces,” he told the police, “and if
you'll work with me | am not afraid to point them out.”

ACCOR Y Detectives William Franz, Thomas Hanni-
gan, Irving Kaufman and Martin Tutt were assigned to ac-
company Lopez through the Porto Rican section of the city,
since he had recognized some of the gang as his compatriots.
Three weeks passed with the detectives and Lopez going in
search of the men whenever circumstances permitted them
to do so.

On April 20th, Detec-
tives Tutt and Kaufman
were walking down Har-
lem’s main thoroughfare—
Lenox Avenue—with Lo-
pez. The night was warm
and clear. The street was
filled with animated resi-
dents of the district who
came out in droves from
the crowded tenements for
their evening stroll. As the
detectives a near to
116th Street, the character

_—"

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of the street changed. ren -
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Name

(Center) The car used by the he Ln ivueselt ;
murdering phantoms on their feel, Buch autoanoll
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This application for an auto- rele ta

mobile at a car renting station
proved a vital clue and helped

e EE
officials to unravel the mystery otal

GUSTOMER

lipped, brown-skinned Porto Ricans replaced the negroes.
opez walked nonchalantly through the crowds, his small
figure outlined in a tight-fitting tan topcoat. To his right
and sligntly to the rear followed the two detectives who
watched him for a signal. At 114th Street, underneath the
yellow glow of the street light stood two men, gesticulat-
ing and arguing. Deeply engaged in conversation they were
heedless of passers-by. Lopez, who up to this time had
i ge in silence, gave a startled exclamation when he saw
them,

_ ‘Get those fellows,” he whispered tensely to the detec-
tives.

“Are you positive?” asked Detective Tutt.

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“Yes, get them before they see me.”

Tutt and Kaufman walked unobserved to the corner. The
two men were discussing whether or not one should buy a
suit of clothes. One was a dark Porto Rican, the other was
a pasty-faced youth with loose lips.

- "We're police officers,” announced Tutt as he broke into
the conversation. “Can you men identify yourselves?”

“My name is Sandoval; what do you want with me?”
asked the darker man.

“I’m Louis Gendelman,” mumbled the other.

“Okay,” said Kaufman, “perhaps you know this fellow
here.” “He pointed to Lopez who by now had joined the

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group.

the are the ones; they are the ones,” repeated Lopez
excitedly when he saw the dusky Sandoval and his partner.
“Go on, you little punk,” fumed Gendelman. “You never
saw us before. Lay off.”
“Never mind that,” said Tutt, as he hustled Gendelman
_toward a taxicab.
Within a few minutes the men were brought before the

desk lieutenant at the East 126th Street Station and booked

Red Raids

(Left to right) Frank Negron and
Alexander Carrion, who held the
key to the enigma

on charges of robbery preferred by
Lopez. Then they were taken into the
detectives’ quarters in the rear of the
building and searched.

Gendelman was the first to be gone
over and his effects revealed nothing
suspicious. Sandoval, who had stood
watching the proceedings with a grin,
shifted uneasily when his turn came.
Turning his pockets inside out the de-
tectives found numerous fountain
pene thermometers and surgical flash-
ights.

“This will please some of the dentists and doctors around
here who have been held up recently,” said Tutt as he eyed
the loot.

In Sandoval’s inner coat pocket was found a letter, ad-
dressed to him at 1 West 100th Street.

“Is that where you live?” he was asked.

“Sometimes.”

“We'll pay you a visit,” said Tutt.

The house at the address was a brownstone, five-story
tenement. After talking to the janitor, the detectives went
up the dark stairway to the third floor. Listening at the
doorway of the apartment said to be Sandoval’s, they heard
sounds of a radio playing within. After a soft knock on
the door, the music stopped and all was still. A few seconds
later the door opened slowly. A tall, thin youth whose
blond hair was brushed back in a slick Sorapadolt stood on
the threshold, a cigarette drooping from his lips.

“Police officers,” came the crisp announcement.

The youth’s mouth opened in surprise. The cigarette fell
to the floor. He backed into the room.

“Are you a friend of Sandoval?” asked Detective Franz,
who hed come along with Kaufman and Tutt.

“This is his place.”

“What's your name?”

“George Gershbein.”

“Who's your friend?” asked Franz, pointing to a man
stretched out full length on a couch inside the room.

“Eddie Schoen.”

“Well, if you know Sandoval you'll have to come along to
the station house for questioning.”

THE man on the couch stirred uneasily, and lifted a
sleepy-eyed, tousled head from the cushion. Seeing the
strange figures in the room, he gave a grunt of annoyance
and buried his head in the cushion. Kaufman went over to
him, shook him by the shoulder, and apprized him of his
arrest. :

The detectives then conducted a search of the premises,
ransacking closets and bureaus, looking under mattresses,
rugs and behind pictures. In the kitchen, underneath a
dirty white table, Franz saw a cardboard suitcase. He
opened it carefully. Inside were five revolvers and one
hundred rounds of ammunition.

Back to the East 126th Street Station went the detec-
tives with their evidence. Lopez, called in, viewed Gersh-
bein and Schoen.

“They were in the hold-u

On Lopez’ identification, Gershbein and Schoen were held
for robbery. In addition, charges of illegal possession of
weapons were lodged against the four prisoners by the
detectives. Pending their appearance at the morning line-
up of arrested criminals, they were locked in cells at the
station house. : :

The next morning, shortly after eight o’clock, detectives
began to arrive at the Centre Street Headquarters building;
it being the custom of the department to have men from
the various precincts throughout the city attend the line-ups
in order to become acquainted with the appearance and
habits of the criminal population. At eight-thirty all the
men were in their places in the (Continued on page 68)

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May, 1937

a gun might be hidden. But after an
hour’s labor they found nothing. Deciding
to postpone a systematic search until a
later date they left for Headquarters, tak-
ing Negron along.

_ With the identification by Rodriguez
linking Gendelman to the Rosello case, the
Bronx District Attorney’s office was noti-
fied and Assistant District Attorney Sol
Boneparth was assigned to the investiga-
tion. He was present at Headquarters
when Negron was brought in. After brief-
ly conferring with the detectives, Bone-
parth decided to proceed with the ques-
tioning of Gendelman, keeping him igno-
rant of Negron’s arrest.

Gendelman was brought into the room.
His face was a sickly, chalk white and his
big lips hung dejectedly. He was told that
circumstantial evidence pointed to his im-
plication in the De Bellis murder.

Frank Negron

“Why ‘don’t you tell us what you know
about the case?” urged Boneparth. “As
things stand now we can draw only one
conclusion.”

For a moment Gendelman pondered the
import of what he had been told. His
long bony fingers were tightly clenched
and his palms were damp.

“I didn’t shoot De Bellis,” he finally
burst out, “but I know who did: and it
looks as if I will have to talk to save my
own skin.

“Negron and a man named Alejo asked
me to drive them up to the Bronx on the
night of March 5th. We hired a car at
the Hertz renting station at 87th and Lex-
ington. We went to Westchester Avenue
and I stayed in the car when the others
entered the store. They came out in a
hurry and told me to drive off quickly.
Later I learned that they had attempted
a robbery and in the excitement had shot

a man.

“We'll check this story, Gendelman,”
said Boneparth.

Then Negron was brought in. Although
he understood English he was not able to
converse, and an interpreter acted as in-
termediary. When told of Gendelman’s
statements, he denied that he had seen
him on March 5th.

“I was playing poker with a friend at
240 West 111th Street.”

“Who was that man?”

The interpreter turned to Negron.

“Alexander the Argentine,” was the an-
swer.

Inasmuch as Gendelman had asserted
that the second man was named Alejo, or
Alex, this was significant. But Negron
said that he could not remember anyone
named Alejo except someone who lived at
77 East 103rd Street. Immediately de-
tectives were dispatched to both of these
addresses. They ‘found that Alexander the
Argentine was unknown at IIIth Street.
At 103rd Street a man named Alejo had

Master Detective

once lived, but had moved to an unknown
address.

For the moment the _ investigation
seemed to have gone off on another blind
trail. Out of the tangled clues and evi-
dence that had been uncovered, only one
thing stood out clearly—the similar mark-
ings on the death bullets.

Subsequent developments lent credence
to Gendelman’s story. Detectives who were
sent to the Hertz car renting station were
given access to the records by Henry
Holmes, the station manager. They found
that on the night of March 5th, Gendel-
man had rented a sedan. Taken before
Gendelman and Negron, Holmes identified
them as the men who had called for the
car. He said that he believed a third
man accompanied them.

Sandoval’s and Gendelman’s stories tal-

lied with respect to Negron’s ownership of
the fatal gun. Continued search by the
olice failed to reveal it and tests by the
allistics bureau showed that it was not
among the five weapons captured in the
raid of Sandoval’s apartment. Day after
day, Negron was urged by Boneparth to
reveal what he had done with the gun.
On April 29th, he broke his silence.

“I threw it away after Gendelman re-
turned it,” he said.

“Where did you throw it?”

“In the East River at 114th Street.”

Boneparth reached for the telephone,
and called the Marine Division.

“Have a launch meet us off 114th Street
and the East River in half an hour,” he
ordered.

In the company of three detectives,
Boneparth left for the spot with Negron.
When they arrived the sleek, low hull of
the police launch was cutting through the
choppy water to meet them. Sergeant
William J. Kanzler, who was in command
of the craft, came ashore in a rowboat
to confer.

Detective Byrnes, who was one of the
party, scooped up a handful of loose
gravel that lay on the ground near the
water’s edge.

“Throw some of these stones where you
threw the gun,” he told Negron.

INEGRON flung a stone out over the
embankment. It splashed into the
dark, swirling water about fifteen yards
offshore.

“Is that where the gun went?” asked
Boneparth.

Negron nodded his head.

Sergeant Kanzler, noting the spot, or-
dered grappling hooks dropped from the
rowboat, and the dragging of the river
bottom commenced. Every fifteen min-
utes the hooks were pulled up and ex-
amined. Except for dripping refuse, they
gleamed bare and empty. The hours
passed while the group on the embank-
ment anxiously watched the slow trolling
of the boat. Finally Kanzler came on
shore.

“It’s no use,” he said. “That gun isn’t
there or else we would have found it.”

So once again the authorities were frus-
trated in their search for the weapon.
However, on the basis of Sandoval’s and
Gendelman’s statements, Negron was held
for murder while the mysterious Alejo was
sought by the police. Due to the fact
that the case centered in a foreign quar-
ter of the city, Assistant Chief Inspector
John J. Sullivan detailed two men from
the Bureau of Criminal Alien Investiga-
tion to the District Attorney’s office. They
were Detectives Aristides Ramos and
Arthur Johnson.

Ramos, a dark Spanish type, held re-
eated conversations with Negron and
earned from him that he was married but
estranged from his wife, Carmen. He had
not heard from her in months, but

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Master Detective

spacious gymnasium hall, and the pro-
ceedings began under the supervision of
Inspector Joseph Donovan.

Among the assembled officers was De-
tective Louis Brancato who represented
the Bronx Homicide Squad. Heavy set,
gray-haired, with years of detective ex-
perience behind him, he sat with keen
eyes focussed on the lighted stage.
Policy racketeers, pickpockets, a man
wanted for murder, a_ string of petty
thieves, all trooped across the platform as
the voice of the Inspector, carried by an
amplifier, recited their pedigrees and asked
questions. ;

“Louis Gendelman, George Gershbein,
George Sandoval and Edward Schoen;”
boomed the loudspeaker, as four men were
led blinking, into the white glare.

“Arrested for robbery while armed. Spe-
cialized in hold-ups of doctors, dentists,
dice and card games.”

“Card games... - card games... ran
through Brancato’s mind as, the four men
were subjected to questioning. He took
out his notebook and jotted down the
names. The men were sullen and refused
to talk. ;

“Take them away,” said the Inspector,
finally. “That’s all for this morning.”

Brancato got up from his seat and hur-
ried to the doorway where he intercepted
Inspector Donovan.

“Can you hold those last four men
down here for a while?” he asked. “I
have a hunch about them.”

“We can keep them here all day.”

Brancato then telephoned to Inspector
Bruckman at Bronx Headquarters, who
ordered that the witnesses in the Rosello
shooting be sent down to Centre Street to
look at the men. An hour, and a hal
later August Rodriguez arrived, accom-
panied by Detectives Edward Byrnes and
Joseph Gannon of the Homicide Squad.

AFTER a conference with Brancato,
four detectives were placed in a room
with Schoen and Sandoval. Rodriguez was
taken into. the room where the six were
lined against the wall.

“Did you ever see any of these men be-
fore?” Brancato asked. :

Rodriguez looked up and down the line.
Then he shook his head.

“These are not the men.” ;

“Are you certain?” Brancato was dis-
appointed.

“Yes,” :

Then the party went into an adjoining
room where Gendelman and Gershbein
were in line with some detectives. Once
more Rodriguez scanned the group. This
time he nudged Brancato.

“There’s Charlie Kane.” His finger
pointed to loose-lipped Louis Gendelman.
“He’s the one that clipped Rosello.”

“Is he the only one you recognize?”

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R 1G PRO

H MFG. CORP.
-6, Cincinnati, Ohio

“I never saw the others,” replied Rod-
riguez.

Gendelman’s _ face hardened and_ he
stared at Rodriguez. He was taken from
the line and Gershbein was ‘led off to the
lock-up.

“I suppose you know that you are
wanted for murder,” Brancato said to
Gendelman when the others had left.

“Murder?” Gendelman started and
looked at Brancato in surprise.

“Yes, the shooting of Rosello and the
ue of Thomas De Bellis on March

t nad .

“Wait a minute,” said Gendelman. “You
might have me right on Rosello. But |
had nothing to do with the other one.”

Red Raids

(Continued from page 21)

“The ballistics bureau says differently,”
countered Brancato.

Gendelman sank into a chair.

“Get Sandoval in here,” he gasped.
“He'll back me up. | never saw that gun
until April Ist.”

“Where is it now?”

“It never belonged to me. 1 only bor-
rowed it.”

“From whom?”

“Prank Negron. Sandoval will tell you.
He got it for me.”

“We'll know soon enough if you're ly-
ing,” said Brancato as he left the room
and sought Sandoval. The latter was
puts dejectedly in one of the basement
cells.

“Sandoval,” said Brancato, “did you
ever borrow a gun for Gendelman?”

Sandoval looked up. His dark face was
inscrutable. For a moment he weighed
whether or not he should answer the ques-
tion. Finally he spoke.

“Yes, I did.
“Where did tg get it?”
“Erom Frank Negron,” he said, drop-

ping his voice and turning away.

“When did you get it from him?”

“About the first of April.”

“Not before?”

“No.”

“Where did you meet this Negron?”

“At 104 East 113th Street.”

Informed of the latest twist in the case,
Inspector Bruckman ordered Brancato,
Byrnes and Gannon to inquire for Neg-
ron at this address. Like Sandoval, Neg-
ron was a Porto Rican and lived in that
section of the city where the others had
been trapped.

In a short time the detectives entered
the tenement house and learned that Neg-
ron had an apartment on the top floor.
When Brancato, who was in the lead,
reached the top landing he saw the door
of the apartment aveaey opened. In the
doorway stood a man whose skin was the
pale color of old parchment.

“Negron?” inquired Brancato.

“Si,” came the answer.

BRANCATO bounded up the remaining
steps and, towering over the slight
Negron, quickly searched him for weap-
ons. Negron looked at him in startled
surprise.

“Where’s the gun?” demanded Branca-
to.

“No tengo,” answered Negron, his dark
eyes flashing at Brancato and the others.

“He says he hasn’t got any,” explained
Brancato, whose knowledge of Italian en-
oe him to understand Negron’s Span-
ish.

“We'll search the place,” decided Byrnes,
moving into the apartment. While Gan-
non stood guard over Negron, the others
went through the rooms. In the kitchen,
Brancato noticed that the wainscoting
under the sink had been tampered with.
Knocking at it with his fist, he displaced a
section. A dark hole was revealed in the
wall. Brancato reached inside and felt
around. His hand came into contact with
a greasy metal surface which proved to be
a small tin box. He withdrew it from
its cache and examined it. Smudged with
oil, it was empty.

“What do you think of it?” he asked
showing his find to Byrnes. ,

“It might have been used for the gun.”

_ Spurred by this discovery the detectives
ripped out whole sections of the wall and
floor where there was any likelihood that

May, 1937

a gun might t
hour’s labor the
to postpone a
later date they
ing Negron alo.
_With the ide
linking Gendelm
Bronx District
fied and Assist:
Boneparth was
tion. He was
when Negron w
ly conferring v
parth decided |
tioning of Gen
rant of Negron
Gendelman \
His face was a
big lips hung d:
circumstantial ¢
plication in th

“Why ‘don’t
about the cas
things stand pr
conclusion.”

_ For a mome
import of wh
long bony fin
and his palms

“I didn’t sl
burst out, “bi
looks as if I w
own skin.

“Negron an
me to drive tl
night of Mar
the Hertz rent
ington. We \
and I stayed
entered the si
hurry and to!
Later I learne
a robbery and
a man.”

“We'll chec
said Bonepart

Then Negro
he understood
converse, and
termediary. —
statements, he
him on Marcl

“1 was play
240 West II It

“Who was 1

The interpr

“Alexander
swer.

Inasmuch
that the secor
Alex, this w:
said that he
named Alejo
77 East 103r
tectives were
addresses. Th
Argentine wa
At 103rd Stri

Ws DU IN 9

f
ee whe SS

(Bronx), on Ausust 24. 193% Frank, whites, elec. sing jin

up and. started toward her

room, smiling at her husband
as she did so. “It’s nearly eight,
Peter,” she said cheerfully. “Our
guests will soon be here.. I'm going
to get dressed.”

Captain. Peter Kouteynikoff smiled
back at his lovely and. courageous
wife as she lefe the shabby little
living room of their dingy apart-
ment in a tenement building on New
York’s Lennox Avenue. Her cheer-
fulness was a constant encourage:
ment to him to keep up his own
spirits. And that was sometimes hard
to do, for though now they lived
in poverty, once they had been aris-
tocrats. ‘

That had been back in Russia,
when he had been a captain of the

"Tee: Kouteynikoff stood

’

Imperial Guards, and they had lived

in a mansion in Petrograd, had been -

regular visitors at other mansions
where glittering uniforms, lovely
dresses, champagne and caviar had
been the accepted order of things.
But then had come the Revolution.
And in 1921, fleeing Russia by way
of Istanbul, Tatiana, Peter, an their
son Victor had barely managed to
reach the United States with their
lives, and nothing more.

Even so, Captain Peter Kouteyni-
koff had ‘considered himself lucky.
Until now. For onlya few days
previously, his wife “Tatiana had
visited a medical specialist — and
received a dread verdict. Tubercu-
losis! It was a blow that would have
been crushing — had not she been
so brave about it. Instead of bewail-

ing her fate, she had arranged a
party! A goodbye pa to all her
friends, for the next day she. was
to leave for a long stay in the South-
west, where the climate might aid
her condition.

It. was that party she was dressin
for now, as her husband smoked an
waited with Victor, for the first
gc ot mh arrive. x

eter Kouteynikoff sat up abruptly.

“What wee that?” Viceor pa
“It sounded like a fall!”.

“Yes, it did.” Captain Kouteyni-
koff opened the door to the hall.
All was quiet outside. Then he heatd
a weak cry, a moan of pain. It came
from his wife's room.

“Pecer! Oh, Peter, I'm hurt!” It

A bullet speeds out

‘By HENRY McGURY

‘
§
f
5
£
%
%
£
ie
§

5 4

was her voice, calling in agonized
fashion.

An instant later the captain and
his son had burst into Madame
Kouteynikoff's room. S he was
slumped to the floor, her head rest-
ing against her dressing table, and
crimson blood was jetting from her
throat.

As they bent over her, she man-
aged to open her eyes and stare
toward the window. j

“Don’t let. me die!” The words
were almost inaudible as they came
from her throat. “Don’t — kill me
tonight ...” She sighed aind her eyes
closed. Her final words might. have
been a plea for —. to some un-
known who could not hear her. They

_might have been a prayer. They

might have been the product of the
mental wandering that precedes
death. I¢ was impossible to say.
Peter rushed from the apartment,
down five flights of stairs, and out
of the building. Hastily. he sum-
moned a doctor from around the
corner. But when the doctor returned
with him. and examined the fallen
Tatiana, he shook his head gravely.
“There’s nothing I can do,” he

of the night to kill,

and then vanishes — and two men who never

saw the victim end in the electric chair
NEWS FLASH DETECTIVE :

Cpr S946

Ae [trons trast De Wc TIE CASES

Or,

Out of the nameless throngs of a New
York tenement: district like this the
police had to nab a motiveless slayer

said. “There’s nothing anyone can
do. She’s dead.”

The doctor called the medical ex-
aminer and the police. No sooner
were the authorities in the Kouteyni-
koff flat than the bell rang and a
party of top-hatted men and richly

owned women entered. They were
all titled members of a former
Russian nobility. They were the
guests expected at the Kouteynikoff
party — a party fated never to be
iven.

“A bullet wound, small caliber,”
the medical examiner, announced,
robing the dead woman’s throat.
“The bullet’s still in the body.”

Detective Kear, the officer in
charge of the case, searched all the
. room. “Is it possible,” he asked the
mourning husband, “that she shot

Tee
d Sai.

| The bullet that vanished, then re

pear:
bullet from another victim, finally brought case to amazing finish

herself in a sudden fit of dejection?
“No, not suicide,” the medical ex-
aminer interjected, looking ae “She
was fired at from a considerable dis-
tance. There’s no trace of a powder
mark.
“But this is strange. I can’t find

_Gun that killed Madame
Kouteynikoff baffled the
police by constantly re-
appearing in different
murder and robbery cases

ed, when compared with fatal

NEWS FLASH DETECTIVE

the. bullet with my oo It seen
to have entered her throat—and va:
ished, as if it had evaporated!
never encountered such a thing b
fore in my life!”

While the medical man _
over the strange mystery of the va
ished murder bullet, Detective Ke
searched for the death weapon.

He found no gun. But he di
covered a tiny hole in the pane :
the single bedroom window. T!
glass cracked inwards. Obvious
Tatiana Kouteynikoff had been sh
‘(Continued on page 51

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Master Detective

thought she lived in the Spanish section.

“Keep looking for her,” Inspector Sulli-
van said when informed of this. “She
might know seanething.-

Two months passed. Finally, on the
5th of July, 1932, Ramos and Johnson suc-
ceeded in tracking Mrs. Carmen Negron,
whom they found living in a furnished
room at 1761 Madison Avenue near 115th
Street. ;

Mrs. Negron, a_ slender, olive-skinned
woman with large black eyes, was aware
that her husband was imprisoned. When
she learned that her visitors were police
officers she grew suspicious and non-com-
municative. She would not talk about
nggros or his actions.

amos and Johnson decided to search
the room. It was a plainly furnished af-
fair, with dresser, table, bed and a few
chairs. On the wall hung two pictures.

One was a highly colored religious print. —

The other was a photograph of a man.
The face was dark, with high cheek-bones
and a square, forceful jaw.

“Whose picture?” asked Ramos.

i A FRIEND of mine,” replied Mrs.
Negron, hesitatingly. Restlessly she
began to pace the floor.

“What’s his name?”

“Ortez.”

_ Johnson, who was looking at the ob-
jects on the top of the small wooden dress-
er, called to Ramos.

“Look at this,” he said.

_ He held up a slip of white paper. On
it was a pencil scrawl—Ortez, Eldorado
5-9044,

“Maybe he knows something,” sug-
gested Ramos. He turned to Mrs. Neg-
ron.

“We are borrowing this picture. You
can have it back tomorrow.’

Johnson went over to Mrs. Negron and
took her by the arm.

“On second thought,” he said, “perhaps
you had better stay within our sight for
a while.”

The three left for the District Attor-
ney’s office. Gendelman and Sandoval
were brought up from the county jail
to view the picture.

“That’s Alejo,” they said.

Holmes, the Hertz manager, was called
in. He too identified the picture. With
this Ramos and Johnson set to work
to trap Ortez. From the telephone com-
pany it was ascertained that the number
on the Eldorado exchange was that of a
restaurant at 45th Street and Lexington
Avenue.

“Do you know anyone by the name
of Ortez?” Ramos asked the manager who
answered the telephone.

“He is a bus boy here,” was the answer.

“Is he at work now?”

“Not yet. He is due here in an hour.”

Ramos and Johnson, who had studied
the face on the photograph, went to the
restaurant, and waited in the employees’
locker room for Ortez. A few minutes
before the hour, quick footsteps sounded
outside the door. In hurried Ortez, un-
buttoning his coat. He darted a side-
long glance at the two figures who arose
at his entrance and closed in on him. Be-
fore he could ‘make a move, two pairs of
arms gripped him.

“Alex, you are under arrest,” said Ra-
mos softly in Spanish.

Ortez Chaired, but the vice-like grip
only tightened.

Taken to Police Headquarters, Ortez
was finger-printed. Then he was taken to
the Bronx for questioning. Doggedly he

rofessed entire innocence in the case.

hile Boneparth was speaking to him, the
telephone rang.

“This is the Bureau of Criminal Iden-
tification,” said a voice over the wire.
“Our records show that the man called
Ortez is under an assumed name. He is
Alexander Carrion, wanted for murder_in
Porto Rico. He has a record of five
years in San Juan prison for manslaugh-
ter.”

Boneparth put down the receiver and
turned to the prisoner.

“Carrion,” he said laconically, “you're
licked. They still want you in Porto
Rico.”

At the mention of his name, Carrion
scowled.

“Tell him in Spanish,” Boneparth sug-
gested to Ramos, who was in the office.

Ramos spoke a few words. Carrion
started in his chair as if he had been
stung. A torrent of phrases poured from
his lips, and he motioned rapidly with
his left hand.

“He is willing to make a statement,”
said Ramos when the outburst subsided.

Boneparth pushed a pen and paper
across the desk and Carrion began to dic-
tate in Spanish to Ramos. When he fin-
ished, he signed his name to the bottom
of the sheet. Ramos and Johnson signed
as witnesses.

It was a complete confession, implicat-
ing Negron. It corresponded exactly with
Gendelman’s story.

URING the ensuing autumn, all the
prisoners in the case were held in jail
while the police again sought the elusive
un. The apartments of Negron’s and
arrion’s associates were searched without
any trace being found. Finally, in January,
1933, it was decided to try Carrion and
Negron on circumstantial evidence alone,
using Gendelman as the main witness
against them.

Accordingly, at the end of the month,
trial was commenced. The people’s case
was recited from the discovery of the
crime by Angelina De Bellis to the ar-
rest of Carrion in the restaurant. In de-
fense, Negron claimed his poker game
alibi, which in turn was shattered by the
detectives’ testimony. Carrion argued
that his statement was obtained by intimi-
dation. In it he had said that his gun
was in his left-hand coat pocket when he
left the car.

“1 am right-handed,” he insisted on the
witness stand, “I could not have reached
the gun to shoot De Bellis.”

This statement came as a surprise to
the prosecution as Carrion had been
watched carefully and was known to be
left-handed. When the time for cross-
examination came, Boneparth walked
slowly to the witness chair and began to
ask routine questions. In his hand he
held Carrion’s statement.

“Look at this paper,” he said suddenly.
“Is that your signature on it?”

The paper was held directly before
Carrion, It was a tense moment. Would
he fall into the trap and demonstrate to
the jury that he was lying?

Carrion without hesitation reached for
the paper—with bis left band.

Asked to point out various distances

of fact crime cases for this magazine.

Have You a STORY?

If you have in mind any fact case, with actual photographs, deemed suitable for publication in
this magazine, please address the Editor, Master Detective, 122 E. 42nd Street, New York City,
and ask for our “Letter of Suggestions” covering full information relative to writing the accounts

May, 1937

in the courtroom
time he used hi
cross-examination
had no doubt as
tomarily employ:
On the 17th of
the case. After
they returned a °
der in the first d
of the two men °
tonished was Cot
that he doubted
they faced death
“Tell them ag
terpreter. “Ask
Negron shrug
looked out of t
were repeated.
tiently, and tapr
Forty-eight h«

front seat. He:
shackled togethe
were sitting in
service revolver
of the machine |
Duncan’s .38 \
with a robe. A
at the officers’ t
at their feet in

The murde
at left) as
end of th

Sheri

Coming upo:
side of the mo
signalled a hal
examine the W
one were pinn
He climbed fr:
back to exami

As Sheriff D
the cunning 0'
opportunity.
the compartm

Special Dep)
off guard.
window near t
to rigid atten
38 dug into
Daniel growle

“Get out 0 |
don’t utter a |

Duncan co)

rs, Ortez
taken to
sgedly he
the case.
him, the

nal Iden-
the wire.
an called
e. He is
nurder in
{ of five
anslaugh-

‘ver and

. “you're
in Porto

Carrion

arth sug-
he office.

Carrion
had been
ired from
idly with

atement,”
subsided.
id paper
in to dic-
on he fin-
e bottom
on signed

implicat-
ictly with

1, all the
ald in jail
1e elusive
ron’s and
d without

January,
rrion and
ice alone,
1 witness

ie month,
ple’s case
v of the
» the ar-
t. In de-
ser game
od by the
1 argued
| 9¥ intimi-
| ot his gun
when he

ed on the
e reached

irprise to
iad been
wn to be
for cross-

walked
began to
hand he

suddenly.

lv before
t. Would
nstrate to

ached for

distances

ation in
rk City,
accounts

May, 1937

in the courtroom, Carrion complied. Each
time he used his left hand. When the
cross-examination was completed, the jury
had no doubt as to which hand he cus-
tomarily employed.

On the 17th of February, the jury took
the case. After deliberating four hours
they returned a verdict of guilty of mur-
der in the first degree. The complacency
of the two men was unbelievable. So as-
tonished was County Judge James Barrett
that he doubted whether they knew that
they faced death in the electric chair.

“Tell them again,” he ordered the in-
terpreter. “Ask them if they know.”

Negron shrugged his shoulders and
looked out of the window as the words
were repeated. Carrion nodded impa-
tiently, and tapped his foot.

Forty-eight hours later they were sen-

Master Detective

tenced and whisked away to the death
house at Sing Sing.

While they remained in prison awaiting
appeal of their case, their associates, San-
doval, Gershbein and Schoen received
terms of from eight and one half to
twenty years on robbery and gun charges.
Schoen was sent to Dannemora, Gersh-
bein to Auburn, and Sandoval to Sing
Sing. For his assistance to the State in
the murder trial, Louis Gendelman was
allowed to plead guilty to robbery in the
second degree and received a five to ten
year term in Sing Sing.

The Court of Appeals upheld the con-
viction of Carrion and Negron, and War-
den Lewis E. Lawes was instructed to pro-
ceed with the execution of the death
sentences. On August 24th, they were
electrocuted.

Murder for Marriage

(Continued from page 48)

front seat. Herbert and Otis McDaniel,
shackled together at the feet and wrists,
Were sitting in the back seat. Dunlap’s
service revolver was in the compartment
of the machine just above his knees. Lem
Duncan’s .38 was on the seat, covered
with a robe. A .30-30 rifle lay in the seat
at the officers’ backs, a sawed-off shotgun
at their feet in the bottom of the car.

SS RMD, MM es iia

The murderers (the older brother

at left) as they appeared at the

end of the man-hunt that cost
Sheriff Dunlap his life

Coming upon an overturned car at the
side of the mountain road, Sheriff Dunlap
signalled a halt, remarking that he would
examine the wreck and determine if any-
one were pinned underneath the machine.
He climbed from his own car and walked
back to examine the wrecked automobile.

As Sheriff Dunlap walked from the car,
the cunning of Otis McDaniel rose to the
opportunity. He lunged for the gun in
the compartment.

Special Deputy Lem Duncan was caught
off guard. He had his head through the
window near the steering wheel. He jerked
to rigid attention when the muzzle of a
38 dug into his right ear and Otis Mc-
Daniel growled:

“Get out of the car, damn you, and
don’t utter a sound!”

Duncan complied, getting out of the

car on the left side. The McDaniels, still
shackled together, left the car through
the right rear door and seized the other
weapons. They ordered Duncan to walk
ahead several paces. Seeing that the
prisoners were now armed, Dunlap walked
slowly back toward them; his gray eyes
watching the eyes of Otis McDaniel. With
slow, steady stride he advanced toward
the prisoners; talking quietly to them.
Suddenly a gun barked. The shot hit the
Sheriff in the arm. He lunged forward,
grasping for the gun. Another shot fol-
lowed, and Wes Dunlap slumped to the
ground, dying, a .38 slug in his brain.
Death was his reward for his insistence
be eg prisoners be “tried according to
aw!

DEPUTY LEM DUNCAN had _ been
standing helplessly, several paces
ahead of the car when Dunlap was shot
to death. He was forced to watch the Mc-
Daniel brothers climb into the slain
Sheriff's car and roar away in a cloud of
dust, leaving the keys to the handcuffs
and leg shackles, and seventy dollars in
cash, in the pockets of the dead officer.
News of the McDaniels’ second murder
flashed over the wires. Sheriffs of seven
counties quickly mobilized forces. All
roads leading out of the isolated mountain
district were blocked. Within two hours
posses totaling three hundred men were
organized. By nightfall one thousand
armed men were closing in, with orders
to capture the McDaniels, “dead or alive!”
I was appointed to fill the office of my
life-long friend as Sheriff of Montezuma

La Plata -County Courthouse at
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32 pellet. From its peculiar rifling
characteristics, he gathered that it
had been fired from a Madsen auto-
matic, a pistol of European manu-
facture rarely seen in this country.

Detective Kear and his associates
noted the loeation of the Kouteynik-
off tenement. Madame Tatiana’s win-
dow faced east, and across a stretch
of wash-hung backyards rose tower-
ing apartment buildings. Could the
pistol ,have been fired from one of
those apartment windows? If so,
what marksman existed who pos-
sessed such demon accuracy? Above
all, why .was the woman killed?
What, possibly, could have motivated
her slayer?

But for weeks these questions went
unanswered, despite the zealous and
gra investigation conducted

Detective Kear. Meanwhile, New

ork suffered many other killings,
one murder in particular having
bizarre connection with the Koutey-
nikoff enigma, as was soon to ap-

pear.

VER a month later, on the night

of Saturday, March 5, Mrs.
Angelina De Bellis was standing
talking with a neighbor on Tinton
Avenue, in the borough of the Bronx.
Thomas, her husband, operated a
fruit store around the corner on
Westchester Avenue. I¢ was nearly
11 o'clock. Mrs. De Bellis knew that
her husband would soon close his
pecs of business. She was waiting for

im to accompany her home.

Suddenly a shot split the quiet of
the night. Mrs. De Bellis heard a cry.
A moment later she saw two men
rush from her husband’s store. They
jumped into a waiting car. A third
man sat behind the wheel. The car
lurched forward, speeded up, and
disappeared. ¢

Thomas De Bellis stumbled from
the store. He was moaning and yell-
ing. His wife saw blood.on his store-
keeper’s apron. With a cry of alarm
she rushed to him. He collapsed in
the street.

From down the block a cab driver
ran to the fallen man. He tried to
get him to his feet, bue without
avail. The storekeeper weighted 300

pounds, Another cab driver joined

the first and together they succeeded
in hoisting De Bellis into one of
their taxis. His wife followed. The
cab rushed to Lebanon hospital.

Somebody called the police. De--

tectives responded. They saw the
fruit-store cash register wide open
but money was still in the drawer.
Some questioned local residents and
merchants, while others hurried over
to the hospital. In the emergency
ward, although still conscious,
Thomas De Bellis was obviously
breathing his last. A priest had been
called and when the officers arrived
the wounded man was receiving ex-
treme unction.

“Who shot you?” a detective
asked, once the priest's ministrations
were completed.

De Bellis moaned and shook his
eg “I—I. never saw them before.

—I...”

A second later he was dead, and it
was from Mrs. De Bellis and others
in the neighborhood that the detec-
tives were forced to rely for a

description of his murderers.
Both men who entered the fruit
store were young. The one with the
un was of average height and thin.
He had a high forehead, long side-
burns, long hair, and was darkly
handsome. His companion was dark,
too, but his features were not so
regular. He had a smallish face with

an angular, jutting jaw, and he was-

short in stature. Both were dressed
in cheap, flashily tailored clothes.
They wore dark suits, light topcoats,
and pearl gray, snap brim hats.

The man in the getaway car had
been but barely glimpsed. All re-
membered of him was that he had a
sallow, hawk-like face and_ black,
flashing eyes. Witnesses agreed in
describing his vehicle—a maroon-
colored Buick sedan—but, in their
excitement, had failed to note its
license number.

Aside from this meager informa-
tion, like the Kouteynikoff affair, the
De Bellis murder seemed clueless at
the outset. Was it an attempted hold-
up, frustrated by the sacrifice of the
storekeeper’s life? Although inclined
to this theory, the detectives admitted
that the shooting, conceivably, could
have been ‘otherwise motivated. In
this respect, an event of: the follow-
ing morning, peculiarly, served in
one way to enlighten the officers, but
in another to confuse them. ~

De Bellis was autopsied at Ford-:

ham morgue. The bullet killing him
had encountered no bone, but the
medical examiner found that because
of his great bulk, even though fired
at close range, it had not passed en-

tirely through his body. Entering the
storekeeper’s left side, the slug
pierced his heart.

The medical examiner forwarded
the slug to Center Street headquar-
ters and there it came under the
scrutiny of Lieutenant Butts. The bal-
listics chief made an examination and
was on the point of noting down and
filing away his findings when he
halted, a thoughtful loo in his eyes.
Tutning to his files, he quickly ex-
tracted an envelope, took from it a
second bullet, and placed it, along

with the other, beneath the lenses of

a comparison microscope.

The bullets were twins!

With this realization verified,
Butts phoned Detective Kear.

“Something of remarkable coin-
cidence has hap ned,” ‘he said, his
voice tense wit
saw that De Bellis murder on the
teletype, I suppose. Well, the bullet
that killed De Bellis was fired from
a .32 Madsen automatic, Not only
that, but the same Madsen automatic
that killed Tatiaia Kouteynikoff!”

Kear and the Bronx detectives held
an immediate conference. Despite
Lieutenant Butts’ .pronouncement,

they were forced to admit they were:

no nearer the solution of either
shooting. Rather, they were more
puzzled. Why would persons osten-
sibly engaged in store holdups bother
to shoot down an impoverished,
tubercular, innocent. woman? After
all, had De Bellis’ murderers actually
been stickup men?

- The riddle held a solution, the de-
tectives knew, but one that only hard

BAB

ey
é “4 ~ : *

After hearing himself sentenced
murder of a 78-year-old woman,

iva

Richard Sells, on

50 YEARS |

to 50 years in ‘ater for holdup ;
Y

13, broke down

and wept as he said goodbye to mother before ‘starting for prison

excitement. “You

’ work and good luck would disclose.

The detectives went to work with
renewed energy, now concentrating

. their activities on Harlem, hunting

there for a maroon-colored Buick
and its three fugitive occupants. But
meanwhile, in the Bronx on the
night of April 2, an event took place
which eventually proved to be closely
related to what had already trans-
pired in the strange web of murder
and destiny Fate was busy weaving.

4% HE Rosello brothers liked to play
voker. The games were amateur-
ish, family affairs of penny ante in
which their wives and friends parti-
cipated. On this evening, around 11
o'clock, there were eight players and
they were gathered in the apartment
of Marcus Rosello on Hewitt Place.

“[ raise,” somebody said, and then
the bell rang.

Although no further guests were
expected, Ralph Rosello went to the
door and opened it. A moment later
the leapt back into the room, a look
of fright on his face. He was fol-
lowed by a tall, dark, hook-nosed
individual who brandished a wicked-
looking pistol and curtly commanded
eve y to put up his hands.

The armed newcomer stalked over
to the table and swept up the change
and the few bills scattered about.
Then he ordered his victims to empty
their pockets and when only a little
additional cash was forthcoming, he
snorted disgustedly.

“Bum steer! Only thirty dollars!
I’m wasting my time!”

Ralph Rosello moved quietly
towards a window. His hand reached
out for a flower vase- resting on the
sill, At that moment the bandit
turned, saw Ralph’s movement,
jerked his gun around and fired.

Ralph was hit in the right side. He
fell heavily, bleeding and writhing
in pain,

“Quiet, you rat!” the bandit cursed.
“Any noise out of you—or anybody
else—and .I’ll twitch this trigger
again!”

Quickly, then, the robber backed
towards the door and a moment later
was gone. Marcus Rosello called the
police while other relatives of the
fallen Ralph rushed to his side, lifted

_ him bodily, and carried him down-

stairs.to a taxicab and thence to Lin-
coln hospital.

Detectives answered Marcus’ sum-
mons and within a few minutes had
obtained a detailed description of
the robber. He was lean and tall. He
had piercing, deeply sunken eyes and
a swarthy complexion. He was wear-
ing a two-piece, light-weight gray
suit with a blue pin = and a red
polo shirt which was tied at the neck
with a‘similarly colored cord.

The detectives wondered how the
bandit had learned of the card game.
The telltale words “bum steer” which
he had uttered, indicated to thei:
minds that some one had put the
finger on the party.

“How often.do you play?” on
asked Marcus Rosello.

“Regularly. Every Saturday night.’

“Usually the same crowd?”

“Well, yes. But sometimes we hav:
one or two different guests.”

“Ever have any trouble at
game?”

Marcus Rosello thought for a mo-
ment before answering, “Now that
you mention it, we-did have a little
argument once. It was last Saturday
night. A fellow named Juan Garcia
had a steady run of bad luck. He was
pretty bad-tempered about it and
accused the rest of us of framing
him. We had to ask him to leave and
not to come back. As he was going
out I heard him mutter somethin
bout ‘getting even,’ but I didn’t take
him sertously at the time.”

The officers learned that Garcia
lived on East 112th street—in Har-
lem. Dropping down there at two
o'clock in the morning, they found
their man asleep in bed.

“I don’t know anything about it,”
he kept repeating. “I don’t know
anything about it. Yes, I left the
poker party last Saturday night in
a huff but ie the next day I was all
over it. No, I didn’t tell anybody
about the or where it was
located. I don’t know any holdup
men!”

Garcia’s manner was convincing.
The detectives were inclined to be-
lieve what he said. The next morn-
ing, after checking on his employ-
ment and looking into his history,
they let him go.

Naf EANWHILE, in Lincoln Hos-
pital, Ralph Rosello languished
between life and death, The bandit’s
bullet had torn through, his right
lung, cracking a rib, and the doc-
tors considered his condition so seri-
ous that they refused to probe for the
slug until the patient either showed
signs of improvement—or died.

But before either of these eventu-
alities came about, another connected
development took place. It happened
in Harlem, on East 117th Street, only
forty-eight hours after the Rosello
affair, on the night of Monday, April
ith. ®

A card game was in progress in the
partment of Epiphanimo Lopez.
Here the stakes were highter, the
olay more tense and dramatic. But
tround midnight the drama_ was
seightened by the sudden appear-
ince of a tall, dark and slender fig-
ire standing menacingly in the apart-
ment door.

‘There was a gun in the man’s
hand, a nasty scowl on his crooked
face. “I'd just as soon shoot you guys
is look at you!” he threatened.
‘Hand over the money—all of it!”

The bandit collected $750 in cash,
‘ogether with jewelry and watches.
‘le did not fire a shot. but disap-
reared as quietly as he had come.
Lopez called the police. A detective,
ioting down a description of the
‘obber as given by Lopez and ‘his
yuests, suddenly realized that it tal-

ied with a description he had read -

n routine reports of the day before.
\ few minutes later, back. at -his
orecinct, he looked up the report in
juestion, :

“That gunman who shot up Rosel-
o up on Hewitt Place,” the Harlem
officer pee Bronx headquarters.
‘Well, he pulled a job tonight in our
orecinct. Sure, it’s the same guy. He
‘nswers your description in every de-
ail—lean and hard, piercing: eyes,
yray suit and a red polo shirt!”

Even so, despite a wide search, the
vandit was not apprehended. But

two days later, on April 6th, the af-
fair took a turn which tied together
everything which had happened so
far.

‘At Lincoln Hospital Ralph Rosel-
Jo passed the crisis. It was announced
that he was on the road to recovery.
A surgeon operated, removing the
bullet from his back, and this was
turned over to Lieutenant Butts.

The slug was a-.32. Examining it,
the ballistics expert determined that
it, too, had been fired from a Mad-
sen automatic— the same Madsen
automatic firing the shot killing Tati-
ana Kouteynikoff, the same Madsen
automatic used in the murder of
Thomas De Bellis!

This startling report drew together
the combined efforts of Detective
Kear and all the officers pursuing the
three other investigations. The detec-
tives faced the most-serious of all
situations: killers on the loose and

‘the grim business of tracking them

down. For killers they undoubtedly
were. Though the same gun had been
used in all three shootings, it was
obvious that neither of the men who
had entered the De Bellis store was
identical with the bandit who shot
Rosello, .;

“But they’re members of the same
gang,” Detective Kear observed.
“Maybe they have only one gun in
the crowd. But even that doesn’t ex-

plain the reason behind the shooting:

of Tatiana Kouteynikoff. Why was
she killed?”

In a discussion of every possible
angle of the. now correlated investi-
gation, the detectives examined each
other’s reports, one of which con-
tained a list of the names and ad-
dresses of the guests present in the
Hewitt Place apartment on the night
Ralph Rosello was shot.

Detective Kear looked the list over
and was suddenly struck by an item
of ‘possible significance. “Say!” he
exclaimed. “I notice here that Pablo
Hernandez, one of those playing
poker with the Rosellos, is a barber
and has a shop on Westchester Ave-
nue, The number is only two doors
from. where De Bellis ran his fruit
store!”

Officers went up to see Hernandez.

The detectives explained to the
barber that the gun which had killed
the fruit dealer was the same gun
which had shot Ralph Rosello, and
that it was their theory that some
one who had once played in, or knew
of, the Rosello card games had
tipped off the bandit to their exist-

ence. —? also told him that they’

considered it more than coincidental
that a participant in the Rosello par-
ties should have a barber shop near
the De Bellis fruit store. They gave
him a full description of the De
Bellis murderers.

Hernandez suddenly paled. His ex-
pression became thoughtful. Speak-
rely haltingly, he said: ‘I—I believe
I know one of them. The one who
had the gun. The one you describe
as being long-haired and handsome.
He sounds like a Spanish fellow who
used to collect policy bets from me.
I called him Frankie. I never knew
his full name. All I knew was that
he lived somewhere in Harlem.”

“What combination did he work
for?”

-was hurrie
hear the bandit in the other room’

“T can’t cell you, Bue one thing I
do know and his I regret. Back in
January I was friendly with this fel-
low. I'd won one or two small bets
and he’d paid me. I asked him if he
liked to play poker and he said he
did. At the time he seemed like a
regular guy and so IJ invited him up
to the games at Rosello’s, I told him
they held them every Saturday night.
He took down the name and address
and apartment number and said he'd
come some Saturday but he never
showed up. But my intentions were
good. I wasn’t tipping off the card
game to anybody I thought was a
gunman, If one of Frankie's friends
stuck up the game, my part in it was
accidental, . , .” :

The detectives were inclined to be-
lieve the barber. After checking him
thoroughly, they decided not to take
him into per

“It probably happened just as he
says,” one officer theorized. ‘‘The
man who shot Rosello was undoubt-
edly a member of Frankie's gang.
Hmm, so Frankie lives in Harlem,
eh? Well, this whole case seems to
be centering in Harlem.”

The next several days the detec-
tives spent checking the participants
in the, Lopez card game which had
been robbed:on East 117th Street.
They felt that this one, too, had been
tipped off. ;

Most of the players lived. eithe
in Harlem or nearby. were dif-
ficult to question and evasive in their
answers. The detectives spent many
futile hours running down one false
lead after another as to how the
hawk-nosed bandit got wind of the
Lopez party.

But while this investigation was
at its height, on the night of April
20—exactly three months after the
mysterious shooting of Tatiana Kou-
teynikoff—the first real break in the
case came about.

Dr. Solomon Begun, a Sician,
lived on ietiate heiec near
evening his office bell rang. A man
was standing on the stoop. He was
thin and young and blond. “I'm sick,

doctor,” he said. “I'd like for you to

look me over.”
105th Street. At 10 o’clock in the

The medical man ushered his caller
through his reception room and into
a rear office. There the presumed
patient pulled a gun and backed the
doctor down into a chair, Then,
calmly, the man with the gun pro-
ceeded to rifle the office, finally re-
lieving the physician -of his’ wallet:
On the point of leaving, he mut-
tered:

“Sit in that chair for five minutes
and don’t budge. One move out of
you until then, arid I'll come back
and shdot!’’ wie

The bandit left the office and re-
turned to the reception room. Disre-
garding ‘the warning, the doctor
leaped from his chair, slammed the
door between the two rooms and
locked it. Then he picked up the
phone and team “Police!” While he

ly talking he was able to

cursing and shouting, struggling
with a tricky chain lock that the doc-
tor had recently installed on his
street door,

Finally the door. opened and

slammed and the doctor knew the
bandit was gone. But meanwhile his
frantic ¢ & help had been flashed
by radio from headquarters to a Har-
lem prowl car,

The officers within the car realized
they were only a half-block from the
doctor’s house. Rushing in its direc-
tion, they caught sight of a fleeing
figure leaving the doctor's stoop.

They shouted for the man to halt
but he failed to obey. They drew
their revolvers and fired in the air
and at that the man stopped in his
tracks and waited for the officers to
catch up with him.

They searched their prisoner, find-
ing the doctor's wallet and a .38
Smith & Wesson revolver. After-
wards they took him to the station
house and Dr. Begun identified him
as the bandit who had robbed him a
short while before.

Detective Kear, along with other
detectives, was present.

“What's your name?” Kear ques-
tioned.

“Georges Sandoval.”

. “Where do you live?” ;

~ “Nowhere. I ain’t got no home. I
sleep wherever I can find a phce
that’s warm.”

“Come on. No use. lying. That
fancy suit you've got on is cleaned
and pressed. You got a place to
sleep. Where do you live?”

Sandoval gave an address on West
101st Street. Detectives went there.
They found a small flat consisting
of a bedroom, living room, and kit-
chen. The place was dirty and un-
kempt. In the bedroom there were
two beds, both unmade. There were
two suitcases, one bearing Sando-
val’s initials and the other apparent-
ly belonging to a Louis Gendelman:
—so identified from correspondence
found within,

But in Sandoval’s own suitcase the
detectives made a most amazing dis-
covery—a clipping from the Daily
News of January 21. There was the
picture of a gracious-appearing wo-
man and the headline: RUSSIAN
ARISTOCRAT SLAIN:

ETECTIVE Kear called a round-
up of all the officers assigned
to the multiple Bronx-Harlem._ in-
vestigation, Some worked on Sando-
val while others returned. to the
bandit’s apartment to watch what-
ever activity might take place there.
“Why did you have that clip-
ping?” Kear ‘quizzed Sandoval.
“What was it doing in your suit-
case?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t. know any
clipping was there. All 1] had was a
piece of newspaper in my suitcase.
I used it to wrap something up, |
guess.” : :

“You're lying! Kear. shouted,
drawing his face close to the prison-
er’s and looking him straight in the
eye. “That wasn’t any piece torn out
of a newspaper—it was cut care-
fully!’ Why did you murder Tatiana
Kouteynikoff ?”

“I didn't.”

“Don’t lie, Why did you?”

Suddenly whatever bravado San-
doval possessed seemed to desert
him. His shoulders drooped; his face
whitened; and he slumped in the

the lawmen decided

sure about anything.
remained under sus-
actions after the mur-
: checked thoroughly.
found a storekeeper
he gardener had pur-
from him shortly be-
up on midnight of
: the store. was located
iles from the Higham
ed impossible that

have traveled the dis- °

ort a time, since the
mmitted at 11:30 and
d immediately after-

: against Pete Michelli
und, It looked very
new suspect must be
ore.

iddry sat at his desk.

pping with his pencil.
s were clamoring for
he Higham case, and
io sure they could get

’s glance fell on some
lim, including a war-
me David Richardson
ern Avenue charging
ne Harrison with lar-
vrist watch.
aed, a sudden thought
“Cawthorne,” he said
"ve seen that name
ently, but I'll be a
if I know where.”
warrant to Privette,
; “Does that name
to you?”
tbbed his chin and
ful. “Yeah,” he final-
't there some relative
the Higham will b
Cawthorne, I think it

the other shouted. “I
2’s any connection be-
1orne and this fellow,
tne Harrison?”

ig revealed that the B.
itioned in the Higham
ive of the Harry Caw-
on named in the war-

s this Harrison is a
: of Mrs. Higham,”
“Did we question

led that a Harry C,
een given the routine
ong with other rela-
there had been no
on directed toward

igged. “Well, we've
this guy for larceny,

iis warrant. Let’s go.

estion him more about
e.”

ves found Harrison,
ninent Scotland Neck
unily, at home. The
ity-year-old youth vig-

| that he had stolen.

atch.
‘riend of mine,” he
ould he accuse me of

such a thing?”

Getting nothing but denials from
the youth, the detectives obtained a
detailed description of the stolen
watch and began checking with
pawnbrokers and second-hand deal-
ers. '

Finding no record of the watch
in Raleigh, they went on to the
neighboring towns. “I have my sus-
picions about that boy,” announced
Maddry. “He’s too cool and col-
lected. His story is almost too smooth
to be convincing.”

In the town or Durham the detec-
tive learned that his suspicions had
been well-founded. Glancing down
the list of objects pawned recently
he came to the words: “One Hamil-
ton watch ... H. C. Harrison.”

The dealer’s description of the H.
C. Harrison who had pawned the
timepiece fit the curly-haired youth
exactly,

Harrison continued, to deny the
theft when taken into custody, but
his denials didn’t impress the authori-
ties. :

On the hunch, Privette now paid
a visit to J. Wilbur Bunn, the at-
torney who had handled all of Mrs.
Higham’s affairs while she was alive.

‘Had Mrs. Higham, he asked, remem-

bered Harry Cawthorne Harrison in
her will?

“No,” the lawyer declared, ‘Har-
rison was not mentioned in my
client’s will, and for a good reason.”

Privette’s eyebrows rose. This was
just what he had been waiting to
hear.

“Why?” he asked. ‘What was the

~ reason?”

Bunn explained that Harry Harri-
son, a grand-nephew of Mrs. Hig-
ham, had oftened borrowed money
from her and had not returned it.

“Just before the boy took a job
with an insurance company he

begged for money, until Mrs. Hig-'

ham agreed to sign a $200 note for
him. When that note became due,
he made no effort to repay it, so that
my client was forced to put up the
money.” .

In a visit to the Durham Life In-
surance Company, the officers learned
that Harrison had been discharged
from their employ on Saturday, the

day before the murder, for ineffi-
ciency. ‘

Hastening back to headquar-
ters, Privette related his discoveries
to other officials on the case. Fol-
lowing up the angle, Detective Mad-
dry questioned the slain woman's ser-
vants, and learned that Harry Harri-
son occasionally visited his grand-
aunt, but hadn't been to the house
during the previous week, so far as

‘they knew. They agreed, howevr,

that the youth might easily have id
a late Sunday night visit: to their
employer, without their knowledge.

Feeling confident now that they
were on the right track, police search-
ed young Harrison’s house and found
a diamond ring which had been dis-
covered missing after the fix. Then

in a leather pouch under the front
seat of Young Harrison's car, officers
discovered two. expensive rings, a
pearl choker, and a necklace. In a
compartment they found three wrist
watches, one fitting. the description
of the timepiece whi

Mrs. Higham’s wrist at the time of
the murder.

Servants, friends, relatives and the
manager of Jolly’s Jewelry Store all
identified the valuables as having
belon to Mrs. Higham.

A further dramatic bit of evidence
was a drop of dried blood on the
back of the watch the slain woman
had been wearing. The watch was
turned over to the laboratory for
experts to decide whether the blood
was that of Mrs. Higham.

“If it is,” Privette. told Harrison,
“that’s a prerey definite bit of proof
that you murdered your grand-aunt
and then robbed her.”

The dark-haired youth did not lose
his head at the accusation.

“You'll have to prove it; I’m ad-
mitting nothing,” were his defiant
words,

Harrison was held without bond in
the Raleigh jail where, a continual
smile or whistle on his lips, the boy
amused other f pyro writ,» pleas-
ant patter and posed for photog-
raphers. Chain cigarette smoking
was his only betrayal of nervousness.

Police, still at work to accumulate
further evidence against Harrison,
learned that he had spent Easter
week-end in Raleigh.

“I went to a movie Sunday night,”
was the boy’s alibi. “Got back tu
my room at ten minutes past eleven.”

Checking revealed this to be false,
for another roomer at the same house
declared that he heard Harrison
come home a few minutes past mid-
night on the evening of the murder.

Now cracking a little under the
strain, the win began devising ex-
cuses for having had the jewelry in
his car. “My great-aunt gave it to
to me to give to my mother for her
birthday,” he muttered.

Since Mrs. Harrison’s birthday was
not until August, police thought it
strange that Mrs. Higham would
hariding out presents so soon!

“And did Mrs. Higham give you

PSE Bap a tA AEG A Liptay
CY 3 ak St. Pe. eg ée

from outside her apartment. .
The officers searched the fire escape

onto which the window opened. |

They climbed to the roof and down
to the ground. The railings were
dusted for fingerprints but. none
were found. Peter and Victor Kou-
teynikoff, as well as their guests,
were taken to the station house for
questioning, while Tatiana’s body
was removed to the morgue.

As far as could be learned, the
dead woman had no_ enemies.
Though once wealthy, she had long
since disposed of her jewels. As a
motive for the killing, robbery
seemed well ruled out.

No one could throw any light on
the crime. Indeed, until the next day,
its mystery seemed clueless. But an

ich had’ been on -

the watch with her own blood on

ic?” they asked him.

Harry Harrison had nothing to
Say.

When the laboratory report re-
vealed that the blood on the watch
was identical with a sample from
the veins of the murdered woman,
Harrison stared fixedly at his hands
and refused to attempt any explana-
tion,

On July 12th, 1945, Harry C. Har-
rison went to trial. Sitting in the
courtroom between his weeping
mother and sister, the youth showed
no signs of emotion as he listened
to the state set forth its evidence
against him.

Policemen who had worked on the

. case related the strong circumstantial

evidence indicating that Harrison
was guilty of having killed and
robbed Mrs. Higham, and burned
the house to hide the double crime.
Detective Privette pointed out that
all the missing jewelry found on
Harrison had been identified as Mrs.
Higham’s except for an imitation
diamond belonging to the maid.
-Furthermore, the defendant had
admitted spending the murder night
in Raleigh, and two people testi-
fied to the fact that he had not
returned to his room until past mid-

ig 73

arrison, neat as a pin in a striped
blue suit and white shoes, spoke to
his parents and friends and smiled
generously for phevogeree At
no time did he talk to his lawyer
or take the stand in his defense.

A jury deliberated for 42 minutes.
Then they brought in a verdict.
“Guilty of murder in the second de-
gree!”

_ Judge Clawson L. Williams of
Sanford sentenced Harry Cawthorne
Harrison to thirty years in State's
*Prison, and thus rang down the cur-
tain on Raleigh’s mosc.thoroughly
investigated crime in a generation.

The Higham gardener, Pete Mich-
elli, was absolved of any guilt in
connection with the crime and re-
leased from custody.

Editor’s note: The name Pete
Michelli is fictitious to avoid em-
barrassment to an individual inno-
cently involved in the investigation,

autopsy produced the strangely van-
ished death bullet. It had severed
Tatiana’s jugular vein, dropped into
her esophagus, and then been swal-
lowed to her stomach. The medical
examiner wondered why the ro
had not penetrated entirely throug)
the esophagus.

“I realize that the window glass
broke the force of ‘the bullet some-
what,” he said to Lieutenant Butts,
chief of the ballistics bureau, hand-
ing him the leaden slug, “but hardly
to this degree. To my mind, the wo-
man must have been struck by the
bullet when its trajectory was nearly
spent, possibly at a distance of sev-
eral hundred feet.”

Under the ae sea, Lieutenant
Butts scrutinized the bit of lead, a

5-50

A sions

_ afe you goin

chair in which he had been made to
sit.

“I didn’t murder her!” he cried.
“I killed her, yes, but I didn’t mur-
der her. It was like this . . .”

Whereupon the blond prisoner
recited a strange story. Before mov-
ing to 101st Street he had lived on
West 113th. This was a tenement
around the corner from Lenox Ave-
nue. Its walls were a hundred yards
or thereabout distant from those of

. the building in which the Russian

woman lived.

At 8 o'clock, on the night of Janu-
ary 20th, Sandoval was up on the
roof of his tenement practicing with
an automatic he'd brought with him
from Philadelphia when he original-
ly came to New York.

He fired seven shots in the air,
just trying out the gun. But his arm
must have dropped, for with the last
shot he heard the ping of tracking
glass and he knew he’d inadvertently
pierced a window somewhere. How-
ever it wasn’t until the next morn-

” ing that he was aware that he had

taken a human life.

He clipped the story of Tatiana
Kouteynikoff's death from the news-
paper and kept it. He didn’t know
why. For three months, now, it had
haunted him but he never seemed
to get rid of the printed reminder
of the careless, criminally foolish
deed he had perpetrated.

“What did you do with the auto-
matic?” Kear pressed. “What do you
know about the shooting of Ralph
Rosello and the murder of Thomas
De Bellis?”

“Nothing!” Sandoval screamed.
“Nothing—I swear. The gun—I got
rid of it. In February I—er—lost it
in a—er—crap game. I don’t know
who won it. I swear I don’t!”

: But Kear could see that he was
ing. On the point of questionin
* ag St ne was baelimusted be
the appearance of other officers wit

another prisoner between them.

_ “Here's the other occupant of that
apartment on 101s¢ Street,” a detec-
tive explained. “He's Louis Gendel-
man, We nabbed him as he entered
the flat.”

ENDELMAN was tall and lean.
He had a hook-nose and deeply
sunken black eyes. He was wearing
a blue suit, but beneath the jacket
was a red polo shirt. The circle of
officers took one look at him and

_then one of them reached for a tele-

phone, getting in touch with the
witnesses to the two card-game hold-
ups.

Within a few minutes Gendel-
man was positively identified as the
man’ who had taken $750 from
Lopez’s guests and who had shot
Ralph Rosello.

“So,” Detective Kear accused him.
“Gendelman, this puts you in a nice
spot. Your roommate here—Sando-
val—admits having had the Madsen
automatic in January, but says he lost
it in a crap game in February. Now,
we find that you shot Rosello with it
in April. So how about March—
March 5? What about Thomas De
Bellis? Why was he killed? What
to do, Gendelman?
Take the rap for first degree murder

. t rn?”

Gendelman wilted beneath the
bright light under which he was
held. “Sandoval’s lying,” he whim- |
pered. “He didn’t lose the gun. He
sold it to... I don’t know who he
sold it to!”

“What difference does that make?”
Kear went on. “You had it in April.
What are you going to do, Gendel-
man—burn?”

The red-shirted bandit broke
down. “Wait a minute,” he blub-
bered. “Wait a minute and I'll tell
you everything I know. As far as
the Russian woman is concerned,
Sandoval is right about what he said.
But that De Bellis shooting—that’
was murder. Frankie did it. Frankie’s
a fool and he’s got a nervous trigger
finger. .

“In February Sandoval sold the

n to Frankie and early this month
Therswed it from Frankie to pull
the Rosello and Lopez jobs but I.
gave it back to him. In March I
didn’t have it. Frankie had it him-
self and it was Frankie who shot De -
Bellis the night he and Alex and I
went up to the Bronx!”

“Frankie who?”

“Frankie Negron?”

“Alex who?”

“I don’t know Alex’s last’ nathe.
He’s a friend of Frankie’s but I
don’t know anything about him or
where he hangs out.” :

“Where does Negron live?"’

“I don’t know where he lives but
sometimes I meet him in the apart-
ment of Dolores Lopita on East
116th Street. She runs a kind of
boarding place, restaurant like, and
sometimes I meet him there. But let
me tell you what happened.

“Frankie told Alex and me he'd
cased this fruit store for a holdup.
He'd thought about the place when
he was up in that neighborhood col-
lecting policy. So I went down to a
U-Drive-It joint on. Lexington Ave-
nue and hired a Buick sedan. Then
we drove up to the Bronx, me at the
wheel, and parked near the fruit
store and I stayed in the car.

“Frankie and Alex went in. I
didn’t know there was going to be
any shooting. But the fruit man re-
fused to hand over the dough and
reached for a hammer instead. After
Frankie fired the shot, he and Alex
ran out and jumped in the car. They
were scared, then. They left the
money. The next day we read in the
paper that De Bellis was dead.”

ANDOVAL was sent to the

Tombs and Gendelman to the
Bronx County jail. Meanwhile detec-
tives watched the 116th Street apart-
ment of Dolores Lopita, and two
days later they seized a dark, long-
haired, handsome young man who
readily admitted that he was Frankie ©
Negron,

But he denied any part in the De
Bellis murder, although he admitted
knowing both Gendelman and San-
doval. He also admitted having
owned a Madsen automatic but said
that in February he threw it in the
East River because it wouldn’t work
properly.

He was a cold, hard customer and
he refused to divulge any further
information about himself. He would
not tell where he lived. He swore he

had no friend named Alex. He also
swore he had never been in the
Bronx in his life, nor had he ever
ridden in a Buick.

But he was identified by Pablo
Hernandez, the Westchester Avenue
barber, as the person who had once
collected policy bets from him. After
days of questioning by all the de-
tectives who worked on the case and
by two assistant district attorneys,
Neigon was finally committed to the
Bronx County jail.

Meanwhile the hunt for “Alex”
went on. After nearly three months
of painstaking and di
Kear and the other officers were
forced to confess themselves
stumped. Alex, they knew, was some-
where in Harlem, in that section of
Harlem occupied by white, Spanish-
speaking peoples, But the language,
in itself, was too much for them. Ap-
pealing to their superiors, they ‘sug-
gested that a Spanish detective be
assigned.

As a result, on July 1, Detective
Aristides Ramos and his partner, De-
tective Arthur Johnson, both of the
Alien Squad, were ordered to take up
the investigation. Ramos was Span-
ish born and spoke the language
fluently.. Johnson had more than
‘twenty-five years detective and police
experience.

Fraternizing with Harlem resi-
dents, Ramos quickly learned that
Negron was paiied, He had last
lived with his wife on East 113th

Street. However, on se here, .
lo

the officers discovered that following
her husband’s arrest Carmine Negron
had moved. They traced her to
Madison Avenue, the home ‘of her
mother.

Carmine Negron denied ever hav-
ing known a friend of her husband’s
called Alex. She said that many men
had visited her Frankie, some of
whose names she could not remem-
ber. ,
The detectives left her but kept
watch outside the tenement in which
he was staying. Ten minutes later
they saw her emerge and head for a
corner drugstore. Following her in,
they waited until she had entered a

hone booth and opened her pocket-
k.and then they seized her. In her
hand they found a slip of paper with
the name Ortez and the phone num-
ber, an Eldorado number. ‘:

“Trying to warn Alex, eh?” De-
tective Ramos accused in Spanish.

Johnson traced the phone number.
It turned out to be a Horn & Hardart
Automat restaurant on Lexington
Avenue.

The detectives committed Carmine
Negron as a material witness and
then hurried down to the Automat.
“Ortez” they found working as a
dishwasher. He was short and dark,
with a jutting chin and a smallish,
evil face. Placed under arrest, he ad-
mitted that his real name was Alex
—Alex Carrion. He said he lived on
East 114th Sereet. -

He confessed his ‘part in the De
Bellis murder and his confession
named Negron as the man who had
carried and fired the Madsen gun.
Both Carrion and Negron were in-
dicted for first degree murder; San-
doval for robbery and Sullivan law
violations; Gendelman for assult,

fficult inquiry, -

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Sullivan law violations, and rob
Inasmuch as Sandoval and Ger
man agreed to testify for: the s
manslaughter charges in connec
with the death of Tatiana Koute
koff were not pressed against
nor were charges of complicit)
murder against the other.

In February, 1933, Negron
Carrion were tried jointly in Br
County Supreme Court for the
der of Thomas De Bellis. Both y
convicted, Both were sentencec
die, Subsequently Sandoval and (
delman pleaded guilty to the inc
ments against them and were s
enced to Sing Sing for long term

On July 24, 1933, Carrion
Negron, their appeal having fai
were electrocuted. So ended a
of cheap little punks, brave be
one common, incriminating weal
but cowardly and cringing when
armed, The case is remarkable fo:
ironic coincidence. Had not one
the gang killed a woman acciden
ly, perhaps two others might
have paid the death penalty Se n
der. Had not one robbed a doc
perhaps all four might still be
large. The. web of crime and pun
ment Fate had woven wes 5 a
appearing bullet and a re-appear
gun proved to be a strange one
deed.

The various

the execution of Canewei

Tur acts ine “REGARD TO:THE MURDER.

Below we present the facts in regard to the |

- murder of Auer Rurzargetu Sanpeas.. The con.
feasion which Caaaweit gaade. to the Rev. 5. G.

Viswounn, of Rome, cannot vary much from the f time | cam

version which. we present, as it ia carefully
gleaned froin the prelimisary examination and
“subsequent trial of the wretch “who hae to-day
paid the fearful penalty for his crime which the
law: preacribee: OOo
: Oa the afternoon of ‘Bathrdey, Apal ‘25th,
1408, Mr. Laer Sanoena, living at Pond Hill,
four miles east of Camden, went his daughter.
, Aver to. Mr, Mc Mictan’ s, 8 neighbor, living
“aboat hislf « mile distant, for a pail of meat.
The little girl reached Mr. McMittay’s house at,
E © proper time, procured the meat, and started
for homein company with another little girl,
who returned home after accompanying her a
jatance. About five or six o'clock, Mr.

“prolonged: absence. of their danghter, com-
menced a search for her. In a amall piece of
woods adjoining the road along which the little
one passed, ® stone was found covered with
x. A few rods distant there were evidences
trugyle, ‘and from thie last-mentioned
locality, extendiag for about thirty rode,
was s trail: which was easily followed.
ended in @ gulf, where, partially cov-
oA by fogs” and brush, © waa found
the mangled body of ‘Aney Buizanere Sanvens.
She wasatill alive but unable to speak, and

> about Afteen minutes from the time she was

liacovered breathed her last. When found her
throat was horribly gashed, the back of her
_ head waa. pounded to a jelly, while her body
bore evidences of a most dastardly outrage.
marks indicated that she had
been clenched and held by the throat, and
there was a wound over one of the ey,
“she had probably been struek with a utone.
Intelligence of thia fiendish deed spread rapidly,

~~ “and the same night Officer Yor«, of Camden,

ested Canawent, finding him in the town of
nna, at the house of a brother-in. law.
Casewrpt waa <¢en to enter the: woods in
: which the girl was found a short time before
the child reached that point. . About an hour
~ Inter, he was recognized by several pee pro-
_geeding toward Camden,
slone in w hut about fore
roda from. the house of Mr. Saxpeas. He
possessed x somewhat eccentric disposition,
and was sometimes called foolish, He had
been at work at Witttaw A Hatw's on the
morning of the murder, and lef} Hatt's house
after dinner for bis shanty.. That he did go to
his hus was clearly eatabliahed. Mrs. ‘Me.
- Micvaw awore that she saw him about ‘a
"quarter past two o'clock, coming down the
_., Pond Hill Road from his home, She went ou *
and passed a few words with him, after which
he started back in the direction of the Pond
id Road. In addition to this, Mrs. “MoMn—

tan’s: little daughter, Lortnpr, ‘teatified that

Canswaut did tara up the Pond Hill Road, and
it was this confident assertion on the part of
Loainny MoMittan that strengthened the con-
viction that Cagswait was the murderer,
At

Fand the Reporters were present,
the principal facts which we Breet bs

| der the head of
Mrs. Sanpxka- becoming alarmed at the

‘the seventeenth day of December, 1840.

| circumatances.

after I left him. weat to

| livipe now.
where}

| been prostrated. by heat.

e time of his arrest, Casswrcr strongly |

down hom 3 laude sa ’

The Cou
Osaswei —Woll, f guess q ahualdheve heen

Fmobbed if it hadn’t been for you. Yea, geu-
-tlemen, I'm ready wo die

now. If 1 hadn't owned what'l did ow,

thongh, I should have been lost. :
‘Here the converaation became. general.--

Questions in relation to the particulara of ‘tho

“murder were freely asked and freely answered.

From the conversation held then, and from a
subsequent interview with the condemned man.
when only Shoriff Weaver, Jailor Sixuteron
wo obtained

“CARSWELL ‘a CONVERSION, :
Tn giving thia confession wo are not indebted
to the Rev. Mr. Visucuxa or ta any gentleman

present when the first confession was made, | t

We write without having seen the paper which

| Mr. Visscuma prepared -

- Twas born in Camden, Oneide County, on
“My
parents were poor. Both are living at present,
so far as | know. They have always worked
hard tor a living, and havecontinued in poor
Until 1 was sixteen yeara old,
I remained with my father and mother, Then
I went to work on Mr. Muxeer's farm. I
stayed with Mr. Meeuen abeut a year, and
work. on’ the canal,
hiring out as a boat band. In Juno, 1857, F
married Maroarsr Cary. [lived with her
three months and then left her. [ think she is
Ihave a boy nine yeara old who
is living now, too. After I left my wife T went.
home. Since then I have worked at farming in
the summer, and have stayed at home with my
father and mother in the winter. f enlis

Gol, Wiextoce’s regiment at Boonville. Be-

fore that I had built my shanty near Mr. San—

pgas’ house. [ stayed in Col. Wursroce’s reg—
iment until [ waa taken sick, My sickness was
so bad that I was discharged. In Auguat,

| 1863, I enlisted in Col. Gangarn’s regiment,

(the 146th,) in Company E, which was
commanded by Capt. G, 5S. Lanai,
of Camden. 1 stayed in. the’ 146th
just six months. and twelve days, and. six
weeks of this time was in the hospital. Saw
service in the battlee of Fredericksburg and
Gettysburg. When I was at length removed
from the hospital, I was taken to Camp Uon-
valeacent ; was a good deal of a sufferer, having
“Subsequentlf I was
taken to Fort Alexander, and after a while was
discharged on account of physical disability.
Mr. Mexxen brought me home. ‘In 1867 I
lived with another woman a little while, but
she wes not married to me.. I was arrested for
this crime April 26th, 1968, indicted in Utica
June 10th. The case was put over to the No-
vember term and was called for trial, Novem:
ber 16th. oe
[met Ansar Etizasera Saypess siturday

‘afternoon at the jumction of the Pond Hill

= early hour

T ain't. afraid to go }

faces”
‘dog the scene.

| of his death as «holiday.
ruilitia companies encircled the buildings and} j
pressed the gaping crowd still farther back.

| around the Cowrt House.

card!” bythe prominently carious—berried lon

ad wtation at al unseasonably |
mbark for itome,’ ‘

aeemly haste was hailed with sarcastl

the great crowd af the Sheriffs" unprovided

to the ri

for.” “The same nervoun fecling was exhibited

train”
hoy
“tbe

the ‘excursion
by: the wtrect
loungers Kome, and by
crowd hat” weaved around the saa
which the county buildings aré situated, climb-
mg trees overlooking the enclosed yard, atrain-
‘ing eyes at overlevked cracka in the hew pine
partition that kept the ghaatly scaffold from
tiew, and wparling about the door of the
rivate reaidence like country novices
susement #t the hox olfce of @ traveling
There were fow sympathetic
in the fuatling crowd, | “even among
the women and. little feuiale children who
swarmed on the steps of the church overloak-

‘Jookers: on

@ho

by “ab.
along

anit

route,
in

€ irous her

man, they.
‘upon. the day
Presently the

condemned |
ee took

Theo pipes and cigars were lighted, and lobby-
ing for admission was transferred from the

_doors of the jail, and cracks of the gloomy en-

ie. to jaunty officers who could unlock
the cordon of bayonets that barred. the.
eager populace.’ The lobbying grew firely.
Buffets were not replied to by bayonet thrusta
ag it was at ona. time feared they would be, and
the crowd were kept at bay, A few insinuat-

“Alas for Christian charity|
were

tet

hes

ing ones drifted through the lines but were Sr

met at the doors by the inexorable Deputy | '¢

Fitxins, who. seemed pleased to have the}
weight of the “exhibition” on his shoulders,
and stopped. Derisive hoots at the militia con-
tinued, and the spite of impertinent citizens
was vented by snowballs upon the crowd
As the hour for the
execution arrived, the excitement increased
and continued until it‘climaxed in the final act}
of the last hanging tragedy in Oneida County.
: THE LAST HOURS OF CARSWELL, ‘
Carsweit obtained more sleep last night
than. he has had during sny night of the present
week. The Jailor, Mr. Sincierom, passed the

night with him. In the course of the evening,
he was visited by. the Rev. Mesars. CLanx, Han. |“
gis and Repaap of Rome.

He conversed with
each of these geotlemen with & singular calm.
ness, and expreaséd his full preparation for

|death. About twelve o’clock he fell asleey.—
The Jailor watched him closely, bat was un-

able to observe any indications of troubled
Feat. About six o'clock the condemned man

awoke, recognized Mr. Sixaueron, said ‘ Good |
morning, Jou,” turned over, and again feb}
‘asleep. This time he slept for about an hour.

Shortly after seven o'clock some breakfast

| was carried up to him, and he ate with seem-

ing relish, A few minutes after, when
| our Reporter visttedathe jail the poor fellow

was engaged in prayer. His petition was one

that might well come from a man whose hours

were numbered. ©

BT. Throne of Grace.

Never bave we listened to jie

ibrar tan icant aaa

—_===
Food Sircy Seameres 6 frester teas tat of aa
Aftéern publ pee between Albay and
reppenl? bs rite Day Op
watne and stages, ts
e Ty EDITION. for later trains ands
. “aad gucn inter poveanis

re the le
Pugs OE Elly

> a re of the
circaletios of the Dar y Opsunvan. $
as ollows: noose

of subscription are as f
18 ceats 6 weali, 3 cents a month,

gabecribers—
sobry vabeor go> reer

EXECUTION !

HANGING OF CARSWELL!

—_—_—

The Murderer of Abby Sanders
Panished !

CARSWELL'S CONFESSION!

——

His Own Story of His Life
and Crime !

_———

WHAT HE DENIES AND
WHAT HE ADMITS!

——

To-day, “at noon, the child-murderer, W'i-
tiam Hawny Carswxwi, suffered the extreme
penalty of the law in the Jail Yard in the vil
lage of Rome, and the brutal killing of little
Asay Ecizapern Sanpans is avenged’

Executions have been rare in Oneida County
It is a dozen years since McCaspon was hung
in Rome, and be was the last man whose life
the nw has taken prior to the execution of to-
day. The day's event is therefore one which
creates great excitement. A large number went
up from Utica to get a glimpse of the tragedy,
if possible; and the Sheriff has been persecat-
ed almost beyond belief by applicants for tick-
ets of admission !

The Ossxrxvex bas had two Reporters on the
ground, and we are able to present below a full
report of the execution of Carswett :—

TME FACTS IN REGARD TO THR MURDER.

Below we present the facts in regard to the
murder of Ausy Ectzasgra Sanpers. The con-
feavion which Caasweit made to the Rev. 5S. G,
Vissonkr, of Rome, cannot vary much from the
version which we present, as it is carefully
gleaned from the preliminary examination and
subsequent trial of the wretch who has to-day
paid the fearful penalty for his crime which the
law prescriber

On the afternoon of Saturday, April 25th,
1808, Mr. Lavy Nanpera, living at Pond Hill,
four miles east of Camden, sent his daughter
to. Mr. McMitvan’s, &. neighbor, living
ite distant, for a pail of meat

Asar
aboat half a im
The little girl reached Mr McMitvan's house at
the proper time, procured the meat, aud started
for home in company with another little girl,
a

Og ereieabay vt ne nei

allowed sufficient frectam to enable him to sit
up in achair, He recognized two @ three of
the gentlemen fm the party, and ap :
gratified to be the object of so much attention,
All were impressed with the cheerful character
of his demeanor, His countenance bore «
pleasant impression, and in shaking hands
with his visitors he frequently smiled with the
utmost composure. There was nothing fe his
deportment to tell of any inward atraggia.
His hair was neatly combed, his clothes ar-
ranged as usual, Canewane is 8 Hight com-
plexioned man, with the brightest of blue eyes,
a face not remarkable for much expression,
and possessing wo indication of brutality or
ferocity. Lying oa the blankets where be hed
been confiaed was e copy of the Bible and «
number of books of « religious tendency. He
readily engaged in conversation. The question
‘How are you feeling to-day, Canswai?”
evoked this answer:

“I'm feeling firet rate ; I feel happy and |
shall till I die.”

A visitor—We're glad to soe you in such
good spirits.

Cansweit—Yes; I feel happy now, buat
if Thad died before confeasing what | did, Pd
felt miserable.

Visitor—Did you sleep last night?

Caxswett.—Not much; 1 keep thinking
about what I’ve done, and it makes me feel
eshamed. :

Visitor-—What do you think about moetiy ?

Carswent—About bow wicked I was, But
I think, when I die, if my body is destroved
my soul will be saved

{Here Canswaxt. smiled and looking directly
into the face of bis questioner, continued :]

‘The law, you know, says s man ahall be
hanged for doing what I’ve done.”

A medical gentlemam who was present next
said -

“ Carswace, do you remember you appealed
to Gop to witness to your innocence when you
were on trial?”

Canswatt—Yes, Ido. But you took things
different from what I meant.

[Carswxxe probably referred to the charge
of violating the little girl’s person. This he
denies with the strongest protestations. ]

The wretched man contiaued ;

“]ve told the whole truth about the mat-
ter, and you'll see it printed. You'll find what
Laay is true. We shall meet hereafter, and
then you will find the facts just se T aay.”

-Cansweit at this point recognized Con
ductor SanpivorTn, of the Kome, Watertown
& Ogdensburg Railroad, and said :

Wasn't you the Conductor on the train the
time I came down from Camden?”

The Conductor—Y ee.

\answeit—Well, If guess I should have been
mobbed if it hadn’t been for you. Yes, gen-
tlemen, Pm ready to die. Lain’t afraid to go
now. Uf 1 hadn't owned what I did own,
though, I should have been lost.

Here. the conversation became general —
Questiona in relation to the particulars of the
murder were freely asked and freely answered.
From the conversation held then, and from a
subsequent imterview with the condemned man
when only Sheriff Weaven, Jailor StxuLeron

we obtained

and the Reporters were present,

a which we present below un
CY

CARSWR ee i R |
CARSWELL, Wilddam He, waite, hanged Rome, NY, on 1-8-1869

jan § 1809

come back, whan the said she would tell ber
mother all about i. This frightened bim. He
begged of her not to tell, but she protested
that she would go right off aad tell her mother.
He became amgry and strack her. The blew
was so hardas to knock her down. Just then,
he heard her mother calling for her. Thisgeve
him still greater alarm, and he snatched up
the ehild and ran with her into the woods. He
was half orazed with fear, snd thought he
mast kill her to prevent 8” exposure, He
threw the body ender a log, pulled out his
knife and drove the blade ito her throat.
Then he heard the mother coal! again, and fear-
img the child might not be dead, need « club.
And that, gentlemen, was all the violence
used. I know Pm charged with worse things,
but I’ve told the truth, and you'll find oat so
This was all; just two blows
with the flat of my hand,

’

too, some day.
with the knife, one
and one with the olab.’

A Gentleman-- You must have walked very
fast to get to Camden £0 9000 ?

Canswere—I watched things close that
afternoon, I tell you. 1 was only about twen
ty minutes in getting out of those woods. |
would walk slow in passing a house, but when
nobody saw me i made up for lost time. | was
dreadful afraid the thing would come oat and
I should be exposed. The officers, you know,
found me in bed. Now, I tell you, [ was so
ashamed of what I'd done that I thought of
strangling myself that night, and if they'd let
me alone I'd been » dead boy in that bed.

Mr. Simoterom, the jailor, says Canswett
has been unable to steep for three nights past.
He had read bis Bible much of the time, and
appeared entirely resigned to his fate. Indeed,
this fact was made eapecially prominent in the
interview yesterday afternoon. At one point
in the conversation, he said :

“If | had plead guilty when Sheriff Wayre
wanted me to, I should have been better off.
Bat I don’t know but what's it’s all ‘for the
best. I've asked Gov’s forgiveness. { believe
if a man looks to Jesus, he can be saved. Gop
vent his own Son to die for our sips. I think
Gop baa forgiven me for Cugist’s sake, and
that when I die, although my body will be
destroyed, my soul will be saved,”

OUTHIDE SCENES,

There was something of an unbealthy stir
even in Utica this morning, over the approach-
ing execution. Squads of “' special appointees”
deemed fortunate in their possession of
‘“‘carda’’ by the prominently curious —burried
to the railroad station at an unseasonably
early hour to embark for Rome. Their un-
seemly haste was hailed with sarcastic jeera by
the great crowd of the Sheriff's * unprovided
The same nervqps feeling was exhibited

he “excursion train’
the rtreet boys
tome, and by the
the square in

for.”
by

along 4he
and loungers
that
which the county buildings are situated, climb

looker#-on at

route, by
in
crowd weaved around
ing trees overlooking the enclosed yard, strnin-
ing eyea at overlooked cracks in the new pine
partition that kept the ghastly scaffold from
their view, and sparing about the door of the
jailor’s private residence like country novices
im amuaement at the box office ofa traveling

cireus show, There were few sympathetic
3 ai 4 *

aed “ + eats

and sore
singing th
nem Ti
whieh was
half inch
maying - ”
feel bung
awallows ¢
the eal,

** Paden
Gop. He

At half
V aacwrn
of my Soy

he lifted
singing,
gazing up
At the oo
awer to
was pard
would liv
strength o
you will
in Paradi
was sung,
and prayy
prayed a
touching
to tears,

A
These
were re
petition ¢
the wor
Amen,

was sun
our Repo
“ Pell
Lord, 7
sinner,
Dr. H
front of
sionately
look an
bead, D«
I've con

peace wi
will m
hope wh
hare.”
had ask@e
and durg
GLETON, j
followin
permit
nese :
Fathe
that I a
I was g
him #0
dare nu

De
1a

of a brotherin taw

Viemna, at, the house

Ca RAweEnL
which

the

waa ven to: enter the woods in

he gitt was: found a sbort time before

child reached that point. About an hour
jater, he was recoghized by several parties pro
ceeding toward Camden

a hat about forty

possessed a somewhat eccentric

Catewen. lived alone im

the louse of

rods from Sanpers
disposition,
sometimes He had
been at work at WititaM H. Hatt’s on the
of the murder, and left Hate’s house
after dinner for his shanty. That he did go to
his hug was clearly established. Mrs Mc
that she saw him about a
quarter past two e’clock, coming down the
Pond Hill Road from bis home. She went ou ‘
and passed a few words with bim, after which
he started back in the direction of the Pond
Hilt Road, In addition to this, Mra, MoMrm~
uan's litte daughter, Lortxpr, testified that
Carswach did wro up the Pond Hill Road, and
it was this confident assertion on the part of
Loatnpy MoMILian that strengthened the con-
viction that CaRswRLl was the marderer,

At the time of

and Waa called foolish,

morning

Mittanx awore

his arrest, Canswett strongly
protested hia innocence. Blotches of blood
were discovered on One of his boots. These he
accounted for by the statement that they had
been there since a butchering which had taken
place at Mr. Hat's some time before. Before
going to Vienna he stopped at his father’s, in
amden, to change his clothes, reaching the
house of hia brother-in-law in the evening,

He was formerly a member of Company |,
e7th Regiment. The day after the murder he
was taken to see the dead body of the little
girl. When the corpee was exposed to bim, his
father, who was present, said: ‘‘ My son, did
you commit that deed; if you did now you
must own it,” CanswRit angrily answered
that he did not.

Two inquests were beld om the body, and the
ete as could possibly be

Abb miuayety Senders came
wounds an ence inflicted a
gatarday, April tn, 1883, in the
{ftwoand fLve o'sloc
the jurers afor y
iex Beary Carewell did then and here
} and murder the sald Abby Elizabeth
isting e blow
er bard

upon her with a stone of some

a wateitnee be pels of te Bate of No
ple of the Btate of New

Wiad thelr dignity. ,

INTERVIEW WITH CARSWELL ON THURSDAT.

Yesterdsy afternoon our Reporter visited
Reme, and in company ith the Sheriff and a
few others, had an interview with Canswait.
They found him confined in #8 apartment on
the second floor of the jail, heavily manacied.
He-was lying upon a fow blanket spread tn
cue comer of the room ‘when bis visitors em-
tered, bei by permission of the Sheriff was

ol
ed,
Yo

He | of

had bu . "
batayed in Col, Wiietor K's reg
‘ment until P waa tgket: sick
ao bad

fore that: Tee ere

pens’ house
My sickness wae
that [Twas discharged. In Angust,
1863, 1 enlisted in Cok Ganmann’s regiment,
y4ath,)

commanded

ib which
G s
the
and twelve daya,

(the Company &, waa

by = Caps.

stayed

Laweia,
146th
and six

Camden I it
‘iat ix months
woeka of this time was to the hospital Saw
service in the battles of Fredericheburg and
Gettysburg. When I was at length removed
trom the hospital, I was taken to Camp Uon-
valescent ; was a good deal of a sufferer, having
been prowtrated by heat. Subsequently | was
taken to Fort Alexander, and after a while was
discharged on account of physical dinabllity
Mr. Mexrxxx brought me home. . In 1867 ‘1
lived with another woman 4 little while, but
she was not married to ine. I was arrested for
this crime April 25th, 1869, indicted in Utica
June 10th. The case was put over to the No-

vember term and was called for trial Novem

ber 16th,

I met Apay ELizasere Sanpena Saturday
of the Pond Hill
road, 1 said; “* Lupsy, how nicely you are
dressed ; shan’t I carry your pail?” She said
“No.” After that I didn’t Keep on up the
Pond Hill road, but jumped over the tence amd
took a short cut through the field and waited
in the road until Appr came to where I waa. |
up to her and took hold of her and wok
off an under garment she wore. She said sho
would tell her mother, and made so much
troudle I guve her the garment beck again
after she promised-me she wouldn't tell her
mother.

When Carswait was speaking of this yee-
terday afternoon, a gentleman present said:

« What made you act so towards & little girl
only eight years old *”

Cassweit—l tell you she was older
she was older.

The Gentleman—Were you under the infle—
ence of liquor?

Carswert—No. J never drink any whieky.

The Gentlensm—Was the act premedhated ?

Cansweit_— When you tell me wot meditated
means, I'll try to answer yoo.

The Gentietnan—Had you thought abot it

before ? f
theugiit about it

afternoon at the jumction

went

I know

Oansweit—No. I first
when I was down to Mra. MoMittas's, and if
she badn’t jalbed as she did, I ahouldn’t have
committed the deed. She got me ina passion.

Cansweii, continuing the account of the
murder, stated that the Little girl made such
noise he was going to leave her. He gare
bask the garment he had taken and termed to

and continiie eer itiT Cw el as i aa

of the last hanging.gragedy ip Or gida UCountr "
caat ifr,

THK Last BON Re OF Camere EL! , 4

* f } 7

(anew et olttaimedt more sleep fast might ame 1a 4

avarsple
if

than he hee had during auy night of the present

The Jalor, that 7

week Mr isu ron, paased the |

talked Gem
Bat
f therm

night with him. In the course of the evening,

thet

he wae visited by tha Key Meaara (are, hak

{
with

full preparation tor

aie and Repucap of Kome He Converted

each Of theae gontletaen with @ singular who f '
ness, and expreased [ns Ida $i
death. About twelve o'clock he fell asleep -

The Jailor watohed him closely, but was wn-

indieationa of troubled

nard feet
The. fe
he was ¢

able to observe any

reat. About a o'clock the condoned map conversutg

; 4} o, Ft
awoke, recognized Mr Siwdnatos, said ‘ Cood xan, Fit

turned over, and again feik | Soe™_ |
told that,
to the scm

most min

morning, Jom™,”
Thia time
Shortly after
wan carried up to him,
ing reliah, A
out Reporter vialted the

asleep he slept for about eo hour

o'clock sone breakfast
and: be ate with seen
few minutes efter,

jail the poor fellow

seven

when | ‘cares bik
scribe! ba
His petition wes One
whose bours

was engaged ia prayer
that might well come from & man
were numbered. Never bare we listened to The p
more fervent appeals to the Throne of Grace
the prayer of
faith, the praver of perfeet trust in the merey
‘\ Jesvueisty friend! [ have done
wrong! But Gop will fargtve me for the sake
of hia dear Son! Ob! I believe in the atoning

power of the biood of Cumar. I behere Go |

enclusare:
ilies waa the prayer of penitence, a
two minw
ence of &

appolntend

of Gop

receiring’
Mr, Reps

‘Curia be with | spare?
We entered the Th on
Cameweit was wit’ | was turis
ting on his blankets in the corner He was
somewhat paler than on the afternoon previ: |
ous, and his hand was cold and clammy. | of the
“Well, Canswett, how do you feel this | momesX
méPning ?”
4 good deat Detter
should.”
‘«ffow did you sleep last night?”
“ Slept good, sir Oh, I gota big load of |
my mind when I owned up.”

will have mercy on ty soul’

And thus the condemned man plead and
prayed, closing his prayer: j
me, forever’ more, Amen.”

cell a few minutes after

}
than I ever thought I | in frm

more.
Chilo

ore

important family matters. About

Aver, of Udea, sud Dr. SrogpsvasT,

visited the coll and examined into tbe physical i ae
condition of the doomed man. His palwe beat
at the rete of 135 per minate. He was then
bled quite freely. The physicians say be
have lost not less than sixteen ounces of

fused

Ns ee

hima to ait
deaede
attention,
character
bere &

ng hands
with the
in bis
struggle.
Jethes as.
tigiat oom.
blue eyes,
ws pression,
ntality or

» be had
idle and a
emcy. He
he question
agswert ?”

ppy and I
ou in such

now, but
¢ I did, Pd

?
p thinking
es me feel

put mostly ?
was. But
a destroved

ing directly
continued :]
lan shall be

present next

ou appealed

ce when you
took things

the charge
n. This he

tl yna.}

come back, whan ghe aid pho would tell ber
mother all shout it. ‘This frightened bim. He
begged of her not to tell, but she protested
that she would go right off aad tell her mother.
He became angry ani struck her. The blew
was so hard as to knook her dows. Just then,
he heard her mother calling for her This gave
him still greater alarm, and he snatohed up
the child and ran with her into the woods, He
was half crazed with fear, and thought he
must kill her to prevent an exposures, He
threw the body ander a bog, pulled out bis
knife and drove the blade into her throat
Then he heard the mother call again, and fear-
feng the child might not be dead, used » club.

“And that, gentlemen, was all the violence
used, I know I'm charged with worse things,
pat I’ve told the truth, and you'll find ont so
too, dome day. This was all; just two blows
with the knife, one with the flat of my baad,
and one with the club.”

A Gentleman—You must have walked very
fast to get to Camden so s00n?

Cansweut—I watched things close that
afternoon, I tell you. I was only sbout twen-
ty minates in getting out of those woods, |
would walk slow in passing a house, but when
nobody saw me I made up for lost time. I was
dreadful afraid the thing would come ont and
I should be exposed. The officers, you know,
found me in bed. Now, I tell you, | was so
ashamed of what I'd done that I thought of
strangling myself that night, and if they'd let
me slone I'd been a dead boy in that bed.

Mr, SrsoLeroa, ‘the jailor, says Canaweit
has been unable to sleep for three nights past.
He had read bis Bible much of the time, and
appeared entirely resigned to his fate. Indeed,
this fact was made especially prominent in the
interview yesterday afternoon. At one point
in the conversation, he said :

“Tf Thad plead guilty when Sheriff Weaves
wanted me to, I should have been better off.
Bat I don’t know bat what's it's all ‘for the
best. I’ve asked Gon’a forgiveness. I believe
if a man looks to Jesce, he can be sayed. Gop
gent hia own Son to die for our sins. I think
Gop baa forgiven me for Cupisr’s sake, and
that when I die, although my body will be
deatroyed, my soul will be saved.”

OUTSIDE BCENES
There was something of an unhealthy atir
yen in Utica this morning, over the approach-
ng execution. Squads of ‘‘ special appointees”
'__deemed fortunate im their possession of

| ‘cards’ by the prominently carious—burried

to the railroad station at an unseasonably
early hour to embark for Rome. Their un-
seemly haste was hailed with sarcastic jeera by
the great crowd of the Sherif’s ‘‘ unprovided
for.” *The same nervous feeling was exhibited
by lookers-on at the “excursion train”
along ghe route, by pe atreet boys
and loungers in ome, and by the
crowd that weaved around the square in
which the county buildings are situated, climb-
ing trees overlooking the enclosed yard, strain-

blood. ‘Te lane of Blood, Gid pot appyer ©
affect fim fn the least, Whett bis erm bad
been bandaged, his pulse ws cape docsted|
and was found to beat at the rate of 194 par |

men presemt, Consus )
the close. ‘Then the poor fellow said be would
like sing alone “Come ye siinorg,
poor and weedy, qweak and woanded, sick
and sore,” was the byam he started,
singing the tine rorg® with wonderfe! oaim-
nes. The pb then obtained bis leigdst,
which was feund to he five fost, sight apd one
half inches. Food waa offered. He refaped f
waying : “ No, ite very tompting, but I don’t
feel hungry.” 4 second after be drank « few
swallows of milk and then, addressing those in
the cell, said :

“| advise every one of you to have faith in
Gov. He will save you at the last hour.”

At balf- past ton o'clock, he asked Mesere.
Visacexe and Rupwaap to sing * Jesvs, Lover

of my Soul.” Cassweel joined, At the line
~ All my help from Thee I bring,”

he lifted his hands abore his head, stopped
singing, and remained for several seconds
gasing upward. The scene was moat affecting.
‘At the conclusion of the hymn he eaid, in an-
awer to a question by Mr, Visscuxs eh |
was pardoned, | would lead a Christian life. 1
would live in the fear of Gov. Man’s own
strength can’t sustain bim. Lhope, gentiemen,
you will all trast im your Maker, and meet me
in Paradise.” Ateleven o’clock another hymn
was sung, a selection of Scripture was read,
and prayer offered. After thie, Caagwel.
prayed audibly, making ® most earnest and
touching petition. Many present were affectes
to tears, and must have béen inwardly moved.

“This is the way | long have sough
And mou ee ‘*

These and other lines of a a similar purport
were repeated with the utmost feeling. His
petition losed : ‘These blessings I aak through
the worthy name of Christ—nothing else—
Amen.

» Bock of Ages, cleft for me,”
was sung, after which Caxsweis, turatng to
our Reporter, said :

“Pell the world I die in the faith of the
Lord. Tell them, though I've been & great
sinner, Cxfurst has saved me at Inst.”

Dr. Hunt, entering this moment, atopped in
front of Canswert and looked at him compe
sionately. Ognswett steadily returned the
look and finally said; “ Pon’t shake your
bead, Doctor. Don’t feel bad for me. I know
[ve committed a great sin, but ve made my
peace with Gop, and when I leave this world I
will meet her (the little girl) in Paradise. 1
hope when you die you willbave the same hope I
have.” A short time before this, Canswsa.
had asked to be teft alone with his relatives,
and during this time asked the Sailor, Mr. Sin-
GLEton, to write to his father and mother. The
following is a copy of the letter, which we are

ied te publish through the Jailor’s kind-

nna OR mT ee

as groat as early ip tha poeni ag god all through | N
the day soo
There were protiably ten thousand strangers (3

in Rome from the adjoining towos.

—— a i

To-day’s Second Edition.
Soe hisuersensends te pey le é
Works. chy

raptey W.@J 1). Kernan ave
4. D. Kerner

BRe-Upwe of litth I ant

Watch Lest pre
Black Crape Vall Lost. |

Dog Loat ]
House for Bale -A. Bf. Jomaron |

Sabbath Netices
(Notices ander this head, 2% cents |

Rev. Bessa Guezn will preach next Sabbath |
afternoos, in Sona of Temperance Hall. Hour of ser | “
view, § o’cloek, }

Cartaliments.

This is the week of prayer, remem ber —
lt¢losés with Sanday

_Havea.y's Minatrels give their first enter- |
taimment in Mecheaice’, Hell thie eveniag.

Take warning, boys, and stop snowballing | |.
in public places. The police intend to enforce | sat
the law in this respect. E

--Since the holidays, the demand for turkeys
hes steadily declined. Oysters are in the | &
ascendant at present.

-Tableaux will be exhibited at the
residence of Mr, James F. Mann, No. 51
Broad street, this everfing, under the auspices
of the ladies‘of Grace Church, for the benefit
of the Tower Fund.

Tux Osruans’ Faptival Last Kyrnisa.—
The festival held Inst evening in Mechanics’
Hall, for the benefit of the St. Vincent de Paul
Orphan Asylum, was & gratifying succesa It
was attended by large numbers. The supper
tables, arranged in Association Hall, were
liberally patronized. Dancing was the princt
pal feature, and waiskeps up until one o'cleck
this morning, the music being furnished by
McConuicx’s String Band. The festival was
enjoyed by all present. It was the last of
three entertainments given for the benefit of
the Orphatis, by means of which « large sum
has doubtless been netted for this very worthy
object.

——- +o

Sr. Guonas’s Cuvacn.—Since the adoption of
the free seat system by this oburch, the attend-
ance upon thaglifferent services bas been steadily
increasing, aad the « veptable ministrations of
{ta talented pastor bid fair to make thia one of
the best and most important parishes in the
city. During Christmastide the Rector, Rev.
E. W. Haosa, and Mr.Joay H. Faancis, the
Superintendent of the Sunday School, were
handsomely remembered by the teachers of the
Sabbath School, the former being presented
with a handsomely bound copy of “ Wrsr's
Analysis,” while the latter was the recipient of
an elegant volume of Invino’s Sketch Book.j }

U. C. C.—There will be a special meeting of |
the Utica Citizens’ Corps, this evening, at 7% |
o'clock sharp. A large attendance is request- |B
ad HW Barwanp, President. ES

“Tf he doesn’t have a guilty conscious
he’s certainly moving about like a man
who has one,” the officer mused.

And then Mrs. Casalino received a let-
ter from her husband postmarked Fair-
port in upstate New York, and once
more the information was relayed to
Fiaschetti.

“He says he’s working on a farm up
there,” his informant told him.

“See that Mrs. Casalino answers him

and that the letter is mailed tonight,” she
was instructed.
_ Then, Fiaschetti again donned the garb
of a laborer and went upstate. Holding a
picture of Mike Casalino he took up a
post near the Fairport post office, general
delivery window and waited for the man
to come for his wife’s letter.

He recognized him the instant he ap-

peared. He was a tall, powerfully-built,

rather handsome man in his twenties. But
the joviality and gaiety of manner with
which: the laborers on the sewer ditch
had associated him was missing. His
manner was gloomy and he walked with
the gait of a thoroughly discouraged man.
It was quickly apparent to Fiaschetti, a
shrewd judge of men, that it was not
wanderlust which had caused him to leave
home.

He received his letter and read it
eagerly. Only then, with that slight
contact with his loved ones, did his ex-
pression brighten but only for a moment.
Again he was dour and morose. He
stuffed the letter into his pocket and left
the post office.

IASCHETTI followed. He trailed him

six miles out into the country to a farm
and never once during the journey did
Casalino’s gait quicken. He walked all the
way in the same discouraged manner in
which he had entered the post office.

Fiaschetti grimly shook his head.

“Something is certainly bothering him
and bothering him badly,” he said to him-
self, “but there is still no definite proof
it is murder.”

At the farm he secured a job as a farm
hand. He wanted to keep Casalino under
constant. surveillance without revealing
his identity to the Swner of the farm, and
break him down if possible. Luck was
with him. The spring plowing season was
underway now,-and the farmer needed
hired hands to help him.

In fact, Fiaschetti had more good for-
tune than he bargained for. For that
night he was assigned to the same room

and bed as that occupied by the man he,

sought. It was the worst room in the
place the one always given to the newest
of the help, but the manhunter from New
York had no complaints to offer.

But he soon discovered that Casalino
was not going to be an easy person to
cultivate. He kept to himself, said little
or nothing, and when the others of the
hired help joined in song and tall talk, as
they invariably did each night after sup;
per, he merely sat in moody solitude and
took no part in the festivities.

He was indifferent to Fiaschetti. Al-
though the detective was his roommate
and consequently thrown into more inti-
mate contact with him than any of the
others, he acted as though he did not
exist.

Fiaschetti adopted a similar pose, the
role of a hunted man. But at the same
time he made it a particular point to stick
clase to Casalino.

Still the Italian from Brooklyn didn’t
hint that he knew anything about the
murder of the Holbachs.

Then, when they were together in the
barn drinking hard cider late one after-
noon, Casalino was gloomier than usual.
He was gulping liquor in an effort to blot
out his despair.

Fiaschetti took’the occasion to pump
him,

“Say, guy, snap out of it,” he cried,
pouring himself a stiff drink. “What’s
biting you? You're always long-faced
and sour.”

Casalino scowled. His dark eyes nar-
rowed.

“You would be, too,” he snapped.

Fiaschetti snorted. ‘““What’s the matter
with you?”

“Nothing.”

“I knew it,” the detective cried. “If
you had my troubles you'd really have
something to worry about.”

He staggered slightly, feigning too
much liquor.

“What have you to worry about?”
Casalino wanted to know.

Fiaschetti blinked, and rubbed his eyes.
“You don’t think I’d be up here on this
farm, away from my wife and kids, if I
didn’t have something to worry about, do
you?”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

They were both silent for a while. Then
Casalino downed another drink and asked,
“Is someone after you?”

Fiaschetti studied him intently, then
nodded.

“Me, too,” Casalino said.

“Not the guy who’s after me. I bumped
off a guy.”

“I-killed one, too,” Casalino said simply.

Again they were silent.

Finally, Casalino said, “I got a tip-off
that Fiaschetti’s after me.” .

Fiaschetti. swore lustily. Then he
laughed heartily. “And you're worrying,”
he scoffed. “Why Fiaschetti is just a
punk. He couldn’t catch nobody.”

Casalino brightened somewhat. “Sure

“MAD SCULPTOR” TAKES IT

Robert Irwin laughs wildly as he enters
sentence for the Easter morning slayin;

Sing Sing prison to begin his 139-year
of Veronica Gedeon, Frank Byrnes and

Mrs. Gedeon. Does the smile mean that Irwin is insane?

he's a
he can
Fias
he wa
“Do ye
“Sar
“He's
Fias
"]iis
ber th
Plains
and tl

mine
bad
got

broken glasses» and overturned chair -

seemed evidence to Manuff that others
either had participated in it, or had wit-
nessed it and upset the glasses and chairs
in their haste to get away from the
danger.

But if the latter were true, why was it,
he askéd himself, that they did not come
forward now and tell what they knew?

Puzzled, he walked to the cash register
atop the bar and rang open the drawer.
There was twenty-odd dollars in bills and
coin in the tray.

“Missed this, too,” he announced and
his scowl deepened. a

{t was plain to him now that, while the
motive for the murder was robbery, the
slayer or slayers had fled empty-handed.

Having bungled the job by killing Mrs. -

Holbach and wounding her husband, they
had fled, forgetting the $500 in the ice box
and even the small sum in the cash regis-
ter. ;
The fact did not ease the work of the
police. Instead, it threw an additional
obstacle in their way. For killers: en-
riched with loot more often than not step
out of character and afford stool pigeons
the tip-off the authorities are seeking. °.
Throughout the night the, police
worked, groping for some definite clue
to the identity of whoever was responsible
for the fiendish crime. They questioned:
motormen and conductors on the trolleys.
of the New York and Long Island trac-
tion company, running along Rockaway
boulevard, and employees of the Jamaica
avenue and Liberty avenue elevated lines,
three routes by which the murder or mur-
derers could have escaped. But they ac-
complished nothing. No one recalled any
suspicious characters having boarded
their cars at the time of the murder or
in the hours immediately following it.’ |

B* DAWN they had accounted for all:
those who had attended the evening's
dance at Holbach Hall, and again the po-
lice were disappointed.

The dance had broken up shortly before
midnight. All ten couples who had at-
tended it had been in their homes a full

hour before murder stalked through the °

roadhouse. :
As the dancehall was separated from
the cafe, only ‘one:girl had had occasion
to notice whether any customers were at
the bar at the time she left for home.
She told police she had passed through the
little room at the rear and had noticed a
half-dozen men. sitting at the table be-
side which the broken glasses-and over-
turned chairs had been found. She was
unable to identify any of them, but said

they were dark-skinned, possibly Italians,

and that they had been conversing quietly
among themselves.

As the sun arose the police were able
to examine the ground outside the road-

house for clues. There were footprints
in the soft earth near the side door of’

the place but they were too trampled to
enable plaster casts to be made of them.

A short distance away was a patch
of woods. It was so placed that anyone
making a quick getaway would very likely
have run through it. And there the police
discovered a man’s hat. It was black
plush, old and soiled, but there was no

identifying mark upon it. Even the deal- .

er’s name was not imprinted of the greasy
sweat band.

hoc!

‘Vanishing Bandits

_ [Continued from page 37}

If it, were a clue it appeared to be a
useless one to the detectives from the pre-
cinct station, but they did not discard it
as of no values

But by noon the authorities were no
nearer a solution of the murder of Helen

‘Holbach than they had been at the time

MclInerney’s telephone call reached the
station house. Yet nothing was left un-
done. to turn up even a seemingly incon-
sequential lead.

‘Captain Manuff sadly shook his head.
“Our one hope appears to be with John
Holbach,” he said. “Once he is able to
talk to us, we'll know just where we stand
and have something to go on.”

But the kindly roadhouse proprietor
never talked again. At 2:15 o’clock that
afternoon he died. Although a police
stenographer remained continually. at his

bedside in St. Mary’s hospital to take

down any words he might utter, he never
regained consciousness to elaborate upon
the meaning of the strange’ word “rock”

_or to give some other clue to the heinous

crime.

‘The double murders of Holbach Hall oc-
curred on Jan. 20, 1919, but by mid-Febru-
ary the case was still at a standstill. A
half-dozen suspects had been taken into
custody, grilled, and then released. All
had iron-clad alibis, proving they were
not in the vicinity of the roadhouse on

+ the fateful night of the brutal slaying.

The newspapers were criticizing the po-
lice and crying for a solution of the case
or a shake-up in the department that
would bring one. Civic organizations also
were meeting and adopting resolutions

. condemning the authorities for their ap-

parent inactivity. 4
- Faced with the rising chorus of pro-

‘tests, Chief Inspector Lahey: summoned

etective-Sergeant Michael Fiaschetti

before him. Six feet tall and weighing
close to 200 pounds, Fiaschetti had al-
- ready won an enviable record as a master

sleuth. As head of the special Black
Hand squad of the New York police de-
partment, he had smashed the vicious
blackmail mobs of Brooklyn and the
lower East Side. Now he was heading
the famous Italian Squad of the depart-
ment, having succeeded to command when
his chief, Petrosina, was murdered in

Sicily, by the Mafia while trailing a fugi- ~.

tive Italian wanted in New York for
murder.. :

In his 16 years as a member of the New
York police department, Fiaschetti made
1,000 arrests. Five hundred of them were
for carrying concealed weapons, 150 for
felonious assault, 100 for grand larceny,
75 for assault and battery, 50 for extortion
and blackmail and. 65 for homicide. In
the murder cases’ he solved, 43 resulted
in convictions and 12 of those convicted
died in the electric chair at Sing Sing.

“We've got to break this Holbach case,”
Lahey told him, “and you’re the one man

who can do it. The assignment is yours

and I want results,” ..

It meant the detective was taking over
a cold case as far as clues were concerned.
Three weeks had passed since the double

-murders but Fiaschetti was not discour-

aged. He possessed that grim tenacity to
keep working despite any obstacles.

He sorted. the. clues already found
and discarded all of them except the
dirty black plush hat which the detectives
from the precinct station had viewed as

the least promising of the lot. But Fias-

Wey

chetti saw in it what the others had over-
looked or, not being of Italian descent
and knowing thoroughly the characteris-
tics of the race, had been able to appre-
ciate.

Fiaschetti’s keen eyes immediately.
scanned the greasy.sweat band. He saw
at once the leather strip was oiled and
larded much beyond the average with
sweat and instantly surmised its wearer
was an Italian. For he knew that Italians
sweat more than most people and, as a
result, the sweat bands of their hats be-
comes exceptionally greasy.

He knew also it was not the hat of a
professional gunman. Such criminals, he
had learned from long experience in the
department, are invariably fastidious
dressers with a tendency toward flashy
attire.

He concluded that it was the hat of a
man who worked hard and was poor.
And, if it were the hat of the murderer

- also, then the inference pointed strongly

to the Italian truck farmers whom old
John Holbach had befriended on many

. occasions and who knew he kept large

sums of money at the roadhouse.

But the precinct detectives already had
questioned them and unearthed nothing
to cast suspicion on any of them. How-
ever, the fact did not deter Fiaschetti
from going among them to seek the mur-
derer. f

RY he adopted a different course from
that which they had followed. They
had proceeded in a blunt, straight-forward
police fashion. Fiaschetti worked as one

‘of their race since ‘he was ‘able to speak -

fiuent Italian.

Garbed as a laborer, in old clothes and
slouched hat, he went about the truck
farms. He talked with men at work in
the fields and in their barns. He joined
them at their meals'and drank red wine
with them after the sun had set and the
day’s toil was ended.

But he did not talk about the murder
of the Holbachs, Every imaginable sub-
ject he discussed except the one which
was most important to him at the time.

He wanted them to broach the subject
of murder if they knew anything about it,

But after more than a week of visiting
with them, he was convinced the mur-
derer of Holbach Hall was not one of
them. ;

Undaunted, Fiaschetti tried a new tact.
He switched his attentions to a constrtic-
tion gang working on a new sewer being
built through that section. Work had been
under way for several weeks prior to the
double murders and the majority of the
laborers were Italians who came in every
day from Brooklyn and Manhattan.

Again he talked of all manner of things
except murder.

Finally he had the lead he was seeking.

He was sitting on a ditch side one noon-
time, eating bread, cheese and onions
with the laborers when one of them said,
“T wonder what happened to Mike? He
hasn’t been around for some time now.”

“T guess he quit the job,” another one
answered, mouthing a big piece of cheese.

Fiaschetti was instantly on the alert.
He wondered whom Mike was and
whether he was the murderer he was
séeking. But he knew he could not show
his curiosity or ask too many point-blank
questions, for the laborers were a loyal lot

id over-
descent
-acteris-

appre-

diately
He saw
led and
re with
wearer
[talians
id, as a
iats be-

at of a
nals, he
> in the
stidious
| flashy

at of a
3 poor.
urderer
trongly
om old
i many
t large

idy had
1othing

How-
ischetti
1e@ mur-

se from
l. They
orward
as one
» speak

les and
truck
vork in
joined
d wine
ind the

murder
le sub-
which
e time.
subject
bout it,
visiting
e mur-
one of

'w tact.
nstrtic-
r being
ad been
* to the
of the
1 every

a.
‘ things

eeking.
2 noon-
onions
m said,
e? He
> now.”
ler one
cheese.
¢ alert.
is. and
ne was
rt show
t-blank
val lot

and would immediately become suspicious

. of him and give him no information at all.

“You mean Mike Merola?” he asked,
casually.. “I used to know Mike.” °
‘ “No,” he was informed. “Mike Casa-
ino.”

“Oh,” Fiaschetti-said and appeared ‘un-
impressed. i mS

But he cleverly kept the subject from
being switched until he had learned cer-
tain definite things about Mike Casalino.

* He found out he had been tnissing since

the night of the Holbach murders. The
detective learned he lived on Classon ave-
nue,: Brooklyn, and had.a wife and two
small children. He was told he was a gay,
happy sort of a fellow who liked to laugh
and sing. And he discovered he wore a
black plush hat like the one found in the
woods outside Holbach Hall.

The information intrigued Fiaschetti
and that afternoon he was in Brook-
lyn, making additional guarded inquiries
about Mike Casalino.

Everyone who knew the man spoke
highly of him. They said he was honest,
a hard worker, and good to his family,
but rione knew where he was. No ofie
had seen him for the past month or six
weeks,

Again Fiaschetti was intrigued. A man
missing from his home and usual haunts
was decidedly someone to investigate
further, especially when he had quit his
job immediately after a brutal double
murder had been committed.

But the detective could not reveal his
identity. If Casalino were the killer he
was seeking, and there was still no proof
that he was he could not afford to let the
man know he was after him.

fF pate nage oh peg he sought-out a
young Italian girl in Brooklyn who
had acted as a stool-pigeon for him on
previous occasions.

“I want you to make the acquaintance
of Mrs. Casalino,” he instructed her. “Find
out where her husband is and why he left
home.”

Two days later Fiaschetti received a
telephone call from the girl. The contact
with Mrs. Casalino had not been difficult
to make. They had mutual friends arid
the rest was simple.

“She doesn’t know why he left home
or where he is,” she said. “He was upset
and worried and told her he had to go
away. But he didn’t say why.”

’ Fiaschetti frowned. -

“Does she like you?” he asked.

“Yes, We've hit it off fine.”

“Good,” the detective told her. “Now
listen, tell her you think it is a disgrace
Mike has deserted her and the children.
See how she responds to it. She may
know something and react to it. And

watch her mail. If she hears from Mike |

let me know where he is.” ‘

Again there was a wait of several days,
and then another message from the girl.

“She got a letter from him today,” the
girl informed Fiaschetti. “He sent her
eer money and told her how he misses

er. . ;

“Where was it from?” the detective
cut in,

“Staten Island. He’s working at a
factory there.”

But Casalino had moved on when
Fiaschetti reached there. The next. let-
ter was from Trenton, then from Phila-
delphia, then from Wilkes Barre, Pa. But
always the man the detective sought was

. one jump ahead of him, ‘Always he had

moved on again before Fiaschetti could
catch up with him. ‘

ie raed

v q beat 82
i % .
a 7 ae

IF | FAILED. WE WERE ALL DEAD MEN

' LASHED TO SHROUDS OF SINKING,

BURNING SCHOONER, SAILORS SEE HOPE OF RESCUE FADE

© “The dream of my life,
for which I had saved since
I first went to sea at twelve,
had come ttue!” writes
Capt. Hans Milton of 610
West 111th St.,.New York
_City. “I was making my |
first voyage as‘master and

aye

owner of my: own’ vessel, e@ “We were pumping to keep afloat when we pada into
, the two-masted topsail the windless vortex of the storm where the waves were

, ; leaping and jumping crazily and where they crashed in our
ths RerHiowit GE ta tee companion ways and filled the ship beyond hope of saving
tember caught us 400 miles her. The five of us and the cat scrambled aloft for our
‘off Nantucker) lives, Our deck-load of lumber keptius afloat and without
fresh water and with almost no food we lived, lashed to
the rigging, for three endless days and nights.

&) “Once a steamer hove in
sight—but failing to see our
distress signals, went her
way. At 3 a.m. on the fourth
mofning steamer lights
showed momentarily over
the wild sea. We rigged a
huge ball of sails and blan-
| kets, soaked it with gasoline,
touched it off and hoisted it
aloft. ~

4) “But the steamer did not change het course. -
She thought we were fishing. The wind blew
burning fragments back on the ship setting her
afire in various places. I could see the stern light
of the steamer going away from us. If I couldn't
stop her, we were all dead men! 1 climbed to the
fore-top and in desperation pulled my flashlight
from my back pocket and in Morse code signalled
‘Sinking...SOS... Help!’

5] “Slowly, I saw the ship turn! In her Jast hour afloat, all of us
and the cat were saved from ¢he sinking, burning ‘Pioneer’ by those
. fine seamen of the United States Liner ‘American Banker’ and by the
power of two tiny ‘Eveready’ fresh DATED batteries that stood by us
in the blackest hour of our sk eS i eh 55

Rix

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Outstanding fact stories of crime detection. Reporters, free lance writers, detectives and
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THE EDITOR, DARING DETECTIVE, 1501 BROADWAY, NEW YORK CITY. '

yes.
this
if I
. do

hen

xed,

hen

ped

ply.

rear
and

he's a windbag,” “I know
he can’t catch me.”

Fiaschetti swung around on the box
he was sitting on. He faced Casalino.
“Do you know Fiaschetti?” he demanded.

“Sure, I know him,” the man answered.
“He’s just a punk.”

Fiaschetti relaxed on the box.

“Listen, guy,” he said, “do- you remem-
ber that lunchroom shooting up on White
Plains avenue where the short-order cook
and the cop were bumped off?”

He was drawing upon his imagination
now, preparing to paint a vivid picture of
his criminal prowess for the edification of
the murderer he was after.

“T don’t know as I remember it,” Casa-
lino said.

“You should,” Fiaschetti boasted. “It
was in all the papers, big stuff. I done it,
see, but them two guys wouldn’t have
been killed if the cook hadn't got funny.
I had the swag, about two hundred bucks,
and I was just getting out of the place
when he heaved a cleaver at me. I let
him have it. Spewed him all over the
place.”

Fiaschetti feigned a hard laugh and
wiped his forehead with the back of his
hand.

“Then the cop came running up,” he
continued. “I killed him, too. I didn’t
have any other choice. It was his life or
mine but I’m telling you, guy, cop killing’s
bad business. And you ask me what I’ve
got to worry about. Gee!”

he agreed.

Cae appeared impressed. He
took another gulp of the cider and then
asked, “Do you remember a couple of
murders out at a roadhouse in South
Ozone Park on Long Island?”

Fiaschetti nodded. “Seems to me I do,”
he said.

“T was in it,” Casalino boasted. “I killed
the old guy. Holbach, his name was. We
went out there to stick up the place and
he put up a fight. His old lady was killed,
too.”

“Did you get any money?” Fiaschetti
asked.

“No,” Casalino admitted and looked
shamefaced.

That night Fiaschetti sought out Sheriff
John: Boggs of Fairport and identified
himself. He made arrangements to have
the sheriff drive out to the farm the fol-
lowing morning and meet him just be-
fore the farm entrance.

He had the man he sought, the man he
had traced through a sweaty, black plush
hat. But from what Casalino had told
him there were still others to be appre-
hended, for he had said, “we went out
there to stick up the place.”

With the. first streaks of dawn Fias-
chetti arose and dressed. Casalino was
sleeping peacefully when the detective
crept out of the room and down the
stairs to make certain the sheriff was on
the road, keeping his appointment. He
was. Fiaschetti went back to the farm-
house with him.

“You wait out here,” the detective in-
structed and left in search of Casalino.
He found him in the washroom, drying
his face with a towel. He grinned when
he spied Fiaschetti. It was his first show
of cordiality since the two had met. Ap-
parently, his conscience had been tempo-
rarily relieved by his unsuspecting con-
fession in the barn the previous afternoon.

But his grin was short-lived.

“Casalino,” Fiaschetti told him, sharply,
“I’m Fiaschetti. You are under arrest
for the murder of John Holbach.”

The man paled and almost collapsed.

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---made him break off with Alice.-Then,—
~. on May. 5th; a Thursday, she came.to....|.
“ his office and insisted that he leave ‘|~

-. to his wife, he refused.

“When I told her I wouldn’t abandon

s ne Med haya Sa hpealel ji eh es
1S ubae A oaitrnal fant tabsin a smn wh

\.. ‘They had ‘been seeing each’ other: |:

frequently for some time, he con-
fessed, but fear of. discovery had -

his family and run off with her, Al-
though she threatened to expose him

- Robinson continued miserably.

my family, she got angry. She picked
up a poker from the fireplace and
came at me. I hit her in self-defense.
She fell face down. I walked out of
the office. When I came back the next
day, she was still lying there. She
must have suffocated—her nose was
pressed deep into the nap of the
rug.”

“So you got frightened,” Steele
concluded, his mouth scornful. “You
thought you’d be blamed for her
death, and decided to get rid of her
body secretly.” :

“That’s right,” Robinson said
glumly. Hons :

“We'll see,” Steele stated in a voice
that cut like a whip. ,

- With two assistants, he drove to

_ the real-estate broker’s office. When
-he returned a few hours later, he

held a poker in one hand... ~ .

“Isn’t this the weapon Alice Bo-
nati threatened you with?” he de-
manded. When Robinson tremblingly
‘agreed, the officer went on inexor-
ably: “Then we should find her fin-
gerprints on the handle, shouldn't
we? Well, we had this checked for

- impressions—and there are none!” —
Robinson went rigid. His mouth °

opened in denial, but Sergeant Steele
went on: “The rug in your office is
worn thin. The nap on it couldn’t
possibly smother anyone!” Be
“It was self-defense, I tell you!”
the prisoner shouted desperately.
- “No, Robinson. Murder! You
bought the trunk on Wednesday and
killed the girl on Thursday after-

noon! The slaying was premeditated! |

And you knocked: her. unconscious

'. with three blows, not one!”

Steele extended a pillow on which
“was a small crimson smear.

_ “That stuff is lipstick, Robinson,”

‘the sergeant concluded coldly. “Our

"chemists analyzed it. You held this

pillow from your office over the girl's
‘face until she was dead. The only.
part of your story that’s true is the
~ motive. You- were afraid she would
go to your wife and break up your

- family.”
His plea of self-defense shattered

_by the detective’s blunt logic, Robin-

son cringed, fear-distended eyes en-
visioning a judge donning the omi-
nous black cap that denotes death by
hanging. And on July 13th of that
same year, in old Bailey, Mr. Justice
Swift made that ghastly vision a
reality. :

The names Mike Rumford and
Frederick Rolls are fictitious to spare
: innocent people embarrassment.

OL se

“THE COP WHO
WEPT FOR A
KILLER.

(Continued from page 25)

ing along a street in South Ozone he
stopped to watch a group of laborers
working on a sewer. {he detective
sat down beside the men and started
a conversation. : ‘

Like the truck farmers, however,
they seemed to know nothing about
crime. They discussed their work,
their wives and their kids. Fiaschetti
grumbled to himself and prepared to
leave. Later, he was glad he did not.

At that moment, one of the labor-
ers asked a friend at his side about
a man named Mike. What had be-
come of him? Had he: seen him
lately? No? That was strange. Mike
had formerly been on the job every
day,

Fiaschetti horned: in on the con-
versation. He also knew a fellow
named Mike and he wondered if it

- could be the same man. He did not

recall Mike’s last name, but the fel-
low he was referring to had been

_ working with a construction gang in

Queens. He’d recognize the last name

if he heard it—— -
Somebody suggested, “Casalino.”
That was it! Fiaschetti had not

seen him for quite a while. How was
_ Mike Casalino.these days? .

Nobody knew. He had not been
around for a couple of weeks.

The detective’s alert mind closed
like.a trap over this bit of news.
Could. there be any connection be-
tween Mike’s disappearance and the
Holbach. murders?

Fiaschetti learned that before Mike
Casalino quit his job, he had lived in
Brooklyn with his wife and children.
He had been an excellent father and
a devoted husband. There was little
reason to connect him with the mur-
ders.: °

Yet, Fiaschetti kept a wary eye on
the Casalino family. He knew that
from time to time they received mail
from Mike, addressed in the same
handwriting and postmarked from
different towns. Casalino was trav-
eling and sending small sums of
money home. None of his friends or
-relatives, not even his wife, knew
why he had deserted his kin. Fia-
schetti decided to ask Casalino that
question in person.

The laborer’s latest letter had
come from Trenton, New Jersey. Fia-

~schetti boarded the next train, head-
ed there, only to discover that Casa-
lino had left. He had become restless,

a friend said, given up his job and
. gone on. : Bi

Fiaschetti trailed his man to the
next city..Again he arrived too late. .
The detective combed towns and vil-
lages, persistently and relentlessly as
the bulldog to which he was so qften
likened. :

‘. * * *
T last, in Fairport, New York, the
detective caught up with his sus-
pect. The town’s postmaster told the
sleuth that he knew Casalino well.
He often came to town for his mail.
Where did he work? On a small farm

_ several miles down the main road.

Fiaschetti breathed more easily.
Casalino was within arm’s reach
now, but he did not want to arrest
him—yet. The detective.did not have
a fragment of evidence against the
man that would stand up in court.
He did not even know what part
Casalino had played in the roadhouse
murders. But he was convinced that
the laborer had been present when
bullets brought the bodies of Mr.
and Mrs. Holbach to the floor of their
Long Island roadhouse. There were .
no eye-witnesses to the crime. His
one hope for solving it lay in a con-
fession.

Once more, Fiaschetti donned his
old clothes and trudged along the
dusty road leading from Fairport to
the farm where Casalino worked. He
asked for a job; he needed one badly.

A squint-eyed farmer, whose face
was nut-brown from a lifetime in the
sun; took one look at his husky
frame. ‘“You’re hired,” he said
quickly. {

Fate decreed that Fiaschetti be
given not only the same garret room

., as Casalino—but the same bed! The

detective had never even dreamed

’ of having such good fortune. Every

day he plowed or hoed with Casalino,
and every night he threw his aching,
weary body down beside him for a
few hours of rest, .

At first, their proximity meant

~ nothing. Casalino was as talkative as

the Sphinx. He showed no interest
in farming or his fellow-workers. All
he lived for were the letters he re-
ceived from home, He read and re-
read them, carefully, then placed
them in pockets of his shirts. and
overalls. :

The detective no longer made any

approaches of friendliness. He be-
came as moody as Casalino. He fell
into the habit of moving his lips si-
lently as if talking to himself, He
mumbled in his “sleep.” Evidently
some secret trouble’-was tormenting
him too. : :
The other farm hands began to
avoid Fiaschetti and Casalino. Soon
their common feeling. of gloom and
isolation drew the two men more
closely to each other. They would
sit, smoke, or play cards together.
Sometimes they drank hard cider.

* * *
NE day Fiaschetti let the sweet
liquor “intoxicate” him. He,
groaned and cursed, wept and tore at
his hair, bemoaning the hard fate

that kept him from his wife and chil- .

dren.
Sympathetically, Casalino began

POLICE DETECTIVE CASES

to as
rated
thou;
if he
were
how ‘
thing
them
schett
vealex
ai. Fia:
aa persu:
aa leanec
e. cret”’ }
a@ man
Cas:
% Fiasch
A told h
a of fell
hadn’t
sighed
He cou
Cas:
der co
open |}
The
sordid
slaying
Fiasch:
the tir
“every «
Ther
lino’s ¢
sion ar
Fiasc
tone: ‘
feel bet
me, but
He t
his eye:
arm. H
the det:
body, tc
Fiase)
beats of
his voic
jealous?
with sor
Casal;
‘ it was 1
rapidly,
ing the }
tortured
He tol
old wom
her husk
roadhou:
schetti h
No, he
- Well, :
thought
about tl
Papers.
The fa:
He used
One nigh
talked al
needed a
Casalir
and _ thei
couple w
lot of mo
Casalin
why he I
inn-keepe
had want
tongue. |
given. Th
they want
roadhouse
Casalin:
with his
hoarse an
POLICE DETE:

@. and

an to the
1 too late.
s and vil-
itlessly as
s so Qften

York, the
th his sus-
r told the
lino well.
his mail.
mall farm
in road.
re easily.
n’s reach
to arrest
inot have
Zainst the
in court.
what part
coadhouse
inced that
cent when
2s of Mr.
or of their
nere were
‘rime. His
in a con-

onned his
along the
‘airport to
rorked. He
one badly.
vhose face
time in the
his husky

he said

@: be
2 room
2 bed! The
1 dreamed
ine. Every
a Casalino,
his aching,

him for a

ity meant.
alkative as
10 interest
orkers. All
‘ers he re-.
id and re-
en placed
shirts and

made any
ss. He be-
ao. He fell
his lips si-
imself, He
Evidently
tormenting

; began to
ilino. Soon
gloom and
men more
hey would
s together.
wd cider.

the sweet
” him. He
and tore at
hard fate
fe and chil-

lino began

TIVE CASES

to ask questions, He, too, was sepa-
rated from his wife and children. He
thought :Fiaschetti might feel better
if he spoke about the problems that
were bothering him. Casalino knew
how dreadful it was to have some-
thing preying on your mind. Both of
them were in the same boat, and Fia-
schetti could trust him, What he re-
vealed would go no further.

Fiaschetti allowed himself to be
persuaded. As they lay in bed,. he
leaned over and whispered his “se-
cret” in Casalino’s ear, He had killed
@ man in the Bronx,

Casalino’s face whitened. He urged
Fiaschetti to go on. The detective
told his story. He was with a bunch
of fellows ... bad guys ...and he
hadn’t meant to kill the man. He
sighed with remorse. His voice broke.
He could not go on.

Casalino patted his friend’s shoul-
der comfortingly and urged him to
open his heart,

The ‘detective then confessed to a
sordid hold-up that ended in the
slaying of an eighteen year old youth.

Fiaschetti mentioned names, places,.

the time and scene of the murder,

‘every detail of his crime.

There was a short Silence, Casa-
lino’s dark eyes were full of compas-
sion and understanding.

Fiaschetti muttered in a relieved
tone: “I’m glad ‘I told you. Now I
feel better. The police are still after
me, but now, at least, I can sleep.”

He turned his pillow and closed
his eyes, but Casalino tugged at his
arm. He whispered into the ear of
the detective softly. “I killed some-
body, too. Not a man—a woman.”

Fiaschetti calmed the hammer- .

beats of his heart. He tried to make
his voice sound casual. “You were
jealous? She was running around
with somebody else?” .

Casalino shook his dark head. No.
it was nothing like that. He talked
rapidly, almost in one breath, pour-
ing the black tale of misery from his
tortured soul.

He told Fiaschetti he had killed an
old woman named Holbach. She and
her husband had once owned a little’
roadhouse on Long Island. Has Fia-
schetti heard of them?

No, he hadn’t. _ yh

. Well, that made no difference. He
thought maybe Fiaschetti had read
about the murders in the news-
Papers.

‘The farm hand continued his story.
He used to hang out ina pool room.
One night, a couple of tough fellows
talked about a hold-up — said they
needed an “easy joint” to take over.

Casalino mentioned the Holbachs
and their lonely roadhouse. The
couple. were alone and they kept a
lot of money around: f

Casalino could not remember now.
why he had even spoken about the
inn-keepers. For, a moment later, he
had wanted to cut off his wretched
tongue. But the tip-off had been
given. The crooks liked the idea;
they wanted him to lead them to the’
roadhouse, ~

Casalino moistened. his dry lips
with his tongue: His: voice came
hoarse and cracked. He looked mis-
POLICE DETECTIVE CASES

ig paMeiy RES BAAN ear

erably at the man opposite hirn, “I :

was a fool. I had never done anything -
dishonest before, and I should not
have listened to them,”

“But-you did?” aids

“Yes. Twice I refused to ‘go but
Little Joe Zambelli wanted a hun-.
. dred dollars, He said he would kill
my wife and children if I didn’t go_
along on the stick-up. I was afraid
of Zambelli—do you know him?”

“No, but I’ve heard of him.”

“Zambelli’s a little man, but he’s
cruel and fierce. When he doesn’t
have his way he does terrible things.
... Il agreed to take him to the tav-
ern.” : ;
Seven men had ‘gone to the road-
house where they sat drinking until
after midnight. Then the aged inn-
keeper asked them to leave.

There was an argument. Little Joe
demanded Holbach’s money. He re-
fused. Without warning Little Joe
pulled a gun and shot the old fellow. |

Casalino dropped his eyes. “The
woman ran over to the body and be-
gan to scream. I was frightened. The
police might come—I thought of my
wife and my children. :

“Mrs. Holbach kept on yelling. I
reached in my pocket for the gun.’
Little Joe had given me. She was
screaming louder and. louder . . ;
Maybe I was afraid; maybe I had too
much beer. I don’t know. But the re-
volver went off and she fell to the
floor—over her husband’s body.” -

Fiaschetti already guessed the
rest of the story. Little Joe snatched
the money from the icebox and the
seven escaped the back way —
through the woods, In the rush Little
Joe dropped his hat—the old one he
wore for good luck—but they didn’t
search for it. No use, in the dark.

Casalino had not accepted his share
of the money. He wanted no part. of
the bloodstained loot. Next day he
packed his old’ valise and told his

“wife he would have to leave town.

But he did not tell her why. i

Fiaschetti nodded understanding-~
ly. “It is best not to tell a woman.”

Casalino raised his head Sadly.
“Now one of my friends writes that
the police are looking for me.”’.

Somehow, the ‘detective’s next
words burned in his throat. “You’re
well hidden here,” he lied.. “They
will not find you—but where are the
others?” ons

“I don’t know. There were five be-
sides Little Joe and me: Paul Ricci,
Rocco Bracci, Tony Bruno, Frank
Riallo and Nick Chiusano.” - _ 4

Fiaschetti repeated the names to
himself. So the police had been right
in suspecting Riallo! Casalino could
talk no more. Relieved of the stony
burden pressing so heavily on his
heart, hé closed his eyes. A few sec-
onds later, he was sleeping the quiet,
peaceful sleep of a free man.

* * #

HE following night, Fiaschetti
went to Fairport to see the local
sneriff. Next morning, the local offi-
cer drove up to the farm with a
horse and buggy. ,
Soon, he saw the detective walk-
ing leisurely toward him with a
tired-looking farm hand. When the

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pair reached the fence, Casalino im-
mediately noticed the sheriff's badge.
He ‘turned frightened, bewildered
eyes to Fiaschetti.

The detective cleared his throat.

“This is the end:of our walk, Casa-

lino,” he said unsteadily. “You're
going’ back to New York for the
murder. of Mrs. Holbach.”

The murderer paled. A groan es-
caped his lips. -‘‘You’re turning me
over to him?” he asked, pointing ‘at
the sheriff.

Fiaschetti’s jaw might have been
carved from granite. With difficulty.
“No, Casalino, I’m arresting you.
I'm Detective Fiaschetti of the New
York City Police Department.”

Casalino’s shoulders stiffened. His
whole body seemed to shrink. But he
said nothing. :

He had but one request to make
—that he be permitted to see his

.wife and children before he was

taken to the Tombs.

* * *
IASCHETTI accompanied..the la-
borer to his three-room’ apart-

ment in Brooklyn. A hot July sun
baked the steaming pavements; bot-
tle-flies buzzed through the thick,
humid air. The tinny strains of a

‘street organ serenaded the men as

they walked up the stairs. Rosa
Casalino’s voice could. be hear
scolding her youngest boy. It was a
sad voice, yet a sweet one. Casalino
winced. * v :

When the olive-skinned, hand-
some. woman spied her husband,
tears of joy streamed down her shin-
ing face. Then, she looked at Fia-
schetti. ‘

Fear leaped into her eyes. “Mike,”
she said to her husband, “What’s
happened? What’s wrong, Papa?
Tell me,” she begged.

The farmer kissed her tenderly.
They pressed tear-stained cheeks to
gether. Fiaschetti looked away.

* * *

-(% NCE Casalino was jailed, the rest

of the gang’ was rounded up.
Riallo was again caught in the police
net—this time to stay. Chiusano was
cornered in Boston, Ricci, Bruno and
Bracci were rapidly taken into cus-
tody in a cellar hide-out. Only Little
Joe Zambelli, the ringleader and the
killer of Holbach, managed to elude
detection. : ;

Confronted by Casalino’s story, all
the men but Bracci confessed to the
fatal hold-up. But whimpering and
cowering, they all blamed Casalino
for the murder. They pictured him
as a desperado and cut-throat, the
ringleader, next to Little Joe in com-
mand.

Yet every member of the gang
was convicted. Two of them received
sentences of sixteen years; three,
life. Casalino, as the slayer of Mrs.
Holbach, was to die in the chair—
the first man in twenty-two years
to draw the death penalty in Queens.
' The laborer was reprieved sev-
eral times—until a year and half
after the murders, when the long
arm of the law stretched for Little

Joe Zambelli. After a brief trial,.

Little Joe was also assigned to Sing
Sing’s Death House.

The date for Casalino’s execution
approached, and Fiaschetti began to
feel uneasy. It wasn’t that Casalino
didn’t deserve to die—he was a mur-

‘derer, after all. But the former la-
borer had helped convict six con-

firmed gangsters. :

Moreover, Fiaschetti had deliber-
ately befriended Casalino to draw a
confession from him. Many detec-
tives adhere to an unwritten law
about such cases. When a man wins
a suspect’s confidence for the pur-
pose of breaking a murder, he tries
to save the slayer. ;

Fiaschetti went to the District At-
torney, told him that Casalino was

‘not a hardened criminal, but a poor

weak, and luckless fool. He did not
deserve the chair. The District At-
torney agreed with him. Together,
they traveled to Albany. The gov-
ernor listened to their plea in silence,
then shook his head.

Fiaschetti stammered—then
begged for Casalino’s life. He re-
peated the tormenting thoughts that
had been whirling in his own trou-
bled mind.

Through Casalino, six criminals

had been convicted; the condemned .

laborer had become involved in the
murder through their tricks. Casa-

lino had done wrong, but he was not ©

a killer—just a bewildered and re-
pentant man. .

The’ Governor shook his head
again. As far as he was concerned,
Casalino had to die. He would grant

‘neither another reprieve nor a com-

mutation.
Fiaschetti rode back to New York
fighting tears.

* * *

EFORE Casalino died, he wrote

a. letter. tie thanked Fiaschetti
tor doing his best to save him. If the
detective could not do anything—
well, then nobody could. He was not
worried about himself, wrote Casa-
lino, but he was concerned for his
poor Rosa and his children. There
was no one to take care of them
now. Would Fiaschetti see that they
had something to eat, something to
wear.

He wanted his friend to know that
he was not angry with him for send-
ing him to the chair. A detective had
a duty to perform, he realized that.
Only—then came that plea again—

’ please, look after Rosa and the chil- ©

dren.
* + *

ETECTIVE Fiaschetti has never
forgotten. In the years that
nave passed he has made certain that
Rosa and the children were never in
want. From time to time, he has sent
them generous sums of money. Fia-
schetti is the only detective on rec-
ord who supports the family of a
murderer he has sent to the chair

POLICE DETECTIVE CASES

~ CO!
OFFERI
MADMA)

' (Contin

known Syrac

morgue,
_After a carc

victim’s mout!)

Dr. Gak. “'T)

right. I insert

celain filling i

- Coroner Ga
a file card w
brought along
There was 1
mutilated bod

of the Laury t

Florence Ame:

Meanwhik
thrown the ir
gear. He order<
and the landlo

quarters for q

Millard Ames,

mother’s acqua
beyond suspici:

But if Chie:
thony Laury cc
on the case, he °

road-worker, a
of two childre
after by Mrs.
seen Mrs, Ames
but only long e:
He scratched
member ever h:
even once,” he

How then c
been placed in t
He could not ev
of a possibility.

‘On the fatef:
cember 14th —
‘murder day, si
disappeared the
children to a mc
had gone downt:
store.

As for the sp.
had watched it ;
it merely a leak
delayed reportir
Freeman, thinki
it himself at the

Freeman, who
to Laury the pre
little information
know Mrs. Ames
been out of towr
mysteriously vay

Deputy Chief }
outstanding crim
the questioning
while, Chief Rap

climbed up the fli

F JAP bombers, under the evil
| guiding genius of a double-

crossing diplomatic corps in
Tokio, had advanced their plans
for attacking Pearl Harbor by one
month, thus bringing America full
tilt into the World War—if they
had, why then Patrolman Thomas
J. Casey of the New York City
police would be alive today.

Patrolman Casey was an astute
man, a great arguer and a “good
cop.” He liked to talk.

There is every reason to believe
now, in looking back over the de-
tails of what actually took place
in the early hours of that morning
of November 6th, 1941, that Patrol-
man Casey, willing to spend four
hours talking over the possibilities
of a Jap war when even Washing-
ton couldn’t believe it possible—
why, there is ever reason to be-
lieve he would have talked on for
another hour or so if the news of
the bombing had been the subject.

But four hours discussion of
trivialities was enough for Casey,
in view of the dearth of news at
the time, and so he left his two
police companions at the. door of
the little tavern on Third Avenue
and began walking out into the
cold pre-dawn to meet his destiny.
And his destiny was to be three
leaden slugs from the blazing guns
of a gang of punks: who didn’t
like curious Cops.

Patrolman Thomas J. Casey, 34
years old and married, lived at
1919 McGraw Avenue, in the Park-
chester development in the East
Bronx. He had joined the police
force back in 1932, and on the
morning he met his death he was
attached to the East Fifty-first
street station in Manhattan.

Casey had a rather unusual rep-
utation with his friends and su-
periors on the police force. To be-
gin with, he was a fine officer. He
didn't let the loan sharks get into
him, he watched his step and had
a good clean record. The only
trouble with him, if it could be
considered a fault at all, was that
he talked. He was known as @
great talker. But to offset this, he
had a tremendous curiosity., And
backing that curiosity was & great
deal of courage.

It was a combination of these
two which “was to give him his
reputation as a “good cop.” It was
also this combination which was
to lead directly to his murder.

There were other things too,
which led to his murder. All of
them had to fit in, like so many
pieces of a Chinese puzzle, in or-
der to permit fate to catch up with
him.

There was the matter of Casey’s
frugality. Patrolman Casey was a
man who believed in living within
his income. He was generous
enough, but he just couldn’t see
any sense in wasting moncy. He
couldn’t even stand to see anyone
else waste money and refuse’ to
be a party to the waste, whether
it cost him anything or not.

This alone made it possible for
the three gangster directed slugs
to drench the life stream from his
body.

Casey had one other thing which
distinguished him as an officer of
the law. He could spot a punk or
a thug or a criminal as far as he
could see one. And when he did
see one, why he just naturally
stopped the rat in his tracks and
started asking questions.

HE WAS A YOUNG PUNK WITH A
QUICK TRIGGER FINGER—BUT
HE MADE A FATAL MISTAKE
WHEN HE KILLED AN OFFICER

DEATH
STALKS at

By LAWRENCE RHODES

Special Investigator for

Sensational Detective Cases

Patrolman Thomas J. Casey, who lost his lite
because he was a “good

cop” at all times.

}

But to get back to the events as :
they chronologically followed: each |
other in tragic and fatal order on /
that morning- of November sixth. :

At exactly midnight Casey signed
off at the East Fifty-first street;
station house. He went into the*
back room and traded ‘his uniform
for his street clothes. He very care-
fully removed his revolver and his
blackjack and his chain handcuffs ¢
and hung them up in his locker.
Casey didn’t like guns and he fig-
ured he had two well made hands
which would always take care of}
him in case of a jam. | {

Ten minutes later, accompanied |

}
{

by Patrolmen Thomas Barnes and
James O’Sullivan, he left the sta-

torily as they strolled down the
street and then decided to stop by }
at a small tavern for a sandwich j
and a little more talk. O’Sullivan }
lived in the same building out in {"
Parkchester and Casey figured he'd }
ride uptown with him—after they'd |
talked for a while. j
The conversation covered * rou-j

tine matters for a time and then’

is doubtful, once the subject war
was in full swing, if either O’Sul-:
livan or Barnes got in a word)
edgeway. i

BEERS. ‘A nee

§:

Saat kd

O'Sullivan got pretty tired after”

a couple of hours and wanted to
go. But Casey asked’ him to stay
just a minute or so longer. He had
an additional point to make. i

“Nothing doing,” he said. “I’m
going home.” . {
O’Sullivan stood up then him-
self. mud

cab.”

ten,” he said, “a taxi is a waste

way is faster.”

is slower. I’m tired and I wan
there in comfort.”

Casey.

O'Sullivan, as he hailed a passing

the principal of the thing. No

“Then get it.”

O'Sullivan slammed the cab doa w
and told the driver to get going is
Barnes, in the meantime, had dis H
appeared. Casey shrugged and thet ~
doggedly started walking. He turn Ww
ed west into Fifty-second str
planning to get the subway at Fif h:
ty-first and Lexington Avenue. jst
; Although it was almost four t!
thirty in the morning, the stred “
was’ not entirely deserted. Then 0!
was a cab in the center of thH
block, motor idling, and driven

‘slumped over his wheel. In fro
of the Universal Funeral Chap@a:

“Me, too, and I’m taking a taxi
{a

to get to bed. And I want to go of

“Tt’s a waste of money,” ry th

you see it’s this way: if——” st

O'Sullivan jerked his arm freg ca
and climbed in the cab. “Hang the e<
principal,” he said. “You don’t ge h:
me into an argument that way, fi!

Come on, jump in.’ st
“But Casey was @ man of ty
principals. He shook his head. “I'} n
get the subway.” m

Casey got his hat from the rack) A‘
and joined them at the door. “Lis- t

of money. And anyway the sub- 1

“Tm still taking a taxi,” said va
o’Sullivan. “And I don’t care if it w!

“Then save your dough,” said as

cab. “I'll pay the fare and you th
can come along anyway.” wi
“jt isn’t that,” said Casey. “Tt’g he

me
hiaod

Nie
hi
he
Wail
”

New York’s Deadly Raider

[Continued from page 7]

Henry Copenhagen. I think we've got
the best lead so far. I’m bringing a man
down to headquarters in a few minutes.
I think he’ll be able to give us some
valuable information on this case.”

The speaker was former Deputy Police
Chief Henry T. Copenhagen who had re-

tired from the force two years before

but had enlisted in the manhunt that
morning. He had been at work on the
case throughout the day.

Ten minutes after telephoning, Copen-
hagen strode into Capt. McDonald’s
office. With him was a mild-mannered,
middle-aged man dressed in working
clothes.

Joseph Bay, left, and August Nugent were two of the farmers who
joined in the manhunt for the fugitive murderer.

DETECTIVE

“Tell the captain what you told me,”
ordered Copenhagen.

The shabbily dressed fellow spoke
haltingly.

“My name is John Stark,” he said.
“I work on a WPA project as a laborer.
A couple of months ago I was talking on
the job about this postofiice on Brown
street, I said that I went in there every
morning to buy my tobacco supply for
the day.

“After the lunch hour a man came up
to me and started talking about the store.
He asked if there were ever many people
around when I bought my tobacco. I
didn’t talk to him very much because
he scared me.

“Then a week ago he came up to me
again and started asking more questions
about the store. He said he wanted me
to help him stick it up.”

“What was this man’s name?” Capt.
McDonald asked abruptly.

“Something like Caccamiso,” said
Stark. “It was an Italian name. He lived
somewhere on Vienna street. He told
me because he wanted me to come over
to his house some night.”

Lieut. Andrews was already thumbing
the city directory.

’ “Here it is,” he said. “Ross Cacca-
mise, Vienna street.”

Capt. McDonald was already on his
feet.

“Lock this man up,” he ordered.

Seconds later, Copenhagen, Capt. Mc-
Donald and Lieut. Andrews were speed-
ing across the sleeping city in a squad
car. They came to a stop in front of
the house in Vienna street, drew their
guns and advanced in silence.

Woman Is Questioned

APT. McDONALD tried the door.
It was locked. He reversed his gun
and pounded on the wooden panel. The
hollow sound echoed in the silent night.
Then the door opened slowly. The
features of a frightened, elderly woman
showed at the crack.

“We're officers of the law,” said Mc-
Donald in a reassuring voice. “Don’t be
frightened. We're not going to harm
you. Does a man named Ross Caccamise
live here?”

The woman nodded and opened the
door a trifle wider.

“Yes,” she said. “He rooms here.”

“Where is his room?” asked the cap-
tain.

She pointed down the dark corridor.

“Ts he in?” whispered McDonald.

“IT don’t know,” the woman answered.
“Some nights he comes in very late.”

“Where is the light in the room.”

“On the right side of the door as you
go in,” said the woman.

With drawn guns the officers crept
down the pitch-black hallway. Capt.
McDonald tried the door. It was un-
locked. He flung it open and switched
on the light with one motion. The glar-
ing light of the naked bulb showed only
a barren room. There was a bed in one
corner, a few clothes scattered over a
chair.

A single, tense curse escaped the lips
of Lieut. Andrews. The trap was empty.

A> second later, however, his eyes

i Si debeetieds 4 bhusattash ” 2 de ‘
FEE Ree eA aE We Ee abi. 3 ihiies:

air as William J. Scanlon drove up
in front of the sub-postal station
at Bull’s Head, Rochester, N. Y.

He was on his way to work. The world
looked good that morning. He whistled
cheerfully as he entered the store.

But presently across the face of the
smiling world loomed a shadow of vio-
lence and sudden death.

From the rear of the store, Scanlon
heard the muffled voice of a man cry:

“Help! A holdup! Help!”

Frightened, Scanlon stepped out of the
store to look for an officer. In that brief
instant, three shots broke the silence of
the spring morning.

A second later, Scanlon saw a man
dash from the rear door of the postoffice.
He gave chase. Near Brown and Allen
streets he shouted to Edwark Luke, a
railroad switchman, who was flagging
cars on a siding:

“Holdup! Call the police!”

He continued the frantic pursuit but
the fugitive was faster and after a few
blocks Scanlon lost the trail.

Meanwhile, across the street from the
postal station a small group of men
huddled in the doorway of a nearby florist
shop. They had heard the shots. They
were frightened. Not one of them would
enter the store.

dee promise of spring was in the

Beyond Human Aid

AS THEY gathered courage the Rev.
Leo C. Mooney, director of the
Society for the Propagation of the Faith,
entered the store. He was unaware that
anything had happened. Inside, he picked
a morning newspaper off the counter, left
the money and walked out.

At the door he was met by one of the
bystanders.

“See anything wrong in there, Father oe
the man asked.

“Why, no,” said the man of the cloth.
“What's the matter ?”

The men hurriedly told him what they
had seen and heard.

The courageous priest instant ly
walked back into the store. In the rear
room he found Edmund P. Van DeWater,
keeper of the postoffice, twisted in death
agony on the floor. He lay in an ever-
widening pool of blood that gushed from
three bullet wounds in his body.

Faithful to the code of government
employes, he had signed his own death
warrant by resisting and screaming for
help instead of passively submitting to
the plundering marauder.

Father Mooney saw insteafftly the
man was beyond human aid. Blood
streamed from his open mouth. ‘It gushed
blackly from a wound in his head just
above the right ear.

The priest knelt in the blood of the
dying man to administer the sacrament
of extreme unction. Brief seconds later
the heroic 58-year-old postoffice employe
died in-Father Mooney’s arms.

The last sound to smite his conscious-
ness was the eerie moan of the police car

siren as Detective Capt. John P. Mc-

Donald and Lieut. Anthony A. Andrews
reached the scene.

With them was Coroner Richard A.
Leonardo. He examined the body swiftly.

“Whoever did it did a thorough job,”
he said. “Any one of these bullets was
enough to kill him. One ripped through
his intestines... .”

He pointed to the fatal wounds as he
talked.

“This shot in the neck was probably
fired at close range as they struggled,”
he went on. “So was the bullet that
pierced the head just above the ear. You
can see the hair has been singed by the
powder blast.”

Lieut. Andrews picked up a small roll
éf electrician’s wire which lay concealed
under the body. He unrolled a few inches
from the spool, flexed it thoughtfully.
It was pliant but obviously had great
tensile strength.

“Remember the automobile salesman
who was held up about a year ago and
had shis hands bound behind him with

-. Peppered by buckshot
- and drilled by bullets
from the guns of the
posse, the murderer is
shown being carried by
state troopers to a cell
after hours of questioning.

wire?” he asked Capt. McDonald. “Well,
that’s what this holdup man tried to do
but Van DeWater put up too stiff a fight.
But I’ll bet a week’s pay both jobs were
done by the same man. The wire is
exactly the kind used on that other job.”

Capt. McDonald handed the wire to a
detective of the homicide squad.

“Take this downtown to a wholesale
hardware jobber,” he ordered, “and get
a list of places selling this type of wire.
Then get a couple more men and make the
rounds of, those stores. There’s an out-
side chance some clerk might remember
who he sold it to.”

Detective Finds Clues

FEW feet from the body Lieut. An-
drews found a light gray cap. Inside
were the intials E.P.W.., those of the slain
man. Behind a counter he made a simi-
lar but more important find. It was a

The murderer, center in picture above left, is brought
into court for sentence. At the right, above, is a store
which the killer raided. Captain of Detectives John
McDonald, below right, examines the murder guns
found on the vicious killer.

well-worn cap of dark blue cloth. There
were no initials in this one but there was
Va evidence nearly as damning; two strands
of hair.
, The Lieutenant plucked them out of
‘ the cap, carefully placing thern in an en-
velope. Meanwhile Capt. McDonald and
‘ other members of the homicide squad
P were going over every inch of the post-
office. Scattered around the floor they
“~ found four .32 caliber automatic shells.
“4 “You say there’s only three shots in
: the body?” Capt. McDonald asked.
The coroner nodded.

A few minutes later the fourth bullet
was found lodged in a panel near the
door. The ballistics expert carefully re-
moved the slug from the wood.

ty Even as these clues were beitig un-
og earthed other detectives were question-
ing persons near the scene. Mrs, Mary
Smith who lived next door to the postal
sub-station said she was awakened by

“shuffling noise” about seven o’clock.

“Tt sounded like a fight,” she said. “And
then we heard a noise like someone chok-
ing. But before my husband and I could
get dressed the police car was next door.”

George B. McGill said he had been in
the store a few minutes before seven but
had seen no one loitering nearby.

The best description of the slayer was
given by Scanlon.

“He was about six feet tall,” he said,

dobbs SoS y

“and h
hair.
near t
Theo
tective
scripti
his st:
“He
block,
and I
coat v
Thi
crime
had c
of off
of hu:
“A
said
could
Bu
shart
labor
of hu
taken
*T
bend:
the h
abou’
comy
long
olive
Fr
chen
these
fully

~m
TA

svt
rile

eda?

RE erie: Heer;
es

Two officers wounded in the gunbattle, above left, are Chief Deputy Tom Woods,
left, and Elmer Wood, right. William G. Willard, above right, proprietor of a
store at Lakeside, N. Y., tells how the murderer looted his cash register.

“and had a swarthy complexion and dark
hair. I noticed that his coat was ripped
near the pocket on the right side.”

Thomas F. Coyle, a motorman, told de-
tectives that a man answering the de-
scription given by Scanlon, had boarded
his street car in Allan street.

“He ran after the car for about a
block,” Coyle said. “He seemed excited
and I noticed that the right side of his
coat was torn.”

This meant that after committing the
crime and eluding his pursuers the killer
had coolly ridden downtown with scores
of office-workers and vanished in a sea
of humanity on its way to work.

‘A thousand people probably saw him,”
said Capt. McDonald, “but not one
could tell what he looked like.”

But what human eyes had missed, the
sharp eye of the microscope in the police
laboratory was seeing in the two strands
of human hair that Lieut. Andrews had
taken from the murderer’s cap.

“These hairs,” said the chemist
bending over the microscope, “are from
the head of a fairly young man, possibly
about 25 or 30 years old. He is dark
complexioned. He wears his hair rather
long, uses some kind of a tonic which has
olive oil for a base.”

From the exterior of the cap itself, the
chemist took particles of dust. He placed
these on a slide, examined them care-
fully under the microscope.

oT aS

“This isn’t the ordinary kind of dust
we find in clothes that are worn only on
city streets,” he told Capt. McDonald.
“It’s a fine, sandy sort of loam.”

He slapped the cap against his hand.

“The kind,” he continued, “that a
farmer might get in his clothes while
he’s plowing, or a laborer while he’s
digging a ditch, You can see that the
dust is deeply imbedded in the cap. I’d
say the owner probably wore it on a job
like that for a considerable period of
time.”

“Then the man we’re looking for,”
said Capt. McDonald, “is probably a
young, swarthy foreigner who recently
worked as a laborer on some sort of a
construction or digging job?”

The chemist nodded.

“Would comparison of his hair with
these strands identify him as the killer ?”
asked Lieut. Andrews.

“In my mind,” said the expert, “it
would be enough to send him to the
chair.”

After the examination in the laboratory
the cap was given to detectives who be-
gan a systematic check of haberdashery
stores. The cap was of a cheap brand and
did not bear the label of any retail firm.

“And now,” ordered Capt. McDonald,
“we want to call up every contractor and
PWA project superintendent and get a
list-of men who didn’t report for work
this morning. Or see if they know any-

thing about a man who reported late with .
his coat ripped and without a cap.”

Within three hours after the crime
was committed, the machine-like, organ-
ized, scientific manhunt was reaching into
every section of, the city.

Hundreds of clerks in hardware stores
and clothing shops were questioned by
patient, hard-working plainclothesman.

“Do you remember selling a cap like
this to a young, dark complexioned work-
man?”

“Do you remember selling a spool
of wire like this... .?”

No Trace Of Killer

*T MOSe questions were asked over
and over again. But the answers
were always the same: “I can’t remem-
ber. We sell so many of those.”

It was hard, plodding work. The kind
that doesn’t make the headlines but cracks
a lot of cases.

At headquarters, Capt. McDonald
sat at his desk until long after mid-
night.’ Reports from detectives were
discouraging. Each phone call increased
the gloom at headquarters. The trail was
now 17 hours old.

Shortly before 1 a. m. the telephone
on the captain’s desk rang insistently.
Capt. McDonald answered it wearily.

“Captain,” said the voice, “this is

[Continued on page 43]

Py a or a,
te sg, sepa | Yost
Poa Eri. ,
oy

Many promotions and decorations
were awarded Marjory Logan for
her faithful service in the WAC

about a hundred dollars, and took a
ten-dollar bill. I threw it over the
banister. This time I could see my
mother standing there, facing some-
body who was out of sight.

“Then I heard a shot. I heard my
mother fall. I turned again, back to-
ward the stairs, and a man came up.
He wanted all the money in my purse.”

Miss Logan said the man covered her
with a nickel-plated revolver. After
grabbing the purse, she said, he took
out the money, threw the purse aside,
and ordered her into a bedroom.

There, she said—in her father’s bed-
room—he shot her.

HE bullet entered her brain, but she
did not lose conciousness.

“I tried to get up,” she said. “I
raised myself on my arms, and he shot
me again.”

This second bullet had pierced Miss
Logan’s. neck, Doctor Curphey had re-
ported.

News photographers are shown
here Fetal search for the
weapon near the Logan estate

Her assailant then ran down the
front stairs and out the door.

Miss Logan told Detective Hutchin-
son how she had struggled to her feet
and made her way from the house via
the back stairs, fearing that the gun-
man might still be lurking about the
front of the house.

Thus she did not see her mother on
the floor of the hall. She did, though,
surmise that Mrs. Logan was dead.

Miss Logan, growing weaker with
each passing minute, concluded her
story by saying that she had gone first
to the Turecamo home, seeking help,
only to find it, as she supposed, empty.
She stumbled on to the Sperber home.

In all, she traveled nearly a quarter
of a mile and Detective Hutchinson
marveled at the courage which carried
her that far despite her serious wounds.

“You're a brave girl,” he said, “and
now you must rest and get well.”

As a result of the detective’s skillful
questioning, Nassau County police now

had a complete description of the Flo.
er Hill slayer. They lost no time ge
ting it on the air:

“ut ARREST upon sight a Negro, bul

ing, starey eyes, medium da
complexion, six feet, one inch tall, o
hundred fifty pounds, slim build, in }
early twenties, wearing a cap and Arn
coverall fatigue clothes. This man

. armed with a nickle-plated revolve:

Captain Pinnell went into a hudc
with District Attorney James N. Geh:
and Assistant District Attorney Fra:
Gulotta.

“The chance of picking up a man
that description is a long shot. \
just can’t sit back and hope for a luc
“er We've just got to do somethi:
else.”

“Yes, but what?” Gehrig asked.
presume your men are after the tec
nical evidence.” ‘

“They are,” said Pinnell He tc

(Continued on Page 45)

are a high-speed lathe and a set of
dies. Also, he was one of the men who
walked daily through the hardware

McCray, remembering Gusler’s emi-
nent position in the community,

quietly:
“What are. you thinking?”

have stolen the dynamite.”
“But a bomb was found in his own

ath the main electric plant. A crow-
mysteriously

-— but had made a very peculiar re-
mark:
“That guy’s still trying to get me!”
Convinced now that the killer
worked in the plant, near Smith, Chief
McCray and Sheriff Davis concen-
on tracing the movements of
Amon Gusler, the plant i
By noon, Officer Noah Koontz re-

ported:

“Gusler went to the post-office every
day. The postmaster says he used to
wait there until Mrs. Smith came in
and then ask her to have coffee with
him. But she wouldn’t have anything
to do with him.”

“anything else?” McCray asked.

“We know he was at parties at her

house,” Koontz said. “That, coupled
with the technique of the bomb wiring,
makes me say Gusler ought to be
questioned. Maybe he figured she’d
give him a tumble if the husband was

ported:
“The vise marks on all the bombs

the FBI man gained access to the
electrician’s private
They swiftly. The Federal

Sheriff Davis already were
the subject of Gusler.
r have brought in that
bomb in his office to take suspicion off
himself, far in advance,” McCray said.

T= officers hurriedly decided on a

—I just can't imagine him murdering

anyone.”

Sheriff Davis and Chief McCray dis-
patched Noah. Koontz to the plant.

“Tell Gusler I want to talk to him,”
ordered McCray. .

Within twenty minutes, Koontz was

back with his man. The 52-year-old,
bespectacled electrical engineer was

on t do you want me for?” he
McCray had decided already on his
line. He said:
“Why did you plant the bombs, Gus-

matter of time, so I won't.
him.” :

“you planted the bombs?” McCray
asked.

By a curious freak
blast had ranged slightly downward,
accounting for the large hole in the.
floor next to the desk.

“It was the same type device as the
other one, the one Gray found,” admit-
ted Gusler.

The bomb had been taped to the wall
interior, about four feet above the
floor moulding. Both lead-in wires had
ranged downward to the floor. There,
Gusler drilled tiny, quarter-inch holes
in the rugged pine planking. He drew
the wires up into the office, behind the

’. sooner or later,” said Gusler.

which the wood oven. stood.
were completely out of sight,”

claimed.
Officer Gray said, “You ran both of
to the switch on the wood oven.
switch was turned on, it
a circuit that sent a hundred
volts into the middle of that

wood oven. It only takes six to fire
those blasting-caps, anyway. You
could do it with a dry cell.”

“Okay,

Smith's office.

“I knew he'd throw the right switch
“He was
going to get me—and I wanted to get
him first. I did.”

His confession was admitted as evi-

dence.

July 15, after only 30 minutes of
deliberation, a jury found Gusler guilty
of murder in the first degree.

{pore the law, Judge Joel Flood had

no alternative save that of sentenc-
ing the killer to die in the electric chair.

As a heavily armored car from the
State Penitentiary arrived to transport
the completely shackled, still smug
killer to Richmond, one aftermath de-
veloped:

At the Bassett Furniture Company
plant Officer Herman Gray found the
last lethal booby trap planted by the
slayer—a mounted shotgun, with a
fifty-foot wire leading to Gusler’s
office.

“I was going to use it if the bombs
failed,” said Gusler. “It was aimed
right at Smith’s desk.”

The Hunt for Long Island's Logan Slayer (Continued trom rage 27)

Gehrig exactly what was being done.

Within minutes after the discovery
of the dying Mrs. Logan, 50 detectives
had fanned out from the Bonnie Hill
Road estate, sweeping fields and wood-
land. There was a chance, a slim one,
that the killer had holed up somewhere
shortly after fleeing the bloody scene.
For this task, Captain Pinnell had as-
signed every man he could spare, but he
knew that it was not enough.
rolling, sparsely populated North Shore
was too big to be covered thoroughly in
this sort of a manhunt.

Inside and outside of the Logan
home itself, some two acres, po
technicians swarmed like ants. Out of
doors, they looked for the gun, hoping
that the killer had rid himself of it
without delay after his bloody crime.

Inside the big ten-room house, finger-
print men and photographers went
over door-knobs and woodwork, inch by
inch.

There were plenty of prints, as there
must be in any normal household, but
until the colossal job of assorting them
was complete, it would be impossible
to know whether the killer’s was among

them.

OTHER detectives were awalling the
opportunity to question William
Logan, the alain woman's husband and
other relatives,

The patient search went on, and at
last something that might be of value
was turned up.

The front of the Logan home was
landscaped, the lush. green, lawn care-
fully trimmed. Just off the grass, in the
soft earth, was a footprint—the mark
of a right shoe. ;

The toe was sunk deep, the heel mark
scarcely visible.

EXAMINING it, Detective Gesell de-
duced ‘that whoever had made the
print—and it was an odds-on bet that
the killer did—had. stood on tiptoe to

lice © peer over the shrubbery into the living-

room.

Carefully skirting the print, Gesell
examined the window from outside. It
was open, but the copper screen bore
no traces of having been forced.

Evidently the intruder had been
curious to see if he could detect any-
body inside before he rang the bell.

Detective Gesell ordered a cast taken
of the footprint. When the killer was
caught, this footprint would be a link
in the chain of evidence.

Gesell studied the print carefully,
and decided there was nothing particu-
larly significant about it. Further
examination of the cast, however,
might reveal something. Tle left the
technicians to their work.

Back at Headquarters, Captain Pin-
nell wan thinking out loud with

Prosecutor Gehrig on the listening
aad, aocnmtanaiy: neertiat. ae TORS 7
own.

Was the starey-eyed killer of Flower
Hill a resident of the neighborhood?

Or was he an outsider who stumbied
into the peaceful precincts of Flower
Hill, death and robbery in his heart,
and by sheer luck came upon the Logan
household with its three defenseless

women? ,

“I’m having a complete list drawn
up of all the men in this county who've
ever been brought in for any reason at
all,” Captain Pinnell told Prosecutor

. “Fortunately, the list will not
be long.”

“You think the killer is from the
county, then?” Gehrig asked.

CAPram PINNELL said he did.

“The thing is almost unbelieve-
able,” he answered. “A killing, an at-
tempted killing and robbery committed
in broad daylight, in a section where
there is no convenient public trans-
portation, and where the chances of
escape are zero if the crime is discov-
ered reasonably soon.”

The Captain said that according to
his theory, the slayer simply was
unaware of the risk he ran, and by
sheer accident managed to make his
getaway before the search was fully
organized

“7 don’t think wo miased a trick,”

and
operating out of Port Washington, and
so far none have reported seeing a man
answering a like the descrip-
tion of the killer.”

nad | CAN’T understand it,” Gehrig said.
“With the gun in his fist, the killer
could have had the house to himself.
He could have tied up Mrs. Logan, and
Mrs. Delebar, too, if mecessary. He
could have looted the place at leisure,
and walked off with thousands of dol-
Jars worth of stuff. Instead, he took
only the measly one hundred that was
in the girl’s purse.”

“I wonder,” said Gehrig, “why he
didn’t kill that girl. Why did he walk
off and leave her still fully conscious?”

Pinnell said, “Who knows? I’d guess
that he thought she was either dead or
pretty close to death. And in fact, I
think even the doctors are surprised
that she has survived.”

Doctor Curphey, who had performed
an autopsy on the body of Mrs. Logan,
came in then.

He had little to report, but he did
have the .32 caliber bullet which had
been removed from the slain woman's
brain. i
“Well, it’s not Army ammo, anyway,”
Captain Pinnell said when he saw It.
“TI thought for a time we were going to
havo another one of thoso souvenir-gun

Weil 1 oyrane (howtos reled out’
lotla sureested that there might
be n outside chance the bullet had

tn fred froma hot’ pam. ane for

yi} the pohce had a record,
nd it to Butts,” he proposed. “It's

ne 0 battered for comparison, and
we ive nothing to lose.”

'geant Harry Butts. ballistics ex-
pert for the New York Police Depart-
ment, was custodian of an extensive file
of bullets which had been fired in vari-

ous crimes in and around New York
City. By checking this slug with that
file he could tell whether it had been
fired from a gun used in a similar crime,
or in a holdup, or any crime where shots
were fired.

It was negative sort of evidence, but
in a killing such as this one, Nassau
County police were not overlooking any
bets. The smallest scrap of informa-
tion might prove valuable.

Captain Pinnell no sooner had sent
the leaden pellet to New York than De-
tective Gesell reported another inter-
esting lead. He had been talking to
William Logan.

“He tells me,” Gesell said, “that only
the night before last he gave Jeanne
some spending money, a hundred dol-
lars, and one of the bills was a fifty.”

CAPTAIN PINNELL raised his eye-
brows.. -
“That'll help,” he said. “I go from
one year to the next and never see a
fifty-dollar bill, except maybe in a
gambling raid. The average person
doesn’t carry that big a bill. Get it on
the air and the ticker right away. Tell
everyone to be on the lookout for any-

body offering a fifty-dollar bill, or any-—

body who has spent one since this
morning.”

Detective Gesell hurried off and Pin-
nell summoned Detective Michael
O'Brien.

O’Brien, like many other detectives
in the Department, was assigned ex-
clusively to the Logan case, but Pin-
nell chose him before others because
O’Brien was by way of being a Gold
Coast expert. He had conducted num-
erous investigations on the North
Shore, and knew all the ropes.

When O'Brien was seated, Captain
Pinnell unrolled a large map of the
county. He marked off seven commun-
ities—Rolling Wood, Plandome, New
Salem, Port Washington, Flower Hill,
Stoney Town and Munsey Park.

“I want,” he directed, “a list of every
man living or employed in those com-
munities whose description even faint-
ly resembles the Flower Hill killer.
These places are, roughly, in a ten-mile
radius of the Logan home. Get what
help you need, and have that list for
me as soon as possible.”

Detective O’Brien hurried to obey the
order.

The afternoon of July 24 waned and
as night fell, the first reports came in.

The bartender in a Freeport tavern
called to say that a tall and bug-eyed
man had offered a fifty-dollar bill in
payment for a drink.

A squad car was hastily dispatched,
but the suspect, viewed by experts, ob-
viously did not match the killer's de-

scription. He said he had asked:for the’

fifty-dollar bill in a bank, “to look like
a@ big shot.”

Other, similar reports were relayed
in as the night wore on, and all came to
nothing,

oe THE morning of Thursday, July
25, Captain Pinnell pounced on
something that sounded good. ,

Buffalo police had picked up a tall,
thin, medium dark-complexioned man
with $70 in his pockets—but no $50 bill.

He was identified as Murray Hamil-
ton and he admitted under questioning,
according to the Buffalo report, that he
was seeking to get out of the country
and into Canada. y

His purpose, so Hamilton told Buf-

falo police, was to enlist in the Canadian .

Army.

Captain Pinnell gave the mental
razzberry to that explanation. He
listened carefully while a Buffalo de-
tective described Hamilton via long dis-
tance. ape Move

“It sounds very good,” Captain Pin-
nell declared. “Very good indeed.” —

“And theidentally sade Muattalo. che

comes trom Glen Cove, Long Island
That's out your way, isn't ite

IU sure is!" Captain Pinnell es
claimed. “Get that baby down here
fast! Fly him down! We'll foot. the
bill.”

Glen Cove, one of Nassau County's
smaller cities, was only a few miles

east of Flower Hill.

While waiting for this new develop-
ment to come to a boil, Captain Pinnell
decided to fit still another string to his
bow. In a case like this, nothing was
too unimportant to overlook.

Miss LOGAN had been in the service
of her country, a Sergeant in the
Women’s Army Corps, and had been
honorably discharged, after long
months stationed in New Guinea.

Was it possible that the solution to
the Logan puzzle might lie in some
seemingly inconsequential happening in
New Guinea? War breeds’ strange ten-
sions, strange passions, and in the Pa-
cific outposts of civilization, things oc-
curred that could not have happened
elsewhere.

Captain Pinnell put in a telephone
call for Miss Logan's sister, Yvette, a
younger daughter of the slain woman.

Yvette was a student at Barnard Col-
lege, and while she usually lived at
the Flower Hill home, she had not been
there on the morning of July 24, when
the killer struck. Sor

She was, however, at home when
Captain Pinnell called, and she sup-
plied him with enough details of her
sister's Army record to enable him to
make confidential inquiries in Wash-
ington,

This he did without delay, and
marked it urgent,

With each, passing hour Headquar-
ters received report after report from
all sections of the Eastern Seaboard,
each giving the detention of a suspi-
cious character, all allegedly answering
the description of the Flower Hill
Slayer.

But as is so often the case with a
police alarm of this nature, the many
well-intended tips evaporated upon in-
vestigation. :

The time element was sufficient, to
eliminate practically all of them. The
case of Murray Hamilton was an ex-
ception, and from New Brunswick, New
Jersey, came another one that caused
Captain Pinnell to rub his hands in
anticipation of a break.

A man who said he was Thomas Ben-
der, of Washington, D. C., was taken
from a freight train in the New Bruns-
wick yards and held on an open charge
of trespassing. But New Brunswick au-
thorities noted that his general descrip-
tion tallied with the urgent “wanted”
alarm from Nassau, and Captain Pin-
nell was notified.

BENDER was sullen and uncommuni-

cative, New Brunswick reported, but
he could not deny that he had boarded
the freight in the Pennsylvania Rail-
road Sunnyside yards on the afternoon
of July 24.

The Sunnyside yards are approxi-
mately twelve miles from Flower Hill,
accessible by bus and subway to a flee-
ing gun-slayer,

Detective Gesell was dispatched to
New Brunswick to question Bender. If
circumstances warranted, the Suspect

would be brought face to face with .,

Klick.

As for Miss Logan, she was holding
her own after a delicate operation that
took five hours. The bullet was re-
moved and held for submission to Ser-
geant Butts.

a This proved to be a useless precau-
on.

A few hours later, the report came

‘pack from Sergeant Butts at Centre

Street. ;

Nothing. The Logan bullet had not
been fired from any gun which had
ave a bullet already in the police
files.

Captain Pinnell put the bullet aside
until such time as he had the death-
gun itself in his hands, when he would
make the damning comparison.

That time would ‘come, he vowed.
And he hoped his vow would be real-
ized soon. ‘

Detective Cienell was tu New teu
wick when a Buffalo policeman arrive
by polene with Phamitten t) vetted
Canadian Army enlistee.

Captain Pinnell stared euriot
the tall, young man who certaind
an outward resemblance to
called for in the police alarms.

But he reserved decision until he had
given this suspect the acid test.

Could Klick identify him?

The Port Washington housepainter,
now a familiar figure at Police Head-
quarters, was summoned for a private
show-up.

He stared at Hamilton from all an-
gles, and asked him to walk slowly, as
if along a road.

Hamilton willingly obliged.

Klick shook his head.

_ “Not the man,” he reported, his
voice tinged with regret. “Klick was no
less eager than the Nassaw County Po-
lice Department to bring the Flower
Hill slayer to justice.

Nor was this the end of an unpro-
ductive day.

DETECTIVE GESELL returned from
New Brunswick, disheartened. Ben-
der, so far as he was concerned, had no
connection with the Logan case.

“He's a boy down on his luck,” Gesell
reported, “and he tells a straight story.
He was staying with friends in South
Jamaica and looking for a job which
he didn’t find. So he headed back for
his Washington home by the direct
route, the Pennsy main line.”

Another day was well along in hours
when a long telegram from the War
Department reached the detective bu-
reau.

Captain Pinnell’s decision to check
Miss Logan’s Army career had really
uncovered something. .

Yes, an incident had occurred in New
Guinea involving WAC personnel and
Negro troops.

Private Olney Skinner, drafted from
Flushing, Long Island, had been court-
martialed and sentenced to six months
at hard labor for being found, without
permission or authorization, in WAC
barracks.

There was nothing to link Sergeant
Marjory J. Logan, WAC, directly to the
case of Private Skinner, except that the
incident had occurred in that section
of New Guinea where she had been
stationed.

Here was a new line of inquiry that
held some promise of results.

He could not tell just what line it
would take. If Sergeant Logan had
figured in the prosecution of Private
Skinner, she might be a natural target
for the discharged soldier to aim at
upon his return to the States.

Yes, it had possibilities, but Captain
Pinnell was ahead of himself. First
he must find ex-Private Skinner.

Assuming that the soldier had re-
turned to the place from which he had
been drafted, that wouldn’t be hard.

Flushing, another North Shore com-
munity in neighboring Queens County,
was only a few miles to the west. Flush-
ing police knew their way around the
town very well. —

There was one big gap in the Cap-
tain’s theory, Miss Logan had not in-
dicated that she had recognized the
man who shot her.

PERHAPS. under the fear, pain and
grief, she might have forgotten
where and how she had seen her as-
Sailant before. A few well-directed
questions might recall this for her.

Captain Pinnell did an unusual
thing. Miss Logan was on the critical
list after the operation, slated for re-
covery, but only after a long pull. Her
father was the one visitor permitted,
and he for only five minutes at a time.

Captain Pinnell hoped to prevail
upon the elder Logan to put two or
three well-phrased questions to. his
daughter, and report her answers.

It was a delicate situation,

Logan could refuse, but he already
had demonstrated that he would do
anything in his power to help the police
find the gunman who had brought
death to his household.

Logan, retired five years as vice-
president of a large New York City
bank, had offered a reward of $5000 for

COR two days, in the brief time allot
r ted him, Logan put to his daughte
certain questions that Captain Pinnel!
and District Attorney Gehrig had
framed. Among them were several

dealing with the girl's possible recogni-
tion of the man who shot her.

Logan meticulously reported her
answers, quoting from an excellent
memory, and Captain Pinnell’s hopes
sank. In her answers, there was no hint
that she ever had set eyes on the man
before, in the Army or out.

Pinnell. however, refused to: abandon
this new line of inquiry until he pro-
duced Skinner in the flesh, and stood
him before Miss Logan to be accused—
or exonerated.

Not all of the questions put to his
daughter by Logan, substituting for
trained police interrogators. dealt with
Captain Pinnell’s new theory. Some
of them were couched as to draw from
the girl more details of her horrible
experience, details that might be ex-
ceedingly helpful.

Miss Logan's replies, as relayed by
her father, were studied by Pinnell and
Gehrig. At one point she described how
the slayer left after shooting her the
second time. 7

“He closed the door quietly. as if I
were asleep,” the girl said. “He must
have thought I was dead.”

“A cool customer,” Pinnell remarked.
He put the report to the side.

Then came the crushing blow, the
blow that knocked the Logan investiga-
tion right back where it began.

Private Olney Skinner, the War De-
partment reported, was presently oc-
cupying a private room at Leavenworth
Federal Penitentiary. He had assaulted
and almost killed a guard in attempt-
ing to escape after serving all but a
month of the six months at hard labor
to which he had been sentenced. For
that he got seven years more, reduced
from 20.

It was scarcely possible that he could
have traveled from Kansas to Flower
Hill for revenge, or any other purpose.

This was on July 30. and Nassau
Police stock was at a new low, almost
off the board.

Captain Pinnell grimly turned his
attention to a. routine report which
previously he had no more than
glanced at.

Detective O’Brien and a staff of re-
searchers dutifully had taken a census
of young men of the slayer’s general
description employed within a 10-mile
radius of the Logan home, as ordered
by Captain Pinnell early in the case.

There they were—names, addresses,
ages, descriptions, lengths and types of
service.

The Captain summoned O’Brien and
Gesell, who had been spearheading the
investigation, and briefly outlined his
own theory which the War Department
had exploded. :

“That’s about the last live thing we
had,” he said, his voice harsh. “There's
nothing but a bone or two left to gnaw
on right now. Like this one here.”

He flicked a finger against O'Brien's
neatly typewritten report.

“Let’s check ’em over.” he said.

They studied the reports for several
minutes, but everything seemed to be
in order.

Detective O’Brien and his interroga-
tors had discovered a half-dozen young
men who could be said to resemble
the Flower Hill killer.

yeEr they had nothing, on the face of
the routine checkups, to link any of
them with the killing.

Captain Pinnell noted that with only
one exception, the men in question had
been employed steadily for periods
ranging from one to five years, and in
these cases the employers had vouched
highly for them.

“What about this fellow?” he asked,
stabbing at the one exception.

O'Brien shook his head.

“I didn’t see him,” he explained;
“put aside from the fact that he’s only

loud report, followed by two others.
She had no idea what they were, but
they frightened her so much that she
stayed in the sewing-room, not daring
to come out until she heard a door
close. She thought it was the back
door.

.A strange stillness enveloped the
house, and Mrs. Delebar crept timidly
out of the room and made her way to-
ward the front. As she did so, she
heard Mrs. Logan calling faintly:

“Jeanne! Jeanne!”

MES. DELEBAR almost fainted when
she reached the front hall and saw
her mistress, writhing in pain and cov-
ered with blood. She did not approach
the stricken woman but fled to her
room, where she managed to regain
enough control to telephone Mr. Logan
at his office.

That was all she knew. What had
happened, she had no idea.

Captain Blunt realized this was the.

beginning of a long and difficult in-
vestigation. Who had killed Mrs.
Logan? Why? And where was the

wounded girl the painters had helped? .

Was she Marjory Jeanne Logan?

The last two questions even then
were being answered at Mineola Po-
lice Headquarters. The telephone rang
and an operator answered.

“This is Doctor Teta,” a voice said.
“Doctor Joseph Teta, of Port Washing-
ton. There is a badly wounded girl in
my office and she has been shot, at least
twice. I must have an ambulance at
once.”

QUicELY ‘the ambulance was dis- -

patched, and a covey of radio cars
converged on the physician’s office,
about a mile and a half from the Logan
estate on Flower Hill.

In the van’ was Detective George
Hutchinson, and to. him fell the re-
sponsibility of fitting some particularly
horrible and gruesome pieces into the
bloody puzzle. He had heard, before
leaving Headquarters, of the crime at
the Logan home. Was the girl in Doc-
tor Teta’s office Miss Logan?

Doctor Teta would not permit his
patient to be questioned immediately.
She was a tall, attractive girl, and the

physician was giving her what aid he
could until the ambulance arrived.

She was quite conscious, although it
was obvious that she was critically
wounded. Detective Hutchinson could
see the marks of at least two bullets,
sed in her neck and the other over her
aw.

ATIENDANTS from Nassau Hospital
in Mineola arrived, to rush her
there, so Detective Hutchinson turned
his attention to a man in paint-spat-
tered overalls who was waiting in Doc-
tor Teta’s reception room.

This turned out to be the other
painter, Klick. He quickly and con-
cisely told his story.

He and Johnson had been at work in
the Sperber home when they heard
footsteps and then a faint tapping at
the front door.

“I opened it and almost dropped
dead,” Klick said. “There stood that
poor girl, dripping blood and swaying
like she couldn’t stand for another
second.”

Klick quoted the girl as saying:

“Please help me! I’ve been shot and
my mother has been killed!”

“I told her she needed a doctor be-
fore anything else,” Klick declared.
“Johnson said he’d call the police, so I
drove her into Port Washington.”

THE girl, who said she was Jeanne
Logan—people rarely called her by
her first name, Marjory—sat quietly
beside him as Klick’s little coupe
bounced along Bonnie Heights Road,
Klick told the detective.

“I was praying that nothing would
happen to those tires of mine, when
girl yelled out: ‘There he is! There

e is!’

“There was a man walking down the
road and I figured, of course, she meant
the man who shot her, so I took a good
look at this fellow and I was going to

stop, but she wouldn’t let-me.

“She just slid out of her seat and got
down on the floor, as far down as she
could and said, ‘Don't stop! Don’t stop!
He's got a gun!’”

Klick said he thought discretion was
the better part of valor, and anyway,
the girl obviously needed medical at-

At left, Officer Bader with the
slain woman's clothes, wrapped
to protect laboratory evidence

tention right uway, so he stepped on
the gas and drove on. Through the
rear-view mirror, he saw the man
plunge into some bushes.

“What did this fellow look like?”
Hutchinson asked.

“He was a Negro,” Klick said. “He
was tall and thin, weighing, oh, maybe
a hundred and fifty pounds. He had
on a jumper. I think it was an Army
fatigue outfit.”

The detective heard this last with a
sick heart. Was this another case of a
veteran with a good service record
coming back to continue in private life
the ways of violence to which he had
been trained?

However, the fatigue uniform was.

not in itself conclusive. A lot of men
wore surplus Army stuff, these days,
men who had seen no more fighting
than came their way in the corner
tavern.

Bur at the very least, Hutchinson had
a vague description of the man.

He rushed to a telephone. A few
minutes later that description was
pounding into every police radio in
Nassau County, clattering through the
teletype wires, being spread by tele-
phone, and by every available means,
to every available police officer.

The Nassau County Police Depart-
ment moved rapidly along familiar
lines. Bus and railroad stations were
to be watched, highways patroled,
freight yards and freight trains kept
under surveillance. Detectives searched
the settlements in the county where a
man of that description might be
found. New York .City police were
notified. State Troopers picked up the
teletype message and soon it was being
repeated in eight different states.

ERE was a killer who had to be
found. Here was a vicious, blood-
thirsty man who had shot down two
defenseless -women—a «man -who had
invaded the sanctum of the wealthy
and who had struck at the very cream
of society. The case would be blazoned
in thousands of newspaper headlines,
the police knew, and they would be
“very definitely on the spot.
More than that, though, was the

Ward Beecher Caraway, who
gave the wrong reference, at left,
and Assistant Prosecutor Gulotta

enormity of the crime—the obvious
truth that such a man must be cap-
tured, as soon as possible.

How?

LICK’S description of the mysterious

pedestrian on Bonnie Heights Road

was good, but it was too general to
serve as more than a stop-gap.

Two persons actually had met the
gun-slayer face to face. One was Mrs.
Logan, and she could not talk. The
other was the daughter, Jeanne. Detec-
tive Hutchinson was assigned to inter-
view as best he could the grievously
wounded Miss Logan at her bed in Nas-
sau Hospital.

Doctor Theodore G. Curphey, Nas-
sau County Medical Examiner, report-
ed that the girl was in an extremely
critical condition. But, miraculously,
she retained consciousness, and was
rational. Detective Hutchinson was
allowed to question her for a few min-
utes. : ‘
Accompanied by a police stenogra-
pher, the detective sat by the girl's
bedside and asked her gently: to tell
her story, in her own words.

This is Jeanne Logan’s statement,
as it appears in the files of the Nassau
County District Attorney:

au |= WAS about half-past ten. I was
: upstairs, in my bedroom, getting
ready to dress and go out. My mother
was downstairs.

“The only other person in the house
was Mrs. Delebar. My father had gone
to the city. ‘

“Mrs. Delebar was in her room, I
think, or in the sewing-room.

“I heard my mother’s voice, but I
couldn't quite make out what she was

Saying.

“Then she called up the stairs. She
said, ‘Jeanne, will you throw me down
ten dollars. I want to pay a bill.’

“This struck me as very strange, for
I knew that -my ‘mother did not owe
anybody any money. I realize now
that whoever was down there with her
must have had a gun and was threat-
ening her, demanding money. But I
didn’t know that then. I couldn't see
either my mother or the other person.

“I went to my purse, which contained

BY MORT FELDMAN

HE HABITUES of high society live

in a civilization of their own making
—the routine of yachts, polo, chauffeurs,
debs, Cannes and the Colony Club. Lit-
tle brings them in contact with that
other world, unless it’s something like
murder.

Take that bright summer morning
along the money-banked North Shore of
Long Island, when a pretty, red-haired
girl, blood streaming from her face,
came running up to three men painting
the outside of a mansion. Sweat and
tears and blood masked her head. The
girl’s garments were speckled with vivid
wet red.

“THERE’S THE MURDERER,” SHE GASPED
“THERE’S THE MAN WHO SHOT ME!”

The girl dropped $10 to her mother from the head of the staircase,
unaware that ‘a revolver-carrying intruder stood in the room below

W. B., black, elec. NYSP (Nassau Co.) on July 3, 197595

“Thank God I’ve found someone,” she
moaned, and fell to the sun-baked grass
before the astonished painters. “I was
shot. My mother was shot. Murdered.
You must help me.”

One of the workers stared in amaze-
ment as the dark-eyed girl, without aid,
rose to her feet again. He saw a bullet
hole on the left side of her face, through
the upper cheek by her nose. Another
bullet had smashed into the back of her
skull.

“We'd better get you to a doctor,
Miss,” he said, taking her arm. “We'll
go in my car.” He told one of the other
men to call the police.

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(above) was ideally

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hen gunman decided Logan home

Inspector S, A. Pinnell (r.)

gan w

MURDER IN THE MORNING

(Continued from page 29)

the head. She tried to say something.
Blunt got to his knees and tried to
make out her words. But all he heard
was a gurgle. She mouthed words but
no intelligible sounds came out. Then
she seemed to sigh and Blunt saw she
was dead. :

“What happened here?” he asked
the maid. :

She had been in her room, working
at the sewing machine. Two rooms, In
which all doors were closed, separated
her room from the combination foyer
and living room. She said Mrs. Logan,
the daughter and she were the only
ones in the house, the husband having
gone to work earlier in the morning.
She heard Mrs. Logan calling her
daughter, and then she heard two or
three “noises.” The maid couldn’t give
the police officers any more informa-
tion. A few minutes ago, she came to
the front of the house, found Mrs.
Logan and called police.

In a few minutes an ambulance ar-
rived, then more policemen and soon
the reporters and the curious. In-
spector Stuyvesant Pinnell, of Nassau
County Detectives, took charge of the
investigation.

It was earlier that morning, about
10 a.m. on Wednesday, July 24th, 1946,
when a tall, loose-jointed man parked
his car on Port Washington Boulevard,
started walking, turned into Bonnie
Heights Road and glanced through the
trees sheltering the Logan mansion.
He could see the shadowy outline of
the home. He hesitated just a moment,
taking a long puff from his cigarette.
Then he made his decision. He took
another drag from the cigarette,
flipped it into the shrubs and slowly
walked up the driveway. About half-
way up, he turned off the driveway,
walked across the spacious lawn and
through an open French door into the
living room.

Mrs. Logan was seated at her desk
in the room, making out some bills.
Her daughter, Jeanne, as she was
called to distinguish her from the

-mother bearing the same first name,

was dozing off in her second floor bed-
room after taking her dad to the
Plandome Long Island Railroad sta-
tion.

Mrs. Logan heard a sound and
turned.

“What are you doing here?” she
asked.

“l’ye come for money,” he said,
drawing a gun from his pocket.

Mrs. Logan didn’t hesitate to com-
ply. She called up to her daughter.
“Jeanne, drop me $10. There’s a boy
here. I want to pay a debt.”

It wasn’t an unusual request as the
society matron usually left her purse
in her bedroom. Jeanne rose from the
bed, got the green pocketbook and
took out a $10 bill. She went to the
head of the stairs, shouted down for
her mother to catch the bill. Jeanne
couldn’t see the man.

The former WAC was returning to
her room when she heard a shot. In
panic, she ran half-way down the
carpeted steps, then she heard her
mother gasp. In one nightmarish flash,
Jeanne saw her mother fall to the
floor and the tall, wide-eyed man
“congas rapidly up the stairs toward

er.

He brandished a shiny, _nickel-
plated revolver. Jeanne backed up

slowly but the man kept coming after

er.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme the mon-
ey,” he said harshly.

“Yes”? she whispered. “Yes, the
money. Anything. What did you do to
my mother?”

“Gimme, gimme the money,” he
said. The pupils of his eyes were di-
lated and throbbed with threat. Sweat
covered his forehead and cheeks and
the hand that held the gun. The ter-
rified girl handed him her mother’s
purse. He grabbed a roll of bills and
thrust them into his pocket.

“Gimme more money,” he said.

“There isn’t any more.”

“Gimme jewelry,” he said, forcing
her into her bedroom. She picked up
some costume jewelry. He looked at
them and scowled, took them, and
then threw them on the floor. He
pushed her. As he had shot her moth-
er, without any provocation, so the
maddened gunman fired pointblank at
the fear-chilled girl. A bullet tore into
her face. Again she tried to get to her
feet, reached out for the _ bedpost,
turning away from her assailant. And
again he shot her, and another bullet
burned into the back of her head. He
left her for dead. The brutal orgy of
violence was over. The killer ran
downstairs and fled out of the house.

Jeanne, groaning in pain, reached
for the telephone. She called her fa-
ther’s office.

“Something terrible has happened,
so terrible,” she moaned to the office
switchboard girl. “Let me talk to my
father.” Blood seeped from her head.
With one hand, she futilely tried to
staunch the flow; with the other, she
could scarcely hold the phone. The
operator said her father was out.
Jeanne asked to speak to another ex-
ecutive of the firm.

“Where’s father?”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jeanne. Mother is dead,” and
then the girl, gasping for breath, be-
came incoherent and finally dropped
the telephone. The plucky brunette
stumble downstairs and _ started
walking to the nearest neighbor. Fran-
tically, she knocked .on the door of a
home, but there was no_ response.
Many of the families in Flower Hill
were away for. the summer. She went
to the next home, and the girl with
two bullets in her head had walked
about 500 feet before she spied the
three painters.

In Nassau Hospital, surgeons per-
formed an emergency operation and
extracted the two bullets. Fortunate-
ly for Jeanne, the .32 caliber bullets
were old and comparatively soft. The
one entering her face narrowly missed
the optic nerve and embedded itself in
the dead tissue of the frontal lobe of
the brain. The other bullet penetrated
the back of her neck about an inch
and stopped. Jeanne was put on the
critical list. The police, by asking her
one or two questions every half hour
or so, were able to learn what hap-
pened.

“Arrest for murder, assault and
robbery,” read the police alarm flashed
to 13 states. ‘“Dark-haired man, 25 to
35 years, five nine to six feet one,
slim build, bulgy eyes, hair pompa-
dour fashion, puffed up in front; wear-
ing brown trousers, green polo shirt,
may have discarded army green fa-

tigue hat. May attempt to change $50
bill, part of proceeds of crime. May be
a maniac.”

Inspector Pinnell assigned more than
100 detectives to the case as Long
Island communities raised their voices
in alarm because a “madman” was on
the loose. Many residents stayed home
at night, locking doors and windows,
with some even hiring guards. About
150 probationary patrolmen in the
county were given arms and ordered
into the street to assist in the hunt. On
the night of the crime, a man called
police and said a prowler was in Nas-
sau Knolls Cemetery, in Port Wash-
ington. Police conducted an_ eerie
search behind tombstones at midnight,
but they could find no one. In near-
by New York City police fanned out
and scores of men were questioned.
Mental institutions were checked, and
recently discharged patients whose
descriptions came anywhere near that
of the killer were traced and investi-
gated.

The hunt for the murderer ex-
tended to such places as Buffalo, New
Hampshire; Greenwich, Connecticut;
Columbus, Ohio and Staten Island, a
borough of New York. A flurry of ex-
citement sprang up when a tramp was
found in a northbound freight car in
Greenwich. He said his name was Jef-
frey Corwin and gave what proved to
be a non-existent address in Philadel-
phia. But the painter, who spent many
hours traveling hundreds of miles to
look over suspects, said the man defi-
nitely wasn’t the one he and Jeanne
had seen on Port Washington Boule-
vard. .

Another call came in from an In-
wood, Long Island, bank. A stranger
walked in and changed a $50 bill. A
few moments after he left, the teller
realized his description fitted that of
the wanted man. A squad of detec-
tives searched the area, some 30 miles
from Flower Hill, and reported no
success. As it developed, Jeanne was
mistaken in reporting she’d given the
slayer $110, including a $50 bill. The
total loot was $76, mostly in fives and
tens.

Pinnell had little enough to work
on. The three .32 slugs were sent to
Sergeant Harry Butts, famed ballistics

-expert, at the New York Police Lab-

oratory. A dozen strands of hair found
in Jeanne’s room were also sent in for
study. And that was the extent of the
physical clues. What was needed was
the gun. High grass in acres of fields
in the Flower Hill section was cut
down by sweating detectives in the
search for it. Even mine detectors,
provided by the Consolidated Edison
Company, were used in the hunt. But
no gun was found.

Two days after the shooting, Pinnell
sat down with Assistant District At-
torney Frank Gulotta of Nassau Coun-
ty, who had been called back from his
vacation to take a hand in the investi-
gation.

“There isn’t a real clue in this case,”
Pinnell said, “that gives us an idea as
to the true identity of the killer. What
we have to do is set a course of action
to find him. We must presume he
comes from the Flower Hill neighbor-
hood.”

Gulotta nodded in agreement as
Pinnell ticked off his reasons.

“He must have been acquainted with
the area. It’s unlikely he would have
picked out an isolated place like the
Logans’ unless he knew of. it. The
house can’t be seen from the road,
which is actually a small private
street. It’s possible the killer may

Search for gun in acres of fields was like looking for needle in haystack, even with mine detectors

As they approached the car, the injured girl, wearing
an army green fatigue jacket and a white cotton T-
shirt, suddenly stopped and asked him to let her go on
alone. “I can make it myself,” she softly said. “I don’t
need any help.”

The painter turned into Port Washington Boulevard,
one of the principal streets along the island “Gold
Coast.” The girl, her reddish-brown hair matted with
blood, burrowed into a corner of the front seat, gasp-
ing, “It was terrible.” Over and over again she groaned,
“My mother was shot, murdered. I heard the shot. I
“saw her fall. My mother was shot.”

Then she suddenly put her hand to her mouth and
stifled a scream.

“There’s the murderer,” she gasped. “There’s the
man who shot me!”

He saw a thin, lanky man 50 feet ahead, walking
slowly along the side of the road, his back to the paint-
er. He wore khaki pants and a green shirt. He seemed
oblivious of the approaching vehicle.

The girl sobbed convulsively. She lowered herself to
the floor of the car. “Oh, my God, don’t let him see
me,” she said. “Don’t stop whatever you do. He’ll kill
me. He’s got a gun. He’s mad. Don’t stop, please, please,
don’t stop!” :

The painter was driving at about 35 miles an hour.
As he reached the tall man he took his foot off the
accelerator, just as quickly changed his mind and rode
on. The man turned, and, for a fleeting moment, the
driver saw large, bloodshot, evil eyes. Then the man
started running. Should he run him down, the painter
thought. Should he stop and give chase? But what if it
was the wrong man? What if the fellow did have a

gun? He wouldn’t have much of a chance against it.

The tall man ran up the road a few yards and then
darted into the woods,

The painter took the injured girl to Dr. Joseph Teta,
who had an office on Port Washington Boulevard. The
doctor summoned an ambulance and the girl was
rushed to Nassau Hospital, in Mineola.

Port Washington Police Captain Theodore Blunt and
Sergeant Charles Wesser, meanwhile, drove up to a
20-room Georgian style, red brick home at 16 Bonnie
Heights Road, in the exclusive section of Flower Hill,
near Manhasset, Long Island. The mansion was set in
the southern part of 15 acres of landscaped grounds,
set back from the road behind soaring pines and oaks
and beeches. Blunt and Wesser had reached the house
by traveling up a 300-foot circular driveway. They
noted the home couldn’t be seen from Bonnie Heights
Road, which was a small street running obliquely from
Port Washington Boulevard.

The luxurious home was owned by a former banker
and his wife, Mrs. Marjorie Vose Church Logan, a §2-
year-old socialite. Their daughter, Marjorie Jeanne
Logan, 26, had been discharged from the WACS six
months ago after serving a year in the Pacific.

Blunt and Wesser were responding to a telephone
call from the other painter. Captain Blunt knocked on
the door and it was promptly opened by the Logan’s
maid, a stunned girl. “There’s been a murder,” she
screamed. ‘‘Look!”

And she pointed to a woman lying on the floor. Blunt
went to her side. The woman lay in blood on the floor
near the foot of the stairway leading to the upper
floor. She had been shot in (Continued on page 57)

speak, the snub-nosed gun barked. Hol-
bach sank to the floor, a bullet in his
chest.

’ His wife ran from behind the bar,
screaming hysterically. The man with
the other gun trembled. The scream
would bring the cops. He hadn’t ¢ount-
ed on that. They had told him this was
to be a clean hold-up. But now. A
frightened, animal anger surged in him.

He shouted hoarsely at the old wo-
man, “Shut up!”

She ignored the order, stared widely
at her wounded husband and continued
to scream. Then, the second gun spoke
and Mrs. Holbach fell to the floor—
over the unconscious body of the inn
keeper. .

Threé blocks away, Patrolman Joseph
Paletta, on his way home from duty,
heard the shots. Judging they came
from the roadhouse, he raced there to
find the place dark and apparently des-
erted. Switching on his flashlight, he
pushed open the door.

On the floor were the inert forms of
the Holbachs. Life flickered feebly in
Joseph; Helen was dead. The bandits
were gone, and so was the money from
the ice box.

T the hospital, before Joseph Hol-
bach lapsed into unconsciousness,
he managed to give Inspector Lahey a
description of his assailants whom he
was sure were Italians. The inn-keeper
thought he recognized one of them—a

‘friend of somebody he knew. He’d be

able to identify the fellow if he saw
him again. He’d....

Eight hours later Holbach died. The
police, armed with the clues he had
given them, set to work optimistically,
They had fingerprints on the beer
glasses used by the hold-up gang. The
case looked easy.

Frank Riallo of Brooklyn, was the
first man to be picked up. Riallo, who
answered one of Holbach’s descriptions,
had an unsavory criminal record. He
and has wife gave conflicting accounts
of his whereabouts on the night of the
murder, :

The police were certain that the sus-
pect would confess, But the following
day, they realized they were mistaken.
Riallo had to be dismissed; there wasn’t
a single piece of evidence against him.

No other witnesses could be located.
There was no trace of the gangsters
Joseph Holbach had described. The
fingerprints on which Inspector Lahey
had counted so heavily were smudged;
the few that weren’t belonged to -Hol-
bach.

Clue by clue slipped through the

fingers of the local police. In disgust

Inspector Lahey finally handed the case
over to Detective Michael Fiaschetti,
who was known for his quick wits and
a bulldog tenacity that made him hang

on to the most difficult case. If no one
else could solve the murders the burly
sleuth was the man.

IASCHETTI had studied scores of

“sy Italian criminals and he resented

the disgrace they brought upon the
good name of his race. A handful of
these gangsters committed crimes for
which honest and hard-working Italians
were slandered. Everyone knew that he
treated these offenders pretty roughly.

The trail was cold when Fiaschetti
was assigned to track down the Hol-
bach murderers, but he assumed, from
the stories he had heard, that the crime
had been the work of professional gang-
sters.

Seeking new clues, he searched every
corner of the roadhouse. He ransacked
every room, went through the cellar and
examined the garret, but found no evi-
dence. Still, Fiaschetti did not feel he
had wasted a whole day. A glance at the
grounds surrounding the roadhouse start-
ed him thinking.

Since Patrolman Paletta, who had
heard the shots, had seen no trace of
the criminals, they must have sneaked
out the side or rear of the roadhouse.
A short distance away was a patch of
woods. The sleuth decided the seven
gangsters must have gone in that direc-
tion, and if so, they might have drop-
ped something ... Fiaschetti began to
search the small forest.

He was not too surprised when he
discovered a black fedora lying on a
flat stone partly covered with leaves.

The hat was an old one with a very -

greasy inner band... the hat of a man
who had worked hard and sweated
hard.

Fiaschetti immediately discarded the
professional criminal theory. A gang-
ster would be too proud to wear a
battered piece of headgear like this.

OT far away from the roadhouse

lived a group of Italian truck
farmers who had known the Holbachs.
The German couple had sold them beer
and occasionally lent them money.
Fiaschetti wondered whether one of the
farmers might have figured that he
could make more money through rob-
bery than vegetable-raising.

But the Italian detective knew that
the community was close-mouthed. You
could make stone walls talk more easily
than the farmers— unless they knew
and trusted you. With that in mind, he
put on a dirty old suit of clothes, a
bright neckerchief and worn shoes. It
was not the first time he had masquer-
aded in the name of justice.

Fiaschetti wandered around the truck
farms looking for work. Several jobs
were offered to him, but he always
managed to invent a good reason for
not accepting any of them. In that way,
he was able to talk with almost every

Italian truck farmer in the area. He
learned nothing, however, except that
the men were honest and hard-working
and not in the least interested in rob-
bing roadhouses.

The dogged Fiaschetti was discour-
aged. He felt it best to shelve the lead
he was following and search for another
one.

One morning while listlessly walking
along a street in South Ozone Park, he
stopped to watch a group of laborers
working on a sewer. Practically all of
them were dark, swarthy, Italian look-
ing. The detective sat down beside the
men and started a conversation.

Like the truck farmers, however,
they seemed to know nothing about
crime. They discussed their work, their
wives and their “bambinos.” Fiaschetti
grumbled to himself and prepared to
leave. Later, he was glad he didn’t.

At that moment, one of the laborers
asked a friend at his side about a man
named Mike. What had become of
him? Had he seen him lately? No? That
was strange. Mike had formerly been
on the job every day.

Fiaschetti horned in on the conversa-
tion. He also knew a fellow named
‘Mike and he wondered if it could be
the same man. He didn’t recall Mike’s
last name, but the fellow he was refer.
ring to had been working with a con-
struction gang in Queens. He’d recog-
nize the last name if he heard it

Somebody suggested, “Casalino.”

That was it! Fiaschetti hadn’t seen

him for quite a while. How was Mike .

Casalino these days?

Nobody knew. He hadn't been

around for a couple of: weeks.

The detective’s alert mind closed like
a trap over this bit of news. Could there
be any connection between Mike’s dis-
appearance and the Holbach murders?

Fiaschetti learned that before Mike
Casalino quit his job, he had lived in
Brooklyn with his wife and children.
He had been an excellent father and
devoted husband. There was little rea-
son to connect him with the murders.

Yet, Fiaschetti kept a wary eye on
the Casalino family. He knew that from
time to time they received mail from
Mike, addressed in the same hand-
writing and postmarked from different
towns. Casalino was traveling and send-
ing small sums of money home. None
of his friends or relatives not even his
wife, knew why he had deserted his
kin. Fiaschetti decided to ask Casalino
that question in person.

The laborer’s latest letter had come
from Trenton, New Jersey. Fiaschetti
boarded the next train, headed there,
only to discover that Casalino had
left. He had become restless, a friend
said, given up his job and gone on,

(Continued on page 58)

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Fiaschetti trailed his man to the
next city. /.igain he arrived too late. The
detective combed towns and villages,
presistently and relentlessly as the bull-
dog to which he was so often likened.

* *

T last, in Fairport, New York, the
detective caught up with his sus-
pect. The town’s postmaster told the
sleuth that he knew Casalino well. He
often came to town for his mail. Where
did he work? On a small farm-several
miles down the main road.

Fiaschetti breathed more easily.
Casalino was within arm’s reach now,
but he didn’t want to arrest him—yet,
The detective didn’t have a fragment
of evidence against the man that would
stand up in court. He didn’t even know
what part Casalino had played in the
roadhouse murders. But he was con-
vinced that the laborer had been pres-
ent when bullets brought the bodies of
Mr. and Mrs. Holbach to the floor of
their Long Island roadhouse. There
were no eye-witnesses to the crime.
His one hope for solving it lay in a
confession.

Once more, Fiaschetti donned his old
clothes and trudged along the dusty
road leading from Fairport to the farm
where Casalino worked. He asked for a
job; he needed one badly.

A squint-eyed farmer, whose face
was nut-brown from a lifetime in the
sun, took one look at his husky frame.
“You're hired,” he said quickly,

Fate decreed that Fiaschetti be given
not only.the same garret room as Casa-
lino—but the same bed! The detective
had never even dreamed of having such
good* fortune. Every day he plowed
or hoed with Casalino, and every night
he threw his aching, weary body down
beside him for a few hours of rest.

At first, their proximity meant noth-
ing. Casalino was as talkative as the
Sphinx. He showed no interest in farm-
ing or his fellow-workers. All he lived
for were the letters he received from
home. He read and reread them, care-
fully, then placed them in pockets of
his shirts and overalls.

Fiaschetti raged inwardly. The man’s
persistent silence was maddening. Was
all this work to come to nothing? The
detective was tempted to arrest Casa-
lino and see if he could force a con-
fession from him. But Fiaschetti over-
came his temptation, set his jaws grim-
ly, and tried other tactics.

Watching Casalino closely, he noticed
that despite his moods of sullen despair

FER

(Continued from page 40)

he was naturally gay and light-hearted.
Something buried deep down in his
heart was troubling him... gnawing at
his soul and tearing at his conscience.
Fiaschetti could guess what it was.

The detective no longer made any
approaches of friendliness. He became
as moody as Casalino. He fell into the
habit of moving his lips silently as if
talking to himself. He mumbled in his
“sleep.” Evidently some secret trouble
was tormenting him too.

The other farm hands began to avoid

Fiaschetti and Casalino. Soon their |

common feeling of gloom and isolation
drew the two men more closely to
each other. They would sit, smoke, or
play cards together. Sometimes they
drank hard cider.

One day Fiaschetti let the sweet
liquor “intoxicate” him. He groaned and
cursed, wept and tore at his hair, be-
moaning the hard fate that kept him
from his wife and children.

Sympathetically, Casalino, began to
ask questions. He, too, was separated
from his wife and children. He thought
Fiaschetti might feel better if he spoke
about the problems that were bothering
him. Casalino knew how dreadful it was
to have something preying on your
mind. Both of them were in the same

boat, and Fiaschetti could trust him. 4
What he revealed would go no further.

Fiaschetti allowed himself to be per-
suaded. As they lay in “bed, he leaned
over and whispered his “secret” in
Casalino’s ear. He had killed a man in
the Bronx, :

Casalino’s face whitened. He urged
Fiaschetti to go on. The detective told
his story. He was with a bunch of fel-
lows ... bad guys... and he hadn’t
meant to kill the man. He sighed with

remorse. His voice broke. He couldn't.

go on.

Casalino patted his friend's shoulder
comfortingly and urged him to open
his heart.

The detective then confessed to a
sordid hold-up that. ended in the slay-
ing of an eighteen year old youth. Fia-
schetti mentioned names, places, the
time and scene of the murder, every
detail of his crime.

There was a short silence. Casalino’s
dark eyes were full of compassion and
understanding.

Fiaschetti muttered in a relieved
tone: “I’m glad I told you. Now I feel
better. The police are still after me,
but now, at least, I can sleep.”

He turned his pillow and closed his
eyes, but Casalino tugged at his arm.
He whispered into the ear of the detec-

‘BOILED BUT SOFT

tive in softly-spoken Italian: “I too
killed somebody. Not a man—a wo-
man.” j
Fiaschetti calmed the hammer-beats
of his heart. He tried to make his voice
sound casual. “You were jealous? She
was running around with somebody
else?” ;
Casalino shook his dark head. No it
was nothing like that. He talked rapid-
ly, almost in one breath, pouring the

black tale of misery from his tortured’

soul.
He told Fiaschetti he had killed’an

old woman named Holbach. She and _

her husband had once owned a little
roadhouse on Long Island. Had Fiasch-
etti heard of them?

No, he hadn’t,

Well, that made no difference. He .

thought maybe Fiaschetti had read
about the murders in the newspapers.

The farm hand continued his story,
He used to hang out in a pool room,
One night, a couple of tough fellows
talked about a hold-up—said they
needed an “easy joint” to take over.

Casalino mentioned the Holbachs
and their lonely roadhouse. The’ couple
were alone and they kept a lot of
money around,

Casalino couldn’t remember now
why he had even spoken about the
inn-keepers. For, a moment later, he had
wanted to cut off his wretched tongue.
But the tip-off had been given. The
crooks liked the idea; they wanted him
to lead them to the roadhouse.

Casalino moistened his dry lips with
his tongue. His voice came hoarse and
cracked. He looked miserably at the
man opposite him, “I was a fool, I had
never done anything dishonest before,
and I should not have listened to
them.”

“But you did?”

“Yes. Twice I refused to go but .

Little Joe Zambelli wanted a hundred
dollars. He said he would kill my wife
and children if I did not go along on
the stick-up. I was afraid of Zambelli—
do you know him?”

“No, but I’ve heard of him.”

“Zambelli’s a little man, but he’s
cruel and fierce. When he does not have
his way he does terrible things. ... I
agreed to take him to the tavern.”

Seven men had gone to the’ road-
house where they sat drinking until
after midnight. Then the aged inn-
keeper asked them to leave.

There was an argument. Little Joe de-
manded Holbach’s money. He refused.
Without warning Little Joe pulled a gun
and shot the old fellow.

SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

SPECIAL DE"

Casalino dropped his eyes. “The wo:
man ran over to the body and began to
scream. I was, frightened. The police
might come—I thought of my wife and
my children.

“Mrs. Holbach kept on yelling. I
reached in my pocket for the gun Little
Joe had given me. She was screaming
louder and louder .
afraid; maybe I had too much beer. I
don’t know. But the revolver went off
and she fell to the floor—over her hus-
band’s body.”

Fiaschetti had already guessed the
rest of the story. Little Joe snatched
the money from the icebox and the
seven escaped the back way—through
the woods. In the rush, Little Joe drop-
ped his hat—the old one he wore for
good luck—but they didn’t search for
it. No use, in the dark.

Casalino had not accepted his share
of the money. He wanted no part of the
blood-stained loot. Next day he packed
his old valise and told his wife he
would have to-leave town. But he
didn’t tell her why.

Fiaschetti nodded understandingly.
“It is best not to tell a woman.”

Casalino raised his head sadly. “Now
one of my friends writes that the police
are looking for me.”

Somehow, the detective’s next words
burned in his throat. “You are well hid-
den here,” he lied. “They will not
find you—but where are the others?”

“I don’t know. There were five be-
sides Little Joe and me: Paul Ricci,
Rocco Bracci, Tony Bruno, Frank
Riallo and Nick Chiusano.”

Fiaschetti repeated the names to
himself. So the police had been right
in suspecting Riallo! Casalino could

talk no more. Relieved of the stony.

burden pressing so heavily on his heart,
he closed his eyes. A few seconds later,
he was sleeping the quiet, peaceful
sleep of a free man.

HE following night, Fiaschetti went
to Fairport to see the local sheriff.
Next morning the local officer drove up
to the farm with a horse and buggy.
Soon, he saw the detective walking
leisurely toward him with a tired-look-
ing farm hand. When the pair reached
the fence, Casalino immediately noticed
the sheriff's badge. He turned fright-
ened, bewildered eyes to Fiaschetti.
The detective cleared his throat.
“This is the end of our walk, Casalino,”
he said unsteadily. “You’re going back
to New York for the murder of Mrs.
Holbach.” ‘

The murderer paled. A groan escaped
his lips. “You’re turning me over to
him?” he asked, pointing at the sheriff.

Fiaschetti’s jaw might have been
carved from granite. With difficulty.
“No, Casalino. I’m arresting you. I’m

. . Maybe I was.

Detective Fiaschetti of the New York
City Police Department.”

Casalino’s shoulders stiffened. His
whole body seemed to shrink. But he
said nothing.

He had but one request to make—
that he be permitted to see his wife
and children before he was taken to the
Tombs.

IASCHETTI accompanied the lab-
| pi to his three-room apartment
in Brooklyn’s Little Italy. A hot July
sun baked the steaming pavements;
bottle-flies buzzed through the thick,
humid air. The tinny strains of a street
organ serenaded the men as_ they
walked up the stairs. Rosa Casalino’s
voice could be heard scolding her
youngest boy. It was a sad voice, yet a
sweet one. Casalino winced.

When the olive-skinned, handsome
woman spied her husband, tears of joy
streamed down her shining face. Then,
she looked at Fiaschetti.

Fear leaped into her eyes. “Mike,”
she said to her husband, “What’s hap-
pened? What’s wrong, Papa? Tell me,”
she begged.

The farmer kissed her tenderly. They
pressed tear-stained cheeks together.
Fiaschetti looked away.

NCE Casalino was jailed, the rest
of the gang was rounded up. Riallo
was again caught in the police net—
this time to stay. Chiusano was cornered
in Boston, Ricci, Bruno and Bracci
were rapidly taken into custody in a
cellar hide-out. Only Little Joe Zam-
belli, the ringleader and the killer of
Holbach, managed to elude detection.
Confronted by Casalino’s story, all
the men but Bracci confessed to the
fatal hold-up. But whimpering and
cowering, they all blamed Casalino for
the murder, They pictured him as a
desperado and cut-throat, ‘the _ring-
leader, next to Little Joe in command,
Yet every member of the gang was
convicted. Two of them received sent-
ences of sixteen years; three, life. Casa-
lino, as the slayer of Mrs. Holbach,
was to die in the chair—the first man in
twenty-two years to draw the death
penalty in Queens.

The laborer was reprieved several
times—until a year and half after the
murders, when the long arm of the law
stretched for Little Joe Zambelli. After

a brief trial, Little Joe was also assigned

to Sing Sing’s Death House.
_ The date for Casalino’s execution ap-
proached, and Fiaschetti began to feel
uneasy. It wasn’t that Casalino didn’t
deserve to die—he was a murderer,
after aJl. But the former laborer had
helped convict six confirmed gangsters.
Moreover, Fiaschetti had deliberate-
ly befriended Casalino to draw a con-

fession from him. Many detectives ad-
here to an unwritten law about such -
cases. When a man wins a suspect’s
confidence for the purpose of breaking
a murder, he tries to save the slayer.

Fiaschetti went to the District At-
torney, told him that Casalino wasn’t
a hardened criminal, but a poor weak,
and luckless fool. He did not deserve
the chair. The District Attorney agreed
with him. Together, they traveled to
Albany. Governor Nathan I. Miller
listened to their plea in silence, then
shook his head.

Fiaschetti stammered—then begged
for Casalino’s life. He repeated the
tormenting thoughts that had been
whirling in his own troubled mind.

Through Casalino, six criminals had
been convicted; the condemned laborer
had become involved in the murder
through their tricks. Casalino had done
wrong, but he was not a killer—just a
bewildered and repentent man.

The Governor shook his head again,
As far as he was concerned, Casalino
had to die. He wouldn’t grant neither
another reprieve nor a commutation.

Fiaschetti rode back to New Yor
fighting tears. ,

a letter. He thanked Fiaschetti for
doing his best to save him. If the detec-
tive couldn’t do anything — well, then
nobody could. He wasn’t worried about
himself, wrote Casalino, but he was con-
cerned for his poor Rosa and his bam-
binos. There was no one to take care
of them, now..Would Fiaschetti see that
they had something to eat, something
to wear,

He wanted his friend to know that
he wasn’t angry with him for sending
him to the chair. A detective had a
duty to perform, he realized that. Only
—then came that plea again—please,
look after Rosa and the children.

The night Casalino walked the “last
mile”, Fiaschetti couldn’t sleep.

Yes, he had done brilliant work.
He had received a letter of commenda-
tion from District Attorney O'Leary; he
had been praised by Police Commis-
sioner Enright—but there was still that
matter of conscience. It kept him awake
night after night. In his mind’s eye he
continued to see the thin, dark, drawn
face of Casalino. He kept remembering
his last pitiful letter,

B= Casalino died, he wrote

ETECTIVE Fiaschetti has never
forgotten the Italian laborer. In
the years that have passed he has made
certain that Rosa and the children are
never in want. From time to time, he
has sent them generous sums of money.
Fiaschetti is the only ‘detective on
record who supports the family of a
murderer he has sent to the chair.

SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

a» Sees he

JIM WILLIAMS
who killed his
ment, was strapp
A dispute then o
den and the sh:
which the crime
as to who shoulc
could not agre
strapped and re
month later his s:
to life imprisonn
was granted hi;

The electric |i
grow dim when
cuted although -
Opposite impre:
use the electric ¢
dynamo indeper
produce lights /
Prison.

A condemned
executed if she i:
She would be r-
within the walls o
the birth of her
would then set o n-
tion of the death .

When Mary Bic
insisted upon weor
. For many years ot;.
wear that similar 9<
felt they would be
last remark to +h.
"Don't hang me too
me appear immoral.

When Dick Turpir:
was hanged in Eng
orate plans for his .
chased a new suit o,
to wear at the gali
five poor men at five
to follow his cart os |
vided them with mo.

Maggie Dickson,
was hanged in E-!
placed her body in
for the burial grc
verse a rough road,
joltings revived th.

. Ayear later, Tom Di

returned from sea
to learn that Maggi:
wife. "She's legally
local magistrate, "'Y
marry to claim he.
spouse.” Dickson dic’.

SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

\SCHETTI,:
randing Of-
alian Squad
York City’
‘ec of Amer- ~~
hs. He has =
»d Sherlock »:
‘e confounds.
ce his much
r murderous ;
ly and this ©.5%
d hundreds .
ld otherwise *~
nsolved” on:}

vetectiveFia-

luttered with ¥
nts that have «;
ediate assign-

e he probably
« than twenty
ace Fiaschetti
‘the most elu:
> State of Ni
Yet, a fi
reporter inter=m
ly built detec?
- exciting, bafer
ils of the cé 3 “ih
- jg still in cor
‘his adven
‘ and recent i
memory,

, The group sat

e Kil

“> ary

must go back twenty-three years ago
to the crisp night of January 20th. ...

* * *

T one o'clock on that frosty

winter morning, a group of men
sat drinking and talking quietly at a
table in a small Long Island road-
house.

The roadhouse was a rustic little
shack, decorated to look like an old-
fashioned tavern. Beer steins covered

the higher shelves over the bar and

_ the verses of popular German drink-

ing songs were printed crudely on the
walls. The tavern faced a deserted
road off the main highway. It was
surrounded by trees so high and so
dense that the motorists who passed
by often failed to notice the place.

‘Inside, old Holbach, the owner of
the tavern, yawned, decided it was
about time to go to bed and get some
“rest. His wife had just finished polish-
ing the brass top of the bar. After
closing the shutters, he thumbed over

| the day’s receipts. Then he moved
over to the table and smiled apolo-
| getically at the lingering customers.
_ “Time to close up, boys,” he said. —

The men exchanged quick glances.

There were seven of them, all
«young. Two were still in their teens.
back in their chairs..
‘Their tense faces were turned toward
.. @ little man who seemed to be their
4; leader.

-, ,SPECIAL DETECTIVE CASES

ler’s Life?

“So you want us to get out?” he
snarled at Holbach. “Not on your
life.”

Holbach’s smile faded. If these
fellows intended to make trouble, he
was in a bad fix. The roadhouse was
far from any other house. No cars
came by after midnight. The police-
man on duty nearby had passed the
tavern a half hour ago. There was
really no one within calling distance.

But the old man had courage.
These weren’t the first tough custom-
ers who had stopped in at his place.

He reached for the beer glasses.
“It won’t do you any good to stay
here, boys...”

The little man cursed, and pushed
Holbach away. “I told you we're
staying,” he snapped. “Get in back
of that counter.” 7

Angry now, Holbach started for-
ward, placed his hand on the table—
then stopped. The little man was
holding a snub-nosed gun in his right
first. The innkeeper paled and
stepped back. ;

The gunman nodded toward the
entrance. One of his henchmen
obeyed the silent order and ran to the
door. Two others stationed them-
selves at each end of the bar.

Mrs. Holbach opened her mouth
to scream. Another gun was levelled
at her. The little man motioned inso-
lently to her husband.

“All right, Holbach,” he said, “out

DETECTIVE MICHAEL FIASCHETTI: Hs
is the kind of man a wise crook would
try to keep at a healthy distance.

with the dough.”

“But I have here only a few dol-
lars. You can see for yourself——”

“A few dollars, hell. I need more
dough than that. And I know you've
got it. Open the ice box,” the little
man commanded.

A muscle in Holbach’s cheek
twitched. Nine hundred and sixty
dollars were in the ice box—a week’s
receipts. He couldn’t afford to lose it.
And he wouldn’t .

The little man was watching him
closely. Apparently he read Hol-
bach’s decision in his eyes, for as the.
inn-keeper opened his mouth to

igs Me , ‘s
~ MIKE CASALINO: Why did he die
39

with a smile on his face?

wir

Anna Gresh in 9 A: days and the
were used on her

two weapons whic’

odor had been noticeable in the ten-

ement house at No. 199 Avenue B
on New York’s Lower East Side. Leroy
Williams, superintendent, finally de-
cided to do something about it. He
dlimbed the stairs of the old-fashioned
walk-up building and traced the odor
to a third-floor apartment rented to
Mrs. Anna Gresh and her fifteen-year-
old daughter, Theresa.

Receiving no answer to his knock, he
tried the door. It was locked. That
wasn’t unusual, for this was a few min-
utes before noon, Friday, March 26,
1954, and Mrs. Gresh worked in a shoe
factory and Theresa went to school.

A neighbor in the 32-fxmily building
was with him. “Haven't you got a
key?” she asked.

But Williams shook his head. “The
tenants don’t like us going in.”

. “Well, if you don’t, I’m going to call
the police,” the woman declared: “That
smell is unbearable. People ought to
take care of things.”

" “They probably went away some-
where,” Williams said. “I haven't seen
either of them around in a few days.”

Nor had the tenant. “It’s been pretty
quiet up here for a week or more. May-
be something happened to them.”

Thus, Williams telephoned the
Sheriff Street Police Station and Radio

Fi‘: more than a week an unpleasant

Car Patrolmen Edward Morrison and.

William Watts arrived in a few min-
utes. On the third floor, they tried to
enter with a key supplied by the super-
intendent. It didn’t work.

“They must’ have - had~the~~lock
changed,” Williams said.

escape and entered the kitchen of the
three-room Gresh flat that way.

In there, the odor was overpowering.
The lid of a large laundry tub was
tly, as if something might
Morrison lifted it.

Something was, all right. Something
horrible and shocking. Partly curled up,
covered by a maroon jacket and a green
topcoat, and clad in a green checked

. it was a woman's body!

From its position and its color, and
from the odor: which unquestionably
originated in this tub, she had been
dead for some time.

“Wow!” said Patrolman Morrison,
his voice a low whisper.

Grim-faced and quiet, the two pa-
trolmen went to the front door of the

apartment and unlocked it. Superin-

tendent Williams and several of the

tenants, who had shown up when the

policemen arrived, were waiting there.
“What is it?” Williams asked.

TR officers didn’t reply at first. In-

stead they looked from one to the
other of the persons standing in the
corridor.

“Well?” Williams demanded, alarm
showing in his voice.

Patrolman Watts wiped his face
nervously with a handkerchief,

“All right!” he said. “You come with
me!” He jabbed a finger at Williams.
“The rest of you stay out here. This is
pretty serious business.”

His palms sweating, his knees weak,
Williams followed the policemen into

‘the tiny kitchen. There, with an effort,

he quieted his queasy stomach and

~The policemen -went into-an-adjoin-~ ~forced himself to look at the bulky body

ing apartment, got out onto the fire
12

of what once had been a human,

jammed into that washtub and cov-
ered with a pasty white substance.

“Well?” Officer Watts demanded.
“Who is it? Do you recognize her?”

« Williams shook his head. “I don’t
know. How can you tell?” Abruptly
he walked away into another room and
the officers followed.

“She had black hair, all right,” he
said uneasily after a moment’s silence.
“And the coat—it looks like hers, ex-
cept for that white stuff on it.”

“Who?” asked Morrison.

“Mrs. Gresh.
happened?” ;

The patrolmen, of course, did not
know what had happened. They knew
only that Mrs. Gresh could not have
crawled into the washtub to die there.
She must have been killed.

But why? And by whom? And if so
—where was. her fifteen-year-old
daughter? Was another body hidden
somewhere in that little apartment?

“You can go outside now,” Watts
said to the superintendent. “Stay in
the hall. Keep everybody out of this
flat and keep them around the: building.
We're going to call the detectives and
the medical examiner and they'll want
to talk to all of you.”

So Williams went back into the hall
and the policemen followed him, to
look up a: telephone and “flash this
alarm—this alarm which was to bring

to Manhattan and the entire country *
the first word of a horrible, astounding ©

crime.

Soon Inspector Hugh Sheridan, com-
mander of Manhattan’s East Side de- .
Deputy Inspector Joseph J.
the Fourth Detective :
Daniel Mahoney of

tectives;
McLaughlin of
District; Captain
Manhattan East’s Homicide Squad,
and several detectives arrived. :

Secret of

Washtub

By George K. Wynne
Special Investigator for
ACTUAL DETECTIVE STORIES

McLaughlin and Mahoney, whose

many years of experience have included

some of the toughest cases in the city’s
It must be her. What: his

tory, made a careful survey of the
apartment while Sheridan assigned de-
tectives to talk to all the neighbors, to
tradesmen in the area and to Anna
Gresh’s employers.

They found no other body in there
and no trace of Theresa Gresh, al-

though her clothes and personal belong-

ings were undisturbed.

Two dozen empty quart beer bottles
were under the tub; two others were in
the bedroom. The place was in slight
disarray, but all the furniture appeared
to be in place ‘and nothing indicated
any struggle. ’ ,

WHILE the officers were going
through the tiny apartment, Doc-

tor’ Benjamin Morgan. Vance,
Chief Medical Examiner, arrived, and
~he was followed by members of the Po-

acting 4
4
lice Department’s mobile technical re- P

New York’s
laying

"I'm All Alone," the Girl Said.
"| Don't Have Any Money or Food.
My Mother Has Gone Away.” But
If She Had Just Lifted the Lid
Covering the Kitchen Washtub—

Theresa Gresh at right and at
bottom of page, William Byers,
who also had walked out on her

ch rested on its right side. The plaster of Paris over a body.”

nan wore green gloves and was fully A few feet away on the floor, partly
hed except for one shoe. hidden by the empty beer bottles, was
She suffered a number of, blows the missing shoe, mate to the one worn
ut the head and face, presumably by Mrs. Gresh. On a dresser in the bed-
icted with a blunt instrument,” Doc- . room was a-pocketbook containing a
Vance stated, “and she was slashed few dollars and papers. bearing the
eatedly with a long-bladed knife. woman’s name. A well-worn suitcase
ae of these wounds went pretty far was in a closet, which was filled with
» the abdomen and chest and I dresses, skirts, blouses and shoes, most

rch laboratory with scientific equip- the lab men said. “But we'll have to
at. make some tests to be sure, It beats me
yoctor Vance examined the body, why anybody would want to sprinkle

udn’t' be surprised if her heart or
gs were pierced.”

How long has she been dead?” Sher-
1 asked.

It’s difficult to say, but I'd estimate
days or more.”

What about that white stuff?”

It looks like plaster of Paris,” one of

of the garments in good condition.

“Not expensive stuff, but well kept,”

McLaughlin observed.

He opened dresser drawers and no-

ticed that stockings, slips and other ar-
ticles of apparel were neatly stacked,
with a place for everything, One small

(Continued on Page 53)

‘

New York's Washtub Slaying (Continued from Page 13)

drawer contained considerable costume
jewelry.

“It seems mother and daughter were
particular about their appearance,” he
said. “You wouldn't expect such ‘tidi-
ness in this sort of place.”

“I hope the girl hasn’t been killed,
too,” Mahoney said.

Detectives, meanwhile, had _ been
questioning other tenants of the build-
ing. Nobody remembered seeing Ther-
esa for at least three weeks. Mrs. Wil-
liams, wife of the superintendent, had
spoken to the girl for the last time on

March 3, when Theresa had paid the |

monthly rent of $32.40.

The body was removed, to be taken .

to Bellevue Hospital's morgue for an
autopsy, and the technical men went to
work, dusting for finger-prints, brush-

ing walls and running a vacuum clean-|

er over the floors.
Inspector Sheridan took with him an

album of snapshots, several large pic-~

tures, a quantity of letters and an ad-
dress book, hoping to get some sort of
lead from them. The girl had to be
found; some close relative would be
needed to identify the body and de-
tectives would have to get a clear pic-
ture of the woman’s background from
those who had known her best.

He showed the photographs to neigh-
bors, who identified those of Mrs.
Gresh and her daughter.

OBODY knew whether the dead

woman was a widow or a divorcee,

and stories of tenants in the building
conflicted.

“She was a fine woman, working all
the time to make a living for herself
and her girl,” one woman stated. “She
had no interest except her child.”

“She had a lot of men friends,” said
another. “The way she’d leave Theresa
to do the housework and make the
meals wasn’t right.”. ‘

“Theresa’s a sweet girl, going to
school and doing the shopping and
keeping house with no time for fun of
any kind,” a third neighbor asserted.

And still another declared: “All the
girl thinks of is boys. She’s never
home.”

Youngsters in the teeming East Side
area said Theresa was a student in the
Mabel Dean Bacon Vocational High
School, Lexington Avenue and 22nd
Street, and Sheridan sent two detectives
there to talk to the teachers.

At the school, one teacher said
Theresa was highly regarded, a clean-
cut blonde. with a sunny disposition;
popular among her classmates and sec-
retary of her class.

However, she had a record of truancy.
School officials explained that many
pupils took days off for one reason or
another, sometimes to care for younger
children in families where parents had
to work. In Theresa's case, she had
no such excuse; she played hookey be-
cause her mother couldn’t watch her.

She had disappeared carly in March
and the customary postcards were sent
to her home. These brought no re-
sponse, and a letter asking why Theresa
was not in school was mailed. When
still no answer was forthcoming an
attendance officer was sent to the house,
but he reported that he was unable to
find either Theresa or her mother.

“She is an excellent student,” one
teacher said. “She came here from
junior high school last Fall and en-
rolled in dressmaking and costume de-
sign courses. She’s neat and clean and
has a great deal of poise.”

A guidance counselor recalled that on

sone occasion Theresa had asked for help
in meeting a problem. This was shortly
after Christmas and Theresa had said
her mother was out of work.

“Apparently, though, this was only
a temporary situation and it wasn’t
necessary for us to take any steps to
help,” he said, adding that he under-

Theresa had.done much to_re-...

lieve the pressure on her mother by
baby-sitting. :

But where was Theresa? °
. Detectives canvassing the neighbor-

hood finally found out. John Cicogna
and Charles Leonard of the Homicide
Squad came at last to a woman living
on East Eighteenth Street, about five
blocks from the Gresh tenement. She
said she knew Theresa well, and almost
two weeks before, the young girl had
rung her bell.

“She was crying and said she was
hungry and broke,” the woman de-
clared. “Her mother had gone to
Florida for a few weeks, and Mrs. Gresh
had a lot of friends down there. But
can you imagine leaving the child all
alone and without any money! Sure,
I took her in.”

However, the woman said, she learned
that Theresa hadn't been going to
school. She didn’t know what to do
and was afraid to take the responsi-
bility of caring for the girl, so she talked
to a neighbor, who suggested calling
the Society for the Prevention of
Cruelty to Children.

“So I did,” the woman continued,
“and Theresa was taken to Children’s
Court for an interview. I think they
sent her to the Children’s Shelter.”

T= detectives rushed to the court.
There they learned from records
that on Tuesday, March 23, Justice
Patrick J. Fogarty had judged Theresa
to be a neglected child, sent her to the
Shelter on East 104th Street and or-
dered a charge of neglect filed against
her mother.

Justice Fogarty was informed of Anna
Gresh’s slaying. Immediately he or-
dered that the girl be brought to his
chambers.

Soon afterward, Theresa; a good-
looking girl, arrived. She was told only
that her mother had died.

Instantly she broke into heavy sobs
and after several seconds said, “I
pleaded with her not to go away!”

After she had calmed down she said
that her mother had left home on
March 4, telling the girl only that she
vate A to Florida and promising to
write.

“She was just going to be away a
couple of weeks,” Theresa said, “but I
never heard from her. I didn’t know
where she was and I didn’t know what
to do. I didn’t have any more money.”

That was the reason for her absence
from school, she explained. She had
tried to find work but couldn't. About
the eighteenth of March she had asked
the neighbor for food and shelter.

'_ “You have relatives, don’t you?” De-
tective Cicogna asked.

The girl nodded. An aunt lived in
Garfield, New Jersey. But she hadn't
had enough money to go there.

“How about your mother’s friends?”
Cicogna asked. “Did she have any in
town here?”

Again the girl nodded. “A lot of
them. But I don't know their names.”

She had slept in the apartment while
her mother was gone, Theresa said, tak-
ing her meals where she could find

em.
“Didn't you go in the kitchen at all
while she was away?” Cicogna asked

her.
“Not much,” the girl replied. “Why?”
But they were not ready to tell her
yet. The horror of it was too much for
a girl this age. Apparently she had
been there, using the apartment for two

“weeks while her mother’s body was in
the kitchen washtub. It was an in-’

credible, shocking thought.

When Theresa broke down into tears
again Justice Fogarty realized that the
questioning had to be terminated.” He
sent the girl to a training school in
Brooklyn, where police could reveal the
full story to her gradually and question
her about her mother, in an effort to
learn who the killer might be. ~

Bor who could he be, and how find
him? Theresa didn’t know the
names of her.mother’s friends. Nor
did the neighbors. And this hardly
could be a crime committed by some
stranger who had broken into the
apartment.

Officers were working on many angles
including another, more thorough

search of the cold-water flat. They -

found a tabloid newspaper dated March
16 and a standard-size newspaper of
March 15, opened to the classified ad-
vertising section with several want ads
for waitresses marked—Theresa's pa-
thetic attempt to support herself.

Inspector McLaughlin and Captain
Mahoney had taken a milk container
and an egg carton from the kitchen re-
frigerator. The milk carton was
stamped “Mon”, indicating it had been
purchased on a Monday, and the egg
carton bore a stamped date of March 5.

McLaughlin said, “I’d sure like to
know when all that beer was bought.
Maybe this was the result of some beer
party, likely a going-away party for the
mother.”

“The bottles could have been in the
apartment for weeks,” Mahoney said.
“Lots of people don’t bother to return
peptone until they've accumulated quite
a few.” vibe 3

At the Rao-Koury Shoé Company,
where Anna Gresh was employed, a de-
tective quickly ascertained from records
that she had not worked since Thurs-
day, March 4.

“She put in eight hours a day sew-
ing bindings on inner soles,” a super-
visor said. “She was a good worker.”

“When she didn't show up on the
fifth, was an effort made to learn why?”
the officer asked.

“No. The girls sometimes take a day
or two off, and if they don’t have tele-
phones they don’t have any way of
letting us know.”

“But this is more than three weeks
Jater. Didn’t you do anything?”

The supervisor replied that routine
procedure in the case of prolonged.ab-
sence without notice was to send a card
to the employe’s home. That was done,
but no answer had been received and
the firm took it for granted that Mrs.
Gresh had decided to quit. Some Pay
was due her and had not been called

or,
“We figured she’d show up for it,” he
said

Fellow employes knew little about
Anna Gresh’s private life. One said she
couene Anna*had another job, part

“She'd leave here right on the button
and hurry away. I heard her say some-
thing about cleaning offices once. I
guess she used to do that after she got
through here.”

Another said, “Anna never talked
much. She never mentioned her home
life and nobody ever asked her. I don’t
even know if she had a husband.”

Doctor Vance completed the autopsy
on the woman and reported that death
had resulted from the knife wounds,
which went far enough into the abdo-
men and chest to perforate the heart
and lungs. She had been stabbed 21
times. Bruises of the head, face and
body were caused by a series of blows
rained on her with a heavy instrument,
but they were not severe enough to
cause death. Doctor Vance said the
knife was long and wide, perhaps a
carving or bread knife.

The laboratory men reported that
they had found traces of blood on the
kitchen wall and floor, and that a large
number of finger-prints had been
taken from the refrigerator, the kitch-
en table, beer bottles and dishes. The
white substance in the tub was, indeed,
plaster of Paris, but no one could guess
why it had been used.

More than 40 detectives now at work
on the case, trying to delve into Anna
Gresh’s background, rounding up
neighborhood characters who had been
in trouble with the Law, canvassing
laundries and cleaners for bloodstained
garments, doing the countless chores
that must be done in any criminal] in-
vestigation. What made it tougher
than ever was that the body had been
in the tub for many days; the killer
could be hundreds of miles away.

On one point Sheridan, McLaughlin

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Mahoney were agreed. The fact
Mrs. Gresh was fully attired, even
er gloves, made it apparent that she
been killed either as.she entered
avertnent or as she was about to

t she was getting ready to go out,
probably didn’t have the door open
hadn’t put her coat on yet,” Sheri-
reasoned. “Now, the super didn't
: a key to fit the lock. That means
everybody could get in. It would
: had to be someone who knew her.”
le could have been in the apart-
t with her,” McLaughlin said,
at means he might be someone who
called on her to take her out. He

d have been helping her on with’

elie sudden impulse, a fight and
‘m inclined to think it happened
after she got home,” Mahoney said.

»pose she came in and surprised.

»body.”

. burglar?’ Sheridan asked. “What’

d a burglar expect to find in that
tment?”

‘m not sure,” Mahoney replied.

: point is, she didn’t have her coat
I’d say that means she already had
on it off. All right, suppose she
ed toward the bedroom, only to find
ld boyfriend there, someone she'd
wn over..

. prowler might hit her once, but
vas beaten and stabbed mercilessly.
's the sign of a deep-rooted motive
uousy, revenge, anger.”

(GHBORS reported that Theresa

1ad done most of the marketing,
: her mother worked, and the store-
ers praised her as a smart girl, al-
looking for bargains. She usually
ht groceries twice a week and
S once a week.

‘€ mail carrier on the route said
he rarely had anything for the
hes, but he recalled some post-
; and letters during the past few
s. These might have been from
esa’s school—notices of her ab-
—and from Anna's employer. No
had accumulated. . Someone had
1 in what had been delivered, prob-
Theresa.

s. Gresh’s sister arrived from her
Jersey home and made the formal
ification of the bcdy, but she
| supply no help. She said Anna
a widow and had remarried when
esa was quite young but soon was
nged from her second husband.
iad no idea where he was. :
nna’s been a hard-working woman
lany years,” she said. “Life hasn’t
easy and I don’t believe she ever
auch time for fun. If she did get

ince to go out once in awhile who-

. blame her?”

the Jong chance that what ap-
:d to have been a crime of passion
‘venge actually might have been
‘ork of a prowler, Sheridan and his
iates searched the files for the
six weeks and found that in Man-
nm alone fourteen women had re-
d men had tried to rob them as
were about to enter their homes.

over, on March 22, a 44-year-old -

im was beaten over the head by a
a few doors from her home in New-
New Jersey, and several other
mn in that city were robbed in sim-
manner over a period of a few

»
three cases in Newark and in a
jozen instances in Manhattan the
‘rv was described as good-looking,
; six feet three inches tall, weigh-
iore than 200 pounds. Newark was
a few miles away, in New Jersey.
dan communicated with authori-
1 that city seeking information.
na Gresh’s address book contained
* Names, and in running them
detectives learned that most of
ersons were casual acquaintances
n and women whom she had met

2 neighborhood or at work. Some:

friends of long standing, a few
distant relatives. Virtually all
quizzed and were unable to help:
were anxious to make suggestions
ney knew nothing of the woman’s
te affairs.

2 plaster of Paris had been pur-
a several months before, a dealer

reported, by Mrs. Gresh. To Sheridan
this meant that the killer had found it
there. Probably he was someone famil-
jar with the apartment, someone the
Greshes trusted. The Inspector sent
detectives looking for tradesmen, deliv-
ery men, house-to-house canvassers,
installment collectors, laundrymen and
others who would have had access to
the flat.

Sheridan decided to see if Theresa
had any ideas on this line. He sent for
her, thinking about youngsters and
how quickly many of them grew up,
particularly in the congested areas of
the city where life is elemental. Had
Theresa ever invited her friends in, to

dance to records, perhaps? Had one of.

the boys, on such an occasion, taken a
eo aed to her mother? It had happened
ore,

OWEVER, Theresa scoffed at the

idea. After all, she said, her moth-
er was 43; what would a boy of fifteen,
sixteen or seventeen see in a woman
almost three times his age? Besides,
she said, her mother’s friends were men;
— never have been interested in a

“Did your mother ever say anything
about being afraid of anyone—did she
ever mention anyone’s name in that
connection?” Sheridan asked the girl.

“No. She never said anything like
that. But I sure didn’t like the looks
of some of them.”

Again, she insisted she did not know
the names of her mother’s friends.

“Did you ever quarrel with your
mother about them?”

“No. She was old enough to know
what she was doing. It wouldn't have
done any good to talk to her.”

Sheridan remarked that when he

“had been in the apartment he saw a

lot of empty beer bottles. Theresa had
@ ready explanation. “My mother liked

’ some beer once in awhile. I guess I was

lazy about taking them back.”

Sheridan sent the girl away again.
He had noticed her blond hair with its
black roots, and paid attention to her
make-up. Here was a girl of fifteen,
bleaching her hair, trying to make her-
self appear older and answering ques-
tions with the poise of an adult. She
had played hookey from school, and
some of her acquaintances had called
her boy crazy.

But what kind of thoughts were
these? What. monstrosity was he
dreaming up?

Yet he couldn’t quiet the thought.
Finally, he sent men out to learn about
the beer—where it had been purchased,

for instance, if the dealer would re-~

member either Theresa or her mother.

‘What the detectives found out was
startling and it definitely failed to quiet
the growing uneasiness in the In-
spector’s mind.

The proprietor of a local delicatessen
had known both Theresa and Mrs.
Gresh. In the past he had sold a bottle
of beer occasionally to Mrs. Gresh. But
“uring the first part of March, he said,
Theresa had come in for it, and she had
bought it in quart bottles.

Furthermore, she had been in several
times after March 4—the date on
which, she had claimed, her mother had
left for Florida.

A fifteen-year-old girl, living alone,
penniless—and buying beer?

Out went the canvassing detectives
again, this time to find out what they
could not about Mrs. Gresh, the slain
woman, but about fifteen-year-old
Theresa, her surviving Caughter.

The kids who had known Theresa
were reluctant to talk, but homicide de-
tectives deal every day with adults
whose freedom depends upon their abil-
ity to withhold information. They
= won the confidence of the younger
set.

About Theresa, one girl said:

“She’s always seemed shy. Maybe

. it’s because she’s tall and heavy and

looks older than most kids our age.
oor never hangs around like the other
girls.”

Another stated, ‘“Terry’s always been
pleasant enough but she never had any
close friends. She never talks about
things at home.”

“That’s a lot of poppycock, ” declared

a sixteen-year-old. “Terry's boy crazy.
We were friends for awhile but it didn’t
last. She got thinner in the past year
and a lot prettier than she used to be.
The reason she doesn't hang around
here is because she goes with a bunch
up near the school.”

And then Detective Leonard came to
a girl with an incredible story to tell—
one which gave weight to Sheridan's
suspicions.

He brought her to the station,

“Tell the Inspector what you told
me,” Leonard directed her.

The girl, an attractive brunet, said
that about the middle of March she
Bed: met Theresa Gresh in a store with
a boy.

“I know Nery from school,” she
stated. “We're in the same class. We
don’t go around together but we talk
a lot in school. Well, that day she and
this fellow were buying groceries and
they both invited me up to Terry’s
apartment.” .

“They both invited you?” Sheridan
asked.

“Yes, Sir, both of them. I “thought
it was funny but I went up anyway,
about six o’clock. Terry was cooking
supper for him. She told me she was
married and she showed me a ring she
was wearing.on her engagement finger
—a gold ring with a little diamond. I
guess it was a diamond. She said it
was.”

“Do you know this boy?” Sheridan
demanded.

“I think his name is Billy, Billy
Byers.”

Bur the girl did not know where Billy
lived. She was sure he wasn't from
the neighborhood. She described him
as about seventeen or eighteen, good-
looking, tall and husky.

She was unable to place the date of
her visit to the apartment, though she
said she thought it was around the
middle of the month. Sheridan asked
a “Was it around Saint Patrick’s

yo”

“Oh, no,” she answered. “It was be-

fore that. I remember now, I had a-
green blouse. I had just bought it, It
was at least a week before Saint Pat-

“Where did you eat?” Sheridan
asked, “In the kitchen?”

“No, in the living-room.”

“Did you help with the dishes?”

“It's funny, you asking me that, I
wanted to help but they wouldn't let
me. 0 Billy said he'd dry and Terry would

A few minutes after she departed, a
detective entered with another girl,
seventeen and also a student in the
vocational high school.

“One night I met Terry and a fellow
and they asked me to come up, they
were having a party,” this girl declared.
“I said I’d be glad to, and when I got
there about a dozen kids were in the
place, more fellows than girls. About
eleven o’clock it began to get rough.
The boys were drinking beer and acting
nasty, so I left.

“The funny part of it was I never
knew Terry was like that. Around
school she’s always been so quiet you’d
think butter would melt in her mouth.
But, boy, she likes her fun.”

She, too, named Billy Byers as Terry’s
boy friend. “I understand he’s in the’
Marines now.”

The party, she thought, was about
the ninth or tenth of the month but she
couldn’t be sure.

“Did you go into the kitchen at any
time?” Sheridan asked.

“No, Billy didn’t let anyone go in. He
said he didn’t want anyone messing
things up.”

“Did you notice a peculiar odor in
the apartment?”

“Well, yes. Like something in the
kitchen was rotten.. And the smell of
disinfectant, and the fellows smoking
and neighbors’ cooking.”

A boy had entered the picture now—
Billy Byers. And gradually the picture
was becoming not quite so incredible
to the Inspector. A girl hardly could
have lifted the 150-pound body of Anna

-Gresh into the washtub. A girl hardly

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could be expected to be callous enough
to kill her own mother.

But a boy?

Fast inquiries revealed that Billy By-
ers indeed was in the Marines and sta-
tioned at Parris Island, South Carolina.

BEFORE he sent officers down to talk
to the boy, Inspector Sullivan de-
cided to have another session with
Theresa. He sent for her, and bluntly
asked her who Billy Byers might be.

She admitted that he was her boy
friend but declared she hadn’t seen
him in several weeks; he had entered
the Army. .

“Army?” Sheridan asked. 3‘I thought
it was the Marines.”

The.girl nodded. “Yes, that’s right,
it’s the Marines.”

“You know,” Sheridan said, ‘“‘you’ve
been telling me a lot of stuff. If you've
got nothing to hide, there’s no reason
for it. Do you feel like telling me how
serious you and Billy are?”

“I haven’t seen him in a long time,”
the girl replied, evading a direct
answer.

“You told one of your friends you
were married to him. How about that?”

“That’s silly,” Theresa asserted.

+ Sheridan eyed the girl steadily for
several seconds; she avoided his gaze.
Finally, he said, slowly and calmly:

“Young lady, I think you’ve been ly-

ing from the start. I don’t believe your

mw.

mother went to Florida at all, and I
think you know a lot about this. It
isn’t going to do you any good to try
to shield anyone; we’re bound to find
out.” .

“I'm not shielding anybody!” the
girl protested.

“All right, then, I’! tell you some-
thing else,” Sheridan said. “We've got
witnesses who know you and Billy saw
a lot of each other. We know he’s at
Parris Island, South Carolina, right
now, undergoing boot training. All we
have to do is ask him.”

“What of it?” Theresa demanded.
“He was in to see me. So were other
people. I had company a few times.”

“Is that all?”

Theresa burst into tears, insisting
that she had no idea what had hap-
pened.

Sheridan sent for a matron and
placed the girl in her care. He then
called Captain Mahoney, and in a short
time Detective Leonard and Sergeant
Saul Fuchs left for Parris Island to talk

.to seventeen-year-old Billy Byers, who

had enlisted in the Marines about the
middle of March.

At Parris Island, the officers learned
that Byers had tried to enlist earlier,
but had given his name as William:-D.
Snyder. His mother had remarried and
Snyder was the name of Billy’s step-
father. This had to be straightened out
and the. middle of March came before

Billy was notified to report, this time

_under his correct name of William D.

Byers.

Byers proved to be the missing link
in the case. According to a statement
made by Lieutenant Joseph Coleman,
public information officer at the Marine
aacne the boy admitted killing Mrs.
Gresh. 3

Byes night late in February, according
to the Lieutenant’s version of By-
ers’ statement, the boy and Theresa
were alone in Theresa’s bedroom when
Mrs. Gresh surprised them and ordered
the youth out.

On the night of March 4, Mrs. Gresh
returned home unexpectedly and found
the two alone again, Lieutenant Cole-
man said. He quoted the youth as say-
ing he chased Mrs. Gresh from the bed-
room into the kitchen, where he struck
her repeatedly with a claw hammer.

According to this story, when Mrs.
Gresh moaned Byers went back to the
kitchen and called to his sweetheart,
“Bring me the hammer; I’ll have to hit
her some more.” Instead, the Lieu-
tenant claimed, Theresa. gave him a
bread knife, and he stabbed the woman
several times. G

A little later, according to the Lieu-
tenant, Byers and his young gir] friend
lifted Anna Gresh’s body into the tub,
put back the porcelain lid and cleaned
up the bloodstained kitchen floor and

walls with rags, disposing of them in a
garbage can.

Following this, they staged a round
of parties. Byers realized he would
have to do something about the odor
that would come from the body, Lieu-
tenant Coleman said, so he used plaster
of Paris in the hope of getting rid of it.
The youngsters stayed in the apartment
for several weeks and when the odor
became too strong for them they left,

. Byers to go to the Marine Corps and

Theresa to seek refuge elsewhere, Cole-
man claimed.

Byers was placed in the brig at Parris -
Island pending arrangements to extra-
dite him to New York. ;

Confronted with his admissions,
Theresa broke down and District At-
torney Frank S. Hogan declared, made
a partial statement.

On Wednesday, March 31, Theresa
appeared before Magistrate Thomas H.
Cullen, Junior, who assigned Caroline
Davidson of the Legal Aid Society to
represent her. At Miss Davidson’s re-
quest, the magistrate sent the girl to
Bellevue Hospital for psychiatric ex-
amination. She was arraigned Friday,
April 16, pleaded guilty and was sent
back for further examination.

Byers was indicted and on April 21,
1954, he appeared in court and pleaded
not guilty. At the time of writing, his
trial and the sentencing of Theresa are

pending.

Read It First In

“Look for a Kid Turned Killer" (Continued from Page 11) orrici®: DETECTIVE STORIES

“What do you know about Bryant
and Joan?” Thomsen asked.

Cole rubbed his knuckles across his
eyes. “Just what I said. When we
broke off, Joan went out with him a few
times. But she didn’t like him. She

told me so. I saw her every now and.

then and she told me that Rrvant wac

Or was he? Had he somehow rigged
his alibi? .

A second interview with the parents
and with the oldest daughter, Marilyn,
tended to support Cole’s statement.
Joan indeed had been afraid of Bryant,
and she had formed a decided dislike

far him Tist waithanw thn waennie -

“TI think it’s a good idea. Sure, I'll.

take it,” Cole told Pearson. -

“I'll: be glad to,” declared Bryant.
“Now you can prove once and for all I
had nothing to do with this.”

Then, as soon as Wickley heard that
the expert had arrived with the ma-

“All right, I'll tell you,” Lieutenant
Thomsen later quoted him as saying.
“T killed her to keep her from marrying
somebody else. Don’t blame those
girls; they told the truth. I meant to
use them as my alibi and I did.”

According to Captain Thomsen and

Se ee)

TUB
MURDER

BYERS, William, white, elec. NY (New

DEVIL DAUGHTER

AND
THE

NEW YORK, N. Y., APRIL 6, 1954
@ The girl rolled over to one side of the bed. “I think

it’s her,” she whispered. She pressed her chin into the

tip-end of the mattress and stared at the door.
The boy stayed where he was, in the middle of the
bed. He. rubbed his palm over the few hairs on his chest.

“I thought she was working,” he said. He reached over _
with his free arm and curled his fingers around the girl’s_

neck, gently. Her neck was hot. “Terry,” he said. “I
thought she was working.”

The girl didn’t answer. She was too busy listening. She
listened to the slow, heavy footsteps as they climbed the
stairs, to the click of the key, to the door in the next
room as it opened, to her mother as she walked into the
kitchen and puffed the way she always puffed after
climbing those four, steep flights. Then. she heard her
mother call out Theresa and she knew that any second
now she’d hear those heavy footsteps crossing the
kitchen and then the bedroom door would open and it
would be all the same as last time. . . .

Anna Gresh gasped when she opened the door. She
couldn’t say anything for a few seconds. She looked at
the bed, at her daughter and at that boy lying there,
naked, and the words rushed up to her brain, but she
couldn’t say them. She closed her eyes. More than any-
thing she wanted those two to get up while her eyes
were closed. She wanted them to get up and grab their
clothes and run away. And she wanted her bed, the bed
she and her husband had slept in after they were mar-
ried, the bed she had had her baby in, to be clean again.

After her arrest, Theresa gave only ‘yes’ and
‘no’ answers. She couldn’t give coherent story.

Some people knew Theresa as lazy and

stubborn; others as well mannered

and poised. After the murder it

was decided no one knew Theresa at all

FRONT PAGE DETECTIVG,

by RUPERT TONE

But when she opened her eyes, they were still lying
there, both of them naked, both of them staring at her,
hating her. \

She shouted words, angry, harsh, hurting words and
then she was mumbling, trembling and finally crying.

“Shut up,” the boy said, softly.

“Forget it, Mama,” the girl said. She turned and lay

‘flat on her back and looked up at the big brown spot on

the ceiling, the spot that had formed there after a heavy
rain one day last summer and that nobody had ever
thought about painting. “Go away, Mama, and make
believe you didn’t see nothing.”

“Didn’t see?” the woman said. She shook her head
and began to moan. “Didn’t see you two like this?”

“Shut up,” the boy said, again. ,

“Last time,” the woman said, “last time I turned
around and I walked away and I went downstairs and I
walked the streets and I went to church and I cried and

I prayed. I prayed to God to either make me blind so

I’d never see nothing like this again or to change my
little girl and to make her good again. . . .”

The girl was bored. She cupped her hands over her
breasts. “Why don’t you. go back and say another
prayer,” she said. ‘ .

The woman shook her head again. Then she stopped
crying and she walked towards the bed.

The boy sat up. He watched her as she reached for .

the girl’s hair. “Don’t lay a hand on her!” he yelled.
The woman ignored him. She grabbed her daughter
by her long, peroxided hair. “Have some shame,” she

continued on next page

eit Piet ROR ry ei BX,

ties

PEASY

Shielding

Anna Gresh was found under layer of
plaster in Lower East Side apartment.

her face, 15-year-old Terry leaves station
after being booked for questioning in mother’s death.

or Seoul

PRs

rd if. VGAGTEG.
4

Policewoman accompanies Theresa following interrogation _that
resulted in a trip to Marine base to question Terry’s boyfriend.

DEVIL DAUGHTER AND THE TUB MURDER continued

said as she pulled hard at the girl’s hair.
“Have some shame and put something
over you and chase this boy out of
my house.”

The girl groaned and the boy threw
himself over her and got a grip on the
woman’s arm. He growled for her to
let go.

The woman’s voice began to rise.
“Put something over you!” she said.

The boy pushed at her arm. He pushed
hard and the woman lost her grip on the
girl’s hair and fell back onto the floor.
She was a stout woman, too stout to get
back on her feet easily. While she was
moving ponderously and painfully, her
daughter jumped up from the bed and
ran into a corner.

Her mother struggled upright and
threw herself onto the bed and she be-
gan to slap the boy. She’d slapped him
a few times and had begun to scratch
his shoulders when he gave her another
shove and jumped up from the bed and
ran over to where the girl was standing.

He embraced the girl and held her
close for a few seconds.

Then he mumbled something and let
her go and reached to-his left and opened
a closet door, The closet was stuffed with
junk and a few dresses. On a pile, to the
right, he saw a hammer. He leaned over
and picked ‘it up.

“Billy!” the girl said when she saw
what he was doing. She had started to
say something else, but when she felt his
hot arm around her back and the cold
from the head of the hammer tickling
her thigh, she began to tremble and she
didn’t say anything more. -

As they were embracing, the woman

got up from the bed. She’d seen the
hammer and she was afraid. -

She began to walk dazedly into the
kitchen. The kitchen was tiny and dark,
a typical Lower East Side New York
cold-water flat kitchen with its tall,
skinny window looking out on a gray
shaftway, with its yellow curtains over
the pane on the door, its three chairs
and its table with its sugar bowl and
coffee cups left over from the morning;
with its peeling icebox, its little door to
the little toilet, its gas-heater in the
corner, its two-range stove, its last-
year’s religious calendar up on the wall,
its combination sink and bathtub.

HE woman was standing by the sink

now. She felt faint and she was
afraid and she wanted one of two things
——to get out of there, to run out of there
fast, or to pour herself a glass of water
so she wouldn’t fall and pass out and get
even more afraid in those few seconds
when everything goes blue and heavy
and all that weight hits the floor and
when- you don’t know what might
happen to you after that.

She brought up her hand and was
reaching for a glass when the boy
crept up behind her, brought up his
arm and smashed the hammer - against
the back of her head.

She managed to tum around. She
looked at the boy and she could barely
see him now. a

The boy waited for her to fall, but
she just stood there, swaying slightly,
stunned and quiet.

The boy raised his arm again. This
time he brought the hammer down on

the woman’s forehead and this time the
woman fell. ;

The girl ran in from the ‘bedroom.
She’d gotten a little chilly and had put
on the boy’s shirt. And now she stood
there, clutching at the sides of the shirt,
looking down at her mother.

The woman was moaning. She lay on
her back, one arm to her side, one hand
over her forehead. Her eyes were open.
She was looking up at them—first at one,
then the other; straight up at them, just
like she’d looked at them when they
were lying on the bed together a few

minutes ago.
“Theresa . . .” the woman whispered.
The girl looked away. She didn’t say
anything.
“Theresa. . . .”

The girl stood there for a few seconds,
still looking away. Then, slowly, she be-
gan to walk across the room, past where

table.

She opened the drawer and pulled out
a knife. She turned, “Here,” she said
tossing it over to the boy.

The boy took a hard grip on the handle
of the knife. Then he fell down onto his
knees, a fogt away from the woman.

The woman knew what was going to
happen now. She squirmed. “No,” she
managed to say. “Leave me alone.”

The boy looked over at the girl. If
she’d been cold a few minutes before,
she was hot again now. She’d taken off
the shirt and she was naked again and
she looked beautiful to the boy. as she
stood there, firm and blonde and breath-
ing hard and her skin all wet as though
she’d been in swimming.

“Leave me alone. . . .” the woman
said again and she squirmed.

The boy was still looking at the girl.
He swallowed. “Wait a minute, Terry,”
he said. Then he plunged the knife into
the woman’s chest. He plunged it once

and again and then again and then again. ~

He plunged it 21 times. in all.

He sprang up. He laid the red knife

on the table and wiped the blood from
his hands on his bare legs and then he
rushed over to the girl, took her hand,
and together, quickly, they rushed back
into the bedroom. .. .

It was dark out, hours later, when
they fell out of each others arms and de-
cided to do something about the body in
_the kitchen. They pulled down all the
shades in the apartment before they
snapped on the lights. Then they got
busy—Theresa Gresh, 15, and William
Snyder, 17.

They did it all in less than half an.

hour. ¥
First they picked up Mrs. Gresh’s
body and dumped it into the bathtub in

the kitchen. They replaced the cover of
the tub and then they got out some old
rags and began to wash the blood: from
the floor and the sideseof one of the
chairs. Some of the blood had begun to
harden and they needed a knife to scrape
it off with. They used the knife which
had killed the woman for the job.
When it was all-over they got dressed.
Bill asked‘ Terry if she wanted to go
to a movie. Terry said she didn’t know,

It was Thursday, March 4, 1954, and

the air had been just right outside that

morning, not too cold, not too warm.
“Or maybe you'd rather have a bottle
of beer?” Bill said. He knew how Terry
liked her beer. He knew that from the
first day they’d met, a little over a
month earlier. He’d been out looking for
a job and she’d been a student at the
Mabel Dean Bacon Vocational High
School and they’d met outside the school
that afternoon as he was walking by, as
simply as that, and he’d taken her up to
his house to have a beer—his mother
worked and wasn’t home during the day
—and they’d had their beer and then
they’d gone to bed for the first time and
made love for the first time. He knew
Terry, all right; how she liked her lov-
ing and how she liked her beer. He
winked. “A nice glass, hah?” he said. —
Terry looked over at the tub. She
shivered a little. “I guess so,” she said.
Two hours later they’d finished three

Once a carefree, stamp-collecting schoolboy, William Snyder changed almost
overnight to a shifty, irresponsible youth after- meeting the Gresh girl.

bottles of beer which had been in the
icebox and then they'd taken a few
shots from a bottle Mrs. Gresh had
hidden under the couch in the living
room and they were drunk.

It was 10 o’clock when the whisky
was gone and when Bill Snyder said he
had to go home. His mother didn’t like
him staying out late, Terry knew. She
thought it was funny the way he lied to
his mother about how he was out looking
for a job every day when he was really
with her, in bed or drinking beer. She

-thought it was funny about how they
lied to his mother and spent all that

time together and about how he rushed

- home every night just so his mother

wouldn’t get suspicious and spoil things.

She thought it was very funny. And
even though she didn’t like the idea of
spending the night alone, and her mother
dead in the bathtub—she didn’t seem to
mind too much when Bill left. She knew
he’d be back early the next day.

As it turned out, Bill was a little late
—about two hours late. But he didn’t
give Terry time to start pouting or to
bawl him out. Instead, he came in,
threw off his coat and pulled some
money out of his pocket. He handed it

to Terry and she counted it. There was”

$55. She’d never seen $55 before.
“Where'd you get this, Billy?” she

asked. .
Bill was so proud of himself; he could

barely tell her (Continued on page 62)

Devil Daughter and

- the Tub Murder

continued from page 23

@..., enough. “From ‘Tommays and my

stamps,” he said. Tommy was one of his
friends from the old days, the old days hav-
ing ended about a year before, about the time
- Bill’s mother and his teachers and his friends
_ began to notice a change in him, a change
from a good, fairly serious, fairly studious boy
to an incipient bum who began to drink and
annoy girls and play hookey from school and
pick fights with almost anybody over almost
anything. “I told Tommy last night I wanted
to borrow his collection,” he told Terry now,
- - “and then this morning I took his stamps and

mine downtown and I traded them in for,

money.”

“For so much money?” Terry asked, count-

ing the bills again, just to make sure.

“Since we were kids we been saving stamps,
me and Tommy,” Bill said. He grabbed the
money back. “It ain’t no President Roose-

- velt’s collection . . . but it got us 55 bucks.
And you know Tees we’re gonna do with the
money ?”

That night at hc 9 o’clock, Bill and Terry
and fout of their pals were having the time

* of their lives. Bill had spent some of the
money on a little, shiny-white radio. Most of
the rest had gone for whisky and sandwiches
and cigarets. The radio was blaring now and
Bill and Terry and one of the couples danced
in the living room. The other couple was in
the bedroom.

The entire evening went that way—the

@>::i, the drinking, the laughing, the tak-
ing shifts in the bedroom; all of it a few
yards from the bathtub where Anna Gresh’s
body lay. The only change in the evening, in

fact, came at about one the next morning |

when the people in the apartment: below got
sore and banged on the radiator pipes with a
spoon and Terry told Bill that he’d better
lower the radio a little.

They woke up slowly late the next morning,
the six of them. They began to drink again
and they breakfasted on the sandwiches that
were still lying around.

Then, at about noon, Bill told them all to
get going. He and Terry wanted to be. alone
for a while, he said.

The others got dressed. Two of them left
about ten minutes later. But one of the girls
took a little longer to get.dressed and her boy-
friend waited around in the living room, with
Bill and Terry. At one point the boy called
out to the girl to hurry up and then he took
a deep whiff and he made a face. “What the
hell is that?” he asked.

“What?” Bill said. He took hold of Terry’s

- hand and patted it.

“That stink,” the boy said. He shook his
head. “What a stink!”

Bill hunched his shoulders and laughed one
of those movie-villain laughs. “That’s Terry’s
old lady,” he said. “I killed her last night

* and I dumped her in the bathtub out in the

‘kitchen.” —
The boy got up. “It smells like a body,” he
Zaid and then he tried to imitate the laugh.
His girlfriend walked out of the bedroom.
She was no more than 13 years old and her
dress fit tight, much too tight. “Hey, Terry,”
she said. “When’s your mother getting home?”

“Later,” Terry said. “She'll be along later.”

“I hope we don’t bump into ner in the
hall,” the girl said.

“You won't,” Bill said.

“J hope not,” the girl said.

A minute later they were gone and Bill and

Terry were alone again. They'd been holding
each other all night, holding each other and
kissing each other and making love. But now
it was as if they hadn’t seen one another in
months, as if they couldn’t. wait to embrace
again and kiss again and feel their pede close
again.

They’d just begun to embrace when Terry
broke away suddenly and said, “Billy, I smell
it now, too.”

- “Maybe we should have put some flowers
in there with her,” he said.

“It’s not funny, Billy,” the girl said. “It’s
gonna smell even worse after... . I can’t
sleep in here tonight with a smell like that.”

“Try to make believe it isn’t here,” he said.

“Billy!” the girl said.’ She stood up and

‘walked over to the window and opened it,

high. “It smells bad and I can’t stand it.”

A few minutes later they were both down-
stairs, walking towards a hardware store down
the block. Bill was lucky. He had just enough
money left from the $55 to buy a few quarts
of plaster of paris.

AN hour later, they’d finished the job. They’d
taken the plaster back up to the apart-
ment, mixed it with water and then they’d

opened up the bathtub and poured the stuff:

over Anna Gresh’s body. The plaster covered
all of the body except a tiny part of the wom-
an’s head and part of one of her arms. They’d
done the best they could with what they’d
had, though, and they were happy.

Then they’d had another drink and then Bill
had gone home, after promising that he’d be
back in a couple of hours.

He came back that night and stayed for
part of the night and he came back the next
night and the night after that.

He came back for about ten nights and ev-

- erything was going fine and then one night
Terry told him that the man who owned the ”

grocery store downstairs had asked about her
mother that afternoon.

Bill looked worried. It was as if he'd never
expected anyone ever to ask about Anna Gresh
and about what had happened to her. “What’d
you tell him?”

Terry shrugged. “I told him she went to
Florida with some man,” she said. “Florida
was the only place I could think of. She went
there once.”

“He believe you?”

“I think so. He said what a shame, a nice
woman like her going off with somebody.
Then he told me not to worry, that if I didn’t
have any money to buy stuff with, he’d lend
me some.”

“He believed you, all right,” Bill said, re-
lieved. He threw himself down on the couch.
For a while he didn’t say anything. He was
thinking. Then, finally, after Terry had come
and sat next to him and begun to run her fin-
gers through his hair, he said, “Baby . . . we
gotta get away for a while.”

“You mean because the stink is starting
to come back?” she asked. She hadn't
wanted to say this. She hadn’t wanted to
even admit to herself that the apartment
was beginning to smell again.

Bill nodded. “Part that,” he said. “Part that
we just gotta get away for a while. I gotta go

somewhere and make some money and then.
we gots get married oe go somewheres and ‘

live.”

The girl pushed her anges against his scalp, «

up and down .. . up and down. “You really
love me?” she said

“Maybe I can join the army or something,”
he said.

“You love me and you wanna marry me,
Billy?” the girl asked.

“And then I can send for you. .
love you and I wanna marry you.
gotta do something.”

The girl tried not to look, but her head
jerked in the direction of the kitchen. “We
did something,” she said.

“And now we gotta do more,” the boy said.

And so they made their plans and the next

. Yeah, I

day Terry packed a suitcase with the two
dresses she owned and some underwear and

took a bus to Garfield, N. J., for a visit with
her aunt and uncle, to whom she repeated the
story about her mother having gone down to
Florida with some man friend.

Bill, meanwhile, went back home and told
his mother that he was getting sick and tired
of looking for a job and that he’d decided to
go into the service.

As he talked, his mother noticed that he was
wearing an identification bracelet. “Where’d
you get that, Bill?” she asked.

“It’s from that girl I met last month,” he
said, a little shyly. “That girl Theresa I was
telling you about. She gave it to me this
morning.”

Mrs. Snyder knew about Theresa. She knew
about her, but she didn’t know what to think
of her. She’d met her once and the girl had
been quiet enough, even though there hadn’t
been anything exactly quiet about that perox-
ided hair of hers. She'd talked to some people
in the neighborhood about her and some of
the people had said Theresa was nice and oth-
ers had said she was far from nice.

In fact, later, after the case broke out in-
to the open, some of these same neighbors
told reporters stories about Terry Gresh that
summed her up as a real enigma, a girl who
was both nice and far from-nice.

One woman said: “Theresa used to spend
some time in our home when her mother was
away. She seemed like a good kid, but she was
lazy and she was very stubborn. I’m afraid

she was boy-crazy. Maybe it was because she.

was used to having too much freedom. Her
mother was always working—in a factory by
day, as a charwoman By night, sometimes—to
give her a better life.”

A girlfriend recalled: “We were friends for
a while, but Terry was too fast for me. She
wasn’t as pretty then as she is now. She lost
some weight in the last year and it made her
more attractive. But she never lacked for
nerve. And she liked to go around with the
boys. I couldn’t keep- up with her. I didn’t
want to try.”

Said a teacher of Terry’s: “Why I could

cry for her, the poor kid. I guess I’m a poor.

judge of character. But I always knew her as
a quiet, well-mannered girl. She wasn’t the
bold or fresh type at school. . . : I only wish
I could help her now. She’ll need help, the
poor thing.”

These comments were to be made later,
when it was revealed what Terry—the “nervy”
kid, the “well-mannered” girl—had done. But

now, Mrs. Snyder, Bill’s mother, stared down
at the bracelet on her boy’s arm and read the.

inscription: “With all my love—Terry.”

But we

“She likes you, Bill?” the woman asked,
finally. :

Bill smiled and tried to look indifferent. “I
guess so,” he said. “I been seeing her a little.”

That afternoon he took a subway uptown
and enlisted in the marines under the name
of William Byers. A few days later he was
on his way to the marine base at Parris
Island, S. C.

He’d been there for almost two weeks and
Terry Gresh had been with her aunt for a few
days longer—“She acted very normal,” the
aunt told reporters later; “that is, she was
quiet and she kept to herself quite a bit”—
when the family who lived in the apartment
below the Gresh apartment began to smell the
body.

They phoned the police, who came and
broke into the Gresh apartment and found
Anna Gresh’s plastet-covered body lying in
the bathtub.

An investigation got und@rway at once. De-
tectives and patrolmen talked to practically
everyone in the immediate neighborhood. It
wasn’t long before they got a line on the dead
woman’s daughter, Theresa, and the boy who’d
been spending a lot of time with Theresa dur-
ing the past month.

One woman told the police that the girl had
probably gone to New Jersey to stay with her
aunt. Two detectives got into a car and sped
to the aunt’s house. Terry Gresh was in the
kitchen, smoking a cigaret and having a cup of
coffee. When she was told her mother was
dead, she simply said, “Oh.” Then she got up
and asked, “You want me to come with you?”

At the South Carolina marine base, mean-
while, Lieutenant Joseph Coleman was talking
to a 17-year-old recruit named William Byers.
The lieutenant had been flashed word from
New York an hour earlier that a boy resem-
bling Byers, but whose real name was Snyder,
was wanted for questioning in connection with
a murder.

At first, the boy said he didn’t know any-

thing about any murder. He appeared uncon-
cerned. Yes, his name was Snyder, he said,
and sure he knew Mrs. Gresh. But what did
her death have to do with him?

Then, a little while later, still apparently un-
concerned, he said, “All right, I might as well
tell you and get this thing off my chest.”

He gave a full confession. He began with
the words, “I killed her and Terry helped
Meas

When he was finished he asked the lieuten-
ant to do him a favor. “Please,” he said, “get
a message through to, my girl for me. Tell her
I love her, that I still love her, and that I'll be
back in New York soon and that I'll see her
and, if I can, that I’ll marry her.”

ATER that day, speaking long-distance to
reporters in New York, Lieutenant Cole-
man said, “It’s hard to describe how this boy

- talked. He was so matter-of fact, like he was

talking about a movie he’d seen.”

Captain A. M. Young, provost marshal at
Parris Island, said, “I just left-him in his cell
and he said he was feeling wonderful, posi-
tively jovial. He was reading a murder mys-
tery called Death Arrives at the Meeting, and
he said he was getting quite a kick out of it.
He expresses no sorrow—no desire for forgive-
ness—and has no regrets. To him the entire
murder was the most casual of affairs, like
taking a match out of a pocket. . . .He is
aware that he can go to the electric chair for
this, but all he does is laugh.”

The captain was asked if he thought Snyder
was trying to fake insanity.

“T don’t think so,” the captain said. “He’s
smart, exceptionally smart for the amount of
education he’s had. He knows the score.”

That night, back in New York, Terry Gresh
was placed in the custody of nuns at a home
for wayward girls.

The next day—March 30—she was brought
to court for arraignment. The judge ordered
her sent to a mental hospital for observation

after her lawyer told the court, “This girl is
completely unable to give me a coherent story.
All I get is ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers when I ques-

tion her... . I have very serious doubts that
she is in a condition to stand trial.”
A detective who’d been questioning the girl

_reported later that the only time she showed

any interest in what was going on around her
was when he read her the message from Bill
Snyder. “She smiled a little,” the detective
said. “Then her face got that dumb look
back again. . . . So far all she does is sit and
look at the wall and sometimes she opens up
a book she had on her when we picked her up.
It’s called Stand Up and Die. ... Nobody can .
seem to figure her out.”

One ‘man who tried to figure both Terry
Gresh and Bill Snyder out was Dr. Richard
H. Hoffmann, a well-known New York psy-
chiatrist. Dr. Hoffmann, who studied the case
in the newspapers and who examined pictures
of the boy and girl, said, “Both these young-
sters are moral degenerates.

“Probably both are legally sane, but from a
medical standpoint, they are devoid of under-
standing—and especially of feeling the differ-
ence between right and wrong.

“They were obviously governed by what
psychiatrists call ‘visceral voices’—or primitive
urges, which destroy insight and deliberatio
and which dominate thinking. °

“Hunger will make a man, kill to eat. It
will make him eat his own shoes. When that
hunger is sexual, a similar drive controls con-
duct and throws reason into discord. The rea-
soning brain is cut off. The mid-brain then
controls action automatically, in types like
these. Any obstacle will therefore be de-
stroyed.”

On April 6, Theresa and Bill were indicted
for the murder of Anna Gresh. Theresa was
being held at Bellevue Hospital for observa-
tion and Bill was scheduled to be returned to
New York from Parris Island within a few
days.

- The Bluest Beard in Town

continued from page 55

sober-faced bridegroom’ explained, leaning
comfortably back in a chair, “I can under-
stand that you may be curious about what sort
of work I do. I haven’t told you till now, and
you haven’t asked. I admire you for that. It
was a sort of test. Now I can tell you, but
remember—not a word to anyone, not even
to your closest friend!”. ,

Kathryn was all puzzlement and promises.

“I’m engaged in very secret work, you see,”
Walter Andrew continued. “In fact, I have
just about the most confidential job there is.
I’m a government Secret Service operative.
My work is tracking down counterfeiters and
smugglers.” ~

To the breathless Kathryn, he explained that
he might frequently have to be away from
home for days or weeks at a time, working
undercover, sometimes actually becoming a
member of the gang under surveillance. —

But there was no great danger, he hastened
to reassure her, just as long as she kept her
promise and revealed his secret to no one.
“And Vl be home between jobs,” he added,

“and then we'll have great times together.”

He explained then about another thing—the
big, black leather valise which he always kept
locked and guarded carefully in their. travels.
This, he told Kathryn, contained files of evi-
dence against some of the most dangerous
criminal gangs in the United States, and he
warned ‘her that she must never, never touch
it. -

“The bride obviously was greatly impressed
by all this and she looked on her husband
now with even greater respect—a secret agent,
serving loyally and without reward or glory,
in Uncle Sam’s war on the underworld!

After a few weeks of marriage, Walter made

a wry confession: “Dearie,” he said to his wife,
“I’m embarrassed. One of my dividend checks
hasn’t come on time, and I’m afraid I’ve run
out of money. I invest most of my: salary, you
know, and I depend on these checks. Now, I
don’t like to mention it, but those savings of
yours... .”

Puzzled, but without objecting, Kathryn
withdrew a few hundred dollars from her

little hoard of $2200 and turned it over to
Walter for their current expenses. He prom-
ised to repay her in a few days. But shortly
after that, a new business proposition came
up: there was a chance to make a quick
return on a gilt-edged investment. He was
plowing his dividend check back into it, Walter
explained to Kathryn, and didn’t Kathryn
want to invest the balance of her savings and
double them in a few weeks?

Kathryn was a little doubtful at first. But,
after all, she thought then, Walter was the
business head of the family and a shrewd in-
vestor and who could be more trustworthy
than a government agent? She turned over
the rest of the money to him.

_ It wasn’t long after that Walter confided to
her that the trail of a gang of diamond
smugglers now led to Los Angeles, and that he
had been assigned the job of closing in on the
gang’s mastermind. Although worried over her
husband’s dangerous job, Kathryn was over-
joyed at the prospect of moving to California,
where she had never been. So south they went,

Mrs. Schwarz, whom she met in a bar, to
attend drinking and sex parties held in
the Schwarz home during school hours.
She said the first time she went there,
she found “several boys and girls drink-

;: sear ing beer and whisky” and that she “went
: i know into the bedroom and had relations with
omey Al- one of the boys.” She attended several
asks times after that, she testified, and had
ther gun relations with other youths. The usual
with the attendance was “ten or 12 boys and
. aan in girls.” The judges decided that Mrs.
2 Did he Schwarz was guilty of improper conduct
‘rson and in front of her three youngest children.
a mei th She faces a possible three-year sentence.
in Se MRS. SUNNY CANALES WORDEN

has been freed by a Texas grand jury
.g0’s gun- who ruled that “there were not sufficient
s high up facts to support a charge of murder
fugitives, against anyone.” Earlier Mrs. Worden, a

42-year-old attractive brunette repeated
before a lie detector the strange story of
the death of her husband, Don Worden,
that she gave Kleberg County, Tex., offi-
cers a few days after his body was un-

earthed from the beach at Padres Island.
The results of the test, according to
Sheriff Jim Scarborough, indicated that
she was telling the truth (The Quick and
the Dead, February FRONT PAGE, 1956).
Mrs. Worden admitted: killing her hus-

wlice after

pt to visit
connection
ind a mur- q :
mnay FRONT band when he threatened to kill her and
uccessfully ; her daughter, and had forced her to dig a
al months, grave for them while she was in a pill-
Galveston, induced hypnotic trance. When the grave
~ victims and was dug, she contends, he handed her a
had _pre- gun and told her to shoot her daughter,
when she then shoot herself. Shocked from the
cup by five trance, she said, she turned the gun on
pan Worden. Officers said that Mrs. Worden
re going to had been very cooperative with investigat-
aggie said: ing officers.
nut I ain’t
' WELLS B. VAN STEENBURGH, 20-
year-old University of Bridgeport, Conn.,
WARZ, a student, has been indicted on four counts
mother — of first-degree murder in the arson-rob-
« cipating in bery slaying of Mrs. Lloyd H. Beresford
¢, has been (Ball of Fire, February ¥RONT PAGE,
tals of 1956). Mrs. Beresford, 37, was burned
Book, to death by a fire which gutted the large,
special rambling house near Hyde Park, N. Y.,
vy a T-year- where she and her husband raised dogs.
ecruited by Her husband was attending a dog show

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in Maine at the time. Van Steenburgh,
who had been friendly with the Beres-
fords and had been given a key to the
house, allegedly confessed that he went
to the Beresford house to steal money
which he knew to be hidden in. the bed-
room, then set fire to the house to cover
his tracks, but had not known that Mrs.
Beresford was asleep in the house.

OFFICIAL RULING on the question
“Who murdered Doris Hatch?” has come
from Tolland County, Conn., Coroner
Bernard Ackerman, who stated: “After
inquiry, inqiest and investigation, I find
beyond reasonable doubt that the evi-
dence, although circumstantial, is suffi-
cient to satisfy . . . that William R.
Turner committed the murder of Doris
A. Hatch.” Doris Hatch disappeared
from her Erie, Pa., home in July of 1953
and Turner, her former employer, was
often questioned in connection with her
disappearance but always denied any
knowledge of it. Her body was discovered
more than two years later in a secluded
wood in Connecticut (J/t’s Better to
Know, February FRONT PAGE, 1956) and
as officers were on their way to arrest
Turner, by this time a well-to-do execu-
tive in Boston, Mass,, he committed sui-
cide, Ackerman’s report was the first
official decision finding Turner guilty.

NEW YORK CITY’s bomb fiend has
struck again. An explosion which rocked
the men’s room in pgs 4 Grand Central
Station during the height of the eve-

ning rush hour has been attributed to
the same person who has been plaguing
New York City police for more than 15
years by planting bombs in public places
(The Mad Mr, Boom, January FRONT
PAGE, 1956). Six people were in the 35-
by 15-foot room when the blast occurred.
Pieces of marble furnishings and debris
were scattered throughout the room but
no one was seriously injured.

WILLIAM BYERS, the 17-year-old
youth who was convicted and sentenced
to death for the murder of his girlfriend’s
mother (The Devil Daughter and the
Tub Murder, July FRONT PAGE, 1954),

has heard that the New York Court of.

Appeals has upheld his conviction and
sentence. Byers was found guilty of
murdering Mrs. Anna Gresh because she
objected to Byers’ attentions to her
daughter, Theresa, who has also been
convicted of the murder.

HARRY WASHBURN has been con-
victed and sentenced to a life term for
the booby-trap auto-bombing which took
the life of his former mother-in-law, Mrs.
Helen Weaver (The Murder That Shook
Texas, July FRONT PAGE, 1955). At the
trial, the prosecution introduced witnesses,
one a lady wrestler, who said Washburn
had tried to hire them to kill Harry
Weaver, the dead woman’s husband, The
state charged that Mrs, Weaver was
killed by a bomb intended for her hus-
hand, After he was sentenced, Weaver
again proclaimed his innocence,

res- -

TT EEEEEEeEeE————_ CS

Fox TT

IEE Detect JE, — Wak, ibd

terrogation session

lower East Side, janitors are used to complaints.

Generally underpaid, always overworked, they
take them philosophically and investigate the gripes
in the order of their importance.

Water leaking through ‘the ceiling from the flat above,
for example, is a high priority matter which must be looked
into at once.: Noisy neighbors command little action, on the
other hand, until repeated incidents establish them as
habitual nuisances. And complaints about unpleasant odors
rate lowest on the priority totem pole; it is not a sweet-
smelling district. ;

For this reason, no one was very much surprised when
the janitor of a four-story block of cold-water flats on
Avenue B waited several days to do something about an
odoriferous stench neighbors reported emanating from
apartment 3-B. When he finally got around to going up-
stairs, on March 26th, a portly, harassed looking housewife,
herding two tots before her, passed him on the stairs.

“Well!” she exclaimed. “It’s about time! Where ya been,
on vacation? People could get gassed to death, for all the
service we got around here!”

The janitor merely grunted in reply. But he had no
sooner reached the third-floor landing than he knew the
reports had not been exaggerated. Standing outside the
door of 3-B, the noxious odor was well-nigh overpowering.
He had no key to the flat, however, and repeated loud
knocks on the door were unavailing. Either no one was at
home, or whoever was inside was not answering the door.

As he stood there waiting for acknowledgment that did
not come, he knew instinctively that this was one com-
plaint that spelled trouble, big trouble. He waited only a
few seconds before he hastened back downstairs through
the dingy halls and telephoned the police. ;

He noted that the hands of the alarm clock in his base-
ment flat pointed to ten minutes before noon as he talked
to police headquarters. Exactly five minutes later a police
patrol car, siren wailing, screeched to a halt in front of his
door. Immediately, from up and down the crowded block,
clusters of the curious converged on the spot, housewives
who had been doing their Friday marketing or just taking
the spring sunshine on their front stoops, cab drivers, de-
liverymen, pushcart peddlers, urchins of assorted sizes and
degrees of cleanliness.

Patrolmen William Watts and Edward Morrison, of the
11th Precinct, alighted from the cruiser and strode purpose-
fully toward the front door, where the janitor greeted them.

“Third floor,” he said. “Apartment 3-B. I go up to see
about a hell of a smell the neighbors are complaining about,

Ir the teeming tenement districts of New York’s

but there’s nobody home and I can’t get in. I don’t have a
key for the flats unless they’re vacant and I got to show
them.”

“What about the smell?” asked Patrolman Watts.

The janitor shrugged. “It’s there all right. This time
they ain’t kidding. What a stink!”

Reaching the third floor, Watts tried the door, but it
wouldn’t give, even when he leaned a burly shoulder
against it. Patrolman Morrison asked about the fire escape
and a woman who had come to the door of the next apart-
ment told him he could reach it from her parlor, in the
rear of the building. He followed her in, climbed out onto
the fire escape and was able to force open one of the win-
dows of 3-B. He clambered in through the window, and
in a couple of moments he opened the apartment’s front
door to admit his partner waiting in the hall. Morrison was
holding a handkerchief to his nose and mouth to shut out
the fetid stench which seemed to billow out of the flat like
a cloud as he opened the door.

“Whatever it is,” he gasped, “it’s in the kitchen.”

Watts fumbled for his own handkerchief and covered the
lower part of his face with it as he made his way into the
kitchen. The first things that caught his attention were
innumerable empty beer bottles strewn about the floor.
There must have been several dozen.. On the table were
stale, crusted remains of sandwiches and Danish pastry.
The sink was littered with dirty dishes and glasses.

Beside the sink stood an old-fashioned square soapstone
laundry tub, covered by a loosely fitting, chipped porcelain
lid.’ When a look into the cupboards under the sink and
tub disclosed nothing which might create so strong an odor,
Watts lifted the lid on the tub. Immediately the odor
became stronger.

Peering into the tub, the officers saw a weirdly shaped
white bulk almost completely encrusted in hardened plas-
ter. Borrowing a screwdriver he saw sticking out of the
janitor’s pocket, Patrolman Morrison started chipping the
plaster. It proved to be but a thin layer and was easily
broken away in large chunks from the object it covered.
In just a few moments, Morrison had removed enough to
identify part of the tub’s contents, but that was all he
needed to see. ;

He had stripped the plaster from a woman’s foot and
ankle. Shreds of nylon hose had clung to some of the
plaster, exposing areas of blackened skin. It was a sicken-
ing sight, even to the veteran officers.

“Go down to the car and call in, Ed,’ Patrolman Watts
said to his partner. “I’ll stand by here.”

Morrison lost no time getting down to the street and out
into the fresh air. On his car radio he reported their find-

New York detectives heard conflicting reports about Anna:
(1) She was “preoccupied with men,” and (2) She was a
hard-working woman, holding down two jobs. The solution

of her murder would depend on which story was true

BY LAWRENCE KEARNEY

n the teem
lower East
Generally

take them phi
in the order o
Water leakin;

for example, is <
into at once. Nc
i}! other hand, ur
habitual nuisan

rate lowest on
smelling distric)

For this reasc

" the janitor of |
Avenue B wait:

odoriferous ste

apartment 3-B.

stairs, on March
herding two tot:
“Well!” she e>
on vacation? Pe
service we got a
The janitor r
sooner reached
reports had not
door of 3-B, the
He had no key
knocks on the d
home, or whoev
As he stood t)
not come, he k)
plaint that spell
few seconds bef
the dingy halls
He noted that
ment flat pointe
to police headqu
patrol car, siren
door. Immediate
clusters of the c
who had been d:
the spring sunsh
liverymen, push«
degrees of clean
Patrolmen Wi
11th Precinct, ali
fully toward the
“Third floor,”
about a hell of a

pas aL oe

Victim’s teenage daughter (c.) shrank from photographers, as a matron

TRUE DETECTIVE,
August, 1961

A LIFE SPARED—Life of Norman L.
Horton (below) has been spared by the
action of New York’s Governor Harri-
man who commuted the sentence of death,
imposed when Horton was convicted of
the fatal stabbing of his father, to life
imprisonment (Darling, There’s A Knife
In Me, November FRONT PAGE, 1953). “I

_do. not condone this terrible crime,” said

Governor Harriman, “but I cannot per-
mit the life to be taken of one whose
mind is undoubtedly befogged. . .”

DEAD ON ARRIVAL—The last re-
maining member of a three-man gang of
hoodlums who terrorized Chicago’s west
side has met a fate similar to that of the
other two, Christopher Kanakes and Spiro
Demitralis, who were shot to death in a
police trap by Chicago’s ace crime buster,
Lieutenant Frank. Pape (Death Is His

Business, February FRONT PAGE, 1955),’
‘Andrew Orfanos escaped the. trap, re-

mained at large until cornered by two po-

licemen. As the officers approached: his’

car, Orfanos shouted, “Let me show you
my identification,” whipped out his gun
and fired twice before the officers re-

tured. the fire and fatally wounded him.

As Orfanos staggered from his car, his
wife ran from the house. “Get him to a

‘hospital, quick,” she screamed, but. Or-

fanos was dead on arrival:

A CROSS TO BEAR—The husband
who couldn’t bring himself to believe his
wife planned to have him killed—even
in the face of overwhelming evidence—
looked ‘on in shocked amazement as she
pleaded guilty in court (But I Threw
The Witch Out, March FRONT PAGE,
1955). James Ricco had been the most ar-
dent supporter of his wife, Patricia Ric-

‘co, 30, during preliminary investigations.

When the trial began, he brought to court
a crucifix to give to his wife, a present
from their three daughters, but was re-
strained from passing it. The case broke
when a taxi driver tipped off police that
he had been offered money to run down
Ricco so-Mrs. Ricco and an accomplice,
Media ‘Rainey, could sue his cah company
for $100,000. Sentencing has been de-

degree murder, the law will permit a’

The Cleanup Spot

ferred until later but for the misdemeanor,

“each could receive a term of three years. .
Saat i

DEVIL DAUGHTER & CO.—For the
hammer and knife murder of Mrs. Anna

-Gresh, 44, in New York City, her daugh-

ter, Theresa, 15; and her one-time boy-
friend, William Byers, 18, were found

guilty as charged (Devil Daughter and

The Tub Murder, July FRONT PAGE, 1954).
At the trial, both denied guilt but accused
the other. Byers was found guilty of first
degree murder. The verdict, subject to‘
appeal, carries a mandatory death sen-
tence. For Theresa, guilty of second

lesser sentence than 20 years to life be-
cause of her extreme youth, _ -

ME? ’'M SANE—Confessed wife kill-

er Raymond Wilson has been. judged
sane by a panel of three psychiatrists in
Milwaukee, clearing the way for an early
trial on first degree murder charges (Me?
I’m Making Sausage, March FRONT PAGE,
1955). Wilson has allegedly admitted kill-
ing his 67-year-old wife with a meat
cleaver because he was no longer able to
care forher. ~°

PEACE OF MIND—Claude Nichols,
56, a man who overcame the loss of one
arm and went on to graduate at the top
of his class in law school, pursue a prom-
ising legal career and become one of the
wealthiest men in Cumberland, Tenn., has
been sentenced to 99 years in. prison for
the murder of William Sailer Anderson
(The Jig Is Up, February ‘yRont PAGE,
1955). Anderson’s body and automobile
were discovered submerged in a lake near
Waverly, -Tenn., and Nichols was indicted
after his attractive former secretary tes-
tified that Nichols. had told her he had

killed Anderson. At no point did Nichols.
waver from his contention that- he was
innocent. Some jurors held out for capital
‘punishment before: they agreed on the .
99-year ‘sentence—so the defendant could
“make his peace with God.”. ee

. (Continued: from page 11). ”
Stories of the hunt for the Lindbergh baby

onto page two. In Europe, news of the

German presidential elections, the prelude to
Hitler, ran second best that day.

‘And“all over the world, little investors held
their breaths. Did it mean Kreuger’s business
was bad? No, a nerveus breakdows, early
rumors said. :

\ But in the ensuing weeks, the truth of the
great fraud Kreuger had pulled seeped out.
Hapless investors holding $1000 debentures
in International Match had to sell for $1.25

fto $25—if anyone would buy.

. Sweden appointed a commission to investi-
‘gate Kreuger’s house of matches to find any
funds to salvage. The United States Senate
launched its own quiz. But little could be
done. Stockholders of various Kreuger firms
fought among themselves for what assets there
were. In the end, many bilked investors were
lucky. to- get two cents on- the dollar.

. [THE legend of Kreuger, the master indus-

trialist, now became the legend of Kreuger,
the_master thief. :

And soon there was still a new legend, a
legend based on rumors that seem even today
to some people to have considerable merit—
that Kreuger was not really dead!

What started that rumor? -

Many things. First: Why had Kreuger’s
coffin been kept sealed all the time until the
cremation? And didn’t one of the pallbear-
ers say it was the lightest coffin he’d ever
carried? And didn’t employes at the Stock-
holm crematorium notice a smell of burning
wax and not one of burning bones?

The rumor mongers had more questions.
Who actually had seen‘Kreuger’s body in his
Paris apartment? Krister Liturin, his most
intimate companion, and Miss Kaline Bock-
man, his secretary. The doctor. who was
called saw only a dead man. And why had
the Paris police held up news of the suicide
for nine hours? And after days of silence,
did not the Swedish government finally admit
that representatives of its Legation had been

denied permission to view. the body?

And what, about the nuns? Why did two

nuns come to the deathbed of Kreuger, a
Protestant?’ And how was it, as some wit-
nesses insist, that three nuns left? 3

‘More astute observers had still another
question. News of Kreuger’s death didn’t
reach the New York Stock Market until Sat-
urday, when-it was closed. On Friday, there
had been a wave of selling in Kreuger issues.
-By whom? Did Kreuger have confederates in
his schemes? Or was the selling done by
men who suddenly learned Kreuger was a’
fraud? Or, asked the rumor mongers again,
was the selling done by Kreuger himself?

' Then another ‘strange report was made.
-Kreuger, for years, had had his cigars espe-
cially made by an English manufacturer. Now,
suddenly, a large order for his cigars comes
from an anonymous source in Sumatra. .For

millions -of- people that: settled the: matter. .

Kreuger was not dead but was in Sumatra.
At this date, it’s impossible to separate the
fact from the fiction in these rumors. All
that is on the record are the vigorous denials
of the reports by both the French and Swedish
governments. ee
- Ivar Kreuger undoubtedly was the greatest
con man of them all. But did he bluff people
into thinking he‘was dead? True or not, it is
very. characteristic of Ivar Kreuger.

ings to headquarters, then returned upstairs. He found

Watts lighting a small fire of old newspapers and rags in.

a bucket the janitor had provided. The flames burned off
some of the noxious fumes rising from the decaying flesh,
and the foul smell of burning rags was a welcome relief.

Inspector Hugh Sheridan, detective commander of Man-
hattan East, headed the contingent of investigators dis-
patched to the Avenue B address after Morrison’s report
was received. With him was Deputy Inspector John Bradt
of the Second Detective District. They were joined by De-
tective Charles Leonard of the 11th Detective Squad, John
A. Farrell of the district attorney’s office, Charles Santari-
ello of the police photo gallery, and Dr. Benjamin Vance,
deputy medical examiner. Appearing,soon afterwards were
the technical experts, ID men, fingerprint and crime lab
technicians.

Before any further efforts were made to remove the rest
of the plaster covering the body in the tub; Santariello shot
a set of pictures from various angles, then proceeded to
photograph the rest of the apartment. He returned to the
kitchen frequently to make progress pictures as the tech-
nicians gradually removed the plaster coating from the
corpse. -

Patrolmen had been assigned to keep the halls clear of
curious neighbors, but the janitor had been asked to wait
in an adjoining room. He was called in when the plaster-
stripping job was completed and the body, doubled up
and stiff in rigor mortis, was propped up.

“Do you know this woman?” Inspector Sheridan asked.

The janitor had little stomach for the ordeal, but he
forced himself to look. Then, a greenish pallor overspread-
ing his face, he swallowed hard, blurted, “It’s Mrs. Gresh.
Mrs. Anna Gresh. This is—was—her apartment.”

Inspector Sheridan questioned the janitor and the tech-
nicians combed through every inch of the flat. They found
a claw hammer and a kitchen knife with a sharp blade.
Both had been scrubbed, but examination revealed blood-
stains on both. Other detectives under Deputy Inspector
Bradt proceeded to interrogate all other occupants of the
tenement house, collecting whatever information they could,
rumor as well as fact, about the dead woman in 3-B. This
interrogation was still in progress when the body was
removed to the morgue at Bellevue Hospital for autopsy.

At Inspector Sheridan’s office later that afternoon, the

‘information gleaned in the extensive questioning was re-

viewed. Anna Gresh, the detectives had learned, had moved
into the three-room flat on Avenue B the previous Septem-
ber. With her was her 15-year-old daughter, Theresa, bet-
ter known in the neighborhood as Terry. Mrs. Gresh paid
$32.40 a month for the flat, plus utilities.

Somewhat surprisingly, officers had found that her neigh-
bors knew very little about the Greshes. Mrs. Gresh, it was
said, was seldom seen in the house, except early in the
morning or quite late at night. Terry was seen coming
and going from school, but apparently she had made no
friends among the tenants and did not fraternize with any-
one in the house.

From people on the street who had hastened to the scene
as word of the murder of Mrs. Gresh spread throughout the
neighborhood, detectives picked up additional information
—some of it almost frivolous. A classmate of Terry at the
vocational high school they attended had only one fact to
contribute: she said, Terry had recently dyed her mousy
brown hair blond.

But a neighbor, who said she was the mother of one of
Terry’s closest friends, told a detective that Terry fre-
quently came to her house and spent. the night, complain-
ing that she couldn’t go home because her mother was
entertaining men friends. ‘The poor kid used_to be terribly
upset, and no wonder.” She expressed surprise that Mrs.
Gresh had been found in the apartment because, a few

weeks before, Terry had confided that her mother had ap-'

parently walked out on her and had gone to Florida with
some man named Mike. The neighbor said she had: not seen
Terry “for quite a while—maybe three or four weeks.”

Neither could anyone be found who recalled seeing Mrs.
Gresh recently. The janitor, pointing out that he didn’t
make a habit of checking up on the tenants, said the last
time he remembered’ seeing her was on March Ist, when
she stopped by his flat to pay the rent.

Before midnight on the day the body of Mrs. Gresh was
discovered, Sergeant Saul Fuchs of, Manhattan East Homi-
cide was placed in command of the investigation, and it
was to him that the post mortem report from the New York
medical examiner’s office was delivered on the following
morning, Saturday, March 27th.

The body of the victim, Mrs. Anna Gresh, 43, had been
garbed in a green topcoat, green dress, green gloves, dark
beige nylons; the undergarments had not been disturbed.
The victim had lain in the tub on her right side, held at a

- 45 degree angle by the confines of the tub, her knees

doubled up under her chin. A hair net which covered her
dark brown hair had been torn by blows from a blunt
instrument, such as the hammer, which inflicted deep
lacerations in the scalp. In addition, a total of 21 stab
wounds, made with a long knife, were found in the victim’s
chest and abdomen. Six of these had pierced the heart
and any one of them could have caused death. The time
of death was estimated at two weeks prior to discovery of
the body.

That would have made the murder date March 12th, or
thereabouts. A canvass of the tenants, however, failed to
turn up anyone who recalled hearing any outcry or undue
commotion on that date. One neighbor said that occasion-
ally she used to hear Mrs. Gresh scolding Terry, but it
seemed to her that the last time she heard anything like
that was much longer than two weeks ago. ,

Sergeant Fuchs now set in motion an intensive search
for the missing teenager, Terry. A number of theories had
been suggested. Robbery was ruled out at once; the loca-
tion of the crime and the circumstances in which the victim
lived made this completely unlikely. There was the possi-
bility that the mother, returning home late at night, had
surprised an intruder about to attack the young daughter;
she may have been slain trying to defend the girl, after
which the murderer forced Terry to accompany him.

This theory led to the frightening possibility that the
15-year-old girl had been slain. For this reason Sergeant
Fuchs was anxious to pick up her trail. As a routine pro-
cedure, he ordered Terry’s description circulated at once to
ail precincts, and this paid off within a matter of hours,

Schoolgirl Terry told police her mother had deserted her

when a detecti
to report that
Patrick J. Foga
child and orde
East 104th Stre
Fuchs quick]
Fogarty’s char
er’s murder be
the news was
until she had c
stion her. He ¢
was obviously
edge of hysteri
When the br
not learned a g
had not seen |
date she said
was going to Nh
“What is Mil
“I don’t kno
as ‘Mike,’ and
The sergean'
but Terry’s de
a number of
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features, gestu
came to anythi
she saw him
But so did her
That would
the murder sc:
Terry had n
walked out w
This had been
Street. Fuchs
her. She told
had brought T
day he enliste:
camp at Parri:
She had tak:
for her when :
daughter. But
turn Terry ov

Hammer and |

A mystery novel, a mongrel dog and a corpse for company

a . -
25 ae
*'s ¥ :
Pants Y a
i :
ea ;
a Terry told friend she and Billy were married. Carrying schoolbooks she leaves station house, charged with murder
mn

‘or-
ifth

me-
the
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en-

outh
omes

stood
by a
quart

quilt
d foot

body,
gloves,
s dou-
Sev-

ie body

solidi-
cream~-
and the

y years
ittered.

ut-it’s @
lid over

s of the
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f all de-
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a tin can

seeing Mrs.
t he didn’t
aid the last
1 Ist, when

Gresh was
East Homi-
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> New York
e following

3, had been
‘loves, dark
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e, held at a
her knees
covered her
om a blunt
licted deep
of 21 stab
the victim’s
d the heart
i. The time
jiscovery of

rch 12th, or
ar, failed to
ry or undue
at occasion-
erry, but it
aything like

isive search
theories had
e; the loca-
h the victim
is the possi-
t night, had
ig daughter;
e girl, after
_y him.

ity that the
on Sergeant
routine pro-
-d at once to
er of hours,

deserted her

when a detective assigned to Children’s Court called him
to report that only five days ago, on March 22nd, Judge
Patrick J. Fogarty had ruled Theresa Gresh, 15, a neglected
child and ordered her sent to the Children’s Shelter at 2
East 104th Street.

Fuchs quickly arvinined to have Terry brought to Judge
Fogarty’s chambers. She had been informed of her moth-
er’s murder before he arrived, and her initial hysteria at
the news was subsiding. Taking his time, Fuchs waited
until she had composed herself before attempting to ques-
stion her. He did not press her too closely; the young girl
was obviously distraught, and her voice trembled on the
edge of hysteria.as she answered his questions.

When the brief interview was over, Sergeant Fuchs had
not learned a great deal more than he already knew. Terry
had not seen her mother, she said, since March 4th, the
date she said Anna Gresh had left after announcing she
was going to Miami “with Mike.”

“What is Mike’s last name?” Fuchs asked.

“JT don’t know,” Terry said. “Mom just introduced him
as ‘Mike,’ and that’s all I ever heard her call him.”

The sergeant asked her to describe her mother’s friend,
but Terry’s description was vague and might have fitted
a number of men—medium height, medium build, dark

hair, brown eyes, not handsome, but not homely. His age,. .

she said, might havé been 30, but it could have been 40, or
even more. “He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t really old,
either.” Nor could she recall any distinctive marks, scars,
features, gestures, or speech mannerisms. The closest she
came to anything specific was her statement that whenever
she saw him drinking in the apartment, he drank beer.
But so did her mother; her mother liked beer, she said.

That would explain the litter of beer bottles found at
the murder scene, Fuchs thought, but it didn’t help much.

Terry had not attended schoo] from the time her mother
walked out until she was turned in to Children’s Court.
This had been done by a woman who lived on East 18th
Street. Fuchs sent Detective Charles Leonard to question
her. She told the detective that her son, Billy Byers, 17,
had brought Terry to their home on March 14th, the same
day he enlisted in the Marine Corps. He was now in boot
camp at Parris Island, South Carolina.

She had taken the girl in, she said, because she felt sorry
for her when she heard that Anna Gresh had deserted her
daughter. But soon afterwards, she decided she had better
turn Terry over to Children’s Court.

Hammer and knife in victim’s flat were believed murder weapons

The day after his first interview with the teenager, Ser-
geant Fuchs had Terry brought to his office. As he had
hoped, she was much calmer now. He put her at ease with
a few innocuous questions. Then he said, “Terry, we have
to find whoever did this terrible thing, and we think you
can help us. I want you to talk. Tell me about your mother,
the people she knew, everything you can remember.”

The girl began slowly, but once started, the words poured
out, as if she were unburdening herself of pentup bitter-
ness. The bitterness was directed at her mother’s affairs
with men, as the direct cause of the murder. She did not
seem to bear resentment at Anna Gresh’s neglect of her;
rather, she appeared to be angry that by her behavior, her
mother had gotten herself killed.

“What about you and Billy Byers?” Fuchs asked.

Terry hedged a bit, but finally admitted that she and
Billy had been “having a big thing.” She did not elaborate
on this, and the sergeant did not press the point.

Terry said that two days after her mother left she went
to Paterson, New Jersey, where she stayed for a week with
an aunt. When she came back to New York she moved in

- with Billy Byers’ mother.

A large question now loomed in the minds of detectives

-on the case: When had Anna Gresh returned to her flat

from Miami—if she actually had gone to Miami? Possibly

she had stayed around New York with the mysterious Mike,

then returned to her flat after a change of plans. The
investigators considered it significant that only eight days
separated the date of her departure, and March 12th, the
date the autopsy report estimated she died. If Mrs. Gresh had
gone to Florida, her visit was brief. (Continued on page 72)

He and d Sorry were Meets a big resell oe Billy Byers

— es ameaes pes

East Side Crime
of Passion

(Continued from page 51)

All attempts to learn more about Mike,
the elusive boy friend, produced nothing.
No other tenant could be found who had
seen the man Terry vaguely described.

But at this point in the investigation,
some new information was dug up by De-
tective Zuhiaurri. He had found the shoe
factory where Anna Gresh had been em-
ployed and questioned her employer and
coworkers.

“She was a good worker,” her foreman
told him, “but she’d snap your head off if
you said anything personal. She dressed
nice, but nothing fancy. She worked hard—
ran a stitching machine—and she watched
her pennies. I thought it was strange that
she never collected her pay when she left.”

Several other women who worked with
her were certain that Anna Gresh also held
down a night job as cleaning woman in an
office building, but none knew its location.

Sergeant Fuchs was impressed by two
things in this new information. The fact
that Anna Gresh had not collected wages
due her convinced him she was slain be-
fore she ever left for Florida. From all he
could learn of the woman, it would have
been out of character for her to ignore the
money she had coming to her—more than
$50—even if her boy friend was paying all
her expenses.

And there was the matter of the second
job her coworkers were positive she held.
If Anna Gresh worked eight hours each
day, and even as little as five or six hours
every night, how could she have time for
the amorous dalliances with men, of which
her daughter complained so bitterly?

The second job might also explain why
she was seen so seldom at the Avenue B
tenement house where she lived. “Only
early in the morning, or quite late at
night,” several of her fellow tenants had
said. Of course, romance could have kept
her out late, too, if she pursued it away
from home, but this was at odds with her
daughter’s accounts.

Fuchs instructed his men to pursue both
possibilities. “The whole case may hinge
on this, because only one of these stories
can be true. When we find out which, for
sure, it may throw a new light on the case.”

In the next few hours, detectives ques-
tioned a score of people, and came up with
a variety of answers. From Terry’s teachers
and some of her classmates, they heard that
Terry’s mother “ran around a lot,” paid
little attention to the girl, “was preoccu-
pied with men.” Under close interrogation,
however, none of these informants had
first-hand knowledge of Mrs. Gresh’s phi-
landering. They said they had heard about
them from Terry.

Three of her classmates said Terry had
confided to them that she was married.
They said she recently had been wearing
what appeared to be a wedding ring. A
fourth classmate said Terry’s husband was
Billy Byers. This classmate said she had
been to the Gresh flat and had dinner,
which Terry prepared, with Billy and
Terry. This was after Terry’s return from
Paterson. She also said she had noted a
peculiar odor in the apartment at the time,
but hadn’t thought too much about it.

In the neighborhood where Mrs. Gresh
and Terry lived before moving to Avenue
B, officers gleaned different information.
One woman who had known Mrs. Gresh
well summed it up: “Mrs. Gresh was a
wonderful woman, a good mother who

slaved for that girl day and night. But
Terry wouldn’t listen to her. She was lazy,
stubborn, and boy-crazy, always going out
with bad boys.”

New information also was obtained at
the Avenue B tenement house, the murder
scene. Here detectives talked with a small
girl who lived on the third floor. The previ-
ous Sunday, she said—she remembered it
was Sunday because she was wearing her
best dress—she had been playing in the hall
with a ball. There was a bad smell. Once,
when the door of the Gresh apartment was
opened suddenly, her ball rolled into apart-
ment 3-B and she ran in to get it.

“There were a lot of boys and girls in
there,” the little girl said. “They were mak-
ing a lot of noise and drinking out of big
bottles. I ran out right away.”

The Sunday in question was March 21st,
and Sergeant Fuchs recalled that Billy
Byers had returned to New York that day.
Fuchs’ men had learned that though Byers
enlisted in the Marines on the 14th, he was
not due to report for duty at Parris Island
until the 22nd. He had gone to Baltimore to
visit relatives, and returned to the city on
the morning of Sunday, the 21st.

There was no doubt in Fuchs’ mind that
both Billy and Terry had known Mrs.
Gresh’s dead body was in the laundry tub
while their party was in progress. If he
needed any further assurance, he got it
when one of his detectives reported that he
had found a clerk in a hardware store in
the neighborhood who remembered selling
a large bag of plaster of Paris to a youth
answering the description of Billy Byers.

Fuchs now moved quickly. Assistant Dis-
trict Attorney William H. Loguen joined
him in an intensive interrogation of the
slain woman’s daughter. Several hours lat-
er, Loguen issued a brief statement to re-
porters to the effect that Theresa Gresh had
made a statement concerning the murder
of her mother.

The following morning Sergeant Fuchs
and Detective Leonard flew to the Marine

PLUMBER'S PROBLEM

When he turned on the tap in his
waffle shop one morning, an Atlantic
City, New Jersey, resident found he
had no water. But, as he pondered the
problem, he thought:he heard a splash-
ing sound below the shop. Tracing the
sound to its source, he found the an-
swer—some miscreant had removed
seven valves and about 630 feet of
his copper piping.

—H. I. Jackson

Base at Parris Island, where they ques-
tioned Billy Byers in the Provost Marshal’s
office. Clad in green fatigues, his hair close
cropped in a service hair cut, Byers gave
them little trouble. Within five minutes he
laughed and said, “I guess you guys are too
smart for me. I’ll tell you the whole story.”

He had first met Terry Gresh on Febru-
ary 18th at a neighborhood gathering place
for teenagers, he said. He liked her at
once—she was cute, had a nice figure. She
seemed to like him right away, and he
could tell from her talk that she was “hip;”
she “knew the score.” Their friendship rap-
idly developed into a red-hot romance
until Mrs. Gresh walked into the flat unex-
pectedly on March 1st and caught them
together in Terry’s bedroom.

“She blew her top,” Billy said. “She
ordered Terry never to see me again.”

The teenagers ignored this and continued
to see each other, Billy went on. “I told
Terry that if her mother ever broke in on
us like that again, I’d knock her flat.”

It happened three days later, on March
4th, when Mrs. Gresh came home and found
them making love. “She raised particular
hell. Ordered me out of the house, yelled
her head off at Terry. I put on some
clothes. Then I grabbed a claw hammer
and started chasing the old lady. I hit her
and she fell on the kitchen floor. The radio
was playing pretty loud. I guess that
drowned out the sound of her screaming.
I left her and went back to the bedroom.”

In a little while, however, he and Terry
could hear Mrs. Gresh moaning. He told
Terry he’d have to hit her again and asked
her to bring him the hammer. The sight of
the bloody hammer unnerved Terry, so she
brought him the bread knife, instead. He
took it, went into the kitchen, and stabbed
Mrs. Gresh “a few times.”

He and Terry “cleaned up the mess”
with rags, took $13 from her mother’s hand-
bag, then lifted the body into the tub,
covered it with blankets and the lid. Billy
said Terry stayed in the flat alone for two
nights, before going to New Jersey. When
she came back they had more love trysts
in the apartment, “pitched a few parties.”

At this point, Billy recalled an incident,
laughing as he told about it. “One night,
one of the kids asked me what caused the
smell in the kitchen. I said, ‘Terry’s mother
gave us a hard time and I had to kill her,’
The kids thought I was kidding, but they
stayed out of the kitchen, like I warned
them to.” :

It was the following day that he bought
the plaster, mixed it, and poured it over
the body, thinking it would kill the stench.

Since extradition papers had to be signed
by the Secretary of the Navy, it was April
7th before Billy Byers was returned to
New York, where he and Terry were in-
dicted by a New York County grand jury
on charges of murder in the first degree.

With Judge Jonah J. Goldstein presiding,
their trial began on January 6, 1955, and
for more than two weeks, New York news-
paper readers were treated to a diet of
sensational testimony. The case went to the
jury at 10:25 p.m. on January 20th.

Forty-nine minutes later they announced
that they had reached a verdict. When
they filed back into the courtroom, the
foreman stood up and, as the clerk asked,
separately, the verdict for each defendant,
his answer was the same: “Guilty as
charged.”

Billy Byers was sentenced to die in the
electric chair at Sing Sing. ;

Theresa Gresh was treated more lenient-
ly because of her age. For her, the sentence
was 20 years to life.

After numerous appeals had failed, Billy
Byers was finally executed in the: death
chamber at Sing Sing on January 12 1956.

So ended the sorry saga of teenage crime
and passion, o¢4¢

Clue of i
Discarde

La Porte. But wh
revealed the Son
got vehement.

“Not me, Chief!
that. You gimme
it,’*

“We'll do that,
while, you stay or

When the youth
booked and jugge:
at Sergeant Walla
lice sleuth pursed
probably no,” he
shook him. Let hin
a polygraph test. -
he’s clean and loo

Looking elsewh
was largely devot«
ing the rest of the
ley assortment ot
transients, night-p:
cious characters.
only two or three
They were detain
later checking.

By the day’s end.
Wallace and Chie:
lack of sleep and t
they had got no ea
tion. They decide
plan their campaig

Rested and refr:
spent an hour ear]
ing and rehashing
With so little to go
had to be largely :

Sergeant Wallac:
lifted from garage

Would you p
line every work
police officer in
paid?

TRUE DETECTIVE

State Police headq:
IBM identification
out the cards of al)
Porte County durir
about 1,500. Each cz
be laboriously che
file in La Porte. T
take days, but there
it might pay off. Mi
and Detective Chief
files for known bu
deviates and other
the crime, and assig
out.

Other officers wer
erns remotely near
dence, to see if any
near the murder ti:
tality of the crime s
have committed it.

Meanwhile, a floo
gan pouring into th«
murder spread thri
highly agitated. Det
assigned to check t

Moments later, <
Chief Kramer and §
Top-Notch bakery
night,” the sergean
blocks from Mrs. So
want to check it, yc

Chief Kramer and

Lino, William,

eeil-age lovers

NCE POVERTY-STRICKEN, New York’s Lower East
Side now has a New Look. No longer is it the

wind & oo
White, elec,

ing sing (NYQ 1/12/1956

/
interrogation

Billy laughed at police

“And what would you have me do—me with no keys

_ to the apartments of any one of you?” she demanded.

bloody battleground for the tough gangs of Pro- -

hibition days, the first home in the New World for hordes

of hopeful immigrants pouring in from Europe, or 4 spirit-
ual No Man’s Land where the sick, despairing and defeated

streets, no longer cluttered with pushcarts. Public parks
and new set-back apartments. let in sunlight. Playgrounds
have almost cleared the streets of kids’ playing stickball.
The delinquency rate for this section compares favorably
with 20 years ago, in contrast to the increase almost every-

where else in New York.

But the poor still congregate there. Their pleasures are
not material, but in the spirit of fellowship. They take a

lively interest in the affairs of their neighbors.

To the residents of Avenue B,,a narrow street formerly
winding north and east to the river but now choked off at
14th Street by the tall, middle-income apartments of Stuy-

vesant Town, Mrs. Anna Gresh was a disappointment.

be-spectacled, heavy-set widow in her early 40s, Mrs.
Gresh was seldom at home. Since the neighbors barely

knew her, there was little to gossip about.

Last September Anna and her lively 15-year-old daugh-
ter, Theresa, moved into Apartment 3B, a cold-water,
three-room fiat on the third floor of 199 Avenue B, be-
tween 12th and 13th Streets. Anna paid $32.40 a month

rent for the two bedrooms and kitchen.

Theresa, a buxom 5-foot 6-inch blonde, was a student in
dressmaking and costume design at Mabel Dean Bacon
Vocational High School. She was a popular girl and had
been elected class secretary at the beginning of the spring
term in February. It was her jovial, outspoken manner
that somewhat compensated the neighbors for Mrs. Gresh’s

reticence.

Anna and Térry seldom appeared to be at home at the.

same time. Both frequently were out at night. But they
seemed to get along well. They were, however, opposite

in temperament and interests.

It was not until Friday morning, March 26th, that they
Then the curiosity of their neighbors was
_ aroused by: a sickening stench that filled the hallway out-
side Apartment 3B. The tenants complained to the wife

were missed.

of the. superintendent.

She banged loudly on the Greshs’ door. When there
was no answer, she said to the other tenants, “[’}] have to
be getting the police, then.” ax,

The call came at 11:55 a.M. to Patrolmen Edward Mor-
rison and William Watts of the llth Precinct on Fif
Street, on “Signal 32” over their squad car radio.

Morrison parked before the four-story, gray~-brick tene-
ment on the east side of Avenue B and went up to the
third: floor. Unable to open the Greshs’ ‘apartment door,
he went downstairs, climbed the rear fire escape and en-
tered through a window. :

He was holding a handkerchief over his nose and mouth
when he let Watts in at the front door. “The smell comes
from the kitchen,” he said.

An old-fashioned, rectangular stone laundry tub stood
against the south wall of the kitchen. It was covered by a
loosely fitting porcelain lid. Several dozen empty quart
beer bottles littered the floor beneath it. -

Watts gingerly lifted the lid. Beneath a dark gray quilt
covering something. in the tub, a woman’s stockinged foot

Morrison pulled off the quilt. .The woman’s body,
clothed in a green topcoat, green dress and green gloves,
lay ata 45-degree angle on her right side, her knees dou-
bled up to her chin. A hair net covered her hair. Sev-
eral lacerations were visible on her scalp.

There was water in the bottom of the tub and the body
was covered with a thick white substance which had sqlidi-
fied, holding it in its angular position. A dirty, cream-
colored blanket had been stuffed between the body and the
side of the tub. :

Watts whistled between his teeth. “Never in my years
on the job have I seen: anything like this,” he muttered.

“f don’t know how she died,” Morrison said, “bput-it’s a
cinch she didn’t cement herself in, then pull the lid over
her.” ;

He hurried out to the squad car to radio news of the
murder, while Watts stationed himself at the door to keep
out curious tenants. .

When Inspector Hugh Sheridan, in command of all de-
tectives in Manhattan East, arrived with other police brass,
an officer was burning rags and newspapers in a tin can
in the corner. The odor helped. to counteract the heavy

) vi ir
Nido LN Nd eee 9 f Carn 9

By El M. Hurst

Expert in Criminological Research

The Month Five Years Ago:
January, 1933

EADLINES: Iowa State authori-
-| ties ponder methods for placat~-
ing irate farmers after repeated
iots at mortgage foreclosure sales...
02 businessmen, politicians, gangsters
ind police officers cited for Federal
yrosecution in Chicago as income tax
‘vaders ... Marked increase in felonies
n New York City prompts District
\ttorney Thomas C. T, Crain to plead
or speedier and more certain convic-
ion of guilty in courts.

MURDERS: Larry Fay, notorious
Yew York City night club operator,
hot to death by Ed Maloney, club
loorman, because Maloney was an-
‘ered by “share a job” pay cut. Maloney
‘convicted of manslaughter, sentenced
o eight to sixteen year term...
Julius Green, Los Angeles Negro slay-
-r, picks lock of leg irons and escapes
‘rom Pullman car while en route to
orison, taking guard’s pistol with him.
Newhall, California, officers surround
vuto he commandeers, and shoot him
0 death . .. Rose McCloskey, nineteen,
of Philadelphia, beaten to death in
tity park by “Vampire” attacker who
sritically injures her escort, Dennis
Boyle, 29. Detectives, posing as pet-
‘ers, set trap and finally capture
vagrant who confesses attack to satisfy
iis lust by drinking victim’s blood.

Walter Spatchett, London, England,
cent collector, slain and body set afire.
(dentification made by unburned
laundry mark, Samuel Furnece, in
whose office crime was committed, ar-
rested, but dies a suicide before he
can be taken to trial . . . Thomas
Robert Crawford is shot to death in

gun fight with police at Cape Girardeau.
Missouri. With his sister, Mrs. Irene
Schroeder, blond gungirl, and her lov-
er, Glen Dague, he had murdered
Corporal Brady Paul, of the Pennsyl-
vania State Police, during 1929. Miss
Schroeder and Dague were captured
and executed in Pennsylvania for the
crime during 1931 . ... New York City
detectives mystified in their search for
fiend who stabbed to death four-
months-old Frank Michael Cammar-
ano, in his crib. No apparent motive
... Brutal slaying of Nathan Reigrod,
wealthy New York businessman, whose
body was found in a Richmond, Vir-
ginia, express office where it had been
sent in a trunk, solved with arrest of a
Negro porter he had befriended. Mo-
tive, robbery . . . Evert McCabe, 45,
vice-president of United Parcel Serv-
ice, Inc., shot to death in New York
er apartment by mentally deranged
wife.

ARNET BROTHERTON, riding tu-

tor, shot to death at Port Rich-
mond, Staten Island, by Harvey Perry,
Coast Guard warrant officer, who con-
fesses killing was outcome of quarrel
over affections of Mrs. Perry... Brad-
way Brown, young Philadelphia so-
cialite, found slain mysteriously at his
suburban home. Police suspect suicide
but family insists it was murder
Months later robber-killers apprehend-
ed by Detective Ellis Parker ...Cleve-
land police accuse arson gang of five
men, which sought to burn barber
supply office for $20,000 insurance, of
setting fire which destroyed Ellington
apartments, with loss of thirteen lives
. . . Pencil dropped at scene of his
attack traps Lloyd Price, Negro psy-

re | .

1933: Philadelphia was shocked
when youthful Bradway Brown,
left, was slain at his suburban
home, above. An officer examines
the death weapon at right, above

chopath,-a ital rape-slayer o
year-old Helen Sterler, in cellar .
dwelling near her Brooklyn, New York,
home ... Charred body of woman
discovered still smouldering, near
Spring Valley, New York, identified as
that of Mrs. Lena Canori, of Lodi, New
Jersey. Her husband, Frank, confesses
slaying and setting body afire.
ROBBERIES: Four men sentenced
to death and three others to long prison,

1928: Lyman F. Barber, Los An-
geles mining engineer, above, was
decoyed from mine building, un-
der arrow, held for $15,000 ran-
som; escaped after four killings

ope

By Detective
FELIX B.
DE MARTINI

Noted Private
Investigator

As told to
RICHARD HIRSCH

: ELIX, you always say that we call you in after
the case has grown told: well here's one that you
can’t complain about. A call just came in that
some one has been found dead in the woods off the
State road near Mount Ivy, and it looks like

murder.”

The speaker, District Attorney Harry Stebbins of Rock-
land County, New York, had just entered the restaurant in
New City where | had gone for a bit of lunch on the after-
noon of January 26th. As he was speaking | put down
my napkin, and reached for my hat.

“Sheriff Tom Farley and Depa) Eddie Gleason are
waiting outside. You can start immediately,” continued
Stebbins.

The car was drawn up to the curb, its powerful motor
humming softly. 1 nodded to the men inside. Their faces
were tense and eager, and there was an undercurrent of ex-
citement in my own voice as I said good-by to Stebbins.
We were silent as the car started over the State highway,
past the neat red barns that formed bright splashes of color
in the winter landscape. Snow had fallen earlier in the day
and covered the ground with a thin blanket, but as we rolled
along the sun began to break through the patches of woolly
gray clouds.

“| hope we get there before this snow melts,” | remarked.

Sheriff Farley said something to the driver. The car
leaped ahead.

A few minutes later, as we raced around a well-banked
curve, there came into view a cluster of parked cars.

“Here we are,” said the Sheriff. “That's the Coroner’s
car over there.” He pointed to a big black coupé, bearing
an official seal above the license plate.

Our car rolled gently to a halt and we sprang out.

“Keep everyone back,” | said, as I passed two local police
officers who came up for instructions.

A crowd of curious spectators stood in the open field.
looking across to where a huge gray rock, an erratic boulder
deposited by some glacier ages ago, raised its massive bulk
against the fringe of trees. The only indication that any-
thing was wrong was a wisp of smoke which curled lazily
in the air. from behind the rock wall

July 12, 1934

Detective Felix B. De Martini,
co-author. His deft sleuthing
brought to light astounding facts
in the baffling enigma of the
murdering phantom of Spook
Rock. Playing a hunch, he
trapped the wily killer into dis-
closing his last trick

“Spook Rock,” said Sheriff Farley. “Looks as if a new
ghost will haunt it.”

As we approached the boulder, which was some two
hundred feet from the road, | saw that we had arrived none
too soon, for already the snow was melting away in patches,
disclosing the bare earth and the dead yellow grass beneath.
We followed a slushy trail made by those who had preceded
us, but out of the corner of my eye | noticed that there
was another set of footprints, running almost parallel to
our path. When I looked closer I could see the heavy, blunt
imprints of a man’s shoe, and the smaller, lighter marks
made by a woman.

We were walking to the rock from the north side, when
suddenly a figure stepped out from behind it, looked at
us and waved. It was the local Police Chief, Abe Stern

“It’s a torch murder,” he said as we Came near

1 sniffed the air. Jt was rank with the smell of gasoline
and acrid burning.

The Coroner, Doctor Dingman, was standing over some-
thing black and charred which was stretched out on the
ground in the shadow of the huge rock. On either side were
the stumps of two trees, now blackened and smoldering
charcoal, from which gray smoke was still curling. The
wall of the rock was blackened and scorched by what evi-
dently had been a white-hot fire.

When | saw what was lying on the ground | knew that
the case would be a tough one. The fuel for the blaze was

FACTS ABOUT THE

MASTER DETECTIVE, April, 1938

funt

arks

hen
1 at
ern

sline

yme-
the
Were
TINnL
The

evi-

that
Was

(Above) The mystery victim.
Who was she? What was the
sinister secret that lay behind
the riddle of the burning wo-
man? (Left) Beneath the eerie
shadow of Spook Rock lies the
victim’s body. Leaning against
the huge boulder is Chief of Po-
lice Abe Stern, one of the first
to reach the murder scene, shown
with a fellow officer

the body of a woman. She was lying on her stomach, head
arched, elbows thrust forward, and her position on the
ground was that of a boy playing mumbly-peg. The fire
had done its work well, for the face was as featureless as
4 charred football, and her body blackened.

“Find any identification, Doc?” | asked the Coroner.

He looked up with tired eyes and shook his head.

“Pay particular attention to the teeth, please,” | asked
him. “We may have to rely on dental charts to find out who
this woman is.”

| ran my eyes over the ground. Near the rock was a
circular indentation in the snow. | measured it and then
went to the other side of the boulder, the south side. From
here the blunt imprints of a man’s shoe were still evident
in the fast disappearing snow. They led in a direct line to
the road.

“Two up and one back,” I said to Sheriff Farley. “We
want the person who made those back tracks.”

Then | turned to a close examination of the body, but
the ravenous flames had left few things unscathed. Near
the head | found a patch of green wool, and around the
neck fluttered a ring of fuzzy material and a wisp of black-
ened gauze. On the ground near the rock was a patch of
yellow. flowered silk.

“Not bad for a start,” | remarked. “So far we can as-
sume that she wore a green knitted hat. a vellow, flowered
dress and a fur-piece.”

| then looked at the bony remnants of the woman’s hands,
that once had been strong with life. On the second and
third fingers of the left hand were two thin gold bands, and
on the third finger of the right hand was a ring setting from
which the stone was missing.

“Jewelry is always a help,” I said to the Coroner. “We
may crack this after all.”

I noted that the legs had been less damaged by the fire,
and that one pair of silk stockings remained practically in-
tact except for a scorching. At the ankles were the silk
threads of an extra pair of stockings. I looked at the wom-
an’s shoes; they were worn and had been half-soled.

When | rose to my feet, | nodded to the Coroner's men
who had been standing by with a stretcher, waiting for me
to conclude my examination. Carefully they lifted the
body on to the canvas, and | placed the bits of wool, silk
and gauze in envelopes for future reference.

“I'll see you later at the Morgue,” | said to the Coroner

“as he pulled on his heavy gloves and prepared to leave. “I'll

be interested in learning the cause of death,” I told him, for
the condition of the body was such that it was impossible
to determine by superficial examination whether the woman
had been stabbed, shot or poisoned. There were no blood-
stains visible on the ground, as the fire had blackened every-
thing. Neither could the victim's age be judged, although
| had an opinion on that point.

“What next?” asked the Sheriff, as the stretcher bearers
trudged away.

“We'll search the ground,” | said “and try to find out
where those footprints started from. You take the north
set, I'll take the south.”

We started out, keeping an eye open for clues, but the
earth was bare of anything except the faint outline of the
footprints. As we followed them toward the road, they
began to converge, and the Sheriff and I drew closer to-
gether. At last we stood a few feet apart on the edge ol
the highway. Here, on the soft clay shoulder of the road,
we both saw the same thing.

In the mud was a criss-cross of auto tracks. At one spol
they were deeply rutted, and fragments of earth had been
thrown up to the rear as though a tire had spun there in an
effort to grip the ground. Judging by the depth of the rut,
the wheel had spun futilely for some time.

We examined the tread markings and traced them up to
a point where another type of tread showed. Here, too, a
wheel had gripped the road shoulder and left a heavy im-
print. Then it faded off to the macadam surface and the
markings were lost.

“What do you make of it?” asked the Sheriff.

| studied the markings carefully for a while before an-
swering.

“Probably a car went off the shoulder of the road, bogged
down and had to be towed out.” | pointed to the second
tread we had found. It was wider than the other. “it
seems to me as though a truck came here, and this heavy
imprint was caused by the first slight spin of the wheel try-
ing to get started while pulling out the stalled car. [It may
have a connection with the case, and it may mean nothing.
Anyway, it's something to start on.”

ihe Sheriff nodded. “There are a few houses down the
road,” he said. “Maybe some one saw a Car being towed
away, and we can get a line on what it’s all about.”

We got into the car, and after driving for about hal! a

‘slowed down, a young

48 Master

mile, came to a cottage. It commanded a good view of the
road. We asked the woman of the house whether she had
seen a car being towed.

“1 haven't been outside the kitchen all morning,” she
said. “But when Mr. Hill, the milkman, stopped by here
toward noon, he told me that there was a car in trouble
up the road, and that Harry Fredericks’ truck was trying

to tow it.” tec

“Where does Fredericks live?”

“In Spring Valley.”

“Let's go then,” I said, turning to the Sheriff.

Spring Valley, five miles away, was reached in a short
time. An inquiry at the local police station yielded Fred-
ericks’ address. and we sought him. He seemed astonished
when we introduced ourselves, and readily admitted that he
was the one who had given assistance to the stalled ma-
chine.

“! was driving on the new County Courthouse Road at
about eleven or eleven-thirty, when I saw a light truck
stuck on the side of the highway. An elderly man stood
in the middle of the road ;
waving his hands for me
to stop, and, when |

chap immediately began
to unfasten a rope from
my truck. The old fellow
spoke broken English and
said that he would give
me a dollar to tow him
out. He seemed to be in
a hurry and much upset.”

“And the young man,
what was he like?”

“Dressed in rough
clothes; he looked to me
as if he might -have been
hitch-hiking around. After
| pulled the car out,. the
old man drove away alone,
and the young fellow went
off the road into the
woods.”

“\Which direction?”

“He seemed to be headed
for Spook Rock,” said
Fredericks. “There was
smoke coming from the
woods there, but I didn’t
pay much attention to it.”

wondered what con-
nection the young man had with the mysterious burning.
If smoke was coming from the spot at the time, that meant
that the murder had probably been accomplished. Why
then had he gone to the rock? | questioned Fredericks,
and learned that the youth appeared to be between twenty-
five and thirty years old, weighing about 150 pounds,
smooth-faced, American, and five feet, nine inches in
height.

“Yes, I finished her, and
I’m not sorry. I’d do it
again,” said the enigmatic

fiend (right). Prompted
by a sinister passion to
commit a diabolical crime,
he later boasted of his
heinous handiwork

“Now what about the truck?” I continued, anxious to
clear up this point. “Did you see the license plates?”

“It had New Jersey plates, but | couldn’t get the num-
ber. There was some lettering on the side of the cab. |
recall the name ‘Lodi’ if that means anything.”

Lodi, | knew, was the name of a ‘Guat town in Northern
New Jersey. Possibly the truck had come from there.
When | questioned Fredericks further, | learned that the
machine was a Model-T Ford, an open-body dump model
with solid rubber tires.

“The truck drove away and I followed for.a while, but
I lost it at the cross-roads,” said Fredericks.

Further than this, Fredericks knew nothing of the events
that had taken place in the vicinity of Spook Rock.

“Now we have two trails to pick up,” I said to the Sheriff.
“One is the fellow who went off into the woods and the
other is the man with the trpck. Suppose we see the milk-
man, Mr. Hill, and find out what he can tell us.”

We learned that Frederick Hill, who operated a milk
route that covered the district near Spook Rock, lived in
Tallman, eight miles away. Once more we set out. We

Detective

found Hill unloading empty milk cases from his truck. An
overalled helper stood near by. Sheriff Farley explained our
mission, and Hill looked at us with quizzical eyes.

“It’s a funny thing about that truck,” he said. “We
passed it this morning on the Crossing road. The radiator
was steaming over and, as we came near it, a woman waved
for us to stop. When I slowed down she asked the way to
Paterson. | gave her the direction and forgot about the
incident, But an hour later when we were making deliveries
along the County Courthouse Road, | could swear that | saw
the same truck, only the woman wasn’t there.”

The Sheriff and I exchanged glances.

“Did you see a young man on the truck at any time?” |
asked Hill.

“No, there was only one man; he was elderly.”

Hill had not been able to see the license number, nor had
he noticed any lettering on the truck. “If the woman had
been in it the second time I saw it, | would swear that it
was the very truck that | met earlier.”

| thought | knew why the woman was missing the second
time, but again I won-
dered what connection the
younger man had with the
case. It was evident that
he had not been on the
Ford truck before it had
stalled, nor had he been
seen on it after it left the
scene. Had he met the
old man by accident after
the machine stalled, or
was the meeting at Spook
Rock a rendezvous with
murder as the objective?

“There may be others
who saw the young man,”
I said to the Sheriff. “At
any rate we'll have to look
for him. Suppose you
check back on everyone
who passed the scene, and
find out who was the first
to discover the body. I'll
take a spin over to New
City and watch the au-
topsy.”

The Sheriff agreed, and
after leaving me at New
City, he went back to
Mount Ivy, and | went
to find Doctor Dingman.

As I stepped into the Morgue building, | saw a group
of reporters from the New York newspapers. When they
spotted me, they gathered around, asking questions.

“We hear a debutante was taken for a ride.”

“Did you find the tire tread of a station wagon?”

“How old is she?”

“What's her name?”

I stepped out of the circle and waved my hand. “Sorry,”
I said, “but you may be disappointed. We have only made
a superficial examination, but I can say that she was no
debutante. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see how the autopsy
is coming on.”

Doctor Dingman and his assistant, Doctor Alexander W.
Sellman, were working in their shirt-sleeves over the charred
mass on the autopsy table.

“She was dead when the body was set on fire,” said the
Coroner as | came toward him.

“Then what killed her?”

The doctor pointed a steel forceps to the shrunken neck.

“Ripped from ear to ear. The carotid arteries were com-
peel severed. It takes a lot of strength and a sharp

nife to do that in one blow. Here are some things that
might interest you,” he added, indicating a white-enameled
tray.
I looked at it. Ranged in a neat row were the woman's
three rings, detachable bridgework from the upper jaw, a
ellow chain to which was attached a yellow metal locket,
jeweled with white stones set in a crescent and star. There
was also a cloth packet, streaked with blood, which upon
being opened proved to be a prayer, (Continued on page 62)

Vincent Canora (Jeft), who
identified the jewelry found
on the slain woman’s body,
and gave the authorities
helpful information

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f "(Continued “from: page 9)

| FLASH! GET THE STAREY-EYED KILLERS

the Logan girl, and his eyes were par-
ticularly prominent.

Pinnell indicated the next sentence
of the teletype message from Buffalo.
‘Hammons’ arms are scratched and
bruised,” he read aloud.

Gehrig was impressed. “Might have
been the result of the battle Miss Logan
put up. Get a call thrcugh to Buffalo
pclice.”

Questions put to the priscner by po-
lice in the northern New York city on
instructions from Pinnell revealed that
Hammons claimed to have left his home

in Long Island the previous week-end. °

“Sounds like an alibi,” Gehrig said.
“Can he prove it?”

Pinnell put several more questions
to Buffalo police. then turned to the
prosecutor. “Hammons says he rode up-
state in a box car. He can't recall
whether anyone saw him leave Glen
Cove last Saturady morning.”

“Ask Buffalo police to hold him,”
Gehrig decided quickly. “We'll return
him for closer examination.”

Detectives William Graeber and John
Gsell left immediately by plane with
instructions to bring Hammons to Min-
eola as quickly as possible.

Despite the promising leads, Pinnell
and Gehrig continued their routine
search of the Flower Hill neighborhood.
Every resident was being questioned.

Four mine detectors, borrowed from
Army authorities, were pressed into use
and experts covered the territory in a
search for the murder weapon. Gehrig
reasoned the killer might have discarded
the revolver after fleeing the Logan
estate and the instruments designed for
warfare were adapted to peacetime
service. Use of the detectors uncovered
quantities of wire and metallic junk.
But no nickel-plated revolver,

Pinnell turned his attention to run-
ning down the lead supplied by Buffalo
police. A squad of detectives went to
Glen Cove and made inquiries concern-
ing Hammens. Klick was brought to
headquarters to be present when the
Suspect was flown in from the up-state
city.

But again patient investigation exon-
erated rather than trapped a youthful
prisoner. He proved conclusively that
the scratches on his arms had been in-
flicted in a brawl which occurred the
Previous Sunday in New York. Friends
and neighbors in Glen Cove reported
that he had left that town, as he had
claimed, on Saturday. P

And Klick was unable to identify him
as the man he had seen fleeing after
the crime.

Hammons was held for further exam-
ination, however, while detectives sought
to find evidence that the suspect” had
been in the Flower Hill neighborhood.
His employment record was studied.
Neighbors of the Logans were brought
to headquarters to attempt an identifi-
cation.

Nassau Police Commissioner John M.
Beckmann and Inspector William K. Al-
len became actively associated with the
case on Monday, five days after the
crime had been committed. With Pin-
nell and Gehrig, they went over every
scrap of evidence that had been obtain-
ed.

The prosecutor held to his original
theory. “The killer was well acquainted
in the neighborhood,” he _ insisted.
“Every fact points to that.”

“But we've interviewed everyone in
Flower Hill and in the surrounding
towns,” Pinnell pointed out. “And we

haven’t uncovered a single lead. The
man with the staring eyes just isn’t
known inthe vicinity.”

The captain consulted: his records
which showed that more than two hun-
dred persons had been. detained and
questioned. The same number of alibis
had been checked. “Every person who
lives in the area has cooperated,” he
added. “If the killer is one of them, or
if he’s an employe, he’s covered his
trail well,”

“That’s exactly the point,” Gehrig
said. “The man who committed this
crime isn't a known criminal. If he lives
in this neighborhood he's regarded as
a peaceable citjzen .. . ”

“Hew about the staring eyes?” Beck-
mann cut in. “Surely that description
wculd be applicable.”

Gehrig shook his head. “Not neces-
sarily. Let’s assume the killer has bestial
mocds. Only then would his eyes have
the glitter described by Miss Logan.”

Pinnell’ was inclined to agree with
this reasoning. “There aren’t any known
sex maniacs or dope addicts in the vi-
cinity,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean
there isn’t cne. He may be a man who
appears entirely sane and normal to
his neighbors.”

The prosecutor consulted the chron-
ological data which had been prepared
from the statements of Miss Logan,
Klick, and Mrs. Delebra. “Here’s some-
thing!” he exclaimed. “The girl and
her mother drove Logan to the Plan-
dome station on the morning of the
crime. Suppose somebody saw them
leave, then cbserved the two women re-
turning alone.”

“Not very likely,” Pinnell said. “The
Legan estate is almost completely con-
cealed from the road by trees and shrub-
bery.”

“The observation could have been
made at the station,” Gehrig said. “The
killer might haye been there, too, and
saw Logan board the train. He’d have
known, then, the women would return
home alone.”

The fcur officials discussed all angles

.of this suggestion and agreed that it

might be a helpful deduction, “We're
still holding Hammons,’ Beckmann
pcinted out. “Possibly we can show that
he was in the vicinity of the station.
All ‘we need is a fact like that to break
down his alibi.”’

Pinnell went to work on the sugges-
tion without delay. He drove to Nas-
sau Hospital and was allowed to inter-
view: Marjory Logan briefly. The girl
was recovering satisfactorily and was
able to answer a few questions.

At the captain’s insistence, she re-
called the names of the persons whom

But you wouldn’t necessarily have
known him.”

paren returned to his headquar-
ters in Mineola and relayed the re-

sults of the interview to Gehrig. The,

Prosecutor was impressed. “Perhaps
we're beginning to piece this puzzle to-
gether,” he said. “It’s true that a chauf-
feur might have seen Logan get on the
train. His employer would also board
it. That would leave the chauffeur with
the car. He could drive to the Logan
estate and... ”

“That might explain his quick es-
cape,” the captain interrupted. “He’d
have parked the car nearby. Possibly
he was heading for it when Klick passed
him.”

“Right,” Gehrig said. “That incident
at the Inwcod bank might mean some-
thing, too, The chauffeur would be able
to make another getaway in his em-
Ployer’s car. At the same time he'd have
a certain immunity from suspicion be-
cause people might recognize the car
and never connect its owner with the
crime.”

The captain agreed to work on the
angle. “We've got a good ‘description,”

she had casually noticed at the Plan-

dome station. “There were some whom
I didn’t recognize,” she admitted,

“We're not interested in them,” Pin-

nell said quietly. “Our theory is that 4
scmeone who knew you saw your fa- “

ther board the train.”

“But I didn’t recegnize the murder-
er,” she objected. “If I knew him I'd
be able to tell you who he is.”

The captain realized Marjory Logan
had made an important point. “Most
of the Flower Hill residents were driven
to' the station by members of their
families, or by chauffeurs, weren’t
they?”

The girl nodded.

“That might square with the facts,”
the captain exclaimed. “One of the
chauffeurs might have recognized you.

¢c
fom i

he said. “Also the Logan girl noticed
that the killer held the revolver in
his left hand. Perhaps he’s a southpaw.
Or in any case he’s used to working
with both hands. Sounds like a me-
chanic or a waiter.”

“A butler!” the prosecutor exclaim-
ed. “Look for a combination chauffeur
and butler.”

Pinnell briefed his men. They visited
every person whom Marjory Logan re-
membered having seen at the station.
These residents were able to recall other
passengers on the train and gradually
the identity of everyone at the Plan-
dome station on the morning of the
murder was learned.

On Friday morning, almost ten days
after the crime, Pinnell telephoned the
prosecutor. “I think I’ve got a lead,” he
said, “One of the, men who boarded the
train with Logan was Joseph M. Rose.
He’s a broker and his home is only
half a mile from the Logan estate.”

“Yes?” Gehrig prompted.

“He employs a combination butler
and chauffeur,” the captain continued.
“The man drove him to the station
that morning.”

Pinnell added that his detectives had
made a thorough study of the employe.
He was Ward Beecher Caraway, a 23-
year-old former Army private, who had
been employed by Rose on July 3.

“Any definite clues to connect him
with the crime?” Gehrig asked.

“Not yet. We're keeping him under

eae,

"Let's hold the dame for ransom."

OE€eN

AKES

said.

“The man was no stranger,’ Gehrig
insisted. “He came to the house at a
time when he knew only the women
would be there. The speed with which
he entered and escaped indicates he
was familiar with the layout of the
place... ”

Logan shook his head. “The descrip-
tion of the man doesn’t sound familiar
in any respect,” he said slowly.

“The fact that he disappeared within
half an hour after he was seen on the
road by the painter means something,”
Gehrig continued. An idea occurred to
him. “Perhaps he’s employed on a near-
by estate. That would explain how he
could have eluded the police net.”

“You mean he didn’t have to get
through it?” Logan said.

“Exactly! My hunch is that the killer
is still in the vicinity. But he’s a man,
for some reason or other, who’s above
suspicion.”

Gehrig returned to headquarters and
discussed his theory with Pinnell. The
captain nodded. “I’ve been figuring
along those lines myself.” He explained
the incident at the bank in Inwood.
“Tf it was the killer who changed that
fifty-dollar bill,” he concluded, “we've
got further proof that he’s well ac-
quainted with the neighborhood. The
visit to the bank was well timed. And
the escape was as complete as that after
the crime was committed yesterday.”

Pinnell then recounted his conversa-
tion with the Greenwich police chief.

Handcuffed to a detective, sus-
pect is taken to scene of crime.

swers the description of the killer,” he:

“If Barnes is the killer,” he concluded,
“the man who changed that fifty-dollar
bill had nothing to do with the crime.”

“We'll know more about that when
we talk to Barnes,” Gehrig remarked.
“IT think we can expect to receive doz-
ens of similar messages. There'll be a
suspect picked up in every state in the
east.”

The prosecutor’s prediction proved to
be accurate. Before evening, half a doz-
en messages from police departments in
New York, Pennsylvania, and New Jer-
sey were received at Mineola. Careful
checking eliminated most of the men
who had been picked up as suspects.

Barnes was escorted into headquar-
ters by detectives who had gone to
Greenwich to return him for question-
ing. Although he admitted having been
in the vicinity of New York at the
time of the Logan crime, the man in-
sisted he had no connection with it.

Klick was summoned to headquarters
and for several minutes he scrutinized
the suspect. “His eyes might answer
the description given by Marjory Logan.
But he’s a foot shorter and much heavier
than the man I saw on the highway.”

After further checking, Barnes was
released. But not before another prom-
ising lead had been received.

Police in Buffalo, New York, arrested
a man who gave his name as Michael
J. Hammons, 22-years-old, of Glen
Cove, Long Island. He wore a green
sport shirt, similar to that described by

(Continued on page 42)

Though grievously wounded by the killer, former Wac Marjory
Logan put the finger on the gunman with her keen description.

On the morning of July 24, 1946, murder and assault ran riot
in this palatial home in an exclusive suburb on Long Island.

. iA

—— or

te St Eats, Seay

close surveillance, though.”
“Have you checked on his move-
ments the morning the fifty dollar bill
was changed at the Inwood bank?”
Gehrig asked. ;
“That's another peculiar coincidence,”
Pinnell said. “He left the house that
morning with the car and returned about
eleven a. m. He'd have had time to
stop at the bank, change the bill, and
return withcut attracting any attention.”
Gehrig hesitated. He realized that
residents of the vicinity had been ter-
rcrized by the fear that there might
be ancther outbreak of violence by
the killer. Doors and windows were kept
locked. No unidentified man would be
admitted to any home. “I don’t. want
to make an arrest and discover later that
Caraway isn’t the guilty man,” he said
slowly. “That would start a wave of
hysteria throughout the district. Every-
cne wculd suspect, their employes, and
“We can take care of that angle.”
Pinnell said. He cutlined a plan to
which the prosecutor readily assented.

AT afternoon the detectives who
were ki

watch on the Rose home were joined
by Gehrig and*Pinnell. With them was
Klick.

The men stationed themselves in the
thick shrubbery near the house. They
had a good view of the living room
windows where they could observe a
tall, slender man busily engaged serving
tea to afternoon visitors. Klick watched
him intently.

“Well . . . 2?” Gehrig whispered.

Klick drew a deep breath. “I think
that's the man,” he said quietly. “I’m
almest positive of it.”

Pinnell lost no time making the ar-
rest. Caraway, surprised in the midst of
his duties, made no objections when
the captain ordered him to accompany
the detectives to Mineola. The Rose
family and their guests were upset by
the sudden intrusion. They became al-
most frantic when they realized the
chauffeur-butler was a suspect in the
Logan case.

Detectives were sent to search the
man’s room in the rear of the house.
They returned with a light green polo
shirt and a pair ef khaki trousers. .“Ex-
actly the clothing described by Mar-

The suspect stolidly refused to ad-
mit any connection with the brutal at-
tack and murder. But his composure
crumbled quickly when he was taken
to Nassau Hospital.

Marjory Logan glanced at the pris-
oner and an expression of fear and re-
vulsion crossed her features. “That's the
man,” she said briefly.

Caraway was driven to headquarters
where Gehrig questioned him for ‘several
hours. Early Saturday morning the sus-
pect signed a complete confession and,
with the coming of daylight, led de-
tectives to a field near the Rose home
where he had discarded the nickel-
plated revolver. It was recovered. Bal-
listics experts began an examination to
determine whether the shots which had
killed Mrs. Logan and wounded her
daughter had been fired from the gun.

The suspect Hammons was released
immediately after the confession was
signed.

Caraway made a simple and brief
statement. After leaving his employer
at the Plandome station, the killer said,
he returned to the Rose home and took
a revolver from his trunk. Then he

estate. His halting description of the
crime checked with that given by Mar-
jory Logan.

Caraway admitted having seen the
Logan women at the station and no-
ticing that Logan bearded the train.
After the crime he discarded the re-
volver and returned to his employer's
house. The following morning he
changed the fifty dollar bill at the In-
wood Bank. Then, beyond suspicion
since his eyes had not been inflamed
by further maniacal plans, he went
about his duties quietly and efficiently.

Caraway was arraigned before Judge

Albert C.. Moore in the Mineola court-
house on a charge of murder. Present-
ing the evidence, Gehrig said the sus-
pect was sane. The prisoner waived ex-
aminaticn and was taken to Nassau
County jail pending action by the grand
jury.
After receiving reports of ballistics
experts that the fatal slug had been
fired from Caraway’s revolver, Gehrig
made plans to convene the grand jury
for a special hearing on August 13.

After their action the case will be
moved to trial when a jury will decide
the guilt or innocence of this self-con-

jory Logan,” the captain

murmured.

on Long Isalnd. You can check there
with those people.”

‘We will,” Linarducci promised. “It’s
awfully funny the Chevvy was taken
cut by somebody who didn’t even have
to go to the trouble of breaking into
your garage.”

Radford turned this cver in his mind.
“There’s one guy who has a key,” he
said finally. “He's borrowed the car a
few times to take his girl friend out.
His name’s Harry Simmens.”

Simmons lived at a rooming house
address on Morris Avenue in Newark.
He. like Faria and Coller, had a police
record.

A full-blcoded Indian, he was a na-
tive of Oklahoma who had migrated to
the East some years before. He'd been
nailed by the law once for stripping
a car, but a grand jury failed to indict
him. Then in December of 1934 he had
been tagged in a $3000 merchandise
theft from a truck and had drawn a
two-year stretch in the New Jersey
prison.

Near the end of this sentence he had
been transferred to the Rahway reform-
atory, and had been paroled from there
just about a month after Faria’s term
had expired.

A team of detectives went to the
Morris Avenue house, and Simmons was
arrested for questicning. Tall, thin, with
deepset dark eyes, he sneered at the of-
ficers.

“Trying to frame me? What's this
phcny rap?”

“It’s no phony, Simmons,” Linarducci
assured him. “This is the big one—
murder. The cop in the East Orange
restaurant.”

“No good,” the Indian rejoined. “I
got no part of that deal, You guys
get better and better at imagining
things.”

“We didn’t dream up the car you
drove away from there,” the Essex
Ccunty homicide captain said, “even
if Al Faria did tie his handkerchief
over the rear license plate.”

Linarducci took out the square of
white cloth with its wrinkled corners.

We found the jaleppy where you
ditched it. Faria’s blood was all cver
the cushions.” Linarducci figured a

white lie or two would not hamper the
cause of justice. “We know it was Fa-
ria’s because we had it typed.

“Now you were a pal of Faria’s at
Rahway. What’s more you had the only
cther key to Radford’s garage. And he
said you used his machine while he
was away.”

“You're way ahead of yourself, cop-
per,” Simmons retorted. “I don’t know
where Radford’s car was Saturday night
cr Sunday merning. I don’t know where
Al Faria was, either. All I do know is
where I was at—and that was with my
girl. You can ask her if you like.”

“We will,” Captain Linarducci prom-
ised. “Until we get her answer, though,
ycu're going to be our guest in a cell.”

The girl, Simmons said, was red-hair-

ed Marvis Bourke, who worked as a
filing clerk in the offices of a big in-
surance firm.
_ To haul her out of her place of
emplcyment, both Big Joe and Little
Joe Covczza realized, might imperil the
girl’s job. And, after all, it was barely
possible that for once Simmons was
levelling with the law, They would wait
until five o'clock. .. .

Simmons playing it straight with the
pclice? The investigators handling the
case cast aside any benefit of dcubt in
his balance later that day when the

’ tail assigned to Walter Coller came in

with a report.

The restaurant chain employe had
gone calling. And the address at which
he rang a doorbell, and from which
he turned hurriedly away after a min-
ute’s chat with the landlady, was: the
rcoming house in which Harry Simmons
lived. :

A pickup order went cut on Coller.
Meanwhile cute little Marvis . Bourke
quit for the day and returned home.
There Captain Linarducci and Lieuten-
ant Cocozza were waiting for her.

Big Joe sized her up. quickly. She
was no gangster’s moll, but, seemingly,
a nice young kid who'd been taken for
something of a boat ride by the fast
talking Indian. Linarducci decided to
give her a chance, to take’ from her,
befcre she succumbed to whatever loy-
alty she might feel for Simmons, the
temptation to lie in his behalf.

walked through the woods to the Logan
TERT POR ESAS ‘ i

fessed killer.
; fa

She admitted kncwing Simmons. Then
Big Joe let her have it.

“We know he was in on this killing,”
he said. “We've got his pal down in a
hospital, dying from the bullet the offi-
cer fired before he fell. Faria knows
he’s got only a few hours to live. So
he talked. He implicated Simmons. Now,
kid; don't get off on the wrong foot
with us in a murder chase. Was Harry
Simmons with you Saturday night?”

Marvis looked him straight in the
eye. “He was not,” she said. “I haven't
seen Harry in a week.”

“Good girl,” Little Joe commended.
“Forget you ever knew him.”

Linarducci ran the deathbed confes-
sion of Al Faria on Simmons also. “And
Marvis kicked a hole in that phony
alibi that you could drive a squad car
through. Come on, Harry, and come
clean. It’s your only chance, though it’s
a slim cne at that.”

The Indian knew the jig was up.
Withcut further argument he confessed.
A stenographer took down his words
as he told his story.

Walter Coller was the fingerman in
the deal. From having worked in the
Main Street cafe in East Orange, Coller
knew where the mcney was kept in the
desk drawer in the back room.

It was planned to do the job while
he was on duty at another of the chain’s
shops, so that if police suspected the
stickup was an inside job, he would
have an alibi.

Murder, of ccurse, had had no part
in the criginal plan of the robbery.
And that plan had worked perfectly
until Patrolman Ennis walked into the
Hi-Hat cafe for a cup of coffee to warm
him after his beat in the chill rain.

Both Faria and Simmons had carried
.32-calibre automatics, and beth had
fired at Ennis, so it was never settled
finally as to just which one killed the
officer.

Simmens said both guns had been
thrown into the Passaic River after the
killing of ‘the cop, but divers who ex-
plored the cold depths near where the
Indian said the weapons had been dis-
pesed of failed to find them. But a few
weeks later a tip that oozed up through
the underworld led detectives to a va-

cant house near Simmons’ residence in
Newark, and there the pistols were
found.

Faria did not die in the hospital of
the wound in his midriff. He gradually
grew better and finally recovered com-
pletely.

Meanwhile, Patrolman Ennis had been
given a military funeral befitting a hero.
But most sorrcwful of all the mourners
who walked in the slow cavalcade to
and from the church of Our Lady of
Help of Christians in East Orange was
the faithful mascot of the force whom
his master had sent home out of the
rain just before he himself met death.
Sergeant Terry marched with others of
the department in the shadow of the
flag-draped caisson bearing Ennis’ re-
mains to the grave.

Tom Ennis was shot and killed on
St. Valentine’s morning in 1937.

‘ARIA and Simmons were indicted

for first degree murder, and Coller
was accused as an accessory. Duke
Fistner was jailed for helping to con-
ceal a crime. Radford and Marvis
Bourke, of course, had no guilty con-
nection with the slaying of Ennis; on
the other hand, both won from the po-
lice high commendation for the aid they
had given in solving the case.

New Jersey law does not allow pris-
oners accused of a capital offense to
plead guilty, and so not guilty pleas
were entered for Simmons and Albert
Faria.

Coller was convicted and sentenced
to 15 years imprisonment, but was pa-
roled a little more than six years later.
Fistner got a 15-month term for his
part in the crime, and was paroled the
next year.

On June 9, 1937, a jury convicted
beth Harry Simmons and Albert Fana
of first degree murder, and Judge D.
A. Brennan sentenced both to death in
the chair.

Their appeals failed. At a moment
after midnight on April 1, 1938, Sim-
mons entered the death chamber in the
state penitentiary at Trenton; nine min-
utes later Faria followed his partner in
crime into death.

Editcr’s Note: The names Walter Coller
and Duke Fistner are fictitious because
these men have served their time and
have been released; the names Hector
Radford and Marvis Bourke are also
fictitious, to protect the identity of im-
nocent persons.

said quietly. “He was taken off a freight
in’ the railroad yards here this morn-
ing.”

“Where did the train come from?”
Pinnell asked.

“New York.”

The captain realized that the killer
could have slipped through the police
net on Long Island, crossed to New
York and caught the freight there. But
that would mean the clue furnished by
the Inwood banker was worthless. The
killer couldn’t be in two places at once.

Gleason explained that questioning of
the suspect had established his name as
Carnell Barnes, 30, of Philadelphia. The
man had admitted a previous criminal
record, including convictions for bur-
glary and assault.

“Did you question him about the
Logan crime?” Pinnell inquired.

“Yes,” the chief replied. “Naturally,
he denies any knowledge of it. But
he'll waive extradition to New York.”

Ninety suspects were picked up and questioned only to be released,
while scores of officers scoured the neighborhood for the kill gun.

The prosecutor arrived just as Logan’s
cab pulled into the driveway and the
two men listened grimly to Pinnell’s
report. Logan, an All-America football
star at Princeton in 1912 and an artil-
lery officer in the first World War, had
difficulty in controlling his grief and
rage.

“We've got a description of the kill-
er.” Gehrig told him. “Every facility
will be used in tracking him. down.”

“He can't have gone far,” Pinnell
added. “Every road is blocked and we're
starting to beat through the wooded
areas.”

Gehrig studied the slayer’s descrip-
tion which the captain had noted down.
He was especially interested in the note
on his staring, glittering eyes. “Might
mean a dope addict,” he commented.
“That may be a promising lead.”

Leaving Logan to handle the unhappy
task of making funeral arrangements
for his wife, Gehrig and Pinnell re-
turned to headquarters to direct the
manhunt. During the afternoon half a
dozen suspects were picked up in the
Bonnie Heights Road section, but Klick,
who had seen the killer, was unable
to identify any of them. After their
previous movements had been carefully
checked, they were released.

An eleven-state alarm was broadcast
for the fugitive. His description, with
particular emphasis on the prominence
of his eyes, was detailed. It was noted
that he was wanted for assault, robbery,
and murder, and the alarm added: “Has
in his possession a nickel-plated revolv-
er.

Later that evening laboratory men
reported that a close search of the
Logan residence had failed to provide
any definite clues. There were no fin-
gerprints and apparently the vicious kill-
er had left nothing which might furnish
a hint of his identity.

The condition of Marjory Logan was
described as “fair” by doctors at Nas-
sau Hospital. An operation was per-
formed by Dr. Lawrence Poole, New
York brain surgeon, for removal of a
bullet from her sinus region. Another
slug was taken from her neck. Both
of the pellets and the one taken from
the dead Mrs. Logan's forehead were

sent to New York police laboratories
for study by ballistics experts.

Before the operation was performed,
Gehrig and Pinnell got the surgeon's
permission to question the wounded girl
briefly. She again recoynted the details
of the crime, adding the ‘information
that the slayer escaped with about $110.
One of the bills, she noted, was of fifty-
dollar denomination.

The following morning all. officials
of Long Island and New York banks
were instructed to be on the lookout
for a man resembling the killer who
might attempt to change a fifty dollar
bill. Merchants received similar appeals.

When W. Frank Rhinehart, President
of the National Bank of Inwood, on
Long Island's South Shore, arrived at
his office at 10 a. m., he instructed
his cashiers to note the source of all
fifty dollar bills which came into the
bank.

“I just changed one,” a teller told
him. “The man wanted ten fives for
it!”

“What did he look like?” Rhinehart
asked.

“He was rather tall and lean. There
wasn’t anything especially notable about
him—except for his eyes.”

The banker recalled the police depart-
ment description of the killer. “What
abcut his eyes?” he demanded excitedly.

“They were kind of prominent and
shiny.”

Rhinehart learned that the transac-
tion had occurred only fifteen minutes
before. He hurried into his office and
reached for a telephone.

Captain Pinnell took the message.
“Sounds like the killer,” he said sharply.
He cradled the receiver and sent the
alarm to police radio cars. A squad of
plainclothesmen were dispatched to the
scene and the entire block was sealed.
Every motorist and pedestrian was stop-
ped and questioned. Police began a
search through stores and houses within
a radius of half a mile. But the man
with the staring eyes who had changed
the fifty dcllar bill had vanished.

A bus line between Jamaica and Far
Rockaway passes the bank and it was
believed the fugitive might have taken
one of these vehicles in either direction.

Ward Beecher Caraway helps detectives

find parts of the nickel-plated revolver.

Radio cars overtook the. busses and
examined the passengers. Drivers were
asked to describe all persons who had
boarded their busses in the vicinity of
the bank. °

But again the searching squads drew
a complete blank. Nobody recalled hav-
ing seen the man with the staring eyes.
Fifteen minutes after having changed
the fifty dollar bill he had completely
vanished!

When Pinnell returned to his office
a call from Police Chief John M. Glea-
son of Greenwich, Connecticut, was
awaiting him. “We've picked up your
man with the staring eyes,” the chief

Pinnell dispatched two detectives to re-
turn Barnes to Nassau County.

ROSECUTOR Gehrig, during the

morning, had questioned Logan, Mrs.
Delebra, and residents of the Flower
Hill section. He held a theory that the
killer must have been familiar with
the neighborhood and the routine of
the Logan household. The district at-
torney sought a link between previous
employees of the Logans or their friends
and the murderer.

But Logan could suggest no leads.
“We've never had an employe, or an
acquaintance for that matter, who an-

. D

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De Bellis
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°S

RAIDS « a

HIRSCH

With a slender: surgical knife, Hochman recovered a steel-
jacketed .32 caliber bullet which was rushed to the Ballistics
ureau at Police Headquarters.

Immediately upon the death of De Bellis, detectives from
the Homicide Squad, under command of Deputy Chief In-
spector Henry Bruckman, arrived at the Westchester Ave-
nue store and took charge of the case.

“Did your husband have any quarrels recently?” Bruck-
man asked Mrs. De Bellis, whose face was lined with grief
as she clutched her infant to her.

“None!” she exclaimed. “He was always a friendly man,
and made no enemies.”

“T see,” said Bruckman thoughtfully. ‘Well, we'll look
around here a bit,” he added.

But a thorough search of the premises revealed no evi-
dence. Except for the empty cartridge and the recovered
bullet, the killer had left no trace. The fact that the cash
pee was untouched and that money was left on the floor
led the police to believe that the act was the result of a
quarrel or intimidation by racketeers. Detectives familiar
with the workings of the Italian vendetta were assigned to
the case, but as weeks passed they uncovered nothing which
would involve De Bellis. The possibilities of racketeerin
i were investigated and likewise proved barren o
results.

A little less than a month after the mysterious murder of
De Bellis, on the evening of April 2nd, in the living-room of
an apartment at 850 Hewitt Place, five men sat around a
table covered with green baize. Cards in hand, they were
tense as they watched the progress of the play with sup-

ressed emotions. Stacks of bills and coins lay in careless
eaps upon the table, and, as the game went on, the stakes
mounted.

“Another raise for me,” said a heavy-jowled young man
who sat facing the door. It was Ralph Rosello, the owner
of the apartment. His pudgy hand pushed three bills into
the center of the table. The man next to him reached to-
ward his pile. He smiled slightly and was about to say
something when he was interrupted by the doorbell:

“See who it is, Rodriguez,” said Rosello.

August Rodriguez placed his cards on the table and went
to the door.

“It’s Charlie Kane and a friend,” he called back, after
he had peered through the partly opened door.

“Tell him to come in and join us,” said Rosello.

The door opened wide and two men walked into the
room. Their overcoats were turned up and their hats were
jammed low over their eyes.

“Hello Charlie,” said Rosello, puzzled at the silent en-
trance of the man whom he had met two weeks previously
at a card game.

“Never mind that, do as I tell you,” burst out Charlie in
a rasping voice. His right hand shot out from his coat
pocket. In it was a black automatic.

Momentarily hypnotized by the sight of the gun, Rosello
and the others sat still in their chairs as Charlie’s hand
pointed menacingly at them.

“Line up against the wall,” came the brusque command.
Chairs scraped as the players, hands above their heads,

PHANTOM SIX

Assistant District Attorney Sol Boneparth of the
Bronx, New York City. By a clever ruse he forced
a murderer to betray himself

sprang to obey. Charlie’s companion stood by him, his
right hand in his overcoat pocket. Charlie’s eyes spoke his
displeasure as he surveyed the group lined up before
him.

“Stand back,” he called to Rosello. His eyes wide with
excitement, Rosello edged closer to the wall. As he did so
he came into contact with the sizzling radiator and a sear-
ing pain shot through his leg. Involuntarily he started for-
ward and dropped his hand.

“Get back!” screamed Charlie.

His gun hand trembled and suddenly a roaring spat of
flame shot from the barrel. Rosello’s face contorted; his
hands clutched at his chest. The others watched in horror
as they saw him sag slowly to the floor.

Without hesitation, Charlie’s omen scooped up the
money lying on the table and, pulling Charlie with him,
fled from the apartment.

Low moans from Rosello roused the card players into
frenzied activity. They hurried to assist him. While they
lifted him to a couch, the fleeing bandits made good their
escape.

Patrolilian jour” P. McGuire of the 42nd Precinct, an-
swered the call for help. He arrived at the apartment in

CARRION, Alex & NEGRON, Frank, elec. NY (Bronx)
August 24, 1933 Beit

thick fingers worked in spasms as
they sought to grasp something
which would sustain his ponderous With a
bulk. His white apron was pierced jacketed
by a small, dark hole, rapidly Bureau
staining crimson. Imme
“Madre mio,” she screamed. the Hon
“What happened to you?” spector
De Bellis’ mouth quivered as he nue stor
struggled to speak. In his eyes “Did
was a look of mute appeal. Be- man ask
fore he could utter a word, his jaw as she c
sagged and he tumbled headlong “None
to the floor. and ma
Mrs. De Bellis glanced at his “T see
fluttering eyelids, and ran to the around
sidewalk, shrieking. In a few mo- But a
ments an excited crowd gathered dence.
around her. Frantic with grief, she bullet, t
led them to her husband. Two register
friends, Albert Meyer and Louis led the
Caricelli, finding that De Bellis still quarrel
breathed, rushed him to Lebanon with the
ee in a taxicab, the case,
ithin the hour, police set to would i1
work on one of the most baffling influence
shootings that had occurred in the results.
city during the year; a crime with- A litt]
out witnesses. Detectives from the De Belli
42nd Squad of the Morrisania Sta- an apar!
“The bullets that were taken from De Bellis and Rosello were fired from tion were soon swarming through table co
the same .32 caliber automatic,” said Sergeant Henry F. Butts, police the store in their search for clues. tense as
ballistics expert (above), after examining the murder bullet Others visited. the hospital in the ressed «
event that De Bellis should recover eaps uf
consciousness. mounted
' Upon questioning Mrs. De Bellis “Anot
ORTLY Angelina De Bellis hummed softly and a and others who had been in the vicinity it was learned that who sat
gentle smile lit up her careworn face as she rocked a no one had heard a shot or had seen anyone fleeing the of the a)
tiny bundle in her strong arms, on the sidewalk near scene. The first intimation that anything was amiss had the cent
758 Westchester Avenue, New York City. It was been gathered by Mrs. De Bellis when she thought she heard ward hi:
drawing close to midnight. She was waiting for her something fall in the store. As for the others, they had somethir
husband, who at that moment was preparing to close the ., been aroused only by her screams. “See v
small fruit store which supported the family. Examination of the cash register showed that it was in- Augus
“The little bambino grows fat,” Mrs. De Bellis was say- tact and there was no evidence of an attempt to force it to the d
ing to a neighbor as she looked down fondly on the dark- open. A bag of oranges rested on the stand where De “It’s (
haired infant swathed in the blanket. “Her father is a very Bellis had fa len, and on the floor some loose change was he had |
proud...” scattered. Beneath a chair the shell of a .32 caliber car- “Tell |
Suddenly she hesitated, frowning. tridge was discovered by a bystander. This was the first The d
“Did you hear that noise in the store?” she asked. clue given the police as to the manner in which De Bellis room. T!
“Please hold the baby while I have a look,” she added, was shot. j ‘ are jammed
placing the infant carefully in the neighbor’s eagerly out- At Lebanon Hospital, fluoroscopic tests indicated De “Hello
stretched arms. Bellis had a bullet in the abdomen near the liver, His con- trance o}
Mrs. De Bellis hurried to the store which was a few yards dition was hopeless. One hour after his admittance, he at a car
away. The door was open and she looked inside. A bright died, shortly after midnight of March 5th. The police “Neve
electric light glared on the racks of fruit. For a moment watch at his death-bed was fruitless, as he never regained a raspin
she was dazzled by the brightness, then a soul-chilling sight | consciousness. ; ; ; pocket.
greeted her eyes. Floundering helplessly against one of the An autopsy performed by Assistant Medical Examiner Mome
wooden stands was her husband, Thomas, a heavy man Charles Hochman showed that the cause of death was a and the
weighing in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds. His gunshot wound in the abdomen, causing a fatal hemorrhage. ar ine
ine

By RICHARD

Chairs

SNARING NEW YORK’S

7/ (ad [xe

on’t you ae —_ :
a against the. wall separating the two

j “aime > -booths.
tye. i " Actually, he was listening to the con-
; versation next door. He could hear both
ry said, ends of it and was prepared to signal me
, - if it was the extortionist. Mike used a
? No, I gadget that we had rigged up ourselves.
, There is a new device for the deaf that
into the doesn’t use a button. It is a very com-
‘ pact set that fits in the breast pocket and
Frus- » is not apparent to the observer. It
way it amplifies ordinary sound and the waves

go up to the ear. :
We had added some batteries and had

by th .
A sa - a'wire attachment that runs from the

hat. He som. box down the sleeve. On the end, neatly
a booth 4M fitted in the palm of the hand, is a very
in that 9. Sensitive microphone that will pick up

%@ both ends of a telephone conversation

ung up. . and relay them through ‘the hearing
: device,

orrow.” ~~ ce, ‘
up. I } Mike listened to the beginning of many
le Mike conversations that day. As soon as he

it. ‘This ES . had determined that the “extortionist

Intelli- y was not on the phone, he quit listening.
of our & All this time, I was waiting behind the
re. ‘@ frosted glass of the prescription depart-
id hur- & ment, ready to turn on the wire recorder
Street. “3 if our man showed up.
imately 3 All that afternoon we waited for him
tel of to appear. This is another activity that
‘YM you seldom read about in the papers. It
1a ae was dull, unglamorous and monotonous.
: three = But when night came, our man hadn’t
using 3/™g-” come back to make a call and we knew
ies, He | then that we had missed him. It seemed
hat the quite likely that he never called twice
xt that z from the same place. We went to see

3s early .@™ Harry. He had heard nothing else.
3@@ On Saturday afternoon he received an-

Netold «&

other letter by mail, special delivery. It
e after S@m° Tread:
: of his i fy Pve kept an eye on you and you
oration. + seem to be willing to deal without
anand §¥ outside help. That’s good. I’m about
: about ~ ready to close in. Go to your bank

B: and withdraw $2,500 in five- and

to see | ten-dollar bills. Monday after-
lecon- | noon at 3:15, call the’ Hotel Crest-
corded. =) wood, ask to have Professor Whit-
> had, tington paged. That will tell me you
to sit “ have the money. Remain close to
» heard ‘- your telephone for final instruc-
Fi. tions.*
vening, : Prof. Whittington
re. The x *Remember, no police.
rk. Wo ‘a This was all neatly printed ‘in India
phones . ink, like the others, with the exception
he cos- of the line following the asterisk, That
is well . © apparently was an afterthought and it
e ends’. had been written out.
ch we “What’ll I. do now?” Harry asked.
e pre- 4 “We'll let you know,” I told him.
lind aias I put the letter in my pocket with the
J mm «others. ‘That evening, I called at the
igstore {am home of a friend of mine who is a staff
y and & artist for the Daily Chronicle.. We went
antain, “jg. .to his studio and I handed him the let-
good Sam ters. ;
oooths. Samm “Can you tell me anything about the
ntered “| man who wrote those?”
d over 4 ». “It’s apparent that he is better edu-
whady J ) cated than the average hoodlum,” the
>- 9m artist said. “Probably a college man.
1d 3 ') Td also guess that he is a-draftsman.

Look at those (Continued on page 92)

Here are two interesting anecdotes concerning peculiar-* ~~

ities in law dealing with capital punishment in New York...

SHE GOT AWAY
WITH MURDER

. IN 1860 Mary Hartung killed her |

husband, Emil. She was tried and
convicted of murder and was sen-
tenced to be_ hanged.

The judgment of execution was
rendered January 9th, 1860. An

appeal was taken, but before the .

appeal was‘ argued, the Legisla-
ture of the State of New York
passed the act of April 14th, 1860,
repealing certain sections of the
statute as it then existed relating
to capital punishment, but without
writing into the act any saving
clause or provision for punishment
in respect to offenses already com-
mitted.

The Court of Appeals decided
that Mrs. Hartung could not be
punished under either the old law,

WAS IT ILLEGAL?

CHAPTER 499 of the New York
Laws of 1888 included the so-
called Eléctrical Death Penalty
Law. It abolished hanging as of
June 4th, 1888, and instituted elec-
trocution as of January Ist, 1889.
Persons condemned after June 4th
were to wait until the next year
for execution.

William F. Howe, noted criminal
- lawyer, was called upon to defend
Handsome Harry Carlton in the
fall of 1888. Carlton was convicted
after June 4th and before January
‘Ist, of first-degree murder, in the
death of Patrolman Joseph Bren-
nan, :
The killer’s attorney accepted
the verdict calmly, then asked the
judge to read the new law. It pro-
vided, he pointed out, that “elec-
trocution shall apply to all convic-
tions for crimes punishable by
death on or after January 1st.”
The State had already deprived it-

self of the power to jhang. Death .

was the only punishment then pre-
scribed for first-degree murder,
and Howe argued that his client
could not be executed. Further-
more, he declared that an act for

already abolished, or the new law,

since it was not retroactive, and’
as the result of. this decision, al- :

though she had been convicted of

first-degree murder, she went scot-*

free.

This could never happen again, _
however, at least in the State of.’
New York, for a later enactment *

provided that the repeal of a stat-
ute “shall not affect any offense

committed or punishment incurred: .*’’

prior to the time of such repeal.”

—JosEerH E. GINN -

which no penalty can be set is no
crime, and asked that Carlton be

‘set free.

Frenzied study of the law con-
vinced the trial judge that the
faulty wording of the statute “gave
him no power to sentence Carlton
or any other first-degree mur-
derer” for a crime committed be-
tween June 4th and January Ist.
Higher courts studied the case and
ruled that the intent of the legis-
lature must be followed, rather
than the actual wording of the law.

So Handsome Harry was hanged
late in December, 1888. He was
the last person to hang in Tombs
courtyard—and the only man exe-
cuted by U. S. prison authorities

without specific legal provision by

a law-making body. ‘

—Witt Gaytor..

én

“That,” I said, “would just have
been a matter of time. You left enough
clues to nail you eventually.”

Then he asked me if I thought they
would electrocute him. I told him
quite frankly that I did and that they
would.

He pondered that for a minute, then
said: “Well, Ray, I guess I am better
off than you are. ou might walk
across the street and a car kill you.

But are you ready to die?
see, I am.”

Well, you

DAY before his short trial he
handed me a letter to give to

Captain Chris Switzer, then the chief
jailer of the Dade County prison. It
was addressed to his brother, in Jas-
per, Florida.

All letters had ‘to be censored before

they could be mailed. I told him I
would censor it for him.

“No,” he said, “I don’t want you to

know the contents of this until after
my death.”

Nevertheless, I took the letter out-
side and read it. I was amazed to find
that he had made me a part benefi-
ciary of his insurance. He told his
brother that I had been kind to him
and that he wanted his brother to see
that I got some of the money. I showed
the letter to Sheriff Coleman, but not
to the press. It is mentioned here for
the first time. I don’t know what be-
came of the insurance, but I still have
the letter.

McCall went to trial on June 15th,
before Circuit Judge H. F. Atkinson.
He had waived a trial by jury, which
meant that the verdict of the judge
was the equivalent of a jury.

Taking the stand in his own behalf,
he admitted his guilt in full. Asked
if he had mpyihing to say, he bowed
his head and merely said he hoped his
great mistake would be a lesson to all

CARLTON, Harlby, white, hanged New York, NY, Dec. 5, 1889.

other young men. “I thought money
was everything,” he said. “I now know
that it isn’t.”

And right there you have the core
of the whole hideous crime. McCall
wanted money and went out to collect
it the most stupid of all possible ways.

At the end of the less-than-three-

hour trial, Judge Atkinson said: “I.

find that the accused is guilty of the
crime of kidnaping for ransom.”

At 10 o’clock the following morning,
McCall was sentenced to death in the
electric chair at Raiford State Prison.

I had talks with him after his sen-
tence. He did not seem perturbed in
the least. He was as calm as ever,
and showed no fear or worry about his
forthcoming execution. “Why should
anybody be afraid of death?” he asked.

I didn’t have the answer to that and
remained silent.

He was deeply religious, and during
his incarceration he had many visits

WAS THIS SEVEN-MONTH PERIOD OPEN SEASON FOR MURDER?

that no one in New York State could
be hanged after June 4, that electrocu-
tion would be legal after January 1,
1889, and would be applicable to “all
convictions for crimes punishable by
death after that date.”

On July 3, 1888, Handsome Harry

Carlton stood with his gleaming patent-
leather shoe on the brass rail of a
Bowery saloon. He gulped his shot of
nickel bar whiskey (yes, you could get
it for that price then!) and chased it
down with a huge stein of beer. This
was not the first drink that Handsome
Harry had taken that day; nor was it
the tenth.
_ He had been imbibing. steadily for
some four hours, and he was a man of
vast capacity. It was 6 o’clock in the
evening, and the bar was crowded. At
the rear, the free-lunch counter was in
the process of being picked clean.

The alcohol coursed stoutly through
Handsome Harry’s veins and he began
to feel the need for action. A sedentary
minor confidence man _ when_ sober,
Harry Carlton invariably became vio-
lent when drunk.

Neither he nor the district attorney
ever found out what started the brawl
at the free-lunch counter. It began as
spontaneously as a South American
revolution. One second the barroom
was comparatively quiet, and the next
second there was a flurry of fists and
a bedlam of cursing voices.

Handsome Harry Carlton made no
effort to choose a side. He whooped
joyously, reached over. the bar and
snatched the sawed-off baseball bat
which the proprietor used in emergen-
cies, jammed his brown derby down
over his ears and charged into the fray.

He laid about him stoutly, bruising
heads and shoulders indiscriminately,
and was still doing so when Patrolman
Joseph Brennan pushed through the
swinging doors to quell the riot.

Now, in the past, Handsome Harry
Carlton’s relations with the Law had
hardly been fraternal. They had been
limited to a sojourn in a oeones
dock while an individual ima blue
uniform attested to damaging facts
concerning the defendant.

With his fighting blood aroused and
a lethal weapon in his hand, it seemed
to Harry Carlton that the fortuitous
arrival of a copper was a gift from
Heaven.

He disentangled himself from the
main body of the brawl, lifted his bat
like a battle-axe and charged on the
policeman. The first blow felled Patrol-

man Joseph Brennan, the second frac-
tured his skull, but Handsome Harry
kept on swinging. He was belaboring
a very dead policeman when the patrol-
wagon clanged up.

In due course, Handsome Harry Carl-
ton was indicted for first-degree murder
and brought to trial. Following the
custom of every affluent criminal of the
day, Carlton had retained the firm of
Howe and Hummel for the defense.
William F. Howe, who in his. career
defended more than 650 murderers, ap-
peared in the courtroom and made a
stormy and tearful appeal to the jurors.

However, the jury remained unim-
pressed. After an hour’s wrangling,
they brought in a verdict of guilty. -

But Howe was not yet through. He
had a trump card, and when he played
it a shudder of terror coursed down the
law-abiding spine of New York State.

In December, 1888, Handsome Harry
Carlton was brought before the trial
judge for sentence. As is the custom,
the Court inquired if Harry had any-
thing to say before sentence of death
was passed upon him.

Attorney Howe rose and spoke. .

“He has this to say: He says that
Your Honor can not now pass any
sentence of death upon him. He says
that the legislature, by its enactment of
Chapter 499 of the Laws of 1888, pre-
clude your sentencing him at all.”

District Attorney Fellows stared at
Howe in bewilderment, and the judge

- fnquired sternly what in the name of

Blackstone Howe was talking about.

Howe explained. Early in 1888, the -
State Legislature had passed what it
entitled the Electric Death Penalty Law.
Its prime purpose was to abolish the
gallows and substitute the electric chair.
To this end the solons had decreed that
.no condemned man was to be hanged
after June 4; that electrocution was to
be the approved capital penalty from
January 1, 1889.

Now, doubtless it had been in the
minds of the lawmakers that anyone
convicted of murder after June 4th,
‘1888, should remain in prison until the
beginning of the next year, When he
could be legally executed. But the
calibre of legislators in those days was
apparently not too high.

What the new law actually said was

cleared
period during which there was no pen-
alty at all for first-degree murder, since
at that period the sole prescribed pun-
ishment was death.

agreed whole-heartedly with the wily
defense lawyer. Handsome Harry’s trial
judge wrestled with the matter and de-
cided to pass the buck. He sentenced
Harry to death and let the matter move
up to a higher court.

fully seized their. pens and proceeded
to have a field day. They informed a
horrified public that if the higher courts
upheld Howe’s
would Carlton go free but every killer
in the state who languished in jail
awaiting the privilege of sitting in the
new electric chair would also be re-
leased.

of the year would constitute an open
season for murderers. Killing could be
done without penalty, with impunity
and no fear of the law.

petent lawyers. that Howe’s interpreta-
tion of the law was legally correct,

Byrnes of the Police Department imme-
diately issued statements to the effect
that they would make every effort to see
that all potential killers were kept in
check during the open murder season.

awaited the decision of the higher
courts. Fihally they handed down their
dictum. :

exactly what Howe had contended it

That, as William F. Howe argued,
the way for a seven-month

The top legal minds of the period

The journalists of the period glee-

contention, not only

Moreover, the few remaining weeks

Since it was generally agreed by com-

District Attorney Fellows and Inspector

The entire community anxiously

While they agreed that the law was

was, they also decided that inexcusable
carelessness on the part of the legisla-
ture should not be permitted to jeopard-
ize the safety of the whole State.

Handsome Harry Carlton’s conviction
was upheld. He was ordered immedi-
ately hanged. And he was the last man
to be so put to death in New York
State.—Jack D'Arcy.

id@ HWIYO

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ww VI

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"or t 8:30 AM. Of

ry 20, 1919, Captame
iting at the doof me
levar hatshoP Fia
atectives ager
Louis rdis W
-rived.

THE DROP OF A HAT STARTED GRIM DETECTIVES OUT ON A
FOUR-YEAR CHASE THAT SENT TWO BANDITS TO THE CHAIR

The short, cat-whiskered hatter
was obviously disturbed when he saw
the officers. They quickly explained
their mission.

He examined the hat, pondered a
moment and then declared, “I can’t
tell you the name of the man who
bought this hat, but I can describe
him. He was an Italian about medium
height in his late twenties.”

“Can you recall anything else about
him?” asked Detective Fiaschetti.

“Let me see. Oh, yes—he said he
wanted to wear this hat to a picnic
the next day. He bought it Saturday;
the. picnic would have been yesterday.
But I don’t know whether it was pub-
lic or private.”

Leaving the hatshop, Captain Kauff

conferred. with the Brooklyn officers.

“The trail leads into your. baili-
wick,” he said, “so, Y’ll go back to
Jamaica and see what my men have
turned up. Meanwhile, if you locate
the man who bought that hat, let me
know at once, Good luck!”

While Kauff returned to. Queens

headquarters, Detectives Fiaschetti
and Dardis, both of Italian extraction,
started to canvass pool rooms and
social clubs in the vicinity of the hat-
shop.
After two hours of fruitless ques-
tioning, they met with success at an
Italian-American young people’s or-
ganization over a cigar store.

“Yes, we held a picnic yesterday in
Highland Park,” said a suave, youth-
ful official of the club. “Would you
like to see a group picture of it?”

The detectives exchanged eager
looks as the youth produced a long,
panoramic print from a desk drawer.
“This just came from the photogra-
pher. Isn’t it good?”

“It ‘certainly is,’ observed Fia-

schetti,, “We’d like to borrow it for a
few hours if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” replied the young
man. Then he added with alarm, “I
hope none of our members is in
trouble. Some of the fellows in that

picture were guests.”

Returning to the hat shop, the de-
tectives showed the picture to the pro-
prietor.

“Is the man who bought that hat in
this picture?” Fiaschetti asked.

The hatter studied the 30 young
men’s faces and finally pointed at one
of them.

“That’s the man! But I told you I

don’t know his name.”

“We'll find out!” Dardis- promised.

: Back at the club’s headquarters, the

gif FEBRUARY, 1943

sleuths pointed. out the purchaser of
the hat and asked his‘identity. —

“Oh, he’s not a member,” replied -

the young official. “I don’t know his
name, but he came with one of our

members.” -

“Where can we find the fellow who
brought him?” asked Fischetti.

“Probably at his father’s stationery
store. It’s at the corner of Classon
and De Kalb Avenues.” ;

Still carrying the picture, Fiaschetti
and Dardis drove at once to the sta-
tionery store. The young club mem-
ber was’ behind the counter. They
pointed out the purchaser of the black
hat in the picture.

The Ungracious Guest

“We understand you brought this
fellow to the picnic as your guest,”
said Fiaschetti. “Who is he?” ?

“Why —why—” stammered the
youth, pale with fright, “—his name is
Frank Rialo, Is he in a jam?”

“That’s putting it mildly,” Dardis
observed wryly. “Where does he
live?” .-

“Not far from here. At 151 Classon
Avenue.” _ a

-“Let’s get going!” exclaimed Dardis

and he and Fiaschetti departed on the,

run.

At the Classon Avenue address, a
three-story, old fashioned brown-
stone house, they found Rialo’s name
on the mailbox of a third-floor suite.

‘Hurrying up, they pounded sharply

on the door.

A small, gray-haired woman opened
the door a crack and asked what they
wanted in broken English.

“Does Frank Rialo live here?” Dar-
dis asked.

“Yes. What you want with him?”

- “We want. to ask him some ques-
tions. Is he here now?”

“No.”

“Where is he?” hae

“I don’t know,” insisted the woman.
“I don’t ask ‘my son where he goes,
and he wouldn’t tell me anyway.”

“Do you mind if we have a look

_around your rooms?”

The old lady shrugged. “You are
coppers. You do not believe me, but
I cannot stop you if you want to come
in.” K

The officers found no one else in the
three-room flat but Mrs. Rialo.

“We're going to wait right here
until your son comes back,” Fiaschetti
told the elderly woman.

‘Meanwhile, at Jamaica headquar-
ters, Captdin Kauff, who had not slept

fie $ 4 BNE Tc AN

since the previous night, answered his
telephone. It was the head nurse at
St. Mary’s Hospital.

“Joseph Holbach died a half-hour
ago.” Kauff hung up and then called
the Queens County Morgue. Had the
autopsy on Mrs. Holbach been com-
pleted?

“Just finished,” replied the doctor.
“As the examining physican sur-
mised, the woman died instantly
when a bullet pierced her heart. The
slug struck a rib and remained in the
body. We recovered it and it appears
to be a 38.” .-

“You'll have another autopsy to
perform in a little while,” Kauff said
grimly. “Holbach, the husband, is
dead.”

‘An hour later, at the Rialo flat in
Brooklyn, (Continued on page 43)

Tony Bruno (above) turned state's
evidence and got off with 7 to 15
years. Frank Rialo drew 20 years
to life for second degree murder.

‘re was
r voice
il later.
hink of

my
lete

tTECTIVE

stranger who was hurting me terribly.
I became angry.

“All right!” I said. “Throw your life
away if you want to. Thank God you
are getting a divorce!” I got up and
stalked out of the place.

She Is Soft Again

I stayed away from her during the
next day, but I was at the courthouse
Saturday morning when she arrived

with her lawyer. I wanted to make .
one last effort to save our marriage.

I wanted to be positive she knew what
she was doing.

All my pleadings, all my tears, did-
no good. She was a pale, thin thing

of steel. “My mind is made up,” she .

said.

After she was divorced and married
she said to me, “Go to Dallas and stay
with mother. Then I won’t'be wor-
ried about you. Please don’t stay in
Houston.” Her voice and her eyes
were soft now. -All the hardness had
gone.

I did as she asked. I couldn’t stand
to stay in the same city with her;
moreover, I wanted to be near some-
body who was related to her, some-
body who was interested in the two
of us. Never, even in the solitude of
my prison cell, had I felt so alone.

That was some time ago. The days
have been filled with unending misery
and bewilderment. But I am begin-
ning to see things clearly again.

True, I haven’t been able to fathom
my wife’s strange actions, nor have
her relatives been able to understand
them. Our general opinions were that
there was something sinister behind
it all, something connected with my
article in Front Pace Derective.

Whether that be true or not, whether
her love for me is actually dead or
whether her actions were mistakenly
prompted by a love for me greater
than I can comprehend, I am certain
of one thing.

If I hadn’t written the article, I

wouldn’t have been branded a traitor .

and transferred from Huntsville. If
I hadn’t been transferred my wife
would not have gone to Houston.
Therefore, when I wrote the article
I lost my wife.

But, to go farther than that, I ac-
tually lost my wife when I committed
the crime that sent me to:prison. I
lost my right to her. I lost my right
to defend our home. How few of us
realize what a tremendous price we
pay for crime!

A few months or years behind prison
walls? That is the small part of. the
penalty. Those months and years are
not all that is taken out of a convict’s

.life. The place he has filled in society

is definitely gone when he leaves it.
It just isn’t there any more. There
is no such thing as going back.
Actually there is:no place to go back to.

He must find another life, another
place, another opportunity, and fight
like hell to hold it. Literally he must
start all over again. There is nothing
left in life that he can claim as his own.
He must build anew—and God help
him if he doesn’t build straight and
true.

FEBRUARY, 1943

Trailing New York’s
Cafe Killers

(Continued from page 25)

Fiaschetti and Dardis were rewarded
when a sallow-faced young man cau-
tiously peeked around the edge of the
door before entering. Dardis yanked
the door open wide. The man fell off
balance and stumbled in. :

“Are you Frank Rialo?”

“Yeah. What's it to you?”

When the detectives showed their
badges his face fell.

“Where were you last night?” asked

Dardis.
“Out with the boys.”
“Where did you go?”

“To a few saloons. I was at a picnic’

yesterday and got a good start on
there.. I was just polishing it off.”

“Were you at Holbach’s Hall?”
Fiaschetti demanded.

“Where’s that?” asked Rialo blankly.

“South Ozone Park.”

“No, I never heard of the place.”

From behind his back Dardis sud-
denly produced the black felt hat and
demanded, “Is this yours?”

Rialo’s black eyes darted from side
to side in fright. Then he stammered,
“Ye-yeah. That’s mine. I bought it
Saturday. Where’d you get it?” .

- “At Holbach’s Hall,” replied the de-
tective calmly, “where the proprietor
and his wife were shot down in cold
blood late last night by four young
thugs. Come on with us, buddy. We’re
taking you out to Jamaica.”

A half hour later, Dardis and Fias-
chetti brought. their quarry into the
detectives’ room at Queens headquar-
ters. Captain Kauff, already advised
of the arrest by telephone, had Lottie
Guth waiting. oe

“He Is the Onel"

“Don’t be frightened now, Miss
Guth,” said the captain, noticing that

SISTER SLAIN

While her husband comforts her, Mrs.
Bernard Ash sobs that the body of a
woman slain near Palo Alto, ., is
that of her: sister, Bernice Curtis.

the girl was trembling. “Did you see
this man at Holbach’s Hall last night
shortly after midnight with three
other young men?”

“Yes,” she replied unhesitatingly.

“He is the one!”

An officer led the witness out and
the detectives sat down. Rialo bit his
nails nervously.

“He’s supposed to be a tough guy,”
Fiaschetti ridiculed.

“Doesn’t look like it to me,” Dardis
added.

“Sissy, eh?” observed Captain Kauff.
“It takes guts to tell the truth. Doesn’t
it now, dearie?”

Rialo could stand it no_ longer.
‘Leaping to his feet, he ran his hands
through his long pompadour and
snarled, “You cops ain’t got no sym-
pathy. I get hooked into a job and
now I gotta take the rap for it. Sure,
I was there when these people were

_ shot. But I didn’t work my rod.”

“Who were your pals?” Kauff de-
manded.

“TI don’t even know their names. I
met them in a saloon at Flushing and
Vanderbilt Avenues Friday night. The
bartender was the one who pulled me
in on it. He said he would put me
wise to a good thing and took me
into the back room, where these guys
were having a huddle.”

“What's the bartender’s name?”

“Pete, I don’t know his last name.”

“Ts he on duty now?”

“No. He doesn’t come on until 4
o’clock this ‘afternoon.”

“Well, Rialo, you're going to stay
in a cell until 4 o’clock. Then we're
going to take you out to that saloon
and check your story.”

The captain booked the prisoner on”

a homicide charge, locked him up and

returned to the detectives’ room to
catch a few hours’ sleep. Fiaschetti
and Dardis played cards quietly.

Promptly at 4, they drove Rialo to
the Flushing Avenue saloon. A short,
chubby man in a white apron was
behind the bar.

“Are you Pete?” asked Fiaschetti.

The barkeep nodded.

“What’s your last name?”

“Lencioni. Why?”

“This fellow,” the officer indicated
Rialo, “says you introduced him to
some thugs who pulled that fatal
holdup last night in South Ozone
Park.” ;

“He’s a dirty liar! He and five other
guys.asked me for the backroom Fri-
day night to play some poker. If they
were up to anything else, I didn’t
know it.”

Rialo did not deny the charge.

“Did you know any of the others?”
Fiaschetti asked.

“Just one,” replied the bartender.
“Paul Ricci—and say, that’s right—he
works on a truck farm down in South
Ozone Park!”

“Thanks for the information,” said
Fiaschetti. Turning to Kauff, he
added, “Looks like our next quarry is
Paul Ricci, captain!”

Warning the barkeep to be avail-
able for future testimony, the officers
sped back to the village where’ the
double murder had occurred.

At the South Ozone Park postoffice
Kauff learned that Paul Ricci received
mail at one of the small truck farms
on Rockaway Boulevard.

At this farm, they found Ricci
struggling into a sheepskin reefer.

“In a hurry, Ricci?” asked Kauff.

“Whatsa matter?” the squat young
Italian growled. ~

“You're under arrest for your part
in the murders of Joseph and Helen
Holbach. Come along.”

‘TJ don’t know what you're talking
about!”

The Finger Points

Back at Queens headquarters, how-
ever, Ricci soon changed his attitude
when told that Rialo had said he was
not in the holdup party, although he
had been present at the conference
where it was planned.

Seeing a chance for mercy, Ricci
blurted out, “Mike Casalino is the-guy
behind this. I knew him back in
Brooklyn and now and then he drops
down to see me at the farm. Last
week he showed up and told me he
needed some easy dough. He asked
me if I knew where there was a lot
of it in the neighborhood. I told him
I had seen Holbach with a big roll
every night at his dance hall. :

“Friday night, Mike met me at the
farm and took me down to a saloon
we used to visit in Brooklyn. We met
some other guys there. I promised
I’d meet them Sunday night to stick
up Holbach’s place, but I never
showed up. Honest, that’s all I had
to do with it.”

“You were only the finger man,
that’s all,” sneered Captain Kauff.

* “Where can we find ‘this fellow

Casalino?”
“He lives at 147 Classon Avenue,
Brooklyn.” )
“Why, that’s only three doors from

your place, Rialo,” exclaimed Dardis. |

“And you claim you didn’t know these
men?”

Again Rialo’s silence was an admis-
sion of a lie.

“Do you know any of the others?”
Dardis asked Ricci.

“Sure. I know them all. The others
were Tony Bruno, Nick Chiusano and
Little Joe Zambelli.”

‘Do you happen to know where
they live?”

“The first two but not Little Joe.
Nobody knows where he hangs out.”

The detectives drove back to Queens
headquarters with Ricci and Rialo.
Placing them both in detention cells,
they set out for Casalino’s home.

But at the Classon Avenue flat they
found only ‘Mrs. Casalino, a plain,
dark-haired young woman, and her
baby.

“Mike hasn’t been home since yes-
terday morning,” she said. “I haven’t
any idea where he is.”

“Will you let us take a look around
your place?” Fiaschetti asked. ;

Mrs. Casalino shrugged. “Go ahead.
But you'll have to let me fix the child’s
supper.” :

While the woman was in the kitchen,
the detectives made an important dis-
covery in the bedroom. Clumsily con-

cealed in a shoebox in the closet were
three .38 caliber revolvers. y

Captain Kauff called Mrs. Casalino.
and showed her the guns. “Are these
your husband’s?”

“I never saw them before.”

Warning Mrs. Casalino to notify
Brooklyn headquarters if her husband
returned, the detectives drove to 48
Hudson Street, where they found
Tony Bruno at supper.

“Who squealed?” he demanded as
they took him away. “Was it that rat
Ricci?” ;

Moving swiftly now, the sleuths next
visited 80 Emerson Place, the third
address given them by the farmhand, *
where they captured Chiusano, who
was also home for supper.

When Chiusano saw. Bruno in cus-
tody, he offered no resistance. Both
of them were taken back to Jamaica,
where they were booked and jailed.

Four members of the gang were now

CONSPIRATOR?

Howard Victor Broenstrupp, a phony
duke, count and general, is charged
by the FBI with conspiracy to foster
mutiny in armed forces of America.

under arrest, but two others—Casa-
lino, the man Ricci had named as the
instigator of the crime, and the mys-
terious Little Joe were at large.
Where had they fled?

Caught by Mail

Fiaschetti offered Captain Kauff and
Dardis a suggestion. ‘

“T have a hunch Casalino will write
his wife,’ he said, “particularly be-
cause of the baby. But we can’t trust
Mrs. Casalino to- tell us if he writes,
so I think our best bet is to watch
the mail.” :

Fiaschetti’s suggestion required time
for results. Days passed, then weeks
as the sleuths patiently intercepted all

‘ mail for Mrs. Casalino by special ar-~

rangement with postal authorities at
the local substation. Meanwhile, the
four other members of the gang were
held in lieu:of high bail.

Finally, on‘April 11, a letter in Casa-
lino’s handwriting arrived. It. was

postmarked Fairport,-N. Y. Steaming

it open, the detectives found affec-
tionate thoughts but no address. Fias-
chetti and Dardis set out at once for
Fairport.

At the postoffice in the small up-
state village, they gave Casalino’s
description. to the postmaster and
learned that he had mailed letters
there at irregular intervals. Keeping
watch for two days, they met Casalino
face to face on April 14.

“Are you Michael Casalino?” they
asked.

“No. My name is Frank Ryan.”

But on the train to Brooklyn, Casa-
lino changed his story. Confronted by
the evidence the sleuths said they
possessed, he admitted his identity but
declared he did not know the where-
abouts of Little Joe, whom he called
the actual killer. .

“All I know about Joe Zambelli is
that he used to live in New Haven,
Connecticut.”

From Brooklyn, Casalino was taken
to Queens headquarters for question-
ing by Queens Assistant District At-
torney Edgar F. Hazleton, who was
prosecuting the case. Under persis-
tent grilling by Hazleton, Captain
Kauff, Fiaschetti and Dardis, Casalino
altered his story for, the second time
and made a confession. But he. still
insisted that Little Joe, not he, was
the gang’s kingpin.

“We planned everything in the
Flushing Avenue saloon,” Casalino

' declared in a repentent voice, “but on

Sunday night Ricci and Chiusano
failed to show up at Holbach’s Hall
where we were to meet. Little Joe,
Rialo, Bruno and I went inside and
sat down at a table.

“After we had been drinking for a
while, Little Joe walked over and
asked Holbach about the trolleys. That
was the signal for us to go into the
lavatory and get primed for the job.

- . We came out with our guns drawn and-

Little Joe told Holbach to stick ’em
up. But this Holbach got tough and
Joe let loose with his rod—three times.

“Mrs. Holbach came running down-
stairs. I hadn’t used my gun. Little
Joe leaned close to me and said,
‘Shoot, you yella punk, or I'll plug
you!’ So I began to shoot and the
woman fell to the floor. We ran out-
side, broke up and went back home
by different ways.” -

“How did you get the three guns?”
asked Hazleton.

“One was mine. Rialo and Bruno
met me later and gave me theirs to
hide for them.” .

“What about Little Joe’s gun?”:

“He must have taken it with him
wherever he went. I haven’t seen him
since.”

While Hazleton speeded presenta-
tion of the case to the Queens County
grand jury, Detectives Fiaschetti and
Dardis went to New Haven in search
of the final.member of the gang. But
there the trail ended. After spending
several days questioning underworld
characters, they learned only that
Little Joe Zambelli had been an infre-
quent visitor.

Meanwhile, indictments charging
first degree murder were returned

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against the tive other prisoners. But
before the trial, Ricci, Rialo, Bruno
and Chiusano decided to plead guilty.

Ricci and Rialo were sentenced by .

Supreme Court Justice James C. Van
Siclen to from 20 years to life for
second degree murder. Bruno and
Chiusano, both of whom had agreed
to testify against Casalino, drew terms
of seven to 15 years for second degree

- manslaughter.

On the following June 15, Casalino
was found guilty of first degree mur-
der by a Supreme Court jury. Two
days later he was sentenced to die in
the Sing Sing electric chair.

But death was not to come quickly
for Casalino. Largely because Little
Joe Zambelli was still at large, Casa-
lino won four reprieves which kept
him languishing in the death house for
23 months. f

On July 7, 1920, a year and a half
after the cdld-blooded murder of the
Holbachs, the patient efforts of De-
tectives Fiaschetti and Dardis resulted
in the capture of Little Joe in New
Haven.

Brought to Jamaica, Little Joe ad-
mitted taking part in the fatal holdup,
but insisted he had used a 32 caliber
gun and so could not have fired the
shots that killed the Holbachs. The
jury refused to believe this, however,
in view of the testimony of Casalino.

On April 21, 1921, Little Joe Zam-
belli was convicted of first degree
murder.

Only two weeks later, late on the

night of May 6, Casalino was led into”

the death chamber and executed.

But it was not until almost two
years later, February 16, 1923, that
Zambelli followed Casalino along the
last mile and paid for his crime with
his life.

More than four years had elapsed
before the murders of Joseph and
Helen Holbach were fully avenged.

Eprror’s Nore: To spare possible
embarrassment to an innocent person,

- the name Peter Lencioni, used in this

story, is not real but fictitious.

Who Would Kill
Little Red Riding Hood?

(Continued from page 21)

informant didn’t know. However, try

as he might, Davis couldn’t see where
the fact fitted into the mystery of the
child’s disappearance, .

“With a case of this kind, though,”
he admitted to Cousins, “you can’t
tell. So far we haven’t even got a
probable motive. I’m only sure of one
thing. Catherine Delores Smith is
dead, murdered by the guy who led
her away from the school grounds
yesterday afternoon. Who he was or
why he did it I haven’t the least idea.”

Cousins was equally at sea. “If the
child knew the fellow, though,” he
suggested, “maybe Mrs. Turnbow can
help us now. It could be one of her
friends.”

FEBRUARY, 1943

The frantic mother could only shake
her head in bewilderment when the
officers went to her home and de-
scribed the suspect.

“He’s not one of my friends,” she
asserted. . ,

Davis eyed her shrewdly. “Let's
get this straight,” he snapped. “You
told us Catherine Delores wouldn't
have anything to do with people she
didn’t know. But she walked away
with this man quite readily. Raymond
Smith says he doesn’t know the fel-
low.’ You say you don’t. Where else
than with one of you could the child
have made his acquaintance?”

Mrs. Turnbow thought. “Raymond
leaves my money at a paint store not
far from here,” she replied, giving
the address. “Catherine ‘Delores

‘usually picks it up for me. There’s

usually a gang of men hanging around
there, painters and others looking for
jobs—the place is a kind of clearing
house for the trade. If she met any-
body I don’t know about, it must be
one of those men.”

Children Sight Him

“Let’s get those other three little
girls and take them down ‘there! the’
sergeant said. _

The officers picked up the children,
who were thrilled at their new impor-
tance. All were positive they would *
recognize the suspect if they saw him.

“There’s' not one chance in a hun-
‘dred he’ll be around,” Cousins dis-
counted. “But maybe somebody’1]
recognize the description if we are on
the right track.”

Nearly a dozen men stood in front
of the establishment as Cousins drove
slowly past. Bareheaded for the most
part in the warmth’ of the autumn
day, they stood talking in small
groups. Suddenly two, standing apart,
wheeled and stepped quickly through
the doorway into the building.

“There he goes now!” one of the
children exclaimed. “One of those
fellows who went into the store.” The
two other girls were equally positive.

Davis had’ not seen either man’s
face, but as Cousins pulled to the curb
the sergeant leaped out and dashed
into the store. The sudden change
from brilliant sunshine to the dim-
ness of the interior blinded him mo-
mentarily, but as he strode toward
the rear a man brushed past him.

“Hold on there, buddy!” he ordered,
wheeling on him. “I want to look you
over!”

The other did not stop. “I. said

wait!” Davis roared.

Rushing up from behind, the pro-
prietor seized the- sergeant’s arm.
“What's going on here?” he demanded
angrily. “This is my place of business,
and you're not going to start'a rough-
house!” 2

“Roughhouse, my foot!” Davis
snarled, turning on the storekeeper.
“I’m a police sergeant, and I wanted
that man. He and the other guy who
just came in here. Who were they
and where did they go?” - :

The chastened businessman said he
had no idea. He believed the second
man slipped out the back door into

the alley, but when Davis looked
there was no sign of him. The ser-
geant rushed out.to the sidewalk.

“Your man ducked into that beer
tavern about a half block north,”
Cousins called.

Davis nodded, then briefly ques-
tioned the sidewalk loungers. All
quickly denied that they had noticed
either of the two suspects.

Davis entered the tavern. Four men
were drinking beer at the bar, but the
Sergeant recognized the man he
sought by his clothing.

“All right,” the ‘stranger demanded
truculently, “what did you want me
for?”

“To find out just how much you
know about what happened to Cath-
erine Delores Smith!” the sergeant
said.

“Catherine Smith!” The other
stared incredulously. “Why, man
alive, I’m her uncle, Joe Smith! I
figured you were somebody wanting
to start a fight.”

Bitterly Davis realized that he must
nave followed the wrong man after
all.

Uncle Is Named

“Then “who was the fellow who
ducked out into the alley?” he de-
manded harshly.

Smith’s face grew blank. “Some
strange painter who'd just come up
looking for work. I never saw him
before.”

“Three little girls identified one of

. you two as the man who led Cather-

ine Delores away from school yester-
day,” the officer said. “Come out and
let them look you over.”

The three girls studied Smith with
frightened eyes.

“He’s the one who had Catherine
Delores,” one said.

The other two nodded.

“Did you ever see him before
that?” Cousins asked.

All shook their heads.

Perspiration popped out on Joe
Smith’s forehead. “But officers!” he
exploded. “I told you who I am. And
I can prove I was working over in

‘North Little Rock yesterday after-

noon. You don’t think I’d harm my
wife’s own niece, do you?”

On the face of it the idea seemed
improbable and the officers became
even more doubtful as his story close-
ly matched that of Raymond Smith.
Davis motioned Cousins aside for a
conference.

“Those kids could be mistaken,”
Cousins said.

“Let’s take them home and go see
the chief,” said the sergeant.

Martin had obtained little from his
San Antonio suspect except repeated
denials that he knew anything of the
disappearance of Little Red Riding
Hood. ‘But the chief had established’
that more than an hour of the man’s
time was unaccounted for.

“There are two points in his favor,
though,” the chief admitted as he
checked the case over with his sub-

ordinates. “In the first place I can’t

establish any motive on his part. In

_ the second he evidently didn’t know

Theresa Gresh

TEEN-AGE LOVERS'
INFAMOUS TUB MURDER

(ED July, 1954)

It took 13% hours of steady question-
ing to break the girl down. Theresa
Gresh, 15, was being interrogated about
the death of her mother, Mrs. Anna
Gresh, 43, whose stabbed and bludgeoned
body was discovered stuffed into a
washtub in the kitchen of her New York
City apartment on March 26th, 1954. The
woman had been dead since March 4th,
her daughter now confessed.

Terry named her boy friend, Billy
Byers, 17, as the killer. Mrs. Gresh had
found the two youngsters together in
the bedroom, Terry said. When she
ordered Billy out of the house, he struck
her down with a hammer. Terry ad-
mitted handing Billy a knife, with which
he stabbed her mother 20 times. To-
gether they concealed the body in the

tub, covered it with plaster and resumed ¢

their love-making.

Both were brought to trial. Theresa
Gresh was sentenced to 20 years to
life in the Women’s State Prison at Bed-
ford Hills, New York, for complicity in
the death of her mother. William Byers
was sentenced to die. Both appealed their
convictions.

On December Ist, 1955, the Court of
Appeals upheld both sentences. At 11
P.M. on Thursday, January 12th, 1956,
teenager Billy Byers walked to the
chair in Sing Sing prison. Three min-
utes later he was pronounced dead.

"| WATCHED HER FOR
THREE DAYS"
(TD December, 1954)
Correction:

In our Case File for April, 1956, con-
cerning the murder of Mary Jolene
Friess, a 17-year-old Toledo girl who
was slain on August 12th, 1954, while
on a visit to an aunt in Holland, Ohio,
it was erroneously reported that her
killer’s sentence had been commuted to
life in prison.

Bernard Schreiber, 19, who confessed
that he had watched the girl for three
days on her daily trips to the rural mail-
box before attacking and killing her,
had been sentenced to die on January
13th, 1956. On Januarv 3rd, a 2-months’
reprieve was granted by Ohio’s Gover-
nor Lausche.

On March 15th Bernard Schreiber was
executed in the electric chair in the
Ohio penitentiary. He was the tenth
teenager to be executed for murder in
Ohio since 1897.

THE GIRL GOT AWAY

(TD January, 1956)

' At 9:45 on the evening of September
22nd, 1955, Joyce Danielson chanced to
meet Hubert Hahn, 27, trombonist with
the Denver Symphony Orchestra, who
lived in the same building. They de-
cided to have a cup of coffee together.
Afterward they went to his car to get the
trombone he had left there.

A young man appeared beside ‘them.
Gun in hand, he forced them to drive
him to the outskirts of town. There he
put them out of the car, but as they
started to run he fired half a dozen
shots, killing Hahn instantly. Later he
attacked the girl, shot and beat her, but
she managed to roll out of the car and
staggered to a railroad crossing, where
she was seen by the conductor of an on-
coming train. She was rushed to a hos-
pital, and eventually recovered.

Search of the slaying scene resulted
in the finding of a wrist watch which was
traced to Robert Mark Dearmin, 21, an
apprentice watchmaker. On October .
6th murder charges were filed against
Dearmin. He went to trial on February
21st, 1956, and on March 3rd, in Bright-
on, Colorado, district court, he was
found guilty of second-degree murder
in the death of Hubert Hahn. He had
been positively identified by Joyce Dan-
ielson as their assailant.

On April 2nd Judge Martin P. Miller
sentenced Robert Dearmin to a term of

“70 to 90 years in prison.

- that a tenant with

Report of latest legal developments
on published by TD

Paul and Faye Bolte

THE TATTOOED LADY AND
THE PINT-SIZED GUNMAN

(TD April, 1956)

On November 10th, 1955, Roy Prick-
ett, a Chicago taxi driver, was found shot
to death beside his cab at 2:25 a.m. With
the help of other cab drivers, Prickett’s
buddies, police got a line on Paul Bolte,
18, on probation from a marijuana
charge, and his wife, Faye, 19. Brought
to headquarters, both confessed the kill-
ing. Paul had had Faye decoy Prickett to
a dark street in order to rob him. Appar-
ently Prickett had been shot when he
resisted the holdup. The gun, Bolte con-
fessed, had been dropped into the Chi-
cago River.

On March 6th the young couple was
sentenced to long prison terms—99 years
for Paul Bolte, 66 years for Faye.

FIERY DEATH
IN THE NIGHT

(TD February, 1956)

Early in the morning of October 4th,
1955, flames swept San Francisco’s Polk
Hotel. A bellboy perished and 17 per-
sons suffered injuries. It was determined
that the blaze had been set deliberately.
Homicide Inspector Francis Ahern set
out to track down the arsonist.

A cooperative witness was Arthur Roy
Swanson, a paunchy, balding ex-fireman
from Minneapolis and a former resident

‘of the Polk Hotel. He described how the

fire might have been set and suggested

responsible.
Pyenieus suspect
without result. Th
Swanson again an‘
man into admittin
fatal fire. The mot
eviction from tl
drunken brawls.
Swanson was 1n
on two counts of
February 9th, 19
in Superior Court
was convicted.
term of 5 to 20 :
a life term in Sar
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formerly been 4

THE at
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On the night
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Four of the
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They confesse

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presented. 4

March 26th,

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PLATINUM BLONDE IN
THE KING'S TEMPLE

(TD July, 1952)

The body was found on February 23rd,
1952, under a covering of leaves near
the Temple of Love where, 200 years ago,
Louis XV of France wooed Madame Du-
Barry. It was identified as that of Jac-
queline Richardson, 26, who had been
missing since August, 1951. Jackie had
been a receptionist at a smart London
hotel, but in the spring of that year she
had gone to France and had fallen in
love with a young Frenchman her friends
knew only as Jean.

Jean Liger, an artist and interior dec-
orator, was questioned when some bags
of Jackie’s were found in his rooms. He
had been in love with her, he admitted.
Had wanted to marry her. But she was
jealous, too possessive. On August 5th,
they had taken a picnic lunch to the
Temple of Love. They had quarreled.
She slapped him. He hit her, and she
fell, striking her head on a stone. Then,
in panic, he had strangled her and buried
her body in a shallow grave.

On February 28th, 1952, Jean Liger, 27,
was jailed at Versailles, charged with
murder. But it was not until February
7th, 1955, that he was found guilty by
a panel of judges and sentenced to 7
years in prison. The three years he has
spent in prison will be counted as part
of that sentence.

Jacqueline Richardson

7 HOURS OF TORTURE

(TD April, 1954)

At 11 o’clock on the night of December
Ist, 1953, Carl J. Folk, a former New
Mexico carnival operator, invaded a
two-room trailer parked near Holbrook,

Arizona. He knocked out and bound the
owner, Raymond Bruce Allen, who was
traveling west with his wife, Betty, 22,
and their 10-month-old son.

Allen recovered consciousness and had
to watch helplessly, bound hand and foot,
while Folk tortured, raped and strangled
his young wife. Finally Allen managed
to free his feet. He ran to the highway,
where a passing truckdriver freed his
hands. Then he raced back to the trailer
and shot Folk, but not fatally.

Folk was brought to trial and found
guilty of the torture murder of Betty
Allen. And on February 18th, 1954, Su-
perior Judge Don T. Udall sentenced him
to die in the Arizona prison gas.chamber
on April 30th.

However, Folk had another year
of life before he paidthe final penalty.
On March 4th, 19557 at 7 a.M., he entered
i gas chamber and was
lethal chair. He was pro-

ificluding officers and newsmen.

TEEN-AGE LOVERS’
INFAMOUS TUB MURDER

(TD July, 1954)

On January 20th, 1955, an all-male
jury in New York General Sessions Court
| found William Byers, 18, guilty of first-

degree murder, and Theresa Gresh, 16,
guilty of second-degree murder, in
the slaying of Theresa’s hard-working
mother, Mrs. Anna Gresh, 43, on March
4th, 1954.

Interrupted in a torrid love scene by.

the unexpected return of Mrs. Gresh, the
two teenagers hit the mother on the head
with a hammer, then stabbed her 20
times with a kitchen knife. Each accused
the other of the killing. But, after plac-
ing the woman’s body in a kitchen tub
and covering it with plaster, the two con-
tinued their lovemaking.

The murder was not discovered until
March 24th, when neighbors in the
apartment house complained of an odor.
Two days earlier Theresa had told a
truant officer, looking for her, that her
mother had run away with a man. But
now detectives began to check on The-
resa and the romance, with its shocking
climax, was revealed.

The trial of Theresa and Billy began
on January 4th and lasted 16 days. The
jury deliberated seven and a half hours
before reaching its verdict.

On February 11th, 1955, Judge Jonah
J. Goldstein sentenced William Byers to
die in the electric chair during the week
of March 21st. He is now in the death
house at Sing Sing.

Report of latest legal developments
on cases published -by TD

On February 18th, Theresa Gresh was
sentenced to 20 years to life. Theresa, the
youngest girl ever tried for first-degree
murder in New York County, is now in
the Women’s State Prison at Bedford
Hills, New York.

Theresa Gresh

CASE HISTORY OF
TERRY NIENSTEDT

(TD December, 1954)

On September 12th, 1945, Jotin E. Wag-
ner, 70-year-old tailer, s bludgeoned
to death with an” in his shop in
rk.

On October 25th Helena Theresa Nein-
stedt, 16, released the week before from
2% years’ probation by the Children’s
Court, was questioned by detectives. In
her home they found Wagner’s wallet,
containing a Government check made
out to him. Terry confessed she had slain
Wagner after he had made advances to
her.

Terry was committed to the Mattea-
wan State Hospital for the Criminally
Insane. She was brought to court in
June, 1954, pleaded guilty to second-de-
gree manslaughter, was paroled in cus-
tody of her laywer, pending sentence.

On February 28th, Terry appeared be-
fore Judge Peter T. Farrell in Queens
County Court for sentencing. Judge
Farrell suspended sentence on the
second-degree murder charge, with the
proviso that she remain on indefinite
probation and receive continuing psy-
chiatric treatment, with reports to be
forwarded to the court.

“BYERS , William, white, 19, electrocuted New York (New York) 1-12-1956.

nope

New York City.

i DONO ka hal oe? Wiel eb Sionipiaala a opted oes

— TAMMET!
ft
——- pAVETO

By Richard White

42/ True Mystery Detective — June 1975

For two weeks the teen-age lovers

carried on like crazy,

while but a few feet away

lay the corpse of their victim!

O THE POLICE, the gruesome
murder had presented consid-
erable mystery. Occurring as it
did in a tenement in the slum
section of the lower East Side of New
York, the murder might have been moti-

vated by almost anything although, on.

the surface at least, its victim appeared
to be an eminently respectable widow.

Nevertheless, the police, accustomed
—even hardened—as they had become
to raw brutality and lack of esteem for
human life, were not prepared for the
gruesome motive behind the killing, the
. almost complete lack of normal human
emotion or feeling.

Now, one of the suspects stood for
a hearing before Magistrate Cullen in
the Youth part. of New York Felony
Court. She looked exactly like what
she was—a 15-year-old schoolgirl. ~

She wore a yellow sweater, a check-
ered gray and blue flare skirt. and
carried a gray cloth coat and white
scarf over her plump. dimpled arm. She
was wearing bobby socks.

Far away in the deep South at this
same moment was another youngster
who looked like what he was, too—a
17-year-old United States Marine “boot.”
He was held in the. brig’ at Parris
Island.

The girl, a peroxide blonde, was
Theresa Gresh. As she stood before
the court she chewed her gum with
evident relish.

The boy was Marine Private William -

David Snyder. He was reading a murder
mystery book, Death Arrives at the
Meeting and, according to his com-
manding officer, he said he was getting
“quite a kick” out of it.

Here then were the two principals
in a wild, two-week orgy which had
intermingled blood. beer and sex. It
had ended with the knife and hammer
murder of Theresa’s mother, Anna

Gresh, 43. Her body had been found in
a combination bath and washtub in the
flat she shared with her young daughter.

Theresa and William Snyder, said the
police after discovery of the savage
slaying. had continued their party—

‘dancing and making love while her

mother’s body lay only a few feet away
in the tub in the kitchen.

This is the story which the police
pieced together: On February 18th,
Snyder and Theresa met and “fell in
love.” Theresa, a dressmaking student
at Mabel Dean Vocational High School.
took the youth to the apartment where
she and her mother lived.

A few days after their first meeting.
police said. Mrs. Gresh surprised her
daughter and her new boy friend in
intimate embrace in the living room.
She warned them.

After that. the two teenagers plotted
what they would do if the mother again -
caught them in a compromising situ-
ation. And it happened on March 4th
when she caught them in the bedroom.

Mrs. Gresh was furious. But hér
anger turned to terror when Snyder
chased her into the kitchen and bludg-
eoned her into unconsciousness with a
hammer. He then returned to the bed-
room where the girl was waiting for
him.

“Then the boy and girl heard a
writhing and thrashing around,” ac-
cording to the police version. “And
Snyder said to Theresa, ‘Hand me the
hammer. I’ll have to hit her again.’ ”

Theresa didn’t hand him the hammer.
Instead, she gave Snyder a knife—and
Snyder went back into the kitchen and
finished his ghastly job.

An autopsy later disclosed 21 knife
wounds in Mrs. Gresh’s chest and ab-
domen.

Snyder, now certain that Mrs. Gresh

(Continued on page 44)

June 1975 — True Mystery Detective /43 —

ee ee

73 NE (2) 908,

CARAWAY, Ward Beecher, Black, 22, electrocuted Sing Ping (Nassau) on 7=3-19)7.

'A robber shot and killed Mrs, William John Logan, 25-years-old, wife of a retired
New York banker, in the living room of her luxurious home here shortly after 10:30
AM today. Then he ran upstains, assaulted her daughter, Miss Marjory Logan, at the
point of a pistol, shot her twice in the face and neck, and escaped. As Miss Logan
was being taken to a doctor's office a few minutes later in the small coupe of
Theodore Click, a painter who had been at work on a nearby home, they passed the
slayer walking east on Bonny Heights Road. Cowering in terror of the floor of the
car, Miss Logan warned Mr, Click that the man was armed and dangerous, and begged
him not to halt. He obeyed and kept on his way, but noted that the killer left the
road and disappeared into a patch 6f woods, When the police arrived, it and other
wooded sections of Flower Hill, Manhasset and Plandome were thoroughly searched and
Ronny Hills Road and the adjacent section of Port Washington Roulevard were closed
off until ):30 PM, but without results. An 11-State alarm was BxeaxasssH broadcast
by the Nassau County police for a Negro described as six feet one inch tall, 150
pounds in weight and under 25 years of age. He was wearing a light green polo shirt
and KWAKZXX khaki trousers, The alarm made a point of the fact that the man had
staring eyes and added: 'May be a mental case. Has in his possession a nickel
plated revolvers! ...eMr. Logan, an All-American guard at Princeton University in
1912, was Vice President of the Hanover Bank and Trust Company until his retirement,
(Suspect demanded money at gunpoint from Mrs, Logan and when she gave it to him, he
shot her and then went upstairs and demanded more money from Mrs, Logan s aa dau-
ehter. She gave him about $100.00; he then raped her and shot her,)" TIMES, New

York, NY, Jply 25, 1946 (1:2.)

(Miss Logan given the right to carry a pistol after threats were made on her life,
The paper did not elaborate.) TIMES, New York, 1.17.19))7 (8:2.)

"Ward Beecher Caraway, 22-years-old, was put to death at Sing Sing Prison tonight

for the murder of Mrs. Marjory Church Logan in her home at Flower Hill, Long Island,
last July 2). After shooting Mrs. Logan, Caraway, a butler-chauffeur on a neigh-~
boring estate, shot and attacked Miss Marjory Jeanne Logan, Mrs, Logan's daughter,
Caraway told prison officials today that ‘drugs got me into this fix.'! His attorney,
Jamese De Ce Murray, cited Carraway's narcotic habit in making an appeal to Governor
Dewey last month, On the final day of life, the slayer received a visit from his
wife, Marie Carawayeese, wrote a letter to his mother, and read the Bible and other
religious works, He also received spiritual consolation from the Reverend Dr, Luther
Ke Hannum, Protestant Chaplain." TIMES, New York, NY Telel9i7 (8226)

"Mineola, NY (AP) = Capt. Stuyvesant Pinnell, chief of Nassau Cpunty detectives,
said Friday Ward Beecher Caraway, 23-year-old negro butler and chauffeur, had
confessed to the slaying of socially prominent Mrs. Marjory Church Logan, 52, and
raping and shooting her daughter, Marjory, 26, last July 2). Pinnell said the cone
fession came Friday morning after a night of questioning during which he steadfastly
maintained he knew nothing of the crime, although he had been identified Thursday
evening by Miss Logan as the man who had slain her mother and attacked her in their
Luxiptously furnished Flower Hill home on Long Island's nort4 shore, Caraway,
arrested last night in the Southold summer home of his employer, Joseph Me. Rose,
neighbor of the Logans in Flower Hill, was formally booked on a charge of murder,

He will be arraigned later in the day. After two parts of the revolver were found,
Caraway was taken back to Mineola, where Pinnell said his oral confession would be
placed in writing. Assistant Districh Attorney Philip Huntington said that ‘the
negro told me when he had picked up two parts of the gun - I was holding the parts =
‘these are parts of the gun with which I shot Mrs, Logan."' Caraway was arrested
Thursday night by Detective Michael O'Brien, Friday he was taken to Nassay County
hospital, where Miss Logan is a patient, and she identified him immediately, Pinnell
added, The 52=yeareold Mrs, Logan was shot todath by an intruder who apparently

had demanded money. Miss Logan told police her mother had called to her to throw
a $10 bill down a stairway to her so she might 'pay a debb.' Almost immediately
there was a gunshot and a negro ran up thesteps to confront the girl, who was on

73 NE (2) 908,

€ e

CARAWAY, Ward Beecher, Black, 22, electrocuted Sing Ping (Nassau) on 7-3+19)7.~

"A robber shot and killed Mrs, William John Tovan, 25-years-old, wife pf a retired
New York banker, in the living room of her luxurious home here shortly after 10:30
AM today. Then he ran upstains, assaulted her daughter, Miss Marjory Logan, at the
point of a pistol, shot her twice in the face and neck, and escaped. As Miss Logan
was being taken to a doctor's office a few minutes later in the small coupe of
Theodore Click, a painter who had been at work on a nearby home, they passed the
slayer walking east on Bonny Heights Road, Cowering in terror of the floor of the
car, Miss Logan warned Mr, Click that the man was armed and dangerous, and begged
him not to halt. He obeyed and kept on his way, but noted that the killer left the
road and disappeared into a patch §f woods, ‘When the police arrived, it and other
wooded sections of Flower Hill, Manhasset and Plandome were thorovehly searched and
Ronny Hills Road and the adjacent section of Port Washineton Boulevard were closed
off until 4:30 PM, but without results, An ll-State alarm was K¥AXAXAKH broadcast
by the Nassau County police for a Negro described as six feet one inch tall, 150
pounds in weight and under 25 years of age. ie was wearing a light green polo shirt
and KAAKZXX¥ khaki trousers. The alarm made a point of the fact that the man had
staring eyes and added: 'May be a mental case. Has in his possession a nickel
plated revolvers! .oolr. Logan, an All-American euard at Princeton University in
1912, was Vice President of the Hanover Bank and "rust Company until his retirement,
(Suspect demanded money at gunpoint from Mrs, Logan and when she gave it to him, he
shot her and then went upstairs and demanded more money from Mrs, Logan s. MX dau-
ghter. She gave him about $100.00; he then raped her and shot her,)"! TIMES, New
York, NY, July 25, 1946 (1:2.)

(Miss Logan given the right to carry a pistol after threats were made on her life,
The paper did not elaborate.) TIMES, New York, 1.17.19)7 (8:2.)

"Ward Beecher Caraway, 22-yearseold, was put to death at Sing Sing Prison tonight

for the murder of Mrs, Marjory Church Togan in her home at Flower Hill, Long Island,
last July 2h, After shooting Mrs. Logan, Caraway, a butler-chauffeur on a neigh-
boring estate, shot and attacked Miss Marjory Jeanne Togan, Mrs. Logan's daughter,
Caraway told prison officials today that ‘drugs got me into this fix,' His attorney,
James. D. C. Murray, cited Carraway's narcotic habit in making an anpeal to Governor
Dewey last month, On the final day of life, the slayer received a visit from his
wife, Marie Carawayees, wrote a letter to his mother, and read the Rible and other
religious works, He also received spiritual consolation from the Reverend Dr, Luther
K. Hannum, Protestant Chaplain," TIMES, New York, NY 7elel9h7 (8:20)

"Mineola, NY (AP) = Capt. Stuyvesant Pinnell, chief of Nassau County detectives,
said Friday Ward Beecher Caraway, 23~year-old negro butler and chauffeur, had J
confessed to the slaying of socially prominent Mrs. Marjory Church Logan, 52, and
raping and shooting her daughter, Marjory, 26, last July 2h. Pinnell said the cone
fession came Friday morning after a night of questioning during which he steadfastly
maintained he knew nothing of the crime, although he had been identified Thursday
evening by Miss Logan as the man who had slain her mother and attacked her in their
luxtptously furnished Flower Hill home on Long Island's nortn shore, Caraway,
arrested last night in the Southold summer home of his employer, Joseph M. Rose,
neighbor of the Logans in Flower Hill, was formally booked on a charge of murder,

He will be arraigned later in the day. After two parts of the revolver were found,
Caraway was taken back to Mineola, where Pinnell said his oral confession would be
placed in writing. Assistant Districh Attorney Philip Huntington said that 'the
negro told me when he had picked up two parts of the gun - I was holding the parts =
‘these are parts of the gun with which I shot Mrs, Logan."! Caraway was arrested
Thursday night by Detective Michael O'Brien. Friday he was taken to Nassay County
hospital, where Miss Logan is a patient, and she identified him immediately, Pinnell
added, The 52=year-old Mrs, Logan was shot todath by an intruder who apparently

had demanded moneys Miss Logan told police her mother had called to her to throw

a $10 bill down a stairway to her so she might 'pay a debb.' Almost immediately
there was a gunshot and a negro ran up thesteps to confront the girl, who was on

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the second floor of her home, The man took from her a roll of bills which she had
in her hand, Miss Logan said, and the attack followed, The young woman ran screaming
from the house in her underclothes after the atqtack, A painter working on a nearby
home rushed her to the hospital, Enroute, they passed her attacker, who was, walking
along the roadside, but they did not stop. An intensive police search followed,”
NEWS, Jackson, Mississippi, August.2, 1916 (1:72) —. .

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response. Many of the families in Flower
Hill were away for the summer. She went
to the next home, and the girl with two
bullets in her head had walked about 500
feet before she spied the three painters.
In Nassau Hospital, ‘surgeons _per-
formed an emergency operation and ex-
tracted the two bullets. Fortunately, the
.32 caliber bullets were old and com-
paratively soft. The one entering her face
narrowly missed the optic nerve and
embedded itself in the dead tissue of the
frontal lobe of the brain. The other bullet
penetrated and back of her neck about an
inch and stopped. She was put on the
critical list. The police, by asking her one
or two questions every half hour or so,
were able to learn what happened.
“Arrest for murder, assault and
robbery,” read the police alarm flashed to
13 states. “Dark-haired man, 25 to 35
years, five nine to six feet one,.slim build,
bulgy eyes, hair pompadour fashion,
puffed up in front; wearing brown
trousers, green polo shirt, may have dis-
carded army green fatigue hat. May
attempt to change $50 bill, part of
proceeds of, crime. May be a maniac.”
Inspector Pinnell assigned more than
100 detectives to the case as Long Island
communities raised their voices in alarm
because a “madman” was on the loose.
Many residents stayed home at night,
locking doors and windows, with some

even hiring guards. About 150
probationary patrolmen in the county
were given arms and ordered into the
street to assist in the hunt. On the night of
the crime, a man called police and said:a
prowler was in Nassau Knolls Cemetery,
in Port Washington. Police conducted an
eerie search behind tombstones at mid-
night, but they could find no one. In near-
by New York City police fanned out and
scores of men were questioned. Mental
institutions were checked, and recently
discharged patients whose descriptions
came anywhere near that of the killer
were traced and investigated:

ie hunt forthe murderer extended
to such places as Buffalo, New
Hampshire; Greenwich, Connecticut;
Columbus, Ohio and’ Staten Island, a
borough of New York. A flurry of excite-
ment sprang up when a tramp was found
in a northbound freight car inGreenwich.
But the painter, who spent many hours
traveling hundreds of miles to look over
suspects, said the man definitely wasn’t
the one he had’ seen on Port Washington
Boulevard.

Another call came in from an Inwood,
Long Island, bank: A stranger walked in
and changed a $50 bill. A few moments
after he left, the teller realized his
description fitted that of the wanted man.

A squad of detectives searched the area,
some 30 miles from Flower Hill, and
reported no success. As it developed, the
victim’s daughter was mistaken in repor-
ting she'd given the slayer $110, including
a $50 bill. The total loot was $76, mostly
in fives and tens.

Pinnell had little enough to work on.
The three .32 slugs were sent to Sergeant
Harry Butts, famed ballistics expert, at
the New York Police Laboratory. A
dozen strands of hair found in the
daughter’s room were also sent in for
study. And that was the extent of the
physical clues. What was needed was the
gun. High grass in acres of fields in the
Flower Hill section was cut down by
sweating detectives in the search for it.
Even mine detectors, provided by the
Consolidated Edison Company, were
used in the hunt. But no gun was found.

Two days after the shooting, Pinnell
sat down with Assistant District Attorney
Frank Gulotta of Nassau County, who
had been called back from his vacation to
take a hand in the investigation.

“There isn’t a real clue in this case,”
Pinnell said, “that gives us an idea as to the
true identity of the killer. What we have
to do is set a course of action to find him.

‘We must presume he comes from the

Flower Hill neighborhood.”
Gulotta nodded in agreement as Pinell
ticked off his reasons.

AAAWAY, load

Marjorie Logan, who had
everything to live for,

was a most unlikely candidate fe

for homicide, but probers
would draw a bead ona

suspect who could have been |

inspired by a classic
motive for murder...

by FABIAN KUHN

HE HABITUES of high society live in a civilization of

their own making—the routine of yachts, polo,

chauffeurs, debs, Cannes and the Colony Club. Little
brings them in contact with that other world unless it’s something
like murder.

Take that bright summer morning along the money-banked
North Shore of LongIsland, when a pretty, red-haired girl, blood
streaming from her face, came running up to three men painting
the outside of a mansion. Sweat and tears and blood masked her
head. The girl’s garments were speckled with vivid wet red.

“Thank God I’ve found someone,” she moaned, and fell to the
sunm-baked grass before the astonished painters. “I was shot. My
mother was shot. Murdered. You must help me.”

One of the workers stared in amazement as the dark-eyed
girl, without aid, rose to her feet again. He saw a bullet hole on
the left side of her face, through the upper cheek by her nose.
Another bullet had smashed into the back of her skull.

“We'd better get you to a doctor, Miss,” he said, taking her
arm. “We'll go in my car.” He told one of the other men to call the
police.

As they approached the car, the injured girl, wearing an army
green fatigue jacket and a white cotton T-shirt, suddenly stopped
and asked him to let her go on alone. “I can make it myself,” she
softly said. “I don’t need any help.”

The painter turned into Port Washington Boulevard, one of
the principal streets along the island “Gold Coast.” The girl, her
reddish-brown hair matted with blood, burrowed into a corner
of the front seat, gasping, “It was terrible.” Over.and over again
she groaned, “My mother was shot, murdered. I heard the shot. I
saw her fall. My. mother was shot.”

Then she suddenly put her hand to her mouth and stifled a
scream.

“There’s the murderer,” she gasped. “There’s the man who

shot me!” exclaimed the critically wounded young beauty.

He saw a thin, lanky man 50 feet ahead, walking slowly along
the side of the road, his back to the painter. He wore khaki pants
and a green shirt. Heseemed oblivious of the approaching vehi-
cle.

The girl sobbed convulsively. She lowered herself to the floor
of the car. “Oh, my God, don’t let him see me,” she said. “Don't
stop, whatever you do. He'll kill me. He’s got a gun. He’s mad.
Don't stop, please, please, don’t stop!”

The painter was driving at about 35 miles an hour. As he
reached the tall man he took his foot off the accelerator, just as
quickly changed his mind and rode on. The man turned, and, for
a fleeting moment, the driver saw large, bloodshot, evil eyes.
Then the man started running. Should he run him down, the pai-
nter thought. Should he stop and give chase? But what if it was

Insp. Pinnell headed investigation which he
included the use of mine detectors (right) g
in-search of fields for murder weapon .. ;

“g

the wrons
have mu
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The |
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an ambu
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mansion
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and bee:

vy beauty.

: slowly along
re khaki pants
oaching vehi-

elf to the floor
ie said. “Don’t
in. He's mad.

n hour. As he
lerator, just as
rned, and, for
hot, evil eyes.
lown, the pai-
what if it was

Me og
Loe RVigen - of

mit ad

the wrong man? What if the fellow did have a gun? He wouldn't
have much of a chance against it. :

The tall man ran up the road a few yards and then darted into .
the woods.

The painter took the injured girl to Dr. Joseph T eta, who had
an office on Port Washington Boulevard. The doctor summoned
an ambulance and the girl was rushed to Nassau Hospital, in
Mineola.

Port Washington Police Captain Theodore Blunt and
Sergeant Charles Wesser, meanwhile, drove up to a 20-room
Georgian style, red brick home at 16 Bonnie Heights Road, in the
excluve section of Flower Hill, near Manhasset, Long Island. The
mansion was set in the southern part of 15 acres of landscaped
grounds, set back from the road behind soaring pines and oaks
and beeches. Blunt and Wesser had reached the house by travel-

' ‘Heights Road and_ glanced

‘SERVANT |

PROBLEM
FATAL ?

ing up a 300-foot circular driveway. They noted the home
couldn't be seen from Bonnie Heights Road, which was a small
street running obliquely from Port Washington Boulevard.

The luxurious home was owned by a former banker and his
wife, Mrs. Marjorie Vose Church Logan, a 52-year-old socialite.
Their daughter, 26, had been discharged from the WACS six
months before after serving a year in the Pacific.

Blunt and Wesser were responding to a telephone call from
the other painter. Captain Blunt knocked on the door and it was
promptly opened by the Logan’s maid, a stunned girl. “There's
been a murder,” she screamed. “Look!”

And she pointed to a woman lying on the floor. Blunt went to
her side. The woman lay in blood on the floor near the door of the
stairway leading to the upper floor. She had been shot in the
head. She tried to say something. Blunt got to his knees and tried
to make out her words. But all he heard was a gurgle. She mouth-
ed words but no intelligible sounds came out. Then she seemed
to sigh and Blunt saw she was dead.

“What happened here?” he asked the maid.

She had been in her room, working at the sewing machine.
Two rooms, in which all doors were closed, separated her room
from the combination foyer and living room. She said Mrs.
Logan, the daughter and she were the only ones in the house, the

‘husband having gone to work earlier in the morning. She heard

Mrs. Logan calling her daughter, and then she heard two or three
“noises.” The maid couldn't give the police officers any more in-
formation. A few minutes ago, she came to the front of the house,
found Mrs. Logan and called police.

In a few minutes an ambulance arrived, then more policemen
and soon the reporters and the curious. Inspector Stuyvesant
Pinnell, of Nassau County Detectives, took charge of the in-
vestigation.

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time—and’ forever after—the accoun-
tants were ‘going to look in every
warehouse and count every item in the in-
ventory. The law was closing in around
Philip Musica.

.He saw only one way out, In his lux-
urious Fairfield home on the morning of
December 16, 1938, he went into the
bathroom, stood with his back to the tub
and fired a bullet through his head. He
lurched over backward and tumbled into
the tub where—very neatly—he died.
The shock waves, however, didn’t stop
there.

Phil’s brothers didn’t escape so easily
and three of them went to federal jugs as
their reward for his escapades. Their true
identities as well as Phil’s were exposed.
McKesson-and Robbins, bilked almost
clean by the Musica clan, teetered near
ruin,and then, in the hands of better men,
rose again to a well respected imminent

position in its field. But who, you might
be wondering, got the last laugh?

Who else but Phil? The beautiful
woman he'd married was the last hold-
out among those who believed him inno-
cent of all wrongdoing in the McKesson
and Robbins scandal.

Accordingly, she had her man tucked
away quietly in an elegant, expensive
Long Island mausoleum. The'gravestone,
marked simply, told the story. It read: “F.
Donald Coster.”

EDITOR’S NOTE:

Edward and Carol Hubbard, Joe
Brandi and Julian Thompson are not
the real names of the persons so named
‘in the foregoing story. Fictitious
names have been used because there
is no reason for public interest in the
identities of these persons.

Was Society Matron’s
Servant Problem Fatal?

(Continued from page 33)

through the trees sheltering the Logan
mansion. He could see the shadows out-
line of the home. He hesitated just a mo-
ment, taking a long puff from his
cigarette, flipped it into the shrubs and
slowly walked up the driveway. About
halfway up, he turned off the driveway,
walked across the spacious lawn and
through an open French door into the liv-
ing room. .

Mrs. Logan was seated at her desk in
the room, making out some bills. Her
daughter was dozing off in her second
floor bedroom after taking her dad to the
Plandome Long Island Railroad station.

Mrs. Logan heard asound and turned.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I’ve come for money,” the man said,
drawing:a gun from his pocket.

Mrs. Logan didn’t hesitate to comply.
She called up to her daughter. “Drop me
$10. There’s a boy here. I want to pay a
debt.”

It wasn’t ar unusual request as the
society matron usually left her purse in
her bedroom. The daughter rose from the
bed, got the green pocketbook and took
out a $10 bill. She went to the head of the
stairs, shouted down for her mother to
catch the bill. She couldn't see the man.

The former WAC was returning to her
room when she heard ashot. In panic, she
ran half-way downi the carpeted steps,
then she heard her mother gasp. In one
nightmarish flash; she saw her mother fall
to the floor afd the tall, wide-eyed man
bound rapidly up the stairs toward her.

He branidhsed a shiny, nickel-plated
revolver. The girl backed up slowly but
the man kept coming after her.

“Gimme, gimme, gimme the money,”
he said harshly. :

“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, the

money. Anything. What did you do tomy
mother?”

“Gimme, gimme the money,” he said.
The pupils of his eyes were dilated and
throbbed with threat. Sweat covered his
forehead and cheeks and the hand that
held the gun. The terrified girl handed
him her mother’s purse. He grabbed a roll
of bills and thrust them into his pocket.

“Gimme more money,” he said.

“There isn’t any more.”

“Gimme jewelry,” he said, forcing her
into her bedroom. She picked up some
costume jewelry. He looked at them and
scowled, took them, and then threw them
on the floor. He pushed her. As he had
shot her mother, without any provoca-
tion, so the maddened gunman fired
pointblank at the fear-chilled girl. A
bullet tore into her face. Again she tried to
get to her feet, reached out for the bed-
post, turning away from her assailant.
And again he shot her, and another bullet
burned into the back of her head. He left
her for dead. The brutal orgy of violence
was over. The killer ran downstairs and
fled out of the house.

Groaning in pain, the girl reached for
the telephone. She called her father’s of-
fice.

“Something terrible has happened, so
terrible,” she moaned to the office
switchboard girl. “Let me talk to my
father.” Blood seeped from her head.
With one hand, she futilely tried to
staunch the flow; with the other, she
could scarcely hold the phone. The
operator said her father was out. She ask-
ed to speak to another executive of the
firm.

“Where's father?”

“What’s wrong?”

“Mother is dead!” and then the girl,
gasping for breath, became incoherent
and finally dropped the telephone. The
plucky brunette stumbled downstairs
and started walking to the nearest
neighbor. Frantically, she knocked on the
door of a home, but there was no

response. \{
Hill were ay
to the next
bullets in he
feet befor
In Nass
formed an «
tracted the t
.32 caliber
paratively: s:
narrowly on
embedded i
frontal lobe
penetrated a
inch and st
critical list
or two ques
were able t:
“Arrest
robbery,” re
13. states
years, five ni
bulgy eyes
puffed up
trousers, gre
carded arn
attempt to
proceeds of
Inspector
100 detectiv:
communities
because a“)
Many reside
locking door

NL (Cal
ATSILLA3

former Commanding Of- \
ficer of the Italian Squad_
of the New York City’
Police Department, is one of Amer- °
ica’s most famous sleuths. He has
been the flesh and blood Sherlock’ *"
Holmes in cases that have confound:,:’.

Black Hand gangs in Italy and this
country, he has unraveled hundreds © ean
of mysteries that would otherwise :
have been marked “unsolved” on)” ge
police blotters.

The chances are that DetectiveFia-.
schetti forgets about a crime once”
it has been solved. He cannot permit
his active mind to be cluttered with
names, dates and incidents that have —
no bearing on his immediate assign- |
ment. go

' brought to light one of the most elu- ”
sive murderers that the State of New
York ever sheltered. Yet, a few.”
months ago, while this reporter inter-
viewed the tall, masgively built detec-
tive, he recalled all the exciting, baf-
fling and pathetic details of the case
probably because he is still in con-
tact-with its principals.

. A few hours before he went to the
electric chair the condemned man
asked the. detective to keep a
promise. (Specially Posed)

Liked A Zab

“must go back

ed the keenest minds. Since his much — ,
publicized triumphs over murderous,

Why Did a Famous Sleuth Spen Two Yea
... Then Plead Fothe Kill

T one o
winter m
sat drinking «

‘ table in a sn
‘house.

The roadh:
shack, decor
fashioned tav

the higher s!

the verses of
ing songs w<
walls. The
road off the
surrounded |
dense that t!
by often fai
‘Inside, ol-
the tavern,
about time t:
rest. His wif:
ing the brea
closing the <
the day’s rr
over to the
getically at
“Time to clc
The men ¢
There were

- young. Two

The group s
«Their tense |
a little man
leader.

_ SPECIAL DETEC)

Heron!

or, &

Y $ ”~
just as Tsay.

rad

ognized. Con
ne, Watertown

p the train the

ould have been
Ou
"t afrald to go
at | did own,

Yea, cen

&me general

ticulara of the
fredy answered
en, and from a
soudemned man
ilor Sisuieren
t, we obdtetned
egent below un
STON.

are not indebted
Dany gentleman
jon was made.—

the paper which

pide County, on
r, 1840. My
living at present,
always worked
botinued poor
Bixteen years old,
nd mother. Then
sxexer’s farin. I
put a year, and
k on the canal,
In June, 1857, F

[ lived with. her
er. I think ahe is
ne yeers old who
my wife I went
tked at farming in
at home with my
ter. J enlisted in
At Boonville. Be-
nty near Mr. San-
. WHEELOCK reg—
My sickness was
rged. In Angust,
RRARD’S regiment,
fy E, which was
G. 3S. Laxarm,
in the 146th
lee days, and six
he hospital. Saw
rederickeburg and
at length removed
en to Camp VUon-
of a sufferer, having
Subsequently I was
nd after a whild was
physical disability.
home. In 1867 I
a little while, but
I was arrested for

, indicted in Utica
put over to the No—

pd for trial Novem—

Saypeas Saturday
of the Pond Hill

how nicely you are

ur pail?” She said
n’t keep on up the
over the fence and

the field aud walted

Ping exertion Squada of ' special eppoltitees”

deemed fortunate im their posspeslon

wenily curious. -hucriod
ah unseagonably
Their
with sarcastic joera by
Seerifi's ¥%

“The same nervous feeling was exhibited

) ry
to 008 railroad station | at

early hour to. embark for Roux un

j
t

; =

} “carda’” by the pran
}

| acetoly haste was hailed

} the great vrowit of the uoprovided

lookerman at. the train’
slong «he
loungers
that

} which the county buildings are rituated, climb

* excurnion
the

home,

route, “by treet hove

and in and by the

weaved around the square in

; OC trees overlooking the enclosed yard, strain

'OK C¥ed at overlooked cracks in the new pine
partition thet kept the ghaatly scaffold from
their view, aud sharling about the door uf tho
jailor’s private residence like country novices

im amusgment at the box office of « traveling

citeus show There were few sympathetic
*

faces in the justhing crowd, even. among

the women aud litte female children whe
swarmed on the steps of the church overlogk.
iug the scene.
the condemned
disposed to look upon
of his death as ® holiday

railitia companies encircled the buildings and

pressed the gaping crowd still farther back.

Christian charity
they
the

Presently the

Alas for

for man, were

day

Then pipes and cigars were lighted, and lobby
ing for admission was transferred from the
toors of the jail, and cracks of the gloomy en-
me to jaunty officers who could: unlock
thé cordon of bayonets that barred the
eager populace. The lobbying grew lively
Buffets were not replied to by bayonet thrusta
a8 it was at one time feared they would be, and
the crowd were kept at bay
ing ones drifted through the lines but were
met at the doors by the inexorable Deputy
Fitqins, who seemed pleased to have the
weight of the “exhibition” on his aboulders,
and stopped. Derisive hoots at the militia con-
tinued, and the spite of impertinent citizens
was vented by snowballs upon the crowd
around the Court House. As the hour for the
execution arrived, the excitement increased
and continued until it climaxed in the final act
of the laat hanging tragedy in Oneida County.
THE LAST HOURS OF CARSWELL. ‘
Canswett obtained more sleep last night
than he has had during any night of the present
week, The Jailor, Mr. Sinczxron, passed the
night with him. In the course of the evening,
he was visited by the Rev. Messra. Crang, Har-
ais and Repugap of Rome. Heconversed with
each of these gentlemen with « singular calm.
ness, and expressed his full preparation for
death. About twelve o’clock he fell asleep.—
The Jailor watched him closely, but was wn-
able to observe any indications of troubled
rest. About six o’clock the condemned man
awoke, recognized Mr. Sinaugton, said “ Good
morning, Joun,” turned over, and again fell
asleep. This time he slept for about an hour.
Shortly after seven o'clock some breakfast
was carried up to him, and he ate with seem-
ing relish A few minutes after, when
our Reporter vistted the jail the poor fellow
was engaged in prayer. His petition was one
that might well come from a man whose hours
were numbered. Never have we listened to
more fervent appeals to the Throne of Grace.
His was the prayer of penitence, the prayer of
faith, the prayer of perfect trust in the mercy
of Gop. ‘‘ Jesva is my friend! I have done
wrong! But Gop will furgtve me for the sake
of his dear Son! Oh! [believe in the atoning

A. few insinuat-

De. Hiowr, entering thia moment,

f sueweit end loolegd at lim Cum pea

ately CgReweti wlewlily returned

aod Anally waid: * Don't

Boetos

‘Onimitted @ great gin,

shake oO

Don't foal bad fur rk ¥

made my}

1 Gon, and when l teare thia world YT!

will ineet hee (the little Paradise 1}

girl) on
hupe when youdiec you will have the same hope {|

have” A whort ‘time before thin, (aneweal
had asked to be toft aloue with him relatives
Sin

following lea copy of the letter, which we ars

and during this titno asked the Jalt or, Mr

ULETON, to write to his father and mother

permitted to publish through the Jailor’s kind

nea

Father, Mother and Histera Tall my father |
that Lam very sorry when he asked me whether |
Twas guilty of that crime that 1 did nat tell |
him so when I atood beside the body. Bus f}
dare not say so. Aud one quarter af the profit |
of the coufomalon ie to go to my father feel |
that God's blessing ie shining upon me. | have|
prayed, and the ministers have prayed that lj
shall be received into Paradise, }

Campbell, | am yery sorry that I did not tal!
you the wight they arrested me, that I had done |
the deed, but I dare not. But Tam goilty of |
this crime. [feel that God's bleasitig is wateh-
ing over tne. Aad I pray for myself that for
Jeeus’ sake I may be saved, ws

fa, Emma, I hops you will mest me tn
Iixear
hen the letter had been written, the Rew
Marcy, and the Kev. Mr. Moxcam, of
Centreville, Onondaga County, we nts mel
Both sald words of comfort and
Mr

the hymn. commencing, “ I. will sing

to Oansweret
encouragement to him. FLINT gang
you a
song of that beautiful land,” to which Cans
Wet listened with spparept enjoyment Mrs
StscLeTon took an affectionate leave of him a
few moments later, etpréssing the hope that
in Heaven Grasping her!
hand warmly, he replied: “ We shall

After thishe spoke of his indebt

they might meet
if we
have faith.”
edness to Mr, Burnis and Mr
that he owed them about twenty-two doltats, |
and asking Mr Visscner to see that the tebts
of the proceeds

Woop, saying

were cancelled with some
arising from the sale of the eonfessidts > .. wy |
Heo afterwards made but one allusion to his |
past life, saying that ANpavs Mexxer ‘' was to}
blame In the first place for setting him a bad
example when he was sixteen years ald,” and

“if that woman, Mra. McMutay, badn’t|

talked to me as she did, I shouldn’t have Gone!

that. But I’ve got no hardness towards either
of them. Jescs, you know, only forgives those
who forgive their enemies here below, and I
couldn’t go out on to that scaffold with any
hard feelings towards any body.”

The few minutes preceding the time when
he was conducted to the scaffold, he passed in
conversation with Reverends Visscuer, Rep-
mkaD, Fit and Munega, At po time did he
seem to dread his impending fate, and when
told that he must now accompany the officers
to the scaffold, he arose with a composure al-
most miraculous. Aft this point thi¢ Reporter
leaves him, and the scene which followed is de-
scribed by telegraph below

By Telegraph.
Romn, Jan. 8, 1:30 ru.

The prisoner Carswait was hung in the |
enclosure prepared for the occasion at forty. |
two minutes after twelve o'clock, In the pres.
ence of about three hundred Special Deputies |
appointed by Sheriff Wravun.

Camswsu1 spent the last hours of his life in

them

yed in Col, Wareiock’s reg-
neick, My sickness was
Hischarged. [mn Angust,
lol. Gangarn'’s regiment,
mpany E, which was
pi G. 8. Lameia,
tayed in the [46th
A twelve days, and six
in the hospital. Saw
of Fredericksburg and
was at length removed
as taken to Camp Uon-
d deal of a sufferer, having
eat. Subsequently I was
der, and after a whilé was
nt of physical disability.
t me home. In 1867 I
‘oman a little while, but
to me. I was arrested for
, 1868, indicted in Utica
8 Was put over to the No-
s called for trial Novem—

zapetTa Sanpess Saturday
paction of the Pond Hill
may, how nicely you are
'y your pail?” She said

t I didn’t keep on up the
jumped ‘over the tence and
rough the field and walted
x came to where I was. |
took hold of her and took
at she wore.. She said she
bther, and made so much
the garment back again
i.me she wouldn’t tell her

was speaking of this yee-
gentleman present said:
act so towards a little girl
itd 2"
11 you she was older. I know

Were you under the infla—

I never drink any whisky.

‘Waa the act premeditated ?
hen you tell me wot meditated
answer you.

Had you thought about it

I first thougiit about it
n to Mra. McMitras's, and if
J as abe did, I shouldn't beve
She got me in s passion.
wing the sccount of the
the little girl made such a
sing to leave her. He gave
the had taken cl Wile 8

and continued until it climaxed in the final act
of the laat hanging tragedy fn Oneida Oounty.
THE LAST HOURS OF CARBWELL

CaRswkit obtained more sleep last night
than he bas had during any night of the present
week. The Jailor, Mr. Srnaierom, passed the
night with him. In the course of the evening,
he waa visited by the Rev, Mosars. Cranw, Han-
nis and Revurap of Rome. He conversed with
each of these gentlemen with a singular calm-
ness, and expressed his full preparation for
death. About twelve o’clook he fell asleep.—
The Jailor watched him closely, bat waa wh-
able to observe any indications of troubled
rest. About six o’clock the condemned man
awoke, recognized Mr. Scvoieton, anid ‘ Good
morning, Joun,” turned over, and again fell
asleep, This time he slept for about an hour.
Shortly after seven o'clock some breakfast
was carried up to him, and heate with seem-
ing relish, A few minutes after, when
out Reporter visited the jail the poor fellow
was engaged in prayer. His petition was one
that might well come from s man whose hours
were numbered. . Never have we listened to
more fervent appeals to the Throne of Grace.
His was the prayer of penitence, the prayer of
faith, the prayer of perfect trust in the mercy
of Gop, ‘‘ Jesus is my friend! I have done
wrong! But Gop will furgive me for the sake
of his dear Son! Oh! [believe in the atoning
power of the blood of Cuaist. I believe Gop
will have mercy on my soul.”

And thus the condemned man plead and
prayed, closing his prayer: “‘Cunrrsr be with
me, forever’ more, Amen.” We entered the
cell a few misutes after. Canswait was sit-
ting on his blankets in the corner. He was
somewhat paler than on the afternoon previ-
ous, and his hand was cold and clammy.

“Well, Canswett, how do you feel thie
mofning ?”

“4 good deat better than I ever thought I
abould.” :

“How did you sleep tast night?”

“Slept good, sir. Ob, I gota big load off
my mind when I owned up.”

Rev, Messrs. Visscuan and Revmnap visited
the condemeed msn about nine o'clock, in
company with Mr. Jomx H. Woopwagp, Canrs-
werit's uncle. A conference of about half an
hour eneued, the conversation relating to un-
important family matters. About tea, Dr. I. J.
Hver, of Uses, and Dr, Sronpsvarr, of Rome,
visited the cell and examined into the physical
condition of the doomed man. His pulse beat
at the rete of 135 per minute. He wae then
bled quite freely. The physicians say he could

arising from the sale of the ponresmror a

He afterwards mede but one alfudlon to his
past life, saying that ANpaus Meexer *° was to!
blame In the firat place for setting him a bad
example when he was sixteen years old,” anc d|
“if that woman, Mra. MoMucay, hadn’
talked to me as she did, I shouldn’t bave done)
that. Bat I’ve got no hardness towards either |
of them. Jescs, you know, only forgives those |
who forgive their enemiew here below, amd t|
couldn't go out onto that scaffold with any |
hard feelings towards any body.”

The few minutes preceding the time when |
he was conducted to the scaffold, he passed in |
conversation with Reverends Visscuea, Rev |
weap, Fuint.and Musas, At vo time did be |
seem to dread hia impending fate, and when}
told that he must now accompany the officers
to the scaffold, he arose with a composure al- |
most miraculous, At this point thig Reporter
leaves him, and the scene which followed is de- |
scribed by telegraph below

By Telegraph,
Rowng, Jan. 8, 1.30 P.M.

The prisoner Caxswa.t was hung in the)
enclosure prepared for the occasion at forty- |
two minutes after twelve o’clack, im the pres —
ence of about three hundred Special Deputies |
appointed by Sheriff Waavas. |

Cazsweit spent the last hours of bis life in
receiving religious conselation from the Rev. |
Mr. Repazap, his attendant minister, and died
apparently fully reconciled with his Maker.

THS crowd outside the (empdrary “Jal Yurd
was turbulent, and hoote of derision from the |
curious in the Park, the treetops and the ist
of the adjacent Church - disturbed the hast |
moments of the culprit. |

Canswat spoke afew words on the scaffold
in firm tones, acknowledging his guilt ence
more.

Chloroform was administered to him just
before the drop fell, and he died with few strug-
gles.

Twenty minutes later, the body was cut
down, coffined and consigned to the hands
of relatives who desired to sttend to the burial.

In Canpwett’s confession at the very mo-
ment of lesving the world, there was no addi-
tion to what he had b before admitted. Here

fea the ato apostate semana
of @ rape upow hike vigtion.
have fost not less than sixtesm ounces of The taroalanee of the erowd tt the elons vas

rampant rebe} Pe or
feo bealthy

PetrTycat,

of nus ar of the Viorkia Howe has been
ceotal Gen eae”
Se ae Cena uf Ger des “ety

rt ee =P voy

~Reports f; Mi M a
chance are ay fore Saab she Seat
a v
the } vi Bid Me NS ay yey as ¢|
the dernocra!:

we hae ret a | ver, Sra irce ote est

any rennet | ee the he bee oat

) Sete—teer hex reeetred? fie repebtions
intesest dem for Upited States Beantor tron,

wom ipethom
ja the affairs Of | Penmeylrania. He has previously served only
want anybody a | i8 the Leginlstcre He will be elected to the
bow fille! iy Mr Hoektalew PF OW
eS, nominatrd for State ‘Terms

awk Stevensun, of Kentucky,

tain the peace in | mage, anys: The people of sn ile will all
d by patting | Palle, as with one heart and one mind. ime

| spesties of the pest. in vielding a corte! sej-
H to the principle port tw al) of ‘tiem ‘(irant’s official ae and
applied to the

ie io favor of jrut-
hands of « demo

| mensurve having for Lheir objcot tun sugepeeary

of the constitation of the United States, theame

‘ toration and perpetuation of the Uulon, and the
‘wepprt ofthe State goveromente tm all theft

pone @8 Most competent a! ministemters for. if

Cqprernd end tbe bal warks of repeb-

| licam temdiemcion. The State debt yper upom

ine Slat of December, was $1,191, oe Tt in ree

\imumende@ that the coustitatinnality of the

late bill apts teed im the Bapreme

pie involend to seek eale'y

violate pts. and mainienan«

law, and pay all secret organizations Mw

fs pn couciedes Ly urging mpon the Gen

eral Assam) y the supreme importanee of mei y

endesvors w promote forvign imumlyrativn

and the introduction of shite

State
| - to -—-——

BATE ABS IFAs.

New Laven has 140 Jewish femilien.

Ward dupmabary \t., hee clomed al! ite billiard |

nated by whi» |
press. If wo, it
contala too mach
ee the demorratic |

panced a ‘mjaare
party He ought |
tate the “ring ~ et
a saccenefi;) dem |

legislature wil!
fee on the ees

They have bees,
»¥ield band» me

de at ergeutes, Vt. isto heave # Preach aree
ern wisely depre | paper
en” lt in am fact —‘tingie wil probably adapt Obin's
govermes! for the | seine prise fighung
“Pr mF ~The Eilingly (C1) Thiel Detective Suclety
Menges mt ths. | ngmberx i elites
~The Workir giown's Amembly uicets in A!
} pred on Taree, the 24th inet
the town of Peabody, Maes
a worth $1.00 as 5 New Year'y preseyt
wet Kehiladel pt: ia dariey tho past three
Plas, 11 A27 new bulldiage Bare been emeatex!
~ Heparts obtain thatthe United States have
purchased Chilualiusa aod Sinales, Confii:me
eo tenia Hom wanting
“a eis ij ! The deficit of the Heston Mide and Leather
the demierals | tant haw been reduce! winger July fromm 200
“to les every 1490 | ony to $1 )tuo.
Ing Ww this, Came | tielems, Mam, ie now a with water
mee the Ka-Klutes | frm Wesham lake. The 28 miler af distnb:..
tag pipes were laid in seven months
-Farwell Hall, in Chicago, rebuili om the
| ruins of the hall burned last spring, in chimed
| to be the largest and finest In the coustry
—ies, Stomman declines ordering the per
wen’ *o wembers of the Virginia Constitution
al Comveabom, the baiange diye them
| Judge Drewmond, of the Laited Blates
Digtnct Court of Clicage decides the whim»
HF Hoy. Huge | abt « CIqly, WOT te be yy perfect gerord whh
vie! coma TCs. cometitetion
Stauton wit te | ~The statac of an Indian maiden has been
Rep oli (ue | die {im @eave at Mork Indemd, 11}. i haw
which bad made ow | pe acd gong seven foot high ead au
orrathc party 5 bis uri

laws

yment chances ie |
sytem of radical
t. Pot “rpdicas
t from the jae

demoeracy had

to retire Sapreme
meveaty, ie pro

press,

oh OT thew tab, CET}:
te @e through »

& oulid

OMe) isk

~The steauier bacremento sailed from San
Pranciseo, Wednesday. for Paname with 74

000 in. tremsure, $471,000 of which Is for New

York and $374,000 tor England,

om Te Patic Treasurer of Horgh (

hia repurt, etetes that thy failure so

aller terest on the tate debt eg ony by inability

ag ey borrow the necresary 905,006, without

to
‘the stocks, Sc, Te ihe's State an polar
pote size th | Potting

Umoms,
a)

axe
, in
the lu

we tie name f

Tabor ute the ‘

AND ( COUNTY
The wrme of sebewtp|

ta al} comme cask im ec vance, and
@& by beeng «oreful te reanit hmm
of the Time for wach
in arveare. and to eae

od te remi\ st onem. +

Deata or T. |. Kimeesgzr.
called go chrpaicte 4 A pttack,
alt jae Tdlies L.

W echneonda 5
me

-rn order to a
4 Venger] poy
AG

be
Tran

trained a comeiderable family
womanhood, and had ental!

Mees oc 58 Jed Presses
os beni om * r' Pom

EAS

oe TE a" 3S.
Carswell Again atten

fc Ps bi
room ef ihe Uriee hed a high
iene of sew type bare
emo now betier
beer; varvety of LETTER |
fend at ee lowes!

| Monet i

he waeg native of Beratsey Rharie Leland’ amd
was Mee sche eh Kans Bheke |
jean ee ia ig pee t
| at the age of twenty-four. be benemte a tosicdes

| ot shia aac dine Geocpeeihetpaingnt tic |
be Hung To-Bay. | trade. Suem afer became to Vtlea, he mar |

pts Suicide,

ap a ac “
He Will
1 thy j tied Mise Jetta BO Laruncr, sinter of A J |
| Wednesday pight leet Camaw xt again wt Progeny oe gs, aang i
if rp ato grocery o ane *
| prs to commit ewict® He is confined in | on the carmernt Charlotte and Elisabeth «reets,
* msond story af the pull at Heme and has | aad there, and perhaps at amothar loration, be
«eo made @® corfortalty as circumstances continand ka thet lige for sbeut vem years |
wonk! permit ainee bia gentence Since bie let | Aboat 1944 he engaged le the manufacture |
tiem pt upoe Wie lide he has beem chained to the Laat malegt cheung. fae Seat rye 2 Saher’
floor and yes | yor terse be» ~ niges
. 7o8 hia meyements Ot lm peded tat | widely kaown. ‘Im cunneetion with his von, (
flat he could rise anit sit ins chair and use his! C Kuepe . he bap mplrteined besides |
anus te nome extent. Ife cell isureupbed by a hee extensive epteblishmest bere, wo brench |
fellow prisoner who yuarts him carefally aad! sores ie New Haven. (2., and one each af An |
ale» by the jailer or another tadividus! at nigh: | PNT tad Home. The success of all of these |
in the flea ae | houses hes been dedidel aad constant. Mr
meutione! above he managed to | Krxosiey bee hed twelve children, bat we be
twist the sueplas chain about his acck iy buch « lieve only seves varvive him fle was a mem
macber as to partially produce strangulation | ber of the Charch of the Reconciliation, aud
il |
| ile wes dimsoversd by hie attendanis and his | !iberal in its support,
ilediba on Gednadiica Such.men as Mr Krxea.et can be but ill-
spared from any cummanity. Mcdest amd re-
| tirkmge, be parsaed the crea tetor of hfs unob
}
* }trasive way, performing all the duties of citi
Teme crpresd hingelf as jen, of neighber, of father, with stead? and |
to die, saying be ad mado bis peace with | "Qaestioned probity. He conducted his ex
irs waa ready to gine | tensive business with thrift aod enterprige
Rate. jaod indastriows peinetaking, and in its}
carliew stages particularly wae uncceging |
Via aod yvigtiant ia building ic uy in |
| tainly huve teem buat, a» he believer tho | modest iiNustration of the Christian virtues
| Bible of integrity, af ehmaity, of good will w all Mj.

“that, ted Mat alone, peatiemen on
all that marle
}

ne nad

Ue wand that he would cheat |
em yet probably referring to those who were
a

Am ready

Gop > thet J

had promises} sv te do. He avers

tif he had not confessed he would eer.

the bey | Mrwowter's example wes like « Hatt net

fon fee

A conversation wi: Camswaert, ladace the

| beew bn wapgiotioee ragged health, but the fatal
vet he is as well prepared fer deeth | atinck omme @nally, whh cmodling seddent se,
we le iumited tine aed hie arcultivated in
}telleet will aliow He
aital to @ane perweus 's |
Tle. will le hung,
o'click } we nth
me } Peertvar at Mecwamics’ Matu.—There
Twn Late Cor. Geoner Pow Th:
5 on OM LAY "| wae @ brilliant festival at Mechanice Hail Last
femayne af ii KOWKROY arrived ip town yes

terday, Notice of the firneral will be given
hereafter

The following letter from the commander of
the post where Col Powrnot was on duty, will
be read with interest by hix many friends

Omwaua, Nebraska, 21 Jan, 1900

My dear Maiam At the request of rour
peer 1 i t add a few worle Wi th
tele heer
es o Vy wath rad ares Leneaedt Vaan
George Pormoruy
}army He died at @ r

belie!

blank

frequently talks in

i se
manner pot «

day, about twelve ly ah whe knew bir

It wan largely attemded and ephildted! every in
dication of bigh enjoyment and satisfaction, on
the part of these participating im it. This 0
clades the series of three ontertaingyete which
| bare been givem in ald of {his bapedotent char
| ty the pregeny week, ail af which bave Leen
j eegely Qtoyied, We jade that a very com
ederahic sum must have been obtained, end
| that w many the lmprovement and ca)inn

Moon. New Year's [hay

j they hace pat forth, will Be am oecasian of
| ing desefit.
night lung gad ctfusion of bland ty the brain, |
Te was thus, T regret to add, delirivow all the |
lant fow drys, rxjuiring incemant care of two |

ot theese persons. or, if this maenent is to
wt all modified, perhajs durmg the last twenty
four hours be showed a few ayy of &
i Bi » Ty mm. All tittle Ta» the case
Meth ponte? to yoar mach eafffieted

poy A kas cus Warmest epmpatisies tm her comet

tidal. The wholy emamunity evadoW¢ with
her wae all the reletives ba cee oan of ome thes
fs tue mit ‘of a course. of honor %

He had in hiro eh

las

of pooumonia, widob, a2 [ wrete you oo ‘Tuen
| day laos, was attended with oa ngestion of the

VaLocrpapm.—A sensation was croate um
Genenee strent, y afesyoon, by the ap |
| pearance af a “yelou “ The strenge and
Tint was managed quite sucrevafully by ite
rider, Mr. Janum B. Davis, but nat Qs sees
fully, we are informed, a0 would have been the
cnse had the waiks amd strest deen freor fem, |
melted saow and ke. There cbstgdles inte:
inp materially, ail wees cap aye a

wy white pores

jeeme comype t
usinews, had | taquire of GW. Theat & Co., 44 Hotel street

and |
chmr |
actor for integrity, Wherality and magnasimiy’ f

| aad pondered the haw weeks of take bef aluncee a!
by 1
will be miner in the family and in bua |

tracts for
} oe circles, and his memory wi!l be feagrast | ano the

evening im aid of St. Vincent's Orphan Asylum |

Peymaster Calted States gained by the great exertions ty excel whieh |

(Peestnese Xomer.?

a | the Utes Cities Corps, thin eveulog, @f 74

bpetoeik sterp A large attendance is tequested
AR. Bawnany. Prodes:

Hv ROR, Sgegetary
Pie IR.

Bouer

ee
A two horse Pleasure fleigh

Pou 84."

Bammens Nees}

Boos Hine. diee. W. J. Romana tab oa
this ogpart amt y ta inform de public of thee
| and ite vicinity thet @he intemds te carry on the
Honk bindin , bosinese to the same premiere

cupled by .<r late hushand Heving mede al!
nocemmary rrangemen!, she ie prepared to exe
vere im the bad af Book binding with

cule ally

jwhich she may be favored, with ooatacne, dis

patch and reseunable charges

Blank and Acooant Books mamufactdred ia
any «style demrad,

Particalar attention paid te Kuling Patterns
of every dewcripiion, Kaitread forme BH! Reads
Shipping Bills, &c, raled at moderate rates

aod warragted te give satiefaction

No 60 Genesee stredt

Entrance threogh the Monxine Henaro
Orrice

Uticn, Sept. 10. 1808

Basimew Kinies

ArMosr Givin AWar'—Srewiat &

pen almuet give away goods fw the next w

| days.
hidden: kites

ANSeAL CLOsENG OUT Sata!—We will aun
menoe this morning cloning cut our eptize stgek
| preparatory to invoicing. KXOAR DIL OF« Oot
We havea fal! line of Domestic Cotton Gouls
| bougbt before the lastadeener, aad wi!) be gold
frm 1010 15 per crot. below manufarturery’
prices, Our ateek of Clonks, CLOAR Ives ead

| Trivmmtage of all kinds will be auld at @ gree

sorrifice. as they must be cloard owt within the
bext thirty days, Our entire stork of Drees
(hoods will be seld at prices that will «gtupiat
the ladies, as uiney styles are wold at one halt
their velan ¥. B Srewane & Co

| Tre Iieulssp SUArepen Barer. —The

[upon a bi, Fee & compile of years he lms not | Directions uf the Sam West ene Mightindl its.

pension Bridge Railway Company, held @ meet-
{nig Tuesday, and organised by elresing the fol-
lowing officers: Presgden:, Jeoob Sharpe ; View
Preucent, Joseph Britton ; HK.
Jenkins: Syoeetery, Hon Robert
Counset tothe Company. The verma of
the se mang Pa work, as
Biri: and Now ‘am! rallread,
agryed ups, and beth will be
-The pectus of the

Cwnpeny fumisbes the tollowing particu) firm
The location of the bridge will be at Awyey’s
Nine om the line between the coantios of
chester axl Putnaan om the east, aad Furt Cin
tom on the weet of the Hudson, sbout 43 miles
fry hw clty Of Mew York, Thie point is br
fer the wust romantic om the river, amd is famed
sm one in pulat of gredear in
Amesive, awl consequemly te So aor to
the traveling pablic. The shore op the Fort
Coton «ile i» qamposed of solid granite, aad
| rimee alimet perpendicularly from 150 ww 100
lfeet The seme can be sad of the Nose, of op
jamite shore, except that the clevealea we mach
| greater, but being « sharp ; ony, aren
name tadirgtes wo the driige
feaible. hoch fir road and highw ar
cage The glevation of the bridge ie Sas

eet above highwater, and about ame level with
jhe weetern bank. ‘Therefuro, it will be remli
ly perceived that the woaderful gramite anchor
ayo feeifities offered guaranter, with proper
| constructian, the safest and sos wrec
| tate of (te kind im the world. At this

Wan stretehed across the river ea iran cab!
} chain. during the revolution, for the pores
jot oz. Sneotee the passage of the vouels «

hee etme ima y

ee Oe

bran MovEwEwte — Advices via Bt. tbais,
trom Cheyenne, ony that a perty of indians

CASALI NO, Michael, white,
y

LAMPE LL I: ALS ap Wa.

VICTIM— Mra. Holbach
stared wildly at the motion-
less body of her husband.

premen gA o,

career
+ Ke

meee ep ee ee

ames |

renee

cious

a Jo-
from
they
‘aced
| ap-
a his
door.
orms
rebly
ban-
oney

Hol-
.ous- *
2ctor
ants.
cOR-
ome-
den-
gain,

died.
»s he

an-
rudg-

was
rand.

opti-
ts on
d-up

is the
, who
scrip-
| rec-
icting

n the.

it the
» fol-
y re.
were
io had
ssed;
a sin-
CASES

THE PARTING was the worst part.
of it. Mike was very brave, though,

and Rosa fought back the tears.

gle piece of evidence against him.

No other witnesses could be lo-
cated. There was no trace of the
gangsters Joseph Holbach had .de-
scribed. The fingerprints on which
Inspector Lahey had counted go
heavily were smudged; the few that
were not belonged to Holbach. _

Clue after clue slipped through the
fingers of the local police, In disgust,
Inspector Lahey finally handed the
case over to Detective Michael Fia-
schetti, who was known for his qujek
wits and a_ bulldog tenacity that
made him hang on to the most diffi-
cult case. If no one else could solve
the murders the burly sleuth was
-the man, :

* « *

HE trail was cold when Fiaschetti

was assigned to track down’ the
Holbach murderers, but he assumed,
from the stories he had heard, that
the crime had been the work of pro-
fessional gangsters,
_ Seeking new clues, he searched
everygcorner of the roadhouse. He
ransacked every room, went through
the cellar and examined the garre’,
but found no evidence. Still, Fia.
schetti did not feel he had wasted a
whole day..A glance at the grounds
surrounding the roadhouse started
him thinking.

Since Patrolman Paletta, who had
heard the shots, had seen no trace of
the “criminals, they must_ have
sneaked out the side or rear of the
roadhouse. A: short distance away
was a patch of woods. The sleuth de-
cided the seven gangsters must have
gone In that direction, and if so, they
might have dropped something...
Fiaschetti began to search the small
forest. :

POLICE DETECTIVE CASES

]ffj7 was not too surprised when he
distivered a black fedora lying on a
fla\ytone partly covered with leaves.
Thejiat was an old one with a very
griasy inner band... the hat of a
min’ who had worked hard and
svea‘ed hard. ‘

Fieschetti immediately discarded
‘he yxrofessional criminal theory. A
gangster would be too proud to wear
a ba‘tered'piece of headgear like this.

4 %* . @
N‘ far away from the roadhouse

bvea a group of truck farmers
who had known the Holbachs, The
German couple had sold thern beer
and (ecasionally lent them money.
Fiasclietti wondered whether one of
the fatsiers might have figured that
he could make more money through
robbery, than vegetable-raising.

But the detective knew that: the
community was ¢lose~mouthed. You
could quake stone walls talk more

Nt GUN— “Her screams made me ner-
t4\ vous, and before I knew it, I was
i holding the gun... . It went off.”

easily than the farmers—unless they .
knew and trusted you. With that in.
mind,he put on a dirty old:suit of
clothes,, a bright neckerchief and
worn shoes. It was not the first time
he had masqueraded in the name of
justice.

Fiaschetti wandered around’ the
truck ‘farms looking for work. Sev-
eral jobs were offered to him, but he
always managed to invent a good
teason for not accepting any of them.

“In that way, he was able to talk with
almost every truck farmer in the
area. He learned nothing, however,
except that the men were honest and.
hard-working and not in the least

.. interested in robbing roadhouses,

~The dogged Fiaschetti was dis-
couraged. He felt it best to shelve .
the lead he was following and search
for another one. tars
One morning while listlessly walk-
(Continued on page 52)

sigs Meg tga tes SRT RE AT 5a

E\ 3°TIVE Michael Fiaschetti

' -wwia great cop....His name
wil.igo down in history as

" 9: of the greatest of crime
fighters. . xs a simple thing that
made N._. ~rk City’s hero sleuth
great ~-lir + narkahle understand-
ing of t w7 this that made
his mitgcu ~~ sleuthing possible—
and it was =: warm, humane at-
tribute that +!e him plead for the
life of a ki ‘whose trail he had
steadily giscj.: fer two long years.

Michael #ije ti, former Com-
manding Office: f ue Italian Squad
of the New Yor, .; ty Police Depart-
‘ment, is one. of. © srica’s most fa-
mous sleuths. .H; '
and blood Skerl .
that have confi
mind¢ Since hi.
triumphs over 1
Italy anc fin-this :
raveled }. ‘cred

Tolir 2s in cases
‘sd ‘ae keenest
uch publicized
‘erous gangs in
itry |} 2 has un-
ms :-ries- that

Ewe
Re 2

ln seacige

Viagner,

: been the flesh -

hy ALAN
PAUL

All photos uscd in this story
were scecially posed for PO-
LICE DETECTIVE CASES~ by
orgfessional’ models. Photos by
Gregg Stevens and Gary

en TI ET Tar 7 Tee

would otherwise’ have been marked
“unsolved” .on police blotters.

The chances are that Detective
Fiaschetti forgets about a crime once
it has been solved. He cannot permit

‘his active mind to be cluttered with

names, dates and incidents that have
no bearing on his immediate assign-
ment. ‘

But there is one case he probably
will never forget. More than twenty-
five years have elapsed since Fia-
schetti brought to. light one of. the
most elusive murderers that the
State of New York ever sheltered.

' To understand why this. adventure
should remain so vivid in Fiaschetti’s
crowded memory, one must go back

twenty-nime years ago to the crisp
night of January 20th. ...
& ® *

T one o’clock on that frosty win-

ter morning, a group of meri sat

drinking and talking quietly at a
table in a small Long Island road-
house. ‘

The roadhouse was a rustic little--
shack, decorated to look like an old-"
fashioned tavern. Beer steins cov="
ered the higher shelves over the bar,’

‘and the verses of. popular German’

NEW YORK CITY'S WONDER COP

Detective Michael Fiaschetti — a great actor, psy-
chologist, humanitarian—in short, great in every-
thing that it takes to make a super-sleuth,

eatbey es

eeu ke Wig

—s

aeeet

oe je

a
< —
SSE GEE es

po * DISET:

——

Af PE Te

a here, boys. |

gs Spe canes

aa se mat |]

—_
4

drinking songs were printed crudel

' on the walls, The tavern faced a de-

serted road off the main highway. It
was surrounded by trees so high and

*. g9 dense that the motorists who

passed by often failed to notice the
place.

Inside, old Holbach, the owner of
the tavern, yawned, decided it was
about time to go to bed and get some

pest. His wife had just finished pol-

ishing the brass top of the bar. After
closing the shutters, he thumbed
over the day’s receipts. Then he
moved over to the table and smiled
apologetically, at the lingering cus-
tomers. “Time to close up, boys,” he
said: ‘

. The men exchanged quick glances.
There were seven of them, all young.
Two were still in their teens. The
group Sat back in their chairs. Their

.tense faces were turned toward a
_ little man who seemed to be their

leader. ; :
“So you want us to get out?” he

“snarled at Holbach. “Not on your
~ life.”
‘..” Holbach’s smile faded. If these fel-
-Jows intended to make trouble, he

was,in a bad fix. The roadhouse was

far from any other house. No cars

came by after midnight. The police-

‘man on duty nearby had passed the

tavern a half hour ago. There was
really no one within calling distance.

But the man had courage. These
were not the first. tough customers

who had stopped in at his place.

He reached, for the beer glasses.
“It won’t do’you any good to stay

wy
ra i

The little man cursed, and pushed

Holbach away. “I told you we're

REUNION — Casilone loved his wife
dearly, and it was his dream of a
reunion with her, some day, some-

> where, that alone kept him going.

staying,” he snapped. “Geh back
of that counter.”

Angry now, Holbach staid for-
ward, placed his hand on thable—
then stopped. The little in was
holding a snub-nosed ’gun iris right
fist. The innkeeper paled antepped _
back.,

The gunman nodded tod the
entrance. One of. his hchmen
obeyed the silent order ar ran to
the door. Two others statior them-
selves at each end of the ba

Mrs. Holbach opened f mouth
to scream. Another gun w:levelled
at her. The little man motiied inso- ~
lently to her husband.

“All right, Holbach,” heaid, “out
with the dough.” ‘

“But I have here only few dol-
lars. You can see for yourlf eS

“A few dollars, hell. Ieed more
dough than that. And I krw you’ve
got it. Open the ice box, the little
man commanded. .

A. muscle in Holba¢s cheek
twitched, Nine hundredand sixty
dollars were in the ice boa week's
receipts. He couldn't affrd to lose
it. And he wouldn’t—-

The little man was wching him
closely. Apparently hetead Hol-
bach’s decision in his eye for as the
inn-keeper opened hismouth to
speak, the snub-nosed an barked.
Holbach sank to the fiooia bullet in
his chest.

His wife ran from belnd the bar,
screaming hysterically. The man
with the other gun trmbled. The
scream would bring the ops. He had
not counted on that. Tey had told
him this was to be a clan hold-up.
But now A frightned, animal

. anger surged in him.

He shouted hoarsel’ at the old
woman, “Shut up!” :

She ignored ‘the order, stared
wildly at her wounde: husband and

‘continued to scream. [hen, the sec-

ond gun spoke and Mrs. Holbach fell
to the floor—over the unconscious
body of the inn keeper.
Three blocks away, Patrolman Jo-
seph Paletta, on his way home from
duty, heard the shots. Judging they
came from the roadhouse, he raced
there to find the place dark and ap-
parently deserted. Switching on his
flashlight, he pushed open the door.
On the floor were the inert forms
of the Holbachs. Life flickered feebly
in Joseph; Helen was dead. The ban-
dits were gone, and so was the money
from the ice box.
* * °
A‘ the hospital, before Joseph Hol-
bach lapsed into unconscious- °
ness, he managed to give Inspector
Lahey a description of his assailants,
The inn-keeper thought he recog-
nized one of them—a friend of some-
body he knew. He'd be able to iden-
tify the fellow if he saw him again.
He'd... .
Eight hours later Holbach died.
The police, armed with the clues he

kK ..

DIFFERENT — Riallo’s wife an-
swered the officer's questions grudg-
ingly, and the story she told was
different from that of her husband.

had given them, set to work opti-
mistically. They had fingerprints on
the beer glasses used by the hold-up
gang. The case looked easy.

Frank Riallo of Brooklyn, was the
first man to be picked up. Riallo, who
answered one of Holbach’s descrip-
tions, had an unsavory criminal rec-
ord. He and his wife gave conflicting

accountseof his whereabouts on the.

night of the murder.

The police were certain that the
suspect would confess. But the fol-
lowing day; they re-
alized they’were
mistaken. Riallo had
to be dismissed,
there was not a sin-
POLICE DETECTIVE CASES

Metadata

Containers:: Box 25 (2-Documentation of Executions), Folder 17
Resource Type:: Document
Description:: William Byers executed on 1956-01-12 in New York (NY)
Rights:: In Copyright - Educational Use Permitted
Date Uploaded:: July 2, 2019

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